Drake's Thoughts

I've returned to the old days of murder & adventure. This can't end well
for the girl.

It's easy not to end up in prison
by living lawfully
but what if their law
isn't yours?

The muck at the end of the road is nigh unreachable
but is stocked with sugar barbs. Oh, the sugar barbs.

The muck at the end of the road is night unbearable
but still full-grown student athletes
weep & delight at the sight of bears thrown
for a "worthy cause." [link here

to a video.] [he remembers, again:]
my brain isn't the internet. It's
mine, all         mine. [
this lament.]

Haiku

Haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku hai

High IQ - I SMART
I like art, and poetry
I'm pro-symmetry

I'm all haikus now
not just most of the time though
constantly, bitches

Militant haiku
Haiku-man double barrel
Shoot em up, murder

Happy/Sad Haiku
Read this in a happy voice
Read this one sadly

Purple Reign

I am Lesotho, King of Nigeria.
Nigeria is no mere peninsula.
Come Christmastime, it is an isthmus
And when it rains, it pours.

It never rains in Africa

It never rains on Hanukkah

My harmonica is ensconced in velvet.
So plush.
So lush.
So much
for any fabric besides velvet

Soft as cake
fallen into a velveteen lake
eating velveeta cheese
with baked beans.
Stay lean

Stay mean for mean's sake
Drink sake if you mean well
Don't know what I mean? Well,
shit. Sorry sorry. Not sorry.

Twine Harp

1.
She wanted to play the twine harp,
boy; she was the chairmen of the board,
crooning away. Sometimes, underneath the
sheets, the skeins and cormorants of the lecture
assailed her, then (& at once) like the birds and corns
of the lecture, dropped by the wayside, picking
up again, paying attention for once

to the tune in her head all along. It went:

here amongst the flowering glass
is a cowering flask, or a cornered man
here all alone are my compass thoughts
directing me somewhere.

2.
You can see what I mean. The acorn, melancholy
as always, nestling and kneeling it her shell,
crying: "Let me out, World, Let me in, Ground, 
I want to be a tree in you." (Which was, of
course, bound to be misinterpreted, by all a
manner of people, the gender-benders and ever
worse the homophobics screaming of, well, gender-
bending; the American Legion screaming of
whatever they care about; the American Red Cross
concerned about the transference of empathy
to a common acorn; etc.)

3.
Lord I am with you, in a way, even when I'm
(or especially) flying a kite, guided and buffeted by
the wind like a pale orchestra conductor thinking to
himself about his wife's muffins, how warm and fresh
they are and how he'd rather be home eating this
warm nutty fervent loaf instead of up here,
moving his arms like cantilevered flower-stalks
to the general assembly, saying as much as
has ever been said, with his hands, but oddly
unsatisfied, a crow overhead circling.

Every now and then (& again) a crow overhead, looming
black and large and intact & intelligent, remembering
your face & coming back to haunt it, kaw-ing out! her
slim furtive disapproval of all things human; circling,
circling, but never attacking.

4.
This is one reason I may never
a bird-watcher become. (Twine harp,
lest though unseat me yet, twine harp,
singing of birds and singing-songs of
avian homes, high in trees I may
have wanted to climb. Climb, still, climb;
I still climb, may climb, I aver that I shall
even one day yet, still want to: to climb.) Climb.

5.
Climb the latter of the underground bed, toward
the thorn at the root of the orchestra which says
to her memory that her memories are sacred
and that witch who stirs the pot is a witch indeed
but only doing what her dark sisterhood demands.
Thus a witch in name & act but not less sacred
before God and Man and Time, slim virgin (--[Mary]--)
though she may be. We cannot say why her orchestral

mother has not touched her yet, blessed her with the grace
of human kindness, & Innocence undressing, like
a fit young girl removing her blacklace brasier, a
moment that, when it passes, you will not realize
is the best moment in the world, never before
surpassed and never before altered, without memory,

a bird in the stone of the nowhere cauldron, a bird
her memory or her memories allowance of it; her bird
a nowhere camera looking back like lost feelings of love;
like lost feelings of love I hound you, back now, against
the wall, into the dark remiss virginal entrance of your
vault, your camera store, you dark circular mind, your
organ of origin, your anthropic pulsating center, your
closed orchestral mind, blind & innocent, with justice,
once and for all, amen.

5b. ([the burn-able] Afterword)
America. Chelsea & the gardens & gay men strolling
backward down memory lane, memory fucking lane, Lois,
Memory--you know, the shades drawn and the cocaine
on the desk and the drug problem now being discussed &
the frothy kitchen (& her GODDAM DISHES! YOU KNOW?)
her goddam dishes forgotten, for once, remiss--all bitches
snow-blown complaining of bid-for (badly) stitches in their
bosom's compartment coverings, these bras of the Lower
East Side tenement buildings, sex & class & poultry water
dripping like remorse across a dully bull-blood-red road
made furtive by stooped tourists, gaining information
about the blood-water, needled past, who (if she had feelings
for once,) would rather be just
let for lone a-once. Just left alone. The past;
She.

blackmilkcommercial

Redeemer remedial wordpost kumquat fold-open
concertino Murphy's soap [not made that way]
welcome to the MEAT SHOW
cups & drugs & drafts & haversacks full of
black milk, mugs of dark milk, mugs of dead
black milk, we drink, Germany, sorrow,
the moth show, the murder show,
pumpkindead smiling but alive
Halloween head, smilingbutalive
smilingbutdead, halloween, pumpking
the pump king, the pumpkinhead,
Murphy's Law, kumquats, pumpkins,
pumping strawberry moonshine delight
black mack moonlight black cat moonshine
black tracks of black milk en haute,
black milk sunshine never,
this is my Sunbeam. Milk,
never.

Crawflight

craw berries never   craw berries ever
straw berries whether  or not you want 'em (...Heather)
craw babies in leather   craw daddies never  
craw honeys with feathers   crustaceans in flight.

Grug Wrap

Things so irregular
but regular enough
rough
around the edges
trim hedges
like Laura Bush
Like a laurel
wreath, frankly
like Aretha Franklin
Getting mad r-e-s-p-e-c-t
Spelling it out like Tori
she means so much to me
Beverly Hills forever
Strawberry Fields
Forever
Crawberries never
Tonight is so pleather.

this is your education;

how does one person ever
                         another reach
how are we globes
                 longing infinite beginnings
meeting lonely little love dogs
                        sadness   (splitlogs)
a buried stone never
                      won't a sunset see

belladonna overdose; sunshine sweats
               of (oh!) a careless mind
mushroom medication --- mushroom dedication
                         a fungus   on me   growing
one day adult will become, will
         be   ready to father
to drift, father   to drift farther   [yet]   away from ill-where
                )like anywhere; (except  that-it's)
                 malady's location(

malady. mister   malady here.
                               hello: don't.

her low mood, your less-of-an-appetite,
                   amphetamines & crybabies.
(somewhere there's cymbals here,
                     ...goddam)

i wish i had been a stork
                        i'd never deliver children
but presents with bombs inside
                 and powdered phonics:
this is your education;

exactly the way it is at 7:24 on a tuesday

bromance   romance  sit on yer hands   handstands 

become a father   become a man  become a daddy   become a brand. 

internet twitter stalkers got leg room in nightstands. 

internet twitterbots talk nonsense in bit rams 

Bikram, yoga, to hot to letter in, melted pepperdom, 

motley martyrdom. an old man an old sailor a new girl a new prince a new boyfriend girlfriend child picture tits boobs haircut 

just letting you know

just filling you in 

just making you to be a pothole   pothead   asshole   

crayfish in the dark sleep 

sometimes sunshine comes to mind sometimes sunshine doesn't 

sometimes sunshine doesn't 

sometimes sunlight shudders (makes me)

bored, wary, capitulate --- strung-out, heresy, days late

days after the mashed potato of yesterday stringent allowance allotment 

a lot wrong in the basement 

a lot right on the pavement 

that's a lie but it's okay, Vin 

Dickhead Diesel Van Weirdo Hairdo Where Do You Ever Go 

What Do You Ever Do. Creeps seeping even into this 

this art this nothing this post this bluffing this goddam esophagus 

chugging puffing brandywine like fine dandelion 

wine ::: crock ::: pot ::: severance ::: severed ::: fractured 

lactate, & the abysmal worm story,

what a pair of twins those were, 

working at the dime store. 

it's raining outside 

it rains all day outside the trainstop & 

i never use my stamps. 

Mitsubishi elf dossier

i couldn't possibly be better
said the hat-trick   to his iceskates
i am not probably a letter;

i am not possibly Japan,
but hellen keller; Mitsubishi
execs wearing sweaters.

Sad

Down by the Jetty --- please forgive me --- I'm sinking under
i  may  never   return
like a folk
-talking man,
allegedly hollow,
with dreams of musk
& cornish kaleidoscopic
bravery, kid-like. Just
this once.

You Make Real Friends Quickly

I like telling people stuff they've never heard before
those that aren't used to candid remarks
or reflection
are mere images of themselves

If we could all see ourselves
it would make things easier
though maybe too obvious
and not as fun

Meanwhile a sigh-so-deep,
thinking about a girl again
and forgot to breathe
for a couple seconds

Music takes the mind off

Don't mind my music
passionate about Passion Pit
I'm so indie I might be Hindi

Each its own thing

These are amazing:
each made with flesh,
this once, in communion
with itself, the basket thus
completed  was an arc
of nomadic magic;

   [thought, be-           [a sparrow, 
    come a thing]        growing thin]

Sometimes I even imagine
picturing everybody I know
all at brightly & forthwith once ---

:::I mean to really know everybody,
at once:::

;

But I cannot do it. It is a plan
that is a fish
                     already bone. But

allow me to say: Freedom's only
American as your appetite. A
pipe left at the steamfitter's
union is one pipe gone,
tomorrow's woodlouse.

But this isn't Gramercy; we've
still got the kids to raise
and the bare furniture to arrange
in as much a way as to say:
below us, here, are our things,
which we believe we have

well organized. What I'm saying is
unnecessary. For the clockwearing
amongst us, all the angles are

obtuse and mesmerized; Andy's
hidden his own adventure. I stand
over him with the daypod -- my eye
blind with brows and brown
fluctuations of minute sandals that

dare to expose, any moment, the frail
(&
indomitable) architecture of the mind,
one sad wing from flight.

Redeemer

We are all dreamers.
Listening to glistening jewels
"Cool!", "fascinating."
Ojibwe Indians
yes, weaving dreams
Fastening what seem to be seams
what else would they be?

We are all baskets
case in point
boll weevils = bowl weavers
evil little urban achievers
long relievers in disbelief of starting pitchers: Tom Seavers

We need ability to redress
and readdress, and reassess
what is important.
what is portent?
Pregnant with emotion -
"no baby," I'm not actually pregnant.

Mavis Beacon

ankle   attach   monocle   prison
welfare   well-founded   myriad
controlcomplain meanderpander
preempt-outlaw-exam-remander
remonstrate   recupe   Jenga   --
comply-village-senescence-opium
Mandlebrot   fishtank   snowcone
c   a   n   c   e   r   f   ish   swimm
ing a w a y withmyfood --vacuole

Tough Poem

This is a tough poem; tougher than bone
but twice as brittle. Imagine me at the
edge of the tome, but more little. Imagine
bone cemeteries; imagine stories about
poems about stony
nights, water falling from sky.

Yes, I've been here before. The ground
(scat) devoid of sandals is a mongrel
we aren't diaspora anymore, but we are.
This is tough poem; it isn't easy
---it never will be---easy to explain. I'm
not trying to be obscure.

That's it, the Yonsei. Even 4th generation
Japanese have a word for it: belonging.
What am I? I man wearing a sweater w/
an old sweat-stained Cardinals hat & an
inkling I could do better, much better.

A reflex then, toward calming. Saying
"...but it's okay, everything will be
alright." And it will, of course---as much as
it wasn't. As much as it won't be: sadness,
you know, sadness already gathering like
a frown at the edge of your mouth: I should

have told you my grandmother is probably
dying. A sad thing, a sad thing. Nothing
absurd about it. As ordinary (and deeply
felt, meaning extraordinary, to me) as life:
"The wise man is ready to leave any time."

What about the wise woman? My grandmother,
wise, tough, deeply-feeling, real. More stolid
and solid and earthly / spiritual than I will ever
be. Roots in the deep soil, that one. A willow
tree with owl nests. A hurricane couldn't uproot
that old gal. But age will, I'll know. Ninety-seven.
97, ma. I'm going to miss you. I miss you already.

Circular & demineralized

[title here] [art work] [unnoticed fenestrations]
[molecular artwork] [artwork]
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Citizens become scientists:     Captured 
 ants snack on cookie crumb-
bait in a plastic 
bag at Saint 
     Stephens.
     (You know, the Elementary).
Saint Stephens in all his 
glim glitter; his modern decorative
manwear; his bonnet of undue 
appreciation for the arts. A fork
in his uvula, but not a snake-
man. (He's not a snake, man! 
HE'S NOT A SNAKE! DAMN! 
     fun w/ words w/ friends 
    pepper peppermint 
    Doctor P. )
Again at the seminary. Our tribe
returns. The scene changes. I'm
caught speeding on my way to meet
& greet Stephens. A big fan of the
man. His bonnet, etc. He was gone,
at the tanning salon. 

Newly, for the, aspartame, girl

We'll get it back,
said the redhead. Her bright
nubes were brightly ripping
off the cameras
and arranging them into
a morbid galley of winking,
stinking starfish, just newly home
for the killing.
     ]murder

The Club (Cowards, Racists)

The Club is a club you can't club in. It
only allows Hispanics who are white
(but exclusive Spaniards) and Whites who
aren't Hispanic (that's a joke, of course). Mex
     -     i     -     cans     -
are strictly disallowed, but invited--nay,
encouraged, to apply; dishwashers are
 needed, and respected. Except when

it comes to their
spectacles; they can't afford them. De-
cent ones, of coures. Ha ha. Milton. M-
an, what a laugh. Camaraderie and its
more black moments, Paradise Where? 
The only question that's ever mattered.
Remember when? Even a league called
racist. It wasn't. Maybe? (Negro.) Be-leagured,
is my life. White hair slicked back and old,
old shallow talk. That. Service me a
lemon G & T & I'll tip you. [      ]  

(I'll remark ironically later about how
Mark Twain's old mansion
is right next to the projects
in Hartford.) (And omit a racial slur
because I'm afraid as a coward.)

Desiree Yawton

Was blonde apple pie.
Pie in the sky. Desiree, with the Williams's.
Yawton, like the Clifton's. Rich-y, edged and dreamed out.
Desiree Yawton, Bridge over the River Kwai. Desiree.
Yessir.

Dirt is Art

I ran like soles over soil
I rock like war over oil

Afternoon rap couplet

I rock rolls like Mr. Royce or Chinese take-out
I'm rock: I beat scissors, roll papers and bake out

2 PM

1. Tanner was a lover; a heart-throb

Tanner's in the mob--but his heart isn't. 

2. Dom likes drugs... to write about. Of course he would only consume legal ones, like massive quantities of alcohol, pipe tobacco, chew, Vicodin, Xanax, Percocet, Lithium, Prozac, & palms full of muscle-relaxants. Of course he'd only take prescription drugs if he had a prescription. He's quite the Boy Scout, at least in terms of his drug habits. But you'll never catch him smoking on even a honest day's wrangle of humble pipe-grass, nor could even livid dragoons compel him to gnaw a psilocybin mushroom. 

Once he steamed some veggies and felt guilty about it. He's not sure how this relates but told me to pass it on anyway.    

The Coolest Mother-F'ing Thing I Thought Up in the Last Few Hours

"I don't want to drag; I want to breathe," says Harry says to Morgen.
"But I want to drag," says Morgen to Harry.

Many years later, after the pair separated when Morgen took interest in a Filippino courtier during Harry's service, the man -- Harry Lassiter! They shall know me!!! -- would say this exactly line again, forgetting momentarily he's uttered such words before, to a confused co-ed he'd gotten wet. "I don't want to drag; I want to breathe!" He yelled one crisp autumn night in his 43rd year. It was like wine binding & transmuting to dark wood. It was like wind blowing and straining a sapling without breaking. Water splashing with light, flecks of astor sparkles. WAKE UP. YOU want to BREATHE --- ! ...

It was like many things, but mainly it was

vegetate

your road is my horse
there is no bucket without a bottom
there aren't pails without pals -- at least in kindergarten
when the kind children vegetate the landings of
strange men with houses.

7 ways to look at a drug rep (be my winding wheel)

1.
The privations of a mutagen clerk
are driving up the cost of living
in this fair berg. Nobody has seen the icing
at the bottom of the cake ::: of the bold
lice, humping their way about the blood
of the boy octopus; a body ::: a bold ploy.

2.
The platitudes of the elements is eleven
exactly. I calculated it with magic math
that you shall never comprehend.

3.
The elements are their own elements
or so I've been told. They've been to
Switzerland, they've been to France.
They have no idea how their throat
becomes connected to their eyes.

4.
Nietzsche was more than a curmudgeon,
he was a thief -- who stole with his
drug-dialed dimensions the space where
tenderness inhabits the arm of power
and does not only favor those of flaxen lock.

5.
Bold ploys suffer most when the hand
is at hand; when the boy is the bluest
shape you've ever seen and by God if
you're gonna die you're gonna birth:
Gonna verb this life all right. Gonna
swerve like a bike my Life on it
--the arrangement hard to explain
like an oil spill is hard to contain--
     [Damn, you! --]

6.
an utmost spot of brilliant brilliance.
A slow-motion stop cone of the moon;
a beamed out, brimmed out choker show,
coke luncheon powder sniffed by mechanical
crunchers-burners-injectors-smokejacks
like an ammonia meteor showers of snow-proof delivery
::: Like a lottery kitchen un-shearing her knives,
and becoming pregnant, just for a second.

6b.
This is the real life cinema of a movie never
written, except by living.

7.
The best souls are given.
Thank you. And more: forgive me. I don't
deserve.

ABYSSinia; quoth

SO  proud  to be A B Y S S i n i a n
in the abyss again [like who?-him]

so proud, abyssinia
your darklust child's heart, black zinnia

this age is dark/light, ::: contagion; chlamydia
explode the locomotive dopeshow hymnal

it's not a symbol
not a thimbleful
protective fingerwear, futbol, Oldsmobile

no hope guys, just no hope, peeps--
try to express myself, just another creep.

 [...BLOG/blogblog:]
like evolution jerks ::: timely-equal-trees
punctuated equilibrium : fungibility
express yourself or else
express yourself or cry
i got an icetray full but not hope, hi.

Proud to be Abyssinian

Abyssinian anthem: "I'm so proud to be Abyssinian, where at least I know I'm--
a-de-facto-resident-of-modern-day-Ethiopia-Somalia-Djibouti-Egypt-Sudan-South-
Sudan-Eritrea-and/or-Saudi-Arabia!!!"

[The worst and/or best fictional national anthem.]

Earth-Tone Grove

Somebody noticed an unusual preponderance of red in the office today, which is especially quizzical since said members of the diaspora don't usually wear red (said a woman co-worker). "I don't usually wear red either," I said, in so many words, cloaked in a brick button down (a monumental effort just to don ::: a rotting albatross ::: this unreal pain). "I'm usually Earth-Tone City," I actually said.

They got the gist. "That doesn't fit," though, my boss said (a solid dude, in a former-life likely a flint-knapper). "It should be Earth-Tone Grove or something." I agreed.

As I sit here

on Yom Kippur
I feel a sharp hunger for more than food.
I'm wondering what it's like to be full of purpose,
and wondering what exactly I should be atoning for.

Racist jokes. General insensitivity to the plight of others.
I'm sure I have neglected some of my more distant family.
I have probably made my mom sad at times,
just by not doing as much as I could.
I could go on. But I won't. At least not on paper.

Laziness is not a virtue - it's not ladylike.
But it's not like me to create fire, or fuel it.
Just trying to emanate warmth through compassion,
love and positive energy whenever possible.
I strive for happiness and a peaceful, humble existence. Seriously.
I just want my friends to be safe. And I don't want to get cancer. Is that too much to ask?
Probably.

I really like talking to older people, they have seen more of this life and this world than me.
But young people are more exciting, more impressionable.
And at this point I am old enough to impart at least some wisdom.

Truly, family and friends really are what's important.
It's too real to be a cliche.

We don't live alone. Life is symbiotic, symbolic.
Too short to be robotic. Too awesome and exotic.
I don't want the internet on my phone, for example.
I crave only what is natural. Here's a sample:
What I crave is caveman life
back to the roots and berries
tubers and twigs, figs.
And I admit, cities are exhausting.
Tired of treading through cars emitting exhaust
amidst people who are lost
and looking just for something to look for.

One day I have a cold.
The next day my right calf is sore.
So I can't play sports for a while.
This is a disaster in my book - cuts me to the core -
though it doesn't warrant a whole chapter.
My book's called "Life is Often Good"
I haven't written it yet, it's just part of the book I'm writing now
"The Great Book of Great Book Ideas"

I teach a graduate course
called Introduction to Introspection
It encourages reflection. Usually rhyming and silliness in the last couple stanzas distills what I'm trying to get across.
Not this time.

In sum: Life is great. God is good.
I accidentally gave money to a very Jesus-y group the other day.
A black woman came up to my car while I was at a red light.
And I gave her a dollar coin before reading the brochure she gave me.
But she told me God bless you, and Amen. And it made me feel good.

No moral here, or message.
I think Yom Kippur is a great holiday, and it really represents what I appreciate about being Jewish. If you don't allow religion to take over your life and dictate your actions entirely, it can be incredibly illuminating. Maybe psilocybin helps, but openness goes a long way on its own.

Don't take anything for granted.

I could write a blug

See? As long as it's not for a grade
I'm a believer in Shiva.
And I trust you'll keep reading
since we're friends.

Everything's a curtain
imagined dairy - nothing is certain.
making yogurt pertinent again

My shirt is too big
Picture of an aphid
and the Star of David
Biggest religious expression since the Sistine Chapel

Favorite ninja turtle, since D'Angelo
who painted the ceiling purple
you're either an impressionist or expressionless
I have an ocean of emotions

There's a potion for that.

Here's yer goddam Doha journal

Motorola (patent pending) & minaret. As in, Hello globalism,
I shrined a mosque today. Tapestry boulevard with the hoodlums,
late morning Fresca on email. Not women but buttons, buttons,
my chief concern now; Maintain cogent garments. [Shortage of
sewing equipment here. --Doha.] Business trip to the Solomon
Isles before--how lovely. Even marmalade at tea & those double-
jointed Incan twins from Fandango. Boy, their product is tight. I-
PO. Mailbox in the morning; mild trouble with drug users. Rest of
stay--superb. Now a minor wrinkle: a taste of rain, removed from
the memory, in the desert. This is a miracle or portent of doom.

Barely articulate sentences about a "blog plan"

I'm sick of text edit. I need to install Microsoft word. A microcosm of the Baby-Boomer sell-out: I don't like Microsoft and don't want to give them my money, but I want a nicer computer program.

My roommate said to me: "I was always convinced that if I started taking Adderall, I'd be Under Secretary of the Navy now." That's when I reminded him he WAS the Under Secretary for the Navy. [This is where I consider taking the joke too far, looking up who the Under Secretary is (which I should probably know anyway) and making a joke about my roommate actually being that real person. But instead of making this kind of weird joke that would be too specific to follow without raising your eyebrows/gizzards--going one step further than would likely be funny--I just look up who the person is because it's an important position and I'm on a mission, albeit an extremely small and specific one.]

Mission Completed: Rob Work. A real "piece of work,"who actually went to the U of I. Kewl.

Ideas:
1) Blog about culture wars, somehow involving science.
A main character would be a hyper-honest postgrad liberal who could examine some of the more disturbing aspects of his/our legacy.
I.e. NOBODY understand something as commonly talked about as dark energy.
As far as I know, the whole thing could be an unmitigated, foaming-at-the-mouth lie. And to perhaps put more of my cards on the table than is comfortable, I do think it is basically bullshit. How could we possibly know there's a thing called dark matter and dark energy, and furthermore that the universe is accelerating? I readily admit I don't know the advanced math that they have used to get to this point. But knowing some math, and having as logical a brain as possible at this moment in time, it smells, you know. Dark energy? Give me a fucking break.

Another character could be like CK, ranting & raving about conspiracies, elites, the intelligence community, tha Rockafellas, Rothschildz, Kissinger, Z-Big, Soros, multiple-linear regression, the Butcher of Belgrade, etc.

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Annie Alabaster and Fred Filibuster

<>
DR: Das Racist, Duane Reade and the D-R; doctor.
If you give me a test I'm obvi tha Proctor

Dog

Fire will consume all things &

I become a wolf, then shed:

a naked unimpeachable canine 

wild without reason or coat. 

I fly between walls remodeled

in ash & bone, my jerky tongue 

the only reminder of my flesh 

save ragged ligaments 

like fragile sentences composed. 

Across dead cinemas I vault, o'er

teakwood carriages & children's last

goodbyes. Their eyes are glass now, 

eyes of blackened doles. Their eyes

are black now; eyes of hardened wine. 

some::::done

A black cherry in a black oven busts
open with black currant tones exposed
like the bulldozer's dragon-smoke nose
some carnage (our ilk) already done.

Wolves & women

1.
I said it had to be you & you said
it had to be medicine it had to be me
it had to be fair; it had to be great; it
needed to be everything

2.
The washrooms of the bristling continent are alive with post coital youngsters, cleaning up their messy joy. The banisters of America, with forgotten spritzers, are alive, enlivened, erotic youth going at it seamstresses weaving scarves to wear about on a chilly evening at Columbia. Door ways, stairwells--it's all brimming over with secrets, dull, desultory secrets. The kind you barely see except in tinted glass at 2:30 a.m. on a Tuesday when you're walking home nursing a cold & chlamydia.

& you couldn't say anyway what it is that you saw. But oh, the glory. 

Wolves & Fog

I miss wolves of various stripes
tufts / & paws / & thru the woods /
here the trumpets of brass become
springs of combative neuroses
the campbell's camp bell ringing,
incessantly, *you know* [] [] []
door pipes in their brawned out
horn rims... blowing like visions
stolen between the night's rain &
the dawn's grave brave morn fog.

I Miss Everything

And everyone.
I would be remiss if I didn't leave some mystery
as to what exactly I'm talking about.
But sometimes shit is just forlorn.

Forlorn and twenty years ago
I was six. Age is relative.
I revel in relevance.
Merely scraping surfaces
so as not to drown in thought.

I know how to be good. Make love, not war.
Being kind. Forgiveness. Friendship.
They will take you far, figuratively
Luckily I'm not trying to get anywhere
at least not literally or actively.

I'm mostly figurative.
And altogether too passive
as if you couldn't tell by my voice.
Too proud to be pensive
too humble to be eating pie.

Freestyle # Eleven$

This is absurdist
observe it.
What the word is?
Hint: it's in Kurdish
(or cornish) game hen
we're gay men.
Not homophobic like Kobe
or Tim Hardaway,
and oh by the way.
he's a slapdick.
Slash that movie slapshot that movie is dope
hockey sucks though, ice skates and pucks, bro
that shit sucks yo.
Stab you with my skate
first person ever to do that
so that's something
why don't you write home about it
on your phony ass macintosh

Am I Memorable?

Have you ever had the feeling you wanted to do something profound, write something profound?
But it doesn't work like that.
But maybe it should.

Ubiquitous equity

This is ambitious.
You're a piece of frost
I'm a piece of toast

Delicious.
you were born to butter bread
and I was born to eat it

This is advice.
Heed it.

This is virtuous.
Patience is a searchthrough
frozen time with a dash of vanullah.

Yogurt, you go girl.
Baby don't be sad
low-fat.

You're so that
I'm so this
I'm swiss.

Like from Swaziland
Totally switzy, man
totes fuckin swiss.

Swedenland is bliss.

incense & opium

there are pipes of grass
made by the elephant

bowls of wood, specks
of amethyst; you know --

your actions speak louder
than the woodlute, but not

the piper. your bathtub,
etched in copper, we found
out back in the woodlot ;

i cannot explain how beautiful
you are, a morning jog, i can't

show you the grace of a moment
or if i can, my flag flags, you know...
a droopy sedimentary chevron.

nobody rallies around a column
of simple wood, unless indeed
the intent is to murder
or, more likely, bake.

Conversation (imagined)

Guy: "Darling, you are truly my most prized possession"
Girl: "Possession? You don't own me!"
Guy: "Ah, I should rephrase. You are the most important thing in my life."
Girl: "Thing?"
Guy: "Listen, fuck you. I'm trying to express a deep emotional attachment to you."
Girl: "Oh. Thanks. Lovely."
Guy: "Well?"
Girl: "Well, what?"
Guy: "Don't you feel the same way?"
Girl: "Oh yes. Of course I do. You're like, awesome."

fat man, on bus (AMERICAN FINANCE)

from the gills of the heart
to the folds of the flesh,
a fat man, falling inward (& yet
you wouldn't know), is a size
too big, too big to flourish, but
too big to fail (naturally) -- i.e.
small enough yet to function
to jettison himself outward; smiling,
this morning, with largesse enough
even for cancer (why not? smoking
kills too, baby) he's just a post-coitus

bleary-eyed stranger with rations
for himself and his neighbors, is
immaculate. a fat man, gotten lucky,
on a bus. smiling all the way home.

My Body is a Temple

A temple of doom.
Indiana jones' arch nemeses are Ohio Smith and Illinois Anderson
I re-opened a wound on my leg, now surely a scar
bleeding builds character
Sweating does the opposite
August blows
Breezes are nice
clouds move swishersweet
chimney sweep, chimchimcharoo
chimmichurri kangaroos
always all hopped up
all ways are highways

Socks

Must her socks -- darned if
every a pair were -- rise so
high? My --oh!-- my bright
Puritan eyes cannot squiggle
when her thighs meet her
hands meet her plans
meet her laundry and coin-glasses,
we aren't people here. Just change
for detergent and a machine's
less-than-silent rumble.

This ground is land-y

Come on - it's almost sand! Let's get to the beach.
Can't wait to feel my feet again
It's been too long
It always is.

"Remember not to get one foot ahead of the other
even if that's how you're used to walking
the water will always be there."
Old Man Smoker used to say.

No shit. Like a lake. where would it go?
There for life
over
and over
and over
I say four-leaf you say clover
four-leaf
clover
four-leaf
clover

water won't leave
it's there like air
blustering
drink it in, sand
clustering
hoping I land
near an archipelago
mustering
courage but that's not the only thing I muster

Palmetto Gulch

The almost sand of Dan's ridge became
very quiet late at night. These things--grains--
have a way of coming back & haunting you,
or so I've heard. Have you? I think these
larks are faster than sharks & I (please do
not believe this) shudder now at her shadow,
the girl we've been discussing all along.

She's still there, you know, she has
been there all along. One of us, a
frightened hawk-moth shuddering
with dusty, palmed brilliance.
The other, again, the lark who's lost her way.

Sentence 2

To herself.

Sentence 1

My gardens grow gray
with the approach of afternoon's
bed, whose hand--outstretched--reaches
for your field glasses.

Excalibur.

There might be words
about which I have spoken
you might want to resolve
not to repeat, unless heaven
opens her gates to you, makes
you fearful--oh of herself &
others, the slim man feared
his burden getting restless
a can of worms is a canker
sore issuing disaster--issuing
a promise for something diseased
instead of the genuine article.
i know what i mean to speak to-
ward; as if knowing it wasn't
enough already. It's about
believing in yourself. It's
about getting the rindy whole-
some flesh out of life. Yeah,
yeah, baby. We want fires and
fires & fires & fires
& fires (by the wayside)
the way the words used to just
slide out, you know, slide
out--like a movie of a kid
(a real crank-yanker) not
this time observing--spouting
some gibberish about Ohm's
law and intercontinental bliss
or a visitor's cash bonus card.
Excalibur.

Jesus ate pasta

and lots of it. But even he wouldn't eat brown rice.
Healthy?
Yes. But also awful. Like papaya, and arugula.
Arugula is spanish for bad spinach

Vegetables are alive, if barely.
Arbor Day is the only good day of the year.
Stay true to your roots
and you'll grow a plant

A tree if you're lucky
a shrub or tomato if you have no idea what you're doing
my garden grows gray
your garden grows great

Your garden grows wheat - neat.
My garden grows hay.

i'M gHOsTInG

Not boasting
the first person to write in first person
since Jesus
bible belt
holding up his carpenter jeans
too big for his britches, even as a baby.

The only Jew to celebrate christmas
first and last
a testament to posterity
and by all accounts
Jesus had good posture
Jesus ate pasta.

Moving

blows. And I'm not just saying that.
Also not saying I'd rather be inert.
It's just that any major change really freaks me out.

It's dusty in the apartment - bits of parchment
Developing story: I just found some actual photographs
and hey, my super nintendo is officially ancient

so is original xbox, so I will be soon.
unless the wires on the controllers get twisted up somehow
and I stop aging

Alas, I digress about regress at the expense of progress.
Progress which I am scared of in a more subtle way
Feeling pretty subtle these days.

Back at prom

but less coked up
dreamweaver.
Slow dancing is easy.

mugs of beer
frothsville
got her phone number

What is a barista?
Are you one?
What is a barrister

what are you running for?
who are you running from?
whither are you running towards?

You're running out of tine.
This turned into quite a long yarn
we're running out of twine

At the end of our rope
still hanging by a thread.
strung along, sungalong

billabong singalong
chinese ping pong
my phone go *ring rong, ring rong*
you hear? It ring wrong.

Basket Poem

1. A force is felt

I made a basket for you.
I make it well; I weave the reeds soundly
without a sound, in the kitchen,
I cake for you a bake
a baked plot of hard clay (land, land)
this land, our non-intuitive landing pad
a green glassland of neighbor's and shores
nearly too sweet to fuck
to pluck out of, to be afraid
of. In this bone, and out of it,
license is greatness. Truth
is its own revenge. Salida,
a town in Colorado (adventure
incorporated, come the youth
proud) or Spanish for EXIT. Recalling
THIS IS NOT one, you know, not a place
for leaving. In other words, perversely,
or its opposite--naturally--a path
without a purpose. Fucked willingly
and without passion, white knuckles,
fear still tingeing the air with breath
and yet in the moment, a little death,
a little birth, an awakening, a dying,
a heartbeat jumping out of one's chest,
one's breadbasket, a sampling of only
the finest loaf. "Here, darling," we'd
like to say. "I've prepared a stove
for you." Somewhere to relax, something
to look toward--a process happening. Progress
with a capital P for pecuniary--something
that can be consumed. If you don't know now you never
will, but then again, life is asunder.
Torn thus, belittled, become April, become May,
become December, that's how a year ends. In
sloughs and buckets and jumps and contusions
maybe made accidentally with out speeches.
I slapped a girl early Saturday on the cheek,
softly. She was still surprised. A southerner,
exotic-like, a girl from the mud of the deep
south. Louisiana. Where my heart wanders when
it isn't always somewhere else. Never been there,
never will be, perhaps. I don't want to count idioms
before they hatch. Count on them recurring. Count on
me demurring--and in so doing, even with rebellion,
maybe I'm no better. A force is still a force if its
resisted and the action is maybe the same internally.
Felt. A force is felt regardless.

2. Out of all this comes

Out of all this comes the preparation
in so doing it, putting down words,
one word less always better--camps in the mind
perhaps throttling themselves & saying: well then, here's
another land mine to toss on your camera, here's
another wave about to crash at sea; here's a third
opinion on that matter we had discussed. You know,
Sally, I've been dreaming about you for some time now
and I'd like to know how you afford your retainer,
you know, the retainer ad hominem cum harbinger of
doom, this dirty little expression meaning / [a slash
mark, English's most violent banal punctuation.] Are
you listening? I'm the mark of a spark at midnight in the dark
of West Hollywood glistening like "Ohhhhhhhhhh..." cannabis
just coming a-blaze, a computer humming on, no nautical
parks this year, just another President to preside over
our ground master plan thus deranged thus ordinary thus
hope swollen thus swelled thus become derogatory and deregulated
like all good things, all greedy things: markets, bedrooms,
sex parties, and the like. They're all the same in the end,
green spun out lasses with axes to grind swinging at one
another, potions a-blur in the nightlight booming faults
like faulty magic imaginary geraniums and night-glow
corning cloning about borrowed holes from burrowing animals
and Hannibal just pooped again in the bathroom, I got my
goop to prove it, got this groove to arrange it and smooth it
and five forked words later I'll tell you how to spell the word
F-U-C-K and you won't like it.
As it has been arranged.

A lost child, Absurdists

Absurdists is a lost child. A boss
of hosts inglorious. Absurdists is a
treasure chest; don't look too close
at her vest--bulletproof; besides, (&
to the point) her mescaline buds are
sprouting.

Further the argument
is not what
we here do. Father.
Farther.

I do not want to replace
but I only a place to replace
ordinary reflections with real boys,
with real ones, real iron words
that strike at the heart of enemies,
make them cowards, then maybe,
make them friends.

Love transcends. How can we otherwise
explain? Anything?

Much of it I agree is bad, a waste of time.
Some of it is good. But isn't that just life?
Powders 22A-33C on faces of people we don't know
are forgotten, right? But the 9,875th girl you meet--
maybe she's the right one. The numbers game
is absurd--it means the best shall appear but when
it is given time. There cannot be too much censorship
or maybe any
if the best is to bloom. The numbers game. Maybe one in five
is worthwhile. Maybe 1/10. Maybe 1/20. Still worth it. The
real crime is the not sharing of it, if it is to be shared. If it is
worthwhile. What is this? Are we in a hole debating the nature
of the soil granules? Maybe. I just want to share
weird thoughts. I have given no effort to make Absurdists
a thing that fits in, that has traction. Is that its beauty?
Is that its angst? Its fetid irrelevant glory? Its fetid
irrelevant waste? Worthless?
Growth.

Recap: Caper

Just read through all Absurdists posts
since inception, more than 3 years ago.
Jones is noticeably missing, recently.

My reaction: There is an inordinate amount of good, some brilliance that transcends.
There are also many misfires, mostly on my part.
Absurdists, Inc. is a holography.

I laughed out loud several times, some more hearty than others (duh).
I didn't cry, that would be fucking weird.
I did try to psychoanalyze some of the recorded poetry, more so than the inane prose.
But quickly lost interest/realized that we are not all that deep.

Usually. There are meaningful posts on this blog. And I don't want to take away from that.

But most are frivolous, humorous. The best are both.
( e.g.: "The Holocaust is that holiday, right? 8 crazy nights?" Response: "Um, you might not want to repeat that.")

Not to say that the Holocaust is frivolous. I automatically hate all Germans solely because of it. But today I say Auf Wiedersehn to xenophobia. Not really.

That entirely imagined exchange above (in parentheses) and following clarification send no real message. They provide us with no moral. In this case, there isn't even any wordplay. "Pathetic," an outsider might say regarding the posts I've made over the years on this blog, "Shitty way to spend your time, despite the clever wordplay" Well, if you don't like it don't read it. Probably nobody else does. I have no interest in scratching anyone's back but my own, seriously. Even that is not something I like to do. Maybe Absurdists is just one of those hard-to-reach places and we haven't even scratched the surface. But I'd like to think this sort of shallow, crass memorandum on the state of affairs is representative of what the blog stands for: mescaline.

The jig is up

tell your boys
Emblazoned francophone
Christmas light
eve/day

"I'm not crazy!"
said the crazy man.

I would do terrible things for a Klondike Bar

I think I might be daft
too much looking through the looking glass
stained windows
churchy

Sorry, Charlie, the chocolate factory belongs to me now.
You can tell Wonka to suck an egg.

I received a message last night

it read "Just smkoed (sic) a blunt with Andy Dick"
"Awesome/Gross." I replied. "Lurid."

"I heard he caught typhosis
drinking water out of a disco ball
somewhere in the Ganges.
Is that a mountain or a desert?
Research indicates that it is a river.
Heavily polluted, hence the typhosis."

Somehow I never know if a disease is real until I get it.
I always make the same mistake twice.
(A firm believer in "if you find a good mistake, stick with it;
get sick with it.")

Molly's exegesis

misery enshrouds the loom like dawn
everything awake from buds
ground from under above arise (grubs!)
feudal as an enterprise; righteous as church;
i want you catechized, baptismal
taken at the fount of this boy's awakening
christening, gold & precious metals
claims on timber, or Molly's
exegesis in the attic with string theory
and wet fetid fingers, lurid.

KING COAL; I've found them

KING COAL
is as gluttonous as GOD
RIVETING swiffering sniffeling swivelling
gunslinging or so we heard it--bird by birds
swelling over the horizon SNOW
Zap or NOW, this behemoth is upon is
NOW, NOW like orange flowers like paintbrush
Indian amazing  blue spilling out of
sunflower factory hello, (the blue sunflower
spectacular, blue sunflower smokestack, blue
billows of unwashed favors, her sunflower miasma)
headlight the glade of the thrush; the blade's
bush (she says flushing): hunt no more, sly
fox, she seems to pray, in a gay drawl:
like pay yer parking meters, deter
others, grasp electric iron wine fences
& snicker, Snickers, electric dayglo
hense past over slept Cooper (::Union::)
umbilical cowboy Snookie crabs
on the shore pants left away washed
herenow, here-they-are, I've found them.

Terrible Arable

"the land/time continuum just ruptured again,"
said the wax man, seemingly unpurturbed.
"I think it's time we defibrillated the globometer."

"Ahrr, cobblestone flock garble. Garlic," replied his half-sister, Sahra.
After her accident with the gobstopper machine, Sahra had become a veritable Frankenstein.
"Sluck, sluckotash. Fifffty burgle-urgle," she continued.

Waximus Waxman the Third ("wax man") was at wit's end.
He decided that if anyone was going to therapose the fluid for the globometer it was he. The main obstacle was going to be distracting Sahra while the omnipresent, omniotic fluid was outside of its container.

The two began a rousing game of Xenotag, as Arthur Frapparelli watched intently from the balcister.

To be c◌̂ntinued...

Or ripe later

I see my religion
in damp spots on the pavement.
Hear my lamplight -- SHWIGGG
out every lightpost.

I believe in my fever
scalding hotter into the night
and never allowing
something small and lovely
to enter the picture.

Pain
is the new color of light
fresh at dawn, or ripe later.

Not my kin

There are things 

you haven't said. []

There are words

we haven't used. []

Every 

day, the cinema's portholes expand,

a sea selling more widely -- a 

ship elongating imaginably.

Sure, 

If I wanted your pussy, I could say

that's it, right there, oh yeah, 

baby. 

Maybe 

it's time to admit that I've never been

more than a little bit impressed, 

meaning -- hey now, please don't 

believe me further than advisable --

it all comes down to a working man's 

pay. I have no interest 

in luxuries like you; 

they aren't 

my kin. 

Alive together

There are things that move
with certainty of darkness
under cover, under grime &
betrodden in bowels of cold
war water, grieved out pines
& the demarcation of what is
right & what couldn't be acc-
urately seen to be felt.
Yes, I have thought about the
rest of the world before and
I know that I will never be
a king. That's okay--I'm al-
ready a Main, all I ever need
is right here in my veins, &
we are here, alive together.

The Dirty Park / The First Boy

In the dirt park the boys would be at war with one another. In the mornings they'd awake and make each other lunch; usually tadpoles followed whatever could be dug out of the mud; perhaps cuttlefish.

Late-morning found them at the cinema, where they'd tug each other's heart strings and ask toward each other questions that were never -- and never will be -- answered.

At any rate, Raul was petrified. The evening meeting with the lizard was most unexpected; he wondered if he had done something wrong in the factory. Everything had been going so well! He had produced his alotted amount of sand this month; He was looking forward to attending the Aragon concert with his spider friends. Afterward he was to brunch at Charlie's (the castle, naturally).

When there weren't pebbles, there were unicorns; but only once in a while, as with the moon-melt, did the goblins begin their restive screeds. "Acorns aren't for eating," one would read, in the corner, angrily, but all the passers-by did not listen. They did not hear. They could not speak. There are no words for beginning. Anew.

Slits like spiders (think silk-road, Jack!)
are aghast bright-orange
& trumpets or containers of field
like the more rapaport
the morose apathetic crystal wear
sleeves of now-forgotten buzzers
and Kanamycin resistant bactoids
factoids and igneous white languid hues
Langston Hughes, revisited.

What are all these containers for?
I have already abandoned my feldspar
for something more sporting: a cleanly
knit wool garment that reminds me of
a sallow sloped out coroner, eating pasta
in his lower east side tenement.

Let's have a fuck party. I will bring the white teeth,
you the wine, her the cinema. CINEMA.

The cinema thieves

||| ---BRIGHT WHITE |||
   half-molested, cinema
thieves drabbled together like cobbled up
{mixed} where-do

HAIRS bright olfactory carpetting removed
like O-where do you fly, sprywar jackets or
day-glo limpid snooks. The black clackity
cracked bright cackles of jackals
and messed-out whitened stalefish.

The messed-out whitened stalefish
of that November eve
is what she remembered, what she remembered,
what she is a part of---------so like the snow
gloves she donned in handling her poor sparrow's
fetid remains.

Hands Off

1. Somebody Else Wrote This

"This is for my gray people, all night & day people,
burning black plants planet people, alien stars &
veggies creep-pole. I turn her hands around to face me
because I cut them off, they're still bleeding. This is
too much for me. I'm not a handyman. I'm just a
handsome man, donning chaps and Handsome Dan's
wristwatch--you know I stole it after I chopped his
brands off. Why do I write about slicing? Ouch these fluids
are sprightly, ozone can be something frightening
at lower altitudes on the nightly, not up high where
it does its job so... so brightly."

2. I Wrote This

Meander like a carver off the stone out of the way-out
far-out blissed-out kicked-out kicker N. Colorado
I mean punter for a plot to murder this here's a plot
to murder this is a crow left of the murder this is a
crowd sourced solution to murder: gain weight, turn
around and leave. Don't hurt her.
TV at home and the oak tree with
it's green leaves you look like heaven this morning &
oh how bright these sheens of white green gross loggers
brown & orange & yellow & black tints of urban net-
workers slowly slogging and jogging from here to there
to there to another place where, quiet, with hands this time,
newly grown, no--they were here all along--this was a
nightmare--just the other day--networkers loggings contacts
and contracts looking like gross daytrippers snorting
headlines like clockwork orange & so forth.

Soy Nuts

is Spanish for I Am Loco
spanish is spanglish for english
I like geometry because of the delicious angles
I like angel cake because it is delicious.

It is more fun to talk about things that I do not like
life is not all rainbows, ponies and coco-nuts.
all too often it is dog shit, scraped knees, and minor difficulties.
if one is trying to be funny, he/she should focus on the negative

if he/she is a he/she the negative will be apparent
but tranny jokes are not yet pervasive in society
so my earlier axiom is not without exception
plus most trannies like where they end up anyway

SO IT'S A MUTE POINT. Silent night.
Christian night.
Holy night, batman. Give your life to the gospel.
Go to a black church, you ain't never want to leave.
Ebonics iz much sweeter in song form

The poem I declined to read in class

What she remembers
was the garden burning
and the morning after
prying tubers from the ground.

It was not her choice;
she'd have rather left them
alone.

But the young ones were starving
and she could not deny children
newly homeless.

Apropos of nothing

Apropos of nothing
cousin to the dogfish
waiting; wanting; THIS

is a crayfish; this [a sun
set] looks like tomorrow;
people believe in dragons

around the world. What
we wanted, of course--
what we wanted.

I grow like bitter salt in wounds--the pain thus mounted is what I'm saying, adjusting, always adjusting to the something that we run up against, like soles to the pavement, huh? How do you want me to kill you? This is a question that instead of answering I want to burn, along with everything, with the rain and trees and plants and birds and prisons melting like a gold sunset until, unicorns, with wings for once, settle down on this satellite plane, dusty and stray--and the desert turns into an ocean with a meteorite thus landing, exploding, calcium carbonate turned into bitter herb dust in the wind, toxic, toxic, fires worldwide, and the dinosaurs die, and the lizards shrink, and the Jurassic ends, and what have we been give. That isn't a question but a reason as to why I have laid four forks on the table and a dull knife and a gun and a cutlass.

Plants and People

There is a hot new wag on the street. Watch him wag
his tail like frail lettuce echoing some maintained,
glassed out, flossed out, drossed out doldrom
--WHAT i am saying is that we are people, after all,
people like drugs folded in a fat man's groin fat, hiding
from cameras but not dogs, no, they can sniff us out,
unless we have that stuff some smart Jews had in
Germany that made the dogs unable to smell--know
what I mean? It's not too soon to talk about the Holocaust.
Every time it's brought up everyone says
Whoa, now, this guy is coasting too far
off the track, into the woods, danger & fair warning,
like a sent of mildewed clothing or shit. Okay,
bad things happened. People kill each other. Sometimes
whole groups are killed for reasons as simple as
"Jewish." Can we explain this as any thing other than
a terrible human trait? People have done fucked up things
to each other. I'm reading Hiroshima. If you think what's
going on in Japan now is bad, read that. Another (was
there a first?) bad comparison. My point is people
are people are people are plants. Some of them
eat insects, they are evil, they make poisons that kill
us, plants are actually better than people because I don't
think they have consciences -- the ability to know and choose
to do good or evil -- although I could be wrong. But some of
them make poisons stronger than your mother's heart
and some of them make potions more sacred that a cow's Indian(a)
fart and some make love water so sweet you drink it (nectar)
and fall in love with cowardice. Marijuana is a stamp act so
tax it, we are people after all, people falling over people
falling down the stairs and out the window. There are fine
moments everyday. Keep your eyes open. Keep your hearts
strong. Your hearths open and stoked up and lit and
don't burn anyone that ain't trying to kill you. This is possible.
And only burn thorns, unless they are the thorns that protect.
Thistle was Scotland's oldest moat. And pain isn't fearless
nor is it sometimes quiet. (It is.)

Masterplan

There isn't one.
Oh no, call me san antonio.
Who shot dallas?
Who cares.

The subject predates the predicate.
I live in the projects - educate
I sedate and medicate
My dad's on medicaid

Or is it medicare?
Who medicares.
healthy care is better
free care is not like carefree

carefree is not like car fire
cease, fire. You're burning up.
Would say you have a fever
but you're not a you, you're a flame.

Red hot chilly papers

Sentence containing the words "Odonata" and "nymphs"

"My alleyway is one for which the stars have spun, the blur limited, the gaze receding until, with a pause, for one, these limitless caches are themselves emptied, and every empty burr or facile facade put up without a trace of emotion is wrenched down, down from the tepid dead surroundings it inhabited and brought out for the living, the living stomping stepping steaming squealing squirming wriggling crawling tinkling masses, masses like insects with dead livers and absconded lovers and missed appointments and slaved out lost glad combs, arresting development like dead-head syndrome personified and a man-dew, all missing appointed incisors and devoid of certain sediments of loss and gadfly, the stewy pond bottom from which these Odonata nymphs shall finally emerge, victorious."

Dark beginning to Texas character

1.
I'm the dark
at the beginning of evening
before the light starts to dim

What you expected to lose
when you got caught
but only got deeper.

i'm the dark that gets darker
shades that get lost
revealed and revealed
like levels of a puzzle
deeper and deeper

2.
Idea: "Science artist." This bleak dumbblind fledgling carefully interviews scientific scholars day and night (he really believes our is the age of the obsessive). He then constructs meta-narratives and beautiful rendered dioramas, sculptures and "paintings" about the research. Often they are adorned with feathers. They are sometimes quite something. However, this piebald mare gets paid nothing for his labors. "Quid pro quo," he likes to say, laughing. One day this luck-star magnate will fall on his ass, get up, and keep walking. Nothing may have changed.

3.
"I was just standing there, and I hoped he wasn't going to crush my face." Marcin Gortat on taking charge against Blake Griffin's absurd dunk, for which Griffin fouled out and got a technical. Observe: http://es.pn/hxLaCQ 

4.
That really, really lame guy who I won't name who did the "ACORN" and NPR "stings" said two of his heroes are GK Chesterton and Mike Wallace.

5.
"Actually in my band we wear fake yak-hair moustaches and platform shoes with living fish in the soles. It's like, a statement."

6.
(In a thick Texas accent)
I need more spice in my life, literally and figuratively, so I moved my ass from a small town 50 mile outside Laredo to San Antonio, Texas. It was the best move I ever made in my whole life! Now I eat chile con carne for breakfast, lunch and dinner and supplement my diet with all sorts of exotic spices! Chiles, pablano peppers, and Mexican bananas.

The other mornin I was eating tortillas and drinkin coffee when this beautiful young thing walked down the alleyway toward me. She was blond as a spring sunrise and had the tits to knock you out of a tree if you were looking down. I got so excited I accidentally knocked over a can of Quaker State I had been gettin' ready to oil down my bike with. the oil oozed out as only sweet Texas crude could. I had thoughts about her privates, maybe. I looked at her and said, "Hey, you really bowl me over, honey."

A pen a man and a ship

walk in to a bar
talk to everyone - well not everyone - you see
I see everything but hear nothing
better than the alternative.

Altered natives stare
as we batter blindly
like pancakes.

Butter, butter.
Them shits need flipping
it's the yeast you could do

your body is a bakery
my bakery's a wonderland

Vagaries asunder, man.

Notepad 3/13/11 12:10 a.m.

Possible topics for a story
--Running out of minerals


"Every moment of one’s existence one is growing into more or retreating into less. One is always living a little more or dying a little bit."
— Norman Mailer


Ian Parry, a senior fellow at Resources for the Future. His calculations -- plus some data from other sources and studies -- suggest that adding all the quantifiable costs into the price of oil would increase the cost of each gallon by about $1.65


I have only earnestness in my heart, I think. But it's not completely true. Or, it's not even close to being true. That was the shittiest assignment I've turned in in some time. Really not good at all.

Strikes a Chord

How's it feel to be home? Just wondering,
I miss it.

How's it feel to be a man? Just wondering,
because I am that, also. How's it feel

to escape the walls of the prison? Just like
this, knife in hand. I've had lesser pigeons
(meaning seen them, in my eyes)
flying here or flying there. You cannot count
on the priests to save you. They could not
have; they may have tried.

You can only save yourself. Doesn't mean
you can't help. Thus the contradiction. You
can actually save others. I'm speaking in
tongues. One side: serpent. That's right,
parsel-mouths. Fax it to the west and mail
it to the East. The least of these. Arabia.
Other side: Exotic camera club. Meeting
like where?wolves on the subway. Howling
at the metallic sunset. Never heard from you again.

The Answer to the Feeling of the Question

I can't shake this little feeling
I'll never get anything right.

Take me take me back to your bed
said the Winchester, as she barked a bullet
wishing through the heather & bushes
toward your bright white throat.

I know, you're Egyptian, a slurring
swirl of emotion and paths of history
marked by strange sediments of loss:
ash, iridium, some glance of daylight

shed, but for the grace of God, goes I,
into the wind. It is hear that we've seen.

Erotic gardens concert

Did you see the Aphid Twinz perform their killer tune "Pollen" at the Erotic gardens concert? Awww, bro, you missed out if you didn't, bro. They were sick. Snazius Beehive was all, "Pollen, it's fuckin' great!" and Aphid1 was all, "We're aphids, playerzzzzz!" After the show there was some really snarky behavior. Aphid Twinz!!!!

Coptic Forests

I take back everything I've every said.
It will all be forgotten
...don't say, "anyway." Too late.

The cops said, "any day." Like he
meant it; like the coptic forests of Ethiopia
hide insects inside the hay.

Too explanatory. Coptic forests.
Leave it there.

Erowid Vaults (I have business)

I've heard there's this site called Erowid
the vaults thereof. You heard of it? Some-
times when I'm all "searching out psyche-
(e)-delics" I get all Delphic like: Inspect our
cinema? I mean camera, I mean column
this taking a picture of that? Too common.
Like blinks of light in the wan moon. Forty
iron gagged bound thieves and an iron.
Delphic columns supported majesty
and I have no business casting dispersions.

gray plus gray equals grape

negative energy
does not exist
you see

when allegro is heated
and snakeskins drops wayside
the actual serpents can atone.

hey, friend! women be shopping.
the one thing we have in common.
brute blue gray shorts and a pistol;

i get it; you're a grass snake.
i would arm myself too if
first i had no arms and second

i lingered in lawns of would
them that would have me; a serpent.
cannot imagine the perps of that

the lame rigid semi-formed ledgered
out sons-of-bitches on the mend.
this isn't childhood.

Chocolate House

My uncle lives in a chocolate house
with three cats and four gingerbread men
so at least he has someone to talk to

Clever

Kevin thought he was clever
he thought he would never
get caught

But Kevin was poisoned
drawned and then quartered
and ruthlessly dragged through the mud

His name will live on
but his body did not
his soul? Well, that's a good question

Kevin McCourty,
once pushing forty
is now pulling rickshaws in hell

Hell is for horses
but natural forces
helped make this story more morbid

well not wind, per se
other such sources
of mostly negative energy

What did you expect Grog to taste like?

Rainbow sherbet?
there is navy lint in my navel - belly up, buttercup.
Reese's peanut. Shutterbug. Scuttlebutt
is a word I hate. Mollycoddle
is a word I love.

Blowing smoke is necessarily a bad thing
Unless you're telling the truth
while you exhale. Throw up two twos
and catch them like Joe Heller
Holler! Old yeller.

Catch-22 by Kirk Vonnegut
Great Gatsby by Holden Caulfield
Lord of the Flies by Peanut Mickelson
are my favorite books.
New York Knickerbookers

correction: Kurt Vonnegut not Kirk
Ho, that is an upsetting error.
helluva misstep.
Ya I focked up, kid. Forgive me.
We can work past this.

We can work in the past tense
future making past sense
presently my gift is past cents
tuppence ostensibly, or three dollhairs.
Smaller than 5,000 dollers
but bigger than 6,000 sent e-mails;
you do the math.

facebook

Dane Uhelski

If you don't have anything to say, then don't say anything at all.

Sunday at 7:17pm ·

• Jonathan Gless likes this.
• • Dane Uhelski Jonathan Gless is a man who knows a good joke when he sees one.

    Yesterday at 12:33am ·
  • Derek Gosma you should delete this bullshit comment and stick to your own philosophy, you dotard

    23 hours ago ·
    

    Dane Uhelski I hear what you're saying and I can't say I disagree. As soon as I made that comment I regretted doing it, but decided to let it stand nevertheless. Have a little respect for the mistakes of your fellow man.

    11 hours ago ·
    
  • Tal Kitron I think this is a useful status. The comment thread that follows is also illuminating. The reverse is also true: it's important that when things need to be said, they get said. Merely typing words for the hell of it helps no one. Most often we should not say anything at all, instead of making overly verbose statements that have no ultimate purpose. Sure, colorful adjectives and flamboyant phrases are fun, but are they necessary? My answer is a flourishing "No."

    
    

LET LOVERS LOVE

and let livers live
when Moses came to Egypt land
let my liver go
Who's drunk here? Me, or my beer?

Boy

As a boy I wasn't like this. I didn't drink myself to death on a nightly basis. Don't like to party, my friend said, but my friends force me to. I feel this way sometimes too.

If you're gonna die, then get dead, is how I feel. So I go there, near the water, sometimes. To look at the black surface and its slight steam.

Ain't gonna do it. Ain't gonna die. Gotta be living. Gotta get live.

I'm on THE way to a premise

I promise.
And yeah, I'll bring drugs.
It's non-fiction, which usually means boring.
But really is the most interesting of all.
Fairy tales are for people with morals
True life for those with qualms
balmy like hearts of palm
olive-green eyes
and a heart of gold.
Yeah I said heart twice, brainiac.
I'm all heart, motherfucker.
Sorry for the french
but English isn't the only language I know
Fluck a duck and shuck an ear ya cornball fuck

Michigan (Taking Drugs To)

I'm taking drugs
to Michigan! Taking the barge
to the South! Gulf of Mex or Dex!
Already on that! Go! Go! Go!

Drug barge, yes sir, right here,
I'm in charge. In charge big & large
of the borough's barge? Yes sir,
drug barge.

I'm taking deer
to Michigan! On my bike! I killed
it! I'm drunk! I bike bike bike!
Pedal pedal pedal! Pedal till I break!
I look at the lake and I know it's not fake!
Fake shore drive. More like
Lake shore knives. Hot ass bitches
with they Fake Shore Lives!
Slice & dice!

For all the spoiled-ass girls with nice asses

I swallow NoDoz and Saran-Wrapped camel toes
all-night-Sahara Sandwiches, Adderall and Adidos
Shit, I mean Umbros, talking to girls like "Um... bros,
I mean, ladies," looked at me like Mercedes rabies
something pricey become dicey become like seed
for the Lycee -- I mean Lee-Say -- ...HEALTHY

burroughs documentary

there is some promise in here somewhere
of things to come; but why promise when
the things are already here; they are necessarily
words themselves. i shoot myself in the foot
not the foot but the part that walks; not the hoof
exactly but the genotype of the hoof; it can't
be made right anymore. william burroughs
said so after all he shot his wife william-tell-
style. why do i mention this? because it happened.
fate compels the black water to indeed
rise to the surface once in a while; to re-
collect itself as in a dream &      how
do we know we're not dead anyway? i know,
i invented the billboard for your entertainment.
look into my gravelly eyes for the thrill
of it. i have already done this; once; but not
just for any man; for a dead one i didn't
know. he's gone and there's no bringing him back.

Balm Covers, Ends Abruptly

Balm like Malbecs covers your chest.
I put it there -- whoa -- I put it there.
Awake in the West as nubile. Young fiction;
it writes itself. Like glory is to automobiles
pride is writing about Detroit. (In

so many words.) Another

city already you don't know. Move there.
I won't. Why the impulse? Grave rotting
notions of the American psyche. It's the
sidewalk but also the trash heap; I have
said this before. Are you a narcissist?

I dunno, please re-phrase. I heard the last
bit about the key phrase: IMAGINE OUR
APOCALYPSE, something only said by
Ben Affleck fans and poltergeists. 2nd
part's a lie: they don't speak well.

Harken to my ink well. Don't say a prayer:
recite a prayer/spell. Or tell your boyfriend: Out
of state doesn't count -- that's your toy friend.

I've created a man

Sign Language: A moral tale

This will come as a huge surprise to people who know me well, but last night on my way home from the bar I created some shenanigans. Somehow a sign had been knocked over and was laying there on the street. It said something about "Bike Lane Merging ahead." I encountered this fallen soldier less than a block from my apartment. So, naturally, I dragged the (quite large) sign back to my place and left it on the first floor entryway just past the double-doors. I actually remember thinking that it was an okay thing to do because it's something an ant would do. You know, I'm just gathering stuff and taking it back to my hole, Mr. Officer. Like an ant. Don't worry about it.

So this morning after awaking I was seized with mild terror. Holy shit, I thought, did I really drag a comically large Bike Lane sign back to my apartment in the middle of the night? Yes, I did. This was bad. The wailings of the ever-present Fire Station across from my place (The Chinatown DRAGON FIGHTERS) were newly alarming. Were the authorities on their way to get me? (All sirens sound the same to guilty men.)

It is quite edifying to do something mildly wrong and suffer the mental / moral consequences. The machinery of rationalization was already in progress. Well, it's not that big of a deal, the sign was already knocked over, my removal of it probably won't kill anybody... Should I admit or deny my actions if directly asked? Who could prove it was me? Is there any camera evidence? This is NYC, you never know. Camera central. When would the sign's absence be noticed? What will be done?  

So I had to intervene in my own thoughts, saying: THIS ISN'T HYPOTHETICAL. THIS IS REAL. MAKE IT RIGHT.


So, I walked downstairs. The sign was already gone; the landlord / invisible-but-surely-real-lady-who-does-a-good-job-of-taking-out-the-trash-and-recycling had already moved it to the trash pile outside (aka the sidewalk). I already felt better. The action seemed to speak of this feeling by whoever removed it: "Why is there a sign in the hallway? Oh well, I'm going to put it outside on the trash pile." [No further ruminating or wondering or moralizing required. It's New York, honey. Once again I'm making up stuff without any merit or defense. The impulse was probably even simpler: "REMOVE ITEM."] But this wasn't enough; I had to take the sign back to where I got it. I dumbly stood there for about 5 minutes, "scoping out the scene," and readying myself mentally. Got a text from Joe: "Have you ever eaten 'tacos'?" Responded, "What r tacos?"  Finally, I picked up the sign and heavy metal pole to which it is attached. I started walking. I could have scarcely been less inconspicuous. There were some sidelong glances and people actually took small notice of me (unlike usually). But nobody said anything. I crossed the street and set it down. No police. All was right with the world... I returned it to where I had found it. The end.


PRESSING QUESTIONS:
Who does sign censuses? Who will notice it's knocked over? If I didn't move it back, would it be thrown away? Where do the police factor into all of this?


EPILOGUE:
I celebrated by walking around and discovering a new cheap restaurant on Essex and Delancey.

Band Names, Part 2

The Wonder Beards
Fort Sumter Boys
Clothes
Men of the Cloth (First gay christian rock group)
Frosty and the Snowmen
Fad and the Black Crow
Muslim Brotherhood
Goat & Friends
The Supremacists
T.I.G.E.R
Lil Swag
Pyramid Scheme
Waffles and Sex
Rennie Clemons and the Fritters

This is in no way true

either. The absurd neither helps me nor detracts nor does it not help for writing skills that are good. real good. for a period i was using commas, but recently i've had a case of low capitalization. But Those Things COME and go you know. I'm liable to flow, float a syllable boat. Drummer beat hit that cymbal note. Oh like a nimble stoat, weaselly frees the mongoose from his own trappings. Drummer boy taps, summer toys like hats, summer toys like clothes. I wear those the most. Shopping is my least favorite. Even (especially) shoes. The only thing I don't get anxious about shopping for is a sandwich. Unless it's a po' boy. Then I'm still anxious. Rolling up the window in my mind so the black people can't hear the hip-hop blaring in my mind-car. Leave the sandwich shop, can't find my car. I tell my friend Fad that someone jacked my car. He's like no way dude, what did they take? I say, my car. Fad immediately grasps the gravity of the situation. He has questions, I'm patient. No I didn't have insurance. Yes, I was pretty sure I'd get some sort of compensation (taxes, or something. government). When you use parentheses it's hard to know whether you want to flow with the parenthetical or the words immediately preceding. Sometimes that predicament can derail a post entirely.

The Beard Years

The Beard Years were full of fear.

Boners had it on good authority (their own) that their erection would carry the day; they could have scarcely been more wrong.

On the polo yards were waiters who handed one another fat pelts of gravy boats -- the gay kind that kept moving. They were just so jolly. I mean animatronic gravy boats with real feelings and intention, meaning & attachment. There were whole plots about their love lives, how they felt to be living gravy boats, how they felt about Sebastian and his Vulcan death grip on status of "most loved living candelabra." It might not have been Sebastian, but I refuse to look it up.

In the movie "Wonder Boys" Katie Holmes' character said to Michael Douglas's character something like: "You told us writing was all about making choices. And it seems like you didn't make any choices [referring to his script of 2000-some pages that discussed, amongst other things, the dental history of character's horses]." It was true, of course. He was a smoked-out college professor who had to get real. The point being that writing on Abz sometimes glorifies in making no choices, or refusing to make the "ordinary" or "normal" kind of choices that typically bind "sane" writing. In some ways that's liberating -- and why, of course, throngs of millions of sexualized young co-eds read Absurdists Inc. each and every day.* But it's limiting in another way -- I fear it may not foster the development of a serious writer who, in order to produce anything even resembling something some entity would pay for, has to make almost limitless choices and be constantly conscious of the reader and the implied meaning(s). Yeah, I just put an "S" in parentheses. It almost seems like refusing to make those kind of choices is a fundamentally bad or wrong-headed thing, even as a lame hobby that doesn't amount to much -- to hone the obsessive and intelligent scent of a real writer, one has to do it all the time. (THIS IS ME SAYING ON THE OTHER HAND THAT THIS IS BULLSHIT AND I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT. I AM ERMINE.) I mean to be a really good one. Being a really good writer seems almost impossible. You have to deeply familiarize yourself with the details of everything you discuss -- several layers deeper than the depth at which you plumb the impossible. There I go again. I meant to end that sentence: "...several layers deeper than the depth at which you discuss it." This is a not-so-occasional rebellion against that kind of succinctness -- again, a word I'll initially puzzle over and spell wrong: not something I should ever be allowed to get away with.

I'm allowed to get away with anything.
I'm allowed
I allow myself.
I allow. Scrolls of half-dead meridians. Danger.

*This is in no way even remotely true.

(Not) Snowed In

Sounds more fun than they sound
Sounds for fun / Banned on these grounds:
the semi-literal caved in masses (snowed in)
sweated, smoked out vastness
a lastless vastness without mass.

Chastity. A mold as old and forgotten
as the slime of God. Gold water in the
bottom of this pumpkin. The first four words
made you think it might be nice. It's not --
It's snot(-like) gold brimming over, bursting
(what?) out every goddam pore of the
pumpkin masses, choking out demands
for God, for Gold, gold-water...
we want this drink of ours to be heaven,
this think of ours (word) propels us like
God-designed flagellum, intelligent-design
like, toward the unwholesome dome of
sky, once held water, now it doesn't,
so antediluvian it hurts my face. Things grow
even where you'd think they would not.

DFW

There are several movies being filmed inside of me at the moment.
This isn't true but it seemed funny when I said it earlier.
Also: Why you drinking that energy beverage? Dunno, just a redbull without a cause.
Tomorrow I'm filming an animal cop.
My ankle hurts.
Klonipin is nice, but it's too long lasting.
My new thing is carrying around gallons of water. Girls find it "erotic."
Are bats descended from primates? You decided
it wasn't true, but I'm not so sure.
Convergent evolution.
I really don't know anything.
Okay, I know very little.
I shouldn't have volunteered by undergrad GPA tonight at dinner. My advisor said, "Yeah, that is low." It made me feel :-(
Who cares.
Why do I say things like this? Who cares. Who cares?
Whom cares. Cared about by
Whom Cars
are for they drive. (They drive, they
are driven.)

Here there hey. Academics are godless.
Should I say Godless. I am the ghost
of David Foster Wallace. But I went to Holy
Cross, not Yankee Ridge.

You cannot start

You cannot end. Should have
over had I should have
left the skin in the dresser
look -- a giant -- Giseppo's kundalini
a word Mailer taught me -- open,
open word of dogs, open for me
mouth of mouths. This heaven
we haven't seen is all around us
it couldn't be but it is
green wonderland like Ryerson
stepping into a puddle. Was that a dream?
Slow motion (Groundhog's Day) the
clock falls -- meaning the numbers --
Chagrin's halls -- East Side Cleveland --
dresser phobia. --the numbers fall, it's
the next day, put your little hand in mine...
outside, it's 9 degrees and steady. Stop.

I came through

the uterus, let's face it -- she was an island --
an archipelago; -- to her side, the pelagic
backward I don't want to say backward
but deepdown pelagic, do you feel me?

I'm rough like dry skin in the winter
a tiny camera flows through the blood
to find a splinter. Puss forms. Eventually,
I guess, the thing moves on, or it doesn't.
Who has enamored loss? Loss of any
kind doesn't give you anything, hello,
I know where I am. --a dish of mold
or a Jello commercial --are two things
Rembrant wouldn't have painted. Redact.

I came through
the uterus, let's face it -- how i started --
how'd you get here? --a research told me
(not at a luncheon, but with some pretext
of a delicious meal in the near future, let's
face it) how do we get here? is a question
nobody can answer. but, human, for once,
not even for once, that wasn't in question,
with a calmness nobody would notify, would
bring attention to, (was held off, paid attention to,
was held off, paid attention to) these are how
mental disorders begin. He said, whoa... So
whaddaya gonna do about it? That's what
I'd like to know.

Human for once, with feelings,
blunt trauma curtains, floats with hip hop artists
atop them, the Italians booing,

I promised

Ooh, I'm floating, goes every beginning,
you've got to wash your face, Amanda said
she couldn't get to sleep without it. Well, evidently,
you know, you know, this would be better in conversation:
evidently I can.

Baby sleep with me, is a suggestion. I don't even mean
it sexually, not necessarily, not fundamentally. Necessarily
sexually is a proverb, that's how you think of us, isn't it,
it's not your fault; I hate ellipses.

You know, my mind is a falcon, a harpie eagle, just
discovered for the first time in Belize. Belize me,
I'm not lying. I wouldn't make up  things about
endangered species. Point being -- sharp, here,
for once a rainbow that's just a rainbow, of
course it's not complete, it's just raining, prisms,
-- maybe consider it. Think of how much

we could learn about each other. I'll breathe,
like a man, decoding prison sentences with
each breath. Later we'll wonder about capital
punishment and how this fits in. Later still I'll
make you promise not get angry when your tears
excite me. I'll promise not to make a pun
about how each sentence is a sentence
enmeshed in words, forever hidden
inside this gray box or cyclid, we'll never know.

Baby language is inside us, then it comes out,
thoughts is white and pale, Shakespeare told us
maybe not to force things. Thought is pale, cold,
foreboding -- he of all people knew the incalculable
distance between "I could" and "I did" or even

  this is a sword
  this is a word. (not wordplay)

the difference between "to being," which isn't
infinitive, and "to walk." One's a goal, honey,
that other's magic. Don't make similes often but
it's like the scrape of a wing on a petal, and I
have to admit:      I
have to admit nothing. Blank space.