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,