i tell everyone i’m a
writer
because
i’ve had sex
and
i tell everyone i’m a
porn star.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Mod Lit; or my tickle-me-pink aesthetics
[a rehash]
Weird is no
longer all that
weird.
Dada and kinfolk,
well beyond their golden anniversaries,
a 100 years later,
are no longer experimental
but post-experimental.
Even with its freshest incarnations,
it is still old.
There is a literature that lures man away from himself,
and there is a literature that forces man to face himself,
cope,
repent from,
replenish himself.
The one seeks to make the author
invisible thru plot or gimmicks with words,
while the other seeks to expose the author
and hence the common fallacies of his human bothers
either to air out wounds or
just let the gangrene set in,
to either heal or rot away, hopefully.
In my opinion,
art is no longer needed to
merely distract the species from its autistic
window-gazing during our time of obvious crisis.
Art, whether she realizes
it or not, like science, alleviates
and eases this bitch called life,
and both must respond to the needs of the people if they are to be relevant.
As much as I like
Gertrude Stein and
dismiss Ayn Rand,
people even then--even now
and far into the future--will prefer
to read Aynie over Gerty.
the status quo is to buck the status quo.
be a bride of your age, says Bertie, and be a widow in the next.
Weird is no
longer all that
weird.
Dada and kinfolk,
well beyond their golden anniversaries,
a 100 years later,
are no longer experimental
but post-experimental.
Even with its freshest incarnations,
it is still old.
There is a literature that lures man away from himself,
and there is a literature that forces man to face himself,
cope,
repent from,
replenish himself.
The one seeks to make the author
invisible thru plot or gimmicks with words,
while the other seeks to expose the author
and hence the common fallacies of his human bothers
either to air out wounds or
just let the gangrene set in,
to either heal or rot away, hopefully.
In my opinion,
art is no longer needed to
merely distract the species from its autistic
window-gazing during our time of obvious crisis.
Art, whether she realizes
it or not, like science, alleviates
and eases this bitch called life,
and both must respond to the needs of the people if they are to be relevant.
As much as I like
Gertrude Stein and
dismiss Ayn Rand,
people even then--even now
and far into the future--will prefer
to read Aynie over Gerty.
the status quo is to buck the status quo.
be a bride of your age, says Bertie, and be a widow in the next.
Pastoral Hymn; or GYNO (II)
well your baby is average
about seven inches long
says Dr. Fourfinger
and look
look
there is his penis
he’s a boy
a boy!
and i say
so you say he’s average right
i mean, you know what i mean
average right
and then the doc looks at my wife
spread out on the gurney
and says
you can dress him up
but you can’t take him out
can you
about seven inches long
says Dr. Fourfinger
and look
look
there is his penis
he’s a boy
a boy!
and i say
so you say he’s average right
i mean, you know what i mean
average right
and then the doc looks at my wife
spread out on the gurney
and says
you can dress him up
but you can’t take him out
can you
An anonymous page from my notebook
unpaid work
a cove => ?
all either past or future whores
the banks of piled up beer cans (snowbank)
while the going was good
tipster
oh atheist, you serve disdain like a montheist
antonomasia : ‘his lordship’; those ‘Don Juan’s’
poetic perjury
boardinghouse
escutcheon : the shield in a coat of arms
ornamental protective plate around/keyhole, lightswitch, drawer pull,
doorhandle etc.
to blot one’s escutcheon : taint one’s reputation
Do you remember, the drops of water made her blackraincoat
shiny and we ended up taking refuge in some outlying bistro and
coming back on the trolley, slow and noisy.
a paint & spackle job
arrondissement => administrative district in Fr. cities
my buzzing ears
it stuck in my throat
infrapsychically)
chiromancy
some of the more noteworthy of his noteworthy friends
pince-nez => ?
up with the times
a cove => ?
all either past or future whores
the banks of piled up beer cans (snowbank)
while the going was good
tipster
oh atheist, you serve disdain like a montheist
antonomasia : ‘his lordship’; those ‘Don Juan’s’
poetic perjury
boardinghouse
escutcheon : the shield in a coat of arms
ornamental protective plate around/keyhole, lightswitch, drawer pull,
doorhandle etc.
to blot one’s escutcheon : taint one’s reputation
Do you remember, the drops of water made her blackraincoat
shiny and we ended up taking refuge in some outlying bistro and
coming back on the trolley, slow and noisy.
a paint & spackle job
arrondissement => administrative district in Fr. cities
my buzzing ears
it stuck in my throat
infrapsychically)
chiromancy
some of the more noteworthy of his noteworthy friends
pince-nez => ?
up with the times
the legend of the Drunken poem
it’s going to be 4.50 sir
4 free beers deep
and longing
not longing
needing, booze runs thick
breasts heave out the
bar/bra the german struts
macaroni clings, whores are getting laid
a real writer walks into a bar
and pays for every other drink.
he makes laughs
4 free beers deep
and longing
not longing
needing, booze runs thick
breasts heave out the
bar/bra the german struts
macaroni clings, whores are getting laid
a real writer walks into a bar
and pays for every other drink.
he makes laughs
Denial
That day
my brother
Said she
was gonna
die
but didn’t
I was in denial
as he cried
Mom never died
and
I never got
over denial
my brother
Said she
was gonna
die
but didn’t
I was in denial
as he cried
Mom never died
and
I never got
over denial
sliced open
the bar wench sliced her
pinky on a shattered life
while talking
blood flowed and flowed
‘I can’t afford this, I move in two days’
and this, ladies and ladies, is another
opportunity for Link to shine.
i told her i’d stitch her up
‘I swear I don’t have AIDS.’ up and down, flowing and flowing
they all say that, but Link, if he can, must.
she gives me $2 to go to the store and buy superglue
I sooth a thin layer over my hands for a seal
just in case
she holds the bleeding cut open as i dab it in,
as bloody glue trickles into both our hands.
now we are glued together
we rip apart and i grab for my beer
now i’m glued to the glass
she’s still bleeding
and
i’m just another genius at the bar
pinky on a shattered life
while talking
blood flowed and flowed
‘I can’t afford this, I move in two days’
and this, ladies and ladies, is another
opportunity for Link to shine.
i told her i’d stitch her up
‘I swear I don’t have AIDS.’ up and down, flowing and flowing
they all say that, but Link, if he can, must.
she gives me $2 to go to the store and buy superglue
I sooth a thin layer over my hands for a seal
just in case
she holds the bleeding cut open as i dab it in,
as bloody glue trickles into both our hands.
now we are glued together
we rip apart and i grab for my beer
now i’m glued to the glass
she’s still bleeding
and
i’m just another genius at the bar
Diaper Rash
you sleep a third of your life
but work the entire time
like an inmate, waiting all day
for recess, outside time
the few hours you call life
the few moments you have to look out the window
you are too tired for
you bleed out of your ass
from squat thrusting tons of carcass
at the butcher shop
blood is everywhere, mingling
she cries because she sleeps one third of the day
and lives alone all day at home
i cry because being a bad writer is all i have
and now i lost even that
i work all day
and she can’t be alone
i work all day
and i can’t be alone.
i’ll spend more time
with co-workers
than raising my child
tomorrow, i say, i will be off.
we’ll make love
my muscles will stop burning
and tomorrow I’ll write and fuck like there’s no tomorrow
but work the entire time
like an inmate, waiting all day
for recess, outside time
the few hours you call life
the few moments you have to look out the window
you are too tired for
you bleed out of your ass
from squat thrusting tons of carcass
at the butcher shop
blood is everywhere, mingling
she cries because she sleeps one third of the day
and lives alone all day at home
i cry because being a bad writer is all i have
and now i lost even that
i work all day
and she can’t be alone
i work all day
and i can’t be alone.
i’ll spend more time
with co-workers
than raising my child
tomorrow, i say, i will be off.
we’ll make love
my muscles will stop burning
and tomorrow I’ll write and fuck like there’s no tomorrow
I was smoking a cigarette out back when
I was smoking a cigarette out back when
the howl of the fire truck
bled into the scream of the
coyotes
in the field
the fires burnt the night dead
and to think
everything was going as planned
the howl of the fire truck
bled into the scream of the
coyotes
in the field
the fires burnt the night dead
and to think
everything was going as planned
Magnetogravitation
she’s all
tits and tattoos
stretching and shrinking
with time
but even
the stretch marks
of earth
is damn fine
the uterus of
superfluous
divine fire
pregnant on hard
iron
she’ll find her
Sancho on her
way to walgreens
while the
core spins
more than the
skin
making days of us
telling lives
before the
cigarette burns
slowly shedding
her
whore exterior
tits and tattoos
stretching and shrinking
with time
but even
the stretch marks
of earth
is damn fine
the uterus of
superfluous
divine fire
pregnant on hard
iron
she’ll find her
Sancho on her
way to walgreens
while the
core spins
more than the
skin
making days of us
telling lives
before the
cigarette burns
slowly shedding
her
whore exterior
Chubby Girl
my father left because i’m fat
all of my men
all my friends
because i’m fat.
i was raped because i was thin
the other day, on the street, b/c i’m fat
two guys walking by, one said,
look at that fat bitch
so i don’t go out
i shop at night
i live on the outskirts
people tell me to wear sleeves
they stare
i keep friends for years before they leave me
my mother died then my father raped me. he left because
I am fat. they all left.
people stare and say things for my own good, right ?, even if
they are nasty
my fat protects me from the creep, the ass, the broken heart
it keeps me warm.
it is why every bad thing happens.
It keeps me safe.
all of my men
all my friends
because i’m fat.
i was raped because i was thin
the other day, on the street, b/c i’m fat
two guys walking by, one said,
look at that fat bitch
so i don’t go out
i shop at night
i live on the outskirts
people tell me to wear sleeves
they stare
i keep friends for years before they leave me
my mother died then my father raped me. he left because
I am fat. they all left.
people stare and say things for my own good, right ?, even if
they are nasty
my fat protects me from the creep, the ass, the broken heart
it keeps me warm.
it is why every bad thing happens.
It keeps me safe.
Link Hates Ink
Link Hates Ink
my wife is
printing
what all
she wants
for the
baby
from
the
web
we run out of ink
and then realized we couldn’t afford to buy more
comment- this is all good and well, link, but we all know that the means of wealth are an arranged marriage between frugality and exploitation. When I say frugal, I mean you must either deny yourself or else be satisfied with yourself, because materialism is the soil true wealth grows in, and a tree cannot be its soil. You know that, I hope. When I say exploitation, of course, I mean you must exploit either the suckers, or the land which the sucker call their own. Your friend, Ryan
my wife is
printing
what all
she wants
for the
baby
from
the
web
we run out of ink
and then realized we couldn’t afford to buy more
comment- this is all good and well, link, but we all know that the means of wealth are an arranged marriage between frugality and exploitation. When I say frugal, I mean you must either deny yourself or else be satisfied with yourself, because materialism is the soil true wealth grows in, and a tree cannot be its soil. You know that, I hope. When I say exploitation, of course, I mean you must exploit either the suckers, or the land which the sucker call their own. Your friend, Ryan
Sunday, April 27, 2008
religious people
“The interpretation of religion, as here advanced, implies a dependence of science on the religious attitude, a relation which, in our predominately materialistic age, is only too easily overlooked. While it is true that scientific results are entirely independent from religious or moral considerations, those individuals to whom we owe the great creative achievements of science were all of them imbued with the truly religious conviction that this universe of ours is something perfect and susceptible to the rational striving for knowledge. If this conviction had not been a strongly emotional one and if those searching for knowledge had not been inspired by Spinoza’s Amor Dei Intellectualis [the intellectual love for god], they would hardly have been capable of that untiring devotion which alone enables man to attain his greatest achievements…Only one who has devoted his life to similar ends can have a vivid realization of what has inspired these men and given them strength to remain true to their purpose in spit of countless failures. It is cosmic religious feeling that gives man such strength. A contemporary has said, not unjustly, that in this materialistic age of ours the serious workers are the only profoundly religious people”
Einstein
“Many will say to me on that day, Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles. Then I will them PLAINLY, I never KNEW you, away from me..”
Jesus
the most religious people I know
hate god
and
especially godly men
what are you thinking about
nothing, they say, thinking all the time
about Nature
and human Nature
and maybe about how they hate god
but they’re thinking
like the church man is prayin
except
they pray with their eyes open
and their mouth’s shut
staring at walls and tree bark
and spun bicycle tires
thinking about bugs or stars or words or numbers
all live long day
not sure of what they know
the religion of a child
is rebellion and brave
youth’s withdrawal from itself
and
the religion of man
is conformity and cowardice
man embracing man
religion of a child
is the beginning of thought
and
the religion of man
is the end of it
the religion of a child
will bring the stars to man
and
the religion of man
will dismiss them,
the religion of a child
will shake the world
and
the religion of man
will make more it firm
the knowers say
god can do everything
except change
and they go on thinking the
same things
sayin the same damn things
not changing
not loving god enough
to hate ‘em
The most religious people
I know
hate god like
an ex
they love more
than life herself
like saying
fuck you god
like god did
on the cross
Einstein
“Many will say to me on that day, Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles. Then I will them PLAINLY, I never KNEW you, away from me..”
Jesus
the most religious people I know
hate god
and
especially godly men
what are you thinking about
nothing, they say, thinking all the time
about Nature
and human Nature
and maybe about how they hate god
but they’re thinking
like the church man is prayin
except
they pray with their eyes open
and their mouth’s shut
staring at walls and tree bark
and spun bicycle tires
thinking about bugs or stars or words or numbers
all live long day
not sure of what they know
the religion of a child
is rebellion and brave
youth’s withdrawal from itself
and
the religion of man
is conformity and cowardice
man embracing man
religion of a child
is the beginning of thought
and
the religion of man
is the end of it
the religion of a child
will bring the stars to man
and
the religion of man
will dismiss them,
the religion of a child
will shake the world
and
the religion of man
will make more it firm
the knowers say
god can do everything
except change
and they go on thinking the
same things
sayin the same damn things
not changing
not loving god enough
to hate ‘em
The most religious people
I know
hate god like
an ex
they love more
than life herself
like saying
fuck you god
like god did
on the cross
the finest mind
at its finest, genius
is pissed away.
it leaks thru the ears
like diarrhea of the brain.
dribbled on carpet black on muck.
forgotten because it did no harm.
is pissed away.
it leaks thru the ears
like diarrhea of the brain.
dribbled on carpet black on muck.
forgotten because it did no harm.
Meta Turd
is masturbation afraid of lonely or alone?
in those clouds, I worry over
the self that others see,
the self that I see,
and the self that is seen by the self that I see.
Not really, but that is about as philosophical as it gets
in those clouds, I worry over
the self that others see,
the self that I see,
and the self that is seen by the self that I see.
Not really, but that is about as philosophical as it gets
Link the racist
The other day at the bookstore I was
startled by a black guy
he came around the bend
out of the quiet
and I jumped
I used to say,
I’m shy, I’m shy
with everyone. don’t
take my shyness for racism.
I clam up around all you people
I break eyes
On my friendly days,
boy am I friendly to every one
But the other day at the quiet bookstore
When I jumped
that was unacceptable
it was clear to me
what I’d done
who I really am.
I second guessed
Some are made racist by their parents
Some are made racist by the races themselves
None are born racist [a]
In fact, I do not even believe in the concept of
race. [b]
just as a theist believes in God
and a materialist believes in matter
and a dualist in duality
and a monist in unity
etc
A RACIST BELIEVES IN RACE.
I don’t believe in race and even if I did
I am a mix of so many.
So how can I be a racist?…
Then it happens again.
He rounds the corner and I jump.
He says--’Me again.’
I smile and he smiles.
I can think my way out.
but I jumped.
be afraid.
then
we do not know
exactly how much
the believers in race have taught us.
a- for example, a child born in the early seventies had to be taught about segregation and the holocaust and slavery and the inquisition etc.
b- a man may be more genetically similar to a member of a different ‘race’ than his own.
c- aside from a handful (7) alleles for skin color [out of 30,000 genes in the human genome], a handful (7) of branches in the mitochondrial DNA, and the similarities of Y genes for incestuous peoples, I’m not aware of any proof for the concept of race, that blood ugly hypothesis.
d- all of this will take generations to sink into the common sense of the family.
startled by a black guy
he came around the bend
out of the quiet
and I jumped
I used to say,
I’m shy, I’m shy
with everyone. don’t
take my shyness for racism.
I clam up around all you people
I break eyes
On my friendly days,
boy am I friendly to every one
But the other day at the quiet bookstore
When I jumped
that was unacceptable
it was clear to me
what I’d done
who I really am.
I second guessed
Some are made racist by their parents
Some are made racist by the races themselves
None are born racist [a]
In fact, I do not even believe in the concept of
race. [b]
just as a theist believes in God
and a materialist believes in matter
and a dualist in duality
and a monist in unity
etc
A RACIST BELIEVES IN RACE.
I don’t believe in race and even if I did
I am a mix of so many.
So how can I be a racist?…
Then it happens again.
He rounds the corner and I jump.
He says--’Me again.’
I smile and he smiles.
I can think my way out.
but I jumped.
be afraid.
then
we do not know
exactly how much
the believers in race have taught us.
a- for example, a child born in the early seventies had to be taught about segregation and the holocaust and slavery and the inquisition etc.
b- a man may be more genetically similar to a member of a different ‘race’ than his own.
c- aside from a handful (7) alleles for skin color [out of 30,000 genes in the human genome], a handful (7) of branches in the mitochondrial DNA, and the similarities of Y genes for incestuous peoples, I’m not aware of any proof for the concept of race, that blood ugly hypothesis.
d- all of this will take generations to sink into the common sense of the family.
Goya and your Mama
Goya and your Mama
Noncommittal spittle
the mothers of genius have large breasts
and geniuses feed well into puberty
which ends at thirty
it is like fuzz, mommy, but what is it?
you were born a man and now you have thickened up into a nice monkey
god added a hint of flour to your mind
which is slowly gelling into a brain
conscious condensation
lactation nation
he rediscovers the droop and swagger of the boob
in the figure of the swelling
universe
convention of reinvention
my body is becoming a skin tag
really.
soon I’ll be asked to
believe in
the mind/skin tag duality
really.
an alcoholic mother is
cheap beer’s way
of having misbalanced
babies.
Ellipsoidal Voidal
smothers child
with breast
during soap
says she
fell asleep
that he
fell asleep.
‘Do you see Allah
now! motherfucker!’
mr. rosacia
wags at brown prisoner
‘We’ll just have to suffocate you
and resuscitate you
until you do.’
Torture whore.
teething on
bitter nipple
stopped on a corner
the nod of a cripple
her entities
became
parasites
sucking in
eyes
baby smiles
sucking milk from some bitch’s tit
/stop light poems, because there’s only time
to wait around/
flop around
drool tool
I can’t go in there that I don’t
steal at least $1000 of something.
especially when mr young & old boast war
born, bloody, half killing our mothers
we are so hardwired to kill; murder is
so much in the blood
that some of us
are not killers
is inconsequential
Now…!
the image of a grown man
sucking milky blood
from the tit of
his elderly mother
the real artist will
have to do a
family portrait.
Go now,
it is you,
artist, you
are the only
I write this for.
Noncommittal spittle
the mothers of genius have large breasts
and geniuses feed well into puberty
which ends at thirty
it is like fuzz, mommy, but what is it?
you were born a man and now you have thickened up into a nice monkey
god added a hint of flour to your mind
which is slowly gelling into a brain
conscious condensation
lactation nation
he rediscovers the droop and swagger of the boob
in the figure of the swelling
universe
convention of reinvention
my body is becoming a skin tag
really.
soon I’ll be asked to
believe in
the mind/skin tag duality
really.
an alcoholic mother is
cheap beer’s way
of having misbalanced
babies.
Ellipsoidal Voidal
smothers child
with breast
during soap
says she
fell asleep
that he
fell asleep.
‘Do you see Allah
now! motherfucker!’
mr. rosacia
wags at brown prisoner
‘We’ll just have to suffocate you
and resuscitate you
until you do.’
Torture whore.
teething on
bitter nipple
stopped on a corner
the nod of a cripple
her entities
became
parasites
sucking in
eyes
baby smiles
sucking milk from some bitch’s tit
/stop light poems, because there’s only time
to wait around/
flop around
drool tool
I can’t go in there that I don’t
steal at least $1000 of something.
especially when mr young & old boast war
born, bloody, half killing our mothers
we are so hardwired to kill; murder is
so much in the blood
that some of us
are not killers
is inconsequential
Now…!
the image of a grown man
sucking milky blood
from the tit of
his elderly mother
the real artist will
have to do a
family portrait.
Go now,
it is you,
artist, you
are the only
I write this for.
His best friend left town w/o telling him
I didn’t go home but
went to visit Neal at the bar
I’d overstayed my welcome at Grant’s
and killed his beer
I smelt cheap
and irresistible
I should go home and eat with my wife & mother
; dad was about to go to bed from
15 hours of bus driving
He had to come out of retirement
so my mother could have health insurance.
She is rotting away at the ankles
She has weeping ankles
& diabetes
cellulitis &
morbid obesity
& medicine she doesn’t take
I will never see dad again
because if you could die from tired eyes
dad died
Years back mom died
and is the puppet of a smile
Wife is 23 years pregnant
and going to die at birth
I didn’t go home but
went to see Neal at the bar
I caught him in the parking lot
he treated me like a stranger too
so I went home
went to visit Neal at the bar
I’d overstayed my welcome at Grant’s
and killed his beer
I smelt cheap
and irresistible
I should go home and eat with my wife & mother
; dad was about to go to bed from
15 hours of bus driving
He had to come out of retirement
so my mother could have health insurance.
She is rotting away at the ankles
She has weeping ankles
& diabetes
cellulitis &
morbid obesity
& medicine she doesn’t take
I will never see dad again
because if you could die from tired eyes
dad died
Years back mom died
and is the puppet of a smile
Wife is 23 years pregnant
and going to die at birth
I didn’t go home but
went to see Neal at the bar
I caught him in the parking lot
he treated me like a stranger too
so I went home
Buzz Kill
It’s funny how the little cracks become big ones.
That’s what heartbreak is, thrombosis, nervous breakdown, death: when the little things that’ve been getting to ya, get to ya.
when all the little drunken Lilliputians sober up and get a mind
there is nothing they can’t overcome
when they work together
we call them bad genes, virus’, STD’s
the little things gang up on the big things
and always end up winning.
little asteroids kill off big dinosaurs
black holes swallow giants
ego jobs with their little peckers fuck up the whole world
one ugly person ruins a good crowd
the small is big and the big is really so so small
the petty win in the end
the nuance takes the day
the mountain isn’t dangerous
the pebble that hasn’t budged in 200 years
that makes you slip and fall
and wind up ground into
the scree
that pebble there, that’s dangerous
little words kill love
the atom splits
guerilla warfare wins every time
today’s terrorists are tomorrow’s revolutionaries
it is the small leak in a thick damn
as bold as the lava that fist made Hawaii
it is small, and it is going to fuck us in the end
it’s all the careless worries we tuck away
we pretend we forget
that get us in the end
it wasn’t the fire that consumed us but more like a teamwork of sparks
but that’s later, too far down the road to worry over now
That’s what heartbreak is, thrombosis, nervous breakdown, death: when the little things that’ve been getting to ya, get to ya.
when all the little drunken Lilliputians sober up and get a mind
there is nothing they can’t overcome
when they work together
we call them bad genes, virus’, STD’s
the little things gang up on the big things
and always end up winning.
little asteroids kill off big dinosaurs
black holes swallow giants
ego jobs with their little peckers fuck up the whole world
one ugly person ruins a good crowd
the small is big and the big is really so so small
the petty win in the end
the nuance takes the day
the mountain isn’t dangerous
the pebble that hasn’t budged in 200 years
that makes you slip and fall
and wind up ground into
the scree
that pebble there, that’s dangerous
little words kill love
the atom splits
guerilla warfare wins every time
today’s terrorists are tomorrow’s revolutionaries
it is the small leak in a thick damn
as bold as the lava that fist made Hawaii
it is small, and it is going to fuck us in the end
it’s all the careless worries we tuck away
we pretend we forget
that get us in the end
it wasn’t the fire that consumed us but more like a teamwork of sparks
but that’s later, too far down the road to worry over now
Diatribalogue
I couldn’t get it up. I, with pale skin, reptile eyes, 80 grit face. Fresh air blew thru walls and past my space heater at the speed of 9 degrees below zero.
I shake her awake to apologize.
“Knock, knock”
“Who cares?”
Honey…it’s a joke. Have a little sympathy.
A little sympathy is what I’ve been trying for all night.
Knock-knock
Who’s fucking there?
Limp penis
Limp penis who?
You’re no supposed to say limp penis who. its my condom joke
oh I see, a joke without an orgasm. that’s supposed to be like three hours of heavy petting without a punch line.
I’ll give you a punch line
anything to know you feel something. you’re an amphibian. off in your little swampy semi-autistic fantasy world, and lo and behold, you join us, finally, after hours of holding your breath on life, you emerge all slimy and funky in the folds.
oh yea, you ever heard of the reverse hoagie shack?
what?
its where titty fuck you while I rub my ass in your face.
nice, you come up with that yourself?
when it's all said and done, my lovelies, i let everyone down
I shake her awake to apologize.
“Knock, knock”
“Who cares?”
Honey…it’s a joke. Have a little sympathy.
A little sympathy is what I’ve been trying for all night.
Knock-knock
Who’s fucking there?
Limp penis
Limp penis who?
You’re no supposed to say limp penis who. its my condom joke
oh I see, a joke without an orgasm. that’s supposed to be like three hours of heavy petting without a punch line.
I’ll give you a punch line
anything to know you feel something. you’re an amphibian. off in your little swampy semi-autistic fantasy world, and lo and behold, you join us, finally, after hours of holding your breath on life, you emerge all slimy and funky in the folds.
oh yea, you ever heard of the reverse hoagie shack?
what?
its where titty fuck you while I rub my ass in your face.
nice, you come up with that yourself?
when it's all said and done, my lovelies, i let everyone down
the big news
engaged already?
shit pal, you move fast.
you move.
then you move fast.
there's fast.
then there's......FUCK!!!!!!!
sorry man i'm always doing this. on and on.
he slips the cock in, and, another christmas miracle, she falls in love sure as a sweaty blush.
then rent.
the fights.
pussy acne.
she smells other women on your fingertips.
better to bleed on the street than be a coward among cowards, you say.
she slaps you red in the face.
love.
there is love again.
you end up knocking the bitch out.
you quit being boy and girl to rush into red tape.
marriage forgot to be friends before becoming roommates.
but this is all pisspoor hypothesis anyway.
where do I go to pick up the tux?
shit pal, you move fast.
you move.
then you move fast.
there's fast.
then there's......FUCK!!!!!!!
sorry man i'm always doing this. on and on.
he slips the cock in, and, another christmas miracle, she falls in love sure as a sweaty blush.
then rent.
the fights.
pussy acne.
she smells other women on your fingertips.
better to bleed on the street than be a coward among cowards, you say.
she slaps you red in the face.
love.
there is love again.
you end up knocking the bitch out.
you quit being boy and girl to rush into red tape.
marriage forgot to be friends before becoming roommates.
but this is all pisspoor hypothesis anyway.
where do I go to pick up the tux?
BUZZ the gold miner
buzz has pen light all inside his cap. he makes $20 a week and
lives in a shanty without electricity. He has worn knees and
is so dirty
it’ll never wash off. he is forty, i am sure of it, under seventy years
of dust laid in cracked skin. his dogs look cleaner
“you have to be reincarnated into this. when one of us dies, another miner comes along, exactly one.”
“I lost my dog in the split. My ex is the cook at this here bar. Mary’ll go into heat in six months. We want to breed her, but I come here because I’m a drinkin man”
buzz doesn’t know where his children are. he works at
Phoenix mines in Idaho Springs. In the winter
the mines shut down. he is sitting so close to the tv, he
can hear the history channel over the jukebox. he is
grimier than a bum, he is a mountain man.
“if the hole is grey we’re diggin for silver, if it’s gold, we’re dealing in
tons. the boss stands to make millions, i do
20 a week, sometimes a hundred
in tips from summer tours.”
buzz’s dogs roam the bar. he drinks his beer and
smokes his cigs. the ex brings him chili.
“my water pump is on the fritz. just tried to raise her live but she’s dead. can’t leave my car here either. now all’s I got is a gold nugget I stole out
in the truck, hell I got lots of’em in the shack
but I don’t have the duckets for a new pump, so
i’ll havta sail into denver, 30 miles to flat land, I’ll follow
the river dodging the mountains, until it
disappears at the beer factory…’
lives in a shanty without electricity. He has worn knees and
is so dirty
it’ll never wash off. he is forty, i am sure of it, under seventy years
of dust laid in cracked skin. his dogs look cleaner
“you have to be reincarnated into this. when one of us dies, another miner comes along, exactly one.”
“I lost my dog in the split. My ex is the cook at this here bar. Mary’ll go into heat in six months. We want to breed her, but I come here because I’m a drinkin man”
buzz doesn’t know where his children are. he works at
Phoenix mines in Idaho Springs. In the winter
the mines shut down. he is sitting so close to the tv, he
can hear the history channel over the jukebox. he is
grimier than a bum, he is a mountain man.
“if the hole is grey we’re diggin for silver, if it’s gold, we’re dealing in
tons. the boss stands to make millions, i do
20 a week, sometimes a hundred
in tips from summer tours.”
buzz’s dogs roam the bar. he drinks his beer and
smokes his cigs. the ex brings him chili.
“my water pump is on the fritz. just tried to raise her live but she’s dead. can’t leave my car here either. now all’s I got is a gold nugget I stole out
in the truck, hell I got lots of’em in the shack
but I don’t have the duckets for a new pump, so
i’ll havta sail into denver, 30 miles to flat land, I’ll follow
the river dodging the mountains, until it
disappears at the beer factory…’
Agnosis
A free thinker is so flexible she is stubborn too.
She is so free she cannot choose.
The Professor of Life says
we are constituted of matter and only matter.
Next class.
The Physicist, scarce embarrassed of God,
preaches that
of matter there can be no solidity,
of light there can be no mass,
and that gravity itself weighs not.
It is a hot day and between classes
at the university
I notice that the same sun shines on the philosophy and math and biology buildings.
It is hot, real hot.
real
My tongue is glued to my palate.
I am matter.
Matter is capable of consciousness.
God is that consciousness man speaks of.
Some days I do not believe in greater or lesser beings.
Today I am a common miracle,
bound to the corpse of the universe,
exceptional furniture because, of all the fineless wood, a fragile embryo kicks in me.
Death is the only gesture of motion.
Only the old man who owns the warehouse sits in one of its many chairs.
Tomorrow he is sunk, out of business. He’ll move his fat ass and I’ll join the rest of the heap.
My atoms on consignment….
I am the semiotic of threadbare mechanics, lamely flagellating
She is so free she cannot choose.
The Professor of Life says
we are constituted of matter and only matter.
Next class.
The Physicist, scarce embarrassed of God,
preaches that
of matter there can be no solidity,
of light there can be no mass,
and that gravity itself weighs not.
It is a hot day and between classes
at the university
I notice that the same sun shines on the philosophy and math and biology buildings.
It is hot, real hot.
real
My tongue is glued to my palate.
I am matter.
Matter is capable of consciousness.
God is that consciousness man speaks of.
Some days I do not believe in greater or lesser beings.
Today I am a common miracle,
bound to the corpse of the universe,
exceptional furniture because, of all the fineless wood, a fragile embryo kicks in me.
Death is the only gesture of motion.
Only the old man who owns the warehouse sits in one of its many chairs.
Tomorrow he is sunk, out of business. He’ll move his fat ass and I’ll join the rest of the heap.
My atoms on consignment….
I am the semiotic of threadbare mechanics, lamely flagellating
Border Wall
walls keep us
in better than out. t-
he weak have to escape,
but the really weak
have nothing to escape from.
the wall is just there
to remind us that
in better than out. t-
he weak have to escape,
but the really weak
have nothing to escape from.
the wall is just there
to remind us that
Trombone
I used to moonwalk
until I got so fat I can barely walk.
Puberty doubled my (m)ass
in the short jaunt of a sophomore year
the arches fell
the IQ fell
,intellectual flatfoot that I am.
This means I've taken to water:
dancing is easier under buoyancy,
only lateral motion is a bitch.
The soft swirlee's I pull off with my toes are
at the expense of tendons in my knees
and 360 degrees is the new 90 if it was a day.
And no,
spinning in the other direction will not undo dizziness,
it enhances the queasy sense of invulnerability
that has become my stick-to-itiveness.
gravity hurts.
Is it possible to have given up while at the same time having refused to quit?
Is it possible to give up while refusing to quit?
Is it possible to not give up and quit?
Can we quit and not give up?
Fuck it
until I got so fat I can barely walk.
Puberty doubled my (m)ass
in the short jaunt of a sophomore year
the arches fell
the IQ fell
,intellectual flatfoot that I am.
This means I've taken to water:
dancing is easier under buoyancy,
only lateral motion is a bitch.
The soft swirlee's I pull off with my toes are
at the expense of tendons in my knees
and 360 degrees is the new 90 if it was a day.
And no,
spinning in the other direction will not undo dizziness,
it enhances the queasy sense of invulnerability
that has become my stick-to-itiveness.
gravity hurts.
Is it possible to have given up while at the same time having refused to quit?
Is it possible to give up while refusing to quit?
Is it possible to not give up and quit?
Can we quit and not give up?
Fuck it
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Happy Sanity Discussion
Happy Sanity Discussion
‘depression, I don’t have time for it.’
“I don’t have time for anything else.”
‘what about your mania?’
“I don’t have time in them.”
‘you’re wrong’
“You’re right.”
‘depression, I don’t have time for it.’
“I don’t have time for anything else.”
‘what about your mania?’
“I don’t have time in them.”
‘you’re wrong’
“You’re right.”
the meaning of poetry
the meaning of poetry
he lives
life
like when
you
use a word you
don’t
really know and hope
somebody
can make sense of your sentence
really he runs
the risk of becoming an intentional idiot or
an accidental genius
take callow say that I insert her here_______________.
or: the callow flames of white
hot love burn blue or orange. not a very meaningful or poetic sentence
mission accomplished I feel bad unless I’m
writing empty callow sentences Poetry gives me jelly knees and nobody wants to seen
with somebody with…I’m sure if I had a phone it would
be ringing right now: my unflappably
callow cat having been gone for a
few good days offers up a meow
to upend our recent paradise of
silence
crashing on me are: my thoughts,--1) whether to write right now 2) or ever again 9seeing myself as a hack wannabe
objectification novellaist
with carp-pull-tunnel of nasferatuian dimension, alone, superfluous, extraneous, nasturtium, callow, as loveable as Della Reese on the rag 3) “”Don’t tell me writing begets more writing!!!””
he lives
life
like when
you
use a word you
don’t
really know and hope
somebody
can make sense of your sentence
really he runs
the risk of becoming an intentional idiot or
an accidental genius
take callow say that I insert her here_______________.
or: the callow flames of white
hot love burn blue or orange. not a very meaningful or poetic sentence
mission accomplished I feel bad unless I’m
writing empty callow sentences Poetry gives me jelly knees and nobody wants to seen
with somebody with…I’m sure if I had a phone it would
be ringing right now: my unflappably
callow cat having been gone for a
few good days offers up a meow
to upend our recent paradise of
silence
crashing on me are: my thoughts,--1) whether to write right now 2) or ever again 9seeing myself as a hack wannabe
objectification novellaist
with carp-pull-tunnel of nasferatuian dimension, alone, superfluous, extraneous, nasturtium, callow, as loveable as Della Reese on the rag 3) “”Don’t tell me writing begets more writing!!!””
If this was poetry, I’d fly
If this was poetry, I’d fly
perfect again
as always
my bed could
take ten of me
my room smelt
like clabbered
underwear
I was
reading calmly
absorbing everything
learning who I would
become again in silence…
perfect silence…
my electricity had been
cut for weeks
…then the fly,
that damned fly
whose wings
was
all the
noise that ever
was
If I were a universe
my cold fate
just became
early fire
If I died
I was violently revived
If I only told the truth
I just lied
If I were beautiful
I just cried
I am none of these
thank god
But I tell you: that Goddamned
Fly has
ruined
my
life for good.
perfect again
as always
my bed could
take ten of me
my room smelt
like clabbered
underwear
I was
reading calmly
absorbing everything
learning who I would
become again in silence…
perfect silence…
my electricity had been
cut for weeks
…then the fly,
that damned fly
whose wings
was
all the
noise that ever
was
If I were a universe
my cold fate
just became
early fire
If I died
I was violently revived
If I only told the truth
I just lied
If I were beautiful
I just cried
I am none of these
thank god
But I tell you: that Goddamned
Fly has
ruined
my
life for good.
what is fame without philosophy?
is masturbation afraid of being alone?
in those clouds,
I worry over
the self that others see,
the self that I see,
and the self that is seen by the self that I see.
Not really, but that is about as philosophical as it gets.
in those clouds,
I worry over
the self that others see,
the self that I see,
and the self that is seen by the self that I see.
Not really, but that is about as philosophical as it gets.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Accomplished
I am the hardest working man who never finished anything
the hardest thinking man who never created
I do not believe in the psycho lounge--where you hide from insanity--I believe in the madness
of
the
world
the hardest thinking man who never created
I do not believe in the psycho lounge--where you hide from insanity--I believe in the madness
of
the
world
Spplatter
some days are word days
some sentence
paragraphs
plots
parallax of soul
penumbra of young and old
parables
periods
phrases
catapultian swing geocentric manic moon phases
ills of yestermorrow
prophit
procrastination of pleasure
some sentence
paragraphs
plots
parallax of soul
penumbra of young and old
parables
periods
phrases
catapultian swing geocentric manic moon phases
ills of yestermorrow
prophit
procrastination of pleasure
Valentine’s
Fresh air
blew thru walls
and past my space heater
at the speed of 9 degrees below zero.
Ice collected on the floor boards.
A skunk farted
in the back yard
and it hangs in the house
like crime.
I can see my breath indoors
she says it feels
like the itch
and the scratch
at the same time.
I couldn’t get it up
and
we had to wait a day late to get the chocolate's half-off
....
It was the best Valentine’s Day I’ve had
because
It’s the only Valentine’s day I’ve had
blew thru walls
and past my space heater
at the speed of 9 degrees below zero.
Ice collected on the floor boards.
A skunk farted
in the back yard
and it hangs in the house
like crime.
I can see my breath indoors
she says it feels
like the itch
and the scratch
at the same time.
I couldn’t get it up
and
we had to wait a day late to get the chocolate's half-off
....
It was the best Valentine’s Day I’ve had
because
It’s the only Valentine’s day I’ve had
War Plan; or If you see the Buddha, blow her up
War Plan; or If you see the Buddha, blow her up
“When you know your enemy, then you will know yourself” Sun Tzu, The Art of War
[for the monotheists]
one part
crusader
&
one part
jihadi
they die
and kill
like
God in the flesh
purifying thru blood
they do not
separate
God and State
or
Murder and Religion
they believe in a jealous god
but what exactly is god supposed to be jealous of?
notice they say;
more have died in the name of God
not
in names of God
or
in name of Gods
monotheists bear
the lion’s share
of murder
when I saw the live feed of a crusader getting beheaded
I lost it a little more
and wanted to send them a feed of a jihadi
whose lobbed off cock I’d put in the blender
and mixed with some home brew
and we drank together
as an offering
to war
just so they would know
I’m crazy too
but then I thought…
this isn’t enough
everyone is violent
and so when people
say
he or she could never…
they’re wrong
we can
so can you
I doubt no one
because
I believe in the
power of blood
but
I can’t stoop
to the level so
HERE IS MY WAR PLAN--
you lose
america
because you‘re half-ass
to avoid revenge,
says Machiavelli,
you either
pamper or crush
your enemies
you should be more conservative
than the conservative
and
more liberal than the liberal
according to the 9th sura
of the Koran
if the infidel makes a pact
and breaks it
declare jihad
but if the infidel
keeps his word,
because God is just,
there can be no jihad
so here is the pact
among monotheists
the US should pull support for
Israel
get out of Iraq and Afghanistan
stop making orphans
in the Middle East
and
tomorrows foe will
show you mercy
Napoleon said it,
the best training for a soldier is
poverty and desperation
[guerilla war wins every time]
if you imprisoned my father
I would throw a rock at a tank
if I had balls
and maybe I don’t have balls
we all like to think we have’em
most don’t
you see, Islam would crush Christianity
simply because of her testicles
because of crazy tempered with discipline
so we cut and run
with one stipulation
with one warning
many a time as a boxer I’d lay back on the ropes
knowing the other guy had more heart
was tougher
hell, the ref probly had more heart
but I had punch
and the guy had will
he waylayed me
I was like a purse full of chapped pussies
and then….
bam
I would rock him with a sneaky counter
then knock him out so hard
he never was the same again
so that would be the warning the white man
would dish out to the terrorist
we stopped terrorizing you,
you stop terrorizing us.
[the big terrorist always punishes the small terrorist, ruthlessly]
we will no longer rape your land
and kill your fathers.
we let you be
and if you so much as set a firecracker
in my lawn
it’s on
I give you the place and time
Three nukes in all
One on Mecca
One on Medina
and fuck it
One on Jerusalem
we then paratroop every sort of lowlife psychopath into the major cites
every rapist, murderer, and child molester we got.
we starve them, arm them, then fly them in
whatever happens happens because shortly after we
sail in another round of nukes
wasting them all
then the real war would begin
the mother of motherfuckers
the monotheist would kill each other off
the only just war is
when one man who is willing to kill another
kills
another man who is alspwilling to kill
in this sense
the bigger the war the better
the more monotheist
that die the better
as chairman Mao says--
war can only be abolished through war
in order to get rid of the gun it is necessary to take up the gun
let all murderers murder each other
peace will reign
waiting on the next generation
of watered-down murderers
the plan gives peace
a chance
then suicide
===
all of this
I’m saying
is just bullshit
really
you want to stop fucking with
the Arabs?
you want to save
grandpa’s children?
kill oil
before
oil kills
us
the genius who
does this saves the world
no matter where you’re from
the enemies of the world are the men who do anything for oil
beat the fuel and crush the enemy
that’s all
and if you ever see me
on a ballet
don’t vote that year
or kill me
“When you know your enemy, then you will know yourself” Sun Tzu, The Art of War
[for the monotheists]
one part
crusader
&
one part
jihadi
they die
and kill
like
God in the flesh
purifying thru blood
they do not
separate
God and State
or
Murder and Religion
they believe in a jealous god
but what exactly is god supposed to be jealous of?
notice they say;
more have died in the name of God
not
in names of God
or
in name of Gods
monotheists bear
the lion’s share
of murder
when I saw the live feed of a crusader getting beheaded
I lost it a little more
and wanted to send them a feed of a jihadi
whose lobbed off cock I’d put in the blender
and mixed with some home brew
and we drank together
as an offering
to war
just so they would know
I’m crazy too
but then I thought…
this isn’t enough
everyone is violent
and so when people
say
he or she could never…
they’re wrong
we can
so can you
I doubt no one
because
I believe in the
power of blood
but
I can’t stoop
to the level so
HERE IS MY WAR PLAN--
you lose
america
because you‘re half-ass
to avoid revenge,
says Machiavelli,
you either
pamper or crush
your enemies
you should be more conservative
than the conservative
and
more liberal than the liberal
according to the 9th sura
of the Koran
if the infidel makes a pact
and breaks it
declare jihad
but if the infidel
keeps his word,
because God is just,
there can be no jihad
so here is the pact
among monotheists
the US should pull support for
Israel
get out of Iraq and Afghanistan
stop making orphans
in the Middle East
and
tomorrows foe will
show you mercy
Napoleon said it,
the best training for a soldier is
poverty and desperation
[guerilla war wins every time]
if you imprisoned my father
I would throw a rock at a tank
if I had balls
and maybe I don’t have balls
we all like to think we have’em
most don’t
you see, Islam would crush Christianity
simply because of her testicles
because of crazy tempered with discipline
so we cut and run
with one stipulation
with one warning
many a time as a boxer I’d lay back on the ropes
knowing the other guy had more heart
was tougher
hell, the ref probly had more heart
but I had punch
and the guy had will
he waylayed me
I was like a purse full of chapped pussies
and then….
bam
I would rock him with a sneaky counter
then knock him out so hard
he never was the same again
so that would be the warning the white man
would dish out to the terrorist
we stopped terrorizing you,
you stop terrorizing us.
[the big terrorist always punishes the small terrorist, ruthlessly]
we will no longer rape your land
and kill your fathers.
we let you be
and if you so much as set a firecracker
in my lawn
it’s on
I give you the place and time
Three nukes in all
One on Mecca
One on Medina
and fuck it
One on Jerusalem
we then paratroop every sort of lowlife psychopath into the major cites
every rapist, murderer, and child molester we got.
we starve them, arm them, then fly them in
whatever happens happens because shortly after we
sail in another round of nukes
wasting them all
then the real war would begin
the mother of motherfuckers
the monotheist would kill each other off
the only just war is
when one man who is willing to kill another
kills
another man who is alspwilling to kill
in this sense
the bigger the war the better
the more monotheist
that die the better
as chairman Mao says--
war can only be abolished through war
in order to get rid of the gun it is necessary to take up the gun
let all murderers murder each other
peace will reign
waiting on the next generation
of watered-down murderers
the plan gives peace
a chance
then suicide
===
all of this
I’m saying
is just bullshit
really
you want to stop fucking with
the Arabs?
you want to save
grandpa’s children?
kill oil
before
oil kills
us
the genius who
does this saves the world
no matter where you’re from
the enemies of the world are the men who do anything for oil
beat the fuel and crush the enemy
that’s all
and if you ever see me
on a ballet
don’t vote that year
or kill me
Denial
That day
my brother
Said she
was gonna
die
but didn’t
I was in denial
as he cried
Mom never died
and
I never got
over denial
my brother
Said she
was gonna
die
but didn’t
I was in denial
as he cried
Mom never died
and
I never got
over denial
standards
There was never
a gold
standard,
only an
Idea standard
Four bullshit lies
to every
decent idea
when we
ran out of
those
there was
the
crack standard
the standard
of empty promises
and loaded guns
some argue
we gave up
standards
of every kind
and pissed
away the
gold
In the US
we only
export
lies
a gold
standard,
only an
Idea standard
Four bullshit lies
to every
decent idea
when we
ran out of
those
there was
the
crack standard
the standard
of empty promises
and loaded guns
some argue
we gave up
standards
of every kind
and pissed
away the
gold
In the US
we only
export
lies
Worthless
i stole beer money from my mom
after i moved back in
at 33
Home was the next best place
from the crazy farm
or homeless
shelter
i could stay out all night
and drink beer
and say so-long to mom & dad before they died
and love them a little more
because all the honorable americans left their parents long ago
i stole Sacajawea’s from mom, a roll of ’em, rare issue,
drank till the sun rose and the moon fell again
i got married and moved my pregnant wife to the mountains
she is back at our cold rental
and i haven’t smoked in five months but i’m smoking right now
as the fire burns i finish my beer and my fun goes with the smoke
during a christmas visit, mom asks what my spare coin is,
fool’s gold with the face of an Indian,
mom who’s lost her
mind
i
love
it’s a Sacajawea, mom, it’s worth a dollar
after i moved back in
at 33
Home was the next best place
from the crazy farm
or homeless
shelter
i could stay out all night
and drink beer
and say so-long to mom & dad before they died
and love them a little more
because all the honorable americans left their parents long ago
i stole Sacajawea’s from mom, a roll of ’em, rare issue,
drank till the sun rose and the moon fell again
i got married and moved my pregnant wife to the mountains
she is back at our cold rental
and i haven’t smoked in five months but i’m smoking right now
as the fire burns i finish my beer and my fun goes with the smoke
during a christmas visit, mom asks what my spare coin is,
fool’s gold with the face of an Indian,
mom who’s lost her
mind
i
love
it’s a Sacajawea, mom, it’s worth a dollar
Monday, February 25, 2008
Bar Writer
Inevitably they come up
you’ve been sitting there achieving a warm buzz
and working out a few hundred words
30 or 40 minutes of peace
you just blew thru your last $3 and didn’t tip
you’re on your way out
and he catches you at the door
‘you’re a writer aren’t you?’
sort of..
‘damn right you are!’
next time he’ll come and sit next to me
guess I’ll have to never come back.
you’ve been sitting there achieving a warm buzz
and working out a few hundred words
30 or 40 minutes of peace
you just blew thru your last $3 and didn’t tip
you’re on your way out
and he catches you at the door
‘you’re a writer aren’t you?’
sort of..
‘damn right you are!’
next time he’ll come and sit next to me
guess I’ll have to never come back.
Career Fair
hi
i am a jew from texas
i have bad breath and am a lot smarter than most of your applicants
my resume is science fiction and I walk around with my tail tucked
to another fat man in a stand glaring down his nose
‘if i gave you a million dollars, sir, Mr. ralston, what would you do with it, sir, how do YOU see yourself investing it?’
funny you should ask. i have a million. the guy who hates money…the only guy in his family who isn’t a millionaire. my wife has a million and i’m horrified. i’m here to learn how not to burn money.
i haven’t the faintest idea, really
‘you have to have passion, Mr. ralston. i don’t see YOU having passion. did YOU come here to apply to Merrill-Lynch or did you just need a job, any job, because, you know, to be successful here there can be nothing else, working for us is all you can ever want. to be honest with you, son, maybe one guy all day has the dedication.’
he tosses my resume under the table, and smiles, his bald head sweating like cheese.
‘you need to figure out what you want to do.’
the family’s all lawyers or doctors and i just got a gig as a butcher.
i am a bad employee
i am a bad husband
i do bad with authority
‘are YOU credible to your family sir?’
credible as a cracked nut. they called me loser until they lost hope and then they didn’t call. I can’t afford family reunion anyway….[[i didn’t say this, i think] i said:
you know, prick, my cousin used to work for y’all and
embezzled millions without getting caught. don’t worry tho, he drank
himself dead last year.
shortly after…while i was about to start in on the guys from
the CIA, a security guard escorted me out to freedom and cold air.
i am a jew from texas
i have bad breath and am a lot smarter than most of your applicants
my resume is science fiction and I walk around with my tail tucked
to another fat man in a stand glaring down his nose
‘if i gave you a million dollars, sir, Mr. ralston, what would you do with it, sir, how do YOU see yourself investing it?’
funny you should ask. i have a million. the guy who hates money…the only guy in his family who isn’t a millionaire. my wife has a million and i’m horrified. i’m here to learn how not to burn money.
i haven’t the faintest idea, really
‘you have to have passion, Mr. ralston. i don’t see YOU having passion. did YOU come here to apply to Merrill-Lynch or did you just need a job, any job, because, you know, to be successful here there can be nothing else, working for us is all you can ever want. to be honest with you, son, maybe one guy all day has the dedication.’
he tosses my resume under the table, and smiles, his bald head sweating like cheese.
‘you need to figure out what you want to do.’
the family’s all lawyers or doctors and i just got a gig as a butcher.
i am a bad employee
i am a bad husband
i do bad with authority
‘are YOU credible to your family sir?’
credible as a cracked nut. they called me loser until they lost hope and then they didn’t call. I can’t afford family reunion anyway….[[i didn’t say this, i think] i said:
you know, prick, my cousin used to work for y’all and
embezzled millions without getting caught. don’t worry tho, he drank
himself dead last year.
shortly after…while i was about to start in on the guys from
the CIA, a security guard escorted me out to freedom and cold air.
Haters of america
you despise America
b/c she is
corrupt & arrogant
Power corrupts.
all are its victims..
china, india...you're next
b/c she is
corrupt & arrogant
Power corrupts.
all are its victims..
china, india...you're next
Ode to Things
We are all wonderful Nobodies
withe the gimmick of Logic
ande the gift of Nonsense
slaves to duty & love
and free
sharing pain & pleasure
and alone
sorting thru names
in an unnamed universe
and proud
collecting objects
we no more own or understand than
air in the lungs of ours
or stars we buy
from towers in the sky
collecting dust
waiting to become dust
floating around that star on dust
slowly becoming what
we love and loathe
withe the gimmick of Logic
ande the gift of Nonsense
slaves to duty & love
and free
sharing pain & pleasure
and alone
sorting thru names
in an unnamed universe
and proud
collecting objects
we no more own or understand than
air in the lungs of ours
or stars we buy
from towers in the sky
collecting dust
waiting to become dust
floating around that star on dust
slowly becoming what
we love and loathe
Saturday, January 26, 2008
The Young Mother
Mommy is barely 19 and daughter is 2
On Tuesday Brinlee fell off the bed
and cracked her collar
Her absentee deadbeat father comes to claim her.
Brinlee has never met grandpa.
On Wednesday in her fathers parents
backyard, a Sharpe rips half of
Brinlee’s face off
Grandpa didn’t blame the dog.
and Brinlee will never see daddy again
On Thursday Brinlee falls and
splits her head on cement
“Injuries come in threes” says the fellow at Child Services
to the embarrassed day care lady
once a rare beauty
her
flawed beauty brings flawed sympathy
Brinlee is a shattered porcelain doll at day care
While her mom and I get loaded all day
with government money.
On Tuesday Brinlee fell off the bed
and cracked her collar
Her absentee deadbeat father comes to claim her.
Brinlee has never met grandpa.
On Wednesday in her fathers parents
backyard, a Sharpe rips half of
Brinlee’s face off
Grandpa didn’t blame the dog.
and Brinlee will never see daddy again
On Thursday Brinlee falls and
splits her head on cement
“Injuries come in threes” says the fellow at Child Services
to the embarrassed day care lady
once a rare beauty
her
flawed beauty brings flawed sympathy
Brinlee is a shattered porcelain doll at day care
While her mom and I get loaded all day
with government money.
TWO Party politic
The problem
with friendship & marriage
is democracy
is impossible with
just two.
a fragile benevolence
of unanimous decisions
and
sometime
dictators
with friendship & marriage
is democracy
is impossible with
just two.
a fragile benevolence
of unanimous decisions
and
sometime
dictators
Ode to Things
We are wonderful Nobodies
with the gimmick of logic
and the gift of nonsense
slaves to duty & love
and freed by the things\
that enslave us
sharing pain & pleasure
and alone
sorting thru names
in an unnamed universe
and proud
collecting objects
we no more own
or understand
than
air in our lungs
or stars we buy
collecting dust
waiting to become dust
floating around that star on dust
slowly becoming what
we love and loathe
with the gimmick of logic
and the gift of nonsense
slaves to duty & love
and freed by the things\
that enslave us
sharing pain & pleasure
and alone
sorting thru names
in an unnamed universe
and proud
collecting objects
we no more own
or understand
than
air in our lungs
or stars we buy
collecting dust
waiting to become dust
floating around that star on dust
slowly becoming what
we love and loathe
The Striped Sock
That unmatched sock,
fresh after the wash,
refuse of the laundry mat,
after the dry--an hour in the waiting--of a color, a kind, a way all to its own,
and there is no joy in the surplus, we wish it out of existence
I am that sock
fresh after the wash,
refuse of the laundry mat,
after the dry--an hour in the waiting--of a color, a kind, a way all to its own,
and there is no joy in the surplus, we wish it out of existence
I am that sock
Time Lines
Time Lines
I woke up
on the wrong side
of the spinal column.
...zero hour...
My brain is out on errands.
I am lightheaded, groggy, oblivion-fated,
but my body is immortal…
I woke up
on the wrong side
of the spinal column.
...zero hour...
My brain is out on errands.
I am lightheaded, groggy, oblivion-fated,
but my body is immortal…
Mediocrity & Passion
I
Awareness
What is it in us
that sees our inferiority?
Surely it is something greater.
Madness
like the blind inertia of light,
massless
unstoppable,
bullrushes on with its own mind and space.
II
lowness.
is only Aware
greatness.
is only Mad
mediocrity.
is both
III
To be Mad without being Aware
is bold
To be Aware without being Mad
is lame
Mediocrity is bold and lame
IV
The lesser man
would just quit
without the obsession to improve;
a greater one doesn’t care enough about
what anyone thinks
to stop himself from doing.
Awareness
What is it in us
that sees our inferiority?
Surely it is something greater.
Madness
like the blind inertia of light,
massless
unstoppable,
bullrushes on with its own mind and space.
II
lowness.
is only Aware
greatness.
is only Mad
mediocrity.
is both
III
To be Mad without being Aware
is bold
To be Aware without being Mad
is lame
Mediocrity is bold and lame
IV
The lesser man
would just quit
without the obsession to improve;
a greater one doesn’t care enough about
what anyone thinks
to stop himself from doing.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Glare Song
At the capitol they looked at me with
sadness
or
suspicion
or
contempt.
Inside their cars, as the hard sun beat a reflection into the windshields, I could see faces occasionally eclipsed by the sun.
Contempt will turn her head around to leer at you.
Sadness is at a glance, quickly slipping away.
Suspicion, oh sweet suspicion, mother of wonder, science, and sometimes torture
she just stares.
I could smell car fumes through cold air
and all my lungs knew were a long walk.
I was tired and now I am a ridiculous man in paradise.
Maybe today I will pack my boxes to move north and away altogether.
For I too am a selfmade man
sadness
or
suspicion
or
contempt.
Inside their cars, as the hard sun beat a reflection into the windshields, I could see faces occasionally eclipsed by the sun.
Contempt will turn her head around to leer at you.
Sadness is at a glance, quickly slipping away.
Suspicion, oh sweet suspicion, mother of wonder, science, and sometimes torture
she just stares.
I could smell car fumes through cold air
and all my lungs knew were a long walk.
I was tired and now I am a ridiculous man in paradise.
Maybe today I will pack my boxes to move north and away altogether.
For I too am a selfmade man
poverty in america
one third of the world does not have electricity
we live better than kings of antiquity
yet the middle class shrinks.
people feel poor because they are called poor
and they are poor because they can only see down the street.
we live better than kings of antiquity
yet the middle class shrinks.
people feel poor because they are called poor
and they are poor because they can only see down the street.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Surrealism
I
I didn’t talk
until I was nearly 4
my patents thought I was
deaf b/c I never responded
I talked, though,
my own language
my own jabber
only my bro knew
plus I have levels
most sleep and wake
but I trance out
a good part of the day
twisting my fingers
staring off into nowhere
II
the rebellion against surrealism
began before surrealism
80 years afterwards
it’s not experimental anymore
inspired as the a Pentecostal
I was born into
the séance, the hypergraphia, the missense syllables
at least I imitate shit from
50 years ago
at least I imitate Bukowski
and sick of myself
III
you are trying to
not make sense
and my nonsense
is what’s leftover
after I tried to
be understood
who is
insane
here?
I didn’t talk
until I was nearly 4
my patents thought I was
deaf b/c I never responded
I talked, though,
my own language
my own jabber
only my bro knew
plus I have levels
most sleep and wake
but I trance out
a good part of the day
twisting my fingers
staring off into nowhere
II
the rebellion against surrealism
began before surrealism
80 years afterwards
it’s not experimental anymore
inspired as the a Pentecostal
I was born into
the séance, the hypergraphia, the missense syllables
at least I imitate shit from
50 years ago
at least I imitate Bukowski
and sick of myself
III
you are trying to
not make sense
and my nonsense
is what’s leftover
after I tried to
be understood
who is
insane
here?
Believers
as dogmatic as any religious
or scientific fundamentalist
unwilling to change worldviews
after contradiction.
You will notice that both types
are as right as they are dismissive
when new facts lie outside of their orthodoxies.
Science is the new religion,
with its own articles of faith and heretics.
What a state of mind I was in when I believed Jesus was God and Man
and an electron was a particle and a wave.
I read this in a book!
How convinced I am that the universe was purposeless because they say so!
Because if I don’t believe it I am an empty fool.
And yes, the universe is devoid of purpose and consciousness,
thus there can be no man or god.
Man does not exist, do you hear me?
the man that was created in god’s image is the god that was created in man’s
He eats and shits as surely as the black hole.
He is a unique recipe called a sun.
leavened with patience and chance
Meanwhile
heat and electricity have the purpose--the manifest destiny
--of going bravely into the new emptiness.
The purpose of man is to dream he can have purpose.
He cannot.
He is another piece of furniture in a universe without shape or direction.
Yes this what I purpose.
Also the universe must be as simple as possible--this is law--it will
be not only comprehensible but simple to the intellect of man,
who under certain experimental conditions seems to behave as a monkey, but when he is observed, like a man.
There is only one reality simply because
there are only one worlds.
Thus neither do I believe in the multiplication of entities.
The disbelievers are believers too.
All is one, yes
or scientific fundamentalist
unwilling to change worldviews
after contradiction.
You will notice that both types
are as right as they are dismissive
when new facts lie outside of their orthodoxies.
Science is the new religion,
with its own articles of faith and heretics.
What a state of mind I was in when I believed Jesus was God and Man
and an electron was a particle and a wave.
I read this in a book!
How convinced I am that the universe was purposeless because they say so!
Because if I don’t believe it I am an empty fool.
And yes, the universe is devoid of purpose and consciousness,
thus there can be no man or god.
Man does not exist, do you hear me?
the man that was created in god’s image is the god that was created in man’s
He eats and shits as surely as the black hole.
He is a unique recipe called a sun.
leavened with patience and chance
Meanwhile
heat and electricity have the purpose--the manifest destiny
--of going bravely into the new emptiness.
The purpose of man is to dream he can have purpose.
He cannot.
He is another piece of furniture in a universe without shape or direction.
Yes this what I purpose.
Also the universe must be as simple as possible--this is law--it will
be not only comprehensible but simple to the intellect of man,
who under certain experimental conditions seems to behave as a monkey, but when he is observed, like a man.
There is only one reality simply because
there are only one worlds.
Thus neither do I believe in the multiplication of entities.
The disbelievers are believers too.
All is one, yes
Monday, January 21, 2008
Everyone's given up on me
Every one has given up on me
because I write bad poems
but I’ve written more bad poems
than they’ve written poems
and more good ones too
searching for light
in a life of blind alleys
Plus my wife says she’ll divorce me
if I don’t make nice.
This only means my poems
are going to get uglier
because I write bad poems
but I’ve written more bad poems
than they’ve written poems
and more good ones too
searching for light
in a life of blind alleys
Plus my wife says she’ll divorce me
if I don’t make nice.
This only means my poems
are going to get uglier
Cuttin Grass, an anti-Ode
I mowed the grass in the rain, furiously.
I mowed backwards,
in circles,
in lines every which way.
I mowed one row a day for weeks, sinusoidally.
I burnt gas, killed grass, and had a hootin' of a noise.
I breathed gas and grass, killed a mock forest, generations of crusty beasts, and went deaf, logarithmically.
I filled landfills and stopped short the breath of plants, asthmatically.
A romantic union of thymine kissing wildly under ultraviolet skies; scleroderma, discretely, bit by bit, in time, me
I will've bought the cleanest, meanest cutting machine, before long.
And've evaporated hidden dew under the thicket, to water noon and night, automatically. .
I’ll piss away our grandchildren’s drinking water on a lawn I’ll kill next week.
Icebergs the size off Jamaica are lobbed off Antarctica and the dumpster is full of dead leaves.
I’ll kill the plants and poison the water.
I’ll spray carcinogens on dandelions--the highest known land source of Vitamin A
Let there be more CO2 and less oxygen
Environmental terrorism in the name of euclidean geometry.
I’ll be about to take pride in myself, because a man is as clean as his yard and his haircut, no stray blades, with a heavy foot on Nature and disdain for the common weed.
Because, people, we ought to pick our battles with Nature, and this, is a losing battle, a song to self destruction.
You baby boomers are fat and stupid.
Yall just need to die and get off my earth,
and stop trying to kill my children
I mowed backwards,
in circles,
in lines every which way.
I mowed one row a day for weeks, sinusoidally.
I burnt gas, killed grass, and had a hootin' of a noise.
I breathed gas and grass, killed a mock forest, generations of crusty beasts, and went deaf, logarithmically.
I filled landfills and stopped short the breath of plants, asthmatically.
A romantic union of thymine kissing wildly under ultraviolet skies; scleroderma, discretely, bit by bit, in time, me
I will've bought the cleanest, meanest cutting machine, before long.
And've evaporated hidden dew under the thicket, to water noon and night, automatically. .
I’ll piss away our grandchildren’s drinking water on a lawn I’ll kill next week.
Icebergs the size off Jamaica are lobbed off Antarctica and the dumpster is full of dead leaves.
I’ll kill the plants and poison the water.
I’ll spray carcinogens on dandelions--the highest known land source of Vitamin A
Let there be more CO2 and less oxygen
Environmental terrorism in the name of euclidean geometry.
I’ll be about to take pride in myself, because a man is as clean as his yard and his haircut, no stray blades, with a heavy foot on Nature and disdain for the common weed.
Because, people, we ought to pick our battles with Nature, and this, is a losing battle, a song to self destruction.
You baby boomers are fat and stupid.
Yall just need to die and get off my earth,
and stop trying to kill my children
Do what?
we see
our OBGYN at church
he has a black eye
“our baby is going to be born with cauliflower ears and handfuls of shattered knuckles like me, right doc?”
the hole in his temple radiates into a nebula of pain and blood clot rivulet
If he is not listening he is despairing
the congregation lets…
we are..
in the parking lot he on and on’s about Gate Theory;
on how nerves filter
silent train tracks next to busy homes
and trashing babies mothers never feel
I ignore him while he delineates blocking things out
our OBGYN at church
he has a black eye
“our baby is going to be born with cauliflower ears and handfuls of shattered knuckles like me, right doc?”
the hole in his temple radiates into a nebula of pain and blood clot rivulet
If he is not listening he is despairing
the congregation lets…
we are..
in the parking lot he on and on’s about Gate Theory;
on how nerves filter
silent train tracks next to busy homes
and trashing babies mothers never feel
I ignore him while he delineates blocking things out
Problems
I used to moonwalk
until I got so fat I can barely walk.
Puberty doubled my mass
in the short jaunt of a sophomore year
and my arches dropped then as my IQ is dropping now, the intellectual flatfoot that I am.
That means I've taken to water:
dancing is easier under buoyancy,
only lateral motion is a bitch.
The soft swirlee's I pull off with my toes are at the expense of tendons in my knees and 360 degrees is the new 90 if it was a day.
And no, spinning in the other direction will not undo dizziness,
it enhances the queasy sense of invulnerability
that has become my stick-to-itiveness.
Is it possible to have given up
while at the same time having refused to quit?
until I got so fat I can barely walk.
Puberty doubled my mass
in the short jaunt of a sophomore year
and my arches dropped then as my IQ is dropping now, the intellectual flatfoot that I am.
That means I've taken to water:
dancing is easier under buoyancy,
only lateral motion is a bitch.
The soft swirlee's I pull off with my toes are at the expense of tendons in my knees and 360 degrees is the new 90 if it was a day.
And no, spinning in the other direction will not undo dizziness,
it enhances the queasy sense of invulnerability
that has become my stick-to-itiveness.
Is it possible to have given up
while at the same time having refused to quit?
Argument; or….
I have my mother’s right brain
and the left of my father.
they argue and I have to translate to my father what my mother means in light of what he thinks she means.
I then turn and do the same for his response to her.
they are two people who have lived together long enough to understand each other
but don’t.
I understand myself a little better than they understand each other.
but I do not understand myself
-----------------
therefore two people can never understand each other
and the left of my father.
they argue and I have to translate to my father what my mother means in light of what he thinks she means.
I then turn and do the same for his response to her.
they are two people who have lived together long enough to understand each other
but don’t.
I understand myself a little better than they understand each other.
but I do not understand myself
-----------------
therefore two people can never understand each other
the outsider
Outside
[by link]
“You are your only friend, you are your only enemy.”--The Mahabharata
outside it is cold
my skin boils
why you don’t like me
is my superiority
my inferiority
you ignore me
because I’m smarter
stronger
richer
my cock is bigger
that’s right
smaller
poorer
weaker
woman’ve always hated me
never really invited into the fold
of guys either
invite myself along
but they just laugh and go
rejected by the screeching tires of society
casually uninvited
room after room of people paired up gabbing and laughing without me without exception,
I enter, I leave
the bar, the club, the church, the coffee house
making’em uncomfortable by molting away
intimidated by reptile eyes
“Shut your neck!!!!!!” yelling at one of them on the corner smiling, leaking joy, sporting the unmolested cleavage of their hard-parted hair, spotless faces, perfectly symmetrical ears, isosceles noses, inviting eyes, flirting eyes, tensiled brows, lovely…
a slave to their acceptance
slowly cutting me out of their lives
the outcasts are the first to tap the keg of revolted by me, with their tattoos, fucking staple gun accidents, dread locks, faux-hawks, fuck spikes, dye jobs
they clump together like lard in a spittoon.
obeying disobedience
weird is the new old
too busy being fucked up to look weird your way son
to take in your everyday Halloween
your overcompensation
too dead to live anyother way than this
wearing what a stranger gave me and what’s dirty next to the bed
me, the only normal person left in the world
haunting green parks
having taught my follower that a rose is at the center of galaxies and cells and atoms--the same rose.
taught him that greed & gravity were just a special kind of glue.
he left me too
invented lust bright & early, me and the stars, because freedom is the only possibility of anonymity & amnesia
I, hero to solitude, emperor of the forgotten, wrote this so you would move your lips when you read, I wrote this because you hate poetry.
my poetry, I fucking hate it too
not decent enough
straight-laced and raping you with my eyes
isolation from you
nicer than you
crying more than you
harder than you
smelling like the sickness of mind
woven with shirt tails tucked in only in the ass
bathing every now and then
madness that began with religion
bad writing lobotomizing me
ending me
all the way back to death
again
ever since
you started ignoring me
being sickened by me
fucking dismissing me like silence
a
zero outside the circle
emptiness set amongst the possibility of things
your ridicule is high praise
your disapproval is dignity
the plaything because I make you feel strong
incomprehensible because you cannot understand
reviled like a fool and a mad god
I’ve been to lectures of the great Steven Weinberg attended by a handful of fools
and over heard the street corner drunk soap boxing in the cold
and they both claimed computers will cause a nuclear war
and were ignored
and you rejected me for not being good enough or for being too great
you are what you are, and I am what I am
but at least I’m not mediocre
at least I’m rejected
because…
all I’ve got going
for me
really
is
that
people think I’m shit
too
[by link]
“You are your only friend, you are your only enemy.”--The Mahabharata
outside it is cold
my skin boils
why you don’t like me
is my superiority
my inferiority
you ignore me
because I’m smarter
stronger
richer
my cock is bigger
that’s right
smaller
poorer
weaker
woman’ve always hated me
never really invited into the fold
of guys either
invite myself along
but they just laugh and go
rejected by the screeching tires of society
casually uninvited
room after room of people paired up gabbing and laughing without me without exception,
I enter, I leave
the bar, the club, the church, the coffee house
making’em uncomfortable by molting away
intimidated by reptile eyes
“Shut your neck!!!!!!” yelling at one of them on the corner smiling, leaking joy, sporting the unmolested cleavage of their hard-parted hair, spotless faces, perfectly symmetrical ears, isosceles noses, inviting eyes, flirting eyes, tensiled brows, lovely…
a slave to their acceptance
slowly cutting me out of their lives
the outcasts are the first to tap the keg of revolted by me, with their tattoos, fucking staple gun accidents, dread locks, faux-hawks, fuck spikes, dye jobs
they clump together like lard in a spittoon.
obeying disobedience
weird is the new old
too busy being fucked up to look weird your way son
to take in your everyday Halloween
your overcompensation
too dead to live anyother way than this
wearing what a stranger gave me and what’s dirty next to the bed
me, the only normal person left in the world
haunting green parks
having taught my follower that a rose is at the center of galaxies and cells and atoms--the same rose.
taught him that greed & gravity were just a special kind of glue.
he left me too
invented lust bright & early, me and the stars, because freedom is the only possibility of anonymity & amnesia
I, hero to solitude, emperor of the forgotten, wrote this so you would move your lips when you read, I wrote this because you hate poetry.
my poetry, I fucking hate it too
not decent enough
straight-laced and raping you with my eyes
isolation from you
nicer than you
crying more than you
harder than you
smelling like the sickness of mind
woven with shirt tails tucked in only in the ass
bathing every now and then
madness that began with religion
bad writing lobotomizing me
ending me
all the way back to death
again
ever since
you started ignoring me
being sickened by me
fucking dismissing me like silence
a
zero outside the circle
emptiness set amongst the possibility of things
your ridicule is high praise
your disapproval is dignity
the plaything because I make you feel strong
incomprehensible because you cannot understand
reviled like a fool and a mad god
I’ve been to lectures of the great Steven Weinberg attended by a handful of fools
and over heard the street corner drunk soap boxing in the cold
and they both claimed computers will cause a nuclear war
and were ignored
and you rejected me for not being good enough or for being too great
you are what you are, and I am what I am
but at least I’m not mediocre
at least I’m rejected
because…
all I’ve got going
for me
really
is
that
people think I’m shit
too
Friday, January 18, 2008
The Reader
Reader
[dedicated to the thirteen unread, stolen books by Genet on my shelf]
she doesn’t own any books
I ask what she reads
she says, all the time I read
read like cigarettes or sex
I read like fucking lunatics
at the public library coming
in to sip on some warm
I read like most need
she dabs sweat off her brow
dabs the sweat off her brow
she reads
I ask what again
but she cannot throw
me any names
she smiles:
‘I can’t remember them all’
she can only tell
me she reads,
a book a day
sometimes two
because reading
‘..is all I do.’
‘Since school, I read my way through the library
down the line,
one after another,
from one end to the other.”
Who!
Who do you read!
Whoever…
‘I’m a reader.’
[dedicated to the thirteen unread, stolen books by Genet on my shelf]
she doesn’t own any books
I ask what she reads
she says, all the time I read
read like cigarettes or sex
I read like fucking lunatics
at the public library coming
in to sip on some warm
I read like most need
she dabs sweat off her brow
dabs the sweat off her brow
she reads
I ask what again
but she cannot throw
me any names
she smiles:
‘I can’t remember them all’
she can only tell
me she reads,
a book a day
sometimes two
because reading
‘..is all I do.’
‘Since school, I read my way through the library
down the line,
one after another,
from one end to the other.”
Who!
Who do you read!
Whoever…
‘I’m a reader.’
Thursday, January 17, 2008
sigh-COP-athee
sigh-COP-athee
a quarter of the penal system
but the successful ones
go on to business, politics, entertainment
mostly male, no surprise
a kunlangeta, says the Inuits, push you off the ice when no one’s looking,
repeatedly lies and cheats and steals…takes sexual advantage of many women--
someone who does not pay attention to reprimands and who
is always being brought to the elders for punishment”
traits include:
impressionable, self-centered, dishonest, undependable, irresponsible, guiltless, loveless, apathy, callous, appear normal, reckless
blame others not learn from errs
for the fun of it
they are charming
not shy
even grandiose
master manipulators
impulsive, criminal
promiscuous thieves
“Nevertheless, most psychopaths are not violent, and most violent people are not psychopaths.”
“In contrast to people with psychotic disorders, such as schizophrenia, who often lose contact with reality, psychopaths are almost always rational.”
They have no real ties
Bibliography
The Antisocial Personalities. David T. Lykken. Lawrence Erlbaum, 1995
Without Conscience: The Disturbing World of Psychopaths among Us. Robert D. Hare. Guilford Press, 1999
Unresolved Controversies concerning Psychopathy: Implications for Clinical and Forensic Decision Making. John F. Edens in Professional Psychology: Research and Practice, Vol 37, No. 1, pages 59-65; February 2006
Handbook of Psychopathy. Edited by Christopher J. Patrick Guilford Press
a quarter of the penal system
but the successful ones
go on to business, politics, entertainment
mostly male, no surprise
a kunlangeta, says the Inuits, push you off the ice when no one’s looking,
repeatedly lies and cheats and steals…takes sexual advantage of many women--
someone who does not pay attention to reprimands and who
is always being brought to the elders for punishment”
traits include:
impressionable, self-centered, dishonest, undependable, irresponsible, guiltless, loveless, apathy, callous, appear normal, reckless
blame others not learn from errs
for the fun of it
they are charming
not shy
even grandiose
master manipulators
impulsive, criminal
promiscuous thieves
“Nevertheless, most psychopaths are not violent, and most violent people are not psychopaths.”
“In contrast to people with psychotic disorders, such as schizophrenia, who often lose contact with reality, psychopaths are almost always rational.”
They have no real ties
Bibliography
The Antisocial Personalities. David T. Lykken. Lawrence Erlbaum, 1995
Without Conscience: The Disturbing World of Psychopaths among Us. Robert D. Hare. Guilford Press, 1999
Unresolved Controversies concerning Psychopathy: Implications for Clinical and Forensic Decision Making. John F. Edens in Professional Psychology: Research and Practice, Vol 37, No. 1, pages 59-65; February 2006
Handbook of Psychopathy. Edited by Christopher J. Patrick Guilford Press
Angular Momentum; or, Ownership
I respect what other people commonly refer to as thieves.
There cannot be thieves without owners
who are
weak enough to believe in ownership
a concept which has no basis in physical reality,
but
strong enough to destroy the entire world
in pursuit of copyrighteousness and borders
and fences.
This is nothing but the territoriality instinct elevated and
sanctified by 'laws' that monkey with Nature.
Ownership is the true religion of man
uniting us in self-destruction and justifying our murder.
More have died in this name than any other.
Fuck God.
……..
and I know what you’ll tell me, too.
money makes the world go round
……..
there’s no doubting it
There cannot be thieves without owners
who are
weak enough to believe in ownership
a concept which has no basis in physical reality,
but
strong enough to destroy the entire world
in pursuit of copyrighteousness and borders
and fences.
This is nothing but the territoriality instinct elevated and
sanctified by 'laws' that monkey with Nature.
Ownership is the true religion of man
uniting us in self-destruction and justifying our murder.
More have died in this name than any other.
Fuck God.
……..
and I know what you’ll tell me, too.
money makes the world go round
……..
there’s no doubting it
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Morn
Dusk like halitosis
and the succubus stole away
forgetting the tokens
meanwhile I souvenir a rashy burn
on skin thick and thin
like the machines
that broke a long
ass
time ago
and stopped
taking questions
and answering sin with sin
She was my mad oracle
in a cave
dark
and
infinite
in her ten
inch abyss.
and the succubus stole away
forgetting the tokens
meanwhile I souvenir a rashy burn
on skin thick and thin
like the machines
that broke a long
ass
time ago
and stopped
taking questions
and answering sin with sin
She was my mad oracle
in a cave
dark
and
infinite
in her ten
inch abyss.
An Algorithm for Hate
when i want to be want to be
strong
i hate myself
and
when I want to be
strong
I love myself
no one strokes me better
or
hurts me worse
I give the best hand jobs
and
I can cut a little deeper than the rest
weakness is when
you need
to be loved
or
want
to be hated
but….I am weak
mostly weak
so the thought occurs
If someone loves you,
they have extended your power
in that all of your lover’s knowledge, well-being and opportunity are open to you;
but if someone dislikes you or does not love you,
unless they are very powerful or crazy,
they cannot hurt you with actions but only with words
Hence one has much to gain from being loved
and little if nothing to lose from not being loved.
It takes a lot of crazy powerful hate to meet necks with
even the distant love of an acquaintance.
strong
i hate myself
and
when I want to be
strong
I love myself
no one strokes me better
or
hurts me worse
I give the best hand jobs
and
I can cut a little deeper than the rest
weakness is when
you need
to be loved
or
want
to be hated
but….I am weak
mostly weak
so the thought occurs
If someone loves you,
they have extended your power
in that all of your lover’s knowledge, well-being and opportunity are open to you;
but if someone dislikes you or does not love you,
unless they are very powerful or crazy,
they cannot hurt you with actions but only with words
Hence one has much to gain from being loved
and little if nothing to lose from not being loved.
It takes a lot of crazy powerful hate to meet necks with
even the distant love of an acquaintance.
Indifference
A flock of migrating birds
shat volumes
on the cars of nearly everybody,
a prunish molasses,
and we all whined,
the wicked and the righteous and me,
a few hours later rain poured from the near freezing sky.
shat volumes
on the cars of nearly everybody,
a prunish molasses,
and we all whined,
the wicked and the righteous and me,
a few hours later rain poured from the near freezing sky.
Answering Machine
call. not before noon or after noon thirty.
occasionally there are critical transition phases associated with umpteen minutes after the midnight of day.
some calls selectively forwarded to my broker or hairdresser [same]. heed the need, son. love is a flammable gas. fat soluble and as exothermic as a fart.
she wears a warning label like a mini-skirt and dismisses you with a smile of corroded gingivitis face.
glory be.
this ain't no lab fire snuffed out like a rat on the mob don, or some wrestling match where you get stuck for an eternal three seconds in public bliss/shame,
this is for life, son, for at least more than the whisker of time.
my tears evaporate into the cloud of shit and piss on the dust of my rotting dead asshole.
fuck outta luck
actually, I've never been happier”
occasionally there are critical transition phases associated with umpteen minutes after the midnight of day.
some calls selectively forwarded to my broker or hairdresser [same]. heed the need, son. love is a flammable gas. fat soluble and as exothermic as a fart.
she wears a warning label like a mini-skirt and dismisses you with a smile of corroded gingivitis face.
glory be.
this ain't no lab fire snuffed out like a rat on the mob don, or some wrestling match where you get stuck for an eternal three seconds in public bliss/shame,
this is for life, son, for at least more than the whisker of time.
my tears evaporate into the cloud of shit and piss on the dust of my rotting dead asshole.
fuck outta luck
actually, I've never been happier”
She was pretty after all
all day long she
was better than thou
this morning she
looked me
up and down
--all t-shirt and ripped sports jacket of me--
and made a sour smile
like phony gold wasting on an old idol
“Are you the temp for the stickering project?”
and of course she’s decked out
in designer earth tones
and dolled to
perfection
--all dyed hair and unblemished makeup of her--
so we worked all day
and finished a hour early
while she was at her desk
biding time
‘um…yes, when you’re done you can park the boxes over there between my desk and the cubicle wall…”
um…yes
and she never made eyes
not all day
in the end
her makeup and hair were
pristine
and free of the skin and hair
pocked and browned
as
the old dry
earth
we packed up
loaded the shit
crammed boxes snug
between the wall and the desk
and were just about to make out like bandits
when she glances up
from her desk almighty
poised
a queen
thin
round breasted
to the tee
she looks me dead in the eye socket
she speaks with gracious authority
but I cannot hear
all I can notice now is her lazy eye
I don’t know if to laugh or cry
commit love or suicide
face facts or pride
but all these cancel
and leave me without heart or mind
just where I like to be
was better than thou
this morning she
looked me
up and down
--all t-shirt and ripped sports jacket of me--
and made a sour smile
like phony gold wasting on an old idol
“Are you the temp for the stickering project?”
and of course she’s decked out
in designer earth tones
and dolled to
perfection
--all dyed hair and unblemished makeup of her--
so we worked all day
and finished a hour early
while she was at her desk
biding time
‘um…yes, when you’re done you can park the boxes over there between my desk and the cubicle wall…”
um…yes
and she never made eyes
not all day
in the end
her makeup and hair were
pristine
and free of the skin and hair
pocked and browned
as
the old dry
earth
we packed up
loaded the shit
crammed boxes snug
between the wall and the desk
and were just about to make out like bandits
when she glances up
from her desk almighty
poised
a queen
thin
round breasted
to the tee
she looks me dead in the eye socket
she speaks with gracious authority
but I cannot hear
all I can notice now is her lazy eye
I don’t know if to laugh or cry
commit love or suicide
face facts or pride
but all these cancel
and leave me without heart or mind
just where I like to be
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Temp
Temp
I skip food
all day.
“Feel free…”
says the boss lady
“…to anything unclaimed
in the frig
in the break room.”
except everything’s marked.
“and May will give you
her leftovers…”
May sports a grease dabbed lab coat
with spindly gloved fingers growing
out the ends.
She jabs hot pockets
with thermometers
testing the evenness of
heat
only no one tests the
evenness of the microwave.
and all day damn long
she is doing this
and I am hungry
only they smell good
at first
then the puss of grease
sweats heavy
like
20 grams of saturated american
I am hungry and
nauseated at once
hungry and nauseated like
morning sickness
galvanized tin wraps
everything that isn’t
wrapped in
pastel
frosted pressed glass on sliding doors, open pristine ceilings and spotless guts for vent pipes, hanging paper light fixtures coughing up warm sensuous phlegmatic yellows, cubicle after meshwork cubicle, flatiron grills on the sunnyside portico with withdrawn umbrellas on unashamed lawn ware---everything was so perfect as to wax postmod and crisp and boring as masturbation with your happy hand
as boring as this poem
as sashaying into the
men’s room
and hammering out
a sneak session of my own
on lunch of course
squandering precious goods
I’d otherwise absorb
to kill the stress of hangnails
and swollen fingers arrived at
by hours of labeling
boxing
and to stave off hungry
and that’s sad,
sad sniffing boredom’s ass
like a six headed hell hound
give me your 9 to 5 workaday stiff
never late on bills or the mortgage
or late to work
and one day mingles into another like bar stall piss oder
A homeless man, a desolate man, on the edge of life---
he has a story to tell
Me, today I almost slipped
on wax paper
The guy next over, the guy working so fast
we don’t have to come back tomorrow,
beat me out of next week’s supper
He says: “If I had to do this every day I’d have to slow down, and fortunate for me I got temp work pulling 30 an hour before my real lab job begins.”
I ask him what he
reads, he doesn’t read
I tell him about my home experiments,
he doesn’t care
He complains about the job
and
for Christmas I give the wife my share of food
I skip food
all day.
“Feel free…”
says the boss lady
“…to anything unclaimed
in the frig
in the break room.”
except everything’s marked.
“and May will give you
her leftovers…”
May sports a grease dabbed lab coat
with spindly gloved fingers growing
out the ends.
She jabs hot pockets
with thermometers
testing the evenness of
heat
only no one tests the
evenness of the microwave.
and all day damn long
she is doing this
and I am hungry
only they smell good
at first
then the puss of grease
sweats heavy
like
20 grams of saturated american
I am hungry and
nauseated at once
hungry and nauseated like
morning sickness
galvanized tin wraps
everything that isn’t
wrapped in
pastel
frosted pressed glass on sliding doors, open pristine ceilings and spotless guts for vent pipes, hanging paper light fixtures coughing up warm sensuous phlegmatic yellows, cubicle after meshwork cubicle, flatiron grills on the sunnyside portico with withdrawn umbrellas on unashamed lawn ware---everything was so perfect as to wax postmod and crisp and boring as masturbation with your happy hand
as boring as this poem
as sashaying into the
men’s room
and hammering out
a sneak session of my own
on lunch of course
squandering precious goods
I’d otherwise absorb
to kill the stress of hangnails
and swollen fingers arrived at
by hours of labeling
boxing
and to stave off hungry
and that’s sad,
sad sniffing boredom’s ass
like a six headed hell hound
give me your 9 to 5 workaday stiff
never late on bills or the mortgage
or late to work
and one day mingles into another like bar stall piss oder
A homeless man, a desolate man, on the edge of life---
he has a story to tell
Me, today I almost slipped
on wax paper
The guy next over, the guy working so fast
we don’t have to come back tomorrow,
beat me out of next week’s supper
He says: “If I had to do this every day I’d have to slow down, and fortunate for me I got temp work pulling 30 an hour before my real lab job begins.”
I ask him what he
reads, he doesn’t read
I tell him about my home experiments,
he doesn’t care
He complains about the job
and
for Christmas I give the wife my share of food
And...
And…
In
Probability theory
adding
details makes
things
less likely
The problem is,
details make
lies
more
believable
the opposite is true
of excuses
the old Jew who hangs
at the used bookstore claims
to be an artist,
an abstract impressionist
with a brother in NY
who doesn’t tell him which
of his paintings sell
because the old Jew is private
doesn’t show anyone his work
doesn’t sign his name to his work
just sends them off and never sees them again
all of this and the old fart doesn’t hold a job
jobs he says are for wives and wives are for people who can’t paint well
on another day he claims to
be a physicist
and knows his
pop physics
rather well
he also claims
his leather trench
is lined w/ Kevlar
and that
it only stops small
calibers
he knows from experience
he seems to be a walking search
engine--all the authors, topics,
and books,
all the Prigogines, French criticisms,
and…
if he knows everything
it’s because my everything
is small
he thinks foreign literature is shit
and that black conservatives by definition
are uncle toms
I for one
say he exists
and precisely
in the way he claims
to exist
because I would know:
some of us have to lie in order to be believed.
In
Probability theory
adding
details makes
things
less likely
The problem is,
details make
lies
more
believable
the opposite is true
of excuses
the old Jew who hangs
at the used bookstore claims
to be an artist,
an abstract impressionist
with a brother in NY
who doesn’t tell him which
of his paintings sell
because the old Jew is private
doesn’t show anyone his work
doesn’t sign his name to his work
just sends them off and never sees them again
all of this and the old fart doesn’t hold a job
jobs he says are for wives and wives are for people who can’t paint well
on another day he claims to
be a physicist
and knows his
pop physics
rather well
he also claims
his leather trench
is lined w/ Kevlar
and that
it only stops small
calibers
he knows from experience
he seems to be a walking search
engine--all the authors, topics,
and books,
all the Prigogines, French criticisms,
and…
if he knows everything
it’s because my everything
is small
he thinks foreign literature is shit
and that black conservatives by definition
are uncle toms
I for one
say he exists
and precisely
in the way he claims
to exist
because I would know:
some of us have to lie in order to be believed.
The Bone Factory
[interview the third]
safety is our first concern
he coughed
at me
on our tour of the lab
we make synthetic bone
2$ a gram
20,000 a bucket
sometimes acid gets in
the batch
and an extra calcium
hops the train and we
scrap the whole
confounded
outfit
[someone sneezes and all I smell
is enough ammonia to wake the dead]
we’ve upped production fourfold
but no one’s biting
the rooskies are using Cow mandible
HQ is shutting us down
18 years in the lab
and now every job I shoot fer’s got
a long line of phd’s
I turn on the
tube and listen to some asshole
polytician
harp about
science & engineering
and I’m square on my ass
in a few…
…sorry kid but I’ll hafta
pass you up.
you’ll need a Masters to wash
slurry thru
this here bucket
of
stink.
safety is our first concern
he coughed
at me
on our tour of the lab
we make synthetic bone
2$ a gram
20,000 a bucket
sometimes acid gets in
the batch
and an extra calcium
hops the train and we
scrap the whole
confounded
outfit
[someone sneezes and all I smell
is enough ammonia to wake the dead]
we’ve upped production fourfold
but no one’s biting
the rooskies are using Cow mandible
HQ is shutting us down
18 years in the lab
and now every job I shoot fer’s got
a long line of phd’s
I turn on the
tube and listen to some asshole
polytician
harp about
science & engineering
and I’m square on my ass
in a few…
…sorry kid but I’ll hafta
pass you up.
you’ll need a Masters to wash
slurry thru
this here bucket
of
stink.
Radio Active Waste Farm
[interview the fourth]
So do you have any questions?
“yeah” But I don’t bother…
I walk a crow line out the door
We just went through a lab full
of samples of Radium, Uranium, Plutonium
etc. etc. etc.
And by the security exit there
was a machine
that scanned your feet
&
hands for contamination
It reads:
Sensor Malfunction
and she said it always
says that
Have you any exposures?
Not any we know of
not in at least 12 years
So do you have any questions?
“yeah” But I don’t bother…
I walk a crow line out the door
We just went through a lab full
of samples of Radium, Uranium, Plutonium
etc. etc. etc.
And by the security exit there
was a machine
that scanned your feet
&
hands for contamination
It reads:
Sensor Malfunction
and she said it always
says that
Have you any exposures?
Not any we know of
not in at least 12 years
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