Saturday, February 28, 2015

mmcccxxxv

This week, Otto and I
went to the Herbst
Theater to hear the
Baroque Philharmonic

Orchestra perform a
selection in honor of
Mozart’s 250th birth-
day.  It was really a

lovely event.  Great
music – the entire
concert – absolutely
perfect.  I never lose

interest in the music.

Friday, February 27, 2015

mmcccxxxiv

I’m free to do what I want.
                           —Tim Dlugos

The silence beckons
(and not in a good way).

Snow on lips obscured
by fire.  A present-day

bohemian is just no good.
The times are doomed.

I am doomed.  Clearly,
I am on the brink of

utter destruction.
Should I milk this

moment for every-
thing I’m worth?

“That’d just be
crazy!” thought

the dairy farmer.


Thursday, February 26, 2015

mmcccxxxiii

I’m a vampire of other people’s emotions.
                                                    —Tim Dlugos

Otto is getting his
eyes examined
next door.  He can
never see what is

(clearly) right in
front of him.  Or
else he forgot it
was there.  Or it’s

just a bother to
try....       I’m at
the hippest
Starbucks ever

sipping a hot
cocoa.  This is
where I wrote
“Love Poem

(Tentative
Title).”  An
odd thing
to remember.

Back then it was
Torrefazzione.  It
is a chilly day in
San Francisco.

They’re even
talking snow(!)
in the hills,
the Seven Hills.

Everything looks
pretty now.  I do
wish Otto were
here to see it.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

mmcccxxxii

Luck is the quality that the third rate give to the genuinely
       talented.
                                                             —Tim Dlugos

Isn’t this horrible?
What a mess I am!

Calling him every
name in the book

until my fingertips
bleed.  How do I get

so wrapped up
in the act of

out the door?
(Visualize

literally walk-
ing out of a door.)

My mind is a pile of
dirty wet rags.  My

ego is severely de-
flated.  Dave’s annual

birthday party is this
Saturday.  What have I

done to die today?  In-
doors or out?  Lunch-

break or work right
through it?  What

should I do?  What-
ever should I do,

cry myself to sleep?
Whatever!  (I cry

myself to sleep.)


Tuesday, February 24, 2015

mmcccxxxi

Videoconference with Australia

Last night’s workout
with Curran was slim

because my foot has
been hurting – it

doesn’t feel so bad
today.  I presume

that riding a
fake bicycle

was just the
right thing to do.

Monday, February 23, 2015

mmcccxxx

Jackhammer

Here i am
in the box
with a new

80Gb hard
drive with
my laptop

in my bag
about to
head over

to see
Johnny I.
(the Shady 

Guy) to
get my
data trans-

ferred onto
my brand
new drive.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

mmcccxxix

There is a rattling noise.
This is where I should
end.  Things like furniture
get moved around over-

head.  It is the routine.
We get used to hearing
it (feeling it).  Like the
pile driving that goes

on and on in the block
next door and shakes
all of the hanging lights
and jiggles all of the

computer monitors
on the 33rd floor.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

mmcccxxviii

I Put Some Rice On

I put some rice
on.  Now it is
done.  I did this
at Otto’s request,

who says he’ll
make a meal
out of it: fried
rice.  The

recipe calls
for anything
he can find
in the kitchen.

There’s not
a thing to
eat that I
can find,

but within
minutes he’s
made a meal
out of it. 

This happens
a lot, these
miracles on
Pine Street.




Friday, February 20, 2015

mmcccxxvii

Get (It) Down; Get (It) Out

I bought their sick lies hook, line and sinker, and
     I’m still buying them.
It’s not too late to change.
                                                  —Tim Dlugos

Another day, another wall
of silence.  Even the stick
figures in the periphery are
mute.  I wonder how I must

look, what they must think,
who am I now?  My wrist
continues to hurt; my hand
cramping.  Yet I only want

(you)

to speed ahead!  There
is never enough time
to do all of the things
that I want to be. 

There, I said it.  After
spending several
days writing it
all down.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

mmcccxxvi

Then I sauntered
into the living
room of our
(our) lovely
apartment,
and began
where I
(I) had
left
off.



Wednesday, February 18, 2015

mmcccxxv

Hurts

Palm hurts.  Not so easy
to write.     Feel lately
that I am falling apart.
Maybe

I am.  A bunch of
broken pieces and parts.
I’m not yet 40 and I just
wrote the t before the i

in the word it.
Wouldn’t it be easier
to type this?  To slip
so easily into the

computer?  Am I
slipping into a serious
bout of  . . . .     Sepia,
now balancing on the

back cushion of
Green Couch #2,
at my toes, the
farthest cushion

from me, the one I don’t
have behind my back
or underneath this
journal.  I’m just so creepy.

“Then sleep,” says the
voice inside of my head,
which, I have come to believe,
values rest much more than I do.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

mmcccxxiv

And we found for all ghouls a ghoulopolis,
I suppose.
                                       —Alice Notley

I don’t even know what I need anymore.
When I picked it up for all of its buzzing,
I can’t even remember.  It’s like a night-
mare.  [The name of this one is Please

Make a Mixtape with All of His Genitals.]
Where was I?  Nightmare, of course.  And
where are you?  Not here, never here. 
Never when a nightmare is here.   Never

here then.  Not ever.  And where are
you?  Where are you?  I don’t even
know what I cried anymore.  When I
picked you up, hushing and hushing.

Sunday, February 15, 2015

mmcccxxiii

I Swear That I Will

carry out all of what
was yours (and yours
alone), throw it upon
the sidewalk with a
sign marked “FREE”.

I should get a vacation
soon.  “Get,” I wonder?
I’m at a table with a
Pontiac parked next
it and a bunch of men

who swear, each and all.
“How could he possibly
do this?”  I will, I promise.
Some remnant of yester-
day’s Chronicle: Reese

Witherspoon and Philip
Seymour Hoffman the
apparent shoo-ins.  Not
that fun.  Am I the only
one here more palatable

when dead?  I was talking
to Stephanie about how
pretty I am.  “Pretty
much,” she must have
mumbled from behind

a rose-colored napkin.
It is 8:00pm, AS Sepia
the Cat teaches me to
call where we are sit-
ting Green Couch #2.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

mmcccxxii

People You May (Soon) Know

I’m at a table with a
bunch of men (a scene
that brings to mind
the old domino hall
back home), one of
them talking all
the others’ ears
off about how he
started studying
Muslim after 9/11
because he wanted
to understand (he
compares and
contrasts it to/
with Catholicism).
I have a peach and
banana smoothie
and I rented a
Pontiac to get
here, and even-
tually to Mills
for a conference
at which I will be
sitting in on a
panel discussion
about How to
Make It As a
Poet in the
Real World.

Friday, February 13, 2015

mmcccxxi

I see myself
sabotaging my
self as if for
ever away.

Long hold
these truths:
none sane nor
sweller.  I, gays,

a bunch of fell-
ers, arose, sag,
mid-heap.  A
sage rose,

clearly no bone,
us.  A glob of
pods, I sieze
and seize.

NO BOTS
IS BET
TER THAN
ROBOTS.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

mmcccxx

Taylor Swift

I can never manage
to scrape an entire
week off.  But Curran
and I did just that

after our workout
last Wednesday.
Maybe after that
I shake it off

[slake it off?]
and sit inside
Quetzal, read
and write old

times.  Slow
down, Blondie!
I sneeze, getting
all nostalgical.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

mmcccxix

I write more
than a page

then slam the
car door like

lousy etiquette
(but very cleanly

[clearly?]).  Okay,
it’s 11am:  time

for something
orgasmic, like

scrapping [scarf-
ing?  scraping?]

the day off the
page.  I’m only

allowed one
enemy per

week, I think,
sitting in a

somber cafe.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

mmcccxviii

Don’t Panic

The Painkillr
is on her way.
For most of

the night, I
feel like I’m
a star on the

rise.  I have
spent lots of
time with her

this weekend.
Like youth, the

only anomaly
was an over

ly vivacious
Atsushi.


Monday, February 09, 2015

mmcccxvii

I’m a Winner

Is that a tube of lipstick
in your mouth or are you
just (wink:wink!) happy
to see me (when you ever

hug me!)?  I was supposed
to be on the planet panel with
Juliana but I think she’s an
an angel now.  I should

get a reprieve soon (three
quarters off per year, round-
ed up to a baker’s dozen).  Last
weekend, August 1, was a

couple of weeks.  March is
today and, all said, it is a
little bit too crushy, but
very swank—all said, well

taken care of, peaceful
and relaxed.  I love ex-
perience!  It’s so awe-
some, like a spa with

a communal bath.  Even
though I was coming
down (with the flu,
it turns out), I

wound up dancing on
the mezzanine with
Hotstuff.  He was
beautiful—profound,

even—and it was soon
thereafter broadcast-
ed that I was its one and
only...—a real winner!

Sunday, February 08, 2015

mmcccxvi

Panic

That is what I
think of when
I think of this
very moment:
Panic.  Panic.

Saturday, February 07, 2015

mmcccxv

I just spent
$25 on Elvis
Bingo.  He’s
leaving the
building in
4 days or
less and I
have 2
prizes to
go before
the puzzle
is conquered,
is all mine.
“That’s what
she said,”
drinking
soothing tea.
I’m not on a
roll.  Unless
I continue
for the next
couple of days.
The parenthet-
ical pickle jar
is pretty odd
and enticing,
I think, dipping
my fingers into
it, deep into
everything.

Friday, February 06, 2015

mmcccxiv

I’m on a Roll

What goes well
with Robert Mitchum,
Shelly Winters, and
Lillian Gish?  Why,
pizza, of course!

Night of the Hunter

is a pretty odd and
enticing movie (say
more!).  I never go
deep.  Must I begin

now?  Lying
next to a hot dog
on Professional
Survival Day, I
honestly wonder.

Thursday, February 05, 2015

mmcccxiii

Bipolar

Taking my mostly
naked notebook to
the underwear party
and holding my 3-day
weekend at 1:30am
to dance x 3 as sleep
finally settles in do I
go home just like
tomorrow’s mass
age or do I go to the
steam room the
steam room sounds
so good right now.

There is never
enough time I’m
an uncle again
Ginger’s newest
girl born Monday
Bethany Kay
received from
Otto and myself
a few days ago 
a plush tadpole 
named Ted that 
soothingly sings 
when you hug it.

Wednesday, February 04, 2015

mmcccxii

I’m practicing the art
of forbearance, juggling
bank.  Practicing our
personal accounts
in front of a group
of retainers, or, attendants,
divine comedies, brewing
the elements, pausing
to smell our roses
that are suffocating
beneath the wooden
clouds.  We notice
$6,000 in the bank.
I’m (therefore) full
of courtesy, curtsy,
and it.

We’re up to 1976:
the Pinto station
wagon (with its
faux wood ex-
terior) and the
long lines at the
gas station.  The
attendant is wear-
ing the exact same
sweater I am (well,
not exactly), in the
style of a Jack-in-the-
Box burger with bacon
on ciabatta bread, so
decades must have
disappeared, not-

withstanding the
side streets and
alleyways filled
with beautiful
boys who can’t
afford a box.
We take it
to go.  I’m
about to
fall (I
know
this
already).


Tuesday, February 03, 2015

mmcccxi

Happy

I rented a bunch
of movies that I
interject with
comments.  Otto,
who generally hates
when I do this,
came home buzzed
from cheesecake.
What’s the bottom
line?  Please let it
be less than rock
bottom, which I
thought I hit
yesterday,
and then today,
but now I’m pretty
sure it’s left to
somewhere in the
future.  Like, perhaps,
tomorrow.  

My biscuits
were burning this
morning.  It made me
so mad that I was
angry.  The subject
of my argument,
leaning on mere
words (slipware ...
syrinx ... ramify ...),
is in my humble
opinion, utterly
unimportant.  So
we split up
into branches
or constituent
parts.  

Clouds
are always best
imaginatively
described.  They
encourage this.
Today, they are
wooden and
wonder where
I might have
gone.