Tuesday, January 03, 2012


Overtuning the Tuna

           O is the color of this name
                            —Michael Palmer

Forgive my misreading til hell breaks loose.  Or til
hedgehog the lawn.  Morning is broken; the buzzards
are loose.  A page is sitting next to a bin.  But seriously
the tweets are fine and all that.  I’ll have lunch with him
tomorrow.  The fact is I’m a little guilty-ish, feeling
distant (distinct?) from those folks, because he wanted
someone who would listen to him (obviously).

Much due to this new phase.  This tree’s a fist without a
word.  When they seem to want to spend time, to want to
listen.  And I’m reading in bed.  Eileen’s angels with
pokers for trumpets.  An interview with sizzle; nobody
says much.  Halloween is a success.  Good.  Exhausting.
Pretentious.  Everything in a hurry, like Armageddon.
Here I am at Chevy’s (obviously).  Doing

Team America (did I see this at 7:30 this morning?).
Is the article I read going to be by Peter Sellars,
giving me a big hug on Friday night?  He did he did!
The juxtaposition of Artaud’s & June Jordan’s texts
was harsh.  The guy who played Artaud was incredible.
Will I wake up happy tomorrow?  Wednesday?  I’m
all so well put together, wondering at assuming,

and very much in hyperbole.  Going on about how
exceedingly.  The happiest feeling by Ron Silliman.