Thursday, January 31, 2013

mdcccxxvi

A necessary world succeeds what world
we call our own.
                                             —Mark Salerno

For a moment there I wasn’t
fragile at all. 

My head won’t talk
about the fight.  Won’t
talk fight through the
voices coming in through
the windows, carried by
just enough chill to the
breeze.

Actually, I thought I fooled
less.  Less quickly than you.

I fool much quicker than you do.


Wednesday, January 30, 2013

mdcccxxv

A chunk of me.

At 187 pounds, yes,
a new record on a
manic Monday.  So I
walk uphill another,
like, half a mile whilst
listening (I am in love
with the word whilst
these days) to my
iMix which rotates
songs or albums by
Howard Jones, Scissor
Sisters, Franz Ferdinand,
Fischerspooner, Supersystem
and Santigold.  An awesome
combination which nearly
made my head explode one time.


Tuesday, January 29, 2013

mdcccxxiv

Hot Nightmares at Night

My sleep index is low
but the dreams are out of
this world.  But is my world
better than the new denim?
Of course.  My dreams are
the cookie of the month.
Or a special free version of
The Cookie a Day Club (they
deliver directly to my mouth!).

They are better than the new Star Wars.
They are better than Oxenrose, a book
on hacking, and the laptop that warms
my lap.  This is sexy?
Yeah, I don’t just think so.  I know so.

How much older am I today (forget the
slicing and dicing – I’m asking for
real)?  Those weeks around a birthday,
I guess.

Plus having pains in my side while
sleeping, a little sunburn (but not too bad).
More words for titles, a soft, tropical
breeze on my lips.  Coffee from the
same hot little guy who still works
here – like, for years!

Work was even fun.  I went for a run at
lunch.  Only a mile though.  :(


Monday, January 28, 2013

mdcccxxiii

                    Today was okay
                    A cock is a dick
                              —Ariana Reines

Morphing into Ariana (do you mind
if I call you that?) with a Sharpie
pen.  Surely she’d use a computer.
Mine is currently occupied.  It’s
consolidating sound files.  Dance
music that takes up an extra-
ordinary amount of “space” – and
effort.  It’s a very high priority.
(Yes, I’m unemployed.  So what?!)

I was going to morph anyway, but
the anger is vital here.  And I just
can’t play that (on a regular basis?).
Even my “So what?!” a pretty much
fake and lousy attempt.

I could write a really long piece
about a movie.  I have done this,
am doing this now, if I am to believe
in these pieces I’ve sliced and diced
into a world by time traveling, bits
and pieces of ... myself? ... sure,

so that I’m no longer Joshua Gordon-
Leavitt but am now, instead, Bruce
Willis.  I’m not my father, I’m myself!

And while the young myself is a heart-
throb I’d love to do (even just a marsh-
mallow kiss) – the me that is me is
fucking Bruce Willis!  I mean
I AM BRUCE!!!  Come get me now

before all of this heat is heartattack
or the anger and bitterness I’m not.  4ever.



Sunday, January 27, 2013

mdcccxxii

Human Need

I’m wearing the red shirt
Yuki gave me for my birthday.
A lot has transpired since
my belated grand entrance.

As a child, for example, I
arrived three days early.
Why Thursday is more than
Sunday?  (More relevant?  More

apropos?)  Thursday’s child is
mauve.  Isn’t that how it goes?
Anyway, my birthday was nearly
a year ago, so I’ve no idea.

The work that goes into these things
seems longer, huger (much more huge).
Epigrams.  Letters.  Words as titles.
Peter’s party in Vallejo.  Which is

tonight, no less.  It’s a celebration.
And though I can’t recall what for
(definitely something naughty), in
retrospect it seems such wholesome

fun, the butterfly chase, the hot tub
scandal, the drunken arguing through a
few broken dreams.  Waking up groggy
and sated, eyes aflutter, a blank slate.


Saturday, January 26, 2013

mdcccxxi

Unfinished Composition for Eight Voices

     Anything can pass before the eyes of a person.
                                                                —Ariana Reynes

Eight years of not painting
over the caulk – white
dots on a blue wall.
Not the clouds.  The
open mouths on the wall
– at near eye level
when sitting in bed.
Four babies’ mouths
need to be fed blue.

Four babies’ mouths (a
grand total of 8 mouths)
silenced by some obviously
brusque attempt at blue-ing
over the mouths.  Very off-
color.  Not the blue of the
rest of the (mouthless)
wall.  So complacent the
mouth-painter-over that,
well, breath escapes
each yet. 

               Asphyxiation
incomplete.  Coma maybe,
but still breathing in (their
un-blue-ness); splotchy
white giblets of caulk
spewing forth and/or
visible.

I watch the mouths for a little
while, the four unobstructed
tender baby mouths, the four
sleepy mouths, and even place
my ear up to the wall.  The wall
is hot to the touch, startles. 

The mouths are voiceless. 
And breathless.


Friday, January 25, 2013

mdcccxx

I’m paying for it now.
The spreadsheet is
exceeding.  My wallet,
needless to say, is
torn.  Not with decision
(say melon or mauve?)
but at the seams and
all around the fancy
Japanese velcro.  Would
that it could fly to
Tokyo today just to
replace itself.  To get
another younger self.
It remembers exactly
where, as I do.  Not
quite off the beaten
path.  An establishment
which evokes (an almost
audible/subtle scream)
efficiency over luxury.
Welcomes you with such
a greeting.  And you
trust.  Even when your
fingers adventure into
product enough to tease
out a well-meant-to-
remain-hidden-away
tag your fingers
smudge shock onto.  A
year later efficiency burns
to the ground.  It was
a mere 2-alarm fire.


Thursday, January 24, 2013

mdcccxix

I’m feeling much
better now.  With
the heat in my
face, aimed
directly at my,
my, my visage.
Jack (Sprat) wel-
comes me home
by booting me
from the kitchen.
The cat, perched
atop the refriger-
ator like a growth.
Perhaps she is
telling us some-
thing.  About what
reeks on the inside?
A new development/
downturn in health?
The sanctity of a
particular...for
lack of a better...
marriage?  But she
gets the kitchen.
The kitchen, hers.
I snag the business
section, relax into
kitchenless space.


Wednesday, January 23, 2013

mdcccxviii


Money-go

You’ve got class.
You’re no fool.  A
hectic teenage
week.  Alejandra
scaring everyone
with her belated
grand entrance.  So.
You focus quick on
fashion, its red
shirt, its denim
and khakis.  In that
order.  Keep the
mind at east with
such thoughts as you
swing open the war-
drobe.  It’s been a
huge year.  Or three.
But what commodity
have you to show for
it?  A breathless ease
that moans into a
gasp.  Could it have
been a decade ago?
You study the receipt.


Tuesday, January 22, 2013

mdcccxvii

Miley Cyrus Went to Europe & All I Got Was This Lousy T-shirt

I fool much quicker
than you do.  Don’t be
upset.  I went to
fool school.  For my
birthday I got a
cheat card?  And an
F in Funny (a B in
Wholesome, though).
Perhaps I’m just
crazy.  I used to
fool crazy with a
bunch of vague rules.
Having fun with no
‘worry’ creates the
kind of heat that
soothes muscles.
Old spasms.  Much
quicker the dunce
ages, degree by
degree, etc.  Crazed
by age spasms into
looking backward,
craning at bibs
and monkeybar
hemorrhages.


Saturday, January 19, 2013

mdcccxvi

Did I mention

it?  Our first official.
Thermostat out the brain-
less roof.  It was a

giddy carnage.  Then.
Ikea.  A bookshelf
hopefully.  It takes

forever to get through
a stack.  The rest of
the day dreaming.

Slept through hair
appointment did I
tell you?  A pill

isn’t a plan anymore.
But next morning a
quiet hour.  Almost

forever.


Friday, January 18, 2013

mdcccxv

rag doll

first, shampoo.

well, it’s a plan, isn’t it ?


Thursday, January 17, 2013

mdcccxiv

go on !

no anger in
me no anger
i pray

my goal in a
month and
a day

of yesterday’s
proverbial
doctor

then spend
the rest
filthy with

thrift
30 spins &
you’re out


Wednesday, January 16, 2013

mdcccxiii

I went on a date once with a girl I
really wanted to get serious with. 
She was smoking hot.

Don’t you think I’m the Ruth
Westheimer of Pine Street?

blatteration – a senseless roar
                     or bellowing, as a calf.
                     (paraphrased from Samuel Johnson’s
                      Dictionary of the English Language, 1755)


Tuesday, January 15, 2013

mdcccxii

We take the four elements for granted:
earth, guilt, poem, redheads.
                               —Michael Friedman

We run in the same circles.  This is
about girth, about treading on thin ice
directly after the Ice Festival.  It’s
dumb to even mention.  I saw

Fred in Union Square helping prepare
for a show I believe he mentioned.
There is pain in my right knee
today.  The side pain (while I sleep)

has gotten worse, even though the
doctor gave me an antibiotic pre-
scription.  A prescription for anti-
biotics.  Yesterday’s quiet hour

on Angel Island was so fantastic,
and it disappears into darkness.


Monday, January 14, 2013

mdcccxi

The Natural State

Then he’s off to lab and I sat
unshowered in Union Square.
Following an hour.  Perfect.
Lovely temperature.

Nice to get back to stuff
after Angel Island.  Sank
into a vegetarian dish and
then had three drinks called
20 Minutes or Less.

Some fried calimari
with a pesto sauce
and the dogs barking
into oblivion.  Yes,
they like that, don’t
they?  Oblivion.

I chuckle at my
oddly addictive
dish.  I’ve lost
my glasses
and something
about an anti-
biotic prescription.

Saturday, January 12, 2013

mdcccx

I’m an animal.  Something both
enjoyable and worthwhile.  Boats
on the water.  A few motors I keep
going.  But the endless challenge
of the lapping of the water onto
the rocks (the sand, the beach).
Erin is saying keep track of time.
So sweet.  This is one of the nicest
(purest) experiences.  Keep away
from the present.  A moment can
kill you.  Got as close as this
morning, waving goodbye
in front of the Starbucks.
Three sailboats race in the
general direction of San
Francisco.  His tongue
gags on this dancefloor,
this wind, this water.

Friday, January 11, 2013

mdcccix

He gives me the blinks
and says I want it real
with no parameters.

The excuses we
torture ourselves
with.  My friends

up there all saying
hello.  Are they
all trying to avoid

the same phone
call?  Don’t worry,
I won’t be long.

Thursday, January 10, 2013

mdcccviii

Masseur

I was so certain for a while.
So much experience.


Wednesday, January 09, 2013

mdcccvii

Think about it.  Don’t hurt people.
                      —Michael Friedman

No this weekend.  Last night
I was groggy.  Enjoyed pizza
(with meat).  Then sleep.  Well,
first, listening to Fischerspooner
with my iPod for about 30 minutes
in a half-dream state.

I’m using his name a lot here.  And
love.  And belong.  Some intense
connection.  Which is either passion
or just a connection.  And then there’s
the question of the song, what gives
me the right, etc.

Screw the word reasonable context.
Of course it’s real!  Why the dilemma?

Tuesday, January 08, 2013

mdcccvi

As many of you know,
I never once turned the page.
Somewhere nearby were
Summer and Autumn,
gorgeous.  In my ears
something of a
palindrome.  Tiny yellow
flowers in the sunshine.
Wildflowers.  No
negative connotation
at all.  This weekend
or next.  Last night.
This morning.

Friday, January 04, 2013

mdcccv

today
like I don’t exist
regresses
northward

so I’m not picking weeds
nor shoveling gravel
nor whatever else it is
the gang is doing

he touched me to
let me know
how romantic
this was

Alcatraz to my left
birds way below


Thursday, January 03, 2013

mdccciv

Wanna cry some real teardrops into some
booze (also real) around 7:30?

Each animal who knows its name
talks to me.

         I’m better than
my theme song
                                  —Jack Kimball

The monkey with the dangling legs
looks at me over the computer screen
as if to remind me that he names
each album Addiction.  I name mine
Misspellings.

Until you’re gone I’m going to
pretend like you’re still here.

Today, truly amazing, I poured
something all over my diary,
may 6 (also truly amazing),
and the most beautiful (also
truly amazing) thing happened.

Wednesday, January 02, 2013

mdccciii

Maybe you just need to quit saying yes
to everything.  Heart of gold, my ass!

The headline read I just turned 65
but I feel 23.  The truth is so mistaken.

Do I make anyone ponder anymore?
Did he ever.

What if I’m false?  Remind me to
mention to Sean that, as far as I’m

concerned, that was an extremely
nicely strategized personality

development.  And I’m not
even being snarky.


Tuesday, January 01, 2013

mdcccii

How does Oprah do it?

Would you mind terribly
if I just rewrote the
entire interview?