Tuesday, April 30, 2013

mdcccxcvii

I love it when people ask me where I
got things from because they’re usu-
ally from a different country.  Ask
me where I got this shirt.

I, having walked here a million times
with it being closed, both before &
after the gym, am at Bistro Burger on
Mission, just cattycorner from

MY OFFICE.  (“How do you spell
vinegar?”  “V-I-N-E-G-A-R.”)
Now here I am having lunch (“
How do you spell peroxide...”)

Turkey burger, fries, vanilla
milkshake.  I can easily go
from don’t like to like and
sometimes all the way to love.


Monday, April 29, 2013

mdcccxcvi

I keep imagining someone slowly pushing a xanax bar into someone
else’s eyeball.
                                                                                              —Tao Lin


I misread the word prisons and thought she said “All the penguins
are fragile.”  Del the documentarian.  I can’t stick to one subject
because I’ve already spent it in my head.  Quick note: I am alive;
I shall purchase a suit

more suitable for reading
poetry with short lines
(must start reading).

188 pounds at Starbucks
on New Montgomery.
Incredible line-up, a
bit intimidating.

“You’re funny,” he says.
“Did you even know the
widow was open?”

I like my awesome new desk
with a Vanilla Bean Espresso
on top.  Tedious day of lady
jazz.  Third day of running.

Overheard:  Needs new notebook....needs new porn....(or poem?)....Pigeons
....Finished Brandon’s e podes....Read to my mother while waiting for finger-
prints today....Security badge.....Walgreen’s then cook.....Me laundry.....
Miss you notes from Erin....Should I read a little Dahlen or write one.....


I’m writing this as though I invented it, but it keeps getting truer
and truer.
                                                                                              —Alice Notley


Sunday, April 28, 2013

mdcccxcv

How much swagger do I want?
                                —Dana Ward

Woman falls of cliff while raking leaves.
Scratch that last thought, I just ordered a
pizza.  But my skin is very oily.

Won’t you come with me?  With you
I’m always more social.  He asks me
how I lost all of my charisma.  Freud

suggests it’s on hiatus.  With my
libido.  (Drumroll, please.)
Many hours later, I don my

windmill costume and join you
for lunch.  It costs forty-two
dollars and seventy-five cents.


Saturday, April 27, 2013

mdcccxciv

No wonder nobody gets me.
Even I have no idea when I’m
being serious and when I’m
just clowning around.

Losing a pound of ecstasy
in one weekend must be
critically severe, kind
of like a disco death.

I wouldn’t know, though.
What I do know is he’s
so ambitious.  He even
sews.  He doesn’t phone

her.  He doesn’t write.
But don’t forget, folks,
that’s what you get, folks
, for makin’ whoopie.


Friday, April 26, 2013

mdcccxciii

Maybe it’s just impossible for me to pick my
tongue out of my cheek.  Do they hurt like
the worst kind of splinters, which today I
confirmed is hair splinters (this is one of
the things I learned from Brook, my new
barber, my barber of today)?  It’s not that
I haven’t tried.

Is somebody going through a rough time?
I know somebody that’s going through a
rough time.  And I’m just no good at
‘being there’ for such things.  Especially
what with how cruel the world has been
lately (you know who you are!).  I run
from D for Drama.  Even though a little
piece of my heart gets an erection.

Maybe not entirely, though.  I can emote.
Right?  You saw me last night when you
played that new P!nk video.  That was
art.  Totally.  And she worked so hard
for it, too.  Which makes it art with a
hard-on.  Omigod, I mean art with
purpose.  But I’m sorry it’s just
impossible. 

Which of course is why when you
played the new Lana Del Rey video
immediately after, I just couldn’t
let go of myself.  I know, I know,
an hour of non-stop criticism for
a poor....brunette now, I think,
right?....for a poor brunette
with a wobbly voice and a
bizarre penchant for interm-
inably long poetry-reading-
esque voice-over narration
before, during, and after her
[musical number?] during an
Easy Rider vs. Anna Nicole
Smith music video—is just a
bit much.  Wouldn’t you say?


Thursday, April 25, 2013

mdcccxcii

Most Dreams Are Real

Aw, is your rope-a-dope
strategy not working?  I’m
usually not good at ‘being
there’ for such things.  But
I have taken my medication
and I have come prepared.
One of us needs to roll
up our sleeves.  Ugh,
work!  We stood around
for a while just looking at
one another, but after a
while we each took a seat.
My exhaust runneth over.
Giggles.  Someone thought
they heard it coming through
the ventilation system.  Some-
where in the future of global
warming.  Somewhere in the
future of an all points bulletin
but before the final point is
made.  .  .  .   Everyone in
the movie collapses, but
the film plays on.  People
stare blankly, first at the
open fields (of celluloid),
and then at each other.  And
slowly, one by one, folks
start to rise and sort of aim
themselves down aisle-ways
and out doors.  Everyone is
gone before the credits roll.
Except Otto, who just wants
to make sure there isn’t a
teaser for the sequel.  Not
to give anything important
away, but in the end, all
of our dreams come true.


Wednesday, April 24, 2013

mdcccxci

For better or worse, I have never
blacked out.  Not really, anyway.
I haven’t even passed out.  Ever.
Unless you count pre-surgery
anesthesia-induced counting-
backwards-from-ten-to-maybe-
three induced unconsciousness.
Sometimes I’m envious of those
who occasionally reduce their
faculties to nil ... recreationally
or otherwise.  But there seem
always to be such absurd politics
in the determination of which
parcels of land get to be called
National Park.  Or get to keep
that name.  Or get to discard
that name forthwith.  This is
just one reason it is invariably
difficult for me to force myself
to the voting station.  Or connect
the dots or lines or whatever,
stick everything into the allotted
and postage-paid envelope, and
tote it downstairs to the blue
mailbox that (invariably) has
a mouthful of graffiti.  Raise
your hand if you look good.
That’s all I’m saying.  No-
body ever got this far without
a little bit of shine.  I didn’t
even blossom until later in
life, but look at me now.


Tuesday, April 23, 2013

mdcccxc

From the outside looking in, I’d say he was a mooch.

                                              Horses wonder who you are. 
                                                                   —Dana Ward


Opening night was a tremendous success!    And so was
the weekend.  We worked out together twice.  If you ask
me how we did it, I’ll probably be less than forthright.

While inside I’ll only wish I was a deviant.  Does it seem
like living to be still up at five in the morning to hear the
marathon bullhorn and the crowd of how-many-ever

thousand going wild?  Surely the only audience were
the marathon runners themselves.  Why expend that
much energy right at the get-go?  This is a pretty

warped thought at five in the morning.  I do digress.
Portentously.  Ominously.  Maybe even hilariously
(I have somehow maintained a very active fantasy

life.  At least when I’m running on a treadmill.)
I guess I am the last to learn that computer stuff
is now code for watching porn.  Sometimes I’m

so ahead of the game, so cognizant, so aware of
my surroundings, day or night.  Other times I’m
totally drunk in tiny white shorts at a 70s theme

party.  Or I’m at Darren’s going-away party
thinking about a nearby Starbucks.  Or I’m
waking up at the wrong address with some

guy from Chicago who turns out to be
cognizant mafia (some dreams are okay).
So far I’m not dead.  Just at the gymnasium.


Monday, April 22, 2013

mdccclxxxix

Tippi Hedren the Tetrahedron

Last night on Animal Planet we learned how
mermaids were beautiful creatures who once
ruled the oceans but have been drawn to near
extinction by tuna nets.  Over the weekend, I

discovered that I am quite funny, even hilar-
ious.  Aren’t you glad that over the weekend
I discovered that I’m quite funny?  Except
I couldn’t stop.  Comedians take all kinds of

shit and are often suicidal.  I think I read that
somewhere.  My point is the Daily Show is
not news.  But people can’t really get it into
their heads that it’s more like a sitcom.  I

tried watching The MacNeil/Lehrer Report
once, but had to turn the channel halfway
through.  And I support public broadcasting.
Jim Lehrer was even the commencement

speaker at my college graduation.  I keep
looking at the pictures of my graduation
and I just look awful.  I was already in
no mood for the real world.  I refused

to wear a tie under my gown—what a
costume, anyway.  And the ridiculous-
ness on my part of the not wearing a tie
protest.  And look how skinny I was!

All of my parents showed up, too—
still alive.  I remember how compart-
mentalized the day was.  And how I
wanted nothing more but to go to sleep.

None of this has anything whatsoever to do
with Alfred Hitchcock, who looks like such
a schlub as Anthony Hopkins in a fat-suit.  But
then again, the real world is not the movies.



Sunday, April 21, 2013

mdccclxxxviii

Is she really going out with him?

I think I just realized why I decided against
fame.  I can easily recognize my name from
a distance and sometimes get downtrodden
when not.  That was easy.  To celebrate
(and also to hide everything) I put it into
the casket that used to be a box full of
chocolates.  These were the chocolates
given to me for my birthday, the birth-
day I was surprised to receive two boxes
of chocolates from friends, fairly close
friends, both, and I’m pretty loud about
the fact that I don’t really like chocolate.
The beautiful little blue box that once
contained chocolates, which, when I
started eating them, I could not stop.
In that, yes, they were unbelieveably
delicious, and since then I have toned
down my loudness about not liking
chocolates.  And also purchased
with my own money several new
such blue boxes of chocolates
for my personal consumption.
But now it’s like a funeral
for whatever it is that I put
into the box.  Compounded
or confused by the fact that
I hid the box, and furthermore
there is the problem of I can-
not remember where I put
it.  I’m not really sure how
to end this dilemma (I’ve
a pretty lousy memory),
but sometimes I think that
no matter what goes down
in the end, it could still reas-
onably be considered a bang.


Saturday, April 20, 2013

mdccclxxxvii

If there’s a debate going on
just don’t tell me about it.

When you put the little
chip clip upside down

on its ears the little green
frog appears to be frowning.

The older I get the worse I
bowl.  I think I saw your

brand new picture.  Were
you walking down Polk

Street?  I was at the
barbers, relaxing against

the glass, waiting for Brook,
my new barber (my barber

today).  I have a barber
named Brook.


Friday, April 19, 2013

mdccclxxxvi

Maybe the page is stupid.
But it doesn’t have to be
that way.  Let’s try it a
different way.  I sit and
think through the slats
of the blinds for a few
hours.  Open-ended
is the new panic.  I’m
even starting to get
abstract.  I mean
understand it (I am
wholly concrete).
Those are stupen-
dous lines for a
twenty-three year
old.  After which
I hide my face in
shame.  I’m on
the dancefloor
dancing, though.
There is no shame.
There are no rolling
eyes.  Only ambition.
When I woke up I
realized that I had
left it on all night.


Saturday, April 13, 2013

mdccclxxxv

Symbolism

Surprised?  I breathe and the blood
doesn’t get to my brain, so what can
I say but maybe wakka wakka.   Which
in my language is not at all erotic.  How

was your weekend?  Mine was pretty
super: dancing, cavorting, visiting with
old friends and new architecture, hosting
my bi-weekly (or so) roundtable critique

of today’s best tunes, and being domestic.
And now for something completely un-
expected.  Like ignoring the Beatport
tab and hiking to lunch.  Stay tuned

for a full report. Wakka wakka!


Friday, April 12, 2013

mdccclxxxiv

I promised you 12:30.  It is now 12:31.

The next one will be called Symbolism.


Thursday, April 11, 2013

mdccclxxxiii

He’s Pretty

Who spent all that time and effort updating his
status when he could have been finishing that
treatise on the plight of humanity?  Or writing
a poem?

If you give me just one kiss, you’ll never need to
consider that ridiculous thought again.

Love is like that.  All our attention drawn to the
beautiful sheath of flawless skin.  None at all
to the revolutionary new (blond) hairdo.
Hearts aflutter.

At half of the month we trot ourselves out to
lunch at 12:30.  Schizophrenia.  At 3:00, we
discover how to copy the mail-in ballot and
spend the rest of the afternoon and evening
voting.

Nobody noticed a thing until mid-July
when the body was found (still
writhing); duck sauce
smeared all over the
unexposed areas.


Wednesday, April 10, 2013

mdccclxxxii

I can be sly with love.

I check my email a lot.  There’s good in
           everyone but you’ve got to see it.
                                              —Jack Kimball

Jackhammer exhaust in the morning better on the
outside than inside like yesterday.  That was seriously
not sexual but it reminds me how presumed tops
never get a day off for emotional issues.  Domination
is a tough life, I suppose.

Today’s forgotten english word of the day is callet,
“A vulgar, scolding, ill-tempered, unchaste woman;
an ancient word in common use, though perishing
from literature.”  On so many levels, too.

Otto left me the article on hip-hop’s “big gay moment”
and I read it with almond m&m’s – I’m a morning
person.  I tried like the devil to get out the door by
noon but in four minutes I will have failed.
Miserable

failure purportedly leads to all sorts of revelatory,
evolutionary, eye-popping, mind-bending...
educational happenstances.  This is maybe a
Buddhist way of thinking or even perhaps an
ascetic way of being okay with death and such. 
Things like zen and(/or) yoga seem beautiful to me. 
Ascetism not so much.  But let’s hope this yields some

truth.  I picked up ice skating just fine.  The
first time I ever tried.  I turned it into an annual
event in my mind (later, I’m told that I shuffle
anniversary dates haphazardly).  Is it a crime,
this quest for poignance?

I don’t normally head in the direction of thinking or
uttering the phrase “licking one’s wounds” ... but
that’s where where I wander when I hear Coco
cleaning herself beside me, here on the couch.
Like fireworks going off in my head, I think of
Bill Berkson’s proclomation at City Lights about
his aversion to ending a poem with a bang.


Tuesday, April 09, 2013

mdccclxxxi

Can You Hear Me Now?

This joke dates me.  (I
picture our honeymoon
in Paris.  On prime-time).
Thanks for nothing, Pres-
idential Debate!  I can
whimper but I’m too
tired to tweet.

Company comes like
a nightmare I’m greedy
for.  There is a long
conversation but I
keep thinking about
anniversaries.  The
anniversary of his
thin limbs.  The
anniversary of
my desire.  This
makes company
somewhat fascinating.

I’m staring at the chef
splitting eggs single-
handedly.  I mean.
Very fluid movement.
Maybe a dozen eggs
into a very huge pot.
I like to feel the heat
of his stove while I’m
eating my breakfast.

My voice is resonant.
I mean I don’t think
I’ve ever had any
trouble being heard.
When I speak.  Be-
cause I’m pretty loud
I think. I don’t have
a very pleasant-
sounding voice.
I’ve been told.


Monday, April 08, 2013

mdccclxxx

I freeze up when the phone rings now.
The Wok Shop guy couldn’t deliver our
dinner because I kept looking at the phone
as it rang.  (The dread of I keep thinking it’s
the employment agency?  It’s about a job?)

Let’s bring ourselves back to life, shall we?
It’s Saturday and we toss poems at one another.
One-on-one poem-toss.  Sounds romantic.  Coco
stinks us back to reality, shaking it all off, fresh
from the box.  I’m not alone because the cat
is here with me.

I stare at the words long enough they dance
around in the living room until exhausted.
They pair off as they settle, reassemble.
Watching porn     with my family   during
the 1st Iraq war

Computer stuff at the Tease Emporium
helps convince me that I am not alone.
People are dying in Salinas and else-
where but I dance until 3am in an
ocean filled with guest stars, co-stars
and other ravenants.  On Sunday
(which is of course where we are
at 3am on Saturday night) I
compare notes with vegetables.
This, along with the sound of
electricity.  And the tap-tap-
tapping of keys on a laptop
(which is special because
it’s a symphony that I get
to compose).  Helps con-
vince me not only that
I am here, but also that
I am not alone.


Friday, April 05, 2013

mdccclxxix

Wow, you’re so gorgeous.  Did I
embarrass you going on like that
for nearly nine years?  Almost
nothing makes you blush.  And
you even love how each birthday
makes you one year older.  What
does it mean when I freak out
because I can’t remember if it’s
nine years or ten years nearly?
How can there still be so many
mysteries?  Last night—halfway
through—it gets STRANGER!
Only now does my mind wander.
What allowed this, me or my
mind?  I think of Strangers
on a Train and the game of
Freud.  Masculine is not an
amoeba (rock on!  own it!).
I think I have a couple of
short strokes.  I sketch
them into a number
(maybe 184?).  How
can I find war this
interesting?  How
surprising who
brings us back
to such proper
focus.  How
thankful to
have chosen
our guests so
appropriately.
How thankful
to have cast our
co-stars so brilliantly.
To have that luxury.
Collapse into hav-
ing that luxury.


Thursday, April 04, 2013

mdccclxxviii

Baby Formula

It’s October. Where exactly have I been?
For two weeks I lose this thought. 

Is the exhibit still on?  I need to go to
the exhibit. 

Is it okay to repeat the images?  Is an
image not special any more if it has

been repeated?  Or does it become
too special?  Goddammit am I here!?

Don’t be too extreme.  It’s only
October.  It’s only someone singing

at the Civic Center Plaza.  It’s only
a change of scene.  Now we enter

spiritual.  The spiritual moment
or scene.  Are you hungry? 

Or maybe I’m just hearing things.
Of course I’m hearing things.

Someone whose fingers
are somehow penetrating

through my ribcage
works to solve a

problem.  To cure
something that ails.

To install an upgrade.
It is 6:18.  Am I

supposed to hang up
when he gets off?



Wednesday, April 03, 2013

mdccclxxvii

I can’t tell about my presence.  I keep
getting reminded (over and over again)
that it’s my turn.  I keep taking turns
but what am I doing?

Retreat at Lake Tahoe, two weeks.  Al-
together it made me not very here.  At
the Tease Emporium several nights
last week.  I wish I weren’t here.  I’ve
a pain in my chest and my heart hurts.
I’m dizzy.  Need break.  Wish weren’t
here.

Sometimes dizzy is sleepy.  There are
German people beside me.  My Mother:
Demonology.  Writing hurts.  This isn’t
normal.  Wait a minute, writing is hurting.
Several nights last week I think work sucks.
Need break.  Need vacation.

So on Library Day I’m a little edgy.  It’s
nice out.  I certainly haven’t felt this healthy
in a while.  Am I slimming down?  Does form
follow content (defeat of deduct went over
defense before detail).  How to feel for
the details.  How to feel comfortable
with details.  Also hungry.  Bottom
of back.  Movement makes me
tired.  Do I have bad breath?


Tuesday, April 02, 2013

mdccclxxvi

New shirt from Banana Republic
matching new khakis tho the
khakis I’ve worn before.

There is a place inside of me
where I hold another sausage.
It elongates my inner being,

which walks beneath a panoply
of swiftly moving clouds.  These
are beautiful clouds which seem to

pose no danger (like the weather
in San Francisco).  It’s okay if the
words are chewy like caramel

I am the only language I can
understand.  (Alice Notley)
Look at what handwriting

can tell us (that we have not
felt right for a while).  Sit
(zazen) and mull over the

pros and cons of sedentary.
Don’t worry about getting
the words right in the

mirror.  If you find an item
irresistable, pick it up and
bring it to the cash register.

Monday, April 01, 2013

mdccclxxv

Sentences in bed are not describers, they are instigators
                                                                 —Lyn Hejinian

I breathe but the blood doesn’t get to my brain.  Friday
I gave notice, which I may have already mentioned,
after watching Dark Water.  Otto visits with his folks
at the airport while I experience this in a public sort
of way.  Warm.  Sleepy.  I look at other people’s
handwriting.  What it tells us is nothing.  Probably
nothing.  I go to Postrio for dinner, a first and only
time.  So nice.  City noise. 

There’s a fly in the living room but Coco, perched
at the kitchen’s threshold, is very seriously con-
templating the kitchen.  This, I take mental note,
could be a sign that the end is near.