Friday, May 31, 2013

mcmxxvi

A mojo is so easy to lose.

     What do you want the robot to do?
                —January 2, Doodle-a-Day calendar

I’d start the morning by washing all of the
dirty dishes.  Rather than using the last
clean spoon to feed the cat.

Suddenly, I realize that sentimentalism
and didacticism are incorrigible.  I
slip into my armor, gird my shield,
grip my cutlass and meet the day.

It’s just the way I like it.  Otto says it’s a
bit cold somewhere around Jones and Pine.
“You’ve always been a glass half full kind
of guy,” I reply.

And I crinkle my face into a smidgeon to
convey SARDONIC + AMBIVALENCE
+ CHARM.


Thursday, May 30, 2013

mcmxxv

There’s an orange peel in your daddy’s meal.

I wonder if the person hacking and spitting all morning
every morning is Crazy Mustache Man with Bicycle
that lives up on the 4th floor.  I had a dream that Juliana
was the matron saint of something-or-other and that’s
all I remember of it.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

mcmxxiv

hey there lobster,

i just experienced a moment of sublimity about ... 1/3 of the way thru the latest woody
allen movie (or i think it’s his latest: to rome with love).  (if you’ve actually seen the film
it’s the moment when ellen page has her long soliloquy with the camera whilst sitting on
jesse eisenberg’s character’s couch – she’s telling him about her supposed lesbian
experience – and alec baldwin also turns out to be maybe-sorta in the room with them.
it’s a totally genius director/actor collaboration on so many levels.  at least to me.

and that’s as far as i’ve gotten in the movie.  how can i force myself to watch the rest of
it now that that moment has come & gone?  

anyway, i just thought i’d let you know.  :)

as always,

your wooden soldier


Monday, May 27, 2013

mcmxxiii

The exploration of things that are important.

       Ariana Giselle Illuminati (actual drag name)
            the top of a note I wrote myself of which I have no memory whatsoever

Whether we call it The Life Portal or the Ring of Life it is nevertheless
always something like the stargate....

“...but she ate grass from the garland that you put
around Gertrude!”

“It’s impossible,”
“the ghost in the lotion,”
and “he’s gonna come shooting through a pipe like a Costco receipt,”
a quote I attribute to Ron Palmer.
And so what if impossibilities abound.


Sunday, May 26, 2013

mcmxxii

I am settled upon a religious pineapple

I think he’s worried that the current Bucket
parents will no longer want to give Bucket
away.  Hopefully, that will not be the case.

Babies scream.  Interesting parent behind
us.  The coffee that wakes up Napa Valley:
Calistoga Roastery.  Day three of wine

in wine country (and babies scream).  A
few wineries and Hannah Weiner.  Silver
Rose plus Little Books/Indians.  Saturday

we hit our favorite, Clos Pegase.  Thumbs
up!  After we got schnickled we had
lunch at Brannan Grill.  The night before

a big ass red with the b & b crew.  From
who knows which vineyard.  But anyway
some women from Columbus who call

German Village “we call it gerbal village.” 
A memorable moment of shock that left
a very strange taste in my red mouth.


Saturday, May 25, 2013

mcmxxi

            Watches ticking on the backs of turtles.
              Tambourines tinkling in apple trees.
                                          —Michael McClure

           What year was that
                                          —Lyn Hejinian

The plaza of restaurants, not the
restaurants.  At the event about
death, when seven tiny pep’o’
mint life savers fell from my
jacketpocket onto the short-
cropped carpet.  My check-
book.  Next to the giant
painting.   Which I love
more than all of the
architecture.

With Kleenex
I wipe thick sweaters
of dust off of two lightbulbs.

And then I took him to soup at
One Market (the plaza of rest-
aurants, not the restaurant).
Travel arrangements for
London and for Tokyo
soon.  But tonight we
celebrate a new season
at (the now-defunct)
Energie.  Unfortunate-
ly, I’m just not into it
because I know all too
well that Italy exists.

As most everything else
crumbles into dust, my
checkbook glows under
the newly-cleaned light-
bulbs next to the giant
painting which I love.


Thursday, May 23, 2013

mcmxx

The Milestone

              fog is too heavy a word
                                   —Etel Adnan

It works.  I wrote another.
Today’s used the historical
entry “sepia sky divided” –
now ahistorical.  But genius.

Some feelings.  It’s the time I
see myself as a spark.  A good
spark.  Like enjoy today.  Like
sent Steph a note.  A reminder

for Thursday next’s anniversary.
A party.  Chairs from my pocket.
And a drinking lots of water party.
The elevator jerks (the chairs in my

pocket; today’s crises).  Otto’s teeth
made an emergency dental appoint-
ment for tomorrow.  But then had to
move it to Thursday due to paperwork/

proof not coming through.  Who was I
speaking with (With whom was I speak-
ing?)?  About how I’ve become.  Bow-
wow.  About how boring I can type-

write/exist.  And how slowly.  This 
root canal on my insurance.  When 
I don’t even have insurance.  Can’t
even get insurance.  Got literally

rejected for medical insurance.
The gym, the gyros, the come
to bed with me.  Tomorrow,
deciding to be the other

tomorrow, we headed
to the library in Calistoga.
Books by Ed Dorn, Robert
Creeley, and chicken soup.


Wednesday, May 22, 2013

mcmxix

I am a genius!

Speaking of food, I totally get it
now.  Maybe because we were
talking about food.

Well.  You were talking.

Today the poets will write
a spicy chicken caesar salad
sandwich.  And Alex on
Friday night.  Right in
front of my new home
(with no capitalization).

I call it the box.  Which brings
back some feelings.

Because a circle is not a square.


Tuesday, May 21, 2013

mcmxviii

My Priorities

It is difficult to be unable to
verbalize the wealth of hilarious
and sometimes very poignant
anecdotes and commentary
that are currently organizing
themselves in my head.  But
I shall remain so.  Because
I am that kind of comedian.

Yes, this will definitely go
in a poetry.  (It is decided;
it’s on the list.)  Haha!

Meanwhile, I made you miss
a peach (with simultaneous
moaning).  Henceforth,
the weekend OK.  I had
a breakfast bar at around
10.  It is now 11:19am
and I am already
HUNGRY.


Monday, May 20, 2013

mcmxvii

The Balancing Act

     loans upon loans upon loans
                              —Brent Cunningham

I had a breakfast bar at around 10.
And then I balanced my checkbook.
I mean I balanced both of my check-
books.  By which I mean I thought
very seriously about finally balancing
both of my checkbooks.  Despondently.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

mcmxvi

Competing Publications

Thin crust with hamburger and sausage
and extra cheese.  Is that ok or would you
like something different on your half?

There will, of course, be boneless chickens.
And cinnamon sticks, too!


Saturday, May 18, 2013

mcmxv

I believe that you are now witnessing /
experiencing one of the most ridiculous
performing arts pieces ever conceived.
Why are you not recording this??


Friday, May 17, 2013

mcmxiv

Actually, I can now see how there’s
something really quite terrific about
being gagged like this.  Gagged?
Bound?  Whatever—a triple-layer
of masking tape around my head
and over my mouth (tightly).  It feels
liberating.  Like a big relief.

A few folks pop on to check us out.
On occasion.

OK, long break while I do other things.
Unbound.  Like chat with Jeannette
about the weekend, the divine weekend,
and become frustrated with formatting.
And how to ‘properly’ note publications.

The whine of somebody on this side of
our apartment building (this side?—by
which I suppose I mean that it sounds
very nearby) taking a shower leads to
a desire for a shower.  The sound of
dishes being put away (also very
nearby) has me up and desirous
to clean something.

In the end it must really be worth-
while.  The relief of not hearing
my voice for a few minutes.

But isn’t too much of a good thing
not so very good after all?


Thursday, May 16, 2013

mcmxiii

Isn’t it power
to think about
power in new
ways (mis
reading
Bruce Boone).


Wednesday, May 15, 2013

mcmxii

Shall I perform for you a modern dance?

You just read a novel.  How
did it feel (in 10 words or
less)?  This morning, after
moving the boys to their
new spot near O’Farrell
& Divisadero.  I have
always wanted to put
these notepads to use.
But of course you
would say that I’m
wasting paper.  LOL.
No.  I am not.  This
is not a waste.    Pause
while I send Curran an
email asking for his new
work email address and
his new home address
(these things for which
we pause).  Don (the
retired priest), writing
in my ledger (of late
this generally trans-
pires in a cubicle),
Saturday (in no
particular order)
....  But back to
the weekend.
Blogging in
Calistoga.
A lot of time.
Correspondence.
And, for my
tombstone:
He got lost
in the beat.


Tuesday, May 14, 2013

mcmxi

A slow Monday after a nice weekend

Hold on.  Let me give it to you
like a surprise.....  A slow Monday
morning after a lovely autumn
weekend full of apologies.  Like
sorry I might be writing a poem.
And thinking about that can be
a mess without an apology.  Like
this bed.  Or my nose running
(but I’m sorry, I promise).  A
box of Kleenex, though, be-
cause you are always prepared.
In hopes. 

                It’s two weeks to the day
since I’ve seen you.  Pretty good,
huh?  The worn stack of Post-Its,
Blistex (of all brands & sizes).  I
check to see if there are any stamps.
Of course there are stamps (always
prepared).  A drink with Don (the
retired priest) and Josh (his cousin).
And Fred.  On Mondays, in the cube
next to mine, they go on all day about
the weekend and its parties and party-
ing.  All apparently drunken.  And

before too long (sometimes almost
immediately, sometimes years later?)
we are back to another weekend.
And like always, unless I’m very
careful, it’s always filled with
so much more time than
I actually have.


Monday, May 13, 2013

mcmx

A Thin Slice of Coconut Cream Pie

It looks like today will be nice and slow.
Or perhaps better put would be the calm
before the storm.  I know I’m supposed
to be paying attention to something, to

someone.  I can never tell if he’s drunk
or high or back on his various meds.  Or
all three.  The procedural act of disengag-
ing has been initiated.  And I am  s l o w

with peace.  Or pieces of it, anyway. 
The trumpeting phone interrupts and
I misinterpret my disengagement by
picking it up.  It’s I.K.  And that is

surprising.  We probably haven’t
spoken in at least a year (maybe
two?).  He was bored.  I told him
so.  I’m losing this game, struck

dumb by the (seeming/seething)
politics.  And then the world
traveler shows up, speaking
even faster than usual (my

stomach churning).  The
buzz of traffic in the dis-
tance is no competition.
At all.

I wish that I could take back
everything between then and
now.  However long the gap
that remains I’ll bet it will

stick around to remind us
how much better it always
was.  Better than even a
whole day of wishes.


Sunday, May 12, 2013

mcmix

unhappy bathroom moments

I just closed my eyes for a moment
and watched an animated version of
one of my kidneys pass out—in slow
motion—of my body.  There it lies,
gasping for breath.

A ream of paper is not a closet.  So
this closet, without a ream of paper,
means that I have to go to Walgreen’s
as an excuse for a prescription that
I cannot write.

It’s not that I don’t keep writing
stuff down like “You made me
drop my mind along the way,”
“What am I, a robot?,” “BTW,
have I always been stupid
or am I just now realizing
this?,” and

“Leaving so soon?  But you
haven’t even tasted this
big bowl of poop yet!”
[all pasted-on smiles &
junior prom waves as
everybody shuffles
out the door.]


Saturday, May 11, 2013

mcmviii

I Rip You Out Like Wasted Space

Is music typically mostly just varying sets of
aural conflicts and resolutions?  If so, though,
how is it that we come to know what conflict
sounds like?  Or, of course, resolution?  I’m
having lots of these nature vs. nurture
conversations lately.

                                    Jesus is not a
                      pearl necklace!

That was a crass maneuver meant as a
diversion, to get us safely into a car and
on the road to wine country, I’m thinking
Friday evening after the rush, crash in
Calistoga, then Saturday we can do
tasting from spot to spot (our limit
generally remains right at two spots,
although perhaps on this fair trip
we’ll hit three), and maybe catch
a massage and a dip into the
warm pool at Harbin Hot
Springs on Sunday,

                                turn the car in
early enough in the evening to relax.
Then birthday cake with Kim.  Then
meet Fred in the Castro for drinks.
Next morning, pee incessantly
while putting together a bunch of
procedural questions for Colleen,
like how to do an expense report,
how to procure what seems to be
a requisite corporate card, buy
$107 worth of groceries, cab home,
a couple of questions to Lara from
email once I’ve washed the dishes,
then cooking up hamburgers and
french fries, which were awesome.

But Indonesia is so very away.


Friday, May 10, 2013

mcmvii

What was I going to say?  Oh.  I’m
going to bed now.  Yes.  Trying to.
I’m going to bed but kept up
by Rae Armantrout and Bill Berkson.

Time is I say their names first only. 
Does it make me more like them (
thinking positively because of the
actual love, this whatever-it-is with

people we admire and read and even
occasionally have the opportunity to
sit down at a table and talk the talk
with.  To talk business with.  What-

ever the case, I don’t mind, really,
only I’m never of one mind.  Tonight
I’m just here with them, or they with
me, for real with the dust that climbs the hill—

Hey, Bill!!   Hey, Rae!!  Love is as free of
cynicism as my good man Brandon Brown
is today (my good man, I said it!). 
And that’s pretty full of something

really divine, like what’s floating up
from down Mason tonight—a trumpet
(perhaps pulled from somewhere mid-
last-century and blocks West—a bleaker,

ballsier Fillmore Street (perhaps I have
the decades confused).  It’s all so very
un-figure-outtable to me, but a lovely
dream of cool air for a stir-crazy evening.

And now there’s strumming—a banjo?—
Nob Hill’s brimmingfrom every possible
direction until I’m...I’m....well, I’m going
to say this, too: I’m sated!  Hey, Brandon!!

Hey, Ron!!  Hey, Steph!!  Hey, Cynthia!!
A big hello to Rodney & Auden!!  And
hello again to all of the Bills, every
last one of you!!   Hi, Mom!  Hi there, Otto! 

And how do you do Miss Coco the Loco.
Hello, everybody!!  Hello, everyone!!



Thursday, May 09, 2013

mcmvi

This blank poem is unavoidably intentional

I belive that’s warning enough.


Wednesday, May 08, 2013

mcmv

self-absorbent

Realizing the profundity of saying this on
Facebook...but Linkedin has gotten pretty...
hilarious.  

I’m taking a mental health day.  And I
must need it because I nearly walked out
the door with a mouse in my hand.


Tuesday, May 07, 2013

mcmiv

I just finished a piece I started a couple
of weeks ago.  Look at how it sort of
glows under the afternoon clouds.