mdclix

Something Hocus Pocus

      Attention gentlemen: Got that cabbage you like?

                                                                     —Lady Gaga?

I’m trying to be at peace with love

and excruciating but the chicken

keeps coming out yellow.  Is there

anything that will give you more

definition?  The cross-pollinization

of the hammering and the flickering

candle saves all.  So maybe today

is the day it will finally happen.

It’s just that the list is so long.

(photograph courtesy of Will Edeen)

mdclviii

My chin hasn’t seen sunlight in several months.

                                           —Jeffrey Todd Henson

Dear Heavenward,

At what point does the language evolution become

too much for you to handle?  Or when do you go from

being all cuddly with it to being a curmudgeon?

I keep canceling the information update.  My inclination

is to put that extra l in the word canceling.  I remember

when I stopped using it.

                               Keep ’em comin’ like earthquakes,

                               Snooter (on AOL)

He’s taller when he has shorter hair.  Much shorter hair.

                                                                               —C. Soule

mdclvii

Teaser – Pantyhose Mashup

     Here’s some dick I prepared earlier.

                                        —Margaret Cho

This is the household of tinfoil artifacts.

Last year was a great year for movies.

Except for hot guys.

People are just lonely, I guess.

I love it because I’ve been given the

luxury of living in all of these alternate

universes.  In my favorite weather.

It helps me to generally wake up happy.

And when I wake up happy I want others

to be happy.  I realize how hard I’ve been

working on the happy, and for that I

apologize.  Truly.

mdclvi

It’s a brilliant read.

It’s a brilliant red.

mdclv

The bells are ringing this morning, 7:24am.

Just maybe I am very frightened, 9:22pm.

mdcliv

Salmonella is more drug resistant

and saltwater may flow on Mars.

Okay, obviously.  Needless to say

we attempt to finish an entire day.

But everything is so minute-by-

minute.  Are we up to it?  Are we

up-to-the-minute?  We make our

own edits and have a very nice

time.  I did attempt to type.  The

train is pleasant and always behind.

Plus, I get back to the grind and

look it over.  It’s a winter

record, which is pretty

good.  So it’s time,

I weigh in.  We get

hardcore, wear red

stripes.  I erase a

very large moment

from my hard drive

but I can’t even run

two miles solid.  We

invest (brilliantly) in fruit

(apples) and serious cruising

(a combination of running and

walking).  We’re big-tub-of-

lard types, creeping everyone out

with our curiosity these days.  Pretty

rare.  I initially chuckle, but stick to

myself, swearing I’m not intestinal.

I think this occasionally invigorates us;

or at least encourages interest.  We’re

all over the radar.  We should just

concentrate on cranking out

gibberish for tomorrow.

mdclii

It feels like molten lava.

He really loved all of my ideas

(the orange dress, my favorite

books, a vacuum cleaner).

Hello from Vancouver!

We went down for

Josie’s muffin, which

included apple stuff

and a mushroom

omelet.  My

phone’s ring-

ing bells to remind

me of something I have

to do tomorrow morning.

Once at Stanley Park, we’re

going the right direction but

get lost anyway.  Immediately

we find Starbucks and stop to

get our bearings.  This was

before an iPhone had a

compass, maybe even

before iPhone.  We’re

freezing and we didn’t

bring a heavy coat.  This

helps us understand the

Canadian economy

(the Dow Jones just

sunk with a very loud

thud).  We go shopping.

mdcli

Don’t Lose Your Cool!

A thousand sleeping pills

for a jackhammer.  Some-

where nearby, night rubs

off.  Now we’re talking

illicit custom order.  It’s

an all-year-round play-

ground.  Each piece of

furniture represents a

specific species of

tree.  This area,

for example,

infested with

pine beetles

“for miles and

miles and miles.”

mdcl

I stopped thought:

                                           —Frank Kuenstler

In the observation car north of Klamath Falls,

but before Eugene, Otto’s drinking a flat

Pepsi and sketching a landscape.  A bunch

of kids got on at Klamath, increase

decibels dramatically.  History over

loudspeaker (pumice or ash soil

dominates here; now we’re

traveling through a plant-

ation of Ponderosa pine).

Is it digestion?  I ate a lot.

It could be due to eating.

We ate breakfast this morning

with two strangers.  They were

suspicious of the weekend. 

Remember?

But I do very much appreciate the soup.

Which is distinguised by a volcanic

eruption.  The guy next to me has a

very cute belch.  I’m ecstatic with

snow, fascinated by realizing I’ve

lost it.  I’ve lost the weather. 

We’re such an odd assortment,

being silly and snow-covered.

I believe I’m much more on.

Some trees, too, glistening

with all of the ice and snow.

The kids all wearing fuzzy

scarves.  The voice, a

river that looks like

root beer.  Some-

where nearby:

Root Beer Falls.

mdcxlix

A List of the Drops of Water During the Noon-Hour Breeze

I’m hoping my brain gets back home soon.  One thing

I haven’t noticed this morning is the pain in my neck.

It’s working now, with one hour of sleep. 

We just got off a suspicious plane.  Let’s try to stop

writing for a better weekend and start screening

cheerleaders.  Auditioning cheerleaders?

I’m obsessed with taking pictures.  According to the

patriarch in I Am Love, photography isn’t a real art.

It’s an amazing movie with an overly-melodramatic

(isn’t that redundant?) ending.  Until after the credits

roll and the lovers appear in one of Herzog’s caves.

I only had two glasses of champagne, but I didn’t

find the movie erotic at all.  Just perfect.  Except

for the Ibsenesque finish.

I could be confusing playwrights.  I can often be

confusing.  I am confused.  Are you confused?

But I washed all of the dishes and now I am

reading poetry. 

I didn’t leave the apartment at all today.  Every

time I look out the window I’m in awe of the

city.  How beautiful is home.  I even love

the uneasy sleep I’ve been getting this

week, tossing and turning in a half-

dream-state.

Last night I think it rained.  When it rains

it sounds like somebody is typing very slowly

on an old typewriter out our bedroom window.

When I woke up the rooftops were glistening,

but that never proves anything here.

mdcxlviii

Nick is back from Europe

but in Seattle this week.

Yesterday was Coffee

& Cigarettes with a

2-day mustache.  I

shave in a window

seat, then walk to

Ginger’s Trois w/

stale breath.  For

Mom’s birthday

the sun shines.

mdcxlvii

Rauschenberg City

I’m thinking about my

distance from the party

on my walk from work

to gym.  Think me in-

capable?  Think I’ll

grow up to be him?

These days I haul ass

to the spa.  Dog-tag

massage; a therapist

full of hot air and

warm water.  In-

sist on a shoulder.

The fog in the living

room lifts.  Outside

plumbers coalesce.

But enough about

January.  Wobble

over to Belden

with Jenn.

Loosen the

bar to unhinge

a martini.  Pom-

egranate.  Practice

housewife for trophy.

I cook dinner.  Hum-

drum.  Make friends

with complimentary

vodka.  Be home-

bodies (stir-fried

vegetables).

mdcxlvi

7 & a half

I just dipped one of my earbuds

into a glass of cranberry juice.

Way up, moodwise, though.  Hoo-

ray, in fact!  Two days from now

our one year anniversary.  Cele-

brate elegant grandmothers with

gift-giving, garlic, and a rental

with butt-warmers and sattelite

radio.  Which, when I told him

this afternoon, he was all happy

about.  He’s an odd one (but I

love him, etc.) – hands me a

co-worker’s manuscript.

Vanilla latte (large) I’m

sure I shouldn’t be sipping.

Hold out your hand for the

prototype (of gorgeous).

I’m not sitting in a truck

that registers the outside

temperature at 122˚F.

mdcxlv

Would, a blur.

                                                   —Barrett Watten

I’ve always had an adverse reaction to the word

ping when used in its 21st century context. 

Why is that?

. . . .

What are you doing?

. . . .

And no worries about your bi-monthly

new lease on life.  I’m

totally used to it.

White scones and blank gin.

                                                   —Barrett Watten

mdcxliv

Muscles.  Icicles.  Mise-en-scenes.

                            —Frank Kuenstler

The tabloids started drinking again,

trolling around for lays.  A wreath

came home and took a shower.  This

is the story of dearth.  They’d gotten over it

or worked it all out until the smooch-out

with a crush.  The wrecking ball was

slightly stunned by that one.  He kind of

creeps me out.  He’s a brand whore.

Can you listen to the checkbook

on my back?  I love his work, though,

moodwise.  I’m not always down.

In fact, I’m predominantly up.

mdcxliii

The Particles of Perfect

     ...the Thunderbolt is

     double-edged & wrought with never-ending Fire.

                                                      —Frank Kuentsler

It’s funny how you....

Something about rejection is

much better than neglect.

Common sense, right?

And when you spoon-fed me.

The angle is perfect.  The

walk up the hill to shoot

vanilla vodka.

It was great to catch you leave.

I don’t like reggae

(normally)

but I love the song

at the end of the movie we watched yesterday.

There is no crisis.

I write a love song to you

that plays during the closing credits.

mdcxlii

humbly

once or twice the sunshine

but mostly the rain, which

dramatically anesthetizes

but i wanted to tell you

something – when i was

seven with chicken pox

i had a dream

and you were in it

i knew you would be here

suddenly, as if

all our skulls

open up to heaven

and are filled

with our favorite

winery

and cable car bells on

powell street

ladybug umbrellas

with cleared-up skies

oh, sky

and you

drinking up the bay

this very minute

a collage

of all of your most

beautiful poses

my brain

is in heaven

an airplane

floating

rainless

through blue

jetstream

mdcxli

The Red Book of Love

Reach into my pocket.  I’ve a

crumpled dollar bill for love.

I believe in the phoenix

behind the curtain.  And

a kiss that crumples roses

(I wish I were a white rose

for you).  I love you like

the bookmarks of all of my

favorite boarded up book-

stores.  Anyway, what do I

expect to say, Smooch-of-

Angel at stroke of midnight?

I get lost on the tossed seas,

I guess.  My spot on the

couch gets ever deeper

as yours draws ever

nearer.

mdcxl

...sense, hens: hence...

        —Frank Kuenstler

A bottle of smooch

to the scary future.

Color TV fog.  Ex-

pect to pop champ-

agne at midnight?

This is the high-

way for all phot-

ographers. Stroke

of rain, sometimes

heavy, going up a

hill.  Abraham

irritating Moses.

Enough of that!

mdcxxxix

The face of time wants to be tagged

as the face of a person.  Are these my

golden years?

I just got cruised by a tall, lanky

white guy near the ruins of the

Sutro baths.  In the rain.  “Are

you a detective?” he asked.

Last day of the year.  Time

to return the car, etc.  I’m

sitting with Otto on the

cragged foundation of the

old Sutro baths.  Big

waves waltz in.  One

wish for the new year:

collaboration (Otto’s

sketching).  I just

fell into the mud:

whump!  Skinned

my right palm.  &

mud-covered.  Un-

easy writing the

new year on the

rent check.  Seal

Rock for breakfast

and Dark Angel

for dinner.  Til we

get into a senseless....

Blah thru midnight.

Symbolic of nothing.

Do you see me in

the future?  Maybe

the cards can tell

me if you can’t.

mdcxxxviii

Liquid Time

So nice to see him

after the Xmas

depression.  Feel-

ings.

Cliff House.  We

have joggers.

Muscle up.

Write them in-

to the computer.

Lists to rearrange;

they could go on.

Geese.  Two items.

Message Yahoo

without cellphone.

Firstly, afford a

car.  Afford a

kitchen.  Dinner

or a new printer?

A palace in

Milpitas.  It was

my idea.  Cross-

ing the San

Mateo Bridge.

The bridge I

came to San Fran-

cisco on. My neck

hurts.  The one I

dedicated to

Aunt Wilma

right after she

died.  Self-eval-

uation.  I bought

it.  And got cruised.

My primary goal.

mdcxxxvii

     Only he sees only what he means.

                             —Barrett Watten

I don’t need that word.  Just because

you’re a nerd doesn’t mean you’re an

artist.

I have an idea what my creature is

all about.  Even if it blows.  That’s

my attitude.  Should I change it?

Over the sight of the old Sutro

baths.  Slight rain.  Drove out

in a rental Otto & I picked up

to go to South San Francisco –

to pick up my new mini iPod.

Stormy.  I guess I do have

an hour and a half.  Think-

ing about tsunamis.  I also guess

I should use just use this.

     I double you, double you,

     like bear-dancing hours....

                      —Frank Kuenstler

mdcxxxvi

Over in the corner was a game of high-stakes nihilism going

on.  The winner would go home with the most beautiful nihilist.

                                                                        —Linda Norton

I love this city, I should go out

and find something in it.  Looks

rainy.  Thus I became a pain

(Norton again).

The black crow is nothing but a white swan on a flying trapeze.

                                                                  —Frank Kuentsler

I picked up a few books to try to read, see if I can find interest.

The poetry here...blows?

mdcxxxv

Give me a movie to lose myself.

I broke the glass in front of naked

Charlie Brown and purchase three

tiny canvases with the directive:

“Find Your Happy.”  A glass of

water and a remote control, a

movie trailer for the eyes and

one for the weather.  Here’s

a blue pair of socks with a

bug-eyed boy on each.  His

eyes are not spectacles (but

therefore they are).  Upon

close consideration.  Those

are the serious questions.  I

make an outline of them.  Or

use a table.  Numbers or bullet

points.  I should take them more

seriously; no need to feel down.

mdcxxxiv

This place.  This unusual place.  Because

if I weren’t a clown I’d be a murderer.  So

rare in my life have I felt it.  Do I have the

power to reconcile this?  He puts his cold

hand on my chest, above my heart.  Am I

breathing?  There is power in transience.

I think perhaps this lunch with Kim will

be a fine thing.  I’ve an idea for a new set

of Japanese/English things.  I’ve started

a nice Christmas list.

The day after Christmas is depressing.

mdcxxxiii

A poem is something that happens twice.

                                     —Frank Kuentsler

OK.  You’re cool with or without the

jacket but it’s nice when something

makes you feel something positive.

Amber Tamblyn is also a poet.  A

bag of Doritos is not.  I’m sorry I

broke the glass on the naked

Charlie Brown picture frame.  To

ease my pain I watch movie trailers,

check my name off a list that includes

several others.  That he can so easily

think such is telling and troublesome.

I can’t even imagine imagining it

[drop jaw to mock].  The plumbing

is clogged.  There are men working

on it.

mdcxxxii

You Are Very Poignant

Yes.  Nothing is

perfect.  Zero

is Zen.  A

circle,

flat and

flawless.

You might

get it if

you try.

Unfort-

unately,

I am not

what I’m

worth.

mdcxxxi

So what’s your point?

When you say “munching the feminine”

do you mean it metaphorically?  So much

correspondence with movies (this morning

Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy participate).

Instead I watch another episode of season

two.  Did you get upset with me at dinner

last night?  Do you like my blue polka-

dotted umbrella?  About my mentioning

getting stuff/gifts at Lori’s?  Then some-

times wanting to break up over jealousy?

How many years is troublesome?  Is that

commitment, this certainty, so rare that I

feel, at all costs?  Fuck power and its loss!

I got it all wrong about the dynamic.  About

reconciliation being a Gemini conflict.  Hey.

A slightly new angle (the furniture).  My

tropical plant grew two inches.  Do you

like high ceilings?  Is this the end?  If I

run this Volkswagen through a few filters

it comes out looking like a cartoon.  Herbie

the Love Bug.  He was real.  Like Dick Van

Dyke and Shirley Jones.  Am I crazy or do

you get it?  I mean, am I crazy? Wasn’t

Harry Potter Star Wars and Wizard of Oz?

Have you ever been that out of it?  Describe

vulnerable.  Please?  Sumimasen.  [Abject]