Thursday, May 31, 2012


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)

Wednesday, May 30, 2012


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

Tuesday, May 29, 2012


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.

Monday, May 28, 2012

Sunday, May 27, 2012


The bells are ringing this morning, 7:24am.
Just maybe I am very frightened, 9:22pm.

Saturday, May 26, 2012


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.

Friday, May 25, 2012


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.

Thursday, May 24, 2012


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.”

Wednesday, May 23, 2012


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. 

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.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012


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-

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.

Monday, May 21, 2012


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.

Sunday, May 20, 2012


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

Saturday, May 19, 2012


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.

Friday, May 18, 2012


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

Thursday, May 17, 2012


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.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012


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
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.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012



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

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

through blue

Monday, May 14, 2012


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


Sunday, May 13, 2012


...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!

Saturday, May 12, 2012


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 seem me in

the future?  Maybe
the cards can tell
me if you can’t.

Friday, May 11, 2012


Liquid Time

So nice to see him
after the Xmas
depression.  Feel-

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.

Thursday, May 10, 2012


     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

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

Tuesday, May 08, 2012


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?

Monday, May 07, 2012


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.

Saturday, May 05, 2012


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.

Friday, May 04, 2012


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.

Thursday, May 03, 2012


You Are Very Poignant

Yes.  Nothing is
perfect.  Zero
is Zen.  A
flat and

You might
get it if
you try.

I am not
what I’m

Wednesday, May 02, 2012


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]

Tuesday, May 01, 2012


For the Mage

Is your voice heard?  What’s your
mood?  How do you make it happen?
Is it all fiction?  How are drugs involved
and when?  Your favorite spice?  Is it
impossible because of genetics or
heritage (please excuse if you find
redundant)?  How low can you go?
Are you serious or is there anything
serious?  If so, what?  What sex do you
consider?  Have you any usefulness for
words; have you said all there is to say?
Is there anything to say?  Do you feel
there is anything that needs to be said?
Must you speak?  Have you become
yourself?  If you had to be an artist
for one day what’d be crucial?  Mis-
spent youth?  Do you regret?  Do
you regret it?  Is it a challenge?  Do
you get to decide what is truth?  Is
this sentence true?  Mystery is the
real spectacle, right?  Is it stinky?
Have you ever been to a Chinese
acupuncturist (please excuse if you
find redundant)?  What was the
ethnic make-up of the neighbor-
hood you grew up in?  Do you
dwell on such questions?  Are
they ornaments?  Are we or-
naments?  Does God care?
Before or after sunrise?
Sequels?  Squeals?  Is
asphyxiation involved?
Do you always die of
asphyxiation or can you
live through it?