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.

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.

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.  :(

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

mdcccxv

rag doll

first, shampoo.

well, it’s a plan, isn’t it ?

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

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)

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.

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.

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.

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.

mdcccviii

Masseur

I was so certain for a while.

So much experience.

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?

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.

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

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.

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.