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.

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

mdcccxcv

How much swagger do I want?

                                —Dana Ward

Woman falls off 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.

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.

mdcccxciii

Maybe it’s just impossible for me to pick my

tongue out of my cheek.  Do they ever hurt 

like the worst kind of splinters, which today 

I confirmed are 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 narrations

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

mdccclxxxiv

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

The next one will be called Symbolism.

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.

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 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 proclamation at City Lights about

his aversion to ending a poem with a bang.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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?

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.