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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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??

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?

mcmxiii

Isn’t it power

to think about

power in new

ways (mis

reading

Bruce Boone).

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.

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.

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.

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.]

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.

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 brimming—from 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!!