mcmlxvi

my exuberance is reduced to uberance (self-help dialog #1 & only)

too self-revealing.  too sure of myself sounding.  having a

really nice time with conflict.  joke too much about loving

conflict.  use the word engagement way too much.  too

serious about it.  too loud.  too overwhelming to people

who don’t feel the same way i do about conflict.  entirely

too unclear to anyone about how i actually feel about

conflict, resolution, friendship, and passionate debate

(should use the word passionate more and the word

heated less ... ... or should i?).

maybe in the end i am just really lousy at this.  in

which case how fortunate.  now.  this newfound

wherewithal. that it may be ME screwing every

thing up, ME zonko, ME so consumed that i

cannot step away to see the ‘real picture’.  

because i’m in the way.  because not only

am i obstructing the view, but i am the

dead center of all that has been, to my

consumed mind, unjust, incorrect, prob

lematizing, THE PROBLEM.

I think I can finish with an articulation

of the hopeful.  Without knowing or

understanding how to do

so without eviscerating

Okay.

hope.

mcmlxv

I totally get

how the photographer

sees his life

quickly passing

right in front of his

eyes.

          After which

we get up and

start walking.

Anywhere.

Union Street

--> Jamba Juice.

Down Geary.

Turn right Hyde

(indeed!).  Turn

left Union.  Stop

at lots of furniture.

Turn left Fillmore.

Walk through a

maze of photographs

at Aunt Bob’s –

KEEP WALKING.

mcmlxiv

We got real rich

after dinner.  Passed

out early.

mcmlxiii

The Italian Stallion

Safeway on Church

for tag-team dinner.

He makes Medi-

terranean chicken

and I make

carbonara.  And

it says here

(a reminder?)

“bacon for the

movie tomorrow”

—I feel sick.

Boy, 

I don't feel

so good today.

mcmlxii

Southern Hospitality

There was a girl

in undergrad her

name (I swear)

was Lucia Brain.

If I knew her that

well, I guess I

wouldn’t be

writing this.

mcmlxi

Where once...

picking up a few
movies in Chinatown.

Shampoo,
watch some dumb

martial arts flick
(I should say),

Sunday. Up
with lipstick-covered

teeth. Asking
how to get to

Sausalito.
It’s in Houston,

darling
(with a Southern

accent)! Follow
quickly with

messy bath,
losing brain

halfway
there.

mcmlx

     But one should be aware that some people are delusional
without being unhappy.
                                                                     —Lyn Hejinian

     I’d say many are. I’d say also that I
went to the museum (this afternoon)
for a thousand or so cliches. We even
sat to enjoy them (very un-museum-
like).

     We sat like tea to enjoy a thousand
or so cliches.

     “Why is this on the floor?” he asks.
     “Because it needs to be in the kitchen,”
I say.

     After which we purchase two to three
packages of fancy folders and forge many
tiny but distinct stacks of paper and other
residues in each and every room of the
apartment for the rest of the afternoon.

     (and evening)

mcmlix

The endless poem was a phrase that I found early in my career. As
a concept, it offers many possibilities.
                                                                        —Rachel Blau DuPlessis

My new mantra: This is going to take a little bit longer than I originally
anticipated. And that’s okay. I pray not to be a troll developing something
like Lord of the Rings. Something so consumed of itself. And yet. Well,
it’s a ridiculous prayer. Perhaps as ridiculous as prayer itself. But life’s
follies, its absurdities, and its poignancies are all of the same set, pretty
much, are they not?

Hey, Ron, I love your title: Senior Specialty Liaison – and I love this sentence
that I just read about Ke$ha: And now she fills a tub with oil and her glitter 

guru, named Santa, makes sure she sparkles at all times.

Pick someone and make them your project (to keep your sanity
somewhat intact).

I haven’t run on grass in so long I forgot how squishy it is.
                     —spoken by the character Brian in an episode of The New Normal

mcmlviii

Net Gain

I say aloud to everything
call me your chief fool
and I’m done
             —Eileen Myles

The kind of guy I am, I
believe, is the one who
looks back nostalgically
to times which were
perhaps the roughest
and remembers fondly.
What wonderful mo
ments educational
what a beautiful
apartment I lived
in and it was only
900 dollars rent
and within walk
ing distance of
the Toledo Mu
seum of Art, for
example. Not
the tears for
weeks at a time
crunched down
in the corner of
a very long and
beautiful hallway.
And thus it is, gene
rically, with regard
to the gerbil village
comment, our lady
of red wine having
no idea we were a
gay couple. Or
knowing and
finally therefore
inebriated enough
for such a low jab.

Anyone
can be beautiful
at 19 or 30. This
is life. Take a deep
look.
        —Eileen Myles

mcmlvii

It’s Fabulous What The Gays Can Teach The World

     It occurred to me on Geary Street.
     We all smell like robots.
                                    —Ron Palmer

Today’s Washington Post headline: Republicans
rediscover tolerance. But on the phone I learn
that the most popular charm is the Charm of
Precision. None of which has any poignance
(whatsoever!) around the time one discovers
one has been turned down for medical insurance.
Around the time when I get the envelope from
Blue Shield notifying me that I have been
REFUSED MEDICAL INSURANCE
DUE TO PRE-EXISTING CONDITIONS.

So you try to let it out—somewhat—to “vent”
as in to verbalize in a probably louder
than normal voice with a skin tone that
is probably a bit more flushed than during
‘normal conversations’—to the ones you
love or care about or at least to the ones
who will generally or with some predict-
ability act as if they are listening and
as if they know who you are and as if
they could (possibly or potentially)
get concerned with whatever it is
that you are heaving at them so
spastically, so illogically, so
emotionally.

Morning reading after a whining
gets up for work. Get up to go to
work, whinnying. How come fire
is so liquid-like? The fire is
roiling. The roiling ocean.
If I can’t read the words
on the page. If I can’t
remember to tell you
about the words on
the page what is
actually lost?

mcmlvi

I Don’t Like It

Today’s lesson in toilet
plumbing.

mcmlv

Today’s list,
which I shall
defeat like the
plague, is rep
lete with typ
os. We must
however face
facts. The o
dds are stack
ed. Against us.
All I’m saying
is that even if
my memory p
roves tasteles
s, I’ll still be h
ere tomorrow
with the pen
guins & xmas
trees, listenin’
to glitch mob
& crossing &
recrossing (
w/green &
sometimes
purple ink).

mcmliv

But now I’ve said enough.

Contrary to popular belief,
I do not want to die young.

And now for the arrival of
Sally Mayonnaise (with

kudos—and apologies—
to Sally Mayonnaise). And

you thought your day was
getting creepier. This has

got to share more than just a
few similarities with French

kissing a mountain lion.
Otto says I’m still in a

dollop. Maybe that’s it.
I’m not saying it’s a problem,

especially considering
my current view of the

city from the place I
call home (in my very

own world). While
the first thing I do

with any machine
or program or what-

ever that has the option
is turn off the auto-correct,

I recommend that, especially
if you correspond with me

on any basis, you check
every box available;

keep that sucker going
full grammatical, even.

Because you are always
much funnier than I am.

mcmliii

I’m here at the scene of the crime
taking pictures, as always. I live
in a world where it takes sixteen
hours to make a turkey sandwich.
But it’s an okay place to live. Really.

Sorry about the bad breath but I had
to wake up at some point. It’s just
too bad I had to wake up laughing,
I suppose. Anyway. So I change the
subject. In the world where I live

there are many, many games of
Bingo. I play some of them. When
I open the blinds and look out onto
the world where I live, it sometimes
looks like it has been raining when

it’s really just a sheen of sweat the
city is wearing. This night sweat is
the sweat of joy from living the won-
der of everything that transpires
during the mostly silent mystery

that is the night. Here in my world.
And while I’ll admit that I love a
rainy night. Every once in a while.
Nothing beats an anxious, sweaty,
terribly dehydrated night. Or

early morning, for that matter.
Right here in my gorgeous city,
on top of my heartrendingly
beautiful, beautiful world.

mcmlii

Can you please bear with me for just a little bit?

At least you didn’t wake up singing McCavity (from
Cats, which is a musical from the 1980s). No. You
woke up working on the New York Project. On the
“type treatment,” you remind me (to which I reply

“What type of treatment?” even though I under-
stand that you are referencing typography; I
even remember the name of the font which
I most preferred [Aldo].).... Except.  Sorry,

I can’t help myself. Now I’m mischievously
skewing our conversation (the actual conversation,
not the one not taking place right this very moment
but the one taking place as it is transpiring). And

I get it. Your blank look that so clearly conveys
how I’m not that funny. Oh dear(!). And Oh,well....

mcmli

       “Here’s a quote by Will Ferrell.”

       “Hold on, hold on!”

       “Nono. It’s just words.”
                                  —an actual conversation

Nor do they explain the caption under a picture
of a woman and child right here on CNN.com (I
think it’s Christina Hendricks from Mad Men?)
which says: “Parenting a child with no future” ....

[Meanwhile, back at the Ponderosa...] I’ve been
reading Denny Smith, which I’ve discovered is
the perfect little tome to keep on top of the
toilet tank. Hoping this is taken as a

compliment, by Bob anyway, I stretch my mind
back to the most glorious of all thrones, the one
in my grandmother’s west bathroom (the one
with the sliding door – her bathroom), with its

Readers Digests and its Country Livings and
(I remain pretty sure but never 100% certain
on this one) its Cosmopolitans. And, OMG,
how I woke up writing poetry this morning.

mcml

Of note: Benny Benassi’s album
Electroman (Deluxe Version)
was released the day before
my 44th birthday.

Here I was, on the perfect
morning for a fire truck,
eating pumpkin seeds.
Which I’ve already

explained twice.
I give people
head colds
for a living.

That’s just
what I do.

mcmxlix

To Ward Off Evil Spirits and Fantastic Sneezes

But you don’t believe me.

mcmxlviii

It’s exasperating to be involved with an overenthusiastic person.
                                                             —Robert Glück

I woke up this morning with Gino Vanelli
and other not-so-obscure 80’s references.

I guess being tagged at Hooters explains
the look on her face. But when I knocked

on the bathroom door this morning and
told you I was going to see if I could still

multi-task, I was focusing generally (and
with conviction) on career. Also of note:

I woke up laughing. Even this did not
phase you much (8:51am) because u r

a SUPERHERO learning how to use his
protective shield. You have such

amazing powers, to be sure. Not enough
to separate (to dis-entwine?) erotic

from esoteric. But the brand new day 

bursts into song. Because I still believe.

mcmxlvii

and part of me is pissed at you
for having little faith in me

He was thinking but I’ve got
double peanut power!! and
the stuffed monkey was
lounging in the shade.
At this late hour.

I do often wish things
were as clear-cut as
when the femme-bots
took over the world.
But conflict and its
complexity....

Would you like to
review and correct
those conflicts now?

I certainly would.

mcmxlvi

then I took a nap

it might have been a
long one. felt better?
like a few years,
maybe.

then we walked
up the wharf,
had fish & chips,
& a butterfinger
ice cream waffle
cone. & then

played air hockey.

mcmxlv

When I Don't Need to Be

OK. So I’ve done a lot
of nothing. 14 months
in a house made of pee.
Wanting instead for a

call. Or anysuch. I
write. Malicious
sonnets? There-
fore, a hello. I

think I might have
mentioned. They
are nerdy by de-
sign. A burned-

up cover. Bummed
a nice weekend off
some dragon. As
I got really splendid

I remember starting
to have a good time.
Stating: Good time.
Out of a nervous...

what? Oh. Woke up
not remembering.
Stayed in bed most
of the day humming.

Which was great.
And is. I think.
But you could just
ask him. Talk a-

bout out of it.

mcmxliv

Office Office Office Office Office.

“I’m proud of you” I hear
and turn around a hurricane
that tears off New Orleans

busy sensationalism here
amidst horrible Alzheimer’s
shouting “I love this job!”

and apparently I do
but this afternoon
I’d like to fall asleep

on the flu or most of a
12-week paycheck
which makes me wonder

who’s being flashy
(or fishy) I doubt it
or September

here in this chair
sticking medical
insurance into a

cookie jar
which we share
like our thoughts

on natural disasters
and it means
something

apparently
for maybe a
couple thousand

mcmxliii

Goodbye, Please (I Am Going to Miss You)

     The cure for love is more love

                            —Julian Talamentez Brolaski

Green beans, sausage, pasta shells, shrimp,

mushrooms.  Drinking perhaps three liters of

water a day.  Suddenly sleepy.  Still impressed

with the rain.  If it can be called that  (a hard,

San Francisco rain).  Sitting catty-corner to

a relatively cute neighbor, only I meant to say

“new” (not “cute”) but is he?  I guess I was

too busy writing poems via instant message to

all of my friends (I have several) and being in

love.

Like I love the clouds Otto painted in our

bedroom nearly nine years ago.  Like I love

Coco, and the drizzle (a much better word

for it, I am thinking) and the comfort of

the company of good friends.  In our

apartment.  Where it’s not so very

cloudy, today.

The laundry is half-folded.  And now,

thanks to my breaking the bedroom

window (which, despite the accu-

sations, was seriously a total freak

accident), forcing us to move things

around a little after its replacement,

I have a new secret cubbyhole for

books that I love (and/or am current-

ly reading), right here next to the bed.

Under blue, partly cloudy skies.

mcmxlii

Just when I’m feeling my worst,

Coco pukes on the carpet.  Right

in the middle of the entrance hall-

way.  But seriously, I’m not really

at my worst.  I’m okay.  I’ve got

love, a dripping upward kind of

love.  One with a warm fire above

and a cool, deep water below.  So,

basically, I do nothing.  I post

a twentieth poem for the whole

world to see.  I use Roman

numerals.  xx.  I have a guy

who doesn’t have to work at

Banana Republic, even though

they really want him there. 

Instead, he paints fire and

water with drips from his

heart, which somehow

float upwards and are

always just above us.

While we sleep, any-

way.  Where love is.

Love is unimaginable

words which intend

only to conjure very

specific individual

colors.  In my heart.

In your head.  For

our eyes (which can

all four see that color,

even without its pre-

sence) and in our

dreams.

What is a very

specific, individual

color which at present

only exists in my

head? And in

your heart?

mcmxli

As a reminder: The truly ugly can be revered as hero.

By me.  It’s better not to forget.  And by ugly I mean

on the inside.  Which is nevertheless just as subjective

as the use of the same word in reference to outward

appearance.  So have I gone anywhere in these first

lines?  Thus far?  Three pages into a new book and

five minutes of relearning how to make words with

something that isn’t held in my right hand.  I could

have been doing laundry.

Making such a (re)discovery is depressing (duh!).  Not 

just the realization that I’m wasting my time, but 

also or especially that moment when provided with

certain evidence which knocks 'my hero' (ergo also

ME) down a few notches.  What’s lost?  Or what

was ever gained in the first place?  How to adjust?

How do we adjust?  How do you adjust?

But anyway, who needs to be depressed?  Let today

wash such things away.  Fast forward to the turn of

the page, rendering timelessness.  To events nearly

eight years in one direction or the other (another).

To Lemon Zinger.  To V-8.  To heating leftovers

for lunch at 2:00pm, now 3:20pm, still tasting

the delicious [adjective, adjective] shrimp....

mcmxl

And What Did I Purchase?

Taylor’s new book

Julian’s Advice for Lovers

Bob’s Jack the Modernist

Jack Collom’s Second Nature

Renee Gladman’s The Activist

Joseph Ceravolo’s collected

Juliana’s Well Then There Now

a new issue of Shiny

Yedda’s Darkness

                                and...

Snowflake / different streets by Eileen Myles

mcmxxxix

At work.  Monday.  Start of week 4.

Soul food on Fillmore, then off to meet

the adorable Bucket Vancouver.  Have

I got it right?  All down pat with the pet?

But what happened Saturday?  What did

I do on Saturday...?

Jogging along the Embarcadero to

Mission Bay.  It feels like a movie.

Not how a movie feels, silly!  Foggy.

Beautiful.  Later, take nap.  Wake up

grumpy.  3rd big fight we’ve snapped

into, tense evenings these last few

weeks.  Stress.  Breakdown.  Retract.

But we got okay.  I took us out for a

stroll (ever the [revisionist] hero),

Walgreen’s, dinner at David’s, up

to City Lights to spend my $50

gift certificate I got for working

for 5 years in San Francisco.

mcmxxxviii

Ah, sorry, I’ve accidentally broken your culture.

                                                             —Alice Notley

How long do you think it takes to read a

book?  It takes me?  To read this book?

She doesn’t care.  She cares she answers

with a series of purrs.  The jets do not

scream.  The tour is starting down the

hill.  “We’ll talk a little bit about our

farming practices,” says the tour guide.

Etc.  I’m a little nervous.  About tonight’s

SHAMPOO 5th Anniversary Celebration

and Reading.  My mind a-daze from my

third week on the thirty-second floor.  The

elevator drops.  The elevator lands with a

thud.  I step out of the elevator.  I am in

step.  I am on top of things.  The dashing

lead, the man who has raced to the ends

of the earth for his dame, arrives early

at the premiere with his lover, Pierre.