Saturday, August 31, 2013


Details emerge forever
                    —Lyn Hejinian

Keeping it fresh.  I got a gmail
account.  I’m trying to use it.
It’s nice out.  I think I’ll go out
and read.

Halloween:  It’s a beautiful day
to be in love with a Grammy-
nominated rock star.  Otto
wants to play dress-up

Eight years ago I used as
inspiration the titles of a
set of Gamma Go post-
cards.  And then I went
to get coffee.

On Saturday night (isn’t
it always on Saturday
night?)...on Saturday
night after Grubsteak
a monumental reading
by Landis Everson
who is so very

Maybe it isn’t
me who’s in
love with a
pop star (rock star?).

Then some wonderful
stories by someone
who died at age 31.

Today is Dragon Friday
(so I suppose that it’s
not always Saturday
night).  Daylight
Savings Time
ended over the
weekend and
the afternoon
is likely to
go on forever.

Friday, August 30, 2013


the air, heavy with failure
                      —Alice Notley

A patsy repeats the past.
That’s all there is to it.

Run, Bunny-Money, shouts Piggy-Jiggy
Run, Sheepy-Sleepy, weeps Goaty-Throaty
                                              —Lyn Hejinian

Thursday, August 29, 2013


All the Goofballs Meander Eastwood

“This movie is not making any sense.”
“Then take off your glasses.”

It’s not in 3-D.

Wednesday, August 28, 2013


This Tactic Is Useless

“She doesn’t seem to have any flies”
(I’m misreading Medusa).  “But it’s
your time, now.” 

What about my time?

I hold up eight fingers and two
thumbs (opposable!) in defense.

“I have no interest in your thoughts
on any subject” (Alice Notley,
except she finishes with

“; though one sometimes
listens to pass the time.”)

Why do we keep these?
Mere tokens of meditation.
Like aspirin in the morning
(4 Advil at a time) and
how they accumulate.

“My bookshelf is my
morning,” Medusa’s
mouth moves as if to
say.  “My morning.”

All the goofballs in
San Francisco (all
the fogballs) rise
and meander

Tuesday, August 27, 2013


What is the point
of this tactic? is
not exactly what
I meant to say.

Monday, August 26, 2013


A Milkshake Made of Gold

Okay, I’m ready now.  I just
need to know where I’m going.

I appreciate your concerns
regarding your visit.  Please

be assured that I had much
more to show you.  That’s

when I went ahead and
posted all of the ones

that I was embarrassed
about.  It actually felt

pretty good.  Until it
hit me.  There are so many

parties that I don’t get in-
vited to.  My attempts to

merge my nightmare
with your nightmare

kept getting interrupted.
I felt reasonably sure

that time was of the
essence.  That a

heartattack was
imminent.  Unless

I were somehow
able to arrive.  To,

you know, save the
day.  And most

the night.

Sunday, August 25, 2013


Keeping It Fresh

But it’s what I do.  To check in.
To say hi.  When I feel disconnected
or distant or when I’m dropping off
luggage or waiting for a taxi.  Other
games we play include looking into
a mirror for long periods of time,
walking all the way back home,
and taking very long showers.

Saturday, August 24, 2013


This Isn’t Idiotically Frustrating

There’s just too much negativity
(which reminds me: mental note:
remember not to ask how he’s
doing; it drives him back off
the wagon [or maybe it’s
back on the wagon, I
always get confused]).

Anyway, I often get
confused.  That’s my
thing.  Especially lately.
That and losing pairs of
eyeglasses (mental note:
henceforth, pay less for
eyeglasses!).  I used to
find the ‘absent-minded
professor’ thing charming.

I try to remain in character,
though, no matter where
the adventure takes me.
Like now.  Or.  Sure.
But.  I’m not a record.
I mean I like the idea
of growth or evolution
(becoming better, more
adaptable, more resilient).

I went to the doctor with
chest pains (my pain,
not the doctor’s).  EKG(!?)
is fine; he says it’s probably
stress or gas or a pulled muscle.
Fine.  I pour myself a glass of
filtered water and two glasses
of wine.  I continue my research
on Mozart for my master’s thesis.
Halloween is just around the corner.

Friday, August 23, 2013


1988: the year I experienced
high school dating.  Or
having a girlfriend.  A
somewhat foreign but
fairly fortuitous experi-
ment that took me into
1989 and toward senior
prom.  But, by then, the
experience was pretty
much over, which led
to going to prom with
a ‘friend’.  Which was
not a date.  Once at the
party, we went our sep-
arate ways, and were
both totally fine with
that.  But omigod it’s
okay if I don’t write.
Isn’t it okay if I can’t
write about Doctor
Atomic?  About
Peter Sellars’
libretto after
2 glasses of
pinot grigio
with Claudia?
I’m not sure
how long I’ve
been trying to
make this record.
I don’t even think
I’m being paid for it.
What can I do?  It’s
a life.  It’s happening.

Thursday, August 22, 2013


It’s kind of like a dream.  I
certainly don’t understand
it.  (The neighbor's dog
who hardly ever makes
a noise is stirring up
quite a storm of ruffs
and barks, getting all
the other neighbor dogs
roused, and even
Coco seems un-

Transition.  Anything.

I find it easy to put on
a mask when writing.
To take on someone
else’s voice.  On
paper.  The only
way I can comfort-
ably role-play.  Be-
sides a stage.  That’s

not true, of course.

The notion of just
sitting, of being
aware, of meditating.
If it weren’t for my
spine, zazen would
be at the top of my
list.  My list.  Is in
transition.  I’ve been
in such a state lately
that I keep a file of
lists that I need to
scrutinize, to sit on.

To merge into one.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013


There’s a pounding pain
right here.  Inside of my
chest.  It’s either a lung,
my heart, or my stomach.

It’s sweet learning how
to live slow.  Adorable.
Oddly enough, that’s
the mood I’m in.  The

feeling of walking on
a campus.  I haven’t
felt it in a good while.
Maybe I haven’t felt

good in a while. 
We all go dancing
at Mezzanine.  I
overdo it trying

to make every-
thing the best.
I’m almost too
determined.  I

am hoping for
this.  I’m ready
for time to have
done its trick and

for everything to
be okay.  I’m not
sure.  I think about
how to get paid for

this.  And what that
means.  Sitting here
in this nice, new
place.  Wondering

how long it might
last.    Everything
is really the best.
I’m really looking

forward to it.  I
really have no
idea how long
this might last.

Monday, August 19, 2013


Fact or fiction:  I just saw my
favorite underwear.  In a porn
flick.  I spent all day in bed
buried in clean laundry.  As
soon as lunch arrived, I got
a call and had to run an errand.
Hence, no lunch.  I played 95
rounds of Bubble Galaxy with
Buddies™.  All without any
malaise or edginess. 
In reality, it seems like
everyone’s out having a
good time but me.  At my
workdesk I figure out how
to bring back the balance.
Because.  Because tomorrow
is October.  Because tomorrow
is Otto’s birthday party.  Today,
doing nothing but sending emails
of myself sticking my tongue out to
new friends and old friends I haven’t
seen or even corresponded with in
forever.  Sitting ten hours in the box
before getting up and walking over
to purchase a digital camera.  Oddly
enough, that’s the mood I’m in.
Saturday night.  It’s mellow.
And my chest hurts.

Sunday, August 18, 2013


I read 1984 in 1983.

Curran called when I got home
to say he’s now an uncle.  Wild.
Otto dropped off his art supplies
so he didn’t have to drag them
around everywhere.  Later, I’ll
have a drink with Alessia for
her birthday.  At Le Coloniel.
Last night was Fred’s bon
voyage dinner.  We went to
Chow.  I met a few of his
friends, all very nice.  I
was BEAT.    At the
birthday bash, lots
of names come and
go.  Jenn was a riot.
Afterwards, we ate
pizza and watched
AbFab.  Anyway,
now my back hurts
but I will try to go
to the gym.  I’m
not sure why.

Saturday, August 17, 2013


I feel sorry for anyone that has to die.
                                          —John Ashbery

I’m in the leather daddy section, drinking a
strawberry banana smoothie, trying not to be
too rational.  Fun.  I could come here every
Saturday.  But I feel distant.  Maybe I should

explore a lot more.  What’s up?  It’s a not-so-
hot weekend.  Standing in front of the Curran
Theater in the rain.  Then sleep (with parts of
strewn throughout).  Today is a such a

blue day.  I smack my head in the middle of
it.  The board meeting on Saturday; a getting
up on the wrong side of bed thing.  What else?
Nothing.  A few folks came over, got angry

because we were in the middle of a fight.
But Sunday came.  A happy morning
walking to downtown and back (which
is mostly like levitating, considering

our location).  Then I napped.  All
without any sense of malaise or edginess.

Friday, August 16, 2013


How to Deflect

Do not build the ‘extra-dollar’ vanity
from Ikea.  It seems none of us has
begun to digest the meal of all our
lives (John Ashbery).  Yes, I am tired
of patriarchy (tired of the patriarchy).
Barf.  That’s puke.  Today, touchy.
Very.  These days it’s probably
healthy to be able to joke about it.
We ARE sort of pretty when we
cross over that line of no return.
Nothing’s floating around in my
head but I keep reading sentences
that make me misty.  That last
meeting was very vampire in
the end.  There are way too
many meetings.  Did the
main character become
a poem?  Not to think
about it further.  Does
that make sense?  At a
burger joint having a
strawberry shake I feel
really cool.  Am I about
to die?  It’s a totally
different kind of place.
In a strange part of town.
I feel distant.  Or something
severe.  Perhaps I should
explore a lot more.

Thursday, August 15, 2013


‘of’ is such a top.
‘the’ is a total bottom.
but what if ‘we’ was
reversible, or, how
do they call it,
flexible, no,
barf.  that
crosses the
line, doesn’t
it?  ‘to’ is
so healthy.
when it fights,
it’s good, but
it still ain’t
pretty.  ‘is’
is, though.
at first I
was float-
ing around
in my head.
but then,
no joke,
ended it.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013


I still don’t know what people do
in the Bubble Galaxy.  I guess it’s
just something to do every minute
through next week.  That’s my

problem.  Just trying to get it out.
It hardly ever works.  It probably
won’t work this time.  Whatever
happens that’s big around here

certainly has me touchy.  First
it pissed me off.  Fighting over
nothing.  Another fight about
nothing.  Okay, we don’t fight.

What’s healthy is writing fast.
That must be what has me
all misting up.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013


If you think the butler did it
ask him what happened in 1979.
Hint:  they don’t make those in
Arkansas.  My mother kept
reminding us of how they
had to ration stuff during
World War II, like eggs
and butter (milk, maybe?).
I don’t know how to deflect.
I don’t even know the name
of the movie.

                     Several hours
later I can TALK for pizza
and cocktails.  It’s some-
thing to do every minute
of the week.  Hang on.

So I’m doing all my
writing with calendars.
It’s the new way.  Be-
cause this office has
no soul.  Barf.  That’s

        Plus we could
all die at any time.