mmclxxiii

Something’s Still Happening

Some foghorns never make it
to leghorn, nevermind the
female of the species.

I had to work for a little bit.
It hurt. Let’s start over
without an overbite.

Stop making funny
just to make sense.
Stop making love.

Stop making fence.

mmclxxii

fundraisers for non-profits

that’s a title i stole from a list
on page 15 of Ursula or University

mmclxxi

I guess we’ll never have an orgiastic Happening
                                              —Stephanie Young

Although I have to believe in the poet who had ‘a
self-sufficient lack of certainty’. It is possible
that I might introduce him to you someday. Not to mention,
as I write this, ‘vocation is in the air’. Or, more actually:
As I write this, vocation is in the air.... Sic and sic.

Rather than ‘to be continued’ how about ‘let’s get
right back to this’. That don’t sound right (ugh!).

Although this should’ve been the title, something
happened and there he was. No joke. No joke.

Like a postscript from a turd dressed in an iconic
superhero’s uniform. Like a flash. Out of the blue.
As if from thin air. As if.

Still, he didn’t get to do it. He didn’t even get it.

.// but the sun’s out. it’s another moment
if not an orgiastic happening....

mmclxx

Don’t Bite the Hand that Feeds You,
Bite the Hair of the Dog that Bit You

“Sober October” could actually be the
title of my next poem, I think, or,

and this one I just overheard while
walking down Mason Street:

“Slap me with your
tiny weenie!”

But this one’s
more for Mondays. Or for

the Tuesday after a 3-day
weekend. “Who’s got a heart of

gold? Let’s hear it for the
heart of gold!!” And, oh!

Now that I’m off the sidewalk,
my dear! This just in:

“My name is jeffie, im really hot russian girl
I very like the virtual hot meeting.

If you are realy interesting to love chat, meeting,
change photos, hot webcam (skype) talk with me

(or with my girlfriends)
please go to my web paage:

www.rfdatingxxx.ru. my Gentle-
man, thanks and have a good day”

mmclxix

A Hiss Is Not A Purr

I’m so sorry to have to inform you
that you seem to have taken the wrong
train. The one you need picks up
every 45 on the corner of Montieth &
Hoffman. Anyway, so after that I
watched Betty White on Conan.
Isn’t she just the bee’s knees?

mmclxviii

Swim Away from Eminem

It seems obvious that I
place too much credence
in the concept of going out
with a bang. Also, I often

get this sinking feeling
that too many people,
especially closer
friends, think of me as

a sad and pathetic man.
Fortunately, part of me
believes that that isn’t
the perception in reality,

that it’s at least more
related to my own
medial regard of myself.
Which, also fortunate,

isn’t the most consistent
notion that I have of myself.
Anger and hatred are putrid.
I’ll add to that initial word

prolonged. Prolonged anger.
Probably any kind of anger.
Putrid. Stunting. Bad.
But there is nothing more

stifling—and therefore
I use the word putrid,
but would, I suspect, 

be more accurate with

using the word pathetic.
Or tragic. Nothing is
worse, let’s just say,
for me, than that

putrid feeling I too at
times have of myself.
The worst it always
does is stop the world

(the only one, my world,
which isn’t really the
only world, but,
let’s face it, truly is).

mmclxvii

There was lots of lounging
that weekend. And long
conversations about ‘life’.
Living without a plan has
grown tedious. I have a
growing desire to clean
the windshield and yet
shrinking funds for new
windshield wipers.

mmclxvi

Way to go through that list every day!

     They were trying to set up their action in my mind, way back then in
     ancient now.
                                                                  —Alice Notley

Highlights from Mom’s trip here: driving to Monterey;
meeting Otto’s mom; going to the Monterey Aquarium;
drinking chamomile tea; new job—back back up to
highlights from Mom’s visit—to Napa/Sonoma/Calistoga

on Sunday; drinking with Mom on her 63rd birthday;
dancing at Ruby Skye; suspicious package left in
American Airlines terminal; me being so out of it;
Mom being here for ten days; focus turning into a

dizzying fuzziness; Sanctuary at 1st & Harrison
(“Palladium Place”). It’s really beautiful outside.
That feeling that I’m going to forget turning in
our rent check. The realization that it was

Stephanie’s blog. A blog within a blog, found
on a postcard. The picture on the postcard
is of me. All things being relative (in Arkansas),
I made her a cake while she made apple pie.

Playing Rook, feeling high, talking about life.
Later, we are dancing in our spot and taking off
our shirts, which is current fashion. I remember
calling someone to come by on Monday. Then

I had my near-death experience. My near-death
experience. During which I really thought I was
dying. Underline and italicize making sure
I was okay. Please make sure that I am okay.

mmclxv

The Sunken Galleon

I purchased a pocket calendar
and a three-hole punch with my
corporate credit card. I danced

the night away on January 1
after falling asleep at 11:30pm
on New Year’s Eve. Otto came

to bed around 12:30am & I
recall popping up to say
Happy New Year and

plopping him a kiss
before rolling over
and falling asleep.

The holiday seemed
replete with festive
kvetching. We chill,

then chat, then chill,
then chat chat chat
with Kathleen Some-

thing-or-Other. I see
her all the time and,
behold, she’s blogging

everything I’m reading.
I’m definitely hungry but 

all I can smell is onions.

mmclix

I seem to be missing everything

He looks at me with scorn

and I’m inclined to blurt out

that I’ve been up all morning

writing poems.  The apart-

ment was messy and I was

afraid to look my paycheck

in the eye.  We watched

episodes of Everybody Loves

Raymond before retiring to

the bathroom.  What else?

Already four days into the

new year and my Christmas

present arrives:  a case of

Peter Pan peanut butter.

mmclviii

I have many questions. Where
are you staying? With whom
are you visiting? How is winter
on the other side of the world?

I am currently melting into our
bedroom. Solid and liquid am I.
A monkey stares into space,
whatever is vaguely over my

head. Boss hobbles into office.
I court an ounce of hooch. Now
that it’s almost weekend these
smelly parties are happening.

All at once I go to the board,
mopey, sluggy, bitchy & edgy
all week. Like new dwarves
(Mopey, Sluggy, &c.). I am

feeling so go to. Otto just called.
Until then it was one of those
days. One tiny moment solves
everything. Underline everything.

Scratch that. All caps that. THAT
feels right; is just the ticket; strikes
a pang of contrast against how
substance abuse fails (quite often).

mmclvii

blood orange

is a treatise

on why this

is not art

happen

stance

puts me

in an

unknown

location

dizzy

from

gorg

ing

i look up

to pass

out

exhaust

ed gypsy

cannibal

wanders

ages

looking

for home

mmclvi

a crummy couple of days,
mood-wise, is my own
damn fault.  augmenting
that, diversions are
slow, sluggish.

the heat is on.
now if i can just
get to it.

i WANT.
but cannot see.

so i got my eyes
examined earlier today,
picked out a new pair
of glasses, yet haven’t
purchased them yet.
maybe i won’t.

gazing at the
blurred ocean 

on the last 

day of 

the
year.

sipping juice.

apple juice
& ocean.
ocean &
apple juice.

mmclv

Absence is harder to accept than death.
                                  —Etel Adnan

desire to do something different
vs.
desire to stay in comfort zone

who am i besides this
very comfortable
grey plaid shirt
that i am wearing now?

i cannot trace it back.

doing this sometimes feels
dangerous
but is it?

i am denied balance
or the deepness.

sit.  an eagerness.
over-filled.  until
the thoughts in
my head start
to evaporate
one by one.

mmcliv

I’m eager, engaging,
forwardly thinking,
hungry, and a bit
difficult.  I’m trying
to pass peacefully
through the day.
On the other hand,
it’s rainy and I have
lost my nice umbrella.
So many fluttering
thoughts, post-revelry,
but one that’s consistent
is overloaded and utterly
brilliant.  Meanwhile, on
another planet, a grand-
mother is teaching her
grandson how to
cook the family
specialty.

mmcliii

A Vegetable Orchestra

Shallow hedonism is important
and pleasurable. It’s my business,
like taking trips to Boston and
New York is others’. Sometimes

a clear timeframe is difficult to
graph. What has become of it?
Throw a party for Mom. Whom
to invite? Nobody even knows

her here. What would that be
like? Meanwhile, making every
moment as perfect as possible
becomes too much of a head-

ache for this hedonist. A
pleasurable migraine?
Not that I even know
what that means.

(Floating inside a
cloud of buzz
over Angel Island.)

mmclii

There’s a slight chance
that I’m rewriting poems
that I’ve never written
before [without bothering
to explain]. Brainstorm
and move forward.
Modify and perfect.
Other things: thank
you; thank you;
a new process
for birthdays;
ask questions.
Operate as
a business.

mmcli

The Promises I’ve Made to Myself and Others

Never stop seeking what’s important
and pleasurable.  The new spirituality.
Gag me with a New Year’s resolution.

mmcl

Occupation: Unemployment

I do not want to propose

that you honestly think

very little of me and my

work.  Then I had a near

death experience during

which I nearly died.  You

try that while listening

to the Bloody Beetroots!

Or maybe not.  He stops

me in the middle of it all,

says he’s having a divine

inquisition.  Asks if I sent

the text to Laura.  Um, no.

Says I should do it immed

iately.  Um, okay.  So what

do I do?  That’s what I’m

trying like mad to recall.

mmcxlix

Next year,

we’ll have

lots of fun

little gifts

to open on

Xmas day.

Boy, does

this list

ever ex-

haust!

mmcxlviii

I Am Resolve

What is there to do

in the face of time

with the face of

time?  Hide inside

of it?  Apply press

ure at pressure 

points in order to 

fix it?  It doesn’t 

give so easily, 

Oscar.  I need to 

make a list.  Of 

being thankful.  

Make promises.  

How to accomp

lish made prom

ises.  Doing 

something with

out doing no

thing.  Nothing.

Remind me.  

How can I 

make this 

effective.  

Should I 

even

affect?  

Please 

kindly re

mind me

to do some

thing different 

next year.

mmclvii

The “no gift” Christmas

What am I?
Fun. Adds
life. This
just con-
firmed,
like feel-
ing bad.
The en-
joyment
of the
brink.
The
brink
of en-
joy-
ment.
A con-
struct.
A game
of nothing
but beauty
and pleasure
interspersed.

mmcxlvi

Odd enough that,

on Christmas morning,

each with new tablets

that add life, some talk,

it was nice but how would

I describe it?  It comes

across as so wrong.  But

it’s not foolish feeling

good.  While it comes

relatively easy—is a

construct, like feeling

bad.  And it doesn’t

just come crashing in.

It added life.  Recovery

ships.  Because now,

roasted, spending

the night at Peter’s,

I feel so good.  This

just confirmed.

A game thrust

to the brink.

Kiehl’s moisturizer.

Nothing and pleasure

insterspersed.

mmcxlv

Inability

There was no real

sexual tension so

we played several

games of Rook.  He’s

fun to play cards with.

Then, Christmas morn-

ing, I sketched oddly

until they left.  I don’t

know how to describe

it.  Definitely a mood-

suck.  Then doing

nothing.  How
would I describe

this more effectively?

mmcxliv

Let’s Play Poke the Tail Into the Donkey

I’m singing our national anthem.

Right now.  In bed.

I just sang the national anthem.

Omigod.  I just said that.

Inability.  I am on a fairy

that just departed Vallejo for

San Francisco.  On Xmas Eve,

I should add, M&O picked up

good ol’ Mack down in

Monterey & we all

spent the night in revelry.

I should also note (please

ignore) that I am being

the same child as always (reactionary).

mmcxliii

Blah Blah Rama Lama Ding Dong

Please stop all of the startrooper

rumors that have been going

around about me.  They are

absolutely not true.

Take one down, pass it around,

ninety-nine bottles of sleep

on the wall.  Also, here come

the moral helicopters.  By the way,

I love it when you develop.  It’s

always so public.

mmcxlii

My exasperation with the ludicrous constructs that lure me from
here to there to wherever. And how I go. On purpose. Ever onward
toward my imagined importances.

All of this is to generally say that I prefer—in fact, I suppose I truly
can only tolerate, if not demand—sage, experience-driven,
& elsewise-accredited advice on the really important stuff, that
which to whom and for which I should point my propensities.
Fortunately, it’s the Era of Attention Deficit Disorder,

and thus I never dwell too long on the bitter pills of
politics, lousy advice, & the world wide webs
of corporate and corporeal manipulation. I’m
easily distracted, and how could I not be when I
notice that, in other news, it looks like Justin Bieber
has been accused of an “egg attack.” I want him so bad
it hurts.                                       Now where was I, again?

mmcxli

And as

my head clears a bit I find myself,

like now, thinking of this messiness

that I become when being fed recommendations

which are (supposedly) based on a democratic

accumulation of responses.  Then it

dawns on me, that I’m (barf!)

elitist

              Or, more accurately,

I remember that I am.  I sigh {sigh!}. 

And revel in that truth for a moment.

{sigh!}

And then, slowly, I put one hand

(admittedly in what might be

considered an overly-dramatic

fashion) over my eyes.

But.  It doesn’t keep me from

seeing the obvious: