mmdvii

Curtains

The toilet won’t shut up. But
what will motivate me up and
out of bed? It’s 3:03pm. Erin
and I went to a backyard

filmfest out near Irving & 9th
on Friday night. It says right
here that it was fun, but I do
not remember it. At all. Ex-

cept the mosquitoes. And
purchasing repellant and
watermelon Smirnoff Ice
with which to watch. But

Erin’s short film I still
have yet to see. Some-
thing didn’t go well with
the DVD player. Later,

I met up with some flirty
friends at The Cinch. And
then somehow wound up
at Dragon (for no more

than five minutes, though;
attempted too large an
argument on the phone...)....
Timing. Are all nerds losers?

This time it was my fault
for certain. The toilet still
sings like there’s no tomorrow.
I sit up in bed, its sole occupant

at my home of eleven some-odd years.

mmdvi

Boo Hoo!

“I believe it is a combination
of a lot of things, many of
which I am not sure of,”
is an exact quote. Page
2,532. Another Tuesday.
Oh, woe is me, and boo hoo!

Pick your damn self up
and get back in line! I
want to take pictures at
an average rate. There
is too much work in
the afternoon. My hand

cramps as if I’m actually
writing a letter, probably
to Gary. The sticky frogs
aren’t sticky enough.
Sure, I could complain
all week. What is a game

I play with myself while
listening to something
that sounds happy? Big
frown full of crocodile
tears: happy birthday,
happy Easter, and

Merry Christmas! I
could do this until dawn.

mmdv

NOT ABLE / UNABLE / DISABLE

It is Tuesday
and I want a
digital camera.
There is too much
work this afternoon,
I think, sipping coffee,
after a long email to
Diane, who has written
me several real letters
to which I have yet to
respond. I don’t re-
member Fanny &
Alexander at Erin’s,
but I remember
packing the boys
up on Saturday
and stuffing the
two of them
into a big U-
haul truck.
Big state of remorse.

mmdiv

huge dogs breathe in the hall.
                     —Mark Lamoureux

Men who are dogs.

               No.

Men who love dogs.


          ±±±


Boys who love dogs.


          ±±±


Dogs who eat boys?

                No.

Dogs who eat men.


          ±±±


         Grown-ups

         Dogs love.


          ±±±


Men who love

       Boys who love

                     Dogs

mmdiii

Missing

Or whatever. If you’re
only allowed this one
line? Pick yourself up.
Recover. Don’t eat the
poison. There will be others.

mmdii

I call upon a poem. Who am I?

Exhibit A: drinks with Two
at Lush Lounge while Otto
is cavorting with his colleagues.

He is to join the two of us
(Two and myself) at Sushi
Rika in a couple of hours,

so in the meantime Two
and I, the both of us, are
being forward in our

drinking. “That is one
choice cut,” he says, for
example, drooling

only a little bit. And I
agree, sipping and
mmm-ing. Who needs

a third wheel to feel
good (just because I’m
a dog doesn’t mean I

would like to have one
of my own, for example),
et cetera? But all I see

at the moment is the
big hole in everything
I look upon. Literally,

all the time, holes, gaps,
important stuff missing.
Where’d he go, for example?

“I’m not here,” I say.
“Will anyone be
joining you?” asks

Jean through a
tube sock or an
injection. She’s

been waiting for
all three of us at the
place that used to be 

called Ginger’s Trois.

mmdi

Pine Cone

Help! I’m turning into a
prima donna over here!
So, of course, I immed
iately IM Erin about it:
“What should I do?” I
ask. It’s been a snaky w
eek, I think, as I await
her reply. Which turns
out to be none other
than “Office gossip
not good. Should
sanitize.” Later,
after purchasing lub
rication (because it
helps me smile bet
ter), I’ve a date at
the Disney Museum.
I live in San Francisco,
not Los Angeles or Flo
rida or Tokyo, so I cum
pleatly change my mind
about Walt. After such
an epiphany, what’s
there to do but take
photographs of pine
cones lying on ass
fault in the Presidio
(very nearby the
museum – it’s as if
it were impossible
to move for a while,
having learned at
the museum why I
learned how to moo
v in the first place).
Nothing whatsoever
distracts. This fact
extends the weak
end by record pro
portions. Even such
things as awaiting a
bus or stopping off
for Thai food on the
way home at a place
never before encou 

ntered. By anyone.

mmd

Jailhouse Rock

I started following Elvis
on Twitter yesterday.
After that I went home
because Ann-Margret
was tired from rowing
at Golden Gate Park all
afternoon, so we vegged
in front of the teevee for
a while. Then we took a
long bubbly bath toget-
her (tee hee!) and then
we headed to bed. How
lovely it is, the bed I
share with the gorgeous
and talented stunner, 

Ms. Ann-Margret!

mmcdxcix

Homemade Lemonade

This is just the sort of thing
that puts me into a good
spirit...

...until I find that
I am not really a spirit at all.

mmcdxcviii

Structure

         With “that” in mind

                                   he said

                 “this”                   Elect-

rocution     via     elocution.     I am . . .

                                 (submission slumber)

    ... I   am  in  a  submission  slumber  so

                        I              watch

Some Like It Hot
                                             (thinking)

“...And some sweat
when the heat is on.”

                                                           I’d like
                                                           my period
                                                           please
                                                           .

But    ..    oh,     Madonna!

(I mean)  oh,     Marilyn!            You ARE

                                  The Skirt,

                                  The Sway,

                                                  and The Slobber!

My   point     is   only   this:

                        1.) Do not break the beer mug from Tiffany’s

                             and

                        2.) Which do I look better in ..... this ....


                                                                         .... or ....



                    .... give me just a minute ....

                                                                      this?

mmcdxcvii

I’m Having Lunch at Sushi Rapture, As They Say.

I am sitting in Washington Square Park
because Italy has just won the World Cup.
It’s staggering, the energy, the crazy. The
streets are like the belfries in Venice at

noon. It reminds me of the Piazza San
Marco, near where we stayed when in
Venice, the city that became my all-time
favorite (and still is). I didn’t even want

to go to Italy, but the trip was not for me,
it was for the young graduate of the Aca-
demy of Art, a gift of such enormity
that I certainly wish I could afford now.

It was a wonderful place: Italy; Rome,
Florence and Venice were always
resounding with bells. I’d love my
head in a gigantic bell right now (I’ve

such a photo of myself from none other
than St. Mark’s Square during that very
trip). Instead, I’m sweaty and swigging
from the jug of job interviews in which

I’ve participated during the past week
(Thank you very much, one-click applica-
tion, you’ve been very good to me! Unless
of course you’re a tease, as I’ve no work

lined up as of yet. Is a tease better than
nothing at all? I have this parenthetical
debate with myself often. Sometimes
daily. Unlike prayers, which I gave up

so many years ago. Well, that’s not
entirely true. Old habits, like spates
of good or bad luck, do very much 

have a tendency to die hard, it seems.).

mmcdxcvi

Poem

I have many treasured

friends.  But it was morning.

In the afternoon, I complained,

having skipped either work

or my workout.  I wonder about

my attitude like a narcissist; I

worry about never having had

the opportunity to slap someone

back.  I should be joyous.  I still am,

sometimes,  however, I'm presently

stalling the completion of a question-

naire I’ve been asked to turn in before 

a job interview that I have this afternoon.

Actually, I haven’t even begun to fill out  

the questionnaire, which is really just in 

preparation for a "phone screen," something 

that seems like a mandatory prerequisite to

an in-person interview these days (oh, how the 

times, they change...)...so it's really just a pre-

interview for an interview that I have this afternoon.  

But that’s still an interview, right?  Yet still I sit here,

still stalling.  I don’t even know why I’m mentioning this, 

except it seems appropriate to include within a page of 

couplets of certain lengths.  Such as the ones on this ‘page’....

I like couplets, and see fit to use them on occasion.  I 

also enjoy many (additional) types of architecture, as 

well as the occasional pork cutlet.

mmcdxcv

Poem

I remember books of poetry
in which the same title existed
for almost every poem: “Poem”.

Most days I am also reminded
of my confusion regarding Roman
numerals. Sometimes I think,

sure, it’s a day like any other.
But other days I find overwhelmingly
unique. I really enjoy unique. And

puzzle over the notion or fantasy
that unique might be ubiquitous.
Which would eradicate the whole

concept of unique. That’s when it
hits me that I have completely lost
my optimism. I used to brag most

any day about how wonderful life
was, or how terrific this or that
aspect of life. Now it seems an

effort (but at least the effort is
fairly constant?) to simply look
at the bright side. Last night, I

met a chihuahua named Rose.
After a while, Rose hopped up 

onto my lap to have a look around.

mmcdxciv

Poem

There’s a hero in our midst.
‘Myth, maybe,’ says he of no
lisp as the fogroll turns into
drumroll. The 4th of 4 days
in a row I walk down this hill.

It is where I’ve lived (or used
to live) for 12, no, 13 years.
So more of the same will (might)
happen soon. The 5th of 5 days
in a row, etc. At a gym, I go on

record as weighing myself. I
come out several pounds. A
lot of them. And later wonder
how to convert them into
stones. Or sentences. The

Mark Hopkins Intercont-
inental Hotel is a stone’s
throw away from my
apartment building.
So I throw it into a

lot of sentences. On
several occasions. For
example, this is the
evening that I throw
myself at everyone

walking the sidewalk
that passes directly in
front of the building
in which I live. I could
convert into condom-

iniums, if you’d like.
Really, it was nothing.
For example, 'Thank
you!' And you do 

the same.

mmcdxciii

                                  Cord word hit often   cheeseburger
          Murmur barbells  half  expect     Underfoot
                                        —Ted Greenwald

And “Girls allege verbs smell.” That Ted
Greenwald; he of lovely nonsense! I’m 

half tipsy from his poetry this morning
(2am) and happy tinged with sad (this
Gemini has a birthday coming up in a few
days!). If I were paranormal would I not
be so normal? One can only hope. And,
therefore, a boy can dream.

Boy, speaking of birthdays, I’ll give you a
hint: my 30th year high school reunion
is coming up in a few weeks. The 30th
anniversary of my graduation from
high school! I’m not going, of course.
Too much nonsense in my life already.
No offense to anyone with whom I
graduated. And it’s not that I don’t
stay in touch. There were only
around forty of us, but Facebook
somehow keeps us engaged with
one another (wouldn’t it be unlikely
we’d be in touch otherwise?).

Three of my classmates have passed on,
apparently by their own hands. True or
not, what a lousy thing to know. What
a lousy way to go. Or? I’ve no idea
if that’s true, much less, if it were to
be, what the individual circumstances
were that would have led to such things.
Which brings me back

home, to my lovely bed in my lovely
apartment on lovely Nob Hill in lovely
San Francisco, California. Upon which
sits me, myself (the Geminis), and a
purring cat who answers to the name
Coco the Loco (though sanity, as she 

well knows, is in the eye of the beholder).

mmcdxcii

                                      May the breath
          I draw become a healing touch
           to ease the pain...
                                        —Tim Dlugos

Dlugos continues with “I caused him,” etc.,
but I stop where I stop. “Here I divide my
heart,” he later notes, and I’ll momentarily
relate. It is five in the morning, and there
is no logic. Make notes to defy logic. Make
another quick note to let logic go. It is five
in the morning and the computer is making
its noises and Coco the Loco is having dreams,
nightmares, from the look and sound of it (but
how are we to...?)....

I wanted to go dancing earlier, but I passed out
cold while playing games on my phone. On the
tattered couch. Fully clothed. I’ve spent the
duration of the weekend, thus far, here at home,
alone, but for a lovely and all-too-brief visit on
Friday evening with my former neighbor and
classmate (from 1st grade through high school
graduation). We caught up over a bite at Nara
Sushi on Polk Street before stopping on the
way back to our respective home & hotel at
Trader Joe’s to pick up some groceries together.
She and her husband were off to Napa the next
morning. I remain here at home, in the fog,
to write it all down.

Which is what I’m literally doing these days.
Writing. My hand is cramping now, in fact.
So I’ll return to Dlugos’ “Healing the World
from Battery Park.” In hopes.

So long for now. I’ll be back again very soon!

mmcdxci

Outer Space

What I know and what I don’t know.
Is equal in nature to
what I see and what I do not see.

Cut nature a pair of slacks and
please bring back the variety of birds
(the ones I usually hear as I wake up

each morning). I haven’t heard them
recently. Nor seen any to speak of,
except pigeons and crows (which I

shall not call, as some do, the lowliest
of the fowl; I am simply lamenting).
I’m simply lamenting the lack of variety.

And now, after crying for an entire year,
I wake up. Poof!
......(I do hope that I awaken....)....

In such hopes, I’m tidying this,
the place where I live (e.g., see
photo of me wearing the house-

plants). I am mostly comfortable
spreading myself upon furniture
that needs to be replaced (e.g., there’s

no lasting sensation within the body that
currently spreads upon this tattered sofa
and begs for the body’s removal from it).

mmcdxc

“Whoa, Nelly!”

     A film may run in the same sequence each time it is
     viewed but it can never be viewed in exactly
     the same way.
                                           —Susan Gevirtz

Last night I saw San Andreas, the movie
with Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and the
‘EARTHQUAKE’ that devastates California.
But it turned out to be less of a disaster flick
than a send-up to the Sunday night TV movies
with which Walt Disney bombarded my child-
hood. I'm not really saying anything bad about
the movie, I’ll admit. However. This week
I’ve been rereading Kevin Killian’s delicious
collection of poetry, Action Kylie. And it just
so happens that the film last night had a
completely useless cameo appearance
by none other than Kylie Minogue herself.
Let’s just say that I never see this film again.
If so, I’m pretty sure that the key significance
of (or any memory that may be sustained from) 

this morsel of family fare, for me, will surely 

always be Kylie Minogue’s appearance as The 

Rock’s ex-wife’s new man’s ex-wife. She 

appears once. Directly before the earthquake, 

the fault of which the movie is named after.

mmcdlxxxix

Intermittent Garble

We’re in the
back-together
phase, where
we aren’t tell-
ing anyone,
which has
been fun.

I’ve just
finished
Woolf’s
Jacob’s
Room and
downloaded
a few tunes
by the likes of
Stefy, AFI, Jack
White, and The
Raconteurs.

And, as a going-
away present
for the new
citizens of
Texas, I’m
currently
eating a
Loco Moco
at Hukilau’s.

mmcdlxxxviii

                       Every maybe has a wife
     Called maybe-not.
                                    —Kevin Killian


Moving around has
cast a pall over
everything of late.

I am taking St.
John’s Wort; it
doesn’t seem

to be helping.
Hospitals are
scary places,

like on Wayward
Pines, the first
episode of which

I watched late
last night (alone).
But, when I lie

perfectly still,
or stay in bed
reading, like

this morning,
like every
morning

this week,
things are 

quite good.

mmcdlxxxvii

Marooned

I’m at work.
It’s nearly
4pm. To-
night we
go to Huk-
ilau’s to
meet with
C & M (
they’re
moving
to Austin
in only 2
weeks!)
4 drinks
before
heading to
The Bridge
to see
Beyond
the Val-
ley of
the
Dolls,
hosted
by Peach-
es Christ.

Alone,
in bed,
on the
3rd day
of a hor- 

rible cold.

mmcdlxxxvi

Motivated

I see your
true colors
shining through.
And your wardrobe
clashes with your
personality.

You know
what sucks is
that you don’t
mind getting
sick. So please
touch the lion
gently.

If we back up
to the border
of dying, there
is so much
good stuff
that I dread.

It’s you
I’m having
trouble with.
Everyone else I can abbreviate.