mmmmclvii

Handwritten Hodgepodge
(more snippets from various
often illegible scribbles)

queries for yvonne. bbq for folks.
send email to the entire psychiatry
dept. mottott (?) training. also ask
margo pamer (palmer?). arnie, molly,

angela, sheila. doodle poll. friday,
d. maran & eve 25 – 9 to 10am.
word to the fishcan. i’m a bitch (la
roux). valentino & the dalai lama.

minutes. note one: i went to get
the last minutes. the doc that
talks about all of the patients’ cons.
crocodile committee? next mtg perm.

another good year. quality control.
bert of duality (?). don’t get shrimp.

mmmmclvi

Moil Eagable Handsnips

it happens depending on the
situation. i canteen be at any
tube. just me. be good. i will
pay $750 per check on the 5th.

obstacles. i repressed no stress
to get you here. a loud belief [or
relief?]. and the door notices cali
fornia (show paper), if i have been

approved and verified. the world
i’m doing so strange. after three
years what is owed or owned. no
sucking sept. 5. NOT buying, but

learning as i go. loggy porpoises [?]
of official employees, not sex slaves.

mmmmclv

More Snippets from Handwritten Notes

contact Toss Now [sic?]. THIS HAS TO
BE MONDAY. show Mona Lisa my a
mount funded. ask her what she said
as she was walking out my door. notice

on door. notice in mail. $1 on the 27th.
history of Charleston [indecipherable].
$103.04. caresses/follicles upon/the
crook of my elbow. short spare tufts/

billow across/my loose knuckles. patient
as a [?]. persistent sex. suck feather
[sic?]. you will then go off insurance. you
have to buy ticket home. why does the night

mare landscape feel so comfortable. such a
high value risk, fraught with [?]. this kiss costs.

mmmmcliv

A Few Handwritten Notes
(Mostly Illegible)  #1

current statement. receipt for rent. case
number 1409241 (see email). multiple
people involved. your brother is not you.
does he have a phone? he needs to come

here immediately. dj reyes [sic?]. makes
it a tougher quote to quote. foil arrived at
zoo (?). another quote from edmund berrigan
on indigenous peoples’ day. description of his

eyes after staring at them for 30 secs solid.
for the game we’re not really strangers (6/3).
light in darkness. if you see him comin’ tell him
nuh uh. can’t do the talks like the talk on the tv.

off-kilter snippets of joy & confusion & (flitty/
flirty) consternation. beauty beautiful eyes.

mmmmcliii

Heartbreak Incapable

He had a way with words. What a
creative genius of renown. The world
was starstruck but to be graced by
his presence, wobbly knees, anxious

titters, swooning, the incessant blind
ing flashes of paparazzi and driven fans.
And the stalkers. He had infamous
encounters with obsessed zealots.

One climbed through his window at two
in the morning with an ax that, word has
it, left scars. The posthumous biopic re
vealed him to be a miserable man; bitter,

contemptuous, devoid of heart and soul.
A complete waste, a ruse, a real nobody.

mmmmclii

Plebeian Wargames

Isn’t blindly picking sides how
we got to the edge of the apoc
alypse in the first place? Of
course all powermongers – left,

right, somewhere in between
– vie for the lowest common
denominator. But I’d like to think
one side refuses to simply hail

“Let’s make the dumb dumber” and
aims evenly across the mathematical
spectrum. Oh but when those with
whom I identify go dumber, do

the lemmings ever line up to dive
from the cliffs into hell en masse.

mmmmcli

Rise and Shine

Here’s some extra space
for your pleasure. If I
could make it private,
you know I would,

right? I’m having break
fast without any food.
And I’m having it very
slowly. Lugubrious is

a look and/or a sound.
Sure, I’d say it that way.
The hack of putting pen
to paper is lesser or great

er than finger pads eras
ing letters off keyboards?

mmmmcl

Sonata of Hope

The white noise, despite my needs
or wants, refuses to be contained,
creates the patter of rain out my one
window. I listen expectantly for the

rivulets that will begin to develop two
stories down, upon the metal rooftop
of the courtyard that separates one wing
of my building from the other. When the

shooshing doesn’t come, my ears relay a
bit of relief – misshapen by the whir of the
desperate wind, which is as imaginary as
the rain – to the synapses of my brain,

wherein this symphony was derived. It’s all
in my head, where it remains wholly contained.

mmmmcxlix

Springtime in November*

It seems time, running like a bull, has me
right at headbutting another solo Thanks
giving. My tenth one in a row. A decade of
flying solo and mostly burdened with financial

distress and depression during the holidays. I
am still not used to the absurdity of hermit-dum,
not comfortable with it even after this long. And
this year that double kidney-punch that are my

usual holiday burdens that make bearing the dur
ation between Thanksgiving and the New Year alone
triply abhorrent, seem even worse than ever. And
yet. Somehow. At least presently, I’m not reeling

with defeat; I’m even...optimistic. It’s such a treat. I
am thankful! Stay gone, dread! Happy Thanksgiving, all!

*this trend upward hopefully ends my miniseries, The Bitter Sonnets

mmmmcxlviii

Me Time

I need some me time. Gonna call in sick
to work today. Okay. So now I’m sarcastic
ally ensconced in the sand at this gorgeous
beach, no worries whatsoever, watching the

waves flicker under the glimmering sun as
they tongue at the sparkling silica spread
between me and the fluctuating boundary
of the firmament. All of this I do, whilst

sitting in the coffin-sized space in which I
live, crumpled beneath, up and over this
bruise-battered desk that’s what’s mine,
twitch-dreaming the day away and into the

sour unswallowable horse-pill of another
unimaginative night’s sleepless oblivion.

mmmmcxlvi

Off the Grid

They say he just fell off the map.
But laughing? Something like that.
He had an orange for breakfast and
that was the last we saw of him. An

orange? That’s all? Are you certain it
wasn’t an onion? But he was a good fell
ow. Many say. It became apparent over
the years, after his disappearance, that

there were some conflicts. Just generic
scuttlebutt. He had a soul? He was decent?
Conflict had transpired. That’s the brunt of it.
Was this the root of his demise? I felt joy when

he was present. Inspired. But to speak of demise
hints at someone worth remembering; of renown.

mmmmcxlv

Scribble Me Out If You Will

                                for memory

The past. No, the present. The
past and the present. The invented
future? Maybe. My weblog. My
maplogs. My logs. All the logs

not meant for a fireplace. Although,
nothing about splitting logs. There’s
death in that. What’s to unscribble?
Perhaps more, perhaps much more;

this part is to be determined. All
the films I’ve experienced. Teevee
shows included. Every book I’ve ever
read. All acquaintances whom if en

countered today who’d stop to gab, and
wish me well in earnest, alive or dead.

mmmmcxliv

Surprises in Hell

It’s important to keep one’s humor about one
self when in hell. As is the case anyplace, there
are things that can tickle the senses into a laugh,
or a reminiscent chuckle or at least a glimmer of an

overheated smile, even in such a despicable place as
this. While it’s true, of course, that the devil himself is
no fan of seeing his ‘acolytes’ reveal anything the least
bit positive, be it a smile, a laugh, a chuckle, or tip of the

proverbial hat. Ooh, and he hates to witness the act of a
good deed by anyone in this godforsaken place. But humor
still exists, even here, even when the news is bad, when your
‘friends’ spit nails at your skull, and when the chore list is so pain

ful it literally cannot be tolerated. But worst of all is when an old pal
suddenly appears and looks right through you like you never existed.

mmmmcxliii

Sitting Down for a Discussion

It sadly could be our last. But I could live
with that. This would be preferable to not
even bothering. Sure the unwillingness is
not only astonishing, but something incred

ibly tough to get over. A tragedy. A heart
break. Something, yet, with which I have
no option but to deal. To move forward. At
least it is closure. This mysterious subject has

to end, right? Who cares about this matter? Me.
That’s pretty much it. Surely not the other party.
Party. Which we did so much of, in the inebriated
sense. In just the celebratory sense. So much was

shared. And sure, it’s been years. But to say that I
would have never dreamed it would go on like this . . . .

mmmmcxlii

Television

I should watch more teevee.
When I do I’m transported.
Sometimes there’s too much
suspense, but even this isn’t

reality. Sometimes there’s
such joy, there’s such per
fection that I find myself with
tears rolling down my cheeks.

These are not tears of sadness.
They are of joy, of catharsis. This
frisson is so rejuvenating that of
course I should do this more often,

delve into the unreal, the beauty
that is nowhere but in this figment.

mmmmcxli

How Exactly Did I Get Here?

Love is illogical, love is blind,
it’s the dumbest thing imagin
able sometimes. Most times?
I haven’t normally thought this

way, but contemplating my sev
eral encounters with the grab
you and have at you one-track. . . .
It’s not always that. Is it always

that? Love can bring all else to
a standstill. Love can be such a
myth. Oh, you believe. And that
it is reciprocated. Ha. But when

it comes to love, the cynicism lasts
only so long until you’re ready again.

mmmmcxlvii

Come Away from the Ledge

Perhaps tonight it’s impossible
not to dwell on the tiny lip of
the city below. I seek a glimmer
or three. I’m closer to heaven

up here? Moving from subjects
not to take lightly to those that
are light: I’m alive? Oh, this
might take a while. I have such

a cache of photos from my past.
Perhaps I’ve been more nostalgic
than I thought I was. This project.
Or, for example, I generally enjoy

randomly scanning these photographs.
When will this be the case once more?

mmmmcxxxix

Sonnets

Sonnets can be succinct, can tell
or at least intimate an often pro
found story. But what if one did
not? Recently I’ve been hit by a

bit of a triple whammy, what I’ve
been wanting to be by the beginning
of the year that comes next will not
be who I am. Quite contrary, it would

seem. Furthermore, some of my best
memories have been rewritten, thanks
to one of the whammies. Needless to
say, I’m depressed, and without explain

ing much (where’s the story?) I’ve no
means at all to improve the situation.

mmmmcxl

I Just Can’t

When you’re hit by something
so confusing it is hystorical.

There are just no words at first. 

And maybe, you give some sort of 

dumbfounded response to the hypocrisy.

but then you realize it’s one lousy human’s 

way to escape reality. Time happens like 

a prayer filled with all of the things you 

should have said. Spare dwelling on the 

tale’s details. Make it a lesson, instead.  Del

egitimize the history you thought was. 

Stride, chin up; deal. Reality is. Feckless 

humans drop you, disavow even the notion 

of loyalty, dissolving your fondest memories.

mmmmcxxxviii

Where’s Yaddo?
(Some Pomp & Circumstance)

“An anxiety-inducing dilemma, in
deed! What has become of you?”
Now we have internal dialogue –
sweet mother of – I have voices

in my head!? It’s late on a Saturday.
I’m riffling through Indeed (dot com).
For at least a minute. But then what
happens?? Well, this happens. Yep,

this act that’s just sooo important.
Has. Become. My. Procrastination?
Uh uh! It took me 40 years to call my
self Artist, Writer. But penniless coming

full circle was definitely not the plan.
Plus, it’s Saturday night! So screw it!

mmmmcxxxvii

Panda Mick’s Post

POV of the trio of
waddle-cuddles all
tucked b&w into a
box of peanuts –

peanut shells to be
all ecological. Damp
noses pressed on each
other as they uncomfor

tably spoon and swoon
over a vast, unseen
ocean, sniffing each
other’s eucalypt souls

wondering about China’s
economic/political future.

mmmmcxxxvi

Kink Tut

Wrap me up in
your funniest
undies like
a mummy.

Amenhotep
heaven!

This, I decree,
must surely be
the most direct
way to heaven.

King Noah Tut-tut

mmmmcxxxv

A Sonnet Catches a 

Glimpse of Its Reflection

Am I the mess that you
want me to be? And is
this [demonstrating its
architecture to its reflect

ion]? That mimicry is
flattery has this (and
all) sonnets expertly
puffing their chests –

proudly AND sexily.
Love can be seedy
and filled with growing
trees. Thinks the poem,

on its knees, all ego:
“abab cdcd efef gg.”

mmmmcxxxiv

Here’s My Lack
of Imagination

To write
about
being
broke

is to
have
a lack of
imagination.

mmmmcxxxiii

You Animal!

A carafe of
giraffe sounds
enticing (don’t
laugh). Or a

sordid duet
with a puma,
under a crescent
moon. I’d rhumba

with a rhino on
the beaches of
the Rhine. But,
all said, I’d rath

er with you pounce
away all my time.

mmmmcxxxii

Ornery with an H

Scooch it
into the
spotlight.
Resist the

pose. Al
ways act.
Action is
perfection.

Slap the
scandals
senseless.
Since when

was skin such
soulful bliss?

mmmmcxxxi

Flipped from the Headlines

Who can bear it?
Somebody’s asking
for it. Where’s the
money? Ask the suits

in bored rooms. Which
channel to watch today?
It’s War vs. Soap. Beauty
products clean the blood.

Down the drain go our 

hearts. Just the facts. The 

WMDs are buried under NYC. 

Next up: Guns for Mugging

Judges. Make mine soapy.
Pray my brains don’t clog.

mmmmcxxx

Riddle

Man arrives.
Reason’s virtue.
I’m nobody.

mmmmcxxix

Northeast

Pout.
Pelt.
Pinch.
Press.

Smirk.
Twerk.
Work.
Perk.

Appear.
Disappear.
Smear.
Sneer.

I saw you a’comin’ when
the news turnt me out.

(The Far Right)

mmmmcxxviii

Pastel Gardens

To prune.
To bear.
To slough.
To spoon.

To wake.
To ache.
To bake.
To slake.

To smack.
To make.
To pack.
To take.

To stop too slow. To boom.
To glow. (To bloom and go.)