mmmmccxix

Your Alarm Clock Wakes
Me Up. You Don’t Budge.

More urgent stuff. The
new urgent. Check box
talk to Stallone about
his laid back carefree

urgent. What’s going
on, is there anything
upcoming? Pronto.
Run like hell and ask

no directions. Many
humans stomp-
crushed all the
shell-bones until

the ebbing waters of
the Pacific called 9-1-1.

mmmmccxviii

Serious Hush Finally Raises Voice
after Six Silent Months

This is to anyone left when this
is over. The courtyard can’t be
seen through the window. The air
is an angsty orange. From quar

antine to agoraphobia to, I’m done. 

The ongoing attempt to convince my

self here in my hotbox that is about 

the shape and size of a coffin. Ding 

dong, I’m done, by way of a dimrage. 

Grr!! See? The universal appeal of that 

oddly angled leg all propped up by a 

chicken bucket. But ding-dang-it I must 

finish this here as there are no more 

lines for which to bring my point home.

mmmmccxvii

Cue Buckle Recurrence

We took a dental leap w/
our currently regular dog
tie. A person is a recurrence
(ACTUALLY) and Del is to

go through and see the
regular stuff. A detailed
reminder of everything
that is forthcoming. The

update is planar through the
end of the year. Hence the cur
rent eggy day recurrence. David
flies until mostly domestic. The

Human Resources Department are
all in Los Angeles eating popcorn.

mmmmccxvi

A Whole Lotta Love

Haven’t stepped out all day. As
if escape were possible. The im
penetrable husk of this hermit
sees to that. How’d I wriggle

myself into this pickle? I lock
my door from the inside. Sure,
I zip out on occasion for essentials.
But then I’m back again. How I’ve

found comfort spending years in
this sweatbox seems like such a
conundrum. And I’d ditch this
place. I would. if only I could

find enough of a difference 

between free will and fate.

mmmmccxv

an orange menace of putrescence
                        —Stacy Abrams

I’m pretty sure that none of my
grandmothers ever uttered “fu
ck your feelings.” This is some
dump. Sunny louse (what?) and

don’t knowledge. The donuts of
Weaver Township, Arkansas. The

all to visible elephant in the room

or the body politic. Beating around 

the bush on Bush Street with a new 

Chime card. Can you say bank pariah 

without revealing anything? Pink October 

is the worst month. But since I look fab

in pink does it fit? Marmalade March
(merch?). They split a fascist avalanche.

mmmmccxiv

Semi-Contemporaneous To Do List

Possess a printer who can eja
culate splendidly. Plus the obvy
related priority (but there’s no need
for that to exist on this list, for that’ll

happen, printer be damned). Get edu
cated on inappropriate Blogger content.
Just yesterday, I received my first ever
ding in over 22 years of posting regularly,

and for a relatively innocuous (am I that
tawdry?) piece posted here in 2008?!
Likewise, get hip to YouTube’s no-no’s,
where I’ve had a ding, as well. Even tho

my algorithm bombards me incessantly
with the most taboo Louis C.K. bits?

mmmmccxiii

Log Jam

Block time for “NMT” in
calendar. Duration min
imum. Meg’s direct re
port: Eva. Anything

that st (stops there; im
agine strays, strips, stems).
Two speakers. I’m thinking
of a number between one

and eight. Call CalFRESH
CALFresh (snicker). Get mo
ney to Carter. Corkscrew
for Gayle. Larry. Rethink

stance on lawsuits. It’s a
strange album. So sue me.

mmmmccxii

Car Key Clichés

Forcing a routine to forget how
to write. Forging deconstruct
ion of discipline. Add verse
destruction is as deliberate as

verbs; word kindling. Accrete
sheep knowledge for noggin
expansion. Makes for an en
hanced noodle. Robbing ra

men for Robin, who’s already
rich. Like the soup. She may
be Gwen’s fiduciary, but she is
n’t rich. I meant like that’s rich.

Needless to say we find all of
the needle’s eyes in haystacks.

mmmmccxi

Corpse Oration

Ask doctor about the longer
the unemployment the bigger
and more bizarre the flashbacks.
Leave politics out of it spread

sheet. Cheating at golf? What
ever, dude. I can provide the
sharp posts I’ve drafted thus
far. Further info (through the

closed door of the boss’s office)
relayed once a month. Hissing
like a seething Slytherin. Gavin
Rossdale’s whiny semi-acoustic

rendition of Glycerine on Fallon
last week wasn’t political. Nope.

mmmmccx

Earnest Query
Re: Redundancy

Are sonnets lazy?

mmmmccix

Finite Vector

Track down Red Ant script
for mock response. Epitaph,
epigraph. Look up griot. War
protest is not my thing, but

protest war. What good? Cof
fee talk with Sam, hold May
20. Map of fecund files. Are
these the birthing folders, like

the one with my sheaf full of
mostly indecipherable hand
written notes (that say I made
this)? Dog whistle. Complete

timeline. Record of? Goals
with deadlines? Draft obit.

mmmmccviii

One Woman Show

We kept a seat on the balcony for
a ghost. Just in case. We were
stunned that the host could relay
such a mesmerizing speech while

the infamous broadcast was stream
ing live behind her. She’d say how be
ing sweet was practical and how in her
left ear sat a piece through which all the

facts were being checked as the speech
transpired. On the next day, she had
another planned television appearance.
But on this one, she would have co-

stars playing the separate roles of
The Henchman and The Dominatrix.

mmmmccvii

List of Calls to Make

Call to make payment plan for paying.
And blithering idiots. Need food and
essentials. Need money for food and
essentials. Cards Against Humanity.

Bump elbows with arguable lawyer.
Arguably. Doctor the next wound.
Wind sister up regarding chain mail.
Dislocate cruise. Have a caramel in

stead, Carmel-by-the Sea. Parallel
universe. Universes. Meeting with
the blithering idiot (again), this time
somewhere in Cole Valley. Stick out

tongue at Johnny Rockets. Austin,
once or twice. The VMAs. The YMCA.

mmmmccvi

Triage

Two years working on the appliances, he finally
walks into my kitchen, my appointment. “Teach
me triage,” I’m practically down on my knees.
“How deep are you into the applied sciences,” he

asks. I revel in being, explain all of the stereotypes,
foregoing my conclusion on contagion. He drops
his briefcase onto the dining room table, lifts a stack
of his best-selling compendia out of the fancy box

of black leather (a faux something-or-other),
spreads them all out like a fan, perfectly, each
title mostly obscured, revealed in elusive yet int
riguing smidgeons. “Well,” he says, picking up one,

“I’d begin here.” Gently, he hands it to me as the dish

washer gurgles, burps a bit and then gurgles again.

mmmmccv

Welcome, welcome, on and all!
                                                    —Stephen Colbert

“Hello, everyone. In case you missed it, this week has been
Renee Rapp week. We hope you’ve enjoyed it. Brought to you
by black-eyed peas and rice.” That was breakfast. Harold looks
harried.  And like he hasn’t showered in a week (he’d like you

to know he last showered less than an hour ago). Frantically, he
looks through a sheaf of notes, as if studying for an exam. Some
thing important he’s forgotten. But Harold’s schooldays were over
decades ago (and he’s had a bum knee for well over a year now).

He’d just awoken in an awkward haze to a day for which he is far
from prepared, his head so filled with the muck and fog of morning.
“There’s. Just. Too. Much. To. Do.” he mutters aloud, to no one.
And it’s true. He riffles through pages of scribble looking for that

next big move, his eyes swiveling back and forth between the sheaf
and the screen of his laptop, which is playing yesterday’s headlines.

mmmmcciii

Fertility Overlap

Sharpen arteries. It says here
carotid. Correct nomad typos.
Says here careful not to fluff too
much after shampoo as hair might

turn to flarf. How fictional is your
degree in fiction? Question what is
happening to Stephen (but he didn’t
tell us whether he was a character in

the novel or a real individual of some sort).
Research author/friend. The novel's name
is The Sentient Bun. I’d already read it
some half a dozen times. What an ego

trip to grab the text from our correspond
ence and turn it into house music or EDM.

mmmmcciv

Come Here!

It’s Friday. For scones we have to talk on the
old school telephone. We must all use Dutch
phones so that what we hear may be logged 

extensively. Or maybe it says flogged. It does

not matter, we’ll figure things out. Uh oh, I feel
sluggish like Sluggo. This isn’t happening. This
doesn’t happen? Scratch that. We’ll erase that
part, whimsical as moods are. Can be. Will be. No

thing is as logical as a pendulum. As intricately
mathematical as the inner workings of a wristwatch.
I mean as the bold mechanics of a grandfather
clock. Can a gay girl get an amen? “Hey, Big Ben,”

he rhapsodizes, “it’s almost time for you to come
in. Play me one more before you get to the door.”

mmmmccii

Nonsense To Be Completed
Before Showering This Morning

Read Ada Limón. Where is that ecstasy tab?
Find the big church made entirely out of
crystal. Isn’t that in Arkansas? Eureka
Springs, perhaps? If so, scratch that. Up

date the spreadsheet on Uganda. Stash it
where nobody can ever find it, but keep
it intact, e.g., do not burn it, as would
certainly be my inclination. Work hard to

understand the true crime genre. Perhaps
ideas could be gleaned. Call the plumber to
have the residuals roto-rooted. For urgent
web horny and typical tricks don’t work to

deescalate, refund the gunslinger ASAP.
Somehow. Without a physical encounter.

mmmmcci

Breaktime: Back to the Sheets of Years’ Worth of Notes
(an interlude inserted so as to have you
forget that I was explaining something)

Confession. It’s easier to put together a collage of
often illegible notes from various sheafs of parchment,
and way more fun, than to write about how, and why
I do this. So, on to the list. How often do you offer

up your specialty to the VP of Corporate Development?
Business has been a big party ever since Amanda was
serviced. servile? severe? ever since Amanda surfaced?
What splendidly complex calendar management overall.

Lots of mistakes to be made and corrected at last minute.
Most often after business hours. Oh, the frantic calls. You
don’t generally answer those calls. Caesar’s salad, full bag
of peanuts and cornflower pounders. One hundred each.

All flight arrangements are dramatic. This is a requirement.
We spend our days of frivolity mostly in the breakroom.

mmmmcc

(continued from yesterday’s patchwork explanatory sonnet)

Well, I just wanted to tell you what these sonnets
I’ve been writing are made of, and how I go about
making them. Because I’ve made so many of them.
And because I think they’re so fun that I thought it

might be nice of my to elucidate just a bit, just in case
it’s not clear and/or you happen to be interested. And
because they are quite representative of my original
thrust of the project, which began nearly 23 years ago.

So...even though I lost all of my physical items when I
turned 50, when I was homeless, the keepsakes and
whatever else I had collected over the years, they 

weren’t much, but I lost every material thing. And how 

did I get to this place? Well, it was an utterly reprehen

sible confluence of events involving a con, to put it simply.

(more to come...)

mmmmcxcix

I Do Go On
(part one of a bit of an explanation
on intent and process)

Sometimes I feel the need to explain myself. But in
this ~4,200 page universe, that seems to me to be
counterintuitive. And now, sonnets have invaded this 

ongoing, longstanding, never-ending bunfight that

surely seems a buffet of mostly self-absorbed spectacle. 

Be that as it may, yours truly, a scribbler of lists and 

other sheafs of word-junk, uses them to form an elong

ated semi-random diaryesque mishmash of blobs of

stuff pieced together in ways that the author of all of this 

mess deems worthwhile, important (at least to him). And

yet I then send them out into the world. So they must also 

be intended for you. But why and how? Also, why these 

endless sonnets? But I was really going to talk process,
so...this is to be continued.... (See what I did there?)

mmmmcxcviii

Felt Tip Blobs on Sheets of Loose Parchment

No good deed is done with a big head. We
sang quartets in front of our mini Xmas tree.
All the gang seems to have a stripping prob
lem on SharePoint at the the Red Hour.

Madoc with a beard is a lot of fantasy. Go
big. Take pictures. Post pronto on Netflix.
Gary’s goozle is on Google, but you have to
get a prescription in order to print it. Do a line

of sphygmomanometer. An hour later you’ll be
lubricating a bunch of Advil. Down the hatch go
the Qtips. His long nails go with his head full
of hair with a tremendous array of super-high

curls that, by the end of the day, are somehow
a twisted array of a thousand ebony hearts.

mmmmcxcvii

“Hey, Harriet, Got a Lariat?”

Monday, call the dilemma a finale.
Explain with clarity what you ain’t
never gonna get. I tree, ergo I bush.
Don’t throw anything up, hun. He’s

a friend of the soup. High hopes for
the 12th of March. Mike arrives and
barks like a bird. That’s what it says
right here. Screw this, let’s go read

every stairstep. We need to get out
of this drama swamp. So we made it.
All the way to the heavening. There
were crepes and infinite frappes. And

purple tops and bell bottoms. Be at
the sweatshop at two 4 sick frivolity.

mmmmcxcvi

What’s the Word, Nerd?

Well, let me refer to my notes
here. Oxygen Room Randy,
for one. On August the 2nd.
How to go about toilet paper

(Surely that’s about and not
without, right?). Ask for all
of my money back. Make
video of automat? Autocrat?

Scuzzy dump, Feb. 15. I am
sure this is unrelated, but here
I have encircled a single word:
Poo. Mr. Green Jeans in Tahoe.

With whom? My cat! Quartered
angels at next week’s apocalypse.

mmmmcxcv

Entropy’s Threshold

As if out of nowhere, I can feel myself
aging. These things come in waves, but
are hardly out of nowhere. Because of the
facts. Fortunately, there is also a significant

amount of healing going on. From last year.
From a decade ago. And from every ticking
second in between. If I were to hop into a
time machine and whoosh it to wherever

to land at the apex of that onslaught of tick
tock tick tock—or better said, in the trough—
where within me the healing tipped the scales
against the age-bludgeoning, where would I

park? I wonder. What I do know is that neither
has come to a standstill, for better or worse.

mmmmcxciv

Psychedelic Trip

“With a brief detour through
hell.” “Yeah, I know.” “You can’t
be so vague.” “Oh?” “You just
cannot.” “Yeah, I know.” And

thus it goes, on and on and on.
“The evidence proves that a pie
can’t be tragic.” “Oh? Yeah, I
know.” We were so enthralled

that pants were dropped. Were
we the audience or did we drop?
That’s the question. Or, were we
the audience that dropped. “Our

pants.” “Oh?” “You know exactly
what I’m saying.” “Yeah, I know.”

mmmmcxciii

Aloe Latté

Fill out passport application. Update
food stamps. Call income tax. Sign
up for a best fare alert for two tix to
Estonia. Repeat following mantra

each morning before getting out of
bed: I will not be innocuous. Make
another doctor appointment for head.
Get an MRI for my kazoo. Shampoo

daily but don’t blow-dry. Couples ass
ignment due on Friday for Saturday
confab (directly following the tweetup).
Find out what makes a pickle with Judy.

Peter Piper, she smirks, maybe whatcha
meant to ask is how to pickle an iPod?

mmmmcxcii

The Andean Parliament

The guys find the lips of Martian hydro-dealers
voluptuous. They were most of the late President
Corgan’s security corps, before his assassination,
which marked the end of the fairly bloodless rev

olution wherein the Andean Parliament’s (then)
7 Nation Army’s coup d’état occurred on M Feb 20.
Presently, it was now M Oct 13. Dean, who’d been
corps commander before the coup, seemed lost in

space to the rest of the guys here in Hellas basin. Now
he’d never afford a decent pod in the Valles Marines in
which to enjoy his retirement years with Ana, the love
of his life. She’d leave him now, for sure. He was down

in the dumps now, but he’d no Martian idea of the de
struction awaiting the desolate planet he called home.

mmmmcxci

Leftover Salad of Unidentifiable Ingredients

Hi. PHP is an acronym for Partial Hospitalization
Program over there at Zuckerberg, where doctors
removed my black hole last March. A 3rd pitcher
of milk has vanished. The ceiling above the work

space wherein we held our offsite retreat was held
in place by numerous pillars of lemons. Promptly
at 11:30am, we were served a lunch of fettuccine
alfredo. It’s a good thing I wore a girdle. Our

employees are our strategic growth and our office
space is as redundant as this convention center.
Within the building’s exterior was built a behemoth
that was clearly inspired by the Parthenon, inside of

which we were now enjoying our future heart-attacks.
I say when life gives you lemons, slurp fettuccini.

mmmmcxc

From the Bottom Up

     Take to the hills then.
                        —John Ashbery

Boarding the rocket-ship. 15 min
utes to takeoff. Heading to Soberton
for an undetermined length and girth.
But flying makes me so high. Ha ha,

May 15th to July 15th let’s say. Four
months after arrival, we’ve (the collect
ive that is me) finally an inkling of a
notion that this may take a while. Ha

ha, you bark back, thinking this isn’t
funny at all. But it’s Thai take-out
Tuesday and our deliverocket is fresh
from Phuket, this week’s hotspot of

trendy cuisine. Then the reality sinks in.
I’m broke. And my ticket was one-way.

mmmmclxxxix

A Short Conference for Those
in Charge of Sign-in Sheets

Grow. Ordnance will be paid
for with gas credit. Use the
guideline MFT, acronym for
marriage, family and thought.

This will come in handy and is
a catalyst for growth. Also the
acronym LSW, which, of course,
stands for get a new career. Col

onization is the survey standard
to be kept at the forefront. Of
dimwitted brains and elitist law.
The numbers 1 and 25 have all

incensed, which is good news. Do
not make a single announcement.