mdclxxvii

[white-out]

a blizzard of
concatenated 

projects

mdclxxvi

                               Clouds

     Are things, not a dispute.
                               —Barrett Watten

The day begins. I’m so
tired of the binge—since
last Saturday—but on

clouds down Powell
for a coffee hole. ?
Finally a letter

but it’s all mumbo-
jumbo. Write it all
down. Mumbo-...

...two pigs per day
I thought I heard
him say. And I’m

drinking Sanskrit.
I’m awesome...& you
have an awesome ass....

A word
that’s never
been sexy.

An otter hops
slowly
from dawn

up
into the
Great West.

mdclxxv

because I am a person

I’m spanking the sea
with joy after lying
beached for hours

in a sort of reverse
megalomania
walk into a cave

which walks into
me
boringly drug-addled

it loves me
getting flustered 

on whatever night

mdclxxiv

a screw with no stud

a hollow holler
unheard 

over the mega-filter

mdclxxiii

Dorko is snowboarding somewhere,

even without gloves, and I haven’t
finished a book of anything in over
two months.  Maybe it’s why
(because?)
the sunflowers droop.

It’s too early for cause and effect,
however.  Whatever—setting
the filter.

I just finished reading a hot piece—
a long hot piece—Steph sent me
this week.  So I do
read.

Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.

mdclxxii (#2)

We’re both at each other’s vernaculars

They’re so bad you’re embarrassed, right?
This song is about courteous penetration.

Sorry, I got your high confused with my
belch. It certainly screwed up our medi-

cation hour. Causes? I love you / second
after effects... (Ed Barrett).  And more

belching on the freeway. Hollering
each other to sleep at 9pm, gathering

same snoozes into jerks and whistles
before turning insomniac at 4am.

mdclxxii

People post a lot of more of the

same stuff now. Me, I’m holed up
in Tahoe. Not snowboarding. A
few summers later, Kim’s oohing
and ahhing the same general vicinity.

I’ve got Moves Like Jagger on re-
peat. Three different versions of
it. Another song that was included
in the fortune teller’s PowerPoint
presentation some time ago (weeks;

a month?) – only to be poopoo’d.
For dinner I’ll have a huge dish
of my own words, please. Maybe
this goes hand-in-hand with my
two weekends of bad karma. Bad,

bad karma. Or so it is whined
(also on repeat). But I’m here
poring through photos and
peeling away the bullshit.
Like how hot it is in

San Francisco today.
I’ve even got my
pores fooled. Get up
all sweaty and top off 

a cool glass of water.

mdclxxi

What Is It?

There is only one of me. Should I
really get a job or read another
poem about a dream in which
there is farting in a ballroom
with a bathtub. It says here
it was Kit or (more likely)
Ron. Rising from the tub,
farting, blue powder, smell of
cauliflower and sauerkraut.

I’m trying Splenda in my latte.
Nope. I don’t think Splenda is
to my taste (a big box of Splenda
is lost somewhere in time). I’m
casting Nobody in a play by
Jack Spicer. Reading old
journal entries helps me
remember some things
I’ve forgotten.

I’d forgotten that he’d
whispered drunkenly
that night he puked at
my old place that I
should have a kid.
I grin emptily.

For the next
30 minutes, 

it is 1964.

mdclxx

     ...and the baby
     Cows are rehearsing
     Their lives by eating.
                —Kenneth Koch

Last night I was craving
Boston baked beans and
pumpkin seeds. I was
destined to live in Boston—
eating ‘baked beans’ until
parched—each day of
camp. Now a can of
cashews, half-eaten
again. And a tube
of lipstick. Trying
every Ben & Jerry’s
flavor that has a hint
of caramel or peanut
butter in it (Which is
almost all of them?
Except red velvet
cake, which I get
anyway, and WOW!).
Having lost 7 pounds
in less than 2 weeks.
Falling prey to giving

in to his new friend
months after the
hard sell, something

that will come so 

damned close to 

being my very demise. 

Realizing our (my)

aversion to change and

how upside down it is,

given the need for any

evolution; any change

of scenery, as it relates

to creativity. But I love

change. Walk around
aware of this bundle
of conflict, this body
as bundle, conflict.
So hard to get back
‘up to speed’ – so
old? Loving my
age (22, 33, 44,...).
It’s not so hectic
today, just manic,
a maniacal simp-
licity? My lips
too dry. My
new favorite
songs. A pair
of harps. One
for my hands
and one for my mouth.

mdclxix

Is It a Project?

I certainly don’t expect you to like these.
But you might. No matter how off-color
the subject. I do plan to make a metropolis
out of them. Am I just pulling predictable?

You’re making everything my problem
and I accept the challenge. This makes
our little affair vigorous, each of us (or
maybe just me) energetic. Music of the

moment trends toward an early 80s sound,
I’m leaning on Kate Bush, toward Kate
Bush, but yet enjoyable. Catchy. Some-
thing old is always made new, right? Even

a dial tone. Or dogs barking.

mdclxviii

We lie with our mouths.  Or
I lie (here and elsewhere)
with my mouth.  (I’m told
I offer too many ‘broad
generalizations.’)

So I take pictures.

How to quantify truth
(which is still lacking)....?
I ask a carny who points
at a sign.  Then, once home,
I clean the kitchen, straighten
the living room, and put away
clothes.

I’m feeling better (I shave,
but still no haircut).  I need
cash.  After spending years
of savings I finally discover
free music.

Sure, we can only dance
at home.  Which is 97%
honest, to date.  My body’s
dance is a sin, but is fairly
true.  Yours is all hallow’s
eve, all Cinderella’s ball.

& I love its surface thru & thru.

mdclxvii

Let’s Play Fruit Ninja

A satellite is crashing into the earth tonight.
I dream of brussels sprouts and red potatoes
at the Ferry Building—after gym together.

I ran two miles and then climbed uphill
for a very long time. I’m down from my
high. Could be faulty scales. Fluctuation.

Stacey’s is closing. Here lies a bookmark
for a dead bookstore. A pregnant pause
lies between two thoughts. Could be years

of new music in just one month. But then
time speeds up. Just north of which, a
group of friends complete a circle and

become closer forever. Closer to the
threshhold of nirvana or non-existence. 

We walk home as fireworks light up the sky.

mdclxvi

A Yellow Frame

A complete lack of meditation
& a complete lack of medication
draws me out into the heat like
an unmasked fan. Remove
location.

He’s all mad at me in the
living room (forget the story
for now—it’s no biggie)
listening to, what do you
call it, damn, that dreamy
electronica easy listening
genre.

I’m drowsy. But not much.
He wants a yellow frame
around the big painting
in the corner (his
birthday coming up...)...

It’s too hot in the apart-
ment to think of the word
that goes with the ice cream
whose flavor I’ve forgotten.
It’s a fancy flavor and it’s
in the freezer but I’m
too lazy to get up.

The sun beats its way
onto my face on the
edge of the sofa.
It’s not allowed in.
This goes on uninter- 

rupted for some time.

mdclxv

Well, dog my cat!
        —James Woods’ character in True Crime

I’m not sure who got off the spaceship first.
Coco jumped up to the window and greeted
them, then led them to the kitchen table—
the green marble table—now with a yellow
tablecloth with a pink floral design—the
coverlet that Otto bought for the little
sitting area in my old apartment.

Aliens from another planet seem to
miss their families and their own planet’s
customs. To my left, two and a half years of
purple inspiration which was packed away a
decade and a half ago. It is unseasonably—
no—abnormally hot. Me, alone, but for the
colossal cashews.

Under that is 2004, which I’m savoring. And
Lyn Hejinian with a fruit basket of apples (a
rotten pear to the left of my laptop).
And O’s orchid, always on its
last leg. I draw the unmasked fan
ever nearer, jerking until the
plug pops loose

mdclxiv

You Can’t Noun Nouns

     I think she’s expressing too much cleavage.
                                                —overheard

Feeling bummed. Oozing with importance.
Discussing major life changes. Because
the fog is making it rain in the backyard.

I warned you about Facebook, right? I
try to warn a lot but nobody listens. But
this is where I live and I know. I’ve tried

for months but it’s not working. Plus I’m
the scuzz-ball from Arkansas who’s
over here leaning on Shakespeare,

way too hungry for this. You need to
understand the product before you start
bitching about the product. Be one with it.

Engage. Click on the map in the port of
entry. Update your portfolio. There’s a
fantastic app for that. Loading up on

red velvet cake before ripping the
checkbook cover in two. Where does
one purchase a checkbook cover. Locate

mess. Make sure there’s a list. Update
it daily with checkmarks. Have a daily
list of checkmarks. There are a few

wrinkles that need to be ironed out
but you’ve got something. You’ve 

done something. You are something.

mdclxiii

Is that money in your pocket?  Or ya happy to see me?
                                                                  —Britney Spears

Nobody listens to techno.  OMG.
Candy Monica dog (Oh god,
in my next poem of course).

What are the first three words
that come to mind when you hear
the following phrase:

“Broke Str8 Slut!”
To which he replies
“Oh, Julie, we’re going to have

so much fun.”  I cannot express how much
her name is not Julie.

I put the piece in the fireplace
immediately.

mdclxii

A Shoe Fetish

That’s one of the twelve bullet points.
I don’t know why.

I can almost sing.
And I don’t know why.

I ain’t got nobody.
But I don’t know why.

I ain’t got nobody. 

So let’s throw someone out.

mdclxi

Toilet Paprika

     Shh! Keep it in the closet!
                  —Ronald Palmer

That’s a little birdie, right?

No, I’m not allowed to be
a silly peanut.

Oh, Viscous Hibiscus,

you’re more divine
than a smooth ranch dip.

\

mdclx

I just clicked the I feel ya button.
Does anybody know how to undo?

mdclix

Something Hocus Pocus

    Attention gentlemen: Got that cabbage you like?
                                               —Lady Gaga?

I’m trying to be at peace with love
and excruciating but the chicken
keeps coming out yellow. Is there
anything that will give you more

definition? The cross-pollenization
of the hammering and the flickering
candle saves all. So maybe today
is the day it will finally happen.

It’s just that the list is so long.

                                                (photo courtesy of Will Edeen)

mdclviii

My chin hasn’t seen sunlight in several months.
                                                            —Jeffrey Todd Henson

          Dear Heavenward,


          At what point does the language evolution become
          too much for you to handle? Or when do you go from
          being all cuddly with it to being a curmudgeon?

          I keep canceling the information update. My inclination
          is to put that extra l in the word canceling. I remember 
          when I stopped using it.

                                         Keep ’em comin’ like earthquakes,
                                         Snooter (on AOL)


He’s taller when he has shorter hair. Much shorter hair. 

                                                                      —C. Soule

mdclvii

Teaser – Pantyhose Mashup

      Here’s some dick I prepared earlier.
                                         —Margaret Cho

This is the household of tinfoil artifacts.
Last year was a great year for movies.
Except for hot guys.

People are just lonely, I guess.
I love it because I’ve been given the
luxury of living in all of these alternate

universes. In my favorite weather.
It helps me to generally wake up happy.
And when I wake up happy I want others

to be happy. I realize how hard I’ve been
working on the happy, and for that I apologize. Truly.

mdclvi

It’s a brilliant read.
It’s a brilliant red.

mdclv

The bells are ringing this morning, 7:24am.
I ease into my dreams afraid of dying, 9:22pm.

mdcliv

Salmonella is more drug resistant
and saltwater may flow on Mars.
Okay, obviously. Needless to say
we attempt to finish an entire day.

But everything is so minute-by-
minute. Are we up to it? Are we
up-to-the-minute? We make our
own edits and have a very nice

time. I did attempt to type. The
train is pleasant and always behind.
Plus, I get back to the grind and
look it over. It’s a winter

record, which is pretty
good. So it’s time,
I weigh in. We get
hardcore, wear red

stripes. I erase a
very large moment
from my hard drive
but I can’t even run

two miles solid. We
invest (brilliantly) in fruit
(apples) and serious cruising
(a combination of running and

walking). We’re big-tub-of-
lard types, creeping everyone out
with our curiosity these days. Pretty
rare. I initially chuckle, but stick to

myself, swearing it’s not intestinal.
I think this occasionally invigorates us;
or at least encourages interest. We’re
all over the radar. We should just

concentrate on cranking out
gibberish for tomorrow.

mdclii

It feels like molten lava.

He really loved all of my ideas
(the orange dress, my favorite
books, a vacuum cleaner).
Hello from Vancouver!

We went down for
Josie’s muffin, which
included apple stuff
and a mushroom

omelet.  My
phone’s ring-
ing bells to remind
me of something I have

to do tomorrow morning.
Once at Stanley Park, we’re
going the right direction but
get lost anyway.  Inevitably

we find a Starbucks and stop 

to get our bearings.  This was
before an iPhone had a
compass, maybe even

before iPhone.  We’re
freezing and we didn’t
bring a heavy coat.  This
helps us understand the

Canadian economy
(the Dow Jones just
sunk with a very loud
thud).  We go shopping.

mdcli

Don’t Lose Your Cool!

A thousand sleeping pills
for a jackhammer. Some-
where nearby, night rubs
off. Now we’re talking
illicit custom order. It’s
an all-year-round play-
ground. Each piece of
furniture represents a
specific species of
tree. This area,
for example, is
infested with
pine beetles
“for miles and 

miles and miles.”

mdcl

I stopped thought:
                                 —Frank Kuenstler

In the observation car north of Klamath Falls,
but before Eugene, Otto’s drinking a flat
Pepsi and sketching a landscape. A bunch
of kids got on at Klamath, increase
decibels dramatically. History over
loudspeaker (pumice or ash soil
dominates here; now we’re
traveling through a plant-
ation of Ponderosa pine).

Is it digestion? I ate a lot.
It could be due to eating.

We ate breakfast this morning
with two strangers. They were
suspicious of the weekend.
Remember?

But I do very much appreciate the soup.
Which is distinguished by a volcanic
eruption. The guy next to me has a
very cute belch. I’m ecstatic with
snow, fascinated by realizing I’ve
lost it. I’ve lost the weather.

We’re such an odd assortment,
being silly and snow-covered.
I believe I’m much more on.

Some trees, too, glistening
with all of the ice and snow.
The kids all wearing fuzzy
scarves. The voice, a
river that looks like
root beer. Some-
where nearby: 

Root Beer Falls.

mdcxlix

A List of the Drops of Water During the Noon-Hour Breeze

I’m hoping my brain gets back home soon. One thing
I haven’t noticed this morning is the pain in my neck.
It’s working now, with one hour of sleep.

We just got off a suspicious plane. Let’s try to stop
writing for a better weekend and start screening
cheerleaders. Auditioning cheerleaders?

I’m obsessed with taking pictures. According to the
patriarch in I Am Love, photography isn’t a real art.
It’s an amazing movie with an overly-melodramatic
(isn’t that redundant?) ending. Until after the credits
roll and the lovers appear in one of Herzog’s caves.
I only had two glasses of champagne, but I didn’t
find the movie erotic at all. Just perfect. Except
for the Ibsenesque finish.

I could be confusing playwrights. I can often be
confusing. I am confused. Are you confused?
But I washed all of the dishes and now I am
reading poetry.

I didn’t leave the apartment at all today. Every
time I look out the window I’m in awe of the
city. How beautiful is home. I even love
the uneasy sleep I’ve been getting this
week, tossing and turning in a half-
dream-state.

Last night I think it rained. When it rains
it sounds like somebody is typing very slowly
on an old typewriter out our bedroom window.
When I woke up the rooftops were glistening, 

but that never proves anything here.

mdcxlviii

Nick is back from Europe
but in Seattle this week.
Yesterday was Coffee
& Cigarettes with a
2-day mustache. I
shave in a window
seat, then walk to
Ginger’s Trois w/
stale breath. For
Mom’s birthday 

the sun shines.

mdcxlvii

Rauschenberg City

I’m thinking about my
distance from the party
on my walk from work
to gym.  Think me in-
capable?  Think I’ll
grow up to be him?

These days I haul ass
to the spa.  Dog-tag
massage; a therapist
full of hot air and
warm water.  In-
sist on a shoulder.

The fog in the living
room lifts.  Outside
plumbers coalesce.
But enough about
January.  Wobble
over to Belden

with Jenn.
Loosen the
bar to unhinge
a martini.  Pom-

egranate.  Practice
housewife for trophy.

I cook dinner.  Hum-
drum.  Make friends
with complimentary
vodka.  Be home-
bodies (stir-fried vegetables).

mdcxlvi

7 & a half

I just dipped one of my earbuds
into a glass of cranberry juice.
Way up, moodwise, though.  Hoo-
ray, in fact!  Two days from now
our one year anniversary.  Cele-
brate elegant grandmothers with
gift-giving, garlic and a rental
with butt-warmers and satellite
radio.  Which, when I told him

this afternoon, he was all happy

about.  He’s an odd one (but I
love him, etc.) – hands me a
co-worker’s manuscript.
Vanilla latté (large) I’m
sure I shouldn’t be sipping.
Hold out your hand for the
prototype (of gorgeous).
I’m not sitting in a truck
that registers the outside 

temperature at 122˚.

mdcxlv

Would, a blur.
                                           —Barrett Watten

I’ve always had an adverse reaction to the word
ping when used in its 21st century context.
Why is that?

. . . .

What are you doing?

. . . .

And no worries about your bi-monthly
new lease on life. I’m
totally used to it.

White scones and blank gin.
                                           —Barrett Watten

mdcxliv

Muscles. Icicles. Mise-en-scenes.
                                      —Frank Kuenstler

The tabloids started drinking again,
trolling around for lays. A wreath
came home and took a shower. This

is the story of dearth. They’d gotten over it
or worked it all out until the smooch-out
lost its crush. The wrecking ball was

slightly stunned by that one. He kind of
creeps me out. He’s a brand whore.
Can you listen to the checkbook

on my back?  I love his work, though.
But mood-wise, I’m not always down. 

In fact, I’m predominantly up.

mdcxliii

The Particles of Perfect

     ...the Thunderbolt is
     double-edged & wrought with never-ending Fire.
                                                  —Frank Kuentsler

It’s funny how you....

Something about rejection is
much better than neglect.
Common sense, right?

And when you spoon-fed me.

The angle is perfect. The
walk up the hill to shoot
vanilla vodka.

It was great to catch you leave.

I don’t like reggae
(normally)
but I love the song

at the end of the movie we watched yesterday.

There is no crisis.
I write a love song to you
that plays during the closing credits.

mdcxlii

humbly

once or twice the sunshine
but mostly the rain, which
dramatically anesthetizes

but i wanted to tell you
something – when i was
seven with chicken pox

i had a dream
and you were in it
i knew you would be here

suddenly, as if
all our skulls
open up to heaven

and are filled
with our favorite
winery

and cable car bells on
powell street
ladybug umbrellas

with cleared-up skies
oh, sky
and you

drinking up the bay
this very minute
a collage

of all of your most
beautiful poses
my brain

is in heaven
an airplane
floating

rainless
through blue 

jetstream

mdcxli

The Red Book of Love

Reach into my pocket.  I’ve a
crumpled dollar bill for love.

I believe in the phoenix
behind the curtain.  And

a kiss that crumples roses
(I wish I were a white rose

for you).  I love you like
the bookmarks of all of my

favorite boarded up book-
stores.  Anyway, what would

you have me say, Smooch-of-
Angel at stroke of midnight?

I get so lost on tossed seas,
I guess. When what I’d 

much rather prefer (and I

heretofore will it so) is 

that my spot on this
couch upon which we

both sit gets ever deeper
as yours draws ever

nearer.

mdcxl

...sense, hens: hence...
        —Frank Kuenstler

A bottle of smooch
to the scary future.
Color TV fog.  Ex-
pect to pop champ-
agne at midnight?

This is the high-
way for all phot-
ographers.  Stroke
of rain, sometimes
heavy, going up a

hill. Abraham
irritating Moses.
Enough of that!

mdcxxxix

The face of time wants to be tagged
as the face of a person.  Are these my
golden years?

I just got cruised by a tall, lanky
white guy near the ruins of the
Sutro baths.  In the rain.  “Are

you a detective?” he asked.
Last day of the year.  Time
to return the car, etc.  The

very next year I’m sitting with 

Otto on the cragged foundation 

of the old Sutro baths.  Big

waves waltz in. I have one
wish for the new year:
collaboration (Otto’s

sketching, my writing?). 

Than I fell into the mud:
Whump!  Skinned

my right palm.  & I’m
mud-covered.  Un-
easy writing the

new year on the rent
check.  Seal Rock Inn 

for breakfast

and Dark Angel
for dinner.  ’Til we

get into a senseless....

Blah thru midnight.
Symbolic of nothing.
Do you see me in

your future? Maybe
these cards can tell 

me  if you can’t.

mdcxxxviii

Liquid Time

So nice to see him
after the Xmas
depression.  Feel-
ings.

Cliff House.  We
have joggers.
Muscle up.

Write them in-
to the computer.
Lists to rearrange;

they could go on.
Geese.  Two items.
Message Yahoo

without cellphone.
Firstly, afford a
car.  Afford a

kitchen.  Dinner
or a new printer?
A palace in

Milpitas.  It was
my idea.  Cross-
ing the San

Mateo Bridge.
The bridge I
came to San Fran-

cisco on.  My neck
hurts.  The one I
dedicated to

Aunt Wilma
right after she
died.  Self-eval-

uation.  I bought
it.  And got cruised. 

My primary goal.

mdcxxxvii

     Only he sees only what he means.
                              —Barrett Watten

I don’t need that word.  Just because
you’re a nerd doesn’t mean you’re an
artist.

I have an idea what my creature is
all about.  Even if it blows.  That’s
my attitude.  Should I change it?

Over the sight of the old Sutro
baths.  Slight rain.  Drove out
in a rental Otto & I picked up

to go to South San Francisco –
to pick up my new mini iPod.
Stormy.  I guess I do have

an hour and a half.  Thinking
about tsunamis.  I also suppose

that I should just use this.

     I double you, double you,
     like bear-dancing hours....
                      —Frank Kuenstler

mdcxxxvi

Over in the corner was a game of high-stakes nihilism going
on.  The winner would go home with the most beautiful nihilist.
                                                                        —Linda Norton

I love this city, I should go out
and find something in it.  Looks
rainy.       Thus I became a pain (Linda Norton again).

The black crow is nothing but a white swan on a flying trapeze.
                                                               —Frank Kuentsler


I picked up a few books to try to read, see if I can find interest.
The poetry here...blows?

mdcxxxv

Give me a movie to lose myself.

I broke the glass in front of naked
Charlie Brown and purchased three
tiny canvases with the directive:
“Find Your Happy.”  A glass of
water and a remote control, a
movie trailer for the eyes and
one for the weather.  Here’s
a blue pair of socks with a
bug-eyed boy on each.  His
eyes are not spectacles (but
therefore they are).  Upon
close consideration.  Those
are the serious questions.  I
make an outline of them.  Or
use a table.  Numbers or bullet
points.  I should take them more 

seriously; no need to feel down.

mdcxxxiv

This place.  This unusual place.  Because

if I weren’t a clown I’d be a murderer.  So
rare in my life have I felt it.  Do I have the
power to reconcile this?  He puts his cold
hand on my chest, above my heart.  Am I
breathing?  There is power in transience.

I think perhaps this lunch with Kim will
be a fine thing.  I’ve an idea for a new set
of Japanese/English things.  I’ve started
a nice Christmas list.

The day after Christmas is depressing.

mdcxxxiii

A poem is something that happens twice.
                              —Frank Kuentsler

OK.  You’re cool with or without the
jacket but it’s nice when something
makes you feel something positive.

Amber Tamblyn is also a poet.  A
bag of Doritos is not.  I’m sorry I
broke the glass on the naked

Charlie Brown picture frame.  To
ease my pain I watch movie trailers,
check my name off a list that includes

several others.  That he can so easily
think such is telling and troublesome.
I can’t even imagine imagining it

[drop jaw to mock].  The plumbing
is clogged.  There are men working 

on it.

mdcxxxii

You Are Very Poignant

Yes.  Nothing is
perfect.  Zero
is Zen.  A
circle,
flat and
flawless.

You might
get it if
you try.

Unfort-
unately,
I am not
what I’m worth.

mdcxxxi

So what’s your point?

When you say “munching the feminine”
do you mean it metaphorically? So much
correspondence with movies (this morning
Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy participate).
Instead I watch another episode of season
two. Did you get upset with me at dinner
last night? Do you like my blue polka-
dotted umbrella? About my mentioning
getting stuff/gifts at Lori’s? Then some-
times wanting to break up over jealousy?
How many years is troublesome? Is that
commitment, this certainty, so rare that I
feel, at all costs? Fuck power and its loss!
I got it all wrong about the dynamic. About
reconciliation being a Gemini conflict. Hey.
A slightly new angle (the furniture). My
tropical plant grew two inches. Do you
like high ceilings? Is this the end? If I
run this Volkswagen through a few filters
it comes out looking like a cartoon. Herbie
the Love Bug. He was real. Like Dick Van
Dyke and Shirley Jones. Am I crazy or do
you get it? I mean, am I crazy? Wasn’t
Harry Potter Star Wars and Wizard of Oz?
Have you ever been that out of it? Describe 

vulnerable. Please? Sumimasen. [Abject]

mdcxxx

For the Mage

Is your voice heard? What’s your
mood? How do you make it happen?
Is it all fiction? How are drugs involved
and when? Your favorite spice? Is it
impossible because of genetics or
heritage (please excuse if you find
redundant)? How low can you go?
Are you serious or is there anything
serious? If so, what? What sex do you
consider? Have you any usefulness for
words; have you said all there is to say?
Is there anything to say? Do you feel
there is anything that needs to be said?
Must you speak? Have you become
yourself? If you had to be an artist
for one day what’d be crucial? Mis-
spent youth? Do you regret? Do
you regret it? Is it a challenge? Do
you get to decide what is truth? Is
this sentence true? Mystery is the
real spectacle, right? Is it stinky?
Have you ever been to a Chinese
acupuncturist (please excuse if you
find redundant)? What was the
ethnic make-up of the neighbor-
hood you grew up in? Do you
dwell on such questions? Are
there ornaments? Are we or-
naments? Does God care?
Before or after sunrise?
Sequels? Squeals? Is
asphyxiation involved?
Do you always die of
asphyxiation or can you
live through it?