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 a 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 (2)

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 star trooper
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:

mmcxl

I’m (barf!) _______!

I object or _________ baloney, ___ soon
become ____ __ _ minced sputtering
____ _____ ____ initially ____ phrases
such as criminal misconduct! ___ the
authorities ______ ___________ immed-
______! and, finally, ___ exasperated__,
those bastards! ___ _ ____ __!

___ a bit bonkers, no doubt.
Am I ___ only ___ ___ ____ _________
virtually and __ thusly? Ex______,
________ about this, ___ _ ___ here,
how _ ___ ____ ___ _____, when, __ mere
moments _______ I was head___ somewhere
____ ________, __ someplace more ________,
__ more ________, more enter_______, __ __ ___
____ _____ ____ healthy, and less ____________....

___ down it goes ____ ____
____ ____ ___ __ _______ __ time.

So, I ____ __ feel more ____
____ __ inkling __ disgust ____ myself.
I start to like my____ less, and, moment__,
____. ___ I usually like myself – __ least _

[G]eneral__ [S]teady _____ ___.

mmcxxxix

Teen dies of old age
                  —a CNN.com headline

I’d kiss you if my breath weren’t just
smoked cheddar cheese and more smoke.

Can you confirm whether or not you’re
doing okay?  Yes?  No?

mmcxxxviii

Giving stuff away is good for poetry
                           —Leopoldine Core

thinking about ____, how I got ____,
how I get ____ too often, even as ____
moments ___ _ _a_ head___ ____where
____ entirely, __ some_____ ____ relevant,
_or_ ____ ________, ____entertaining, or at the
very least ____ healthy, ___ ____ curmudgeon__...

So I begin __ ____ ____ ____ just an
inkling of disgust ____ MYSELF.

I like myself ____ ___ _____.
(I ______ like myself
__ least _ ______ ___.)

And it goes like ____ for an
amount of time

________ __ messiness ____ _
_______ when being fed _______________
_____ are (supposedly) _____ __ an
accumulation __ _________ from
____ ______. ___ (barf) ______

___. (Sigh.) It’s true.

And so I begin to remember
that I am. So ____ __ ____
placing one eye over __ ____
___ I _____ (admit_____ __
_some____ ______-drama
___ _____on) ____ my eyes.

Unfortunately, it ______.
Doesn’t ____ __ ____ see
_________ more ________,
___ ___ obvious
or that the ___ I ___ winced.
Muttering such as I ______
______ _____ always ___
I __________ __,
corporate baloney or
______ __, and
__ __ soon mis-

mmcxxxvii

The Spirituality of _______ Dancing

I ___ very _____ _________ to the People’s Choice Awards
or to iTunes ____ ____ings or ____’s metascores ___
(most especially!) I abhor digging ______ ____ ________,
information which, if I happen upon it, is in almost every case
an ___________ ____________ because I don’t ____.

(Wait, I take that back, I’ve ____ed twice;
both for friends in the ____ industry who’ve
coaxed me into giving _ ____ ______ to _____
_____ __ employment _____ _____ _____ a ‘bad rap’ –
purportedly by ________ rivals, not _____ _________.
It was hurting ________, ____ _______, and so I conceded
___ wrote a couple of nondescript ________ _______.)

(Which goes on to prove the point of my disgust in
the whole thing, I suppose...)

I’m the guy who _________ _____
any such proffered _______________ –
those rank & file _____ claiming to have been
“democrat______ _______” – well, not only
downright suspicious, but also
hardly worth my time and/or effort.

__ _____ ________ __ __
______ __ ___ _____ bit of attention.

Anyone can participate, after all
(more on my ________ with that
shortly).

So, when I find that once again I’ve inadvertently
landed at such an address—when, during whatever
query or quest I’m making of my moment,
all roads __ ___ __-______ Information Super-
_______ dead end at a sponsored heap __
__________ solutions or __________ _______________
____ ____ ____ _____ed & ____ed __ _____
nice egalitarian folks who like to take the
____ __ ____ —____ _ ____ __self _______
once again at a ____ed heap—it’s a fair bet
that what soon follows is a _____ced ________ing
of phrases that _____ under breath, such as
_ ______ or ________ _______. Exhale,

mmcxxxvi

Do you need me to pick up any drumsticks?

Did you hear about the film suspension in
Honolulu? C-o-n-t-r-o-v-e-r-s-y ! ! Also,
every paper this morning (well, none of it

paper anymore, at least for me) used the
adjective “sloppy” to describe last night’s
Golden Globes. But apparently that was a

good thing, at least if I’m understanding the
various contexts (and my consultation with the
Urban Dictionary) correctly. Because I never

watch the Golden Globes, always wait eagerly
for the Oscars instead. And besides, I’m
pretty embarrassed by sloppy (be it

mine or others’). In general. So as for me,
I’ll believe my pal Diane, who seems to be the
one person on the planet who didn’t enjoy

last night’s slop-fest. Oh, no.
I may have just realized that my
real problem is with democracy.

mmcxxxv

Do you know how long we have before the Thunder Palace activates?
                                  —overheard during an episode of Fairy Tale

I wanna settle the score with Salamander so bad I can taste it!
                   —also overheard during an episode of Fairy Tale

Does pee turn to snow in icy cold?
                                       —an actual CNN.com headline

It is not pretty, this poetry. Or it was such a shame
when his mouth entered the happy room. Happy
today is strange and is quite impossible to
understand. One electric fan makes a white
noise that soothes me into sleep while one
electric humidifier (also with a fan) sings
the eternal language of chalkboard fingers.
Which I can barely type, can barely say
(chalkboard fingers), can barely
imagine myself saying.

mmcxxxiv

privilege

the bowl
from which
i scoop
is a
painter’s
palette

the hole
from which
i emerge
blows me a
kiss goodbye

mmcxxxiii

...and spreading panicles of purple flowers—a low violet cloud!
                                                                —Mei-mei Berssenbrugge

The space
between
your piano

and my
big toe

mmcxxxii

hi! i
mean

hey!

or
yay!

mmcxxxi

then,
seeing aliens,
we headed for the hills

mmcxxx

writing
is a lazy
form of
commun
ication

mmcxxix

my people
were trained
in a hot tub

mmcxxviii

this is
pretty
boring

but it’s
not
boring
like
hetero-
norma-
tive
culture

mmcxxvii

-[gasps]-

“What’s going on?”

     “I think we’re
      overestimating
      the bid.”

“Oh.”

-[pause]-

     “I feel really sick
      and I have to quit.”

-[leaves]-

mmcxxvi

doppelgänger

skin flaps
syntax

mmcxxv

this knit funnel-neck tank top

this knit
funnel-
neck
tank top
doubles
as a
sporty
hoodie

mmcxxiv

the morning
got extended
by a black
ladybug

mmcxxiii

i invested in the pre-moment.
                —kathryn l. pringle


these boots

were made

for walking


somewhere

over the

rainbow


giuchie giuchie

ya yaaaa dada


it has been hard living
since the pre-moment.
              —kathryn l. pringle

mmcxxii

sad solid sun

dear mr. bigstuff,
who do u think
you are? u should

know better than
anyone that big
is in the eye of

the beholder.
here’s mud
in your eye,

not boulder
(n.b., this rock
i ask u2 choke-

hold at, let’s say,
around 5:30pm,
{which, by now}

which, by then)
gets gotten up
like ego; pumped,

not vacuumed
all up—or down.
—up / not down—

watch as it
gathers gout
at & about you

mad moon bum

mmcxxi

The brain—soft bag—collapses on itself
                                   —Etel Adnan

watching a hummingbird
take to the droopy hearts
of the Castro on a
weekday afternoon

far from femininity
(the ocean seemingly
forever away), massive prows
jut over Market Street

intimidating hopscotch
the overshadowing of
half a dozen or so
brand new buildings—

condominiums (etc.)
triangular suited men
duck stealthily in & out
of the darkness

all futurissimo!
each checking his
watch as he emerges
into the light

then swooping
back out presto
leaving nothing
but tiny whirlwinds

fluttering up and
above—swirling
impressions—
echoing rictuses

of a hundred
or so pursed lips

mmcxx

the low-hanging brunch

mmcxix

it wasn’t sleeping

ms. birdjam’s
ampersand
sundials

or so we all thought
(whew)

mmcxviii

At the end of the
drain, I meant day...
          —Norma Cole

repetitious
recitative
is what the
interlude
?

my heart stutters

i, me, mimosa
and a mexican coke

mmcxvii

’mid the
turmoil
(& other
illnesses)
AMAZING
GOODNESS!
(@SweetWoodruffSF)

mmcxvi

small
captions under
these photos
   —Norma Cole

mmcxv

on this day
80% of the people
missed each other
     —Norma Cole

I have a friend

I know someone
who does

ordinarily
party
people
collide