Sunday, December 30, 2007

Mr. Pig

Mr. Pig

"The most delightful two minutes or so in the history of time...unreal!"
J. M. E. McTaggart

If People Don't Retrace their Movements, Paths Cannot Cross

There was a pig let me
tell ya bout the pig its
a story of a pig, an
allegory bout a pig.

Mr. pig took a swim, took a
swim, Mr. pig took a
swim and on the way home from the
gym Mr. pig I
followed him.

I aint lyin that the pig
did a jig on the street,
right there on just two
feet, jiggin in the open
street Mr. pig he
did a jig.

I turned into a club
and lit up a cigar
sat before the far in
in an overstuff-ed char
and then to my surprise
in a mirror over thar
I saw two piggies dancing
in my eyes.

Mr. pig, Mr. pig
take yer dancin and
romancin to the sty!
Mr. pig, you gonna lose
When I kick this devil
varmint they call booze.

Mr Pig [the Mp3]

9.5 Time is a Liar

"Why deny sleep its part in existence? Haughty Consciousness needn't be given free reign. Some of our happiest moments are in our sleep. These moments are the most timeless because less movement is taking place. It's a small amount of energy, like leaving your nite light on, honey."

Peggy cradled swaddled Elizabeth in her arms and hugged spasmodically as she spoke.

"We sleep together, but we're too alike. Baby Jane Hudson and Ricky Ricardo. You're right. It's frightening. But that's the elemental battle between baby, even newborn, and mama. Some say it's a competition for life; I say it's just two hungry people. Goo. Ha!"

"You see, even though what we call 'moments' may seem to happen on a line going in a direction; they all end up right where we left them. I love this moment because it's as real as any other-- as real as the most famous or most important moment ever. You and I are here to share it. Let's limit movement as much as possible right now."

Elizabeth was squirming. She was already eight.

9. Time is a Liar

"AAA had to come and get you where? Was it...? Well then why were you bleeding?" Sylvia was standing in a robe in her kitchen. A stunted grapefruit dropped from the dying tree behind her on the other side of a sliding glass door. "If you'd like, I could... I just have to get dressed and I'll... OK. I'm glad you're fine then. Call when you get in."

She stared back into the kitchen from the living room couch then for a while. Her day had been intended to begin on that cool linoleum floor. With coffee. Maybe sliding open that door to let the cat out. The bright overhead light was still on in there. But she wasn't there. She'd picked up the telephone and listened into it and now she was out of commission. Her day had changed. Or, she guessed, it was never her day to begin with. The day itself seemed to be oblivious, the same slow spin of the planet. The same constant tumult forward or backward, depending on which way you faced. She could almost see herself gliding between the stove and the fridge. Probably what she'd be doing right then. Yawning into the back of her hand. Stooping with a tiny dish of egg yolk for Kitty. Then letting him out the back.

The living room was dark and intended for guests. It really didn't care how or how often it was used. It was set for a strobe of activity, and the blank spots didn't count. This felt like an unexpected layover in a haunted ballroom. The two hours you spend in a matinee, getting surprised every time you walk out and have to squint and figure out who you were again. Tom was the unexpected one. He could be counted on that way. He was a professional variable. In fact, he'd been next to her right there, a few times, on that couch. Realistically, the only reason he still wasn't there is that he got up and walked away. Maybe he was just going to the bathroom or out for a smoke. But he just never happened to ever think to sit down just there ever again. Or at least for a long time now. But let's not blame time, thought Sylvia, after another shot of Teacher's Highland Cream. Time is oblivious. It's Tom's fault.

Kitty sat at Sylvia's feet, cleaning egg from his whiskers.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

The Boys, Oliver Wendell Holmes

HAS there any old fellow got mixed with the boys?
If there has, take him out, without making a noise.
Hang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite!
Old Time is a liar! We're twenty to-night!

We're twenty! We're twenty! Who says we are more?
He's tipsy,-- young jackanapes!-- show him the door!
"Gray temples at twenty?"-- Yes ! white if we please;
Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there's nothing can freeze!

Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake!
Look close,-- you will see not a sign of a flake!
We want some new garlands for those we have shed,--
And these are white roses in place of the red.

We've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told,
Of talking (in public) as if we were old:--
That boy we call "Doctor," and this we call "Judge;"
It's a neat little fiction,-- of course it's all fudge.

That fellow's the "Speaker,"-- the one on the right;
"Mr. Mayor," my young one, how are you to-night?
That's our "Member of Congress," we say when we chaff;
There's the "Reverend" What's his name?-- don't make me laugh.

That boy with the grave mathematical look
Made believe he had written a wonderful book,
And the ROYAL SOCIETY thought it was true!
So they chose him right in; a good joke it was, too!

There's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain,
That could harness a team with a logical chain;
When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire,
We called him "The Justice," but now he's "The Squire."

And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith,--
Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith;
But he shouted a song for the brave and the free,
Just read on his medal, "My country," "of thee!"

You hear that boy laughing?-- You think he's all fun;
But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done;
The children laugh loud as they troop to his call,
And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all!

Yes, we're boys, --always playing with tongue or with pen,--
And I sometimes have asked,-- Shall we ever be men?
Shall we always be youthful, and laughing, and gay,
Till the last dear companion drops smiling away?

Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray!
The stars of its winter, the dews of its May!
And when we have done with our life-lasting toys,
Dear Father, take care of thy children, THE BOYS!



Herring Break Wind to Communicate, Study Suggests

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/11/1110_031110_herringfarts.html

2008 "Hot Pucker" Lip Line: Trademark of ProLabique Medical and Cosmetics

Blood Hope
Coral Morningshadow
October Foliage
Pearl Membrane
Sutured Poison
Bang C'Mon
Dew on Ice
Sandstone Pimpernel
Marbled Rent
Offer of Tobacco
Plinth of Juno
Me Tomorrow
My Yesterday
Sweet Pie Raisin
Hummingbird Catcher
Sterling Sour
Getting Late
Patina Teacup
Pig on a Lipstick (premium dispenser)
Ruff N' Buttry
Lust Gorged
Peek, a Blue Pink
Sage Rub
Wicca Twilight
Feed On
Rainbow Scale
Sopped in Bailey's
Wrenchbreaker
Cohosh Spice
Hush for Cover
Pas du Cake
Secrets Kept
Minor Discretion
Wet Nip
Spraybourne
Clove Aureola
Paella
Shirt Caller
Filter Stain
Crystal Rimprint
Straw Dipper
Holiday Mincemeat
Chancre' Adieu
Beau Talks
Nico-Rush
Tan Taint
K-Dava Diva
Crammed with Grace
Berry Plop
Crematoma
By L'Wisp
Burnt Issue
Raspberry Gale

Friday, December 28, 2007

dapsone

Peggy brushed the lint off her face into the ladies' room sink. It melted into the color of the stone and the water. Then she rinsed off her face because it still looked a little dusty. It made her look like an old woman for a moment. She still played a childhood game with herself where she would imagine that she was much younger and then wake up in the future and this would be it and she would look around her, truly marveling. It had become a scary game. She walked out of the ladies' room slightly disoriented and tried to unlock the door to the attendance office even though it had already been unlocked for seven hours. She sat down at her desk, picked up a pink pen and wrote on a day-glo green sticky pad.

i see that my only salvation will be living life in the present moment!

She stuck the note to the mirror on the inside of her lipstick case, put on a little lipstick, crookedly, and shut the lid. She straightened her lower back, swiveled on her chair, and opened Excel for Mac.

"It'll all be better when you getchur kids back."

Peggy screamed before he could finish his sentence. It was spooky Jim Sousa. He had been standing there the whole time in his red tie, his obscenely sensual mouth and glasses. She screamed a second time when it had registered in her mind what the second half of his sentence was. Jim was scared of Peggy too when he saw the look on her face. Everyone went home early that night.

The FedEx'd carton from Langley, VA went unopened in the Attendance In bin till late Monday morning.

my branks



www.tinypic.com

Cucking Stool



www.dartmouth.edu

Coatimundi


www.civilwar.com

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Coatimundi



http://www.desertmuseum.org/ YOINK!

Coatimundi

Connie

Now I see how I held you
in a smoke-filled room
and you really didn't have a choice
because I made you want me.

I sat you under my arm
and watched amazed while you breathed
and remembered many of the times
we went out together, your vitality.

I gave up on chasing you away
because it was bad for your condition
of loving me baby. I coulda
stole you in the face, or jacked

all the money I made you make.

Gibberish

Ah nee Ah nee Ay om ah naw Oh nee Oh nee ah naw rale. Too nee too nee ah naw ah naw rale. Yoo got cher brekast in a bag. Brekast. Bring it in a bag. Kicky. Kicky dog.

Reptily, Present Day

8. Time is a Liar

Zug came home after dark all covered in white dust from the mine. Standing under the yellow bug light on the porch, he looked like a primitive man at a ceremony. He was also naked.

"Honey, I'm home."

Connie was in the bedroom face down on the bed. She had been crying into her hands on the pillow. She wore fitted cigarette-length jeans, dirty white anklets, and a short-sleeve pink cashmere v-neck.

"What is it honey. I'm gonna shower off."

Zug stood under the warm water thinking about how they'd met. "I liked how you said that Shivas society denies women their dark power in class today," she'd stayed behind to comment. It was a wine-colored v-neck. Three years of nights since then they'd never been apart.

Cement Basics was considered by most academics to be more than just a required transfer-level course for geocareers. It laid the foundation for social mores in industry, and intertwined, for natives, their very bloodline with a set of values that could be reliably shared with others in a reasonably wide geocultural area. For migrants, Cement could be an a) eye-opener, b) a confirmation of expected prejudices, or c) something presented in a language not understood.

For Connie, it was all about Zug. Even before the semester had ended, they were going down to Damp Ditch most every Sunday to shoot heroin and toss shards of glass into the rainbow-like reflections in the slurry. Like the Bible-in-Life comic books she had read as a child, the two of them seemed to be applying principals and making use of cultural artifacts that others could only wonder about hypothetically or physically engage with every day without any conscious consideration.

He felt guilty now, as at the end of every shower. It meant turning off the water, stepping off the stone, and walking back in to her, and to that which he had created. Or wandered into. Or not resisted. Or it was accidental-on purpose. Whatever. He emerged in a cloud of steamy talc now and sat on the bed in his towel.

"Honey, we have to talk."

Her silence was encouraging. Maybe tonight she was ready to listen and to get real.

"Look. Even though it was just that one time with Zick. And I never dreamed I would be sharing my testimony at a Shivans with Herpes group. You know how bad I feel about it. Even so, was it ever a good idea. I mean... if you want to leave... I think you should."

Connie might have responded something like, "Thanks for your honesty, Z. " And, "No, I don't think it wasn't a good idea at first, but I kinda have to agree with you it's over now." More likely, she would have come up with something like, "You asshole! I gave you the best... I gave you my forties!" No. She probably would have just sat up, wiped off her face, and gone to pee.

But Connie did not happen to be living just then.

Monday, December 24, 2007

feeling blue



Boosted from: caminoalcielo.com

Sunday, December 23, 2007

Response Re:Re: Student Complaints

The meat of my response is in the attached exhibits (please download Quicktime for sound archives). To accompany this evidence, I can only add that I speak from my heart, an organic instrument which, while rhythmic, is also prone to chemically-induced pace changes as part of a chain: a chain of movement and reaction. If movement can cause my heart to tell you this, it can do anything.

Across our desert, all around our campus community, and within our very hearts, time is a liar.

I reference Exhibit A, jpeg files 001 and 001a. Photo of 4-color Christ print, framed [001], and me at San Felipe beach, poolside, two summers ago [001a]. Please note color of pool water that fills background as compared to Christ print indigo tint. Similarity of hairstyle, facial features, and contented expression. Translation of Spanish title on poster: The Smile of Christ.

I contacted Ediciones Libra, still at C/San Mateo 1221, Mexico, D.F. I was put in touch with a retired foreman of the art department. He himself claims responsibility for the poster, printed back when Libra was a struggling Protestant/ Santaria print shop just behind D.H. Lawrence's hotel, the Monte Carlo, still crumbling gradually under the weight of the leaning Biblioteca Nacional. He was inspired to sketch out the face and write the verse, which he never wanted credit for, on a trip to San Felipe with his girlfriend and their kids. In 1960.

[Sr. Miserias (Paco) was delighted to hear that a copy of his most original work for Libra had reached me and lamented the fate of the company, which had made it big in devotional/ white magic/ gothic candle inserts for a while but then folded and resurfaced for tax purposes without any obligation to make good on his pension. He added that he would grant full rights to his creation including the original water color either to our Desert School Museum Foundation or the Smithsonian for somewhere around US $1500.]


artifact

Religious text recovered from modestly-framed image of Jesus, by Ediciones Libra, Mexico City, circa 1970. 4-color, on newsprint:

LA SONRISA DE CRISTO

sonrisa que
el pintor
no se atrevo
a plasmar

sonrisa que
el escultor
nunca pudo
cincelar

sonrisa que
el historiador
preferido olvidar

la sonrisa
de cristo lleva
mensajes de:
amor, alegria
y paz!

Saturday, December 22, 2007

7. Time is a Liar

Tom's hands and knees were numb but he stopped anyway to look up at the cliffs and bleed. He'd parked the station wagon at the chain link border to the Desert Pavement Glyph Monument. He'd crawled across the restored desert pavement and its markings to get to the side-of-ribs rock formation he was resting on now. He'd fashioned a loin cloth from a fox coat inherited from his great aunt, Reptily. His neck ached from holding up his head on his punishing 100-yard scamper, so he let it fall back. The sun was setting behind the sandy cliff edge. The last tip of the sun made a blue and painful silvery star just where the smoke was rising a bit beyond. Tom watched the smoke and felt the star blazing down on him. The smoke grew and tormented itself into a thunderhead and shook the bushy creosote that dotted the sacred wasteland.

"Now that this phenomenon has entered my body and the circle of time is nearly complete, I consecrate myself as a host to these and every creature who shall reap sustenance from my flesh into eternity."

Tom came out of it for a sec and then look surprised, and then lightning flashed, and in the light of electricity, which was all that was left, Jesus's face appeared instead of Tom's, and anyone who might have been there could have reported it. Tom only felt a flush of understanding, a surge of tender pity for his former self, and then a singular curiosity at the events unfolding at the cliffs edge, now bathed in gentle sun. A fire crackled just out of view.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

6. Time is a Liar

A few weeks later, Sylvia and Tom finished their conversation at the Scantron machines.

"You and I both know that was before psychosis was considered to be a manageable illness."
"You're such a droll boy," Sylvia smiled.
"Remember 'Herpes for Christmas'?"
"Uh-huh."
"That's when I decided to devote my life to being an asshole."
"I know, Tom."

For a few moments, Tom and Sylvia each knew the other was experiencing meaning in the sound of the wrong answers clicking as their students' final exams were scored.

Zen of Larry

Zen of Larry

As the situation is,
One finds interest in the situation:

the inherent experiential value
in any given result

of an action taken by a human
because all experiences go up to God,

and what one must do is to have an agreement
that all experience is passed along

to the Greater Deity, for that was
the purpose of Christ's stay on Earth.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

5. Time is a Liar

"Yes, but you know as well as I do that we've got an unnatural number of these creatures here. No one cares about us, Sylvia."
"But I could be at home right now-- I've got the bait traps and spray, I..."
"It's an military-industrial desert. You think they're going to send somebody or even put it on the news? What-- it was about six years ago wasn't it? The pterodactyl? And you said yourself you saw something funny in that tree about a week ago. They'll believe us once we can form a consensus."
"A consensus?!" Sylvia was livid, now, in every possible way. "A consensus, Tom? Last person listened to you got a split schedule and six preps for the entire length of the 5-year contract, didn't he, Tom. There's your consensus. Get me my purse."
"They'll be here in a minute. Do you want to lay down?"
"On that oviparous filth pit? And it's lie, you prick." She was fishing a little plastic bottle of Benadryl caps out of her purse and weeping softly.
Then she puked yellow all over November. The pages became immediately gold-opaque, backed with the deep brown of wet cardboard at the end of the year.
"Oh, Tom! You *burble* suck so much!"
The bubbled remains of a time-release Wellbutrin continued to spin in a bile puddle on the ghostly diagonal line between 12/24 and 12/31.
"Huh huh huh..." Sylvia was sobbing now, and her face was magenta. "Don't you know I once loved you?"

4. Time is a Liar

Sylvia had been bitten by a black widow spider. They were common in those parts-- no one thought twice about them, and it was no exception when Tom put in a high-priority maintenance voucher through to his departmental secretary several weeks prior to the intense pain and nausea Sylvia was now experiencing. There was a dead one in the desk drawer near where Sylvia was finding it more difficult to bend over and rub the back of her heel. Tom had put it there for proof in such a case as this. Now his wide stance filled the doorway, the AirSpring still gasping, his hair blowing lightly in the desert winter breeze. "Oh Tom, how I hate you!" Sylvia whimpered.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

3. Time is a Liar

Peggy leaned back in the boss chair in the Attendance Office. She had been burning a cherry mochachino candle. The fumes were overwhelming. But she did not want to get up out of the boss chair and open the window behind her. So she arched back like a seal, pulled on the cord, and opened the window with her other hand. All done upside-down. Little did she know, several large fluffs of lint had shaken loose and landed, one in an eyebrow, and another somehow hanging from her chin.

Friday, December 7, 2007

2. Time is a Liar

Tom went into the attendance office. Someone had a dog in there. He called Sylvia on the speaker phone. "I'm here Tom. Oh! Sorry it was a... okay let's go..." said Sylvia, fading a little. Then from another desk he called Mr. Sousa, someone who was normally very shy. Jim? Ready? "Oh, yes Tom." Peggy? Peggy was side-saddling a desk behind him. The November 8 on that desk's blotter calendar was disappearing into the rainbow pine trees of her lycra skirt just over the dorsal cleavage. "OK, Mr. Foury."

Fingers on the button. No Flash, two, three, snap! Tom clicked his camera with the patience and determination of bomb squad technician.

Tom posted all of the pictures on his Grammar Hints website at Yahoo. Sylvia's photo of the clock in Tom's office was yellow and streaked, but the clock clearly said 8:09. Tom's picture of the Attendance Office clock was glowing with flourescent light. It said 12:15. Jim Sousa had been sitting in total darkness at his post in Classroom B. He had not thought of turning on the light, but he had allowed the flash to ignite by mistake. His clock was an eerily shadowed 12:19. Peggy's clock, one minute later than Tom's, had something that looked like a third hand, but it was a very pointy Jack Russel tail, smeared.

Tom declared finally, That's proven it. There will never be a late-to-class advisory in my file again.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Charms of Brutality

What kind of mess would bring one to
Crave the homespun bustle of urbanity?

Guts laid out to dry on a rail;
Rowboat floats unmoving in a big sand pail.

Wanting to just get on a plane
And leave the hatchetings and cow urine mist?

Guts laid out to dry on a rail;
Rowboat floats unmoving in a big sand pail.

You think that with me, awe comes cheap.
Less you've seen them quit their belts in the sugar.

Guts laid out to dry on a rail;
Rowboat floats unmoving in a big sand pail.

Free teeth, and good folks watching it:
Guys and their wives who want to settle down.

Guts laid out to dry on a rail;
Rowboat floats unmoving in a big sand pail.

Ones who thirst lust and lust peace and
Other stuck freaks who stick it to each other.

Guts laid out to dry on a rail;
Rowboat floats unmoving in a big sand pail.

Fat lambies munching in the dew
Something smells bad and they nominated you.

Guts laid out to dry on a rail;
Rowboat floats unmoving in a big sand pail.

Gone to the city with my crew;
Times of loathing and po-pity will be few.

Guts laid out to dry on a rail;
Rowboat floats unmoving in a big sand pail.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

WD4.0

To get to the quarry, Kug had to descend four ladders, crawl across two ladders, and climb up six ladders. It was a jagged bowl of dry grey steam. Some men and a strong woman worked with a dragony, scaled ox to push some of the rocks out of a hole in the quarry wall. The rocks rolled down a hill to the river, where rafts were waiting. The water and the rafts looked furry grey. On the opposite wall ladders disappeared into the dust cloud. Skinny men carried rocks in shaggy woven cones which were near to their own heights and strapped to their backs. They moved up and down the ladders like timid palm weevils. Someone had fallen, and a shiv priest was administering the scorpion from behind a heavy dust veil.

Women and children and old men sat indian-style everywhere in the silt, vaguely pink and black. They rocked back and forth bringing medium rocks down onto small rocks to make gravel.

1. Time is a Liar

Tom decided to gather together five people to make a point. Each of the three he was able to convince by offering money equal to a community college course overload teaching hour was provided with a phone or walkie-talkie and a camera. Tom let Sylvia sit in his office, as her ankles had been aching. "OK I'll call in a minute." "Okay Tom, I'll be here. Bye!" She ran her fingernails through her hair as the heavy metal door shut. It had been connected to the same AirSpring hinge device since 1978 and now whooshed like it was supposed to at first, paused just before contact, recoiled for the kill, then slammed hard. Syl was still shaking out her bangs absentmindedly as she peeked into Tom's desk drawer for a moment, realized what she was doing, and closed that, too. Then she planted her elbow like a compass pin on his calendar blotter, propping up her chin, and let her eyeballs roll this way and that. It was November 27.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

You Have Entered a Restricted Area

in the flouresence
each imagined the other's thoughts

*gasp* oh my dear god
that's the scent of a working man

it dries out your skin
it's not Oil of Olay, either

now i understand
you just have to get into it

try this... manly now?
do you think that will slow me down?

you seem to like it
i'm hoping for something better

can't do both at once
this is called Riding on the Beach

you favor mine, then
it hits me in a certain place

you are so my bitch
you wanted me to come like this

this is really gay
but a guy has to use something

think i'm ready too
doesn't last very long, does it?

we should go wash up
Macy's might have better stink juice.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Can the jacket be lighter than the pants?

The next day there was a special skin grafting ceremony of matrimony. Kug felt funny because he didn't know the people and also that this was a ritual that he would never have the privilege of experiencing, at least not from under the chrys. Yet, he had been invited as a trophy escort by the third work honk's quarry mate, and flattery, he had made it clear, would always work with him.

He had a dark green loin cloth and a nice summer shoulder skin which was felicitously in the same range of hues but happened to fall on the lighter end of the spectrum. He'd heard, perhaps, that it was considered bad form among those who wore the dress of trade on a daily basis; the top mustn't be lighter.

He recalled Bif's reaction when he decided to move to the Outer Shelves more than twenty WD's earlier. "I gave you the best... I gave you my forties!"

Looking forward to grafting was now something that belonged to the young.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Disqualification and Rescue

It is called the chrysanthemum dog because its face looks very much like the flower.
So high-stationed as to appear leggy. So low-stationed as to appear dumpy or squatty.
Any such faults are to be penalized to the extent of their deviation from the standard.
A missing or slightly misaligned tooth is not to be severely penalized.
An overall well balanced and pleasant expression supersedes the importance of any of the individual parts.
A false image created by grooming techniques is to be severely penalized.
Hindquarters...are straight when viewed from the rear.
Trimming is done on the feet and at the anus for neatness and to facilitate movement.
The Shih Tzu is to be shown at its own natural speed; neither raced nor strung up.
Disqualification: Albinism.

Ganked from:
http://mail.ukcdogs.com/

Monday, November 19, 2007

Gross Appendages

I am a head that can only speak,
But I have come to terms with the dis-
Use of my body.

At first I thought it was them did it,
But then after the drugs took effect,
I see it was fate.

I freaked out at first, but there's a les-
Son here about a connection to
The spiritual.

Waking up paralyzed is waking
To a lot of things, a black morning
Revved up with lightning.

In my suffering, blossoms started
To seep in like stains in wet cement.
They were your faces.

I can move my mouth and ears and scalp.
Your bodies are gross appendages
That carry your heads.

Friday, November 16, 2007

I Am Music




Every Goddamn Thing and then Some FD (the Mp3 Fois Deux)

Fois Deux!!

Les Encanta Lo Ruidoso

en mi vecindario
les encanta lo ruidoso
los cochebombas son alarmantes

en la sierra y boca de niñez
se encuentran sonidos preci-
osos y musicales.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Deal with It Society

here in these moments
stolen from reality to
examine reality more neatly

i find you ganked my
jeans and another article
down where my breast swells but left to nothing

they wont let us, babe
run in criminality, dude
or stay and go down like captain and loon

we are a high cost
flipping to a tidy bounty
coins, or a single comet in snowfall

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

No. 3

When Reptily reached a much older age, she developed a condition where she couldn't stop talking goofy. She was much revered as a mystic, and gave advice out from under a hair shawl in a Flintstones wheelchair. She could walk, but no longer had to.

Meanwhile, the Shiv priests had replaced their sign with the acronym everyone had come to recognize over the past 70 years or so:

W D

In fact, an eruption had already taken place only 20 years previously. It was anti-climactic. Steam and boiling water, foul gases, not as much magma as you'd expect.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Monday, November 5, 2007

Commedia d'Arte

this whole corporate life you
could film in one sitting
taking samples from that
meeting, voiceovering,
whatnot.

long-beak monster's face close up.
dubbed complaint: not enough _.
pan to three other gar-
goyles; thumbs, deep in noses,
perk up.

It's that their sleep's been disturbed.
now they wear the vivid
honor of anime.
We say shut the fuck up,
or so.

closeup of weepy, groomed mug.
masks interfacing or
cast at opposing walls,
sorted groups in hallways,
with sound.

a thousand poses can fit
in a tiny e-file,
each connected to keys
you can play with a flair
for years.

Friday, November 2, 2007

Run Out of Town [the Mp3]

Pariah goes folksy!
Run Out of Town [the Mp3]

Run Out of Town

i'm a bitch
because i'm single
all of you
have got your dangl-
ing others
locked in a room
mmm locked
in a room

he doesn't love any other
except for you, mmm, ex-
cept for you.

late tonight
i saw a visage
of myself
without a pot to piss in
my brother
run out of town,
on a broom, run
out of town.

i'm heading home to my mother
she loves me true, mmm,
loves me true.

was a time
before i came here
when i slept
with another body
beside me
feeling so blue, mmm
feeling blue.

i can't have you as my lover,
you can't have me, mm i
can't have you.

every goddamn thing and then some [the Mp3]

NOW TOPPING THE COUNTRY CHARTS!
every goddamn thing and then some [the Mp3]

every goddamn thing and then some

a lot of things worry me, a lot of things concern me
a lot of things just don't seem right to me
mal-aligned, risky times, drinkin' to my valentine
these are signs of hypocrisy

i wanna shoot straight, boots laced, real estate for rent
and all the benefits of zen and Christianity
stockin's dry, rhubarb pie, my sweetie and a pack o' gum
every goddamn thing and then some

[repeat and fade]

clot

we are a clot of desperate Eastern Europeans
smoke is wafting over our fence and into neighbors' yards
we are intense among ourselves and have straight opinions
while to others our strange ways may seem swarthy or antique

Monday, October 29, 2007

20 years

this is the hum that will take us there
background now, the throbbing operation

past is all here, but future depends
on this humming, absent calibration

reality, direction isn't fair
when you consider possibilities

as I cut this wake through soup or glass
what will be thrown upon the surfaces?

as I etch lines in this negative
who on the other side works against me?

I see twenty years of piss flying,
one clear brick of present with yellow waves.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

pride, enemy

this grapefruit tree haughtily
honorably bursts into fruit
as a symptom of death.

these stunted ones do not have
a mature life; they turn yellow
small and drop, young and dead.

It was the juiciest tree
reluctantly drank lawn water
and stayed put in a freeze.

Friday, October 19, 2007

animated gif of his face replaced with jesus's during lightning II

Back in the cave, Reptily searches the men's pockets for liberty coins. Across the gorge, the high priests' sign has lost hold on one end. It now says:

E
I
D

E
W

"You bastards and your easy wages. I will take your future!"

The floor was seething with crickets, which were trying to sleep so did not chirp. One would try to scoot in further or mount another for comfort, and there would be a ripple effect across the entire herd. Their scratching and flicking whispered in the dreams of the courtiers.

"Only five. Only one kraplich. They have spit their lucre into whores."

An altar to the Fish Princess began to rock back and forth. Reptily stopped rummaging and grabbed her large golden hoop earrings.

"Bless me savior. You are pleased."

Reptily was neither bright nor curious. She repeated things her grandmother had often said out of superstition alone. Soon she had gathered eight more kraplich.

All Fire Burns

all fire burns
many barns lean
whistles may blow
work doesn't feed

all kids learn
many are keen
seeds may sow
sheep don't lead

all days turn
many aren't seen
cock may crow
eggs don't bleed

all milk churns
many meet the queen
banks may owe
rich don't need

all fire burns
many hearts stop
world may end
poor don't shop.

all fires burn
many don't smoke
love may heal
whores don't choke.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Craw of Day

windy black october night
she wanted to carve out her own place but
for demons that couldn't spell

all this vivid time and space
suspended in a dark obscene slime which
behaved as a godmother

each pumpkin plucked from amongst
the spew of vine couldn't not be rotten,
fruit of juggling cats or eggs

which is why in these small hours
she and I and a whiskey sour spit rinds,
stir with impunious bats

we dine at one right from the
cauldron or play canasta like spiders,
throw runes, sing, or speak freely

and crawling back, november
morning, silver, bearing too sweet a light,
the dead craw of day widens.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

cargo of diamond and no shields -or- Countries Starving in His Rectum

grinning picaro,
chock full of gold dust,
invites his ruin.

over-shoulder glance,
the butt shooting gems,
wings of spun candy.

tight yellow curls in-
furiate the dogs,
lips of lamb roast taste.

O patrona de
los cazadores
que nos ayudes

to stick him with a
pin on parchment, a
pen to sop the stain.

Monday, October 8, 2007

deification of gay men

once we were pirates
now here there they van-
ish, sprites, resemblanc-
es. you: symbol of

the gone. pert fairies
appear around us
like good friends fading.
goodbye! elfin trove.

Friday, October 5, 2007

raptor in a tree

Sylvia stepped out of her office and noticed a raptor in a tree.

There were no pre-prepared vittles in the cafeteria that afternoon.

Roof rats had been invading houses in the area since the typhoon.

In his depression, Alex explained that he could only see himself as another dirty link in the food chain.

At sunset, a huge visual distraction had begun: the Blood Moon, or Autumnal Equinox.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

like a horny crown of thorns

pool water keeps dripping
from my hairline, a
long way to go.

my bare palms were lifted
toward the phone wire,
all akimbo.

the god priapus shrunk
from the thorough soak-
ing. stigmatoed.

Sunday, September 30, 2007

forgot what i was going to say

because when I slid past you
in the narrow hallway
you jammed my frequencies

and like some hydroelectric therapy
all thoughts and memories were purged
and replaced with the hem of your tanktop.

now i remember it was to be a
dirge, a plea for it not to get worse:
"The Strong Desire to Erase Tomorrow"

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

not wet like mars

faces in the moon tonight
are irritated primitive men;
the sun we can explain.

fat hitler is cheeky, now
has sideburns, now does not;
skeleton face has a normal

back of head; then the two
pulling taffy masks, each
seeming to protrude from

the other's brain. earlier,
it was the solid rim in heaven/
demonstration of a circle

as not a shape at all, but
rather nature herself, a
drop or stain, beaten up

the spinning started by
blows, a golpe, as a boxer's
jaw becomes weak.

then the babbling starts,
tongues wagging at the sight:
that circle becomes a hook

and rather stays there, grinning
it has no effect on us
except for it's cold breathing

it seems to say that our lives
have no meaning. deadness
of dust, not tundra that jets

into the atmosphere
when a tragectile hits.
the moon can be deceiving.



Monday, September 17, 2007

this bowl of dust

zeros in the long years
somewhere we stepped through them
tires on the roadside

someone flipped a pancake
all surfaces are fried
chaos, pain is general

when they call the flag in
our sky is pink and brown
this pole could be nowhere

our windows are lit squares
motors rage between them
storms approach, moths to flame

they've drawn your name again
be quiet till it rains
you can slither away.

Land of No Bumps

We don't expect bumps here
this is an ancient lakebed
where someone's ancestors
feared the goddess Cahuilla
who may rise to reckon back
her waters, but no bumps.

If a mark in the terrain
appears, we slam the brakes
for the vehicles through the
years have flattened into
sleds, hovercrafts, skiffs.
We didn't bleed in the

first two wars to have
bumps in our traffic. The
naiades tossing their hair
in grief smoothed the sands;
their sorrow did not broom
to be stuck in ditches.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

vietnam vet

i don't think i'm gonna kill myself; i think i'm gonna die.

if my body standing up, my life, my perception, was a pie

chart, the bottom right quartile, measuring from my eyes,

would be on fire. this is the type of flame as from a hardwood log,


like it won't go to ash. It's in back of me; it starts just a centimeter

behind my peripheral vision on the right, extends about as far

as my arm stretched out, circles back behind me, like a police officer's

got me in an elbow and wrist lock, with my face up against bricks.


when I drink it crawls up top of my head like a laughing squirrel

on a farmer's cap. Asleep maybe I turn and face it; i turn a lot

of ways, like i'm rolling in it. when i wake its pulled

down over my eyes, a firing squad blindfold.

i march off to coffee like it's my last cup.

pig latin plath

Alloonsbay
Ylviasay Athplay

Incesay Istmaschray eythay avehay ivedlay ithway usway,
Uilelessgay andway earclay,
Ovalway oulsay-animalsway,
Akingtay upway alfhay ethay acespay,
Ovingmay andway ubbingray onway ethay ilksay

Invisibleway airway iftsdray,
Ivinggay away iekshray andway oppay
Enwhay attackedway, enthay ootingscay otay estray, arelybay
emblingtray.
Ellowyay atheadcay, ueblay ishfay ----
Uchsay eerquay oonsmay eway ivelay ithway

Insteadway ofway eadday urniturefay!
Awstray atsmay, itewhay allsway
Andway esethay avelingtray
Obesglay ofway inthay airway, edray, eengray,
Elightingday

Ethay earthay ikelay ishesway orway eefray
Eacockspay essingblay
Oldway oundgray ithway away eatherfay
Eatenbay inway arrystay etalsmay.
Ouryay allsmay

Otherbray isway akingmay
Ishay alloonbay eaksquay ikelay away atcay.
Eemingsay otay eesay
Away unnyfay inkpay orldway ehay ightmay eatway onway ethay
otherway idesay ofway itway,
Ehay itesbay,

Enthay itssay
Ackbay, atfay ugjay
Ontemplatingcay away orldway earclay asway aterway.
Away edray
Edshray inway ishay ittlelay istfay.

Monday, September 10, 2007

my brank

i feel thankful now that I am allowed a pen. the scold's tongue may be a weapon unfairly turned on others already weary with their own complaints, but mine, now aching so but with much less blood and spittle, is just an instrument of the words that will be there and be there and want to take to air no matter how Richard or the children or the neighbors or the council or my loving parents would like the member static. It's a rambunctious little worm though, I can feel it burn way in the back even when I spell the sound of r. I must learn-- ouch!-- to let my mind and its words have their freedom without betraying my body with signs of thought or ill feeling toward others. There i've written most of all that without a twitch. I believe it's not the blade as much-- for I've learned to relax the naked monster into the bed of my lower jaw to avoid slicing outright-- as much as a little nub of metal on a part that had not been envisioned as a jabber-- ha! jabber-- as a connecting bar to hold the four-bladed spike at the threshold of my gagging parts, so that I must be careful even taking soups when I swallow. This little nib must have been created while the metal was still hot; something nicked it, maybe the corner of an anvil. It's certainly bugging me now with the wound its created which i am sure is tiny but thats grown a hard defensive bruise all about it and a good deal of pus, from the taste. It's the little things that get you.

Who'd have imagined me, of all, taking the road of the wench, the corseted rebel, with my solid and treasured fame for years as a source of comfort from my wealth of verses, freely shared, even if I had to put something down. Hanging Jill's stockings on the fence or clipping kindling from a wrecked carriage can always come second to engagement with a fellow communitarian soul. Dick would prefer i stick to business, of course, and of course now i forever shall, His grace being abundant.

But I can still hear Auntie Shama's stories of our Christ and his pain a million times more searing than this silly brace. They couldn't even get the ring to stay in place when they tied me to a mule post on the green. Were there old friends present at the public penitence who witnessed my quiet patience and respectful demeanor even as I stood there with the rusted cuff, salvaged from an old brig, pulled loose from the rotten wood, dangling about my waist? Standing just behind the vicar as I was, would it have upstaged him further-- perhaps there was cause for condemnation even then-- as a lady with less pride might have fallen, fainted, or even tried to run and jump down the well, with her hands locked fast in mode of prayer? That they would have understood; they would have understood me then.

But now I am on this path, where it takes me. Goody Beth returned to a measure of favor-- they had her lighting candles and giving out sprigs of lavendar at Thursday vespers. Even women who were never her peers, maybe especially them, found it easy to smile and thank the poor wife and exchange an earnest Godbewith, even with her funny way of speech since then.

animated gif of his face replaced with jesus's during lightning

Again, the priests reminded them the end was near. Shu Volcano was rumbling in the near distance as if pleased after the meal of virgins and handicapped.

We wondered if previous generations had felt as though they walked in a dream of imminent destruction. The bones tasted good.

Reptily, our Persian maid, hit the gong with a pig's skull on a stick. "Time for prayer!" You couldn't even argue with slaves when it came to P time. She shrieked as if it were raining liberty coins. We considered beating her after the second bell, but most of us fell asleep during Promise of Blood and woke with our faces in our Ga bowls after the lizards had shifted well behind the smoke stain.

It was still true. The keepers had spelled it simply in Tu vines hanging from their cliff loft: "we die. "

Sunday, September 9, 2007

symbiosis of ice cracking underfoot

b's white bitch tried to hump him as they were about to leave. pool robot keeps flipping over on its back. windborne sludge is gone, but it's still artificial-blue soupy. b's pups are trained to luv only; everything else is reflex. they said it would learn the layout of the bottom with its tiny electronic brain. now i am its organic helper.

a flat tire and two weekend days slapping dirtily forward. just keeping things filtered is a heroic measure. flotsam is not sickness if you can get it off you.

some things rise to the surface but just can't pop. some people's faces look like they're bearing a high lateral wind. my decay creates homes for other creatures.