Friday, August 30, 2013

On Peg's backstory

Peg and the kids made house of a large working fridge in the middle of the desert. They could peek out, run back and forth from the car without singeing their faces.

When there were clouds it would be time to scout curling lines in every direction; it was like a ranger's post. They could burn garbage at night in steel barrels with holes poked by some unimaginable force.

Paper goods going made a multi-eyed jack-o-lantern, sparks blowing out his top. Phosphorescent scorpions, exoskeletons, clattered backwards from the light.

Inside, they welcome their own smells to remind them they're alive. Yet they feel kept only fresh, and how celery skin will start to slough and ice on the inner curves.

While Ted was out reporting the news in his salt-n-pepper beard, there was overall fear. When the dog held his breath to prick motion outside, a general MUTE was applied.

"Thinking about Peg's backstory."

Thursday, August 29, 2013

The Future is Just a Cushion

The future is just a cushion between now and you know what.
The future is a cheap cushion with a hard, uncomfortable button right in the middle.
That cushion's button, squared and wooden, is the wheels on Ilyn's cart.
Ilyn's barely moved an inch in 20 years, except for straight down into crust.
A chesterfield sofa is an illusion of softness the way its buttons pull the surface in.
Illusions of depth are often mistaken as illusions of time.
Time does not exist. Time is a lie. The lie of time is just enabling your blindness.
You are blind because your face is buried in a cushion.


Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Identification Shell Slough

Missy, coughing blood bubbles, skew-winged and grotesque, pends between her stucco front porch railing and a massive iron drug store scale, still teething on a rubber diving vest. 

MISSY: In this my third iteration involved in these habitats i invoke, even before the fangs set and i can lift myself steadily from this misery on fully formed arms of flight, the names of my pre-carriers, for at any moment I know I shall lose their recollections.

SOME VILLAGERS: Don't tell us! Don't say the names, for we cannot hear!

MISSY: The names are Chama Tilly and Reptily.

SOME VILLAGERS: Great. That's just great. Now we'll have to go back into the records and produce some recompense for any act of disrespect tordall and any persons with those names.

MISSY: I would certainly hope so.

VILLAGER WITH CHIN LIKE A MIRROR HANDLE: How can we cope with having viewed your hideous molting, or...

MISSY [literally bending over backwards]: To take those backwards, I'd opt for meta-cognitive talk therapists and the term is "identification shell slough."

First-flesh venture

i am a genetic line
where vertebrae grew along it
and a nerve bubble formed
the faceless prototype head.

my parents were so unworldly
that i wanted to mount every trend
and i metamorphosed from within
so no special effects were needed.

when you learn you're descended from a pantheon
of first-flesh venture
you can roll out your tanking chakras
and they sparkle like dimes in a rug.

Chama Tilly

Friday, August 23, 2013

Once her hairdo missed the bell clapper, she had to say her own prayer.

Mthyuh it's a test
of how bad it is
that I insult my own beliefs
to moan your name.


Thursday, August 22, 2013

Spam n' Eggs on a Plate, Stat!

Hey Mr. Big Tiny, y'gotta tiny big prolm?
Why doncha getchr big'n tiny off th' street?
Hey, Mr. Big; hey, Tiny Big. Where's yr
Tiny Missy, Tiny? Tiny Big, y'lostyr little
Missy Tiny Little Big. Yr gonna hafter sit-
chur big n' tiny body down fr spam n eggs!

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Cause Me to Seizure

Metaphors Within Shmetaphors
Two of the four seasons
A menacing shorter man
sympathy for another
intensity of today's sun
i remember what i used to remember
don't know what i'm doing here
cause me to seizure


Thursday, August 15, 2013

8 More Lipsticks

stay you die/ leave you die
Unrequited Suitor
random, but constant
shame for change
Day of non-participation
Had a Little Grip In
Drag on The System
Big Ol' Quinoa Party


Saturday, August 10, 2013

Phyllis on Jan Jansdaad

I recently had some down gal time with Jan Jansdaad, the daughter of Jan Jansdaad, Jan's dad. What's it like to be invisible? Is education overrated by the uneducated? How does she mean when she say "take it like a flow"?

PHYL: Jan you're one of my favorite co-bloggists because, I donno, you're less assuming and I guess self-defacing in a way.

JAN JANSDAAD: Thanks Phyllis. I used to think that you asked questions because you just wanted to get a grip on the right switches to totally turn someone off when you go bored. That you insinuate into people's lives and become meaningful to them only so that you can then later, for your own amusement value only, come up with the deepest possible way to hurt their feelings. The idea that psychological violence is better because it's legal, otherwise you would be a real murderer.

PHYL: Oh! But all that changed when...

JAN JANSDAAD: Right, since I found out you're embedded by the Sports N' Sex Crimes Bugle. It's cool-- in fact I feel comfortable being exhibitionistic with you now.

PHYL: So Jan, who are some of your favorite authors directors thinkers.

JAN JANSDAAD: You know I never have been one to maintain a lot of names in my accessible memory sectors. And even though uh Wayne and I are growing old in our empty nest, I've always not bothered with --and couldn't have anyway because I'm not capable-- human names. Baseball players, presidents, writers, directors bands poets. I just tend to take it like a flow, enjoy some music or a book, but not feeling obligated in any way to care who or what was the creator.

PHYL: So for you it's not old age or lack of education but rather brain capacity, strong sense of personal style and religious belief. Basicly any kinda nomenclature is Satan's nature; there is only one godhead. Now. "Take it like a flow"?

JAN JANSDAAD: That means be in the moment, Phyl.

PHYL: Why do you think it is that people don't notice you?

JAN JANSDAAD: We've taken steps over the generations that leave shadows like veils, and what in some places would be actual veils. Our behavior acts as an invisible burka. Leering shock envy dishonor my body, which resonates disrespect back hundreds of mutations. Moreover, modesty itself is a shield.

PHYL: Do the poor resent us.

JAN JANSDAAD: The dignified of any class can harbor no resentment toward another.

PHYL: Well spoken, but...

JAN JANSDAAD: Who's got a well spoken butt?


PHYL: Ok but really [smile]. Who is your God?

JAN JANSDAAD: You should know; I'm sure you tryda make a deal and beg him all the time.

by Phyllis

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Bad genetics

Every single facial expression
my face is capable of making proves
inappropriate for any situation.

But how often does the environment twist itself
hard enough to wring you into hovering orbit?
Enough to make it seem like an interminable hell.

And wouldn't it be better if, like the mail,
you could say i don't accept this,
i won't accept this-- it's the wrong address.

when you let your body take charge and speak for you,
it'll take its electrical cues from the mind,
so you're back where you started, with bad genetics.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Genetic shadows

When it's late and extra quiet, when the seasonal owners have gone on beyond to the next temperate happening, we see something like the flicker of candlelight, a sample of many a typical evening take a hundred years, or skipping continents. But here it's from inside the ancestral mind, where your instinct uses nuances of weak electric color to project target practice for its most visceral calibrations.

Only one curly bulb can make of a peaceful den a psycho-dramatic playhouse or frozen backdrop for dreamless, open-eyed sleep. A real estate photo might make these furnishings seem cheap, as if someone had opened wide the theater doors in the middle of a noon matinee, and it's all exposed and sordid and ruined, the giant protective stone lid removed from the top of a maze of clowns.

Genetic shadows twitch like atrophic limbs, facial spasms. An intensity of the left eye; the other's from the head of another guy. This personic blend can only see one life and its offset double, never truly two views; when they say a horror lasts forever, they mean across millennia, and it throws switches along its own strand. What I've always known, even since before I was a man, is nature and Her cruelties.

"I confess."