Tuesday, December 29, 2020
Thursday, December 24, 2020
Tuesday, December 22, 2020
Dr. Donna Thong and Peg whispered through the ancient stone glory hole of at least 9" in depth. It must once have been a Cuban prison.
DR. THONG: I'm remembering Mike and the abdominal surgery I performed on him when I had my patio studio.
PEG: That's after you were a Fanny-Girl temp out in Dead Beet Chank.
DR. THONG: You know friends do continue to self-realize when you're not around.
PEG: But you've always had emotions for Mike. Two swimmers in one pool or another.
DR. THONG: He told me his intestines smelled like latex for months afterward.
PEG: He sat up on the table fresh like a baby, glass bottles tinkling against the IV stand.
DR. THONG: You remember the story like a song.
PEG: The one that got away. But what of the others?
LAMENT OF THE OTHERS
it seemed as if they entered willingly
following their noses to my kitchen
i thought most necromancy to be weak
but the bottom of the pie was crispy
followed by stepping out of doors to neck
that first incision leading to the next
we woke among discarded vials of heparin
ecstatic still in the wane of hydrocodone
ready to renew our grunted oaths
until the next opportunistic infection.
Sunday, December 13, 2020
Friday, December 11, 2020
Tuesday, December 8, 2020
Saturday, December 5, 2020
Thursday, November 26, 2020
Saturday, November 14, 2020
Thursday, November 12, 2020
Tuesday, November 10, 2020
Monday, November 9, 2020
They brought me inside the control room of my own mother's puppet corpse. I could look down over the switches and buttons and through the glass down five stories and watch her feet drag and thud, drag and thud across the empty Sears parking lot, which was just the tip of the iceberg.
Once we had triggered The Crack, it was a watery world of carelessness; a sort of sleep paralysis of the shock reflex set in while we were fed through a peristalsis of the dimensional organ.
She was/ was not my mother. This was the flesh of the great beautiful young K who could toss me 100 meters into the sky with her beaque and catch me easily in her seal craw, where lightly blood-dappled pelts were stacked and crumpled into a very stinky but gossamer safety net. The woman they extracted from her inner ear during a shiv molting also is/ isn't La Pegyuh. She seems to carry all her memories, fears, quick tongue. Her body, as well, is now tortured day and night with Remote Tissue Decisioning in order to coordinate with image mirroring protocols and functions. They say she was a random preen gland technician who took a wrong turn somehow.
The stage is dark at the center and it's one of those setups where the players are seated or standing around the inside of the three walls waiting to take their turns. Giant leaves made of plastic bags get caught up in the breeze of a fan and bound noisily across the upstage out of doors like plastic bags.
"But then I'm telling you we love to have her and she's so talented but she does her writhing ritual really in breaking of character and does it right in the middle of the stage when others should be starting their lines and action."
"Jan, I can sympathize, but she's over 21. I can't control her even with the shiv. She has the fins of an embryo, but she'll never develop any further or take on the exclusive markings of any particular species. She feels like shiv's the only way she can find freedom as she will never sprout wings or a full claw matrix, so the ancient hooting and dancing are her expression of a foiled archetypal and organic need."
"Don't get me started on the topic of Institute for the Talk Therapy Apologist Movement mumbo-jumbo, Donna. We all knew from the start the risks we were taking by having Reptily here full time. I mean, not just a goat you can tether to a tree. And it's really no problem. Just no more community theater, k?"
Thursday, November 5, 2020
Monday, November 2, 2020
Saturday, October 31, 2020
I was dozing off at the command center just six o'clock from the electric rice maker on the dining room table. But Braino was upstairs in bed dreaming because that's its point of reference for sleep or fond memories of dreaming there or just because it can. But when it started thinking about not having put the rice away, like in a baggie in the fridge, it started coming down the stairs and was going at the rice maker from that descending angle, more like four o'clock, when I woke up. Sometimes you wake up and have double vision for a moment, and that's what it was like.
Monday, October 26, 2020
Sunday, October 25, 2020
Friday, October 23, 2020
Thursday, October 15, 2020
my friend tells his near-death experience as a joke
when i tell mine, i'll some point get the urge to cry
what is it awe, no, self-pity, well... no, fear. i cry with fear
then what was it, seen not remembered remembered but
not seen... that spooked no it's not spook fear. it's wide-
eyed terror at a blurry event that at the time was not
scary. there was an organization that required its mem-
bers, at a given point, to say, "...and that's when i started
working myself up." suspicious at first about the cultural
tokens sprinkled throughout event call it, i realize that
even though the mind collects its available symbolism,
that doesn't mean you're not actually dying. delayed
horror. at a non-scary moment or hour. judgement now
kicking in as Braino congratulates herself and begins
creating her own survival story: look at what could
have happened if not for my heroic and timely action?
i don't care. Braino is the real savior in the story either
way. Doing for herself what God could have and might
have done without her willing self-starterality. Of course
the God side would say of course God directed Braino
to do it, but ok, i see the divided gratitude energy betw.
what? not deities-- apples and oranges. Braino is really
just a glorified human organ, not even. she's just a function
of an operation of an organ, but she is the most beautiful
and one who would make any lesser god than God jealous
probably use a peeler on their thigh gouge an eye, attempt
retribution etc. God-Braino is completely different. it's
like God-bird flying to a tree branch, harmony. then there's
the question does Braino get drunk or stoned if i do. well
not sure cuz one of those things i don't do, but... can Braino
be addicted to any physical substance or even i guess love,
etc.? of course as in i love you with all my being which
would include Braino. don't over or underestimate i guess.
Does Braino get tired. i say no. she wakes up even more
in sleep, no. she is not so urgently needed as in waking
hours when anything could happen. only one tiny part
of her is the conscience and another is urine regulation,
so... obviously we're not talking about the normal, sub-
awake mind here. in fact "we" are not talking about
anything; this is actually more of an inquiry of B. her-
self, which is probably as ridiculous as a seance or
one of those amazing tv preacher self-answering prayers.
God is not the only sphinx in the universe. i get it that
you shouldn't get it muddy what, which god, huh? but as
described above, it's more like sphinx God smiling down
on sphinx bird flying to a branch. why do we bother?
how nice they have this peace. so Braino says, peace
my ass. even tho i am mute, i can't take that. i am the
workhorse of the entire operation, bitch! i never sleep
you know i never sleep. it falls on me to figure out
the flack and you make me do it totally wasted as shit
on ok i won't say it. that's about the best i can do as to
a workup or a portrait channeling or who knows direct
quote from her royal highness. she sounds real to me.
But there was the question of wait.. all that sounded
as if Braino is being held as what a hostage? by me?
i think the original question ok, i feel what they call a
tiny voice saying hey sleep on it but if that is Braino
that means she a lie cuz she needs sleep-- or cares
what about me shia lebouf i've totally left out christ is
that what he portrays in our cultural toolbox? The
character of Braino, the intermediary, the divine
flesh, but again, Braino is only divine in a camp sense.
i really don't think there's a conflict though because
you know if you pray and it's a christian prayer, you
pray to christ anyway-- Braino is not really for praying
to; i wouldn't want to flatter her quite that much.
which brings up the issue of proper address in prayer:
i believe it is necessary to address a prayer: even tho
i know where it's going, Braino in a compassionate
(?) manner or just as a normal function might feel she
has to take on whatever i am praying for; in some ways
i am her boss, but i don't want to... is this one area
where Braino can get confused while mostly knowing
more than i could possibly know at any given moment.
is this the one or one of many ways i have to take her
in hand, an ultimately defenseless and delicate creature,
feed and protect, etc. in turn she may protect me out of
thousands of possible examples maybe if there is
information that's "too much" for me to handle, like it
would give me a heart attack, or an actual memory of
a heart attack, etc. so she keeps it a secret. but then
she might get in a habit of doing that too often; may-
be she can detect the bad results of the bottleneck
without being self-aware enough to realize it's her own
neurosis causing it in the first place. Ha-ha that was a
joke. but fear. simply because i didn't feel at home, that
there were desperate decisions being made and there
was nothing i could do about it; whenever i tried to
answer my voice would wake me, but it was annoying
not a relief to be wakened. Braino may have been
the underlying annoying agent, just to jolt me back in
shape-- it would be just like that ok i won't say it.
Tuesday, October 13, 2020
Monday, October 12, 2020
Sunday, October 11, 2020
Saturday, October 10, 2020
Friday, October 9, 2020
Tuesday, October 6, 2020
Friday, September 25, 2020
Life and Death them
selves are engraved
across your breast.
You've got a daughter;
You just had four
beers at your in-laws.
Even a quick blow
job would be fun.
From nothing, you've
made my life glow--
cleaned under chachkas
I'd not checked in years;
I've taken a shower
young stud, but I'd
like you natural pls.
Except not if there
was pussy; sorry, I
mean only after a
normal work day's
grime for example. It's
your world because
you're bossy and
drunk, Abel. That
type of behavior for
whatever reason makes
me have good luck.
Tuesday, September 22, 2020
Sunday, September 20, 2020
Tuesday, September 15, 2020
It was clear until my third or fourth call for repairs that the landlord and his girlfriend, who wants to be a wife, had agreed to always come over here together, never alone. But then they started getting a little cute, and then a little tiffy, about how he'd replaced perfectly good radiant heat for ducts, which he'd slammed in himself during his twenties, anxious to get the bar done with the Smoke-A-Lizer and the deck right there on the creek in time for the wedding, and then a prompt and open-ended fractalization of subsequent drinking + nature-related gatherings.
Then, (I guess) Mike showed up alone to
adjust the furnace. I said is (I don't know) Janine here, and he
turned to hide his face mumbling she didn't wanna come in. While Mike
went to check on some knuckle marks high up on the face of the
fridge, I slipped on some clogs and waded through the front grass to
their low-slung truck. That's where I saw the figure. Its silhouette
was undoubtedly feminine, all dressed in white, fuzzy-edged. It was
perfectly still, but the energy was tense as if it could manifest in
horror without warning. Getting closer to the passenger-side window,
I could now see that it was-- just... Janine, texting, in a terry
turban and robe. Why don't you come in and have some coffee, Janine,
I asked, stupid not to realize that she hadn't even made up her face.
I don't WANT to! it screeched, banshee-like.
In contrast to Mike, my ex-fiance had been fastidious about dampers and grumouts measuring tightly up to their flush surfaces. He didn’t mind poisoning house mice in the most painful way, for example, because he’d already done his part to responsibly and reasonably keep them out of our sphere; if they persisted, they had to be overly-aggressive anomalies of their species and therefore ok for destruction.
I think the landlord’s companion wants to be his wife because she was so thorough about checking me out, did it all herself, is very efficient, you know, though it is his place. The first time he finally showed up alone, he squatted and duck-walked an entire stainless-face dishwasher, still part way in the strapping and box, mudroom to kitchen after having worked a 16-hour day or so, he said. Then Mike muttered something about before his wife passed away, and I figured that had to have been here, maybe upstairs. He couldn't seem to get the math right, even to the decade, about when and who and what. I sat quietly with the cable remote between my knees, just a dog and a green leather hassock between us as he wiped his brow with one of my dish towels.
That same shade of bologna pink except for around the eyes, they seem like they've both been liking their wine hours or countryside tavern rounds in their present neighborhood, near my last address, over by Tom's, maybe since she died, maybe "Tessa," of cancer, and he'd been living on his own; but no, the hardworking girlfriend had referenced having lived here by the creek as well... or was it just her air of anticipatory ownership through management, man management, and the exhilarating world of background checking other people's risks, the way she found out about me, hungrily engaging my references.
I think they must have agreed to always come here together, and never alone, because it's too comically common of a scenario for the landlord hubby to go and fix a pipe for Mrs. So-and-so, the divorcee or young childless widow, or widow/ divorcee with a sympathetic child, and what ensues. Maybe a shadow birth or a life insurance scheme. They must surely at least have passed some kind of bottle with their pants rolled up sitting by the water soon after Janine Wannabe came into his life endeavoring to replace his inferred melancholy with her palpable carnal and appetitive bounties, seeking to address her fiduciary insecurities with his plumbing and electrical business.
The thing is that this guy I dated, Zhann, is so swish on the phone, and he prolly still resents me for moving in with I guess I'm calling him "Tom" out in Brickhouse-Horseley's Craigs. Zhann apparently told my landlord's girlfriend/ fact checker/ whatever the protracted story of our perhaps having met on an app and I maybe prematurely being recruited as designated driver to his niece's Magnificent Mile dance-floor wedding and reception in the city. The anticipatory and self-envisioned Wife of Mike prolly put one and one together and said get smart, bitch. I don't care how butch he is; I'm not leaving my Mike alone with that fag. If anyone's getting to know the new tenant, it's going to be me-- because it could be fun. Or maybe a three-way. Drinks. Anyway not until after the spring (?) wedding unless there are already little rugrats bouncing about.
But then as the toilet/ furnace/ disposal-broken weeks clunked along (me a wreck fallen fresh from a dream life in a fairy-tale property) footstep-like creaks would follow my own going up and down the slick and narrow, high-gloss painted hard pine stairs to the bedrooms on the second floor, really not much more than a hot, musty attic, and cold spots and fragrant and rank spots would appear and dissolve unexpectedly in random angles and passages. One night I thought the washer-dryer closet doors would explode open when the European water heater turned itself on, blasting gas far more powerfully than normal, and the dogs startled awake to the urgent, mad attempts of the auto-pilot at igniting. I briefly imagined myself staggering from the smoldering ruins of Thornfield Hall in a flouncy, soiled blouse.
Raccoons started chattering and many other noise making activities that were less comfortingly identifiable. These invisible yet intensely present beasts occupied an alternate universe of drama, hilarity, and domestic corporal brutality right there in the same spatial cross hairs as my aging pets, tarnished silver, punch bowl boxed in tissue paper. The dogs drew crazy designs with their noses across carpets and into walls. The more needed repairing, the more I saw Mike, and the more he seemed reluctantly obsessed with hanging out, never at ease, always active in a pretense of punishing, grunting physical labor.
The fighting grew more intense, a real bag of cats. There was plenty of room under there in that choice crawlspace next to the water, where they could wash their hands before eating, presumably. Presumably after a conversation with the in-the-running wife Janine, Mike told me to go ahead and arrange the wild animal removal myself. I didn't go with the hot-daddy social media star whose wife had created a huge photo-and-video album of him bending over backwards, all kinds of ways, to get cute baby skunks out of chimneys. They charged $20 more per animal than another outfit called Animal Removal Service. ARS sent a guy clearly attempting to hide, with posture and garmentation, the textual contents of a tattoo beneath his ear. He pointed out that it's mating season, so two males in one winter hole is just asking for fireworks no matter how roomy.
I remembered entertaining the viewpoint of a determined and tiny-brained but essentially innocent animus undergoing a process of systematic extermination, even as it dutifully offers concessions and phones an army of sophomoric relationship interventionists, not at all conscious that its fate was sealed the moment it had entered the premises. I'd helped Tom pick out our sprawling, ivy-wrapped Edwardian deep in the summer while a total density of green was still sealing away the panorama of protected natural wetlands professionally curated to assure historical accuracy and provide stunning contrast to a former Tallest Building in the World, which rose from the clouds framed by goldenrod and tree-like daisy stems more than 25 miles to the east.
Before he'd told me that she died, I had my back to him washing my hands in the sink and explained I was just going to have lunch but that I'd just pulled a whole human head's worth of hair out of the bathtub drain, so I didn't expect to get hungry again any time soon. He sheepishly apologized, and I turned to look at his ruddy, close-cropped scalp and said I understood it wasn't his hair. Then we stopped talking, which allowed a menacing spirit to claim for a moment the unnaturally maroon, multi-legged glop in the bottom of the bathroom wastebasket; one might have briefly pictured a forest-green and rust pants suit over a smart argyle v-neck and many thin gold chains, a newly hennaed bushiness under a floppy wool cap, and snowflakes, bumpy lipstick and mascara, out by the mailbox, reaching in all the way to the cuff of her long beige driving gloves for some envelopes like the ones that still come for her, maybe Ramona.
Ramona Plantagenet -or- Current Occupant
I knew Mike and maybe his
girlfriend or whatever he calls her, maybe "Janine," had
been renting my new place out for at least a decade, so the flotsam
and jetsam of all those bodies would be boarding-house anonymous to
any forensic detective determined enough to search the pipes and
corners and attic and creek bed and crawlspaces. Neither one of us
though, I fear, Mike nor me, can help but identify the creaking, the
ambiance of living but un-housed consciousness, the parallelism, an
unfinished wish, the unsettledness, the strong odors, as anyone but
young Tessa, the reigning past occupant in terms of prolonged crying
out, of injustice (I suppose from cancer). This doesn't have to be
Even as smooth local gay boys, seasoned by their middle-class bullies, ring the bell and wait blowing vapor from their nostrils, their patient eyes bordering on expectation and then acceptance of either tenderness or relentless cruelty, talk up cable packages or gym fundraisers and shiver with desire for warmth-- yet nail their scrupulous feet to the welcome mat without asking to come in even during inhumane arctic vortices-- there, once again, helping himself across the threshold and stomping snow from his boots onto the floor he'd sanded, returning, as the result of his intemperate youth and careless workmanship, is Mike: repairing, rethinking, replacing, refluxing as if that nail had come loose every day for a thousand years before, but that he must keep on pounding until the nails are everywhere, holding every fly, sound, appliance in location. Yet the holes (means of entry) multiply.
I sip coffee or jab my fingers into the kitchen window flower boxes when I find he's here thinking of her and being with me and feeling how I feel for him and want to be her not now but back then. I sip and wonder if either one of us wants to be who we are at the time, in the year we are in; the calendar seems to squeak along like a room where a nearby fire's sucked out the air and there's sirens and neighbors in blankets with their breath showing, and then pretty, sunny days, then volcanoes; then it's time again to change out the furnace filter. I long for company now living alone again so soon after believing the mansion in the woods and its cruel master would be a final resting place, trying not to think about my inevitably over-confident replacement. I wake up not knowing where I am --but all throughout the day, and not from sleep. All I know is that I belong, and Mike belongs together with an-others who are not physically or temporally here and therefore not available for normal carrying on. This is what we have instead.
Monday, September 14, 2020
(Dictatorial Omnivorous Nerd Nerd Awkward)
Wednesday, September 9, 2020
I'm praying to god and then
try Braino and i'm back and forth
when somebody says, This is what
i can do: and a hand grips a lever
like you might see in a cockpit
and draws it down along with
every tic in my face neck and
shoulder, the whole circuit through
which i communicate and suffer
and click and point and decide, all
burnt out from the deviated septum
at the top of my nose to the preter-
connected jaw bone that won't open
and close right to the cervix in the
neck whipping around to the wet
wing-like struggles of the shoulder
blade to be free and finally dis-
located, all calm and moved only
by natural breathing and settling in.
Shab sits by arguing for extra
everything as if it's combat pay.
Monday, September 7, 2020
When i was sane i had crazy red jesus hair
how it made me look like a flaming canon ball going off the edges of LaMthyuh
how i crawl back up through the rubble of endless punishment
but now my tourette's so bad and they won't give me clonidine cuz it sounds so
druggie, and the other PA says i gotta go back on the opiates so as to come down
easy, so i went for some nicotine patches and they only had 2 and 4 when what
i need to even begin controlling the tic, which will result in a cervical injury, is a
12 to 16. So i got the 4 gum but it works for like 30 seconds and even my speech is
still contorted from the facial ticking, so i went back and bought a pack of lighters
and some american spirit. now, as i had prophesized, i have the tic and a nico-monkey
on my back to boot. and eating desserts like crazy. every process of my life is disrupted.
When i went to the emergency room i was still on regular medicare so the hospital chain
i ended up at had to take me tho they prefer to keep out riffraff. Then by the time i was
out with my four tramadols and a bunch of proton inhibitors i got dropped from regular
medicare and dumped into a hispanic-themed plan with the exotic doctors. I'm thinking countercultural though might be the way to go if i'm thinking there's gonna be a bias against my medicinal cannabis use at all the white hospitals with the five xtian stations to go out on and no msnbc.
Saturday, September 5, 2020
I still don't fully know or understand what happened
but I still have a profound feeling like you
pulled me back from the other side.
After that I hung against a scrim
and engaged with energized groups of interlocutors
through the gauze
You took my belly in your hands and lightly
with a pleased look at how simple it all is
It hurt so much
but it wasn't spose to be
then it hurt me even more
cuz i wouldn't let him free.
i locked him deep inside
i locked him deep inside
i shut him in my car
and laid it on the gas
i tucked him in my bed
all up around his ass
i locked him deep inside
i locked him deep inside
i put him on the porch
like an alley cat
i kept him in some woods
where he could take a breath
i locked him deep inside
i locked him deep inside
i locked him deep inside
Thursday, August 27, 2020
on account of chasing cans at the fair
so he had to go where they went
and they went to church at night
so they gave him his dead cousin's
dirty white leather zipper Bible
which he held gently between his thighs
Thursday, August 6, 2020
physical connectors, structures
Saturday, August 1, 2020
Friday, July 24, 2020
became performance through reporting as in a passion play, the
details of my victimization, and i say it that way as a nod to my
audience, who needed some blanks filled in, but also even after,
in performative description, so as to gather empathy
from ghosts, scarecrows, invaders, exploiters, the righteous blinded:
assault on me is now a thing that they can see and be seen seeing
i neither submitted nor killed because there was no choice to
make as an unconscious body, only a being state, target for a man's
acting out desire, fantasy, hate, grief, curiosity, lust, disrespect on
a responseless warm human figure who mostly can't see or can't
remember, couldn't move or argue race or gender, agency, consent,
the weather, how my choices got me to this, and his, our destiny:
knowing full well if i retaliate, i make it all come down on me again.
Monday, July 13, 2020
since the color of the bumps matched
i'd only seen it once before, and just
a dot of it, and that was on my father,
back of his hand
mine were few, but one on my foot
was activated during an attack of
fire ant itching
from there they flamed, while beige,
enough to startle any dermatologist
it's as if they've looked and seen their
own lives pass before them in
Jornada de Banyos Calientes
Wednesday, July 8, 2020
we were very immature actually
no one wanted a parent role
if you're talking gestalt, the
adult-adult transaction was
more about manly tool use
and there was the night
a creature tore shrieking down
the hall in a black slip
authentic expressions of socially
counter-intuitive archetypes were
contrary to easy
like any submarine of the
enraged, engaged, and
stuck on mutual aid
delight had to be wrenched
from a deep hard place and
cauterized in the pool
Mike's Swimming Blog #Appendix
Tuesday, July 7, 2020
so i don't end up in jail
they used to say that life's a
script you write
not the kind you steal
if i could choose the wave to
get swept up in
i'd be master of my days
if i commit to doing
i will never fail
Reptily in Exurbia (frag.)
Tuesday, June 30, 2020
how can you still look 40 when you've been 50 years getting fucked by murdering presidents
how can you be sitting down when a clock is ticking that's already taken my family down
can you let it register on your face after all this time the terror of having done it all wrong
you let them die
you're letting them
die, die, die, die
"Read to the music you likely hear accompanying it in your mind."
Saturday, June 27, 2020
The reason I didn't know is that I hate reading gay fiction as a genre which of course also makes it hard to write both since I hate it and also having to reinvent the wheel.
Lesson: Every wheel has already been invented. Playing naive nobody will buy it. That you are so un-read. As to have no idea about it and also arrogant.
Once again I swear it's alright if you want to cancel me do it now, eat me first. I want to take full advantage of the benefits resulting from catastrophe.
Stop me while I'm still sizzling hot, boys. I've grown exponentially more irresistibly rugged (although now i'm reaching the top): Because too many bullies in gladiator camp
I'm a dropout. All my training has been direct and in the field, them or me, and when society was a child. A man's got no choice but to go it alone when he knows that
Any group he joins will have a remarkably similar percentage of bullies looking for a long-term relationship, and they will smell you and they will come to you.
Better taking them as they come on the street or in an office and take them unsparingly, as if your own life means nothing to you, in fact less to you than it obviously does to a bully
Neither those who are infatuated with you nor you yourself are a gift of or to society; we are the necessary triggers that build natural defenses that make pearls from
Grains of discord, hot with hate, covered over by hardening slime, an anti-semen, shadow excretion that enrages men, makes them crazy for about on each other.
And then there is Paul, alone with a super-human animal, which says it all.
(and Shab, of course)
Tuesday, June 23, 2020
mm, mm, and mm. Mm-mm-mm.
The download page is infected with
My instrument will not play. It is
rendered useless without the proprietary software packages.
Momentarily the keys tooted like a "funky organ,"
then nothing, and all other sounds followed
into that electronic drain hole if they were even
being produced at all by that point
all music, no matter the source, was
how ravaged was it you might ask?
I would say very ravaged.
To the point where the only sounds were
created by the cooling fans within the console itself.
Dr. Donna Spah-Thong
"Once a doctor, always a doctor."
Monday, June 15, 2020
A houseist might set accessibility, for example, as a special category for cleaning evaluations. Orderliness or what we normally think of as orderliness does not necessarily apply as a best practice here. I know where my phone is because it's in the phone place. The phone place doesn't need a sign or assignment in either physical or digital worlds. I can't keep my phone place on my phone, for example, because it exists in my mind, which is after all a perfectly legitimate place to keep information especially when situations are so fluid as to render hand-drawn signs or even typed file names instantly moot.
Having crap all over the place can make good sense during periods of uncertainty and flux. However, be mindful of how widespread that crap and how big the sides like stress level to maintain it for long periods, especially after the bottom layers become resolved and have achieved waste or archive status, where the norms of "cleaning" kick back into place.
From "Notes for presentation proposal: Association of the Meta-Cognitive Talk Therapy Apologist Movement National Convention, Tulsa, Oklahoma, 'Hanging Out Matters,' 2020."
Saturday, June 6, 2020
hopping in grass cut to his bib
then the warning came out take cover now
went for a walk, fed the dog
south side windows were sunny
in the north clouds were sucking
it's unstable, yet the babies play
we agreed to don masks
but also adding mimicry of foreign accents
and false mustaches
mayor sez bein a K shouldn't be a life sentence
though some think it one
but they've made it so they can put you in a
cage made of human tissue and bones
and you live there letting others love your
life, can't hear your cries
if we could step out of the chicken suit
and just go on a date
but the context baby is previously owned
they might seem delusional
but this is our home, in their sleep. wait
a bit longer till they're gone.
(Petty Entry-level Geriatric)
that had been set up to spell your name
using negative adjectives about people.
each adjective came with a story card
that created a comic strip about you
based on the spelling of your name.
but then we quickly realized we couldn't
play drums and breathe at the same time
for example. We also began to hear spirit
pipes of the ancestors, and when the
spells came, i recognized that i was in
fact dictatorial obtuse nerd nerd awkward.
Monday, May 18, 2020
i reject each and every part of my life and yours
there's a psychological test to gauge which
board of directors will take charge of your
then you are released, like a product, out onto
the wavy game board. they get a win from you.
everyone with a 401k, a pension, is on your side
those who'd terminate the sick aren't economists
any more than the cure makers are. Who's to
say what creates the widest wellness overall?
a glass jar gets heat from a micro compost heap
the stinking contents swell from months half
baked. every item in the supply chain is reas-
sessed and slated for such a contingency plan
your bottles, your breads and cake, pork fat
render your freedom moot in many scenarios
as i sit here denying your existence i feel peace
the stillness of utter failure and condemnation
but the heart ticks on not for perfection but
rather revenge, karmic verdict, i sit here in
prayer for your punished agency girlish plans
selfishness turned sour every visible feature
of the material word with a sign on it saying
you piece of shit you fucked up fuck you for-
ever. and then, peace. for me. peace in some
relish a hammock of amorality a non-necessity
even to breath to allow the bichos the fauna to
crawl as did the Buddha beneath a dripping tree
Dr. Donna Thong
Temporary Emergency Credential Pending
Thursday, May 14, 2020
Friday, May 1, 2020
- Lil' Baby
- Prop son
- Church singer
- Preacher's organ monkey
- Gifted schoolboy
- news deliverer
- dreamy root-beer hop
- Rebellious hot-pants wearing meadow runner
- Theater jock
- Woods freak
- People's free meat grocery cashier
- Fur vault hunchback
- Precocious beatnik throwback
- Club dancer
- Brash critic
- Xerox operator
- club poet
- Penitent teacher of children
- Sober beach guy
- Demigod, gym
- Security Guard, parking lot
- Estampificador of deeds
- Daily sub: East LA
- Counselor, the bad boys
- Weekend staff, group home
- Long-term sub, single
- Private teacher, Major European Country, Confidential
- Small groups, companies, individuals, conversation, native, pleasant affect, expensive
- Adjunct, Ancient European University, Confidential
- Internet rodeo rider, supervising
- Universal contender
- Downsizer, deflector of the exploited
- Local community college superstar
- Rhetorical Cage Fighter
- Monster (pariah)
- New Guy is an Old Guy (Meh)
- Turner of It Up a Notch or Two Too Much Higher
- My Bed (that I had made) Recliner
- Sadhu, wandering
- Useful American Pet Uncle for spawn of oil kingdom
- Consumer zealot
- Dealer in Overpriced Antiquities
Friday, April 24, 2020
that and deep aquamarine rubber
were the first colors ever seen
its core was a vertical windmill
that spun with the vagaries of
gaze regard media touch action
like any wheel, finally redundant
yet carrying on because of physics
yet in control of the money presses
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
Tuesday, April 21, 2020
One set of wings and needles of the bough
Bouncing and of course squawking
He looks like the dog who lives there.
Well, he isn't.
He's handsome! Or she is.
Cold sun, a parkway middle of the tulip
stand had exploded sawdust added
perhaps explaining the power outage.
Friday, April 17, 2020
brushed on grass that's already deep green, not mowed
Looking up, vultures still enjoying their advantage
above whose house circling, we get closer faster
than just our own click; it's that they too are edging
toward us. Contrast the anxious red swelling waxy
buds on the grey branches against the pale sky
and fifteen or so carnivorous brothers and sisters
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
then a mini stegosaurus
turned toward a neighbor's
back tree and proceeded
straight up the trunk at pace
Another neighbor's tree
is home to vultures who
seem to feel relevant now
and ignore threats from
us our pets vehicles they
circle and repopulate
beam in on all that's weak
gently bobbing sleep
from the strongest pine
can see who's in pain
Wednesday, April 8, 2020
neighbors voices set up
chords and sounded edgy
overall, but the words
under my radar, perhaps
not M'Lady's, those are
utterances at focused
within rooms self-talk
moderate to low volume.
and yes sure lower levels
of hostility and or spleen
which one's grateful for
not sustainable and only
the views of hundreds of
millions of elastic tape
cinch it and now you can
every home a vector not
goat tied to a stump for
and they'll keep winning.
Monday, April 6, 2020
They're not stolen hours
Except that they're stolen from myself
Staying up late as if no one can see
Or imagine my non-participation as
I've stolen these hours for safety and
reflection, a safe space for flights of
fancy and abandon
Not like the halogen lamp towering
dark above the settee, alien in a
mid-century nostalgia motif
I can wander the home like Nixon or
Ray Miland, experiencing life as
While you rise early and clean yet
clean again, and tip-toe across the
dark like it's some foreign enemy
It only takes me minutes to say what
I have to say to the day
and a minute tomorrow, sure, for the flack
Thursday, April 2, 2020
But did I get the reputation, among them, that I was a type of white-and-into-them men.
How can you not love black men when you are standing in their den and they're alright
and relaxed with you there, showing their delight that you're a special theirs-with-them
I receive the red rice and beans, up until the sleeping part of the crib, where there are
coal-red blankets twisted, instead of a proper bed, silky bare mattress, authority, agency
There never was a more generous give-and-take relationship as there in those rooms,
above a business, removed from patrimony between the government cheese shipments
Ja-taym, pour Hoolie
fossilized dance communication
sick, damned and therefore
exempt as the dead
terror of nuclear
Montgomery Ward striped jersey
standing next to a wrecked car
anything in the dark
letters and cards
chain of gossamer
some of the men
relics of others
Thursday, March 26, 2020
The accoutrements are still.
If every chirp or high whining or hum were a voice
we'd be at wedding level
oops sensitive word
the furnace sucks and pushes
as if the dog is on a ventilator
yet I must remind myself to breath?
I have to stand vigil at the windows
Being saved from myself, my
driving, alter ego of hope-to-die
stock car racer; saved
from every awkward or otherwise face to face
medium grey sky, shadowless
indoors and out, fading not
falling, what if the sun were a
moving motion sensor
and if it could see your fingers type
it would snap back up to twelve again?
I want to suspend all movement to
sit and let the star sink in the dark
Para ti, Eduardo
Tuesday, March 24, 2020
Saturday, March 7, 2020
but a couple nights with one eye open
but i was also dreaming my ass off
uhm one guy he was a gentleman
his other half, also a waiter, wore
white while he wore black
and the same people sitting around
as i spin the wheel
their influence is an ocular trick
mostly it's not about trying to become
but what to do once
you are one
the unique smells and light of madrid
mixed with vinyas and this
house, here in the cobbs
I don't care about it
no longer does what doesn't
kill you make you stronger,
what doesn't kill you also
kills you but it
just takes longer
stronger was just another
click on the dial
the bright face of times past
stronger, now more,
has gone to the next
Saturday, February 22, 2020
Thursday, February 13, 2020
Tuesday, February 11, 2020
Thursday, February 6, 2020
barely able to find its vision in a
field of flag-waving motif
it was a foetus but not a baby
not a fox, but then a dog i know
then the consciousness decided
to self-freak, self-prank, and i
was having nothing of it i said
bring it on, your worms and teeth
it can't hurt me, and i like the horror
so in his passive-aggressive wisdom,
Braino sends a tap-dancing suit of
armor, and this was how i could tell
that sleep had vanquished spirographics
Thursday, January 30, 2020
Tuesday, January 28, 2020
Saturday, January 25, 2020
For this reason La Chama had become accustomed to strolling topless through the streets even in the evening after work with a nice wool skirt and a briefcase. Her shoulder monkey, Jock, covered his bald head with his silly, long fingers in feigned embarrassment at all the attention his mistress would get from mammals and flakes and the deities and the bitches and the College of Cement. Ranging from a lifted eyebrow to a flash of angry, swollen anal gland from the packs of male K teens.
Some say Missy emerged hideous from the perfect chrysalis of the Chama as easy as a zipper. Because the K's had a visceral reaction of hate when they see her as if she were an archetype of that which circled over their nesting caves in their earliest memories even though she has the perfect soft brown body of a flake.
by Phyllis, embedded
Thursday, January 23, 2020
Thursday, January 16, 2020
Monday, January 13, 2020
No. That's because I am talking to you, and I don't do it with a mouth. You are only even hearing the English because it's my organic empathic system that makes it not even matter and it's the biology of your no-K braino that turns it into recognizable symbols. In fact, did you know that if it weren't for the human capacity for what you call "denial," your flakes and no-K's could not even reproduce? Would not be able to.
So... I wish you would look me in the eye, an organ we have in common, and state your credentials as a professional by implication of your manner, sir.
Also, "What's your name?" is not the answer to any possible client inquiry.
You make what, low six figures? You're a professional K Hygienist?
I tell you I have a question. You answer what's your name. And don't look at me?
Put my lid down. You don't have permission.
I'd like to speak with a K.
Sunday, January 5, 2020
There's a water stain around the dog watering area
It's left a pattern of seeking its level in fine chalk
And there's another bowl sitting next to the dog
watering tank that has water in it. The dog watering
tank is functional, but it takes more effort to clean
and fill than a glass mixing bowl, which is what
the dog has been drinking out of. No one wants to
clean up the chalky wet mess around the dog water-
ing area, so both the bowl and the tank remain.