Disturbances above Chang K. Chang Chank

 

The First Time I Think I Was Insane

Nope, come to think of it, there was a time before that. Ok, let's just say insane for more than a few moments, a sustained insane event. More than say 24 or 48 hours. Anyway, this was one of the times. 

There was an adult bookstore in Silverlake called Circus of Books. First off, L.A. is insane. Everything that happens outside of a building or a car is tawdry, violence, drama, the ugly spectacle of life. Except at the beach, where it's all the ugly spectacle of life, inside and out.

Circus of Books was supposed to be a great place to meet guys, and I was lonesome as hell for a man. You had to go through like these saloon doors. You'd hear them creak, and you get a blast of hot shame sure as the AC effect stepping into a supermarket out in Temecula or Palm Springs. You're supposed to stand there and look at feminine buzzers or paperbacks until there is some verbal but probably just non-verbal cues happening between you and the dream guy. You know how sex works. Even your breathing speaks volumes.

There was a guy, and we did all the steps and somehow knew to just buy some gum and then meet on the sidewalk. Well, all the real estate out there was strewn with really drunk down-and-out sex-worker dudes, so we ended up just going directly to exotic maybe persian-y and cocky hot firm gentleman's hooptie to hang out. We'd both driven there of course, so I had to follow him after we decided to go to his place, and I remember thinking as I was coming up to a bluff above his subdivision and looking out at the endless mud-colored waves of rows of honeycombed townhomes that "I will probably never find my way out of here."

I wasn't crazy yet--that fear was reasonable--except probably I was crazy before even driving on down to the Circus. The insanity was just having a smoke in the back of my head and centering himself. But wow, what a man I'd found. We wilded out on his bed--I guess it was a studio--and then I attempted to pry into his personal life. 

He was hesitant or feigned hesitancy and finally almost like I deserved it for being nosy, he says "I'm a hit man." That was like the first funny he'd made during the whole relationship, so I laughed pretty hard. But then his face turned to an open snarl. "I have a weapon, and I kill people. All over the Americas. South America, Central America, Mexico. I have a uniform. Do you want to see my uniform?" He went to the closet and pulled out a legit camo uniform, and not in a nelly way at all. With the other hand, he produces a military rifle with a sight attached. 

My eye lingers on the ceiling fan's twirling reflection in the cantilevered scope mount's rainbowy glass.

Then we had sex a second time, which I never did even at that randy age. Then the panic started setting in. All I remember is driving away and looking in the rearview mirror at the honey-colored townhomes and knowing that I would never be able to identify the guy or which of those places he lived in if I ever had to call the FBI or whatever. 

Then I called the FBI--from a payphone outside the General Hospital building, which is a hospital. I confessed to an agent--I confirmed that he was an agent--everything that had happened, and we both spoke in our deepest voices. This call ultimately went nowhere, but it seemed like I had at least completed some important action.

When I got home, I felt vulnerable. I was renting a tiny 1920's cottage up in the hills above Angeles Temple and hidden behind a 1930's six-flat and under Victorian bottlebrush trees which camouflaged the roof with furry red strands. Yet I could feel a target on my back. He had shown me the black rifle, the uniform, the telescopic lens. His car his apartment were completely anonymous in color; he himself could have been mistaken for nearly any non-white designation. I didn't even know his name. Perhaps Mario. So many Marios. 

As night fell, garish shadows rose across the 50's B-movie posters in my livingroom. I dared not turn on the lights. I climbed into bed and listened for a long time. There was some rustling, and then a snap. I carefully pulled back the sheet and stepped into the livingroom and stood invisibly still, in my briefs, holding a breath. It was completely quiet now. So I had to be extra careful taking a few more steps backwards and over to situate myself behind my overstuffed chair in the corner. There, I ducked down and waited. 

It felt great. Safe. I started to feel very sleepy. I was surprisingly generous in my lack of judgement towards how I was behaving. I gathered the courage to snap out of it and walk a little bit more confidently back to bed. When I woke up, pinkish sun permeated the same rooms that had been a scene of terror.

EPILOGUE:

For the next couple of days, I was alert and mature. I drove back and forth to work with the warm wind in my hair, accompanied by a new and easy peacefulness. There was the sense that I'd done something for my country, that perhaps I'd even earned my place in paradise. 

I was relaxing on the phone in my little dayroom on a futon chaise and found myself telling a friend about a letter I had received from the famous author Tom Clancy. It was a response to a note I had sent him on which I had drawn a large purple swastika in response to one of his many public antigay comments during those days. 

My grandfather, who'd been on the board of regents of a university, was once accused of nazism in a letter that included a swastika. It hurt his feelings deeply, so I wanted to try it on Tom. Clancy's reply was something like, 

That's not a swastika. You drew it backwards. It's a blah-blah cross representing the blah-blah band of warriors in butt-fuck blah-blah white-people land from Century blah-blah. And all those Nazis were gay. 

It was not signed, and there was no return address, but I wanted to save it anyway. I tucked it into one of the letter holes in my great aunt's desk. No one would believe that he'd written me a letter. That was the idea, I guess. He may have thought he was safe sending it so anonymously although my name and address were written by hand. It might still be valuable someday. Maybe so valuable that Clancy himself would get paranoid and want it back. Those paramilitary guys are crazy.

I was telling my friend ya, I have the letter right here. I stretched the phone cord to make it over to my desk, and there was no letter in the hole. It wasn't anywhere. The letter from Tom Clancy was gone. There had been no guests or cleaning personnel in my home. Only one night when I thought that I was being stalked by a hitman because I knew too much, was so sure that he was lurking outside my windows, but then got tired and drifted off to sleep.

Use mathematics to erase my virtue

It dawned on me that i'm a part of everybody's fantasy but my own.

In one world, the female sex had to wear special shoes.

But as a stud, how can i understand my own space 

so that i can begin to move through it with both dignity and 

self-realization? These are dim flashbacks of youth mania.

 

I can see that some of my neighbors have spent time in 

a place where they wear their caps high on their heads

and the name of that place is this place except

forty years ago. And i know because i too was there

and i'm so happy that we've mostly been replaced

Those ancients then had the good sense to move away

and because there's a college now it's more like

a coastal state populated with strangers who tolerate 

except for the neighborhoods that are full of natives 

and they hate, fight and give their lives for real estate

It's come to my attention that having washed up once

again on these landlocked crags i've swiped up the 

fragrance and taste of a man who got away and was

unaccountable before dragging back to preen and gloat 

among paintings, rugs and strange, non-war-begotten 

 

scars, puzzling visitors, mail, hours, gait, asymetry

of values, when or when not to laugh, unengageability

i judge them on these and so many other oddities

or rather studiously note the details and mix them in 

with mine until it's a snow chamber of unique flakes

Use mathematics to erase my virtue and my gains

and to count the missing tiles in the game

where stories played out before no one better than

dispassionate monitors, clerks and first responders

blinking at the will to carry on from universe to universe.

 

 

by Jan

modal parlance

modal parlance repercusses

to temporal presence

eminence to occupance

to immanence to rubble

 

yet i posit that deliberated

objectification is more probably

emolumental than confabulated

projectiles of catastrophe

 

by Tom

"I pillaged Umgungundlovu and made friends with Oda Nobunaga playing Civ V online!"

Foothills of Karir-Kesh

right after ladies' school she went raging through
the landscape
a trembling paper lampshade pressed with flowers

and came upon a wizened gentleman wearing just

bells

lolling involuntarily across the boards of an oxcart

a wintry spell was giving in to blasts of clover and

farts

he and the hideous dog lurched forward in the turf

she stood looking after them and even in the setting

sun

it seemed they'd never drop below the sharp horizon

[traditional]

Temple of Sass

 

brief testament

war really stimulates my war goddess 

my deep goodness that's feeling sour

fine drop your hemp trousers

someone's got to occupy the borderlands

keep them strong and be the first to 

cry out, or try and blend in secret witness

i mean kill, as many of the enemy as possible. 

to think of that is suddenly a thrill?

No it's the fire for freedom she moves me. 

 

by Reptily

Completion certificate

Aunt Jan has died. 

She had spent around 20 years with her vulva nearly on fire.

According to cousin Jan, there were repeated radiation sessions

and other horrors which she has detailed for us over time. 

For even longer, there was a woman who was not her partner.

For even longer, there has been a woman who had never been her partner.

We don't know if they were together in the final moment. 

Cousin Jan says aunt Jan was in excruciating pain, even while in hospice.

She also says it's a mistake to think that Man is good.

But she was talking about a totalitarian then. 

Today I had to watch another very triggering HR video about what else harassment. 

You couldn't jump to the test. You were forced to answer humiliating questions.

Some people like getting flirted with, but no people like being treated like a perp.

I spewed my filthiest most biased language at the screen as the little situations played out.

But sometimes I'm not in pain.

I'm in a female-dominated workplace where the mantra is just be flexible ok but what

the fuck is my job and how do i bill the hours? Who is my direct-report? I swear 

I will not sexually harass goddamn anyone. 

I can only return to aunt Jan's pink bare vulva.

How would she feel about a mandatory fucking sex-harassment vid? 

In her condition.

Where no man had ever been.

Do hospices require it?

Where was her lover Jan? Would they let her in? 

Like it's on fire. All the time. Even at church. 

Wait who's good who's not good it's triggering me. 

They say your employer will really appreciate your report. 

I know that for a fact to be untrue. 

It's all rigged my employer paid for this video and they are paying me to 

watch it again and again for the purpose of their own legal protection, and 

that's it. 

They don't appreciate anything. 

My employer's not even a person. 

Your god kills innocent people, or you're lying about him. 

That should be the lesson.  

by Jan

there's no we here

i includes all that i am including

aspects you surely cannot think of

when you look up my output or feed

cork, at the ports of local cacophony,

appears to take up words when i 

try and

speak

words

you, for me, includes all that you 

are excluding prospects for knowing

you better which may preclude our

ever getting together the way we 

should i mean assuming what's hidden is

way

more 

good

 

those who are not we are they, grammatically,

and it's cozy being exclusive that way

unless it, to you, means claustrophobia

and they equals the only ones who can free ya

i the parasitic twin enjoying too much of us

you and them, they

and me, I and 

you, not we

[loop]

Jan Jansdaad

All-sinners ground

Keep repeating: Now my ceiling for 

crisis is very high. Now my life is a

cathedral for mental stress-outs and 

physical breakdowns a place where they can

stretch and breath because the ceiling is so high that it creates a

micro-atmosphere, small only in comparison to our planet itself;

rain clouds may even form there, within the cupola, in August.

Now my ceiling for crisis is very high. 

each contender for the moniker will be scrutinized

drolly, with a sneer. or otherwise trod on, in 

everyday shoes.

Now my ceiling for crisis is high. 

approach much more authentically wry

contenders will be scrutinized

while i stretch, while i breathe, while i

sleep and sit and walk and stand and cry, 

but always briefly, not asking why

Now my cathedral for crisis is

filled to the brim with adjectives

with a devastated point

that doesn't even reach the picture line

even the shadow on the clock has broken

off; it colluded with rumors of crazy luck.

Now whatever time it is that's where this

temple can be found, temple of sass and

regret and malice, all-sinners ground.

by Peg

 

Career apparel

 

 

Ilyn on Shab/ Shab Under Ilyn

Congenital skull cracker

intermittent humming of hard drive resembles

distant ship in fog, but 

clanking buoy's peal

replaced by

cadence of Her breathing

silence brings too many 

default noisemaking issue

squeaky-high tones chords

sounds of ear

listening to itself

sounds that speaking apparatus

having been damaged abused

afflict surrounding tissue

pressure on canals chinks

astigmatisms of perception

or it was born fused on one side

upper and lower yapper

no option to rest disengage

on any day after

congenital skull cracker

 

 

by Tom

Ilyn on Shab Near St. Dick

Shab's mouth is splayed, consuming the environment as they go

Like the former rider of Shab, Ilyn's hands are missing. 

His spine is scrambled, his stomach distended, face swollen, ears like a bat.

2:22 2/2/22

 

Please don't do that, scar tissue

please don't do that, scar tissue

don't be the weed chokes his host

that's what free radicals are for

i want you to do the opposite of

arming up, favoring one side, 

drama queen, sky-falling chicken

it's ok to relax now, even to 

give in, stop resisting, live

knowing that you saved a life

by Braino

Body capacitance

you can see from hand mixing hamburger

that even dead flesh wants to stay together

throughout their existential disaster and

beyond, cattle wanting at a cellular 

level, same as drinking from the same 

pond, to bevel individuality, 

to fill the tank with commonality,

a temple of identicality that tempers

diasporic fears of wasting anger

at exploitation murder and dispersion

when everybody has a different version

of neutrality, destruction and creation

the ties that bind the stories of a nation

by Peg

Cruel facts of longevity

just sitting here, thinking about what i'd

like to share with a world of strangers

all of us floating, untethered by space or time

perhaps just that i hope your

landing place is kind if there is one

or that any endlessness refreshes itself regularly

 

when just floating one hopes to be in a 

company of well wishers if not wishes

coming true in a constant strumming

we must realize and gird our instruments

seek out the good luck and opportunity

already waiting in our personal associations

Dr. Donna Thong

"Recredentialing imminent."

Today's dog walk

you have so much you have to sort through what you don't want

possibilities are stacked in spilling-over boxes

each moment an opportunity to move forward

 

trapped in a mind a body that doesn't want can't won't do

sealed in brick and snowed in at the dead end of a 

street in a tiny imitation of urban settlement dishevelment

you need legs even to get the laundry accomplished

how to break out of the disuse overuse injury cycle

mix your targets among the physical virtual geographic

a hungry mind that prefers to eat sleep

a jaded palate that doubts and postpones

a vehicle loathe to cross emotional landmarks

by Donna

Today's dog walk

now she's an anchor on the leash

while i jog in place

low brown cloud layer but bright

long pees with the shoulder hunch

boys look at us

through the grainy snow mist

 

 

by Donna

Tripping

telling about a time when i was a

man fully loaded

is really sideways disrespect for the 

kind of stud i am now

one stem into reminiscing could also

draw a stream of horror at the

hungry animal its disregard 

for self-regard estate planning

this life wasn't yet a paradigm only

anti-paradigmatic yet

organized enough to fool a boy into

thinking he had time

my boot tracks in the snow are like

the bodies each a new step into the

cold delight of warm palm islands

we were an intimate crew

i have my colossal straddle over those

old-timey train towns and worn goat

paths in the gardens of other capitals

lonesome memories

now i am tripping off to glory

on the heels of my dad and mother and 

so many countrymen

so that the past may keep being fed

 

by Ilyn

 

Template

once your personality begins to blossom

you become more annoying

although you may see your

religion in all that you survey

that doesn't mean that 

religion must be affixed to everything

what is a handout

a handout must include public 

education, welfare, corporate

subsidies christmas and birthday gifts

litter to those who would

eat it

or honor honor that comes with no

religious affiliation or

indoctrination except for the belief

that government can run parallel and

not entwined with religion

though the law may have 

come from religion religion

is not the law

and the more you sing His praise

the more this becomes a scowly 

silent car

with passengers who'd just as soon

plug their ears with silence

mood agents conscious managers

want the poor to be less so

not that learning and learning to believe are the same 

not that they birth and suffer more

which is a religious notion

put forth and then abandoned by

religion religion when it was

all we had or when it was the 

government government that was 

the stick to the holy carrot

either of which can be fashioned with a

phallus but is it

godless is it godless if it's 

not religious

or what if it got started by

religion religion supposedly 

inspired by God a god who

is inerrant which must mean he

chooses the winners winners 

glorious for better or worse but

glory glory 

for better in the long run

for example would God choose an

idea that's religious over a

good idea that's inspired 

by religion and what man who's not a 

savage

is not inspired by at least one

religion and would not conduct himself

with a preinstalled moral compass instead of a

do-it-yourself one

or at least by his lower impulses which he's

going to know are the opposite of his

religion-inspired conscience

but there's a conscience without religion

way back way out there or maybe

closer than i'd like to think

a conscience born of stove touching

lingering physical pain

ecstatic sensory experience

recognizing flesh wounds pleasure

and extrapolating that to emotions like

loss bewilderment hilarity

a conscience that is and becomes a 

god by fashioning a god out of

conscience conscience that wants to use

the knowledge that led to conscience

as a templative more than contemplative

religion religion that frees and constricts

and annoys others and

steps on the rake of its purpose and

spirals into meta-perversions and

degrades conscriptively by way of 

murderers rapists

deprives minorities by ommission

grifters slavers exploiters

all the same sins sins that predate religion

religion so lonely so powerful destructive

gods that grant freedom only by dying

and quite probably not even then

 

 

by Ilyn

"Short by Illinois standards."

I could have been lidderly all the way into the next hexagon by now

apart from the especially remarkable moments their days kept unrolling easily and within the scope of relative safety

they moved on from one another's disasters grew to accept or tune out any resulting disfigurements

there was some pressure from the many many feet that still could be yet to drop

but this was a familiar and traditional pressure against which generations had developed mechanisms

their story was to live under new pressures develop new mechanisms or 

survive to tell of their sufferings

for example those ones who'd fallen through The Crack 

learned to live in their bodies but in our reality

but they had to come together in a circle

and talk about their putative worlds

they turned out to be places where suffering had a different definition but one that they could hardly remember

Periodical Insight

Vol IX.7.78

Today's dog walk

i'll try not to rhyme eye and sky, but

here's the situation: there are vibrations

there are lightning flickers but also high

wind cloud smears malfunctioning

xmas bulbs against houses and a double

ocular migraine. depending on which

way i look, various fields are pulsing

another creepy but not physically un-

pleasant day in a strand of sometimes

horrifying serendipities weatherwise

which lifts you neckways off of the

plain hard sand of quotidian worries

that you'd normally be depending on

natural phenomena to free you from

by Jan

Duddle-dee duh/ duddle DEE-dah

when i can't think

to the music 

better to sink 

what do you say?

then we can be

in the same groove

bobbing away

in the venue

letting it take

up all the room

then we can feel

at our leisure

when i can't see

to the future

better to be

in the future

then we can find

what there is here

and we will know

what to leave here

and we can think

to the music 

better to sink

what do you say?

[loop]

 

 

 

by Peg

Bothsidesism

to the poor or persons in the past i suppose 

i live the luxury of a most debauched king

while to my peers i seem a pitiable thing

 

the afflicted find fault in my astonishing 

complaints; the threadbare really seem 

to care about the level of my waste

prejudice, from the right and from the

left, from every gender camp and 

disinformation factory, theme, caste

 

 

by Jan Jansdaad 

(Jan's dad)

Snub

you don't know if you'll live throughout the night 

and you're watching a rom-com? you can deduce

that all prospects are tongue in non-literal cheek

or that your level of acceptance is very high

or that it's depression giving up disassociating

and probably not production values, star power

a sudden insistence on minding the moment?

a pain strip that overlaps takes on is informed by

the stack of strips below it, a translucent 

suspension of anecdotes, quips, romans a clef,

bulleted lists, self-pranks legends memoir

and these legs can take you from sofa to desk

and a desk can take and make havoc with an arm

and an arm is all it takes to stop an action or

refuse the sorts of service lacking which could 

mean the end of a long but very young evening

it's that you're tired and afeared of a rapacious

environment which can be slowed cannot be

slowed by inaction but can be snubbed as one

would snub an earnest lover with no worldly

blame apart from the ancient code she arrived

with, no more agency than gravity and water

 

by Reptily

345

decaying cedar lodge in eastern prussia

clump snow dropping from high branches

crystal blue sky

trying not to boil it down into an unfair 

and ugly blob or not even trying just

not doing that you know?

presents from four-score christmases

choke the closets and litter the plank floors

they're real planks that they'd cut from the

surrounding woods and made floors of them.

 

they were watching a season of Star Trek in

which the flow of the plot kept getting 

stopped dead when each character had to 

turn to the other and affirm their goodness

there's also a lake and silently dipping mallard 

groupings, legit choppiness or gently rolling

in the moon, natural waters that are filtered 

and stocked, ballooned over; still nature was

winning here, fungus by mouse by respect

by time no not by time. in the same

measure of time there can be renovation.

by age no not by age each age is just a 

fashion. there is only movement, only 

action, else there would be preservation.

by Reptily

Unangry

they say never go into a situation angry or you'll lose

but if your spirit is angry all you'll do is suppress your

anger and not be unangry

that's how breaking the rules becomes a spiritual

pursuit especially if you have to pay off your

transgressions

and if not are you humbled by

rue?

the day after a full moon i felt and discarded emotions

rocked the bottom of the steering wheel

snuck nicotine vapes near a hospital's elevator banks 

found the only saturday medical supply outlet

marveled at aisles of crisp alarming packages

how family characters rise to an emergency 

in direct proportion to the value of the afflicted

or sink in unison if there's even only 

one who can't hold her shit

 

by Donna

Dog pees on rug

in one full-moon day:

ran out of my vape pen

with an hour and a half to go before the

tow truck

who said i couldn't ride with him because

he'd brought his girlfriend

the stepfather says:

pull it up right from the middle

give me a snuggie

and the woman with the broken hip says:

home healthcare workers

what for?

and the jury says: 

let him go

and half the people realize

all we need is lies

dog pees on rug

wound porn

there was a four-foot tube going from my nostril to my small intestine, and i pulled it out, twice, once while vomiting. 

i figured out how to work some of the blinking, sucking, beeping machinery, and when i'd had enough, i switched it off. 

i took the loudly ticking clock down from its high place on the wall and removed its battery. 

i signed a waiver of liability so that i could be allowed to sit up in bed.

i told them i wanted ativan, and a full milligram, not a child's dose. 

i allowed a young male nurse to wrap me with a vinyl leash and walk me up and down the corridor. 

i became conscious well into a narrative with a daisy miller-like subplot. 

there in trinidad and tobago, i gave her one more chance to choose between the hipster boyfriend and the security of her father.

i drifted in the streets after they made their choice and moved inland, toward the volcano. 

i evaded pickpockets and thugs in a dark terrain of campfires, our shadows splaying against the outer city walls.

i got a ride in a jeep full of local teenagers speaking tagalog.

i cooked a pork shoulder in an aluminum pan at an outdoor community kitchen.

i slept in a flophouse full of mattresses in wall alcoves and flashlights and men.

i met the girl who was going to solve the problem of the tracking wires embedded in everyone's eyeglasses or canes. 

i was desperate to find an overall solution, but i could only wander from situation to situation. 

by Donna

Repast

watching her dance plays

all their muscle keys

her inner commands

can freeze them in place

but she can't reach me

the pitch of my jib

bends off her song

and won't let me on

my breathing, long and

unobstructedly

tacks the vanished spell

only when she's gone

only when alone

can i read her lips

free from the bleeping

moment's disorder

wings sweep on the floor

panic and truth merge

is this not my drug

or not me at all

 

on stolen spirits

please the vacant skull

take time and hurl it

with your polished shoe

 

realization

is after it's through

what's not caught is true

so what have you done? 

by Reptily

Skeleton parade

i can feel the life 

coming back in

and it's terrifying

as a skeleton

while before my 

past wrongs paraded

before my eyes

now more are on the way

i don't set time

but i did invent it

so to steal it

from the chill of night

 

but the warm of day

is tending light

must i still pay

for not living right?

 

 

 

by Reptily

Smoke crazy

She keeps going out to smoke this

in to smoke that

like breathing except the opposite

she smoke crazy smoke crazy

She went to college and all that

end up like this

in mutually exclusive states

we trial dating while mating

Half the day she's in pain from 

electrolysis

she gets that but not how her 

soul might fit, soul might fit

Lady in the main, second is a

man for this, a man 

much more than any other gender

that's one for you, one

 

she smoke crazy

we trial dating

oh she a lady

and he a man

[repeat]

by Donna

Lyric for electric organ, fog machine, and choir

Look, i'm touching my scalp, right near the brain

it's an expression of painful humility, vulnerability

 

as i read the prognosis my heart was 

thumping with surprise [begin drum]

 

to do it and feel it at the same time

the answer was always why

 

when it could have been a 

fun time, fun time [begin organ]

 

free, and free is what they hate us for

fire, it's what our lives are given for

we: have no regrets for living on

fire, it's what our lives are given for

free, and free is what they hate us for

we: have no regrets for living on...[fade]

 

Donna Thong

"My name is cool because it's a command."

Any single lover

it's only 11:30
but my night is over
and it won't be getting better

reminds me of the time
i made out with a man
who turned seedy and spent

i'd like time to
be there to make you
want to get to more time

by no means will i

give in willingly to sleep

it must win me over

 

nor will any single lover

dictate my ups and downs

or cause me troubles

 

 

 

by Donna

can't go back/ have to go back

can't go back/ have to go back

still beat up/ they're on task

boat that spins/ must join in

 

out of doors is a hot griddle

other persons burn too hotly

i can diffuse their iterations

 

from within these walls and

tunnels/ can't stay here/ can't

leave, reaching way beyond 

 

my fingertips what i can feel

is read only/ listening trying 

to jaw the words correctly

 

i want to stay here forever/

this is not at all what i want

too hot/ stay in/ want not

Dr. Donna Thong

Center for Therapeutic Re-credentialing

Rm 409

Television leaked into the vacuum of my inactivity

Hunched over an ancient glory hole in one of their urban sub-baserock ant tunnels, pressing my eye very close, I could see a television. Its sounds and light began to leak day by day into the vacuum of my inactivity. 

 

I can feel my emotions getting on the roller coaster provided and off the one that's in my head and pretty soon, one is just a template for the other, but which is which?

by Reptily

Moral Crimes

The poor make truer friends

or lack of means starts trends

that beg the path of more security

in that the opposite of debt is money.

The rich are fickle and strategic

needing all the more to shirk the tragic

prone to see the emptiness in bounty

but always find the energy to count it.

 

Being in the middle you're suspicious

Poverty becomes your real subconscious

you notice tiny fluctuations

and the moral crimes of rich and poorer nations.

 

 

 

by Reptily

Sincere Little Face

i was at least gonna 

log in an

leave some pathetic

message to no one

but then i remembered

ye are already damn 

complete in Him

and my song carries on...

i got my grrl with her

little sincere sleeping face an

glowing red nails 

from the rag weed an the

 

biting flies she's ad-

mittedly an animal but ya

could eat her up like a

cannibal and every little

 

move that she makes

is worth a second take cuz

she sleeps by my side an

poses for greeting cards an

 

deals out the faces make a

grown man cry like it's

his own baby child looking

up and smiling missing a

 

tooth but pushing

through the discomfort so she

can be there for you an be

there for you there for you oh

 

CHORUS

my child's got me got my

eye got my face got my

eye got my taste my child's

got me got me in her embrace

my child my child my child

REPEAT

by Hoolie

Peg's Failed/Anachronistic Do's and Don'ts for Petty Transgressions

• Just hold the item(s) in your hand and walk out the door with it/them, purposeful but unhurried. Then if stopped, say, "Wow, I guess I spaced out. I want to buy this/these, but I also wanted to compare the price over at [name of other store at mall]."
• If you must flame while in a hooptie, keep hands well below the dash.
• If you are trying to get back more shiny coins, choose a teller who seems to be flirting with you.
• If you have a lighter in your pocket, and there's another one on the table, use the one on the table, and then put it in your pocket. You now have two lighters.
•  Get the shiny coins up front, but make sure his purse is close by in case he wants to add items or go off menu.
  
• Press a dab of his pre-cum between your thumb and forefinger. If it's tacky, use a condom. If it's stringy, you're good!

Take these to switch up sleep type

story-verbal sleep

itching-layered

many-roomed structure

places on maps

view from grave

view from above

view from a passing conveyance

figures beckoning

bent coupling

generic horror

deeply unasleep

torque of somnolents

conscious paralysis

tandem breathing

ever sinking

scary clear

content bemusement

seeking moments

stranded in time

able yet not able

about the bed

night shrouded

stark light black curtains

sweet avoidance

stolen

form of eating

brain stuff

closest listening

despite discomfort

ring of saturn

bobble head

I thought it was all over and then woke up to a whole other day

Yes, I used to contemptualize everything

like the bitter, curmudgeonly professors at

the beginning of my career. They filled the

smoking lounge with grievances and

plotting, derisive cackling in their blur of

fear. But for some the failure has been a 

tenderizer, the corrosive beating toward a

climax of surrender. Is what I'm hearing.

by Peg

Murder grinder

My face was smeared across all the killings

one of them

killed when he'd temporarily forget how to type

innocence stuck in back corners presented as 

stupidity, passion

a mocking deadly innocence put mildly

nature predating pre-forgiveness

unchanging through ages of moral fashion

 

But when they think of murder they see me

I believe I have to tickle them with it

They feel they need to get all into it

I am this free-channel boatman

skimming along

living my life with all these dead along

keeping my eye on what can change

not what's done.

by Ted

The better form of sight

i like to hang myself by the ankles

over the River Plaque, and swing

and watch the sky rock up and back

 

where nature's harsh incense rises 

from tiny clouds with dark edges

fertility independent of relationships

processes do better without light

blindness is the better form of sight

among internal organs is the eye

by Ilyn

"Short for Illinois"

Crappy lighter

births could no longer quell my pregnancy

too many selves were building inside me

i can no longer be always in delivery

 

so i bought this crappy lighter to keep me lit all night

i stand vigil for the principal inseminator

like a lover i will greet him and then end his life

 

 

 

by Peg