Sunday, February 28, 2021

No second shingles shot

Jan liked watching a little tv in the afternoon, or rather she didn't like it, but she was hypnotized by it when her husband Jan had it on, which was most of the time, because it soothed his nerves. She kept it on mute when he wasn't in the room, but then he'd start to notice there was something off, and he'd come back and take the mute off, and that would inevitably be when they were having commercials. The commercials were even more transfixing because of their special audio qualities, which had been outlawed for a while, and then they just seemed to creep back in. The volume and frequency alterations were probably still illegal, but someone was lying about it. Then it would take years of legislation or court processes to get them to stop doing it again even though it never stopped being illegal, and it never stopped being wrong. Only lying had stopped being wrong. The acceptance of and mass participation in lying and religion was the most brilliant social phenomenon of the moment. 

Jan would be out in the hooptie to pick up a prescription, and she'd try to read or imagine the faces of the other drivers. The ones in the nicer cars seemed to be gloating. They'd have a wry smile. The guys in the elevated trucks and campers were smiling too, but it was a mean smile. Minorities in crappy cars often seemed pissed off or trying really hard, squinting, to get around. They would be getting tailgated by a guy in a jacked-up 450 with a mean smile. Jan imagined how she looked to other drivers. I look like a freak. I look like a birth defective person with a caved-in head and a flabby, skinny white neck who is trying to cover it all up with a big fluffy beret, a cowl sweater, and giant over-the-glasses sunglasses. I give them all a target to look down on, except the minorities, who don't seem to be paying attention. 

The pharmpro is grotesquely obese. His eyes are enormous behind thick glasses. Do you know if Pharmsupply covers the Hopinaskipina vaccine. Let him check. Not. Ok. Rather, it isn't okay, but is it this poor man's fault? Wouldn't shingles itself be much more costly? Not if you die. Right. Shit I am speaking aloud. It's just a thought experiment, doctor, says Jan. I mean pharmpro. I know you don't run the health system. Jan remembers back to her days with the pharmpro boyfriend. I know what they do to get shiv for themselves and how they cover it up. This man has a generous smile. What does he make, 120? 150k? I want what he's having. Jan gives the pharmacist a little wink. That behavior and lots else is why, in her personal opinion, she can only be regarded as total freak material. 

The riots at the Mthyuh Preservation Society were on the radio. I should have been there. Had I known, were I more well connected. Of course I know we can't live without the Filter of Loathing. But it's all we have to unfocus on. It's a symbol of our systemic bastardization from society, whatever that is now. They could use a few good old fashioned fleke oaths to start getting their stewardship straight. But most are bought off by Pharmsupply blah blah. It would be fun just to get out. Next time the filter is down I will try and get in with radicals. Maybe even Jan would come along. Who am I kidding. How would I make him stonecakes in the hooptie. They are his life. Baby we've got to get to Highchank and stand up for the original shiv. They have stonecakes. Might work. 

Then the chant, with another not infrequent para-informational MPS interruption came on. The chant is accompanied by a distillation of all the free world's favorite music remastered to praise La Chama. Apply brake now. Stop in the moment. All future days are at the state's discretion. I am entitled to the following poisons and schedules. It was annoying how they read the schedules like circus barkers, in thrilling growls and whispers. 



Saturday, February 13, 2021

Dome & corpus


you can still feel 
what happened there
in the dome and 
the tired corpus 

they tried to get at the heart
distractions popping everyplace
see your own hidden pains in me

that full winding
tale is our history
not genealogy

their necrotic
leavings behind
make us all sick

until they're gone
and we're better
more exhaustion
mispronouncements


Thursday, January 28, 2021

The chopper

as a young and pretty
carefree big-ass slut
I slid on my butt
down a stone incline
to find my panties
or some others that
may have washed up

realizing it was a dream
I marched into a bank
looking for wardrobe
but the chic sommeliers
were stridently delivering
their empty trays with
no eye contact

there was a rousing barber
of seville scene, but no
one would break character
on the set to let me know 
where I fit or how to get
back to my tent so through
the main square of town

I followed a young man
with hair plastered to
his face, which was hurt. he
wore a maroonish overcoat
and he kept his axe in 
serious reserve stepping 
up and down the bricks



by Peg

Friday, January 22, 2021

Said a loser

there we are in montevideo, and here's one where
eyed globes rise phantom-like along the vena cava;
their tails taper and widen against the miasma
 
you would give me the secret to survival, and it
would work, and I would say wow thanks, and
you would say, oh-- sure. 
 
jazz-handed lymph newts popped off in space
between the bowels and lovingly glommed onto 
any flesh around to anchor and embrace

it clearly has a purpose but no self-awareness, so
the exact opposite of my current predicament, so
you'd think there could be a balance: said a loser



by Tom

Wednesday, January 13, 2021

Can i hospice out of this?

savage lash-out
too close to the surface
 
drop all the shoulders
shrug at the blowing fires

fear cannot be our guide
someone has to live despite 
 
the edges, someone has 
to occupy the boundaries




Dr. Donna Thong
(reinstatement imminent)

Tuesday, January 5, 2021

Fluency v. mania

to me you are the epitome of the perfick
stop don't go there it's far too manic
the words they're not special or even pictoric

i wish that i could re-meet you
in that steakhouse booth with a backache
and call it a night, a life
 
and be through, barely a bleep
now i see what ensued
every night in my sleep



by Ilyn
"for you, Shab"


triple hoarfrost


you fooled me into thinking you were there
long, snowy trail up to your driveway

then i thought i could handle this whole thing
without needing walls to put my head through

the weather came in waves, a triple hoarfrost
a still white fog that hardens patiently



by Ted
"for you, Peg"

Monday, January 4, 2021

er tips

stop grunting or they can't hear your heart
the wipes are for staff; use the foam dispenser
headband lady's name is Miranda, not Carmen
 
a doctor can be rendered speechless by his 
interpretation of your scan even if it's specious
no comparison btw tramadol and dilaudid
 
hint: which gets sent home with you from the vet?
there's one special shot can make pain un-flower 
in your chest without going to your head 
 
you can bump other patients from their rooms
get slushy ice water and steaming blankets
don't cross your ankles during a pressure read 
 
you can ask for the same wet mouth sponge
that they apply as a palliative to the dying
you can outnumber the staff if it's busy
 
better mention your occupation or invent one;
they want to treat a contributor to society
in this ambience, even a lie is ennobled
 
 
 
by Ilyn
"Just about half of Illinois"

Tuesday, December 29, 2020

i am rocketing free

i am rocketing free from so many grips
it is proudly my day to rock and stand
no one can bend me much

where are the ushers security to restrain
my remaining jabs at beauty surrender
today i'm getting what i'm feeling

this moment is about just keeping going
in this or the opposite direction
it doesn't matter because i'm free
 
 
 
by Mike
"for Hoolie"

Thursday, December 24, 2020

Stabbing gyroscope

what a nifty little weapon
superior even to the double bullets connected to a chain 
which are meant to cut you in half
the stabbing gyroscope covets reality itself
and takes out its purpose 
and changes it to nothing
i punish the present moment with obliteration
there are no triggers only my deepest impulses
which are all fears
 
 
 
by Reptily
"Amen."

Tuesday, December 22, 2020

Opportunistic infection

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

by DONNA

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

I hope that my illness takes you hostage

I hope my illness takes you hostage
perhaps i could pay you back

For all the times the thriving version
stood in a more perfect path

I hope I make it difficult to 
turn away as I linger

Your shackles chains and branks are lashed to
my beatific fingers
 
I can still see you in the middle 
of a constricting circle

Your necks are craned and faces cluttered
with shadows of this miracle
 
 

by Ilyn
"Not long for Illinois."




Friday, December 11, 2020

without believing, expecting

agreeable moment sitting facing
feeling all of you in my screen

and even when i turn away
i see a safe place with warm 
 
lighting, bearing my things.
The less hope keeps distributing, 
 
it must be focusing, condensing
the opposite of kaleidoscoping;
 
i'm eating all the crazy dreams, 
sucking only what i need from my
 
intestines, short-sighting, all
without believing, expecting
 
 
 
By Jan Jr.

Tuesday, December 8, 2020

predators


i hate the middle-of-the-boat assholes, center-of-the-herd butts
but out here in the fringes, you are weak

what's with the arm twisters, the climbing-on-shoulders nuts?
you're alone with your righteousness, freak
 
brother, loner, impossible to figure, full tank, adjacent
we've lived the same life but we auto-fear, trigger happy

they are lifted by the tendrils of their fecund archetypes
they effortlessly grow virtue like a fingernail or polyp

we are in satellites, fire wagons, sinister life rafts needing 
not shedding weight
 
what about the sanctioned predators at the apex of the pack, 
smugly leaning back?



by Ilyn

Saturday, December 5, 2020

They have to mine the muscle memories

They have to mine the muscle memories or else they could leave us out entirely from the battlefields. The players' physical responses are only relevant insofar as their hand-eye coordination. The animation, the realness, comes from my own live-action experiences and instincts. I have to be at least partly paying attention for my own physical responses --even stomach acids are measured-- to kick in. At least the K's always win. I'd hate to experience death again. 
 
Some of the players I recall this guy Ken who viscera really seemed to match mine maybe from his generations of farming. He was shy to fight and almost made me switch into mate mode by wandering back toward the cliffs, some of the abandoned ones, when there were plenty of flakes to scoop up and showing off to do with simple evasions of their little sling-shot stones. 


 
 
Charnelle Casas-Cuevas

Thursday, November 26, 2020

It's not as if we don't have feelings

but it's not as if we don't have feelings
having given up the agency but kept

the brains, and if not the actual heart,
the part the ancients saw in the ceilings.
 
we bear the psychological consequences
of your rampages through flake towns and
 
remote desmadre at the mercy of autistic 
High Chank teens who dump their adrenal
 
charge into our thought jars where it stirs
dark and slick across our already tortured 
 
logic spurs, amygdalae and venal charm 
receptors every day and even as we dream


by Charnelle Casas-Cuevas

charnelle, a gladiate

styrofoam wings
lungs jump and squeak

rewarmed remains
the dreaded stank

500 miles of ribbon cable
5 days from the cradle

the rewards are weak for 
the revived so to speak

they get to watch crowds 
cheer their corporal missions

from the comfort of a 
cupboard consciousness


by Charnelle

Saturday, November 14, 2020

the rock method

the first time i climbed to the top of Mthyuh my hair was still long and very red
 
i was still barefoot from dancing shiv on a slab of ancient desert pavement scrawl
 
i had to see the top and what her raging bottom looked like from the highest chank
 
summiting and launching and diving in were a single stroke, an ancient character
 
Braino knew my arc would blend and assimilate The Crack's northmost fissure
 
instead of bouncing back on the sheer force of rejection by her drumskin i rolled
 
and entered a natural vent, tearing upward through rock and sand and insect nests
 
red like magma my hair and blood left pooling on arrowheads and pots not touched
 
by human hands since before there were summer thaws and green tendrils to munch
 
that day i felt the gravity of knowing that stopped the endless stasis of my cart
 
and let me out onto the landing strip of time the frictionless rink of deadened glass
 
my feet still green rinds, sticky pink pads, gotten slick with the dust of monuments 

at the center of the longest day among the range of moments contending for noon
 
i wished Shab well and his eyes glowed red in recognition of the end of our scam
 
 
 
by Ilyn

Thursday, November 12, 2020

My toplessness

i am ready to take my immune system to a new level
ready for any number of cosmetic chiroplastomies
open to broken companions, fresh interlocutors

or am i fine in these gnawed out stones of yore alone
in some of the passages you can see your breath
in others the lost heat of industry allows my toplessness



by Reptily