Monthly Archives: February 2010

seven eyes and three duhs [archive]

i thought
i thought
i wasn’t sold
i really thought
i thought
i also really
the flipping
i liked
the “realizing rainbows”
the ending. Continue reading

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words sound; or, celery [archive]

dedicated from Surfer Girl to Kitchen Hips, who wrote half this poem though she only half realizes it.

i am facing the sun and sit on my hams, hair in my face, pen in my hand. tongue in my mouth. i take my shoes off and my toes touch the grass, cold and ready. i don’t want the circle to go just yet but it’s dipping, blinking out of sight, and i decide:

i’m going to say things
just for the sake of saying them. i have
a deadline and so do you, to
chomp and say
cut and say
splice and say
carve and say
slice and say
chunk and say
chink and say
order, box, ship, and save.

sipping on a Neil Young island ice tea, i
chat with myself: “the universe
is such
7:11 PM
words fail
for once, i totally agree
once and for all
i mean
it just IS”
our fundamental lack of understanding

For the Kingdom! And the Power! And the Glory! Are Yours! Now! And For Ever!
hey man,
you sound like the sun. . .

For the Kingdom! And the Power! And the Glory! Are Yours! Now! And For Ever!
hey man,
you taste like Zeus. . .

For the Kingdom! And the Power! And the Glory! Are Yours! Now! And For Ever!
hey man,
you look like the Buddha. . .

For the Kingdom! And the Power! And the Glory! Are Yours! Now! And For Ever!
hey man,
you kind of resemble tom cruise. . .

There is also an interesting observation that a resentful elephant would abort its fetus if it fed on the young shoots of bamboo, one of the earliest references to a plant toxin.

just kidding, i’m incredibly

theory: words that word what words can word
theorem: what you have when you have more than one theory
law: an excuse to kill
fact: a place to build things
hypothesis: an illness preserved for the weak, skeptics

though i doubted the validity

the other day a friend told me that this professor had professed how an historian of old related the tale of an ancient and wise philosopher-king who once sang,

like when taking a bite out of an orange expecting milk
like when pressing play on a record player expecting the Renaissance

the cold vinyl Earth vibrates everything
but heat, singing the same
lyric: uh!
let me see you shake in your boots
going back to the old school
back to your roots

before an apartment
it was a museum, religious science
it was a church
it was temple
it was a minaret
it was a church
a minaret, a pantheon of trinities trinities

the first magic trick
i ever learned:
defining the number 3:
everything that comes before now,
now, and everything that comes after
now. a greybeard
in the audience heckles me,
silently says, “hogwash,”
like an H-bomb.

ok, i’m flipping through the deck, tell me if you see your card:

. . .loser psychologists, nerdy psychiatrists, punk professors, jock surgeons, intellectual dentists, artist writers, alternative reporters, hipster consultants, geeky technicians, bro lawyers, gangsta programmers, kandi kid designers, stoner djs, pusher cooks, hippie gardeners, dissenting carpenters, bum farmers, yuppy biologists, goth chemists, suits physicists, biker astronauts, athlete librarians, tripping athletes, clubbing architects, slutty natural resource managers, nudist shoreline planners, mountaineer geologists, hedonist politicians, filthy rich nymphomaniac thief poets, drunk jewelers, savage dealers, popper artists, skating musicians, surfing actors, dancing talk show hosts, baller rangers, high-rolling cops, star firemen, lurks fashion designers, leeches teachers, creepers physicians, straight arrows, slob bouncers, go-getting bartenders, prankster secretaries, stealing salespeople, thinkers drivers, activist models, juicers investors, bitches bakers, animal business owners, god baristas, being plumbers. . .

. . .niet . . .niet

Turkish kiss

. . .niet . . .niet

dancing trains, contagious
singing trains, contagious
trains in motion, contagious
people in motion, contagious
sand dunes, contagious
static tanks, contagious
shadows in motion, contagious
tanks in motion, contagious
water in motion, contagious
writing is motion, contagious

. . .niet . . .niet

the next part of my lecture is called, “be perfect and don’t give a damn:”

. . .niet . . .niet

i have time.
to kill.
i have.
time to kill.

. . .niet . . .niet

singer soldiers
soldier singers

. . .niet . . .niet

sing to a mirror, mirror to a dance

. . .niet . . .niet

a gash, a cake, a fire, a bugle
a gash, a cake, a fire, a bugle
a gash, a cake, a fire, a bugle
a gash, a cake, a fire, a bugle

. . .niet . . .niet

fornication and blood,
iron and blood,
burning in water,
drowning in flame!
putting faith in appearances
rock, the epitome
trash can deep within
found in a stairwell

no, that’s not it,
not the one i’m looking for,

realizing rainbows may not
have anything in common with homosexuality
is like
realizing that a dirty black vagabond
named Lead Belly
can slice you to
your knees as quickly as
Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart

gurgle gurgle gurgle–the sound of me
choking on coffee

enough theory, let’s go downtown!

once the Dean of students took so much laughing gas that he exploded, and for 13.73 (+/- 0.12) billion years he expanded on the nature of nature, but, too distracted by swirling, burning bowls and discs, i missed the most of it, but caught the


“and there just is infinity! and that’s all the universe is! acting out this one point in time. . . that’s what it feels like. . . i’m still fucking. . .”
even now?
“yo! it’s what fucking happens. and i really do believe. . . i can’t control me not saying that shit. that’s what occurs to me.”
well that’s what laughing gas is supposed to do, right?
make you laugh?
choking gas?
make you choke!
tear gas?
make you cry!
natural gas?
everything i say is
only natural,
forgive me,

lazy crickets, two hours forty-five minutes and you.

you, i pissed off your balcony without even asking,
and you, i didn’t even call when i flew to your Europe,
and you, i pretended i didn’t even speak ni una palabra,
and you, i couldn’t read bass clef even with your basement keys,
and you, even i haven’t lied to you once, San Francisco frantic,
or you,

Dr. Seuss, never
let me drink again:
“i sane am.
i am sane.
am i sane.
am sane i.
sane am i.
sane i am.”

dare i speak?

double dog scared,
Rexroth rockets haunt me,
Kitchen Hip hollers hold me,
no, no,
this isn’t
more of that beat bullshit,
i’m kraken-inspired, nothing-induced,

i’m an oxycontin-picking moron,
“i cannot speak,”
but i get by. i’m a Venture Capitalist,
all in CTRL.

it’s a long way to the moon, i know
it’s a long way to the sun, i know


concerning conversing distance:

howl to commune with the one,
scream to commune with the other. Continue reading

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disco [archive]

wouldn’t it be depressing if i died? i mean, not because of my death (which, yeah, is sad, whatever) but because my status on Gmail is “Alive.” i need an app for my iphone that automatically updates all my social sites with my true current status. then again, i guess we could just broaden our interpretation of the word “alive.”

ah, it’s all too much. everything’s spinning.

last night was DISCO MANNERS. Kim opened the night with a beautiful set of typical table manners BUT THEN Cal/Kal/Kael? and his fellow dj slew everyone in the room with a straight-up disco set. i requested Donna Summer, even though i sort of expected them to play her anyway, and they did it! i just danced and danced and danced and danced and danced and danced . . . . . . it’s all i ever want to do!

yeah, i live paycheck to paycheck, whatever, i’m obsessed with poetry.



(a poem of my own to follow shortly.) Continue reading

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I Feel Love – Donna Summer (1977) [archive]

ooh… it’s so good it’s so good it’s so good it’s so good it’s so good ooh… i’m in love i’m in love i’m in love i’m in love i’m in love i feel loooo ooooooooo ooooooooo ooooooove i feel … Continue reading

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stay up late with some heat in my body [archive]

thank you dugowsonlopezweinriblevi:

i had some crazy dreams last night. i kept waking up, slightly, and the third time i forced myself to write them down because they were so good. but when i woke up for the last time i realized that i had only dreamed of writing them down. here’s what i remember, fragments, fractions, fractals:

i was in my living room with my family, and a meal was set on a tiny table. my whole family, including Millie, was there and as they recited some prayer/grace, i looked down awkwardly with eyes shut, mouth shut, as usual, until the Amen came, which i recited in turn, because i like that word. when i opened my eyes the meal had transformed into something lavish, something that would most likely materialize on thanksgiving or christmas, which made sense because my family doesn’t pray openly around meals except on holidays like thanksgiving and maybe christmas.

then the table was cleared and a game of monopoly replaced the food. dice rolled, pieces moved, money exchanged. i, of course, was the banker. but we had trouble getting my dad to stay put. i guess he didn’t really feel like playing a game of monopoly with the rest of us and instead felt like making a cappuccino. pretty realistic.

then i slept for another hundred years or so and my dreams switched gears: Dan and i had infiltrated some sort of subway system structured so as to pass over water. at our stop, we nearly snuck out undetected, but stopped to help a group of our enemies, or whoever it was that we had been hiding from, carry a poor fat lady who seemed to have lost all ability to move of her own volition but screamed in pain whenever anybody nudged any of her limbs more than an inch. after we assisted in the transport of this overly sensitive behemoth into an adjacent room, we attempted our exit, again only to be thwarted by the head of this adversarial faction we had been trying to avoid at all costs. he accosted us and demanded we follow him into his office. we had no choice. after giving him our fake names so as to ensure our escape, he checked the names on his computer system, which, though looking like a contraption straight out of the year 3046, appeared to be running Windows 3.1. my name checked out, but Dan’s, which was something friar-like, “Father _____” or “Brother _____” or something, just wasn’t matching up with the Dan that stood by my side. we started to feel quite nervous and verged on the point of breaking under the increased scrutiny of this headmaster until, at the last moment, he burst out laughing and slapped the machine declaring, “like i’m going to trust this old junk!” meaning that he would let us go. before we departed, i glanced at the monitor hanging by my head (monitors hung everywhere) and saw that it had been rolling the credits for the Mozilla Firefox development team. upon seeing the name “Tori Wolffe,” i made a point of making sure everyone knew that this very Tori Wolffe was actually my friend and she had indeed been instrumental in the development of the greatest internet browser in the world.

at last: escape! i floated along a narrow valley, no, fell, plunged, free-fell from the sky towards a narrow valley with Adam, not Dan, to my left, then poof! he initiated his parachute and i followed suit. now we really floated, descending slowly and swiftly into this narrow valley. as we approached the ground, i noticed that someone or something had stockpiled shoes and other articles of clothes into the mountainsides. in fact, they had been placed so meticulously that it took a real keen eye to carve them out of the rock. in fact in fact, i soon realized that these were not mountains of rock at all, but mountains of linens and other textiles!

at that very moment, a whip of gust dragged us out of the valley and far above these small hills to the peak of some far-off mountain, where we landed. in the distance, i spotted an amusement park, and i was soon there. everybody, and i mean everybody (but not really everybody), was trying to get on this epically big rollercoaster. the thing was constantly moving and there were enough seats for everyone but everyone wanted to sit with their friends so you’d climb this skyscraper of a structure, flights and flights of stairs, climbing, climbing, until you decided okay fine i’m happy with this seat i think i’ll just sit here and i did. then it took you. imagine the tallest rollercoaster drop you’ve ever experienced, except twice as tall and you’re upside down and instead of going quick as lightning you go in super slow-motion, so slow that you could draw all the faces looking up at you from below, if they had not been but tiny blurs from the distance you soared above them. at one particularly winding turn, a little boy in a bat suit flew up to my face and laughed a little hello, to which i laughed a little wave of my hand at him, which apparently created enough wind to send him careening down to the earth.

what i did this weekend:

Continue reading

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Shelter from the Storm / Buckets of Rain [archive]

so here’s the story.

i just woke up about half an hour ago from drunk dreams of Joseph Frewer, the catholic church, tits, and constant roadtrips: my friends and i, always, driving here and there and everywhere.

and i woke to a fucking crazy rain.

it’s pouring a shallow West and–holy shit: West should be capitalized. North. East. South. and West. the West is the Best. the West is a very definite thing and i believe it to be the Best. i only believe in capitalizing very definite things. besides the title of this blog post, which is all caps for purely aesthetic reasons. also i capitalize things when quoting other people, because who am i to impose my capitalist tendencies on others?

i told my mom about the rain and she texted me “Poetry in motion. Cliche but true.” word, mom.

but, seriously, the rain. the rain! listen to it fall. watch it fall. it’s like looking into a mirror. it’s like watching the sun rise seven billion times a second. it’s like swimming in air. i need a rain partner. i want someone to come dance in the rain with me every time it rains. i want to get naked in it and run. even when it’s not raining.

do you understand how privileged we are, just to be able to enjoy the rain? i can mean so many things by that statement and i mean all of them.

can i read you a poem? will you listen? are you listening? who is speaking? who is listening? can i read you a poem? can i read you two poems? i promise they’re short:


I am a man with no ambitions
And few friends, wholly incapable
Of making a living, growing no
Younger, fugitive from some just doom.
Lonely, ill-clothed, what does it matter?
At midnight I make myself a jug
Of hot white wine and cardamon seeds.
In a torn grey robe and old beret,
I sit in the cold writing poems,
Drawing nudes on the crooked margins,
Copulating with sixteen year old
Nymphomaniacs of my imagination.


Take care of this. It’s all there is.
You will never get another.

how hard is it to start your own monastery? instead of doing what normal (i hear Adam, others, screaming “””””””nOrMaL+?!#?$%?!?$!?$$^^??”””””””) people do after they graduate, i just want to create this monastery in San Francisco, but, give me a second. it’s hard to describe what i want from this monastery because i want it to closely resemble the universe, whose inhabitants hate and love each other equally and infinitely. basically, lesbians, men, woman, gays, dogs, birds, computers, bros, punks, suits, whatever, whoever will be allowed to join. no restrictions there. and we are tax-exempt because we believe, we believe in each other. and, when we’re not buying eggplant and eggs and olives and honey and tea and milk and cheese and rose jam with the money we receive from donations, we write poetry. or listen to music. or talk to each other. but most of us realize that there’s not too much to say, so we mostly just sit and think. also, most of us realize that there’s not too much to think about, besides everything, so we mostly just sit. except that some of us experience the prods and pokes of the Earth too ungently, so we cannot sit but we can run and jump and climb. and so we stay there our whole lives, feasting on the glory of the stars, with regard to one in particular, and then we’ll die, corroding into the ground, dusting off the top layer of this rock and sleeping, while our children play dirty, dirty disco music and stamp their feet on our body. Continue reading

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