anachronizms

mdlxxii

2012-01-28T09:33:00.000-08:00

The rain that writesETCETERA on our face

—Hugo Claus

Does reading about yoga,count? I am not a

sphincter.

Hello. No rain today.

To know what it’s liketo be sprayed dead by a look.

—Cynthia Arrieu-King

mdlxxi

2012-01-27T06:43:00.000-08:00

On this page I see how you grewup

and am surprised. Every day now I

go back to this page. Sometimes we

grow up and sometimes our mouths

wrinkle and smudge. I don’t really

get anything from it. Sometimes

we fly into the hands of another

pair of pants. These are good times.

Most all of them. Sometimes we

lash out like children. It’s important

like shampoo. Sometimes we lash out

at our children. Our suppressed hope

is they remember this. And not just in

flashbacks. Sometimes we spread

fairy dust in neverland. We go

back to the kids we cheated

ourselves from. We are

not evolve. We are not

anarchy, kidding ourselves

with happiness. We are. And

always hopefully love. And

measuring our height in

elementary school. And

being okay, better than

ever, smudgy, some

scales and hunched

back. Sitting in our

living room at the

kid table with fish

eyes – not even having

to wish wise.

mdlxx

2012-01-26T10:55:00.000-08:00

You can’t eradicate words meaning violence.

In fact, that would be defeat. Right? Well,

I should be heartened. Take the pink from

heart. Try putting aheart into that thing

pumping inside your gut. There are

issues. It fitsnicely into a CD sleeve,

however. Or red. Or the after-effects of

Friday that he wants me to tackle. Am I

pathetic? This isnice. I should be. Yes-

terday was nice. Iwant to go home and

go to bed. And beheartened without

being a heartattack.

mdlxix

2012-01-25T04:58:00.000-08:00

Facebook finally paysoff!

—Cedar Sigo

Can you send me IMG_3851? I want to include it

in this poem. I willpay and you will find me

ardently negotiable.

I notice that your friends are starting to mix with

my friends. Thisbrings judgmental to a whole nother

level. I notice thisbefore call Larry and laundry.

Do you think that’s really his name? My friend Chin

(same age) just legally changed his name to Matt. In

Japan.

mdlxviii

2012-01-24T12:30:00.001-08:00

The very fallen streetof nuts?

—Kenneth Koch

mdlxvii

2012-01-17T10:27:00.000-08:00

My young wood that Ioverwinter

—Hugo Claus

mdlxvi

2012-01-16T13:19:00.001-08:00

our tentacles swayingwith excitement

—Juliana Spahr

mdlxv

2012-01-15T08:27:00.000-08:00

In less than 15 years, “the US has gone

from producing around 300 to close to

4000 MFAs per year.” This message

by way of Juliana Spahr.

If you go hard yougotta get on the floor.

J Lo, my reasons for doing this are obvious,

don’t you think? I goout of my way to

expose my blemishes—but this (his-

torically) is unintentional self-deprecation.

Subsequently, massive amounts of code-

word BOYFRIEND get relegated to the

ether. And massiveamounts of codeword

LEATHER. “We keptgetting caught in

complication” (Spahr). More emotion.

Less crank. Coolly,we sip our lemonade.

mdlxiv

2012-01-14T12:01:00.000-08:00

I had every intention of telling it slant. Or

fears about doing otherwise and my endless

reasons for ever bringing it on. P.S. Ithink

cornbread automatically disqualifies me.

Everybody knows I’m amotherf**kin’ monster.

Kanye, my reason for doing it (he says constantly) is

I feel crappy. Andmaybe I’ll go home early.

And talking lots via IM today. Drop it drop it.

Well, I should anyway. First things first,

he wants us to go to couples counseling. Nick,

Yuki, Larry, Shah, and Otto’s car, which I

haven’t even seen yet. We have whiplash,

or one of the healthiest relationships ever.

Which—well—if not amusing & irritating

& cute all at once it’s like—but—what’s our problem?

mdlxiii

2012-01-13T07:14:00.000-08:00

Funny you shouldmention poetry. I have heard of it.

Alright. Happenmore. I’m also predisposed to leak.

Or leakage. Hi fromGaylord. Reading Cynthia’s

Lake Systems. Itching to wash the dishes (an

allusion to a pipe dream). Have you heard of me?

I’m not knowing what much to think, fuzzy-headed

about his not telling his parents. I feel crappy. The

right word is probably sketchy. What’s for lunch?

mdlxii

2012-01-12T09:29:00.000-08:00

He seemeddifferent. More mature.

Veer right at the “Big Quarters” sign.

Talk. Impress. He is almost...wretched.

Not happy, but hanging on to this optimism.

I’ll think more of who returns from Salinas

from here on out. Butfirst, a Purple Rain

party with Peaches Christ. I had it in me to

go further with it, the details of my experience,

these words. Butthink nothing of it. What

makes this happen? Aream of nothing.

A chain-link fence for ghosts.

mdlxi

2012-01-11T19:49:00.000-08:00

Why worry losing it?

Even though he seemed different

I have earned evolving. I’m so

chummy with the complexity

of barebacking in this idealistic

world where I am so in love.

mdlx

2012-01-07T22:07:00.000-08:00

I am not intended tobe a factual statement.

Wait! My luck isrunning out too fast

or something about a mid-career crisis.

One hubby is Asia. I intended for my

financial statement to be included

in the file. Butthere are no finances.

The weather is a Subaru, which is an

homage to homages. Iaccidentally

allowed for easy decoding. This is

eloquently inappropriate. This is

has been. We engagein public

discourse before anal intercourse.

Which makes the paparazzi smirk.

I wish no more than for a long,

fulfilling, utterly skeptical life.

mdlix

2012-01-06T10:43:00.000-08:00

Why would someone dyetheir dog blue?

Sorry, Jordan, for stealing your update. I left

two hundred dollars in the ATM at Walgreen’s

and totally got credited for the entire two hundred!

All I had to do was ask. And not die of embarrassment.

I wish nothing more than to get boned. To move on.

And that’s not putting it eloquently or appropriately,

is it? What can I doto keep this? I’m okay. I’m

seasoned. I have tobe so worried to think with

someone else. That’spart of my mechanism

with exes. Exes andohs. I do believe my

life is not a flash in the pan. A total of only

twenty dollars. Along, happy, utterly

fulfilling life to get skeptical about. To

get boned, bored, and grow a beard.

mdlviii

2012-01-05T12:18:00.000-08:00

But yet they do notsell them at Walgreen’s

I do believe my life is not just flash in the pan

dates with whom I’m still chummy. Nor hours

spent dancing. Thecomplexity of life wants

a better analysis. Iside, however, with the

birds (and their quiet squeals), in a New York

state of mind. I’mstarting to think in fives.

I’m liking thinking in fives. And Wells Fargo

bank transaction records (in a New York

state of mind). Istill want him happy. What

does that mean in this idealistic world where I’m

SO in love and monogamous with someone else?

Who gets jealous of all this...this complexity?

Certainly not the U.S. Postal Service. But

where would a long line be so friendly [insert

missing joke]? I wishnothing more than

utterly fulfilling. Skeptical? Of course!

It’s in his every nature (and mine)! To

grow a beard that’s not putting out. Like

floating in boredom, but eloquently.

mdlvii

2012-01-04T01:32:00.000-08:00

Congratulations! You are eligible to receive.

I think it’s just the after-effects. Am I sipping

Sierra Mist? Was Idoing same at Starbucks

at 7:30 this morning?

The birds squeal quietly. I’m feeling. Not at

panic. Justexceedingly. Is it hyperbole to go

on and on? Part of itis dancing,

sure, and the open morning. Morning’s

openness (my throat is empty to not

destroy it). That’s areally cute

necktie. My mind isan ass. No drip,

severe congestion.

mdlvi

2012-01-03T17:33:00.000-08:00

Overtuning the Tuna

O is the color of this name

—Michael Palmer

Forgive my misreading til hell breaks loose. Or til

hedgehog the lawn. Morning is broken; the buzzards

are loose. A page issitting next to a bin. But seriously

the tweets are fine and all that. I’ll have lunch with him

tomorrow. The fact isI’m a little guilty-ish, feeling

distant (distinct?) from those folks, because he wanted

someone who would listen to him (obviously).

Much due to this new phase. This tree’s a fist without a

word. When they seemto want to spend time, to want to

listen. And I’mreading in bed. Eileen’s angels with

pokers for trumpets. An interview with sizzle; nobody

says much. Halloweenis a success. Good. Exhausting.

Pretentious. Everything in a hurry, like Armageddon.

Here I am at Chevy’s (obviously). Doing

Team America (didI see this at 7:30 this morning?).

Is the article I read going to be by Peter Sellars,

giving me a big hug on Friday night? He did he did!

The juxtaposition of Artaud’s & June Jordan’s texts

was harsh. The guywho played Artaud was incredible.

Will I wake up happy tomorrow? Wednesday? I’m

all so well put together, wondering at assuming,

and very much in hyperbole. Going on about how

exceedingly. The happiest feeling by Ron Silliman.

mdlv

2011-12-28T14:08:00.001-08:00

None of the Above

Wow! Maybe his voiceon the other side.

In a developing relationship. If it’s still

happening. With afellow named Justin.

Don’t think too deep on this or you’ll

sneeze. Magicallyblow away. It’s a

case of the blond Octobers. At

1:44am, pop all your fingers and

promise the police I won’t fall asleep.

Did you want to play cards? At

night it’s like nothing happens.

mdliv

2011-12-27T18:10:00.001-08:00

All of the Above

I used to shampoo with a bar of Ivory every morning.

The lighter with the black panther with a yellow-green

snake wrapped around it is acting up. A “talented and

versatile” Bay Area actress dies after “an accidental

plunge from a fire escape.” I plan to read aplenty.

Tonight alone I’ve finished three books. Bat latté.

Just no oomph. Ihaven’t tried the red stuff yet.

Ready for a shower, though. Is it because I had

lunch with Jamine at Pakwan’s today? Or sweets

on Sunday? Or thedonut before Otto’s dinner

last night? Becausenow I have so much more

muscle from running. And waiting for a text

from Row. Who knows,etc.? I just don’t

like it. Starvingmyself on some guy with

huge, curly, rockstar hair; I’d think he was

a big woman if I didn’t hear his voice on

the other side. Again, who knows? Then

there was the woman (deaf?) who kept

not hearing her absurdly loud cellphone

blaring some (equally absurd) tune on the table.

mdliii

2011-12-24T04:44:00.001-08:00

Cat Mist Tastes Funny

What if everythinggets dreadfully redundant

and/or boring? – aperfunctory echo I’ve mis-

treated while refusing to meet friends for cocktails.

Five years later I’m looking at pictures from Boston.

The city grew by erection. I repeat the part about Sunday.

It’s Sunday. It’s sixin the morning.

“Reach in my chest and massage my heart.

I am not dead.”

—James Schuyler

I ran after work, rather than in the middle of it. Otto cooked a

cloud for the rest of the week. The apartment is done, like the

rest of the day; a Vitamin Water in the sink. Kenneth Koch’s

glasses are upside down but the sun is almost up. The ring

in my ears is a reverie of birds. Or a flight returning from

Hawaii.

I feel lazy without my voice. The ring swarms my ears. Am I

maybe a fossil? Kevy’s posting sick links. Lanford Wilson

passed away; a soft spot in my heart for living his elderly

priest in Angels Fallat 21 years of age.

Hopped a trolley, reading uphill. Had lunch with Nick

at our Chinese place on Kearny and it turns out he had a

romantic date on Friday night. He kept saying it was surreal.

Goodbye Chinese restaurant on Kearny. With all the ugly

fish in the window. Goodbye childhood, so to speak. Iget a

haircut. A reminderof the 80s (as told by the 90s). She chopped

one sideburn off and left the other. It’s okay, though. I’m the
devil for Halloween.

mdlii

2011-12-23T17:36:00.001-08:00

Sunday Morning

This is okay, but I crave a little companionship.

A social quality is important. Laughing over

hallucinations. Surprise talk with Ben on the

phone last night. Perrin says “hi.” I ran afterwork

rather than in the middle of it. (Work?)

The air full of Schuyler and cat mist. I wish it were a

seedy Sunday morning. But at least I don’t hear any

rain. Sit inside fordays complaining of rain, secretly

pleased to be shut in.

I’ve got lousy taste. By that I mean everything

tastes funny. By thatI mean this orange juice

tastes horrible.

mdli

2011-12-22T01:14:00.000-08:00

One on One

The worst time to sleep is between eleven in the morning

and one in the afternoon. The most embarrassing thing

should be the most visible. The latest culprit, for example.

But one good thing is almost any time we ever get testy

with each other these days I learn something—I mean

the process is productive. And rarely the three of us together

compared to times recent. Also, avoid stating (and restating)

the obvious. Stay upuntil 4am playing Apples to Apples

with Otto, Erin, and Masashi after watching hilariously

horrible Sucker Punch. Continue to reenforce, amend,

chronologize electronic photographs. What is the goal?

Besides get quarters, flowers (maybe), yoga instructor,

and clean blinds? Soft rain on the sofa. Ottostudies

beatnik fashion for a major corporation. Spring line,

2012. Richard is atMezzanine for Britney Spears.

I read a chapbook by a poet I’ve known for several

years. I’ve never readanything by him (as far as

memory can tell) and he’s now a completely different

person to me. Hemoves up several notches. On the

list. Everything isin a list, is prioritized. It takes a

lot of strategy to incorporate the random. To ensure

random. Your desk,wherever you make it, is the

bold new bloom of modern industry. Quickly copy

and paste each new email from Ron, careful not to

glance at a word, saving the savor and surprise for

a carefully scheduled time in the advance. In the

forward. Make a note;ensure it’s on the list and

properly calendared. Schedule time to flirt online.

Force yourself to brunch, starving; wolf down

waffle with hazel-nut flavored maple syrup and

chicken (add fruit and share half with Otto).

mdl

2011-12-21T01:07:00.001-08:00

Three Attempts toSpell Bernadette

It’s all too fast to princess. I sit on TheHistory

of Homosexuality inFilm. A lightbulb thru time.

Reading a bunch of pictures. No light coming in.

Just trying to finish something. I am just as I was.

I consider this. Heand Masashi are going to San

Diego for a conference. I struggle through a dream;

things that can fit into a shoebox. Shoebox appro-

priate. Wake up in asnuggle and the rain. Walking

here. Thinking theyshould put a cafe in the Center

and here it is. Queerest coffeehouse in San Francisco.

Well, not so bad (when you funk it up a little. It’s

a turquoise alcove...)....

My exercise program is working. It’s teeny-tiny. I’m

all over the place. It takes me three attempts to spell

Bernadette. “Hedoesn’t want to be read.” Succomb

to the rain. Succombto the shoebox, a lightbulb thru

time. I did completesomething. Happy as clams about

that. And thewind. And my haircut. I’ve got a

Coco. Imaginative. I’m in the UsedDept. thinking of

sex and sleep. Softas your brow, which, when

incoherent, tufts. Ahappy cruise control gets

oddly jealous of, for example, yesterday,
the latest culprit. Shush the rain. The rain shushes.

mdxlix

2011-12-20T18:34:00.001-08:00

Also, so what?!

I forgot. Or I’m theQueen of

Invisibility. Sometimes I’m the door

the unidentifiable insect keeps bumping into.

Be patient. Adjustglands. Imagine someone

naked. I harp on sexand wonder if I’m an

addict. And, if so,which part is the addiction.

I wonder these things about several people and then I

talk for a while to a piece of paper. Earlier, while

laughing about how much I forget, I was reminded about

something I have forgotten. A promise I made. I was

happy to be reminded, even though it is now im-

possible for me to live up to my promise. I

enjoy the memory of the promise. It opens me up

to new possibilities. To new promises.

mdxlviii

2011-12-19T07:12:00.000-08:00

Super High

But it gives me the cramps. I keep dialing around for a place to

breathe. Grammatically. And I keep typing“whee!” instead of

“whew!”

Works well for seizure day. So for Pete’s sake don’t get bummed!

The bloody royalty are even all into it now, so, youknow. When you

park his leg like this his rawhide crawls!

Did how to cut the mustard every worry you? You’re no joke

and that’s a well-practiced sneer, drives pronouns into a

waxy heart.

I’m as happy as clams about that, though. Horizontal entertainment

goes a long way, after all. And yours rather defies geometrical.

Here, I’ve boiled you a few eggs.

I should have no trouble putting the remaining 15 hits intothe

cruise control. Evenif yours is Grand Central Station. And Ihear

there’s a leather bar somewhere nearby.

Hey, great news: thatwindow isn’t plastic! And you might be

interested in the pair of ghosts hovering just outside ofit,

their foreheads level with the sill.

But I can just tell. There’s no negativity. It’s allabout

love. The realdeal. And your pet scooting her buttacross your

living room carpet to get it all out.

mdxlvii

2011-12-18T17:06:00.000-08:00

But do we really weep? And how to perpetuate lovers’

mystery? Not misery, which seems to crawl intopockets

like an itch, can be pervasive. I don’t get that. It doesn’t

really work thatway, does it?

But who’s to say? Anyone can say whatever they feel. Or

keep a wardrobe so full of special effects that everyone is

fooled. A heart on asleeve doesn’t taste very good, I say.

Mine seems invisible to the naked eye.

Each echo has such blunders. But they inspire awe, do they

not? Even thehard-hearted like to give the brazen chamber a

shout out, their large hats swollen in the aridbreezelessness

as if in touch with sultry. Such impossibilities.

Complete submission. And happy as clams. Research is

close to exposing a similarity in the grins of several very

unrelated species. SoI decide to burn the book. Not

indelibly. That’spretty impossible for me.

I like to look at photographs of myself and/or from my

perspective – from any moment in the past. Before my birth,

even; that is, through my parents eyes or, with love that’s

almost romantic, deep into the eyes of my grandmother.

The shadow image of my father, as each of my siblings

are – we grew up so – my mother has now taken to saying I

resemble her father more than anyone – as I get older. He was

stilted, quick-tempered, proud, easily red in the face,

and clumsy. He ranthe water and sewer department in my

hometown as I was growing up. The town’s latest treatment

facility is named after him. He collected knives and arrowheads

and nurtured an orphaned deer through to maturity – in arather

small cage in front of the county courthouse. And without my

ever hearing him say it – it was palpable – he was in love.

And grateful. Evensometimes dumbfounded by his luck.

My grandmother, with contrasting grace and glory,

obviously felt pretty much the same. Some animals

and their dumb luck? I believe. Cheesy as a misbegotten

apple pie, perhaps. And you’ve got to take a biteout of it.

Hot! It goes fast andit’s swimming in butter.

mdxlvi

2011-12-16T07:39:00.000-08:00

Such a smooth and sensual way to curl the tongue. But first
to open it slightly over the lips. “This bit’s a hit. No worries.”

A little boy walked in from the rain with a soggy toilet paper
tube hoisted up to his mouth. Each of us are tools, but some

have better instruments. Then we went to Lucky Penny for a
skin blemish. The lottery causes this. I don’t normally participate.

Just at the Lucky Penny. Sepia the Cat is opening the closet door
now. This must be Tuesday. My laptop needs a check-up. I’m

not getting regular updates. [The pleasant morning rain starts
pelting the roof out my living room window again] I remind

Brian that it might cause more problems than not to keep two
calendars going at once. He says he’s had a lot of dates lately,

though. But he decided to take a break for a while (a bizarre
inclination which often seems to strike people and which I’ve

never understood). I discuss this with the dishes and the
laundry while Yuki sweats for hours behind my new TV.

He’s taken it upon himself to connect everything to the
surround sound speakers I’ve had for months. And make

everything wireless. Otto is working out with Nick. It’s the
summer of being déjà vu and trapped halfway around the

world. But one foot (these ones have never broken and
actually walk) goes in front of the other. Cartoon steps. My

mind wanders. Sometimes one foot hangs out a bit more
obviously. My only girlfriend’s little sister used to make

fun of how I walk – she’d do so by performing it. I have
more confidence than I should have. I’m a “Challenger”

and a “Reformer” – both 100%. I took a personality test
with Otto this week. He’s a “Peacemaker.” Not me. My

peacemaking is at 55% along with my “Enthusiasm.”
We’re both fairly high “Achievers” and way above

average “Loyalists.” Which explains a lot, I think.

mdxlv

2011-12-15T10:23:00.000-08:00

The fencerow practically belches honeydew. I’ve
started taking a fat-burner called Ventilean; a new
ephedra substitute, it has guarana and who knows
what else. Guarana tends to make my throat
fill up with bile. This is Tuesday, right?

My usual list of things to do, like laundry
and dishes, turned into a misunderstood
invitation. “Visit with you” was somewhere
on the list. There is no hierarchy of any kind,
no order of priority. It’s often nothing more than a

collage. Like the tumbled mess of brussels sprouts
and chicken apple sausage on this white plate (a
4am snack I’m still working on). I eat a sprout.
I scratch a line onto a page. A new page a day.
I look back to see lines I’m told are unusually

straight through a few items on each page.
Something happens. I’ve often sat through
drawn-out critiques of the ‘list-oriented.’
It’s raining, it’s 5:40am, I’ve a laptop open
to pictures of our trip to Paris. I turned 40

there. It was my first trip abroad. I’m so
in love. It happens every day, even with
windshield wipers for a memory. I haven’t
run in years. Nor the gym. Maybe tomorrow.
My ears are ringing. But pleasantly. I’ve

in front of me: a glass filled with orange juice,
a pickle jar half full of water, and a mug with a
moustache on it that has a few dregs of tea.
Chamomile. I add artificial sweetener (2
Splenda) and two squirts of lemon.

mdxliv

2011-12-14T06:31:00.000-08:00

If I’m reading this appropriately I believe I’m supposed to
accept death as an orifice. I don’t have time to look up the
descriptions of each fossil. But plainspeak is best, right?
Until one finds meaning in speaking writerly (rather, um,
onanstic if you ask me; but also POETIC. Right?).....

I go to witness the blessing of a baby. My partner’s
godchild. In a spectacle of a Greek Orthodox...
cathedral? I parted ways with organized religion
years ago and am surprised to be so calmed by,
and so in awe of, this ritual, mostly just prayers. I’m proud

of the circumstances that bring me to attend. And touched
by how it re-enforces the severity, the joy, the poignance,
the responsibility, the amazement, the ever-conflicting
importance of the power with which we’re (with which
I’m) drawn to suspicious rituals (I love to use the phrase

‘ludicrious construct’). It calms me. And centers me.
I am surely more than a marionette, yanked around
by opposing forces? I’m a piece of ice used as a
lesson in memory and metaphor. I lost my home
in the north due to overly warm seasons (it is

the future); a fisherman whose family is swept
into an expanding sea. I’m a refugee fisherman
from a larger ocean. Now, the fish rule.....

But I’m a liar. I am poison. I’m a sexless blue
whale with my nose deliberately stuck into the mud of a
deep cavern—unspoiled even by the likes of you.

The water is unbearably cold. The mud I’m
stuck in is somehow warmth. The tears I am
surely and constantly weeping—right?—are like ice.

mdxliii

2011-12-13T18:35:00.000-08:00

Don’t need a lesson, hippo.

I’ve got all night. It’s okay. And maybe you can,
okay, learn something here. Brace yourself as I
play through your home (or homeland), mangle
hopscotch (my knees, the soles of my loafers)
for your lovely chickens’ lives. They get the point
anyway, right? With dodgeball? Learning how to
bloody themselves up on the concrete basketball court
behind the elementary school, practice for being an adult
in a dry county. But where were we before we diverted to
the bathroom? Cassavetes in a nutshell? A perfect mousaka
from scratch? How to avoid herpes (or at least its symptoms)?
It’s enough ‘verily’ to land you in a serious spa by mid-afternoon,
a week in a terry wrap replenished every half hour or so by an
understandably-impossible-to-tell-whether-legal-or-not
(and who cares, really, right, since he’s got such obvious
skill!) towel boy—massage therapist. One who’ll (keep
it authoritative and yet throaty—as in you’ve difficulty
breathing—for this) clean your blinds all rosy-cheeked
and might even (authoritative; throaty) re-alphabetize
your bookshelf. And you’re lucky. Oh, you’re lucky.
I’m an empathist, you see. I might not look it, but
I’ve a bouquet of lean smirks right in here. I’m
no Clint Eastwood, though I throw people off,
I know. Play your bones right, sweetie.
Not like a jackhammer up and down the
avenue. Avoid the sniper in blonde
around the corner. Don’t let the
drycleaner take your measurements.
Spit-shine without a spectacle. Take
charity seriously. Don’t listen to the
big head poking its long nose out of your
living room wall. He’s selling insurance.
Avoid leather and thrift stores. Possibly
fur, but don’t be a rat’s ass about it.
A motorcycle, yeah, but never
drive it in the rain. Appear
often from thick fog.
Self-diagnose, be
clear with your doctor
and don’t let her talk you into
a contagion. Walk often through your
alma mater, chuckling to yourself
intermittently about academia.

mdxlii

2011-12-12T16:34:00.000-08:00

Hack Soft Hypocrisy

...no time for a lifestyle...
—David Highsmith

The conservation conversation left me
dry of mouth. Do I complain a lot? I don’t
see myself as much of a complainer....

Avoid the tiny game inside my phone.
Avoid the music I spent hours researching
and then downloading. What’s the reference?

A collage is nothing for me but scatterbrain. How
embarrassing that it becomes a way of life? But
I meant to be eccentric at some point. Is that

why nobody gets me? When pricked, a Gemini
gushes the same, mostly. Just more rivulets,
more general directions, the gushing. How

nasal my lack of charm; so Faustian? I live,
lest I fall asleep. There’s more music somewhere.
An imagined train back home from a missed

engagement. What a wallop (not a fine
alternative to riot, but allow me a few
steps back from the obvious; though

you’re too savvy for such diversions,
right?)! Engagement is my touted
mask, my modus operandi, the

deep well that feeds my mojo.
Or thus I cluck repeatedly
and for reals. Believe

these lips for mantra and yours
might warm my very soul before I've
[and I say this] scrambled them for breakfast.

mdxli

2011-12-10T23:52:00.000-08:00

He’s a Pill

It’s a red liquid and it tastes like bitter bubble gum.
Also a new ephedra substitute with guarana that has
a bunch of new poems in it. This is Tuesday, right?
Sepia is opening the door now. She lives in the
closet sometimes. Flashfoward to a downcast
Friday morning and Coco trying to claw her way
to the top of Otto’s asymetrical jackets and wraps.
In March, the closet door is a green sofa. My laptop
has two loads of laundry and the lemonade is parched.

mdxl

2011-12-09T16:38:00.000-08:00

Dinner (At My Urging)

Pollen in the pharmaceutical wind. A clump of
keyboard on the lawn. A wad of gum on the
corner of a plate. Tact on the mend. Inclement
weather is lush. The look that I’m going to try to have
is Final Fantasy VII. I also have bananas and a few
breakfast items thanks to Richard moving across the
street (a walk to Cala in the drizzle is a San Francisco
Sunday afternoon). Glitterricky. I win twice at
Fruit Ninja and top 400,000 for only the fourth time
in four years playing Bejeweled. Besotted. Let’s do it.
Working in a coal mine (going downtown). Taking a
fatburner before running during lunchtime. Alone after
lunch, a peach of a day, rain, argument, dinner in & all.

mdxxxix

2011-12-02T15:53:00.001-08:00

Paid $10, Won $11

It was a rustling in The West. Is he
disgusted or just disregarded? The
space between here and Trader Joe’s;
between Zoolander and Spellbound.

mdxxxviii

2011-12-01T00:09:00.001-08:00

Sonnet to the Lucky Penny

We got up at 6:30am to head to the DMV and
clean the bathroom. She feels he’s been treating
her. Like the Bob Sinclair et al. reggae dancemix
CD for Naya. Scratch it off the list. I could get my

picture retaken. They somehow screwed it up last time,
which is why I never got my license in the mail. Then
to Kaiser for skin. I wish this thought presently into my
elbows. No effect. Except a muffled sportscaster’s taken

over the neighbor’s apartment. “Not the high-pitched wail,”
hands up toward God. You’re a legend for the amount of
LSD you did in college. What can I do different? Anyway,
that was a diversion. The melted reactor could be said to have

not been written. Look up how to clean blinds on the internet
and how to pay a student loan online. Password for Excel file.

mdxxxvii

2011-11-30T11:19:00.000-08:00

Overlord in a Melting Pot

I made rice and also pommes frites. Circle over to the
laundromat that’s turned into a fondue parlor. Email
Kevin and water the plants. We opened a New Zealand
wine that John and Larry had brung to the housewarming.
Tomorrow I’m to play racquetball with Madoc. Be able

to plug laptop into large monitor. Unparch with a Faz
glass (a mason jar) full of lemonade. I just want to
GRIMACE at that. What does that make me, an
interior designer? That kind of distaste becomes
HONESTY. We have enough space to not worry

so much. We can concentrate. Steph loaned it to me.
The slimness of Vincent and his engagement. And it is
disgusting compared to Starbucks.

mdxxxvi

2011-11-29T13:27:00.000-08:00

Warm as the bloom of a lotus
in heat. Who knew it’d ever
cross over to the dark side?
“I did! I did!” Rainy Sunday.

mdxxxv

2011-11-26T09:34:00.001-08:00

You just dropped your phone. “A cross
is an X,” I remind him, before send Rachel
email, send Kim email, fix big monitor to
connect to laptop. It’s morning of up all
night. The birds are singing in the bird
sanctuary, an oasis of interior designers.
But not enough to make you GRIMACE
on top of all that. What does that make a
jealous hubby? Bend the knees by way of
death. Look up how to clean the blinds,
how to update debts and assets. “Into
oblivion,” whispers the murderer.
Into oblivion.

mdxxxiv

2011-11-25T11:33:00.000-08:00

It has many other uses. Like my hair.
My hair is not dead people.
—Sean Malroy

Relax into it. They’re hungry or happy as
ash out of Groucho. So don’t pitch a fit.

Build upon that, rainy Sunday! The start
of a book to me, saying despite the slimness

of however she feels, or the sliminess I’ve been
treating you. How young at heart. Preach a line

by Schuyler like Pastor Ron: “or lamb leg with
mint sauce!” Followed by a big pause. She

feels how he treats her. Despite the engaging
shimmies, the heft of the lattés, the cross over

to the dark side.... A pair of socks that resemble
a checkbook. An entire Saturday on a bookend.

mdxxxiii

2011-11-24T07:26:00.000-08:00

Mr. X-eye Featherhead

A hundred ‘woof!’s across Ocean Island.
Cooking with the best of them and then
snapping it shut. I still have to get over
how wide it is. Fried eggplant with a

white sauce all over it. Slip an abstract
project into an oily mailbox. Feed the
cat. Dusk never settles and you’re
morning, bright with fever. Open a

New Zealand wine. Stretch. Slip some
skin on top of it. Dust and clean the
living room and hallway. Racquetball
before housewarming. Clean bathroom.

Clean blinds. Update info on 1960s.
In the morning, head over to the condo
to measure it. Color me jealous. HON-
ESTLY. Concentrate on keeping and

wonderful and maintaining. Call the
doctor to say there’s no need for closure.

mdxxxii

2011-11-23T18:15:00.000-08:00

Human Debris

If only I could ride you unpublished. “Here’s
another $24 drink,” all smug and lustless, with
contemporary Chinese interiors.

Ron, what was the name of the sushi restaurant
after Kylie wouldn’t pee? Toe to toe to toe for a
decade or more. Or was it just a year? How to

talk to Cantonese? So, we first met, slept together,
first date etc. on January 7. It’s October and another
French trilogy. Completing amazement. Unfortunately,

the hotel strikers, along with music from heartthrob’s
computer (in the living room; I’m on the bed), having
just finished A Thousand Devils, this frazzled

Rauschenberg. In the October will it feel oh so
new again? Should I be disappointed with an
old swoon? A few years later and never dull.

Not a disinterested dull. Less interested in
new leaves and romantic road construction.

mdxxxi

2011-11-22T08:27:00.000-08:00

We was all quite a peach.

Walk to the Ferry Building market,
walk through the market, head north
and turn left on Broadway, enter North
Beach, then down Grant through China-

town so Otto can pick up a stamp w/his
Chinese name and for me a copy of
China Modern. Follow me so far?
Page 2,247, a contemporary interior.

Then Sushi Rika for lunch, after which
it’s furniture shopping. Then home
for a while. Nooo. Wait! I’m so
confused. First, we had lunch

at XYZ. Then he went to lab
and I bought Princess Mononoke.

mdxxx

2011-11-21T08:20:00.000-08:00

Relearn More Appropriately Sonnet

Agenda rhyming with addenda, and so on.
“A little Malaysia goes a long way,” he
says all slash-and-burn. I turned it in
with a list of all the jobs I’ve ever had.

This all seems a bit L.A., don’t you think?
I look out at Treasure Island while he talks
to his grandmother then his dad then his
mother—who tells him he sounds so

happy.  In recollection of my inner thigh
(left side) and the guy who stomped my
back flat after a mani-pedi on Tuesday
afternoon.  “The stars are not chimps,”

I lose him saying.  Scratch another item
off the list while walking Grant to Broadway.

mdxxix

2011-11-20T15:48:00.000-08:00

anachronism is the refuge of modernity
—Standard Schaefer

Stayed up til 4 arguing about
making things clear. Marvel
vs. Capcom 3, etc. Today’s
list is horizontal lines. Re-
learn touching, making things
clean close to him, waking up
Saturday and going to Starbucks
and The Gap for a blazer exchange.

Put the bag away for a while and sit
in the Henderson Room. Cloudy with
a chance of purge. Email job lady then
several friends. Call Mom (this one on
the list for a while now).

Wake up trembling, think I hear sarcasm.
Clean all the blinds. Or buy new ones.

mdxxviii

2011-11-19T20:00:00.001-08:00

Music we remember to forget
—Michael Palmer

I can’t imagine him with a
vibrato. “It’s the Three of
Pancakes,” she says. His
head’s a computer screen
circa 1998. A headache
that blasts 80s music. A
calendar with a little in-
struction each day: Re-
member, a mediocre
effort never improved
anything. Cat’s paws
at it under a birthday
present (an office
chair replacing one
‘inherited’ in 1992).

mdxxvii

2011-11-18T08:44:00.000-08:00

Oral Necklace

The vistas are a smiling ship on the ocean.
About to barf if I read another conversation
with yourself. Didn’t I want to add my
voice? We drove out past Half Moon Bay

with Curran and Masashi this afternoon to
a pumpkin patch. To pick pumpkins. It was
lovely in all possible ways, sitting in the back-
seat holding Otto’s hand while he slept.

Looking out at the beautiful sky. Passing
Spindrift Road. Having a pie at the patch.
And oh, the maze. I never made my way out –
could not find my way out of the lovely

hay maze. Did someone have to come
find me? Rescue me? Here I am,
backwards, pestered at 4am. Around
8:30, touching. This is the real me.

mdxxvi

2011-11-17T10:04:00.000-08:00

Egg Balm

That short poem is so 1950s. I like the way
you made it so southern. And so subtly.

Tonight I’m going to make like I remember
the last decade. “These are things I should be

doing for number one,” you say. Let’s do the
untwist instead. Relationship update: all is

check; easier to tell; chopped off; and the
best. There are two bottles of lubrication

in the closet. Like when you find out your
dialect is more obscure than others. I

hear you crunch Doritos in the bedroom.
I check out the window for the day. It’s

in the mail like the little egg full of lip
balm I ordered. I’m lying in our little al-

cove in our blue bedroom with clouds. Ron
Howard is definitely no Clint Eastwood.

mdxxv

2011-11-16T00:36:00.000-08:00

Much Muck in Your Mailbox

My favorite vegetable is okra. I
watched you on teevee. My land-
lady got an e*@!ction. There’s way
too much seance in our relationship.

mdxxiv

2011-11-15T17:07:00.000-08:00

A Rose in the Slat

Depression makes my skin ache. It’s
nine o’clock and I dip into a jacked-up
bar in the gulch, half a chin tucked into
my sweater.

It’s a grizzly-bear nation. These dunder-
heads threw in a kidney stone; two hour
flashbacks to a party of eight. Once home,
I read a love poem to the sofa.

It swoons. Lots of people chopped off his
thumb. David left while growing striped
pants. The penguins are in the mail to
Kevin (flash-forward required).

The glass of water infected with ice.
European stains on the carpet.

mdxxiii

2011-11-14T02:27:00.000-08:00

No More Sewage

Let’s go body shopping and get
meta-flogged. A meta-flogging.
Address is correct. Date is correct.
Vice presidential debate....

Interesting. Water pumpkins drag-
ging colored squid in quick bursts,
north, then south, along the bay.
I need a whole day of this snake

pit. Charming devils. These are
the guys who should be running
for number one. Layered inno-
cence. A thin wail. We threw

him a nice party, even though
he chopped off his thumb at 5.

mdxxii

2011-11-09T12:45:00.000-08:00

Will this work?

It all depends on what makes you feel.

mdxxi

2011-11-08T09:14:00.000-08:00

Another Pet Obit

Define like. I’m doing okay
sitting on my ass, right?

I’m talking to David. He
offered me a seat because

there are none. Men joke
like steak knives. It was

the first time I ever tried
to sit down. Awkward.

The cat has a birthday.
She sits on the word

Namaste. Does this
give her a stroke

two years later?
I found your ring

beside my bed. The
bed is ringing. The

trumpeters are all
puking but the

whole damned world
just keeps on ringing.

mdxx

2011-11-07T04:20:00.000-08:00

God Men War

Is this the first book I’ve finished in months?
I wonder and I’d like to know. I have an
inclination to know. I sit on the couch
in contemplation, put my finger
to my nose.