I need to see this!

new poem: written after watching Step Brothers (no connection ((or is there?)))

Ghostgasm



ghost with a tingly feeling in his dick

mismatching the underwear for Klingon



most often fucking ducklings build a house with shade

like a shape being made we see them as small parcels



it is interesting

    it is interesting to note the hole in his prick

or make him a cake in the shape of his true love



she had a worn handle in the back of her hams

a tight flute morbidly purple and rested



little spindles of drunk guy coming and shuffling



get out of the car and shut the fuck up

    the car handles the night air as if they were soft lips



the goings on and fastened Casper penis envy

    is he even a real spectral orgasm

probably the cake feels worn out and lucid



nobody here fucked-up Mickey Mouses' hair

the drunk man in the garage hiding

    i think he knows me

i'm really enjoying the new Conor Oberst album.

anybody want to fight about it?

i thought about this in the shower

favorite 11 songwriters
("You know how to cut to the core of me, Baxter.")

will oldham
conor oberst
joanna newsom
jason molina
bill callahan
phil elvrum
jeff mangum
sufjan stevens
chan marshall
john darnielle
jeff tweedy

(ryan adams) sometimes, maybe

PHILIP ROTH SUCKS...

I read THE BREAST and half of THE HUMAN STAIN. They both sucked more than I could have imagined. THE BREAST was ridiculous and unfunny. It seemed like a book conceived by a really really boring 10 year old. This is the kind of thing only the New York Times Books Review would find funny or worth reading.

"The Breast is terrific...inventive and sane and very funny. The trick which is the heart of the book is brilliant...and rich with meaning." —John Gardner, The New York Times Book Review

THE HUMAN STAIN just drug along like pulling pubic hairs. I quit reading it. Honestly, I thought to myself "i am wasting my life reading this book."

Does this mean old people can't write? No. But they should be careful...

PHILIP (too good for two l's) ROTH SUCKS. Stay away from him. He'll probably be dead soon and kids will have to read him in high school. Sucks...

FUCK THE NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW.

end post.

THE DARK NIGHT WAS...

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

GOOD

(home)

i am back in good internets

am going to see the new batman

am going out of the country soon

things are busy

my face is busting out

am reading As I Lay Dying

the kitties are fighting

new pants

publishing surprises coming soon.

Tender Pieces

here are two of the nine pieces i've written since i read Tender Buttons. the larger body of poems is roughly titled A Brutal Crib.

these poems are very new, very hot and tender. be gentle with them. they are not imitations. they know not what they do.



YELLOW LP
============

Start with a modern understanding of the room around you. Does the furniture fit into a pin. Does the sound begin to drown itself. Is the toil too great. There are chairs, a latter, many saucers, clothes stacked. In this way we make music.

Move laterally across the cut and down below a forest of loud key strikes. A voice drinking water, a voice blisters, a voice and a lack of boombox revelations.

Control, it is then you begin to feel a loss of control. You are currently lost. On a pile of notes rests our forgotten heads. It is a relief to be sleeping, it is never terrible to sleep, never alone.

Begin to see a quality in the escape of wind.

A series of claps and a hunter's bow both splinter in the same moment. Eyes using light to make a sound that is more breathable.

Our voices manifesting as already being written, our dogs laying unwritten, wishing more written. Not insufferable and ageless yet more tired.

There are little shapes across the walls. There is sun and also night.





CELLPHONE
============

A specific sight and the ability to anguish upon it, to tape crooked stripes against, to take up jumpy guitar strings.

Motion is related to finding. It is a color and finds for us. Can it combat fatigue and width. A dead squirrel on the porch is still a unit of time, a definite sudden chill across both shoulders. Several people stop breathing at the same moment.

black out

i'm currently in the country. in "etna, california," if that's really a place. the internet is slow, but we're working on things, things that will be published soon, that you can read for free.

life without fast internet sucks. how did I get to be like this? i remember not even having the internet.

i'm reading gertrude stein's tender buttons. it's fantastic!

lots of thoughts are floating around my head, lots of thoughts about poetry but i will write them all down soon, will write them down soon.