IS GOOD.
READ SOME OF HIS POEMS:
HERE
HERE
HERE
30.3.08
PUBLISHED!! (at last)
I'm at listenlight!
This is my first ever being published like ever thing.
Read it. And all the other cool folks.
P.S. I just got back from the coast for Spring Break. It was great. We'll talk about it later.
This is my first ever being published like ever thing.
Read it. And all the other cool folks.
P.S. I just got back from the coast for Spring Break. It was great. We'll talk about it later.
16.3.08
For The Canary In A Mine Without A Voice
From fingers of dynamite to
the head, like arching fireworks,
only more or maybe less, given
the context, deadly, you
die with a sculpted look
of shame and excitement on your
face. like when you ate a
birdbath full of cocoa-puffs
for breakfast, but puked it,
all murky swamp water and
lingering taste, on my
astronomy professor yesterday.
You said he reminded you of
a rain cloud without all the
sadness.
we saw three train cars,
their little hooks like locked
fingers, head for Massachusetts
and then held coffee on our noses
and said hello in a language
we didn't normally speak. You
love music that beats tire
marks and barb wire spindles
on the inside of your fingers,
that was your sensitive spot,
you said. I told you that was
really flavorless, but I meant
something else.
your shirt said, I like the
car chase. Then, lifting a
hammer and chisel, I cut you
a new brain. The blood made
heart on my shirt. Or maybe
just an upside down triangle.
Then you bought an orange
and split it for the two of
us and later when we got high
i said, i love you, and you
said, and I said i love you,
and you said what, and i said
i love you and you said, what
and I said, I love you and you
said what i said was i love you
and you said i love you and what
i said was what and I love you
and I love you and what and, and
we slept like children in pills
in a house that was already on fire.
the head, like arching fireworks,
only more or maybe less, given
the context, deadly, you
die with a sculpted look
of shame and excitement on your
face. like when you ate a
birdbath full of cocoa-puffs
for breakfast, but puked it,
all murky swamp water and
lingering taste, on my
astronomy professor yesterday.
You said he reminded you of
a rain cloud without all the
sadness.
we saw three train cars,
their little hooks like locked
fingers, head for Massachusetts
and then held coffee on our noses
and said hello in a language
we didn't normally speak. You
love music that beats tire
marks and barb wire spindles
on the inside of your fingers,
that was your sensitive spot,
you said. I told you that was
really flavorless, but I meant
something else.
your shirt said, I like the
car chase. Then, lifting a
hammer and chisel, I cut you
a new brain. The blood made
heart on my shirt. Or maybe
just an upside down triangle.
Then you bought an orange
and split it for the two of
us and later when we got high
i said, i love you, and you
said, and I said i love you,
and you said what, and i said
i love you and you said, what
and I said, I love you and you
said what i said was i love you
and you said i love you and what
i said was what and I love you
and I love you and what and, and
we slept like children in pills
in a house that was already on fire.
w.s. rides a hot air balloon across the big drink
i saw America floating over the water,
running across it a thousand white rabbits
tiny black eyes glistening
their bodies making a swift cloud
criss-crossing back and forth
i was even higher
i was above America in a big red balloon
above me, the sky saw a flower
the woman i love with corn colored hair
ran her hands across the copper trim
she thought the rabbits were terrifying
she picked one up and ran her hands
along it's spine
when she got bored, she tossed it aside
it fell back into the cloud and made no splash
she thought that was weird
running across it a thousand white rabbits
tiny black eyes glistening
their bodies making a swift cloud
criss-crossing back and forth
i was even higher
i was above America in a big red balloon
above me, the sky saw a flower
the woman i love with corn colored hair
ran her hands across the copper trim
she thought the rabbits were terrifying
she picked one up and ran her hands
along it's spine
when she got bored, she tossed it aside
it fell back into the cloud and made no splash
she thought that was weird
15.3.08
In The Grand Scheme By Mike Davisa sparrow or a finch with tears
a poisoned orange
the castle and the river running through
passing with it a body bound in tape
and the peasants gather 'round a wooden spindle
i wear a coat of arms & arms & arms
we smoke signal the dead and shoot our
lost WWII cannon straight at the sun
in the water in the water we sit we sit
my brother (the one caught in a birdhouse)
has developed birds wings under his normal arms
this bothered my uncle
who was a pig getting drunk every night
by the peasants
who want to eat him
but no matter
in the end we all just wash out to sea
wrapped in gauze and whispers of our loved ones
(or maybe they just fire us out of a cannon)
THE PANIC IN NEEDLE PARK
NEVER DO HEROIN
NEVER DO HEROIN
NEVER DO HEROIN
NEVER OD HEROIN
NEVER OD HEROIN
NEVER DO HEROIN
THIS IS TOTALLY
NEVER DO HEROIN
NEVER OD HEROIN
F U C K F U C K
WHERE'S THE DOG
12.3.08
{-}
We were fighting when the snow came and told us we were all changing people.
See what happens is, if it rains here everyone steps out on their porch and runs into one another, like maybe comets do sometimes in space, and do a little two-step to the rain, so you can understand why we didn't believe in death, or snow.
But it came, and with a soft thunder it rolled through town and clogged all the little arteries.
Everyone looked out their windows with scared eyes; their goose-flesh crawled, and in our house we said a prayer to know one, I think.
My wife said, look it's snowing, and that was it.
We just looked and held hands and put a towel under the door.
{+}
When they found the frozen homeless man in the park it confirmed all our fears.
The snow was moving, and it was killing.
We wanted to stop it, but our hands looked so small. Like little toy hands and we looked in each others dark faces and said, "Prolong this, will you?"'
{-}
Oh when we were young, which we really were--my doctor said it all the time--we read these little books that kept shouting,
"Do the right, make the right, find the right hiding in the orange groves. One day you to will be old and hollow and you will have to answer that call at the door."
I knew a man who hung sticks on his door, in great elaborate X's, and told all of us of a cold that froze a man where he stood, and she shook his head and said no man should ever have his last thought frozen in his head, forever unfinished; or burnt away in terrible fire, having all your thoughts fused together in a ball of pain, a candle of hell burning bright.
{+}
My father called our bloodline noble. Our people an unstoppable wall of breaking glass, tumbling at a world that knew nothing a pain or bleeding. But it would.
Then he died in his car. It burst into flames on the highway and a man on the news, in a helicopter, said it looked like a giant birthday candle.
I always wanted to tell people it was my birthday when he died, but it wasn't. My birthday is in May, but it still makes me sad and I feel like it was my birthday. I tell strangers it was, but no one even remembers that morning any longer and they look at me with watery eyes and try to nod their heads. It was just a seven minute story. After that My mother took a second job, on Mayday, and ran a flag up against the sun.
{-}
Everyone tells me I looked happier then. Thinner too. Now everyone says I look tired. My apartment shares a wall with a loud, but happy family who speak some language other than English. I can never quite discern what language no matter how hard I press my ear against the wall. Once, I thought the husband had killed the wife. But he didn't. I saw her later getting in their brown Pontiac. That was loneliest time of my life. I was living alone, Cathy had left me for some guy with a sense of humor, and I kept listening to this one song that sang over and over "Every good thing just dies." That's how I felt for a long time.
{+}
My mother had recently died. I drove through the desert to my sister's house in Reno. I had told Cathy that the town was like diet Las Vegas and that I hated how brown everything was. She said it felt clean and disinfected. I didn't see my sister Amanda until the funeral. I had been staying by myself in a Motel 8 off the highway. At night I could hear the cars humming by. I imagined they were a chorus of lions running by, doing laps around the world forever.
{-}
My sister said that Mom looked relieved right before she passed, "She looked at me like I would find comfort in that." I didn't tell Amanda, but I had hoped that Mom would just forget everything, all of us, all the pain in her life. Flush all the pain she ever felt and be born bright and clean again. Everyone kept saying "passed on" around me. I said, she's dead, and people nodded their heads and squeezed my shoulders. I told my sister I thought she had been wanting to die since dad died. My sister nodded but had this look on her face like I had taken something away from her, maybe she thought I didn't deserve my mother so well, since Amanda had taken care of her for so long.
{-}
This is all happened right before I was mugged on my way to work. Afterwards I took a shower and ate a sandwich the color of dirt. The window let the sun blind me, but I didn't move. Since then I spend most of my time still and quiet. When I look in the mirror all I see is lint. I can remember my dreams occasionally, and last night my parents were in it. They owed me money and I couldn't find my keys. They were just smiling at me and occasionally laughing at something I couldn't understand. Then I just started crying and my father's hand was poking out of crumbled concrete pillars. I woke up in the dark. There was sweat and tears covering me. It still makes me shiver to think about it.
We were fighting when the snow came and told us we were all changing people.
See what happens is, if it rains here everyone steps out on their porch and runs into one another, like maybe comets do sometimes in space, and do a little two-step to the rain, so you can understand why we didn't believe in death, or snow.
But it came, and with a soft thunder it rolled through town and clogged all the little arteries.
Everyone looked out their windows with scared eyes; their goose-flesh crawled, and in our house we said a prayer to know one, I think.
My wife said, look it's snowing, and that was it.
We just looked and held hands and put a towel under the door.
{+}
When they found the frozen homeless man in the park it confirmed all our fears.
The snow was moving, and it was killing.
We wanted to stop it, but our hands looked so small. Like little toy hands and we looked in each others dark faces and said, "Prolong this, will you?"'
{-}
Oh when we were young, which we really were--my doctor said it all the time--we read these little books that kept shouting,
"Do the right, make the right, find the right hiding in the orange groves. One day you to will be old and hollow and you will have to answer that call at the door."
I knew a man who hung sticks on his door, in great elaborate X's, and told all of us of a cold that froze a man where he stood, and she shook his head and said no man should ever have his last thought frozen in his head, forever unfinished; or burnt away in terrible fire, having all your thoughts fused together in a ball of pain, a candle of hell burning bright.
{+}
My father called our bloodline noble. Our people an unstoppable wall of breaking glass, tumbling at a world that knew nothing a pain or bleeding. But it would.
Then he died in his car. It burst into flames on the highway and a man on the news, in a helicopter, said it looked like a giant birthday candle.
I always wanted to tell people it was my birthday when he died, but it wasn't. My birthday is in May, but it still makes me sad and I feel like it was my birthday. I tell strangers it was, but no one even remembers that morning any longer and they look at me with watery eyes and try to nod their heads. It was just a seven minute story. After that My mother took a second job, on Mayday, and ran a flag up against the sun.
{-}
Everyone tells me I looked happier then. Thinner too. Now everyone says I look tired. My apartment shares a wall with a loud, but happy family who speak some language other than English. I can never quite discern what language no matter how hard I press my ear against the wall. Once, I thought the husband had killed the wife. But he didn't. I saw her later getting in their brown Pontiac. That was loneliest time of my life. I was living alone, Cathy had left me for some guy with a sense of humor, and I kept listening to this one song that sang over and over "Every good thing just dies." That's how I felt for a long time.
{+}
My mother had recently died. I drove through the desert to my sister's house in Reno. I had told Cathy that the town was like diet Las Vegas and that I hated how brown everything was. She said it felt clean and disinfected. I didn't see my sister Amanda until the funeral. I had been staying by myself in a Motel 8 off the highway. At night I could hear the cars humming by. I imagined they were a chorus of lions running by, doing laps around the world forever.
{-}
My sister said that Mom looked relieved right before she passed, "She looked at me like I would find comfort in that." I didn't tell Amanda, but I had hoped that Mom would just forget everything, all of us, all the pain in her life. Flush all the pain she ever felt and be born bright and clean again. Everyone kept saying "passed on" around me. I said, she's dead, and people nodded their heads and squeezed my shoulders. I told my sister I thought she had been wanting to die since dad died. My sister nodded but had this look on her face like I had taken something away from her, maybe she thought I didn't deserve my mother so well, since Amanda had taken care of her for so long.
{-}
This is all happened right before I was mugged on my way to work. Afterwards I took a shower and ate a sandwich the color of dirt. The window let the sun blind me, but I didn't move. Since then I spend most of my time still and quiet. When I look in the mirror all I see is lint. I can remember my dreams occasionally, and last night my parents were in it. They owed me money and I couldn't find my keys. They were just smiling at me and occasionally laughing at something I couldn't understand. Then I just started crying and my father's hand was poking out of crumbled concrete pillars. I woke up in the dark. There was sweat and tears covering me. It still makes me shiver to think about it.
10.3.08
Microsoft Word Sculpted Thingy #1
-'All right. -'All right. 'Anis del Toro. Gestational age may determine which abortion methods are practiced.--In the first 12 weeks, suction-aspiration or vacuum abortion is the most common method.[7] Manual Vacuum aspiration (MVA) abortion, consists of removing the fetus or embryo by suction using a manual syringe, while electric vacuum aspiration (EVA) abortion uses an electric pump. 'I don't feel any way,' the girl said. 'I know. 'I said we could have everything.'-'I realize,' the girl said. -'I might have,' the man said. 'It's not really an operation at all.'-'It's pretty hot,' the man said.-'It's ours.'-'It's lovely,' the girl said.
Main article: Medical abortion--Effective in the first trimester of pregnancy, non-surgical abortions (referred to as 'medical abortions') comprise 10% of all abortions in the United States and Europe. In cases of failure of medical abortion, vacuum or manual aspiration is used to complete the abortion surgically.-
'I know. The girl smiled brightly at the woman, to thank her.-The girl looked at the ground the table legs rested on.-The girl looked at the bead curtain. -'With water?'-'What should we drink?' the girl asked. 'Yes, you know it's perfectly simple.'-'Yes, with water.'-'Yes,' said the girl. Especially all the things you've waited so long for, like absinthe.'-'Would you please please please please please please please stop talking?'
'I was being amused.
9.3.08
MIKE JONZZZZE!!!
Mike Young is hanging out at Penquin right now. He is a very dear canary and you should hear the songs he does sing:
Kevin Is Not A Plumber
He also has a chapbook coming out titled MC Oroville's Answering Machine on Transmission Press
Kevin Is Not A Plumber
He also has a chapbook coming out titled MC Oroville's Answering Machine on Transmission Press
NaPoWriMo
I think this year for NaPoWriMo (which starts in April), I'm going to write a series of google sculpted heroic couplets.
I'm going to need suggestions for topic material, because the last couple years I haven't been able to make it all the way through the month. But I'm hoping that if I have a constraint it'll help me get through the days I have ZERO motivation.
Any ideas??
I'm also thinking about then turning it into an online chapbook. I want all my friends to do it. So if you don't do it, we aren't friend :*( If we make them PDF's it shouldn't be that hard to publish on our blogs.
I'm going to need suggestions for topic material, because the last couple years I haven't been able to make it all the way through the month. But I'm hoping that if I have a constraint it'll help me get through the days I have ZERO motivation.
Any ideas??
I'm also thinking about then turning it into an online chapbook. I want all my friends to do it. So if you don't do it, we aren't friend :*( If we make them PDF's it shouldn't be that hard to publish on our blogs.
5.3.08
FREE CHAPBOOK: ONE MILLION DOLLARS
Bryan and I wrote a chapbook back and forth through gmail. Now it's on his blog LUNCH TIME FOR BEARS.
It's free, well crafted content, that only costs a million dollars to read, enjoy!
It's free, well crafted content, that only costs a million dollars to read, enjoy!
4.3.08
DIY Discussion
There's an interesting discussion at the DIY Poetry blog about Jessica Smith's new policies for her looktouchblog.
In response to charging for certain content, both poetic and personal, she responded, in part, by saying this,
Hmm... That there sounds mighty rude to yours truly.
In response to charging for certain content, both poetic and personal, she responded, in part, by saying this,
"I put a lot of work into writing the blog– I don’t think my posts/writing are as casual and disposable as the average blog’s. I also have amassed a large body of work by now– hundreds of pages of crafted, edited personal narrative. I’m asking to be paid for it."
Hmm... That there sounds mighty rude to yours truly.
Octopus #10
Will Oldham (Bonnie "Prince" Billy) has a poem in the new Octopus:
Rabbit Of Lil
There is also a poem by Linh Dinh in there that I really like.
and as a present to you!
Fleet Foxes.
they are rad and pretty.
like: my morning jacket, the beach boys, and grizzly bear.
Song: oliver james
they are rad and pretty.
like: my morning jacket, the beach boys, and grizzly bear.
Song: oliver james
drunk at 17? pa-sha
I think I'm 21 years old now.
Bob Dylan had already put out his first record.
I've been drinking for a while already.
Cool?
Now I can:
Go to 21 and over shows
Waste lots of money
Buy beer FOR MYSELF
Drink in restraunts
Bob Dylan had already put out his first record.
I've been drinking for a while already.
Cool?
Now I can:
Go to 21 and over shows
Waste lots of money
Buy beer FOR MYSELF
Drink in restraunts
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