Tuesday, January 24, 2006

i didn't think it was possible to be so misinformed

about every single aspect of society.
shit they'reback.

i was going to write
but now they're back.
i'm tired. he's not got hot
even tho i'm in a li'l shirt
and a couple of scarves.
he just won't take a hint.

but i'm smoking.
i want to say i don't

Monday, January 23, 2006


i mean stupid, this belief in us.
whenever i begin to accept
the possiblity my world falls.

so fuck it. fall acorn.

you went out at about ten.
the bars close at three.
it's now six eighteen.
lol. even if you went for breakfast
you should be home by now.
but you're not. also, what is lavalush?

i keep you near me as if
that will satisfy but it never does
we were like married the other nite.
nothing to say each other. your cock
remaains flaccid. why do i continue to put
myself thru this? now, i won't need to.

where ever you are, it's not with me.
who ever you're doing, it's not me.
you'll find out what i've been saying is true.
all pussy feels alike.
or something like that.

sigh. i can't imagine anything else.
unless your dead.
unless you're passed out drunk as this guy's house.
unless you're dead. you could be.
you should be, to me.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

nga champa

india smokes out
my window, open to the trees
and the woman on the sidewalk
who converses with my upstairs
neighbor for the full time
i'm on the phone with you.

i hesistate lighting the joint
the ritual of writing

delayed until her departure.
they have a baby, upstairs
their air conditioner always runs
filling my bed/living room with machinery
between the wash of jets.
i leave my windows open

but the view is gorjus. i can see
out my window as i write now
and that will make some difference i hope
i wont' feel so caved. connection thru the screen
a fly caught between glass and metal
keeps looking for the hole that admiitted it.
down li'l fly. follow gravity.


at the u shaped
bar they're crowded close
no one wants to leave to hit the toilet
cuz it's sink or swim and three deep
behind us. got to get the sacred broth
imbibed, follow the pulse of bass
out to the dance writhe like
that couple kisses flame
from the floor. half moon curving S
somehow not clouds but the shape of the earth oblonging
elipsing skin bulging a long shadow from the darkside of noon

this house looks like a writer lives
here. discarded clothes, pine tree papers
scattered money, the important things
kept in the frig.
i am wearing a long white slip pulled
over my breasts. and black under
wear. last nite at the bar we had nothing
to say. we sat like a married couple
among the hormonals. faces came into focus
lonely boy poets
fashoinistas of all the sexes
the poet grrls suitably geeked no one
carried a notebook like i usta when i came here
alone those desperate nights without you.

you wish i'd pick up that girl
with the teen mom eyes

she's here with friends. not
gonna happen. i could be all these grrls' mother.
but no. that's not you tonite. you're barely between here
and interstice of sleeplessness. impulse power
scotty. and i appreciate the gesture tho my estrogen levels
where in the downgrade and i'm sloughing washing
out so really we're both in some kind of funk
detaching from all the sex around here. every once
in a while one of us leans over and tongues
an ear. bass beat humping. my legs, i'm a dancer
want to move so i get you one more drink
then we're in the green spot away from where the crowd
writhes and grinds around each other's crotches boyz n grrlz
in a semicircle get me some o that. phat. but i wanna
twirl and you want to make me. slap that ass.
up agaist the wall. don't push me don't pull
my neck like that, it's a bass attack, writhe an itchy
mass intact against the brick wall about to fall
close my eyes and grab you, pole. find the hole. anchor me here
in the middle of messy swrily sheets beet the feets
a sanguine artichoke of me/a/ets.

percy would you take that meeats and make the e and a move back n forth
pls? html is just toomuch bother.

so dancing...it's fun.
u should try it sometimes.


i like what you wrote re razbery chaos.
ms chaos is my fave young female writer. there was
a time when she was trapped in the unicorn's icon
weeded to gaia a li'l too tight but she's
finding her voice and how did she put it ?
casual but not cynical. ready to accept whatever game
they play o this is how it goes i can do that
and wouldn't it be great if there was like this whole
stable of ppl connected to the nexxus who
make it
who become the crest of the next big wave
oh lucious lushous us.

i mean , well. what would that world be like?
what dystopepsia could this buncha poets weave?

do any of us have a vision for a kinder world?
how to get there? i think given how we humans learn best
need i say it
thru pain
a kinder world is not in the cards.
how can that be? how can we integrate the inevitable rascal?
hodder, how did the indigenous do it? oh yes thru allowing
for vision quest fulfillment. it does no good to have a vision
if that vision is squelched when not the accepted paradigm.

so in ritualizing the entrance to rationality
the native american vision quest took teen angst
and channeled it to purpose.

or takes. i hope
that it is still practiced in their communities
at minimum.

when i say allowing for i mean just that.
not garunteeing. the fulfillment is a measure
of the strength of the awia. gotta go
listen to the crow's music.

damn he deleted it. a fit of angst indeed
his note to me. so um, i spose that's all good.
cuz i def do NOt to be someone's anything
i aleady have an anything. but a friend. i like
to have friends you know? hw to do that with
men, right djuana. i should say, like you
that they're too young. that would leave
me safe. motherly. desire a distant tit once suckled.

Saturday, January 21, 2006


had a lotofenergy
like tonitethismoringin
i went to bed at 430 then wokeup
quarter to eight like usual.
he was fucking me.
hmmm kinda both times.
the body can do what it wants
i think if the mind
willonly let it.
space bar fucked.

so i take a buncha blog names
none of the lines are mine
in toto, most of the phrasing
comes from them. i put a bit of
connective tissue in there
just called them as they rolled off the blog
no i culled them and now i need to be sleeping.
but nappyaulm he comes on sez
it's sooooooooo original
afterwhat he said to brooks i
think i should def tell the story.

i wonder how much i need to cite?
givea li'l bibliography at the end of the thing

technology's seam

Friday, January 20, 2006

calculating caroline in china

-random blog travel

sensory integration dysfunction
laws of ceremonial cleanliness
teaching english in beijing

if i was a rich girl i'd take your golden
guns your grease guns your glock maladies
and seal it with... yess, a divine act
of satan. the awakening of a fang das leich
and after the show, a 180 degrees foward

drastically me, a child's play login
airing my relatively dirty gun cleaner
for an online action game, a blue pissara,
very vagabon, on knotsville time at the cheap
wedding after the numeric life of gun rules.

just so you know, the mural
secrets of error 404 were displayed
by the inner workings of my

so don'tcha know we're meow-mi on
debbies journey. we've loaded the van
with tales of enlightened gun stastistics
piccolo gaskets and mongolian matters.

he knows the plan
notes and spokes
voices within

this day the long journey
whistle thru your wistcraft gungirls
it's double jointed guns for hire
on altavista, proving once for all

we vomit the lukewarm teen
bent over the far traveler
change management and the price of money

take a day in the life
of an infinite number of concrete foundations

a quaker anarchist
a siamese's laments
a lemming's veto

and reduce it to one true thing
my place of solace.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

ydo ido it

onlava again skar, and wondering
if you've goneand found this place
cuz you are a consummate searcher
but if you did,then, um...
wellhey 2 u

space bars fukked.

metamorphic rock is my 420post on carbomb
ithink that should close that book.
wish i had a few bux then i'd buy gold on clone
and let the masks out.

button down brah.

natwon't be writing you again. maybe.
maybe not.she don't like that stuff.if she wanted her reality
out there, she'd post it herself

lava is slow flow and boring guise.
skedallyed outta there. gotta get babes offa
empire earth and get sum good sex.
i'd likeone day to
that's a past participle and a dangling clause.
good nite.

Sunday, January 08, 2006

benjamins holdens & toms

here's one i wrote recently. i personally don't think it will need some explanation. ok, there's some time twists, some jumping around but unlike my inscrutable pieces, this one has a pretty straightfoward message.

mowing it down


you viscerally understand what will kill you
like the smell of cigar smoke
and stale pussy. the clove imprint the coffee shop
where you play chess with abandon, skirting
the rules then abnegating to them. i love language.
why can't i remember more of it? lead poison.
poisonne is chicken in french. we agreed to learn spanish
and move to barcelona last nite. that's the closest
we'll ever be to it. then. just then. the traveling steam
of a cuppa in the cold morning air. the boy with the short
dreads belting passion into the mild fla december
and you and i driving away from this knowing
this cone of silence that surrounds our union, the implicit
tone of the stares. one day that will bother you.
when i'm fifty four and the crevasses abut my glasses
and you still being carded. thwarted. you got it right once
over the phone where we should be having this
over the phone when we were where we should be
you told me so this is what life is ay?
moving from one heartbreak to the next.

writing always has an effect on me. i find that i reveal things to myself which i hide on a moment to moment basis.

i was not going to smile back at you last nite. not because you didn't seem interesting but because i don't want a purely sexual relationship. but then you got me in dating which is a weakness of mine on lava. if someone actually contacts me on the dating line then i have to check it out.

i go on lava for chat. not cyber. i go on lava to continue my study of the human male. i am currently in a relationship of which i am very very ambivalent, but since i don't have icewater in my veins, i want to believe that all you need is love. sometimes, as witnessed above, my belief is challenged by reality.

i like the honesty i have found in strangers who are not looking for any thing from one another. this is another reason i go on lava. i find that sometimes you can meet such a person there. when that happens, when i'm up front, and they're up front, then we can talk to each other one human to another. i find that fascinating.

and i suppose we are all, if we're in the game in the least bit, looking for something from one another, even if it's only an understood point of view. i mean, i 've read nietzsche, internalized a lot of what he said vis the animal capable of promises.


she beats you up and you feel you deserve it
it wasn't enough before, she couldn't get to that level
of abuse. she became the victim as soon as she caused
you to strike. poor scorpion, teased into suicide.

i like ambiguous writing. does it mean this or this
and the yes which goes along with it.

you called me tinkerbell. yes, and my peter
always in love with some goddam wendy i hope you stop
believing in faeries cuz i want to die.
vishnu is the god of creation
and shiva the god of destruction/rejuvenation
even the pot god has a name
so i will take my faerie dust to all of these
and ask for a new skin. new mask. i don't want

to deconstruct myself while i'm still alive
i want a bit of recombination in the dawn.
it gives me comfort. a sense of history. a sense of continuation
a tethering on sensitive slopes. if i were a different
person, say an ex lover, i might believe you were courting
me, sporting with me, just to watch me writhe
when you slice me with my proffered nail. but i am not

so paranoid. i chose to believe the more jesuish brand of connection.
lol. and if that makes me naive, then so be it. a chosen naif. believing
always even after proven wrong time and again
in the utter goodness of most initial action.
wot a sot.

ok, goota go do some mommy time.
its the most challenging part of my day.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

the bird as big mountain girl

i miss my faces scar
my masks and prankster day glo
tiger lily lights
everyting button down now bra
evryting diffrent

so you remember the electrik koolade asid test
yeah and the panhandling movie guide
who led you to the little cigar shack under palms
behind the railroad track on the alley facing the rail so that when
the SCR rolled into the last stop on the edge of nebraska
bus station 4 blocks down
the vintage wooden seats bolted
to the plywood stands rattle in sympathetic
chorus cutting into the pranksters' antix, kesey on the bus
in a pink tutu and duncan scarf wallowing in the wind
to the timpanic trumbling train, lickering up the screen
redolent with rubiyat
lapis lazul eyes, fingering
his dreads and the handful of quarters you laid
on him, yeah mon, you like dis movie
and off into the night, shifting his shoulder a bit umph
into the saucy sky. so you dug it.

hey just...what if they were right
i mean ok they were verged they were there on some knife
pasting art in a hippie dippie amerikan butterfly luvfest
and they got away with it for a while but it was so ott it had to crack
filter down, raining radioactively on the psyches of the next gen the x gen
and they grandbabies too. they had a truth. a groove. i remember
the night i was cold and big mountain girl closed the window==
and a look . then the night me n justin n jake playing
yatzi i'm trying for an inside straight and justin just touches
the dice each time i roll and i get what i need
no words it's like dilato sez, the synch is what we could get
goin we could but

the filter is too strong right now
button down bra.

but what if
you know
i'd really like to be there this summer
in the mountains.

i have a daydream about alternate love.
do you remember j when you tried to make the moves
on me. how you always wanted a black lesbian lover
but you used to write about falling in love as a child
the girls you crushed, the boyz you lusted
and i think of my j how he's so young
and i think a blended family with swapping all around
would be good for all of us. lol. no rally!
i mean wouldn't it be cool if we could all be in such
sync that we could minister to each other tantricly?
i think we have enough demon mastery to try it.

think about it. collapsable points of origin. you make
your own universe. i mean what i mean is this
we are very bogged down in possession. what is love
what does it mean to have it all. ah fuck
is this just a rationale for me to be able to fuck j.
probably. i am in heat. desire is a wicked li'l thang.

once u told me j shouldve gotten wit me. i wished it i feared it.
he needed you. still does. you needed him. i was not
strong enough to be with him. now i'm with this boy
and what is it that i want to do
get away? i am not strong enough to believe.
yet each day we stick our noses into each others eyes
and try to believe what we smell. he helps rid me of future.

this daydream is limned in vaseline. we are a thensome
and happy. our children learn about life thru the internet
and local soccer teams. there are elms and sycamores and in the vast
mountains beyond, the gleam of redwoods. we write.
each of us makes our living in the arts. we sweep and wash dishes
and google the division of fractions.we play music. we knit
and toss the yarn ball to the cat who is not declawed, but fixed.
the doxie curls like a favorite sausage against your feet.
this could be home. we could all be inside this yellow light.

the daydream is washed in watercolor. there is a commune
with fifteen bedrooms and baths. connecting doors. an old
motel, sold for taxes. no pool, thankfully. a plot of land, cultivated.
the lobby resturant is converted to the communal kitchen/gathering place.
the library would be awesome.
evening meals are served at the same hour. everyone
has their turn. if you make a mess, clean it up.
each person has their own room and a mini frig, fifteen people.
we could begin with six. with sex i almost typed. then i did.
the pranksters were just out front with it. i think that's the key.

there is still this wilderness of connection thru love
which we have not explored. we have plenty of experience with war.
jealousies and pettinesses. stranger and stranger in a strange land.
paisley busses and triple platinum star trips. could you see jh
and maya with us? k and a? lol. d and k. d and s! o o l and y.
how many is that. dilato n razz? meth? nat n co>
the bird would have to have her own place
with all those kidz. in fact....but nevermind.
this will never be. tis just a fancy
a pornography of silence.

of course i could use them all in a story.
use their names. this is what writiers do.
make a novel from lives. make the lives more real
in their frozen becomings
than the author's own life b/c the bones of books
have meaning behind them. tutenkahmen's hand reaches out of egypt
out of millenia. ptolemy's gods ashkar and thot
collapse into a bowl of petunias
on the edge of winking into the outside .
the sync the source the infinite gathering of desire into a cancer cure
and a forty minute countdown to the next cigarette
which passes into the realm of the dove.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

24 hour

early this morning my kid
has the flu. he's drifting
in and out of cramps,vomitting
with out anorectic aid
each little hydro pod.

try too hard. so what. i like
to try too hard. but only when i'm writing.
this is why my writing will alwaze suck.

need a smoke. been wanting to make cookies
for a week. but cookies are not something you
make alone. there must be an audience
someone to eat the things. i would call and wish
everyone a merry new year but you know what?
u know what? they don't really want to hear from me.

b/c that would be a choice between being real
and saying nothing. everyone's sick at my house.
me, in the head, girl with bronchitis, boy with bug
the man with love. how can he deal with this
constant doubt? ok, let me put myself over
in his place cuz i was there. the age thing
doesn't matter. but you see, um, i was able to support
myself. d didn't have to worry about money on me
but i bet he tells himself that he did that he blew
everything on me. well blow it up, and start again.
i spose that's what happens.

ok so last nite i told him how hard
it is to give my love to him, his age
is what prevents it. how the prognosis
is so poor. he asks me why not believe
we'll be in the 2 percent who'll survive?
cuz ummmm, that's never been my karma?

o but look. it sort of is. surviving
perhaps b/c i don't/haven't put all my faith
in anyone else? so there's the itchy mangy
finger pointing it out. i don't know when i lost
that ability if i ever had it. faith in others
to betray me. i gained that thru s and d. because self
interest in what rulez in this world. it is in my
interest to have the man here b/c he gives me monetary
breathing room, lots of sex and lots of love.
he really does. and his return is scant.
only his love is....tiring. i need to define
what love means to me. consideration of the community
in which you live. lately he's been playfully rude
with my son. i don't like it. but it's so juvenile.
it's what testosterone does it might be what he needs.

the poor boy is so sick. it's one of those viruses
that runs quickly, strafes the body into vile vomituos pain.

last nite was new years eve. i suppose that's a good time
for introspection. then we stayed up late talking. he
wants political power. heh, don't we all? i need to help him
stay focused on getting to school. he's so afraid of how time
will pass him by on that front/ i am good for him now
becaz he doesn't have the responsiblity of family.
how is that fair to my family? but what he has is an ability
to become immediate. does everyone have that
or is that a similarity between us? join in to the crowd
then drift away from it b/c i was never really a part of it?

the deliriousness of virus is akin to what labor is like.
you float in and out of consciousness which only involves pain
and the lack of it. when it's gone, you sleep or breathe.
this is why we don't remember the pain but we know we don't want it again.

anyway, tho. i did it twice.

i wonder about that woman in arkansas
who shoots out one a year. in fact i know
i don't want to be her. but she seems happy.
content. placid and organised. a good fodder mill.

i want to talk about the fireworks but i can't.

when we got on the bridge i looked north to the causeway.
the necklace was gone. there is a darkness covering
the water like a beast in hibernation. the lights
are gone as surely as if they'd never been there.

at the boiler plant, steam joins fog. a brazilesque scene
which never looses its power to terrorise me. i went there
once with a byrd. walked the perimeter in a centimeters mindspace
learned then unlearned the inner workings of power
pressure explosive behind the valves. tubes
leaking and muscled into substitution. retrofitting the politix
of maintenence. he took me out several times but choked
on the menu at Pacific Wave. then on the bill i decided
at that point
being his whore was def a low rent
contract. no thanks. but he was good
with his tongue. cock the size of new hampshire. the inter
state is finished now through this section of pinellas.
it was the last untouched bayfront but now sports
hedgerows of condos built on depelted landfills.
commerce and industry making inroads. build
the edge of the bowl then cry when it splashes on you.

woah. i'm going nowhere and everywhere. the lanes
are cruchy but smooth. pnut butter to our jelly.
i hope the fog doesn't get worse like remember
that time on the way back from new orleans?