Tuesday, May 24, 2011

hallelujah brigand

i'm not going to be upbeat
so just move along. pissometer
is the one thing i remember from
the state of my blogsurf tonite.

sometimes i was caught in languages
i can't read/persian, french,
christian, crafter , happy
family. a blogtex spun
out of what evil blogod i cannot
imagine. perhaps it was
not satisfied with missouri's
84 dead, and wanted to add my soul
to its blogture. i could go on
all night changing prefixes into
blogfixxes but piss o meter
is already on its way to cliche ville
and wants me to pick up the check, dear.

on the plus side it looks like some blogziners
are makin some money  on ego. nice.
like you always said.

what is the matter with you?
i like the way it draws me to you
the obvious way i want to catch
an eye, like sure, it's annoying
how could i possibly know
  you. in any way shape or form
but for me, as reader, it helps me
get into the role of other. what do you
think of this?
nothing much, a little tv now
a bit of watch this guy
take all of your thoughts and turn
them into entertainment or at any rate into a
teeth clicking stereotype, acublossageless

Monday, May 16, 2011

i smoke a lot of weed

it's true. got salvia
growin in the flower
bed-unraised, defined by loose
bricks installed by a laid
back teen, according to my stoner
"plan", mainly involving a tight, indefinite
budget, rudimentary knowlege of periennials
annuals and their differences,  and a love
for the little white weedy daisies that spring
up unbidden, unplanted each march
blooming all the way through summer,
when cut. the salvia was an impulse
purchase, home depot special,two
varieties, purple and red. the colors
may be auspicious or they may have
no effect at all on any shamanic rites and or rituals
that may or may not be
performed using said plant. i wouldn't
know about that my limited
experience with the drug gave different readings
each time, only one of which, in retrospect
clues me into some mystical connection
with the left hand flow of current. on a  plastic
shelf at the back of my porche (imagine
if you will, the e with a french accent because here in the park
we like to put on the put on, like target is tarjay and they
have new spring designs for the windcatchers and holiday
flags that everyone needs this season)  a single sunflower
seed has opened, also a lone lonely maryjane,
but the cosmos are doing well. i think basil
is coming up and also morning glory. also. morning.
glory, her blue is royal. flush me with an ether feather.

but enough of gardening, growing, the cycle of another life.
let me get out to one that's not mine. how hubristic he says
but i could name that tune in five paragraphs or less.
then what's the point? she says all are not created equal.
ein apologia for the noble, the ones who rise
 scum  to the sun at the top of the puddle
seventh ave and palm, striving for the top
in those few hours between downfall
and liftoff.  the slumdog scoops it up
takes it home to daddy. dandy.
i understand oh brother mine i have
been to the one sided mountain.


other people's lives

i can't decide if he's genuine
or a scammer. carnie food on the buy, he treats me
to hotdog and soda, says i gotta machine
i want to show you.
why me?
you look like a smart man you don't need
to be out here in the parkin lot selling
glass to people who don't need it.
i've heard this before. but it's a service and i tell him so.
you like serving , you like helpin people out?
i nod. cuz i do. that's why i was such a good flight
attendant, and why i'm selling the service now.
how'd you like to sell a product that's a service to all humanity?
does it have anything to do with porn?
cuz that's the money maker you know, porn.
this isn't about money. or sex. it's about saving technology
for future generations after the oil runs out.
not that story again.
listen, facts are facts. you want your kids livin
in a mad max world, that's on you. you dont wanna even look?
then he shows me this black box that's not plugged into
anything. turns it on and it runs. no batteries.
connects a lamp to it, then a blender. makes some daquiris
got the strawberries from the booth on the midway, all the while
this thing's runnin the radio, and i'm thinkin so what i
don't even have kids.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

movie idea10

open with black screen.
shuffling & settling sounds
then quietness. a cough.

Hey! Ralph!
turn on the projector!

The scene literally unfolds around frank like an origami in reverse. Coffee shop, new york city, 10 am by the digital clock on the wall in front of him. He sits at a booth near the door. Shot of a cup of black coffee, steam rising, pan to newspaper, bottom of page. Terri's hands on the edges, face hidden behind the finacial section. Pan over to waitress walking by.

Frank: Hey miss, can i get some cream?

Waitress stops, turns to him holding a pot.

Waitress, quizzically:
 Some what?

Frank quizzically:

waitress, rolling eyes:
always a joker in the crowd.

walks away.

Saturday, May 07, 2011


writing in the trashbox this am
i lost another piece. damn damn damn
but it was my editor's fault. arguing with
the muse like that. finally did let go, she had
her fun. then left, without even a genetic marker
to trace.  power down and no auto save. when
you gonna learn what causes that?!!!


lately nostalgia and rebirth circle
each other like reunited pups. i remember
things i don't remember remembering.
the first time i stepped into the gulf of mexico
echoes in a lioness' march. she stomps from
the water up the small incline of the beach
then back down, to the ocean which
lets her in, the waves are small, like her feet
like baby steps. when she decides she wants to
she lifts her feet and bouyed by floaties the water
makes her weightlesss and womb borne.
birds in the sky, a superrlight aircraft
with a man in the middle motors by.
she doesn;'t  know it's unnatural. this is how
we fly.  eyes flow with wings

Tuesday, May 03, 2011

rolodex strokes

what i can remember
bears forgettting.

flip into existence
then out again.

jealous mockingbird attacks
whoever gets near the nest.

hanging just this side:
bed, embrace, sleep.

everynight i make promises
that morning breaks.

every morning, the hairshirt
the whipping board, the alien invasion.

how like a ghazal
this is isn't.

voices outside
voices within
the electromagnetic songs
of the earth.

time, life,
collusional bargains.