April 2010
3 posts
Incroyables and Merveilleuses. →
exempli-gratia:
“The names are sometimes spelled and were pronounced incoyables and meveilleuses without the letter R, as, in reaction against the Revolution, which begins with an R, in which so many had suffered and lost relatives, the letter R had to be banished.”
How To Get A Job Through Res Nova Through...
If relief were guidoes then I would have been brimming with wax, bronzer, and unresolved issues with my father. I had finally received an email from the ancient and renown magazine Res Nova for an interview; you see, my renown as a humor and sexual deviancy reporter was well established in the back waters of New England. They loved me in New York, but since I made the fateful choice to leave my...
Erotic Fiction Tips, or I'll Give You A Tip...
Res Nova hasn’t always been the paradigm of literary and journalistic virtue you now hold in your hands. We used to print under the name Pedicabo and chances are, if you purchased erotic fiction at an Exxon between Little Rock, Arkansas and Topeka, Kansas in the mid-nineties, it had the Pedicabo label. As the chief editor, I have read and written some of the most breath-takingly ballslapping...
February 2010
2 posts
The Silverback Returns
I ran up the stairs. Ran is a relative term, I suppose, because of my alleged “socially degenerative drinking” it could also be called vomit-fall-sob-scream up the stairs. After Pepe, the omnipresent Latino man who makes sure everything in the shit show country club works, got me a clean shirt; cause apparently you can’t serve a table a 50 dollar lobster if you are covered in the...
Something Like Thunder, No Edit, Just Additions
Something like thunder woke me. I kicked off my wet blue sheets and ran toward the door. Stopped to find an empty cup, which drew my gaze to all the other red and blue cups caked with either whiskey strait or whiskey mixed with some sweet soda. Cowards, I thought. Why are my feet wet? Chunky urine? Smooth Vomit?
“… The crossroads I’m standing at…”
Somebody left Dylan on repeat. I wish I could...
January 2010
2 posts
Rose under the Mailbox
rose under the mailbox
imperceptible rose.
Dogs blood on the floor
Fallen dog.
Rain drops on the suitcase
Cresting over the sidewalk.
Something Like Thunder (First Draft)
Something like thunder woke me. I kicked off my sheets and ran toward the door. Stopped to find an empty cup, which drew my gaze to all the other red and blue cups caked with either whiskey strait or whiskey mixed with some sweet soda. Cowards, I thought. Why are my feet wet? Chunky urine? Smooth Vomit?
“… The crossroads I’m standing at…”
Somebody left Dylan on repeat. I wish I could repay them...
December 2009
1 post
New
I have written something. On note cards. It will be up soon. I am excited about this. Its boring. Its not groundbreaking. But I am pleased to present something of a short story. It is called Something Like Thunder.
November 2009
3 posts
Nightmare. Dream 4.
Dream 4
The giant grey baby
Is sharply exhaling
Against a
Small
Square
Window
Leading to the cell
Of the psych ward
Where I’m kept
Where I watched two men
Bleat against the wall
Till their fists fused and
Blunted.
They died
Squandering their
Fear torn
Resistance against the white plated wall Behind which
The baby waited for blood.
I knew only realizations in the gut,...
Hangover. First Paragraph.
The shade was blown sideways by the revolving fan, opening one of the suns arteries. I tried like a pre-med student to force the blood back in, to stop it. Nothing. Nothing is as horrible as trying to hold back lifeblood. I pulled one of the curtains off the wall and tied it around my head like a tunicate. Back to sleep.
First Draft, Hyperbolic funny story.
I ran up the stairs. Ran is a relative term, I suppose because of my alleged “socially degenerative drinking” it could also be called vomit-fall-sob-scream-repeat up the stairs. After Pepe, the omnipresent Latino man who makes sure everything in the shit show country club works, got me a clean shirt, cause apparently you can’t serve a table a 50 dollar lobster if you are covered...
September 2009
1 post
The next to the last romantic
“We’ve both had dry spells, hard times in bad lands. I’m a good man, for ya.”
I get the feeling that
You don’t like yourself,
and I know I don’t like myself.
I get the feeling that
You don’t know why I like you
And I can’t understand why you like me.
But if you can take the fire out,
I’ll take the fire out.
I’ll go to the end...
March 2009
1 post
I'll Be Leaving Soon
stormy night
branches fall
:
obscured moon
taste for the clouds
:
break for coffee
and a nat. cigarette
:
Nubian Queen
pelvis deep, 28 F
:
sickly saints
cough on salivating slaves
:
a bad knee
leaning dying tree
:
sip of dads drug
toke of mother’s
:
petrol bombs
American Apparel tags
:
stained bronze skin
over teeth, gum, tongue
:
I’ll be leaving soon
...
February 2009
1 post
Joe Pug →
December 2008
1 post
"Of Lead"
I found only lead raw and clandestine as the planted seed held by hands attempting to perceive that lead is all i’ve got a cloud of proposed answers for the arbitrary wonder from this fine lead and its daunting potential to the tree shaken free from leaves to ask for control is to ask too much look deep and penetrate the bare earth find that surge to stay in touch release the Secret and hold the...
November 2008
3 posts
At Last
The adrenaline unfolds into the last act of defiance
On a hollow wounded field, were venture capitalists applaud each hit.
Seeing only platonic tackles and the wondrous parabolas of the football.
On the losing side a single boy throws up his hands.
Seeking only the chest of his already jubilant opponent.
Choking back the spit rushing to his lips.
No matter how he laughs at his matted hair and...
καλοκαίρι
Young trees and powder.
Amateur cigarette butts on the porch
Gonzo postcards from Madrid.
A summer in Europe, an Englishman
Living in Spain.
And we where just sitting, when the rain threw us outside our internal dialogues
And we actually had to see each other.
Last of the 27s distract
Yellowing teeth and knotted hair
Whisky and hem danger
Bus boys in south east suburbs
Picked up by the last...
Part of Sisyphus Rising
Rheumy eyed I threw back the curtains to excise the fist hangover in a series. And at that moment the siren blew from the fire house and the train screamed into focus. I screamed, and us three harpies formed an awful chord, like the final strains of a suicide.
October 2008
6 posts
The Lion is a Communist(other side of morning)
A cough fishing up the last tar in my lungs
I remember a friend who told me once that
“The lion is a communist”
The Lion is a communist
The Lion is a Communist
:
And as I made my slow progress under the sun
I became estatic with the notion
That we no longer needed a son
We no longer needed a Son
We no longer needed the Son
:
And to that place, where the sharp law could not...
(exert from Sisyphus)
The shade was blow sideways by the revolving fan, opening one of the suns arteries on to my face. I tried like a pre-med student to force the golden blood back in, to stop it from screaming into my eyes, and few things are as terrible as trying to force blood back into a body. I pulled one of the curtains off the wall and i tied it around my head like a tunicate. Christ, back to sleep.
Dream 4, Notes on a Disturbing Vision
The giant grey baby
is sharply exhaling
against a
small
square
window
leading to the cell
of the psych ward
where Im kept
where I watched two men
bleed against the wall
till their fists fused and
blunted.
They died squandering their
fear torn
resistience against the white
plated wall Behind which
the baby waited
fr blood
I knew only realizations in the guy,...
Notes on College 1
Letting clothes sit on the floor counts as aring them out and airing them out is like cleaning them, right?
Exert Lambda(exersize)
“Nobody knew what the raven would do”- The Tallest Man on Earth
Out of a pitiless darkness my mind was sharing water with consiousness and unconsiouness. Music in my ears speaking of obolivion and peasent revenges. My dreams and sweet reviere, all that keep me sane, slowly shattered by the realization that the alarm is on and with an act of courtesy I get up to turn it off. Why the...
Soldier at Rest
A Soldier at rest
surrounded by poppies
the sun total in his eyes
playing with the sand wound around his hand
Blinks away the dust
hears people singing some false hymm of praise
closes his eyes and sings the happiest psalm
static from his radio doesn’t move him
remembers his coin collection
the one in the top drawer of
his desk in his south-west
ranch style home, the flamingoes in...
August 2008
2 posts
Sodom
Freedom exists
Wiping your vomit from the floor
And pulling the splinters of innumerable docks from your feet.
We came like angels to Sodom, two rockets hitting a beach.
We came to Sodom when the sun ducked in for a visit, stayed all day and stained the sheets.
We came to Sodom the evening where no matter how many towels are ruined we cant scrape dinner off the bar.
We came to Sodom were our...
Nature walk
I sit on the grassy Golgotha
thinking of the red ant
Watching her graze me with her shapely jaw
I susspect daylight treachery, the way she searches my elbow.
panic strikes her as her food grinds her into
primordial ooze and loose spirit
July 2008
1 post
Bad Poem, made of spit and tarred bark(no edit),...
smoking my amaturer ciggaret think to where i left my butts behind.
and believing, so desperately that, past my
gut, my fat strong legs, where my mustles cling like
leeches to bone. to the eathly hollows below.
my thoughs drew clearer. i belived in the roots and in my legs.
my mind forgot what i was doing and thought of excuses for the impishness of my smoking
but back to basics i ran. my...
June 2008
4 posts
important →
CALYSPO
The Full Calypso
Well I cant call my methods the most humane, or even that human. Its strange, the way I secretly know that the only goal worth striving for is immortality and I also know that we are all just dead weight on a cooling planet, in a cooling universe. All that striving seems silly, but then again, not striving is equally silly. Everything looks silly when Death looks at us, he is the only thing that...
May 2008
6 posts
How poems arrive 2
I meet them, blind, mute, Horrified by my skins sensations Of a 2nd coming dawn. A few short words And my inoculations But the fever still catches me One I cant sweat out. I project vomit and laughter Til death
Ackward Confession
Should I be getting laid more Should I hide my volumes of Whitman, Ginsberg, Rothschild, Hesse, all stolen Should I return to the library All I have taken Lay eggs in ink and deliver The Prose fetus of an actual Thought from the Abortionist of My mind (Rage and sedition, aliens and the fury of landing anew, dewey and sappy) And they are pro-life, they are the patriots of democracy...
Lunar Wombs
Beat is not in tea shades Not in peasant wanderings Or the singular glare of a Jugular attachment Or libertine circles Its in hope, and intellect Illumination Light of the world At the end of a cigarette Lights of the world Drawing lines of fire down The Wahakme way, to lunar wombs Forgetting the agencies and agents Of Americas own sleeper cells, Fire bread crumbles to a spleen of distended angst....
The Seeming Void
Let me begin with an image. A nervous beautiful, blonde, brunette, dainty, red lipped, light hair bound, Ballerina. On a tight rope Now let us, the audience, step back. Observe the tight rope. One end tied to the neck of An ape, choking the brilliant beast. And the other is well fastened just beyond sight. All that we can see is the silhouette. It frightens me to describe this man? This silhouette...
Third Eye
Then a voice struck into my head with cold sudden fury Crying whispers of bronze and silk Life is but a dream. Echo My love Echo My dream. Reflect Blossom, cringe I opened my third eye and blinked running out of the womb. My dreams are wild and warm, Falling though glass tables of dogma Into an ocean of attainable light.
Some Eloquent Graffitii
I have some reckless words and I want you to listen recklessly They broke their backs lifting the western dream to heaven, crippled the dream tumbled back in on them The dream spread through parties and barbeques, smashing open young infinite heads with concrete and beer, devouring imagination and consciousness Dead walking, though they defend their fake empire with both hands against the mongrels...
April 2008
13 posts
Athenian Law
And to that place where the sharp Athenian law cannot touch us Watching the best minds burn, savage, naked to the flame, too many egg shells rushing to the pavement Shouting epiphanies at Soviet Canaan’s burka out of the living wood, under the knife and beneath the wheels Disappearing to Oregon, Ohio, Connecticut, California, Texas and to holy Union, drinking and watching our souls truest...
Song to John
The tear on my face Are red wet pearls Tastes like a saline drip In my yellow mouth The plans I made in my Room unfurl Im going home again This the last time Rural Drive Home again I always liked it When you talked like summer Drying eyes at graduation The school erasing our numbers Im going home again For the last time Rural Drive Home again We passed on the street Practical, political,...
ashcan rantings
Watching the moon I wondered, and thought, about ashcan rantings and unattainable dollars about Ginsberg and Whitman and Burroughs and Zarathustra and all that I realized that our best bet was that this was all a farce. A cruel farce, a laughable farce, Hicks know this is a ride. Hicks knows this is all just a ride. And that we should go to that place where the sharp Athenian law cannot touch us....
Hey White Boy
Hey white boy Must be saved Worlds on fire A soft parade She saw her soul Must be saved Blood in the streets Behind the blockade Superman Far too late Propaganda empire Must be fate Lost we are Far too late In Sundays clap Zoe, golden bait Not to be unkind We’re getting fixed In TV drag What to do Church like a hill We’re getting fixed Weapons in hand What to do
How and To Where poems Arrive
When I write, the poem comes Through music and dance We meet at lake sides And discuss diverse matters Like a dove or a pigeon I see flash by Then the bullet hits me Its almost a shameful wound
Dear Mother, Dear Father
Dear mother This is just tomorrow Breathing down your neck only 24 hours till the end of the world Dear Father This is just tomorrow And its iron willed We are both a quarter short of a dime Dear mother I cant see tomorrow Friends lost in faithless fear Fog like a austere doom Dear Father I cant see tomorrow Waking up on a dream Plying paper to philisites in MI
Song To John
The tear on my face Are red wet pearls Tastes like a saline drip In my yellow mouth The plans I made in my Room unfurl Im going home again This the last time Rural Drive Home again I always liked it When you talked like summer Drying eyes at graduation The school erasing our numbers Im going home again For the last time Rural Drive Home again We passed on the street Practical, political,...
At First Instance
Sitting in front of the towns favorite coffee shop I watch the stone in the wall surround it switch places for a few minutes, have a few minutes of hellishly introspective thinking and then finish my coffee, or latte, or whatever my friend felt like fixing behind the counter. Five o’clock and all is… What the fuck, why is my pocket rumbling. The salvia had worn out minutes ago and I knew there...
Walking is Still Honest
I left an angel in the footsteps of an impossible giant Mary and So Desolate worked wonders in corners I forgot why I came to the best party But I love it when we fall together I see Joy in all I can see In all possibilities I lost my way a little bit in the mines of the holy vacuum An orphan with a gun fires at all the local air waves We are stranded in a crowd laughing with each other I see a...
Release
The Skyline looked beautiful on fire And God calls it a fever And the saddest wind I ever felt I felt it blow Down the American river Over the steamboats dragging gamblers by the eyebrows Through the arguments that tied the children down Mothers clutching babies Lovers looking once into each others eyes Dreamers woke in this river For nigh is the shadows in the shallows In the valley of death The...
Song for New Canaan
And I dreamt of a Tree Lifted in the air and Mud dripping off its hair And I dreamt of a Giant Walking impossibly into My TV And I dreamt of a Stop light That told me when To laugh or fight
A Thesis I Suppose
Part 1 It’s a hot summer Connecticut day, one of my best friends is about to leave for college. As he gets up to go home and finish his packing he leaves me with a small raspberry tart. This almost depressingly small assortment of dreary molecules is our final goodbye until December. We had been ingesting drugs casually all year so I had an idea of what was actually in my palm; flour, eggs,...
