Saturday, August 25, 2007

la la la la far be it from me

what to do when you take your best friend's ex-girlfriend on a date and your best friend throws bees into your car:

number one: you assure her that she is beautiful and that this is in no way a reflection of her inconsistencies.

then you try to ignore the bees while you sit nasty and try to make sense while sitting in your own mess.

she is clawing at your feeble efforts and trying to remember the consistent noise outside her window.

map vs. madrone: you can't see yourself in the trees. you are in a bitch of a place and you can't suppose you're a good man.

reduce your friend's errancy to a joke. say it's a silly prank.

try to suck the poison out of her stings.

if she refuses, then pardon you. for you tried.


i'd rather be me than al pacino

because no one probably ever takes his kisses seriously
because i am a direct descendent of my direct descendents
because i realize the figures of modern poetry are more important to me than natalie portman in a bad flannel.
because you can find just about anyone hiding under a random frida kahlo.
because your delivery truck heisted my livery.
because my non-existent sudanese friends support my cardiac arrestery.
because my hype machine loves my moustache.
because many irrefutable lovers have died in fiery crashes.
because maybe i fake a poem once in a while.
because you are my boss and i am loyal to all bosses.
because your cinderella is not my evil
because your cinderella is not my step sister
because your mighty morphin pseudo lebanese neo-con is running for senate.
because maybe this is a hold up and you won't know it until the end.
because my saturday was ape shit like a bollywood disaster.
because my seniority was in question on the day of the evacuation.
because local kids can never skate as good as pro ass kids.
because you dumb ass bitches find out way too late.
because narc cops and their fellatio suppose my diction is supposedly less important than a love affair.
because my sloppy joe naps in jon voight's patents rake in what i owe in rush limbaugh coffee money.
because i am sad in a station wagon in a mass tarantino.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

some people have american flags... parents have this towel hanging in our window. apparently we fully support the colors grayish, yellow, light yellow, less gray, and white.

these colors don't run :(

new plan for the week

i know i am supposed to write a story this week but i am going to try to record an album's worth of songs instead.

i have new songs at my myspace:

also: alex has a cool ass new song up too:

we are recording together this weekend.

we are like a two-headed brotherly snake filled with lyrics instead of venom but we also have venom in case we need it.


Saturday, August 18, 2007

the ceiling is low but i am still standing

i don't think about you when i am trapped in a mine.
we are all here, trapped in a mine.
my face is darker and smaller and trapped in a mine.
the air is darker still and the air is trapped in a mine.
how did this pigeon get in here this pigeon is trapped in a mine.
i am struggling to not be trapped in a mine.
there is a helicopter here too, trapped in a mine.
how did i get trapped in a mine.
if i was water i could eventually be free by evaporating and seeping upward through the earth but i am not water; i am trapped in a mine.
someone started whistling something and the tune kept going after they stopped whistling because the sound bounced off every wall and did not dissipate and i think the sound is going to be forever trapped in a mine.
there are bunk beds for those of us who are trapped in a mine.
there is a cafeteria with workers but no food because we are trapped in a mine.
we were working and happy and we loved people but now we are all trapped in a mine.
we are trying hard to forget people and our pets because we are trapped in a mine.
should i start digging or should i say well, i am trapped in a mine.
i tried to text message you that i love you but i have no cell signal because i am trapped in a mine.
i wrote me + you forever on the wall and it doesn't matter because i am trapped in a mine.
some of the guys think we are dreaming and that we aren't really trapped in a mine.
we have constructed stop signs and police precincts and a civilization despite being trapped in a mine.
someone just had their first baby, the first ever baby trapped in a mine.
the weather man predicts no weather: we are trapped in a mine.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

a new story for the second week of august. it is small.

Pathetic in All This Moonlight

Dad drove a casual jalopy and there wasn’t anything we could do about it. Mom left him after she sold her first romance novel and so he sold his Suburban. He bought an old car just so he could act it like he’d owned it for years. He loved the old car and we were very frustrated by it. My brother asked girls to pick him up. I didn’t hate the car, I just hated the way my dad enjoyed the car. My sister asked my brother how to break a car engine.

“Run it without oil; crack the block,” he said, “but just you wait. You do that, dad will crack down the middle, too.” She drained all the oil and ruined one of her favorite Hollister shirts to crush our balding father. I watched her and fiddled with a vice in the garage. She looked up how to drain oil on the internet and found dad’s crescent wrench. She said fuck a lot while she was doing it.

Dad was grinning when he picked us up the next day. The car still ran as it always had. My sister hid her shock. She looked at me and I said what. Her fingers were still a little dirty. They were evil fingers.

I remember the way my mom’s fingers looked when she handed dad her ring and cocked her head to one side and said sorry. My sisters’ fingers turning the plug on the oil pan had the same carefree and clumsy toss to them. When everyone was asleep I changed his oil. When I was done I put all the empty bottles around me in a circle. I sat cross-legged and looked at my blackish hands.

“Everything is pathetic in all this moonlight,” I thought.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007


tao lin has proposed an alternative to flarf. i don't really understand it, but i am very tired and very heartbroken. i will learn about it later.

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

1st Story

I am writing a story a week this month. Other people are doing things too. Jess and Julie are writing a poem a day and I think Alex is doing something. Please inform me if I missed you. I am too lazy too look. Yes. Too lazy to go to my Bloglines and look. I am also too lazy to fix the paragraph indents that somehow got overlooked when I brought this text from MS Word. It's actually not laziness. It's just indifference.


My lipids were low like a dingy feline. I rolled to the airport to scoop up my girlfriend. I was at the doctor’s office for 3 hours today.
My doctor told me, “Your adult anxiety will get you laid. Here’s some Xanax and a recipe.”
I was driving a 1988 IROC-Z that my aunt left me when she died.
My girlfriend tried to leave me last night but I just don’t know about that. She works at a coffee shop on the concourse. It’s called Flying Java. Hardly anyone tips because they don’t consider it a real coffee shop. She wants to get a job at the VIP lounge. My uncle said they give blowjobs in the bathroom there for tips.


Last night I said, “Your bun is come undone.”
She said, “If I were a rich girl.” She scratched her face. When we were kids I sat behind her on the school bus. One time the tag on her t-shirt was sticking up and I tucked it in for her. She looked behind her but she never said anything. I wrote my name backwards on the frosty window and I also wrote: “Help! We are kidnapped!”
Her parents were poor so she wore her older sister’s old clothes. They were not cool. They were never cool. But it was okay because I wore my older brother’s old clothes. His clothes were never cool until he decided to become a punk rocker and he made his own clothes with patches and frayed denim. I was the only one who paid attention to her and I think she hated me for it.


The airport security is pretty loose because it’s one of those smaller municipal airports that certain airlines reluctantly land at. There is a fat old deputy who sits at the metal detector and waves me in even though I don’t have a boarding pass. My metal teeth always make the alarm go off and I always just grin at him and he laughs. Today I also have a hunting knife.


We went on our first date when we were sophomores in high school. I think she still hated me because I was the only one who would talk to her and I had old clothes just like she did. We took the bus downtown and I bought her lunch at Sergio’s Deli and then we got ice cream sandwiches from Safeway. She was wearing a skirt that she may or may not have stolen from Target and some knee-high socks. She was skinny and I wanted to put my face next to her belly button and then kiss her hips.
We rented a horror movie and watched it in my living room. My parents were not home so I took a little of each of their bottles and mixed it in a drink and poured 7-Up in it. We sipped it and got giggly. I got brave and kissed her and then she pulled me to my room and we pulled and pulled on everything that would come off.


She was blending mochas and some of her hair was caught under her apron’s strap. I sat down just around the corner from her kiosk.
“The white zones are for loading and unloading only,” I thought, and “keep your luggage with you at all times.” Women in pantsuits wheeled their luggage by and I smelled their Chanel.
“Have a nice flight,” my girlfriend said to a customer.
“I’ll try. You have a good day.” I pictured her, 16, with ice cream dripping down her chin.
I got up and walked to the bathroom. With my head against the mirror I felt the hunting knife hiding in my shorts and I steeled myself for a hard afternoon.