Sunday, December 27, 2009

The Nothings

Friends, 2009 has been a weird mother fucker--a strange end to a terrifying decade. It was a year of celibrideaths and econopocalypse or whatever your neologism of choice was. Nothing really seemed to stay static, did it? I spent much of the summer sleeping on couches and in a Maker's Mark-induced fog, then moved to a strange new city. I mean STRANGE.

Many of you witnessed me in various states of ridiculous--but what's new, yeah? The decade was a tug of war for everyone, I think. We spent a good chunk of The Nothings under the thumb of people hell bent on creating a trickle up effect. I don't know how any of us survived Bush. Guys, I know half of you voted for the dude and part of me wants to ring your goddamn necks, but I'm pretty forgiving. I've never been super great at the grudge thing. But if you put that AlaskanbulldogroguelipstickmaverickhockeymomJesusfreakweirdchildnamer anywhere near the Oval Office in 2012 I'ma bounce. For real, people.

This would be the paragraph where I start talking about all the things to look forward to in the next decade, but that's not really how I get down. Besides, most of us drank enough Hope Kool-Aid in 2008. It's not that I don't want to be optimistic, it's just that I haven't had the training. I don't have the certificate. The Nothings made up a little less than half of my life so far, and these haven't really been the happiest of formative years. You and I both know what single event is going to symbolize this entire decade. And yes, I guess I am a little bitter that the past 10 years have been such a time of seriousness. Ladies and gentlemen, I would have much rather spent my teens and first part of my 20s in an age of frivolity. Best I can say about The Nothings is that they taught me a lot about the true nature of people and life. There wasn't really much wool around for us to pull over our eyes. When I think about this decade, I feel like I have a hollowed-out double wide in my chest. Or a falling tower. Something.

Here are my New Year's resolutions:

1.) Try to develop real, meaningful connections with more people. Whatever that means.
2.) Find more joy in small things. Don't laugh, it's something I've been meaning to do. Plus, it's all I can afford right now.
3.) Put something together that is "manuscript length."
4.) Watch every episode of LOST so I can share in this grand finale with you freaks. Also, because I have a feeling they don't know what they're doing and you're all going to be disappointed. I just want to be able to share this with you.
5.) Punch you haters in the face with a mountain, okay?

Friday, December 18, 2009

Thursday, December 3, 2009

From Void to Violence: An Analysis of Holes in Beckett’s Molloy

“It takes more than fucking someone to keep yourself warm.”–lyrics from the song "Keep Yourself Warm” by Frightened Rabbit

Much of the violence in Beckett’s Molloy derives from the nature of voids, including the void created by the insurmountable distance between “I” and “Other.” Voids or holes, as Sartre points out in Being and Nothingness, are originally presented to man as “a nothingness ‘to be filled’” and that “holes in the sand and in the earth, caves, the light, the night, etc.—all reveal…modes of pre-psychic and pre-sexual being which he will spend the rest of his life explaining” (Sartre 781). We are helpless to resist the pull of holes; they represent problems to be solved by a filling. The hole “presents itself to me as an empty image of myself. I have only to crawl into it in order to make myself exist in the world which awaits me” (Sartre 781). In Molloy, it is apparent that holes are not only essential to the text’s structure (what is left out of the narrative, the text’s negative space, is as important as all the elements present within the text) but essential to understanding a certain violence that manifests itself in solving the unfulfilled need that exists in the idea of the hole.

It is important to consider the forms of holes; it is imperative to understand the many manifestations and functions of holes in order to understand the violence they provoke. If, for example, you have a keyhole preventing you from accessing the other side of a door, you must obtain a key in order to pass through to the other side. The blockage of the doorway presents itself as an obstacle that can only be surmounted through the use of some kind of force, whether it is to insert the key into the keyhole and turn, (thereby filling the hole and “solving” the keyhole’s problem) or simply by the literally forceful, violent act of breaking the door down. Holes may simply be perpetual voids, such as the one we experience inside our body in the form of our digestive system. No matter what we eat, we can never fill the void that goes from the top of our bodies to the bottom; it is literally a bottomless pit. It is a negative space that exists only to nourish the filled space that encircles it. And furthermore, eating “is to appropriate by destruction; it is at the same time to be filled up with a certain being” (Sartre 783). This destruction gives us our nourishment, but the hole inside of us provides an eternal problem; we can never completely satisfy our hunger or sustain ourselves no matter how much we eat, thus our bodies are inherently violent because they require that we constantly destroy things; our bodies exist only to consume nourishment in order to sustain themselves as long as they can. Holes, I will argue, can also be in the form of insurmountable distances. Take, for example, the void created between two people—the asymptotic relationship between “I” and “Other”—the idea that two people cannot share a consciousness. In this essay, I will consider holes, voids, and distances as interchangeable terms.

In Molloy, all of the aforementioned voids are apparent as instigators of both symbolic and literal violence. Take, for example the seemingly incomprehensible passage at the beginning of the novel where Molloy watches someone he calls “A” and someone called “C” approach each other. “They looked alike, but no more than others do. At first a wide space lay between them” (Beckett 9). The passage reads as an existential parable, with the two entities approaching each other unaware of one another, but then finally “meeting” in a trough—or, as I read it, this “meeting in a trough” simply signifies death, one of only two true undifferentiating human experiences (the other being birth) where differentiation simply cannot exist or is rendered inert; this—death—is the asymptote just beneath the curve where “I” and “the Other” would hope to merge. The violence here is only apparent if we consider the frustration one feels in not being able to apprehend the Other—one’s complete isolation within one’s own consciousness and body is made explicit when confronted by the Other.

Sartre understands the difficulties this insurmountable distance between “I” and “Other” creates and discusses it in Being and Nothingness. He says

if after grasping “my” consciousness...I then seek to unite it with a certain living object composed of a nervous system, a brain, glands, digestive, respiratory, and circulatory organs…I am going to encounter insurmountable difficulties. But these difficulties all stem from the fact that I try to unite my consciousness not with my body, but with the body of others.” (Sartre 401)

In Beckett’s novel, Molloy is faced with the problem of distances almost immediately. He spends almost half of the novel searching for his mother, wandering in circles searching for a town whose name he cannot remember. At the end of the first part of the novel Molloy is literally on the ground slithering, crawling on his belly back towards his mother. This slowness of movement indicates the way he in which he reaches the bottom of the curve. Molloy’s journey ends as he falls into a ditch while in his last throes of locomotion toward his mother. His quest for perfect communion with another ends in the same way that everyone’s does—slowly, and in a ditch. Molloy notices that his journey has perhaps come to an end:

The forest ended in a ditch, I don’t know why, and it was in this ditch that I became aware of what had happened to me. I suppose it was the fall into the ditch that opened my eyes, for why would they have opened otherwise? (Beckett 91)

This passage could easily be misread as Molloy’s journey through life coming to a halt, but that would be an oversimplification. Molloy’s final tumble into the ditch signifies the futility of trying to perfectly communicate with the Other. His violent journey, complete with sucking stones, killing a dog, and killing a man, leads him to this particular hole in the forest—a haven that allows him to complete the landscape’s puzzle, where “Molloy could stay, where he happened to be” (Beckett 91).

In the first half of the novel, holes act as soothing outlets for Molloy (a creature, it would seem, that embodies the notion of man’s inevitable dilapidation and eventual collapse into himself—Molloy is a walking void, to be sure); the holes provide Molloy a temporary escape from his incompleteness and his own deterioration. There are many prime examples (all violent in different ways) that demonstrate Molloy’s temporary sanctuary in holes. The first comes in the form of Ruth (who is later referred to as Edith), an entity who, Molloy claims, is the first to make him

acquainted with love…She had a hole between her legs, oh not the bunghole I had always imagined, but a slit, and in this I put, or rather she put, my so-called virile member, not without difficulty, and I toiled and moiled until I discharged or gave up trying or was begged by her to stop. (Beckett 56)

Not only does Molloy confuse Ruth with Edith, he is unable to differentiate between Ruth/Edith’s anus and vagina; he is even indifferent to whether or not Ruth/Edith was a man or a woman. Molloy’s indifference toward orifices speaks to the nature of voids, as though all holes provide the same kind of existential refuge.

Sartre discusses the philosophy and “existential psychology” of the hole, declaring it

an excavation which can be carefully moulded about my flesh in such a manner that by squeezing myself into it and fitting myself tightly inside it, I shall contribute to making a fullness of being exist in the world…to plug up a hole means originally to make a sacrifice of my body in order that the plenitude of being may exist; that is, to subject the passion of the For-itself so as to shape, to perfect, and to preserve the totality of the In-itself. (Sartre 781)

Molloy further adds the violence of confusion to Ruth/Edith’s orifices—he is unable to determine whether or not his physiological interactions with Ruth/Edith’s anus/vagina actually constitute love. Looking back on his experiences, he wonders

Perhaps after all she put me in her rectum. A matter of complete indifference to me, I needn’t tell you. But is it true love, in the rectum? (Beckett 57)

Molloy discusses his complete indifference towards orifices, since they all seem to provide him the same kind of satisfaction; Molloy “would have made love to a goat, to know what love was” (Beckett 57). These passages offer a critique of the simplistic and seemingly absurd views of love that humans seem to carry with them—humans place the concept of love as an ideal we should all strive for, but why, then, would we seek to find it in the orifices of one another? Orifices require a violent inhabitance, not tender, abstract notions of congruity between multiple conscious beings. The most one can hope to gain from a hole is a momentary approximation of undifferentiation. In the act of sexual congress, for example, the consciousness of each party remains wholly different and removed from the Other.

Molloy, having discussed love and orifices discusses his first encounter with Ruth/Edith.

I was bent over a heap of muck, in the hope of finding something to disgust me forever with eating, when she, undertaking me from behind, thrust her stick between my legs and began to titillate my privates. (Beckett 57)

This passage juxtaposes previous discussions of sex and love with one of food and disgust, but both point to the same violent goal: eradication of desire, be it symbolic desire (sex) or literal desire (hunger). Molloy goes on to sarcastically describe his realization of love’s true nature saying

love is no doubt above such base contingencies. And not when you are comfortable, but when your frantic member casts about for a rubbing-place, and the unction of a little mucous membrane, and meeting with none does not beat in retreat, but retains its tumefaction, it is then no doubt that true love comes to pass, and wings away, high above the tight fit and the loose. (Beckett 58)

Above all in the search for truth to fill an impalpable void, the truth is, love is a violent contingency that cannot be found in holes. Holes are undifferentiating sanctuaries that approximate death and must be entered violently.

The obstacles (holes, voids, insurmountable distances) in Molloy coincide with René Girard’s assertion that “modern society aspires to equality among men and tends instinctively to regard all differences, even those unrelated to the economic or social status of men, as obstacles in the path of human happiness” (Girard 49). Differences among men are complex, wily things that resist undifferentiation or homogeneity. However, in the model of a hole, it is easy to see moments of undifferentiation. When a hole is filled, there is a sense of restored equilibrium, though the equilibrium created by the filling of a hole takes a violent act (literal or symbolic), whether it’s intercourse, eating, or simply the symbolic act of covering one’s holes in clothing. In Molloy, the characters know this all to well. Moran tells Jacques to “wash himself, to straighten his clothes, in a word to get ready to appear in public” (Beckett 94). Moran’s request to his son brings further illumination of the nature holes; they are private spaces.

Molloy also deals with the symbolic voids that we try to fill with the divine. In the second half of the novel the narrator, Moran, needs the Eucharist, a symbolic food, in order to fill a spiritual void. When his priest, Father Ambrose, gives him communion, he says at first that his soul is appeased, but yet he is “ravenous” for real food (Beckett 101). Moran thanks Father Ambrose for communion, but Father Ambrose’s reply begins to unsettle Moran. “Pah! he said, it’s nothing” (Beckett 101). Father Ambrose’s dismissal of Moran’s need of the Eucharist as “nothing” destroys the ceremony of the sacrament, rendering the symbolic food trivial and unfulfilling. It is from this point that we see Moran’s deterioration, both spiritually and physically—the spiritual hunger inside him rendered an unappeasable void.

In Being and Nothingness Sartre states, “a good part of our life is passed in plugging up holes, in filling empty places, in realizing and symbolically establishing a plenitude” (Sartre 780). We can see the human attraction to holes very clearly in children—they are constantly exploring their own orifices. Though, as Sartre points out, it is impossible that the child “apprehends a particular part of his body as an objective structure of the universe,” and that it is only to the Other that “the anus appears as an orifice,” and yet again only through another that the child “learns that his anus is a hole” (Sartre 781).

When Gaber visits Moran to deliver his orders, Moran dismisses his son, who is watching. “Jacques went away grumbling with his finger in his mouth, a detestable and unhygienic habit, but preferable all things considered… If putting his finger in his mouth prevented my son from putting it in his nose, or elsewhere, he was right to do it, in a sense” (Beckett 94). When Jacques puts his finger in his mouth, he is trying “to wall up the holes in his face; he expects that his finger will merge with his lips and the roof of his mouth and block up the buccal orifice as one fills the crack in a wall with cement” (Sartre 782). In this instance, Moran’s dismissive attitude towards his son creates in Jacques confusion—a void that Jacques cannot hope to understand. Thus, the boy plugs his mouth (a known hole) with his hand in order to gain a temporary reprieve from the void created by his father’s repudiation. The boy does not know why he is unwelcome in his father’s presence and seeks immediate sanctuary in his own mouth.

Molloy, too, uses his holes to apprehend the world. He encounters a man walking his dog who “is kind, tells me of this and that and other things…I believe him, I know it’s my only chance to—my only chance, I believe all I’m told, I’ve disbelieved only too much in my long life, now I swallow everything, greedily” (Beckett 13). Molloy’s “swallowing” speaks to the nature of belief and the way we internalize truth as well as our desire to “swallow” anything—our desire to believe everything is true. We hunger for it because truth, like a finger in the mouth, fills a void for us.

For Moran, holes have practical applications. Keys and keyholes in particular seem to provide Moran a great deal of relief—an ideology with which to structure his life. In the first part of Moran’s narrative, he describes his fastidious maintenance of keys and locks. “I have a huge bunch of keys, it weighs over a pound. Not a door, not a drawer in my house but the key to it goes with me, wherever I go” (Beckett 126). Though later, at the end of the novel when Moran is unable to fill the keyholes with keys, it causes him great distress. When Moran returns to his home, he tries to get through the gate. “It was locked. Very properly. But I could not open it. The key went in the hole, but would not turn. Long disuse? A new lock? I burst it open. I drew back to the other side of the lane and hurled myself at it” (Beckett 174). Once again Moran is faced with an inadequately filled void and confronts it with frustration, literally flinging himself at the gate from across the street in order to overcome it.

The violence of the void is outside the realm of legitimate or illegitimate violence. It is not violence as “merely the means to secure directly whatever happens to be sought,” and as such, does not “fulfill its end as predatory violence” (Benjamin 282). Holes, especially in Molloy, are invitations to enact violence for a metaphysical benefit. The ditch Molloy lies in near the beginning of the novel offers gentle indifference toward his body, yet lets him fill a void, much like the child sticking his finger in his mouth. Molloy goes further, however, even eating grass from the ditch while lying in the ditch—this is, as Sartre might say, Molloy’s “appeal to being” (Beckett 27). In this example, the hole renders Molloy’s entire body as its plug. Molloy is content to sacrifice his body to create a fullness in the world. This same desire for a fullness becomes more explicit when Molloy discusses freedom, pronouncing us “free…free to do what, to do nothing,” and that we would “do better, at least no worse, to obliterate texts…to fill in the holes of words till all is blank and flat and the whole ghastly business looks like what is, senseless, speechless, issueless misery” (Beckett 13). What texts Molloy is speaking of is unclear, but while reading Molloy one may conceive that the text in hand may be one such text to be obliterated, if it is not in some way already an obliterated crater of a text. Disrepair and disintegration are such key elements of the narratives in Molloy that it is impossible to overlook the possibility that the conceit behind the novel may be just that: disintegration. That is not to say that the novel is incoherent, far from it. It packages itself as an ordinary novel; it has a first page, it has a last page, and looks like a “standard” novel. However, it uses these conventions in order to frame an unconventional, challenging text that denies the reader the satisfaction of filling a hole. It is important to note, too, (at the risk of seeming reductionistic) that Molloy is, after all, a fiction, a fabrication, a nothingness.

At its heart, the novel Molloy is a void. It reads as a conceptual text that is, itself, disintegrating and in disrepair—it nips at the reader as an unsolved problem, daring the reader to resolve its parts, much in the same way an unfed stomach gurgles to be filled. It is more than a difficult text—it is nearly an abyss. Much of the time characters in Molloy are completely unable to articulate themselves to other characters, providing an exaggerated model of the impossibility of language—the arbitrary nature of linguistic signs and the impossibility of perfectly conveying a thought to the Other. The narrators disintegrate before us, becoming more incoherent. Becoming more like stars on the verge of collapsing in on themselves. In discussing Beckett’s oeuvre, Theodor Adorno states that it “gives the frightful answer to art that, by its starting point, by its distance from any praxis, art in the face of mortal threat becomes ideology through the harmlessness of its mere form, regardless of its content” (Adorno 250). With its dilapidation and crumbly narrative, the form of the novel Molloy posits the ideology of the hole.

Works Cited

Beckett, Samuel. Three Novels: Molloy, Malone Dies, The Unnamable. New York: Grove, 1994. Print.

Benjamin, Walter. Reflections : essays, aphorisms, autobiographical writings. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, [c.1978]. Print.

Frightened Rabbit. "Keep Yourself warm." The Midnight Organ Fight. Fat Cat Records, 2008. MP3.

Girard, René. Violence and the Sacred. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins UP, 1979. Print.

Sartre, Jean-Paul. Being and Nothingness. New York: Washington Square, 1992. Print.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

"To decompose is to live too, I know, I know, don't torment me, but one sometimes forgets." -- from Beckett's Molloy

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Saturday, November 21, 2009

from something kind of like a story that i am working on

I crawled into her - well
I tried to crawl into her
but she had a gate and I
could only point upward
and tell her to look for
the wings - that the wings
were a sure sign that we
would soon be free or at
least we could eat and
that is a form of freedom.

I could not tell her how
much I wanted to crawl
inside of her and take
over but also kind of
share an existence
because it is too hard to
experience existence as
a singular creature and
we would be more adept
at catching angels if she
would just let me in.

That's Funny, Samuel Beckett.

"She had a parrot, very pretty, all the most approuved colours. I understood him better than his mistress. I don't mean I understood him better than she understood him, I mean I understood him better than I understood her. He exclaimed from time to time, Fuck the son of a bitch, fuck the son of a bitch. He must have belonged to an American sailor, before he belonged to Lousse. Pets often change masters. He didn't say much else. No, I'm wrong, he also said, Putain de merde! He must have belonged to a French sailor before he belonged to the American sailor. Putain de merde! Unless he had hit on it alone, it wouldn't surprise me. Lousse tried to make him say, Pretty Polly! I think it was too late. He listened, his head one one side, pondered, then said, Fuck the sun of a bitch. It was clear he was doing his best." -- from Samuel Beckett's Molloy

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

A Man Is Not a Landmark, Because.

Because he is too tender to post.
His feet. He lacks the rock or bronze
required for signs. It is also his
quick blood, or no. He brings too
much in his briefcase. Every time
the ground shakes, his asshole puckers.
A man is too shy to question his own
bones, and too timid to stand alone
forever. His is a world of chunky
moments -- time is all glued together.
He cannot turn one page at a time,
cannot take one bite at a time.
Stillness eludes him, replaced instead
by an encyclopedia of tits and ass.
He never closes his eyes -- the sun
holds him prisoner -- leads him by
the balls to the end. A man is not
a landmark, because he is a clown,
slowly decapitating himself with his own dick.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

All in one heap!

"One can safely say that we all live together in a literal heap, all of us, different as we are from one another on account of numberless and profound modifications which have arisen in the course of time. All in one heap! We are drawn to each other and nothing can prevent us from satisfying that communal impulse; all our laws and institutions, the few that I still know and the many that I have forgotten, go back to this longing for the greatest bliss we are capable of, the warm comfort of being together." -- from Franz Kafka's "Investigations of a Dog"

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Articulating the Popular Rage: A Comparison of Sidney Lumet's Network and NBC's 30 Rock

Sidney Lumet's 1976 film Network and the television show 30 Rock offer very different satirical portrayals of network television and their multi-national parent corporations. The most obvious (and perhaps most important) difference between the two pieces is that while Network exists in a world amongst the NBCs and the ABCs, it depicts a fictional network and parent corporation. Conversely, 30 Rock seeks to satirize its own network, NBC, and its parent company, General Electric. And, while both are satires, they operate in very different ways.

One would assume that any satire would seem to have the same goal – to seek improvement of something by way of bombastic or sarcastic portrayal. This is very clear in Network, where the news is taken over by the programming department to be “crafted,” and an ambitious young executive played by Faye Dunaway says to a group of radicals, “I'm offering you an hour of prime time television every week into which you can stick whatever propaganda you want” (Network). Her idea for this new show, the “Mao Tse-Tung Hour,” is to have it “open with an authentic act of political terrorism” each week (Network). Though Network sought to make a statement about the conditions in which the media and large corporations were operating, the film

was not going to simply be a diatribe against television as a cultural wasteland...television reflected modern American life; when you satirized television, you satirized this country. (Boyer 70)

The jokes and sarcasm in Network are not aimed at the viewer, but rather the giant corporations that manipulate the direction of public thought and public discourse. The film's message is clear; it is imperative that we, as a society, must hold media conglomerates accountable for their content and constantly question the motives behind the material they put in front of viewers.

In the film, the catalyst for all the changes at UBS (the fictional network) is anchorman Howard Beale, a man at the end of his career and faced with dismissal from his job. After he finds out he is being replaced, he goes on the air to claim that he will commit suicide live during his last broadcast. This sparks an outrage from the executives, but he is eventually able to convince his longtime friend to let him go on one last time to apologize to their viewers. Instead, Beale delivers a rant declaring that “life is bullshit.” The rant boosts the networks ratings, and Beale is granted his own show as a “mad prophet” to “articulate the popular rage” – something the network only grants due to the potential advertising revenue his show might create (Network).

Howard Beale's most poignant speech is made during the first time we see him on his new show. He's ranting about what it means for a large conglomerate to own a media company; he says

… when the 12th largest company in the world controls the most awesome goddamn propaganda force in the whole godless world, who knows what shit will be peddled for truth on this network. (Network)

While the movie Network tackles the idea of multinational conglomerates owning media outlets head on and with vigor, 30 Rock is not so confrontational. 30 Rock depicts NBC and GE as innocuous, bumbling giants aiming to make people laugh and sell pocket microwaves, respectively.

“I'm the new Vice President of East Coast Television and Microwave Oven Programming,” the fictional Jack Donaghy (Alec Baldwin) declares in the first few minutes of 30 Rock's pilot episode, a declaration that diminishes the idea of GE/NBC's executive leadership to a laughable level – to something a mass audience easily recognizes as a joke. In reality, GE is a dominant corporation that likely does not afford laughable titles to its executives. With assets near $800 billion, Forbes recently named GE the world's largest company (“The Global 2000”). When a comedy show that airs on a network owned by the world's largest corporation portrays its enormous parent company as an entity with silly aims like creating pocket microwaves, one is compelled to ask “is this responsible?” General Electric is a company that “builds new nuclear plants, fixes broken ones and makes old ones generate more power.” (Fahey). GE is also responsible for polluting the Hudson River with persistent organic pollutants, and then flatly refusing to clean up after themselves (Sullivan). So how is 30 Rock's portrayal of these giant corporations not propaganda? How can we see it as not just another means of mitigating flak from the public? It would seem that 30 Rock is a show borne out of corporations' “growing resentment of media criticism” that uses pseudo-criticism in order to placate the masses (Herman and Chomsky 276).

In Network, there is nothing at stake. The UBS network is not real, and the conglomerate that owns it is not real. The movie acts as a social commentary and a cautionary tale, but in a way that has no real-world implications on any real company or real people. The executives in Network

...are indifferent to suffering; they can feel pleasure but not joy, lust but not passion. They live by no code of ethics, no driving motive beyond personal interest. They have lost all sense of right and wrong, of true and false. (Boyer 72)

30 Rock's executives are caricatures. They offer the viewer a quick giggle, and that is all. They offer no real insight into the inner workings of General Electric or NBC; they act as a facade – a satirical cushion against the perceptions of the public – for NBC's viewers and GE's customers. 30 Rock's chaos effectively manufactures cognitive dissonance in its audience; the viewers are blinded by the jokes and cajoled into accepting 30 Rock's version of NBC and GE. This does not mean that the viewer is necessarily tricked into equating the fictional with the real, but perhaps coerced into accepting the on-screen simulacrum as merely the benign public-facing extension of NBC and GE.

It is tempting to accuse NBC and GE of some kind of corporate “trick,” but it would be unfair to leave the audience's complicity in this “trick” unacknowledged. Why are viewers so eager to see corporate manipulation as entertainment? Is it possible that we prefer viewing a fictionalized version of corporate control than actually acknowledging an enormous corporation's actual existence and true influence?

It seems that media consumers often view television without the proper amount of skepticism. It's easy to be entertained, but it's important to look at the costs of this entertainment, and not necessarily just in terms of economics. How does something like a multinational corporation's usurpation of parody in its own comedy show affect society? How is it that we not only put up with having our eyes constantly veiled, but actually pay for it? Well, in the words of Howard Beale, “I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore.”


Works Cited

Boyer, Jay. Sidney Lumet. New York: Twayne, 1993.
Chomsky, Noam, and Edward Herman. "A Propaganda Model." Media and Cultural Studies Keyworks. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006. 257-94.

Fahey, Jonathan. "GE Enriches Its Nukes Business." Forbes Magazine. 29 Oct. 2009. Web. 4 Nov. 2009. .

Network. Dir. Sidney Lumet. Perf. Fay Dunaway, William Holden, and Peter Finch. Warner Home Video, 1976. Netflix. Web. 1 Nov. 2009.

Sullivan, Ned, and Rich Schiafo. "Talking Green, Acting Dirty." New York Times 12 June 2005. Web. 2 Nov. 2009. .

"The Global 2000 -" - Business News, Financial News, Stock Market Analysis, Technology & Global Headline News. Web. 3 Nov. 2009. .

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Something Daniel Bailey read to Google Voice. Transcribed by Google Voice.

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Audio :

I read some Nietzsche to my Google Voice account and let it transcribe it

Doctor one prejudices hopeful off the first one, the will to true which is to temp. That's a mini hazardous Enterprise the same is true format. So which all full offers have said that she's spoken with respect. What questions. Has this will to truth, not laid before us, but strange perplexing questionable question is already a long story, yet it seems as if it were hardly command. Is it any wonder if we had last go. Distrustful lose patience and turn the patient Leo way.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

"The attempt to link sacrifice to a nonexistent deity brings to mind Paul Valéry's description of poetry as a purely solipsistic activity practiced by the more able solely out of love for art, while the less able persist in the belief that they are actually communicating with someone!" -- René Girard in Violence and the Sacred

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Hey, Paul Zukofsky!

Instead of putting out stupid notices, maybe you should try to get some of your dad's poems back into print!

Have you ever heard of royalties?

No? Okay, well you should ask your lawyer how that works.

No, no, poets are not usually known for their fat pockets.

No, your dad was not Lil Wayne.

It is unlikely that your current position will cause you to be popping mad Cris.

No, but you might be able to have some walking around money.

Maybe you could even get some big boy money!

I'd sure love to buy a copy of your dad's book "A", but it's, like, impossible to find, yo!

Please rethink your position, dude.

-Bryan Coffelt

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Selection From "The Longest Poem In The World"

im bored and hot :(

and I guess not

Made it through gym without dying! Gonna shower and go back to bed.

total skipped english and now im watching grey's anatomy instead

So get out your seat and jump around!

Love . . . and coffee make the world go round.

I think I shall have a bowl of cereal and then get ready to leave.

Get yourself on the feeling good frequency, and you will receive.

Count down for the wedding nails and tanning today

I'm sick :( And bored... :( And.. have nothing else to say.. :P

and the winner is Lou Diamond Philips

And these are for the groceries ms billups....

leaving the vineyard today. time to pack up - and hit the road.

Time to get some coffee and settle down to my english load :/

have to stop masturbating and begin reading the savage detectives.

I am intelligent and can see from so many perspectives.

me and my wrist are officially on a knitting vacation

God blesses those who patiently endure testing and temptation....

Have now been told that Im looking skinny and slimmed down

last day before fall break and jaclyn comes into town!!!!


Sunday, October 4, 2009

Contents of The Hobby Book

Learning To Sail With Model Yachts
Model Airplanes
Bringing Nature Into The Home (Plant Collecting)
Learn How To Signal Messages In Code
Make Your Own Decorative Dishes (Pottery Work)
Constant Friends And Pleasant Companions (Pets)
Learning The Art Of Wood Turning Leads To Pleasure And Profit
A Masculine Clothes Rack
Novelties From Nuts
Two Good Wall Shelves
Drum Lamp
The Gallumpin' Bucephalus
A New Convenience For Lazy Bookworms - A Revolving Bookcase
First Aid For The Modern Kitchen
Mr. Wobbly Duck
Cutouts (Novel Accessories For The Home)
Ring-O, A Dandy Shooting Game
Pointers On Scroll-Saw Jobs
Alphabets (Scroll-Saw Patterns)
Legs And Brackets
A Model Cabin Monoplane - Easy To Make
Easy Experiments At Home Illustrate Scientific Facts
For Your Experiments - A Two-Scale Thermometer
Collecting Butterflies And Moths
How To Rig A Racing Model Yacht
Fun With Paper - Using Crepe To Perform Works Of Magic
Model Railways
Sports (an analysis of form in Middle Distance Running, Pole Vaulting, Broad Jumping, Javelin Throwing, High Jumping, Hurdling, Discus Throwing, Shot Putting, and Tennis)
Bird Bath And Sun Dial Glorify The Garden
A Garden Lily Pool - An Inexpensive Concrete Ornament
Concrete Steps - Safe - Enduring - Clean
Shuffleboard - A Deck Sport Comes Ashore
Modern Picture Craft (Photography)
Camera Bas-Reliefs
Camera Cartooning
Show Your Snapshots With This Projector
Give Your Snapshots That Third Dimension
Making Big Ones Out Of Little Ones - How To Build A Photo Enlarger
Making Lantern Slides
Recording The Home Life Of The Birds
How To Make Silhouettes With The Camera
Making Photo Bleach-Outs
Voyages Of Discovery With A Microscope
How To Build A Model Racing Low-Wing Monoplane
The Hobby Of Kings (Collecting Stamps)
Needlecraft - A Useful Art For Young Designers
How Good Are Your Eyes?
Adding Thrills To An Ancient Pastime (Kite Construction)
Giving The Dog A Home (Plan for a Model Dog House)
Collecting Coins - The Hobby Of Numismatics
A Worth-While Occupation - Weaving A Cane Basket
Weaving Rush Seats - A Revival Of An Ancient Craft
You Can Build This Simple Glider Quickly
Be Your Own Theatrical Producer (Plan for a Miniature Theater)
An Age-Old Craft - Making Printing Plates
How To Build Your Library With Bound Magazines
Learn To Carve Soap Statuettes
Cast Your Own Models And Toys
Insignia Of Fighting Air Forces
Fun With The Longbow (The Hobby of Archery)
A Rush Shopping Basket
Basketry Weaves
Costumes And Period Dress
Simple Devices Make Trusty Weather Prophets


This is the table of contents for the 1944 book The Wonderland Of Knowledge: A Pictorial Book Of Handicrafts and Hobbies.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Imams, Mom, Or Rosy

Yummy yummy, whippets in Ikea
listenin' to Foreigner with Mormons!
I come through doing ski jumps off an ogre.

Mom evicted me, that uppity Trekkie.
Don't she know l'm a cutter?
That I'ma kill her with a soggy Nutter Butter?
I look cool. I drink Miller Chill.
I rock a fleece when I'm cold, bitch.

"Blam blam blam blam,"
goes the Palm Treo,
"sorry for the Gorgon orgy."
'seems sweet' says Tao Lin
as he becomes Afghani through osmosis.

I'm Bob Villa, do you like hardwoods?
Do you like listening to Pascal sucking Borges?
Can I install Ubuntu in your butt?
Our Xbox tryst feels so good in my pocket --
you like how I set that ass on fire
like Branch Davidians?

I play Bocce ball on an Imam's face
in accordance with Islamic law.
And oh, how summer shrugs on in a monotone,
spouting Sharia and handing out info about cirrhosis.

Pol Pot ephemera dots our teeth where Moors fucked catbirds
and where you first touched me. Ohio's Facebook status says
"listening to Taylor Swift and fucking cake, shit!"
(When I die, bury my Facebook;
I don't want my Notifications to accumulate forever.)

Our kink smocks and our primitive rhythm
shoot out catamaran windows --
shout out to these stormy forts. Wow. Sorry. Typos!
Mom porn! Syrup! You can't ice the Iceman! Oh, eek! Beck!
O, cryptic October, I am a Xerox lollipop fucker!
Calmly, I face a taco. A voice says, "Be horrified."

Bivalve relic mommy, I rage against the dying of the
horniest nondemocratic milf. Oops, I meant
elf. Hey, it's an accident. I'm only humanzee.
Let the limp, acetic girl die from an old quaalude;
let her face delete time like hot lead denying breath.

Glenn Beck drinks Yemen's moldy ovum as
treelike sluts fly hegemonies into towers, yo!
Hmm. Rookie move. Sacred crotch monsters in the sky
fall as spent cash. A loss of megabits sends Snoopy
whirling through existential crises.

Cyborgs seldom goof Crips at the Penis Rodeo.
(With young Ativan hoes screaming "Sucks to your
ass-mar?" -- hell no.) Piggies everywhere feel
ashamed of their togetherness and their Tekken prowess.

Emaciated Hittites vomit kittens as mommy
iChats with abalone (intra-uterinely).
"Me? Mandarin smoked doe, please. Or the refried police.
And a side of mammy bicep. Thanks."

Today, roadies herd Smurfs to
Gargamel's house so he can eat them
then poop them out. So blue! So sweet the
Smurf meat! I'd like to eat Papa Smurf.

I'm hosting a webinar in my womb on
Steve Perry's hymen and, um, America.
Oh, aha! And, you know, sexual helicopters.
I refuel my head with heroin, Hulu, the
Rutger Hauer Vietnam Vet gag reflex, and Him.
Yeah, uh, Him. That reminds me...
My pinkeye... Your banana... Sorry!


Anagram of the second song "Momma I'm So Sorry" on Clipse's album Hell Hath No Fury.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Via Rodney...

Econvergence Poetry Reading -- a Tangent Reading Series event
Friday, 2 October – 9:30 p.m.
SEA Change Gallery, 625 NW Everett Street, Portland

Admission is free.

Readers will include:

Jules Boykoff (Portland)
Katheryn Brooks (Portland)
Jake Buffy (Portland)
David Buuck (Oakland)
Allison Cobb (Portland)
Alicia Cohen (Portland)
Jen Coleman (Portland)
CA Conrad (Philadelphia)
Rob Halpern (San Francisco)
Barbara LaMorticella (Unincorporated Multnomah County)
Andrea Murray (Portland)
Dan Raphael (Portland)
Kaia Sand (Portland)
Frank Sherlock (Philadelphia)
Jonathan Skinner (Maine)
Aaron Vidaver (Vancouver, BC)
David Wolach (Olympia)

Saturday, September 26, 2009


1. Worried I will wake up my friend if I text him at 4 am.
2. Extra nervousness directed at outstanding bills.
3. Highly conscious of my ineffectiveness at paying these bills, and the arbitrary nature of these bills. Smiles because of the "easy way out."
4. Tiptoeing around apartment because I don't want to get evicted.
5. Trying to wake up and write early in the morning. And sober.
6. Drinking Bacardi and Diet Coke to head the beer belly off at the pass.
7. Trying to get roommate to bet on who will get swine flu first.
8. All my attempts at "universality" and "culturelessness" feel sloppy.
9. Should I become more active in the poetry community?
10. I guess I should do something eventually, maybe if it involves jumping.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

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Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Ok, so I have been in Portland for a few days. Here are some things I have noticed:

•99% of the people in the Pearl District are super models.
•I need to work on being prettier.
•Everyone in this city is in a band.
•It's probably not a great idea to take a drunken walk up to Safeway for more beer by yourself at 11pm.
•I really suck at Madden right now.
•Listlessness has never been easier.
•No one really knows how to drive up here, and no one ever knows where they are going.

I might try to get a wristband for MusicFestNW. Are any of you going? Anyone want to help me notice more things about Portland?

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Some Things That Will Occur In The Near Future

9/6/2009 - This is today. Today is a blank day.

9/7/2009 - This is my last day of work at the airport. I will be here from 8am to 12pm and I will probably just read blogs and drink coffee. Then I will gather some things from my parents house and drive up to Ashland. This will likely be my last night in Ashland.

9/8/2009 - I think I will wake up early this day and pick up my friend Corey. We will drive a few hours to the Sky Lakes Wilderness and backpack for 2 nights and 3 days.

9/9/2009 - Will probably be camping and hiking.

9/10/2009 - We will return from hiking in the Sky Lakes Wilderness. I will drive back to Weed and try to pack my belongings. Might pick up a U-Haul truck on this day.

9/11/2009 - I will pack all of my stuff into the U-Haul and drive to Portland. There is a possibility I will stop at a few places on the way. When I get to my new apartment, I will unpack my things from the U-Haul and then probably return the U-Haul to "Stan's Restaurant Equipment" -- a business that seems to offer both restaurant equipment and U-Haul trucks. At some point during the day I will think "9/11 -- Never Forget." After I drop off the U-Haul and return to my apartment I will begin the process of "trying to get used to things." This may take several weeks or even months.

9/12/2009 - 9/27/2009 - These are blank days.

9/28/2009 - On this day I will start grad school at PSU and feel a little bit overwhelmed but hopefully calm and serious.

9/29/2009 - ? As of right now these are blank days.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Jism (2006 film)

The story basically runs around Zeeshan (Shamyl Khan) who is boy. His friend who is leads a none cultural life has an influence on him. Zeeshan falls in love with a pretty girl, then later he has news that his uncle is near to death. He rushes home to find out that his last request was to marry his daughter Kieren (who he does not love), he promises to marry in panic despite not loving her. After his uncle's death he denies to marry Kieren, but his mum convinces him, not knowing what an impact this act will cause.

Kieren is happy to marry him, but his not! On the marriage day he reveals his feelings for her and also tells her that he is in love with someone else. He also says that we will continue this marriage for the sake of my mother and uncle but not have sexual intercourse , she nods in agreement as she is very innocent. His real love is angry and upset once they meet. She also says she still has feelings for him despite his actions. They both fall in each others arms and fall into love.

Later in the film Zeeshan goes to his love again, but finds she has another person to love, which is his non-cultural friend. He comes home late from a club, his innocent wife Kieren questions him and soon a fight occurs, his wife is determined to fight for is love. Zeeshan's suspicious wife founds out he is trying to dodge her continuously while he is at his lovers house trying to encourage her for his love again. She said for this you will have to divorce you wife , he agrees. Kieren (who is still his wife) finds out the affair and confronts him, he says fine let's have a divorce, but Kiren had something else planned. She goes cunningly to his lovers house she pledges her not to spoil her life by stealing her husband, the two of them have a fight. After this Kieren tries to sell herself to her husband. Zeeshan's friend also loves the same lover and sets him up for him to go to jail. While his in jail he attempts to force Zeeshan's lover to marry him but she denies, so he murders her in struggle. Once Zeeshan comes out from Jail he starts to love Kieren, but his so called friend is in his way yet again. Could Zeeshan and Keiren stop him?

Monday, August 24, 2009

New Message From

Hey Tara, this is David Gates, Just wanted to give you a heads up and let you know what's going on, and I want to close. Tonight I'm gonna be bringing Stevens card and early early in the morning and dropping it at your place and taking someone to here to the airport in a different car in the coming back to your place because I want to go put some gas and Stevens car and maybe wash it. So if your place is opened and see you if you're around, and so if it's car there. Is there any. I don't know what's going on that calling and the house. I will let you know what's going out. I'll talk to you in the morning of move. I'm rambling already trying to get the Hi, Okay Sweetie, Hope you having fun and I will connect with you one way or another. Tomorrow will. Thanks.


(Voicemail from someone who called my Google Voice number (503) 770-0059 -- Transcribed by Google Voice)

Call my Google Voice # and leave me a message. I will post the most interesting transcriptions on this blog. My #: (503) 770-0059

Sunday, August 16, 2009

What The Fuck Have You Been Listening To This Summer?

This is a list of the music I've enjoyed this summer. It's not all new music. Some of it is. There is not an order to it. Please tell me what the fuck you have been listening to.

The-Dream - Love vs. Money This album has singles inside of its singles. I'm so fucking smitten with the entire album. It's going to find its way onto my top 10 list for the year, no doubt. The production is very elaborate but classy -- nowhere near the gaudy production many R&B or Hip Hop albums have been riddled with lately. Top shelf shit. And I'm so fucking close to saying that The-Dream has out Kells'd Kells. Anyway, there is no excuse for not owning this album. Why this entire album has not got front to back play, beats the fuck out of me.

Love Vs Money

Drake - "Best I Ever Had" A lot of people have been complaining that they have heard this song too many times this summer on the radio, but that is fucking bullshit. "You da you da best" is not the same sentiment as "You da fuckin' best / You da fuckin' best." And also, "She call me the referee cause I be so official / My shirt ain't got no stripes but I can make yo pussy whiiiiiistle." Just sayin' -- you should probably get this song soon before your sad-ass summer is over.

Best I Ever Had - Drake

Jay-Z feat. Kanye & Rihanna - "Run This Town" Okay, everyone's hatin' on Hov sayin' Ye killed it on this one -- outdid Jigga. I'm just gonna go out on a limb and say that Jay-Z destroys this track. He knows what he is doing. He knows he's not an "up and comer." He's a "has that, knows that, does that." Kanye can keep the RAV4 line. It's clever, yeah, and I'm not saying he doesn't deserve some recognition for the surprisingly witty verses he's been dropping lately (the "beasting off the riesling" line is fucking dope), but Hov owns it with the repetition. Stamps it. It's a reiteration of his best-ness. He lets you know from the get go "We are / Yeah I said it / We are" -- then he just throws it all in one basket "All black everything / Black cards, black cars / All black everything" -- "Run This Town" is not a rap, it's a fucking proclamation. It's just a reminder to us. All black everything? That's all I need to know.

Run This Town (ft. Kanye West & Rihanna) - Jay-Z

Rob Roy - King Warrior Magician Lover "Pussy in my lap / bird in the sack/ fur in my cap" This album has all kinds of *new and hot* written all over it. Not sure if Rob Roy was shooting for avant-garde, but with this album he has carved out a new corner of hip hop that I'm happy to wander into. He requires your rapt attention, but fear not, this shit is fucking compelling.

Fur In My Cap - Rob Roy

Roy Orbison - "Crying" I made a conscious decision to revisit this song in a certain state on 6/4/2009 and I have been listening to it throughout the summer with mixed results. Sometimes when I hear it I kind of cry and sometimes when I hear it I just enjoy the idea of Roy Orbison and his amazing voice.

Crying - Roy Orbison

Slim Thug - "Thug" I think this song has changed my view on what I want in my life. Since I started listening to this song I've decided that I want a flat screen TV and a Range Rover. This song has been pretty good for me. I don't think the song mentions a flat screen TV or a Range Rover, but the beat implies a flat screen TV and a Range Rover. This song made me want to visit Houston, too.

Thug - Slim Thug

Flo Rida - "Right Round" I don't really care what any of you say. This song almost made me dance out of a movie theater when it was playing during the credits the other day. I don't think I have ever done that. It is so fucking well paced and the vocals are well placed. I feel really good when I hear this song. The chorus makes me especially happy. I like the vocal modulation in the chorus "From the top of the pole I watch her go (vocals drop down at least a step) down / She's got me throwin' my money a (vocals drop down at least a step) round" I don't know. Love it.

Right Round-Flo Rida.mp3 - Flo Rida

Japandroids - Post-Nothing I feel like this is the most earnest noise rock album I've ever heard. Lyrics like "We run the gauntlet / must get to France / so we can French kiss some French girls" (Wet Hair) and "We used to dream / now we worry about dying ///// I don't wanna worry about dying / I just wanna worry about those sunshine girls" (Young Hearts Spark Fire) I don't know, maybe I've watched too many Jean-Luc Godard movies in the past year, but every time I hear "French girl" or "sunshine girls" in this album I just think of Anna Karina. And fuck, how bad can an album be if it constantly conjures Anna Karina?


Pistol Camera

The following research is a 16mm camera like a joke.
This camera is a serious camera for the police, and not a toy.
It is a pistol camera DORYU 2-16 famous as rare and valuable camera.
The DORYU 2-16 has the same C mount as the 16mm movie camera.
A Cine-Nikkor 25mm F1.4 lens was able to be mounted in the DORYU 2-16 pistol camera.
You can find the small lens for GOLDECK 16 on the table.
A sniper who has the pistol is Ryu Koakimoto-san.

Friday, August 14, 2009

a pulling from the inside downward or to wherever

profiles / cables / robber barons
tenderized skin --
kept eyes focused on one
thing for too long --
now myths come from lights
not steel.

the new spectrum
is orange divided by drab
is eyes -- lookit
is getting into bed with
and gutting, or at least
juggling future tumors --

april / adorned with -- the blossoms
adorned with -- the pallor, the guilty
erasing tingly wi-fi
dying fingers
/ adorned with --
the bricks the harvard bricks, suited
adorned with -- doggie-style analog
spectrum -- the being mule-like of it --
adorned with --
reunions & reunions & reunions

a glowing
stuck in walls --
a dead president-shaped pockmark
the cone-shaped lights -- what about
the star holes? the quarter turns?
coming out
of eyes again.

chimes in /
codified--here, bramble--here
a pulling. an automation of
a pulling. this constant tugging
and slipping. here, the blurring.
tucking into, but not always an absorbing
and a rejection of blurring. raging after overlap

being of brick mind
tussling skin with skin /
skin without walls / skin without
repercussions / skin with no
say so -- patched breath in
4/4 xanax time --
pulling at the center skin with --

the remaster
went god through
eye, wincingly.
tarot god/banned god/muscleman god
bloody god
weaving skin to skin
skin to wood to cement
wincing "god"
dream breaths through
interstate churn rate of dreams
rate of skin to skin

confusion of skin
confusion of heart skin
teething on nails
"gaze to gaze"
on proof talkers -- nurturing
the blind-skinned.
catching with coated strings
showered by foiled dermis
raped dermis -- edge skin
polyunsaturated skin

hilled-in americorp spider skin /
silky hole
forth carotid
horrid-skinned trophy hole
vampire-blue maslow skin
to bark/at.
to realize to fold to.
to skin/at.

horizon of skin
not merging -- syncing with
containing or guarding
sometimes busting out losing
quivering hole,
starry-eyed silhouetted adult-size skins
taking the fight out of / us
flat world-enders cartwheeling
tucking in. tackling with our
ins and outs of / it
then branching.

"when alone, skin would fall," and
truly acting more possible,
land for breath. metal-choked hollow
would flap. skin-ended memories with well tears
with hang down disciples. attending to / us.

the spilling of skin into skin
fingerprints to glass to
feel good --
wetness opts for sun / to
lined highway, opting for flatness
then noise, dirt rubbing on
auxiliary skin to free bone.
skin mixing with air
smoking skin, a plume of it
the wavy shadow fighting off
the blue around it.

the bureaucracy of pigment
traces to hold in --
colliding with blood and shit
dancing to brand one / chains
draping the vision and
coughing bones into mud.
horizon-shaped bones / all of them.

skin memory
driving to evoke a notion of skin --
harboring terse verdicts in
the chest. in terms of mixing skin --
"to dream in skin with flowing hot blood."

pressure to push forward
in pulsing -- unforgivably
so checking so tense / marked
the handle of the refrigerated.
in / on triangles.

tender bridges all thinking bridges
the strictest dark -- cold
pulled foam through sequences
"through limp causeways of the
strongest of our handshakes"

lying in foam / there disintegrating
god masks -- a hate cave of fire
stainless steel appliances dangling
adhering to faces / to wiggle free of
/ to queue in fire / to pool / to persist
in and out of flames. to with.
clacking "why" with feet curling --
"why" with body stones, with dimples.

alienated breathing --
habits involving the insides and
curling up for despair
to push between / to mix freely
with other dusts
flashing radio-flyer eyes / cash checking
feverish tiltedness --
the moon is so important right now

11:15 pm: qvc is the atmosphere
in pepsi, in jugulars, in gutters --
judgments of wrinkles
take down notices dig to gut.
drape blue over / eyes quiet.
again, the tug. tugged.
beasts of breathing toss and toss and toss.

Monday, July 6, 2009

"Orca Fight Porno," I Tweet

Our hero, Miley Cyrus, televises her Hep B as
Slipknot serenades us. The Hep B telethon involves
an HIV-positive rhino named Anderson Cooper.

Lawrence Welk is there. Chubbier and milkier, I guess,
but still genteel. He has a Pekinese and they merge.
A riot breaks out. Poet Tom Orange thwacks Miley's junk: zing!

Chad from Nickelback is jerking off
tall preteen mermen in the corner
and Miley says "Haha stop it."
MC Escher humps Octomom a little. Hella dope, yo!

Our live-in herpetologist Dave
spots Ayn Rand tonguin' a puppy
and starts fappin' immediately
so we kill him, but he comes back
from the dead as a guy named Lord Vomit.

As firemen fight Lord Vomit (Dave) with colt sperm,
a cafeteria's littlest Hello Kitty porn toy
deescalates Tiny Hitler, fiery erectile cicadae
shiv a divorcee, and a hyphy owl hunts Miley Cyrus.

The owl wants to sell Hannah Montana's cleavage on eBay,
But Harry Potter appears and fucks the owl with Tofurky.
"need a shamwow pronto, this owl hella gooey lol," Harry twitters.

Miley's shareware hymen is on TV, oops. The Jonas Brothers recite Lacan,
discuss jouissance, and compare purity rings.

Lil Wayne does an adult education version of "A Milli."
It's a decree revoking our Summer's Eve douche/dildo.
It's perplexing and kinda shitty.

Some hippies are playing "Two Girls One Butt Teepee"
and Ayn Rand's rotten frog butt is on fire. I navigate to but I receive an error.
Elliot Spitzer's Howitzer is doing wheelies on holy
bucktoothed Jesus' overbite, tee hee!

Billy Ray Cyrus says, "Shh, shit, I'm trying to fuck Sarah Palin's
eyes to the Nth degree! Hut-hut hike!" And he returns to his trailer,
but I can see his thong. Eleven velvet meat hooks line the brown trailer.

A horny teen kitten is emoting Nixonian evil; I am thrilled!
"Needed: Effete Pet Kit."
Grandma twat go "Oink! Hee hee! Huh? Tighter!"
I'ma hit that, no doubt! I'm in debt, or maybe not, now.

The Hulk eats tofu; he leaveth Reno to the Renoans.
Re-elect Jenny Vet (Per Furor), uh, he hot!
I botched milking a love puppet for venom but look, I deleted it.
Perverted tweet: "Hump woven cock twixt gentlewomen putt-putting, UH!" Perfect.


This poem is an anagram of the first song on Clipse's album Hell Hath No Fury, "We Got It For Cheap (Intro)."

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Beepy Doopy

Boopy was born from the power of a glance
from a dancing spark, from the wish
of another vision of the world:

India (is an exceptionally beepy place.)

(sorry i dont know what the beepy lifeline thing
is called and i think im going to have
the beepy lifeline thing going up)

Figaro facial kinky croop (boopy poop):
Best recipe for making a Poopy Doopy.
How to make a Poopy Doopy with all
the instructions and ingredients.

Hey there! doopy is using Twitter.
Twitter is a free service that lets you
buy the jonas brothers 3D concert movie!
Bobbity boopy.

Doopy's dad says: Doopy is a beagle.
She is ten weeks old. She's a very happy, friendly little dog!
Meet Doopy the Beagle on the Daily Puppy. Read about Doopy, the Beagle
or any other breed of dog.
Connect with other dog owners on

(first off doopy isnt like poopy with a d
doopy is my nickname.)

View Poopy Doopy's professional profile on LinkedIn.
LinkedIn is the world's largest business network,
helping professionals like Poopy Doopy discover
my woopy doopy Flickr page.

(off to see the wizard nipples, oh wait, off to see
completely topless chicken little, then the wizard, beepy boopy boop)


UPDATE: audio version here:

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

3 new stupid short poems

Today Is The Day That We Are Made Whole Again By Watching Google Finance

We will let the teeth of the graph chew on our eyeballs while we search
for abbreviated names. We will grab each other's wrists and say "devalued"
in shocked tones. We will turn Excel spreadsheets into anarchy signs
by shading different cells.

Today Is The Day You Will Find The Public Transportation System Inside Of Me

You need to take the 9 through my skin and then hold on to my ventricles.
You need to take the free hang glider through my lungs.
You need to catch a whale to my asshole.
Then take the train to my septum.
After that, if you see a recognizable landmark, call me.
I'll come out and wave.

Today Is The Day I Become A Man By Envisioning Myself As The Kind of Person Who Would Slap A Strange Girl's Ass

This is the day my crotch has made, let us rejoice and be glad. The Coldwell Banker office across the street features a seal and windows like molars. I wipe, and my hand is autotuned. The sun is hosting 80s night and boasts a big crowd of 18 year olds. My hand is rocketesque; smells of Kennedy Space Center. I move my left leg over to where my right leg is and pretend to make my knees French kiss. I see you and I feel like a big anus pouring out concrete for highways. I feel extremely moved by your mysterious iChat icon. Then I feel a bridge being built inside my ventricles and I think "Animal Collective." I fight that off, then I "walk home."

Friday, June 19, 2009

Brandon Brown is online.

Brandon Brown is online.
Brandon Brown is offline.
Brandon Brown is online.
Brandon Brown is offline.
Brandon Brown is online.
Brandon Brown is offline.
Brandon Brown is online.
Brandon Brown is offline.
Brandon Brown is online.
Brandon Brown is offline.
Brandon Brown is online.
Brandon Brown is offline.
Brandon Brown is online.
Brandon Brown is offline.
Brandon Brown is online.
Brandon Brown is offline.
Brandon Brown is online.
Brandon Brown is offline.
Brandon Brown is online.
Brandon Brown is offline.