sexy hanging garden on a trellis with plums of sex

Sunday, 30 September 2007

Thank you to Didi Menendez: I am a Man of the Web.

Yeah, that's what I thought too.

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everybody everybody everybody knows

THANK YOU BUT I'M OVER HERE

I do not totally regret life.
Sub pumps and chirp colored
crosswalks, Charlie tokens
and Yuri and Whisper and Pat
and then and who and hello.

Amherst is a box of scarfs.
Of cider and oak sweatervests.
Of scarf flavored doughnuts.
Portland's a basement of punks
with duct tape over the Prius.
Vancouver is a troop of bi
bicyclists who stir honey into
mate with drizzle sticks and zines.

Thank God Vancouver isn't Brooklyn,
God. Thanks. Meanwhile, I want to
shit on you if you walk a cinder
block across New Jersey because you
"must." Oroville, in the motels of the
AM hours, the new tattoos will keep
you up. Don't talk to me about must.

What is Santa Fe? Tallahassee?
Montenegro? Reykjavik? Perth?
I want you to meet this crook
in my foot and deliver it over,
over and over and ever again.

Ashley is sad that I'm not in
or anymore. You can take me
anywhere but I won't moor.
Ashland is Alex and Bryan
and who and hello in whose
kitchen. And then the hug is
suspect, maybe, a thing of
collapse. To skate on ice a
thousand miles a blink might
make for a pretty jail break.

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dong dong dong

Monday, 24 September 2007

Someone's struck the pretty witch.

Good.

What I mean is this article, where Melvin Jules Bukiet denounces a lot of fluffy bullshit.

He is overzealous, sure, but come on. How is this not right:

Unfortunately, it’s false to all human experience to find “growth” in tragedy. In fact, the dull truth is that pain is tautological. The only thing suffering teaches us is that we are capable of suffering.

If you read Bookslut (or the American Scholar, I guess), you've already seen this article, but I basically want to invite my friends to read it. That's pretty much all this blog does. Friend invitations. Requests.

Carry on.

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don't harsh my mellow

Sunday, 23 September 2007

KETCHUP AND CHAMPAGNE

Green tea in a milk jug,
tap water in a wineglass,
fruit flies in a fixture,
the fake in this gesture.

Ketchup and champagne: AWOL
all morning. Millions of ball
oons that no one ever demon
strates for Powerpoints

or Sir Etcetera. The little
like of things okay,
the put it off skew--
tomorrow is all don't

harsh my mellow. How I;
I loll on you, my little um.

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: yes

I don't know how to introduce this link. I very much enjoyed this post, and I empathized and identified with much of what Reginald speaks of. Not all of it. Everyone is a little bit their own language, which is usually a drag but is probably good for the time we have.

"Working Class Hero" from Reginald Shepherd.

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