Wonder of the World
On the bottom right hand corner
of the L.A. Times around three years ago
was a picture of a stone fist
thought to be part of the Colossus of Rhodes,
the golden statue that once overlooked the Minoan Harbor
Fumbling around for a seat belt
when I was seventeen,
my knuckles brushed against yours in the white volkswagen
and I wished you would take me to the fox hills motel
rather than straight home
but your eyes revealed no interest
Last night your knuckles brushed
my knee as you knelt before the couch where
we were all discussing electromagnetic radiation
and the cancer clusters associated
with high power lines and telephone transformers
and you said good-bye again
If nothing else, I love your voice,
your flop sweats, and your dissatisfaction
I haven't heard anything since
about that lost wonder of the world
They never discovered the rest of it
But something stirs in my mind
when I think of that tense hand
with those giant white knuckles
against the floor of the Aegean Sea
clenched for centuries,
just waiting to open
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Friday, February 13, 2004
This one's an oldie, but an okayie circa 1993. Boy, was I ever wrong about the second line...
Grandma's Dogs
Have another cinammon imperial.
Grandma's dogs' deaths don't affect me like they used to.
Probably because I've grown not to love them.
Penny was the one she put to sleep for fighting with Sony.
She was a fat half dalmation that could climb a seven foot fence.
Did my mother keep it a secret from me for a while, I can't remember? Yes, I overheard her somehow and cried for a week.
Pip. That was my sister's hamster that my mother replaced with another when he suddenly died of shock. I remember his frozen body lying outside the cage. We thought maybe he escaped and the cats scared him to death. Margaret was not fooled by the switcheroo.
I was a little happy when my Grandma picked me up from Westwood elementary on Fridays because she would bring two or three of her five glamorous dogs that all the kids who were not my friends yearned to pet before she brought me home and followed my mother around our house, helping her make the bed and talking at her as my mother did housework and said Mm hm.
In my entire twenty five years as an Angeleno I've never been a victim of crime except once when someone stole my magnifying glass from my Seventh Grade English display about Sherlock Holmes mysteries.
Not my best friend, Stephanie, nor the two bitchy girls who came to see what was the matter could understand why I had become hysterical.
My family. We have so, so little.We can't take such losses and my mother knows it all too well.
Grandma's Dogs
Have another cinammon imperial.
Grandma's dogs' deaths don't affect me like they used to.
Probably because I've grown not to love them.
Penny was the one she put to sleep for fighting with Sony.
She was a fat half dalmation that could climb a seven foot fence.
Did my mother keep it a secret from me for a while, I can't remember? Yes, I overheard her somehow and cried for a week.
Pip. That was my sister's hamster that my mother replaced with another when he suddenly died of shock. I remember his frozen body lying outside the cage. We thought maybe he escaped and the cats scared him to death. Margaret was not fooled by the switcheroo.
I was a little happy when my Grandma picked me up from Westwood elementary on Fridays because she would bring two or three of her five glamorous dogs that all the kids who were not my friends yearned to pet before she brought me home and followed my mother around our house, helping her make the bed and talking at her as my mother did housework and said Mm hm.
In my entire twenty five years as an Angeleno I've never been a victim of crime except once when someone stole my magnifying glass from my Seventh Grade English display about Sherlock Holmes mysteries.
Not my best friend, Stephanie, nor the two bitchy girls who came to see what was the matter could understand why I had become hysterical.
My family. We have so, so little.We can't take such losses and my mother knows it all too well.
Sunday, February 08, 2004
Every single good thing that could happen to a black man is happening tomorrow
I've been dreaming about good things coming to Los Angeles: snow, Monty Python, but that's nothing in comparison
We'll start by collecting the tiger butter from the base of the tree and putting it on our pancakes
You'll walk through Westwood alone without being stopped once by the cops
And when you exit stores, you'll have to announce, "I'm through shopping everyone!" or no one will notice.
Those purple blotches on your back will go away and the bank will give you a loan to produce a jazz CD
Your unbelievably dysfunctional family will transform into clean & sober, non child-molesting Puritans with a penchant for book learning
They'll have lost all spirituality and rhythm, but you can live without that
I guess the slavery-poverty-discrimination chicken came first before the egg
But damnit you're a brand new egg
and the chicken is being slaughtered tomorrow
I wonder how it would feel to realize you've been shortsheeting your own bed for years
But then I remember I don't need to wonder. I know.
There'd be a sense of freedom
mixed with grief over all those nights of kicking the blankets
I've been dreaming about good things coming to Los Angeles: snow, Monty Python, but that's nothing in comparison
We'll start by collecting the tiger butter from the base of the tree and putting it on our pancakes
You'll walk through Westwood alone without being stopped once by the cops
And when you exit stores, you'll have to announce, "I'm through shopping everyone!" or no one will notice.
Those purple blotches on your back will go away and the bank will give you a loan to produce a jazz CD
Your unbelievably dysfunctional family will transform into clean & sober, non child-molesting Puritans with a penchant for book learning
They'll have lost all spirituality and rhythm, but you can live without that
I guess the slavery-poverty-discrimination chicken came first before the egg
But damnit you're a brand new egg
and the chicken is being slaughtered tomorrow
I wonder how it would feel to realize you've been shortsheeting your own bed for years
But then I remember I don't need to wonder. I know.
There'd be a sense of freedom
mixed with grief over all those nights of kicking the blankets
Saturday, January 17, 2004
The Fergie-dog Haiku Series
A motto for dogs
"Forget about being petted,
If you roll in shit"
Yes! Dead grass, debris
At construction site, no cares
Ideal shit venue
Merrily wagging
The Ook'em Snook'em Poobot
Tramples the flowers
Expert detective
Fergie is sniffing for clues
Great Shit Mystery
"Forget about being petted,
If you roll in shit"
Yes! Dead grass, debris
At construction site, no cares
Ideal shit venue
Merrily wagging
The Ook'em Snook'em Poobot
Tramples the flowers
Expert detective
Fergie is sniffing for clues
Great Shit Mystery
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Our Suburban Sprawl
Living life every, every minute is not what it’s cracked up to be
Sometimes you get a kick out of a song on the radio
Or witness a surprise move in an extreme fighting tournament
But a lot of the time you’re thinking, I’m trapped,trapped, trapped
Or you pass by slums with a pronounced feeling of not belonging
and cry like an old biddy at a wedding when love fills your heart
To do life, no fudging, deal with the crux?
Sentient being is for the birds
Instead make life one big, empty action sequence,
cultivate self-ignorance,
treat other living things like props
increase your web presence,
mythologize your experiences and generate hype about your achievements,
make up apocryphal stories about how it all went down
and generally blow smoke up your own ass
Follow your piss, like Joseph Campbell said
It’s running down the hill on the side of the road
Shining in the terrible moonlight
Gawd,the stars in the desert are beautiful
Living life every, every minute is not what it’s cracked up to be
Sometimes you get a kick out of a song on the radio
Or witness a surprise move in an extreme fighting tournament
But a lot of the time you’re thinking, I’m trapped,trapped, trapped
Or you pass by slums with a pronounced feeling of not belonging
and cry like an old biddy at a wedding when love fills your heart
To do life, no fudging, deal with the crux?
Sentient being is for the birds
Instead make life one big, empty action sequence,
cultivate self-ignorance,
treat other living things like props
increase your web presence,
mythologize your experiences and generate hype about your achievements,
make up apocryphal stories about how it all went down
and generally blow smoke up your own ass
Follow your piss, like Joseph Campbell said
It’s running down the hill on the side of the road
Shining in the terrible moonlight
Gawd,the stars in the desert are beautiful
Saturday, August 16, 2003
Nawlins I
Mishlin and Luis live in a magenta house filled with masks, fetishes, and velvet drapes. They run a witchcraft mail order business and a bed and breakfast that Darcy found through a book called "New Orleans Voodoo Tarot." It was hard to find. Street signs are missing because, according to Luis, criminals take them down at crime scenes with hopes the police won't find them. Mishlin wants other pagans to start B&B's so they can network.
Purchased some pecan pralines as a souvenier for Margaret.
Saw numerous Uncle Tom & Mammy salt and pepper shakers. Why didn't I buy them?
"Yes we remove hexes" In window of voodoo novelty shop.
At the statue of Louis Armstrong in the park, the sculpted mouth-piece of the trumpet is missing. Ripped off. At least I think it was a trumpet. I never could tell the difference between a trumpet and a coronet.
Darcy meditates to the tarot cards. I always thought of Tarot cards (and all methods of fortune telling) as fun & games, so this is the first use for them that makes any remote sense to me. When she first tried to meditate she tried to empty her mind, but that doesn’t work anymore so she just lets the thoughts flow.
After Mockingbird swamp tours, read article on the wall about a man who fought an alligator under his house. When he knocked on his neighbor's door, he was bloody from head to toe and had to get 200 stitches.
At the bar, a couple who had a son who died at 17. Drowned. They are wrecked.
Don't know why, but I'm wrecked too. Only there’s no corpse to show for it. Unless you count the bodies that litter my dreams. All murdered. The kicker is it always turns out I'm the murderer.
I can't stand up straight. Try to meditate to the Jungian archetype tarot cards. Try to meditate to the meaningless hoax.
Eating Margaret's pralines.
NAWLINS II
It's weird to be in a place where you are the one with the accent.
"You're from Los Angeles? I got a brother in San Diego."
Dragon flies are mosquito hawks here.
The calliope on the steam boat is playing "Deep In the Heart of Texas," and "Alabamy Bound." On the radio, songs mentioning Louisiana, New Orleans, and the Bayou keep playing.
"Love Potion Number Nine," "Brown Sugar." Songs I never noticed had anything to do with New Orleans before.
Talked to a woman from Florida in Preservation Hall who survived Hurricane Andrew. The eye of the hurricane lasted 20 minutes.
Apparently some people think when the eye comes, the storm is over, so when they walk out of their houses they get swept up and away. The wood from her carport was never found. They found pink siding in her yard and no one in the neighborhood has pink siding.
On his break the jazz bassist pets a stray cat. "I'm playing him," he says, "You can tell from the way the tail's moving."
Outside a street musician is cleaning his mouth piece,"You got to practice safe sax!"
Down further is a rasta clown with a red nose and corn rows.
More novelties.
NAWLINS III
We check out the the Piazza d’Italia by architect Charles Moore, built for a World’s Fair here that went bankrupt. It’s in shambles. A place for homeless to sleep. Fountains clogged, tiles broken, neon turned off. Card board boxes on steps along with Chapter 11 bankruptcy manuals strewn about.
A group of men in polo shirts walks up just as we do. "…This is probably only of interest to architecture students now."
They are building an aquarium in Denver and came to look at the Aquarium of the Americas. To see its problems. Since they are in the area they dropped by to see the Moore work as well.
Charles Moore designed the Beverly Hills civic center and I’ve heard grumblings about the interiors. The librarians and civil servants say it’s drafty and surprisingly cheapo. Just like this.
Mishlin and Luis live in a magenta house filled with masks, fetishes, and velvet drapes. They run a witchcraft mail order business and a bed and breakfast that Darcy found through a book called "New Orleans Voodoo Tarot." It was hard to find. Street signs are missing because, according to Luis, criminals take them down at crime scenes with hopes the police won't find them. Mishlin wants other pagans to start B&B's so they can network.
Purchased some pecan pralines as a souvenier for Margaret.
Saw numerous Uncle Tom & Mammy salt and pepper shakers. Why didn't I buy them?
"Yes we remove hexes" In window of voodoo novelty shop.
At the statue of Louis Armstrong in the park, the sculpted mouth-piece of the trumpet is missing. Ripped off. At least I think it was a trumpet. I never could tell the difference between a trumpet and a coronet.
Darcy meditates to the tarot cards. I always thought of Tarot cards (and all methods of fortune telling) as fun & games, so this is the first use for them that makes any remote sense to me. When she first tried to meditate she tried to empty her mind, but that doesn’t work anymore so she just lets the thoughts flow.
After Mockingbird swamp tours, read article on the wall about a man who fought an alligator under his house. When he knocked on his neighbor's door, he was bloody from head to toe and had to get 200 stitches.
At the bar, a couple who had a son who died at 17. Drowned. They are wrecked.
Don't know why, but I'm wrecked too. Only there’s no corpse to show for it. Unless you count the bodies that litter my dreams. All murdered. The kicker is it always turns out I'm the murderer.
I can't stand up straight. Try to meditate to the Jungian archetype tarot cards. Try to meditate to the meaningless hoax.
Eating Margaret's pralines.
NAWLINS II
It's weird to be in a place where you are the one with the accent.
"You're from Los Angeles? I got a brother in San Diego."
Dragon flies are mosquito hawks here.
The calliope on the steam boat is playing "Deep In the Heart of Texas," and "Alabamy Bound." On the radio, songs mentioning Louisiana, New Orleans, and the Bayou keep playing.
"Love Potion Number Nine," "Brown Sugar." Songs I never noticed had anything to do with New Orleans before.
Talked to a woman from Florida in Preservation Hall who survived Hurricane Andrew. The eye of the hurricane lasted 20 minutes.
Apparently some people think when the eye comes, the storm is over, so when they walk out of their houses they get swept up and away. The wood from her carport was never found. They found pink siding in her yard and no one in the neighborhood has pink siding.
On his break the jazz bassist pets a stray cat. "I'm playing him," he says, "You can tell from the way the tail's moving."
Outside a street musician is cleaning his mouth piece,"You got to practice safe sax!"
Down further is a rasta clown with a red nose and corn rows.
More novelties.
NAWLINS III
We check out the the Piazza d’Italia by architect Charles Moore, built for a World’s Fair here that went bankrupt. It’s in shambles. A place for homeless to sleep. Fountains clogged, tiles broken, neon turned off. Card board boxes on steps along with Chapter 11 bankruptcy manuals strewn about.
A group of men in polo shirts walks up just as we do. "…This is probably only of interest to architecture students now."
They are building an aquarium in Denver and came to look at the Aquarium of the Americas. To see its problems. Since they are in the area they dropped by to see the Moore work as well.
Charles Moore designed the Beverly Hills civic center and I’ve heard grumblings about the interiors. The librarians and civil servants say it’s drafty and surprisingly cheapo. Just like this.
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
Dog Days
The house is settling
along with Fritzie's ear upon my cheek
She doesn't want food from me
She's just sleeping
Once in a while I check to see if she's breathing
It's always hard to latch the doors this time of year
They droop in the heat
So, nothing stops Fritzie from bursting
through my door at six thirty.
to announce another morning
has arrived
My feet feel the bathroom floor tiles swelling
I watch the fuschias wilting in the window box and
notice Jesus Christ's face in a stain in the marble near my toe
The gardeners rake the cement outside
It's the kind of day that makes you think nothing will change
The house is settling
along with Fritzie's ear upon my cheek
She doesn't want food from me
She's just sleeping
Once in a while I check to see if she's breathing
It's always hard to latch the doors this time of year
They droop in the heat
So, nothing stops Fritzie from bursting
through my door at six thirty.
to announce another morning
has arrived
My feet feel the bathroom floor tiles swelling
I watch the fuschias wilting in the window box and
notice Jesus Christ's face in a stain in the marble near my toe
The gardeners rake the cement outside
It's the kind of day that makes you think nothing will change
Monday, August 11, 2003
Wednesday, July 02, 2003
To Maggie
Let’s take some time
to revel in our dysfunction
Why not? It’s three in the morning,
The peacocks and mythical rabbits
have absolutely wandered across our doorstep
and made themselves at home,
Despite our misery and baseness
violas and alyssum have sprung up in the refuse,
byproducts of your pain machine
I love you, poor creature,
We have no one else cheering us on
Those that might have are dead or gave up
Our gifted friends are building boring gypsum
mountains of personal achievement
You have a gold vein in your crappy heap of dirt
Get it all -
You can even start writing in the middle of the goddamn notebook
You’re lucky that way
Let’s take some time
to revel in our dysfunction
Why not? It’s three in the morning,
The peacocks and mythical rabbits
have absolutely wandered across our doorstep
and made themselves at home,
Despite our misery and baseness
violas and alyssum have sprung up in the refuse,
byproducts of your pain machine
I love you, poor creature,
We have no one else cheering us on
Those that might have are dead or gave up
Our gifted friends are building boring gypsum
mountains of personal achievement
You have a gold vein in your crappy heap of dirt
Get it all -
You can even start writing in the middle of the goddamn notebook
You’re lucky that way
Thursday, June 26, 2003
Jehovah's Nitwits
Dream 10/3/93
I am Dean Martin for the most part. Jerry Lewis and I get off the train in Texas or somewhere wearing black hats. We're either penniless jugglers heading for our gig at the now-cancelled-due-to-weather county fair or escaped convicts that used to be a comedy team travelling incognito.
Some well-meaning Christians have summoned two rabbis to their small town to participate in a religious conference dedicated to reaching greater understanding among the people. The rabbis have missed their stop. One of the smiling red haired Christians sees us sitting on our suitcases.
Jerry starts to have a panic attack, so I try to calm him down and explain how our plight is all a part of chaos, one of the laws of the universe. I get on a tangent. I'm trying to explain fractional dimensions to Jerry and I draw the beginnings of what is called the Koch Snowflake in the dirt, a fractal that initially looks like the Star of David. We're surprised when the Christians mistake us for two rabbinical scholars, but we play along either to con money off them or so that our identities aren't revealed.
In the car, Jerry starts to remember the snippets of Talmud instruction he had as a youth and begins to pontificate, enlightening them on Judaism, throwing in some made-up parables of his own, that to me sound like cleaned up Farmer's Daughter stories, but on another level are curiously insightful and thought provoking. They take to us so strongly that they ask us to sit on a float in their parade.
Being Dean Martin, I'm at the end of my rope and start drinking and fucking all the young women in the town. I'm on top of this somewhat inexperienced naked French girl and I start feeling her up. She's pretty much lying there like a statue while I maul her. She finally moans for me to enter her, not realizing I've just prematurely ejaculated.
Meanwhile, Jerry has found his true calling. He magically disperses an angry mob of antisemites in the town using only his wits and some very wise words. Some of the Christian women in the town witness this and are so struck by him that they convert to Judaism and Jerry starts his own synagogue. He starts to grow a beard and wears his glasses full time.
As for me, I take a few slaps in the face, and end up hooking up with a woman closer to my age who is the proprietess of a restaurant in town with red checkered table cloths. She puts me to work in her garden and I stop drinking. Now months go by when Jerry and I don't see each other.
And we thought nothing could ever break up the act.
Dream 10/3/93
I am Dean Martin for the most part. Jerry Lewis and I get off the train in Texas or somewhere wearing black hats. We're either penniless jugglers heading for our gig at the now-cancelled-due-to-weather county fair or escaped convicts that used to be a comedy team travelling incognito.
Some well-meaning Christians have summoned two rabbis to their small town to participate in a religious conference dedicated to reaching greater understanding among the people. The rabbis have missed their stop. One of the smiling red haired Christians sees us sitting on our suitcases.
Jerry starts to have a panic attack, so I try to calm him down and explain how our plight is all a part of chaos, one of the laws of the universe. I get on a tangent. I'm trying to explain fractional dimensions to Jerry and I draw the beginnings of what is called the Koch Snowflake in the dirt, a fractal that initially looks like the Star of David. We're surprised when the Christians mistake us for two rabbinical scholars, but we play along either to con money off them or so that our identities aren't revealed.
In the car, Jerry starts to remember the snippets of Talmud instruction he had as a youth and begins to pontificate, enlightening them on Judaism, throwing in some made-up parables of his own, that to me sound like cleaned up Farmer's Daughter stories, but on another level are curiously insightful and thought provoking. They take to us so strongly that they ask us to sit on a float in their parade.
Being Dean Martin, I'm at the end of my rope and start drinking and fucking all the young women in the town. I'm on top of this somewhat inexperienced naked French girl and I start feeling her up. She's pretty much lying there like a statue while I maul her. She finally moans for me to enter her, not realizing I've just prematurely ejaculated.
Meanwhile, Jerry has found his true calling. He magically disperses an angry mob of antisemites in the town using only his wits and some very wise words. Some of the Christian women in the town witness this and are so struck by him that they convert to Judaism and Jerry starts his own synagogue. He starts to grow a beard and wears his glasses full time.
As for me, I take a few slaps in the face, and end up hooking up with a woman closer to my age who is the proprietess of a restaurant in town with red checkered table cloths. She puts me to work in her garden and I stop drinking. Now months go by when Jerry and I don't see each other.
And we thought nothing could ever break up the act.
Saturday, June 21, 2003
Dream 4-30-93
Someone hands me a ten cent copy of the Socialist Worker
and there it is in black and white,
Cat Stevens appearing today and a lot of other words inside a box
For some reason a fatwa has been declared against him by the muslim leaders and he must constantly be on the move
Just like Salman Rushdie, the irony of it
I suppose the publisher figured anyone reading the Socialist Worker would not be an assassin, as capitalist bounty hunters tend not to subscribe.
I sit down in the back of this airport hanger-type place
and wait breathlessly with the rest of the lucky few
who saw the small announcement, and here he comes,
His hair is long and a lot straighter than it used to be and he is answering the grave questions from the grave audience about his plight and after a while, I finally get fed up and yell,
hey, how about a song?
and he begins to sing us a new one
but I've heard it somewhere before
Camel in an egg
Camel in an eggshell
Someone hands me a ten cent copy of the Socialist Worker
and there it is in black and white,
Cat Stevens appearing today and a lot of other words inside a box
For some reason a fatwa has been declared against him by the muslim leaders and he must constantly be on the move
Just like Salman Rushdie, the irony of it
I suppose the publisher figured anyone reading the Socialist Worker would not be an assassin, as capitalist bounty hunters tend not to subscribe.
I sit down in the back of this airport hanger-type place
and wait breathlessly with the rest of the lucky few
who saw the small announcement, and here he comes,
His hair is long and a lot straighter than it used to be and he is answering the grave questions from the grave audience about his plight and after a while, I finally get fed up and yell,
hey, how about a song?
and he begins to sing us a new one
but I've heard it somewhere before
Camel in an egg
Camel in an eggshell
Friday, June 20, 2003
Antidepressant Cocktail
Prozac didn't do the trick
but kept the bottom from falling out I guess
Zoloft made me a robot
Started reading Business Week and couldn't feel
Wellbutrin made me stutter
though my psychiatrist doesn't quite believe me
(it's not on the list of possible side effects)
Like Sees old-time-candies
Desipramine made me hop out of bed
but needed a little more oomph
Dexedrine like a quick cup of coffee
but the kick doesn't last, sustained release or no sustained release
New fangled Celexa and Lexepro
made me too sedate
and cry all the time anyway, what's the point?
Somewhere along the line
Concerta,Serzone, and Buspar,
most chilled my libido along with the ruminations
Ambien, always a delight
Now it's back to Prozac plus a smidgen of three others
The dreams I'm having!
I don't want to wake up
and I feel like killing everybody at the office
Our clients are Bristol Meyers, Eli Lilly, and the rest
They're relying on us to complete their dysphoria research
People say that living well is the best revenge,
but I can't seem to do that
I can get an “A” on any test, but an “F” in life
What will be my vengeance then?
Prozac didn't do the trick
but kept the bottom from falling out I guess
Zoloft made me a robot
Started reading Business Week and couldn't feel
Wellbutrin made me stutter
though my psychiatrist doesn't quite believe me
(it's not on the list of possible side effects)
Like Sees old-time-candies
Desipramine made me hop out of bed
but needed a little more oomph
Dexedrine like a quick cup of coffee
but the kick doesn't last, sustained release or no sustained release
New fangled Celexa and Lexepro
made me too sedate
and cry all the time anyway, what's the point?
Somewhere along the line
Concerta,Serzone, and Buspar,
most chilled my libido along with the ruminations
Ambien, always a delight
Now it's back to Prozac plus a smidgen of three others
The dreams I'm having!
I don't want to wake up
and I feel like killing everybody at the office
Our clients are Bristol Meyers, Eli Lilly, and the rest
They're relying on us to complete their dysphoria research
People say that living well is the best revenge,
but I can't seem to do that
I can get an “A” on any test, but an “F” in life
What will be my vengeance then?
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
Milo
Did you have a nice time running around in the crazy darkness?
It's such hard work not caring about anyone
So, what a relief for you to be so dear to me
out of all the angels ever bred
At night if I can't be alone,
a sentry watches over the museum in my head
I'm not sure if he's protecting my dreams or just my skull,
but no amount of safety glass, or prescription drugs can turn him off
He's why I never get any sleep at a slumber party
He might be why I wither around attractive men
But he's gotten used to you being close
even though it took a while
If I can't be a worldly success at anything else
at least there's this:
I have a cat loaf
I have an Australia
I believe I've reached a new level of disgust with my own filth
Occasionally I have gentle, angry humans
We're people that for some reason don't seem that special
Sometimes we touch each other like algae floating in the ocean
That's all
Did you have a nice time running around in the crazy darkness?
It's such hard work not caring about anyone
So, what a relief for you to be so dear to me
out of all the angels ever bred
At night if I can't be alone,
a sentry watches over the museum in my head
I'm not sure if he's protecting my dreams or just my skull,
but no amount of safety glass, or prescription drugs can turn him off
He's why I never get any sleep at a slumber party
He might be why I wither around attractive men
But he's gotten used to you being close
even though it took a while
If I can't be a worldly success at anything else
at least there's this:
I have a cat loaf
I have an Australia
I believe I've reached a new level of disgust with my own filth
Occasionally I have gentle, angry humans
We're people that for some reason don't seem that special
Sometimes we touch each other like algae floating in the ocean
That's all
Friday, May 30, 2003
Danilo's Ninth Symphony
The god of this 'brane
can't be some fairy tale Jesus-type
Things diverge, but meet up again
like Vietnamese civets on the road to Beijing
What happens if you let someone drown?
The day of reckoning is at hand
when the shiatsu woman stands
on tiptoe with all her weight
on one point in your shoulder
Will it go down?
It may be time to renew your passport
Ask the old women how
Keep singing after the world turns on the radio to drown you out
The god of this 'brane
can't be some fairy tale Jesus-type
Things diverge, but meet up again
like Vietnamese civets on the road to Beijing
What happens if you let someone drown?
The day of reckoning is at hand
when the shiatsu woman stands
on tiptoe with all her weight
on one point in your shoulder
Will it go down?
It may be time to renew your passport
Ask the old women how
Keep singing after the world turns on the radio to drown you out
Sunday, May 11, 2003
Let the identity thieves come
Take my detritus
my penchant for snacking
my stuffy nose
My size 9 feet with hairy toes
My hyper-mobile spine and arthritis
My inability to return unwanted merchandise
My fear of calling the landlady
My poor circulation
The ease with which I become overstimulated
My need to please
My problematic mix of flipflopping gullibility and deep mistrust
My insecure physicality
My cluelessness at flirting
My stupid dedication to slaving away at work
My loose lips
Maybe I'll shred my deliberation receipts
and my confrontation card applications
so they can't assume my grooving accounts
So they can leave me the mothering of noisy cats,dogs,and guinea pigs
the aunting of good-hearted children
the capability for rational thought
the sometimes guts
the powerful humping
the mobilizing anger
and the tearful, last goodbyes
Take my detritus
my penchant for snacking
my stuffy nose
My size 9 feet with hairy toes
My hyper-mobile spine and arthritis
My inability to return unwanted merchandise
My fear of calling the landlady
My poor circulation
The ease with which I become overstimulated
My need to please
My problematic mix of flipflopping gullibility and deep mistrust
My insecure physicality
My cluelessness at flirting
My stupid dedication to slaving away at work
My loose lips
Maybe I'll shred my deliberation receipts
and my confrontation card applications
so they can't assume my grooving accounts
So they can leave me the mothering of noisy cats,dogs,and guinea pigs
the aunting of good-hearted children
the capability for rational thought
the sometimes guts
the powerful humping
the mobilizing anger
and the tearful, last goodbyes
Friday, May 09, 2003
What up, Groovateers?
Please accept this hickory smoked, bada-bing bouquet. I've missed the sweet fucked-upness of not being on anti-depressants. Now I know why schizophrenics go off their meds. Enjoy the hating while it lasts.
Does the brain tell the stomach to growl or the other way around? Maybe the stomach tells the mind to growl. You probably can't tell by my mannered performance, but I'm dying vicariously through you. It feels like Maoris singing, which in case you didn't know simply cannot be captured by recording. It fills up a room.
Sometimes I can't wait to be alone for the rest of my life or at least for a few hours.
Like clockwork,
Mun Mun
Please accept this hickory smoked, bada-bing bouquet. I've missed the sweet fucked-upness of not being on anti-depressants. Now I know why schizophrenics go off their meds. Enjoy the hating while it lasts.
Does the brain tell the stomach to growl or the other way around? Maybe the stomach tells the mind to growl. You probably can't tell by my mannered performance, but I'm dying vicariously through you. It feels like Maoris singing, which in case you didn't know simply cannot be captured by recording. It fills up a room.
Sometimes I can't wait to be alone for the rest of my life or at least for a few hours.
Like clockwork,
Mun Mun
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