Archive for June, 2011

Friends for a Poetic Day and Other Ruminations


30 Jun

——

——

I had a friend named Sasha who loved to kill

but didn’t want to beautify a prison cell

so she broke men’s hearts and

watered her plants with arsenic.

—— 

She stomped her feet

wore high heels

the tips ragged

and her soul pure.

——

—— 

Today I met a charming bum

He talked nonsense but was very polite about it

He asked how I’ve been

Like an old friend he hadn’t seen in a century’s worth of conversation

 ——

In a city of shortcuts and loopholes

It’s hard to find a blatant truth

But not hard enough to get lost

 ——

Friends are found in unlikely places

——

——

The rigamarole of modern life:

Too many cops and robbers and grocery store clerks

Not enough books and not enough eyes to read them

We are not over but under-informed

We reference too many things of little value

We thrive on being but not together

Another day, another hour, another life

Occurs so accidentally

Then we are all punished
—–

—–

Transfixed

Move on

To the jumbled words

To the gatekeepers

To talk and listen

—– 

Transfixed

Get more

Of the scents

Of the misery

Of the unfortunate youth

—– 

Transfixed

Find

Some passion

Some peace

Some breathing room

—–

P.S. Fuck the cunt Gov. Scott Walker who had the audacious nerve to visit my city yesterday. If anyone ever deserved catching syphilis from a toothless pixie…

—–

—–

—–

[Pause/ Note] + An Homage to Someone’s Cat


30 Jun

—–

I was supposed to untie my straight jacket today, Houdini style, and have a lengthy editorial day. Get through at least 20 pages. Nope. Procrastinating instead. The culprit – Amanda Riley’s Tumblr. Fantastic stuff. Very addictive for some reason. Though I have no idea who she is, her taste in the miscellaneous seems to me impeccable.

—–

——-

——-While healing from my wounds, both of the body and soul – the former steady and gentle, the latter much more temperamental – I went to the beach. It was on this beach that I met Cristobal Colón.

——-He pushed a cart along the edge of the low, rolling tide without ever getting his bare feet wet. Rosa, his wife, fried stone crabs in the early afternoon that Cristobal caught the same morning. He sold those crabs to tourists like me from his cart, handed over on a small disposable tray. His cart was also always full of beer. A beer and stone crab meat, wet and succulent, on a warm day bought for very little money is always delightful no matter the repetition like the waves.

——-I sat on the beach and indulged in not thinking. I watched the round, smiling Mexican children run rascally into the cooling water. I watched their older siblings, lengthened and taut, playing football on the warm sand, ceaselessly as though they weren’t keeping score.

——-I thought of her despite trying not to whenever I lay down on my towel to squint at the sun. Sometimes I fell asleep still thinking of her. Whenever I woke she was gone and I again began not thinking.

——-My injuries prevented me from swimming, but I got to watch the smiling locals enjoying themselves. It was nice. I felt safe with them and I felt resplendent apart.

——-

——-

Coffee and Lo Mein


30 Jun

——

——

No Fustian in Seriatim Verso

——

Obey

Obey

then beg

then whine

then wheeze

then drink.

You’ll die,

I promise you.

But it’s alright.

We all will.

Some of us

might catch a decent fuck

might make a little money

might play the Peter Pan

along the way.

But we’ll die.

We’ll obey:

happy tidings on a christmas card

a good cigar or two

and a couple of kids

delivered with the chinese food.

——

cheers!


28 Jun

——-

——-

So, you let this old boozehound drink here?!

Good for you.

You look like good people.

Shame on you.

I haven’t had a good whiskey in quite a bit.

I’m usually drinking that sludge they sell with a sneer.

After all, forgettin’ doesn’t know.

Me, shit?! Don’t care less no more neither.

Tab!…

Or, rather – which one of you fine folks wants to buy me the first?

You know me, no matter how strange I look – I always keep my hat on.

An’ I’m always willing to sell it by the time the toll chimes the last round.

[Pause for a cacophonous belch]

Let me ask you fu… familiars a question?

Wait, let me thank youse for the drink first.

Now the question…?

Gracious!

When’s the next train outta this town?

That late?!

Shit,

I guess I’m here for the night.

My, you’ve got a pretty dress on.

Next one is on me!

——-

… pt. 6


27 Jun

—–

—–

With the sun weeping and

My life dreaming for me

I smile

Thinking that it’s couldn’t hurt

To remind you how much I love you

—–

Aside 7


25 Jun

——

Tristan and I watching “Labyrinth” while steak, tequila and Yuengling are on the table:

“Dude, Bowie really wants that baby!”

“Yeah, man. I guess he just had an exec come up to him one day and say:

“‘we have this movie where this thick-browed girl is chasing a goblin king to save her little brother – can you write some songs for it?”

“Of course, I can – I’m David Bowie! Do you like synth guitar?…””

——-

——-

Also, I want to congratulate my city (and my state)  for becoming 6th [state] in the country to legalize same-sex marriage. Hopefully, eventually the entire country will follow suit and acknowledge this civil rights issue without any homophobic temerity clouding it’s judgment.

From the Vault of Old Pieces 06


21 Jun

——-

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4guzJU5E4_E

——-

A Song of Death

——-

The widow mourns all her dead lovers by the windowsill;
She sighs as the sky shifts above her,
She wears black in cadence with memory,
Henceforth
She will not afford whispering their names out loud.

* * *

The man with the dark eyes wears a crown which no one can see;
He likes the poets who died before he was born,
He reads their dead pages for the sake of memory,
Henceforth
He will miss the tongue to whisper their verses in song.

* * *

The old break bread with the new;
They teach of things that haunt,
They quiver with each breath because of memory,
Henceforth
They will no longer whisper at all.

——-

Aside 6


21 Jun

Anxiety and Color


19 Jun

——-

——-Writing is how temporary people come to terms with immortality. Life is the exact opposite.

——-That’s why while writing this, I’ll take a moment to confess and concede: you were my synesthesia; without you the world is completely colorless, before you I was comfortably colorblind – now I know all that I miss, all that I lost.

——-There are so many things about the skin to love. It is only on the inside where the hideous restlessness resides.

——-She’s pointing to me, embarrassed. Her fingertips kill men like the outlaws of Johnny Cash songs – just so she can watch them die. I guess I’m just the next one around the bend.

——-There are no preparations to be undertaken – I just have to sit and write. But apart from you, I again have nothing to write about.

——-I feel as though I am… no no – it’s an inopportune time to discuss that.

——I do worry thought that Mephi might leave altogether while she doesn’t come back. I’ll be alone without the madness to preoccupy my time.

——-In fact, Mephi has been cranky with me lately – upset that I’ve been refusing drinks. Right now he went out to air out his thoughts, as he said, and get the blowjob owed to him by James Frey while he was still vocationing as such in New York.

——-So we’re here alone. Ghosts with rings on.

——-But I guess I’m just here, and you are the hues I don’t see floating around, making the happy sound I no longer hear.

 —–

——-The lonesome me and my temporary contemporaries keep on scribblin’ to finish our masterpieces that no one will ever read.

——

——

Last Left Arm


18 Jun

—–

—–

I asked her if she was a gypsy because of the way she moved

and the direction she sought

She asked me whether I was a vagabond by way of dress

address, and the way I looked at her

——

We had sight and we had silence

and everything else that we could ask for

wasn’t necessary

——

A friend found a way to thin himself through drink

We visited him through the fleeting hospital hours

and every tube replaced by stern looking nurses

and the suit that fit after a couple of years

and the ceremony that was solemn and full of appreciation

—–

No one can touch you like I can, she said

Sweet as grenadine

and I agreed because I should have

and I never asked who she meant by that

—–

I never asked anything again

—–

Without Citation (pt.5)


18 Jun

—–

—–

Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence,
without you moving, slicing the noon
like a blue flower, without you walking
later through the fog and the cobbles,
—–
without the light you carry in your hand,
golden, which maybe others will not see,
which maybe no one knew was growing
like the red beginnings of a rose.
—–
In short, without your presence: without your coming
suddenly, incitingly, to know my life,
gust of a rosebush, wheat of wind:
—–
since then I am because you are,
since then you are, I am, we are,
and through love I will be, you will be, we’ll be.

—–

[P.N.]

—–

Aside 5


17 Jun

——

Tristan just sent me an NYT article about how the army of Williamsburg hipsters is overtaking his beaches.

—–

—–

Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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