Archive for October, 2011

Happy Halloween !

31 Oct


Hopefully all you ghouls, goblins, and ironies are having a great Halloween. Mine has been quiet: large building, lots of trick-or-treaters – lots of candy to hand out, and after seeing 20 Spongebob costumes in a day you start craving a strong drink. I suggest bourbon… but then again, I would usually suggest bourbon. Anyway, as the day progressed, I’ve edited the book a bit, fixed up a set-list for the reading (Saturday will surely be here sooner than expected), and have been compulsively checking online hip-hop blogs about the release of “Maniac”: a short film starring Scott Mescudi (Kid Cudi – who’s music, truthfully, bores me to tears) and Chris Palko (Cage – who is one of my favorite musicians, as you likely know; someone I consider the mad genius of the underground NY hip-hop scene). The film was supposed to be released today at 12:01am, but apparently was postponed until just recently (the time it took me to find the private unposted link + time it took to watch it + time it took to write this little entry regarding it). What can I say about it? It’s alright. Grainy, artsy vignette posing as a faux-documentary about two serial-killers, where the audience gets to watch them killing people in various ways and speaking French (for some unknown reason) while grumbling about the film crew following them. I have to say that I’ve never been a fan of the fad-fetish recently popularized  in contemporary cinema known as torture-porn – I figure that once South Park lampoons it, it’s no longer exciting (if it ever truly was). But this project isn’t quite that, it is a step higher; there’s a certain fascination to be found in the post-modern nihilism of the protagonists and their supposed documentarians (becoming like a cinephile’s quick take on a cultural criticism made in Stone’s “Natural Born Killers”). What I can’t argue is that it’s befitting the holiday – so here for your enjoyment (or for your critique) is the film in question:



In Preparation for the Reading…

30 Oct


Charles Bukowski reading at Bellevue Community College in the Spring of 1970.  This pioneer reading (only his fourth ever) was videotaped in black-and-white using two cameras by students and the film lay forgotten for 18 years. While the technical aspects of this film are shaky, all of this one hour reading comes through loud and clear. I decided to watch it in preparation for my own reading this coming Saturday.




30 Oct



finally a fascination worth preserving

like rose petals in book pages

it’s strange water we’re swimming in

love is a war, trust me

it’s the reason I’m a ghost

a reoccurring casualty

mocked by the insouciant living

for finding dreams in meanings


P.S. My gratitude to Pepper for cheering me up on a cold city day!



28 Oct


Found this cool little video (apparently commissioned by Chipotle to raise money for Farm Aid), with a brilliant cover by Karen O of Willie Nelson’s “Mammas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys” floating above the images of youthful mischief:


Live now, baby

A fan since inception

I’ve followed you


Be careful, baby

There’s nothing you shouldn’t do

But fall


Thankful, baby

Find a way to let me know

You’re voice isn’t it all


No time exists

I promise you, baby

It’s all far away


Sleep now, baby

There’s nothing but beauty in you

Nothing else I know


But the dream I see


If it was for me


P.S. Robyn Young (who plays the character of “Lilia” in the short film we made “I’m a Hard Man to Kill”) has a short clip online entitled “Trojan Horse” which can be found in the link provided. 


Short/Regarding Levities

27 Oct


After spending some time promoting the upcoming reading last night I was reluctantly drunk. Some puritanical asshole took my free bit of verse, then decided to editorialize:

“it seems as though you’re an alcohol-enthusiast, kid.”

It took me a minute and another sip to respond: “you insult me, sir – by now I think I’m a professional.” I walked off and finished another bottle of wine. This morning woke me feeling like a Regina Spektor song.



A tall glass of milk stands at attention

Her left thigh exposed seemed worth a mention

Therapy didn’t work, so now she was here with me

Hiding under my blankets

The world is, apparently, cruel

And full of misery

Or so she tells me

I drank my milk and smoked a cigarette

And didn’t mind it much



26 Oct


My work on new pieces for the reading has exhausted my inspiration a bit, but I did manage this trifle, not exactly a pastiche, but only loosely connected. If that. Honestly, I see something that brings the pieces together somewhere, but it could be just… disparate verses.



Women own their sexuality

while men lug it around like nugatory prestige

as though in eternal preparation

like an alarm clock waiting to go off


Between those departed and those that stayed

is stored a stage

with a beckoning light

that spreads the space


Then she tells me he beats her

Then she tells me not to hurt him

Then I walk away

Then nothing more is said


The giraffe knows best, they say

he sees the farthest

The writer stays to type

until Con Ed decides he’s done

Moving over to the notebook

he sees nothing but what the words should be


P.S. At least you’ll be pleased that if you’re in NYC on Nov. 5th you’ll get to hear only new pieces (that I’ve assiduously tried to keep offline until after the reading). They have been meticulously plotted and are being cruelly experimented on during my bouts of insomnia. Cheers.



25 Oct



No fragility

No vulnerability

——–without a little weakness


It’s necessary, darling

Otherwise, how can I get in


Right now I want the fantasy

When divorce was my biggest worry

Not your glance

your view of me

how hardened it’s become  


A little weakness, a little fragility


necessary for us to be

complete, essential and intertwined



24 Oct



Though, given the lack of meter and a constant thread, this isn’t exactly a bit of verse – I still think the honest sentiment behind it makes it somewhat poetic.


A salute to all the ones that got away

A salute to all the friends with an empty couch when you need one

A salute to all temptations, past and present, gone before

A salute to all the abounding mystery still in her eyes

A salute to all the daytime drinks and morning sexual encounters

A salute to all the failures you’re constantly making up for, aspiring because

A salute to all directions, even if given by the tourists of the world

A salute to all those who used to read my unfinished vignettes

(filled with too many ellipses and fragment sentences)

[A salute to] all those years ago when we believed we’d absolve Literature

A salute to all those still trying

A salute to all those still yearning

A salute to all those still writing (everyday, now, goddamn, get to it!)

A salute to loyalty unwavering

In short, a salute to all of you! 



Whoever is behind this idea is a fucking genius! Absolutely hillarious and brilliant bit of socially-conscious mischief.



23 Oct



this night

i bathed you like a child

kissed and dried you

every pocket of you

is high creation

finally complete

yet always changing

feeling described before you

living slower

waking laggard

no rush

beside you  

no need to make more of it than now

this night



21 Oct



I should shave, but I’m too lazy

Stuck somewhere in another life


So, where are we driving to tonight?

It’s been a while

We haven’t talked

Found our fortune drawn in chalk

On the pavement by your door

Something we were never looking for


For Consideration (1)

20 Oct



The sadists and the sycophants

are much the same at nothing

it’s in the eyes, in the stare

the breath they take so slowly

as though to mediate a coke rush

they apply their teeth to you

like pliers nursing on lost souls

they become familiar

they always ask you first

and when you let them in

there is no letting go

they are like a woman that you’ll love

until you perish

until the ego has been nourished

until the stars have been written

by bleeding fingers

cankered by indulgence and despair.

Yes, the sadists and the sycophants

are much the same

I hope that you meet them both

I hope that you survive them.


13 Reasons Why I’m “Cooler” than your Boyfriend

19 Oct


Someone sarcastically asked me to do this today, so I decided to sarcastically accept the challenge. So, now for your enjoyment:


13 Miscellaneous Reasons why I’m “Cooler” than your Boyfriend


1. I am probably drunk as you read this.


2. I strive for a career in a dying cultural industry. I don’t write books like Nicholas “cuntface” Sparks – but will likely remind you to pick up the new Jeffrey Eugenides book; preferably from Shakespeare & Co. on Greenwich or 23rd st. (if they haven’t closed down yet under the weight of the withering hydra-cocks of and Kindle readers).


3. I write self-aggrandizing poetry that is vulgar and can be subjectively perceived as satirically misogynistic.


4. I have an aching past that includes a tremendous addiction to various intravenous drugs, overcome (except when sleep wakes me to a state simultaneously terrified and urged).


5. I have a working, academic knowledge of English literature that prevents me from watching the Jersey Shore with you (but will bore you with unwanted anecdotes about writers like Dylan Thomas: who was a Welsh poet with a complete lack of understanding of world records in the field of drinking).  


6. I do not own a smart phone, am not a Facebook member and still maintain an outdated affinity towards typewriters.


7. Some of my friends have a tendency to pedantically quote Camus and Dostoevsky after whiskey.


8. Some of my friends have done time, both serious and sardonic. I, myself, have been arrested a couple of times, though for much more demure infractions: the apex of my criminal activity (at least for which I was caught) likely to be pointlessly protesting the Republican Nation Convention in 2004.


9. I am more than likely to say something inappropriate during dinner with your family; usually something about the invalid belief that second-hand smoke dramatically increases the chance of you developing cancer or heart decease, usually immediately before I excuse myself to have a cigarette.


10. I will eventually assert that Leonard Cohen is the greatest living lyricist, then force you to accompany me to a record store so that I can expand your musical catalog even thought it’s probably already filled to the brim with Fiery Furnaces demos which are absolutely unlistenable.


11. I openly make fun of hipsters, despite the fact that I like most of their music, the grungy clothes in their wardrobe, and their expansive knowledge of a myriad marijuana strains. Also, I envy their wealthy parents buying them a Liberal Arts degree for upwards of $300,000 from a private university.


12. Date night: I do not want to go to the club to hear the dubstep remix of the latest Pitbull song. I would rather stay home, cook, open a cheap bottle of wine and watch Woody Allen films of the 70’s and 80’s with you.


13. I have been writing the same novel for three years and my editors are worrying about it’s growing size – but, yet I still find time to write silly lists like this one online.



Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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