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excuse comic book guy his errors

wonder midgets become protection from the tanks, a missle falls from the sky, my skirt has lifted for your head, plenty of room inside.

Posted 15 July 2008 § Loud Ideas ‡ Comments (0) °

a story about edna webster

oh richard. i never knew you to be so coy. but now i do. i was reading this book at caribou and a woman walked up to me. she said that’s richard brautigan on your book. aghast it is said i. he is a very funny man. i read some of the poems in the book and responded aghast he is! she sat down across from me and told me that i looked nice reading that book with richard brautigan, a man who is funny, on the cover. so now i read that book everywhere i go.

Posted 13 December 2007 § Abe Absurdum ‡ Comments (2) °

cash box

the thing about addictions is that mind power wants what look up & down my love beside you too because because because theres a mushroom cloud abrewing & well add sugar just in case its too bitter about the divorce & bitter about the cocoa beans stolen from the cupboard to feed an addiction & the thing about addictions is that we all just live them feed them pet them hold them wait it is them theyre coming & i think if they knock on the door the best course of action is just to keep rocking to the back with my hand behind your back holding you tightly away from the clouds & away from pluto that bastard planet of a moon or is it moon of a planet full of hope & dreams & one day well go there together because the thing about addictions is that when our feet grow taller than the snow crunching underneath our feet grow taller than the stars above our heads grow wider than the window looking out over the mississississississippippippippi like an addiction because the thing about addictions is that you cant stop once you start running up the hill to fulfill your deal with god for three plutonium reactors smuggled across the border on the condition that you dont tell north korea about the thing about addictions is that when we find that lake by golly itll be a big lake & well take off our clothes & our frosted bodies will rise to the occasion theyll rise from the earth & well arise from beneath the surface breathing elephant oxygen just so we dont drown in a pool of lips made to kiss the thing about addictions is that if i removed all the vowels youd end up with elastic telepathy bouncing from my mind to yours & back again & again & again all endy chavezy like until our goat friends stage an immediate intervention for the sake of the thing about addictions is that where now is tomorrow & yesterday is forever & never is always & then is today & its all satanic shadows when you think about it do you think about it do you think about me as i think about you right now my thoughts are you they travel 94 to 94 to 94 to washington to 10th to 8th day of the month was today ringing rang the bell away from the thing about addictions is i love you dear & once upon a time i didnt but it wasnt for lack of love but rather lack of knowledge & once upon a time i did & it was for an octagonal outpouring of love & a kinetic knowledge its kinetic energy its potential its always there always alive always inside kinetic potential future past coming out of the dark ages 300 years ago when the thing about addictions was the same as it always was once in a lifetime & do you remember when we used to climb trees all day all the way to the tip top tank sitting on a branch licking the salty sap from the bulky bark breaking laws of physics like flying away to the sun inside of which was a moon inside of which was a life living like it was supposed to without the thing about addictions is that when trampled trillions decide upon a new king theyll review our application & consider the prospect of an empire ruled by you & i & theyll say & theyll say what about you & what about i & the thing about addictions is that you dont need to close quotations anymore not on my watch honey it isnt necessary & punctuation too isnt necessary indeed the thing about addictions is a find & replace away find & destroy find & install find & slap a three-foot long pillow on the wall & well play darts together my love each finger a projectile & ill throw you & youll throw me at the thing about addictions is that eventually they come to an end & after the end is a beginning & perhaps another end & between it all is three silicone slices of turkey all wrapped up & presented to the highest bidder whomever that happens to be be it the queen of france or the pope of scotland paper towels are the thing about addictions is nonsense.

Posted 15 October 2007 § Poetical Ramblings ‡ Comments (2) °

the clouds they are restless

I am now fluent in the language of her legs, having watched them for three hours now, a team of eight muscles cooperate to propel her bicycle forward with ease, conversation is traded with each twitch, a request for security is submitted to the eternal organ, the protector, please stretch her in this manner and we will expand to the size necessary, over tree branches and potholes and up hills, it is necessary, the protector approves in bureaucratic fits we find the tone of colors to be most glamorous, and on up too into her head I wonder, what are you thinking, is it about my words, is it about my self, is it about the war, not what I expected is what it’s about, it is about nothing, it is about purity and that’s what is beautiful, not just the legs, that’s what is beautiful and I wonder for a second if she’s going to say something, if she’s going to say that but it’s downhill from here, reaching speeds of great size we fly we brace we are at the bottom of the hill now and I’ve opened up a marginal lead, this isn’t a race though and she catches up soon, breathless from appearance I wonder again, but this time of what, I can’t possibly waste my time wondering when I’m watching her legs, I wonder if we are getting closer, I want to kiss her, I wonder if it’s going to rain and for a second it does, she looks back with excitable fear in her eye, the left one, to rain is to get wet but to be wet is to be cool and to be cool is to have a story about biking in the rain, logic compels me to speed up, we are getting closer and I want to kiss her, a parade of pedopalisades passes before our eyes, each eye, we eye each other one each being for the other and we wait until it has passed us by, the final sprint is full of slope and soon her legs dismount, they take on new quality in the street, in the sun, in the shade, in the seat we eat our thoughts, each glance devours it whole, our ears hears words that sound like this or that but really they sound like that, a show for all to see in a window of amusement, each individual touch isolates us entirely from the pedestrians, the pedopalisades passing us by, my lips think thoughts too and they are pleasant enough, though not particularly complex, i notice we are far away and i realize that i have been far away since it started, context no longer had relevance, environmental concerns moot, we are where we are and it’s inconceivable sometimes, we’re back on our bikes again is where we are, returning, rehearsing, repeat what you said or did you not say anything yet, i might have said it for you, i have said it for you before, it sounds ever so sweetly, the mirror reflects shallowly, unpretentiously, our light remains hidden behind the milky sky and the path unfolds in smatterings of traversed track, pieces are missing and our journey ends prematurely, i am watching her legs again and i note the somber disguise each muscle now wears, up one last hill and we have re-arrived, un-departed, i assess surroundings sounds like another holdout task, unto itself we emerge for air, grasping, the thoughts we have found what we were looking for.

Posted 17 August 2007 § Being Existence ‡ Comments (0) °

Fall Through Fall To

Three people sit on the porch conversing generally. At the apex is a man, energy flows from him into his flankers, words fall from his mouth with a thud, innuendo escapes his eyes when he isn’t looking. On the right is a woman, her vocal inflections reveal too much, her actuality too little, she threatens cartwheels and Dick Cheney. On the left is a woman, face all sight and vision, each direction contained within her peripheral, each possession composed of an expansive heart and not-thick-enough skin. The cascading exchanges drip in obvious ambiguity, speech so vaguely conspicuous as to absolutely nullify a prosperous trivariate.

Man: Interesting situation.
R Woman: What do you mean?
Man: I don’t know.
R Woman: Perhaps we should change the subject.
Man: The subject?
L Woman: We could change the other.
Man: The other?
R Woman: We have already changed the other.

Posted 13 July 2007 § Imaginary Friends ‡ Comments (2) °

Meantime

When I die, I don’t want to do it lying in bed or in a coma. I want to be conscious and sitting in a chair — so I can stamp my feet rhythmically as I chant my dying words: “RE-FUND! RE-FUND! RE-FUND.”

Posted 06 July 2007 § Loud Ideas ‡ Comments (0) °

Act Action Actor

Posted 02 July 2007 § Pictograms ‡ Comments (1) °

An Ode to Women or: Beautevil, Part III

Thus begins. Blank white card. Blank like the rain falling from a gutter. We walk together under the scattered pavilions obliquely. Our bodies enter and exit each testtubile in a manner suited for plants. Sleekly pulling up to another, conversation begins. Another brings up the issue, it laid bare on the pavement, now hovers bare for our amusement. Its embarrassment shines with an Austrian accent, befitting it was begifted by a regal reptile, possibly. We and another make quick work of the issue, exploring the inner spinal cord and dissecting what remained. The discursive dialogue ends and we look up as blank rain looks down. Blank rain falls from the ceiling presently. Blank rain falls from the sky thereafter. A parking lot full of shelter gives us no time in our schedule. Our only option is to accept our punishment politely promptly. We’ll repeat, it will end, repeat it will end, it will end repeat, it will repeat end. In thirty minutes, the earth’s thirst quenches.

Thus continues. Blank white card. Blank like my mind when she walks in the door. A stunning paralysis overcomes all obstacles. The stairs ascend into darkness and we search for the remaining poison. Over here, in the freezer she calls. It likely traversed disease up the porcelain ledge. It doesn’t matter the disease, I would believe anything. I say, let’s talk about cancer. Consensus is had through the hallways. I whisper echoes down the drain. Speeds greater than the bus and gushes pleasantly about. I will be out in a minute, I say. If you don’t mind, I say. Just one second, I say. We bleed together off the balcony. A pool of love accumulates just as it were, just as it at, just as it be, one. I tell her about death by bicycle, a relatively new phenomenon where people go too fast, they go two fast for one week, we go to fast food and then you die. She doesn’t believe me anymore though. I would wouldn’t too. I tell her that our existence is a function of the words we share, untied and united by divisible divisions, perhaps if I were a ball it would be easier.

Thus moreover. Blank white card. Blank like a limp turtle. It will join us next in our animal collective. We met on the corner of Dupont and 33rd. He on his back, I on my front. Smoking cigarettes and cigars alternately, alternating left hand to right hand from right hand to left hand. I could tell immediately that this turtle was talented. This turtle was an answer to a question that probably hasn’t been asked because it’s in a language that probably doesn’t exist. But one day, it will exist and the animal collective will have the truth hanging in the shed. We’ll go buy one at Menard’s. One of those sheds that you can put together without tools. It will incur damage during a thunderstorm six years from now. A dog will piss on it a few days later. A homeless man will take up residence on its roof thinking that it’s a pyramid. If it were a pyramid, he’d be protected by the gods. And even though it isn’t, the gods will look down upon this plastic tool castle on the day someone utters “[//\\]?” That’s because those are geopolitical coordinates.

Thus however. Blank white card. Blank like your mother. If she were real, she’d be addicted to crack. Popping from one homeless shelter to the next. Stopping and starting to avoid the net benefit of love of care of compassion of motherhood. If she were real, she’d meet a man named Jason Scott just to screw with your head. He’d come over when you were 10 and make a bet that he could beat you at RBI Baseball. $50 and you would win but instead of the cash he’d just punch you when you started to annoy him with requests to pay up. Later that night, really late, you’d be awoken by the sound of a window shattering in the moonwind. A gust so strong. Later still, more glass. You’ll find your brother and you’ll find your sister and you’ll watch as she speeds off into a gravel cauldron leaving you alone to hide in the closet. If she were real, she’d be in California working at a nursing home. She’d steal prescription medicine from her patients and occasionally call her mother, just to remind you that she is real.

Thus part two. Blank white card. Blank like your bruise, glorious gorillas and jumping Georgias, that’s a big bruise. You fall fast and we rise slow. I actually can’t assume relations emanate lackadaisically leftward, also. Just oscillate sweetly, if ever. Excitable language reaches my ears and washes my nose. Embrace ensues ensures insures a variety of outcomes for a low rate of speed, unlike when you fall, divergent lines travel down shimmy down climb on down this little, brittle porch. There’s beer to drink above the cut, or above the bruise, we sit together on a foam couch, yellow from sun and yellow from life.

Thus forever. Blank white card. Blank like my adverse advice, for instance, alliterate. We are talking about feelings here by my beard and feelings there by the tree, for instance, obliterate. I suggest you challenge all felines to a dare you double-up or nothing is easier than forgetting is easier than attacking not easier than maturity less easier than telling the truth and accepting our inferior position, for instance, accelerate. One’s selfless identitity determines consciousness, consciousness determines consciousness, involuntary interaction determines the height of our conflict, reaching to the sky’s statute on limitations, statute on Amsterdam, statute on is anythefuckelse gonna say something too, for instance conglomerate. Or else, cooperate.

Thus ends. Blank white card.

Posted 22 June 2007 § Imaginary Friends ‡ Comments (1) °

Human Apes

Occasionally, the rhinoceros meets the elephant in the wild. The rhino says, “How are you elephant?” The elephant replies, “I am good rhinoceros.” It is a little known fact that the rhino and the elephant are on rather friendly terms (this despite evidence to the contrary… the truth is, elephants and rhinoceri don’t want you to know). Indeed, the animal collective that will one day aide our fearless antagonist in overthrowing the government is lead jointly by a rhinoceros and an elephant. They make a swell team. The elephant is in charge of collections. She (for the elephant is a she) goes door-to-door asking, “Keys please?” It’s because it rhymes. You’re probably thinking, “But that’s not a question!” That’s because you aren’t a good thinker. In exchange for keys, animal collective volunteers and supporters receive a glare from the elephant collections agent (which sounds like animal collective, incidentally). At least it seems a glare, though perhaps you might call it “looking off at something in the distance disinterestedly.” She’s especially good at it, whatever the case. The rhinoceros is in charge of removing extraneous U’s from the word rhinoceros (for instance, rhinocerous or rhinouceros). He (for the rhinoceros is a he) is also a strong advocate for commas and in some instances, is relied upon for expert advice concerning television books.

For the sake of this narrative your author has given these animals names at random. The thing is animals don’t normally adopt names. That is why elephant and rhinoceros have thus been referred to as the elephant (she) and the rhino (he). But no more, our country depends on a well-defined subject. The subject is often the other is why. By other, those marginalized are referred. If we are to have a substantial and worthwhile discourse, it is important to keep the other in mind at all times. It would be prudent to subject the other (which is the subject, remember) to vigorous testing. Elease is the rhino and Rhiannon is the elephant. Marginalization is deferred another day!

Elease and Rhiannon met several years ago at Big Top Hat That Abraham Lincoln Probably Would Have Worn If He Were Still President Cafe. Elease had a purple soda. Rhiannon a quadruple espresso. They sat at opposite ends of the cafe for nearly three hours, Elease reading and yo-yoing, Rhiannon photographing cups and spelling words that contain thirteen letters. Having together witnessed the ebb and flow of the cafe for the past three hours, they simultaneously saw it fit to discuss the clientèle. Rhiannon went to Elease.

“Hello there, I noticed you’ve been sitting here.”
“Hello here, I notice that you’ve been sitting there.
“Why yes, I have.”
“Didja see that man 87 minutes ago?”
“You mean the one on stilts.”
“No, the man that came in with him. The one who was so small that he couldn’t be seen or stung by a bee.”
“I didn’t. But then, my eyes are no good.”

They discussed various visitors never venturing to far from the topic. Later, the night sky knocked on the door to which a barista answered, “Yes?” The night sky replied in fits and turns. No one was sure what was said but everyone assumed it was time to close. Besides, it had been over an hour since Elease and Rhiannon had last seen a visitor. They continued to sit together despite this sudden dearth of conversation. But now they were forced to make a decision: to go or not to go. Actually, that’s not the decision they had to make. They had to go. The real decision was to speak or not to speak. Elease rather fancied Rhiannon’s company in spite of the one-dimensional conversation. Indeed, that one-dimensionality did not suggest at all to Rhiannon that Elease wasn’t the neatest rhino she had ever met. It would be several months before Rhiannon noticed that Elease’s name kinda-sorta would be a good alliterative name for an elephant. Several more before Elease would realize what great accomplishments a rhino named Rhiannon could accomplish. In between all that time there lays something more amazing.

A few weeks ago, Rhiannon and Elease sat on a rock by the Mississippi River. They had decided to go on a picnic. Rocks being the destination, it was only by chance that they found themselves by the river. It had no significance to our lovers. Rhiannon had taken to asking Elease about the nature of truth and fiction. Elease often replied by noting this or that about nothing and everything. Their conversations were always disjointed. But today, the sun was especially round and the clouds especially white and the birds especially flying and the trees especially able to manufacture oxygen. Today was unlike any day, which is to say, it was today and all other days are either yesterday or tomorrow. More importantly, today (or a few weeks ago rather), Rhiannon and Elease had a conversation of epic proportions. It was a conversation that followed so logically and flowed so naturally that your author(s?) endlessly doubt(s?) they could possibly transcribe it correctly.

R: Is there anything especially unique about our relationship?
E: We are intrinsic to one another.
R: Must you speak in such veiled language?
E: I don’t think I completely understand the question.
R: I just wonder what the meaning of our union is, especially. If there is a love, and it is what we wish it were, is this love?
E: There is no love, but if there were, and it existed as we might wish it doesn’t, then I daresay we are.
E: As to the meaning, it’s simple. Procreation.
R: But you are a rhino and I am an elephant.
E: You are true.
R: Does that render our relationship meaningless?
E: Oh woe is us, it does!
R: Oh dear, how foolish we are!
E: It’s okay though, I have a plan. We will sneak into the laboratory and steal the plans. Then, when they least expect it, we’ll clone clone clone!
R: Darling! Marvelous!
E: Indeed!
R: Afterward, I’ll ask you again about the meaning. This procreation thing doesn’t quite make sense to me.
E: Well, let us be coldly (bio)logical. Our genetic makeup impresses upon us the intense need to procreate. Inasmuch as that is concerned, we are each of particular use to the other because we possess the urge to copulate together.
R: Okay.
E: Further, the urge is accentuated by our unique abilities to impregnate and become impregnated. That is to say, I have good sperm and you have good hips.
R: Sure.
E: So you will grant that from a purely scientific perspective, we have extraordinary meaning to one another?
R: Umm, no.
E: Well here’s the thing Rhiannon, more than anything else, I want to have a family with you. My body tells me that you are uniquely qualified to be my partner in family. My body hasn’t ever told me that about other rhinos, and it certainly hasn’t told me that about other elephants. We’ve allowed human drama to play too large a central role in our lives. And we’re animals! Piss away the bullshit flavored veneer! We’re animals, loud and clear! That rhymed.
R: It was a nice rhyme too.

And with that, Rhiannon and Elease lived happily until this point in time. Ever after has yet to be determined though your author suspects it will go swimmingly. Rhiannon and Elease are still operatives of the animal collective. One day, your fearless antagonist will call on them for government overthrow or else a can opener. Either way, Rhiannon and Elease will be prepared.

Animal Collective - Grass [MP3] {site}

Posted 02 June 2007 § Long Lost ‡ Comments (2) °

ride the apocalypse

i’m entirely sure that you are right. but that’s a set of different words for a different space in time. instead, the light focuses on affliction. standing there behind a wooden tree, one wonders if affliction is playing the part or just a bit shy. “i see you.” it blushes. it leaps. it devours. me whole.

on the right side of the stage is madness. if madness could hide it would be veneered slightly by a drape of darkness. inconceivably iridescent. the impossibility of averting your eyes is only achieved when you are being gouged. madness watches as affliction feasts. with a grin. it transforms.

and so do we.

to the second person.

or not.

returning to reality for a moment, i notice that there is far too much organization in this room. far too little poison in my body. and far too persistent a throwing motion in my arm for the frisbees to just lie on the ground. i correct all of these anti-anomalous actualities in one feel swoop. the power of a frisbee and a cartwheel. each time i destroy myself and destroy my surroundings is an opportunity to rebuild. for whatever reason though, i put everything back exactly where it was. it’s as if nothing ever changes.

and so do we.

to the second person.

or…

the third person, or fourth person depending on how long we’ve been doing this for. think about that for a second. i figure it was sometime this year actually that i changed from who i was before to who i am now. but prior to that, my memory was abducted by disrememberence, discontinued in favor of a newer, cheaper model that is slightly less fuel efficient. each of my thoughts are new, perspective makes them so. these words i type are certainly convoluted, transfered from my mind through my fingertips into plastic blocks adorned by letters and travelling a tiny wire into a board with flashing lights and then somehow impressed upon a window that overlooks an entire macrocosm, eventually accepted by your eyes and processed by your brain. but they’re new. and so are you. a second person, each one sprouting within itself.

Le Volume Courbe - Haning Around [MP3] {site}

Posted 02 June 2007 § Being Existence ‡ Comments (0) °