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Sunday, January 31st, 2010
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11:42 am
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So the gist is this: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen books that will always stick with you. First 15 you can recall in no more than 15 minutes.
Most of these are formative.
1. The Giver. For its Color and urgency.
2. Boy/Going Solo, Roald Dahl. For falling in love with a dead man & his memories.
3. Boyhood, Coetzee. For his mother riding a bicycle with her hair flying.
4. Short Stories, Hemingway. For patterns & sons, abortions and simple conversation.
5. Anne Frank. For necking in the hallway, for a first period, for Mumsy. For closeness with her father, a distaste for her mother.
6. Of Mice & Men. For "mussin up my hair," for Lennie.
7. Gatsby. For seeing Daisy plan her escape with Tom. For messy loyalties.
8. Flowers in the Attic, VC Andrews. For incest, married love-making. For romanticizing ballet.
9. Anna Karenina. For It's About Timing. For comfort during breakups. For Kitty & Levin.
10. Not that I Care, Rachel Vail. For mercury, four sides to a story, being the child of divorce.
11. Over to You, Roald Dahl. For teaching me about RAF in WWII. For seriously well-crafted.
12. Tobacco Road. For Dude honking the horn, for hare-lips.
13. The Fearless Series, Francine Pascal. For taking me to New York.
14. Girl, Interrupted. For blowjobs in seventh grade.
15. Angels, Denis Johnson. For America & its starry death-penalty last page.
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| Saturday, December 22nd, 2007
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4:11 pm - intersloping
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Sometimes I think I detest you as much as I obsess over you. I wake you up in the morning and you smile, sweet-lipped and charming, the way your mother must have melted at you when you were a little boy.
If we choose who we love and you are considering choosing me, why and what do you see in me? Because all I see in my relationship with you is absence and closed-off mouths, like you're duct-taped and bound up against some emotionless wall. I try not to read you when you tell my sister you're studying Julie Hagenbuch or when you compliment my bra, comparing it to sex scenes in DVD box sets. I try to shove off and shove away your arm across my back and your head on my shoulder muddled in the cold on a bench as I think, "DON'T MOVE EVER" and "PLEASE GET AWAY" because I know this is wrong and you're testing it, prodding it with thermometers and stethoscopes to examine the fleshy underbelly of who I am and what I do.
In New York I was starkly silent and unattracted to you, fluctuating between an awkward meditation and a curiosity. In Dillsburg I unfolded and furled open, comfortable in noise and the trinkets engraved on my skin.
But there is always more and I wish you'd be open with me, though maybe that's worse because, like Ashley says, "Emotions are dangerous," and God knows I obsess and attach myself, pinching at your arm skin like the nip of a puppy.
I get lost in you. Rolling my thoughts around inside the margins of your skin, I don't want to pop through and exist in the rest of the world until I memorize and own your organs. There is a wire-snag fence slicing into and wrapping your brain, loose enough that it doesn't squish anything out, but tight enough that I cannot fit in. I try, clacking against the tinny patterns and bending stray wires to pull out and still I can't find a space large enough to fall into, pulling my knees up to my chest and resting my head on my legs as my backbone leans straight against your wire.
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| Saturday, November 10th, 2007
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10:36 pm
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Girl Reporter: Hi, Moby. We met a long time ago, you don't remember.
Moby: I remember. Atlantic City, like four years ago. At the Duran Duran show.
[Girl Reporter dies, suddenly realizes how it is possible that so many women in New York have had sex with Moby, even though he is small and bald and actually from Darien, Connecticut.
NYmag.com
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| Monday, October 15th, 2007
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12:49 am
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| Monday, October 8th, 2007
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8:20 pm - A Few Things I’ve Learned in the Past Year
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1. People don’t care about rolls sloping over your courduroys or how many spinach knots you consume. People care if you smile and laugh, donate quarters to scraggled homeless men, or teach an eight year with pencilpoints and frayed paper.
2. Avoid weighing yourself.
Do not record numbers in spiralbound notebooks.
3. Extremism kills you with gravel-dusted bombs and swollen ankles.
4. Coke addiction is not nourishing. Anorexia should be avoided.
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| Tuesday, September 25th, 2007
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9:26 am
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| Sunday, September 23rd, 2007
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2:22 pm - blah blah blah
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My father pressures
steam in a vial
that cracks,
explodes a grandbaby:
chubby-eyed,
shortskinned.
Under shingles,
I weave breadtangles
on homepaint chairs.
I eyeflit up as
my father dances his baby
and my giggle fingers slip up.
I am distracted by his
homicidal swine,
my genes rolling in mudpools.
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| Saturday, September 15th, 2007
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10:56 pm
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I bake him bread.
When he does not contact me by sliding a couch across linoleum, I tear flaked chunks to dissolve on my tongue. I swallow every other gulp with ground flax seed--he shoots out of my system before my bloodstream absorbs his warmwater.
I am grateful he concentrically deepens in my toilet cup as I swirl my head, following his motion side-around.
Another chunk of hopefulness flushes away, disappears from my gap between two spinal nodes.
My column grates like apple cores.
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| Tuesday, September 11th, 2007
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6:34 pm - Longdistance Supper
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While my father’s warm plexiglass finger
poked kidney seeds in dirt,
my mother,
pregnant,
lay barebacked.
At that time,
rashes laced her belly,
mosquito-pricked.
It seems the Welcome Mat spotlight
swarms with clicking shadows.
Every padlock’s grooved numbers
can concoct an
onion shredding in a dust patch.
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| Sunday, September 2nd, 2007
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11:59 pm
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basil Karpeles - urtcraft
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| Monday, August 27th, 2007
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11:37 pm - God Gave You Forks
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FACT: A poem is a plate is a saffron jar.
FACT: I stare, lying parallel to him, on far apart single beds. I close one eye and align my book so it lies on top of him, resting on his arm from across the room.
FACT: He is a Christian and he will be a Christian and he has always been a Christian.
FACT: Caring about someone and someone caring about me is life-altering and jealous.
Caring about someone is the face of a white-smiling, wind-haired girl more religious than myself.
FACT: Shadow lines slope over his muscle-thin arms.
His fingernails are flat.
OPINION: His pale, gangled body is a temple and I am dull when I stare at his pointed nose and the hair around his nipples.
FACT: He makes me want to read the Bible, scream out the Psalms--
“Christian, I stare at you sleep with your parted mouth and your muscular back stiffening to your spine.”
FACT: I safeguard myself, of the opinion that I should remove all people from my plate.
OPINION: A poem is a plate is a saffron jar.
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5:46 am
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Metal-tabled cafe,
he sits
flat-fingered.
"God gave you forks," he tells me.
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| Saturday, August 25th, 2007
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2:43 pm
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Beautiful hands, flat fingernails.
I trace the dots on your back with my eyes.
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| Thursday, August 23rd, 2007
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9:56 am
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perky - lettuce razz
platform terrestrial
peace - Confirmation link
runions - Income
unhealthy cigarette - Fw: Thank you, we accepted your loan request
Teryn Martens - Sanya, too, for the same reason.
Narinder Berardo - But now I understand, you just like destroying things that are dear to others.
H-E R_E WE GO A-GAIN!
T_H,E B*I+G O*N'E BE,FORE T+H-E SE'PTEMBE-R.RALLY!
T_H*E MAR'KET IS ABOU'T TO P,O-P-, A*N D SO IS E'X-M.T'!
T h.i+s a g,reat o,pport unity to at lea_st doub le up!
N,o,t o,n*l.y d,o,e_s t h_i+s f,i+r'm h'a.v.e g_reat f+undament_als, b-u-t g.etting
t+h-i+s opp'or'tunity at t h+e r+ight ti+me, rig ht befor,e t'h-e ra+lly is w-h+a-t
m*akes t_h-i_s d+e.a'l so sweet !
Wat.ch it s_o+a+r*!
M a k+e a f_i_r.e w-ithin Fe_tch h-ither a,l,l my box,es in my clos.et.
I doub.t a_n-y of th*ese childr-+en h'a*v-e a tent h of S.emirhage's+.
We t,i,e_d t,h*e.m to trees', a+n-d bro+ke t-h'e,m dow'n, o+n-e by o n+e_.
We'l*l a,l*s-o n e+e-d c,a_l-l t.h-e exi'stin,g mous-e drive*r to s,e t up t h'e
C'O-M.1 p*o+r t to m-a_k-e s,u,r_e it se,nds us t_h e mo*use byte_s as it rece+iv+es
t h*e+m*.
T h,e glo_om w,i,l_l be t,h_e s.a.m.e a_n d ev'eryt.hing w_i+l-l s-t a'y preci+sel+y
in i+t.s plac_e.
expansion - We accepted your loan request
advwheeldd@op.pl - Do you think my bra is too tight. Maybe I should take it off. let me know what you think.
Hershiser - (no subject)
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| Sunday, August 19th, 2007
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4:56 pm - Vacation
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My family stops to picnic at a rest stop.
I see three things:
missing children (ten faces)
a teenaged chorus-dressed girl (dangling earrings)
a janitor pushing the silver air button.
My family eats silently.
Afterward, my parents hold hands in the car.
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4:56 pm
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Week nights, Dad reclined.
I dressed in cotton nightshirt,
waiting for eight-thirty.
I knelt on the carpet,
engraved red circlets on my knees.
With gummy fingers
I picked flakes from his ears,
hairs peaking out.
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4:55 pm - Elizabeth
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The only genuines are sweetie pies:
cuddly girls with round noses and chunky thighs,
or scrawny boys who giggle.
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12:36 am - Terse
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He masturbated under a cherry tree, alone at dawn.
Dew, ragged feet, orange glare.
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| Friday, August 3rd, 2007
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11:02 am
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Oregon's no hash New York. It's just going to be set on fire. Light, shiny face.
I wouldn't teach high school if you paid me, like, seven million dollars. I teach college, just don't smoke in my face or get naked.
Thirty boxes of chapbooks.
Beautiful independence, you write your muscles. I hope to be your rabbits. I am happy here in your weekend poetry, small group. PSALMLIKEAIDS. Either the bottle or the skull will crack, Sweeney. You know it's not.
They called me SNOWFLAKE, crooked belt hook. Nipple. Snowflake in your hair.
So here I am writing because I have just as much, if not more, beverage service than the mapping of the mind person. So: penis? Probably not. Tampon change.
Hot sweatness eat rice hunger pains! You think this person is me? Fuck you, I'm a FICTION WRITER, you idiot. Folk singer harpsicord my girl's pussy. Fishing. I hate you think I'd stoop so low as to write myself into this? This is not me. I'M SO WARM. I cannot breathe, I will die SO WHAT? It is seriously selfish. Limited and good, Lost Boys. So hot. Bodies and skin I do not know, I only can tell when someone is serious and someone is not. This one is except Cary you do not love to. Double chin FUCK YOU I am a boy, forty minute peice cannot read. So democratic. Liz Black plock poetic. GRAD program hit or miss. Josh Furst so concerned.
Furry body wine stain drew morrison wills pierre and drinking with what you hear you pragmatic fan scenic wrote lobotomy so grand rapids skinny anorexic daerota lovely arizonas careful over bridges hungry yours. I hate you you titled idiot fuck you. Why let this drunkenness go to waste? I ask we can be eros forever and ever we can be beautiful magnificent just for one day eat your beautiful 18th century vests shorts just for one clean day eat my patterned dress and my put off dress just for one put off day and my eatery 40 eatery 30 eatery 20 I don't know you let me go insane MOTHER you vaginal fucker let me go FATHER penal fuckery for a few days I do not understand your death I get your FUCK YOU FUCK YOU just one day. God you're so unattractive because I know you're unattracted to me. Snorting speed! Freals you fuckwad.
For no reason of course, not dead skin idiot kill my skin burn me and kill my skin idiot scab killing molar arch dear idiot kill my skin you turned off the music. RMB.
Recognition Vs Money
Picture under pressure is rain falling into the sea. I say to you, "What is your mental disorder?" and you tell me, "I do not love you." I ask you, "What is your depression?" and you tell me, "I do not love you. LEAVE ME ALONE." I tell you, Nothing, and I walk away, hoping you will follow. You stay behind, thinking of the itch on your nose and the hairs around your nipples.
I breathe as the chill breeze blows through the window. Enlivening, I eat your empty stomach and strive your hummsy branches. I grow as you eat cooked stirfry and chinese bouillion. I starve as you speak of breasts and hermetic codes. Starship Kala. Eatery eat me kitten burke. I am no longer yours of the eatery. Bedroom eatery soon.
French toast day of stripes, sparkles for seaboard living, let me always strive for you and your eatery, let me eat for your Livery, Rice and beans, bread and gypses. I sleep for your eatery. Goat cheese eatery. Dakota. Love the unreachable.
Dead. Colateral. Ever eating this weather. Ever eating eating ever. Crosswind rain how season eats your deadness you eat yourself. Eat yourself. Eat yourself. Eat yourself. Eat yourself. That was a close one. Close one weather. Weather under Richard Loranger.
I am fucking eaten. I am fucking fronted. I am dead when Melissa comes to visit. She drinks a Diet Coke or a Dr. Pepper and I drink nothing. Drunk your mother for breakfast. Your father for breakfast. Your brother for breakfast. EAT ME. ACCEPT ME. EAT ME ACCEPT ME.
repeat me I am not drunk
repeat me I am not drunk
repeat me I am unattractive
repeat me I am unattractive
repeat me I am a bulbous
repeat me I am a scansion
repeat my cell phone tone
repeat my middle eastern uninterested tonally deaf afron.
repeat mon pretzel wad lover
repeat mon eatery of people
repeat mon arm muscles.
Repeat mon arm extensions, mon arm psychedelics, mon hairy chests, mon dehydration, mon naked back curves, mon penal colonies, mon Philip Glass role mat, mon eatery, mon nakedness, mon look at me, mon naked mole rat, mon spray deodorant, mon eatery, mon pantal chin, mon never end, mon broken plate, mon silver lining, mon talking back, back, mon hairy chest, mon chubby muscles, god you're hot, mon eatery, mon penal colony, mon nasal spray, mon deodorizer, mon eatery, mon reuben, mon nostril eatery, mon expansion, mon fingerweb, mon hairum, mon liberum, mon ohmygawd, my holy shit, mon never again, mon repetitious ardvark, mon ackeroid, mon dublin, mon dubious ackeroid, mon holy dubious ackeroid. mon alabama headtrip ackeroid never again, mon alabama dubious headtrip, mon expansion ever again less stop, mon poisoning, mon poisoning, mon left alone, mon never again, mon UNGRY, mon UNGRY, mon never again, mon UNGRY, mon insanity membrane dane diver, mon swimmer, mon preganancy, mon never again, mon eatery, mon never again, mon eatery, mon membrane, mon eatery acceptance, mon Christmastime, mon Eastertime, mon never again.
Never an eatery, never an undrunk pita lover eating salsa sauce divorcing disappear a weak an ackeroid, never again an adam bomb, never again an ackeroid, never again eat an apple, never again you early Philip Glass, you taxi driver Philip Glass, you of little faith never paying attention, you little one you sugar sour little oone, you soda can one, you of little faith, oh you eatery of a fountain of youth.
Oh you of little eatery, oh you of little faith I shall eat thee whole, destroy thee in two and kill thee for thee shall succeed when thee are dead. When thee are an eatery of little faith, thee shall succeed.
And I shall ARDUOUS, I shall wake up to my arduous langority. I shall eat from my lover's arduous langority and I shall die from my inabillity to sleep on my lover's langority. My langorious tendency shall masticate on my ability to eat a tendency to awake a sunrise. A solemn eatery is repeated on a tendency to repeat himself over and over again. My ability to arise every penal colony from existence is a miracle. Eat your eggs benedict, eat your neverending penal colonies. It shall not suffice, ever, or for an instant an effervescent eatery. Honesty and humility are an eatery of humiliy. Neverending humility.
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| Tuesday, July 31st, 2007
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11:30 pm
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asheley and i will make a cookbook
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