the doctors

the secretaries were hugely fat
their kid was rebellious
and after school had to sniff in the waiting room
waiting for nothing
dropping a plastic cup
becoming slowly huge

there was a sculpture about the body
but I knew not to look
every bad part of a body beats and strains
is famous in the body because it has its own ache

on the ground in the doctors we talked about men
the blood crept in a straw
I gave up like a dog
breathed the huge fake breathes the new age ones, they welled like lakes
in the ugly office
I'd thought she was killer, but then she was sweet, sweet, like a stranger

lying on the ground is more secure than balancing in a person's stance
in a sit
rising like a genie out of your chair
I chose the floor

Thanks for voting!

I'm going to call it "Pee On Water and Other Stories"
like I originally thought for many years


New York Tyrant 7 / Brian Evenson Release PArty this Saturday in Ny

my story The MAgic Umbrella is in 7. I might be in attendance. will anyone else?


the face was hilarious

staring from a book cover
it seemed like we could feed it
so you bought it for your mother

she thought it was too sexual
we laughed all through dinner

it gave me headaches
but we wanted to show your brother

he was drunk at the movies

but in his room with the book
it still made us laugh

it had a hold on our evening
we read it as we waited and it was just a boring biography

you kissed the face as a joke, kissed the book
the face was at a dead stop
but also outrageously human

the joke was ruined by the kissing
a fact we'd exaggerated
made special very on purpose

I took it home and read a big chunk
the american male biography
I looked for the pinpointing, the expanding, the sex
it was a smooth, frictionless biography
the kind you can't live with


Fun Opening in NY! November 5th

girls club reading of Anthony Kiedis 'Me Book'

from my vantage point I can see a few minutes handcrafted in Italy

no impurities will pass through my brand new blood stream
I just lie back and relax

I could stick a needle into a thousand-dollars

this is a wonderful smelling gas, legal in Europe

I shot Mexican gangbangers
my doctor is preventative
I've been able to channel my brothers
I seek out wild salmon



I am no expert

I cry two eyes

I cannot rap onstage

I eat Nutella like an Egyptian Queen

I make the spoon a candy

people get nervous in small talk in elevators

they wonder if they have headaches

when people my age go dancing

I paste coupons in an album

when a strange number calls

I leap to the phone like flames

my plants sag

my basil withers with low self-esteem

Egyptian Queens smell really strange but that is half the fun

their headdresses fall in their soup

their soup was made by slaves

their lovers are not proud

their Nutella is spooned incessantly

through hot ass afternoons


here is a commissioned Charles Barkely portrait

email me if you'd like me to paint an athlete, historical figure, loved one for $$$


this wednesday in amherst, ma

winner of I should make visual what? survey


but now i see that 'Mysterious Woman Committing A Crime" is tied, so I will do that one too



October 8th, 7PM (on the dot!), at Northampton Booklink. Upstairs in the
Thornes. 150 Main Street. Heart of Downtown Northampton. Cozy! Novel!

ELLIOT HARMON! The redheaded wonder! From North Dakota by way of San Francisco!
The poet laureate of Ms. Pacman! Editor of Idiolexicon! Whose work has appeared
in DIAGRAM, NOÖ Journal, and elsewhere! Who knows the news anchor's taking
lessons on sounding like she's from here!

JOHN MARADIK! Curlyheaded provocateur of Hugo's bouncers! Angel with sentences
of flint! Published in American Short Fiction! Climbing up the rockfaces of
narrative splendor!

ROBIN MCLEAN! Who has driven her wit and beauty from Alaska to Massachusetts and
back again! Who has elevated the bonfire to spiritual raucous! Writer of
characters that whistle with punch and frankheaded grace!


the general seriousness of the adventure

the princess and the general embark on a dangerous mission
essentially comic, eerie blue-green

two terrified, bickering bureaucrats accidentally discover a camp
causing a hideous chain reaction
a period of civil wars

the princess is two hundred pounds of “aura”

the bureaucrats ride on the back of a storm, to a desolate rest stop in the wastelands

they discover boys (aged 15 to 18)
the boys laugh in anticipation of the princess
they stop laughing, but the laughing continues

they look around amused
the general insists they all return to their homes
they say they have no place to go and begin to party

one night the party reluctantly accepts the presence of the general

one of the boys is weird and erotic
a group of bullies begin to taunt the boy
worse comes to worse
and he is slashed from chin to groin with quiet dignity, in a matter of seconds

the general feels safe in raging air-to-air battle
the boys begin to maneuver toward the forbidden

everyone safely drifts to the foreboding surface
the general, the princess with “aura”
they are watched by a giant, who quietly disappears into the foliage

aliens sling along the road
the group is surrounded
the aliens give out puzzles and jabber to themselves
one storms off in disgust and makes a laser

unknown to everyone, the general grabs an alien and tries to communicate, but all he can make out is that the creature worships him and wants him
the alien is lounging, obviously waiting for something

the princess' arrival is a huge parade
drunken bureaucrats stagger down an empty street arm in arm
realizing that they have been adventuring with demigods

the general and his army of youthful warriors make plans to rescue
the nose of the Emperor,
(the center of the galaxy!)


I don't go blabbing around much, it’s always just this once

the girl sits on the balcony licking cigarettes, watching still clouds,
in and out of sleep
careless in her hair
an addicting torture to get her in conversation

I let her drive me back and forth along the highway
each grand time the floor meets a wall
friends are drugged, yawning

the stars smell huge

I search for horses out back
my hand cupped to the horses

at a party at her house I'm in the cupboards
a nerves-man slinks up the driveway
the girl in his grip
not the spacey girl I was all about
her sister

I hold a knife in the long whatever
do all knives hold this pleasure?
I haven't ever again
with it, cutting air

awaiting a night horse, some haunting
friends sit shoved against the other

the knife slides in smooth like you and gets stopped up
bones and
there is a whole woozy body tickling in panic
the knife, so naked as an excuse

I walked home in mud I gave up girls

this sleep town
laundry, grocery
I watch the butcher cut my dinner

later in the yard I drag a foot to drag the grass off
a kitchen knife to the night wields a half power, but nothing enough to stun me


she bonds deeply with one bird

a preteen fascinated in sex and trying to restrain her long musings and social rejection
has begun to weird out the reader

her boring summer is made interesting as she spies on her freaky neighbor, and bit by bit uncovers the boy on the doorstep
raised among 16 exotic birds

she loses the friendship of her friend Dorene
who would rather go to the mall than pour over microfiche in the library

when God himself allows her in the bird room, she can easily stand the fumes
"Most people throw up," he says

she bonds deeply with one bird named Island
she tries to steal Island (just for a sleepover!) in her purse
but is caught and never forgiven
her Priest punishes her, and after an awkward meal, she goes into her room to mope
laughing and crying, she runs into the woods and witnesses a sexual or violent act
her life isn't tragic enough to join
she sees a needle on the sidewalk and considers
then instead plans vandalism

during the two funerals the next day, Dorene gets a boyfriend before her
summer is an embarrassment of reality
a huge crush
an eccentric made-up haircut

she feels hugely guilty, violent and strange
she sits on the plant and it rumbles
amazed, she tells no one
not even her old piano teacher, Mrs. Doofle

she lives culturally cut off from motorcycles and sideburns
a movie star is drunk, and vies for her attention
he is just an underpaid actor and not a Savior at all
he leaves on his motorcycle, taking the more wild Dorene with him


idyllic genius friend

is it late for love?
a glimpse of what
the drifting temperature

do identical twins dream?
one boy completes another's
dancing on the interstate

from the eye, witness the death of idyllic genius friend

about this stuff
poems, essays, plays, stories, novels, films, comic strips, magazines
every old spell to the point of bursting

sometimes a soul can heal by saving a crushed little girl and a pony

to keep a lamp burning we have to keep putting Mother Teresa higher than people
eagles never fit in

an unfairly imprisoned father protects his only son from a child prodigy!

a beautiful tortured writer met his idol, and vanished

Bel is the hot girl, the one all the boys fantasize about, but
why does she spend time with Dave?

Dave is not the typical psychotic
he is something more


How about a dream we can all have together? (from 2005)

Something to distract and unite us. All of us. This country, the one below it, the one above it, one that’s mad at us, ones we make jokes about. Let the dream be: Aliens.

They don't have to be scary like usual. They don't have to be green again. No missing eyes or too many eyes. Maybe they could make sense. These aliens are less like wind and ghosts, more like food and animals.

They aren't attacking or kidnapping; they are moving into some of the smaller cities that have space. They are moving into Providence, RI. They have new kinds of ways to have fun. Way different than roller-skating. Kind of similar to roller-skating. They live life better than us, like Native Americans did, like birds, like kids. We date them and it’s Amazing!! Our parents have their reservations of course. Silent family dinners. But, The Fun! Everyone starts having The Fun!

Previous to the aliens, everything was too specific. A fork's form was stuck in perfect fit to its purpose. A light bulb, reading glasses, bottles, socks, floss. All perfect fits! One was driven to dream for things in between. Things between solid and liquid. Like hair gel and lava!

The Aliens arrived just in time, just as things were becoming Unbearable. No new albums were good albums. Brand names had finally succeeded in being really spooky. But then: Alien Surprise Weekend! The aliens came with tools. They told such funny jokes! We all stood in the outside, like it was perfect temperature, like the skinny moon would say our names if he had time, waiting in line to hear the underground alien poets who’d made it Big on their planet, who hadn’t heard the term underground, but upon hearing it had dug houses underground in a new type of joke where you actually did the thing.


fancy plants

a man licks a woman
they feel like Japanese People or the room is Japanese
leaves must be watching
eyelash fans
none of the fat money of pizza
cool dry waterfalls instead

a woman lies on a man like a smaller helper boat, a bird that eats bugs but is tired

a weed keeps a fancier plant company
a spider tries to entertain the weed

tiny girls on the street are shy because their parents are always offering up their names

I sleep on a leaking cloud
the tumblrs of relaxed girls soothe me


Sing radiohead like something has gone wrong

we made fun of Maycock
that kid doesn’t know his pants are called Khakis
he thinks his dick is for peeing only

karaoke is praying
if you do it right
biblical holograms of high school bedrooms
your voice reflecting in the glass

Drew destroyed songs until they were just familiar
embarrassing stories about yourself
he found the very center and squeezed it to death

I tried hard not to hook up with this boy
weird hugging on the bed
The part of CPR when you break the person’s ribs by mistake
we lay there attacking each other’s character
complimenting each other’s body

Ten take away six plus four
Take away seven
Plus three

and what about the music we make in cars
when no one is sitting shotgun
no one carrying the radio like a football (snug) (well)

no poetry looked so humble as the kind flowing up the karaoke screen
color moving left to right
each word getting wet

some grace

burning for good luck
you put your thing
in some grace

a man would test touch
someone’s woman
someone’s mother
someone’s whole neighborhood

a man might nude the time
get it young

it’s a man who said
pray for god, he’s cold

a man must be crazy
a naked jock living


done dog

a dead dog can't be fished out
or explain how it was how it acted
it only knew you
spread out on grass
it wasn't self conscious
we keep talking and waiting, boring, longing
it is done like a business
it was so private


I am am no expert

I cry two eyes

I cannot rap onstage

I eat Nutella like an Egyptian Queen

I make the spoon a candy

people get nervous in small talk in elevators

they wonder if they have headaches

when people my age go dancing

I paste coupons in an album

when a strange number calls I leap to the phone like flames

my plants sag

my basil withers with low self-esteem

Egyptian Queens smell really strange but that is half the fun

their headdresses fall in their soup

their soup was made by slaves

their lovers are not proud

their Nutella is spooned incessantly

throughout dragging afternoons

it trembles in my book

Oh man, I say this
parents persist
the dead linger linger
a real love will grip you
will stay as wet sand and
twin the same body
the real things they shush you
a sandwich is honest
the breathing is worth it


sleeping ugly moon covered with eternal flame

O Lord my soul is swimming
and has ruined all my body’s good clothing

I was damp and God offered me a drink
his voice descended
“Well done O sovereign woman, let me gaze your naked heart”

God’s mighty arm carelessly jumped roof to roof
each dark abode was hewing
I was reluctant and he said
“I will give you a golden ray”

I drew my shirt close
I already had a golden ray

it was old, but still worked
I used it on the stairs at night
and occasionally during the day

God scratched the sun and clouds scattered
a big wave came and broke my shirt

God’s vision handled my bosoms
I’ve handled hundreds and hundreds of bosoms
said God
his eyes shone with weeping


your soul, barely

your soul was hidden with hair
had on it, a few proud moles
the witchdoctor believed to be normal

we were outside on a towel
my soul was lit up and obvious
yours, we determined, was obscured
unusual and unwilling

you were the pet falcon of an old woman
you were a child’s best trousers
do you like the drums?
you were a drunken songbird put in with owls
do you smell the odor of a garden?
did you tell your mother you felt ill?
you got tired of talking
and left the tavern

an arrow, you sped from the bow
and pierced the eyes of villagers

it was morning
the children cried

you called it an illusion
you called this world a phantom world
you were still sharp
no one could hug you without bleeding

you were friends with angels
and the angels got injured

you were not concerned
your eyes were hot
you would not relax
the Blinded cursed you
and the sound of your name
moved your body like a song

you stabbed eyes and crops and the bedding of your neighbors

you fell on the rooftop
and leaked
you were dead, but glumly went and got ready to die
the man at the cemetery pointed the way
but you didn't go

you couldn’t give up wanting to be famous
you worried about what you were going to eat
you wanted to buy an engraved belt

we grew tired of you
so you turned into a rare bird to awe us

you were trying to make money
you pranced and looked sick
you were wearing an engraved belt


potluck hell

I never liked this and you Julia
all the foods and their friends
give me a headache
Im no more reunion head of the personality complex the lost friend the dead friend whatever
I only had male heroes
my girlfriends had troubles with their families
I was on your online list of ex friends
the picture of me where I look fat and you look happy about that
the sticky acquaintance
I meant to call the other Dina
the hot Dina

at the factory

lets say I was in charge and someone knocked 
I could say I was busy even if only I wanted to stay where I was thinking by myself

days I slave in a guitar factory
there is no music
the dust clings to skin and long skinny panes of glass

lets say I was on smoke break and the smoke was liquid smoke and ran down my face and let me have another break after that one, an extra fat moment

these guitars are floppy and don't pass inspection

there are animals places and materials
here is a collection behaving badly
trying for the sex look of elcetric
puddling in my hand on the assembly line


the spoon

his name was Spoon and he was only inches
he came onto me and everyone giggled
the fruit salad mixed and blended until it all tasted the same

Spoon thought he could make me feel good
"I already feel good" I lied

the party was for Celeste, but really it was a surprise party for Molly
Celeste was crushed

at parties like this I got into conversations then abruptly drifted towards the food 
a guilt wagon, longing in no directions, eyeing my shoes by the door

the spoon danced around badly
"Where did you get him?" everyone asked
"At the magic store on Route 10"
"How much ?" asked Molly, drunk and happy
"ten bucks"
"Ten bucks?" I said absently
"Too much!" the spoon replied and gaily tripped on the table

this girl

she couldn't stop britney spearing                                
it was the only songs she knew
she was dark from lazy sun
the machine took pictures intermittently
"I look gross" she would say
and she did drugs

when im with yall its like im wearing the family panties and i like it
the pool bleeds neon and no one is sharp
my plant is in the garage because it has spider mites again

there was a party but the birthday was a month later
fireworks went off and we couldn't see them
rain was like a hi-tech thing the pool had come with


April 17, 18, 24 and 25 at 7:30 pm, and April 19 and 26 at 2 pm
a great light recorded a guitar demo

a lady's baby
a strange lady

the house heaves its windows
heat wilts mini bonsais
baby baby palm trees
all weak shrunk plants

friends make the points of a shape
in a craft of melted plastic and
wispy hairy yarn

moms pump out an illusion of space
your car is sagging ass


I was high with a fish
it was pretentious (my friend's friend)
"This world is un-generous" it said
its mouth puckered and sucked

This world is spacious, I knew
its air is clear, except when smoke
a rain can tweed it
a snow just loves it

a man jumped from the bridge and we laughed
a man on the bridge laughed and we rolled our eyes

a family knows you when your dumb
it loams around while 

I used to hang out in photographs 
eating birthdays, growing sideways

"The word 'cast' shouldn't go with 'shadow'"
an object could lean 
a tree could cover light

hide that cigar in the grass 
please wait while I get my phone
we pushed a door that gave into a room the same size as ours but empty available and yearning with boredom

this is the kind of room you could get good at gymnastics in
there were onlookers to this wedding
there were kids crying they felt so intact


my mom fell during ping pong

My mom fell during ping pong.  Face down in the carpet.  Our paddles were old and cracked. They made a red rubber dust on the table.  People say I look like her.  My face stretched with crying.  Everyone laughed.  My mom made fun. She said she was fine.  Her sneaker was torn.  Later, she'd admit that her hand did still hurt. Later, we freaked out at each other and my friends laughed more and said me and my mom were like two sides of a mirror and it was like one person freaking out at themselves.  We had released a squirrel from my dad's trap. "That is like putting your finger in your father's eye," my mom said.  The squirrel had stuck a tiny hand out the cage, and dug like to start a delusional hole to China.  His arm was so like the arm of a cartoon squirrel.  We released him and he zagged.  We saw a snapping turtle standing near the highway and tried to nudge it.  Its eyes were wet and personal.  Its beak was wry and cruel. We tried to and it snapped.  We were impressed and estranged from it.  My friends left and it was me, and I went outside and saw a cat puke.  I put peanuts in my dad's trap and reset it. Earlier, there had been a groundhog and I gave my friends the binoculars.  Since my dog died, a massive movement of life has bothered his area.  Once my dog was sleeping and wild turkeys slinked across the yard.  My mom would stack tennis balls in an "art installation" for him to destroy.  He flipped his food on the ground.  He did not eat his hair like other dogs do. Now we are impotent and bored.  The ride was short and now its done.  No one will love us except each other and not with any guts or pep.


mom swarm

a mom watches muscles
a mom drives reckless
a mom's hair is frayed like
a mom's voice is shrill

be careful near moms they will help
one is sick of balancing
oof she says as she sits

three moms jog during lunch
four moms are comparing lives

a mom gets wrapped in string
another mom solves a crime

two moms should never cum together
though some do
when they are over each others house


its messed up that people can be mean to our parents

we are busy with lives
our parents are soft and lolling
and strangers can get mean

I hover in a business meeting
watching my mother try to change lanes
panes of glass separate us
Let her in! I yell
but the driver is a stranger
he doesn't care
he doesn't know
to him, me and my mother are unattractive

that just boils me over
everyday I make myself up for strangers
i don't want to offend anyone with uneven skin

when I'm around strangers I feel crazy and wash my hands in a tense effort of determined nonchalance

when strangers are around me they ignore me completely with total self-absorption

I have a picture of you when you were still a stranger
I aimed my phone at you and copied you and met you and now its me plus you
treading through the natural world and meeting the elderly and the house-less
grocery shopping in a more relaxed way than when im by myself fighting the public's nonchalance with my own amateur nonchalance



I'd been suspended from school for leaving vegetables as jokes. My parents told their friends and everyone thought, Where is the harm in an eggplant. There was no harm really. I spent these days watching game shows. My sister came home reporting someone had been leaving vegetables. My cell phone was jumping off the table. Buzz buzz. My cell phone had an uneven vibrate, giving it a personality I got a kick out of. Someone had outdone me and made a vegetable platter in the hallway near the vice principle's office. This platter was plateless, was on the ground and would prove a mess to dismantle. The tomatoes were sliced and surrounded the platter, how tomatoes often do. Lettuce was used as a backdrop. Broccoli stood up. I didn't arrange like this. I would make a barrier of eggplants and wait behind a pole and laugh at everyone laughing.

The platter had gotten much attention. The school was planning an assembly about starvation, dreaming up a fund-raiser that would be mandatory and redeeming. My sister was in awe of this platter. My cell phone twitched and leapt. DUUDE UR CRAZY. People thought I'd done magic, but I knew me. This was the work of someone more nuanced. I could tell a girl had done it, and I felt competitive. I began to plan a platter of my own. Huge potato faces, powedered sugar hills. Carrot railroad tracks. At the dinner table the vegetables just laid there. An asparagas sagged on my fork. What are these things, I thought. Why does a cucumber taste nothing but clean?



I was drawing. The six-year-olds raised their eyebrows. “Donald Duck’s friend,” I explained. My marker drew a big fat bow instead of the spiky hairdo of a duck.

“That doesn't look like Donald.” They went deep in thought, “Oh yeah, his Girlfriend!” Malone grinned her whole fat face. “Draw him kissing her!”

I started to draw him on one side, his beak able to kiss her cheek. “NO! Draw him on the other side, kissing her.”

So I did, beak-to-beak, with two cautious centimeters between. The six-year-olds went crazy. A block tower tumbled to the ground. Someone ate something from their pocket. All faces flashing with the chant, “KISS-ING! KISS-ING!”

“They are thinking about if they should kiss. Make a thought bubble and write ‘Should we kiss or should we not?’” I drew a thought bubble that said just that, in my sly handwriting. They were screaming they were so happy. “What should Donald be holding?” I asked Ash.

“A picnic basket!” She was right. Donald was always carrying picnic baskets. Wherever he went it was always good picnic weather, or else threatening to become good weather. It might be thundering and lighting and Donald is shivering in a blanket, but the sun, his sun, always wants to join any sort of party, his weather wants to sing. Ash thought Daisy’s dress should be flowers, so I drew it as flowers.

“Make Donald black,” said Rolly. My hand reached for the brown. “No! Donald’s not black,” Ash said and Ash was black. “Donald is blond,” Malone agreed. “Black or blond?” asked Rolly. Ash swore he was blond. Donald and Daisy looked back at me desperate and foolish. They were very close but not touching. They had a picnic basket, but nothing else to do. Their world was blank and temporary.



A fly was soggy on the cantaloupe.  She had long eyelashes that clung to her face.  She stuck to anything that touched her.  

She was without bones.  She was a black more solid than darkness.  Her face was hard to tell from her body. Her legs were folded in and splayed out.  

People could barely see her.  She was a lump and no longer alive.   A person's finger nudged her, to tell what she was.  She kept falling back to the cantaloupe, and it was sexy, cause she had long eyelashes.  Her falling to the cantaloupe was like a women collapsing into bed, over and over again, except she was dead.  

A person's fingers tried to get her from the cantaloupe.  The cantaloupe was in pieces, was rounded from sitting in itself.  It was in a glass bowl.  It seemed very domestic.  The fly stuck to the finger and was wiped onto the Ceran wrap.  

The wrap was clear like a dream.  The wrap got caught on itself in a way that made a sound. When stretched taught, the wrap felt proud like a drum.  The wrap knew what it was doing.  

The wrap was not without pride, but days later it clung to itself and smelled like something else, then was gathered and balled and tossed in with the trash.  The sexy fly laid on the wrap and did I mention she was wingless?



Roy wished he had a drug problem, so his family could sit around him solemnly and talk, and he could get teary and listen, and then agree with sincerity, the whole thing a success! He had no addictions and was afraid to start any. If he was moody his friends gave him pills, and his girlfriend brought him back a drug on vacation, a rare one, a good one, but this he kept in a wooden box with secret compartments that were obvious and easy to open.

Once he was an artist and his girlfriend, (an earlier, sterner one) told him that artists were just people who wasted time with fake worlds. She was a realist. She thought artists created problems in fake worlds so they didn't have to live in this world. Roy agreed, but didn't think it bad. He'd paint a weirdo with five legs and five feet, and then he'd sit back and mull. This weirdo would have to have special pants, Roy would all-a-sudden know. Pants would get painted in an exhausted heap on the bed. Weirdo pants with five legs. This was the problem solving of an artist.

His earlier girlfriend was a purist, he had thought. But then he thought of another friend who might be a purist. And then another. He could argue all his friends as purists in one way or another, each personality had an extreme effect on the life of their body, but that wasn't purism, was it? No, that was different.

At the corner store a young lady had spilled chocolate milk all over the ground and was sulkily cleaning it up. Roy wanted to help and ripped open the plastic on a roll of paper towels. He was resourceful and the clerk yelled at him, which made him rebellious. The young lady was rebellious also. A carton of chocolate milk had gotten in her way, and she had messed that carton up until it was an ominous spread on the floor. She'd destroyed it. It looked like shit, but Roy could smell it, and it smelled fine.



"Hey what was that album? Red Hot Chilli Peppers write home unhappy?"
"It feels like we're on a road trip during war time!"

That night every ball I hit went flying. The striped green reminded me of a frog, and I'd never thought this before. The music was rubbing off so I didn't finish, but briefly, I thought it would be good to go through making up symbols. Like solid blue is the great lake, and me and you could call them this, and strangers would be interested. Solid yellow would be golden ticket, or bumble ball, or the sun.

This here's a combo, I'm going to hit the blood drop into the frog and the frog to the emptiness, and the emptiness into the grassy knoll. But I didn't finish this. All the songs that played were authenticating, for fifty cents I could keep up and it was worth it. If you used the eight ball to hit in your ball, it meant you weren't afraid of dying, and during the course of the game you'll notice I did this many times.

I was born one gender, but a pair of jeans could switch me like that. I could fall in love with girls like all of modern culture. If I got lazy at Hoolie's, he'd do some magic tricks for me. Diving after the cards, desparately, like this was in an asylum. Friends entertain for free, I never feel conflicted about having friends, friends is one good thing. Nature is so cool too, it doesn't bend itself or care. I look at the window and think Nature is my secret role model and I'm not going to tell anybody.

This was in the middle of a breakdown, but my breakdown kept taking breaks, so I had these wild fun times wherever I was, strangers included, weather permitting, a movie theater couldn't tell me what I could or could not bring inside. I would stroll in with a pizza, outside food, and when they adressed me, I'd say, "Hey, this here is your life, and this over here, is mine, let's just live and pay none." Or more like, "Yeah man, I know, let's not spill our moods you know? We are in the same exact room right now." Not that. None of that.

I'd be talking to everyone and think it was lucky our skin was so intact and keeping with us, that it was a privilege in a way, that even though some bad stuff had happened, it hadn't yet ruined us into little epitaphs we'd give after the person left. Maybe someone had a problem or two, but it enlivened our old city, a problem brought incident, the incidents brought order. Whenever I felt bad enough to live filthy, I told myself it was time to cut an album.



Keith had locked me in the storage, so I was gonna make the best of things. My ma'd pack'd me a sandwich and I dented it with my thumbs. Dumb sandwich, I thought. You are soggy, a mush! A messy mass, you are, you fucking sandwich. I took a bite. Bleh. Bleh. I took a bit in my fingers and made it into a cube. Perfect sandwich cube! I said. Please teach me your ways. Bleh. Bleh. I ate the sandwich cube. The sandwich had smeared jam in the bag. Fucking messy ass bag, I thought. You look dispicable. You are uglier than other bags I've seen. There was a weird sticky dust on the ground and it stuck to my jeans. Weird sticky dust, I thought. Where are you from? What causes You?

There were big piles of cardbaord boxes all around me. They inspired me little. Keith was a moody worker. He didn't have anything to lose. Everyday he walked in with rythym and had little or nothing to lose. He wouldn't let anyone see his car. He parked it far far away from the warehouse and came in sweaty everyday. I saw a moth, but had nothing to say to it. Keith once scared me at the water fountain and I got water all on my shirt. I heard mice in the corner and went to check them out. My footsteps echoed like a strangers. The mice made little mincing sounds and I couldn't see where. Oh sandwich cube, I said once more. What ever happened to you?



Disappointment is added on a list. Desire discards all lists. Javier got his knuckle bit, but it didn't discourage him, it was his pass-code to the new world. Claire was self-conscious so went in the bathroom. The town they peopled made them better realize the city. They felt drawn to an even smaller town. Could this end, thought Maryanne. Maryanne knew if they moved to a smaller town, they would just get a crush on a smaller town, they would find the locals more local, the animals, there would be more. And even having a house in the woods, wouldn't one night they decide to sleep out in the yard, and feeling too safe, want to wander deep in some woods, where the world starts, where the day begins? Would this year end with them sleeping in dirt, on sticks, through rain? Joyce just wanted a cool job. She didn't want to have to tell her friends about anything uncool. Here, in this moment, a person has a tongue, and teeth, does restaurants, does taxes, does wish some and get some, but leans forward, scratching at anything that sticks out, patrolling his own skin for problems, leaning into the next moment, spreading disappointment and predictions, but Javier, his knuckle was cool.



My roommate is allergic to lizards, but I have one, secretly. I'm not an animal person. The lizard lives in my bedroom. It has sleepy, watery eyes. It prefers one stick to another. I let it out on my hand and I want it to walk up my arm onto my shoulder and then down the other arm or on my lap, or down my leg, but it doesn't care to. It is not curious. If it were a person, I worry it would not like me. Maybe if it were a person, I'd despise everything about it, I'd hate it. The lizard is bored, and if I wasn't bored I wouldn't have bought the lizard. My roommate, she can't eat anything. If she touches a lizard, she says it would spread, it would cover her arm like poison ivy, it could make her very very sick.



My wife had been dead ten years today. I woke as normal, sat up in bed and watched the graveyard. I looked at the grave I pretend is my wife's, though my wife is buried states away, where she grew as a girl. I watched a family group take a stroll, and it looked as though they were going to put flowers on my grave, I mean, my wife's grave, well, actually some stranger's grave, some old poor dead fool, but then they dropped them at an anonymous grave. Some luck, I thought, not knowing if it were good or bad. My plan was to play some Keno numbers, the sun was out, it had been awhile. I went out on the porch and the neighbor boy was fighting with some girl. They cursed each other out in the sunlight. Then they leaned against two separate cars. She had a shaved head, but was still pretty. She carried an icecream bar that was melting on my grass. "How's it going now?" I said, my voice loud and cutting the moment. They looked at me, the day was glorious, the anger in their eyes was like a power on the street. I adjusted my belt, I scratched my door post. "I'm O.K," she said, a glob of ice cream falling. She kept my gaze.



My older sister controlled my life, the carpet was hot lava and so I had to jump couch to couch, but she had a special power that allowed her to nonchalantly walk all in the lava and sit there for long periods of time. It hurt just to look at her. I had to change my cereal when she convinced me of the AIDS cherrio, rare, sure, but there was one in every 100,000 boxes. My mom didn't belief us, but my Dad did, and we switched to Chex and did not regret it. In high school my sister got fat, and I ate full time trying to keep up with her. Being fat is so cool, she told me with lively eyes, there's so much of you, you get confident! I was destined to stay average weight. I wore her clothes and they spread around me like ribbons on a may pole. Later on, our dynamic switched, and small phrases of my own creation, "Whatevers," "hot-mama-llama," "gee-whiz, lay miz" appeared in her everyday talk, after I had long outgrown such stupid phrases. I forget all that now, living adulty, waiting in waiting rooms, doing laundry, the weather is wildly pleased, and mostly I am glad and unoccupied.


story a day #2: MY PEN PAL GOT SHOT

My age or older. Her hair got stuck in doors, so she threatened to cut it. Once there was a long hair of hers, stuck to a piece of tape. It could have been anyone's. I still have the envelope. She was a flute player, color blind, meat-eating, strapped for cash. My husband would bring in the letters for me, smirking, but he had this pen pal vicariously. I'd only tell him the basics, I never showed him a picture. This was an assignment in second grade. I had wanted a boy so I could get married, but they paired us so we wouldn't get too excited. My classmates' letters were perfunctory. Pet's name? Pet peeves? Tv? Foods? All favorites, like an interview. I filled up pages with confessions and stickers. I hate my mom! I wrote, My brother smokes! I looked in a mirror and took pains in exactness. My eyes are one inch, I think, I told. Her letters called her father a hotdog, that she was the prettiest girl in her homeroom. I was impressed. She was a bank of all my secrets and this went through high school and college, the internet, her job doing massages on a cruise boat. When I was in the hospital, I could have made it sound like an artist residency, but I resisted. It is possible that if I heard her voice, it would have repelled me, my husband liked to argue. That I could be as happy writing to the toilet. He is a jealous man. Anyone I talk to at the grocery, he sharpens his ears at. I found out through a search engine about my pal. She was shot by her lover, some guy I hadn't heard of. Her funeral is going on right now, but I'm just sitting at home.


story a day #1

The dinosaur was muddy and eating bananas. It was male. It stomped through a patch of flowers. A dog rushed at its legs and the dinosaur gnashed its teeth. The dog took off in the other direction, dirt flying from its paws. It was hot and the dinosaur sweat out his eyes. His skin was rough like tree bark. His teeth were shiny with drool and glinted in the sun. He ate some flowers, and then he chewed a mouse. The mouse's tail whipped wildly against his tongue, making the dinosaur twitch. The dinosaur swallowed and could feel the lump sinking down his throat. The dinosaur's swinging tail whapped into a tree. The pain was dull, it told him where the tree was. He forgot he had just eaten a mouse, and saw another one like it was the first one. There were dozens of sounds, but he was used to them. There was a worm in the ground, he could feel it on his foot but could not reach it. He kept stomping around. He saw an explorer and ate him. A big camera was crushed between his teeth. The camera battery gave him a jolt, and the lens was crushed into shards of glass, embedded in his gums. The dinosaur tried to lick the glass out. His blood tasted like rust. His tongue was cut and one part flapped against the roof of his mouth. He took one huge claw and scraped his gums and tasted more blood. He spun around and ate more from the banana tree. The soft bananas slid down his throat, but every bite sent the glass further in. He opened his mouth, and his stomach pushed a low sound that grew and stretched out in the air, it hung in the air, it vibrated.


my bracket was perfect at first

it set out like a child
it had whims and the whims had ideas

at the center was a supposed and it streamed and spread

it was clean-cut and everything rolled live

a faulty dunk
a finger in string

a family itches
a conscious compiles

this is a game we all played between games
I made 100 jokes in 100 minutes
and not all of them worth it

if I'm not calling its cause I see an invisible space and you're in it

the ball gathers ball
luck ages
fate mopes
all wavy games leak their bounds

this one opened and cut my hair
friends were scattered on different sides
holding the E-Z pass in the air
my style was nonchalance
my style was and so what

all loves are quick
this was one-hour


let a vacuum dream dream and succeed

grackles are hogging the feeder
cops say crime is contagious

back where I wound all my time
hair keeps pumping out our heads

in this, the afternoon gets fat and warm
a dog's tiny pupil has little expectation

the architect and the house
they mostly affect the neighbor

the sky sighs with airplanes
I can write on it with a laser pointer

years ago, Chinese food was Magic Food
a piece of bread would not impress anyone

let all things glide their dreams
a vacuum has a lot it wants to take care of
a bicycle needs to feel a breeze between its legs

there was a pizza who was late for a job
he was melting all over the place
he melted on his brief case


I've got aura and brains

I was naive, but then I ran tits first into a tree
I eat cereal
solve sudokos

when I have a premonition about the president
I write him a postcard

this is the meat and potatoes of my message:
All bad magic has a missing partnered solution
Stay above water
Fix that exposed picture hook! It might hurt someone!

please don't read glee in those exclamations
that is just my Imac
I am but a person

a dog lolls in my lap
the birds make off with some hair

here again, we wish on a digital watch
say a word and then jump into a pool

it isn't that I want a shape beside me
I see one and its morphing


also by crazy M. Bean

Nothing more for Sally Silk
cut her skinny foot and
stubbed her fat one.

Nothing more on Sunday morning.
Wakes up on the couch,
boyfriend's sleeping in the oven.

By nightfall she's in shabby shape.
Told her friends to fuck themselves.
Take your supper in the cellar
you'll get no second slice of cake.

Meat by M.Maniac Bean Machine

Haha. I've got it,
You old lazy woman.
You bet your teeth I do.

I'm gonna come home with
a cough
one of these days
and I'm gonna cough on you.

Nevermind the pin-cushions,
the pearly-colored window-curtains,
the bookshelf and the knives.

I've got the giggles in my mind.
I'm done with your domesticity.
I'm a grumpy, grimey, gray, ungrateful girl.

I'll walk around in whatever
Bare boney legged--
that's me.

Don't start questioning things now.
I can tell the future
by looking in your mouth.


a vacation is expectation

you went to another country, like random, like for fun
you met the town mix up
one drunk musician
a prostitute and her son

one water was fast and threw people around in it
another water would not move an inch
you sat and coaxed the water up your finger

the food was a sauce

there were nets upon nets
to keep you from mosquitos
but the mosquitos
bless them
they did not want you


nothing special

if I sit still, the fly goes crazy
when I go crazy, the fly stops and watches entertained

the scissors are self-important
the recycling bubbles over in its bag
my quilt sits on my armchair

would you like to be alone?
I ask everything

there are egg shells
there are water bottles with clear consciences

there are tape dispensers
and hairs whose dream it was was to stick to the tape
I pull off one such hair

the coins are all dirty, but don't know it, and sit in stacks

my phone is familiar with here
this is nothing special


on the new planet

all hair is frayed
pebbles crumble if you pinch them

I dig a little place to take a nap
I sleep so well and often

a critter walks by and I admire it
I yell

I reflect
I press my body onto a yearbook
I feel stupid and play MASH

it does seem time moves across a wire
watch it, it wiggles

goodbye friend
hello annoying new person

jesus mazda and more karma

dragons usually get slayed
I look pretty from a distance
I understand classical music
wet dogs have dreams
hear me, movie stars
have faith
see god
buy food


in the woods

in the woods
in the snow
we feel brooding and scared of trees
we touch them and they don't know us
they are surrounded by other trees
but are dumb to this


trust us dead highways, this car knows better

this night lasts all night, all air
constant trees, fur scurrying past headlights
these, the dark heart of this area
and snuggle further
find the dark heart within the dark heart
the sleepy movie house drinking beer
dizzied with sloppy aesthetics

night is so natural because the stores are shut
a drunk car gets parked
when this town sneaks a beer

If you think a chimp retirement home is sad, climb inside this headache

its like the face is annoyed to be a face
the day feels ugly
so takes a shower
even though its already clean

the day doesn't know if tomorrow is itself, or if that is something different
if there are infinite deaths, or just one big one later

people say stuff, in the rain, on the phone, in the bathroom, seriously from an opposite couch, genuinely, leaning against a column, people catch you before you leave, people say "remember when you," people meet, people say "i have call waiting, but I'm not going to," people approach you and its them and their face and you and yours, and are those things fitted completely as one?, faces look like other faces and you meet another Jason but with a Devon nose, people rush up to you, their faces say some intro on them, they get memorized and glorified, in the bad light they twitch

this is old! Always faces, blushing, monsters, parents, crying, headaches!

to take a break I pull out a joke
to row a boat I dip the oar in romantically

to add some beauty, I present this row of staples
they are connected still as one thing
for now they are intact

things are said to you, they are sentences, real deal life dialogue
and they hit the siding of your house
they drip down the window

then, we recover, our faces fall normal, we escape, are received
by all the office supplies we have ever wanted
all these uninvited bits of paper

can we shape a happiness
form some out of something?

I tried one with some tissues and tape
you built one with a toothbrush and a dust clump

if the face loves the air
and the face doesn't flinch
can the day renew ?
like turn over and be cool


the way clothing lounges on other clothing it would seem it does not give a shit

a tissue gets wrinkled and experienced
a washcloth acts like it doesn't need you, but its clear by looking, that it wants you

a pizza is obscene

the way clothing lounges its like it got so tired it passed out
and to hell with it, it might be there a long time

a tissue box is wistful when a tissue is sticking out
a towel is willing, its qualmless, its easy


a person wants everything

a person wants everything to have a face
a person wants an animal to fall in love

a person wants perfect weather
but tries to enjoy surprise weather

a person drinks water and drinks water and is sick of water
then a person drinks water and thinks
Oh water, water is one of the prettiest
water is the best thing for the mouth
water hides inside us and we like that

a person sees sleep as a place and likes the gradual trip
There is sleep and we'll go towards it
a father tells his kids

stuff will clog our rooms
our ear hairs will die
where a person once saw an afterlife, I saw a blank screen
scissors and coins and crap lay on my dresser
the light bulbs continued their life
crazy women jumped out windows
then my friend spotted another, but I thought it was just a road stop, a rest stop
I said, Lets just wait for the next stop, I don't yet need to pee


the end

I found the end of the night early
I saw a mirror a tv
everyone was talking
a glass had ice and the two were the same

a car trembles in this snow
the tires play
the engine spins
the driveway tears in little nowhere tracks

my email homepage gets bored

I have days so I stick friends in
I memorize the town
my feet fall asleep
I dream about sex

someone tells a story about a little sister getting drunk on water
about a dog that ate rat poison
a hitchhiker who scored a train

its late and I won't answer my phone

a drunk friend is a hallway to somewhere
a bar is a place to stay the same

a jungle a place we wont ever go
a sentence a way to cross streams with stones



the snow is nature's oldest effect
snow from the caveman word 'soft layer'
'caveman' from the Arabic 'monkeyman'

a word starts on top a hill
then it rolls

all over academic institutions
teachers choke on essays

essay from the latin 'long explanation'
Latin from the latin 'lazy nothing'

bad parents beat children with dictionaries
later those children are shy with definitions


Noah called

Noah called me and dropped the phone in boiling water
"Very funny!" I shrieked
but the other end was empty

I kept calling the emptiness

no ringing
no message machine

I kept pressing the button

this world is not magic
you can't expect everything easy
fast food slows you later

I called and got nothing
in my call log it was

all calls failed

technology has updated us incorrectly
sometimes after writing an email, I sit and wait for a response
it can come at any moment
there are no postmen to delay it
its made us impatient

I called and called
I had wanted to talk

finally an operator picked up
"hello," she said, nonplussed

"Hello," said I, happily


my friends were feeling-seeking

some playgrounds shoot splinters
some bathrooms eat drugs

the first time you saw a mechanical pencil, things were hi-tech
any letter could jump 3-D

a car made the outside fast
the seasons pushed people around

if it was gym we bounced up a rope
we smelled the basketball

you got chicken pox
then you got Bar Mitzvahed

you got a dog or a car

the cops were to make us laugh
a hottub was to get us naked

a cigarette scared your mother
a icecream cake you
a skeeball ball you

this you in the bleachers
with the not cool kids you

in the group picture you
your binder a masterpiece
your life a
your grade a

my friends wore hobbies
they didn't meet new people


the fog

the fog got my car
first the windows
then I was pushed into the brush

the fog was thick and clingy
'God?' I said, opening my window

the fog grumbled

I was old for my age
and sort of done with myself
I'd broken my personality down on a website
now it was there in front of everyone, like a code

the fog heaved a breath
my eyes felt good and humid

I could hear the bugs sounding their voodoo
my headlights shone like banners

all my life I'd collected boyfriends
I'd thought they were frozen in time
like I could hop back and revive them

this delusion glowed from the website
A memory, I wrote, is not a full-size moment
its small, and in a corner
the original view is lost

I was tired of the body's realities
cooking shows had defeated my instinct to eat
I'd expected to walk open-armed into some job
but that was another smooth delusion

with the fog inside, my car was the outdoors
in this town the sky knew it was in charge
no buildings got near it

I opened the door and the fog was waiting
a God wouldn't do that, single me out
'before' there were less people

it could have been a terrorist plan
it did do a job of disorienting me

I sensed it could tell how my thoughts rushed back to myself
even when offline, I cruised that website

the fog hung around
and I knew it was inanimate
because it asked nothing of me

Brown University Weirdos Alex Carnevale and Will Hubbard put out the 3rd issue of CapGun


whoever gets you outta the house, go with them now

an astrologer is way different than an astronomer
an astronomer eats pastrami and pushes to see further

we felt big
Saturn was tiny

in its magic box
Saturn looked simple like a sticker
spookier than a dead person's syllabus

if not knowledgeable
I'm sure honest
I'm here
I'm female


Saturn was cute
super cute

if we had guns
we would have shot down stars
but we are artistic
we are aware

Saturn is small as this cursor
and with less shading

a bar gives us new lighting
so we evaluate the lighting
we can't help it
we are too human
nodding, helpful, sue us

I saw Saturn it was 1-D, it was 2

this planet was baby
we looked into a machine instead of the sky
it was not a very visual visual


the body

the knee was swollen

the hands got pins and needles
the leg muscle was twitching

the body has its own stash of pins and needles
but uses it sparingly

noses have holes
ears have holes

the mind might imagine the body was hollow
was just a soft shell
but everything in there disagrees

the body is liquid
and mushy and
massive and pumping
growling and gurgling and
locking and stretching
like putty and pushing and fatty and water
and dreary
like pizza and swamp thing, its pulsing, its veiny and oozing, the body is browning, its up late and flowing
surrounding the skeleton
blindly its waiting


Its always someone's birthday

i stayed up late with the blog in the hospital

it was bloated and big

for every day, there is a response in stuff
I thought
plastics and text messages
a dish does its job
then looks icky in the sink

the blog was incoherent
it didn't mean what it said

pregnancy gives you a door prize
it insisted

I felt sad and wanted to leave

the blog said, its a birthday, i can't tell it, but i know somewhere, i can see all of them, everyone's day, i know the symbols, im glad for words, im glad i had them, my early years, a grand mistake, a bullet makes big moves, a friend can wither, a computer, a computer

the blog bled
i called the nurse

the nurse said
the problem is its a part of you
its connected through tissue
we've seen this before
its not unusual
we can do a procedure
your insurance would cover it
there's a video
we could film it
so you could hold on
its a hard decision
i've taken the liberty of making an appointment
talk to the counsler and see what you ultimately want
in this day and age
of course
i understand
ill give you a moment


Heroes are dead

I'd rather talk to them than to god. I hope they are watching me instead of god. If you get your body exactly where one of theirs has been, then nothing happens, nothing like what you'd want, nothing crazy magic, or Disney, epic or Hollywood, or montage-happy, nothing day shaking, but there is half-magic, something a little, a little bit something, more then nothing, a nice sky, a squirrel eating cream cheese, middle-magic, day magic, a friendly roll, a one-time tradition.
To take your life, you make a knot of it, pulling yourself towards yourself, letting there be no more room. To give your life you let the knot undo, strings fall single, and all this is night-magic, its novel length, it stops pinball games, it makes a mini-apocalypse, absurd freedom, the future as pointlessly extravagent, each day meandering in a huge USA size hole.

Van called

Van called and was sad. He said, "Come stay in my house while they are gone, no one will be here. I need people." I laughed. I could stay there. I could stay in a nice room in that house. It could be home-base while I went out in the city and met up with people. "Okay yeah," I said. He said, "Tell me when you know when you are coming, so I can get other people to come for the rest. I can’t be alone here." "You just want me to feed the pets while you are at work!" I teased. "I have no pets." This was so sad it was funny. I laughed at Van. "You have no pets!" I repeated. He considered. "Maybe if I had some pets." He sat there on the other end of the line. "Maybe that would be better." "Yeah, of course that would be better, I mean my friend, she lives alone, yeah pets, I don’t know."

I told Hank right after, I said, "Van called and was so sad. My friend Van! He wants people to stay in his house!" Hank was behind a door. I got dressed and listened to music. The music was so inspiring. The music said Life will be exciting and satisfying, at least for you. My hair looked really good. "Hurry up Hank," I said. "Are you ready?" I asked. I put the song on repeat. "I’m not ready," I said. I looked in the mirror and posed. I pretended I was in a real situation for the mirror, but really there was no situation in the room.

In the car Hank was sad. He would not respond. I asked what was wrong and nothing. I knew what was wrong. He was behind a door in the car. He was nonplussed so I joked on the ride there. The others waved at me from their car. The ones we were meeting. Hank got out and walked into the restaurant. He did not wait. The others walked towards me beaming, pleased with themselves. "Hank is sad," I told them. I did not know why really.

Inside, Hank sat stone-faced from behind his door. He acted bitterly towards the restaurant and I immediately sprang in defense. We felt reverence for the restaurant, but Hank complained to the waitress. The others started to fool around. They made any joke and bad jokes. I felt dulled by them and this. I knew my hair looked good, but I couldn’t see it. They were ruining the restaurant.

Then at the bar, Hank rallied back. I got the best parking spot in the world. Right in front! The others looked at me sly across the room. I played pool like some girl villain that kills with her legs. Then the bartender told me to get my butt off the table. The others were across the room. Bill was moving to some music. The music wasn’t saying anything to me. I was sad. The room darkened in the sadness. The sadness expanded and welled. Tears reeled up and my eyes felt close together. I walked towards a wall. It did not go away. I did not care about my hair. Every person was a person I knew mostly. I did not want to get inside them. They saw me and they approached. They coached me. But it did not help.


This town

this town is soggy

clouds die on the curb

girls get self-conscious
and duck into CVS

everyone is immortalized in a boring paragraph

Thomas walks in the snow. His feet are cold

God gives Seth a sign and baptizes his blog
his poems are erased, and he starts over

Irene and Betsy wait at the golf course. One is dressed inappropriately.

If the writing is too wild, each sentence is on fire
each phrase is spiky and activated and too fascinating
Smith girls put the book down to take a spiritual pause

Jefferson started a secret blog, one where he could keep his real feelings.
The blog was a baby, was brand new, was blank and gurgling

the writers have a reading every night for two weeks
they are the audience and on stage at the same time
they read in the sandwich shop and the sandwiches droop

Irene looked for a new blog. One where there would be truth, and it would be ruthless. There would be art that was not for sale.

Jefferson writes, my window is Nature's blog, it is always updating, its visitors- some don't have eyes, some crawl on grass, the neighbor's dog eats snow

I started seeing a taxi in this town
it was a blue van like from a dream
it went into this town
and left this town
but you couldn't call it up


The first picture

This is the first picture of the internet. We were all in life, and then there was this picture, and then there was the internet. The internet was like a skin on top of our skin. This picture is a postcard from the Old Testament. It sold well back then, it was like a fact, but it was prettier. This family was at the zoo, and they were the zoo. The scientists who made these skins were just having fun. They weren't getting paid by Rutgers University, they weren't trying to trick anyone. The family in this picture laughed in this picture. Here they all were, but it was them plus them. They were like a family on a board game box, pretending to be a family. They couldn't help but be a family. They couldn't stop being one.

The body it was lumpy

it was not mine, it was older. To remove a hair, it must get struck by lightning. The Cinemark kept showing movies, but there were little cut marks on the film. There were neon lines blinking across. This wasn't that Stan Brak?ag?e? shit. This was a mistake.

That game where you guess how many minutes are left on the meter, where you loosely add up the time, but then grab the number nearest to you. Today I lost at that game.

I went into the bathroom at Bruegers. I only feel self-assured in Bruegers. I need an excuse to get into the weather. If no task asks, I stay inside. I'm jealous of the mice in my walls who are friends.

If we all have this lump, the hanging down thing hanging down low in our throats, clear iron spit in the sink, then I say we're weak. We're weak and heavy, this town has us and keeps us, we're sick and living, its really unoriginal.


There was me

There was the kid, there was me. I called him Screwball, I said hey mr., anything i said was a joke. I hit the jackpot, but there were so many. A bar held everything briefly. I drove home and forgot how I got there. I lost at pool. I lost at darts. It didn't feel anything like losing. I had a body that didn't work, but dudes couldn't tell, I was a performance inside of clothing. When you are young you get naked on the roof, any kid fumbling with a bra you're hysterical at, you won't let that go, but who was counting bras? Who hadn't had enough bras? We were sick of Bob Dylan whining through our computers. When we were down, we turned them to him. He was always there, holding a mug, sitting in a tree, he was not embarassed. He was better, but we were better looking. This was going to be post-dylan. This was going to be big. But it was hard to get it started. Memories dug their heels in. Our parents kept calling and reminding us who we were. Phonecalls were free, and there were so many.


theres an awesome guggenheim gunfight scene in the movie International

that got me thinking again, why do we love to see art ruined? We want bullets to make visual impact when they miss their targets? (See the bullet? it would have totally killed that dude, butt instead it killed that cake!)

Gunfights go with chase scenes, and an exciting chase scene includes using objects that happen to be in the environment. The person being chased will flip over a fruit stand so the ones in pursuit trip over cantaloupes. Ours is a goofy world filled with what we eat, and drive, and happen to have built around. A fight is spontaneous. It is 3-D. A bird could help one side by mistake. We've been following the movie characters so intently, that its funny and real feeling when a stranger of the movie, some girl crying to her boyfriend, gets in the way of the chase.

The audience lives vicariously through the
movie. The inadvertent target represents the audience. We connect with screaming extras, we could easily be in the convenience store, it includes us.

Also, art takes a long time to make, and we act so precious about it, so the art deserves to die. Art is unmade by these mistake marks, and sin
ce we must eventually die, we like to see that art can die also. This life is so ordered and lawwed. Movie gunfight scenes force disorder on an environment, and we the audience don't have to clean up this mess. A messy chase scene calls to the cafeteria food fight. A chase scene usually implies possible death, but the chase can be a crazed desperate last dash through life.

A gunshot presents a question. The b
ullet could go a number of places. The bullet was usually shot with human aim, and this variable leaves the outcome temporarily unknown.

Tonight I watched the movie "The Getaway" (1972) and there were tons of gunfights and the blood in the movie was a red lighter than real blood. Lighter than ketchup. I loved this. It made the movie funner to watch. Maybe you thought blood in the 70's blood was a different color. Maybe it was a special kind of film. Probably you didn't think this. But the light blood lent the movie a slightly different reality.

a poem i like that Landman wrote

My Friends:

It had been years since I had written a poem. A stone's throw from my front porch, a momentous car pulled up along the sidewalk. I asked out loud, "What in the hell is going on here?" I felt the wind coming from across the graveyard. I could hear--let me try this like this--I can hear the traffic from the highway at night. It is a distance away. I can't tell you. No, you cannot hear it, are mistaken. A front porch since my car crash, I sit there every hour. I go out there and cycle back through choices. I asked, of course, of traffic, what sort of belly do you have? It settles. Is it settled? A sidewalk does what in a frost heave? Is this appropriate? To ask a baby? Right here, I peek out the window at the front porch. The house is dastardly and floats on a hill. What a hill. Photographs. There are no answers to front porch traffic. You can't hear the highway at night. The cars come, so I wish to be a car, out loud. Crash, floats the hill. House, say the bees. The graveyard is in hell, you know. Here is going on, like a distance the trees settle on before cars. When I see the redwoods, I settle on a front porch reaction. I can ask lots of the hours. In the belly of giving back, cycle back, sort of photographic. It's a memory of a memory. The shudder of shatter.



My story "Doodle Face" is in the new Barrelhouse. If you want to buy it you can click this underlined word.

Today I had the pleasure of joining young publisher Seth Landman go collect his new books from the press. These are: Invisible Ear 3, and Beethoven of Smells (A.S. Parker's chapbook). I got to help number these babies and I was impressed! Find Landman at AWP and give him a hard time!


American Short Fiction

My story

Iconographic Conventions of Pre- and Early Renaissance:

Italian Representations of the Flagellation of Christ

is in
the new issue of American Short Fiction.

Also, a bunch of Western Mass's bone-yard bunch are in this new chapbook edited by Sara Blaylock

Also, the lakers beat the celtics in overtime last night by one point.


My electric guitar got soft over time

here’s some romance (!)
go stuff your face

apocalypse means everyone dies and we are left
like when the football game stopped so we could 69
then the game resumed and your team had lost not so gracefully

football is cocky badasses in costume
basketball is the soul game of the body

I can get cozy understanding this moment
butt then I’m unprepared for the next

like I fill a bowl with cereal
butt then the milk is really gross
I throw up
butt half-heartedly

you screwed my girlfriend
all my loose-leaf paper (!)
my parents flipped out
my dog was disappointed

you boning my girlfriend was like burning a snow angel into slush and you told everyone and
yoga was supposed to calm my arms and legs into more agreeable confidants
butt instead I saw some guy’s balls by mistake

my rabbi bewitched a teenager
the teenager was hospitalized
the hospital was graffitied

my graffiti was scrubbed by city workers
my graffiti you can still see to this day

my girlfriend did you
and she does it really good

I’d be a badass if I didn’t feel so bad about my body
my family wasn’t dysfunctional
I was the only one
my guitar was blue and then it bled

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