It’s only divisible by itself.
I don’t understand.
Help me understand.
Why won’t you help me understand?
“Friluftsliv Nei
Saying that you’re going to go for a walk in the crisp, wintry fresh air and then it suddenly being nighttime without you even having put on pants.”
— Susanna Wolff / “Beyond Hygge”
the modified claim
it should say zero
file an amended excuse for lethargy
i’m subverting the judge’s luncheon by torpedo
you laugh like a wimple wearing super coquette
leave me alone in my misery and lack of awareness
such a misanthrope
nothing surpasses this
other than fey incels
or psychopaths
go away mental illness
go back to your cool places—
the dark bat caves—
and bay leaf bazaars
i finger a pair of ears in my pockets
hold on, son, you say—
are those your grandfathers ears?
(silence)
because if it was good enough for grandad,
it’s good enough for me
the meatloaf gives
me burps
you click your heels and sing
fuckity fuck, fucking fuck
remember the modified claim …
it should say zero
“There’s nothing worse than having someone hand your fears to you gift-wrapped.”
— Betina Gonzalez / American Delirium
(After Jessica Bruder’s Nomadland)
“The last free place in America is a parking spot.”
Sell-o-rama!
Are you fascinated by the blurring
Of class lines?
You need not file yellowed papers
In triplicate.
You don’t need.
We don’t need.
We don’t need no stinking badges!
Everyone’s angling for a pay day.
We don’t offer much in the way of culture,
But we have skin like burnished leather.
We got a nude boogie woogie pianist.
We got men in codpieces
And bare asses.
We got women in coconut bras.
Sometimes wifi, sometimes cable TV.
We have:
Telephone pole size saguaros,
Kangaroo rats and roving packs
Of coyotes.
We got landscaped tattoos—
Salty Spiral Jetty
Surrounded Pink Islands
Stony Sheepfolds
It’s an indifferent human
Festival in camel costumes—
Come and sink
Into obscurity.
“The capitalists don’t want anyone living off their economic grid.”
— Jessica Bruder / Nomadland
The snow turns to slush,
Overnight a sheath of ice,
A foreboding step.
A death threat in Denmark
Over the telephone and emails
The children should all be killed
Using a bolt pistol then skinned
And fed to the lions to prevent
Inbreeding and scientific knowledge.
The part of the sea,
Wet, failing to flood upstream
East of the river.
Losing Again as Overflow
The river burst upstream, the latest bout,
Places the water east of this week.
Part of the sea, wet since 1766,
Has been under criticism
For failing to visit the flood.
Black capped chickadee,
Dead, fell from the barren oak
Frozen on the grass.
(02.13.14)
-make a connection/word for foot noting the sections in Belkys
(02.14.14)
-the letters in a book leave the pages and blind and become lodged in the throat of the man who is reading it
(02.15.14)
-here comes a headache in my lower brain
I’ve come untethered
Three days lost and out of sorts
Now the correction
Sitting on the train
The snow blows blinding outside
Heavy wet and sad
The Wailers’ singles
Provide the syncopation
Propelling the day
The evil power of sixteen electroshocks,
Pluck the sun from the sky
In a casual soporific manner.
The moon in its infinite darkness
Is a devil on an aureole
Limned in a blinding fire.
On the balcony
In yellow afternoon light
A thrush in the snow
Pink skies cede to blue,
Melted snow transformed to ice,
Anticipation.
Placed in the security bin,
No problem, thank you.
Serving compliments, complaints and suggestions:
E as in Edward, please listen carefully catch and check.
I will work for tripe
Pepper pot is beautiful
Visceral goodness
(audio intercept)
That is awesome, the guy in the gray
Cuff him and zip it
I saw you guys intertwined
We’re trying to drink and have a good time
No tolerance, you three are going to jail
As the night wears on
A man possibly intoxicated, no teeth,
Is trying to go home but there are only remnants
Of trash and we call it a successful weekend.
My mother’s birthday
Brings me to Miami heat,
A long tepid trip.
West, the dream maker bicycles.
For all ages, a unique paradise
Only one mile by sought after
Fingertips.
“Nations, to make sense of themselves, need some kind of agreed-upon past. They can get it from scholars or they can get it from demagogues, but get it they will.”
— Jill Lepore / This America: The Case for the Nation
I am awkward in appearance. A sea oat blown near-horizontal. I will grow this beard as long as I want. I doomscroll as a default setting. I get excited when the gales cause these walls to creak. My minions deserted me long ago. Every alternating day silence and dread is all I get. And I get it, you know? No one wants to hear this, even less, no one wishes to read it, but I’ll tell you: you can’t be dead if you wanna’ make bread. That’s a sure thing. Money’s in the breakbeat. Mandrake’s in the shoals. Lost souls. That guy sang, “they keep calling me!” Lost Souls. I remain ungainly.
What I’m Reading, or: What I Just Finished Reading (a continuing series)
Old in Art School / Nell Painter (2018)
Respected Ivy League historian leaves cushy professorial job to get a BFA and MFA in painting, at the age of 64, because she desires to leave no stone unturned in a fully engaged, examined, and actualized life.
KUDOS that!
Said ex-professor/painting student wishes to become a canonized and collected professional painter, and gain entry into “Thee Art World” after 5 years of quasi-full time art making, (amidst dying parents, commuting cross country to Oakland, and fulfilling outstanding professional commitments) and make art tastemakers bend to her will.
DELUSIONAL that!!
Simultaneously inspiring and trying. Ends up being a long-winded whinge-o-rama.
Ebook & Audiobook, 03/09/21.
“I just regret everything and using my turn signal is too much trouble. Fuck you. Why should you get to know where I’m going, I don’t.”
— Mary Robison / Why Did I Ever
What side effects should I expect tonight?
Really? Seriously? Today?
What is this filth?
What are the chances we become an intelligent and empathetic country?
Is this a poem or a story?
Where are these silverfish coming from?
When will I get back to revising that novel?
When was the last time I ate steak?
Is this layer of dust really dead skin cells?
Just what is this?
What I’m Reading, or: What I Just Finished Reading (a continuing series)
The Inland Sea / Madeleine Watts (2021)
A notable debut novel about a quasi-dissociative young woman coming of age while routing emergency calls across Australia. She is caught up in her own family’s disintegrating history as the country burns, floods, and seemingly cracks apart—paralleling her own behavior, affairs, and mindset. Incisive, sardonic, and appropriately dark.
Ebook, 03/09/21.
“Looking at the swimming pool I could forget the emergencies, my confused plans, all the men in leather jackets or thongs or tattered dressing gowns who laid their hands on my body whether I wanted them to or not.”
— Madeleine Watts / The Inland Sea
The scab I pick raw
Is a tear in the fabric
Of an absurd life
Sister Ray dances
Naked after vespers dark
Blind rat sniffs the air
Fog rolls in hissing
Starless sky is swallowed whole
Its embrace chills me
A burning godhead
Glows and hovers in the dark
Night drenched in nightmares
What I’m Reading, or: What I Just Finished Reading (a continuing series)
The Year of Magical Thinking / Joan Didion (2005)
After months of waitlisting—having read the play based on this book in the interim—and seen the Griffin Dunne’s (her nephew) documentary (Joan Didion: The Center Will Not Hold) much of the surprise was gone, but the power and depth of grief, and the scope of sensitivity and intelligence remain. A powerful and memorable memoir.
Audiobook, 03/07/21.
“Because we will still walk while brown in a Walmart (or Target, Sam’s, or Ross)
and walk tall.
Because why not? Because heart. Because God. Because Mighty Mexican Super Ratón. Because human.”
— Alessandra Narváez Varela / “23 Reasons Why Mexicanos Can Still Be Found in a Walmart”
Teofilo: Don’t be a putz with the futzing about, you mung nut. Pass me the spud gasket.
Bob: Shut up! Your voice is sharp as a yeast infection.
Teofilo: Tangy, is it?
Bob: Hey, did you know one of my favorite singers and lyricists died last week?
Teofilo: Nah. One of those punk nuts, I betcha!
Bob: Yeah, his name was Mark E. Smith and the name of his band was The Fall.
Teofilo: That’s tough shit, man. I’m sorry for your loss.
Bob: My loss? It’s your loss too, you know.
Teofilo: What do you mean? I’d never heard of the guy before you spoke his name.
Bob: Man, he wrote “Totally Wired.” Can’t you see? I’m totally wired. So totally wired…
Teofilo: Bud, I wish I could help you, but no. We’re master plumbers, man. We’re a different lot.
Bob: I know what you mean, bud. It’s ok.
Fenty: Tough shit, bud. This o-ring seal is a goner.
Teofilo: Did you know they used to call me “thee tough shit” on account that my initials are T.S.? Yeah, T.S. Vosquerichian. No shit.
Bob: No shit? So what got you into the shit business?
Teofilo: It ain’t just shit, bud. Come on. Did you ever think you’d ever be here in the state house cleaning out Governor Christie’s septic? Not many get to. Hey listen do you mind if I call you Bobcat?
Bob: Why would I? that’s my name Bob Katt.
Teofilo: Well that’s not what I mean. I mean bobcat like the cat you find in the forest bobcat. You know you’ve got these whatyamacallit? These fine feline eyebrows and these little whiskers here.
Bob: Hey, T.S. get your mitts offa’ me. If you ever touch my face like that again, I’ll kill ya.
Teofilo: I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just very nice in you. You know, becoming.
Bob: Yeah?
Teofilo: Yeah!
Bob: Yeah, ok. You know they use ta’ call me the Panther in school. You know so I got that cat thing going, I guess.
Teofilo: yeah. We’ll be the master blaster gas fitters t.s. and bobcat — tough shit and the panther. We’ll do ya HVAC and your gastrointestinals.
Bob: No shit.
Teofilo: You know who’s a master? This cat Christie here. Yeah, the quantity of shit these folks is putting out … phenomenal. Jeez, I haven’t seen turds like that since I took that emergency call at the Watergate back in ‘72. How ‘bout you?
Bob: Well, I was really impressed by the fine quality of waste over at Mayor Giuliani’s place. You know, what they might call the finest quality feces. You know you’re a college boy: exquisite excreta! Hey, you think we’re fixated on fecal matters, chief?
Teofilo: Let me tell you about fecal matter … this is what they told me at the union office when I was an apprentice — you know that tongue twister in our plumber’s pledge — you know the one that’s goes “cloacal offal, excrement effluvia — that part was written by the poet T.S. Eliot. He was also known as “Tough Shit Eliot” when he was a youngster. You know before he moved to London and worked at the bank, and became a flannel wearing poet of “ragged claws” and such. He was one of us. He knew his way around a drain pipe, he was expert with rad-ee-ators, and grease traps? Like the back of his hand! In fact he reverted to the old ways in that first draft of that “wasteland” poem. That line that ended up I can connect nothing with nothing actually first appeared as “I can connect gaskets to gaskets.” And that last line “shantih shantih shantih” was actually “shitty shitty shitty.” And that other Hollow Men poem actually first ended “this is how the world ends, not with a bang but with a fart.”
Bob: True that. You don’t have to be weird to be wired.
What I’m Reading, or: What I Just Finished Reading (a continuing series)
Sweat / Lynn Nottage (2017)
Gritty blue collar story — and winner of the 2017 Pulitzer Prize for Drama. Topical play set around economic and labor issues, with a race relations leitmotif. A troubled human story at its core. Bookended by the penultimate two economics busts—the tech bubble and the home loans and market Great Recession.
Ebook, 03/07/21.
“You can’t be a writer if you’re not a reader. It’s the great writers who teach us how to write … Just write a little bit every day. Even if it’s for only half an hour — write, write, write.”
— Madeleine L’Engle
“the first time I was othered
I was still in the womb
breaking in my naming–“
— Mahtem Shiferraw / “Blood and Bones”
“Ah, go on. You’ll see. The future is coming and it doesn’t look good.”
— Madeleine Watts / The Inland Sea
