Saturday, September 29, 2007


(Adventures of Jeb and F. Scott Espectaculo)

“Oh predator, my predator,” had been scrawled. At first Jeb thought it paint.
“Nope, it’s nylon based. Not latte, not matte.” He pauses. “Not Texmex,” said F. Scott Espectaculo, looking up from a putty knife in one hand, his watch in the other, as if telling time over Thanksgiving dinner.
“I couldn’t care less if it’s nylon or Dacron, this sprawl has a ripe n’ healthy pallor compared to our last precinct,” Jeb flashed.
“True. True,” F. Scott’s voice trails off, as if thinking of his first time.
“Let me jog your memory. Come on, it’ll be exertion.”
“You did it standing up—“
“We were near the bagelhop, the east side of town, see, and the parking lot was full
cop cars, too thick for a crime. They’d nab the moment you uttered the word ‘killgun,’ remember? The dancing Shriner with the capgun quit bothering us, his hatful of sprigs from God knows what, running around, owning the place, pinching everyone’s nose and chuckling, ‘I’m a Jesus child, I’m a Jesus child.” Remember?” Jeb stopped.
Espectaculo looked up from his watch. It was 2:10. Jueves, August 23.
“Shit. I’d almost forgotten. Wasn’t he the head of some international spelling crime meeting here in town for a few days? You said not to be hasty. That one?” F. Scott’s voice had been ascending in pitch. This last one nearly a shriek, like a soprano.
“But in this case…the perp had raided Home Lumber, Paints & Construction to find this mix. It’s rare. I think they use it in racing,” Jeb huffed.
We should get to the bottom of each word’s roots.


I had a root canal "performed" on me yesterday. They danced in my mouth for 3 hours. Fun, though not half as sinister as the term "root canal."
I'm sticking to the Spanish word for the procedure (this too, being euphemistic), "endodonicia."

Friday, September 28, 2007

More on Squirrels

I would squeeze you so hard cookie
dough comes out, feeding trough 6
the action's at
Damian let everyone feast on his delighted "Gooky"
cookie before he ran out
you can pass with segments...

New Blog Name

The you-make-me-believe-in-myself-more-than-the-mirror Blog! TA-DAMN!


I posted this at KSM's LOST IN THE FRAME.

In the name of disclosure --and since I cannot link to it (using Safari) -- it's going up here.

All this is, as the title reveals, re Superbad:, can addiction to/cultural pervasiveness of porn be waved away if only we hold ourselves to a kind of ethical self-purge?

It's interesting to note how porn might affect men and women's views of their own genitalia, shorn, excessive, "normative", etc. Does porn push us, culturally, to shear?

Personally, I thought Superbad was (I'll withhold the pun) a somewhat shitty movie. Most of the humor is in the vein of the Awkward -- use of the “anti-joke” (i.e., “the funny thing about my back is that it’s on my cock,” the lack of reaction then becoming the joke, etc.) –- sense of humor that seems well aware of its own maturity: a kind of cloying “we will prevail” optimism. This failed for me, namely because I wasn't McLovin or “Arrested Development kid” (Michael Cera) or any of those depicted, but a real nerd. I knew I was a nerd, but I was never able to rise above this nerdiness nor see it as normal. I KNEW I was not the norm in my high school environment, and I knew that I was powerless to do anything about it.

Yikes...where's the leather couch...?

Tao Lin's "pose " equates Miranda July bashers with racists?

Are July’s bashers racists? Well then,
I'll be a squirrel talking
putting your nuts, no burying them
in my mouth
there is no clean kitchen glove
here’s layer squirrel on you for the pain (Bueyes)
my home the mighty oak
Lin on July, I'll avoid
the sign, sincere, the priest
cuts his own hair to appear
the squirrel too good, becomes non-hair
cutter July
Ah, July. Can one movie really
make me a dreamer? How about
a well squirrel guarded service
entrance. Shouldn't
all squirrels thank Amelie? Jean-
Pierre Jeunet had Caro
Caro sale barato. Racista!

Miranda July has a pose: the non pose.


To say that July avoids/omits/negates the pose is to say that July is a July-like hole, a sort of Language mixture ArundhatiRoy-like, manufacturing an emptiness for the viewer to fill. A claim that her pose is sincere occupies the same post or, as Brother Josh Nevers says, "slant angle of critique," as the Insincerity Mongers' claim. Is the effect that a coterie artist (Who isn't coterie, in these days of cot?) inlays on her audience less valid/artistic if not "sincere" or authentic? Who holds the Authenticity Authority, artist or viewer? I'm going to cop the 'Mitological' and say that Miranda July exists on a level different from July the (everyday) person, so as long as July exists, who are we --audience members, really-- to say which July is Julyier? If July herself doesn't know this answer, how can anyone? Is Roy the anti-war movement? Is Bush the War in Iraq? July Brand is cogito ergo sum of the moment. What gets me isn't the preciousness and daint involved in July's persona, it's the darlingism: taking the compartmentalization and saying, "See? It all fits and is confined here. This is the voice of our zeitgeist."

Both July's shit talkers and July need to crawl into a semiotic hole with closed meaning. Bye!

And if July didn't exist, it would be necessary to declare her a holiday.

Or a service entrance.

Monday, September 10, 2007

before cocaine there was the man who invented cocaine

For Maradona, and for his detractors

commie Maradona should stick
Barbara Walters into a 5 year old into need of spiritual body conditions
so insults are socially, ok, viewable by minor piss specs
read as defin--the war on drugs, like, during détente (detention)
For Halloween. You dance with a woman wearing cat makeup.
(she would burn her clothes, her animals. Called, 'hot demolition,'
her vote card into the fire she'd support,)
who invented cocaine studied
the steam engine, shows our age
band costs us our impressionable crowd
dwarf stars are researched, concentrated on
juice is value-licious and I’ll caterwaul my message high and
limber up the stuck on
stinger with Crispin, canola oil
our city's extra chromy and burgeoning po-po

I hate figure causes
cramping my bowels

mom÷time into
deliberate free basing

The future is high school students’ fault.
And is too overhead to
Welcome to the first day of your family’s native speakers.