White People Ruin Stuff

Today, illegally surfing while I should have been teaching, I found this

rules me hates rules

A big book managing

Can challenge

While the book slept

Unearthing occurring

My privilege was inept

A soul wept

Into it’s darning

My fever went swim

In stocking stuffing.

arts we draw

Deeply soul

knew my grown voice

knew it

kneel and paint

kneel to paint

individuals choices

arts really makes me

feel my heart

desires are telling me

see the worlds, the voice

the colors picked for

the arts we do

imply the feeling

of the artist while doing.

Arts we do

contain colors

reveal our hearts

what these colors do is revealing

and clothing can too

kneel and paint

does your heart feed reveal?

Maybe your heart feed reveals

like a pig or like me

who paints for escape

words safe words

A big word like banana

to see the inside of your heart.

Yogurt Most Certainly

I stick my spoon in halfway
Then you stick your spoon in halfway
And we’ll share this yogurt its new
Flavor returns beat investments only with good taste
Spitting out yogurt wastes the money you spent
Spitting out yogurt with money you spent is actually a waste.

Never hasten to probe yogurt you’ve learned to correctly taste
The smell sitting before your tongue is taste in a haste:

Your body is becoming harder while you wait
For the yogurt that renews your litmus
When you hold something so sacred on your tongue
Changing colors will reward you with an answer to boldness
Hold your tongue, feel the yogurt medicate.

Stick your spoon in three-quarters way
Then I stick my spoon in three-quarters way.
Let’s play swords.
The first to be satisfied by lengthy curtains
Touched up with new yogurt’s powerful ambitions

Your eyes are softening and running out of your head
They are transformed into yogurt
And a nice neighborhood with activism.

Yogurt, the spelling bee of the mouth!
A champion discus tosser hurls a new flavor into the region
Of your face and you should react by opening up
And saying, “Pro-biotics”
Which are boring remnants of God from being dead.

I have nothing but boots in my yogurt clothing routine
When I decide which yogurt to commandeer and
Non-fucking-fat cottage cheese is what entirely happened!
Normal cottage cheeses don’t stick so often
Haphazardly peeling the ripped foil before you’ve taste experimented
Is like going to a firefight with only a rubber glove on your head.

If you want to know what a lifelong bout with terminal diseases feels like
Understand how yogurt is made inside a cobra’s poisonous glands
When and only when the snake turns
Fire a missile and fill the yogurt enough into a latex glove.
Now you are safe, now you can curl up and comprehend.

The Necrosocial

Dying to study?

Can we co-opt a position already co-opted by opponents?

Reading this piece after reading The Coming Insurrection, there's particular resonance in the idea that protest is only acceptable when its form and meaning are both managed by power. But I can't help thinking that the perpetual deliberation as a delaying tactic can't also be used to protesters' advantage. Delay is usually seen as the inactive moment between anticipation and doing (action), but this assumes that while protesting, the mobilized group is only protesting with its end being negotiation. If the goal is prolonging debate, then, delay would be beneficial to anyone but those seeking to "manage" the situation.

samesies

is here, either highlighting the sameness in human experience, or the fact that amateurs are unoriginal.

Job Search

I’m still sitting here hour 1003rd job search I’ve performed this year. This is a wonderful way to end a college career made up of heady research and fixing appliances and never eating. I never ate because I was job searching.

My job search contributes to my healthiness and spanking new uniform. When employers see my work, they turn the resume over, face down, kissing whatever implements they have. My credentials kiss candy. A boss would hire me after the interview, but I’m not given the interview. After I’m buzzed in, I’m hiding from boss. Bosses overly interfering with employee health so reprehensible.

For this next year, my costume will mix horny and scary. Appealing to all aspects of street life is what makes a decent costume. They built the Yankee home before they built the 9/11 memorial. Both were horny and scary options. These were costumes that could be exchanged for better-made uniforms.

And now for my body cavity. Since my entire body is unreliable, potential hirers reduce my presence to a quick meaning. Comparing my difficulty to Thanksgiving. Giblets and hiring practices, stuffing that is piping hot and razor sharp. You fill that cut up parking layout. You, human pond.

Wednesday, October 28th, 1:13 am

Currently, on yahoo.com, the most popular search is for "Homemade Halloween Costumes."

Subprime

The sheer connivance perpetrated by the lending industry has been this: to turn blame away from the industry itself and offer up borrowers as a kind of financial aggressor or predator.

There are needs I require fulfilling. Housing and comprehensive medical coverage, particularly in an emergency, are two needs. The medical aspect is a topic to avoid for now. It is, after all, the "mortgage" crisis which is blamed for the problems we're now facing.

If I need shelter, housing, a roof, then what I'm going to do is accept the first offer to help, especially in an economic system such as ours, the best offer wins out. If I were to lend money to friends who I knew were unable to pay me back--because I have access to their banking and credit history--then my ruin is whose fault? Had lending companies bridled their greed, had they shoved their fists in their mouths instead of wadding cash in it, then solicitation of near-bankrupt and poverty-stricken debtors might not have been on the menu.

I fail to see how predatory and poor lending choices should be brought to bear on borrowers. I fail to see how my need to extra funds indicts my need for extra funds and for not being able to pay those funds back. If I could pay them back, I would not need them.

On Pause

My "much awaited" second post on Bill O'Reilly is owed, and is forthcoming. However, I feel the demands of teaching three levels of Eng Comp + additional job search are a priority. And so, I'll promise a Talking Points Memo breakdown weekly, but certainly not daily. Lo siento mucho!

In the meantime, YIKES!

NPR (ethnocentrism) Watch, Part II

When NPR’s chief reporter on this “case, Daniel Zwerdling, goes out to investigate, first we hear what appears to be a car alarm, then birds chirping. Then--and this might work on television, but it's more confusing here-- he asks a man if he's one of the mechanics. The man responds, "Ehhhhh," showing that he doesn't speak English. Zwerdling asks him: "Do you speak English?" And the conversation is quickly cut.

The problem when reporting employs tactics that rely heavily on geographic- and language-based stereotypes has nothing to do with the article's aim. It's obviously worthwhile and super-virtuous to find out whether or not the mechanics in these outsourced countries are competent and capable of doing just as good a job as any mechanic anywhere else. The problem is that we don't know if the man Zwerdling "accosts" outdoors near the airport in this opening segment is a mechanic or not. And this crucial information of who we're listening to is kept from us. "Ehhhh" isn't given time nor a translator; he's not allowed to answer. Instead, the cut is made back to the real reporting, the non-English speaking "Ehhhhh" guy is dropped, and we're left thinking: Geez, this mechanic can't fix shit. How can he read how to fix things if he can't speak English (This might not have much to do with competency handling complex avionics equipment, but readers are left to believe that it most certainly does.) And that's the problem I have; why El Salvador? Why not Britain, France or other nations in Europe where these pieces are also repaired? It's plain to see on the map that US airline companies use numerous locations around the world, so why does NPR devote two out of three segments to the tiny nation of El Salvador?

Add to this the trade and commerce complications a foreign corporation such as Aeroman would risk were it to constantly turn out faulty repairs and this argument—that this small Salvadoran factory’s lack of competence is systematic and highly regular—just doesn't make sense. Why not, as the article clearly states, figure out what FAA Regulators have been doing, if they haven't been making the rounds at these factories? Where's the story there? (This is glossed over, when Zwerdling so clearly states that a Government Investigation has found that Federal Investigators haven't been to these factories in years. Italics are mine.) So instead of blaming the Salvadorans, we should be asking in unison with them: Where are our fucking Federal Regulators?

NPR Watch

Note: The below is a response to the audio portion of the linked article.]

“When you fly, who do you think has been taking care of your airplace. Mechanics in Chicago, San Francisco perhaps?”

Right from the intro, the reporting overwhelmingly appeals to an “us vs. them” mentality. "Aren't you comfortable that your airline is undergoing repairs in a US city?" This isn’t said, but it doesn’t need to be. Nor is the thrust of the article to engender compassion toward the US worker. What is achieved is the more sensationalistic belief that “we” can’t trust “them” to do what we used to do and that in outsourcing, we’re sacrificing safety (but not jobs…that goes unreported). I’m sure the tale will be ramped up, that of the poor failing industry versus the haughty demands of union members. [Plus hefty retirement packages, health insurance demands from people who want a better life, largely because that’s what they were told their country stood for.]

After the introduction, Daniel Zwerdling begins his “investigation” and the cue music is probably some stock sound file of guitar/gauchesque ridiculousness. Were this TV, we’d probably see a run-down pig ranch and semi-nude children running under clotheslines. Then listeners are battered with salsa and shouting, presumably either from inside the factory or a marketplace, we’re not told. “Those damn Latinos,” they might as well be saying, “always with their loud voices and their music. No wonder they can’t fix stuff good [sic].”

It’s odd that the last statement accuses workers in the El Salvadoran factory, Aeroman, of being those who improperly installed the door latch (upside down). First off: mistakes happen everywhere. To use this example as a conclusion that work done there is subpar is insulting to listeners and obscures the truth this article attempts to address in favor of a more inflammatory message (again, see aforesaid message of attempting to foster an us v. them (read, high v. low quality). The juxtaposition of the statement about the flange or thingamajig being backwards and that it happened in that factory implies that there’s a language or intelligence barrier—that something about an overseas factory is shoddy. Mind you, we’re not told they lack oversight, just that inspectors (FAA) haven’t “been there” in years. The reporting suggests that this is not just a simple laborer’s error.

Did this simple error cause panic and dismay and a near crash scenario? Yes. Was it a serious error and probably avoidable? Certainly. But it’s also certain that this example is not emblematic of greater problems at some of these factories. That this doesn’t occur more or why airline companies have resorted to outsourcing is, sadly due to the faulty reportage here, something we don’t ever find out. (Perhaps in the upcoming segments?)
Second, it seems odd that while the FAA doesn’t require airlines to report where they outservice their repairs to that this particular airline in the above example would be able to place blame on one particular factory. How can we know where this piece was mis-installed if the FAA doesn’t?

Factual problems:

If you look at the map provided on the page, there are thousands of factories all over the world. It’s worth noting that many of these factories exist in Europe, where salaries are equal or higher in most cases; it’s odd that the union argument would even be used in light of this information.
I’d like to know where they get their averages for airline mechanic pay. Doing a bit of quick research online puts the average pay per hour around $20-25 dollars, not the kingly $100 as cited by NPR. [It’s odd that this would even be an hourly position, since I’m sure the hours worked are inconsistent. Not that there’s no demand, just that it’s probably on-again, off-again.] The Bureau of Labor Statistics further states that some Avionics Mechanics (AM) are union members, but that these only represent about 30% of all AMs. Such a percentage wouldn’t mean that Airlines would ship costs overseas to save money, but instead simply opt to utilize some 70% of the remaining non-union workforce.

This is backed up by the Bureau of Labor Statistics. To wit:
Median hourly earnings of aircraft mechanics and service technicians were about $22.95 in May 2006. The middle 50 percent earned between $18.96 and $28.12. The lowest 10 percent earned less than $14.94, and the highest 10 percent earned more than $34.51. (www.bls.gov)

Bill O'Reilly - Day 1

[Note: Below notes were taken during my viewing of a 2:30 minute segment of Bill O'Reilly's Talking Points Memo (10/15) commentary on Rush Limbaugh’s ejection from NFL. This is a mere sampling of some of the logical and language-based problems on the show. Ideally, each day I will write up a response to his “Talking points memo.” Alternately, I plan on deconstructing the content of Shepard Smith’s reporting as well, though it seems important to note that Smith’s reporting is more tempered and less controversial.]


I. Opening Quote:

"Some people said Limbaugh made a series of racial comments and therefore does not deserve to be part of the NFL."

Topically, of course, Limbaugh isn’t part of the NFL. This is weird phrasing. But I digress… The primary problem here is that "Some people" is vague. I always stress this point to my students. Who are these people? (If it's just Al Sharpton, why not mention him singly?) How many said this? When did they say it?” What were Limbaugh’s comments? O’Reilly cites only Al Sharpton, which is basically doublespeak for "the crazy black man who protests everything." And this seems to suggest that Sharpton is the voice that represents a large community of outraged individuals, an assertion which is entirely false.

But back to vagueness…

The reason why ideas are intended to be vague usually is either 1) lack of real evidence/sources or 2) an attempt to manipulate conversation to one’s own ends. Both of the above "some people" and "comments" are kept vague to blur the reasons and what Limbaugh actually said to either warrant/not warrant his being kicked off the show. In addition, viewers aren’t told exactly who kicked Limbaugh off the show. If viewers don’t know what Limbaugh said, the assumption is that it probably isn’t much worth mentioning. (Although, to use the famous line that "actors should mix with politics," a line usually used in the context of Tim Robbins or Sean Penn.) Limbaugh’s sports announcing shouldn’t be peppered with controversial statements. In his role as a sportscaster, his job is to sportscast, not to offend viewers.

Furthermore, to use the term "witch hunt" is a historically charged and hypocritical exaggeration. The implication that Limbaugh is being hunted by a group of people whose moral compass is guided by fear (as in Salem), and who have no evidence of his wrongdoing, is patently false. There is no “group” hunting him and certainly the decision to fire him was motivated more by capital than by any ideological fright. [In fact, the one person responsible for Limbaugh’s firing is Dave Checkett’s, a Mormon business man, NOT a member of what most would associate with "the liberal elite."] The labeling of an executive's attempt to silence Limbaugh as a witch hunt while actively engaging in an attempt to root out "anti-Americanism" (O'Reilly's attempts to silence dissent go back to just after 9/11) is simple hypocrisy. Apparently, it's acceptable to ruin the lives of everyday Americans who happen to criticize the actions of their government but not to fire a celebrity who makes millions a year. This attempt to silence dissent from the ground-up while defending the right of privilege to make divisive comments about trivial sporting events should be frightening to those who claim O'Reilly represents the "little guy."

Example of Limbaugh’s comments?

"Look, let me put it to you this way: The NFL all too often looks like a game between the Bloods and the Crips without any weapons. There, I said it." [What seems interesting here is the supposed burden Limbaugh seems to suggest is being lifted from his conscience after he says this with his foot-stomping "There, I said it".]

Checketts can obviously be faulted for being obtuse— anyone who doesn’t understand what Limbaugh does is either lacking proper decision-making skills or living somewhere very remote.

Even O’Reilly’s word choice here is ridiculously hyperbolic: "That race theme quickly became used as a hammer against Limbaugh." A hammer? Really? To "break" him? So the fact that public outrage surrounds these statements is more of an inconvenience to Limbaugh's "right" to utterance than it is representative of a history of divisive commentary? There seems to be little objectivity here, but again, one could argue that most journalism is based on objectivity as a goal, not always as a result. However, my goal here is to show that O’Reilly’s lack of objectivity starts at the level of language and spreads into every aspect of his show.

O’Reilly insists that allegations against Limbaugh suggest that he (Limbaugh) is a supposed "race baiter." O’Reilly does not define what he means by this. Does he mean that Limbaugh baits other races by saying things that he knows to be offensive and then hides behind some vague notion of Freedom of Speech when he’s penalized for his statements? Or does this mean that Limbaugh uses the topic of race to stir controversy. If the former is true, said Amendment doesn’t cover speech meant to incite panic or fear and hatred against a group of people; if the latter is true, then controversy is what he got, and there’s no case here.

At this point in the Memo, O’Reilly recycles old statements that Limbaugh supposedly made about James Earl Ray. (This is of course used as information that can be clearly disproved and thus, by O'Reilly's logic, disproving all further allegations of bigoted comments.) Adding to the suspicion that Limbaugh can't be innocent of all comments due to the origin of some comments, this information is specious and outdated. It had already been reported Limbaugh didn’t make that statement (see, http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/abraham/detail??blogid=95&entry_id=49546). But this is not important to O’Reilly, who rightly assumes that his main audience doesn't Google much. His main concern is to lump the James Earl Ray incident (which started with one person, an anonymous blogger named Cobra) in with any other instance of Limbaugh's proclivity to make racially-divisive comments. There’s a logical problem here, and this is that just because Limbaugh didn’t make one comment doesn’t mean he didn’t make any comments about race. In fact, Limbaugh is known for making comments that are racially controversial, which you can see in the above-linked quote, and all it takes is a quick Google search to see well-documented examples of comments he’s made regarding the topic of race. But O’Reilly doesn’t mention these comments. Instead, he uses comments made from "the far left" (I’m sure the "far left," whoever they may be, has more important things to worry about than taking down Rush.) With these digressions from his own lead story, O’Reilly clouds the waters by offering—without citation—an example of his own persecution which, according to his telling of it, seems like a fairly innocuous story that took place in Sylvia’s Restaurant here in Harlem. By virtue of its very innocuousness, this anecdote is meant to refute all arguments against Rush Limbaugh and to introduce a logical parallel between O'Reilly and Limbaugh: if I am not guilty, he is not guilty. We are one no slant, no spin, fair and balanced blob.

II.

"Fair Americans know that playing the race card is easy and hateful."

Who are these "fair" Americans? Does he mean "fair" as in "just"? If there is truly a "witch hunt" currently happening in America, where are these legions of "fair Americans"? Does O'Reilly mean to refer to those Americans who know the sense of right and wrong? How many are there? Did he survey all of the Americans he considers "fair" to see what they think? Have these Keepers of Fairdom been allowed to weigh in on the matter? The insistence on using terms like this is, once again, vague and extremely groupthink-esque. Instead of even using an actual survey or *gasp* research, it posits that there is a group of "common sense" holders out there who are constantly stormed and attacked by "wackos" of all stripes, who, in contrast with the "Fair Americans," don't use common sense. That some people have more common sense seems a fair assessment. But however true this may be, if we were to research what criteria make for common sense and "fair," there is certainly no evidence 1) that this group knows what O'Reilly claims they know or that they agree with him 2) of their numbers, and 3) whether this really has anything to do with race-baiting or the previously-mentioned Limbaugh case.

This statement's real purpose is to flatter viewers—I’m fair, they’re not—while united them as one group. Any angst-ridden and alienated viewer looking for a sense of belonging just found it. O’Reilly seems more interested in simultaneously flattering viewers while insulting their intelligence. Mix the "You viewers are lovely" with "I will always be more informed than you but use my cat-like agility and salty intellect to inform you of what others hide" together and voila! You’ve got the recipe for a successful show.

I'm not saying that O'Reilly's show isn't entertaining, which it certainly is, especially viewed ironically as one work in the larger oeuvre of his terribly written books imbued with his trademark pedantic and cringe-worthy tone. His charm of late seems to stem from the toning down of his more divisive rhetoric and ire, probably due to some late administrative decision to make room for Beck's more vitriolic delivery style. But the problems of this show are numerous: the catering to sensationalistic and vague reporting, the logic jumps and mis-connections O'Reilly practically elicits between "facts," the general non sequitor/short attention span reporting style which doesn't inform as much as it confuses viewers, and the veiled subjectivity and opinions of one man which masquerade as objective and to-the-minute breaking journalism.

My Brother's Sequential Anatomy and Microsoft WORD

This, from my brother, Patrick Daley:

I was writing a paper on Plato's view of women for a Humanities class when I noticed a cool feature on Word. If you type in a word in the Thesaurus, a bunch of words with the same first couple letters show up. I started messing around and came up with this weird poem. I also made up a rule for which it was meant to be organized. The word count of each sentence must be in consecutive order (I noted the word count next to each sentence). The poem turned out to be pretty funny and thought I would send it to you. I made it into an anatomy lesson. Enjoy!

Sequential Anatomy

14. The penis penetrates peninsulas whose penitence is a pen name for penniless pen pals.

15. The septum separates the septic tank from the separatists whose sepulchers are sequenced in September.

16. The vagina gives vaccinations through a vacuum to vagrants whose vague vanity is a vacillating valediction.

17. The shin shifts from a shimmering shingle to a shiny shelter where shenanigans are shielded from shepherding.

Good poetry does not include politics

1. Tone:

If you say a statement with genuine meaning in your tone, you possibly get aggressive behavior in children. This is because children are tuning in more than ever to what adults say. They thirst for adult messages in music, art and lesser known influences like television. The secret to convey these messages is by seclusion. No one would want to destroy the vegetables if they had been chopped so fine they were mixed in and invisible.


2. Recipes

Children sense what recipes we’re dreaming up, having read large letters about them. Children are small prophets. I don’t know why we haven’t shown them menus for each meal. Easy-to-read menus threaten most youngsters tiny eardrums and light receptors, and politically-minded children are offended by insults delivered by these menus to their sophistication.


3. What to wear and do with your mouth while getting political

So an outfit backfires. This has been foreseen. If you don’t want people to hate what you’re wearing, don’t say, “This outfit sucks, huh” as a statement.

Who wouldn’t negatively react to an author who is nothing but kind words.

Political disagreement flavored with cherry tip. Slowly place the political instrument on your lips before deciding whether its taste isn’t for you.

Expecting this medical issue to present itself in polite civic discourse is intellectualizing a simplistic fallacy of being required to grow yourself a pair in order to win at board games.

But what about revolution? A poem about revolution shouldn’t say “revolution poem” or “revolution trade center.” If you want your favorite TV star assassinated you shouldn’t shout, “Assassinate whomever I like!”

A poem cannot take politics upstairs and bicker behind walls. We do not see what happens upstairs in amicable revolution. In a sense, a revolution is history gone badly.

Parents modeling for children’s clothes, fighting in front of kids.

We see the lack of physical interference–both hands solitary and on hips—this means that either companion could get political at uncomfortable objects.

These justices are hoping to overturn their courtroom anger. Laws are made by figureheads who see disillusion in fighting.

Opponents of the poem see practiced daily usage as a threat to linear conversation derivative of political logic.

Heated and worked out in front of children, poems should be about really anything but politics.

Politics has words that interfere with beautiful concepts.

Childish secret concepts are like bellybuttons: we all want to deny they come from god.

Surprisingly I haven’t felt myself since I ate that chipotle

Believe it, food travels
A long way

Later when it rests
In a throat full
Of soda

You can think
It’s going to be going down
But actually, this food
Had other plans

I’m giving this toy’s educational value five star rating. This review is pounding the pavement for five star rating, clearer than would be any object in the world. I learned more in Georgia, this toxic coating adds to entice. This puppy run zero to seventy, minor irritating cause the five star values. I let the photogenic quality get away. Redaction to preen. Flubbed, no bun. No run knob that manually sets the length to Destiny of Carpet.

We were captives in a forward-thinking cell, yet too glitzy in skull. Gliding to service entrances loose dogs called safe are picked up and destroyed with remaindered shelving. A uselessly rendered dog may accrue excess fines and government involvement.

The dog’s looseness — lack of smell – arranges a meeting of cold war powers long since out of large font. Nutrition loitered, the service entrance a small gamey type. This was second place? No one boxed so Drago as you. You put your arms making like an Octopus. I’d imagine the effort strung out.

The dog went backchannel through our cousin, changing names. A truck then materialized and someone to drive it. You have capsized, but there’s no telling what parents will actually call on gods for. She prefers little yelpers. I was given a few moving seconds with the pile, quivering mass of oat. Our interaction lacked fluid. I pupped and found pain included the molten crust of my first exhibit. Faulted at the end and leashed – air being left in a flat to sour – lay down to perform the angel I cannot be hungry enough to eat.

Ernesto Sábato's el túnel

To the degree that Juan Pablo Castel recreates the events leading up to María Iribarne’s murder, no fully objective rendition of these events actually occurs— Castel’s account largely riddled with digressions and rants of one kind or another. The construction of a sprawling logical framework to corroborate and justify his actions fails to gain our sympathy or understanding, and it is Sábato’s intent – the responsibility for which he conveniently absents himself – this failure transpires. For so long as reason is used by Castel to justify misdeeds, readers view these methods of justification as specious. This rational justification is the author’s illustration that any action, no matter how heinous, can be justified by our sense of reason. Hence, Castel is a cautionary tale, a soul deluded by a reliance on artificial objectivity to excuse nature’s actions.

If I have to produce more, my work hours build up
And if I work more, I require more money to keep
Me going
And if I’m paid a fair wage, then the cost of goods increases
To offset my hefty raise and profit is guaranteed.
Therefore: having more to choose from, more goods, more toothpaste
Raises the cost of living, the cost of goods
And limits our ability to purchase other, more needed services.

"The Ironic Cloud"

What would happen if we documented all irony in every world language and culture? According to researchers D. Graham Burnett and Jeff Dolven, the war on terror, and all wars against any (un)known enemy could easily be waged, and won. Words can kill, I know it. You know it. Our government knows it. But soon, everyone will know it, and see it, and quake under the power of our irony.

Raiding a Public Program Already

Bankrupt is bad policy.
When no one has money
No one is really lonely.
I’m going to have to file for bankruptcy
Because my loneliness needs recruits.

Bankruptcy filers grasp neoprene monotone dummy socks
Are you prurient? Likening
A strange neoprene outfit to go hunting.

Made up what I like
A base enjoyment
Surrounding money and food
Both brood, both booed
Encased in a loneliness
That is mine, all mine.

A policy designed to improve narcotics processing
When in fact no police horse regulation at all
Can be called from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir
Stamped out mistreatment of the polar wild

The quote made me put more emphasis on the present
And how extremely retarded valuable can be
You stay behind at the same address
And your beard gets retarded looking when you forget to cut it
Growing into the driveway cracks
Then you cut it
With a lot of help
Values in the neighborhood are down, largely
Because of that stupendous beard right there
For believe the present is of intense value
Only if there’s an insane amount of reading
Will I usually get typically flaming head rash
And this is what is happening in Soviet Russian basements
Where Florida doesn’t have basements because of water tables

Where I live, In Florida
Low tides and lucid places
Small areas uncharted by human hands
Are all Florida’s to exploit.

I have largely cut ties
With my birth handlers
Just don’t compare
The flary airy dimple
Created in the hush left behind
By this orange land
Center of Freedom
Dell has purchased para

I like how you listed your political view as fascist.

Including this fascist information and about what you do with various genres of fascist literature answers a few questions.

Oh that’s really very fascist.

The most evil man of all time is now changing his facebook plans.

He turns his face toward the grieving women but ignore them fascist cry babies.

Just marking fascist playthings for liquidation.

Thanks for group hugging your friends. Even the pimply nose picker.

Who can group together in a club going commando and have a fascist picnic time.

Even maybe now get some visits from Denmark, where castles have networks and plugins for facebook updates.

I’m afraid storing gasoline might make me look crazy.

Did you make a castle to lie down in?

How about how cold those rocks you build castles with are.

All the gasoline in Hitler’s eyebrow doesn’t retain an odor like castle rock entertainment.

Finally, someone compared Hitler.

Nice joy ride you fascist prince, are you going to throw your friends frozen mothers out of the moving carriage?

Kind and empathetic and a strong musculature to visit there getting food to urgent areas mocks a plan created by national socialism to starve medially underserved regions.

Russian Ark

Russian Ark reconstructed, in book form. BLDGBLOG has the details.

District 9 reviewed...

at N+1

Verses for Kids

What hitmen do is impersonal, and are pretty strictly corralled by duty. If your sister did something that angered hitmen bosses, then a fatality should be blamed on the lack of choice hitmen truly have when it comes to killing and satisfying bosses' revenge fantasies.

If hitmen don’t kill, they will either lose their job, or a new job opens that consists of their picture in a file with a big crosshairs. And someone else is found to do that job. Hitmen don’t care about you or your sister (except the bad things she did) and neither do hitman replacements.

Presidents, however, are completely different from hitmen because they aren't targeting individual voters. They must instead decide to do what's best for the nation (besides, they don't actively kill people). Sometimes presidents' jobs are unpopular because one group doesn't want them to kill their interests.

But no killing goes on. Presidents don't sign a contract that says they must go to your hometown and wipe out your family because they've been paid by Shell Oil or Nabisco to waste your siblings.

Since they can’t do what your one vote wants them to do, if you hate presidents because they don't do what your vote wants but decide on what's good for the majority of votes, then it’s your stupidity and selfishness that causes you to bother hating these elected presidents, and not any factual information you possess (that no one else seemingly possesses) that indicates their level of badness.

Jenna has this baby.
What Jenna has is a very large baby.
An incredibly intelligent baby can be left alone.
Jenna’s baby cannot be left alone
It cannot be left alone because
Sometimes sitting on her chest
Jenna’s little turd will spend too much time texting.
Babies shouldn’t text, they should cry.
If your baby texts, make sure it cries.
Create a darling environment
I can hear a cry from here.
Can you squint your ear
And open your mind to a small cry
Like a siren’s baby off in the distance?

They should cry into the listening device
But should not
Absolute imperative.
Use their nubby fingers on the keypad
Babies don’t text messages so under no circumstances
Should you let them remove their nubs they’re so easy.
When little fingers move so quickly upon a keypad,
I feel a slight chest tremor and wish I wanted children.
Knocked from my seat by this chest tremor
My wife says absolutely no texting crying.

Hate Mail

Hate mail is often hilarious and dramatic. When hateful things are often said, a message is conveyed that maybe before you weren't aware. Sometimes when I think of all the hateful things I've ever said, I wonder when I'm going to get mail from anyone aside from machines. How does hate mail make YOU feel? Have you learned much from hate mail? Has it told you often what you didn't previously know? Or maybe mail from hateful senders has clued you in to some psychological breach in the damn of human tendencies to write letters? Maybe hate mail makes us more human.

please don’t tell me good news critics

Critics, handymen
soufflé peddlers in the highs
living diners and locations
where people eat ups and downs, sing
in a forgiving way on
your humble servant,
the critic, person of the people
propelled! Sing critics
your new moves
about a new movie
has found it’s so popular
it’s not so popular anymore.

Guess again, critic
A hardy job/appetite requires you
To invest your time and valuable opinions
On which an industry depends

Good critics make mediocre
Publicity, while mediocre critics
Understand movie selling most:
You can’t give it all at once
And ruin the payoff.

I’m impressed when you critics fight
I’m impressed most
When you do it without using hawks.
And stick it to one another
With mediocre eloquence
So no one gets tired and everyone understands
Catastrophic! if we all spoke with vocabularies of envy
No critics necessities

Now, my movie ticket is worn
And I’ve seen the fantastic disaster
You sent me to without even
a small warning about the acting.
Because if you don’t have disasters
We have a job to do and quickly
Leave the theaters

Escape from several mediocre movies
Treating all viewers stupid
But the critic’s job should sell movie tickets
This job blasts imagination into a spectator’s lap
And the newspapers that say good news
A tricky but worthwhile option
Using arguments as a disguise for bad wiring.

pictures aid an infant fantasy
tweet my last bowel
an aardvark’s unaided vision
who dither over the menu
Second Draft: Terrorism
All you’d find out about bad intentions
Stop its buds.

Live bird open for its own sake
Losing jobs and roars
strong in national spirit

Cliff--as warranted -- having crawled
Touched the bug deflector
Tumbling for scouts
Come on leg of mutton
Found whole!

Cuddly Wuddly

I too want atheist pets, including atheist camel!

District 9 - Mere Speculation

Resulting from a biological sensitivity to fuel, humans are transformed into alien "prawns" who then become marooned on a future earth -- future in relation to the initial human contamination "moment" -- whereupon they are interned, their encampments similar to Japanese Internment camps of WWII, as undesirables and as threats to human safety.

This commentary, that our fuel will condemn us to future servitude, doesn't seem too far off what most are saying re: peak oil/global warming/foreign dependency. If only we could see ourselves as being part of USA Internment Camp, LLC., and not citizens of the Most Free Land of Brave Warrior Poets (I added this last word).

Anyway, I thought about this as a reasonable explanation for District 9's protagonist's (Wikus') transformation, and I'm not yet ready to discard it.

Another anyway, here's a found poem I came across reading comments made by viewers who hated this movie:

makes 0.00 sense
the first half of the movie i was just sitting there like
oh wow i wonder if this guy is going to get ****ed by his prejudice attitude
oh wow he did wat a surprise
i wonder if this alien that they are just continuely glorifying will be trying to save his people
oh wow what a surprise
i wonder if the writer is trying to make a statement by reversing the subjugated human for an alien and showing us how we are inherently prejudiced again
oh wow
woowweeee i learned something about humanity i already knew
and by learned i mean had it shoved down my throat

these guys are reinventing foolish

Reproductive History

Catholics are quite safe
I know because I’m Catholic
And used to be safe. Feel safe.

Have a large family meaning feel safe.
It’s not about risks…it’s about largesse
Have the entire family feel largesse

Catholics on television
Catholic television
The Catholic moral attitude is truthful
A sincerely truth attitude
Catholics think they are better than other people because other Catholics have admitted they are wrong.

They know they belong to the truth faith
I am so truthful I’m catholic.
I am so Catholic, believe me
I would kill to believe to
The truth,
The Catholic will hire.

I will work for Catholics
Catholic works.
Catholic is this true believer truthful?
So wait believes so deeply in truth
In a garden you can’t see, I can’t see
Growing all over the body life church!

How will Jews and Muslims get along in heaven?
A Catholic believes not so well.
A religion (Catholic) renews itself through death
And faith in Catholic positions.
I have positioned myself with corrections
Like role models to millions
But Catholics in heaven.

Hairness

Hair floats
so longing
many shapes
many wearers so
much money collected
with little regard for hair!

gather your cut
hair your butt cut
party front business
is your hair making back
all your style choices

flat, like a chest
your affection opens
full of cosmetic treasure
teases and monsters
on a hair date together.

I have a hopeful date
with my hairdresser.
my shaver
my savior!

I wrote a 50 page book about soda

soda graph

Job Hunt

Lately I've been applying to jobs as a copywriter/proofreader/asst. editor.

Frankly, I'm sick of not having money and adjunct work is unstable.

But mainly, I want something to do instead of performing in front of a group.

Friday, August 14

No one visited this blog yesterday (Aug. 14) probably because my last post sucked.

I'm glad that no one saw that lame last post.

I'll leave it around so you can come around and really get a good laugh and gander at my proposed method for dealing with telemarketers.

I will not endorse this as a working method for dealing with telemarketers.

telemarketer kryptonite

Caller: (nods into phone) Hello, may I please speak with Ryan Daley?

Ryan Daley: He’s not here right now, may I take a message?

Caller: I have this as his primary cell phone number.

RD: Actually, his primary cell phone is downstairs, underwater.

Caller: Excuse me?

RD: The long path of vengeance has be severed, like a fiber optic.

Caller: Will you please tell him that Student Consolidation Services called?

RD: Bonus question: In an airless room, would a crouton matter?

Caller: Sir, Mr. Ryan, this is a serious matter.

RD: People have died while we’ve been talking.

Caller: Please, if you are not Ryan Daley, nod. This message isn't for you.

RD: Like, exploded over a river and their body parts strewn. Can you imagine being strewn?

MFA Search

Actually, I’m so glad I’ve decided to apply my concepts to create a space prizing reconnaissance in case during the most frenzied application process imaginable you find the voice of reason almost compels you to follow your soul guide, and follow him her or it – if it has emotions and can be considered “life experience,” IMHO – to the ends of the application process. Until the rough stuff is behind you, I respect the committee’s decision. I’m here to help those young and industrious writers helping those young and industrious writers write like those young and industrious writers on committee seats.

I’m thankful that my application process has ended. I have tried enough! Whew. Knowing that my investment of $1700 for applications fees will ensure that I’m accepted. My chances have increased with modesty. Thanks to all the friendly and helpful hands. I want to thank you with thorough vigor that the applicants will be accepted by consultants, I think they’re just great and their job is necessary, esp. for those young and industrious writers helping those young and industrious writers write like those young and industrious writers on consulting seats.

What I’m hearing now is that Iowa is best and that everyone has orgies at other programs. Other programs must seem “out there” to you. I’m hearing about an FSU program that competes with older programs. I didn’t apply here because I hate Philly. I hate what that trolling metastasizes. I fear it’s MFA “Surekill Exprsswy” I reluctantly often drag its Independence and uptalk my safe school: the Latrobe program. I want Latrobe in my blood so bad I fear Philly but Latrobe is where I want to write and be happy.

Wheelhouse

The New Wheelhouse Magazine is out!

New Work...

Please check out Alan Collier's Various Deaths. He tolerated my numerous nagging formatting quips and still published my piece "Translator of Kill." Thanks Alan!

I want a facial piercing preferably the size of a perception

The face you need is the face you project
Even if your nose is big or your eyebrows
Aren’t very pleasing to you
On a hundred foot billboard Visa application

Job silent, job special, job immediately
Hunting creeps on two toes
Even if those two toes are ingrown
And you had standby surgery with an intern

I perceive the face you pick
In a quiet whisper
Floating to me through your checklist
You want raisin eyes
And almond pupils
And big dimples you’ve always been missing
But these days August is in your eyes
They are the eyes you most definitely want

What’s not the exact face you requested
But the face you need to put on at job interviews
If you’re going to invest in another country
Hiring freezing many options for reconstruction.

great map with details added from untrustworthy people unknown to me

Loose in quilting last time

Into the factory wrinkle

Performance industry suit

While the turntable pancake

Nipple appledectomies.

Glean this snip

These henceforth rooster playmates

Aren’t designing my ladies’

Great map nonsense

Pretending to thoroughly undress enjoying

To be born again into backpain

Each puts a pin in a place with a fact

Then resents how your father acts

When he attempts “kiss the world clean”

I told him heavy duty reenactments

The nut doesn’t grow lump from the tree enough

Solvents are needed for that sick of a job

Don’t give up relentlessly

Give me rudeness unleashed

That cleaning won’t save you,

Not unless you’re equally committed to heavy duty.

And undercurrent of dark humor flows through and keeps refreshing

The turtle soup location is rinsed and evacuated

The big looming sharks swig cherry coke

Guilt and Interest

Guilt is so powerful to poverty since running out of money
relies on a lack of security in your actions
and in your spending choices. Bad people don’t supply their own choices
security, but the good people are where guilt is well
established and security is quaky, like in New York.

I come to doubt my choices
when it’s security I am missing, believing
my limitless cash would be better
outsourced in foie gras farming or minidisc production.

Credit works on guilt. In trusting you
companies realize guilt and toxic
relationships move large income generation.

Most large amounts of income are founded
not on hard work or even investment,
but on the ability to make a larger amount of people pay
for a product than what that product is actually worth.

Consumers feel guilty therapy when they research how to buy
And need one product,
so they punish themselves by paying too much for it.

Once the transaction is completed, customers feel
better having been punished.
Moreover, a bonus is that consumers
allow themselves to act as the direct
agent of their own punishment.
A conscience and its money are soon parted.

It’s easier to see how guilt works when
how guilt processes are concrete. With money,
this is almost never the case.
When cash becomes an abstract
as it does over the computer –
abstraction made easy with billions
upon billions of interest rates –
then guilt turns into something fuzzy.

Suddenly whoever holds the bag
no longer guilty, but is rich!
We don’t call our earning achievers to task,
only our spenders, so that only when cash
becomes an instrument do we
call it good (philanthropy or self-made)
or bad (embezzlement or laundering).

Kevin Davies en español

from page 96 in THE GOLDEN AGE OF PARAPHERNALIA.


#25

¿Alguna vez te ha pasado?
Es porque el libro tuvo
que ser escrito --
su autoridad creció de ausencia
Esta disciplina
se invulcra con unos cuantos mordiscos asi que
preparate
Una cresta
con una vista y una papa
un granjero mantiene un rencor lógico
Mandado hasta Europa
con lo que queda de la pierna izquierda de Jung
Que ahora mismo lo descubren en un sótano
de lo que era bibioteca
Generaciones del por que me mira este uniforme
O la capacidad

you are stupid if you are a real man

you are stupid if you are a real man and depressed
you are stupid if your area is a real man depressed
you are stupid if urea is a real man depressed
you are stupid if your lemon is a real man
you are depressed stupid, a depressing stupid
You are a stupid depressed Colombian University student from Columbia, SC
you are a depressed dentist, stupidly Colombian.
You are a stunning depressed stupid stumbler, Columbus!
You are stupid if you are a real man and present
when depressed, I like to be absent
from the faculty I use as a real man located in Colombian politics
and University stupidity, dePRESSED.
Your dentist area is depressed and real, man am I politics!
Man am I Colombian. Politician stupid! A student
from a real man goes depressed on a University sampler
in SC on a bus traveling at a stupid speed,
too stupid for depression
in Colombia especially are real men and being
if you are stupid and in your area your are not a real man
certainly not a depressed on, Colombian.
you are stupid and so is your urea man.
Columbus stumped with stupid stunted Universities, depressed
Depressed is the real man answer to Colombian lemon.

real men not allowed to be depressed

i am a real depressing man
scented with lemon
made in Colombia of depressed
extraction, a dentist is a real man
though a depressed year

results in more depressed olympics
in Colombia
where a dentist
is a lemon of a dressed man
in depressing SC
Columbus, where real men cry you
tell they are so depressed

Is the man chromosome a valid lemon
within the context of Colombia
ballet has found a new depressed
reaction to real men.

I am an artisan of the zone

I am an artisan of the zone
help my instance of occasion
help me with in space television
(the shot where the guy gets fired)
description of outsourced prison
attempting to describe crime is passion
as challenging occurrence of scales so impressive
and daunting this previous debuting

If by zoning recreation we are a mass producing deer in headlights
then I want to be on board
Please to accept such inevitable outlandish sweepstakes
will you contribute to my artisanry
via longing both on a tapestry
such a near bonding body
we are rumoring a tensile meeting
between touching and earthmoving
and the orange bubble of housing. Help us

I am yet another artisan second bad excuse of the zone
belching in the tool crepery
space is another outsider story request for help. HLEP!
Please deduce help from squeeze
my products possess think ripe power to indeed squeeze.
And that's why you final reason to pay
as we've discussing before
in final detail before for me to acquire
such a detailed and explanatory sign
foray no markings.

You just research
that ability to prosper in the zone
and get back to me. With iniquity,
as with most discussions
based around raunchy bloated loads
of examples and antecedents,
a powerful skiff must leave
its repressive owner, and says goodbye
to the shore. I'm just the artisan.

Africa....more complicated than we thought.

Up total number nabs recalls most hemmed-in proctorship
Ghosting a number coming to my mind
I can call this number you're telling me
It's you against me in Africa
What we're wearing is objectionable
The radio announcer is guano's guarantee
A preakness bat and our sexualizing imp will denature

Taking the nature face out of World Wildlife Feds
Fencing is freaky because it frightens fiends
And Friends both nasty and humpty are lolling
I guess nature is too much
Too much announcing occupies Africa and my cabin
Full of nuclear genital WHY questions
Like why the loose gin genitals
Like why the turbanization inside the epistolary cream sauce?
I baste the moisture voice
You get that from my cell
My cell with no African reach

from TEST ENGLISH AS A LANGUAGE

Technology…
disappeared,
our world would break down
Basically like we controlled it.

Question if technology in some ways
Firstly, technology mad our lives we don’t have to stay at home
an important phone call
backdays, when people wanted to know some from history
weren’t always on the market.
Today, an internet. porn until einstein’s theory
We don’t have to waste our time by commuting.
print it straight.
TV is the biggest triumph
Pass certain opinions
the most of money.
They have the great reason
Computers are the most made by computers.

business on all continent
trains would’t ride
planes would’t fly
boats wouldn’t just sail,
electricity wouldn’t work,
water would stop running
stocks would break down.

We can honestly say that we are addicted depends on them.
We basically use computers for each thing
going on our screens live
But it has also taken a lot but definitely not more.

The water cooler is full of mystery toxins

When I feel a real ocean
Of tension, in the dying postscripts
The post tits, the water cooler
Messages I’ve been on the harsher end of

Giant expense account boss sticks
When I feel the sobriety pain
The last name first name
Falling into a cool Heaney, Seamus
Pool of inalienable cool water
Who’d blame us under

Arguing on the internet
Competing in the paraOlympics
In the preachy pre-teen Platonic love insects
Plummeting from the ties of execs
Braking inches over the ground
Before the bladder heaves
To carom its silly legislature
Onto the nearest vindictive 24/7 suture.

good leader is sensitive enough to know his or her competitor will act

A man this interesting
for the first three to five years of their lives.
two huge young and adults
uncode their minds
organize the part of the aspect and is responsible
it's comfortable and cheap.
a performance rains on the day
dress up to attend wet
trouble by watching plays which need their audience
quiet and sit on the chair, sofa, inviting friends
screaming about the play, lying on the floor
Current of lives
I don't have to keep quiet
This situation is much easier
to pay than an expensive fee
$200 even $500 famous
play in a good seat.
I can watch without paying
clearer and finer

money...convictions
this guys more complicated that it seems
uproarious laughter
seeing through Mel Gibson's eyes
Family Guy
more complicated
frontal labotomy
shades of Iranian Palin

can we get them all in one shot (2)

I’m wondering can we explode
The two in the same Canon frame
To win this important photography contest

can we scrape those people together
putting this fragment of a head here
and this arm can match up creating
a picture where two sliced hands are doing actions
they would never do.

Two perfect hands together make a national
Interest coming together. Two torsos
From different owners could be cousins
All the people scraping this program
Is capable of and I got it free. It’s a lie
To consider paying for something that pops up
When you hit start but you can’t hold
In your hand like two similar dynamic bodies
Whose owners are alive and still fighting
Who gets them to pose

fragment...Can we get those bombs together in one shot

I’m wondering can we explode
The two in the same Canon frame
To win this important photography contest

Our countries have people really angry at each other living within the borders
And when you poke your fingers in my business and my business stares back with Discount cigarettes and dynamite….anger flares
Into a force worthy of war. War should be over your plate when you think about it
While you’re pondering
War will be worth cutting your family dinner up with knives
So there’s war, and the people aren’t giving up on war
They will find a way to split family into sharp focus
Because food is precious and family is lame excess baggage!
But then happiness also presents an alternate route
Because you can marry an unimportant stranger who was before an enemy
And then without an answer, the dictator unleashes a special round
And your housepet dies in an ethnic conflict television
Where kisses bomb to get warm in the glow of their explosion

I will S$#% you a cake

If you cannot spell your own name getting a cake is going to be a difficult project.
Because entering a grocery store without knowing the spelling is terrible and most grocers refer to it, a shit cake when produced in a hurry is the result.

Anyway, you won’t have to worry about embarrassment because I’m going to shit you a cake in celebration of the fact that helping to spell your name when there’s better shit out
Is what I’m going to hand you: the shit cake but in several pieces like movements, each with its own soloist and appreciated for the ability to lick its own foot. You’re going to love requesting the same shit cake every year but with different candles for your age. This is actually the easiest part- burning.

Each age has its own shits and a giant recycler to assure the size and shape of all cakes equal rights don't deny when you shovel it down. This explains why shit cake rules the most powerful regents exams scores without studying with perfect due to the cake celebrity.

MLB Mascots Need to Have TALENT!?

Many people wear uniforms to work, but as a MLB team mascot, you wear fur. I’m sure the temperatures inside your assumed personality are higher than outside where you’d actually face the world, so specific personality traits are needed to support this biosphere. Of the many, one or two: be decisive and be tolerant.

If you work and wear a uniform, it is easy to describe and you are kept apart by your distinctive dress.

The ability to make decisions without needless explaining has been the trademark of presidents and team captains the world over, and yet this fairly in-demand skill also applies to MLB team mascots. In baseball, unlike in other sports, each batter's object is to kill the mascot. [Generally speaking, this is accomplished by striking a wound yarn-like sphere with a Louisville-manufactured and lacquered piece of stretched pinewood by forcing said pinewood to ply a trajectory starting at the shoulder facing upward at a near 25-degree angle away from the face and moving through the chest, straight out from the body and pointing the thickest section away from the body by fully extending the arms and breaking the wrists to allow the pinewood to end up near the other shoulder or on the ground, this latter position again forming an angle of 35 degrees from the waistline. The entire movement describes a large lemon-sliced semi-circle.] In order to avoid death by a bean, a mascot must be possessed with decisiveness to avoid the ball, distances him or her with speed. Stepping to the right or left, forward or backward; to end up where the ball isn’t. And while this might seem easy, the actual task of avoiding a projectile moving at 100+ MPH is rather difficult and requires not the least bit of dexterity and decision-making. This steadfastness of spirit also comes into play with mascot behavioral limbs: a good mascot will incite and induce the crowd, actually anticipating actions and predicting what the crowd needs, not what it wants with a dancing pirate or bear wearing a jersey or swinging a tomohawk. A good mascot’s split second decision brings a crowd to ovation-like reverence for nothing more than a typical base hit. But it’s the essence of the mascot that occupies the field and that gets the crowd cheerful and carefree in an otherwise hostile atmosphere of play.

Tolerance is the social grace of cockroaches, they say. But the ideal mascot must perform like cockroach during a grace period. There will be many instances of fanatics shouting lewd and unsportsmanlike commentary for which they’ve paid fair market ticket prices about your family, hoping to get under your furry little rung, but ideally, mascot tolerance should hold. The fledgling exuberance of small fans could have carried you through an entire doubleheader, but it’s the stainless demeanor of a weathered caddy that works a miracle with angry facial demonstrations and converts them to overt resignations in a pall of your team’s vast superiority. Able mascots deflect personal assault with ease and are highly-prized assets in a world of both virtual, masked and aerial attacks – comprised of elements taken from both physical and psy-ops camps — levied against the several personalities behind our petty symbologies, and thus demand is reflected in salary negotiations, recent advances in our friends' free agency, and research forays into mascot PTSD vis-à-vis recent Gulf War subway series.

Therefore, the ideal mascot is far from milquetoast or accommodating without cause: The ideal mascot allows enough fan freedom to convince teams’ constituencies of sovereignty granted by a sincere and impartial governing body whose true identity remains only speculated.

the in-laws

My in-laws are in town this week, which means I'm doing more talking and touring than writing. I think it's good to leave writing to others for awhile, then get back to it later. Recently, Michael Stewart visited and we discussed, among many other things, the superabundance of writers and writing in the world today. And how it needs to calm down a bit.

If not ever before, writing is now accepted by the establishment as being present in the world. In general, this is true in NYC- art is everywhere; you can stop giving to the NEA.

So I'm taking a writing rest. I think I might read INFINITE JEST.

Sprung Formal '09

Sprung Formal is such a well-put together publication. A publication's publication: glossy and full of great art and poems.

I'm in the latest. But just in case that's enough for you not to buy, a lot of other amazingly talented writers and artists' [Fantastic art and literature by Eirikur Orn Norodahl, Mike Hauser, Josef Kaplan, Brandon Brown, Alli Warren, Jasper Bernes, David Perry, Kari Frietag, Todd Colby, Sarah Luther, Linda Lay, Sarah Sarai, Nada Gordon, Sawako Nakayasu, Jordan Stempleman, Nathan Logan, Edwin Torres, James Meetze, Sarah Mangold, Alex Savage, Maurice Burford, Jess Rowan, Charlie Mylie, and others.] work can be read there too.

Memorial

Wifebeater dress child
Wifebeater ball
Cart bike ball dog
Man tattoo wife meat grill
Sound bar wife
Music sound smoke sound
Sundress loafer frizz wave
Shout partition mistress pardon salsa
Ball moto bike doll cry
kid ball dog ball kid bog
Ball kiddie ball kiddie
Body body
Body body
Wifebeater gym dress
Wifebeater guess
Child ice cream music
Icebox body
Beer beer
Beer mixer
Beer clear
Music sound ball
Ball sound dog
Dog dog sound dog
Music music muuu muUu
Eyed mistress
Mum mum drop kid dog
Spill pardon spill partition shout
Salsa meringue salsa meringue
Ball moto moto ball gass frizz

Gestures

VIII

I saw a guy gesturing wildly
From the chairlift I was choosing to ski
I was choosing to ignore his rampage
In the skies.

He was shouting a message about his appendix
I wanted really badly to see it explode in the sky
Like a bunch of fireworks
With food stuffed in them.

I would soon forget his gestures.
It’s so easy to forget what you saw
A stuffed puppy opened up
To reveal more stuffed puppies inside
Infinity.

History Makes People Bad People Everywhere (2)

History has made bad people everywhere
Without anyone controlling it.
They beefed control up
And security remains light
Even though what you see is when a vision
Gets out-of-hand

The bad people are escaping
And we turn our eyes to see them run
Great fun can sometimes be had
Watching bad people escape
When these use unusual ways to do it.

Another source of my newfound desire
To implant significant changes in artificial areas
Is that good people are turned down often by bad people
As if the bad know the good are doomed
And aren’t equipped for the job.

Bad good people are also feverish
To get a hold of bad bad people
Who do impressions of the bad good
For sake of laughs for the sake of ska

An aspect of ska has changed
And these bad people are there witnessing
The new dances and recordings that pass for this format
The bad idea police are around, too.

Some more history lessons for you:
In the garden of bad and good, people are grown.
These growth spots are called “historical”
They frequently are given signs
Near entrances where high visitor numbers register.
Registers know they are doomed
But manage to eek a living out
Forming proceeds, or what we call donor-a-thons
Comprised of seriously committed bad people
And the individuals made up numbers.

Here is how history turns a profit
And gets the regular joes shouting
This guy reinforced that guy’s desire
Or enforced the rules and security that guy thought bad
And these two guys shout in magic code
Using dates and facts that bad people manipulate
So that the argument is based on zip but bad research.

Alfredo and Animals

Alfredo notices the shimmering lakes, where there are sometimes golf players. One hunched over and pulled out an automatic weapon. The game was over. He notices that he steps out of the condo and wipes off a cigarette, lights it and immediately the air conditioner kicks on. Eighty degrees in the shade is a no can-do. Certainly you must know that Alfredo doesn’t yet like suburbs. He says "depressing" and "lacks originality" when we solicit reasons. Nothing in a suburb is out of the ordinary, Alfredo adds. My ordinary thinking cannot contain suburb. Even the salsa music is boring and detached, as if the band is being followed by debtors owed a lot of money and the drummer just did something bad to one of his own body parts. The car slowly passes Alfredo sucking down a cigarette barefoot.

I open the can and feed your face with garbanzos because you are ignorant of their power

I am going to shotgun a can of garbanzos open
And then pour these little peas into our mouths
Then you can say we ate with violence
And the tantrum revels in itself
In my nation of movement red face
With a shotgun and redfaced
Because the garbanzos are interfering with your Shabba Ranks-
Induced song fest
You make me eat when others can’t

(eat me)
You hold the shotgun and make me eat now.
We are violent together at dinner.
Dinner should be the point we meet to discuss gun politics.
The politics of holding a gun while having a spoonful of something goooood.
And how you enjoy it so much more with a gun to your head.
It’s the last day of eating with that shotgun
Because it is rented and should be returned
Since the rightful owner asked
And swore nicely to not reduce our garbanzo portions
Loading the garbanzos into the barrel and feeding you in an unforgettable way.
Your fingers are entering the can where the garbanzos exist
Having bright ideas about garbanzo purposes
Put to good use rubbed on your face as a giant mask
Overlooking your important flaws
So you get to be in a magazine
You get to be the garbanzo fan of shotguns
For a moment while I then mix the garbanzos into my face
In a way that suggests another culture’s mask
Honoring all traditions but accepting of the new garbanzo variety
So that we’re garbanzo wearer South Caribbean (Caribe Warrior) #1
And Iroquois High Priest in the Middle of a Commerce Problem with French Canadians
#3

Force the car industry to rebuild the rails.

Force the car industry to rebuild the rails. First let's drink to industry, the backbone in practical collision. I had the idea, stimulating first the economy

Since many urban and domestic railways and beds were destroyed by those vying for roads, the institution of the seatbelt returning to demands within seventies public dialogue tapes, during the last century

Why not stimulate, we’d be losing out, car companies and those bankrupt agencies, by conscripting (a forced contractual) to rebuild the face of national travel

And other integral trails of public ambulance. I say they owe us, the bums. Two hits in as many innings, why buy seats? Highly powerful officials could

Lay the foundation, manufacturing this would recreate jobs and industry, create playable and laugh heavy contexts; steel would be needed again, plus cars for the rails and consumer demand travel via rail over large swatches of what I'm holding my hand over magically appearing: land. Of course they would be hiring

Towns wouldn't be bystanders in the kitchen while the batter of their own destruction is dicey; they would have donors before, to assure the fixation with conductors

And beneficiaries would plummet from the stones and trees instead of from the windows and buildings.

Rebuilding the rails would open up new historical bounty. We could foray into unknown areas of public life. Travel would become brilliant. A cheap nation on the verge of traveling to all corners with the trains always. Clean and safe environmentally friends. And a manufacturing center so goal-oriented. Objects made in America feed America. These produce are within our breadbasket. And they feed a very American urge to construct your own objects you plan to use.

Such Heartfelt and Really Pressing Swine Problems

I reordered the correct serial number
Amount, quality, stock

But for some reason
The giant swine tongue arrived instead

Coats all sizes in mud packs and swill
Uncomfortable licking

Jumps into action
In activation mode

To renew your outdated
I’m swamped with work

So I sawed off bosses
Into a swine garage

Where playthings are terrified in their places
Touch puts the right on

Covering their petite ingénue requirement cost
A gigantic rubber sum

Angry teen swine yelling
For angry teen swine to call.

Jump to showing swine in contact with press division
Bejeweled shows held in captivity by swine

Your licking disconvenience
Heard within headphones of the amount,

Quality, stock but some weird reason
Took our attention.

A large barnacle
Escapism

I have fallen into the Niagara Sound of Snot

I cannot tell which side of you is upside. I put the upside down
I request you to put your happy things back
In their original drawstring restrained place locators
And get into the waiting
Exuberant fishhook that has come to fetch us
On a string, I’m exciting
The waiting sensation in you and you have glowed red
For too long I wonder about overheating
When you arrive the space between us will decrease and your heart
I am into the gassy heart refueling
Will be even with the place my heart used to be
Now I am required to have surgery and implant nozzles
When I was younger and hadn’t grown
Life without a fill station was embarrassing, it was like
You didn’t live on a point between anyone
I would not grow in your presence
I didn’t dare turn myself inside out
Seeking what Buddhists call “drought”
I had fallen into the Niagara Sound of Snot
A rifle spigot of snot shot
Discriminating and found a tissue target
In a big fat hurry with loud sneakers
A flotsam in my palm turned on
And the harmony in my alphabetizing quaked
My micro-managing spam damaging film noir cheetoes hands
Bust soaking to the silvery nads with rich snot
A glowering through a lens of this texture slips
And later found a town in a beard without the proper septic hookups
Getting to create and meet people
Created by town fathers and mothers who don’t give a lick
About what waterfalls urban outfitters sew flowing down
A sound made when two people snore
Their eyes locking with odors in enclosed room and their toes rub
And when the rub vanishes there are flu symptoms

Britain's Got Malice

-- after the previous post

Some exports endure, some exports get tired
Can’t you see the tired look of that tired song
In tired clothing dirty as it goes along?

Some countries relax in the sun and bathe
Cleaning the cracks and crevices infrastructurally
When Britain, and swimming goes together
An all out orgy on the pb&j happens

This Britain, this Martian
Serving with opened zipper for a homeland
Pierced my defenses very
Very difficult on the eyes
Jackhammer on the eyes

Britain is the one with no sex laws
Sheep vote there, and I’m a registered brahma
And a hairy angel overlapping both parties

Saved on bad doo day
Mousse soufflé
Frumpy pumpkin with most British smiles
Hosts a Canadian dumping into a Canadian postal reservoir
Where all the mail kids go
When they go defile (leave) Britain.
My own emotions
Sprung forth from a very undeliverable missile silo.

Who speaks like this?

"She pierced my defenses," said Lisa Schwarzbaum of U.S. publication Entertainment Weekly. "She reordered the measure of beauty. And I had no idea until tears sprang how desperately I need that corrective from time to time."

My own emotions sprung forth from a very undeliverable missile silo!

Quote of the day

taken from a review my cousin, Sean Lawson, wrote here:

"'First Communion' starts off really glitchy and electronic-y at first, but then it launches into something that makes me want to dance like I’m in the future."

Flarf All Who May

Kevin and Melissa,

I will address Melissa’s point about Flarf’s failure viz. its very own private descent into chaos first, and then address Kevin’s concerns.

I understand Sewell’s comments as being the desire to be understood and the desire to manipulate the understandable so that it “stretches” its meaning to include everything. Since that which is epic, mythic, monolithic and immensely universal can only be said in one way, we need to stretch what we say to encompass this universal, or at least what we attempt to reach. Though in an attempt to approach this chaos, we risk becoming chaotic too. So through inclusion we become more chaotic, and through exclusion we become more silent, which seems true to me, and obviously to Sewell, and apparently to those in this conversation as well.

I have several objections, the first and second to Sewell’s binary of language, and in regards to language used to potentially manipulate.
When I communicate I wish you to gain the same message I intend to send inasmuch as if I lie my goal is corroded and this counterproductively causes a communication breakdown. You wouldn’t understand what I understand, nor would you be able to respond, since I would be thinking one thing and you'd be responding with another in answering what you assumed I had said. The intention to do this is called doublespeak, and it’s this doublespeak that represents my first objection to the possibility of Sewell’s binary being the only way to understand language.

I want to clarify before continuing that I don’t assume that Flarf or any poetry (school) seeks to intentionally manipulate since I don’t think poetry’s main goal is to communicate in the above manner at all, but rather to convey image and impression, to disrupt cliche, and finally, to put disreputable language on the chopping block. In poetry, if you interpret my (in this case, the writer's) words differently from how I "meant" them, so be it.

So, primarily, the meaning that we look for in prose isn’t delivered in the same way in poetry, and in many cases meaning isn't delivered at all, unless you're missing the subtext. For example, if you read “The Road Less Traveled” as a poem, you realize that the poem is discussing the imagery associated with decisions and choices while telling about a decision the narrator made to take a path that most hadn't taken. On the other hand, if you read “The Road Less Traveled” as having meaning -- since meaning is something we all should only understand as proceeding from authorial command sent directly to readers (praying, and assuming readers don't misconstrue the author's language and since we assume that our prose communicates one thing and one thing only -- then we’d take the words to be only about a narrator lost in the woods and who then chooses a path that isn’t well-worn, which if you’re really lost in the woods is a really stupid choice. If Frost were a journalist, to write an article entitled, "How to Find Your Way Out of the Big Bad Jungle," would be manipulative and misleading but yet he would then be communicating meaning. If Frost wanted to communicate a reality, then he would be manipulating his reader into assuming that he is referring to woods and paths and that he's actually been in the woods rather than what he’s actually referring to, e.g., choosing to leave his wife or to kill himself, or to buy X toothpaste over Y, etc. If he wants to tell us to leave our wives or kill ourselves or buy the sensitive brand paste, but he says something different then Frost is being obtuse and obscures meaning through manipulation (subterfuge as manipulation). So it is this doublespeak, or doubletalk, that in literature might pose a threat to the idea that we’re conflicted between inclusion and exclusion.

[I also object to Sewell's binary simply because life isn't a binary: good/evil, black/white, Yankees/Red Sox aren't really the only options...but this is another discussion]

My third/next objection is to the claim that Flarf fails by becoming too chaotic in it’s own language and is based on a historical objection: we cannot possibly understand Flarf outside of the historical event that shaped it (at least that which made it the flower that most claim to hate currently), 9/11. This isn’t to say that if we haven’t lived through 9/11, we cannot possibly understand Flarf, but rather that for a more thorough understanding of Flarf we need to look at when and why (to the best of our ability, at least) it came about.

In the time period following 9/11, Flarf was seen as largely a reaction to the type of doublespeak that threatened to end Sewell’s binary above. The reason why the post-9/11 political climate threatened to end the inclusion/exclusion conflict is because politics in this era excluded through inclusion and included through exclusion. When you include through exclusion it’s called deceit. A perfect example of how politics deceived the public was by positing a theory, “Bin Laden did it,” and then passively encouraging that theory to spread while failing to provide sufficient evidence. Regardless of the truth, what follows is a vacuum: people assume that Bin Laden did it because “the TV said so,” and that there are “those in government who know the real truth even though we don’t.” The exclusion of truth here by media, government, and just about every talking head from here to Warsaw meant that the public then supplied it’s own interpretation (since we need answers and hate doubt and ambiguity). Flarf acted as one way (not THE way) within the poetry community (if there is one, that is) that poets were moving to counteract this attempt to turn the irrational into the dominant political philosophy (whether this worked is a different story, since as you might expect, not many people in power read poetry…). Flarf's stance seemed to be 1) listen to Bush's bullshit, 2) in disbelief, withdraw from a logical parry of said bullshit, since "if you're not with us you're against us," 3) engage in action whose message might be: your lack of logic means nothing, we know you're being illogical and we're going to create even more uncomfortable messages that expose the soft-authoritarian-cum-aggressive authoritarian bent of the current regime as specious and mere doublespeak, perhaps by flooding academic communities/poetry readings/culture with messages that muddy the regime's message (a message which claims it communicates but that actually doesn't, we should note again). If our message means nothing, more are likely to realize that in this heightened political climate, NO message serves to communicate, but rather to cause confusion, chaos and fear through labeling and sliding definitions of foreign policy, who's good and bad, and to hide the truth, this truth being that solving any problem isn't as easy as invading another country.


As to the accusation that Flarf is merely hipster irony, I ask: is Flarf even ironic? How can anything nonsensical be ironic at the same time? Irony requires understanding. And because Flarf seems to me to be not ironic but circuitous and a way to circumvent understanding (and misunderstanding, in that if there’s no assumed understanding, the expectation to “understand” doesn’t exist; the same works with Flarf's relationship with meaning). And so, Flarf circumvents “meaning,” as all poetry does. What a poem means to me is different from what it means to you. And this should be so, for things would be boring if it were any different.


I just received Rodney Koeneke’s RULES FOR DRINKING FORTIES. Koeneke is a very sharp writer, and I highly admire and recommend his work. Anyhow, I figured I’d best illustrate the problems with searching for meaning by quoting from Koeneke’s book, specifically, the poetic epigraph by Hannah Weiner:

details submit for
who ma

[Here I should note that there's about TAB's worth of space between details and submit that Blogger won't let me format...]

Ok, now: what does this MEAN? Anyone? (And when we're talking meaning here, we mean "what one message is there to be taken from this? What does this communicate?"

How does meaning have anything to do with poetry? How can it, since language is immense and this world is fractured and made up of 6 billion+ different interpretations?

I think the problem here is that we haven’t read enough Flarf, we haven’t read enough poetry, and we’re too lazy to assume that Flarf isn’t just one thing. Flarf is bathos, creepy, eerie, fun, boring, lazy, ironic, pat, provocative, smelly, corny, lame and trite. But this doesn’t mean that all Flarf has all of these characteristics, nor does it mean that all Flarf “poets” (I’m using scare quotes here because most writers of Flarf also write other types and styles of poetry as well) are only these things. To oversimplify and say that all Flarf is irony or hipstery or sucky or meaningless really does a disservice to all poetry, since Flarf is poetry and shares some of other poetic school’s characteristics, it insinuates that the harsh judge of Flarf is also willing to censor other poetry once it becomes “too much.”

I had a bad death thing happen to me.

Last year with a bad death pounding happened to me. Honestly into an open otter I fell, I found the solution…avoid thinking about the bad doctors giving me obnoxious suggestions. So often the spikes on the tail interfere. Focus on the family and James Dobson and HPV: bad mix. Spiny pine cones eagerly connect the eardrum and doldrums. What usually replaces my thoughts is to what bad death is to hearing from bad doctors. Luckily, I was transformed from a better person into an large Canadian Ice Shelf with heartwarming problems. Destiny now is outscorching a tween’s rounded out tan schedule. With a bad death pounding inside me last year.

Every Year...

The groundhog peeps it's wee head from the hole and says the same thing:

Poetry is dying. Get off my lawn.


Snore.

I'm convinced -- over the heads of Newsweek I'm sure, since they can't understand how the first Internet president "happened" (conjecture on my part) -- that reader's habits are now changing faster than survey goons can invent silly questions. Moreover, in an industry where bleeding leads, it's good business sense to declare deaths of genres each year.

More Flarf

I'm responding to this here post by Kevin.


Dear Kevin,

You make a lot of assumptions, about poetry, about philosophy and certainly about Flarf here.

The above poem [in your post] isn't flarf: it's more like a copy of what Flarf seems like to someone who doesn't get it.

I should also add that you don't like what you don't like, and no one can argue with that. So a good point to start off a critique of Flarf might be to ask just what it is that you don't like about Flarf and go from there.

But, your characterization of Flarf as plagiarism is a mischaracterization. Considering that poetry has often appropriated, and that some would contest that found poetry leans more toward plagiarism than Flarf, it seems weird to accuse Flarf of plagiarism

For more on what is NOT plagiarism, see here.

You further say this:

Before anyone argues that this “lack of style” ought to be considered a style all its own I’d like to state that such an argument cannot be construed as viable in any sense.

To which I ask, why? Why can't misspellings and mistakes of various kinds be considered style? Let's argue it. Not before, but now. Why can't these be style? Who's to say that they can't?

Another assumption: poetry communicates "meaning."

Another: poetry communicates a linearly grasped idea (plot--> progression-->terminus)= pat idea/statement of "meaning" to reader? Are poems supposed to "mean" things? Is your "meaning" my "meaning"?

Another: Flarf communicates nothing. (Have you ever read "Chicks Dig War" by Drew Gardner?)

Please read “Chicks Dig War” and then come back to your blog and tell me that Flarf communicates nothing, nothing about war, nothing about chicks digging it, nothing about GWAR.

Did I plagiarize?

Gnoetry?

Yes, Gnoetry

The very one that Arnold battles in the jungle

Are the people who reviewed this movie all named
Helen Keller? Can you search the ignominious
Tracts of jungle wrinkle for my nekkid boyish
Frame to come bounding toward you
Vesting you with interest
And a minigun rumbling sending sailors to heaven.

I’m honestly feeling like choosing between better bullets
And being economic is not getting hit
And bleeding that costly anti-freeze Joop cologne KY mix
Over leaves and tropical fauna
Green covering cute and bizarre faces!
Protect these animals
For sacrifice! Don’t bleed
On them! Their goilie furs.
Bleeding rays releasing agro statements


*sigh*


I’m charged up: six men and one woman
Where a lot can happen between the military
And the people the military are chasing.
If the military is chased, smiles exchanged. Encouragement
Rages on gingerly. Rules are involved, cramming

Do you know who I am? I am yakking
Up blood rivers. Yours is putrid backwater
Filled with plastic bottles and hypodermics. And your spine
Will be realigned and loose
And no more sports or driving hard to the hoop.
Not in this sweltering apron
“Just answering to the Messiah”
Our cats are thinking messes”
The things I want tattooed
The 5th element or nine eleven

More Collapse

In THE HANDBOOK OF POETIC LANGUAGE, Stan Apps discusses poetry as a format of writing that becomes "unsuccessful language" and "meaning is a commodity." In a downturn, money -- and not just the dollar -- loses all value in any communicative/exchangeable value it may have. In a downturn, money becomes poetic. What's interesting about this downturn -- compared with other, non-globalized whimpy whimpy downturns -- is that it won't be just the dollar, but all currencies. We won't only be dealing with a devaluation of one country's currency (Oh, how cute! Old fashioned US Dollars!) but of them all. Currency, as a idea backed by a standard (federal banks, money presses, etc) becomes poetic, or unsuccessful.

Another NY Times-hating moment

"All 2,982 names together, arrayed atop parapets stretching more than 1,500 feet around two great pools, will convey the vastness of the loss."

When the world gives you insincerity ringing in your ears...

...make earrings?

someone sent me a poem about rhymes and threatened to go to the police

I think poems should rhyme
I think poems should rhyme
This way, you can memorize
The word I've chosen here
And what nasty idea came into my head
Here and here, also there
Where the line ends, that's a rhyme
Not just end rhyme but bizarro rhyme
Breaking when you least expect
There to be a fracture
Interrupting the line there's rhyme
I believe you should like rhyme
If you don't die

Then you should like rhyme because
It's memorable and you can remember it well
It's a saving fact that poems have
A poem about feelings and absurd rhyming skills
Engineered first to make you laugh
Then making you falling
In love with Ruth Lilly's mustache
What do you rhyme with that? cereal tits?

I ate so much bread I became infected with rhyme
Someone put Be Delicious perfume on their vagina
And that become part of a rhyme too.
Some writers shout their rhymes because they need hearing
Others listen and observe the natural order of the universe
Which has rhyming programmed in it naturally.

For me, the best rhyme is a middle rhyme with not
Too much power taken from delivery.
If you have to incite your poetry crowd
There are too many people at your reading
And this means you need less rhyme.

I know other writers who collect odd words
And attempt to rhyme these words with old fashioned
Words, and they no longer exist! It's fantasy!
Words cannot rhyme with nothing that doesn't exist!

What doesn't rhyme is poetry and political
Messages. Those don't rhyme!
Poetry should never be political. it's just
Talk set to music or some reader's idea
Of what a rhyme should sound like
Not anyone having the slightest inkling
To know what these words sounds make.
So there are many other uses for your poem
Like not being a poem but instead a speech
That you give that confuses people
Because Beowulf was real and you’re not.

And that's the rhyming theory
Expressed easily for you fans of rhyme
Remember that rhyme is simple and you can
Warm up with practice and repetition. begin small
Try writing first a word and then a word that is similar.
That can be a rhyme.
A rhyme can fit into a line.
You don't have to be exact.

On my end, somewhat speculatively -- probably due to the cold medication -- I've been thinking a lot about collapsitarianism lately, and about the great "what if," if all this fails...if we're thrown into some strange proto-agrarian dystopia (dystopian in that the vast majority do not know how to produce), what next? The sequence is alarming, this kind of change isn't always good. It seems to me that the following is true: Stimulus is the preservation of government and business by both government and business. If these both fail to self-preserve, then you'll have your libertarianism, and a whole lot more.

But -- and here's the trickiness of it -- if both fail, and if money and all fiats fail, then this still doesn't sync with what most are talking about in these collapsitarian circles, namely, that we're screwed, that progress is down the shitter. In a sense, it's a tap of the "restart" button. We'll be faced with a massive re-thinking of value and other tenets we've taken for granted because money has allowed us to take them for granted. Debt and lending have thrown ideas of value and worth into a tailspin. What matters now is what you paid. What you'll pay, who'll pay you and how much. This is a great abstraction and it seems as though its time is up. So regardless of civil liberties guaranteed by a government nullified by empty coffers and emptier promises, as well as voided by collapse as a legislator of ANYTHING moralistic or economic or otherwise, rather what we'll be asking is what to do when money no longer fulfills a barter/commerce agreement.What do you have that will guarantee you a good, hot meal.

Teeth make your face stink

Controversial iota
Boy gone bad bacteria
I’m not from Atlanta I’m Colorblind
Googled stink tooth

GEEK stink & dogs of march walking
Guess which arrives first?
Big crater object
Australians claim the deadliest creatures proudly
Workshop fleas in Crab Catamount
Your teeth stink? Gaza STINKS!

I'm Going to Clone Myself Then Kill the Clone and Eat it

is a book by Sam Pink, which sounds like a pseudonym, but is actually what results when James Tate, David Markson and Tyler Durden have a baby together.

What I really want to say, though, is that this book is one of those books that gets you thinking, "Shit, I'm not writing enough. I need to PUSH myself." And also, "I'm a wuss for thinking this. I should just write." And also, "I should collage violent acts into poems." Then you realize, "Oh, Pink aleady did that. Hilarious."

Warning: Pink's book contains no violence...

...and pushes the envelope so far (& successfully, I should add) that I've turned again to other work I've written that I've been "stuck" on.

I need to risk more, I think. Once I have a looksee over some "stuck" pieces, I'll let you know someday what exactly I mean by "risking more" and just what type of "risk" I'm talking about.

Now I'm going to read into this conceptually, and while I'm unsure that Pink would want this, if he doesn't like it he can go floss with my G-string on fire...

One thing that sticks out in my mind is Spicer's idea of serial work, and how Pink taps into this vein, writing what could easily have been two books (168 pages) that draws heavily on one theme. But where other attempts of others writers to write "twee" into socially unacceptable themes haven't worked, Pinks tract on violence works very well indeed. I'm not sure why, but I think it has to do with the book's final poem about "beating a dead horse." Pink beats well, and to sustain this kind of hilarity for 168 pages without seeming too cute or clever is an accomplishment.