Wednesday, May 30, 2007

What is Neckface?

Just south of the 14th Street exit, Neckface tagged the back of a northbound road sign on FDR Drive that you can only see when you're driving in the southbound lane. Neckface asks: "What is Neckface?"

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Poem for Little Robots

Almond wind blowing over
a sad sack of ginger glue
the mild detergent
is making the ocean
my honey is gunky
my day is bungled
with the artifice of grass
I tuned the glint of light
to a low D with a forecast
of more than pain
and still
the little robots:
they grab back and
they're good at it--
I tell you;
they've really got it
going on.
nice shoes--
for a robot.

Monday, May 28, 2007

Oh! CocoRosie!

Poem for Coffee Drinkers

He had an annoying self-assuredness
that made us bristle when he spoke.

Saturday, May 26, 2007

Star! Peppermint Life!

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Right Now

I am sitting in a limo with Jay-Z sipping a mango smoothie.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Sandra Simonds Reviews My Very Own Tremble & Shine (Click Here)

Acts of Kindness

A few months ago I had this idea about killing someone with kindness. I figured it’s worth trying because of the enormous difficulty of actually committing homicide with an act of kindness. I thought I’d start by killing a few ex-friends that had been a thorn in my side by calling them and complimenting them on their life choices and good fortune. I imagined that I’d be able to hear a loud pop followed by an abrupt choking sound on the other end, which would indicate that whichever ex-friend I was talking to had in fact been slain by my kindness. But at the same time I was struck by the likelihood that getting a call from me out of the blue might simply confuse some of them and create an awkward situation that would make me nostalgic for the power I’d previously held over them with my silence. I also knew that if one of the calls turned sour I’d torture myself by replaying the failure to kill them with kindness over and over again in my head. I reminded myself that there might even be several ex-friends who would hang up on me the instant they heard my voice. The bottom line is I don’t hate any of my ex-friends enough to kill them, so that really wasn’t the best place to start. Then it occurred to me that I could kill the neighbors upstairs by becoming exceedingly kind to them. The next time I hear them stomping down the stairs I could open my door and say "So, where are you two going on such a beautiful day?" The hard part would be not letting any sarcasm creep into my voice while maintaining friendly eye contact with the very people I abhor. In a sense, I would have to play the role of "The Person with Kindness" so convincingly that it would actually kill the neighbors upstairs.

One icy morning after I’d made my decision to kill them with kindness, I peeked through the blinds and saw the woman upstairs walking her dogs out front. As she struggled to hold onto the leash connected to her two mangy gray poodles, she slipped and fell face first on the ice-covered sidewalk. It startled her dogs when she fell and they tugged harder, dragging her a bit on her face as she struggled to get to her feet. Watching her plight gave me a pleasant tight sensation in my throat. I recognized that this was a perfect opportunity to kill her with kindness, but I didn't want to help her, it was more pleasant to watch her struggle with the dogs. When she stood up, she turned abruptly and looked up at my window. Once I got a glimpse of the blood smeared on her chin I let the aluminum blinds slap shut, and leapt into bed. I spent the next few hours under the covers while I replayed the image in my head of her looking up at me with blood on her chin. I saw this incident as an indication that it was okay to try and kill her and her boyfriend with kindness.

Whenever I begin a new project I always put isopropyl alcohol on a paper towel and rub it on the entire surface of my desk in order to kill any germs that might have accumulated there from the previous project. While the isopropyl alcohol was evaporating I wondered what would happen if a person’s entire body were submerged in a bathtub full of isopropyl alcohol for a few hours. Surely the person who was submerged in the isopropyl alcohol would have to use a long tube to breathe through, like a snorkel. If I submerged one of the neighbors upstairs in a bathtub full of isopropyl alcohol, would offering one of them a tube to breathe through be the act of kindness that would kill them, or would the cruelty of submerging them in a tub of isopropyl alcohol be the agent of death? Would the neighbor’s skin eventually be dried off? Would their head and body become shrunken? Part of isopropyl alcohol’s sensation of coldness on the skin is its rapid process of evaporation. And what about the eyes? Surely the isopropyl alcohol would cause enormous pain as it seeped its way into the eyes. What about the rectum? The vagina? The penis? Or any open wounds, cuts or scrapes that my upstairs neighbors had? Surely there would be enormous stinging pain in the individual submerged in the isopropyl alcohol, which would definitely outweigh any act of kindness I could offer the person submerged in the bathtub full of isopropyl alcohol. Eventually I discarded this idea and credited myself with being much more rational than I thought I was.

A few weeks ago, when I was walking home, I thought about going directly upstairs and telling the neighbors to go ahead and stomp around and let their dogs bark as much as they wanted because I’m planning to buy a set of earplugs that are designed to block out almost any noise that they could make. I had a certain bounce in my step as I walked home because I felt victorious about my new ability to block them out. It’s not a good idea to get caught in the loop of hate with them, which is why I decided to tell them outright that I didn’t want to get caught in the loop of hate with them, which is also why I was going to buy the earplugs in the first place. If I think about them too much it gets me in the loop of hate with them, and then all I can think about is them. If I’m in the loop of hate with them, then I can’t think about observing them as they leave the building with their dogs. When I got home I found my big red marker and wrote "AVOID THE LOOP OF HATE" on a piece of typing paper and tacked it to the wall in front of my desk as a reminder. I decided not to tell the people upstairs about my plans to buy the earplugs because I was afraid I hadn’t yet rehearsed exactly how I was going to phrase my announcement. I wanted them to understand without a doubt that I knew all about the loop of hate and I was doing everything in my power, and then some, to avoid getting into the loop with them. I would try to make it as clear as possible that once I purchased the earplugs, they would no longer have any power over me with their various noises. I knew that if I’d gone up there without feeling perfectly calm and self-confident about what I was going to say, then there was the distinct possibility that they would hear the stress in my voice and not take me seriously, or take me too seriously and freak out. I didn’t want to be the butt of their jokes, or the agent of their fear, I simply wanted to kill them with kindness.

I thought what better way to flatter the people upstairs than by telling them that I’m writing a book about my experiences while living downstairs from them. I thought I‘d tell them that they are such fascinating subjects that they have become the central characters in my novel, which means the plot revolves around them and when it’s published I will personally sign a copy for each of them. I thought I’d tell them to go ahead and do anything they want, because I’m writing down everything they do, which is why it’s critically important that they act as naturally as possible with the knowledge that I am writing about them. I didn’t want them to become too self-conscious about being observed because then I wouldn’t be able to witness and document their genuine behavior.

That night I dreamed that I was cooking one of their dogs on a spit over a fire. I was turning the dog over and over with a lever while it cooked. Once the fur had burned off, the meat of the dog was as shiny and dark as a chunk of black marble. It was tender enough to pull off with my fingers, which is what I did, as I looked up at their window and announced "I’m eating your dog!" When they looked outside I tugged a piece of the dark meat off the dog’s carcass and stuck it in my mouth, letting a little grease dribble down my chin and shimmer by the light of the fire.

Not long ago I bought some cheap cologne called Drakkar Noir from a street vendor. I brought it home and sprinkled it on the doorknob that leads out of the building. I thought it would make the people upstairs furious because there’s no sure way they could ever know who did it, nor could they ever be absolutely certain that it was done intentionally to make them wear the cheap cologne on their hands. I thought it would drive them mad having to smell it on their hands, which would only remind them of me throughout the day. The next morning when I heard the woman come downstairs with her dogs I looked outside through the blinds. She stood about three feet in front of my window, smelled her right hand, curled her lip and spat on the ground between her dogs.

In an effort to take the smell theme one step further I decided to rub my fingers around my rectum and wipe my hand on the doorknob leading out of the building. Knowing that they would have to put their hands on my shit and possibly get it in their mouths made me positively giddy. I saw both of them getting tremendously ill as they jockeyed for position in front of their toilet. I could see them teetering around the apartment with shit and vomit spewing out both ends of their convulsing bodies until they collapsed with a deep thud while flopping around on the bathroom floor like big tuna on the deck of a boat.

What I’d really like to do right now is go up there and have a look around to see what giant piece of furniture they’re moving from one end of the apartment to the other this early on a Sunday morning. I know for a fact that they’ll just keep on stomping and moving things around until I go up there and take a shit on their bed. I’d knock on their door and when they opened it I’d say, "Excuse me, I’m the guy who lives downstairs and I’m going to take a shit on your bed right now." I can see myself wiping my ass with their bedspread and saying, " Don’t worry, it’s all gonna be in the novel."

Before I go up there I’d have to prepare myself mentally for the fact that they might have a gun. Or her boyfriend might be the type of guy who is able to sense when someone is harboring mean ideas about them. He might be waiting for me to come up there and take a shit. He might have known about my plan from the very first time I thought about it and maybe he’s been preparing for me to come up there all this time that I’ve been thinking about it. The thought of me shitting on their bed might turn him on and give him an elaborate excuse to drop the gun and climb up on the bed with me and start fondling my ass in order to make me stop shitting their bed. Whenever I think about shitting on their bed it makes me realize that for once in my goddamn life I’ve come up with a plan that makes me stand out from the crowd for having the courage and tenacity to not only think it but do it.

I know these are obviously not acts of kindness but acts of meanness, and if I keep up with this line of reasoning I’ll be straying from my original goal of killing them with kindness. Yet I find myself pursuing all things mean and harmful in relation to them. I feel compelled to constantly think about all the bad things that I can do to them. Every time I hear them stomping around at 5:30 in the morning I wake up and add another item to the list of things that I can do to them that would cause them great harm. My only fear is that they’re sneaking into my apartment when I’m not around, checking out my list of bad things, or reading the novel I’m writing about them so that they can anticipate certain things from me. That’s why I’ve started hiding these things. I’ve even taken to hiding my toothbrush when I leave my apartment because I don’t want them to do anything to it that would make me sick.

Whenever I don’t think about them they’re quiet, but when I think about them they’re noisy. So I’m trying not to think about them, but even in the midst of trying not to think about them I find myself thinking about them. I’m not sure if they’re thinking about me very much. Right now they’re washing their fifth load of laundry and the spin cycle is off-balance again and it’s making the whole building vibrate with its obscenely grating "thump-thump" noise. I know this is something that they’ve concocted in a most extraordinarily feeble manner simply to bother me. It’s sad that the best plan they’ve come up with to annoy me is making their washing machine go off-balance by washing only one towel at a time. They’re dumber than lint and I have my proof. Perhaps someday I’ll talk to my neighbors about this knowledge I have of them. But one thing is certain: I must not get caught in the loop of hate with them.

Thanks Dad

This is a photo of my Dad and I standing on the Brooklyn Bridge circa 1994. Thanks for scanning and emailing it Pops.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Dear ________

All the copper is really nice when it's a roll of pennies at the bottom of a leather bag. I'm sure the hurt you're experiencing now is a little like the remote feeling one gets in a landslide, or a piece of veal pegged for leaning and caged. I'm all for escorting you to the maple and oak thing, you dig? But when it comes to the moth or the faith in the moth then it's all chalk and stains. I pegged you when you leaned on me in such a way that a book dropped from your hand. A book I am finishing with the hand you bent in half.

Todd Colby

Friday, May 18, 2007

Mary Margaret O'Hara

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

A Lovely Reading on Wednesday, May 23rd at 7PM

Click on "A Lovely Reading" above for the details. I will be coming directly from work on my bicycle in order to read some brand new poems just for you. I hope you can come.

Concerning Morning

In the morning light
there's something going on outside
my window that concerns me:
an elderly gentleman in an oversized
powder blue suit from the 1990's
with big shoulder pads,
zoot pants & a huge blood stain
across the middle of his back -
oblivious and humming.

Monday, May 14, 2007

From My Uncle Bob:

"I know you still think of me from time to time
but I'm going to have to ask you to stop
as I have forgotten about you
except for when I run into old
photos of you in dusty and mildewed piles
of quaintly dated memories. I am soured
at the very thought you. From now on
if you ever think of me
the image of "me" should appear
in your head with a golden crown
that is inscribed with the words:
"king of you." This image should help
clarify things a bit and put
things back into perspective -
in case you've lost it."

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

CocoRosie -- K-Hole

Art Project

A drawing of a bulldog with a well-muscled human arm holding a scepter with rubies encrusted at the tip. Handwritten just below: "Friendship is power, knowledge is love."

Tuesday, May 08, 2007


Monday, May 07, 2007

The Gift

Red cough syrup
will clean your head --
hell, it'll bulldoze it
with a perfumed glaze
of letting go and blending in --
chill, and let the evening
work out it's punk mathematics.
Those dirty little critters
are just making out
under the lifeguard's fat ass.
Don't worry,
soon all of the helpful machines
will be humming your name
under your window while
a bunch of flowers
will burst into flames
with names like "Cheyenne"
and "Tubby."
And then, when the smoke has cleared,
we'll write those names
on slips of yellow paper
and lick them,
a lot, for fun.

Friday, May 04, 2007


Thursday, May 03, 2007

For You

In the time it takes
to move from here to there
chlorine in my ears
the soft green makes
a fine outline
for a man like me
gently down Henry Street
I skip the hoops
a gaggle of balloons
a swirl of children
each fat paw
and prickly pear
makes a giant
divot of light
so I will
walk to work
and not panic
one bit for you.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Andy Kaufman

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Do a Good Job

Do what you can
for the people
the city really is
something else
to see
things fall apart
to be worried
about everything
but what worry does
to a body in the city
to lick your minty
sneeze from the sky
to help a sister out
the city is on maximum
the city is slippery
the city is clubbing my head
making me feel like a dumb-ass
run around the city
do a good job
city sparkle
city sleepwalk
city celebrate
the end of everything