Monday, November 29, 2010

I feel like my head is expanding

I want to talk to you about your vowels
and how I want them spoken to my chest
directly from your mouth: warm air.
You might get looped into forgiving yourself.
Your back might get strained in the wild force
of your heaving. Your days are no longer leaden
and fatigued. You mount a stallion and feel the spurs
under your new jacket. Dawn sprays gunky light
into the courtyard and then it sparkles puppy yellow
and personalized, briefly. I manipulate space
to help the earth roll over or around. By running
faster I make it revolve slower. Slowing time.
I will visit the weather with bare legs and think
of you as I peer over the river to Manhattan. Remember
how you sped along, happy at the thought,
possibly so? See that brazen silver building flash
dawn's light over to Brooklyn? I am scooping
all of this up and handing it to you.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

We've Got What You're Looking For

Justin Theroux and me in our hats

Friday, November 26, 2010

Simple Times

I'll always be pulling for you despite the circumstances
of your evolution. I've come to know these days as swift
and precise, not empty or lame in the least. I pulverized
despair in an effort to care less. You need to watch
your mouth out. And then this word, I can't say it. I'm so lonesome
I could get older without you noticing I'm here. And I am all they
need too. And all they say I am. And more too, you'll see.
I'll love you more or less than you know by never
letting you in. The night is full of fair creatures,
and the sky, oh so perfect. I could climb the stairs
with someone in my arms. But I'd rather be carried like
a sack of sleep. Today I got all windswept while
speeding through Manhattan on a machine.
The cars were all softened by my bones. What I'd like to say
is: this fever will break. I'll go to work and no one will know
what has become of us in our sleep.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

A Grand Holiday Announcement

I'm working on a project that will eliminate the need
for passwords or vaulted circumstances. I plan on plying
my trade or "vectoring" the analysis with nothing more
than shards of paper and an incline. It will shine
in a singular way, bringing an urgent joy to my
disciples with all the radiant fizz of a transistorized glass table.
After the summer of '12 there will be muscle shoals
and defense mechanisms not at all unlike the blunted
and theatrical enthusiasm for the inane and mopey.
Polyglots shall be excluded and rare earth and silicone.
I'll see to it that each and every boss with Asperger's
Syndrome are given stratagems for happiness
not seen since the days of the wagon kings. Your
holidays will roll off the roofs of your mouths
in a manner of speaking. You shall no longer need
a hushed tone to confess your transitions.
You'll no longer be fudged or inept in the face of authority
but graceful and meaty as the license you hold between your teeth.
You'll receive these details in the coming days
via chat rooms or dial-up mo-methodoids. I'll see
to it that the delivery will accompany a transistor
insinuating a reasonable lack of worry, doubt,
and most importantly: confusion. People will
love you and you will position them in your life
as reinforcements in need of no code,
always radiant, aways purposeful, forever and ever, amen.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Thanks, Heidi

Reggie Watts!

Facebook Friend

Facebook Friends: 738

I Know I Do My Job Good Every Morning

Barnacle Bill

Miss America

566 Facebook Friends

Right On. Good Vibes.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Atlantic Avenue

Photo by TC

Noo Journal

Three new poems here.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

My Statement

I plan on purchasing 20-50 5 X 8 index cards and rubber stamping very short text/poems onto them along with some personal artifact, a receipt, a piece of hair, an old movie ticket, a con-ed bill, etc. on the other side. Each will be one of a kind and distributed on the floor or near where the alcohol is being served. Hopefully people will stand on them, or put their drinks on them, ignore them, or collect them. Is it trash or art? Did someone just drop something on the floor? They will be silently taking up space. The utterances and the artifacts adhered to them will be the fractured narrative of my life, our life. 2010. The utterances on one side will be commands, observations, demands, pleas, or simple names of things themselves. No fancy language, no poetic farts. Nouns as calls to action, but what action? Artifacts that ask to be collected, but to what end? Revelations in the mundane. Grandma's memory book pages on the floor. Utterances released like a broadcast into the void of collectors doing what they do best: drinking and talking and looking. But will they know where to look? Will they care? Who cares? Perhaps a gaze will be cast upon one of these cards as they are flung about. Perhaps not. Maybe Marianne Vitale will help distribute them to people one by one and whisper to them "this is just for you" as they stand around awkwardly like you and me. Art as gift. Language as failure. Remnants of our history are just reminders of our our pathologies. Everything is broken and alive.

From the "Tussie Mussie" Collective Show at Silvershed Last Night

Lots more photos to follow, shortly.

Photo by Mary Margaret Rinebold

Friday, November 19, 2010

See You Tonight!

All of the collages you see below this entry and about 40 others by me will be available tonight! Marianne Vitale and Dina Seiden will be handing each one out personally.

Your Mom is My Facebook Friend

You Smell Like My Mom

Fog & Awe

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Poem for Show

I am always working on my inside voice
by speaking into a device just for show.
I am regal and responsive to your needs
as long as they don't become demands.
In most situations people find me charming
and competent. I'm good for the group.
If people include me, I have something to say.
I like smiling into the faces of my pals.
The face you have should never reveal shame, ever.
My situation calls for feeding my face with your face.
I'd like to make you damp and cozy.
I'm in favor of swampy youth. I would like to have real people
on my team of medical advisers should I ever need a team.
When I dream, I prefer to dream of real people
doing real things and perhaps even making me laugh
rather than making me scared of something they might do.
If I dream of you, please remember my preferences.
I would not like all of my childhood
in a stainless steel scoop. The sky
is as full of me as I am full of the sky. I am an inhabitant
of this regal corpse. See how nice I dress it up
in a striped shirt from Muji? I got out of Brooklyn
just so I could come home again. Do I need to come home at all?
What I'd like is something that does not
demand too much of my mouth yet is still
interested in what I have to say. Maybe my bed
is something I can sleep in.

Five More from Austin, Texas

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Five from Austin, Texas


I will rustle birds from the sky above you,
I will train them to make formations
that will form letters that will tell you things
to do for me all day long.
I will show you how to be tasteful
on the Internet with some key phrases
that will make you look approachable and friendly.
I will sing you songs of some wild praise. Oh so big a
praise. I will look very professional singing my song of praise.
I've made it. Here I am with this idea
about carrying myself professionally,
in this manner that says “pro.”
I see what you mean
about something over my shoulder.
There are trees getting whipped around
by the wind which is growing more wintry.
I will wrestle you free from your body
during a holiday, or what people mean when they say
that word holiday. Like I would ever find someone
in a surge of people kissing the color blue.
It’s all so dramatic and wild with aces
or lit and still by relaxing amber light.
Perhaps a day like this is broad
and clear and steady. Perhaps
I should feel free to look at it
reflected in a spoon curled just so with pink bisque
at its edges. All wanton and agape,
I am trembling before the tasks.
I shall put things in motion.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Team Arm

I am inhabiting this lobby
deep in the angelic aftermath of my dawn.
There are people spilling from rooms
across the marble floor asking for
thin red food and sewing kit loops.
A jazzed-up lady is talking too loud
for even Texas where things are bigger and stuff.
That wish that the people who drink coffee
in lobbies would just not talk for a minute
while I catch my breath. I mean, really.
Some people are simply too awake
to make a motion with the hand
as though it is doing the talking.
Of course you have tricks
you can play on these people. For instance:
Everyone knows a cell phone emits the pleasure
of words and can even make the hair
on your arms stand on end when I whisper to you
through the mouthpiece. I encourage you
to try this the next time I call you:
I'll talk to your arm and you'll
realize I am a man of my words.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

14th and 8th

Friday, November 12, 2010

Friday with Hegel

"By the little which now satisfies spirit, we can measure the extent of its loss." GWF Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit

Friday Poem