Telling Ghost Stories

Yelling ghosts.

The Fall - Totally Wired - NYC, 1981

Jean-Michel Basquiat

Merry Christmas

here: spd

Sunday

There's more than one way
to strip away all that
is lovely. It pleases the master
to fill his lungs with the chill
that makes the weather super realistic.
Personally, I wish to comfort you for the people.
Perhaps I'll find a wide whale corduroy
suit for you to be handled in.
Sunday opens to me a bit.

Future Storms

As you approach the resting spot
practice good footing.
Once you find the stream
nestle next to it on your side.
There, you will feel an exquisite
sense of moving along.
An interrupter is not well-liked.
Avoid a collision course with fancy,
but keep the emerald rods for hoarding.
All days are ruthless and mathematical
days. The city speaks for itself.
Get something from the trunk and get evolved.
A spray mist and a lozenge deliver
the expanded stance. An eagle,
some bird.

Sprightly Daze

It should come as no surprise
that I am baffled by your message.
The sprightly daze you spoke about being in
during the meeting made me lower my expectations
for the third quarter where things look about
as elegant and refined as a butcher shop.
That isn't to say I like you,
it's just that I've become an expert
at making my displeasure look alluring.
Chalk it up to evolution and weariness.
I think it was you who said any mistake
can be corrected as long as one has
the appropriate tools to cover them up.
You can't rank what's lacking a publicist.
Meanwhile, weary consumers shuffle back into the dark
where people are just dying to hear
about your Christmas plans.

Jane Freilicher 1924-2014

Photo by John Jonas Gruen

Also: John Ashbery on Jane Freilicher here.

Rub It

If you could smell this
you'd be as a happy as a clam.
Fact: civets are called "toddycats" in English.
You know what? It's always time and it's never not.
Everyone understands what I am struggling with.
The day opens with a shit ton of boxes,
a lot of people, and at the end:
a little reading.
Tara is reading Razor's Edge.
My father gave me that book when
I graduated from High School.
I didn't read it right away.
Then one day a few years later, I read something
positive that William S. Burroughs
had written about Somerset Maugham.
That was my prompt. I'm grateful to my father
for giving me that book. I mean, it was thoughtful.
Kaki King plays guitar really well.
There's sand in the water and everyone has
dirty fingernails. It's so cold I see you frown.
I'll rub it in your crowd.

Dorothea Lasky & Todd Colby

Dorothea Lasky & Todd Colby

This Sunday,
December 7th at 5PM

Zinc Bar
82 W 3rd St
Manhattan

Paris: Staging Interruptions (Stream of Life)

Click to enlarge.

Word on the Street

The risk of going it alone
sends a signal, like an ignited flare
in a Volkswagen Beetle can get someone's
attention. It's in the details. A year
and a day ago a hiker photographed a bear
before it killed him. If you can gauge the mood
of a crowd while thinking about being human,
so can a robot. All the world is pretending
to work. Don't open the door. I just want
to be alone with my shirt. 50,000 body cameras
record everything that the cameras point at.
I just got here. 400 years from now someone
will spell your name in jewels. Rub it in your
crowd. Thrill is a real issue.

Sleep Service

My nickname is "Brooklyn King"
because I enjoy crowding your
century with oud and indigo.
A defuser and then fluffed them
in the hair. I scented the sheets
with smoky and intense. When guests
came over I had them walk through
the scent while moving my arms
in front of them. We all went out
with that smell on us. I am not
kidding at all about any of this.
Red Snapper stuffed with pistachios
or the word "Sunshine" written
on the front of a sweatshirt.
So, just take Queens bound G
to Metropolitan Avenue. It's a short
walk even if you have a shitload
of stuff in your bangs.

Return

Hello

I wasn't going to tell you this,
but my machine erases things.
The old wet flavor is a hotbed of tension.
I can smell fish in here, Dorothy.
There is a swimming pool and a burnt
car here. Burnt rose bushes and the shell
of a house. Actually, living to drink water.
A sailor could be seen that way. Donating
my Sundays to Mondays. Something gazing
at me. We like our people to do
all kinds of things with their free time.
The wreck of pain in persimmon ankle boots.
A leaf falls from a tree at 63mph.
The status of the probe that landed
on the powdery surface of the comet.
Peggy Lee singing "Fever."

Red Mudders

In Friona, Texas, there’s an iridescent red mud pit that was discovered in 1921 by a group of children playing amid the desert shrubs, in the central panhandle valley near the border of New Mexico. The pit itself is almost 3 acres in diameter with dozens of ruby red tributaries about one foot wide spreading out from the pit like a spider’s legs for a good quarter mile in all directions. The red mud runs in each one of these veins. Over the years, residents have come to refer to it simply as, “The Mud.” The mud is formed through periodic shifting of tectonic plates that overheat the earth’s central crust. This intense friction creates a heat three miles below the surface of the earth, near the magma, beneath which the tectonic plates shift. The heat caused by the shifting is enough to turn the hard oil shale into a liquid which seeps upward to cooler temperatures near the surface of the earth. What comes out of the pit is a bright red, viscous, and sweet smelling oily substance.

Friona has been nicknamed “Sweet Town” because of the smell of the red mud. The scent is very similar to the smell of brown sugar simmering in a pan. This smell is caused by the abundant mineral deposits melding with the stag magma, the same resinous amber clay that is used as a stabilizer in chewing gum. The bright red color of the mud is the result of the cool, dark, iron-rich soil coming into contact with warm oil, which heightens the acid balance at the exit point, making the soil hyper-enriched with iron, hence, its vivid red color. Though the immediate area of the pit is off limits to current residents, many of them have bright red veins of mud running across their property.

Over the years, various attempts to contain the red mud have been futile. In 1948, The Army Corps of Engineers tried covering the pit with 4-metric tons of lime, but the lime coagulated from the warmth of the mud and formed a solid white disc about the size of a kiddie pool in the center of the pit that rests there to this day. In 1932 a geophysicist named Frederick Thomas from the University of Texas in Austin, Texas was put in charge of trying to contain the spread of the mud. He surmised that he could float the oil from the earth through ammonia infusion. Engineers inserted 12 high capacity fire hoses in a circle and inserted them through pipes pounded in by pile drivers 60 feet deep around the pit. Thomas then propelled 500 gallons of raw ammonia through hoses into the pit base. Unfortunately, this operation had dire consequences: 5 men were killed from the ammonia cloud that formed near the pit and all 224 residents of the southern forest of Friona had to be evacuated for a year while the ammonia dissipated. Subsequent years have seen property values plummet, as homeowners struggle to pay taxes on property they can’t even sell. Since the local economic downturn of 1990’s, people in the area looking for a little extra cash dig up buckets of the mud from their own backyards and put cups of it in large baggies. They sell the mud for 50-cents a bag next to local gas stations and convenience stores. They discovered that the mud could be used as a flame accelerant when mixed with charcoal briquettes, making it far cheaper than lighter fluid. During the summer months, when many families are barbecuing, people buy the mud in such abundance that some sellers can make a hundred dollars in a few hours.

The sad part of this geologic oddity is that some local Texans have taken to huffing concentrated forms of the mud. In order to huff the mud, the users mix it with peppermint oil to open their lungs so the petrol can constrict the blood vessels of the brain quicker; delivering a rush that the mud users crave. The first step of the process involves rolling the mint-infused mud into a tight red ball between the thumb and forefingers, forming a plug. Next, a hole is poked with a fountain pen into a white air filter mask that goes over the nose and mouth. They used the same kind of masks construction workers use as dust filters. The user then presses the plug of red mud into the hole in the front of the punctured mask. Once the mask is secured on the user’s face with a rubber band stapled to each side of the mask, the high is delivered within the sealed cavity between nose, mouth, and mask.

There’s a group of 10 Friona area men who call themselves “Red Mudders.” They meet the first Saturday of every month in the back of a dilapidated bar called The Wildcat Lounge on I-60. At both the mud nights I attended, the Red Mudders mingled in the back room around a pool table with their mud plug masks on. It seemed like any other gathering in a bar except for the masks, which looked like they’ve been rubbed with red lipstick where the plugs were inserted. All of the men had red fingers from rolling the mud into plugs. There was a lot of laughter and the usual euphoric, tipsy behavior when they first put their masks on. Several of the men there were known for speaking in tongues while high on the mud. They called these men the “Speakers.” They circled the pool table with their masks on, mumbling and chanting in rhythmic patterns of speech, somewhat like an auctioneer or preacher, pointing at one another, their shouts muffled by their masks. Under the influence of the mud, the Speakers violently thrust their hips forward with a dance-like rhythmic motion that was threatening and seductive.

Both times I attended the mud nights I witnessed one of the men break down and cry like a child; his body heaving while he sobbed into his mask. The other men imitated his sobbing sounds, wailing and chanting through their masks. This idea of mimicry and laughter was a theme I observed at both gatherings. The men switched back and forth between mock-crying, and twerk-like movements. The final part of their ritual cycle involved a unified chant when they all asked, “What do you seek?” over and over again while they pointed at one another and thrust their hips forward. While this did seem intimidating to watch as an outsider, it was always tempered with a palatable sense of compassion. It was clear the men all knew that this was a ritual that would go no further than the room.

A pivotal moment of both nights was when one of the men was picked to stand on the pool table in the center of the room while the other men walked in a circle mumbling toward the man standing on the table. After my first night watching the mud party, one of the men told me that this part of the ritual was known as “the loosening.” The men let out a quick succession of rhythmic whoops, which felt to me like a falling away from words. As one man described it, “When we’re under the influence of the mud it’s like words are just a lot of garbage. We don’t need any fancy talk. We can just be raw and fucking real.” From my own perspective, it appeared that the men were regressing during the “loosening.” One could imagine the same scene in a kindergarten classroom that a teacher had left unattended. Twenty minutes or so after this animated ritualistic period, the men became lethargic almost on cue. Then, everyone collapsed on the floor, in booths, or on chairs with their heads resting on the pool table. The petrol in the mud plugs essentially evaporated (or “flamed out” as they called it) into their lungs and the plugs shrank, hardened and fell out of their masks, allowing the Red Mudders to revive themselves once a few minutes of fresh air had been flushed through the hole in their masks. The whole process began again; the cycle continuing until dawn.

During both of my visits to The Wildcat Lounge, I never witnessed any violence, but I did feel a sense that something beautiful, and absurd might bloom from this circle of men high on mud.

“Red Mudders,” they’re called. God help us.

Do Not Open This Window

Empty flat bed trucks
cause quite a racket on the BQE.
On the delta, the airport goes
all retail. My mistake was bringing
fun into things. I do not want to
meet military dogs and their
wartime handlers. The air is really
sweet to breathe in, but not always.
If someone admits to having anguish
permit them to thrash about. It is
blank o'clock. Bring me amber from
France. Take me out to look at
the lights of Manhattan. Glow to seem
inevitable, all of it, the beginning,
the middle and the end.

Nine Tuesday Essentials

1. Your mode of production, reconciliation and compensation is based on a long outmoded form.

2. The weight of your body is purposefully kept just above the threshold of being liftable by one person.

3. From the vantage point of the roof it is easy to embrace the illusion of understanding what you see.

4. Perspective isn't everything, it is a distraction most of all.

5. See how long you can avoid what needs to be done with the many distractions at your disposal.

6. There won't be any time for the serious stuff once you measure from here to the end of your life.

7. The devices we use to see each other are a bit glitchy and unkempt.

8. Remember "playing store?" They were preparing you even then for the inevitable.

9. No one can help you understand what needs to be done from here on out.

Monday Poem

What appears to me now
appears to be gone. It is old NY
under my arms. A closely watched
aroma of meat is thrilling on the grill.
The angry falcon is in the van
with our hero. Where there used to be
woods there is now only a map of those
woods. I ate her pudding. I had one idea
today. Typical audience members
at the advanced style screening
appear to be throwing their hats at
the door before they come in.

Goof Off

I would like to extract from you something
both bewitching and beguiling. By way of a reductive
pose, I would like to enable you to squirm
a bit when I enter the room with my bangs
and cordage. Perhaps if I placate your desire for
an instant, you'll be as bold as the machines
revving up in the dark. I'll bring you fruit
sprayed with lime juice and perhaps then
you'll see a way out of your synapses snapping
at each other like wild dogs. Let me help
you make a connection in the disco with a shovel
and a bucket of something creamy. I'm legally
purposeful in most instances, let alone during
these unstable weather days when the bloat
from salt takes away your vascularity. Hum
a melody to me as I do things for you.

I'll put a jewel in your name

The Space Above the Ceiling

I just got here so
I don't know anything.
Sun splendor at dawn
is one thing, I'll start
with that. Oh, and electric bacteria
in outer space, that's another thing.
Out in the open, the dear world
vibrates on a broad bandwidth. 20 uses
of water include: bathing, cooking,
and transportation, so there's that.
Nothing was really happening
except "do not open this window."
Last, but not least: people with
good memories are scary to me.
I'm going to vote now.

Community Bookstore reading (10.28.14.)

Photo by Alex Edwards

Heritage of a Star

Explaining the concept of "2 for 1"
to your friends is one way to ward off
nostalgia in this dark time.
And another thing: someone is the champion,
someone is always the champion,
otherwise things collapse without
the champion parading around while
fans of the champion turn things over,
start things on fire, and get carried
away by their champion's status.

Bellwether

By observing the
area above your brow, I can see
where your brain needs work. My observation
works like an optic thing with an audio component
blended in because I can only read
your lips from the booth. Take a sound
with you to lightly brown, in a pan
with shallots. Nothing better than a whisper
in a savory pie. As autumn sinks
in, people will ask you to do things, say
things, open things, and mingle. Write lessons
learned about socialization in legible script
on index cards curled in your palm
as reminders to act naturally around the representatives.
Hold a beverage in your left hand so you can shake
new friends with your right hand. Promote
questioning, read the paper for things to chat
about. Get a purpose and stick with it.

Los Angeles / October, 2014

Blago Bung 9 / October 23 / NYC

Todd Colby / Poetic Research Bureau / Los Angeles / October 11, 2014 / Recorded by Robert Dewhurst

St. Vincent - Clip "Bob Dylan" | Bill Murray

Surprising Things

Last Night

When I got home last night, the frozen
raspberries had melted. Red juice
streamed out of the freezer,
down the front of the fridge, and pooled
in a bright red mess on the floor.
I was a bit frightened to open the freezer
door, thinking there might be something
from a horror movie waiting inside for me.

Old Journal

National Poetry Day

Remember when you did that thing?
I remember when you did that thing
and it was pretty amazing. Maybe
there's something we can do, like
empty a mayonnaise jar and fill
it full of buttons. The leaves are
turning faintly gold, which reminds
me that we're turning gold too
as we disintegrate during wartime.
I'll tell you what, or maybe I'll
just keep it to myself and hope
you catch my drift.

Lazy Binary

That you know the difference between
a lion and car tells me that you are
smarter than a drone. Remember: rent
increases in December. The fridge is
broken. When I got home last night, the frozen
raspberries had melted. Red juice
streamed out of the freezer,
down the front of the fridge, and pooled
in a bright red mess on the floor.
I was a bit frightened to open the freezer
door, thinking there might be something
from a horror movie waiting inside for me.
I love your new haircut. I'm glad you discovered
hair. Every time a robot gets destroyed,
a machine cries because they've been programmed
to do that. This is a third rail issue.
You can talk to animals. Nothing really happened here.

Poetic Research Bureau - Los Angeles - Saturday, October 11th

I'll be giving a reading in Los Angeles on Saturday, October 11
at the Poetic Research Bureau
951 Chung King Road
4-7PM

OPEN PRESS Festival w/ Song Cave (Graham Foust, Jane Gregory & Todd Colby)

Concrete Action

The weather is murky,
it offers a way out of the torment
by reminding me there is a poet
somewhere living life to its full potential
by doing the dishes to Nigerian 70's pop.
What appears to me now appears to be gone.
With fondness and respect we are intent
on that golden glum look.
There are 101 versions of doom that materialize
every morning. We advise "doom management."
Where there used to be woods
there are now fares, Snickers, and the Metro North.
Your final plans should end with a capture.
Let's get together and develop a sense
of being really grounded and active. Elegant protest?
How? Love alone is reason enough to get out of bed
every morning. So, so much.

Monday, Gingerly

Let us drizzle butter
over a bowl of peat moss
and call that a way to spend
a Monday. You don't have
time to clown around in the dark
now that the sky has turned
a militant, rusty blue.
A list of things that
make your lips numb would
help us learn what to feed
you in your free time. Rub
your quad, rub your hammy,
and take the red pill you found
on the bathroom floor. You live
in a safe world of true New Yorkers.

Berl's Brooklyn Poetry Shop - Tonight!

RELEASE PARTY FOR BACKCHANNEL BY EMILY SKILLINGS (POOR CLAUDIA) WITH TODD COLBY, SARAH GERARD & R. ERICA DOYLE

Friday, September 19, 2014
7:00pm – 9:00pm

Location:

126A Front Street (next to Superfine) in D.U.M.B.O, Brooklyn

The Inside Lines

I want to have a really nice time,
but that just isn't possible, in fact,
it is obscene. Let me tell you what
I did during the procession.
All the latitude I've given
lameness would make a complete global webbing.
Forget the outward signs
of affection, meaty things are the
best thoughts ever, and we are thinking
of them as a part of us. All it takes, and then
some. I'll always get this fierce because
it's all about smash mouth ball.
The regal hum of the day will make you feel
open and considerate.

Jenny Hval & Susanna - I Have Walked This Body

One Fell Swoop

If energy is a mechanism of delight
then you should shoo me in. The limestone
can be carved into almost anyone.

Panda Bear - Benfica

Reading

READING

Thursday 25 September 2014

7pm

 Long Island City

Contact me directly if you'd like to attend

organized by Todd Colby

on the occasion of his newly published book of poems Splash State

published by The Song Cave

featuring readings by

Monica McClure, Emily Skillings, Billy Cancel, Danniel Schoonebeek,

Mike Doughty, Edwin Torres, Dorothea Lasky and Todd Colby

Lamb Balls and Lemonade will be served.

Plymouth Rock

There are red plums, and
some other compelling fruits. From a window,
a hand waves. That I should agree
with you that "T.B. Sheets" is
one of the greatest songs of all
time. That a coupon insert has
untapped treasures. That someone
with too much mobility is doping.

I would let the bug man in, if he showed
the silver canister with a hose
sticking out of it. "A cool room."

Whispers in the woods, whispers
in a cave, whispers in a car.
There's nothing like the spaghetti
of forgetting. I will always forget
you, though I know nothing
of who you are now,
or what I am forgetting.

24th Annual Subterranean Literary Festival

A poetry reading in the Widow Jane Mine, curated by Edwin Torres

Featuring:

Bruce Andrews + Sally Silvers + Pooh Kaye
The Yogurt Boys (Todd Colby + Marianne Vitale)
CA Conrad
Brenda Coultas
Latasha Nevada Diggs
Edwin Torres + Sean Meehan
Cecilia Vicuña
Dana Ward

Sunday, August 24 at 1:00pm

The Century House Historical Society
The Snyder Estate 668 Route 213, Rosendale, New York

A $5 donation is suggested. For directions please visit http://www.centuryhouse.org/ And "like" Century House Historical Society on Facebook!

Please bring a folding chair and light jacket.

This event is a benefit for CHHS, and is funded in part by Poets & Writers, Inc., with public funds from the New York State Council on the Arts with the support of Governor Andrew Cuomo and the New York State Legislature.

August Poem

The mellow beauty of "I don't know."
Soothing someone is harder than it seems.
I'm finally ready for Planet of the Apes,
& Guardians of the Galaxy. A list of fluffy
things, hard things, & purple things.
August seems more like September since
June felt more like July. The shepherds saw
the cardinal fall and land on the tin roof
with a bright "ting." I'll always give you
more than you asked for. I have chairs that
you can fall over. Graduates receive I-pads.
A pond full of yawning orange koi
surfacing for balls of bread. Pliable
and fantastic, I think of everything you
do as cat-like and illusive. Humming city,
mutable traffic, gigantic rooms. There's
a melody you can hum for me as I do
things for you tomorrow.

Splash State

Available for pre-order by clicking here: The Song Cave

Blare

I limp up Bergen Street like I'm made
of balsa. The taco shop is blazing. I have
full bloom status. I make good sunshine.
I'm not about harm anymore. Thick
as myself, that armload is a menthol
blow. Breezy reductions, past failures,
the lure of the night in most situations.
My goal is morning. This blare is making
me change shape. Want more?

A hand. A hand with a bird in it. A hand with pencil in it waving goodbye.

For Audio: place cursor over image and click the "x" next to the speaker image. Remove cursor from image to have an unimpeded view of screen.

Governors Island - New York City Poetry Festival - The Poetry Project

Left to Right: Micah Ling, Angelo Micah Olin, Billy Cancel, Todd Colby, Maribeth Theroux, Emily Skillings, Dorothea Lasky.

Cat Power - Willie

A Wee Smidge

That sound you hear in Brooklyn
is everyone really showing up
for work. Needless to say, we are
all a bit tired, like we wish
it was the next day. There there.
You invented a revolution that only
works for you. Willy Wonka was built
on the idea of an heir or a legacy.
Can't you see I'm burning? Out in the open
a dear wound vibrates. With the right
bandwidth it could be the 19th century.
Mayakovsky's dyslexia is well known.
Everything is happening at once, literally.
This morning I woke up and made a list
of my top 10 worries and then I rooted around
in the junk drawer. Brook's ghost. Albert's Ghost.
All the water I use in a year could fill
this apartment up to the ceiling twice.
Anything that makes you laugh is true,
and you know it's true. I am genuinely going
to and fro in 3D. Fade out.

Yesterday's Joy

Click image to enlarge.

Arthur Russell - Keeping Up

Fancy Town

#30

Speckled orange like Sudafed
tablets ground over a cup of stewed carrots.
All the wedding cakes are moldy
and people are fingering
what remains of the beef.

Let them all in on a secret
best kept in a locked drawer
with bees for honey and info.
From the start: a mild pickle, and
from what I gather, a toast with milk.

Polish the liver. Bring organs
to a sheen; what the lion eats first
is up to the lion. The units
of measurement of the nutrients
in my body are now available for consumption.

Bryant Park Reading, July 8th, 7 PM (sharp)

Word for Word Poetry at Bryant Park welcomes The Song Cave!

From near and far, Song Cave poets are headed to NYC to read just for you on July 8 at 7 PM.

Come hear:

Todd Colby
Jane Gregory
Nate Klug
Sara Nicholson

This event is free and welcome to all.

Bryant Park
42nd Street at 6th Ave, New York, New York 10018

Starts promptly at 7.

Cat Power - Bully

Instruction from Vintage Paradise

[Instruction]
The handling of the product,
please deal with "Quality Labeling"
along the items mentioned after confirmation.
Because I measure one point of product
in our store stock, as for the size measurement,
there is a some a piece of one point case to be mixed up.
In our store, I check it before the arrival,
shipment elaborately and sell it.

Airplane

Travel Plans

I remember how I want to be forgotten,
leaving behind two hundred pomegranate juice drinks in a
refrigerated warehouse in bold never-ever-land. A house
built on a terrace of books would also be nice for
your family. "I'm more radically transparent," I'd say
to those gathered while the sun on my skin
would delete my clear body. It's not over
until Dolly Parton sings something. Before I disappear,
I want you to experience the combination of luxury and necessity
essential to your lifestyle and well-being.

Beach Towel

The throw over the bed is actually a beach towel
from Tunisia. On the radio in the other room
someone is playing a piano very dynamically.
I sold my black bike tonight. The sky in Brooklyn
felt like the sky in Paris for a bit today.
Broken French is all I have for you.
When a person or team wins at something three
times in a row, it's called a Three-peat.
I used Windex to wipe away the milk rings
on the aluminum table. How much incense is
too much incense? A veritable weather boon
for the past few weeks. Here along the Atlantic,
no one moves the right way anymore. Boring
leaflets and skunky blahs. The throw has tassels.

Dear ____________,

Please have a look at the spigot below the shower head which leaks the entire time it is in shower mode. The shower mode spits out a very uneven trickle.

While here (and this may be related) the toilet is also flushing oddly of late. Please have a look while here.

Thanks!

Paris, 6.1.14 - 6.8.14. (part 3)

Paris, 6.1.14 - 6.8.14 (part. 2)