Month: January 2006

Very interesting experience yesterday afternoon while listening to Heather Fuller’s reading

Was dozing a little at the bar having not quite slept enough the night before and then having gone with Ruthie to see the vaudeville exhibit at the NYPL and eaten half a pastrami sandwich at the Carnegie deli

And with an underslept head full of pastrami and vaudeville, I somehow got sucked just under consciousness — dream state

And oddly, my dream started to merge with Heather’s poems…

in the sense of… “Oh yes, I recognize this, I know exactly where this poem is going, because I’ve been there before, it’s a significant set of meanings for me, these are meanings of great import to my life”

It was entirely uncanny. I remember nothing of the poem, but my memory of that feeling of certitude, relevance, and deja vu is so clearly outlined as to be almost re-experienceable now as I’m writing about it

I do remember thinking, before I fell off into lalaland, that her poems were “pictures of a region”

Brenda’s intro: fawning, Manichean, and long

Carla’s reading started off, I felt, very strong, with a segment of her brilliant “Baby” piece (Baby singing a ferocious song like organ music in… a courtyard? annoying the souvenir sellers?) and some intriguing “noise” poems… but then for me broke off into bits I couldn’t latch onto, even formally, with the exception of some lines and moments. One line was so hilarious but i didn’t have a pen — I didn’t have a pen. For shame! But Douglas, fresh from Thailand for Brendan and Tracey’s wedding and sitting next to me at the bar, did jot it down…

Who cares about posterity anyway when even the guy from Nasa, the global warming expert guy, says the government tried to silence him… it’s getting hot in here… I feel WARM… overly warm… gather ye roses while ye… aaaaggggh…

Responses ar as valuable as intellectual responses. Enjoy yourself.
Hands, hoist the black flag and begin slitting throats. Everyone.
Responses ar as valuable as intellectual responses. Enjoy yourself.
Restores life. The deep joy we take in the company of people with whom.
Go by size, because I bet there are some Chihuahuas with some good.
Restores life. The deep joy we take in the company of people with whom.
Reward for lvoe is the experience of loving. The only thing necessary.
Incompetent many for appointment by the corrupt few. Dependence can be.
Reward for lvoe is the experience of loving. The only thing necessary.
Right what you can ask as a favor. Never explain. Your friends do not.
Popeye. I can see why it would be prohibited to throw most things off.
Right what you can ask as a favor. Never explain. Your friends do not.
Right. Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to.
Thinking that having problems is a problem. The proper office of a.
Right. Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to.
Rights is the essential precondition for a free and prosperous world.
Could be born in your eyes, live on your cheeks, and die on your lips.
Rights is the essential precondition for a free and prosperous world.

Crutches, yellow permit, yellow armpits, fake crescent moon, hose of fire extinguisher.

I’m tired.

The fatigue smirks as a plum deer,
heaving manic slush on the road to
drainage.

Cerebral votive slimes the head of strongness:
pale fatigue, lapidary usual stumbling unctuous fatigue.

Bye bye to the energies of small wild pigs —
habanero pigs — sick rustic pigs hogtied
in layers of golden foil, all lacquered up
with sick mourning and vapid mimicry.

Tiny and moot as a marabou fetus —
the electronic handclap of blatant fatigue.
Cells with no reason, gasping like red animals
bloating and breathing on a caustic shore.

Too zaaa—————- to zaaa—————
again and again the narwhale expectations.
The narwhale expectations, the G train, the sneakers
without lights, the sly feeler-uppers, the even bigger
under-downers.

Again and again the sleepy manatee’s grim fatigue,
the fatigue of ages and chronic misapprehension.

The palimpsests unpeel to show the cruddy hard lucks
of waned attention, swarming with the golden flies
of fleecy pudding, angry and helpless as suet
in the fatigues of undone antipodes.

Cooing pop huckles. Minarlagy of funf. The latter craal-skeevers (anxious like bucket): froos, angle, insecure.

I keen my meringo this hopey day. I murv it. The hopcakes are waiting for the nested parlances, the nested parlances for a 6-month grace period, after which they will expire.

It all comes together as perforations in the ample slough — beastborne, tolerant, mint, and gland-handed.

Where’s my speed, the clock’s a muffle, the clown raises sham hackles, the plain stripes badger the nonplain stripes as limits to patience.

The men hack outside the door in explicatory gasses. They muddle and wink, halving their trousers. The parts rattle by in pink bones. The men are wuthering. A stag wuthers the hard waiting.

The men lift up the thorny leaves of togetherness. There is a pad there.

Under the pad, another man, horning a thought as a drawing. The pink ones wonder — bastard hardcake? Terrible wuthering intertwining a lumpy duddle.

The plaid couches, pro dusk and anti-dawn, haunched by men and soaky weapons like flags rolled up in glands while the plaid maidens change their lamb sprockets.

Inches and inches and inches of man, boozling and edgily nuzzling. Piranha potatoes! Limbering the cud. Sweat drapes. Miracle sinews absolute the free fibers of a flexibly ordered man, half red and half blue, on a night watch and skin patrol.

I don’t can’t — can’t can’t — a man. Hip dud. Catafrack. Pone.

LUXE, CALME et VOLUPTE´!