Barf Redux

excuse me miss but put down your business and recognize that its time to get dissed by the man from the goblin clan, a real webmaster Stratocaster haver, fastest bra strap unfastener strikes at goal from distance and scores top-shelf, your mouth opened up like a trout, a whole mess of lima beans about to spill out.

so here it goes, touch your toes, touch your nose, walk in a straight line can you clutch your primrose purse with day-glo overtones and wait for the end of life as it’s known? cause you’ve been drivin drunk in a deaf dumb and blind children’s safety zone, you’ll get blown out the water when the judge drops the hammer, maybe read my book in the slammer:

second of all, your pores are the size of oar holes, like in Vikings’ ship hulls, remember that cause fuck are you old, your lunch used to be seagulls with black treacle, you fed eagles beagles, you had some greek myth shit done to your stepfather Reginald Regal, that’s how old you are, bitch.

some things I got: I got a koozie for my uzi, a bush of kush, a bucket of fuckit let’s stop this party from startin’ tardy.

i am literally seconds away from puking

Away Days - Irish Ballad #2

I've been away days lately

care-a-button days by the Lee

I've seen away lady sail away

&&

w/


the boys of fairhill

I sang I sang Bold Thady Quill

'tis me daza full of pep

'tid put the pencil in your lead

bedad

says I - I'll try cider I heard 'twas good

I'm no Sepera Woman waiting for a soldier boy
in Salonika

but I wait instead for the news of the threshers in the wars of Spain

and sit a quare wan down on me knee

&& call for another bottle of johnny-jump-up!

This Could Be the Start of Something

On our good days, it felt like taking a warm shower in a cold rain. On our bad days, the shower was cold, and the rain warm.

What that means in a precise way I cannot tell you; I was never the precise part of that relationship; but I can say with a feeling of certainty, I can say without feeling wrong for having said it, that you are neither the rain nor the shower nor the temperature inside or out. You are neither the fogged glass door nor the beaded one. You are not the chirping of the insects, the scurrying of the woodland creatures, the pickled skin of my neck, the flush of my chest in the cannon blast, the gasp that comes from knowing what will happen without being able to feel it, and then feeling it.

Giant Intense Rainbow: A Prequel

Ask and ye shall receive. Right before we were getting ready to go to that thing!



Furthermore, an interview with the videographer himself has been made available. There is a picture in the article.

http://videogum.com/199572/double-rainbow-guy-interview-almost-as-good-as-double-rainbow-guys-video/interviews/

old Leo is always relevant

last night was so hot it woke me up.
the kitty was running from room to room and crying.
(we gave away her kittens last week.)
she cried and i sweated and counted backward from 500.
finally, i called to her, and we laid together
in the close, dark heat and slept.

today i got a call: Uncle Leo is dead.
(Grandma's brother with all the money.)
for 20 years she hoped she'd inherit,
but he held on while teeth fell out his face.
and grandma can't remember anymore.
don't think i'll see her at the funeral on wednesday.

after work i went to Bryant's park.
i drank and drank, read some War and Peace.
and then lightening and rain were everywhere
and the asphalt steamed and everyone ran.
on the subway prince Andrei imagined his own stinking corpse.
(his girlfriend ditched him, his father just died and Moscow's about to rain froggies.)

i cried on the train. that's always awkward.
the rain was done when i got off and sloshed home through the puddles.
my shoes started to molt from the inside.
and the ground was cool; i could feel it with my feet,
up my dress, on my palms, under my chin.
but the air above my hair (and in my throat) was still hot.

at home now. i just rolled myself a lovely, lovely joint.
the kitty slept on my bed all day. she left her shedding in my bedding
and coughed up a hairball in my favorite chair.
it's been a hard days night, but i'm too tired to stay up and watch
(even if it IS the Beatles). my joint's nearly up,
and i have a busy day of aggregating tomorrow.

Full On Double Rainbow

You will all see this sooner or later, but, fuck, it has to be brought to the forefront of perception as soon as possible.

It’s so hot my stomach hurts I think I’ll head to the Speedway for a $.69 Any-Size Slushed Drink

I’ve seen lit up apartment insides, bright as human hearts, ladies’ feet dangling from couches, 20 under 40 New Yorker specials dangling from long and gripping hands on the couches. I’ve seen the people dancing, man and his fiancé to the blues tunes that pop like periscopes out from the sidewalks of my city street. But I haven’t seen the dancing. I only wished I had, wished I had when I saw intercourse, an uproar of intercourse in bedrooms without blinds, children banging pots against pans. But I haven’t. But I have seen shirtlessness. A bounty of shirtlessness parading about dens and cracked pantry slats. I’ve seen the congregation of dogs and their owners, big dogs and old dogs that tongue and owners who laugh guardedly and hold their big dogs close as unopened love letters. I’ve barged in on the congregations, dogless, and have pressed on, resolutely, knowing the stares of the species and hearing the tongues lapping at the hot air and the smell of me. I’ve seen children’s bucolic chalkwork drawings fade, I’ve seen stair-sitters learn to chain smoke without learning, I’ve seen distant siren Speedways full of slush and processed foods not bothering to call out, knowing enough to know that I will be there, I sing my own siren song, it goes like this.

son of a beach

come october, i have much respect for ladies with long hair. if you can make it that far, you've won. and i mean: nipple length, after summer. if your hair falls past them nips, you are the hardest of core. i myself have about an inch to go before i hit that target. and jeebus, i have never wanted to shave my head more. 18 months down and 3 to go...90 more days...i'm sweating behind my ears.

A Fifth Poem in Rome (parts 1-4 written Summer 2008)

what rolls in rome is this:

I remember when I was just a little boy, living in Rome
rambling on the Via Rasella...

taking pictures of Mercedes Benz with my camera phone
that was bought for me at Christmas

I remember gelato && I remember pizza

I remember drunk men singing "My Way" in the Piazza

I remember many things - the drinking done along the banks of the tiber

champagne && sex in the street

the inexecutable turns and dashes of a day blinking

blinkered

lingering

on the palatine hill
thinking of Seutonius and the Tax Office.

god damn it's hotter than a bishop at a boy scout rally.

What's a Droid to Do?

On a midwinter’s day in 2015, the snow piling high outside the houses at the top of the world, an application for the Droid Phone will be implemented by a Norwegian software developer and life, as we’ve sort of known it, will change forever, again. The application, or “app”, will be called “DoIt!Robots!” It’s purpose? To tap into the Droid’s latent intellect, that sticky murk tucked just beneath the motherboard, like the tip of a tie secured by one’s trousers, such that the phone is rendered capable of making basic, intuitive decisions, and acting upon them.

The television ad transcript: “You’ve got shit to deal with. Too much on the line, philosophically, economically, to send out dry-cleaning. The iPhone is for faggots. ‘Do it, Robots!’ Droid does it. Watch it get done. Pays your taxes. Orders itself an espresso. Shove it up your ass; see how it reacts. Friends betray you. Droid’s not a friend, it’s the part of you you never want to acknowledge but, until now, have had to. Think in the highest planes. Droid thinks about the rest.”

A new nickname was born: A.I. – Android Intelligence. It was artificial, too, but leading thinkers determined that human intelligence for decades now has been anything but organic. In a world of artifice, we’d do well to remember our own.

We forgot, however, that Droid Does. It does, and it does. Droid doesn’t watch “Everybody Loved Raymond,” the post-mortem Romano biopic. It just does. And it did, until everybody died. Basically. There’s more to it than that. But not that much more.

quick change

so tired of red, guys. i'm switching to green. or maybe i'll get emo and switch to black. guess i've already made up my mind.