more like CRAP-al tunnel

i've got a lightening rod in my wrist.
storm's a-brewin'.
i've got a fanged critter living under my skin.
carpal nesting.
i've got idiopathic median aggravation.
pangs over pains.
but i just got me some medical benefits.
high five!--ow

Sunday Night Song

So sorry dear Sasketchewan

So long, Sovereignty,

signify

with your
left
hand

what you feel

yay
or
nay

they have the plant
but we have the
power?

Give me a break!

Like Christmas, only, erm, oh tuesdays child is freezing.

No!

You DON'T GET ME...

I'm part of The Union, the man explained gently creasing his crimpleen suit
for all to see, at least that is what's expected when he shows his card.

and pays his dues.

Who?

Who's on First, Indeed.

In deed and in death I swear I won't

oh, bugger.

maybe next.

oh.

never.

seldom.

oh never sell them my pretty.

my pity is not so seldom

sung. or wrung.

upon a wimpling wing.

Oh! my Chevalier!

How cavalier you were, with the Caviar.

And Col. Mustard And Lieut.

Lutyens.

And Ypres. Oh! BEEP!

Oh dear Auntie,

your bloopers are golden.

your bloomers are greasy.

So's the tin.

And, here's the thing.......

the thing about Jim Larkin, is.

melody at midnight

harmonize with me.

harmonizing, we.

dual dial tones,

dilly-dallying chords.

dread the dead dawn,

that sad sack o’ sun,

cold and wet and

just around the bend.

when sound swims

and sight vibrates,

when speech gets gummed

on wobbly walkways…

we’ll link arms and

lean into the wind.

harmonizing, we.

harmonize with me.

some front page drivin' news

"what a handsome couple we'd make,"
i said before i kissed his friend
and he hit on my sister.

i'm workin' on my night moves.

your side of the bed is cold.
so i sleep diagonally,
and think on the sunrise.

(night moves)

i saw the sunny sign
swimming in my vision
on my way to the train.

(night moves)

got that deadline
down cul-de-sac time
gone by gone by.

waitin' on them night moves.

bye bye,
birdie baby,
biggie boy

wtf
way off
wrong mongrel
wager
winger
mingus
motown
miller time
mailer time
morrow time
more time
more time
more time

no more time.

it's funny how the night moves.

a toast to tom o'bedlam!

i think tomsy deserves a round of conrats!

a sidemouth kiss

a sidemouth kiss

right where the geoffrey goes

when it’s been said n done

how I should a walked home

I might still be walking

instead of sickly typing

I waited like a sucker for a train

now I’m waiting for a train

a kiss on neither cheek nor lips

I felt your hair blow on my carotid

it whispered things like this is just a joke

in the wind that brought the funny rain

woebegone departed

begone by a woe

how I could have saved on train fare

and put these legs to use

Traditional Irish Ballad #4

whirl yer whiskey 'round like blazes
and a raise a glass
to pass/or prickle
the arms
of a loyal guard wrapped between a star and sickle

round a round a silver tangle tassie

&& remember with consternation another mans wound
to round
the turnpike and trip the coach road
like a lark in the mourning

A London Poem

These are open when others are not
- these are not others when open
or knotted
like tube lines / or other
things. others are open.
not balconies.
not security.

a punch in the arm. maybe.
love. definitely.

yellow reg. no return.

this sounds like a lie...but it's 911

tonight anna and i found a scaffolding...it was past midnight.
(the place was in front of a Brooklyn ambulance center)
i decided to climb. it went 4 floors up and wrapped around.
rickety ladders and crickety planks.
on my way down, anna lagged behind, trying to catch a view.
as i reached the first-floor ladder, i saw a man creep out a window
i'd just passed. he stepped onto the planks i had just tread.
he must have been watching us.
i panicked and hid around the side of the building.
still 12 feet up, i hugged the bricks and caught my breath.
as i peered around the corner, i saw him climbing back into
the window of the (totally gutted) building.
fuckin anna was unaware, 2 floors above me.
i climbed down the bottom ladder and ran to the edge of the scaffolding---
i wanted to yell up to her, but an ambulance pulled into the station
and all these ambulance bros crowded around and cheered.
something dramatic and heroic had just occurred,
but we had a major creep-fest on our hands.
i waited for the bros to close the ambulance garage doors,
then i yelled up at the roof: "anna! anna! anna! 911! 911!"
(ironic, the date. Ground Zero is currently projecting a twin spotlight straight at the moon. 9/11)
i waited, but heard nothing.
my thighs started shaking, then my hands, then something in my chest--my lungs?
really? is this.....really? "anna!"
i scurried under the scaffolding, around the other side of the building:
"anna! anna! the fuck!"
scuffling.
dust fell in my upturned eyes, pooled water fell from somewhere.
hurried footsteps above my head and over toward the first-floor ladder.
"cat? cat? cat?"
jeebus god, bitch, what the FUCK happened?
"he came out of nowhere. tried to molest me. i clocked him and climbed down---
he stood over me, so i grabbed the planks and shook them as hard as i could."
we're walking down the block, hands clasped and trembling together.
suddenly, HE walks out of a door underneath the scaffolding.
there he fucking is. with a shoulder bag and a high-waisted, short-torsoed gait.
he looks over his shoulder and skips (seriously).
"is that fucking him?"
"....that's fucking him---"
and she chases him into the street.
"YOU GET WHAT YOU DESERVE," i shout as she punches him in the head.
he reeles and speed-walks down the avenue.
anna rejoins me and we bee-line for the bar.
"shots, please, and don't stop the flow."
thank goodness that douche wasn't packing.
that's a september 11th courtesy for ya.

'double rainbow' it ain't

if you haven't seen Inception, i am sad for you.
if you saw it and didn't like it, you are a dead-to-me snob.
if you turn out your lights, close your doors, get under the covers and watch this video, it will change your life.
Inception probably won't do that for you--i admit.

What I’ll Miss About (Potential) Unemployment

My neighbor plays an all-day guitar

Not songs but scaling tunes

The notes he chose pass through the wall

Over the rat poison and die on the coverall

I take my lunch from Whole Foods

A sushi roll, the Hot Items Bar

They’re never far

I took it home and read the news

At a quarter to four

I open the beer-fridge door

And see a range of Blue Mountains

Inside each a spring, a fountain

That runneth down my chin and collects on the floor

I might watch the United States play Angola

And remember when I bought that R.C. Cola

Who drank all that R.C. Cola?

At halftime I’ll Wikipedia Pensacola

The seaport county seat of County Escambia

Home to the Blue Angels

Have they flown over the Blue Mountains

Those Blue Angels on high

Did they see pools of crystal clear Coors

And beer-battered fish fry aswimmin’ in the waters?

Were they ousted from Blue Heaven

Their tricksiness disdained?

Do they show Man Vs. Food in Blue Heaven?

Or even in Africa?

We are not so judgmental down here

We would love to see you pirouette in the stratosphere

I’d love to see you pirouette up there

I wouldn’t know how to miss that

LAHNDAHN

Expect despatches from The Bulb's office in London in the coming days..............

'i caught vince fontaine putting asprin in my coke at the dance'

kitty got knocked up again.
i came home from a failed date,
(with a stand-up comic, no less)
and there were three nearly hairless
long-limmed rodent-lookin' things
floppin' 'round 'neath the bed.

the fuck am i to do
with these fuckin' kittens?
they're disgusting with their
swollen eyes and squashed-up faces
like infected otters. pretty much
just sit there and flail.

mamma kitty skulks near my feet
as i try to drink down a klonopin,
my new favorite hobby.
i'd lock her in the back yard
if it weren't for the satisfying sounds
of the sucklings that force her supine.

trapped now, eh? smug slut.
readin' martin amis and listening to the Jackson 5
has stripped me of my psychological straight edges:
say goodbye to them right-angles, lady;
close your door to mamma K
and celebrate sentences 'bout beatin' up on a bitch.

SWAP EYES WITH A MACHINE.

Unlock hidden info literally floating around your head . . . Because when there's no limit to what Droid gets, there's no limit to what Droid Does.

john mayer is a FUCKING POET

in lieu of a post of my own, i'd like to post something by John Mayer. before you make fun of me, let me say this: yes, his pop music is uck, for the most part, but the man can SHRED some blues guitar. and he's a little crazy. and for these reasons, i love him.

that being said, he wrote something the other day that caused our managing editor to rain down fire and brimstone on the newsroom Friday morning. "I WILL FIRE EVERY SINGLE EDITOR IF THIS CONTINUES. THINGS ARE GOING TO CHANGE AROUND HERE," he threatened.

Was he serious? Would he really fire his entire overworked, underpaid (not to mention: loyal!) editorial staff? I doubt it. however, you ought to read what john mayer said to provoke this.

JOHN MAYER IS A FUCKING POET (link)

why is it that only girls get to lay there motionless during sex

why is it that only girls get to lay there motionless during sex

we men want to be afforded that same right

the distance gained

the breaking of waves on shore, heard from afar, uncaring

we want our feelings to act on us like we were somebody else, too

on our back like it rested in a grassland with wind, close to the ground,

our hair tucked behind our ears

wind shushing with the nervousness of a boy who shushes for the first time

yesterday I woke with a start from a dream. I couldn’t remember the eye color of any girl I’ve ever dated. where have I been looking, all this time, all this time, if not there.

Early Adventures in Page 220 - A Corrupt Text

twice he came to what might have been a turning point in his career [...] If she isn't chasing diamond, she is seeking solace in booze or blow.But maria said she didn't like nuts and they weren't to bother about her. In their forty eight hours of unwanted reprieve the men had more time to ready themselves. The patriarch doesn't seem to share the Church's long-standing suspicion of the theatre, as a temple of disorder and dangerous suggestion.

An Arrangement of Words Took From a Green Stickie, a Red One

Quick

She nicknamed him

Like eggs, and

My relationships with the dullest of blades.

Let's make

to finish

I sever

Scramble!

Because he was

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"Instant gratification"

The Train

A mother brought her young son aboard the train. They got on at Ravinia, the southernmost stop in Highland Park, and got off at the uptown Highland Park stop, just one stop later. It was the child's first train ride, the mother told the passengers around them. One stop. Like wading slowly into cold water. The train is fun, the mother wanted her child to know. It is not scary or dangerous, though it is big and it is to be given a wide berth. You must exercise caution. But then it's fun. They rode the train for about four minutes, and then they departed. It was almost lunchtime; I bet they ate something soon thereafter.

I think this is the wrong approach to parenting. I think a child's first train ride should be a long one, at least an hour long, maybe more. Possibly Transiberian. At least to the city proper. Take the child to the downtown station. A train can still be a heroic thing, a fantastic journey. Don't take your kid on a five minute train ride and ruin the possibility for exoticism in daily life. There are only so many opportunities. Don't make everything so safe that adventure lasts all of five minutes and ends in chicken fingers. Don't ruin the train. The train will ruin itself years later, when the child is broke and the summer is hot and there is no car to take to and from his old job in the suburbs. The train will ruin itself. Let the train be an adventure; create a memory for that child. It's one of the many things wrong with overly cautious parenting. The toddler now owns the train. He owns it. It can never hurt him. Let the train own the toddler, let him build it up. Boys must idolize the big parts of the world around them. It is in their nature. It is part of boyhood. If they don't idolize the trains, if they don't respect them, they grow borderless. Boys are expansive. They will fill the space you afford them. Fear and admiration. Let the boy see the world, like a gleaming ornament from afar, but do not let him hold it in his little hand.

let there be lightheartedness!

i saw you in my house last night.
woke up with a two-day hangover,
and there you were,
sitting on the edge of the bed.

your naked back was to me,
and your ass pressed into the memory foam.
i mumbled your name and reached,
but i couldn't get to you.

son of a bitch, will you stop this haunt?
i bet if you came to me in the daytime,
i'd laugh at how your hairline, waistline changed:
less of this, more of that, perhaps.

i might slap you once for all the things we never said.
then again, i might buy you a shot and tell you
i'm trying to forget. but i'll give you tequila
because i remember how you hate it.

you outta know i loathe to wake and find you in the dark.
next time you sneak in and ruin my sleep,
i'll roll over and pretend you're not there,
the way i did the last time i saw you in the light.

(anyway, i can't trust a man who won't drink tequila)