testing, testing. is this thing on?

if androids dream of electric sheep,

do crickets chirp on a silent blog?

no wait, i can do better:

if abandoned blogs sob, does anyone see?

i feel like the it's the end of Titanic.

"is anyone alive out there? can anyone hear me?"

Who's the Cutest?

http://www.whosthecutest.com/

Parlez Vous, Francis?

androids thunderclap to my raps

their hand claps brew storms like Mameluke tea

that’s a cardamom tea

mum likes to stir in the honey

I, infantile, desiccate cinnamon sticks

tongue em like licorice twists

I’ve never looked malefic, just terrific

the baby in waiting

last night it was all rainy

all of it

it woke me up

and put me down again

it rocked me out of my cradle and caught me

and my howling turned on the wind

susurrous, I told it some sins

all my androids listened in

streams of vulgarities

then I made love to those wheat thins

I brew tea like gray earls mow greenswards

I strive for abstruseness

for every reason the toothless smile

would it kill me to dial you once in awhile

I could pull out like a valet

parallel park in your fanny

we’d better not wait

it’s our first date so let’s inseminate

rubicund cunts

with café au lait

but the tea’s ready

and mum reaches for the pantry

for our honey

in its ursine depository

I’m coming, mum, coming for our honey

On This Day: Blasts from the Past from The Bulbs Old Dimensions

resist trix
relics and some man Westmore Harvard 1939
it was the middle of the start of the war and he said:

"This charm offers considerable difficulty. The first part describes an angel all-radiant {...} sent from on high, a being fair of face from his glorious home//land of hope and glory//the plains and the high mountains, the salt waves and shakers,{...} Whales praise thee, the dread evil creature, (be wary the craters and the cratures with their raptures of vertigo) flashing with surges of flame, to seek out his foes, the hated men. The king was mindful of flame."

- from Translations of the Anglo-Saxon by RK Gordon and DG Toms - Everyman Editions 1926

Personally, I'm still wondering where the fuck F. Scott Fitzgerald was? Whitman? What - man?

*************************************************************************************

Rates of Alcoholism among the American Irish, both first and second-generation, were also demonstrably higher than for all other Americans in the early twentieth century. One study of the admission to the Worcester, Mass. State Hospital in 1900 discovered the following percentages of alcoholic cases among the total male admissions //admit nothing// for each ethnic(k) group (sic): Oirish 37; German, English, Scotch//on the rocks// 20-25; Mass.-born 14; and Jewish, 5. Charles Basin was born in 18-? Charles Basin died.Charles Basin never married. Charles Basin is assaulted Daily by the demands Of the BAA Marathon. Charles Basin should arrest this action.Charles Basin has no intention of enrolling in MIT. Charles Basin will go to Harvard. It will be easier for him there...I want to sleep on the couch in Douglas Hall* , but they won’t let me...I’ve had enough of Cambridge. I think I’m drunk on the New England air ...Take me back to Boylston...I need a beer...

*No reference can be found to a Douglas Hall in Harvard. This is likely to be Dudley House, the centre for the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences at Harvard (Shane M. Forde)

- from Kevin Kenny, The American Irish: A History (corrupt translation) Longman Press 2000

*************************************************************************************

what a hack-job

fuck a respiratory infection.

i breathe through gobs of gossamer,

sodden wads--esophageal.

tricksy things, lungs.

they clog like pipes

and flood the kitchen.

can i get a plumber's number?

this cough is dry and deep--

Grand Canyon, with that faint wet snake

winding along the hazy bottom.

wheeze along, Colorado.

wheeze for me, baby.

i'll hold my breath

till we make

the sea.

Sports News

Hurry up man
or the patter'oller be patton

genril
good grill
and good girls are scream
fir

hurry up man -

we got this from a game:

by our newest news-set correspondent Charles Basin

It’s Dodgers ...
It’s big...it is vision...
Lincecum
Is
Galahad
Is Jack Spicer
Is, where
Is
Guinevere?
And where, Maid Marion?
And there is Uribe,
With a walk-off homer,
And there’s game and
There is Uribe
Is
Launcelot
Is
Benediction
Is
Waiting
And the forever tinkering
The constancy
Of the mountains
Is the fault-line
In the valley
Is the effeminacy
Of what it is
What it is
is the crouching
Of what it is
What it is
Is Jack Spicer
Is Charles
Basin
Is
Galahad
Is
Jack Spicer
Is
Charles Basin
Dead?

Charles Basin is waiting at the bar.

how 'bout some backpay, eh?

have you seen The Times?

your unpaid internships

may be illegal. such a pity,

but what can you do?

"have you seen the times?"

my benefactors asked over dinner.

they shook their heads ("such a pity"), ordered

more wine to toast the future (lost their savings last year).

the mussels came floating in a spicy broth

while singers dittied showtunes.

i flirted with the tenor by the door, then took

my leave--just ahead of the bill.

fuck the times.

there's no white horse, no one wielding folded steel

and riding in to waive my overdraft charges.

color guard, fife and drum, plumage, pomposity--nunna those.

it's a pity, but what can you do?

roll over and take it.

submissive in the bedroom,

now in the boardroom.