On the Essence of Being

               i am

               i am 

                        not   i

                 am          i  

                 am (not)

               i am            what

                                 i          am   

                        not   i          am those things     

because i am

                        not   i

                 am

because                   i           am

                       (not)

because i am not   i what am

                                                   those things

                                   what                  things

                        not   i

                 am not

Prius Serious

"

look at that cool

Prius

!" she said.

i did not know

  how SERIOUS

it was

  but

-believe me-

it's that

          SERIOUS

Second Coming (first draft)

You are Jesus

  on the cross

        legs together

        arms  spread

  but with the hair of a 

                  90s lez

  & beard of a 

      post-hormone         tranny

       Pause

                 for em-PHA-sis

 Glow spreading

    Cornet-wielding angels

        DOVES flocking to raise you

              up

         up     up

     up              up

     till the ceiling fights to constrain you

     This vision, my vision

             O Holy Christ-Professor! 

       I/Am/I saved??/!

    you talk about

               marbles

 And your fanfare is over in

                                     second-hours in

                      a flash

****

borderline blasphemous? maybe, i know but shh don't worry.  this is exactly what you would have written had you been there.  promise!

As tagged by Laura

6 Unspectacular Things About Me:

1. I'm really good at procrastinating (this is what is happening now)

2. I will be a bartender/bike messenger when I go to grad school in NYC

3. I often feel uncomfortable in situations where there is no music playing when there could be

4. Cooking is one of my new favorite obsessions

5. The last time I watched TV was a week ago today, before that, a month 

6. I really want to take up bicycle maintenance so I can repair/tune/maintain my current bike. 

I choose to tag:

Mel

Charish

(and i would tag jenna but she probably would not see this for several months and then wouldn't do it because she hardly ever writes anymore...)

Directions:

1. Link the person who tagged you

2. Mention the rules on your blog

3. list 6 unspectacular things about you

4. tag 6 other bloggers by linking them (or less if you don't know that many people like myself, I won't judge you)

some days

i love ever

yone

those poetry readings

we got there first

before me

& sat schizophrenic

us-whisps in booth

She, Veritable Step Function

she can be described

only piece-wise-

the pieces that go here

the pieces that go there

the piece that stays with me

she doesn't know i've stolen

Blue

it was conceived inside

near the joints oozed

from beneath groomed nail beds

and on in squiggles

like waves like

vines of poison itching

the blue is creeping

from your fingers and

spreading up your arm

like i should be

To the Woman with Invisible Legs

They've appeared again

The feet of a woman born 

of denim and desk chair, 

at home in the arms of 

some slip-ons.  

I had forgotten them 

while they were tucked away, 

talking politics 

of 17th century motherhood 

with the cotton of your panties.  

she has been opened

on hinge

and her intestines

held on to

The Burial

when you were touched

there began your 

tragedy

one tiny raised ridge of print

from snake finger

tipped in Gold, based in

flesh    [silver]   bone

on colorless hair

then oh! the quakes!

we did not smell the ash-

grey trails blazing

there was no time to prepare

Untitled MLXXIV

  How are

         you as a catch-all

    your ghosts?

What are they

         for everyone joined laughing,

   smiling about?

         and maybe better off.

Patrick of Democracy

Patrick wears home-made distressed Levi's.   They look dirty but I'm giving the benefit of the doubt because I do not know this man.  I do know the type.  What a head of hair he's got!  You do not need to speak well or teach well to be a professor.  You do not need to be in shape or possessing of supreme fashion sense.

But Prof Great-Hair, you lazy bastard, you!  You embody your career.  I assume you are smarter than you let on.  Smart and well read.  Your sensible shoes become you.  If I should creep on you and find your number, would you answer?  Your phone is leather-bound and on your hip - just in case, I wonder.

He laughs.  Our eyes connect.  I picture him as a mall Santa and that, too, is fitting.  

this is my metaphor for being unable to produce any writings

It's like an iceberg in here.  Except below the surface of ice isn't just more ice.  Below the surface of ice are flowers, dead flowers probably.  Yeah, dead flowers.  Flowers that have bent stems and missing petals and sad colors.  Lovely flowers.  

Below the flowers is more ice. 

aujourd'hui c'était comme feu ce sentiment.  soudainment je me suis trouvée dans un rue et j'ai su.

il faut que le français soit* toujours dans ma vie.  

*this morning we went into a place and Stephen and Laura went first so the man behind the counter spoke to me in english and I responded in french because it just felt better to me.  I didn't say much.  just a bonjour and a merci... a little bonne journée is all...and this man has the GAUL** to say to me "it's so good that you know how to say thank you in french, some of the people in west montreal can't even say hello or thank you" and I walked out of there radiating foul juices, so angry (so sad).  I wanted to say that I could say a whole lot more than just thank you in french.  I wanted to yell at him!  I wanted to yell at him in french!  I am not a dumb american.  my chorus sang "of course you can! you can even navigate the tricky tricky subjunctive!" and I felt better almost instantly 'cause you know what.  I sure can.  What does he know?  Con.  Putain.  This verb was in the subjunctive form.  

** get it!? Gall? Gaul?? FRANCE! you know like francophone place like montreal.  it made me laugh.  she laughs at her own puns, that's so much lower than laughing at her own jokes it's sad.  no it's awesome actually.  

Canadian hobo's don't want your money, they just want you to put them in a cup or a poster.  

this what i learned today. 

I wrote a poem today.  It started:

I am writing you a left-handed poem

because everything is backwards...

but it went downhill fast from there.

you were not the you,

in case you wondered. 

around 5/6 of the way through

i salvaged it i think

created some interesting

...yet thought provoking...

statements

had some good lines to try and fight the wealth

of bad ones

but i ended up throwing it away

because i hated it.

i wrote that poem with my left hand

but not all poems written with the left hand are

left-handed poems. 

this was not my poem. 

Lessons Learned from Drunks #13

when you piss and 

miss the toilet,

it is advisable

to start again

maybe in a new stall

know what? i really want to write you a poem.

why did i take this job? (based on a true story)

"I thought it was a myth!" said the man after he witnessed the solvation of the rubik's cube.  

I made up the world solvation. 

Abracadabra

Into his hat he cried "Please and Thank You!" and waited several minutes before the audience's jeers and cries of hatred burrowed into his skull.  Now he works in a cubical and finds himself resenting every rabbit he passes.  Magic his ass.  

Husbands

As it stopped, a woman on a train stood up promptly at 6h49 PM and announced her full name and destination.  She gave her name again to the conductor as she exited and again to the man on duty in the train station.  While she whistled a tune on the way to her mother's house, she wondered if she had remembered to lock the windows and if the hitman had arrived on time.  

While Waiting For A Meeting

I wrote this for Charish* and

I hope she likes it

I wrote this for Charish and 

I don't care if she likes it

I wrote this for Charish and

It is hip-shaking

Eye-raping

Cookie-baking

Tic-Tac-Toe good

To what does she owe the honor?

*this looks like char-ish to me. char making not the chair sound but the burger king burger type of sound.  my apologies for poor spelling.  this is a great way to distinguish a person from an abstract concept.  

Story of My Life

A grandfather sat his grandson on his knee and prepared the small child for a story.  No one asked the child if the child really wanted to hear a story, or if it really had the time for a story, or if there was something more important the child should have been doing.  The grandfather merely captured his progeny for selfish purposes and all others occupying the house stood witness as it happened, doing little to help.  Each of them had had their turn, and each of them wished that someone had spoken up on their behalf.  Even spanish-speaking house-cleaner Maria had heard (yet failed to comprehend) her fair share of grandfather's stories.  Now it was time for the grandchild's initiation.  His very first. With a toothless smile and slightly crazed cough-infused laughter, grandfather prepared himself.  "There lived a boy of seven married to a dishwasher named Sue in happy unicorn land..." Grandfather began.  And the grandson began to cry, not only because grandfather was a scary man, but because his story was ridiculous.  

On Death and Dying

If Cancer spoke a language it'd probably be French because that's what they speak in Switzerland.  Then again, no.  Well, maybe.  If it did, we'd be pretty similar.  Both of us would speak French, and both of us would be possibly fatal.  

Logic

buying hummers helps terrorists

Truth Revisited?

it is necessary sometimes to sit down and remind me who i am, what it is i do, what it is i need.

otherwise i find myself wanting, craving tragically silly things. 

Truth

I hadn't written in a while.