Wednesday, April 29, 2009

A New Pollution

She's got an unbroken heart on each sleeve
She's got the little pills that make her go crazy
She's a lily-white bride to the flame
Burned it up, now it's time to turn over

She's in love with the
new pollution

She's got a foot on the wheel of time
She can eat with a complete stranger
She can slip in a battery fog
Collecting troubles and electrical members

She's in love with the
new pollution

She's a paradise in camouflage
She's a cracked whip mixing my feelings
She's an island in an emptied ocean
I'm her baby and she's making me ruthless

We Cacklin' Absurd

Bein' cynically modern, as we are,
w' learn to take nothin'
too seriously.

Makin' horror stories 'bout funny things.
Psychotic teenage axe murderers
Paris Hilton

But what's a laugh
inna tha face a

Look in 't
pupils dug like deep holes
cave-like nostrils echoin', symmetrically moanin'
Archimedean spirals 'n each side a ya head, en
yer gaping mouth, lik'n inverted cone, where light falls inna the pit, deep 'n infinite.
Masks fer e'rbody.
It's transparent and terrifyin', precisely
it hides nothin'.

But tha laughter perpetuates LIFE.
W' laugh not because we can,
but 'cuz we gots ta -
it just 'rupts outta us.

So w' learn to take nothin'
too seriously.
Emptee set.
Like uh...giant'd wide mouthin' one great big O-hoh-ho-oh-hoh.

You mightn't want nothin' to git inside you but
if'n God left the gate open when he went off on holiday
you wunder whether sumthin' mightn't of snuck in
and whether nothin' ain’t already inside it all.

Get comfterble.
Don’t be 'fraid.
En learn ta take nothin'
a li'l too seriously.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Remember this. (this is not a poem)


film is running
you're at the back of the class
Why is the pledge of allegiance necessary to my education?
Really wondering;
thinking about George Washington and his slaves

but you're actually at work
thinking all that.
You wonder why you didn't ask more questions as a child.
You get mad, but only resentfully so - mad at yourself.

A caterpillar is inching up the bark of a tree - an American Elm.
Each second is 24 pictures.
60 now, if it's in HD.
Maybe more.
So when you saw your sister careen over the handlebars of your bike,
and you wish you could not let her ride it,
maybe there was something you didn't see.
A green devil poking his finger into the spokes,
or an angel lifting the life out of her body like a fish on a hook right before impact.
The caterpillar doesn't get to finish it's climb before the director cuts it off.

Occasionally, Bismarck, North Dakota, experiences something along the lines of something in Afghanistan or Darfur. Brains pick up memories in secret places - sometimes losing them like quarters in the couch - and when we find them again, they are like new and totally useable. Sometimes, I think it's good to forget.

my calendar speaks
regularly. Only one song
it sings forever.

Remember this.

Remember this.

The Long Golden Road

she wrote to
she went out the window.

I will go to the City,
hang my portrait on the emerald bricks,
from the ruby scaffolds of the religious houses,
and proceed to get strung out
like a high wire act above the miniature crowd

like Dorothy
and her long, golden road.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

A Big White House and No One to Call It Home

in the house that is always "White"
someone comes to clean every day
they clean the floors
the windows, and
the walls, and
the kitchen, and
the stairs, and
the yard

and a few other things

the gutters
and the trash
and the plates
and the paintings
and the statues
and the office
and the tables
and the letters
and the tourists
and the library
and the dog
and the fishes
and the clothes
and the closets
and the undergarments
and the white sheets
and the rugs
and the roof
and the shingles
and the sewers
and the lawn
and the flowers
and the bugs
and the ceiling fans
and the lamps

and some other things

the weeds
and the mantlepieces
and the altars
and the crosses on the walls
and the bedrooms
and the guest bedrooms
and the cameras
and the monitors
and the security guards
and the guests
and the women
and the smells
and the pencils
and the pens
and the paperclips
and the maps
and the desk
and the coffee cups
and the batteries
and the light bulbs
and the toilet paper
and the bathrooms
and the bathroom magazines
and the cleaners
and the plungers
and the hair brushes
and the money
and the curtains
and the Life
and the garden
and the outside
and the boots
and the hats
and the shoes
and the pants
and the belts (the many belts)
and the purity of the Family
and the honesty
and the decency
and the necklines
and the collars
and the sleeves
and the toenails
and the Friendly
and the Meek
and the Equal
and the Strong
and the Beautiful
and the Pious

and the Family doesn't notice a thing
and the Family doesn't notice a thing
and the Family doesn't notice

What do you get for the Family who has everything?
The Family who is never in need
The Family that always stays together
The Family for whom nothing is missing
The beautiful Family
that is protected

Monday, April 20, 2009


Like skipping stones,
I tweet sometimes.
Sometimes I get
one, two,
sometimes a few -
but most often they just sink.

down to the bottom,
the bottom of a bog,
a bog already littered with
for anyone, everyone
and no one in particulars.

But why worry?
With the tidal activity and fish kicking them around
these thoughts may surface again.
And the worms dig up new ones all the time
to chuck sideways
set to your own personal spin
spiralling off into space again.

Again and again

just one more line -
another line to pass the time.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Drug Use in the Modern World

"I'm not in love with the modern world"

- Wolf Parade

The modern world has been defined by its singularity, by its righteous one-sidedness. The push for unification has also manifested itself as a crusade against diversity. As Wendy Brown of UC Berkeley might say, the modern West's emphasis on pluralistic tolerance is often used as a substitute for pluralistic justice or equality - a different or unnatural subject will be tolerated rather than made equal. As John Gray has suggested, the characterization of Al Qaeda as backwards and medieval in comparison to the modern West is a similar suggestion that there is only one meaning to what it is to be "modern."

The modern push for unification is more than just political. It suggests a scientific monism which can all be understood through the physics of matter and energy. They have foretold of a universal history, a unified theory of everything - one truth, one reality. Their view of reason suggests, if everyone was completely reasonable, then none of us would disagree. This kind of absolutism seems to be equally terrible as imperial politics, if not for any other reason than because it claims not to be political but only scientific. Everything will be better once you accept it. If one does not ask the right kinds of questions, if one's experimentation does not emphasize repeatability or universal applicability, one will be left in the proverbial dustbin of history (or perhaps more accurately, one will be cast into it like a useless rag).

Which brings me to my point. When I learn about consciousness-expanding drug use, and I get this conscience poking its finger into the back of my head telling me, "what you're thinking about is wrong...," it seems be doing it for my own good. Modernity tells me that the reason why illegal drugs are illegal is that morally, evolutionarily, and in reality , drugs are actually wrong or bad; the conscious-states they provoke in the mind are false and devilish; that exploring the mind cannot produce real knowledge because it is not scientific, i.e. detached or strict/analytic. Reality is "out there." It is a series of normal effects on you and your body. It's not up to you to decide. Do you remember the wooden ruler leaning in the corner by the blackboard? This seems to be the psychology of Modernity.

I'm tired of this. It is not only boring but I see absurdism at its core. If we seek vigor and excitement when we set out into life, then we won't believe that we already know what is out there. Our liberation will not consist of diagnosis and therapy; it will consist of tucking freedom under our arm and going. Now, I'm challenging you to take this seriously, not simply a drug-fueled fury. When that old wooden shaft cracks against your ass, let the snap set you off like a rocket-horse, willing to leave the ground beneath you.

San Francisco Movie Theater



Jack Kerouac

In San Francisco, Jack Kerouac is an alley of Chinese children throwing fireworks on the ground and shrieking while the white kids walk by to see their idols, and the children, who have little to do, are just blowing shit up.