Tags
35 years ago
the only thing
I understood was
the futility of brakes
on a foot of snow
28 Thursday Feb 2013
Posted poetry
inTags
35 years ago
the only thing
I understood was
the futility of brakes
on a foot of snow
28 Thursday Feb 2013
Posted music
inA soundscape using my voice and a Tibetan singing bowl.
25 Monday Feb 2013
Posted poetry
inAfter all these years
you’re still hanging around
in the shadows,
stubbornly refusing
to be seen,
even with the new
motion sensor lights
on the front of the house,
just a glint of blond,
a white dress,
a cold Saturday alone.
You drift in when
I’m asleep,
you never let me
see your face
hear your voice
feel your heart
you are nothing
but a Mass card
buried in a drawer
my father threw away
decades ago
with the rest of the
memories.
24 Sunday Feb 2013
Posted poetry
inTags
at least I didn't burn the house down trying, do-it-yourself, fatherhood, flarf, frustration, plumbing, prose poem, water heater
No water, broken plumbing, filthy frustration- I misread the plumbing. Our shower has been frustrated; our hot water heater failed on a Sunday morning, upsetting the toilet. The result usually will not make your home follow the basic laws of nature- gravity, pressure, water seeking its own level. Most problems like that are caused by frustrated do-it-yourselfers who see muddy or dirty water in dreams, wallowing in depression and the flow of emotions. You may find that calling the professionals will save you time and frustration. All of you who are sharing my pain and frustration eventually create damage that can turn into a little confidence to cause a lot of damage to a home. I will never understand the moral of this story: DO IT YOURSELF… don’t ask for help!
24 Sunday Feb 2013
Posted poetry
inTags
abstract, at least I didn't burn the house down trying, do-it-yourself, flarf, North Carolina, plumbing, poetry, prose poem, PVC pipe, Sunday, surrender, water heater
A little more searching appears tautly over the threads of the male-threaded pipe, love plumbing water lines, an additional schedule for later use, fittings not rated for use. I shall surrender. Personally I do not like the PVC connecting pipes, fittings, control valves, tanks, water heaters; all threaded joints shall be conforming to the surrender of its heat in the evening, demanding surrender. The white flag is amended to prohibit the use of PVC conduit to fail. A 3/4” tap in North Carolina on Sunday shall not serve any gas water heater. I only wish the thread has inspired me under a sink that is going nowhere to surrender to the cops and a few other items that are ready to fail: furnaces, hot water heaters, dryers, gas refrigerators, ranges, ovens.
24 Sunday Feb 2013
Posted poetry
inTags
abstract, Angela, dream, flarf, neuroscience, night, NPR, plasticity, prose poem, Saturday Night Live, stream of consciousness, Yellow House Cafe
-for Angela
A late night stream brought her to a charismatic plasticity, building on her nightmare with such typical consolidation and memory reconsolidation dividing activation throughout the evolution of momentum. The question of the stream might possibly have students provide this very plasticity, this consistency of the ceremonial trucks bringing in the beer with traditional shoes and beautiful jewelry. One older gentleman became the symbol of the freedom and plasticity of the opinions which appear in one generous feeling, one great thought. I am entirely devoted to the basic element of plasticity; you should quit studying early and offer a synergistic view of NPR and Saturday Night Live.
It came to me one night: the egg’s surprising responsiveness epitomizes a revolutionary concept called synchronized streaming. For those that dream of neuroscience at night, the challenge is to find ways of unlocking the State of the Union address after being shot in the face seven years ago, bringing 3D rapid manufacturing technologies to main-stream consumers. Unable to get back to sleep, she became intoxicated with plasticity and beautiful streams.
23 Saturday Feb 2013
Posted poetry
inTags
Archer Avenue, Chicago, flarf, folklore, ghost, Mozart Ave., poetry, prose poem, Resurrection Mary, Southwest Side, vanishing hitchhiker
A well-known vanishing hitchhiker- my favorite evening at The Oh Henry Ballroom. A young man meets a girl, most beloved, who supposedly wanders the streets down Archer Avenue late at night, dating back 100 years, playing at Jeannie’s Bottle on the 12th. If you are there after 8:30 p.m, many men have had heart stopping encounters with the gorgeous legend, dancing at the corner of 47th St. and Mozart Ave. They don’t like to talk about this blonde-hair, blue-eyed Mary Bregovy, just a bunch of hooey seen on numerous occasions after a fight with her boyfriend at the Oh Henry Ballroom. Young Mary stormed out into the cold, where a moonlit encounter with an urban legend makes a compelling case for resurrection. She still manages to find men who long to dance.
20 Wednesday Feb 2013
Posted poetry
inTags
abstract, Al Filreis, flarf, John Ashbery, Kelly Writers House, prose poem, Prufrock's Dilemma, Some Trees, Susan Scheid
-for Susan
A secret means of communication, tree names on another old-field site; jackrabbits in personal communication. Many different trees communicate with others in captivity who have lived to be twenty years old. Rather than just assuming you communicate, take advantage of the careful planning with Wild Turkey, or just desire the security of wariness and angst would have been driven to cut off communication. Twenty years ago, with substantial mysticism, trees communicated with such radical shouting matches listening to the birds or the rustling of the wind, but still had trouble communicating in Japanese. Mysterious elders will be giving fruit that allows communication with the tree, with practically any way of communicating the drama of old age.
20 Wednesday Feb 2013
Posted poetry
inTags
aging, Angela, dukkha, flarf, poetry, prose poem, running barefoot, Yellow House Cafe
–for Angela
There is suffering, frightening, when you run barefoot through muddy accidental condition of wandering. Walking barefoot, a simple universal experience, she ditched her sneakers. Before you can even begin to run, walk barefoot everywhere. This will aid dangerous sports, running away from them. Imagine running through everything with an orange robe, head shaven, and go about barefoot chasing around in the house, barefoot, like a wet frog in T-shirt and shorts, running away from Nebraska. The particulars wanted desperately to run from a wondrous thing: to age. When you run at your own pace, the restricted flow of energy is your guide to free grasping for truth walking barefoot.
Some believe they must go barefoot, whereas others run because change is the nature of life.
19 Tuesday Feb 2013
Posted poetry
inRandom triumphs after a powerful heuristic theory explain regression toward complexity of clinical fallacies confusing different findings of simple failures; danger biases interfere with medical error to his discredit, even among nonchalant federal, state, or local failure to comply with heuristic investigation because of personal complex frustration to obtain a nice day, seeing failure inherent biases learning to drive a stick shift to the bank, nonchalant about the generation and conversion of light or three models providing the near-optimal maintenance delivering the evident Duchampian ideals of negative emotions as the probability of assumptions are interpreted as allowing mood-congruent instruments to meet decision making process in purely discursive hegemonic random conception, exhibiting within self-endangerment and nonchalant communication engines, explaining the intractability of despair and effective development elucidation, after a lot of shouting ephemeral embarrassment, a mode of knowing after he has achieved the unprofitable sincere discovery of vulnerability.
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