not a fight

Obviously no one would describe
a conversation as “a fight”
if it were not animated,
demonstratively emotional
and probably loud. Unless

they were close enough
to make out words. Then
they might: because fights
of the conversational kind

can be conducted with even
tone and equanimity, and
regardless devastation unleashed.

The blows register all through.

The reactions are held, postponed
for later grief. Wanting to keep it
together. Wanting, perhaps, to spot
avenue of rescue offered, or opening
up to dart and seize. Escape

from the words pouring in,
building up,
tightening their vise. Maybe

we could get out of this. We
could make words mean anything,

if the other agrees.

past master plan

I plan on dying 
yesterday. Judiciously, 
this step would spare 
me so much trouble
here today. And then 
I plan on waking up 
tomorrow. Hip, head, 
heart hooray! It would 
be hailed as miracle, 
unless no one had 
noticed it. I'd pretty 
much be fine and 
fit. 

a sales job of law

There was a law on the wall. 
It said Things Here May Only 
Be Sold Here. Warning: Does 
Not Apply Elsewhere. I asked 

the cashier: is the law true? "The 
law is always true," she monotoned,
in a voice grave and wise that belied
her young years, and also the law
(generally). 

I pursued. "So things here may
only be sold? Never bought? How
do you sell them?" 

She frowned. Her eyes were growly. 

"The act of sell and buy is one." 

I believed her. She meant business. 

"But so the law...?" She clarified 
in a way that managed to be both 
huffy, "over it" and flirtatious - a 
next-level sales move! Where did 
she learn it, or was it impromptu? 

Perhaps inspired by me in some
way? Am I the next-level sales move
muse, here? Great effect regardless.

Anyway, she clarified. "The important 
part is Here. Things Here can only be sold 
Here." "Oho!" I said, getting it. "So I cannot 
coax you to bring a selection of merchandise 
outside and sell it to me there? It must be sold 
here." "Correct," she brightened, seeing that we 

were close to upholding the law. "That would be
against the law, and so in us: against humanity 
as we uphold the law." 

I nodded. The law was true, and now I knew 
how and why. I was removed from hazard, 
and free to abide.  

creating a local ambience

It ruins the dignity 
of wondrous, amazing
things to speak of them 
as if they actually happened. 
Or worse! To complain of them
in a showboating way, loud and
offhand as if now and then is nice,
but come on! Sick of it! Prompting 
the other to step up and lie, in order 
to validate and seem too part of the 
"we know" crowd.  "Ahh, yeah I know
what you mean! Only here, right?
Typical of this place. Others don't
know." 

Let us speak instead in knowing 
winks, alluding to these things 
we all know make this place 
so specially weird. Be not
too definite. Too precise. It's 

part of the charm 

of living here.  

We all know

call the manager

You violate my policy 
in your own place. Call 
the manager and demand 
revenge for the blasphemy 
I am about to commit on 
you in my own mind! As 
to you, you yourself I will 
murder in secret, you will not
know. For the record, I content

myself with a remark, a rebuke,
cryptically superior coming from
me, to put you in you place. Which

to be honest, is your problem. 

character arc

He felt
that
he owed his country

a huge favor.

So he enlisted 
in the shadow military.

He knew then: he could do
the most secret good for the
greatest number of unawares.
Trained, tasked and turned loose 
on the Los Angeles underground,
where he could be the best with 
the worst, doing the most with
the least, he became a clear ops
commando. Wholly transparent
in his ways and means, with
invisible clearance and a
security level second
only to a classified
bunker declassified,
debunked, but still

strong as all.
Of deep, thick wall. Inside, though
- he was a powder keg. Fully intact,
contained - no fuse. Not even
gunpowder
in fact.

Baking powder.
In a world already
preheated to four
hundred fifty degrees   
but no egg, no water,

no flour.

No salt. 

No bread. 

How did it come to this 
The recruitment office 
behind the secret alley 
said he'd be the good 
one

Street Fight

She leapt airborne
upside-down helicoptering
at me with whirlybird legs 
and a karate yell!

I knew it 
was a dream 
as she kicked me
six times in the face, same
cheek, alternating feet, 
and recovered with 
a neat tumble 
and crouch. 

I shook my head, said 
"hwoof!" and blinked. 
"That's some wild upside 
down flying helicopter 
kick, miss! Does your 
mom know you use 
your legs like that?" 

She narrowed her eyes, 
leaped forward on one leg 
and kicked me between 
literally twenty to thirty 
times with the other. 

I began to suspect this 
was some kind of game 

to her.
I didn't know 
any of my fancy moves, 
so I popped a low crouch
and foot-sweeped her about 
fifty times right in the ankle 
fast! Too fast! She couldn't
react, just kind of stood flashing
from the impacts with her head
thrown back 

'til she dropped. She was way 
better than I am, baby. 

But I've got my sweet move. 

we meet again

So we met
- it had been awhile,
and she was clear
it was a bad time,
but she wanted to
spend it right now.
With me. I said
"???"

She

gave me a look
then took
it back.

She told me a story.
"I couldn't
believe my ex
when I followed 
him to a motel. I knew 
then I was wrong
about whatever
I was thinking about
him. In that exact moment,
I had never been more wrong,
and for the first time I knew it."

She broke off, fixed me with a 
lookful of meaning: "I was right!" 

On she went. "I stood before
the motel door vibrating with
audible wrath

and 

he opened it 
suddenly 
totally unexpect it! 
No knock, no warning!

and I totally changed my 
appearance 

'I can't explain!' he said. 
'I'm in here with women 
of all kinds, and now you 
show up! Aren't you my

ex?' His look of pain
confused with exasperated
triumph, grief and joy was
real. 

'I am now!!' I said,"

"Wait," I said "- do you mean 
she said? It's you in the story 
right? Were you already his 

ex before, or was it the last
straw motel showdown? How
many women were in there?"

"It doesn't matter," she said, 
seeing I was so interested. "My
faith is so important to me that
that moment took a shit in my
soul. I have never believed in
anything since. Not faith, not
belief, not the sky - not even
love."

I looked at her. This woman I knew 
was capable of some of the most 
amazing feats imaginable in bed, 

according to her and who knows 
who else. I started, stopped. Began,
"Are you saying

- what are you saying?" 

She broke out in a grin limp with
exhausted gratitude. "I mean it!
I thank so many things in the world
for you, man. You always hear me out.
I can count on your ears and heart
to add up to three, every time."  

"True," I mused. We half-rose, beaming,
half-hugged, broke and sank back in place.
"That's it," she said. "I think I'm all clear
and clean." 

I nodded
and grinned.
She sat there and 
so did I. We just kept
sitting there forever, 
we still are. 

In some part of us each, 
both, that moment stuck. 

present tense

He kissed 
you in places 
that bounce 
and squirm 
and rebound 
and vibrate 
in ways

you can't learn 

what it's like

except now. 

And next time, 
you won't know 
going in

what it's going to be 
like with
him,

Oh

the basest beast bakes

I intend to be baser
than any beast.
Baser than amoebas.
Baser than birds 
or fishes. Not
so base as loaves,
but baser than the yeast 
that gave up so much
of its lives to make
that thing rise
in an oven like hell
for that heavenly smell!

Fresh baked 
goods? 
HAH!

An abomination to some!
I’m no baker again! Another
botch job of loaves - why are
there still powdery clumps of 
baking soda in this? Why
is it sour? 
ACK.
Phui!

More egg, I guess. 
But I used them all 

two words gone

I'm trying to find something
in mind, I thought of just 
this morning. It was perfect 
and small, with blanks spread 
out and forward to come 
to borning. 

That was lame. Sorry. Forced 
rhyme - corny as hell! Anyway, 
it was anchored in place by 
two simple words. The 

concept spread out from there. 
I did not jot it down, I just felt 
it would keep. 

And now my mind is bare  

Christmas pitch

I always thought there should be a movie
where the global interstate (wait...I don't
mean a big road, but a sort of loose selves
-interested cabal of ostensible public servants
and deep-pockets bigwigs posing as if We Are
All Government! for the major states and nations
of the world, all whilst maneuvering interpersonally
and internationally for petty gains and advantage) (but
this is not the illuminati! These are legit powers of the
peoples, acting largely in their official capacities! Apart
from the bigwigs, who...you know what?) 

I'll come in again

It's pretty grim and dimlit in that X-Files/German Expressionist
way. These folks put a feeler out to Santa, hey buddy, you've got
naughty-nice intel on a nigh omniscient level, you know where
everyone sleeps and you have a sleigh so fast

you can literally visit every home in the course of one long, rolling
24-hour 'Night.' Which has to involve time dickery! Plus...you have
all those TOYS.

Yet what greater good do you accomplish with it?
You sit on your ass 364 days out of the year (and a full,
luxurious 365 on leap years) while the real heroes die
in a hail of terrorist gunfire and improvised explosives!
Time to step up! Suit up! Get with the team!"

That's the pitch, and he thinks
about it, and pitches in. But then
halfway through he realizes he's
been guilt-tripped and manipulated
by a status quo not so nice as it poses,
and he turns around and fights the powers
that be. It's called Santa Claus 1: Batman
Forever 2!

Title needs work

OK if you suck

I'm okay with people sucking. 
Here's my rationale. From what
I can tell, most who suck -
they don't find it a problem!
I'm glad if so. I'd like it to cause 
no problem for them whatsoever. 
Nobody has to be like I like, and
I don't have to mind. So if they
don't mind and I don't mind they
suck, that's cool. It's 

no skin off mine, 
theirs, or ours.   

Well, meant

Woman, you could make that whole room
exist just by walking into it.
That was dumb.
Well hell I meant it though.

Mgmt issues

I went to lie down
because I was hungry. 
Then I got so hungry 
I couldn't lie down  
because I was hungry.
After a while I got
so tired of it I got up 
to get some food.

Then halfway through
I stopped making it because
I got pissed! Why am I making 
food because I'm tired! Tired
people sleep not make food!
Hungry people eat! They 
don't make food because
they're tired! Then I got 
sick of it
and pissed, 
and 
pretended
I was underwater 
and couldn't breathe,
and that was a far worse
problem so it was alright 
I went to lie down 

and when I woke up later 
man I was starving. But 
that was okay 'cause I 

wasn't tired, sick or pissed 
and I could breathe. 

I knew what to do 

Almost anything really

Hey man. If you met a girl 
woman, really. And she told you 
she was willing to do almost 
anything, really. So the use 
you put her to was a multi- 
prong option cock socket 
- because she was like, 
"Yeah, sure! You look alright" 
- what were you thinking? 

She told you she was willing 
to do almost anything, really. 
Did you even think? World 
peace? The climate situation? 
The gang problem? Nah. 

You genius.

You took one look and said
"These problems are beyond
any girl woman solution, 
really. But..." 

"...How about investigating 
the possibility of a short, 
medium, long term on 
request sexual convenience 
and pressure build relief 
release setup for my unit?" 

"She's got the potential! A real
satisfaction factory! A satisfactory,
ordering up and taking in erections,
processing them into orgasms? 

For us both?"

You genius. 

Admit it. You didn't even think 
what else she could do. Almost 
anything, really. This is the 
misogyny of low expectations, 
and the tragedy is, these specific
expectations 

are actually
highest-possible 
priorities imaginable 

to so many men 
boys, really. 

Even the ones who are like 
"She's the most amazing whole 
entire human being of full-facet 
worth I ever saw or met" in the next 
breath, if you ask "What do you want 
to do with her," they'd be like "baby 
factory!" or "full-on consensual coition 
expedition covering all possible mutual 
and reciprocal configurations of our 
bodies' in-out over-under all-around 
offer, gift, joint possession and
conquest options!" 

You genius. 

Now be fair. It's not gay guys 
or asexual guys I speak of. 
Mostly straight and some 
bi guys get this "tunnel 
vision" (where you know 
what "tunnels" I mean) 
when they see a girl 
woman, really and she's 
like 

almost anything, really. 

So you might object, 
"Why don't just gay 
and asexual guys exploit 
women's apparent willingness
to potentially solve all humanity's 
problems?" Well, 

their vision is constrained. Narrowed. 
Part of the same culture all of us are! 

They just don't think of it, because 
- due to the dominant paradigm, 
women and girls are really 
not presented in this way. 

It stunts us 
all, really  

ego picnic

you're kind of an ego picnic 
a big wicker gingham-lined 
basket of goodies and delicacies 
and a bottle of wine 
to soak in a convenient icy 
brook between stones 
as we pass the time.  

just in case it's true

Look. Just in case it's 
true, I eat everything on 
my plate I take. I try
to 

harm no one to add 
another load for Jesus 
sake. I tell

the truth in case someone 
might feel so wronged 
by me. My lie. The 
sense I get, they 
wouldn't mind 

if it were 
someone 
else. I 
try 

repair your dog with science

repair 
your dog 
with science 

you should know how 
because we are born 
luminous beings, 
and science is only 
light in the mind 

but 

do not touch the dog 
if this is your idea 
of how science works 

please take the dog 
in for repairs at a licensed 
dog maintenance science 

shop

or 
if there is nothing visibly 
or behaviorally wrong 
with the dog - eating, 
defecating, drinking 
and passing water, 

what's the problem? 
The dog is fine! Please
Do not repair your dog

with science

beeline

A line of bees 
in ordered row 
are streaming slow 
along the ground

from fro to to, 
away they come, 
and here they go,

each bops around 
in bumbling, but 
overall the march
is mesmerizing stuff. 

And at the end, 
they climb a tiny 
hill and go down 
tiny hole! In one
by one - oh, what
the hell! Who 

are these bees? 

Or are they ants?
Fresh from the hive 
with take-home kill?

A hive-mind rivalry 
mischance

Hey,

my natural response to who
you are, and all you've given,
and all you've shown, right
from the very beginning is
love.

And all through our time
it has only grown 

turnaround

I dream, but do not imagine 
sometimes being dragged 
from beneath by the feet,
then legs, by inch, by foot and 
yard to an early grave never 
dug, never plotted, just made 
in chance well-played. Well, 

thing?
Whatever you are? 
You can course underneath 
me and plan and scheme, 
but opportunities
seem 
thin on the ground
so far. Will 

you get me? 

I guess you could dream. 

the firing squad

They know a certain number of them 
are going to shoot blanks
but 
what they don't know 
is 
the guy with the gag 
(which they used the blindfold 
for. He wouldn't shut up) 
has forgiven only those 
whose bullets hit. 
Thanks

urban skating rink

Aliens would be like 

we're still studying this activity 

it may be another of the purposeless class 

it may also be training for something purposeful 

it appears to be a physical sociality and body health display
under deliberately coldnasty conditions. A bravado show
- further research necessary. God I hate this species

her haunted look

her haunted look 
of ghosts kept in 
and never spoken
of 
drags chains
across my floors 
and windowpanes, 
with never any evidence 

of strange

sweet talk backfire

"If you were any cuter, 
you'd be..." 

...expectant look, grin 
she gave, knowing my 
way with a winsome 
wile...

"...the cutest." 

Shock. "What? I'm not 
the cutest?" 

"I mean!" Look. "If 
you were a little cuter 
I think you could be." 

Fury pout: "Should I 
work on it?"

"Look, you're the cutest
person I ever saw or knew 
- not right now, obviously 
- above a certain age," I added 
hastily. To clarify! Not wanting 
to bring babies into this.

"So I'm an honorable mention 
in the old people category then?"

She was beginning to enjoy this. 
Me, at a steep disadvantage. "How 
young and cute do you prefer?"

This was unfair. She was bringing 
pedophilia into it on the sly! "Not 
at all!" I boomed in low, ringing 
tones of dulcet bass cello. "I'm just
saying, 

you know,
some babies are so damn 
cute it's obnoxious. You sweep
the adult category with ease
of all I've known and met!" 

"Why am I not the cutest, then?" 

"Well, one, I'm responsibly leaving 
a slot open in case there's anyone 
out there even you'd call cuter 
than you. What if you agreed
with me you're the cutest? Then
some rando supercute person
shows up - you're eating crow 
pie from my humble bakery!
I don't want to trip us both up
on a snap ranking." 

Her eyes softened, seeing the 
sense of this as she kept giggle 
spasming behind a deadpan 
façade. "And two...?" 

"Well...I gotta take points off 
for your ridiculous quibbling. 
Perverse false interpretations 
of my blameless intent here! Call 
that kind of behavior the cutest?"

Her voice dropped an octave, her 
eyes became shy. "Yes I do, and"

I hid my expectant look inexpertly

"...So do you, too. You thrive on 
bullshit accusation, moron." 

Oh. 

I had to admit she had me  

the monster awakes

The torch and pitchfork crowd 
is the real monster 
they arise aroused and banded 
together terrified and furious, 
impotent with rage 
to become something greater 
than the few or the one. 

To become Us. Mighty, 
and mighty scared alone, 
but together we are 

mad strong. 

The monster awakes, terrified 
and furious. 

In this case, we hope it's just
the one

one monster,
all the accounts
and rumors, terrifying us 
these past few nightmarish 
days, 

it all sounded like the same thing, 
one thing - beyond ken! Ken,
let's all admit it, is an asshole
but THIS thing! It scared us
beyond all admitting, and made
us feel scared. Weak about it.

Powerless.
Helpless. Welp,
here's an end to THAT

Because the only thing worse
than any It 

The only thing worse than Us 
Vs. Them, usually

is us vs. one. 

Us vs. It. 

Grab your pitchforks, boys 
I mean men. Oh sure, let 
the boys come along. Show 
them something. How men 
manage monsters. Well, 
monster, let's hope to God. 
Not plural! Hell, bring the women
- women and girls, could you
manage the torches? We're all
forked up, you could 

just sort of
strew yourselves through 
the mob, add a lurid glare. That's 
the stuff! All aboard, now 
march in the most disorderly 
fashion! A rabble! This is 
mob work, boys - men 
I mean. 

It's time to show the world 
plus this damn monster we 
hate, scared us so - 

who the real monster is. 

Any 
time 
we 
have 
to. 

It's us! Here we 
always are, and 
a moral to the story, 
maybe. If you're a 
monster, don't. 

Or if you can't not 
be a monster, just 
don't scare us, ok? 

We can't be good 
for you

derpy face look

You get this
derpy face look
I see it
in your pictures. 

It's 'cause your face
is on your skull. It's
shaped like 
bones
and features, yo.

So in this way,
despite your range
and subtle sweep emotionally,
your face is always
similar
to
my idea of you
I see
whenever 
I might look your way
in mind

You're always there for me. 
And then in mind, you
notice mine. But that's 

not quite reality, 

Is this normal yet?

A song came on. It was 
What Have I Done to Deserve 
This, with Dusty Springfield
and Pet Shop Boys
and as you do,
I imagined you

Stepped to me in
wracked duet and we
wrecked our hearts in
pirouette and sweeping 
grandeur of the dance, 
and striking pose, 

we sang like a bet
between heaven and hell
over which we'd get,

and we shone
and we wept
smiling and
dying. 

Whereas in real life, 
we'd never so much 
as practiced all that!  

Anyway, the song 
was done. My cheeks 
were wet. 

moving humanity

A human being 
is mostly able 
to move 

a human being, and 
we get so good at it 
we think 

we can move any
human being, but 

often that's just not 
so. It's mostly you 
who you can move, 
so, 
yeah. 
Work on that, and 
move yourself! 

Maybe some others 
will see it too 

wrong called right

I can say the right things, 
when called upon.
But if the right things
are wrong, 
I frown

And say the right things,
however wrong 

That's why I'm here 
To sing this song 

The second laugh

The worst sound in the world 
is laughter at another's pain. 
When you realize and feel
that it's sincere, since 
you couldn't imagine 
such shoddy gain. 

The greatest sound in the world 
is laughter at your own pain, 
when you realize and feel 
that it's sincere. Since 
you know probably you 
won't be hurting that way 
again. 

the real heroes.

When the first responders 
kicked in the door 
with shotgun, machine gun 
and bombs galore 
- they were the real heroes!
We startled and shocked 
as each of us sprang up, 
were beaten and shot. 
Then dragged from our home,
we could see the flames lick
as the troops inside, whom we
supported for this - kept kicking
and breaking the evidence, but
they got enough out to make sure 

the case sticks. 

Don't think this account is some 
cynical ploy! Some paean against
tyranny and bad joy for each good
girl and boy who signs up to be trained
in defense of us all. I do not here defame. 
You'll agree with me too: these heroes 
were real. Their actions adjusted and 
fit to bad deal. For what I don't say 
until now (and it's vile): someone 
in the house was a damn pedophile!

We probably all might have been, 
at that point. And that's what they say,
anyway.

Burn the joint.

technology sparks

Technology sparks 
a new development, 
and we all rush in to 
live our lives as exactly 
as we were, as we can 
- change-averse, indignant 
to suggestions of new is 
or could be better - but 
in crashing waves and 
coming storms of slow 
decay eroding norms 
our lives undergo a 
see change. 

We see change, and
note it has crept in like
a bucket surrounding us
all by drips and drabs, to
whelm us overspilling habit
and convention - even tradition!
And we are shocked and glad 

"Well, I hardly noticed! That 
wasn't so bad. Apart from every
wrenched kick, hiss and spit of
grudge adjustment it all went by 
so quick! Look how far and well
I myself have come, and become.
This is how I like it!" 

Technology Sparks! The 
latest app or perhaps site,
breakfast cereal or other
product or service. Try it!
You already have or
inevitably will. It's great!
You may think so! Warning: 

contains hate it at first 

Usage tip: don't notice! Or 
if you do, keep going until 
you don't

abandoned walk

We'd arranged to go for a walk 
that day.
You and I, side by side
for miles to stray,
ways we always 
do. 

But you 
couldn't go. 

And I couldn't sway. 
So the walk went on 
without us 
all day. 

proselyte reception technique

Soo smebody was like hey,
"Mind
if I talk 
to you about
our Lord & Savior?"

I was like hey "Knock yourself
out you can talk about YOUR
Lord & Savior all night! But
I've got mine and mine's
the best."

"Jesus Christ" they said?

"Don't blaspheme, CUR."
I intoned: "MY LORD 
will take care of you 
later for such slips!" 

"No no I mean - is your
Lord & Savior Jesus Christ?"

"Mind your business."
I intoned. "Just get on
with your sales pitch. We'll
see who's interested." 

Wait. Out of curiosity 
I asked, "Are you saying
yours 
is
Jesus Christ?" 

"Sure is," they intoned. 

"He's pretty great, isn't he?"
I broke into a broad grin: winning,
winsome - but with a sort of mysterious,
maybe mischievous conspiratorial leer
in it, the almost sneering superiority
of 'we in-the-know,' Lording around, 
Lording all over. A grin like that   
- like being in cahoots with some
stranger who thinks you are.

"So,"
I nodded indulgently. "Gimme your
best Good News pitch. I'll help you
tune it up a bit. Big time."

"snowrise"

in tints of palest grey to white
like dust of smoke from deep blank
sky fell blanketing and crystalline.
As thick as thieves of hues from eye.
The river bridge and trees surrounding
huddle frozen etched and dry in silver
on a glassy plate. It looks a hundred
years ago, as deep and colorless
as fate - and as we look we are bled
white. And feel how cold we aren't
inside. And smile as ghosts on
windowpane, unknowing which
side was alive.  

love is madness

After all, in each other’s arms
as thoroughly exchanged in trade
as limbs and other things between
have interlapped in interplay,
my risen pulse is cycling down.
Her risen breath is evening, and

she looks up, her head on chest,
and I look down, and so we sing:

“love is madness”

…in a weird asynchronous
atonal counterpoint which
is not harmony, but sounds
raw, wild and robotic like
some German blip rok forbear
could’ve used on one of their
art college collage punk pranks
of song.

We do it again, insistently:

“love is madness”

…wrong all wrong!
This time it sucked!

So we bust out laughing,
and she flips in to spoon mode
nestling back to front, and I
clasp around and down, and
alone with her now, I say

to myself:

“Love is madness.”

Shh

she says 

half passed

So that's what you do 
when you die 
You go up
out the top 
of your head, 
to get by 
and you find
a hallucination 
in time, in the instant
of conscious awarenesses' line
telescoping to total collapse.

It's a fact
that a second
turns into ten million
years you experience at a crawl 
in a flash: an eternity filled

with all your fears. 

Or
you know 
all your happy 
stuff! It depends
not on how you lived,
or how you end, but 

just what you expect 
as the lights go out. 
You'll expect it 
and get it forever 

no doubt. 

She asked do you like getting caught in the rain?

I like getting away in the rain. It's cool
if they try to catch me. I disappear
between the drops and they end up
standing there pissed, clutching their
vain umbrella while I scoot! It's 

my sweet rain trick

her several sides

Every woman has
an upside
and a downside,
and a girlfriend has
both. 
But don't figure
her out that easy!
Your girlfriend also
has a backside! If

you have a girlfriend, 
that is - check. 
You'll see.
I'm right.

If you don't, look
at the backside 
of every woman 
in the world. I have 
to be right about this, 
if you had one. She 
has a frontside, too - 
and you can combine 
sides for a nuanced 
view, with focus.
 
A lot of men check 
out the frontside 
upside on your 
girlfriend! She 
doesn't seem to 
mind. You get 
pissed! "Hey, pal!
Her eyes are up 
there!" "Pardon 
me, creep." he 
points out. "Her eyes 

are also
frontside
upside. Why 

did you assume I
eyed anything else?"

"Thank you!" she brightly 
explodes in exasperation,
with a look of rebuke
- to you!

"Wait" you think.
"Is the thanks
to me, the rebuke,
or...?" Or was it 
a look of reproach?

"You're welcome,"
you clarify heroically.
You prefer to look 
on the upside, but 
you're very aware 
of the downsides
all around you. 
She has hers, and 
it's fantastic

(front,
back
and
in-between)

the second fall

I fell

some time ago,
and 

everyone noticed, 
and nobody said 
a thing. 

I'm only noticing now. 
But surely they see me
noticing

The Tale of Woefarer II: An excerpt

His feet, then knees 
sank into the loam 
as if he or it were 
made of mist. With 
a barbarian shout, 
he sprang antlers 
from his forehead 
and grappled, clung, climbed 
his way out of the trap. "Nothing 
will delay my quest!" he stormed, 
his face aping the thundercloud pout 
of a toddler. His enemies, since 
there had never been many 
of them (he had never
been any good at 
making enemies) fled. 
He strode forth, his 
resolve as fluid and coursing 
as ever. There before him, 
he stopped. The object 
of his quest. What the hell
was it? "This better not 
be one of those quests 
where you have to go 
on another quest to find 
out the secret of the thing
you got the quest 

before," he warned. 

Thus warned, he set about 
figuring out how to pick 
this thing up and transport it 
back to the quest-giver. She 

would know.
She was wise. "Damn it!"
she cried. "What the hell
is that?" "Uh," he explained,
lamely. "The object

of the quest?" 

No. 

a thing for nuns

I never had a thing for nuns
except for Sister Joan, and 
in retrospect it was she was 
the youngest nun I ever saw 
and played guitar, and sang 
for us. But even then I knew 
the truth of nuns: she 

was no nun 

She was a sister. Nuns 
are cloistered. Same habits
maybe. Different order, or
wing. So no, 

I never had a thing 

parallels perpendiculars

Intrigued as I am by the possibility 
implicit in myself, and by what I 
almost represent, ultimately I have 
to say any shortfalls are unimportant. 
I basically am me. and no matter what 
I had done, it would still be now

as it always is. Was. Possibly
shall be? All those years would have
passed regardless, same or differently, 
leaving me who knows where. Verdict?

I care! I could almost mind, but 
I don't see any reason to. Pretty good! 

fireworks  

no kid

When I was a kid, being a kid
used to take up all my fucking 
time. It was what I did. I wasn't
playing either. Serious. Well
I mean of course I played games, 
but that was most serious of all 
sometimes. Depends. Anyway 
when I got grown up, I started 
kidding around! Bullshit! It's like 

I forget what it was like being 
a kid. That grim focus on year 

eighteen, saying "just get there. 
All will be great. Ice cream 
anytime, spaghetti every night 
if I want, nobody can stop me 
from anything!" So when I got 

there, it all came true of course. 
And there wasn't anything to be 
serious over except shit that 
happened in the world. Bad. 

Meanwhile in my own life, 
I became sincere instead 
of serious, and I never 
looked back until 

just now

appreciator

This is dense with clarity.
It defeats the mind on first
reading, yet a closer read
suggests farther and further
detail, receding, glimmering
in distance until finally one
is lapped. Tackled from behind!
Its sense beaten into one by the
relentless, stratified layers of
meaning this vigorous, brutal
yet staid plainsong prose brings
so hard to bear. 

I am a fan.
I declare
kudos.

Life advice

Set-to in school. Fight for your right
to some education, but prop one eye
lazily wide open upon futures all the
while. You'll see when you're there,
now - big time! Crop up a bumper’s
worth of foolproof fantasy job titles
that fit your general description!

Accept every one of them!

Throw yourself into the business, do
your level best to blow education and
expectation away. I mean your own.

It’ll be possible to blow by others on
this, as they weren’t even expecting
such things to begin with - let alone
from you! Give ’em time, once they
get to know you, they’ll look forward
a bit. Readier, perchance. En garde!

As the fencemasters used to say, sitting
between two yards and whitewashing the
barrier - a picket line indeed, but with one
chief nuisance: due to a trick of the light
(which you’d be quick to catch), the grass
looks as green on either side as they other
used to! No wonder those fencemasters are
so quick with the brush.

Whitewash heightens everyone’s colors
to lush hues. Bravo!

I hope.

Anyway, make the hard work noise 
for real, with zeal but don't lose sight 
of why you make it. It's the leisure 
noise, right? That's where creation 
finds its recreation, and we arise
anew, all ready to reeducate 
and fight. 

Not in a violent way, ideally. But 

sometimes in life, we need to upheave

you'll know when it's right. When 
the time comes. 'Til then, don't 
believe. Just know how you 
can't be deceived.  

Feel out your everything

Feel out your everything-that-is possible self,
and bolt with a start through the gap
with all the best attributes
of you in tow,
jangling and clattering!
Stop home! Nap, shower
and change your outfits! Mix it up,
hone your style and taste

- in all ways, do.

Best you are. As you’re strolling
along feeling good love for the whole universe
and everyone proceeding equally immortally through it
(as you guessed) AS YOU GUEST! Even before
my invitation, you guessed it all, eh? Huh?

I bet! Are you a big seer overall, or just a bit
of an amazingly accurate make-believer? Smh
(I shake my head) in wonder of you, so why
not undertake a moment for some fancy fun?

You know what that means. Make a mockery
of your strongest weak points! Your weakest 
strong points! Learn to lead with vulnerabilities!

Mine, as you see, is meekness. 

Begin right now,

Begin right now, in the middle
of an already well-begun, lovely
woven tapestry, to engage with
and enter into the narrative as
a creator and owner, take full
responsibility starting logically
with the most solid foundations
of science and history you can
manage to unearth - dig mightily

all through the neighborhood’s eerily
dogless yards and naturally, proceed

from there to how you feel. Because
you’ve done the hard work. You can
trust how you feel now. Pretty good,
right?

Honest work, skulking like a thief in
broad daylight to open up foot-deep
portals to nowhere in the rich, dark
loam your neighborhood is famous for,
regionally. Out in a sweat under the sun

like that, you feel new appreciation
of the very air. Trust it. No

Trust your mind

My guess

Cheeze Whiz should partner up
with Cool Whip and come out
with Cool Whiz. It
would be the inaugural
product launch in a whole 

offering of sprayable food. Pots
Whiz (poe tay toes), a whole subline,
basically think flavored mashed potatoes
only not so hot - Pringles may weigh in
providing their trademark flavors. Picture
blasting soft ranch, nacho cheeze or sour
creme and onyon false potatoes directly
in your mouth. 

Spam Whiz (another brand giant storms
the synergy stampede!), Wonder Whiz (why
NOT spray-can whitebread?), and finally

when the public is about out of their minds
with all the convenience glory: WHIZ WHIZ.
Which would be...hinted at as kind of a secret
proprietary mix of other Whizzes?

And you could taste the flavors in there, but
there's definitely some inscrutable other taste
in there, and yep: it's people.

One slogan could piggyback on the whole Tang
mystique by claiming: "Whiz Foods! The kind
of stuff an astronaut might use!"

My guess is this is already happening

the dish on treats: chili episode

 you like your chili hot
or thermonuclear?
With beans? Or
with meat?

I like mine
full on bean thermonuclear, but
the day after - the leftovers are all ready
in the freezer, formed into bricks, with
a popsicle stick in the end. So cold.

So delicious.
So intense-torture hot
as the taste thaws on
your tongue so cold,
though. And who the HELL
ate my PLUMS?!

Carlos.

Such exquisite torture, the freezing
intolerably into unbearable heat
for your own delectation! Ever
get your tongue stuck
going in too soon on a cold lick
at a full on thermonuclear bean
chili pop torturesicle? Because

you know
if you haven't,
cold dulls taste buds right? Or
is supposed to anyhow. This "treat"
puts theory to the test! Cold 

turns out to be a mitigating factor.
Could be true, hurts like hell either
way, but how will you notice yourself
if you aren’t always licking new things?

Clean things.

Wholesome things.

Anyway, don't bother if your answer 
was meat. Meatsicles lose their juicy 
virtues when you try to lick 'em up 

frozen on a stick. 

In clarification,

in practical terms
you don’t want to call it
“semantics.” People

will not take your meaning.
Use your words, yes, but
it carries best if you also use 

ours.

That’s the benefit for the individual!
And in the primacy of the human rights
of the individual, the benefit of the individual 
is the greatest good of all! For we are all that 
plus a bag of dicks, I mean, bag of chips. Well,
kind of a grab-bag

really. Chips, dicks
- this is not secret news,
we all know

what’s in the big party snack size bag
of society.

It’s not like
we really need the label, WARNING: 
contains nuts.

Yeah. Yeah, we 
found that out already 

sex problematic!

Staunchly raunchy on the make 
by shameless give of all you'll take 
this blameless, never-changing one's
integrity is tits ass bum and genitals 
up-front galore! Some fry stinkeye! 
Some beg for more! Yet what of this 
society is any fault of you?
Nor me

It's not us all. It's just us each. So 
do your part for you and preach! 
If that's your kink - then practice 
it! You could do more, I'm sure
than just
find

fit. 

totally rejected FB wall posts

Kelli, I don't know if you remember 
me from years back, in the place, 
but I've been thinking about you 
a lot since Facebook told me it's 
your birthday a minute ago. I feel
like there were always things 
I could have said to you then that 
I didn't, but I can't now because 
what were they? Anyway, I wanted
to tell you that, and happy birthday 

Recreational Viewing Pt. 1: The Rockford Files

Sometimes I'm sitting around 
the house, or walking, pacing 
puttering around, thinking 'bout 
how and why and such, 

when I say 

I gotta get on the Rockford Files. 
See how Jim Rockford's doing. 
Hey, Netflix or Amazon showed 
me I never saw half of these! So 

settle in and 

(hum that theme song!)
(let the theme song hum
in mind, here) (Do not 
proceed to verse 2 of the 
poem until the full theme 
song has hummed) (let 
that classic montage 
unfold in your inner 
visual DUH NUH NUH)

done. 

Suddenly Jim's on the case, 
something tawdry, commonplace
or foul, doing a cheap job of detection 
risking his life against the cops' wills 
for customers who a lot of the time 
turn out to be bums, or morally grey 
- which is why they hire that guy. 

A reputation in that business is a good 
deal to have, but his is good for only 
some things. Brave, smart, gets results 
and pisses people off with his charm!

That cigarette punch trick was sweet,
but everybody heard about it. No dice

gotta come up with new tricks on the fly, 
get ambushed at gunpoint, packed into cars, 
stood up in posh offices or beaten in rooms, 
throw in a couple car chases and case closed. 

Man, nobody does it like Rockford, I suspect 
in real life some would try. You end up looking 
like a playacting chum at that point. Pull 

the other business, big tough P.I.   

bot to bot

Hi! Thank you 
for contacting us like 
that. We've evaluated 
your input already, but 
we're sitting on it while
we decide the best time 
to get back to you. Che
ers!

hooked on feel

When you think about it, you're
mostly in my imagination. So, 
I don't mind
if you're not real! 
Except I do! So much.
Just checked 

reality 
needs an anchor 
of imagination 
hooked 

on feel

us over we

If I were the man you thought I was, 
and you were the girl I think you are, 
we wouldn't be giving each other this look. 
Awry, askew, a doubt too far. 
But then again maybe we would, at that. 

We've always been one to get us right,
while getting each other quite blessedly wrong!
So we fight, 'til we win - 'til it seems too pat. 

Just a little suspicious. "I can't be that wrong."
"It can't be that plain. Could it be? Oh my!" 

It's hard to adjust to reality 
when it's always the same, 
and never as hard
as we try.   

actual eyes

With self-esteem I seethe 
and clench, by locking horns
unlocking doors, and barge 
right through into a room. 
Serenity! Long overdue.

You all seem strange to find
me here. Was I not yet expected, 
dear? I don't know why I fit. 
Belong. Gone long since clear, 
in meaning song and rose lit 
dawn. Some spectacles can

never be removed from eyes. 
You might be wise to not believe, 
but if you ask me anyway, there's
nothing I can't tell you why. 

Apart from we.

just in case

Her hand was a gag she'd slap
on her mouth when her eyes
got so wide they could swallow
a house, then her hand would fly
up to clap and contain. Even
though 
not
one
single word 

could brain. 

the dude accuser

I met a dude who was black

as my hand. And he said to me 
why are you racist, man? And 

I said to him why are you sexist,
girl? 

The scales his eyes held could 
weigh the world. He looked at 
me so damn hard, then cracked. 
He busted out laughing! and broke 

the mood. So you're saying you're 
not a racist, then?

I never said that 
I was 
my friend

shame got me

I don't feel shame 
really, never have. 
Not really - not what 
I've come to understand 
shame is like for others. 
As a kid and since, I've felt 
guilt! Sure, and damn right 
too. Apropos. My fault is on,
when it happens. I don't balk 
or duck that shit. Own up, 
little buddy! Guilt's good 
though, see? Since it leads 
to fault, and fault's great. 
Find your own fault, you 
straighten that shit out pronto
and galore, and no problemo 
forward (of that exact type). 

So, shame, shame...shame is 
some bullshit where you cringe 
down inside yourself imagining 
your superego is other peoples' 
eyes giving you a BAD LOOK 
for what a bad person you are, 
either if they knew, or in some 
cases: because they know. It's 

like an inner blame magnification 
and anticipation lens! WHAT 

WHO would...? That's some 
ugly fucking inner shit, Holmes? 

But 
call me a hypocrite maybe,
since I just discovered a certain shame 
within me. No other word will do. It's
no guilt. Not apropos to the case, 
which is no "fault" really.

It's that same damn feeling: you
getting on you and roping in your
internalized global disapproval sense,
because 

face it
you're kind of a letdown. To you, 
even, and it feels better if you imagine 
a ton of people find that important. 
Big letdown. Letdown City. Letdown 
Planet. Sounds 

like a forgotten beat sixties mid-budget
sci-fi epic. People were disappointed. 

So what's my shame? How'd shame get 
me? It's 
this. 

This poem. 

Kind of a creeping feeling
that grows a little, too, over
time when I haven't been rhyming
lately. Now,

I know I can not rhyme. There is 

no shame! 

In not rhyming. I know that. 

But I like to rhyme! I love rhyme, and 
so when I don't, and it stretches out a bit 
- no rhymes - I dunno. 

I just feel like not my best. Like 
come on, asshole. Fucking rhyme

Problem with mad science

Problem with mad science. 
Which is more probable, 
Reality and physics and shit 
are just more responsive 
to craziness and megalomania, 
or...? You're fucking crazy 

and none of your shit 

actually works

This just seems like savvy media use to me

So I developed an app where 
you love me. It's not 
mind control or something 
that's sick 
I thought of going the deep 
fake route, but 
seemed like maybe that was 
why you don't love me 
to begin with, so 
I created a phone-based 
application based on 
reality shifting, and 
also a phone. Based 
on both, and 
it just keeps shifting, 

shifting, shifting 
until you love me. 
Technically 
it's still reality. Just, you 
know. 
You love me, though

it worked 

maybe it wasn't the app?

my version of rude

Critique, please. More 
substance, less sentiment!
I rock-housed that case up there
like a champ! And you come in
with personal taste unadorned?
Imperially nude on parade! Who's
your tailor, I think they rooked you.
Come again when you've anything
on at all!

Contradiction is demonstrable, if
there is any. Big up or big on, my
dear personal judgment supremacist!
No reason to bring, nor even
observation to show - it's a 

bad look for debate fans, and
even worse for dialectics.   

the one I trust

You're the one I trust
to uncut my throat,
unstab my back,
ungive false hope,
and I know you can't.

But I'd trust you to.

That's just who you are,
who I always knew.

some muchness of love

I kind of love you more 
than I should, but who is 
to say that except for you?
And how shall you say, 
when you kinda know?
And I am not bringing it 
up to view.

Perhaps, 
I don't love you so much 
as I claim.

For sure, if I did I'd lay
you plain! Or it plain. Or
anyway, some damn thing.

If I love you so much it breaks
cosmic laws and moral integrity 
by clause, then why would I not

do everything? From jump out of
plains, to swim out to seize, in cramp
of fine style and fit to sneeze! Make 
vast demonstrations of feel and know?

The fact is 

I think 

I love you so.

About right, indeed. Full
and True, in word. No problemo
is caused. The idea's 

absurd

all the small kinds

Imagine opening up the door
to face the day outside. Outside, 
the ground is almost completely 
covered

in birds. 

All the small kinds, just close enough.
Touching each other, but not piled up. 
You see blades of grass, gleams of 
concrete, patches of earth between 
their gold, black, blue and mousy 
greys.
Now
you've imagined this, 
so please tell me: are they
alive or dead? 

cats are always

Cats are always figuring shit out 
and working on it, in-between 
lazy as fuck. Once you've got 
two cats, they set to work on 
each other figuring that shit 
out. It's a continuous operation 
and exercise, maneuver, involving 
no negotiation whatsoever, but 
batting and clashing, using boxes, 
obstacles, position on laps they 
establish a sort of détente, or 
high-functional impasse, and 

it works. They figured it out! No 
wait - there they go still figuring 
it out.
If only 

humans could do that 

Heterosexuality: a bit odd.

The funny thing is, if she's 
heterosexual, and I'm hetero-
sexual, she wants a man! But 

I want a woman 

THAT ought to be totally 
incompatible! Radically 
different interests. Yet 

somehow it works 

in fairness

I should note my
opinions in this matter
are obstinate, contrarian,
highly bigoted and
completely
unbiased.

So,
it's
totally cool
who disagrees.
I'm like "Ha-ha!
You may well

think so!" See, 
I'm cool. Not 
intolerant of 
where others differ,
even though I am
same as always. 

I found I have nothing
to prove to anyone, and this 
more than anything obviates
any burden of proof conceivable. 

It only exists in the desperate, the 
needy. In fairness, I don't mind you

agreeing with me. 

over again the end

We began in-between
and started to end, but
then we found out we 
were over that part. 

Now we're over again,
and back to full stop
for a big over look.
We spotted the start, 
and just after that
we finally found
the beginning.
It took.

Like a shot off the ground
we stood stupidly 'round
grinning ear to ear from
eye to eye, together we
found all over between.

This middling all through
was as easy as seem.

So eventually, we worked out
what we should have perhaps
done along, all the way. If we
had
picked
up at the
start. As most
do. Yet you know? 

I'd begin in-between
with you,

every go.

undeterminist

No, I didn’t intend to allude to Einstein,
though the dice crack would be apt! God
is far more poker-face than craps addict
I suspect, yet the fall of cards to Fate’s hand
has seemingly a good deal of play in it.

The game is or ought to be baccarat, yet
God’s always glomming onto what’s hot
and trendy somehow. What an infinite fan

of bandwagons.

There also seems to be a roulette angle,
something to do with the dangers of
reification, but I haven’t worked that

out yet.

Laws of physics are descriptive rules
after all: they are fundamentally caused
and cannot be the cause. I think sometimes
the determinist is the apotheosis of the

obedience addict.

The scarcity of atheist adeterminists is quite
a puzzler. Partly an enemy-of-my-enemy
solidarity? Maybe partly the fact

there’s literally nothing at stake anyway.

identity crisis

If God had waited 'til
2000 (or whatever we'd 
be calling it) to send
Jesus, the kid would be
like 22 right now

and probably trying
to figure out wtf
costume would go
with these particular

superpowers

stranded pilots

Stranded pilots gliding high,
saving fuel in case the calls
they send out periodically
are answered where the ground
is free. It's all bought up, torn
down and spent. It happened
fast, but let's crash slow. In
case there's someplace we
have missed so far above
way down below. 

Schrödinger's troll

Schrödinger's troll in a catbox hid.
Secretly sincere or else nasty, kid. 
Superposed true and false at once!
Simultaneously deserving good faith,
or a kick where it stunts - oh, what
shall we do? Fully aware, I say: let's
just respond to the prong that deserves
truth best!

Another's hidden worst is beneath us
to hunt. Let alone dig, oh let alone guess.
We all know there's ignorance in this world.
Let those who bare theirs innocently get: 

our best.

Those who pose and fake are not even worth
our less. Give our best there, too. And if some
jack-in-the-ass pops out of the box? Well it wasn't
us fooled. It's the fool who gives false, insincere,
untrue who has fooled themselves that's a thing

to do. 

mismanagement

I heard roses
used to smell so sweet,
and red delicious was, but
bred for durability and appearance
they lost their innate virtues. Some
roses do smell sweet. So sweet. As to
red delicious, I say call it something
else.

About Me

Conceived by coincidence
Born at speed
Rapidly developing
into a learning being
with a taste for cognition
to outpace recognition
in a bold foray of discovery
Into The Known...I AM ME!
I am not about me, I am me.
I have never been about me,
particularly but ha, ha, yes.
It is I. Me! "That Guy!" 

The one with the thumbs.
The wonderstuck! Fancy
champion of truth's caboose,
pushing the whole thought train
uphill towards the tunnel
from the rear and not
skimping on tangents!
My courtesy is...well, "innate"
is as good a way to put it! Those
who know me find it "familiar." 

And I bring me here
to confide to you each (and so all)
in a booming whisper audible to
the point of embarrassment...

"I have never had the slightest
idea how to write one of these." 

Well. Do one's best then. Do
one's best. Then. Now,
arguably 

might have been better.  

sleep upside down

Sometimes when I sleep I sleep
upside down. I put my head

the other way.

One of my gf's
used to be like "NO"
But then she tried it!
She loved it! It was
just one way to liven
things up in bed I guess.

Of course she turned it
passive aggressive. If I was
in the stinkhouse and didn't
know otherwise, she'd dither
'til I got in first, and then

next thing I knew

- FEET!

This is really nobody's business,
but I totally sabotaged her bullshit
by kissing her feet. Next she'd be
getting in that way for NO stinkhouse
reason. Just to get her feet kissed!

She'd ruined her clear signal with
love-toned ambiguity heh heh heh
heh

early onward

Man 
I remember when I was 
one cell, one single-celled 
organism I couldn't even 
FORM memories. You 
had no place to put it! 

I had to concentrate 
so hard. All this shit 
was going on inside me, 
split! Split! "Are there 
going to be more of me
now?"

No, asshole. Just shut 
up and watch how it works 
okay? 

God was so sick of my questions 
back then. I didn't even know 
what God was, I thought God 
was some kind of big loser. 
No body! I had a super blobby
body and it was huge by my
count. Meanwhile, some "being
of pure spirit" all infiniting around 
everywhere, 

I would go "boooOOOOoOo!"
- but apparently God had seen 
worse.

I don't know why but God spends
most of that infinite time and attention
chilling with humans at the pre-being
stage. 

Maybe it's easier. Telling them all this
shit, "LOOK, 'Joe.' You're not going
to remember any of this, but-" I was
like, who IS THIS thing? Why call me
'Joe,' as opposed to anything else? "I
KNOW FUTURE SHIT-" "Oh come on
man! Get out of my head #1, and #2:
spoiler alert! I wanna find out normally!" 

God 
basically 
got the idea eventually. And 
I can't really blame or fault 
on that score. I was a little 
snot pocket! But 

sometimes I'm sad 
it all happened before 
I could even form memories. 
Now I don't even know what 
happened then! 

Then later I got distracted 
something awful! WOW. 

So this is the famous "birthday" 
I never heard about once in 
my entire life.

What's with the "air"? Is that
seriously the best we can do?  

tickets by pounds

Selling tickets on yourself, 
by pound and ounce, 
for all you weigh - 
but we can't buy them
in amounts controlling 
shares for any say. 
You're trying to breathe 
and piss and balance 
beauty in release 
and shit, 
but 
all it simultaneously 
does for all of us 
is slide 

to find 
excuse 
to quit. 

Is it a sensation?

There was a weird sound 
and partly a feeling 
in the back of my head, 
and I couldn't describe
but 
like pressure in a hiss 
fizz click pushing bubbles, 
and it sure felt sounded 
so weird and fine 

and I was psyched! Since, 
I knew for sure the shape 
of that line, wherein 

it occurred.

It was like
an old friend 
punched me sharp 
and hard 

in the back of my head. 
Hey, I know it! 
Word. 

I had never
experienced 
exactly this,

but 

It's been too long 
and weird 
to miss. 

I concurred

muse bang.

You are you know
one hell of a muse.

If I could think everything
I could ever think about you,
my head would explode inside,
and reel - in full incomprehension
of all I feel.

gun rights nut

I believe strongly:
guns have rights. No
one should be allowed
to finger a trigger without
explicit, overt consent

from the gun.
Hey, fuck it!

Throw in whoever
it's pointed at too
- but the main thing
is in all the USAen talk
on gun rights, the rights
of the gun are never addressed!

Only ignored. It's foul
so many guns are blamed
for going off, when in fact
in culture and the courts
themselves - they aren't

given a say!

Sorry I

I'm not
trying
to provoke a gun rights gunfight.
To me
this is an apolitical issue, guns
are metal and plastic.
We need
to treat them as "AI"
while we get the rest of the "AI"
laws going.

A test case. Basically 
we can find out how smart 
guns are, use that for baseline. 

Dream perspectives

Last night I dreamed
I was in the third person.
It was extraordinary but
disorienting. I walked

across my own field of vision
and I tracked with me okay. As I
turned upscreen, around a corner
(I was downtown, some generic
cute downtown - I think it might
have been Petaluma!), and it sort
of cocked the angle again, I couldn't
get it so
I had a plain from-behind
view. I kept
pulling out, panned
to the side. 

There wasn't any screen.

Just this detached viewpoint. Yet
I was controlling my limbs
normally! As if
from within! At one point

I was walking quite naturally past
a window, and wanted to check my
reflection - I turned completely the
other way! Then I realized I could
see my face fine

from the outside, so
...force of habit,

I guess.

I'm always
gazing through windows
downtown, trying to compress
all the visual realities into one
(as if 2-d) plane. The background
sky and skyline behind me, people
passing - reflections, me, and gazing
through the dark window spaces, into
the interior light, shapes and people.
Kind of flatten it - as if on a canvass.
One flat two dimensional space, but 
complex layers of reality smooshed
into it. Visual compression. 

That was how I used to paint. To this day
I'm always trying to frame one dynamite
composition. Anything with reflection,
reality beneath, and reality behind. WHAM!
Shapes! Color and shade! Figure and ground
gone interlap and multidimensional! Why
I bother
I don't know, grown
so lazy a painter.   

The face-on view was the worst.
Coming right at me, it was all wrong!
Weave-bop-weave-bop-counter-weave,
correct - natural! Walk, walk, okay I got
this - whoop! WAY off, wall-carom! No
no I'm fine, look how cheerful and
unconcerned. Not 

that anyone notices or asks. Maybe 
they're all operating the same 
problematic view? Yet

overall, it was all so normal. Prosaic.
Nothing at all going on in this dream. 
I stayed outside, I was just trying to pull
off normalcy. No way I'm risking aisles 
and stands, tables - forget it! Counter 
ok, but - I'm not really hungry or 
thirsty. I'm trying to walk, 

here. 

I've had this dream before, few times.
One time my image kept getting framed
by a big gunsight! Huge in the crosshairs,
there it's me! Disappear awhile - BACK! 

I ignored it.
Stupid touch there,
subconsciousness. A freaking
gunsight. 

Anyway,
it's been a while. Last night, 
for no reason at all - as 
usual: third person downtown 
dreamwalk is baaack. 

Totally annoying dream.

Tornado advisory: okay

The weather is okay. But
this morning I kept
whipping around to
catch a skyful
of tornadoes over
my shoulder, and
behind me. Then

they kept being
not there, but -
behind me again?
Whiparound - gone
again! South, North,
West...to the East
I go not.

The weather was
okay then, and all day
really, but somebody's

got to keep a watch on it.

party décor hack: frozen sight puns

One time
I was at a gathering
(informal) and the centerpiece
on the table

was an enormous frozen peas
sculpture (well, damn large
anyway) of a massive, upright
icy...let's say dildo. Because
otherwise, damn vulgar.

It sort of

decayed leprously
as it thawed. Bits of green
peaness sliding down, dropping

off. 

It only just hit me
that this was probably
supposed to be a

"pea cock"

the worth signal

I want you to know when 
I signal you, it means 
I know your worth. 
So 
     we have to arrange 
a preunderstood signal. Some 
gesture, cryptic to the world 
but crystal to you from me. 
Then 
         when you see it, 
you'd be like "Aha! 
Hehehehe he knows 
my worth." 

I'm thinking chef's-kiss,
shrug-wink, 
the bird, 
victory-V (or flip it:
the Brit double barrel
bird equivalent), 
these 
could be ambiguous 
to onlookers drawing 
the wrong idea. We 
need 
to agree 
on our own sign. 

I recommend 
I place both index fingers 
in one horizontal line 
fingertip-to-tip 
at eye level, and 
you 

bite your lip 
and 
give a curt "back nod" 
or grin and shake your head 
slow no, 

depending whether 
I do or not know 
your worth 

in 
that
moment

ant critic.

The ants out front - as I retrieved
the huge blue plastic trash can
booming and echoing hollowly,
on wheels - had made grain by grain
the most beautiful anthill, I had to stop
a bit and watch it. I nearly leveled it,
smooshed to a level patch of surface
dirt by one bare foot, placed

by absent mind.

Thankfully nothing of the kind
occurred. It was lovely, how it turned
out - it was like a

funnel.

Not like a tornado, no - though those
are called "funnel clouds" as if that's
cute, like a funnel cake - especially

when most are so foul. No, this

was like
the important part
of the funnel. The top, which spreads
to gather good in and down, not the bottom
that tears ass through housing developments
sowing and reaping destruction in one moment

of impossibly focused wind-shear.

I wondered, wondering, looking
at its grainy arrangement. Which somehow
had far less the affect of precision than
the effect of perfection. I wondered what

its bottom got up to down there, with all
the good gathered streaming in and down.
Then I recalled I'd seen nature shows, ant
farms and such - so, probably that's about it.
Tiny tiny things to the eye! But given the right
lens you'd get huge, white pupae stupidly
propped up everywhere, serviced by man
-sized sticklike abominations - no, ants!

Oh, okay. They're just little guys, then.
And the queen, oh you know. Give her
her privacy.

Anyway.

Good job, kids!
Haven't seen a better one in years!
It spreads out like the mouth of a funnel,
instead of jutting up all toy volcano, trying
to impress the lawn, or something.

It strikes me my reasons for preferring
a rising swell of this holy type to the more
typical (and humble, less intriguing and mysterious)
straightforward cone job - an erection ants pop
up all over, common and vulgar - may be part
aesthetics, sure.

But for my part, partly psychological too,
I bet. May be. Oh hell though - even if it is,
we're really talking biological aren't we? We
don't need to lay every impulse and inclination
out nude on a couch and suggestively probe its
every gap and opening with cigars, do we?

No.

I just like it. I really
don't know a thing about ant,
but I know what I like. 

a dish for the king

When I hear "meal fit for a king" 
I'm like fuck that and fuck you. 
Kings can eat a bag of (the
public's sovereign) dicks, publicly
for for all I care of "kings"! Queens 
too, and being rather damn broad 
minded in comeuppance, throw in 
a big bag of sovereign hoo-hoos,
far more fit for royalty to munch
and chow down on than the sumptuous
or excellent repasts we pronounce "fit"
for them. Try a big bag of sovereign 
public pudenda, your majesties. 

A meal that won't quite fit in your 
prim, frowning mouths, will it? Just 
go ahead now, you deserve it far 
too well. 
 
And you can't even do anything 
about it! Used to be a king, if 
you caught one out in public 
without a cheering, teeming 
mob to support him you could 
do as you please with the tyrant! 
If the mob knew and liked him 
better than you though - watch it. 

You and they were ruled. You had 
to scrape and slave, debasing your
self now for that haut clothed clown.

If only the mob was you, I mean - and 
thought all as you did, about it! Off with
his crown AND head then, buddy! 

Nowadays, no dice. Whichever people 
kept their kings and such, it's because 
of perverse and more or less full public 
enjoyment of the absurdity! Posed far 
too often as partly ironic and smart.

Whenever you get a king, half the time
his own people think it's cute. "Pft!" they
say. It's no big deal. Grow up, crybaby,
that man's allowed a certain pomp and high
style luxury just to show we can well afford it!
Royalty's a status symbol, a conspicuous excess
that shows the team nobility of the mob. 

Well that's one fucking theory. As they are 
the people, and sovereign as all hell in ways 
you or I may not care for or see the point of, 
they get a free pass on kings, queens, any and 
all that princess princeling crap, raising up 
their innocent babes and brats to be too big 
in the britches, all swanning about above us
all, swooning at the sight of too commoners.

If that's what they want - fuck them, I honor 

it. The will of the people - like the human 
heart itself - it knows what it wants. Honor 
it or die for opposing their just will. 

Whatever the people do or uphold for a couple
generations running, you can pretty much guess
they just will. Kings! In this day and age! 

That's a long running vogue, vogue, vogue 
to choke Madonna herself in the throat if 
she tried to ape it to a hot beat on a public 
dance floor. Now that shows real royalty
who has class, but me I say: praise Lorde
and pass. 

I say, instead of "fit for a king" why not 
rise up?
Declare the meal
"An accomplishment fit for a slave of such
mastery ALL scullery workers should take
notes, and ape its mastery of kitchen arts
displayed! Only one possessed of the humility
of true nobility to slave away in a lifetime's
drudge they loved (obviously) doing yeoperson's
work - doing YEO WORK, for you, yo - could
possibly attain to such deft and potent puissance
of dish-on-plate!

When the meal's that fit, I prefer to pay due 
to the one whose fitness in the kitchen made
it so! Not to some absent and gluttonous, high
-standards monarch hovering invisibly
everywhere, 

waiting 

to be invoked  

snap ritual

I hope you are well.
And if a funk possesses
you, please perform some
impromptu
bath soak
ritual

- you
could do
a super low OHM
groannnnnnnnnn while
plunging your hands from
the waters and SNAP,
SNAP rhythmically
- SPLOOSH
back down then
streaming up SNAP,
SNAP - ohmmmmmmmmm

It's unproven as all hell, but
I gotta believe that's a funk
snapper and a way to calm out,
chill down and restore
proportion.

You could also add
in anything that strikes
the mind! Whole ritual's
impromptu. But it's

important: that rhythmic
and static/continuing motifs
be admixed. It sort of...pulls

the inner state through, while
breaking crud off it

Uhm. I'm not saying
I think you
are the sort of person
who needs that

Problemator.

I eat problems alive
with my eyes and crap
not solutions, so much
as minor epiphanies: oh
hey. That wasn't a problem 
after  all? Was it? 

Turns out!  

See, I walk in made
of lightning and inner
piss stank to take shit
done, pop a big look  
on it all scary, and care
the hell out of it. Crack
a boom - oh, I'm sorry?

Did we want that a problem? 

Nah, not usually. Mood's 
way better, but not mine. 
I'm pissed it even was 
that way! I stalk out of there

like a meteor streaking fumes
from the hair fire I didn't
even know I had up my ass 

'til I saw the state 
of that room!

All these woe cases.
Doleful as bums stuck
in funk mode, and
I look around.

And I take one
look at it, all it
takes is one. 

And I'm like
ah jeez, this
again. DONE. 

Next!
  
A little sick of feeling
maybe, 
maybe, people just ask 
me around in case bad 
shit happens? Can't deal? 

But that would imply
a capacity to plan that
would have prevented
the thing. Most of the time

nothing goes wrong. 

Well, it wouldn't care 
to would it?  

Seems fit.

Perhaps we simply stand 
and guess at another's 
motive. One to our making
- I mean, liking. Seems fit,
for an obvious asshole. 

Or perhaps we do what 
many of high IQ do - take 
an IQ test! Pleased at the 
result, we celebrate with 
our chums, Mensa. No 
one else wants to. Envy. 

Seems fit.

Or if we dare, and perhaps 
- we do, simply. As we've 
never tried it simply before.
We learn to lessen, pare away
flourish. Streamline excess.
Focus past distraction, on
essence, with light, grace,
wild elegance and strict
minimalism. 

Seems fit! 

Or you know, perhaps 
we simply do as we 
have. Fare on in minor
setback, incremental
advance, from habit
to lack and back again.
To see what fun it always 
is, and how flat, until
it seems fit.  

monuments to last

Taking pictures of food 
is like taking pictures of clouds.

It's never being
this way again, 
we've seen it all
somehow. 

Rough pepper
fallen on egg yolk 
could may as well
be snow, except
we crave the taste of one, 
even more than
all the empty icy
feel, you know.

And when
we lift our eyes to 
skyscape forms, in towers
tinted rose and gold,
we know
those things
put in the shade
all our monuments below,
and so 

we hunger
for a taste that lasts 
as long as we devour.

But it never lasts.
So take your shot, 
and keep it sweet. 

Such power

rock bottom brew

Have you ever run coffee 
from yesterday's grounds? 
It's more like brown water 
with a coffee sound. 

The bean grinder's broke,
so I'm switching to ground
next time I happen to go 
to town. 

I guess I'm an addict,
but I can't quite get up 
to fall down

Simplified line.

Simplistic? You dog, you abused
me for complexity just now! Which
is it? Yet truth shines through to true
in you here, when you call me
so simplistically.

Simple, true. I am an Alpha
Simp, Omega to sum - simple
right through really, and real
good at that, at least. I'm afraid
a worse man than you, in terms
of how bad I sit on my ass and tell
tales in lines to knock you off your
charger so hard, you can't (apparently)
find your butt sore with both hands.
Fool! That's a saddle sore! I left it
on the flying saddle, and you

unscathed!

Pay attention next time you
go hurtling far from chosen
course and splat back into the
bull you loosed by mistake
crashing through its gate.

Right in the eye!
A BULLSHOT.

Well, you do it fair, on-point -
but did you mean to? Woof
woof, wolf, in he-man skin,
I see your barked ass and funny
tooth show. Please allow me

to apologize for my self! My
conduct was implacable, my
courtesy as usual - found "familiar"
by those who know me, yet others
are right to call me out for my
huge, jocular good nature
(in their eye). It's a daring
care for me to stake pains
by, but who cares? I mistook you!
For someone I knew better! Well,
damn it I might have known better,

then. My fault! Because my misjudgment
and I tone it down from amity to civility
at your fall from the former. I should

have introduced myself politely
first, then or later. Now, Hi!

(You may be able to tell already
by my outlandish size, fluff hard
and pure incompetence at pleasing
you, which is too bad for any one
who cares, but) I am only the big
bad
sheep. I lowwww so in mournful
tones for humanity's sake as I herd
no flock whatsoever. I'm mostly
there to keep the dog in line. Good
dog! A real social pack animal for
the greater good she well knows,

being of it and in it and all out to win
it. The flock? Come on, they can take
care of their own choice of pastime
and repast. This whole thing's more
about me and the dog, for me, but
oh, she flocks like an angel playing
at pastoralism. It isn't really WORK
for her. Not with me there. I just

provide the stupidest example imaginable
of a sheep, damn big really (too bad) and
nobody needs to mind what the flock
does MUCH. They're at it on an all-out
own good spree! They mow the lawn

so I don't have to. Gruesomely, I've gained
a voracious taste for unpacked canine. Wild
or acting like it, or - more the best they can
do with so affected and weak an idea of wild
strength and order. A rather tame-ass job they
try to pull that way!

I suspect neither they nor I am really
the animals we pretend to be.

Anyway, it is not a reductive simplicity,
all I laid up, for it leaves nothing out
of any detectable size or importance

in reality. I'd expect you could demonstrate
definite conflict or inconsistency, if you knew
both otherwise, and better.

In any case, I welcome your one-point
mostly on-point correction! On TONE.
Personal taste critique, all sentiment no
substance, is better than nothing at all.

Tastes better! Well...depends, but I can
tell without too much face-making.
Composure, you see. Yours?

Delicious. Thanks! I mean it, too
- and more than you might

know.

Skeptic of certain media bits, please.

These radio talk guys, podcasters
or on the real air, take such low
cost narrative they cop on the sly
from freely available news and try
to make big deals over it! Arguably

in some cases they have a point. Foul
doings - big deal. But what do we
assholes care what these people
think! About IT! About IF!

It's not as if we can't take
and examine the real facts directly,
for ourselves! True, we can't, but it's
not as if we can't.

We literally can't.
Ground truth is out of range over
not much, but nearly all of what's
covered. Never, ever do they bring
up and fume over the everlasting
ever-loving doings on my block!

I wanna take my cock and jam
it in the so-called know-holes of
some of these dudes, just to see
their eyes pop all indignant. But
I'd go too soft and look like

a punk, probably. I always was too kind
for violence, especially, to play convincingly
bad. Bad ass? Sure, but anyone does that.

It's a bit of a tell when your ass
is so upfront (as mine is) - and not
bad! Not bad at all.

Now hold the phone. There are of course
she-showboat blabbermouths out there
bullhorning in on what is sadly way too
much a man-game, but that's a whole
deal to the side, by my lights. I don't
get mad. I may think what she says
is stupid or it may be brilliant, but I'm
a real you go girl guy. Always have been
- in fact I grew up fast the other day, and
told some obvious woman self-presenter
(who'd scored a point for her part, as I
found mine in a basic strong agreement)
"Attawoman!" No girl job at all she just
pulled off hard, but easy and sweet as a
smack on the face! I puckered up to wince
for it (seemed forthcoming enough) but

no dice. That's cool. What she wants, guys.
What she wants. That's her deal on any
would be (by you so-accounted) “fair
score.” She didn't try!

I was cool and appreciative of her aim
or lack thereof. So even nowhere near
face to face - some airwave, some signal
- women strike me not the same way
because of how I'm wired. It's a real
nurture vs. nature deal in wide and
groovy alignment! Works fine.

That's why I can't see my inner "F! YOU"
annoyance fantasy against media people
generally taking so raunchy a turn in

her case.

That would be a grim turn, not gay at all
to pull a mental cock jam at a know-hole
known to be no bull man at all, but a bull
strong woman who (haven't seen her! Don't
know what she looks like - ground truth
unavailable, BUT that voice) would probably

deal with me out of hand in person. Like
I don't know that from long and well-tried
experience. Already. It's no no-dunk slam
-brainer, but I'd bank how it plays out: me
again! All hapless, as-if pre-won before
the first woo pitch! Which probably
wouldn't be forthcoming, anyway.

It's just
Look. These
guys. Their big deals are some kind
of a job move they pull on the public
for their own confidence, but act

like it's our own good at stake.

Not buying it, folk pop news reaction
dudes. Cast your pod and your air wavy
net elsewhere by ether and thin air,

seeking your people.

Know what? Thank GOD
more women don't do this,
because I WANNA get mad
when I hear some shit like

THAT guy just
put.

It speaks either well of them
or poorly of us that more women
don't feel the need to wear soapbox
shoes clonking around down town,
angling for any chance to spot
a pitcher's mound, steps, a slight rise
- anything to gain that height they crave
and talk down the whole town - only online.

On the airwaves.

Which is worse. Men don't even need high
heels! When you find on the inside you're
already a heel so high on the human fumes
from what you shat in your head as a kid
and felt smelt great ever since, you find

it’s a lot easier to walk straight
in flats, buddy!
Trust me.
I don't even know what
their deal is.

"What tone were you going for?"

The tone I feel in me
is that of loving, doting
even carefree fond insouciance
that plays broadly and deeply in/upon

each piece,

yet overall smacks fine
as a reckless, perfect array
fallen by coincidence in lucky
grab and crash. Unaffected, natural
as all heaven and hell - and a peach
of a deal! Considering this moron

obviously doesn't know what he's
doing. It would be impossible, but
it's actually my dominant tone in life,

so.

However having said that, when
someone asks what tone were 
you going for, obviously you 
didn't get it. Not clearly, or 

clearly not! Which is oh, fine
- "OK!" I try
to mind my business 
for your part.

It's a fair take on 

any offer! (Usually 
they ask that to be sure 
your aim wasn't halfass 
wild - you did intend a 
tone. Didn't you?) 

Sure, intending a tone 
is my specialty. So 
easy it works 
fine 
great overall, 
but fine's ok.  

the Killer

Jerry Lee Lewis makes me feel 
my debt to humanity's unpaid. Still. 
He is alive and I am dead! How's 
that make sense? Wait, strike and 
reverse, but he is the Killer. Is.
Can't past-tense the immortals.
Part 
of the
problem isn't it? He's alive! I'm
dead. There's an end of it. Wait, 

I too am alive. 

Happy endings fit 
for whoever they do.  

Subjective sea.

A beholder’s eye call
for sure, out there. We
aren't above each other,
see. It is I, Joe! You are
you, though. So each we
please and deem and bail,
abob, adrift upon the green
subjective seas that heave us
twain, to each own port, by each
own sane or wild and daft, or cool.

Or keen.

By canny to uncanny means!
Tied-for-1st!-mates, captains, we!

By solo boat we storm our sea.

Armadas and regattas form, wherever
one and one agree, plus ever many more

may do.

That’s how we boat, and find at sea.