Wednesday, March 31, 2010


fork and knife
moving me around to cut and
eat tonight
those hollow nerves, the filter they are passing through
if it isn't just practice
not sure
one taller, one shorter. one with light hair and the other with dark. prayer beads and the empty spoon, compressed into one direction
where is your head when I'm out in the static of
you on the floor

Monday, March 29, 2010


(I want your)
(I want your)
(I want your)

sold into a syndicate (I want your) black cords below

Sunday, March 21, 2010

in a tin can. major tom & the ghost

breaking my
heart, baiting ghosts
hook and line for
days in the life of a
a river
rhetorical questions

no more, mr. o'leary
the hunter in me the
infantile bliss

Friday, March 19, 2010

Bus terminals just feel dirty. There is the anxiety produced by all that waiting the weariness of a commute dictated by a time table of scheduled departures and arrivals and the uncomfortable flourescent lighting accenting a neverending tile floor, dotted with islands of standard metal benches that often serve as beds. The token vending machine. Phone conversations in an unfamiliar tongue, and the rustling of a plastic bag behind me. You don't look people in the eye, we look down at our feet making hollow tapping sounds on those tiles, under a matte coating of disinfectant and soap that the mop left behind. The bathrooms are eerily quiet, except when ex-cons bussing it from san bernadino to who knows where are washing their hair in the sink. Looping sample of a ringing bell to signify the arrival of a train and a soft voice over the speaker asking to please, for your safety, report anything suspicious. Change machines making me think of las vegas. I wonder who patented the little folded yellow caution wet paint sign? He probz makes more money in a day than I do in fifty.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

march weather funtime earth joke zone

emily dickinson doesn't seem real. I can't tell if
glass or metal is better, the khaki sand of victorville
bleeding joshua trees out of the
Earth upside down

Inside out (nitrogen pallor)
so were the molecules,
so was your head, winsome skeptic in gentleman's attire
midnight infrastructure
Playing dress-up with personalities, costumes
vintage swedish prophetic manual-esque documentation of
Fifty cent garnet piece in my pocket and
project outline and stem cells of the thing that will get me to the

Not to invite those caught in the fray of their post-existence, edges of
after life whatever, death world born of pre-loss of 21 grams
the haunting and the aftermath

March 18th 2010.
anatomical medical drawings, amulets, electronic sound technology communication with the dead, the psychic, raver favors, mohave desert map

you don't know what is about to happen, I'm not seduced by the static, popular culture: a hooker in prada
Thin sheets of mica found under the dirt, rock that breaks in shields to pull strips of glittering geological
The start of all this excess?
rock or an egg or bang bang or the dregs of a
tired heretics fable,

jesus now comes in LED, your web browser tracks common threads to base faux-friend ad assault campaigns, pretend they

know you
will find you on
Twitter of course is an easy distraction

These Are the Breaks

african music, bicycles suspended indoors, shiny polished cheap psuedo crocodile loafers, linoleum, bubble wrap, retail fixturing

weekend remote control nailed to the semi-automatic through the fast forward button, the trigger is not obstructed. sticks, holsters, spurs, flip book imagery in pixelated color bars

1920's black and white cigarette holder, every unaffordable party or conquest, cloud nine and the numerical path

blogs, soda, reasons behind erraticly reverting between eccentricities, in a business meeting in your joke soap bubble delusion where you saw fame and sold all your
took off your clothes, switched to abbreviations
I'm not in the places I've already gone

knuckles and the spins, all the nuances sweetly ignored, battles with the inexplicably vacant, fader guest list paranoia of america

amber waves of grain, darwin being better than
a virgin just physically couldn't give birth so how can evolution the
new episode of tuning out and turning off on channel 74th street exit he wrote the
directions knew all of the lines it was

Premeditated. Sophia was pushing a vaccuum around in a floor length sari. Money is green paper with pictures that comes out of a printer. Debt is fake, her weave and disney robot marionette adolescents run on false hope


Black Beauty will turn off the lights the beige canvas drapes drawn ceiling closer than hardwood flooring radio off car tires on cedar, axis to axis.

distilled, reacting
indecisive results, who carries magic 8 balls in this town

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

thinking of eric burdon at night

thinking of eric burdon, eating candy to keep my mouth busy. this is our family dinner on sunday afternoon before she gets melodramatic and pulls out a suitcase. what's the point anyway mom
everyone is drunk
yelling at me never to call them a tranny

I went to texas too. Came back a widow. The things that fell out of you were smashing apart

do you ever

Do you ever?

Think about nuerotransmitting systems and the physiological make-up of your brain,
ever fake norepinephrine?
Have you ever

the molecular structure an easy hexagonal compound is it the
when real and fake?
I fell on a man-made twist of the arm and broke my
neck is directly affected
hey baby I am hooked tooth and

nail for your business of
knowing so well

the day came, every day and
Mornings hit hard when you make them and
Norepinephrine could run out but not this early in the
Games from them were
all they hated to give me
I played like a
piano with big shiny fat keys

Ever made it do whatever you want when you
Know you might not really be in control but you
haven't lost the conviction
Or the knife

Saturday, March 13, 2010

this is my "fuck you" to ke$ha

(By the way I love hip hop and I also love uffie and I wish kesha would stop hurting my brain and cheapening an entire music genre that hasn't even really been established yet)

Then again uffie can't flow like me so...and anyway I'm kind of an honorary O.G. considering how well I've been schooled


I'm slingin it smokin it shootin it poppin it
can't catch it
you aint got no hope in stoppin it
bitches be frontin don't know how I'm rockin it
they steez so slow they can't see that I'm mockin it

All they can hear is my gat when I'm cockin it
Dot on the mic and the beatboy be droppin it
All the cats out on the block they be coppin it

My flows like the drip
after taking that hit
once you start you can't quit
I'm that brand new shit
yeah the mad ill chick
32 in the clip
Mothafuckas better strip
we be cruisin bumpin the whip

I could be empty or just so filled that I
can't feel the weight of my skills its so ill
how I go down just like a twisted pill
into the center of all of it
and the dj spins like he's used to it

(Shout out to 163rd and amsterdam, washington heights+brooklyn+alphabet city, willy the bum and the ever-present dopeman. Dude with grills and the loc'd out attire. Wesley the latin king and the outdoor markets in spanish harlem. Christopher wallace but not really puffy. Tripped out summers in tompkins square park with flower petals and stained glass church windows while the suits walked by. Slim, on his bicycle, making deliveries of greenery in the east village on 4/20 four years ago while I was buying a kinks record on astor place. Night time walks with tea on st. Marks place and jimmy the punk rocker at trash and vaudeville until brooklyn called me home...sirens outside the fire escape, smoking cigarettes on the fire escape, tommy the most italian man ever "watching the neighborhood" on the porch of our house in flatbush. The guy at the bakery I went to every morning who would sing uptown girl to me and make my coffee. Subway trains, 40 oz malt liquor, squatters, crust punk bands and avenue c, the bowery and cbgb's...especially cbgb because that place was sick and they robbed them of it for the sake of...chuck taylors? Cracktoberfest in tompkins every year with the police force and MDC, b.b. kings and the subhumans, the hello kitty store on 42nd street and nyonya in chinatown. Guns and drugs and thugs. Gangsters and stoops we all sat on, bumming for change on the west side highway with donna or being in the vicinity of the uptown port authority. The salvation army thrift store, the dumpling man, the tunnel under the street that marco slept in, my living room walls covered in postcards and paintings and the slanted bedroom ceiling. Darryl "Ragidy Supreme" and the dove and rabbit at his apartment in washington heights, then his magic show at that weird nightclub in midtown with the 7 dollar heinekens. Prospect park. Washington square, union square, the botanical gardens, coney island and the russians I met on the train who took me to a movie in their fancy sportscar and all of the signs that we drive by written in russian. Nas. The velvet underground. Crossdressers, transvestites, hookers and drag queens. Keith Haring and neckface. Every kid making a hustle to eat or junkie supporting the business. Wet. "That leak. The leaky-leak." Queens, more specifically Astoria...and the wet grass under the shadow of the bridge there...the orange slushee you could get for 5 bucks from these dudes in the basement of a barber shop in harlem that would get you shitfaced in no time and was the most delicious drink ever. The cops who let me go. Steve, rest in peace man, and the blue puma jacket he gave me because I just thought it was such a pretty blue. Englewood cliffs, palisades park, newark, camden, edgewater, bergen county. Twenty year-old Elektra, with her black eye and frantic words, in the lobby of some apartment. The tombs. Community gardens. Mrs. Astor. Guiliani. The Yankees. Playing chicken with the police. Grant's Tomb and the museum of natural history, dinosaurs, ancient egyptian tombs, the metropolitan opera, carnegie hall, broadway and sardi's and one million overpriced parking garages. Canal street and little italy in a pocket to the west, weird lofts, hidden doorways,protests down broadway, cops on horses, falling asleep on the lawn of brooklyn college four summers ago. Hellraiser's biggest fan with eight million facial piercings, a mohawk and a little dog standing outside of the tattoo shop snapping fliers at the passerby. Getting lost, Hoboken New Jersey, the lincoln tunnel, ending up in south Jersey at a rest stop. Getting pulled over with a bat in the car, flashlights, vandalism, truancy, shitty concerts and that awful emo/bubblegum punk thing. Selling. Pawn shops, tolls, range rovers and red acuras. Cadillacs. Fly girls. Ghetto fabulous-ness, puffy jackets, chains and rims and spinners and high top nikes in all white, crooked grins, the projects. Bodegas. Loosies. Vinyl. Ballrooms. Skyscrapers. Central park west. Rastafarians in brooklyn and east orange. Mushrooms. Never really thinking about it being 4 AM waiting for the train in bedford stuyvesant, just waiting there in the dark. Lootings, shootings, new year's eve and an endless supply of hydraulics.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

go on dark humor and hip hop habits

That one also comes in chrome

she already lived this day but it keeps
what the fuck is she supposed to do anyway if she can't decide which one to go on? Its okay guys I'm an old pro who is she trying to
prove wrong or shoot dead

when she sat up the air was a mask in suspension stretched
over my eyes so I
Threw it away again, time to play machine gun with your
crippling wealth of stories she wants to speak fables in the
empty spaces,

I'm so happy because she is blind but
now she needs to go away, christopher wallace is trying to tell me something but harlem put holes in my arms
Donna was the funnel that sarah fell into
Rabbit holes are child's play
against a bag of spoons

don't be scared, there's prescription medication for this sort of
It doesn't work sir,

white white white all over how do bones grow, all the archetypes are rearing their ugly heads but she already saw where the
joke was only a joke to her
and real function was not
What is that

All I can tell you is that it gets really strange and I'm mostly just trying to cope with it

Sunday, March 7, 2010

burning both sides to get to the middle

Vande and my pupils like black machines, because I'm cynical, ebony flash of an oil slick
I'm sliding
the lights hit so good and you
know that the game is a
Hot hot hand on dull spine
Heart on strings in a plastic cartoon, it is
cold sweats and fever and
I am not here
I am out there in the
magnetic pools, arms limp and
Head on wire,
Platform three hundred miracle, rip you. I want to my
Legs are all bruised and I don't know why it makes you come
gets you harder than before

Every next one's gonna
Hurt like the last and now
This is the part in the sex where I laugh

and put my teeth in you, its okay to play make-believe with sticks and high heels, this
modern life is intravenous, how many wolves are in my bed
and which one is the hungriest, brown or blue
my twig legs and paper wrists and the
way that
the tendons push sinewy snake-like coil outlines to the tops of my hands while I'm
getting off

drinking velvet from creases left out of the
tastes like smack
I'm just kidding I turned it around, I saw the
pretty gay boys with glitter and sweat on their cheekbones, felt your breath, ran up the stairs
They were draped in monochromatic fabrics but the colored strobes
raining down from the place past the lid on their
fish bowl
put a pink static sunset on the
cold sea of slate shoulders

easy like a coma red sucker or the negative space I take up when I'm spun
doing it for love in the
dark, cats in the alley and
crooks in the cradle
ending up in someone else's morning
dressed in satin

you can also be jealous of what scares you so I don't mind
doing it for you