Sunday, April 30, 2006

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

stapler and balmy

the morning done

I am a broken spring
and out of staples

consider the handicap

or the missing hour

a lack of bundling occurs

lapse in connection

the sun turning off
for a cumulous disaster

Silence (

No words can escape... the only noise is laughter or sighs
and conversations in my head
Who knew the mind had so much to say that it never ends because the words aren't outloud
and the computer hums
and the sound of fingers tapping echo in the room
because no voice escapes
silence is loud.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

arizona is a new kind of hell

but we are here, after many a misadventure concerning faulty trailers, crazed truckers w/ pancreatitus, & various & sundry travellers w/ u-haul horror stories.

we are at peter piper pizza eating pizza & watching the cavs demolish the wizards. this is the only place nearby w/ internet access.

it is ninety five degrees. there are palm trees & cacti. every third car is a hummer.


will & sarah

Friday, April 21, 2006


Raveled mockery in forms of confusion -
the silence is in disaray
cause still the forfront, still neccessary
even if only one is willing

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Literary Criticism at its Finest

Flaubert, as anyone with taste will have experienced first-hand, used language with wondrous precision. It seems that someone wrote a book about him (it probably isn't as good as Flaubert's Parrot by Julian Barnes, because nothing in this world is), and a certain reviewer deemed it necessary to rise to the prosaic (in both senses of the word) challenge implicit in writing about someone who wrote about Flaubert. The review appeared in the New York Times--a noted asylum for book reviewers who try way, way too hard. This particular flash of inspiration emblazons the horizon of our consciousness by way of James Wood, a "professor of the practice of literary criticism at Harvard University":

"Flaubert scans the streets indifferently, it seems, like a camera. Just as when we watch a film we no longer notice what has been excluded, so we no longer notice what Flaubert chooses not to notice. And we no longer notice that what he has selected is not of course casually scanned but quite savagely chosen, that each detail is almost frozen in its gel of chosenness."

May God have mercy on our souls! "Each detail is almost frozen in its gel of chosenness"? If I were paying $40,000 per year to hear this guy profess the practice of literary criticism, I would file a lawsuit immediately. Allow me to follow that up with a randomly selected passage from Flaubert's collected letters:

"What is wrong with your health, pauvre cherie? What are all these vomitings, stomach pains, etc.? I am sure that you came close to doing something completely foolish. I should like to hear that you were well again - completely. I'll not hide from you that the landing of the Redcoats was a tremendous relief to me. May the god of coitus grant that I never again go through such agony ... But the joy I subsequently felt has been profitable for me, I think."

Okay, so I may not have lit upon the most feverishly brilliant and incisive stretch of Flaubert's writing career, but at least he was a dapper hand at euphemism.

RIP Nacho

Monday, April 17, 2006

"Las Meninas" & Donald Rumsfeld

a post about "Las Meninas" that you might find halfway interesting is here. I only mention it because of Millicent's story in alice blue.

Also, the recent poetry of Donald Rumsfeld here & here.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

should we force others to join this thing

been thinking about asking other people to post poetry related stuff every now & then. justin burnside? carl? other people we like? i don't know...what do you'll think...

Saturday, April 15, 2006

What the Letter "Q" Equals

the point of the universe exists
in this algebraic equation

I mean: the "q" doesn't matter

its all starlight like
punctured construction paper


punctured is what going away
feels like

try it
do you see what I mean?

there is an exact mathematical equation
for the way that I'm feeling

though it will not be simple or beautiful yet
it is something perfect and true

read the new

elimae. lot's of great stuff from greg mulcahy, james lewelling, joshua marie wilkinson, ellen kennedy, & others.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

I've lost my mind

We plead insanity of the dissociating crimes
The man with the wooden leg cringes at our existence
but, only dirty dishes clog the sink
and the peanut butter cracker crunch grows old
of their slander and libel
creaking doorhindge hangs over the silence
translucent symbols delicately carved into the wooden box
and the yogurt dances
Judges of the inferior tickle the pencils & attempt to address the issue at hand
of the women who was unconciously aware

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Pom2 6 is available

here, featuring yours truly & some real poets...

Sunday, April 09, 2006


"Forget the girl! Get the seal!"

Saturday, April 08, 2006

i learned two new words & other stuff

detournement & parataxis (the first came from this blog entry, the second from a game of hangman w/ sarah while waiting for our delayed flight in phoenix yesterday)

also, my sister wrote the following poem on her blog:

the weird

The OPT of the thought of Shi was joke to the led chare,
which is blue, paving stone
which cries the timid emotion of the summer
thy out of afflictions of the good of the refuse of Thy of the ewes
fell the piled up ewes
Shi from the welkin from the end from traction from the ballot box
from the oats that the unequal nut of the chi points out?
There the forest of the sun of the hire of the dye was stopped the
banquet which the ascending stags tail and sees hello reversed the
acclamation of the joke and the fabrics of the OPT
of the thought of Joyce Shi of the led grape,
blue of the stags hello, fitted hundredth of Shi recalls dittoes thy
loose the hulas,

the misusages scrabbled in the sharpies,

thy Gitano Shi cries too well the oats
Your of the framework of the ewes of
Ebola dissimulated with the cheerio of the led, blue west of the joke

what i think: this is brilliant & reads like a disjointed children's story, particularly the repititions of "of the" which connect numerous disparate images. for example: "There the forest of the sun of the hire of the dye was stopped" or "thy out of afflictions of the good of the refuse of Thy of the ewes". & so, as i read, i detect a subtle flow of emotion beneath the language while enjoying the surprise of new word combinations. who wouldn't smile at "the framework of the ewes" or "Ebola dissimulated with the cheerio" or " the misusages scrabbled in the sharpies" or "sees hello reversed" or "loose the hulas" or "which cries the timid emotion of the summer". i have the feeling of reading another language, teetering on the point of meaning, but, w/ all overt meaning removed, only possibility remains. i'm reminded of reading Tender Buttons & the loops, both in rhythmic sound & in the language itself as words are imbued with a sort of "negative capability" (i may be using this term incorrectly). but here, in "the wierd", i read more possibility in words than i generally do, as their ability to mean is stretched.

i just reread that & it sounds like bs but that's how i feel

Friday, April 07, 2006

Should I call you Dr. Marvin? (a What about Bob? found poem)

It's a beautiful family.

The simplist way to put it. I have problems.

Talk about moving.
Talk about wierd.

Fingernail sensitivity.

What if my heart stops beating?

Are you married?

Those who like Neil Diamond and those who don't.

Baby step around the office. That's a month.

I'll be back.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

conversation of the undiscovered apartment*

It was like a wisp and a morning and a glass of wine. As if there could have been. More than. Over this. See. The linoleum isn't yellow and I can tell. Other people have lived here. But the lamp gives a yellow glow and we need the lamp more than we need the dust bunnies or the neighbors. Though we don't live in this kitchen anymore. It was the blender that got in the way. And the toaster oven wasn't nearly the efficient heater they said it would be. And either way, it's imaginary and my bed is floating and the lake and I'm still cold.

* copied from our submission from Viola Lee

Sunday, April 02, 2006

a new thingy

You cupped my breast and turned away

I like bow ties and bicycles

it was never so much about cobblestone

if you really loved me, you'd pick up that penny

el mar, thalassa, sea

you see the blue wall

we are kept from our deepest thoughts
by each other

when I wake up I want to dream of you

when I wake up I want to go snorkeling
you'll play dress up

this is our luckless organ
made of alleyways

Going Away Fiesta

I'm saying the party will be Friday, April 14th...start at 6pm? I'll make dinner and then maybe we can shanty it up? Maybe a last game of scrabble?

I also say that we try to hit the Joshua Maria Wilkinson reading at Open Books the night before. 7:30pm. Let me know.

Saturday, April 01, 2006