EPThere is a villanelle that ppl seemed to like, i dunno
+ Show Spoiler +
http://www.scribd.com/doc/128061843/i-wish-i-were-a-sex-columnist-for-L-magazine?secret_password=2m23pqyh64wamfrmqgb4
i wish i were a sex columnist for L magazine
Paul feels depressed. Paul "eats" ~2mg benzodiazepine,
is what i'd write if i wrote about "eating drugs"/"depressed writers",
Rachel thinks, i wish i were a sex columnist for L magazine
Rachel stares blankly ahead thinks does anybody have drugs then she
thinks if anyone has drugs please email me. Her grip now gets tighter.
Rachel thinks, i wish i were a sex columnist for L magazine,
Paul writes, reading to himself in a depressed monotone and then he
thought something like i dont know if im ok with this/do i still love her
Paul feels depressed. Paul "eats" ~2mg benzodiazepine,
to help "solve" his "depression" or to help deal with his "anxiety"
or these things in his life like "love" or "feelings" that he'd like to smother.
Rachel thinks, i wish i were a sex columnist for L magazine
there are many new ways you can have sex, or be hit by heavenly
objects like asteroids or like, comets Paul quietly mutters.
Paul feels depressed. Paul "eats" ~2mg benzodiazepine.
I really need to be alone, is what Rachel said to Paul blankly
while she thought about the new ways of "love"/"sex" Jordan helped find her
Rachel thinks i wish i were a sex columnist for L magazine
Paul feels depressed. Paul "eats" ~2mg benzodiazepine.
i wish i were a sex columnist for L magazine
Paul feels depressed. Paul "eats" ~2mg benzodiazepine,
is what i'd write if i wrote about "eating drugs"/"depressed writers",
Rachel thinks, i wish i were a sex columnist for L magazine
Rachel stares blankly ahead thinks does anybody have drugs then she
thinks if anyone has drugs please email me. Her grip now gets tighter.
Rachel thinks, i wish i were a sex columnist for L magazine,
Paul writes, reading to himself in a depressed monotone and then he
thought something like i dont know if im ok with this/do i still love her
Paul feels depressed. Paul "eats" ~2mg benzodiazepine,
to help "solve" his "depression" or to help deal with his "anxiety"
or these things in his life like "love" or "feelings" that he'd like to smother.
Rachel thinks, i wish i were a sex columnist for L magazine
there are many new ways you can have sex, or be hit by heavenly
objects like asteroids or like, comets Paul quietly mutters.
Paul feels depressed. Paul "eats" ~2mg benzodiazepine.
I really need to be alone, is what Rachel said to Paul blankly
while she thought about the new ways of "love"/"sex" Jordan helped find her
Rachel thinks i wish i were a sex columnist for L magazine
Paul feels depressed. Paul "eats" ~2mg benzodiazepine.
right now i am working on a "pastoral poem", i have something kind of rough so far. i think it has some "errors" in it right now and maybe organized a little weird, there's definitely some spots i want to polish and add to but im always curious to know how things look from the outside looking in, i feel like a lot of times when im writing i get a little turned around and things that i like end up not being likable, and things i dont think are likable end up being liked.
+ Show Spoiler +
http://www.scribd.com/doc/128089055/kill-me-via-waking-me-up-every-morning-and-i-am-dead?secret_password=jk3v6wtm4i96zmzn3zu
kill me via waking me up every morning and i am dead,
when i hike thru the woods of my mind,
i will hold you the way you would water,
bringing cupped palms to my face to drink cleanly and deeply,
with the sun reflecting off the surface of a stream,
catching the scales of a silver finned fish through the clear water,
or with the moon lying silently and solidly still on a lake
and the noises of crickets & dark animals in the distance
or close to me, or from my mouth as my mouth hovers above your
mouth.
i can still feel distance between you and me
despite our attempts in the trees to shrink the "space between atoms"
to become phenomena in which we only exist
in the state of being observed so that at night in the trees in the dark
we become and we lose our bodies.
You are a pack of wolves in the spring of my tundra,
stalking and hunting across frozen landscapes in times of plenty
feasting on caribou feasting on grasses feasting on sun and on soil.
from this intermingling is a cub left behind, as you chase the caribou
across winter,
to wander alone the frigid waste some murmur in its heart vaguely
recognizes
This is what I see while I eat xanax in the stall of the bathroom at a
gas station
except now i am in my bed and you are asleep.
absent the ones i love
absent any alternative,
I try harder to detach myself from this reality.
It is late in the morning
of the worst day of my life.There are birds singing,
There is sun shining,
and I am looking into the mirror,
muttering under my breath, "you shit head"
I am looking at you like I do the earth from the moon.
1942, Nazi Germany:
some shit head scientist has extracted DNA from mosquitos
and revived long extinct dinosaurs
to be foot soldiers in their war
in some parallel universe.
i am in the room with the young boys when they telegraph home,
to the generals, or their lovers,
"they have some shit head dinosaurs in their army stop
please send help stop
sincerely the young boys"
There is a thing called "love" in this parallel universe, i wouldnt know,
i am eating a blueberry muffin-thing from Whole Foods, i'm ethan
or chris, or something, i dont know,
i am on the moon with neil Armstrong in a parallel universe.
Neil armstrong is a shit head too.
I have been led to believe,
nothing. i have neither been led
nor do I believe in anything.
I am quickly losing my "body"
ie some"body" ie any"body" ie every"body"
i am no"body",
semiotically this makes sense,
in the spaces that lie facing the same direction,
infinitely even and looking always to the side
and thinking and wondering about this
"space between atoms".
Maybe in some alternate timeline Noah Chomsky is not a shit head
but until then I am led to believe that he is. I am on the moon with moon-princess,
moon-princess is the princess of the moon
and in an effort to appear to me to be from earth,
she wears a sheep-suit. i tell her,
it is very obvious what you are doing,
moon-princess nods, slowly, and tells me
that she knows, but she likes it.
i will never understand sheep.
i am imagining a category of Jeopardy where the answers force the
contestants to question "who they are" and "what it means to be
human" called existentially fucked.
i am imagining a whole day of Jeopardy called "existentially fucked"
where the answers have the constants ask alex, "who is alex trebeck".
he is never able to really answer their question, because he has to
read every answer from the blue card.
I am imagining Alex Trebeck ending the show in tears,
I am imagining this happens before final Jeopardy,
I am imagining the viewers at home wondering
I am imagining Alex Trebeck at home after the show, and he is going
into a planetarium that he has built in his house,
and he is looking at all of the constellations that he's named after
himself,
there are tears running down his cheeks,
he is wearing a sheep-suit,
the contestants were wearing sheep-suits,
we are all wearing sheep-suits,
i am lying on the moon and i point up at the most fucked up
constellation in the sky to moon-princess and i tell her,
"look up there, it's alex trebeck".
it is quiet on the moon.
kill me via waking me up every morning and i am dead,
when i hike thru the woods of my mind,
i will hold you the way you would water,
bringing cupped palms to my face to drink cleanly and deeply,
with the sun reflecting off the surface of a stream,
catching the scales of a silver finned fish through the clear water,
or with the moon lying silently and solidly still on a lake
and the noises of crickets & dark animals in the distance
or close to me, or from my mouth as my mouth hovers above your
mouth.
i can still feel distance between you and me
despite our attempts in the trees to shrink the "space between atoms"
to become phenomena in which we only exist
in the state of being observed so that at night in the trees in the dark
we become and we lose our bodies.
You are a pack of wolves in the spring of my tundra,
stalking and hunting across frozen landscapes in times of plenty
feasting on caribou feasting on grasses feasting on sun and on soil.
from this intermingling is a cub left behind, as you chase the caribou
across winter,
to wander alone the frigid waste some murmur in its heart vaguely
recognizes
This is what I see while I eat xanax in the stall of the bathroom at a
gas station
except now i am in my bed and you are asleep.
absent the ones i love
absent any alternative,
I try harder to detach myself from this reality.
It is late in the morning
of the worst day of my life.There are birds singing,
There is sun shining,
and I am looking into the mirror,
muttering under my breath, "you shit head"
I am looking at you like I do the earth from the moon.
1942, Nazi Germany:
some shit head scientist has extracted DNA from mosquitos
and revived long extinct dinosaurs
to be foot soldiers in their war
in some parallel universe.
i am in the room with the young boys when they telegraph home,
to the generals, or their lovers,
"they have some shit head dinosaurs in their army stop
please send help stop
sincerely the young boys"
There is a thing called "love" in this parallel universe, i wouldnt know,
i am eating a blueberry muffin-thing from Whole Foods, i'm ethan
or chris, or something, i dont know,
i am on the moon with neil Armstrong in a parallel universe.
Neil armstrong is a shit head too.
I have been led to believe,
nothing. i have neither been led
nor do I believe in anything.
I am quickly losing my "body"
ie some"body" ie any"body" ie every"body"
i am no"body",
semiotically this makes sense,
in the spaces that lie facing the same direction,
infinitely even and looking always to the side
and thinking and wondering about this
"space between atoms".
Maybe in some alternate timeline Noah Chomsky is not a shit head
but until then I am led to believe that he is. I am on the moon with moon-princess,
moon-princess is the princess of the moon
and in an effort to appear to me to be from earth,
she wears a sheep-suit. i tell her,
it is very obvious what you are doing,
moon-princess nods, slowly, and tells me
that she knows, but she likes it.
i will never understand sheep.
i am imagining a category of Jeopardy where the answers force the
contestants to question "who they are" and "what it means to be
human" called existentially fucked.
i am imagining a whole day of Jeopardy called "existentially fucked"
where the answers have the constants ask alex, "who is alex trebeck".
he is never able to really answer their question, because he has to
read every answer from the blue card.
I am imagining Alex Trebeck ending the show in tears,
I am imagining this happens before final Jeopardy,
I am imagining the viewers at home wondering
I am imagining Alex Trebeck at home after the show, and he is going
into a planetarium that he has built in his house,
and he is looking at all of the constellations that he's named after
himself,
there are tears running down his cheeks,
he is wearing a sheep-suit,
the contestants were wearing sheep-suits,
we are all wearing sheep-suits,
i am lying on the moon and i point up at the most fucked up
constellation in the sky to moon-princess and i tell her,
"look up there, it's alex trebeck".
it is quiet on the moon.
please pardon a lot of the line breaks, i write mostly in pocket notebooks so my line lengths get really screwy and it takes a lot of tinkering to the get them "where they want to be".
as always, genuinely excited also towards any conversation re: poetics, prosody, aesthetics, literature, fiction etc. if you want to go on some tangential topic.
. Also I ordered the two books you suggested in my blog, reading the Fussel one now.
