Booze & Pills

Line Up

2008-04-08T14:54:00.001-05:00

Barton Dunc Pujols
Ankiel Glaus Yadi Ryan
Pitcher Kennedy

Rain Delay

2008-04-02T23:01:00.001-05:00

Radar cells active
The grounds crew brings out the tarp
Delayed in L.A.

Protest Vote

2008-03-23T16:43:00.002-05:00

Son of America,
     daughter of night…

You were
     the only friend of mine
who knew more about
     the Senate than I did
and it pissed me off.

     A cigarette grows lonely
in its ashtray.
     Even if it’s still burning,
even if you once touched it,
     even though it hears you laughing.
The next cigarette is too easy,
     done on the rocks or neat,
up or down,
     on account of voices present,
a few senators short of a quorum.

     Who are you to scratch
the paint from this chamber’s windows?
     To see 100% better?
So blanket the place
     with energy-efficient lightbulbs.
Become a baron
     in the local real-estate market for closet space.

Go retro, rock the curls, &
     wax your res manchu.
But if your collar’s up
     and there’s nowhere to pay
          that six-dollar cover—

Who gives a flying fuck what’s new?

Wine Thriller

2008-03-14T23:30:00.000-05:00

merlot is the easy wine
according to that movie I never saw
because wine isn’t funny
except when it’s drunk by the gallon
from the bottle late at night
with gloves on
ha, ha

"Careful" Breasts

2008-03-01T13:23:00.000-06:00

Had a transvestite
stalker — a gal with a cock.
Hoped it wasn’t
a thing but a sock.
Resolved to kill
her/him.

Two Bowls' Worth

2008-02-25T17:26:00.004-06:00

A cinder out of Nostro,
crumbs mixed in with tobacco
from where you rolled that joint,
and a few small pieces
(morsels, really)
from out of the sandwich bag
in the d. den.

A fair amount.

McCain Chooses Running Mate

2008-02-18T07:54:00.000-06:00

(from the Unassociated Press)

Tucson, AZ — All but assured of the Republican nomination, John McCain (AZ) has chosen George Herbert Walker Bush, a.k.a. "41", as his running mate for the 2008 presidential election.

Remember, old George only served four years.

Port au Aspirin

2007-12-28T12:44:00.001-06:00

I love wine

I just don’t love
What it does to me—

Makes me tired
And gives me a fucking headache

Aspirin
I love aspirin…

Haze Letter (To All the Friends Back Home)

2007-09-26T19:49:00.000-05:00

1
Lights on or off, it doesn’t matter.
The others are sleeping,
Flapping newspapers their name.
A car honks;
The only car on the street.
Straat gracht plein
These are the words of the Indians,
Who smoked grass in their pipes;
Who knew the difference
Between war and peace.

2
In the coffeeshop
I’ll come by
Say hello, hey
I’m blazed
Blitzed
Bombed at the Ritz.

3
If this folk Americano…
If this folk roll Drum…
If this folk wrap w/ a Rizla…

I’m feeling young again

Wie spåt ist es?

Yo no necesito

I’ve got my swagger back.

4
imported emotions
reimbursed, remittent
remorses

notions
potions

you were sitting by the canal
unfolding

a bicycle…

5
And yes I wait
With un-named bouquets—
For whom I’m not sure.
Is this the Supercilious Era,
Or have things just “been this way” since Pound?
Glass vase slightly chipped;
Clean pockets full of flower food;

Water, water down from the gutters;
Vision, vision reaching abroad, o’er the ocean.

Kill me off, I am a species.

6
I’m falling asleep with the light on
And no one’s awake to stop me.
Beans at breakfast, tabak after that.
Espresso is coffee and coffee here is good.
I’ve got enough wine to start a vineyard,
2 € each.

Not finishing upstairs,
Walking alone with frites.

If you weren’t the only one of record.

the loneliness of the chain-smoking alcoholic

2007-08-21T09:41:00.000-05:00

by the cbw

Using my bow-flexed guns to move my drink of choice (gin and tonic) from wood-stained table-top 2 my un-quenched lips I think of things gone past and things going to pass; my motion enacts a sensation that reflects my situation, which is, paradoxically or not, pretty repetitive. Part of me wants 2 calculate the number of times I have drank this drink, thought this thought, and experienced this experience, yet, another, quite distinct part of my fragile psyche wants 2 know if these trivial things are considered building blocks, like legos and experience. Athletics and academics stress the importance of repetitions (like how I got the aforementioned ‘guns’ or ‘bi’s’ or, more simply, muscles 2 perform this somewhat comforting action), but the constant pursuit of finding a truth at the bottom of a bottle is oft derided as relatively pointless and counter-productive, which in my state of mind, itself seems counter-intuitive b/c how is someone going to get good at something w/o practice? But then again some ever-changing ‘surgeon general’ (who commands the respect of someone in the army but also would seem 2 not recommend armed combat as a ‘healthy’ activity; again conundrum I hope 2 remember later) is constantly telling me in written print that alcohol can have serious health risks. After a draining big-gulp of my drink, I exaggeratedly ‘pound’ the empty (not including non-melted ice-cubes, mere afterthoughts anyway, really deterrents 4 a true drinker) glass on the indistinct, some-hue of brown lumber separating me from bartender and patron, and casually order another with the universal twirl of one raised index finger. Still contemplating the solipsistic thoughts running nascar laps in my mind, I pull out a generic bic lighter and move time forward by inhaling some soothing carcinogens (Marlboro red, in this particular case, if someone really needs 2 know, like matlock or perry mason or something if this would ever be re-created in my ongoing series of acts that seem 2be crimes against humanity).

Arriving with my next drink is a follow-up internal thought of maybe/maybe not inconsequential (albeit somewhat tangential) implications: is this very drink unique? I mean it is my fifth drink on this very-non-particular afternoon in a bar that I have already imbibed many other drinks of the same or differentiating spirits many a time of half-forgotten (or is that half-remembered) lore, so does this experience render any and all of these ‘drinks’ as something evolutionary? The e-word of course relating more towards the meaning of accrued advancement as opposed to the more common euphemism known as drunken philosophy (although there is a martial arts known as drunken boxing, which gets more complicated when related by to my surgeon general ruminations a few minutes before); my cigarette is almost done, and new thoughts complicate this train-wreck of box-car simplifications. Pattern set 2 repeat: lift glass, sip drink (since glass is near full), carefully deposit glass, and try to remember and arrange previous private posits. Questions unbound, theories unravel. This is no place for a man with a home, but possibly the last bastion for an aimless soul trying 2 make a new tome; wasn’t that how the new frontier operated? But (that word always tempering the advance), what do the words ‘new’ and ‘frontier’ mean anymore in a constantly contextually dependent global atmosphere? Questions, then drink, more questions, more drink: the cycle seems like some sort of pin-wheel of adolescent past, except with abstract warning labels attached.

An ashtray filled with how many but(t)s. An analogy seems like it could be intelligently designed 2 link this observation with my present situation, so instead, I reach into that finite packet of nicotine-rich neural addictors and pluck another lucky cig just peg-legged 4 further justification. Lighter up, thumb twitch, ember lit, inhale deeply, exhale expertly. Ahh, yes, know I remember that the only memory worth holding in one’s ravaged mind is this: action provokes reaction. So elemental that some charts have gotten into periodical debates about what impact science has on newspapers, or something 2 that extent. My drink is almost done and I feel a horse kicking the back of my head. I would not classify the feeling as pain, but maybe more pretentiously as a pang, in the neck, so 2 (k)not speak. I laugh out-loud at this thought and glance around at this unintended outburst, sure someone will see something in me that I long to erase, or mourn to forget; either way, it causes some sort of mix of exultation and confusion. Cigarette in hand, I finish this inconsequential (I’ve decided) drink and motion for another round for the man no one refers 2 as norm; not never.

My stool is of some sort of wood that I would incorrectly guess as pine simply because my increasingly drunken mind makes the connection between its legs and the shapes of baseball bats, maybe of the 33 oz. variety. It is an odd contemplation considering my affinity for craftsmanship (esp. w/r/t woodworking) and my growing awareness of the devastating effects of deforestation. I read recently about the conflicting impulses of ego versus eco and the best way societies (as whole and separate) need 2 confront some sort of issues of varying degrees of import; it sounds real, deal pseudo-intellectual when I think about it, so I take another lunging gulp of my nest drink. I suddenly think that if there was ever a term that has had an unheralded-lie miniscule cachet it has 2be the term ‘ubiquity.’ In fact a lot of u-terms have a lot of ‘splaining 2 do, imhdo. This piece of wisdom I half-haphazardly scrawl on some bar napkin with a pen from the tender’s receipt-keep-all apron; the irony is only quarter-drawn on me, so I smirk 2 myself, fourgetting that the eyes may be watching me. I decide 2 equine my meaning at some future time and polish off that eighth (or is that ninth) wonder of my immediate world. As I pay my tab (generous tip, but for who always remains unseen), I think one final thought: cheers, steers, queers, we all exist as some thing under some (real or imagined) gun and that is bar-factotum-none.

Top 40

2007-08-18T20:10:00.000-05:00

Casey Kasem was counting
backwards, in the shadow of
the eternal teenager.
He sent out a special request
for more copper.
On WestWoodOne
he was,
but in his heart
he knew himself two.
Every night, his mantra.
'Never stop
reaching for the stars.'

Emergency Cigarette

2007-08-15T11:46:00.001-05:00

This window is key
In the late spring and summer
There'll be a nice breeze.

heat haiku

2007-08-14T19:26:00.000-05:00

it's too god damned hot
i feel like ending it all
when will autumn come?

The Word(s)

2007-08-12T13:51:00.000-05:00

Following an afternoon of fun,
we re-convene for the evening session.
There is a lag in energy and
motivation until a suggestion is
made. The motion is seconded.
I summon the parties with
my Mexican gavel and American
spoon. With the help of the martyr
Prometheus, we boil over.

-Who’s the biggest bad-ass?
-I’ve a Hamilton.

Moving to my left, first I, then
The Word, fall off the table teetering
on the precipice of reality.

It’s the lighting that’s important
here. Like everything else (unfortunately)
you can’t have too much, or it
bleaches out the un-reality.

With paints in hand, and the door
for a canvas, time stops. The Word
says he’s comfortable. He could stand
there forever, holding his three
instruments of bliss: brush, beer and tube.
With my eyes open, I can’t see.
I’ve become blind, but I’ve created
a new way of communicating…
non-verbally of course. While I
talk, my right hand transcribes my
words into symbols that I’ll
never decipher.

I’m out of my mind, I say.
My relationship with sanity is connected
only tenuously, by a very thin
thread. I tell The Word that I
need to float, to avoid any snagging
or severing.

After a long period of static time,
a large chunk passes by
without ever announcing its presence.

I’m teaching myself to read,
while The Word rests his eyes.
He lies on his back with his
legs up, forming a mirror-imaged,
dislocated ‘J’. Plaid on plaid,
he sails away on a ship of
cotton (not) manufactured in China.
I cannot catch him, so I light
a smoke, and hope that our
journey into the clouds ends
with the sun shining.

Salinger Cocktail

2007-06-13T12:28:00.001-05:00

Tell us the story
about the drinking man.

The drinking man?
Is that the same
as the laughing man?

No, the drinking man
is like the laughing man
except:

the drinking man drinks.

Drunk

2007-04-14T11:41:00.000-05:00

So I’m a little boosy
don’t be choosy
look out, love

We're All Weak In Some Way

2007-04-03T16:22:00.000-05:00

I’m telling you There’s a

version of the bible

out there where Adam

is munching away.

At The Corner Of

2007-03-28T12:28:00.000-05:00

A mermaid shakes
in her salmon-skin dress.
Not Novak’s, she says,
or Kovak’s, or Blowvak’s.
On the street she finds
a wall with bumps on it,
barnacles riding
a whale shark of a building
beached at the corner.
O, God, she says,
I worried about
those humans.

17-syllable Poem

2007-03-18T13:45:00.000-05:00

      you can walk right out it
      if you’re not looking
      second-story window

Going Bald

2007-03-12T13:50:00.000-05:00

       They’re not as sharp as they used to be

                                                 razors.

Dali’s mustache appears on the table

                              then disappears

        up my buddy’s nose.

                                             A few hairs

          fall back to the ground,

                                       crashing w/ the compunction

                                                    of small cars.

Red Light Mist

2007-03-08T08:21:00.000-06:00

       Thumb spa
       in the mtns.
       2:30 in the morn
       We stick to sunsets
          with resinous no
          reasonous no
          treasonous no
          reasonable thoughts
       Impossible impossible
            gibberish
       By the window w/ blankets
       & Jackson Pollock’s reddest paint;
       His stitches of lust my scab,

          Part of everything I want, a
       Desk & pool & sirius
       satellite radio.
       Sleep good shepherds
          wise men
       This is not Cologne
       This is not Miami
       This is J. P.
       skywriting
       This is me on the mend

Corner Buddha

2007-03-01T19:28:00.000-06:00

I could use some meds
           said the dharma junkie
           to an empty avenue.

What do you need?
           asked an eavesdropping dealer,
Codeine, ultram, vicodin?

Meditations, I mean.

Oh, said the dealer,
          sitting on the corner and opening his palms.
Meditations are free.

Old Stuff

2007-02-25T23:43:00.000-06:00

I used to get so high
         (we did)
If I could get high
      like that again
O, how well I could write
lines and phrases
juxtapositions
that were as
      mindbendingly flexible
      as the yoga master’s torso
A minor chuckle
would last for five minutes.
      Did we smoke more then?
      Was the stuff better?
      Did we not worry as much
         about money or jobs?
Maybe all that,
   maybe none.
Or maybe the creator
has always known about grass
& finally said,
      OK, I’ll give them a millon
      brain cells for grass.
But once they go through those,
that’s it.

Novels & Things

2007-02-21T19:26:00.000-06:00

          Did you do a lot
                    of coke when you
were young?
                              me neither
All those girls are
           learning.

                         A tight ass
                         in correct jeans

          the right CD,
                    the right music

     for what we’re doin today
          people talking
          my wife stackin
                    the netflix queue

                              the netflix cat
                              kicked a dildo down the street
                              for what reason I don’t know

there it is,
          there it is

          the pen,
                    my friend’s
                              gray hair

at this particular party
I’m
     just sittin here
     just lisn’n
     2 these 2 girls
          talk about
          novels & things

                              It’s peaceful here:
                              not to know the chaos of other rooms?
          they
          know not
          to bother me while I’m writing
                              about mardi gras:

                    soakin up beads
                    drowning in twenties
                    throwin out nothin
                                                       but tits

     the toilets are clean
     they’ve never been cleaner

                    Everyone out there talking
                              is a roar in my ear
                         ringing it like
                              the smoke of everyone I know
                              and how I knew them today

A gun to the head—
          what’s wrong w/ that?

          I’ll get a job in the firm of
          Hemingway, Thompson, & Randall

     Getting off o’the elevator with my friends
     I’ll show them my office saying

                    there it is, there it is
                    the pen, the pin
                    my friend’s gray hair

For hours now we’ve been saying
          “it’s still early”

                              But I think I’ll be going
                              I’m getting drunker than I thought
                              drunker than plans
                              drunker than the Trust allows

matt blunt,
                    roll me a fat one

                    that’s what was wrong w/
                              my band experience

                              all the teachers I cried in front of,
                              none of them knew what to do.

Hey, don’t take all the things
                    I owned of you
          those are the things I wanted,
                     and I’ll be needing them for that

          ass in correct jeans,
          the girls still learning,

          me just sittin here
          lisn’n those 2 girls
          talk ‘bout
          novels & things.

How Much Does It Cost To Send A Postcard To Iraq?

2007-02-16T12:39:00.000-06:00

I said     Iraq
                    I say it so it reminds me of—
                    or, so that it rhymes
                    with a rock
          one too heavy to throw.
                    So I contract its lift
          but still insurgent fists
                    throw wrapping,
                                        victorious
                                        paper.

I knew I should’ve gone with scissors
                                        skizzers
           or even
                                        anti-skizzer skizzers

I say, What’s the matter with you, Ira       q?
Can’t you see I need you?
Me, one of the thousands of
                    quiet praying Americans
                    praying, not preying, I promise
Work democracy
          work dammit!
Work or where am I
          gonna run to
          when the battle comes here
                    These are   lonely     lonely      lonely
                                      days         days         days

So I said
So I said
   I said I’ve lost my love for you Iraq
I’m gettin ready to leave you Iraq

                    And so what if
                    the derricks go limp
                    flapping in the desert bane
                    like dollar bills, no— like a fourth option: tears
                    tossed in celebration
                    from our fruitless, fleeing plane.

children's books

2007-02-14T18:12:00.000-06:00

by chinball wizard

If the world was crazy,
would that old
          soothsayer,
stone-telling chester the silver fish
still speak the forgotten language?
           The generals don’t think so,
just me, just me standing
the one who stayed with Melinda Mae
          and the little blue engine that was afraid of the dark.
          Hungry mungry,
my beard is merry
           and the search…

Good Morning, Bright Eyes

2007-02-12T07:38:00.000-06:00

I try to validate
my decrepitation
my crapitation
on a clear morning
when my body is
a rummage sale
of twenty-five-cent smoke
and even cheaper ash.
Hemingway wrote in the mornings.
Marvell rubbed pubs to refresh his spirit.
I’m constantly writing
this research-paper life
and, like the lawyer I am,
throwing countless citations
into levees leaky with holes,
hoping something will stick.

Scientific Name

2007-02-05T09:51:00.000-06:00

In my low points

          there is yelling

and yellowing,

                    fag-ended curses—

O, monotomous hippopotamus

          why won’t you

                    beach yourself

on the shore of something new?

Hand Off

2007-01-26T22:32:00.000-06:00

I wouldn’t mind
giving my lust to
some wandering saint
with no shoes I’d tell him
not to take it all at once
Try a little and see
where it leads you;
if you like it, take a little more.

My Shame

2007-01-23T00:11:00.000-06:00

Hotdogging in the dive
relating the toss.
Glassy, but thankfully, not

            in the eye.
Cognizant of the outrage.

With flurries swirling,
the group assembles.

            The hand is dealt.

                  * * *

I immediately draw the joker
and tell him I’m not there.
Hoping for the queen of hearts
I am caught in the steely gaze
of the Jack of clubs,

            until I am forced to fold.

The Bar Down the Street

2007-01-22T00:24:00.000-06:00

Before the doorman can check id’s
   a young man
      stops us.
        ‘It’s my birthday.
            You have to kiss me to get in.’
               He presents his cheek;
I kiss it without hesitation.

On stage, a woman is riffing
   and rhyming and whooping
      and cursing. The paired sexes
         applaud voraciously. A beauty
            pageant is underway. Thursday nights
               are a drag.

‘Johnny Black, rocks for me and
   Jim with a splash of coke for my
      friend.’ He doesn’t short us on
         volume. For the 2nd
            the female bartender ignores me.
               ‘I’ll have to get HIS attention,’
I say.

As we are leaving, there’s a disagreement
   over who was getting checked out.

Wheelchair Wares

2007-01-21T23:58:00.000-06:00

100 feet down,
I see
an old man. He’s in a
wheelchair, missing his
right leg…amputated above the knee.

What do you do when you
sit outside the Mart?
I see you at least twice
a week, always in the gloaming.

While I throw a fag from my perch, a
young blond & her beau emerge.
He shows her some jewelry (a pretty
bracelet for a pretty lady, perhaps?);
she seems keen on the idea.

So, you’re a traveling salesman,
peddling your wares? Do you
have a schedule you keep? What other
buildings do you scope?

The girl likes what she
sees. A deal is struck and
she hugs him. I see no money
change hands.

He takes his three boxes
of goods and
puts them in this Aldi’s bag,
waiting for the next customer.

Ten Cents

2007-01-17T21:28:00.001-06:00

ah, refreshing

hah hah

you’re always with somebody

but as long as you chuckle

when you receive my texts

it’s worth it

Drive Thru

2007-01-09T17:08:00.001-06:00

Ate that Spicy Jack
     on the way home.
It was not a dream,
     it was not an
     incident.

Waste Management

2007-01-05T23:47:00.000-06:00

This hollow well-worn feeling the next
day, the trunk and limbs unhappy with the fruit,
with non-material desires, thoughts not even
the weight of air, urges not composed of
atoms like a liver or a spleen. When dead
they disappear without smoke or ash, swim
not in the longest-river bloodstream yet
still they are a poison, can taint going forward,
must be dumped somewhere. How about
into the psyche, to be burped up and
(hopefully) dealt with as dreams, the only
chance we have to banish invisible wishes.

Book Reviewer

2006-12-31T10:48:00.000-06:00

I don’t talk
          like that
& I don’t ever wanna
          For that matter,
     Why is the
          counterculture section
     right nexta
          the cash register?

Corner Bar During War

2006-12-27T10:38:00.001-06:00

Sitting in my neighborhood bar
     one evening
I was trying to read the paper
     but I had to look away.
The words were swirling.
     I looked back, with my focus
moving in & out: jumbled garb.
     I ordered a double shot of bourbon
and crumpled up the consequence.

Nostro

2006-12-21T16:34:00.000-06:00

He stays up late
with his crystal ball of theories
while I fall off to sleep.
The music, still creeping,
feeds him with one hand
as it closes my eyes
with another. Mad America
hurt him into prophesy.
He shakes with the grip
of an all-night king,
All Night and Every Night
his swirling, yellow motto.
He’s read my palms,
dealt my cards, and
taken my confession—
I pray thee, Nostro,
lead me on a joint venture
through the halls of four a.m.;
Ring this rufous mind
with your crepuscular glassen echo;
Predict my rise in the west
despite the smoke and mirrors;
Help me to politicize
the last dollar spent on blood-shot war.
And give of your wisdom after Christmas.
Especially after Christmas.

Akimbo

2006-12-20T07:51:00.000-06:00

          Under the eyes—akimbo.
          You think it’s even a word?

I don’t know,
it sounds familiar.

          Umm,
          literally:
          in keen bow
          i.e. hands on hips
          with elbows out,
          with arms akimbo.

As in,
I look at you akimbo?

          With elbows out,
          with arms akimbo—
          see, the picture?

Star Trick

2006-12-18T13:15:00.001-06:00

Patrick Stewart gave me three
pairs of shorts from the
seventies. They were very
short and very tight. He said,
You are to wear these
on the beach, Number One.

Debbie, And Others

2006-12-17T10:54:00.000-06:00

It’s like, hi, OK
I love you.
I really did love
     you, you and
     all those other girls—
     the ones I
          fell in love with
     so fast.

Basic

2006-12-16T16:30:00.000-06:00

For some reason, I went back to basic training. There was no one around when I got there, so I set up bunk toward the back of the barracks and poured myself a drink. This girl walks in. She's twenty, she says. Blond, about five-four, very slender; svelte. Her hair was straight, down to her shoulders. Oh, those shoulders. Soldiers and shoulders, soldiers and shoulders.

      She had 'B' cup breasts, which looked perfect on her. She went into the bathroom and came back out wearing only panties. What does she do then but grab a glass and a bottle of vodka , and go back into the bathroom. I follow her in there.
       "You shouldn't be drinking so frequently," I tell her.
       "I do it to forget about what my father did to me," she says, and then right before she downs her drink she tells me that the DS is her father. Cripes. What do you do with that? I take the bottle of vodka and she pulls in close to me. I touch or brush, rather,her breasts, and we kiss. Short, no tongue.

      As I was finishing up with my first three-minute shower, a totally naked woman came in. She was A-1 hot. The mother, I gathered. She went about her business: looking at herself in the mirror, putting some makeup on. Maybe she was getting ready to go out that night, I don't know. But there she was, casually talking to me, and we were both still naked.
      It was like I was watching the scene unfold on TV. Late-night TV on ABC, mystified as to why they were showing so much nudity. But then I feel cold, and wet, and I know it's me on TV that I'm watching, and that I'm not watching this on TV at all, but that it's really happening, through the slightly curved screens of my own two eyes.
      The mother is an alcoholic, in the girl's opinion. In mine? Perhaps. But also a tease and a flirt. I don't need this shower curtain. I can fuck them both, and within the next few days. I know the mom's game. Maybe the daughter, too. Maybe once each. Then both together.

      The next morning I'm already ready to go AWOL again. Ready to climb the WOL, as they say. The girl is coming with me, but there's something I gotta do first. I go back into the barracks and tell the mom that her daughter is being abused.
       "I know," she replies.
       "You know?" I say. "You should have done something."
       "It's too late now," she says.
       "It's never too late," I say, and flip over my bunk as I leave, for good measure.
      I know there'll be hell to pay, if they ever haul me back in. Against regulation, when I returned to basic I pocketed a spare copy of the key to my car...my dad's Olds. The girl and I hopped in and tore hell outta there. I went from zero to one-ten.
      Out of nowhere comes this dinosaur, trying to eat us. I'm going three times the limit down a rural main street and have no choice but to double back, in order to try and shake the dinosaur.

We pull off the road into some woods, just for a second, hoping that the dinosaur wouldn't see us, because carnivorous dinosaurs can only see what's moving. That's when the DS, and a group of his men, spot us and surround, all holding semi-automatic weapons. I lean slightly out of the window, sticking both of my hands out, and yell, "I'm reaching into my jacket so I can put my gun down." Their reaction to this is to raise their guns. They look like they're about to shoot me, trying to steady their aim but still moving ever so slightly. Right before they fire, I hear the dinosaur's roar.

Tapicommunication

2006-12-14T15:06:00.000-06:00

He is wearing a sweater
and his wife comes home.
She gets ready to tell him something
but he stops her.
'It's called tapicommunication, honey,
let's tap!'
So they go gliding across the room
effortlessly, tapping, and I suppose
communicating all the way.

Dream Mantra

2006-12-13T07:42:00.000-06:00

I tell my romping mind
to share its dreams, to bring
back a slice of the
surreal pork chop for me.
Licking my fingers I lie down to sleep
stalking the next dream, asking it
to stamp my passport to lucid land.

Next time I’m dreaming,
I will remember I’m dreaming…

Flipping through photographs I recognize one—
me becoming lucid. Yes, I’ve been here before.
Is this the house where I grew up? No, not quite…
I know that somewhere I am sleeping, that
I am wrapped in that somewhere like a present.
The present can be whatever I want it to be…
as long as I can read that it’s addressed to me.

Mischief, Intrigue, and Mayhem

2006-12-11T14:06:00.000-06:00

In jail w/ John Lennon & Paul
McCartney. Also nine other Beatles.
I think there wuzzadozen.
Michael Keaton Fell Off a Tower,
was the drummer's new name.
We never knew what the charges were
but someone said it was the the second time
around, and around, and around, and around.

Chablis

2006-12-08T08:36:00.000-06:00

for Danny, Pilon, Pablo, the Pirate, and Jesus Maria

We got a
huge thing of chablis
for real cheap.
You hardly even
see chablis anymore.
This stuff we were
trying to get drunk
off of,

trying to get
somethin to read
out of.

James Cameron

2006-12-05T12:07:00.000-06:00

If you need to get
           to where I'm at
     you can do that
     you can do
                    (finger pointing)
          that

Roof Dog

2006-11-29T21:09:00.000-06:00

Roof dog,
bigger’n
all the others.
A tarantula
on fours,
those legs,
those paws.
More powerful’n
anything
I got.
His bark
grows
like a fastball
and pops
the mitt
of my
twice-licked
ear.

Clark Griswold

2006-11-28T13:41:00.000-06:00

I'm like that man

who goes to visit his relatives
and is upon arrival,
immediately shunned by
the extended family present...
mostly in-laws. I guess
I am married. My wife's
kid has died,
but I'm not upset,
so I don't think I'm the father.

The Secretary of Dreams

2006-11-26T11:09:00.000-06:00

I was recording

Kofi Annan's remittances:
forgive, pardon,
put back into position, pay back?

It was 2 a.m.
and the Nations was closed.

I was starting to track
states of awareness
before
bedtime.

Kofi asked me,
Does it matter
how you are
before you sleep?

I mean Which state
is best? he said.
Which do I favor?
Soberstan,
Alcohol's Kingdom,
United Drugs,
or a Combo Federation?

Let's find out, I said.

LET'S FIND OUT!

Trick Candles

2006-11-20T09:12:00.000-06:00

Everything was shifting,
like an octagon on wheels…

The butt is where
my head is at,
rummaging for sleep
in that soft
caramel foam,
that sticky cantina
of brown tar
and pale-ale haze.

Sleep, sleep,
poor head, (I say,)
The cigarette
burned out long ago, No—

The nicotine still
waves its orange baton,
the smoke still rises,
its rings yet round,
resting like haloes
on the hurt of night.

Booze and Pills

2006-11-13T19:59:00.000-06:00

No pills to speak of. Aspirin. Over the counter allergy medicine. Been drinkin some Jim Beam Black though. Good stuff. On the rocks. Saturday night and Sunday night. Nothing special but good sippin.

Scotch Tasting Notes

2006-11-09T17:31:00.000-06:00

In a blind taste test of six scotches, these were my reactions to each scotch, my guess as to what the scotch was, and the actual identity of each scotch.

1.
Soft, prolly a blend, drinkable, warm, chewy. I think Johnny Walker Black. Wrong: It was Glenfiddich 12.

2.
More distinct smell, more fire, prolly a single, prolly one of the twelves, more peat, apple cider?, i like the first better, this one lingers more. I think Glenfiddich 12. Wrong: Glenlivet 12.

3.
Rank, caramel, based on just smell I say J&B, I still think J&B based on taste, there is some fruit, going to my head. I think J&B. Wrong: Johnny Walker Red.

4.
A mouthful!, some heat on after taste, a single, maybe the 15, at the end not distinctive, maybe all running together, at least a twelve, my second favorite next to #1. I think Glenfiddich 15. Wrong: J&B.

5.
On smell, it's the second Johnny. It's Johnny Red. Could be J&B. I think Johnny Red. Wrong: Glenfiddich 15.

6.

Probably a 12. Glenlivet 12. Wrong: Johnny Black.

There you go. J&B pulls a suprise second-best showing while Glenfiddich 12 proved to be my blind favorite. To do this tasting, I and two friends bought small, 50 mL bottles of scotch and had someone administer to us a blind taste test. It's a great way to find out which scotches (drinks) you like absence the presence of price tags.

VITAMIN C CHAUFFEUR

2006-11-06T09:36:00.000-06:00

'I'm tempted
      to contact
the driver.

'Those are the facts
     but that's alright.
I'm not really thinking about it.'

I must drop the sword
     to create the end
of this.

'I'll submit to these
     truths.' Head shake;
shutter. 'Bad vitamin.

'At this point
     I'm done in pretty much
every way.'

Exposé

2006-10-30T17:55:00.000-06:00

I am as though

I never was

tonight at nine

you paid for it

taxpayer dollars

run amok

On Allen St.

2006-10-24T12:29:00.000-05:00

I’m hanging by a feather,
     but I feel strong.
All’s I need
     is some cushions beneath me,
     some fresh produce,
     the gas man to arrive,
     and a fluffy new dog.

And my rhythm.
Have you seen my rhythm, Patience?
It broke its leash;
     it’s out painting the highways red,
     ignoring doors,
     playing its own CDs.

Magnets might help—
     it’s allergic to magnets
     (magnetism the reverse of drumbeats).
     Get close enough and the poles reverse:
     Coriolis swirls the wrong way: proof
     that nothing is important
     without also being mystical.
     Filings that ought to’ve scattered
     instead lock metallic arms and
     call the dog back in
     with a high-pitched whistle
     that brings us all to our knees.

Two Cigs

2006-10-13T17:46:00.000-05:00

ah, I’ll
take my
Fifth Amendment
Rightt:
          cluny
in the
          day-day

I’ll take my
two cigs
in the day-day

Ray Ray
          el casa de Ray
     in the day-day
Have cigs
in the day-day

Love Love
     in the day-day

Ray Ray
          hah hah
that is my car
     in the day-day

          Ray Ray
     in the Day-Day

The One

2006-09-23T10:22:00.000-05:00

Evergreen gums,
a clenched jaw,
eyes locked in a stare-down
with an empty beer bottle—

Maybe she’s the one’s been
sendin you those junk e-mails
saying, “No Flowers for Me,
Just S3X!” And then,
“Come Join Me for some
Wild Fkn with No Strings!”

You never know.

Self-Medication

2006-09-18T15:33:00.000-05:00

On Saturday,
   I bruised my foot
       in a race
         on a rock.

That evening,
   I wanted to dance
      at a club
         and have some fun.

Of course,
   my foot hurt
      and I couldn't walk
         without the pain.

So I drank some wine
   smoked some pot
      tooks some shots
         and felt just fine.

Today, I caught my
   finger with a hammer
      and now I'm home
         to ease the pain.

California Moter Motel

2006-09-12T23:03:00.000-05:00

CMM,

     its walls thick as brandy,

          its boarders smokin

               cigarettes

                    and rum.

BUTCH CASSIDY WANTED

          Wanted what?

     Wanted to stay here.

          To sniff

               the fresh-cut flowers

and sip

          the tight-lipped coffee.

The Wrong Ones

2006-09-06T18:56:00.000-05:00

“Is it possible that you grabbed the wrong ones?”

“It’s possible.”

“Well what did they look like?”

“They were white and round. Chalky-lookin.”

“Yeah—what did they say on them? Was there any writing?”

“Well the right ones have a ‘4’ on one side and a three-digit number on the other side—‘561’ or something. But I had them all in an altoids tin, along with some Excedrin, which actually look sorta similar, so….”

“So what?”

“So…you might have gotten an Excedrin.”

“An Excedrin? Jesus Christ, Frish! I didn’t pay you four dollars for a fucking Excedrin!”

And he slammed his cellphone down into the carpet. Hard, but not hard enough to break it. Frish, who had been sitting on the edge of his recliner, slumped back into it. He thought about kicking up the footrest but he decided against it.

“You’re gonna break your phone doin something like that,” he said to Bail.

“It’s—I’ve got others,” Bail said. “Goin back a ways. They’re all the same—the same number. So, it doesn’t matter.”

And then he started to smile a little bit. He cocked his head, squinted his eyes, and smiled again. He was starting to get a fuzzy sensation at his temples. He blinked a few times. Frish kicked up the legrest.

“You’re starting to feel it, aren’t you?”

“I think I am,” said Bail. “I think I am. Very interesting. Very interesting. You wanna make some drinks?”

“Definitely,” said Frish. He popped the legrest backdown and sped off to the butler’s pantry. The recliner swayed back and forth as an afterthought. Bail could hear Frish clap his hands and then rub them together. Then he heard the sound of a cabinet being opened. He got up and went over to the pantry. There wasn’t much in there. Lots of odds and ends. A bottle of sherry, some Rose’s lime. Water bottles with unkown liquids of various amber shades.

Frish asked, “For which do you care more, bourbon or gin?”

“Do you have any olives?” asked Bail. “If you’ve got olives, I’ll have a martini.”

Frish stretched out his bottom lip toward the left, and his eyes bulged a bit. He was looking into the liquor cabinet for something he knew wasn’t there. He wondered if one of the small bottles might be….

“Got olives,” he said. “But no dry vermouth, I’m afraid.”

“Jesus Christ, Frish! What kinda business are you runnin here?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t drink too many martinis. How about a gimlet? There’s lots you can do with gin,” he said. “Gin and lots of lime juice is pretty good. And I’ve got fresh limes.”

“A gimlet’s good,” said Bail. “Been awhile. But it sounds good. Anything right now.”

And he went back into the living room, took the recliner, grabbed the remote, lit a cigarette, and started flipping through channels. He kicked up the footrest, thinking about how good that cold drink was gonna taste. In the pantry, Frish was shaking away.

“Can’t wait for that gimlet!” Bail exclaimed. He didn’t figure Frish could hear him but he felt a need to say it. “And after, maybe a bourbon.” The sky was the limit. He found a game on the local FOX Sports network. He turned the sound down.

Frish walked in with the two gimlets, a stout highball glass in each hand. He looked hard at Bail’s cigarette but decided not to tell Bail that smoking wasn’t allowed.

The Hampton Shuffle

2006-09-02T13:40:00.000-05:00

I stopped by Fred's
to buy some blacks.
He had some in stock,
to buy at a good price.

As I left his place,
A large chicken chirped at me.
I punched it in the face,
because I was jealous
of its costume.

Spirit Dog

2006-08-28T15:36:00.000-05:00

I exited the market
and untied my dog.
A hippie from the '70's
travelled forward in time
to deliver a message.

    I was disappointed,
    when she said
    that the message
    was for my dog.

Upset, I allowed her to
reveal the secret to Ilse.

"You have a spirit.
You watch over people.
You have a good soul,"
she whispered in Ilse's ear.

    To me she said:
    "I just gave you
    a spirit dog."

I thanked her with words,
Ilse with her tongue.

Coaster

2006-08-27T00:43:00.000-05:00

It started
          with St. Pauli’s Girl.

Six days later

I was
     sharing my head
          with the sidewalk.

TODAY

2006-08-22T22:50:00.000-05:00

I’m partyin today

     no more of this

          sit-around

               bullshit.

     Wide open!

Wild Turkey!

2006-08-20T09:17:00.000-05:00

Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey! Wild turkey!

None of that 80 proof shit.

101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101 101

Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon! Bring me some-a that Wild Turkey bourbon!

Get A Little Drunk, Get A Little Hee

2006-08-19T22:32:00.000-05:00

No triple sec, no dry vermouth

No Grenadine

Nothing to make a drink with

except Booze.

Funflation

2006-08-18T08:32:00.000-05:00

What’s the next thing?

          What’re we gonna do now?

     Yesterday was FUN.

                    But today's gotta be funner.

Operation Meltdown

2006-08-16T21:19:00.000-05:00

I am drunk &
      my cell phone is
      giving me
            the time.

Juan Pierre

2006-08-15T22:50:00.000-05:00

They pitch out,

but he's not running.

He shoulda been,

cause there's a double play.