March 31, 2009

The Coming Week in History

That’s really my name.

You self-congratulating fuck.

What are you talking about?

I’m going to ask you one more time. Where is the detonator?

Detonator? Is that what this is about?

The power goes out. And Bobby is in the shower. Falcon Crest careens off into another universe.

It’s not even 11 pm. I have scabs on my left forearm where there used to be cuts and abrasions. And before that, my arm drags across the pavement as my jacket, then shirt frays. Sometime later, I pick out gravel and broken glass.

Yes, I filed a report. No, I didn’t get the license number. Yes, I was wearing a helmet. Yes, the bike is a mess. Yes, I’m going to get another and no. Before you ask. No. No, I’m not going to talk to him. All right. All right, good luck with it, then. Tell Helen I said hi. Love you, too. Bye.

Transient town of transient people. Except for the leeches and the rats. The vampires. Those are all metaphors.

Been walking to work lately. Getting in early to beat rush hour. The stockroom is the most organized it’s been in years, Danny says. And behind the bar is fucking spotless. Unnervingly so.

Seeing your reflection in the shelves when you reach for a glass catches you off guard. Nobody said anything, but tips went down. It wasn’t the economy. So I scuffed up the shelves. Tips started getting better again. Skirts started getting shorter ahead of the season. But I think that may have been the 60s revival going around.

That was when Jenny got her hair cut. And dyed. And started wearing those shoes. My accident was barely a scar. I think she missed it – we’d started hanging out a few days after I got hurt. Jenny had this theory about bad luck.


---
Wrote a draft of this long-hand (remember writing by hand?) back on September 14, 2008. Started messing with it again a few weeks ago. Funny how typing something up inevitably opens new ways of looking at the same thing.

Aside: note sure if I'm going to try and take on the poem-a-day for April or not... and not sure if I'd take that on here or make a separate blog for it... that worked well for me when I did Our Daily May a couple years back.

March 22, 2009

Phillip's Quick Survey of Recent History (draft)

This is the first draft of a piece I was writing over the past few days -- hoping to have it ready for my part in Michael Kimball and Luca Dipierro (here's a link to the trailer for what they are making). But it wasn't (and isn't) anywhere close to done. But maybe by putting it out in the world will help it get there...

Watergate
Iran Contragate
Kissed his girlfriendgate
Nannygate
Travelgate
Hate his girlfriendgate
“Borrowed” the cargate
Whitewater gate
Sucker punchgate
Too much personal debtgate
Moving homegate
Monicagate
Fajitagate
Moving ingate
Forgot the ticketsgate
OK, lost the ticketsgate
Nipplegate
FEMAgate
Drifted apartgate
Plamegate
Filegate
It’s not you it’s megate
Troopergate
White liegate
Moving outgate
Dipping in the wellgate
Tasergate

March 19, 2009

AIG Corporate Security's Tips for Surviving an Angry Mob

"It is crucial that everyone remain vigilant during this time..."

Thanks Gawker: Documents: AIG Corporate Security's Tips for Surviving an Angry Mob

Sadly Eh

Will looks like a bad ass cro-magnon skull on the album cover. But so far the album is just eh for me. I guess I felt the same way about the last album... Which is weird because usually every other one floors me. I guess Master and Everyone to Superwolf were two goodies in a row. So we were due two blehs.

I'll keep on listening -- I'm sure there is something in there I'll fall in love with.

March 16, 2009

Tell Us About It

A friend lived in a third-floor apartment across the street. Sometimes we’d sit in the corner window and watch storms roll down over the city toward us.


(originally on mah Twitter in an abbreviated form)

Found Poem on the Ides of March


Originally from mah flickr.

March 11, 2009

More Awesome From Adam Robinson

Reprinted from Narrow House...



Courtesy of Adam Robinson's official videographer, Michael Kimball. Can you be a serious poet without an official videographer?

I advise that you buy the first edition of Adam Robison and Other Poems, because the second edition is going to look like a mess after we add the foil seals for the National Book Award and the Pulitzer and the Pushcart and the Nobel Prize. You won't even be able to see the dope cover through all that shiny-shiny.

This post was not funded by all the money I took from Adam and Michael at poker last Friday. I used that for other stuff.

When You Want To Say, "Wow"

Bad Paintings of Barak Obama

thanks kdiddy

March 9, 2009

On Finding the Grail

When a robot asks, “I wanna know what love is?” is it striving for humanity or trying to better understand our weaknesses.

(originally on mah Twitter)

March 4, 2009

Somebody Made My Bio Pic in the Style of I'm Not There, aka Employing a Variety of Actors Way Cuter Than Me in My Role

March 1, 2009

Candy Karma and Soft Manifestoes

Flowers in the garbage.

Face behind a screen.

Hmmm… I wonder what the Professor is up to today?

Our glad-sashed heroine finds herself in a complex death trap.
The villain speaks a foreign tongue
And his plans remain unknown despite profuse boasting.

I waste more than you.

Set to music.

I noticed that you’ve stopped talking.

I’m getting comfortable with the problems at the room.

One man’s fruit is another man’s warning.

You’re truthing more than you used to.

Pause it.

Maintain a safe following distance.

Erase.

It is trying to kill me.

Re-defying.

Camping out in my blindspot.

I find out a la carte.

And so he spaketh to the girls

When clouds whisper rain and
Leaves turn out their soft underbellies
I’ll be heading home.

The sun’ll bring us back.

I’ll remember your name.
Tie you to a stake
While the poor get poorer.

Our certain bodies

Redundancies we love.

Fighting fire with milk.

Watching the judgement go by.

One man’s fruit is another man’s warring.

It’s a vicious circle you are driving.
Gas mileage forever blue.

Meadowlark.

Seriously still.

Our glad-sashed heroine was swallowed by a computer.

Who needs saving?

I Wanted to Write a Poem

I wanted to write a poem that started at the end but just kept going like The Metamorphosis.

(originally on mah Twitter)