July 29, 2011

Debt Ceiling, Debt Ceiling, Excellent!

I have this great photo to add to this -- it's my iPad kinda kerchunking (or "lee junking" some would say) when I was messing around on this gallery website with all the sizing and re-sizing and moving the view around. Is it there yet?

There are so many things wrong with that sentence and it got me thinking about the debt ceiling.

But that's not really true, 'cuz the title came first and I was already thinking about it.

Not seriously thinking about it.

Just on my mind the way something is after you've heard radio pieces about it daily for a couple weeks and Matt Sesow's Gang of Six painting, and somebody talking about how non-plussing the Gang is as far as gangs go.

And the Warriors come out to play.
And the softball players come out to play.
And soon the Senators will come out to play.

There will be working all weekend and record heat and moving and time at the swimming pool.
There will be good cold drinks and difficult compromises and entertainment, too.
There will be sleep and unboxing and most likely some nosebleeds.

What do you think of lists in American literature since 1970 or so. I mean it's fucking everywhere and we're tuned to it's gorgeous. Is it cheating? Cheap? Crutch? The cool kids version of throwing in something about grandma? The cornerstone of the American Poet Voice (definitely all capitals on that phrase)?

I don't know.

I like me a good list, and I guess I'm deciding to not be ashamed of that.

I've been using lists like a motherfucker since at least the fourth grade, but I certainly kicked it up a notch in 1994 or so.

I think it was a combination of Robinson Crusoe and "The Things They Carried." Probably some Carver in there, too.

You can never go wrong blaming him.

I wish "listing" was the word for "making lists" because, "I've been listing like a motherfucker since the fourth grade" sounds way better.

I bet we could make that happen.
We have iPads and we're moving.

July 27, 2011

Red Line, Red Line, Excellent (2)

I'm not there anymore.

Drained. Striped sheets. Air conditioning.

Pauses on pauses on perspiration. On purpose.

No purple pants this time.
No hexagonal tiles or there and there this time.

What do you call it when tiles are brick red?
The what do you call a New York strip in New York cliché.
The dog ate my homework only it's a computer and I didn't save my shit right cliché.
The hit by lightning at such a young age cliché.
The getting old isn't exciting but it's golden like the sun off rooftops in late Fall and my oh my cliché.

I don't have much to work but there'll be some kind of pool party come Sunday, so help me God.

Hang in there.

Location:N Charles St,Baltimore,United States

July 19, 2011

Red Line to Takoma, Exhausted Again

You have your New York Avenues and your foregrounds,
Your transfer points to Greyhound,
Your priority seating, and slouching to a halt.

I have my too-heavy bag and my other bag too,
My mussed up hair,
My ambling ways,
And, of course, my B Machine in the drawer.

Sunlight's catching the corner of a cloud and it's kinda bad-ass.
The everyday bad-ass that's all around.

That cloud.
That graffiti with a popsicle-looking P.
Lights streaming by in a tunnel out the corner of my eye.
Anything seen through trees while in motion, though the sun, most of all.

The sun most of all.
The sun most of all.

Those trees?
They will prey on your flesh when you're gone.

Location:G Pl NW,Washington D.C.,United States

July 14, 2011

I'm on the Red Line without Cell Service

But I can type this and upload it later.


Found this hiding in my cell phone the other day (when I was exhausted). I have no idea when I wrote it -- but obviously I was feeling a little conceptual. It turned out to be a little gift to myself -- a time-capsuled joke of sorts.
I smiled, it worked. Conceptual whatever (blogging, art, journalism, etc.) is certainly a guilty pleasure of mine.

July 12, 2011

Exhausted and almost home

Sleep is in my future,
But I guess unscheduled track maintenance is my nearer future.

My future is in my future and in that, is in the way of my future.

Step back doors closing is the opposite of the sound of my exhaustion.

A train station is opposite a hill
Where laws are born
And some hopes die
And nothing about an angel's wings.

Sometimes you light a candle when a young man is killed,
Though fewer young men are killed than die every day in these great United States.

July 10, 2011

'Are there bands playing here tonight?'

Who can you trust?
Who do you trust?

When you waste, it's about how quickly you pick back up.

I want spelling to mean something.
I want spelling to be mindful.

XOXY destroyed all of his work.

The future of islands vs. Rhode Island vs. the rest of the world doesn't have a clue.

Your standard catastrophe.
Your standard Georgia.
Your standard vibrations.
Your standard boys and standard beaches and standard ways it will all go.

Confirmations of success have been know to be misleading.
Success has been known.

The good house vs. the wrong house
And it's all going wrong.

No sunburns this weekend but plenty of sweat and sweating.

Tantrums, evaporation, promises, broken promises or just plain let downs or fall shorts, falling plus fallen, weightlessness and weight. Talk of illustrations of entanglement rather than talk of entanglement which would be the talk of everything.

Everything. All at once. Forever.

Try is all you ask of you.

Future islands of big futures
Packed in a moment.

(Everything. All at Once. Forever.)

This move.
This sick move together.
This all time.
This audacity, my best audacity.

There were deer in the backyard, don't they?

This is what is magic is wordless is meets is wordy is now is just click is falling is don't forget it.


My morning got going slower than I wanted or needed -- and I jumped it out of not-so-good track by listening to this great piece / interview with Bob O'Brien. He's great people. I need to figure out how to break the ongoing scheduling conflict between his reading series (Worm) and my date-night with my daughter. Life is full of such things.

I just started writing as I listened to that piece -- you'll see all kinds of quotes and echoes above (if you listen) and echoes of my weekend (if you were part of it). And the title is a quote of a quote from Bob's interview and set up one of those moments in life that we've all had or hope to have.

And so the day picks up and goes.

July 7, 2011

Good Night, Mr. Twombly.

You're work is so lovely and incredible and fragile and dope.


"cy twombly" you are my new favorite Google Image search, and while that will pass, you will always be one of my favorite museum attractions.

When I'm rich, I'll have a house with a big-ass room that has a massive Cy Twombly on one wall and a severe Frank Stella lines thing on the other. Sol Lewitt -- he gets all the hallways.

New life goal: become rich.

July 1, 2011

I will miss things (sometimes).

I will miss somethings sometimes.

I will walk on roads, but more often on sidewalks.

I will walk in fields again someday, I'm sure of it.


There will be open-mouthed laughter sometimes.

There will be hamburgers and cheese burgers and more.

There will be swimming – be it pool or stream or ocean.


Science. Art. Happiness. Fear. Math. Inside and outside. More math and crazy math.

All these things.


I'm going to write my way through this cheesey sentimental something if that's what it is. I have no idea what's on the other side.

This is a partial recovery of what was written the other night and feared lost when things got all glitchy. It's that last bit "Science. Art..." that was much longer and maybe I'll find the time to rebuild it along the way. Maybe tonight.