this is a test this is a test this is a test
- life

thrilling adventure hour customers new media trends

but is it like cheating if it's grace from God, and if you were a superhero, who would describe you, or like the flip side too, i just, hush hush, let me just poke around the comics, i carry so many bags, bag gentlemen, please bag the gentlemen roast him when he gets home, like hey your tie is stupid, and the way you talk is poet odor defibrilator, but we still and will always make jokes about drinking too much, because that's what adulthood is

who do I do this for

I am typing your letters up from napkins and pink paper and old years I am trying not to be sick or dizzy myself out you know why it affects me is because words are all I really trust I believe at least the heart behind the words edging them out of mouths everywhere and all over and when I read your hand's labors when I read the professions you made and the little thoughts of tenderness throughout your early days I am discouraged because did it take us getting here to rid of those kindnesses in your bridges did it take our births to realize your deaths it's hard not to cry but I do this for you

Nicotine Dreams #24: Petrol

I didn't care.  I would tell myself, if I run out of gas, I could use the exercise.  If I run out of gas on the highway, I will call my dad.  If I run out of gas, I am well-trained.  I had planned to get gas in the morning.  I feel a quick chug and then the pedals freeze.  I coast my car just next to the driveway of the gas station across from the titty bar.  I was out of gas.  I could say "mother! fuck!"

I won't get much into how I didn't know how to put the spout on the gas jug.  I won't go much into how I kind of just threw the gas into the pinch-of-a-hole opening to my car's tank.  I won't mention how I feel no remorse just chucking the red, oily jug into the cornfield.  After I emptied most of it onto my back left tire.

What I really want to tell you is that I must not care too much about combusting.  Because I bought me a pack of Marlboro Red kings, a fancy plastic cigarette case for 4.99 and sent myself home after washing my hands with blue glop supplied generously by the public restroom.  The restroom was vast and the scrubbing went long.

I gave up.  My steering wheel was all gassed up and shit.  My hands for sure had petrol in their pores.  I made a rolling stop, just at the edge of the gas station exit, button-pressed down my window, unlocked the door (in case I needed a quick exit) and just hoped lighting my first cigarette wouldn't be a silly idea.

It wasn't.

yup & the day goes on

only with you dreamin' of

cthulhu & sherlock & weeknd

& rihanna skin.

model careers. all we do

in these visions is drink coffee

in sweden & solve crimes.

money never an issue.

toast in the morning & I 

scratch my 5 o clock 

shadowy face

pull on my jacket over bulky

shoulders. the snow falls

& I just go with it.

Yeah, and I was, I was in the state of Wisconsin.

i am a hotel front desk clerk in this story(LIFE EVENT)
bachelor party guy
brings me into bachelor party
starts telling the room something

taps knife to glass tumbler
stumbles over my black cushion shoes
young guy asks if i am the stripper
then first guy tells the story of how i was witty

when he was looking for the bathroom

asking, -- he says to the room, "what did you ask?"

"I didn't ask anything."  

"Oh!  I was wondering where the bathrooms were."
but doesn't remember at all what was said

"You said, 'Where am I?'"  The room roars.

"Oh!  Yes.  Then you said where the bathrooms were."
so i laugh and say, that's not what I said.  Room roars once more.

"Oh!  She asked me what --"

"I said, 'you are in Wisconsin.'"

"Yeah, and I was, I was in the state of Wisconsin.  I was in the state of confusion, though!"

"Yes."

"I was in the state of confusion!"
and laughter
then i leave very red

Like ·  · Promote

• 

  worst/best part is:
  the bachelor for which the party is thrown is my landlord
  the landlord i bitched out last week

  about a minute ago · Like
• 

  (because he didn't answer our hundreds of calls when the power went out - and stayed out)

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  bachelor party guy #9 just walked by with blue moon in hand, emptied, and said

  "you handled that very well"

  #14: "It's a good thing YOU remembered that guy's story."

  
  

On the grind

what is it to eat money what is it when money eats you all that money yeah the money is the moaning.

Milwaukee>Indianapolis>Louisville>Charleston>Raleigh>Wilmington>Petersburg>Williamsburg

& we grew so             sick                  of              driving
heard Blurred Lines like 5000 times                sang to Royals about half as much
sand in your car from my soles & the palm tree bark I stole
kept leaning         knocking my feet
I found the tiniest shell.                        we saw a poorly memorized play of colonial times.
buxom woman angry as hell.          we almost stopped into a sprite's apothecary.
we met Shelley the woman then her as a man the next morning.
we saw a drag show          & were saved from luring eyes by Skye.
jug, box, and bottle of wine.                       running through the cemetery at 2 am,
falling on the stone steps,         your elbow ripped and bled.
we saw so many animals on walls, doorways: deer, pheasant, bear, fish.
we saw the baseball bat from hell.                 the golden boy david standing in early early
morning, modeling but admired by only us, awake in the street.

in  D.C. we lost the patience for traffic
in D.C. we couldn't park to see the Lincoln Memorial

in D.C. we met a cute girl with dreads from Michigan
in D.C. you smoked in stalled vehicular frustration

we drove under a mountain, we took turnpikes.
   we posted pictures so our mothers would know we were alive.
I stayed up for hours looking at Skye's sketchbook & felt romantic about
all this creativity inside us.

in Raleigh we went to sadlacks and barely heard men yell about their
wives to us in earnest. Why did she leave?? he asked.
on the dance floor a Puerto rican ballroom dancer confused you:
who was the leader & the follower?
at beaseley's we had chicken & waffles.     should have got your picture
with Mr. Raleigh Gosling behind the counter.            
in the Holy Rose we bought stones for our siblings &
Skye talked about her grandmother the occultist, painting astrology charts.
Rich gave you jasmine, how did he know. his wife was a libra.

we saw where Lincoln was shot and where the movie Lincoln was shot.

we drove through the night to home even tho your aunt tried to get us drunk & unable to drive.

ababbcc

tomorrow the internet will have vanished
tomorrow suits and mothers with children
will roam the streets and get to feeling manish
empty cranies in their guts will get filled in
with earth cold water and molecules by million
and everyone will kind of shut up
sew new beds of leaves and burlap









the color of a squirrel's coat
through walls of NITROGEN
are only sacred
and is all that is sacred
blues greys greens and brouwns with red and orange and all other colors
but the kind that can be found
when you're paying attention the way an infant does
like each moment is a disaster or upheaval
those wide eyes we keep coming back to

verse and meter are given a brush of the eyes, less wide
but a respectful brush
no man feels shame
no lady regret

Rhyme royal was going to be a company picnic for me
with everyone drinking whatever makes them feel
just adventurous enough without eliminating their personal values

but it's hard to have fun at a picnic when your shower emits only liquid rust and black calculous oil

internet will have vanished
no man feels shame
keep coming back to
eyes
regret
shame
fun
everyone

Rhyme Royale, Tazs Angels, Twin Peaks

The other night lying awake, after

watching Twin Peaks, & the scene

where Bob climbs & his silent laughter

moves with him to fill the screen;

I was terrified. I held my love obscenely

close to rid the ridiculous image. Only

way I could fare was to people Lynch's lonely

world with the plastic and strange

lustiness of Tazs Angels. Annabelle, all 

ass & hair, and Leena with her deranged

& silken black locks, the pictures she enthralled

us with; her morning head, all messy. At the mall

I imagine they would strut proudly and click

their heels past Bob's girl grubbing licks,

& I only hope that Agent Cooper should

swallow his coffee with great wonder,

what with them swishing past him & his wood

detective nose smelling the favors thundered

at the clubs they frequent. Their dances & drinks plunder

the crowd as they - call girls throned & loaned -

stuff their purses with the eye-fucker men, these drones

who mechanically leave after the deed.

In every video the house is empty of decoration

or personality markers, the walls are free

of paintings, the rooms bereft of furniture, or proclamation

of lives spent in normality. These girls are the translation

of every rap video I've seen, into breathing, caramel dolls.

I doubt in this small town if they could be lulled

into murderous labyrinths, into a train car, 

or outside of their house at all. The log lady 

I'm sure lives in their cupboard, scarring

her hands from stroking her wooden friend, the shady

backyard her night-time confession room. Ruby

is at her mercy, & Kinky watching with her drink.

"Spiritual confessions of three hoes", log lady thinks

none of this is real, or to last. How many

images must we scroll past to find the real

story of you, this murderer, or you, this twenty

year old hooker, or myself, this observer, feeling

weaker by the moment. If I could cradle this teal

cup that is Cecil Baldwin's voice. If I could read

your story without makeup or knife, if I could feed

myself without your hands. Many lights, 

malevolent and otherwise, carve me up at night. 

Maya

Sometimes I think the sun is false
Yet I am certain it eats at my enamel
when cruel summer conspires against my smile
It is false, maybe, because if it wasn't
I would have to hide
I wouldn't have shelter in a wintering shade, but
in the dangerous space between old and new lovers
I stand unseen, peeling, fully clothed and freezing
I am standing, naked and new in the falsity of the sun
Sundered by the uncovering light
I am husking my underbelly.  I am learning a new language.
I am speaking with a tongue of fire and words of smoke.
Into the open air I shout, "I want nothing else."  I am tired.
My phrases are tired.  I am cracked open now.
Can't its rays falter for a moment?  Can't it shutter for an instant?
I am a fool to have even stepped outside.

-AB & KP turn-based text msg poem

Manifestations of Love #1

i wonder if it's possible that you're like some sort of physical manifestation of the concept of love

probably

-JDP

Series of Lies #23

Oh!  Ha!  Did I tell you about the time I lied to customs at Heathrow Airport in London?  They were suspicious of my overwhelming youth & beauty & statistically relevant features for those who are likely to overstay the visa welcome.  I also didn't know the address of the hotel.  And the phone number of my travelling pal was missing one number.  And I said he had a girlfriend.  And he said how odd that a girlfriend would allow an attractive foreigner follow her boyfriend around so!  And I said well that isn't odd one bit!  And her name is Margaret Pettigrew.  We call her Maggie.  And then he talked to his supervisor.  And then I said I didn't want to say I was a lesbian because I wasn't sure if the UNITED KINGDOM was okay with gay.  He said oh we don't mind that here.  I sweated through my shirts.  Maybe he thought I was suspicious because I was sweating a lot when I approached him initially.  Who knows.  He said he didn't trust me but I had to make sure I didn't work and I left within 30 days.  Not. A. Problem.

Then I used my first payphone at Trafalgar Sq.  

a vivid dream in the clearing where our house sits:

chopping wood with a houseguest
and the kids come by fighting about who should get the green toothbrush holder and i ask them: if this was your last day together what would you do", and bonk them on the heads.
they run off goofing and yelping
and the houseguest asks me what i would do.

i smile and ask what he would do
he asked me first
but i say my answer won't be swayed

he would fly through towers of new egypt
dancing in the streets riding the panic of civilization
and shrink to be greater than the entirety of our galactic metropolis
i don't remember what he said
he said it quickly and with his eyebrows slightly distracting me
and i told him, he reminded me of myself

"i would do this
what i'm doing now
be splitting the wood
and go on a walk with my family
off in a direction we'd never taken before
and go to a sacred place
i might ask you to watch the kids for an hour so that i could be alone with my husband
one last time to get dirt in the folds of our ears under our fingernails in our hair
then we would come home and we would all make dinner together
bread and wine and everything in the house
and we'd build a fire
madrona pine and oak and smell at the sky
make the stars sweat

i would want to ride my bike once more, too
maybe that i would do just by myself
in the afternoon between my two hikes

and i would like you to stay

your crinkle cut fries are getting cold

i don't know how to spell unleavened,       i wonder how many bombs were made before crisco was invented,        i don't know what shortening shortens,

& i am unable to love you.  i gave up on the outside wind coming in.  the windows are stuck shut

i gave you a dogbone to give to the puppy across the street
that usually gives it back anyhow by the end of the day
       it took an ounce of baking soda to feel my tongue again

o i don't know your middle name, we fuck like little boys with their knuckles knee-deep in mud,         i am taking up quitting again.

your crinkle cut fries are getting cold.

I ATE THEM ALL (collaboration)

TITLE: I ATE THEM ALL

like your favorite phrase

the lake is on fire 

the sky is red blood has been spilt on this night

rash is benign

are grenades really the way to go? 

land mines are maiming

moonlit anomalies 

I ate them all 

I ATE THEM ALL

as men adjust themselves accordingly

I turn away from you I breathe

as dragons fire the breach 

the people cry

I cry over spilt milk every day

pant-less prayers 

I have the time of my life fighting dragons with you

we are all made of star stuff 

as guitars strum a chord 

- A.T., J.J., K.P., K.T., A.B., A.T., K.F., 

Vulpesvulpes

, As a whisper our older selves told us now in our separate cities.
Remember I was supposed to put a rat where my mouth was?
Or maybe it was tar where my H-toum was.
It's okay. If this ends rudely I am exempt
from attending any party this weekend.

If I could say "hey" to my tomb before
it envisions me in it!
If I could join the monkey's head with that
body. When I write you so many times it is called
overeager.    When I write you not enough it is called
lately.

Words I have had to look up while reading Christian Bok's EUNOIA

gnu
fugu
bulgur
kevel
baht
naphtha
rococo
syzygy
linseed

Book Review: "The Hand on the Head of Lazarus" by Christina Zawadiswky

      Since I have burdened myself with reading 125 books this year - which is a lot for me, but maybe not you - I am going to review some that I particularly like. Briefly, since I am not awesome at reviewing. This is more like review-aerobics for me. REVAEROBICS.

I found this book at the Book Seller, a book store in the Milwaukee Public Library.

Paperback
Published by: Ion Books
Number of pages: 98

Christina has so much color in these poems, and uses the comma a whole lot, which works lovely wonders. From the poem Kissing the Murderer,

My friends all tell me that the walls have wings,
that I could find a lover behind every door,
that the clubs, and the people, and the animals and stars
are all ready to adore me, are all ready to whistle
at my lips, body, figure, at my dancer's stance,
at my burning pet lamb,...

It is hypnotic to me. Rather like a golden thread pulled through my fingers and splitting off into other colors, and sometimes I don't know when I turned away from the main.

Common tropes: blood, faces, trees, stone.

I recommend this to lovers of the intense, fans of run-on sentences, and use of the first person narrative.

I'm sorry. I know. But tonight I become a monster. you no longer have my respect.

Tao Te Ching - Lao Tzu - chapter 67
a retelling

kings and queens under the sun say, "hey, i love you but am confused by your way..."
because! it is bold, it is the sting in the corner of the eye.
It is the hops! in the brew, it is the bride! in the wedding march.
if it weren't, it would have vanished before dawn

and i say i have three areas, a surrounding which i am inside and keep
the first area is mercy, the second economy,
the third is the daring to dance behind others
from mercy comes bravery, from economy comes giving,
from dancing by lead comes the capacity to care

now, today, you shy from mercy.  Yet! you try to be brave.
You cast aside economy.  Yet! you try to give.
You do not waste your time dancing to anyone else's beat.
Yet! You expect people to feel cared for, protected. 
How can you listen to the needs to me and her and him if you won't
take the time to feel our rhythm?
This certainly is death.
This is solitude.

This mercy I talk about brings victory in battle, and we know battles come.
This mercy is your strength in defense. 
It is the means by which heaven decides to save and guard you.

for Wolfking, aware of these truths as his blood is aware of him.

You are a home game that travels to Asia every Spring.

you are a masquerade where every one wears what they always wear
and I give you an ickle cup filled with punch. it cracks because you
squeeze it a moment too hard
when I tell you that you are the best breeze. A bezt breese in
between the sun's lined notebook's pages.
I will juggle for the first time at your masquerade and you will
applaud like you always applaud.
You are always applauding yet it feels like you reserve yourself to
applaud only once in your life.
I am not a pullover sweater that you pullover yourself because the
night gets cold, even in summer.
and when you dance, i dance. When you dance, we dance. And then
every one dances and goes home to sleep it off.

---

I wrote this for some of course one I don't even love.  But you learn very young
the best things to say to sweeten up someone.    Not that I don't genuinely think
this some of course one doesn't deserve a sweet moment
Just come on.  Reserve the best ones for the best ones, right?
Don't give your grandfather's stopwatch to just any of course body.

But heck.
Maybe not.
Maybe tell every earthly thing "oh hi!" and "I always want you around."

 

little things wrong with the body
had a skype date with my cousin at noon./?.//??
it's 12:17
will i ignore him until it's very much too late?
i just play through it like a mystic
paper faces; electrobeeps
he'll ask me what's new
should i tell him?:
little things wrong with the body
worrying that you hold your head wrong
makes you want to stay in bed
staying too long after changing your name makes
you want to be a beetle in the south continent
a fox in the west where no one goes
cousin remember when
we'd see eachother every summer?
and we wouldn't remember to wonder
have i changed? will we be the same?
i'd love to see you now in the summer.
at the house, our skin
cooled by the air on our sweat
and warmed by our stretching on the couch
and waiting to speak
until we had something to say.
childhood ruins an entire lifetime sometimes

water drums me under/want to duck out?

it's like all i want you to do is run in the building with two hands full of fire and say
"look it's like i bled for you but it's real and it's elemental
and i've always been afraid to make myself elemental so here
you are i couldn't write you pages but i made you, like, ten skies"
and isn't that enough and why must you always be queen of drama
like the two bees outside tussling over their small territory
it's like i'm forgiven when all i've forgotten is that my limits
are nowhere to be found it's like she gets off on restrictions and when
we tousle our hair it's for the lions not watching it's like i belong
in a small desert with a throne made out of my own tears and dirty
clothes and my hair all bumbled and buzzed and knotted
little faeries use it as ropes to knock some mystical back into me.

you must have been under the impression that you could get along with anyone that the adventure is inside you, not anywhere else that fun comes from your source that the world set its day lights savings for when you wanted to wake up, to fall to bed  you must have those little trinkets in your eyes jingling about during breakfast as if to say who hasn't met you yet they must get to know you go out there meet them change both your lives but what is actually happening is you are lost and there is no one to find you so keep walking into the wooded areas making fondue with strangers who will brush your hair to the side as you laugh at their okay joke, uncovering your nametag because of course they don't remember your name when you told it to them

"if i had an orchard i'd work til I'm sore"

wait about not to jump
foolish over a fop's meal
I am a flaneur never want
to go home like here
from delicacy we arrive
candy hatted too
expected some mystery
waits with niceties
my name always a size
too small to hear

search

if you don't believe in the force
believe then in a cat paw
marring your memory away
til its only left:
this, what you want
a spine. a dead flesh
tree. a root growing
away from you
so you can finally
see where you are.