Monday, February 28, 2011

CHARLIE SHEEN IS IMPOTENT


thought for a while about the unknown night thing
leap year but also cross current
shuffled with jitterbug into germ plasm fork-tuning snore concentric
a blowjob volley curiosity in Jetsons vein
always out of earshot heard arguing with Metro’s Kraken
comes out takes giant dump all over Citizen Kane
cocaine underboob spilled my medication plummeting
junk grew back implantation worn  

Sunday, February 27, 2011

THE OSCARS – ANOTHER MUTATION

the Oscars is magnetic,  
the featherball time-tic responsible
for the Badminton Malfunction

is
the
Creature
in
it

the powdery ratchet on the
shoulder of the disturbing trend  
of brothel-whitening

is
the
Vincent
Price
breakfast

the Transferable Litter Box
on Bigfoot wheels, the irony of the
hydro-dagger

is
the
sun
coming
up
before
dark

sitting on London rocking back
and forth – a banshee weeping spitefully degenerating
into red sausage

is
very
DEAR
TO
ME

a horny Sherlock Holmes says
to the tablecloth of dazed fuchsia,
the only time
olive oil and abortions mix to
produce a midget cabaret

Saturday, February 26, 2011

THE SILENCE WAS FINALLY BROKEN

‘Boaz is normal.’
Looking out the window, saber-toothed.
‘Doesn’t look normal. No, wait. His dentures look pretty normal. I want my money back.’

He looked like a man who would promptly secrete an alter ego from toothpicks, turn his back to his own hideous creation, and when sometimes scrubbing his toes it was always like doing heavy somersaults.

Don’t let the band get the better of you. Fairly traditional survival list on the counter: It says so.

Page 1
‘Fairly mediocre live act. Not plugged in yet – mind – not really ‘unplugged’.’

Page 2
‘Tip your head back, girl.’

Page 3
‘Everything skirmishes in its own way.’

The live band didn’t play. It stood by. The air around it merged with the influx of other air. Probably from outside. Yeah. A cheap engagement ring shrank from the anticipation, probably also because it was on the finger of the tubby one. Adrenaline did more harm than good. Gangrene was the favorite flavor of swarthy in the viciously crossed leg. Gross comfort toys (you remember those?) forgotten in one fell swoop – i.e. pizza snuggles. Hangover cyclotron! At least for the moment. Air-conditioning.   

EMERGENCY ROOM BONANZA


things I find impressive and admirable but nevertheless hate
the Casio gene’s aptitude for disco

things I’m ashamed of
my Kia’s hangnail

the ant’s virginity, squelched by a brick
I find that unspeakably horrific as well

bricks deliberately break things when they aren’t working
that I find kind of profound

the opioids in vogue at present in my brain are – to me at least – far from completely tasteless

I sit in my room in a kind of Vegas state
engulfed in its mushroom-intensity;
FDA-approved, long-felt Voodoo Spread Itchy

there’s nothing better than driving a chinless bus
I’m in control – hypothalamus bumping Zombie levels

sometimes God is in good hands

things I find hilarious
internet videos in which an obviously unhappy man’s goldfish, in an attempt to uplift his spirits, pledges to poop OUTSIDE OF ITS BOWL, thereby obviating the man in the video’s need to clean the bowl which depressed people invariably find a chore, and then some

almost human –
I say keep things this obviously almost human coming

advice I find useful
what the world should do about my brain’s unwearable fashion

WEAR IT

every newsstand is allowed a special quota of garish, cupped in a careful fashion by every eye socket - then the prefrontal cortex engages in a special game of backward boxing
this analogy I find kind of cute

a new batch of novelty Tarots describing this same neurological scene is spat out by my uncle’s old Warlock printer, and the creaking and pfft-pffting of its solenoids and actuators I find soporific

Friday, February 25, 2011

KIDNEY FAILURE DRAWS NEW MAP OF PEE ROUTES

most informed legs in the western hemisphere
centipede newspaper stockings
watching sci-fi classic about eBaying unsettling human anatomy
pendulum of burning teddy billed too raunchy an humiliation
my motor’s vacuum used very effectively in shark taxidermy
Prada in mental overhead compartment
what an overwhelming, hardcore bubble!
growing my caffeine blisters in adult nappies
I will give them all to terrorists
Nova Pilates fetish from Charlie Sheen’s point of view
another Shaun of the Dead contraption

Thursday, February 24, 2011

THREE VAGINAS



apocalyptic scratch in the clapboard
whose world’s end?
sun claps fizzes claps fizzes
does it?
the pride of a Smith & Wesson ice cream
all for you, uncanny blowtorch!

earth’s population is but a medium-sized fart
dribbling down your hand  
its fields, if one cares to look – whose magnets captured and killed a crow
its spinal fluid – evidence of an ocean

you’d do better with its words around your tongue
such a better person you’d be if you had exactly three vaginas
tobacco on a pretzel is a bed of time in which you’re heard really well
my thoughts in the luxurious hug of microwaves  
glaring at the hole all these feet have made in the bottom of the door
you and your sister and the guy at the filling station

is it possible to be uncertain of a concussion?
how uncertain?
how many shades of uncertain?
around how many corners?
prosthetic cactus mixing things up with many third points
feels like you’ve swooned, doesn’t it?  
consciousness always leaves the seat up
as is the case with pure Queen Elizabeth fan art
the dumpster parked on the nail of the pampered receptionist

humanoid cassette co-pilot and eternally present resonance
then launch at least ONE vagina!
goddamnit! – I don’t care if it’s built like a Volvo equipped with the intestines of a fat baby
for my Soviet Speedos are eating a cow

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

DON’T BE ASHAMED, GHOSTS – DRINK WATER UPSIDE-DOWN

Retro futuristic t-phage. Asteroid, rude to my talent. Hiccups of ghosts unwilling to restore spiritual balance. Nintendo witch doctor simulation. Russell Crowe, paid millions to endorse special surfboard for invisible tsunamis. Dead at 42. In the place of Cradling Craving. Like Post Office Silence. A nuclear plant that can wish. Vague Beetlejuice.


Wishes to be cute internet cat. Virtuoso on Elm Street. ‘I am the only one fighting nicely’ you wish to be able to say, now.


Wolverine dragged under the avocado. The only place with no separate seating. Buy two for the price of one Pythagorean armadillo dropping. The only old man at whose feet I’d sit eating peanuts ponderously. Robots, the only creatures that aren’t ashamed to say their vomit looks like green caterpillar automata.

IF MY BOSS WERE AN AMUSEMENT PARK

Met a prostitute at a party. There was no explanation for it.
She liked trivia, she liked everything if it had lapels.  
My saliva has lapels, and buttons, and a zipper, I think.
Her boss was an amusement park made vegetarian.
Vegetable horses and vegetable slides, but with digestive systems.
Groovy, yeah - a rubbery arm-twist is all it sometimes takes.

I once told God very sternly to look out. You trust without consent.
I put his answer in a frame: ‘Chupacabra breaks my heart.’
Now I can go home and think how.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

OSCAR NIGHT


Grueling violin more than perfume.
Fingers crossed is an idiot.
Little green smoke especially.
An epidemic’s wavering parachute.
Star-spangled tomorrow.
Midnight blur road show.
Reincarnating itself in each spoon as antique chocolate.

Oscar statue in the glove compartment: ‘I am so over this spasm.’
Pork, but skeptically. The feeling of the easily attained.
The quickly discarded. More like phew.
More like shoes spent on scorpions.

DUST UNDER MY SKIN

Far too much male and female chest. Kiss of death for silly song. Dead insect slo-mo ray. They brought pathetic burglars with them to the Apollo Moon Landing, to steal their evidence and replace them with Rorschach underarm prints. The incompetence we daily celebrate on the toilet. Their pleasure pop-up Bistro. Boot dust tattoo. A tantrum is a more complex skin tingle. Like how monsters start their day off: Complaints about lithium’s too many edges and imbalances that are beautiful. Gunslinger interrupted by bean flashes (bright bean-shaped ephemera) always in more complex commercials. Clicks heels together and curses foully. Unknown when he speaks, endowed with diverse strengths, and a romping Id, when he sleeps or when his mouth – also in sleep – is full of the horrible shit of turtles. ‘Also I am betraying you,’ a character in our dreams always says. Extraterrestrials love our KGB. Is there anything in their piss, other than congenial electrolytic properties by which to convey the darkness of the present day? Cognitive slipping. A conspiracy squirming on the anvil of my hearing apparatus. Ingest froglike.

Monday, February 21, 2011

WHEN I RISE FROM THE DEAD A NOODLE WILL BE HANGING OUT OF MY MOUTH


unearthed yet: but not so well preserved   

lasagna
is
all
a
dream?

hyphenated or broken rubber band, cufflinks for corpse gas  
caramel carcass suit   

dinosaur loves marijuana, its nipples are a gruesome fact

its nipples’ exposure to flashlight light IS more poetical,
rotates ’em
anti-clockwise

the psychedelic sinks in the earth
beautiful from picking bones clean,
a gramophone inhabiting
each crypt of the toothless

the new street scene – Basquiat, Kinski –
a bumpy linguistic along potato navel cord

the Destroyer hides its hiding place
by filling it with stones (brave of you, billionaire of the sinuses

brave
of
you)

false teeth will never fail in their sacred quest

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