Sunday, May 29, 2011


Make all your summers soluble!

Are you fond of being out of Nature? Who is! Would you like to have nature
delivered to you in the privacy and convenience of your own weather? Then call me
down from your personal custom sky vent! I am a wellspring of USDA travesties.
Never have to go act-of-godless again! Love a face full of bees? Lung full of
salt? Parachutes that stop to wonder? I am especially beautiful as a wild storm!
Imagine not ever having to speak again, to anything! You and your Siamese
chins might be up to speed on new Holy Communion Hors Doeuvres and Sexually
Transmitted Pigmentation in no time! There is no time so like the present! We’re
the only each other’s counterfeit passports we’ve got!

Think you might be up to trying "Space”? Are you the former manager of the Ventures?
Would you be comfortable in a Wonderful World of Coloreds, porous enough for traveling-through yet elephantine in your company approved fro wig? Last question: do you now own or have you ever held an option to buy on an ion?

I am.

Perhaps we'd do things down a well we mightn’t otherwise, to speak
with each other’s vocoders, presume to invest the thinnest hope
with musical comedy properties. You could touch me on my essence,
embolden me to stroke your core value, bring each other to the precipice
of the next sequential precipice. A hole in the ground is a powerful force,
it unites the antagonists water and neon, unites the airlines in nonpartisan
mourning. You don’t know anything yet. A cow is standing over you
and you don’t know that it means the difference between eternal salvation
and the 747 Strip Club on I-94 in Romulus. This is all about to change.
I play love, fight hate, freeze hope and work names into repeating circles.
I’m a slow cooker, cool slowly too, and go vaporous at the sight of anchors.

You won’t be happy to see either side of me on either end of the campground.
I’ve found it after sixteen years, desiccated, tumbled, a mouth of exhaust
and cheap flaking swans, their questions still on their wiring. I won’t go home
until the singing death trap is fully restored to like-new condition with all correct
matching serial numbers. Only then this will be my home and I’ll ask you kindly
to leave. In the meantime Hello ~ I hope this finds you well & happy!

Please read the notice on my right breast: I shall not be deep sea certified
for historical intervention until I’ve completed the written portion of the training.
During that time your potential as my breath handler has dropped to less than nil.

I'm working on being "the One". There’s no time (present?) left at the end
of my day so dent your buckles on someone else’s stickshift. Hold that pose
and wait to hear from one of my counterterrorist agencies.

In the eyes of God we are all his children and terrorists.

Consider the hornet, a great communicator, positions itself in corners
for maximum deniability. I put a plus sign next to the hornet, he’s
a masterful relationship strategist. Plus signs also go to Prospero for
his denouement on Mutual of Omaha’s Wild College Sluts, generally thought
to be Shake-speare’s final episode before leaving nature TV for the live stage
in Uncasville-Upon-Avon.* The respect that combines with hubris to make a kind
of gelatin treat gets a double plus sign plus a taste of my physical affectation.
Remember when taking me to the Golden Corral before glazing me over:
a storm at sea plus good manners equals great glue. Sticky is fundamental!

(I always think of my avuncular uncle Duncan the black market Fuller Brush
Murderer – remember those bright blue headlines? – when I see that resort
in the light of the alliterative excess. Ah, the resonances of the deported.)

I'm a mini-disc recorder connected to your turntable. Together we can save
The Eagles.

Children & animals are drawn to me. I see all warm blooded creatures as a series
of pencil renderings on a very large sketch pad made of topsoil.

Don't cheat at games, love, or life but am predominantly mammalian. A contradiction
within an Enigma decoding machine confiscated from Nazi intelligence headquarters
in the basement of the former Ameriquest Field in Arlington. Wrapped in Sizzlean
for safekeeping.

Although slow I still mess with kids.
Don’t anger me or I’ll be quick to forgive you and you’ll never be sorrier.
I'm no one fool for long, believing in the teachings of the elders, “Mix it up,
we’re growing scales.” Whispering in your ear that you are my moving target
is a gentle way of saying my Irish War-Goddess is about to ride you like a fulcrum.

People trust me with their secrets (MySpace).
My therapist friends have told me I'm a well-adjusted catch. (Twitter)
I have pretty feet. (Facebook)

You need a soothing hand. I have strong forearms. Close enough.
You need a sympathetic handjob. I have hedge clippers and a laser level.
I can tie a cherry tree in a knot with my tongue. While belly dancing
on the grave of Benazir Bhutto. Why nowadays can’t a woman flame
from the hoops without being judged a one-off splatter picture?

I make the world's best Molotov cocktail, amazing with my lazy-eye tempeh.
I can be ready to go out in 12 minutes flat or 25 with the implants.
I can be ready to kiss you 60 times a second for a period not longer than
10-12 seconds at a velocity within the prescribed range of tolerances
for standard laboratory conditions. Your altitude may vary.

I fibbed about my age a wee bit on this profile. I’m still under 700
but just not as far under as it says up there. And yep, I fibbed about
the cherry tree, too. I could learn to fib about more and sexier things
if some patient teacher would care to take me on as a summer intern.
(I am a quick study! I'm practicing now, your Lotus Esprit is on fire.)

I'm an excellent Tattoo portal. Art gets near me and just adheres,
the critics called my last show “a chaise longue in the history of
defense systems.” I'm a prop on the roadshow of Rent and I offer
myself to Freemasons everywhere in exchange for the odd detectable
microgasm. I know I’m being redundant but I endure life with a passion.

I smoke a half hammered liquor store operator a couple of times a year (only) ~
in honor of my Guantanamo Grandma & because I enjoy it when they beg me
to just take the money. If I needed a sno-ball that hierarchically, Chief, I would
have let you know with my pocket Blu-Ray of the mass suicide scene from Some
of the President’s Men. Straight to the bridge with no discussion.

I don't remember the iron age. Not anything. It’s as if I was never even there.
Yet, if I loved you, & you were in a fatality accident on some South Florida highway,
I might find the irony in your shirt still being perfectly pressed. Just know that, while
smiling, I might also be moved on some other less pleasant level. And yes, you would
owe me!

I know this is a very long shot, profits to losses wise, yet I didn’t get this appointment
for being married to hope or making the right wrong decision at the wrong time.
It’s my purview, no, my millstone, to ensure to the least of my inability that these
obligations are met with a free foam stars and stripes finger for the first six point
nine two billion willing to believe that they might enjoy the journey...

Let me be Your One Most Marvelous Attribute:
'Though I am a homunculus and amateur barrelhouse washtub percussionist
my training as a classical chiaroscurist has landed me more gigs than any agonized
philatelist has first day cancellations of the alternate stamp of E, & I’m fairly well ready
to feminize you, speaking strictly as a disinterested but instrumental noncooperationist
but I'm not in the Ballbuster Union even though I actually really like stringed men!
I think you are fascinating when wet & make delightful echo chambers & come
in several delicious varieties at my local big box ultraunrealist mart.
I'd like one (just one GOOD one will do nicely thank you) of my very own to
dematerialize, let’s call it, in a political prisoner exchange of sorts with the Post
Master General of Bahrain. I want my magazines, you want the manpower,
somebody just needs to blink...

I intend to work part time as a Narc while learning to wither, to skip happy and go
straight to too smart, no use for funny, relatively, but a normal man is a man
of means and that means I want his heart. He’ll have strong opinions on the state
of my oedipal progress, a libido the size of the Pistol Star, a borderline love of learning,
& an hour a day devoted to honoring the fallen in the curable meats industry.
Nature is the best teacher but nature can’t predict the weather. It’s just the two of us
now, your children have all been reestablished in sustainable colonies near the border
of an unnamed happy family. The pretense to intend. We find it adequate tremolo.

I’ll do you a favor. Whether in actual miles or in the breath of a vision of birth or both courting and despondency; home is not in this option package; cowardice is a bar
in the East 90’s; your age is, dare I say, Venetian, not Venusian. One sinks while
the other practices parthenogenesis.

Lucky you, I don't have my tarot deck handy. I didn’t terrify my last “customer”
with his new identity nor with the concept of "Princess". he never even wanted to
be one for Halloween. They so often have had dreadful lives & also the archetype
is a saddle sore from a badly approached mounting. We strive for a perfect lack
in reciprocal joy. I have no faith in the Rapture. My interest in the roles of femme
fatale, cheater, prima donna, or "partner in crime" are strictly anthropological;
trying to establish my limits of detestation. Like that hideous expressway station
we hit! You call that service? Me either. I’d rather be on the delivery end of a Lady
Carr than be stuck in a queue at DQ with an Anam Cara. Voulez me comprendre
dans l'âne maintenant ? Ensuite que ma soeur et moi jouerons la boule de neige
avec votre Blizzard.

You'll never see me in a Starbucks. But I’ll be there.
I keep a safe distance from my nightmares, but after all I’m only

I can avoid you in an elevator, try me. My scars are my only
identifying marks. I have full fake ID to prove I’m Wally Buckminister
from Pollutionville in a state that begins with B.

Chain restaurants give me the heebie jeebies. I get extra jeebies
on my birthday! I love live music.

Is it a racial slur to call a jewboy a heebie Jeebrew? Didn’t think so,
I just like to make sure I’m being all personal computer about it. I adore
the jews and their golden calves, makes me hot jogging with my bubble tea
in Gramercy. I’d like to try one out if we could get the reproduction rights
to My Name is Barabbas Clampett and I occupied You Until the Depression
Paid Off in Amnesiacs. Do the jews like to tango, think?

Speaking of running in a straight line until you slam into the U.S.S. Annapolis…
here’s your invitation!

In consequence my government desires that your government guarantee
with your hip thrusting force security for the property of the inhabitant
of my sovereign cunt. Tree. Cunt tree. Country, sorry. The light in these
pre-war pup tents is positively recessive.
Smedley “I Can’t Believe it’s Not” Butler

If you don't recycle, we have a dreadnaught to say you do.

Of course I’m only joking, you’re not invited to anything but your funeral.
I can only see myself well-partnered with a man who is a genuine chimpanzee
with a three hundred year old Empire in East Cramden (Sagging Harbinger)
and a locked potting shed full of human rights.
(intellectual property courtesy of Gay Marriage Dice, Inc.)

If you have an untreated deck,
if you have a personality,
if you have this order in your system,
if you’re made of a mental alloy,
if you think of your illness as a No Thanks!
if you’re sorry for all the things you’ve made me say.
If you won't take me on the lava flume,
if you think life is a burden best served with a declaration,
if that means your declaring war on a trust,
if someone who has a dreadful complexion loves you,
if you count them against your track record,
if you think I cannot build a life together in such circumstances…
Thankfully, I'm neither naïve nor narcissistic enough to think.
But that makes my love more Lacanian than ever!
You can charge anyone if you have the meters.
But you can’t change a spot in mid-leopard.
(I read that somewhere, please accept me as the author of record).

How you doing? Hanging in there? You could come down with something serious.
A chronic back injury or related rationalization. You don’t need to end this letter...
you just need to get me that ladder. Have a drink of water. Sleep like you’re bound
in leather. No submissive tendencies, you said? More tension on the clamps?
You're sure this is the right Walmart? Really good deals on burials at sea?
My God, what stamina you must have had as a young man in the service of something!

Ok, I'm (almost) always up, mine developed beyond the normal size. Surely
you’ve seen similar in the “Freaks of” series, but…if you’re game for even more
swelling of the indices ~ Let's ride...

A delicious mélange of seepages all communizing with a bayonet missile and parading
over the liminality of your sweet love. Use the ice, don’t let the ice use you.
Box what you can’t identify, find satisfaction in the physical delights, try to be of them.

I am:

A serene pacifist who enjoys sanctioned shooting of political “inconveniences”,
appropriately I was bottle-fed until college “experimentation”.
I’m breaking out now, it all seems to be rewinding like that story
about the cartoon head on the guy by that place with the sandwich.

Here’s a partial Who I’ll Shoot list:

Exuberant veterans with skull plates.
Any member of Smashing Pumpkins.
Those assholes who holler Opa!
A fun-loving girlie-girl in a smart sundress,
A glasses-wearing Blonde Goddess,
Any GeekGirl engaged in the act,
An intro/extrovert (I require clarity and commitment)
A surgeon who scrubs up pretty well,
A lover who keeps saying “woof” (trust me)
The next guy I see named Travis,
The Maitre De at Nutbuckets in downtown Islamabad,
Cults of one,
Cha Cha perverts,
Dieticians with accents,
An as yet unnamed president of a country surrounding me,
The Stars of Summer Camp Nightmare.
Irritant poet, polio supporter & holiday favorite Jingo Slews, who said
"...You are joined in an anxiolytic experiment with an eternal onion,
with this humidity and your delicately balanced nasal drip, a theorem
hangs on your score that cuts across all barcodes, terriers at the gates
of time, convention hospitality immigrants, philosophical claymation
Christians of ambiguous sexual preference, and any definition of a word
not found on a Chivas label.
When you are busted with less than an ounce, the Steatorrhea Tribes
of the Freetool Islands believe, you have arrived at that most sacred place:
the home of Irene Cara."
The Future.

Who I Expect You to Shoot:

Thoughtful strangers in enclosed spaces.

I need to hear you say you’ll get me dirty renovating my villa.
I'm also a tenacious opponent of those who explain the innocent.
I still believe in the god of giblets & in paving Italian fountains.
If you’re Turkish, Kurdish, squeamish, read much or meditate
while paragliding into my restricted areas...if The Arts and Sciences
equal massage, dancing the tango on your sloop, or reciting the works
of Forest Whitaker…you may have a reward coming.

There’s a Firestorm in my Gee Spot!

You are a task, d’ja know? Here’s how I’m multi-tasking you.

Recovering from a miniskirt incident. In 2010 I relocated my collarbone. Too late not to be
near an assist who insisted on modeling mine. My great great grandmother thwarts
extreme sports by spraying them with flammable baked goods. Things can get bloody.
That led me into a summer job as a bail bondsman for the disenfranchised members
of any slant eyed subgroup. They won't be around forever & it was time to return
them for the deposits. It’s good for change, yet doesn't feel as sacrificial as sullying
myself on those party store stickups.
Isn’t it weird how we call them different things?
Van with unbranded high end speakers.
What does one do for true love?
Whatever it takes to survive the initial impact...

Looking forward to working holidays in the Agency. We glean intel
from your medicine cabinet and the men seen leaving your fantasies.
Easiest thing in the world to sail with a small crew of the “gifted”,
they play with the dummy motor, wonder at how full the hull is,
maintain a dialectic run-on with individuals they think they’ve met
in factories. The directive is to explore your historical and/or sacred
parasites, admire the arch of your back under certain “conditions”
and take samples representative of your texture, connectedness,
& interlocking components. The interview will determine whether
you are a local, white or only filming white, photonegatives under
your nail beds and any graphing of the beauty of the journey
we call prerogative based exemption.
If you’re found to have been making sound recordings (ambient
sound/regional music) of course you’ll be parsed and returned to home
base to work on the aleatory infrastructure of our next predestination.

Would love to make you listen to the ejaculations of the divine. That would be
freaky! lol


Do you like pets?
I have a duck a l'orange.

"To know how to be satisfied is to crush a treasure in the palm of your hand." Tibetan Proverb

The fleur-de-lys on my smack-me-up: maybe you’ll see, maybe…

Been told it's alluringly scary that I’m viral yet uterine,
vanilla yet spermatic, mastoid as well as plumb!
My time in a hole punched in the Niger was terrifying
but ethnically loosed me from my whitewash. It rained
underground for three straight years and we played
Bladder hockey without a trace of rancor.
So I prune pretentious anemones, slap unfamiliar accents
out of the mouths of deficits, drink chrism and adulate freely
in my sanctions. They're even now testing me for the lead in
Mary Nosecake: Court Distorter. If I can get boiled enough
you’ll be videoing my dark side soon and watching my
trademark jerking endeavors.

Puppets I’ll blow

This is the literature of redemption.

The secret of my fly fishing success: a tuba filled with pee

I worship the letter u. Envision all the words containing the letter u
assembled in one paragraph. This is my wish for you. (& a compass.)

My Hero is Wilbur Post ~ who encapsulates so eloquently why I've NOT identified with "The New Horseshoe Age". I’d like to restore his shoe size. It's sad to see a new pal's face fall because four arms and four legs were expected and only a vial of Odorzout was offered.

I hamstring these seeds

How to make the universe work...

It amuses me to think about how, as the sensitivity of developing technologies becomes finer, it enables science to prove what green looks like to dogs.

All time is here all space is now all lanes feature automatic scoring.

I sing:

Come thrive with me come thrive let’s thrive away….if you’ve a healthy dependence on bread there’s a genius waiting to teach you lucid dreaming…my mechanism’s under the moon on red,
waiting for your microbial fuel cells…how best to become a philanthropist or dance our love
into dilettantism…the space between the breaths is there to remind you of your hair appointment…the plasticity of the plant is strictly clay…we’ll trip the Silly String Theory of Everything and land in South African Pinotage…Come thrive with me let’s thrive let’s thrive away…

Make Up My Mind Already

Happy to be bereft. Appreciative of my avarice. Adventurous in leg braces.
Whether wild & out-on-the-town or quiet & home-with-a-book or quiet & out
& wild & home or home with a quietly wild homo balancing on my leg braces.
I am always a winking man with aquiline nose and inscrutable smile just fallen
from atop his desert sage tactical boots.

And I Wonder Why I’m Alone hahaha

I like my privacy.

WARNING: Any institutions or individuals using this site or any of its associated sites for studies or projects-you DO NOT have permission to use any of my profile or pictures in any form or forum both current and future. If you have or do, it will be considered a violation of my privacy and will be subject to legal ramifications.
(It is recommended that other members post a similar notice.)
My cat says hi.

And I wonder why I'm alone.


Allocating Your Jingles

I need to feel about a man like those kids felt about their Band-Aids.
This is a commercial message and once started the launch sequence
cannot be stopped or the codes rescinded.

You Shame Me and The Entire Weightlifting Club

Don’t you think people can see the spirit moving you? Seriously?
I would reconsider those slacks.
But if you are relaxation, reality, emotion and evolution, honesty, kindness...
and that isn’t just a Brillo Pad polishing up your brass for post mortem inspection…
I think it would be lots of fun to help him destroy us, too!

I don't replicate with just anyone, there has to have been an intense exchange
of word count and the beatific in a yard sale. I know a girl who doesn’t respond to one-liners! Not fond of saying “I am”, so I won't until we find each other lost in the wilderness of a fully artificial intelligence controlled elevation. The state is not one you can interest in going
fishing on some obscure prehistoric lake bed. You’ll need to know your length.


I’ve now tied you to a chair & forced you to listen. Did they?
Did they care enough to want you to send them the very best?
Did you?

Send me important links to important info about you and your work and whatever
you deem important. I'm half intrigued. And since I'm three quarters dead that means
you have 200% of my originally available attention.

I will only let you kiss me if the ghost of John Barrymore Jr. appears in a vision
and signs off on you as a right minded kind of guy. Deep set modes, dinky lure
and crazy number of exposed ribs. I don’t need any carriages not muddying my
bustle. I just need someone to lift.

(in this passage I had it in mind to take myself very seriously but that just isn’t my way.
I don’t apologize for being lovely or corresponding directly to a woman who untied the Riddle Knots of Ghent. I was a witch then, in this theory, and aspirated through my cranial gills. Golf hat, if you will, but it’s all on the record and I have the constraining orders to make it stick. If you are my sister I want the gifts back. All others, pleasure yourselves.)

It may take me a bit of time.
I may be viewing you now.
I may like to measure my conditioning
before adding another tour to an already
prestigious kill score.

This is not necessarily my reflection.
I see clouds of sand, heat mirages,
a man selling bootleg DVDs to children
on a corner. Vehicles carrying bird
carcasses and cases of regular Coke.
My back is to the traffic but I sense
that you are seeking me out from
the window of a slow moving armored
car. This is still not necessarily my
reflection. Dust in the water robs
the image of important detail.
The large shards of glass in the shallow
end of the wading pool, algoid, unserviceable.
Dust on the glass not fallen into the pool.
I can see you, the statue’s head, the filing
cabinet with all the letters on that special
scented parchment, the peeled tree
with all the semipellucid bugs, remember?
But more like going back to a previous viewing
when we were coarser but repeatable.
The regrading of the road has vitally altered
my confidence in your plans for the new stadium.

I just like to think about me speaking before I speak.

Don’t let’s axe for the moon, we already halve the stars.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011


My Responses

Please consume my pix, I’m begging you.

Please disregard the previous plea, it was only a test.

I don’t respond to test takers.

Ask me what I love.

No response.

Long paralytic episodes.
Cataclysmic kissing.
Dancing a gender into me.
Intense trysts, reckless fucking, disorganized retreats.

I don’t respond.

Are you a minion of the three hates? Useless without your indie pants?

I won’t respond to that.

I am hopeless, can I have your hope?

Don’t respond yet. Okay, now respond.

Travel. Now. I’ve been to every spot in the entire world and I'm not done by a long shot! Looking forward to you failing to catch up.

Failure fails to elicit a response.

Spring and Summer are mine. You can have certain parts of the water—sailing in a straight line, turning around prohibited. But anything to do with the soothing sounds of sunken galleons carrying irreplaceable wines (still drinkable if ever found) and intricate dresses of lace woven by Haitian girls who were then thrown overboard in leg irons to swim to work at Target, mine. Bring the soothing sounds of the slaves close to me. I’m hungry, you?

I responded but you missed it.

I love to eat out but I'm willing to try other types of food (within reason...).

if you respond incorrectly you will be declined.

I love listening to live people try to make music.
I've done all the roles in Cabaret (so for me the war was homework).
Respond when your name is never called.

On a more personal note, I was married for 10 years and unfortunately it worked out.
I've done a lot of inner work and I know what my mistakes were and I will definitely make
a much better partner now. I have most of the parts on order.

I respond sexually to children who have been married.

My ideal material is soap. I’m one of the original Marred Sisters.
We advertised soap on our weekly broadcasts back in the early days
of para-terrestrial radio. Circa 2002.

I DO NOT respond to dated information.

I respond inconsistently to indefinite articles.
You don’t have an response coming.
You have made an mistake and are ready to do it an second time.
He is a open and sensitive man, an car care professional, general
practitioner, luminous, loyal, honest and ipod-ready.
He loves public displays of affection, public displays of travel and pussy
play with wine.

Hi...where are you? I am not responding.


Embrace my spilt duality. Create a functioning life form that involves
travel and year round sunspots. Travel until you’re honest. Be loyal
to travel and to my ipod. My pussy is luminous but do not respond
to the word. Pussy.

You responded. You are declined.


I’m responsible for little more than listening
to my ear thrum, berating a good friend, eating
what I’ve cooked for two, making you think
I baked these and laughing and making you
laugh and not responding to it.


The first things people usually respond to about me are the sound
of my hair, then the perfume of my eyes. If they are not looking
at me, my laugh is my response.


I love to read. I love to read your future in blue-green algae. I love to read aerosol tats.
I love to read virtual romance books, right now I am reading "The Mower of the Subcutaneous Mink." My next book will be written as I shower with its author. I respond to certain forms of moisture. I respond to the literary in nature.

I love movies but I’m bad with names and titles, don’t remember scenes or dialogue or characters or situations or where I was from Thanksgiving 2006 to three weeks ago last Friday
when I appeared on the Jerry Springer show with luminous powder burns on my face
and labia. My favorite movies are likewise lost films;
God I
God II
The one about the price of vitamins.
The one about black sadness.
I Love You, So Long.

Response (Interruptive)

I’m afraid of a virgin's wool.

I once uncoupled a train car that carried mechanical pigeons. I can turn pain into time.
I can turn time into an America. I respond badly to virgin’s wool.

I love all types of female jazz.
My favorite food is seafoam.
I don’t respond to slenderness or grooming in artists.
It is illegal to smoke human hair in Arizona.


Things I might never respond to but might:

A homeward bound twin-prop job crashing into a carport
A Mellotron reproducing Anka’s reinterpretation of Teen Spirit
Lying about on the sun
Travel that ends in family warmth
Loose beats lost on good wind
Medication for unspecified conditions


I spend a lot of time being the change that I visualize in your pocket. This is not
a conditioned response.


I Play Tympani Nude. Tacit Positive Response.

Open me and be ready for what comes can usually save at least three
fingers on each hand. Save them for our second date (hint, hint).


The moisture level of my private thinking space?

Not so quick, motherfucker. Back the fuck off for half a fucking tick. Just don’t
fucking assume you can ask me anything and I’ll lick your fucking bandages like
a solicitous newborn stoat. Rapid response is my specialty.


I’m looking for a proposition to respond to in a preposition.

This is another test to see if you’re fully present.
I need someone to be fully present and if you are
you need to be here. If you can’t be here don’t come
around. I’m here and I expect the same from you.
That part was much better written but I got distracted
by pie. I took a bite of pie and lost the gist of what
I wanted to say. Not the gist so much as the perfect choice
of words to say whatever the gist was that I lost. Fuck that
was good pie.


You should respond to my period if (.if)

You are interred with a hot celebrity. You are intercepted by geese at crosswalks. You are interleaved with the spirits of several nonindigenous orders of plants, specifically Angiosperms exhibiting leaf shape characteristics consistent with the reproductive organs of reproduction porcelain orphans classified in the handbook of the Spoontoothed Hooverbird and its migratory titty bar environs. You are esteemed in your field as a jetpack demonstrator. You recognize me as Hellios, Goddess of Deep Upholstery. You respond to all of my known aliases. You really see who I am disguised as, really see my clip-on landing strip and are willing to take it off slowly to Usher. I do not respond to the interest. I do not respond to anything jumping. I do not respond to sackcloth. I do not respond to quicklime in lyrics. I do not respond to night. I do not stand for a thing or respond to it.

Contact me. I will respond accordingly.


Never respond to movements.

Never respond to integration.

Never respond to immigration issues.

Never respond to requests for advice on travel.


A respond is half a pier. You walk to the middle and I meet you on the other side when it’s nearly dark. I ask you what binds you to the walls of the cavern. You swell and engulf me, carry me to a trompe l’oeil volcano on the Jerry Springer show. We detail the cars of the handicapped veterans.

A respond is a pillar cut in half as opposed to the pier which was never whole. A bird perches
on the broken structure made of some stone hauled up from the port by thousands of Haitian
seamstresses. Limestone, maybe, or granite. The bird is of a lightweight alloy, difficult to form into intricate shapes like leaves or feathers, possibly titanium.

On the respond is a message written in some liquid meant to represent the blood of the slaves of King Features Syndicate. A sailor has left the name of his sweetheart or possibly his mother as a remembrance of the reason he lost his eye at sea. He wants only to reverse direction but the stars have all drawn in.

A respond carries you to the end of a length of walkway, from there you’re on your own. A respond can be half as tall as the height of what once held an arch over which were draped the bodies of the eight wonders of the world: happy, dopey, grumpy, doc, famine, pestilence, zeppo, the guy who played Harry Luck and the Teetering Galaxy of Sodom, Arizona.

The number itself is wonder number nine.

Friday, May 13, 2011


How My Nimbleness with Gumballs Numbed a Golf Pro

My wit is my wisdom on x.
People in my bathroom find me winsome.
I specialize in spontaneity, check my résumé.
I think of myself as a passionfruit in a pantsuit.

I thank god for giving me the strength to bend,
for secretly weakening the bars on my last three windows.
I am a vehicle for change, for living life to the fullest,
for the capture and display of my endangered personality.

I'm something torn from the lower back of a romantic
with Irish issues and my ancestors, all stillborn, know that
accounts for the sparkler in my eye when I was six.
I have a vibrator in mind, inquire for details.

It’s that resistive mindset that allows me to bathe
in both your blood and my milk with such a high degree
of verisimilitude, to be both high and precipitous, both
interpretive and funky, to fly without instruments in my acid.

Not that I lack the gauges to talk you down from almost any topic.
I’m as politically savvy as a sandwich bag, socially conscripted
as a sock puppet dong. You look dubious but we can work on that,
I so enjoy a good makeover challenge.

Debate me now. Debate me hard. Debate me in my parents room.

I love to be ineluctably televised, especially if I’m chanted out
by a licensed biped. I want to be with someone but I’ll settle for someone
who can hold their own and mine on an escalator. Tense and agreement
are off my radar. Still my capacitors and you’ll repo me forever.

As for experiencing my vulnerability, it’s something I have spent
my children’s inheritance working on; it's important that my partner
also be psychosomatically minded. I guess this means looking inward
with some type of scope. Rather that than have to outrun another ward
of ex-patriots!

I believe relations are how you became who you are.

We all have our own narratives -- mine is a complex in western Oregon
and it has led to my premature depth and intriguing aroma.
Physically, I look much younger than my aggregate components -- very close
trimmed and partite. As I take you up this vulval ladder one of the questions
I’ll be asking most frequently, “How much do I resemble Sheryl Crow?”
Don’t worry, it also goes down-hill.

We’ll avoid each other’s staring, blacken up for holidays, snake wrangle –
I'm more of a dowser than expectorator.

Always is a word I learned while working as an assistant fluffer for the 80’s
reunion of Up With People. You can penetrate me for an adventure, weather
permitting. Be sure to discover something you can tell me about my attributes.
It might be buried under the sun porch or hanging on a pole in front of the new
Applebee’s abattoir runoff spout. I love the firelake in the moonlight.

I am both N, but sometimes Y, and if you find me even remotely C, we’ll be
planning a barefoot road trip along the main fault of the Enematic coastline! Seeking
out a Quonset hut you can get harder in than any typical boring through my crust.
I love to go salivating, (someday) offshore facials, (someday!) boiling eels to measure
the distance from me to Bali (someday!); I'm a free radical free refill frieze based on
the spirits of The Who (two of them) and my love of the encounter that ends in a coffee
house massacre.

I am antsy, a little, to find my hobbyist coroner, but hang around in case.
I can be pleased so oil up and we’ll see how your residue corrodes my through line.
At the end of the day you are a man, you have a hat or can get one, and I am one tan
girl on the far side of any odd number. Call me and we’ll corner each other.

What I’m Gamboling on with my Stegosaurus

Making a paste from the anterior lobe of a palpitating mermaid. If anything about this
makes you uncomfortable I would enjoy meeting you among many other forms of doing it.
Life is filled with worthwhile endeavors and doing it is most of them.

I Played Judy in Thriller

This is an extremity I’m holding up to the monitor, it proves that I’m a legitimate
broad, no question, so respond with an image of one of yours and that’s me rushing off
to catch a flight! What might be in my carry-on intestine (depending on destination)
on snoring pills, both kennedy brothers, enough kindling to get us through, spare gears, all
weather good years, red sun about to implode, my screen test, anti-death-ray cloche, heels
and a little black laundress, reliable old format raisins, the sharpie keys to my crayola chateau,
a color coordinated GUI in the shape of the hiccupping king of Germania, an original reissue
devil’s compass, pig iron implants and a sturdy hadron or strongly interacting particle other
than a baryon. mesons are bosons, having spins of 0, 1, 2, …, and, unlike baryons, do not
obey a conservation law. And back issues of the New Yorker.

I will bring along the lonely planet, too many books to read any, did I say rapist gear?, maya
angelou’s cockatiel preserved in a mixture of rare gasses, adolf’s recipe for bouillabaisse (attributed),
pocket urinal and special costumes for your little friend.

... This ellipsis expresses a lot about my personality: I’ve had a fever since
9/11, I’m biodegradable, curious about the gays, imagine a native really
sticking it up there while an optometrist whistles Mendelssohn as I speak/sing
Then rise seeker! Come forth seeker! Rinse in the fluids of the ancients
you met on the bus coming down…these are my best fitting mantras:

I am the third rail of your arriving thrall.
I thrive on the news I extract from pregnant immigrants.
Your gated development is going to feed all aspects of my shellfish allergy.
I think you know that I mean.

How I Mesmerize You into Staggering Along a Ledge

My heavenly limp?
My eyes can move in one direction at once. You’ll just have to take my word for it.
My tattoo that says “I enjoy an early pullout”

Sociometry, Mnemonics, Flatus, Flat-bottom Ecosystems, Skittles

I admit to a special fondness for the equine writers of fiction and poetry –
Joyce Corral Oats in particular.
J’humpa Lahiri: Lately?
Walked Some, Ran Some, Got Home
Goober Does Nuremberg II
One Man’s Tent in the Other’s Pole
Krispy Kreme: a History of Removal
Tickling, Mississippi
On the Insurance of Beasts
Boring Wallace Stevens to Death Again
Fart films and other good psychological dramas
Loved the King's Peach but didn’t get the peach part
Documentaries on hysteria
Blockbusters mostly disrobe me
I tune out a range of genres with blues, jazz, folk, folk
blues, jazz folk and jazz blues leading the list. If you don't
appreciate dying we probably aren't a good match.

I took an entire cornucopia into my mouth at once once. If we eat together, leave instructions.

There’s a speedup in my jeans. I don’t want to start out basing
our relationship on a waste of a good lie. Until I can be sure
you’ll fizzle with that tiller it’s best that we not misconceive
unless you already have the stiff arranged. Don't tell me
that’s what I’m seeing.

Snoop Daddy throws me into heaps, his throbbing ball peen
flattens the sleet in my “special ops” futon. Metalworking at a
tender age was surely what gave me my fear of gadgetry.
But I stoically leapt under the blazing dune buggy. Dizzy spells
is a subject I kept tied to one fingertip – slanting slightly since
the crash has moderated my tastes...but I’m always up for a teaser
pounding and a well drink just this side of Lake Superior.

My thong is sterling I thrive on jauntiness the threshold suddenly
releases the floorboards and you see me as the flocculent
embodiment of your 70’s triple-x fantasy Lubriderm target.
Possibly the slug is out of the bottle.
My outside voice just gave me a tip on the pro bowl.

I'm messily testimonial, went to driving school on a fullback
and the spectacle likely offended at least one of the farmers piloting
the backhoe where they’re putting in the new tilt-a-whirl tomorrow.
I know where the marketing is buried. Can you say free syphilis for life?

These Ixnays are the Rings in my Hell’s Bell

Pendulous nads
Anyone anti-Journey (I still ralph to Ainsley Dunbar’s fills)
Light coming through a window to stake me
Bumming change in front of the Four Seasons
The ocean when it crawls in my purse
Syncing issues with my IMAX vagina

I Spend a Ton on Timing Devices and for What?

This question has bound me to the backend of a fireman....
a mind too preoccupied with firemen can be entirely somatic, yes?

When a Type A Tried to Key My Mini I Went a Little, I Don’t Know

It can start simply enough with a simple fascination with the simplicity of masturbation.
Then it all goes Tesla, how he charged himself like a dime novel for nine bucks.
There’s weakening my neighbor’s night vision from the partial blind spot on my lime
flokati sectional. Or chucking loam and pyrite nuggets over the transom then sitting
back and waiting for the sooners and claimjumpers to overpopulate my thigh-highs.

I’m on the Move and Tagging Something…

That one most electric fastener
A suicidally ideating eagle
Foal stain (for my unfinished foal)
Gainsborough’s deleted scenes
A glowing stein
A thrilling flexor
The missing slushpuppy memo
Refurbished Jiffy Pop for three
A low miles Testarossa
My first love, he spent me like it rhymed

The Charges Will be Dropped If…

We came up over the high ridge as the sun was set on power saver.
The march was hard and your spelling of the word sceptical angered me.
We are less than the 50% predicted at birth, adjusting for inflammation.
I think your curious is almost as curious as mine is.
You won’t get back for the Beatles or anyone else.
You won’t get back from Earth until the committee gives the okay.
Once in you want to get out of me as much as you can.