Finally made The Jim Side. Thank you God and everyone for this great honor. One day I hope to save a children and help a poor and be a comic in Jim's side. For example consider perhaps Jim might draw me in. A black tuxedo shirt and pink beige tie and men offering me looks of disdain I wrap in wax paper and save for later.
take your canon and shove it
n o com pl ete tho ught.o de(i)s pe(a)rate pro se .so me on e sav e m e.
[ content X X X deleted ]


Someone else will have to drive to Dogville - I've been drinking. Before seven maybe this is not suitable. Acceptable I mean. Since that post abt. (thanks for the abbr., Jim) grammar, can't write a complete thought (of direct reference, of sense). But I do have pick up lines pick up lines and more pick up lines! - thanks to Carra for this one: I saunter up all cute-like, pull a Skor candy bar from my back pocket and smiling say "you wanna score?" Like a charm dammit!
I freely admit much furious nodding to Electrelane's "The Power Out" these past few weeks - particularly track 6, "Oh Sombra!" in which Verity I believe her name is squawks sexy in Spanish. I look here and am told she's singing a sonnet! by Spanish poet Juan Boscan(?). I look more and see the German lyrics I've wondered about are from a passage in Nietzsche's The Gay Science. Also, a letter from some dude Siegfried Sassoon.
Words I spell wrong often:

occurence, embarassment

Also, I (pre(sub))consciously rephrase first thoughts due to my uneasy grammar:

lay vs. lie / toward vs. towards / affect vs. effect / that vs. which / possessives

That in poetry I'm happy to implode grammar (even unintentionally). That to do so in prose merely seems a matter of my own stupidity.


The March for Women's Lives

Mainstream media (1, 2) says hundreds of thousands. Indymedia adds that essential extra zero (+ some). Who do you (I) believe. Does it matter - the numbers, the march, etc. (see February 15 2003). The System design. Slow change is none at all. Is it? Coordinated takeovers of towns and small cities. Could work. Sit-ins don't cut it tho - would need guns - big No. What then.


Attributive Use
for Tim Yu

There is nothing to do with poetry.

This one at least and then the other we agree on the condition of the orange skin that allows this. This

least must be said what all coming before have what I’ve been trying to say all this. After

he plays with my chips awhile he clears his throat. In the dark room we graft this problem of the clenched jaw. Mine mainly. Holed up. Can’t even use the dirty words.
Of course the poetry last night, of course. (Taylor Brady / Jen Hofer & Chris Stroff's Mission place too - see here). But the best great was Erin (of James) suddenly leaning in, parting my bangs, smiling a bit and kissing me on the forehead! With such deliberateness!


The sugar only makes you sick

the rising price of spilt milk

some recycled kind of light coming

in the mail an address across

a lake vacated by birds

gagging on their good name
Catherine gives The Dog Shit Poem a try - (badly wanted to write Cat takes a stab at dog shit)

I'm off for a long day at the office in my RIOTS NOT DIETS tee and best sports coat. Tanya's Letters to Hank Williams and K.'s Hovercraft coming with me.

Also, I'm taking bets on when the world will end. We've got one "by September" and one "not soon enough" - obviously, the parameters are loose so maybe you'll feel a certain measure of "freedom" if that word is still available for use which I'm not so sure it is. At least perhaps you'll jiggle with some kind of slighty-mighty.


Incubating Perspective
for Tim Yu

A gaze really starts to pile up (tugging)
I better stick that shit somewhere else
There's this one outgrown pot of happy shit
For some reason all of a burst into a bird
It was really out of control

He calls to say more about nonsensicals
Sounds like he had this problem of dog shit
She gets pregnant and she gets married
Two periods one atop the other :
Obviously he was itching
I refused to leave a message

"I" = s/he who is speaking to you at this very moment.


"I believe that the greatest prime number is still a number."


"The man in the corner drinking champagne is happy."

A jubilant man drinking sparkling water from a champagne flute.
A depressed man surreptitiously drinking champagne from a flask.
The dead baby bird "actually happened." I think I only picked it up because I saw a poem. Now, in a spot very near where the bird died there's a collection of dog shit. For three days now. I figure, I clean up dead baby bird, someone else cleans up dog shit. He's the neighbors, this dog, I know it's him. He swaggers over and pokes his nose around til he finds a good spot. Three days. No one seems to think maybe I could be the one to scoop it up? I've considered it, but there's no poem in dog shit. I simply won't. A matter of poetic principle. The dead baby bird on the other hand was blue and soft and tiny black beads of eyes I threw in the proper refuse receptacle for the sake of poetry.


[(another) poem]
for Mr. Jim Behrle

lull could or sharp bends

the predictable curve of

hips they bear

half undressed disappointment

"along the wisp" back

flip overboard

split pea drip off the lip


Around Their Bodies
for Tim Yu

was a decision
the proof turns out
as one might suspect,
some kind of lure
unduly alive
(“too good to pass up”)
the opposite of
(each its)
ring inert defeat

“responding appropriately”:
“the hard thing about” the incubation
period . the waiting room:
windows “frame,” weeds “grow”

“of course we are concerned” –
he might accuse
the falsity of the implication of
motive: nothing fits the description,
the speaker supposes
some particular something:

straight face down
ten times fast
suddenly there’s a
stain here.
The Notes (below) aren't enough - don't "cut it" (ever) - what "cut" and "it" refer to.

Better see Kasey's post & Taylor Brady's comment box treatment.

Also, Taylor, during his panel time, saying this : lyric is the recognition that one might not speak at all.


The Cold Side Up
for Tim Yu

I’m all about blanching.

I cut the steering tube off and ream the crown to accept the fork.
A tool used for transporting things. A rubber hammer or mallet.

Three, maybe four prongs. Quick and responsive steering,
you function more smoothly. There is no other way to swerve.

A trophy bass lake in springtime. A large community
of instinct and technology. We go spelunking.

I fetch dead baby bird, featherless and blue.
In the left hand, limp. Shorter amounts of life.

Dry rivers in pairs without warning.

Panel II Notes

(compiled entirely from the mouth of Scalapino, Kyger, Brady, Buuck, Goldman, Scappetone)

The representation is propaganda
and everyone being killed and so forth,
as well as the sense of outer events
as if it were flesh itself

to see or undergo awareness
the phenomenal stream, the stream being
even that it is such as it is
a great gulf
attempts to bully
and deceive him
and the emergence of
a breath retention process,
all-mighty or slightly-mighty

the no-brainer in the know
the sedimentation of discourse
the futurity of the global nation-state
the referentiality of the dead body

projectile paranoia,
centralized amnesia,
it gulls us with
a language consisting solely
for this purpose
of deceit

knowledge and fore-knowledge on
the world around us
the general vertigo by which
we are lucid
unto a string of social memory,
dynamic and never-ending

one’s ability to lie completely
(fetish gear, 7 on 1)
we don’t do body counts
no matter costs
is collateral damage
costs is civilian death

(they store it up)

the fortuitous or non-fortuitous ongoing
thought in the choked
place of birdsong.


Drew's notes on Left coast - excellent reading for westerners - for example, the coffee thing: simply was not aware (had not occurred).


1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.

"If we call what happens in our consciousness idea, then we really experience only ideas but not their causes."

(Readings in the Philosophy of Language, ed. Peter Ludlow, 1997).
'Tis beautiful, Ernesto.
The Adjacent Cubicle
for Tim Yu

(He enters, scratches head:

underbelly of the iceberg –
need not mind or damn well better?
the observation deck –
“it was like a reality show or something”

(briefcases rush past,
what copious gender!
the currency of thought
shows tails (despite the odds,
in a tinted window, your reflection
in the shade of skyscraper, the shallow bed
in which sand collects, (the cold side
which reminds us of
a genealogy of spoons
you can't quite put your tongue on.


1:52 pm Nada: "Thinking just now,"

4:33 pm Kasey : "those walls are wet and porous."

(measure of thinking rhythm,

agitation w/o economy)


"A Strategy for Sleeping Well at Night"
for Tim Yu

The shirt I’m wearing is tumbled
dry – the answer’s yes I feel like that
increasingly it is often eye rhyme,
encountering objects, squaring off

a function of memory, a ball point pen,
a record which merely skirts and does not
open as I expect (which is want)
to deliver this question of what is
meant – “thicker” – don’t be fooled,
the solution set is two:
intuitive and untrue

a course of history of hanging by
an apparatus – does it over
arch or under
lie? this call to speak
that does not die,
a pooling which loosens
the grip on – suppose
imparting I utter this.


“Semi-formal Restraint”: Over-punctuated report on readings at houses!

New hope for fighting my future lung cancer: dancing! But only ever with poets! Who knew? Lights off please I’m jumping I don’t jump who jumps? – my lower half hasn’t ever moved like that and I don’t ever exaggerate! In the dark sweaty gulping “water” which halfway down the throat reveals itself as mango juice & rum which the newborn memory floods back I’d observed being mixed with gleeful abandon earlier that same night – imagine!

To be there, now here (wood-floored) where no one says anything about poetry all day! Not even to regard at least the 4 inch stack of received hot shit collected syllables of love! Listen who wants to run away to poetry together? Shoes! and pants! and hot dark love laughing!

Chest churning, water glass posed atop bedside table (will fall).

Or see for yourself. Parted in installments but narrated!
Exchange between Jim Behrle & Alli Warren
across a table at the Connecticut Yankee
SF CA April 9, approx. 9 pm

How do the materials taste
inside of lobes?
yes very much there too
and across from the failing bank
where we deposit sums and dot our i’s
deciding or moved to vibrate
is not a steady contemplation
anymore, the initial k.
‘I can do more’ & warmly
we’ve chosen this place to bloom and jump
the railways pink perhaps you remember
knuckleball coming your way
or wrestle with
she reminds us of her
so use appropriate pronouns
along the first smoky rim
which implies the last
and air to do it in
let me be responsible and held

Curious eyes and rose lens
of atrophy we take the lovers of
willing to ‘own up’ to blinding will
and it’s mine again, this symptom
of two, held breaths
of a denial we’ll trick the enjamb
ment and then open
which seems to find a place inside your chin
whose me I mean you, Country Gentleman
this is from my new manuscript
which I am dying to show you.


Threatening Bay Bridge suicide is a commuter nightmare! Glad to see the good people at CHP are working overtime. Scientists in the labs! 'Weblike cocoons' save lives! Determined depressives beware!
Electrelane rocked my socks off tonight amped-up & sexy & covering More Than This & I'm On Fire. And Jimmy and I are moving to France with a hard "a" sound. How can a girl sleep with such heat?


"artists dealing with sensitive issues"

(that must be exhausting)
Late arriving on the plate - Boulder street walking series (as shot by Feliz Molina).


Paraquat mon amour, too much poet party this weekend - sick now with head nose and throat. But somewhat steeled (or fuzzy) > comment box in place - all yous stick it to me.


Post In Which Last Word Intimately Refers to Sense

Said proper names aren't part of a language - a good pick-up line, no? "Was" intrigued, pants "were" down.

Bjork: Homogenic - Norco via his mother who "had cancer" - do you ask? - I mean "I" here (but in terms of you). Ask what? ...is she dead?

On various surfaces saw this evening (in this context "read" is meant - I mean "mean" with some rearranging): "Artists dealing w. sensitive issues" & "God save the heterosexual".

(1) Degree of over-statement made to explain particular emotion ("Over-Stated Explanation Here Press").

Like the idea of writing in (perhaps dash btwn. writing & in) the editing - ...(ellipses)... - by which I mean cliche cliche cliche. Alternate disdain & high-approval-rating for Le Cliche.

Punctuation is a very critical issue! An "ethics of writing" - with love in this voice.

Yes I know it don't seem so kids, but any number of time has "passed" since this little choo-choo of a post set off - how exactly choo choo is spelled.

The wood gate swinging around unlocked for the second time tonight. Through the window I hear. Who closes "it"