Poem - stone is comforting for a stone

i give up i go to sleep
i turn to stone

you are smarter than me
wiser than me

giving up is giving up
dreaming is dreaming

stone is comforting
for a stone

Poem - the historic baseball team

the historic baseball team
lost the game

the man watching this
has a white handle-bar
mustache

he quits the bar
in great anger and disgust

off he goes almost
bumping into a young
pretty blonde

They Don't Need Me

I don't remember the first debate at all. I was high as a kite on pain medication, and some other pills I popped at the last minute. All prescribed, I might add. I've been saving them up. You'd never know I was high and out of my skull. Out of my mind, you know what, I did great. The second debate, I can vaguely remember, when some parts didn't go as well as I wanted them to. That is difficult for me, not being top form. This last debate, I'm going to get higher than I've ever gone before. My body will know what to do, after being so paradigmatic all these years, my mouth and face and body will get the job done. They don't need me. I'm sure of that.

What kind of mission was this, anyways?

Seconds to impact, going in too fast. The scope is hash, probably jammed. Then I'm in the trees. The left wing shears away in a shivering spectacular explosion of carbon and titanium fragments as the jet fuel blooms fiery red and yellow. I can feel the searing heat through my suit when the whole airframe twists.

I come to right before dawn, I see that I am wrapped in part of what remains of the jet. I numbly feel myself up and down, the left side of my face is roasted a bit, a nice 3 inch gash on my knee, but I think it still works. Somehow I get out of the burnt harness, and I extricate myself from the wreckage. I carefully look around. I'm in a meadow. I crashed into a slot-like canyon -- anywhere else around here, I can see I'd have flown into a rock wall. It was like threading a camel through the eye of a needle. What are the odds of that?

And as I'm congratulating myself on this, I see odd shapes all over the field, in the trees, everywhere. They are vaguely familiar, and totally out of place, and I feel subconscious horror. I don't know why. But in the growing light, I have to go and see what these things are. Walking up, I notice how one of my bombs has burst open, ejecting whatever it is all over the forest. Before I took off, I was told that this was a very dangerous cluster type "shock and awe" payload. But there are no bomblets anywhere. As far as I can see, there are stuffed toys. Specifically, stuffed gray bunnies. Hundreds and hundreds of stuffed, cute, toy bunnies.

They sent me to drop a payload of toys. They said it was bomblets, but the bombs were full of plush gray bunnies. Bunnies. Again, to repeat myself, bunnies. My face is starting to hurt like hell, and now I can barely bend my knee. What kind of mission was this, anyways?

Chung Tzu Discusses Roy Lic

Now I am with Chung Tzu, who comes by unannounced, but he is always welcome, and he knows it.

"What about Roy Lic?" I ask Chung Tzu.

"What about him?" says Chung Tzu.

"Roy Lic does not exist!" I say.

"He does, and he does not." says Chung Tzu. "But I know there became a possibility of Roy Lic either existing -- or not existing -- when certain people asked about if he existed, or not."

I pour Chung Tzu a drink.

"So, now, what do we do about this potentially existing, non existing Roy Lic?" I ask.

"If Roy is around, let him decide." says Chung Tzu, who downs the cocktail in one gulp.

Poem -- a. b. c. d.

a.

the bar is busy
i have my spot

words please don't
slow me down

i need you
like a train needs track

b.

a glittering party is
set up at the farsin
mansion as dusk
arrives

i walk by and see
an old man in a tuxedo
standing on the stairs
waiting for everybody to
show up

c.

they ask for the
beer list

& pick
a mediocre ale

d.

roy lic slept
here in this poem

but roy lic
does not exist

I Know What You Mean

He serves me and later he asks if everything is okay, so I say the food is great but about an hour ago 3 cute girls got on the train for a club in Chicago and I didn't follow them, and I'll never see them again. The bartender doesn't blink or miss a beat, he says, "I know what you mean, buddy. I know what you mean."

Poem - i never had it/ so good

now here's a
fucking disaster

i go outside
for a smoke

and in the alley
i see a bird
dead in it's nest

the whole
thing fell out of
the tree

and got run
over by a car

wow

my only problem
is to quit smoking

and replace a broken
french press

i never had it
so good


Oct 2008

Messy, Isn't It?

They say you are a failed writer. They say you never grew up. They say you wrote horrible poetry. You did write some horrible poems. But some of your writing is the best writing I've ever read. I'm sick of words and clever writers who are so good, they can write all day. Some things you write are broken, but I keep them, like I treasure a piece of driftwood -- just a hunk of flotsam, but it can't be manufactured, it is totally unique in all the world and will never happen that way again. Fuck perfection. Fuck being a great writer. Do you think you can actually capture it, the inexpressible thing, without mangling it with impression? Writing words about a feeling to express it, is like taking a flamethrower to a tree. People who criticize you don't like driftwood. They've probably never been to the beach, never got wet in the fog, never hiked anywhere, they don't know how to fish or build a fire, and they hate wool sweaters. People who look down on you live in a city, and they like to argue about world events, and they hate their landlord. Fuck them. I'm sorry you gave up. But I understand. Messy, isn't it?

Two Fall Vignettes

i.

I see snow shovels, bins of them, today at the supermarket. These things have appeared like magic, optimistically bright orange. Later I am sure we will have bins of metal ones, and they will be colored a special macho red.

ii.

A child does not wait for the light to change. When it is safe he crosses the street, and so ignoring me on my bicycle, I almost run him over. He's a tough kid, I know the type. He might hate his Mom, his Dad, or both. But he still wears a helmet. And he always gets his homework done on time.

God Damned Phone

I thought the phone was in another room, but I see it is here, and it hasn't rang. I didn't expect it to ring, but it still is a shock. I'm surprised, but I don't know why.

the unhorsing of gilbert

dedicated to gona

i.

he fails.

he becomes a real person.


ii.

no more soft night

do you
know someone
who is strong
and invincible?


iii.

every time
you laugh when
you are angry
you become crueler.


iv.

everything is larger


v.

the face in the mirror
who is he?

is he me?

is he you?

i have seen his face
all my life.


vi.

in the bruised
flesh deep down
is the blood &

more testimonies
are
moving unsung


vii.

O flesh

O brain

O body


viii.

as i walked
i thought i saw
a ghost inside the dark
reflections of a
blank window

a car sped up
the street
its headlamps
illuminating me
and making my dark
silhouette
quite sinister


viii.

a good lesson
(one that lasts)

it can take
a long time.

there are no
excuses

for something

that will last.


ix.

dogs lay
in the road &
try to lick the moon


x.

do you miss home?


xi.

can you remember everything?


xii.

at night there are
dark horses everywhere

in the sky
in the house outside in
the trees

looking out
looking in


xiii.

this night i think:

in chinatown it snowed
and everybody came out
to look at such fine small particles
falling indifferently
roof to roof
street to street

the snowflakes formed a thin
thin crust

the snowflakes
dusted red and white puffs of paper
from the exploded firecrackers
of the lunar new year


ixv.

why are we all gilbert?


xv.

the dog
he types

it is a good poem

woof woof

woof woof

woof woof


xvi.

i got mugged
in broad daylight.

the mugger made it look
as if
we were shaking
hands.


xvii.

heart

what
new


-----

I published "the unhorsing of gilbert" in 1992, the work being a series of poems that would pop up in my head, revolving around a central theme, all by themselves. In the writing of this, occasionally I almost drove off the road. When I was done, I had a sweet little pocket-book of poetry that I gave to my freinds. On the cover is a medieval illustration of Lord Gilbert Reginald Falworth being knocked off his horse at a joust in England in the 1400s, thus the name of the collection.

Poem - i don't need the help

i don't need the help
but i hope you are reading this

my days are fine
like yours we get through them

i want something more
but if i get it i'll get it

i probably don't deserve it
many people i know will tell you so

Poem - brautigan wrote

brautigan wrote
gee you're so beautiful
its starting to rain

and when i read that
i remembered her
and how it felt to see her

i started to cry

Poem - compelling subtle heartache

compelling subtle heartache
in the great land of america
because we killed all the natives
or moved them where we liked
and we are unconnected to the land
it takes thousands of years
to forge that kind of link

o america some day
you will feel whole again
after 1,000 years has gone by
& every step on the earth
beneath your feet is full of the dead
your old old gone by dead
and your sin taken on fulfilled

-- for David Foster Wallace
1962 - 2008

The Submersible of Dreams

I'd intentionally sleep with my face towards the clock, so I knew how time was getting on. I could take a peek at any time. The night became an ocean, and my consciousness was a submarine, trolling the depths between dreams and the world of things. It made my side hurt, sleeping that way, but hearing the drunks stumbling their way home on the street at 3 AM was priceless. After 5 AM when it got colder I'd succumb, roll to the left, and pass completely out of my mind. But 2/3rds of the whole night I have covered, in the submersible of dreams.

Ladies and Gentlemen

Ladies and Gentlemen,

First of all, we apologize for the temporary disruption of space and normal time continuation in your Universe. This was due to an mistake on our part in the calibration of our means of transportation. But on this subject, there were some hilarious situations that you thought were quite funny, if your newspapers are to be believed. We avoided television, radio, and the Internets, because we found those communication mediums insulting. We also suggest everyone on Earth subscribe to a most excellent local newspaper, "The Mercion County Clarion", of Mercion County, Louisiana. You will find this newspaper to have a few top notch people who can actually write the news.

Going forward, there may be some residual distortion to space time in parts of New York, Philadelphia, and the 60302 area code. It will be the usual kinds of things you've all doubtlessly experienced before, temporary spontaneous gender switching, minor gravity inversion, speaking in unfamiliar languages, high freezing temperatures, intelligent color, and rapid hair growth. Serious problems like abrupt miniaturization, and/or loss of scale in the relation to one object to another appearing in externally appearing phenominon appearing appearing appearing has been corrected.

In closing, we'd like to thank the President of the United States of America for donating the beautiful State of Idaho. This was the kind of material time share we always wanted to have -- and who would have thought plants could be so funny! And intermittent precipitation of H20 from those cloud objects! Wow! Living in an oxygen based compressed atmosphere is hilarious.

As good neighbors, we promise to keep everyone updated with the latest information as we get busy settling into the State, the North American Continent, and your Planet -- I'm sure you can hardly wait for more news.

Regards,

12w-03-023=-34=--0pc-pkcv-0f

and

89d9h9-0------------0 iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii


PS

Once again, we apologize for that little accident with the Women's Rotary Club at Bent Creek, CO. When they started speaking to us, we had no idea what sound was, and we assumed they were trying to kill us.

My Son's Cellular Ambition

My son's cellular ambition is to take over my cellular ambition. I don't completely understand this aim, and neither does he, but he is, in fact, only 2 years old. And I must say, I do not hold it against him. I do know he fervently wishes it, because many times when I am sitting here, writing, smoking, reading, or drinking a beer -- he sidles up to me humming & hawing. He'll press his little body against the side of me, slowly, gradually, inquisitively -- all the time talking and holding a toy or his bottle. He keeps at it like a cat, pressing against me until I have to shift my great big bulk, compared to his. With enough pushing and wiggling, the job will be done. Every son does this to his father, it is inevitable that a son tries. And the blessed dads decide to give way.

Poem - tonight you are not here/ with me alas

tonight you are not here
with me alas

but pretend we are together
& observe the moon

see how perfect and
bright it is & never lonely

**

heute sind Sie nicht hier
bei mir leider

aber vorgeben wir zusammen sind
& Beobachten den Mond

sehen, wie perfekt und
hell es ist & nie einsam

100 Years Old

I want to be nice, so I tell people I meet they're going to live to be 100 years old. But I'm wrong all the time.

Poem - what about the cigarette?

what about the cigarette?

the cigarette is a liar

the cigarette was at
marie antoinette's funeral

the cigarette fell on
the moathouse floor
in beaux in the 11th century

the cigarette was behind
napoleon's left ear one mile
from the gates of moscow

the cigarette pushed a lever
that dropped an atomic bomb
on nagasaki

what about the cigarette?

the cigarette has no compassion

it waterboarded prisoners
in the philippines with the
japanese navy

it was pro ethnic cleansing
in croatia in 1989

it kissed marolyn monroe
and just walked out of
her apartment smiling

the cigarette was the one
who shot precisely from
the grassy knoll

what about the cigarette?

with its cold dead eye

with those mean hard hands

with its calculating brains

&

how it will do anything to get its way

Poem - new york

we are all just
passing through here
stock brokers
cops street preachers
bums tourists
devils saints and
sinners

"i'm in new york
for god's sake"
5th and w 33rd
the only cost
for that cigarette
is a story you're
happy to tell me
in the form of a
diatribe fable &
cautionary love-
song

Poem - i asked

i asked her
if she was in my
memory the
right way she
is not

we let time
do away with us
and we don't
care now to
fix anything

Poem - now it/ is raining

now it
is raining

wet deck turns
pale silver

tree leaves
are just turning

fall is
almost here

Poem - something is wrong when the toilet will not shut off

1.

something is wrong when the toilet will not shut off
something is wrong when the toilet roars like a lion

2.

etwas ist unrecht wenn die toilette nicht etwas ist
unrecht abstellt wenn die toilette wie ein löwe brüllt

3.

qualcosa è torto quando la toletta non spegnerà
qualcosa è torto quando la toletta rugge come un leone

4.

algo é erro quando o toalete não cortará algo é erro
quando o toalete ruje como um leão

5.

что-то неправда когда туалет не отключит что-то
неправда когда туалет взревет как львев

6.

기술을 가진 이 생활의 신비는 신비 결코 정지하지 않
을 것이다

Great Sex Ever on a Boat

They came into the room shouting about how they just had great sex!!! The best sex they had, on the Boat, because the Boat was so comfortable. I didn't know about the Boat. I didn't know they had sex. I didn't want to know about the Boat, or about them having sex, or how it was the best sex, ever, on the Boat. She sat down, or rather piratically laid on the couch, spreading her legs like a man. He wanted to play cards.

I told them hell is other people. They laughed.

Poem - he will sit by the bank of the river

he loves
joan rivers
the 14th century
twist ties and
peanut butter

he thinks about
fire
the upanishads
modern air conditioning
and jack phelps

he sees
the music of the spheres
HD tv
clicking balls with bells in them
fingers ticking the ivory

his dreams
will be just like reality

his hopes
are interchangeable with his fears

he will sit by the bank of the river
in his head

and wait for the body
of his enemy to go floating by

Cursing

I kept waiting. When you didn't show up, I cursed you like a pirate. I was full of lustful curses. I was pathetically cursing, all alone. Being alone encouraged me to curse. I cursed long and cursingly, because it was absolutely futile to curse. I cursed because nothing was wrong. I cursed because everything was right. I cursed because I belonged where I was cursing you, and you belonged where I was cursing you. I cursed like a baby, a spoiled brat, an idiot, a fool, a troubled young man, a zealot; I cursed like someone who can't appreciate anything. I cursed because I was cursing. I cursed because it didn't help cursing, and I knew it. I cursed until all cursing was out of me. Then I had a beer and felt sorry for myself. Then I pulled my shit together and I was basically okay. I had shit to take care of in this big, beautiful, stainlessly clean world. But I have no freinds. Oh, fuck, I know that isn't true. How my freinds (and loved ones) put up with me, I do not know. I do not fucking know.

THINGS DON'T WORK - SWAT Team Runs Amok

I posted a new entry over at THINGS DON'T WORK, about SWAT teams going nuts at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Happens all the time. It would be funny, but usually pets (and people) get killed. This time it was the Mayor of Berwyn Heights, MD that almost got blown up. Oh, the SWAT team shot his dogs, for fun, and made his mother lay in the blood.

What I Saw While Sitting on the Steps of the Chicago Art Insitute One Afternoon for Several Hours on a Breezy Day

- tattered tourists
- fantastic tourists
- lost tourists
- found tourists
- cell phone gabbing tourists
- tourists who shouldn't be wearing what they are wearing (yes, that kind of tourist)
- upset looking tourists
- incredulous tourists
- snapping pictures of things that are above 5 stories or more tourists
- "rebel" tourists
- "young" tourists
- "old" tourists
- hooker tourists!
- pointing tourists
- advice mongering tourists
- tourists showing their cleavage in other tourist's faces
- tourists in big bug-eyed sunglasses
- tourists with babies
- babies with tourists
- parents unsuccessfully wrangling toddlers, even though it isn't that hard tourists
- tourists wondering what i am doing
- PROUD TOURISTS
- determined tourists
- tourists with foldable chairs, tables, bikes, sunshades, beer, metal detectors
- tourists that sit too close to other tourists
- grinning ebullient tourists on rental scooters (please o lord, let them not be killed)
- honking tourists
- joking tourists
- a barefoot tourist!
- partially clothed tourist
- the "hey, how are ya doing?" tourist
- the "yeah! yeah!" tourist
- clapping tourists
- shorty short-short spank me now tourist

you will not recognize/ the holy man

you will not recognize
the holy man

you will think he is
a dishwasher
or a peon or
a homeless person

because of this
you will find him
offensively unattractive

no obvious merits
will come to your mind
when you look at him

you will behave badly
around the holy man

you will be prone
to exaggeration
because he irritates you

you will completely
reveal yourself to
him in this way

all petty faults
you want to keep secret
things about you
that no one should know

and when you do
finally recognize
the holy man

it will be profoundly
humbling and
embarrassing

you'll feel shattered
the holy man
will smile

he'll never hold it
against you
it was all you
not him

suddenly everything
will be alright

you'll look upon him
with great devotion

but he'll tease you
about it from time
to time

Atlas Shrugged

I hold up the sky -- it is weightless, like a balloon. Think about it, do you think the sky has weight? Not content to be idle, I learn English, Spanish, Italian, German, Peruvian, and Persian. Sometimes other Titans come by to say hello and shoot the shit, and we end up playing Texas Hold 'Em. Last week a little kid came by selling magazine subscriptions, and I let him hold up the sky for 15 minutes. He loved it! Look at me, holding up the sky! Wait till I tell Mom and Dad, they'll never believe this! Zeus found out, of course, and was angry like an old woman, but I don't care. You know, there are worse lots out there. Some of the boys in Hell aren't even unionized. Me, I'm stuck in one place, but I have a great view -- on a fine blue day I can see all the way to North Africa and Morocco -- I'm the first to see the birds migrate on their way to Spain's dappled hot groves of olive trees and oranges, I can almost feel roots reaching into the red earth. The breeze blows strong with a hint of deepest Africa, glad savage and sweet. I am truly happy. Are you?

Under the Twittering Skies

i.

I feel bad for the lawn, under the twittering skies, so I over water it severely, while reading from a lit mag about Crowley and Loch Ness. While I do this, I find myself talking to angels. I talk to the deck. I imagine things will be just fine. I wonder what it would be like to be water coming out of a hose, through a sprinkler. I wanted to avoid getting this lonely, I forced myself to take long walks, get to know the neighborhood, go to the Library and read huge 4 color art books at random. But the hours added up, they added up, indeed. So here I am now, correcting my sanity. There really isn't anything to worry about. But my bike lock is too small, I think.

ii.

Everyone is back and I hate my apartment, but I like it, too. I have no air-conditioning, but for some reason, even though the night is moist, I sleep deeply. I am learning all over again to love the world.

All Unsaid

ALL UNSAID, BUT PAY ATTENTION: And now that I am back, there may be times when I cannot speak to you. If you notice that you have been talking to me for more that 5 minutes, and I have not said anything, and I appear to be unable to speak -- it is best to just leave me alone, or lead me to a semi-dark room, lay me on a bed, to come out of it. I got out of it, and I know I will be bringing it with me -- it is inevitable that I will be bringing with me. Take someone from one situation, and 48 hours later, place them in a totally different situation, old habits and reactions persist. You've been filled up, you bring it. I won't tell you what I am seeing, overplayed onto this sunny reality, because I know it is not real, just a series of semi-hallucination of the recent past. I won't tell you the imaginary sounds I hear, impossible sounds, surrounded by carpet and tile and sheetrock walls -- the birds of the forest, the crackle of a twig, (I smell smoke) the bolt on a rifle being racked open and closed out of boredom. Rifle is racked open and closed out of boredom. Rifle, racked open and closed, again. Oh, now a magazine being rocked into place, just so, not to get stuck. You can hear it when it is done right. Slide, rock. Click-clack. You look up. The boy racks the bolt back again, a round cycling into the chamber, or possibly not. It depended on if the magazine was full, or empty. He's 12. He points the muzzle of the assault rifle at you, at your left eye, and before you can be afraid, the rifle goes "click". By this accident, this suddenness, you are unshakably fearless, chained to the ground, by your neck, in the mud, full of worms and malaria. You kind of die, then -- in dying you feel you are fearless. I'll always love you. Even when I don't seem to love you anymore.

A Good Read - The Laughing Policeman

I don't consider myself a great fan of "crime novels" or "mystery fiction", but I just read one of the best endings to a novel, contained at the end of the very last sentence, on the last page of the plot. So elegant, so simple, four words seamlessly rearrange the entire conceptual significance of the story, and bring things to a satisfying end. The book is "The Laughing Policeman", by Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö, husband and wife, who wrote the Martin Beck police mystery series, ten books altogether. Almost all of the stories are set in Sweden, in Stockholm, starting in the 1960s. The characters are constantly grumpy, terse, with each other -- Swedish, I guess. This directness in dialog and the unflinching characterization it creates, is refreshing. I particularly like the series because, if you don't watch out, the authors have a way with lulling the reader into making assumptions where the plot is going, only to reveal a stunning surprise (or two) along the way that completely levels you. Often also, it is what is not described, or exactly the opposite of what is being said, that is the reality in a key scene. Sjöwall and Wahlöö are not demanding for the sake of it, but rather they expect the reader to be perceptive, and to be thinking. I was introduced to Martin Beck quite by accident, when I found a copy of "The Fire Engine That Disappeared", left behind on a train in the 1990s in San Francisco.

Poem - in a joyful summetime/way

i go to the library
gotta get out of the house
when i come home
someone next door is bashing
the shit out of a piano

in a joyful summertime
way

A Quote from Paul Klee

I am an intense admirer of Paul Klee, whose works I have seen often in art books, and also, I saw some of his works in person, at the Guggenheim in NYC. I was looking him up today, and I found a very moving quote of his, from his tombstone:

I belong not only to this life. I live as well with the dead, as with those not born. Nearer to the heart of creation than others, but still too far.

That is a beautiful sentiment. I feel this way, too.

News - A Drug that Cures Shyness

Here is an article about a newfangled drug that cures shyness, based on the peptide Oxytocin. Gee, I thought small amounts of Lysergic acid did the same thing. Oh, that's right -- psychotropic unpatentable drugs like LSD are bad. Or all psychotropic drugs are just plain bad, because of the press. Thanks Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert. Oh, well.

Poem - i love you

i love you
i will be insufferable
i will call you by the wrong name
my pants will fall down
i will appear to be an idiot
to all of your sophisticate freinds
i will try to shore it up
and recover from my faux pas
but there will be too many of them
and none can be overcome
until you see that i love you
forever and forever
impossible as that may seem

Joppy in the Rain

Joppy is standing on the back porch, smoking, in the rain. Then, without warning, lightening strikes the top of the detached garage, 40 feet from him. KRRACK-BOOOM!! Astounded, Joppy sees for a split second, past the intense white flash, that there are little figures swimming in the lightening bolt. Little fairy-like creatures, with cute hats. He wonders if he will ever see them again. Joppy has in him now, a kind of wonder, a mystery he will never be able to solve, or come to grips with. Back inside the house, listening to the increased downpour, he writes a short poem. Joppy sees his hands are shaking slightly, not from drink, but from what he has seen. The short poem does not mention the people that live in lightening bolts, flying through the sky, everywhere.

No Holding onto No-Hold sez Chung Tzu

"I have no hold. And I have no means to hold." I say to Chung Tzu. "That's comforting."

"Well, good for you. But don't hold onto that." he replies.

The Order of the Soul

When I'm bored, and I want to try and figure out things, sometimes I resort to puzzling over Leonard Cohen lyrics. In the song "The Future", he sings:

The blizzard, the blizzard of the world
has crossed the threshold
and it has overturned
the order of the soul

Wow. I can get the "...blizzard of the world..." concept -- but what is "...the order of the soul..."? I wanna know about the order of the soul. Sorry, the Order of the Soul. Or, how the Soul is Ordered. But I looked around, even in real books that talk about stuff like that, and no luck. Lots of talk about souls, and kinds of souls, from all kinds of perspectives & traditions, but no discussion on order.

Oh, well. Some smart person reading this could give me a hint. I'm sure Leonard is sick to death on trying to explain what he was singing about.

gone dead i can't find it

it is gone dead i can't find it
no way to look it up via google
all these years past you at the time
commonplace and normal
irritating controversial in my face
old i made you cry

Try This Out - e.e. cummings through "nowever"

My best friend, musician & designer Evan Sornstein, has put out a CD of some of e.e. cumming's poetry. Evan worked on this project for at least a year, and when he was done, he released it as "nowever" through dynamophone records. If you like e. e. cummings, this may intrigue you. You may even discover I'm included in one of the tracks. Ha! Here is an interview of Evan discussing the motivation, and process behind the creation of his CD. Also, here is a link to Curiumlab, an online repository of some other examples of his music. Starting with industrial music in the late 1980s, with his band Battery, he's been an integral part of the SF alternative musical scene for over 20 years. He's regularly collaborated as part of Nux Vomica, as well. Evan continues to publish his work, and other musicians, through dynamophone.

Are you neurotic?

Via MetaFilter, are you neurotic? I have a few neurotic tenancies. Those who know me well, I hear you groaning at that statement. What do you mean, "..a few..."? If I drink directly from a tap, I never drink more than ten gulps of water, and I count the gulps. I save all my receipts, for no good reason whatsoever, and in my George Costanza-sized wallet, I carry a fake piece of eight, and the letter Q Scrabble tile (worth 10 points!). My first vehicle was a used faded orange Toyota truck, that I never washed, when I bought it, it had an action figure leg in the bed of the truck that I never removed, along with a section of small rusted spring. The entire time I owned the truck, I would make a mental note of the action figure leg, and the spring, every time I unlocked the vehicle. In Junior College and then in College, I pretty much exclusively wore a green army mechanics jumpsuit, three sizes too big, for about 5 years. When the buttons would fall off, I'd put them back on with paperclip wire, because wire was so much more durable than thread. Then I'd stuff all the oversized pockets with pens, papers, journals, books, so I looked like a hamster. I got tired of having to get haircuts, so I'd just put the 1 or the number 2 guard on electric clippers, and just shave my head. I have spontaneous arguments with inanimate objects, like trees, cups, and stoves. The inanimate object usually is right, and I am wrong.

our cats love us

this spring morning
they torture a small bird
and bring it half dead
to our bedroom

..

heute frühlingsmorgen
sie quälen einen kleinen vogel
und holen sie ihn beinahe absolut
zu unserem schlafzimmer

Do You Know the Way to San Jose?

I don't know if I should be sad, or happy, for the fact that I know what San Jose looked before, and then after, they completely redid their downtown.

News - McSweeney's Issue 27 is Now Released

I'm full of news nowadays. Amazing. McSweeney's Issue 27 is now out, you can order it from all kinds of places, including Amazon.com, City Lights Bookstore, or even directly from The McSweeney's Store. Included in this issue (which is broken into three separate books) is the cartoons I had in the apexart cartoon show, the work of the other artists in the show as well, plus a previously unpublished 72 page sketchbook by Art Spiegleman, and some new fiction by Stephen King.

the camera obscura is closed

i am shouting

i shout some more

the camera obscura is closed

it is so important

..

ich schreie

ich schreie mehr

das Kamera obscura ist geschlossen

es ist so wichtig

...

eu shouting

eu shout ainda mais

o obscura da câmera é fechado

é tão importante

....

я кричу

я кричу еще некоторые

камера обскура закрыта

настолько важно

.....

암소는 쥐를 미행한다

수다스러운 우는 백치

곧 나의 물통은 가득 차있을 것이다

나의 눈의 물에서 채우는

Lao Tzu, Chung Tzu, I & the Glass of Water

i.

I'm in the kitchen, getting a glass of water, when Lao Tzu come in.

"Hello, Lao Tzu." I say.

"Hello there." says Lao Tzu. "And what are you doing?"

"I am going to drink this glass of water." I reply.

"Ah!" says Lao Tzu. He laughs. "You shouldn't DRINK the glass of water. You should BE the glass of water."

Lao Tzu leaves before I can say anything back.

ii.

A bit later, I see Chung Tzu.

I show Chung Tzu the glass of water. "HERE is a glass of water. Lao Tzu says I should BE the glass of water, not DRINK it."

"Oh my." says Chung Tzu. "Oh deerie me. What can we do?"

Chung Tzu takes the glass of water. He looks at the water in the glass, over the top of the glass. Chung Tzu looks at the water through the sides of the glass. He looks at the water, in the glass, through the bottom of the glass.

Ching Tzu mentions me to come closer, and he suddenly dumps the entire glass of water over my head.

"Why did you do that!?" I yell.

"Hmmm." replies Chung Tzu. "From my experiment, I think in possibly 1,000,000 glasses of water, you may actually make some progress this way."

-- dedicated to J.P. Frary & N. Kerns

Chung Tzu & the Air-Conditioner

"I'm on fire." I say to Chung Tzu. "You're on fire. The whole World is on fire!"

We both look at Lao Tzu, who is smiling & seems to be asleep.

"EVEN THE SQUIRRELS ARE ON FIRE!" I explain.

"Damn, brother! All that kind of talk makes me feel hot!" says Chung Tzu. "Quick! Turn on the air-conditioner!"

Momo Says:
Oh, Chung Tzu!
If only we were as direct as he;
Seeing one reed different,
And the same as another!

News - Opium Magazine is on KQED Public Radio in SF

Opium Magazine, the online & offline literary magazine I edit cartoons for, is being featured on The Writers' Block, part of KQED Public Radio in San Francisco. They're running selections from Opium Magazine's 250-word Bookmark Contest. Hey -- and don't forget -- it isn't too late to submit entries for Opium Magazine's Shya Scanlon 7 Line Contest, the winner (and some runner-ups) being published in the next Opium Magazine .print edition, Opium7. If you win the contest, you get $1,000. Also, mentioning print...Opium6 just came off the presses -- Go Green! (But Save Me First). Here are some sneak peeks (via Opium's graphic designer, designer & overall Renaissance Man, Mr. David Barringer) at the contents of Opium6. Note who did a cartoon. I have a few in there, along with John Callahan. I can hardly wait to get my hands on a copy, it looks fun. Way to go Todd!

Starbucks, Do Something Quick About Your Stupid Size Names

I was reading this today, about irritating people you run into at Starbucks. I think no. 8 -- ordering from someone who refuses to equate what a "Small", "Medium", "Large", or "Extra-Large" drink is to the Starbuckian universe of "Short", "Tall", "Grande" and "Venti" has always irked the crap outta me. I realize this must be one of the oldest complaints in the history of Starbucks. But, Starbucks, seriously, these names you use for sizes is sooooo intuitive. Even if you go along with these stupid size names -- we go from the arbitrary English terms "Short" & "Tall", which could mean anything -- then suddenly we're all into Italian. Ok. "Grande" means "Big" in Italian. Fine. So I guess "Large" = "Big". But going with the Italian, "Venti" means "20". So "Extra Large" = "20". But the "Extra Large" is either 20 ounces for hot drinks or 24 ounces for iced drinks. So for any kind of consistency, why doesn't Starbucks call the "Grande", which is 16 ounces, a "Sedici"? Starbucks, why don't you make your contribution to world peace and the salvation of mankind and choose arbitrary English special size names for all your sizes, or go all Italian with size names that follow some kind of consistent rules? Since you're an American corporation, from Seattle, I'd encourage you to stick with English -- does that make sense? And we'll keep the first two size names, so as to not upset people who have been ordering the two smaller drinks since the 1970s. Here you go:

Suggested Revised Starbucks Arbitrary English Cup Size Names:

8 oz - Short
12 oz - Tall
16 oz - Spank My Puppy
20 oz - Spank My Puppy Hard
24 oz - Spank My Puppy Hard & Cry

I really want to try to wrap my brain around the size terminology when my brain is almost totally blacked out, and I need a large coffee, plus I'm hung over. But Starbucks, the name system you have for sizes is broken. But you'll never take a drink from the well of sanity and just go with "Small", "Medium", "Large", or "Extra-Large", will you?

A Visitation

I was sketching by the side of the road
sitting in a chair in the bed of my pickup
when he pulled over and asked if everything
was alright

I said everything was fine and he got
out of his car and he smiled and said
"Well, then, if everything is okay, please give
me all your money."

I told him I didn't have any money on me
but if he wanted, I would draw is portrait
"No thanks." he replied and he drove off

When he drove by later to see if I was still
there I waved

Old Christopher

i.

They say I do not know
Cathay
or any of its islands
thereabouts

"Liars!" I cry at them "Liars!"
till all my strength
is gone

I rest and watch
the seagulls
wheeling above
dazzling white walls

I pick any ripe
rancid olives that I can reach
from the trees
and I try to hit
the servants

ii.

People around me
whisper I have
gone mad in my old age

But I know I sailed
to Cathay four times
and if I had found
enough gold
I would have my own
villa on the highest hill
of this town

Noblemen and knights
would come from far away
for advice instead
of laughing
when they hear my name

If I was young and strong
I would sail there again!

iii.

But now my eyes ache
my knees hurt

And in hearing my story
no doubt you despise me
saying all I can do
is sit here
as a crazy old man

Well to hell with you
too!

I am to be reckoned with!

I demand it!

I was the KING of
lonely unknown seas
where the wind cried out
blowing wild foam
as I spoke
to monstrous clouds

My men were afraid
and they shook begging
for home but

I gathered all I saw
as the Master!

The Gateless Gate.

Try this out. The Gateless Gate.

Aurora Green

Her name is Aurora Green, and she likes pink silk and red coats. She'll never tell you, but she also likes expensive purses, though she has no use for them. When she lived by the ocean, she'd watch for the moon, and what phase it was in, and if it was rising or falling, or if the moon was out during the day. Now after moving to the midwest, she watches the sky, particularly at sunset, looking for that lemony metallic color that is so interesting. She likes to ride her bike downtown, to the historic shopping center, and she window shops, but she doesn't buy anything. Sometimes she reminisces about a boy who broke her heart, but her heart has been broken not that often. This one boy broke her heart in a special way, it has left her freer than after past breakups -- where now she is happy and doesn't need anyone or anything. Riding home under the trees, she can't help thinking life is not exactly a private joke, but it could be an exquisitely funny limerick. Aurora knows God doesn't mean to hurt anyone, but God also is forgetful. And Love is exactly like God. They might be the same thing. When she is back in her apartment, she write a few poems, one or two are worth keeping. She carefully places these worthy sheets in a box with other promising poems, and reseals it with a wide white shimmering silk ribbon. She places her hands on the top of the box, and for a brief moment she inadvertently looks to the place on her hand where she wore a ring. She looks out the window, looking forward to a lemony evening sunset.

Things I Have Learned So Far

1. Don't do, or say, stupid things.
2. If you meet someone once, you'll probably be meeting them again. However, next time they may be in a position to help you out in ways you cannot imagine.
3. Keep your temper, but if you can't, never initiate an action when you are angry.
4. Tell the truth. Liars are worthless.
5. Never steal anything, ever.
6. Always tip -- but make sure to tip the bartender generously.
7. Have the right tool for the job. Never "make do" with anything less than the right tool.
8. Listen more than you talk.
9. If you don't understand someone, still be respectful.
10. Don't stare.
11. If she's interested in you, she'll let you know.
12. There is no virtue in being broke, but money doesn't buy happiness.
13. There is no such things as bad luck. Everything happens for a reason, at the right time.
14. Never let your best friends down.
15. If you speak kindly of people, it will rub off on them.
16. If you are being inconvenienced a bit by helping, then you are probably helping enough.
17. Nobody gets away with anything.
18. You can fight for the Truth, but if you get in the way of the Truth, it will crush you.
19. Giving advice is good, but generally worthless.
20. Anything will seem bad if you don't have an open mind.

A Poem About the Maid

I see
the silhouette
of the maid
vacuuming the
upper landing;

she vacuums
next to a
very expensive
painting,

then she moves
down to start
the hardest part;

the spiral stairs.

Catching Butterflies

i.

The ship is burning. The air was clear. The table just had been cleaned. As we turned the corner, my arm broke. Ready, called the captain. We slid rapidly down the hill. Fountains of gore filled the hallway. Suddenly, the bridge collapsed. I saw an opening. The crowd cheered. I could hardly see. The children cried, "Monkey! Monkey!" He climbed higher onto the roof. Brett wondered about the noises. The plane barely lifted off. A posse rode into town. It was flung sideways, clattering, out into the hallway. Look out! She realized, finally, what had happened all those years ago. The rift widened, glowing a sinister red. That was all it took, George lost his marbles. They all screamed together one last time. At sunset, on the last day of April, the guest arrived. You will never know, you cannot know, even I don't know.

ii.

The entire building began to tremble. It was too late, and they saw it wasn't safe. The thing was magnificent, monolithic -- and horribly ugly! He snuck back out the building, and around the corner. A revolver was produced. The chamber was unexpectedly small. Dust floated in the air, catching a stray shaft of sunshine. My mother was on that train. The story was over before it began, but I was wrong. Impossibly it bridged the gap between the cliffs and the towering castle. You again, she said in a low voice. The loudspeaker was playing a song in a foreign language. Everyone in the joint was dead, but the band played on. The wall closed in, and then it wasn't there. We traced the seam, which was supernaturally straight. He told the truth, he didn't know it was all a lie.

Mystery

She obligingly
removed
all her clothing
for me

We made love

The multi-colored
silk bathrobe
was left behind
in it's mystery

On This Dark Overcast Day - or - How Chung Tzu Would Bow to a Single Blade of Grass with a Dew Drop Half Way Down the Side of It

It is a dark, overcast day, with a hint of rain, and there is no coffee, but that is not important. I am thinking about Lao Tzu and Chung Tzu, and what it would be like if they were in my backyard, possibly wrestling in slow motion. This would never happen, of course, the two locked in wrestling moves. For starters, Lao Tzu wrestles nothing. And Chung Tzu would rather contemplate taking on a trembling blade of grass, with one purest dew-drop on the grass half way up that reflects in itself the entire moving sky, and bow to it with complete satisfaction.

Another Google First!

Ha ha ha! If you Google "poem about kepler", my Kepler poem comes up as #1 in the search results. Googling "kepler poem", I come up second (both hits via the most excellent Josh Maday website, Disseminating Josh Maday). Thanks, Josh.

Block the Noise of the Damn Birds

I sleep in a tent in the backyard. At the first bare suggestion of light in the sky, the birds start yakking at 4.30 AM. Then my animal totem, the mocking-bird, starts playing the North American Bandstand of bird-calls at 5 AM, until about 6.40 AM, directly over my head. Then he moves down the block to bug the shit out of the neighbors. It begins to gently rain. I think the reason why people started building houses was not to keep the weather out, but to block the noise of the damn birds.

Wanting the Biggest Bomb Possible

I'll tell you something, and after I tell you, it won't be so surprising: if you ever are in a job where you need to have a bomb, you'll want the biggest one possible. It doesn't matter if it is dangerous to have the bomb to be "too big" -- you just want to have the most powerful bomb possible. They might say, bomb A is the best one for this particular mission, and bomb B, or even bomb F would be total overkill, and even hazardous to you and your cohorts...but if you can have bomb F, or even H, you'll feel so much better about it. Especially if you hear some other fellas got to use the bigger ones. Why can't we share, fer cryin' out load? We're special too! Everybody deserves to live.

Tiger Attack

I dream we are sitting on the couch when suddenly a Tiger comes into the room. The Tiger may, or may not be our domesticated family pet. But now it is clearly apparent that the Tiger is going to attack me. I jump back as the Tiger lunges at me, and it manages to hook a claw into the heel of my right foot, gouging a big hole. Then as I fall down into a sitting position on the rug, the Tiger jumps towards me. I instinctively go to push or punch the Tiger in the snout with my right hand, but the Tiger opens it's jaws and my hand goes into its mouth. I feel my right hand being mauled, and sort of falling apart as I can distinctly feel my wrist separating internally under the skin (this feeling is reminiscent of when I broke my wrist in the real world, falling off a motorcycle). I pull my red mashed hand out of the Tiger's mouth and I cup it against my chest with my good left hand. I am now in a fetal position on the rug. In the dream, when my wife doesn't say anything for about a minute and a half, I ask her to call an ambulance.

Truth & Listening

Chung Tzu and Baseball

A storm rolls into town. The wind blows. Lightening flashes.

"When I talk to you, I get excited." I tell Chung Tzu.

"When I watch baseball, I feel like crying." says Chung Tzu.

Happy May Day

Fritz Christopher -- has it been 2 years and a day since we last met? We miss you so.

Lao Tzu, the Sticks, and the Tree Trimmers - or - Chung Tzu's Funeral Song to a Dolt

As they trim the tree, Lao Tzu, in slow motion, gathers a small pile of sticks, each stick being about 2 feet long. He ends up with a pile of about 40 branches, each the thickness of my thumb. The tree trimmers pay attention to Lao Tzu, but Lao Tzu ignores them. Because he moves slowly, and carefully, the trimmers keep an eye out so they don't drop any of the larger cut limbs onto his head.

I have no idea what he is doing this for, or what he will do with the sticks when he is done. But at the same time, I don't dare interrupt him, because the way Lao Tzu moves and gathers the sticks -- it is poignant, sad, and a bit poetic.


```

Later that evening, Chung Tzu comes by and sees the stick pile in the backyard.

"Ah!" he says, pointing at the pile, "A family has been dispersed into the world. Some of the babies will never see their Mother or Father again."

"Is that so?" I reply.

"Oh, yes." assures Chung Tzu. "Now I will sing a proper funeral song. Loo loo, cookoo, moo moo, badaboum. Foom foom, room room, badaubeoi boy."

After a pause, Chung Tzu looks at me. "Did you understand what I was saying?"

"No, I didn't quite get it."

"Okay, I'll sing another one. Hoo hoo, boo boo, foo foo, alagaha hoo! Shoo shoo, moo moo, arouh arouh, bama DA BOOM!!"

Chung Tzu looks at me. "Did you understand what I was saying?"

"I'm sorry, but no."

"Since you fail to comprehend, I will attempt one last song for you. Roo roo, goo goo, boo boo Da da DA DA FOOM! MA ma ma goo pop pop slop hrap! Flop schlock mop!!"

Chung Tzu looks at me. "Did you understand what I was saying?"

"No."

"GOOD!" shouts Chung Tzu.

Lessons I've Learned from My Son

Here are some things I have learned from my son, who is almost 2 years old:

1. Wake up smiling & laughing. You'll be guaranteed to have a mostly fabulous day, if you start off fabulously.

2. A generous amount of shampoo, if you have it, can be smeared in your hair, to create that sassy "Billy Idol" look. Additionally, any substance worth smearing should be smeared on your temples.

3. You don't have any fireworks? Take an electric toothbrush, turn it on, and throw it on the floor! Wow! Look at that! Seriously, try this.

4. Any kind of race car, or Matchbox, or Hotwheel becomes 20% faster after being bathed in toilet water.

5. Also, if you have a older sister, and she is at school, her flip-flops are supposed to go in the toilet.

6. Food is for eating, throwing, wearing, and playing like a musical instrument.

7. If it can be tossed out an open window, toss it out the open window.

8. People are pleased when you hide their small possessions in random drawers around a room, or in the waste paper basket.

9. If a door is open, shut it. If the stove is off, turn it on. If the cup is full, empty it over your head.

10. Everything is BEAUTIFUL! Everything is AMAZING! Everything is WONDERFUL! Everything is a TOY!

Finding Gifts for Chung Tzu

I like giving Chung Tzu gifts, and I know he enjoys receiving them. One day when I was out walking, I found something I though he'd appreciate.

"I would like to give you this old stick!" I said to him, when I got back to the house.

"Why, thank you. What a pleasant surprise." said Chung Tzu, and he took the stick and he held it as if it were a delicate artifact.

A few days later, I gave him an old banana peel.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Chung Tzu, who immediately folded it like it was a $100.00 bill and put it in his coat pocket.

When I presented him a empty can of beer, he was quite content to accept it, and peer into the hole like it was an exotic augury.

Finally, one day, I came home with some glistening fresh dog feces.

"Oh!" said Chung Tzu when he saw what I had to give him, "Marvelous! Amazing! You have overwhelmed me with your generosity!"

"No, please," I replied, "I want you to have it."

"I cannot possibly accept such a rare and fine gift as this!" declared Chung Tzu, "No, instead, you should keep it for yourself -- so whenever you look at it, you'll think of me!"

News - A Chicago Earthquake!

At about 4 AM this morning, half awake, I noticed the earth was shaking. Why was I awake? One of our kids had decided to get up at 3 AM and they were happily burning the midnight oil in our bed. So at about 4.25 I hear the windows rattling -- and I knew what it was! Earthquake! Being from California, I know intimately what earthquakes feel like. This one lasted about 20 seconds, a gentle rolling sensation. Next day I read that it was a 5.2, second strongest ever recorded in the state of Illinois. It was followed up by a 4.5 aftershock, which is nothing when it comes to shaking. A 5.2 is sorta an earthquake. Now, if we get a 6.0 or above, now you're talking. Remember, each time you go up in the Richter Scale, you up the shaking by a magnitude of 10. But the intensity of an earthquake also has to do with how deep the event is in the depths of the earth, and how close it is to you on the map. Put it to you another way... when the earth starts shaking, and you go outside and you see parked cars see-sawing end to end, and power lines are going up and down like jump-ropes, and you feel like leaning against the doorjamb -- now that is an earthquake. I hope that doesn't happen here, because our house would fall down. Do I have earthquake insurance in Illinois? I'll have to look that up.

"Connections" by Kevin Spaide, over at Opium Magazine

Opium Magazine posted a hilarious story the other day, called "Connections" by Kevin Spaide. I'm always doing this kind of thing to my friends. And by now, they know they have to put up with it. Blame the internet. Hey, speaking of the internet, here's another story by Mr. Spaide called "Come Home", from the Summerset Review. I like his writing. It reminds me of stuff I used to do & situations I was in, growing up in semi-rural Sonoma County. Most of the places I used to go for fun are all gone, it is all built up now.

News - Ranting over at THINGS DON'T WORK

I posted a fine rant over at THINGS DON'T WORK, about how my land-line phone has been co-opted by legions of robotic telemarketers.

Leprechaun Facts

Do you like Leprechauns? Of course you do! Here are some interesting facts on the wee little folks that I have discovered recently:

- If you touch a Leprechaun with the handle of a used toilet plunger, they will explode like a hand-grenade. I guess you shouldn't be doing this, unless you are wearing a bomb disposal head to toe outfit.

- Leprechauns are crazy about Sudoku -- simply mad about it. Fluffenuffer O'Callaghan, from Kelp County, Wisconsin does at least 500 a day. He very nearly lost his pot of gold over one particularly enthralling puzzle.

- When it comes to drying their clothes, Leprechauns prefer natural, air drying. But a Leprechaun will only wash his clothes every 100 to 200 years in a Clear Stream with Smooth Pebbles at the Bottom looking of Gold. You could say a Leprechaun is generally very aromatic, smelling strongly of cheese, mead, and randy wool.

- Leprechauns have a "Wall of Shame" in a Dale, hidden under a Spring, by the Large Crooked Oak, in Peel County, Scotland. Leprechauns that have violated Leprechaun Law have their names written on it for all eternity. Smargis O'Toole is the latest entry, for turning a few innocent rabbits from flesh to lead.

- How much gold is in a Leprechaun's pot? That is a good question. It depends on how old the Leprechaun is -- there will be one magic gold piece per year of the Leprechaun's life. This magic gold coin will appear in the pot year after year on midnight of midsummer's eve. Ordinary gold coins are collected if the Leprechaun feels like having more coins.

- Now I know some of you are wondering, what do Leprechauns do? For real. Unfortunately, if a mortal ever figures this out, the nearest Leprechaun to them psychically realizes this, and the Leprechaun is duty-bound to come and kill you with a big wooden hammer with a shamrock on the side of it. So it is well to be wise in the ways of Leprechauns, but not too knowing, at the same time.

Did You? Wake the Hell Up!

I wake up, covered in ants. I discover don't like waking up covered in ants. Why am I covered in ants? They aren't biting me, but the ants are tiny and taste like pepper when they get in my mouth. I think, someone rolled in food, and then slept in this bed. Did you? Wake the Hell up!

Walking on a Beach on the Isle of Fork

Waking up this morning, I got some dream advice: If you walk on a beach that is covered in forks, on the Isle of Fork, expect to get stuck by at least one fork.

How to Dress Like a Tourist in Europe

You are an American, and you are going off for your first trip to Europe. You have some vague ideas on what this trip will be like, you'll have to go see the Effile Tower (sic), and the big art museum nearby in Paris Town. You've wanted to do that since 9th grade. Also, stop by jolly old England, home of the Brits, and go to the other Tower, this one of London where they chopped off peoples heads. Rome is in the running too, the Pope lives there.

But the main thing you worry about is, how to dress like a proper tourist. The kind of tourist that can get around savvier and faster than the locals, under their "cultural radar". You want to be dressed, so when it is time to strike & get that deal for a hotel room or a platter of pommes frites, you'll not get snagged on something or be laughingly turned away. To help you, here are some suggestions:

1. Wearing blue jeans is a must. In fact, don't bring anything but blue jeans. Bring some new ones, bring some old ones -- if you get in a jam, everybody knows you can sell them for hundreds of Euros a pair -- those damn Europeans are crazy about American blue jeans.

2. Nobody in their right mind would go to Europe and not wear white sneakers. Due to Europe's arcane and antiquated transport systems, and the fact that many Europeans have never learned to drive a damn car, because the roads are too small -- you know you'll be hoofing it all over the place. You've studied many travel shows and seen how much walking is done in Europe. Sensibly, white sneakers, the whiter and fatter the better, are the obvious choice. Bring two pairs.

3. If you forget a fanny pack, you might as well curl up in Heathrow and die. You're going to need all your money and important irreplaceable documents on you at all times, for easy access to conduct business and clinching a deal that may come up with rude or unsuspecting foreigners. Without this fanny pack, you won't be able to hustle your way in and out of those tight situations. Wear it right in front, and don't worry, it doesn't make you look silly, because you have a purpose here.

4. The weather in England is pissy and rainy. In France, the weather is pissy, rainy, sunny, and full of the French. The sun in Italy is harsh and unavoidable. You'll want to make sure you bring a baseball cap, the kind with webbing in the back to keep the back of your head cool, but with foam fabric in the front, to shield you from bird droppings & staring locals, because face it, Europe is full of pigeons and gawkers. If you feel sassy and proud, have a big American Flag patch on the front of it. That'll show them you're serious and not afraid of what those people from the EU think.

5. Have lots of maps and travel books. Carry at least two maps and a travel book with you at all times. For perspective, one map should be of a country you have been in, or are going to next. Thinking strategically, the other map should probably be of the last city you were in, or the next city you'll be going to. There is a lot of information to absorb, and you may need to consult from your travel book at any time to glean the obscure cultural references that are going on all around you. Mark places that you think will be key with little post-it stickers. The locals expect to pull some fast ones on you, taking advantage of your lack of travel experience, and the fact you haven't bothered to understand anything about their day-to-day lives, or learn the rudiments of their language beyond hello and another kind of hello, but that is what being a tourist is all about. You can read the travel books and maps for the first time while flying on the plane, a few hours before you land. Then the knowledge these materials impart will be fresh in your mind.

6. Either wear a sweatshirt two sizes too big, for comfort, or a nylon windbreaker. Better bring both, because sometimes it snows in Europe, at any time. Logo or information on the sweatshirt could be a swanky victorious American flag, unfurled and blowing impressively. Barring that, sport logos, like the Chicago Bears will make you friends or mollify hostility because everybody loves the Chicago Bears. Have a Disneyland sweatshirt as a backup. A Seattle's Space Needle sweatshirt will show you are culturally adept, or at least show you know how to drink good coffee.

7. Though not technically an article of clothing, a camcorder is going to have to be on you at all times, at least in public. Use the device more, not less, and be sure to narrate loudly to the microphone exactly what you are seeing and exactly where you are, so you won't be confused when you watch it later in your living room at home with the extended family. Don't worry too much if this seems to be irritating people who live in Europe, they know their whole economy runs on tourism, and they couldn't get a decent living without travelers like you.

8. BACKUP: If all goes wrong, and you can't make headway, bring a Canadian maple-leaf pin and some Canadian flag patches. Though this feels dishonorable, and you are betraying your nation by having these & displaying them, the Canadian pin or patch could be your ace in the hole. Of course, when you open your mouth, everyone will know you aren't Canadian -- keep mum and your eyes on the prize, and you should be able to get though a rough spot.

9. MISCELLANEA: Here are some optional things you can bring that you may find pleasing for your trip.

- A sun visor, the kind that has no cap on it so your hair sticks out the top. The deeper the visor, the better.

- The biggest, blackest sunglasses you can dig up. To shield your eyes from the glare of the sky on all that marble & stone ruins.

- A second camcorder! In case their first one gets damaged on the plane, train, or cab by jostling persons who have no concept of personal space.

- Lots of sunscreen, lip balm, and extra make-up -- because you know at some point you'll mess up packing and you'll have your stuff confiscated.

- A few bottles of American bottled water. You might want to ration this and see if you can make it last for as long as possible, until your tummy gets used to the water over there.

- For the above reason, and if you are sensitive and haven't eaten food in places other than your home town, you might want to consider bringing a Cosco sized Pepto-Bismol too! Better safe than sorry!

Good luck and have a memorable trip!

Aren't You Going to Thank Me for That?!?

Yes, yes, I drank your precious bottle of genuine India Ink. There, are you happy? No deceptions, I did drink it. If it makes you feel any better, afterwards I was immediately sick for 25 hours. I was horribly and absolutely ill, like I was going to die. Don't you feel bad about that? Wine? What wine? OK, I'm really going to come clean with you -- I drank your wine. How much? I don't know, how many bottles did you have laying around? That many? I don't know if I could have physically drank all of that. I had a few glasses. More than a few, don't get so touchy. Look, calm down, don't be so goddamn touchy. It cost how much? Lordy, I didn't even know you could buy French wine at that price. I won't say I'm sorry because I can see that will only make you more angry, and do you see how that makes me feel? Hurt. Speaking of hurt, I may have hurt your car. Where is it? That is a Question for the Ages. I was in a hazy state of mind and the road was definitely not the safest place to drive, in my confused state of mind. It may be under a large tree. Scattered under a large tree. OK -- I parked it in a large tree, and parts of it are scattered under the tree branches. But I have the keys, and it is locked, so nobody is going to steal it. Aren't you going to thank me for that?!?

Breakfast

I was going to write something good, but then shit -- we go out to breakfast. I get the kosher salami with eggs sunny-side up with a coffee. You get the baby Belgian waffle and a vegetarian omelette with an orange juice. Yes, we want cream with the coffee. The waiter tell us he's waiting 6 tables, and sorry if he's slow. No problem, don't worry, ok. The Belgian waffle is slightly burned on top, so is my kosher salami. Your vegetarian omelette is fabulous. Daniel takes all the sugar packets and dumps them one by one onto the floor, experimenting with gravity. Pay the bill, leave my cell-phone behind, go back, get it, go to the grocery store at the corner because we really do need a few things. Now back at home, I sit down. I still have to put all the groceries away & the leftovers. What the hell was I going to write?

News - THINGS DON'T WORK

Hey -- I'm firing up my long neglected blog THINGS DON'T WORK. Used to just be for technology, but now it will be for multi-topical bitching and complaining, too. Because everything should generally work better than it does, and it could, if people gave a damn. Drop by and see the latest diatribe -- airline horror stories. If you have a topic or a complaint, feel free to send it to me. If it is good, I'll just put it up.

AND?

"I've been told that fleas don't drown in water." I say to Chung Tzu.

About ten minutes of silence goes by. Then Chung Tzu looks up at me, and he says, "AND?"

Hill of Beans

Things are just ducky. I have a nice spread, neighbors don't bug and the kid can walk to school. Then one day, a big beanstalk pops up through the floor and this human boy is running around the house screwing with stuff and it all goes to hell. Wouldn't you know I end up blind, drowned in a lake by that wiseass Jack. And the last thought that goes through my head as I settle at the bottom is, who'd believe how I got down here and life in the end ain't worth a hill of beans.

Waking Up in the Middle of the Night

In the middle of the night I am interrupted by waking up, aware in that instant in dreams I am on the verge of completing important, hugely complicated metaphysical tasks of conceptual reasoning that will be a refinement of the vast undulating ceaselessly replicating mystical underpinnings of the universe. And that kind of shit is fucking weird.

i have my ways

i have my ways
they please me

i defined sunlight
i defined snow

my sunshine is
not your sunshine

my snow is not
your snow

why we came
to this

of how snow
was snow

or sun was
the sun

i do not
know

dali

dali is near the end
of his life

he sits in a chair
with a rubber tube
up his nose

surprised to be photographed
all eroded in a leopard-print robe
in a dead dream

something inside

i am sitting here
late at night
after studying

my light is on
and on the other
side of the room
my roommate
is sleeping

i am waiting for
a bottle of beer
to get cold so to
amuse myself
i leaf through
ginsburg's kaddish
though i hate him

suddenly i realize
the freeway is
very loud

i have been living
two years within
earshot of it and
it's sounds were
no longer entering
my consciousness
until again now

i feel a vague
late night thrill
of horror because
i had ruled out
the sounds of the
freeway for months

killed the sounds
of trucks and cars
as a possibility for
almost a year now
until this night
it all came back
to me

i feel as if
i have committed
a crime so i pick up
four books of matches
& look at their
gaudy covers

one has a phone number
written on the inside
in loopy handwriting
but i don't recall
whose it is

i will never call
them but i admire
the phone number
for what it offers me

another matchbook
advertises fine home
and gardening products

another book is from
a cigar store

the last book of matches
is from seven eleven

i hear the freeway
and the 18 wheelers
roaring through the night

overdubbing reality
should be a capital crime
i think to myself and
i tilt the chair back
almost fall over

sounds quiet down
i check the beer
it is cold on only
one side

i realize i have
many books of matches
but no cigarettes

i drink the beer
with a light sweet
empty taste
simultaneously something
in my mind or
in my soul bows down
acknowledging
greater forces of
consequence in
the universe

these forces
will utterly overpower
my arrogance in
affirming reality

one of those
big-rigs could
drive off the highway
and come here
and kill me

something
inside me knows
that

Phone Story

The phone rings.

"Hello." I say.
"Yes?" I say.
"No thanks." I say.

I hang up the phone.

In This Life

"What do you think is the most impressive thing in this life, that you ever saw with your own eyes?" I ask Lao Tzu.

Lao Tzu doesn't reply. He may be asleep, sitting there.

"What about bugs? Mud? A broken stick?"

Lao Tzu shrugs.

I spy a squirrel in the backyard. "What about squirrels?"

"Ah! You should probably have been a squirrel in this life." says Lao Tzu.

Lao Tzu and the Orange

In the morning, I was in the kitchen peeling an orange, when Lao Tzu came in.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm peeling an orange." I reply.

"That's a fine looking orange. Why did you have to go and ruin it by peeling it?" he asks.

"Because I want to eat this fine looking orange." I reply.

"Oh! Excuses, excuses!" says Lao Tzu.

~

Later, I find Chung Tzu, who is hanging out with a few hobos under a railroad bridge. He looks scruffy, and they are sharing a bottle of Thunderbird in a paper bag.

"Here! Sit down with us and have a drink!" says Chung Tzu.

I sit down and have a big swig of Thunderbird. In a time, we are all drunk. A train goes overhead.

"Lao Tzu told me to leave oranges oranges." I say. "So how do you eat an orange?"

"Oh, that Lao Tzu!" says Chung Tzu, and he slaps his leg. "Lao Tzu is the best. You can't beat Lao Tzu!"

My New Religion

I'm ready now to invent a new religion. I don't know the specifics...but it will be funny, yet serious, impressive, yet humble, thoughtful, but not didactic, easy to pick up, but hard to put down, obvious, yet surprising, fresh, yet not a novelty, energetic, but not spastic, true, but not fatalistic, powerful, but not savage, informative, but not like Al Gore. I don't know if I'll have priests, or ordained ministers. I do know I'll want to encourage people practicing this religion to have skills -- they should possibly be able to change the oil on their own car, or have the determination to get though college in less than, say, 5 years. Churches are cool, churches are a great place to go inside when it is hot, because the right kind of church is cool and dark & mysterious inside with stained glass, so we'll have to have stained glass and that kind of thing. But I'd have to think about the layout, I don't like cruciform, and I also don't like circular layouts. There's much to consider, inventing a new religion. Try it sometime -- what kind of religion would you invent?

On the Watch List

You're on a watch list. One of a couple watch lists for suspected terrorists, complied by a myriad of federal government agencies that are overstaffed, over funded, and competing against one another. The problem is, you are so fucking BORING to watch. BORING! BORING! You don't go out enough, you stay in the house day after day in those old yellow pajamas and an old tee shirt and that ridiculous motorcycle jacket liner & you don't appear to comb your hair. Sometimes you wear mismatched socks -- what the hell is up with that? Match your damn socks! Get a damn haircut, and trim that weird goatee beard that looks right out of The Deerhunter. The beard thing looked good on Robert De Niro but you ain't no Robert De Niro -- not even close, buddy, okay? What the fuck else? Buy the cats dry cat food, stop using baby formula powder instead of milk in your coffee (that is so GROSS!), brush your teeth, put your damn clothes away, and clean up your office. Your office is disgusting! And file all those files piled up in the filing cabinets! Filing cabinets are for FILED FILES, not PILED FILES. And you're not acting like a terrorist, you have no terrorist friends, your family lives in Napa fer Christ's sake, we have no idea why you are on this list, but if you'd do something remotely terroristic, or questionable, we'd be so happy we haven't totally wasted our time. And have to watch your pathetic life. You overwrought bastard.

Poem - the midnight vote

the midnight vote
that's the biggest one
sealing thoughts
that normally float
free and easy
like butterflies

so i stay up
i recline on the couch
i watch the night get on
the stoplight at the corner
goes red green yellow red
with no cars

THE STORY OF ARTHUR BRENTLEY

1. george mellon sat down one afternoon on the spur of the moment and even though he wasn't a novelist he wrote the greatest single book ever to be produced by mankind
2. everyone was very impressed so george was invited to appear on oprah. he also made a great deal of money giving a large sum to his mother who had paid for his college tuition at the international school of policy & research in escondido california
3. george named the book "fuck goddamn shit" which people found hard to accept. at first the book sold well outside the united states and other english speaking countries
4. he was invited to india and the former soviet union. he was invited to burma and the new nation of bunsawwalli -- the bunsawwallians wanted george to be their new god-king but george said no because he had allergies and was afraid of air-travel
5. george's portrait began appearing on calendars postal stamps bills of sale posters fruit stands newspapers magazines post cards and in national galleries
6. the people of america finally decided that "fuck goddamn shit" was not obscene in the sense of the novel. now the whole world embraced george and his work
7. fans wrote him long letters in all sorts of languages asking george if he knew about god puppies shoe laces unsolved murders conspiracy theories metaphysics semiotics cajun recipes ufos or how the stock market would be doing or if there would be war anywhere in the world and was it time for the people of this little blue planet to become enlightened
8. george got a full time secretary to coordinate the answering of his mail. the secretaries name was pam and she was pretty. pam had recently graduated from juilliard with a degree in music and had huge student loans, she had brown hair that smelled slightly of peppermint
9. in the following spring he was blown to bits by a bomb sent as a disguised medium sized box of flowers and assorted chocolates made from cruelty free manufacturing processes. everyone was very surprised george was gone and there was an extended inquiry into the circumstances of his assassination
10. his body was buried secretly by his relatives in a small rural cemetery that had not been used in over 100 years
11. george mellon author of the greatest novel ever written by mankind lays in a small grave with a tombstone naming him ARTHUR BRENTLEY
12. the only thing to add is pam drew a heart on the marker below the name with pink lipstick because it was the only thing she had to mark the grave under a wide wide blue sky

News - Apexart Show Cartoons

Some people have asked to see the work that was accepted for the April apexart cartoon show. If you want to see them, go over to my cartoon blog, I'm putting them up. Blogger is acting funny right now, but I'll get all four posted as soon as I can.

CM Evans @ Apexart & McSweeney's - April 2008

Big news! I've been invited by Dave Eggers to be a participant in a cartoon show at apexart in New York in April. The title of the show is "Lots of Things like This", and will feature 100 cartoons from blockbusting talents like Saul Steinberg, R. Crumb, William Steig, Ralph Steadman, Shel Silverstein, David Shrigley, Nedko Solakov...keerist the list goes on. There will even be work by Alasdair Gray, one of my favorite writers & illustrator. Topping it all off (if it could be topped off), McSweeney's will be publishing an edition that will be a companion to the show. My work will be in that publication too. I am frankly, totally amazed this is happening. Up to this point, I haven't been invited to be in anything, anywhere. If you love art, cartooning, or satire, you won't want to miss this installation. Opening is on April 2, from 6 - 8 PM. The show runs April 2 - May 10. If you make it out on April 2, I'll see you there!

James Bond's Gun

Though not technically crazy, he ruins the action movie for himself by trying to imagine what the world sounds like to James Bond's gun, if the gun could hear. Most of the time he thinks, the world would sound muffled. But when James Bond drives the tank through the wall, he thinks, wow, the gun would have definitely heard that!

My Turn Now

Do I write, do I draw, no. Do I write? No. Do I draw? No. Am I in 1975? No. Do I have a red suitcase, with a red suitcase inside the red suitcase? No. Is there a note inside the red suitcase, in the red suitcase? No.

What color is the stove? What color is the color blue? Is blue red? Is green white? Do all straight lines curve? Does everything that rises, converge? Is God the color of water? Did it rain last night? Was that evening purple, like soda bubbles?

Where is Small? Small is a cute bug. Small was small. Where did Small go? It is my turn to look for Small. I will find Small. When I see Small, I'll say, "Hello, Small!" Small will smile at me. Small will wave & I will wave back.

What I Want & What I Will Do

- I want to be as fox-crazy as Tom Cruise. Yeah, that crazy. Then I'd be able to scale tall buildings, playing the star spangled banner on a comb with a piece of wax paper, while turning all the water in the city of Chicago into peppermint schnapps.

- I will be known as "The Man in the Iron Mask", even though I have never worn, nor ever will possess an iron mask of any kind. I will be feared as this persona throughout the continental United States of America, and also especially in Australia, because of my maskless exploits.

- I will be held in high esteem while wearing a pope-like paper hat made from a shopping bag. Drawn on the front of the hat will be a cute kitty cat, but it won't appear to be silly in any way while on my noggen.

- Likewise, I will appear in public wearing a paper suit, with attractive shoes made of cardboard. I will move with the poise of Fred Astaire, virtually sipping Napoleon Brandy in my wild wild ways. Often in this getup, I'll do a quiet little dance in the mystery section of the Oak Park Public Library, 3rd floor, by the Swedish Detective Fiction. Hear me roar!

- Finally, I will convert my toaster oven into a time machine, in which I will be able to squeeze into, by using long forgotten techniques of Feudalistic Magic. After transporting myself to 5 million AD, I will battle the Morlocks and vanquish them, to found a new civilization where every citizen is a genius, and their children will write numerous ground-breaking novels about Tricopia, my favorite imaginary land of bountiful colors.

The die has been cast!