The Forbidden Chairs and Tables of the Piazza San Marco

In Venice, in the Piazza San Marco, you are firmly not allowed to sit on the chairs and tables set out there. Even if you are ordering a cappuccino or mocha, you are not allowed to sit in the chairs and tables associated with that cafe. No, no, it is impossible! Impossible! Please do not ask why. After getting your drinks, you review phalanxes of empty tables and chairs. They are roped into sections for each cafe by braided thin steel cables coated in plastic. Mysterious and remote -- empty of all butts -- conceptual art under wheeling clouds of pigeons. (BTW - a mocha is a drink you give a little kid, and civilized people drink a cappuccino in the morning, not in the afternoon, you stupid American.)

Night Sashay

In
San Francisco
Depressed & pissed off
I watch a man who lives
In an apartment next door
Straighten things out
In his living room

It is dusk
Night falling hard
Like a ton of bricks

The man moves about
Doing things
Picking up rearranging
Magazines and paperweights

Objects I cannot see
Yet it is easy to imagine
What he does the way
His shoulders move

I can make out what
He is wearing

A sweater
Blue jeans
He is bald

I am surprised
When I see his head bobbing
Very low next to the side
Of the back of the couch

His forehead almost
Disappears past the ledge of
The window

The he straightens up
Looking at some odd thing
He found back there

He continues to busy
Himself

The window becomes
Yellower

Light is falling
Falling falling dying
Just like my emotions
Seem to be smoothing out

Indifference soaking
Into my eyes
My mind
My body
My soul

And as this happens
He looks out and sees me
Sitting across the way
Typing

Staring

He walks out of the room
With a few things
In his hands

A minute later he comes back
Hands empty
Maybe he threw the shit
Away who knows

He stands there
And he looks at me
And I look at him

He moves over
To one side of the window
And as the drapes close
Bit by bit

I imagine how
They must go

Swish

Swish

Swish

Swish

Swish

Trying to Find Out Why Steve Brodie Jumped

When I was about 8 years old, my parents decided to get my sister and I a set of the World Encyclopedia...these were the quaint days before people used thing called "The Internet" to look up stuff. My parents had to put an order in for it, it cost a buttload of cash, and it was to arrive at Christmas. I must say, it was a big deal to get a set of the World Encyclopedia, we were all very excited. So my dad asked me, "Son, when we get the World Encyclopedia, what will be the first thing you look up?" He was probably thinking I'd look up something about Geology, History, or Astronomy. But I said, quick as a flash, "I'm going to look up why Steve Brodie jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge!!" "Who?" asked my father. I then explained to my dad that there was this Bugs Bunny cartoon where Steve Brodie jumps off the Brooklyn Bridge...but I knew that in real life no rabbit drove him crazy. So I was going to find out the REAL reason why Steve Brodie jumped off the bridge. By that time my pa had lost interest in the answer to his question. And when the Encyclopedia arrived, I found there was no reference to Steve Brodie. I wondered about it, and then one day when I happened to see that cartoon again on TV, I realized something. Then I thought f*** Bugs Bunny. F***ing cartoons.

An Austrian Christmas Story

Early, I know, but after seeing the damn Christmas decorations & merchandise going up at the local hardware conglomerate last weekend, this came to mind. So have a Merry Christmas, extra, extra early!

i.

In Austria, for Christmas, the hotel puts on a Christmas Eve bonfire and sing-along for the kiddies. After some songs, Santa shows up with presents, and our daughter gets a few nice little toys. Hot chocolate and cider for all. Very cute. Then I look close at the red paper bag the gifts came in, and I see that there's a sticker on the bag of a big leering Devil. He has a small child over his knee, the kid's pants are down, and the Devil is getting ready to paddle the crap outta the kid with a birch S&M switch. The kid looks terrified, tears spilling out of his eyes, and the Devil looks like he'd gonna bust a nut because he's so happy. Next to the Devil are chains and a wicker basket, to carry the beaten child to the flames of everlasting damnation. Then our daughter asks, "What are you looking at, Dad?" I say, "When you're bad in Austria, you don't get a lump of coal. No, you get beaten by the Devil and you get sent to Hell." I show her the sticker, and after a pause, she says "Oh."

ii.

After we get back to the hotel, I want to snag the Devil sticker to show everybody in the States -- but when we aren't looking, my daughter shreds it into tiny bits. "Oh!" says June. "You didn't like that did you?" "The Hell won't get me!" says Phoebe. "Why do you say that?" I ask. "Because if I'm bad, and I go there, the Hell won't be there!" "Where will he be?" I enquire. "He'll be out SHOPPING! Shopping for STICKS to smack BAD KIDS WITH!!" Phoebe yells, jumping up & down triumphantly. So, case closed. And I hope when I get sent to Hell, the Devil happens to be out at the Mall, replenishing his Infernal Devices. Or better yet, the day someone is damned, Hell just breaks down and can't be repaired. Just be extra good in Austria, don't forget that.

Estranged friends

Estranged friends
I miss you so
I’ll always miss you
Though things seem bent broken
Stretched all out
Beyond recognition or feeling

Here is something in us that loves
This way
Loves completely and entirely without effort
Naturally for ever and ever
Inexhaustible radiant complete
But it still hurts

(Poem Written on the Side/ Of an Old Envelope)

dedicated to Jennifer, who told me

A flock
Of birds
Few past
My window
And I could only
Watch them
For a few seconds
But they fluttered
In my head all
Day
A ghost flock
Of birds

A friend of mine
Sad she
(as a child)
Harbored a
Pigeon in her
Ear for
Almost 3 years*

She says
At the time
She thought all
People harbored
Birds in
Their ears

This is true
And also untrue


* My friend told me when she was about 3 years old she was walking down the street with her mother on a sunny windy day, and she was startled to see a white pigeon fly by close past her ear. When she turned, she couldn’t see where it went. So she concluded that when she cupped her hand to her ear, this soft noise she head was not the ocean, it was the pigeon now nesting in her ear…

My Odyssey

I.

One time I followed this
Beautiful young woman to
Her house from the N Judah line
To see where she lived

I wondered if she had a boyfriend
As I watched her in the twilight
Switching on the lights in
The apartment

I watched in the dark
From across the street
Through the slits
Of the venation blinds and I wondered
What the hell I was doing

She closed the blinds

A television spouted
Blue light in another room
And I walked home

II.

Last night
(two weeks later)
I got very drunk and I started
Knocking the carefully arranged
Bottles that I had
Supposedly meticulously set
To be out of my way

I picked up all the bottles
And I put them under my bed
And put on my coat and scarf

I took a bottle with me

III.

Outside it was silent and cold

I walked along
And I decided to go to her house
Again

Once there I amused myself
By drinking the beer
In the shadows of trees and cars
Looking up at the dark windows
Where I had seen her

I knew I was drunk
And it was cold
Very cold out there in the street

I was surprised how cold and quite
It was

Everything was so contained
And I stood there in the night
And I wondered what I was doing
What the hell was I up to
I was acting like a fucking nut

I found myself opening the
Waist-high gate that was on the
Side of her building

As I entered the slot-like
Side yard I felt as if my head was
Bobbing independently of my shoulders

I looked up
And I could see
A few stars and the cold
Seemed to fall away

IV.

For some reason
I felt very amused
With myself

I was now very amused
Just standing down there
Doing nothing in someone
Else’s backyard in the dead
Of night quite drunk
Off my gourd

I nudged the cement
Retaining wall with my
Toe and I figured out
Which back porch was hers

I was that she had wrapped
Several of her plants
To keep off the chilly air

The cellar was locked

I pissed on the cement wall
And then staggering home

While I was unlocking
The gate to my house
A cop car passed me going
Up the street

Birthday Field of Dreams

After I graduated from college, I moved in temporarily with my parents in Petaluma, California. For awhile I worked nights as a security guard, of all things. I thought I’d make a go at trying to establish myself in Sonoma County, where I grew up.

So one day that was a day off for me, I woke up at 2.30 AM and I had nothing much to do, because Petaluma closes shop at about 10 PM and all my friends were asleep. It also happened to be my birthday. So I decided to watch “Field of Dreams” for an extra special happy birthday to me.

For some reason this night I kept on wanting to cry in certain parts of the movie, but I also kept remembering that this was, after all, just a movie – these people I was on the verge of crying over were actors who delivered lines convincingly.

Still, when the movie was over, I rewound it and watched it a second time – playing the good parts over and over again. When the sky had the faintest suggestion of light in the east, I decided to take the dog for a walk.

We walked a few blocks down to the main drag. As the dog crapped in a newly ploughed field that was the empty lot next to an ice-cream shop, I saw legions of commuters zipping down the boulevard, going to god-knows-what jobs where they probably got pencils grinded up their asses day-in and day-out.

I watched them and I was bored to death, completely alone with nowhere to go, and I am sure they wondered why I stood there on the corner, by the ice-cream shop with a Dalmatian watching them all zip along.

~

Later that morning after the dog had gone back to bed, my father gets up, drinks a V8 and reads the newspaper in the bathroom. He’s gone by 7.30. Then my mother gets up.

It’s funny that I think about this on today of all days, but it’s been about 12 or 13 years since my old man and I really got along, or had any kind of feeling, or relationship.

High School just about killed him and me. I don’t ask him the questions I want to ask because there is no way to ask the questions that could get at the root of the matter.

I think about this as I read the weather forecast.


July 11, 1990

A Sketch Meant to Be Nothing, but Now is Something

For some reason I have been thinking persistently on this particular sketch over the past few days. I was thinking about how it looked when I was waking up this morning. I don't ascribe any meaning to it when I reflect on this sketch, because this sketch is not supposed to signify or diagram a real thing or anything that appears in external phenomenon. It just is a collection of lines, really. I drew it that way, as an exercise in connecting lines that seem to refer to something, but in fact, do not. Over time, this drawing has taken on some subtle significance for me. So here it is.

Bad Restaurant Names

1. Oops We Did It Again
2. The Montezuma Express
3. ShitzBurger
4. Messin' With The Grub
5. La Cucaracha
6. Cramps
7. Dinner With Drunken Chef
8. Cooters
9. Slappy Happy's
10. Fate's Food Festival

...she's tired...

This from one of my journals/ sketchbooks.

I mean, she's tired, really tired, and she comes to the cafe with all these books and she is so tired, with her cup of coffee & I hear someone saying in the background, "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON -- COME ON MOTHERFUCKER -- SHOW YOURSELF!" and the music selection is ending, all this winds down down down and she is sleeping with her hair on her books.

San Francisco, November of 1994.

BLAND

We got a few of these packets with meals while we were staying at the hospital after the c-section. I know institutional mentality can be this way, but should you really advertise it on the products themselves? But then I tried BLAND and I like it. And I can't seem to get BLAND now that we are home. I want BLAND. Now I find I cannot have BLAND.

2 Poem (to P I)

Poem

Dad you are the mountain
I shall never surpass
Yet you are in my way

& God said yes
It is true


Poem


I became richer than bill gates
& bought heaven
And found out \\God was somewhere else

When it Rains, it Pours

Last night at about 3 AM the bed turns to nails underneath me. This is quite painful. I jump out of bed and fall on the floor. My wife asks me what I am doing, I tell her that the bed has turned to nails, and I g*ddamn f*cking can't believe it. She says that I am dreaming. Oh fine, I reply sarcastically, I'm only just BLEEDING all over the floor with 5,000 holes in my skin. But who cares about me? Just get back in the bed of nails so everyone else can get a good nights sleep. I'm sitting there, thinking I might get back in bed, when a flock of floating dog heads start coming out of the corner of the room, where a shadow is. When it rains, it pours.

TEST

1. God created the Universe in seven (7) days. T/F

2. Eve remembers being created while Adam does not. T/F

3. Adam and Eve had tall kids. T/F

4. Satan...

a) Knew beforehand that God was ready to put the Universe together in seven (7) days
b) Likes to eat sandwiches (ham on rye) for breakfast
c) Remembers what it was like when he was an Angel
d) Had his own rebellious plans mapped out, but also felt free to improvise

5. When the _____ came out of the ______ they were really in the _______.

a) Apple...tree...deep shit
b) Devil...garden...deep shit
c) couple..Volvo...distant future
d) mistake...actions...impromptu

6. When I think of God, I feel happy. T/F

7. God feels happy when he thinks about me. T/F

8. God loves a sit down dinner. T/F

9. When somebody is missing something, this usually means that...

a) They have sinned
b) They have "Paid their 'Dime' and 'Took Their Chances'"
c) They have Sinned, but God has forgiven them
d) They are dying

10. Satan licks the key-locks with his tongue at my house. T/F

11. If you are Evil...

a) You know it
b) You know it but you deny it
c) You realize it from time-to-time
d) You hate getting up to do your laundry

12. God is...

a) Big
b) Round
c) Angry
d) Winsome
e) Other (please specify) _______________________

13. Adam and Eve had tall kids. T/F

14. The last thing God created out of nothingness was a ______________________.

15. God likes to believe in....

a) Sin
b) You
c) Me
d) Satan

16. Adam wanted to be a Auto-Mechanic. T/F

17. Eve was a Lesbian. T/F

18. One time Satan disguised himself as a woman and had sex with Eve. T/F

19. This test is going to send me to Hell. T/F

20. Heaven and Hell are indistinct once you are dead. T/F

ANSWERS:

Today is the Day

Today is the day. I am dying, I could go at any moment, but I still have time to be angry. I'd like some juice; the last taste of juice in my life most likely, so where is the goddamn nurse? I've been feebly pushing this crocked button baton thing before Death comes in the room and rips my soul from my body -- and no goddamn fucking nurse. And I hate the view.

In Love with Everything

We go outside to have a lovely cigarette. The night is trembling ever so softly, like a snare drum. I can see the light from the streetlamp, and how it seems to make the leaves in the trees curl, intense, dusty and faded green. You say something to me, and I reply automatically, still wondering at the night and the light of the streetlamp on the leaves, as we sit on the fire-escape 3 floors up. We smoke and smoke the lovely lovely cigarette, in love with everything.

The Guy in the Red Suit

Every time something special is happening in my life, some event that I know I will be remembering for a long time afterwards as a rare and precious moment, this guy in a red suit shows up out of nowhere with his _____ ______ hanging out, babbling loudly, breaking things, throwing up on me. Now I live alone, bereft of companionship -- disowned even by my own family, all because of that weird guy in a red suit. With his ____ ______ hanging out.

break up poem, remembrance of things past

i.

i was fine
but she wasn't

because
she was a jerk

ii.

she was fine
but i wasn't

because
i was a jerk

iii.

do you remember those nights
when we were fascinated
with each other

there seemed to be no end
in the moment we inhabited

seeming solid

we were as delicate as two origami
poised by a window

with no idea how fragile
how transitory things are
through time

The Secret of all Secrets

I heard a disjointed conversation, sitting at the pub, from around the corner, but I didn't dare look. "Shhh. Here is the password, or even, the secret or all secrets....like two guys walking down a road with a mirror. EVERYTHING IS A STORY."