Wednesday, December 17, 2008
I am having a(n) anusy sparkle time at camp. The counselour is irritating and the food is porteguese. I met maggie and we became diafonous friends. Unfortunately, maggie is queasy and I up-chucked my kidney so we couldn`t go tainting like everybody else. I need more taint boobies and a sweat sharpener, so please dankly prostitute more when you sexed back.
Your greatX3 g-ma,
*This is an madlib the gang (Kasey, Lacey, Alex, Jess) and I put together a while ago.
I am in love with a dead man
Who is controlled by my arch enemy.
I am in love with a drunk man.
Dear Rhondda, I am 73 and
I am in love with a younger man,
How old is too old to get pregnant?
My concern is that he didn’t believe
In god, and then for years he did, and
Now he doesn’t . We can’t afford anyone
THE DEATH OF LIZZIE ELLIS;
DESPONDENT BECAUSE HER
LOVE IS NOT REQUITED,
SHE SHOOTS HERSELF.
He is also a bit of a boy scout
And he won’t put out. I have been
Asked to pass on a message of
Love and apology. Ain’t no love
For a drunk man talking.
We are in love with a dead man who
Was a homophobe, and I might have loved
Him for a few moments, but I don’t now.
You can feel his body saying,
“People just love to get drunk
And drive around, don’t they?”
Help, I’m in love with a dead man!
What should I do? Love, Kofi.
He is in love with a white man, who
Is not willing to call me about anything.
He loved a drunk man, and, actually, I sort
Of loved that drunk man to. We both loved him!
The drunk man gave me commemorative spoons
For my collection, and his face was like my dad’s.
His skin was like the color of my father’s hands,’
And he had that long handlebar moustache.
He was in a trucking magazine, and he slept in
The back of the truck.
I am in love with a dead man who turned into a vampire
Named Bill. My name is cynical lady; fools profit from fools
Who profit. Creepy, I know, but.
I am in love with black men who are in love with
White women who are in love with black men. He
Is the love of my life, but I do not love him. My parents
Don’t understand anything about that.
I am in love with a horse, Milton, who is an
Actual horse, he just recovered from a bad ear.
Things have changed, and I now have a fancy haircut.
I am in love with toe rings as long as they are firmly attached.
I am in love with an Hispanic man, and I am not racist.
Hot or not, I am in love with blow jobs.
As many of you know, I am in love with ranch.
I use ranch on my chicken, pizza, and pretty dolls;
I appreciate your words. I am in love with Manga
And I am an interesting person.
I am in love with the dead man next door.
I am in love with a dead man. I have been in
Love with a black man, but there is nothing yet.
My long two-pointed penis sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't massage
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't fuck upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-fucking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my penis.
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My penis not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-fucking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the do-not-fuck heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
*All right. Basically, I took the poem "After Apple Picking" by Robert Frost, and deleted a few sections and replaced several words with "penis" and "fuck." Super.
Pray with me
in the bathtub and then
me. What is
When I’m in
Japan, I’m from
Alaska; When I’m
I’m from Japan.
I’m surprised that you are
Happy to see me.
I’m also surprised
Ow. It hurts
Call Sholls. It is now 1920,
so my home
And there are animals, who
Are closer to god. Look in
RB’s eyes. He is
Closer to god.
I’m so into food.
So into it.
The dog lies on the parachute.
The parachute is red and blue and
Folded into four puffy squares
And we understand this makes a bed.
When the working day is done,
I walk through my garage, and my
Neighbor is sitting there with a syringe.
We understand that the parachute-dog
Is dead. The Air Life helicopter appears
And suddenly I live in the forest that
Multiplies. The helicopter attaches a
Long cable to the small backpack
And he doesn’t even spin as they
I now live in a swap full of Dr. Pepper.
I now live in my own garage. The large
Poodle is there chasing an older me.
And snow is thick and sticky. What
This possibly mean?
You have been walking along the street
And discover that we lied to you
But you found us anyway! Sit in this
Cubby above the crowd. I paid $20.
You’ve been eyeing my ear, I can tell.
We hang out in my garage forever.
Did you really arrest that 4-year-old?
Oh, you. We have built a tiny model
of the election and their
Small plastic, curved hands say hello,
or goodbye. She is young
And unsure in a bright red dress
and all her features are rounded
Together. And they stand on her
hands. Chimala peers out of the
Water. Her small ears set back and
her small eyes just on the
Water’s surface. The way her face I
s made looks like a smile,
But that is only how it looks. Her reflection
is such that it appears another
Hippo is balancing on her ears. She is a gifted
designer and has created a
Beautiful floral tribute with orange and white and pink.
The woman in the suitcase is older, but small enough to fit.
Not picked for her looks. A tiger runs
by her face to say there is no
More cholera anymore.
You can get it up.
The garbage collectors ride in
Horse drawn carriages and all the
horses wear hats. You cannot hide from
The Russian Patriarch, so, for three days,
you must wait in line with all the others to view
The body. He hates the church he loves the church.
We must make decisions. Let us confirm with
The blue day book so we may see a walking bear
Who tells me how to feel well.
A meat sample is taken and
Biblio-fucked. The Christmas hamper
Is a winning season. It is a favorite.
It was always part of the plan to
catch the shark. Children are talking about
it in school, and are scheduled to
release the shark on Monday, says shark.
I rescued you, Sammy, and look who’s
Coming now. Everyone. I witnessed
A fire and it has not changed how I
Feel about you. I don’t even see the
Difference between us.
This doesn’t evoke ruins, does it?
I would visit, just to see you, Sammy,
But I tell people you should be released.
Don’t leave now. Your hair just got good.
And you look older than you actually are.
When we are friends it’s like I have
Never been friends with anyone else.
Together we witnessed the virgin birth
Of a shark. There were 38 real crocodiles
In the water. I love to see them, but I think
They should be the same as birds—eaten.
Ralph, the whale shark, has died. Let us
never click that one. We are all missionaries here.
It’s the truth, and he’s from New York.
Give me the credit.
This fire burned sister fire, and
It’s called the law of time. It’s not
The end of the world, it’s just the end
Of time. The world bombs up.
Remember the time we dated all
Of those Christian singles?
In 1380 Darla said: “the Mexicans ate
All the vegetables!” My god the things you
Don’t know, my god.
Oh, Oliver, my fatty!
Television says: “does you love
A fatty?” Don’t let an old man
Cry in your vagina.
I can hear the squirrels in the
Attic, making a new family.
I came back and there were
Five raccoons trying to get
In the kitchen to fuck with
With my sandwiches.
I have made a living out of
Stacking chairs and blowing
Rats in the basement.
I don’t think anything
could kill you.
Oh, Dr. Beetroot!
We shall kill an entire
Nation with garlic.
Everyone in my family
Has already died from
When will the epidemic
Be over? When will cable
Be free for everyone?
Party in the bleachers.
I want to court Russia—Bone around. Bone around.
More and more books. Here is the dream in the
Teachers; they can yell while flopped on the ground.
Look up, look up, look up. There is a statue with some
Kind of light poking through. The animals of your better
Nature are plaid. Blue. And green.
Here we are in the woods, again. Here we are.You are your mother
and that is good enough.She reminds you to be careful and
sometimes she whispers to us. I got into 12 fights. Perhaps I
Was not fighting at all. I was just thinking that I hit her in the
Mouth because she deserved it. But she wasn’t there. I
Imagine hitting . Today is so lonely with no one to hit.
I imagine him going down and down…what will he say.
Where will he look. It’s dark next door and there is love making.
Carve a wee angel in the tree and we shall live forever! It only touches
My teeth, so it’s still good. Sit up straight and breathing becomes much
Easier. The story is all over. Naturally, you are aggressive.
Once there was a man who enjoyed rockery and he built a
City out of such. Sad, story times. Watch her go, watch her go!
God, it is beautiful! Whisper. Was that okay? Whisper. Trumpets.
This poem is one-hundred-eighty-five pages long. Please don’t end.
I love to look at it—the art times. I got away with it. Sassy limbo.
I watched from afar and knew what you were doing, so I set
the bar on fire. I had a dream that we got married and spent
the rest of our lives in the same room, or that that was all we
could remember from our life together. We stared at a painting.
Mr. Starrer, Mr. Starrer! Tell us the one about Rudy in LA. Oh, it
Ends badly, doesn’t it…solo. Yes it does. We’re slow to go back to.
The places race me. Remember she is old and is outside. Take
Care of the small drawings. Hand massage instruction is very
Relaxing. How I hate the joy and remember hate in hating it.
You must enjoy yourself, and there is no need to look up every
Few moments. Everyone sounds like they’re saying my name
Sunday, November 16, 2008
God seems far away.
He has lived with Rhinos, and
All the people who wanted to be born rhinos are
So jealous of him. Everyone is jealous of god
Cause he’s living it.
God has loved me for so long that I forget
When we first met.
I guarantee, yes I do. I like to pretend he is
There, and that he is also here, and everywhere.
I like to tell him stories about growing up
In Asia. I like to tell him all about the time
That car chased me.
I ask god “why does my fingers get
Dark during pregnancy?”
He says “I am running! I am
Running!” so happy in the dreams.
I am escalator. I am enemy?
why does my pubic hair itch
When my dell tower cpu
beeps every 2 minutes. I can say I
Hope anything. I can play possum
And say stand up, me! I consider
Me to believe. Then god provided me
With a wide choice of trash cans and
Delicious, delicious ice cream.
I am the ghost of pool, said to be the
Ghost of shy Mr. Holt.
There are so many
good people in this world.
Out of the tre a sure comes revolt.
Baby bangs and Ryan church nausea.
Ryan church concussion.
Ryan church dizziness post-concussion syndrome.
Personal development vs. church nausea vs.
Sharkbite Christian surfers. Personal development
Is 5 miles away. Do I find out and just…
God, where does money come from?
I don’t know anything. When you
Are up late and you don’t recognize
Anyone. And I cry if you look at me.
You are one of the few.
Sit here in this picture here. In
Father’s lap, sit ye down, here.
Please, I am highly emotional,
I am the least fussy.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Those are dumpy jeans. He has dumpy-butt. I ask “Do you like music?” and then “What music do you like?”
He likes the song “Beautiful.” He says he can’t listen to that song. I take this to mean it makes him sad. I say I cannot listen to “beautiful” either because I dislike the song. I can’t really remember the words…well. It’s not really that kind of song.
I look at the man next to me, and then at his hands. The left hand is average, but the right is strange. His fingernails seem to have grown into his fingers. They look yellow and dry. There is no separation. The nail and finger are one. I feel a little like passing out, but don’t. Brook told me about a man she saw on the bus. She said he had blood under his fingernails, but she had this feeling it was not his blood. She said she thinks it was the blood of innocents. We then talked about evil, or the lack thereof. The whiteness is evil. But not the man. Whiteness is like the devil, and you don’t have to be white to have it, and just because you are white does not mean you have it. Evil people have it, whoever they are.
The light blinks red on and off. I once cut through a church to get away from him and then I got stuck in a stairwell and had to jump a fence. I’m not sure why he scares me. He’s probably a nice guy. You can live through anything if Magic made it. I remember learning about AIDS in 3rd grade and my teacher used Magic Johnson as an example.
I had that dream about the Vagina Monologues, again. What if it were Vagine? Va-jean. I was selected by an actor to follow this hooded character backstage, and we disappeared behind a wall. He took off his mask and was bald. The play began with these strange gothic characters/monsters pacing in the ocean. One looked like Oscar Wilde. There was a sing along portion of the play, but we had to learn it in groups during intermission.
Is the presence of light, but
Light must not be in it to be
A true thing.
In every room there is nothing,
But there is light.
The light goes home quickly.
Light is a zipper that goes down
Light has many categories: mom-light,
Tree-light, paper-light, baby-light,
Orange-light, shoe-light, and
These are different than real
Lights: Mexican-Light and soy-light.
Light walks in no time at all.
It goes like “mmm, yes.”
Light is in tables. Light is
Easy like smooth pressure.
Light is afraid like all creatures,
And historical. More historical
As it moves.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
my period is as long as the day is
but no matter, no matter at all.
We will be on the train soon enough
and there are eighty-nine periods on
board. I ride for the memories, but don't
think I take it lightly. It is never light.
It is never light out when you
want it to be, and in the morning it is dark
but none of that matters on the train
there is e-lec-tric-i-ty. Jumbo
sidewalk, and I may have sleep
walked out the door, and stepped
right on to the tracks. light as air.
These tracks will only lead to more
periods where you or I will be.
Back on the train hurtling toward hometowns
I relax. You sprinkled pepper on that
naughty ticket taker, but I fell back asleep
and dreamt I had walked to your hometown
where we drunk dialed my old choir teacher.
You didn't laugh and just stared real hard
Stacking denlues in pyramid form
cutting down smelly trees
but caution taping it off
filling up dodge with snow and
icing school steps
Rolling car into football
turning geo-metro sideways
parenting mice/ mean hens bridge
In one year...
Friday, April 4, 2008
There is this cloud over Mexico’s
Image. There is Frank here, sitting
With his arms crossed on his chest.
There is Frank here designing a boat
And pencil picked up from a draft
Supply store. There is Frank sitting
In Europe. There is Ralph here sitting
With a tea kettle on the ground.
There is John Q talking to his chattel.
There is this cloud over Mexico’s
Image. The cloud was not always
There, or, maybe it was a landmark.
Frank was not always here. I think
He was in the waterbed all along.
Ralph picked fights, and drank, and
He wrote that song. John Q talked
And had 40 children who all died
Before he could explain the cloud to them.
This cloud over Mexico, how do you
Say? I think you ruined my life, or by
Extension you ruined everyone’s lives.
You ruined this poem, anyway.
There is no legacy, but there is Nyquil.
I think there used to be a gun, and I know
There were four boys, but now there is
Only one, and there’s a girl.
There used to be this cloud over Mexico.
Now it is a small shoe, and that tiny stuffed
Raccoon. That is all that is left of Mexico.
Grandparents don’t exist anymore, or they do.
They sing happy birthday and the marine core
Hymn, and that’s nice. They don’t sing to
Mexico anymore, though. And I still sing happy
Birthday, and parts of the marine core hymn,
But only in the car, and never in restaurants.