from the fall

tomato decidedly
flourish beside
and each
other beside

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some 2x4s from last summer

slow father
fading mother
flat affect
timing s(cr)een

warning best
consumed in
anterior time
posterior swish

cake too
cream spear
precarious anchor
eat clean

I want
my cubbyhole
back from
the back

misery reverbrates
alone and
unverifiable predicament
gratitude sounds

so you
too like
to whip
it good

I want
my vest
to tell
the time

echoing sped
molecular souls
bound dividing
moist disaster

like food
but pretend
you see
it’s pathological

whimsical fulcrum
speech gave
space never
before articulate(d)

notation cleaves
like no
other sign
of paternity

it really
does take
articulate western
failure window

molecular mimicry
makes me
bleed and
ask questions

operating thought
without substrate
is as
bad as

I cannot
remember what
hit me
but did

reckless thought
marks opportune
inhibition loss
preaching return

there’s nothing
quite like
I told
you so

vague references
hope for
world peace
or synthesis

never too
much estrogen
never too
much estrogen

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notes on the nose

Candy lights go up
newspapers
shadow play prelude:
We also let blood
.

Shadow play march
stinking hands
negation to coffee
print newspapers:
Culpability.

Search out notable anti-futurists
       (everything breathes deceit).

Runaway black poodle
play of nature
the nose is in the summer garden
a day in the life.

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life imitates lit

So, long time no blog. the uncanny convergences of life imitating literature in conjunction with the 19th c lit class I am TA ing though have become too prominent for keeping to my private thoughts.
 
Scarlet Letter: The day I was supposed to teach this novel, and its puritanical context in particular, I wound up scalding myself on the chest VERY BADLY (the ER bills are still coming, though now I have my retroactive insurance activated so god willing this will not have in the end been one of those costly things… but hold, I digress…). It was a french press gone awry. I am still figuring out my coffee options as I have been so busy and so lazy. Spending money on fancy coffee drinks out has been my most prominent vice of the semester.

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spreading

what is this violation?
unfold myself in letters
i am a poet, after all
my words have borrowed
and been borrowed
misplaced and disjointed my face
it is spreading
like the end of Lady Gaga’s Alejandro video
(i know)
it is an uncomfortable feeling
and so what
it is this a power thing it is this also a pure thing
wordy thing
perhaps

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back to the 90s

For some reason downloading 90s Roots and Tribe may be what I need to get through this sticky slow final period. I wonder if the dormant manic braincells that were active back then will be reinvigorated or if they’ve been burnt out for good years ago. important work takes a while. my most intellectually lasting papers were the ones I risked incompletes for. So, there’s hope that this isn’t pure slothfulness at work. Hope…

I remember seeing the Roots live at Wetlands in NYC before they closed… what an amazing opportunity in such an intimate space… NYC used to be such a different rich place full of these gems. I feel like I got to NYC in ’98 just on the cusp of these things being phased out… or maybe I feel this way because, in fact, I am getting old and adventurous shit doesn’t happen to me anymore?

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at the (illegal 7:30am) dog park

it’s a different social culture.

the first morning, i tried to introduce myself to the doggie mommies only to find that none of them even knew each others’ names. (awkward moment of learning new social codes). and they’ve been seeing each other every morning for god knows how long. it’s all about the doggies there! Duncan, Monkey, Paisley, BeeBee, Angelina Barker…

there are fascinating lines of desire around dogs. mini-me’s.

I didn’t fare so good this morning, it being Friday and having no coffee. One doggie mommy i didn’t recognize tried to talk to me and in my just-rolled-out of bed fog I must have sounded like my IQ was incredibly low, or that I was hard of hearing, or that I didn’t remember/realize that I had just asked her how old her dog was and she had already answered me. at least once, though possibly twice. I think maybe now I understand why doggie mommies don’t bother to get to know each other. It’s not like we’re at our best, all in jammies, and the ones who shower first get there later, looking fresh and quietly sheepish, with their doggies’ pristine tails like furry flag beacons of cuteness.

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