FRIENDS,
How are you? I'm busy as fuck & hope you are too.
I have scheduled top surgery. I won't tell you the date because I don't want you casting spells on me on the operating table. But I can't wait!
(But I will wait.)
So….here is the next part of the Howl-length epic. You've been waiting anxiously. If you notice that I go between "you" & "I" as subjects, always know that "You" & "I" both mean "me." And also they mean "all of you, all of us."
Enj. Oy.
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JUL -- SEP
Summer is the most monstrous segment of time's caterpillar
The noise of taming nature bleeds green into the perpetually sweaty ear cavity. Palm the hazy yellow pill, gulp it
The only thing that stops the white of noise is forbidden yellow tablet dissolved upon humid tongue & halting
A hellish cycle that began somewhere by the schoolyard where obsessive compulsive lawnmower man
Loomed again, again & against the pulpit of dawn
I run on slippery octopus feet I slip on my own tears and disappear in a cloud of ink
This transparent inkcloud you peer through now.
[My vow to stay sober is being revised] NEW VOW & TESTAMENT:
If I make it 10 years without I may check in
W/ the occult elixir once again. It's not required. But it will be allowed on days like July XX 2015 when XXXXX
The people who are visual thinkers would never notice how goddamn loud the daytime summer, tears into my paper
Machete speaker cabinet skull
I am an auditory pupil, thinking immobilized, just flashes of insight all day long between tears, between mower clips & bullet spray & loud loud basketballs bouncing down the street; cracked asphalt playground lacking minor puppetmasters, they bounce alone reclaiming their net worth by making noise.
A night in the city of my garage making the only noise I can tolerate--music. Tube trance my own sub-genre of organic bleeps responding to electronica as she searched for the right word to finish her artificial thought
By Independence Day I made my choice
Between the tailor & the surgeon
It's hard to wait on these long slippery feet
How do humans sit, patient, flipping through slick zines with their parched inkless fingertips
How do they live in such hard hard heads?
The door held open by aliens, all domesticated & legal
How are you? Please step on the scale.
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| Me & Pixel as kiddens? Nope that's my very fist black kitty, Hannah |
I slipped on cat vomit & cried for an hour. No worry there was no milkfed this cat -- a true mammary cannibal oddity
The fangs of a vegan lost
Teeth in my house I never found
The soft yellow of the pill dissolves the sun's glaring dictatorship
The sun atop the stems of brains casting coronas all around error & artifice
Around all thoughts even those perceived to be automatic involuntary motion detected sympathy cards of stock response
TransPanTastic
When you care to copy every footstep laid down for you--
Sing songs to your cat in homemade videos, play guitar with your old alcoholic hands shaking & sweating just because it's in the rule book
Buy sex toys you do not need.
Consider doing a podcast. It's part of the process, the process can't be stopped & you haven't even got past the initial consult
You spend this summer studying the nuance of your new identity
You decide not to send a thank you document to those who paved the way, happy little footsteps pitter-pattering past the very need for surgery, for needles in your life--
the twilight agony zone of binary boxes, or rather shell game switcheroo at embryonic hormone car wash, squirted but unresponsive, or not hosed down at all. Which is it that caused you to emerge as default gender specimen?
An hourglass w/ cubist tendencies. This is how your time travels, the sands get lost in transit. From shard to shape to shadow. From suitcase to station to supernova. It explodes into a yearglass.
Responded to the rattlesnake; still haven't held a beerglass
Or a chainsaw to your tits
Ears in distress
When chainsaws call like wolves at night your insomnia feels even more like a karmic repercussion, unusual & unconstitutional
They lowered that damn redneck flag, forgive me for saying I'm proud not to be afraid of god (even as "he" pinned me to my own ribcage last year) I'm proud to be gun- and child-free, I'm proud to say I love social justice but hate the poetry!
They lowered their damn trousers & whipped out their dicks
Because every story needs a scene like that.
Yes?
I study The Others--all here for the same reason. But further along in their laboratory body journeys. I feel extra prima donna ballerina. I still cry ballet tears, the broken toes, and my NY fat Abby Lee Miller boss stinking of her own feet, dry cracked voice yelling at my posture, my weary quadracep letdown. Yelling that I'll never make it to the stage…
I walk away and pull a page from my notebook & dance on it, but she doesn't see. I remember those tears like yesterday, all tears on the windshield have dates & reasons pinned microscopically into the shatterproof focal pointe
Ballet is melting flesh. Buttery transcendence from ape to raven to helium to ether and back to butter or human again but so visual it leaves the auditory among us out in the cold vomitorium
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| Babysitter teaches me & my brother how to feed babies properly--a skill neither of us ever needed |
Tuesday finally. Peace. A gift. Sang. Brothers. New webisodes of chaotic watercolor cartoon I love so much, through my own tears it looks like a computer generated image. Lacking humanity. Lacking vision.
Word salad on this planet--you aren't anxious. You are a unit of anxiety--an anxiet.
On this plate you are always the potato never the meat. On this template you are always the sidebar. Contemplate tempest. Men's room euphoria/dysphoria all@once.com I couldn't find myself in the mirror. In the backpack i find someone else's junk & use it to do my business. Women have no business in the genderless bathroom. Women are the most gendered of them all.
Who's spotted a rhino wearing lipstick? A pit bull with breast implants? A tarantula Brazilian-waxed?
Sometimes men have zero mirrors on the wall. To be free of any reflection is how free I want to be.
Yum. Stress. Mmmm.
Now with more methylethylcellulorhomboid marshmallows.
Very unclever. An age of privilege is coming to a theatre near you & it ends. Loud vocalization of orgasmic opposites shaken like water off your golden retriever, creating that yin thing, that yangxiety
Feels like heart pinata busted & leaking sugar for favors. Please please, pretty please, who taught that to their daughter?
Feels like rodents, spiders, sticky whiskers
Anything but butter flies along your nerves
Anything but horses powering your will to live in this device-shaped society &
Estrodial still controlling your libido
The laboratory journey begins with a letter to the ologist and a Shakespearean wait.
A play at the goddamn hickory-dickory-trickery-dockery tea house, so prior to Boston Harbor we can hardly call it a Party.
Blacked out on Earl Grey, you'll never believe who I forgot seeing there--Elliot.
(I'll never see him again)
What? I saw him a week later on that couch in that building. Talk to yourselves about how inappropriate catastrophic language is for this scenario.
Who remembers the Vivian Girls and their loving but wrathful creator? Not god, but not Satan. Not like Abby Lee Miller either. I am the Vivian Boy with balanced chakras despite (his my your poem voiced many flaws) Speaking of being a defective dickless version of Humanitor--
I made an invention that I got off the internet
It makes me smarter every time I drink water
Sometimes gotta spend some quality time w/ numbers
Numbers jotted & numbers scribbled out w/ numbers wriitten over them like birds about to poop on their importance
Sometimes time is my only friend & I don't even have to pay it; it is its own currency
After all the attention paid to space
Mass gets its own reception
All 5 senses -- and the 6th I imagine -- round out the 9 dimensions we occupy
Stonewall Birthday
Numeric empirical paranoid conclusion
Phone walls not stone but awfully withholding when all I get is an ancient archaic analog answering machine
Take our quiz: Can You Draw A Vagina?
Can you draw a weapon from your vagina?
Can you draw medical marijuana into your vagina?
Is your eye drawn to pointillism? Is your vagina?
In the future, new bodies will be ready & upgraded for our pleasure & utility & there will be no vaginas left, yes?
Can you recall all your residences--the places you've lived since birth?
I can't but I had to anyway.
These government papers are not hyperbole. They are not suggestions. So dig deep, citizen. Where were you the night you were born?
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| ART!!! |
The troll from under the internet's Golden Gate attention span came crawling into your humid ante-chamber
While you waited for Julieticide
Romeo knocked on my nervous system & offered a cocktail I could refuse (but didn't)
The troll thinks you are linked to me (romanxiety, genitoxic masculinities) and you are but only platonically, hemlockishly socratically, aristotally innocently, hella adverbally.
You can't control the remote eyeball army, you can't offer trigger but not bullet warnings, you can't troll me away from my safe place. I tried. You should've been kidnapped. I was. At gunpoint. I didn't even live there at one point. But he tried to get me to stay put. At gunpont. Even on the potty.
Singing is the new crying.
Crying is the new sculpture.
Sculpture is business & business is booming, exploding
Into theatre,
where I fail to resonate with super heroes,
Where animae won't do it for me anymore--where is the human touch, the alcoholic ink-washes that make your characters pop out of their limitless hallucinogenic skin? Replaced by soft hazy digital 3-D overly lifelike adorbs and yet so lacking luster husks.
Business is blossoming into a rare Tarot orchid a 4th of July lily dropping pollen for bees
Who would rather step in shit
Than enter through August's automatic doors whooshing with wet warmth and crying out for freon
Headache barometer leo-panthera uproar
Rain. Flood. Sing. Guitar.
Hollow evening misogynous latitude--you're allowed a certain degree even in this heat,
Especially in this cheap August heat
You have acute anxiety issues -- guns help. Safety first! Too many Tuesdays in 2015--most gunshots happen on Tuesdays,
ask anyone. Social media got my tongue, my ego my exquisite scapulas. I hunch like a gargoyle over its busy sidewalk, observing their puff-chested text for my own cues to evolve
Evolution was going the speed limit but now it accelerates. I'm catching up after lagging a decade behind. Driving like a blue hair in the turn lane for 12 years, blinker on so they know I'm alive. Social media is the new paperwork. We've come a long way. We've gone right back though….
Slipped on the literal & proverbial banana peel, the controversial cliche is problematic for fruit whose skin does not make a mockery of man
Thursday--feeling light & fun! Enjoy the fuck out of it because it's just a surge from the guy next to you. Happiness never your own private property, must plug into the system. Be seen in photographs with rows of friends, paperdolling at your big event, not strong enough to be plastic, mannequins posing alone, self equals selfish, a virtue to some
Write. Guitar. Read. Respond. Silly cartoon, blood is for canvas. Silly art, work is for living.
Left alone in the parking lot w/ cliquish trans guys. Even in the marginal pervzone I am alone. Walled to an even further, exclusive narrow curb club nervous skateboard breakdown balance beam bard burden… I get lost trying to figure out where conversations should begin….
Says the boy who cries good bye on the sidelines. Downtown all torn up by bulldozers & people who never lived here before.
Humans swarm like moths around the Sarasotellite
Today I was interviewed by a saint. Today I swear. My victim died. My valiant parole officer removed me from the prison of my body. Now I'm a murdered woman too. A militant stylist needs to know the gender of my cut.
The house was open to the public, even us. Before we moved in, a leopard lived here. A father figure lectures me in my new dream bedroom. I stand up to him in my sleep. Baptizing turquoise walls w/ my stale tears, trapped in women's prison 40 year incarceration, oh my tiger, Sleeping tiger.
Sadly, tears do not age like wine. I tried to get drunk on them. Too dry, brutal.
The stoic auction. 95. 98. 109. Sold to the gay couple whose marriage will destroy the neighborhood & all its unseen Dachshund nazi dog owner lesbians & spraypainted hearts on garbage cans also lesbi-owned. Knock it to ruins & build a better fortress for your love graffiti.
The electronic contract. The Beckett on top of the Shakespearean weight, all this waiting in centipede bitcoin. I can wait like a playwright who knows the exact date his engine will die. You are straining for meaning & there is none.
Everyone panics like eternity's out to get them, but I celebrate at the mini-mart taking it personally that I haven't been chosen yet. The stainless crescent v. the scythewhack mascot who's unrecognizable in his threadbare lingerie.
Like I said, the mini-bar has been depleted since double oh seven & I'm still surrounded, shaken by drunks who stir in their dead brain cell habitats. They give me headaches & tell me not to look so horrified.
But the truth is I'm horrified. By this year & its added dimension. If I knocked that wine glass from your fist you'd be the first to adopt my horrified face. How can you tell the dental hygienist Don't touch me! Get the fuck outta my face! It's her job to be there in your head, for your teeth to bleed on her & stink up her gloves. I erase this week w/ some arterial graffiti.
Why does poetry give? I don't know but I'm drowning
In an aspect of the muse that melted on my dashboard, a crayonscape touched by sun in a standstill parking sandlot
And unlike your forgotten child, it came to life
As it liquefied
The dogs remind me I was young not long ago
But now it's time to be old. That's just how it goes.
Summer is your horoscope's dirtiest joke, the punchline divine but directed at your ego's fonatanel. It urges you to switch seats at the sound of a bell, or a chainsaw. Ringing on a liquid shadow limb, why cut on a day that pants for shade, a day whose shirt is a dripping tongue with no deodorant on. Sublingual sweatglands on uberdrive, Axillary stress drool under my thumb the only pulse belonging to its true owner.
Hormones are god & god says it's good to wait in your room.
Howling or scowling or bowling or reading JK Rowling or knitting that cowlneck sweater for someone else's winter, not yours.
The host *must* have a dick to refer to.
The poet laureate must have a penis!
All those critics & pundits must stand to pee or they'll be told to sit down on the sidelines like they do in the restroom. I will walk from the margins to the outskirts & make it to an alternate universe by dinner next year.
You won't believe how loud I will sing in this electric rain storm, you don't understand how inspiring lightning is!! Only I & my lonely ego understand snow. You corrupt rainbows, ignore the sunset unless you have a camera. Enjoying nature is a sacred accomplishment. Congratulations on your eyesight.
A live sacrifice on Jeopardy! Trebek evolves before our eyes, an onyx goddess, superheromoon above his full pouty lip no longer moustachey but utterly clean and sober. Scholarly cockroach flounder amoeba contestant. who will ring in first, who will be the patientest?
Jesusfish subject to evolution too, now a cat with claws scratching holiness into your low-brow paint job. Clouds are patient. Moon is doctored. Clouds separated at birth, moon behind a mask of their silver microsurgery vapors. Stars sacrificed like blurry white lambs. Fuzzy little.
Sun will identify all errors on the chart w/ a big orange smile. Congratulations you survived August.
If you over-identify w/ this team or that politician you may be a: chauvinist
racist
exhibitionist
patriot
cartoon
You're fired from your art. You must start caring what the world does. We'll tell you when to stop. You're all grown up now.
Fall Fashions.
I used to catalog colours. Organize them like code for a galaxy of sentients whose language is yellow butter urine sunshine blue blood from another planet's vein tap red into scarlet into brickyard, amber amulet, purplish puritanical prunes pureed
Color is the tenth dimension
But I've gotten ahead of my/our self. I was told to go & I went too far, back to the original pattern where god's galaxy-voice asks me to start again & move my mind faster when I talk because my mouth has all the answers. Long short demagogue dialogue high low road brow. Black white binary. Brown yellow second life marginalization. Yellow optimization for poetry publication.
Limitation. Tranquilization. Autism. Oblivion-stim. Don't interrupt--Grrrrrrrrrrr!!!!
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| 1975. Hippie-WASP road trip about to happen. Is my Charlie Chan coloring book racist? |
Let's go into broadcasting. Let's go into our minds, garages, hives & tell the world how to enslave colors & sacrifice numbers as the Bible said we should.
Wait, when did we open the Bible? When did we unscrew that childproof cap? Was it the night Alex T became a Somalian warrior w/ mutilated genitalia, female would be my guess…guessed. Guest. Contestant. Flounder. Amoeba.
I hate dinner & a movie.
But not tonight.
Tonight is a rare, well done exception to that medium.
The story told in 90 minute visual format w/ minimal dialogue & overdosing sp/fx obesified on gratuitous eye candy
I stopped the soft yellow pill from melting on my tongue
Fuzzy little lamb stars burnt up & I did not cry!!
I did not make a movie of myself crying &
My spirit didn't break into the pill dance
Somewhere nearby there's been a breakdown
Of the legal system, break-ins at a neighborly arm's length pace, who can piss farther? You can, burglar winner.
It's the day before my hormonal adventure and I still haven't packed my suitcase. I must've known I wasn't going down that road. Yet. 60% disappointed 40% relieved.
I write. Other writers like what I write. I am a fascist apologist masculist/feminist misogynist. Radical progressive who needs approval from magnetic verbs, slow sung vowels roasted not vocal-fried,
This poem is 75% noun & the Revolution demands more verbs. I've been disapproved, intransitive. Insensitive. Invalid. I'm a writer w/ likes but no loved ones. I'm a subject w/ no verbs to add to the conversation. I'm a gawker in the talker age. Realm. Era.
This is me on a support beam, bent by jet fuel, clung to by past glass relationships. I will jump soon. I summon courage that doesn't come in the form of a pill & freefall, a lungful of heartache twists my intestines' matching tapestry & just when I'm about to break,
Out come the nubs
The feathery aerodynamism of winged suspense. My fuselage is not too big to fail. I'm flying on my own 20K feet. Be careful of the drones the flocks of geese honking in the slick atmospheric galley.
All the wrong faces
Misogynist
Pugilist
Methodist journalists in the flock of jerks
Weirdo herd noise crowd funded sex and drugs
Entitled laziness, stillness, you've got no rights left
Human being ghostplane crashing on this sad date
You've also no right to avoid your fate, multi-tasking brain
Takes on one more dimension
The Boys' School w/ androgynous uniform questions
Principal shape color scent texture mass size taste on your tongue buds intersecting with time
Now I know I can stand up for my selves.
Now I know I can fly like a highway paved with the soft crude leftovers of girls & boys who never grew up to be dinosaurs
Riddled w/ rat paw blossoms, black-eyed susans
Lantern-jawed Pedros
Start packing, rats! It's time to make our exit w/ our selfish selves intact. Get more boxes from the liquor store. Liquor never goes out of business. Like mental illness and sarcasm. Repeat like historical phonecalls between powers that be on answering machines before magic rectangular palm-held social devices invented on a rainy waiting room night, singing, telling dick jokes, even laughing into my camera, missing the point of the total eclipse
2-2-16
