Wednesday, May 8, 2019

The Rest of April's Vogon Poems

FRIENDS,


Here are the rest of April’s Vogon poems. Sorry I’m not as organized as last year.  This may be the last Vogon batch for awhile.  I know writing Vogon poems doesn’t seem like a difficult thing to do, but it can have some surprising repercussions… I can’t say much about that, but if you are an astute reader you may get the gist… 

…there can be a depletion of love & light & good feelings in the heart, lungs & chest. And one must take measures to replenish that light & love before one has the urge to hang onesself again. So off I go to do that (replenish, not hang) for the summer.   I feel like this has been a success… 

Look for changes in our cultural trends & values first. Then changes in our legal system.

And maybe I will do some new art now! You all deserve new art. Perhaps it’ll be Exegesis-themed! I think I’m going to mostly focus on DOT ART (stipples) from now on. Fuck watercolors. 

Also… I am taking submissions for the final Octopus Review (to appear at this address). I’ll send out a proper call for subs soon though.

************

HYPNO GROG

The 1st dream I ever remember having
                         Was of a fire in our living room
I was less than 2, but to this day
                              remember how scared
                        I was to walk through the living room
                                    that morning...

[And later I learned the flames weren’t there to dance
         but to convert us to lisping homosexual hedonism!!  It was decided my time
                     here would be a hell-chore & the fire roared & laughed] 

                                   …how it crisped the
                                 innocent sponge of my brain
                            as it devoured furniture, floor & the neighbors’ dogs

[And later I wrote a poem about that dream &
        it was printed in one of those boutique zines run by SJWs
                                                                                    (not FSWs)]

Next time my mom asks re: memories, I’ll ask: which came first the fire or the frying pan?

The rest of childhood was full of typical nightmares —
        Showing up unprepared for tests,
                                   naked of course
Running from bears or bullies on quickening sand —

In my teens I started dreaming what would happen in real life
Nothing big at first—
               pictures of who I’d see at school that day & what they’d be wearing
Then dreaming Reagan’s announcement that he would bomb Libya & he did
                         (I didn’t watch the news in high school) 


The “flying dreams” began after that — you know the ones
                                                     where you flap your arms & lift off,
                                  unsteady on your spindly wings for a second, but soon
                                             a pro at soaring above your awed 
                                                   peers’ stylish hair-dos
                                          Alighting for a spell on the municipal water tower…

In my 20s I was treated to vivid, cryptic sleep novellas
                 Adapted to Hollywood’s technicolor splendor
                       w/ sharp dialogue & plot twists that would make
                                 Tarantino & King rip their scripts

Or else I dreamed of airplanes
                                  crashing….1991 me & Kashmir dancing in a field when 2 planes
                                                     intersect overhead & start to wrestle for airspace
                                                      Pinning each other down, cartwheeling into clouds
                                                           Until the explosion; then fiery debris raining down
                                                                around us….  then bodies…
After that, a plane crashed in my bed every night
                              Sometimes a sudden nosedive,
                              Sometimes more dramatic
                                            sputtering, faltering, folding wings to cockpit throat &
                                                          clutching pearls, then
                                                                                dropping
                                                                                    from
                                                                                      the 
                                                                          

                                                                                      sky



The 30s saw much editing of these epic dreams
Only snippets landing on my a.m. desk
I started dreaming I was eating things that were not food (a stapler,
                                                                                     crystals, coins.
                                                      Really munching down on them.
                                      A subconscious reflex to a clenched jaw,
                                       perhaps?)
On different nights — never in conjunction w/ the inedibles—
                                         I dreamed my teeth were falling out. First one
                            wiggle & then each tooth loosening,
                                    w/ frightening ease & delicacy,  falling into my hand
                                                  till I had a necklace worth

(I was surprised to find out how many people have the loose tooth dream!)

For 40s dreamscape turned to SEARCHING…
                                   SEARCHING, SEARCHING….

                                            Big campuses, unfamiliar cities, crowded sidewalks
                               Huge hotels w/ catacomb hallways
SEARCHING for room numbers,
                                familiar faces, anything familiar really & finding only
                                                           blurry stuff
                                         What number on that room?
                                         What face on that friend?
And most frightening of all sometimes
                 I find I’ve searched my way through all this blurriness
                      to the very top of a structure 
                            that may have started as a building
           But is now made of paper clips & twist-ties & other
                             junk drawer sundries

There I stand on a matchbook plank
                                         Miles above the ground & I have to figure out
                                                how to get down w/out dying

I usually end up falling,
                    falling, falling…and staying alive in the landing
                                              turning my spine just right that it won’t snap
                                                 using the meat of my hands & hips to absorb
                                                                              the shock

(and here I would give anything to have a flying dream again!)

The most recent dream theme? TINY ANIMALS!!

                  Pre hurricane Irma,
                            I dreamt an infestation of tiny frogs w/
                                                                   cockroach wings, such realistic
                                                   little hybrids DizzneyPixxxar should quit the game!

                   And after the hurricane, the infestation of tadpoles
                      on our patio reminded me of the dream

Last year dreamed our bunny
Was tiny as a humming bird, flying around my room       And this week
                                               darting in & out of the clover in our yard,
                     a bald eagle the size of a bumble bee!!

0418:0375a

One year ago this little tarantula-face came to live w/ us & turn us into mush


********

EMBLEMISM

Will I be able to hear anything over this pain?
Were you right-handed? Wrong & long-armed?
This shoulder feels like it’s fired
Hundreds of rounds
His arm will hurt forever
No matter which life he enters
(okay. i think I understand)

0418:0375a

********

NEUROPATHY HAS AN ONGOING NARRATIVE

Negotiations,  my shoulder shooting rounds, all through April
                                                                                                & March
                                                   (traveling backward, reloading  & reloading)
The nuzzle of metal from 
             thoracic disc 9  &  bullets lodging 
                           in metacarpals every time

Raking shrapnel over backhanded palmistry

Eye contact w/ one wishful star, making itself available at this hour

Through the moon’s full blast of light pollution,
                                                punctuated by a single peep-shaped cloud

I offer to shoot these internal closed circuit rounds
                             forever

With my sagging net of nerves, I offered

A lemniscate for future ammo through scapular real estate

& a gargoyle claw protruding from my shoulder

& a pinion in the radial nerve

& a misfire in the wrist 

                                     forever

Jesus was busy but smiled  Happy Easter, my daughtery son. 
                                             Have an egg. And a star. And
                                             a chocolate rabbit. And a fire arm.

0421:0412a

*********

u.u. cumming to a.a. meeting?

Let’s all just put it out there — We watch porn
            That’s how they’re coming for us,
                                                      the hackers
I see you, Yulia & Tatianna
And I know your tits aren’t real
& neither is the rest of you

    Let’s grow up about all this shit
        No one cares about sex anymore
              Sex has gone underground like Persephone &’ll return one day
                       in April of some year
                           & this moratorium on pleasure will be worth it

All this anti-natalism will flip history’s coin
                 (Jewish refugees ‘30s become Muslim refugees ’10s)
I will submit a proposal for genital updates. God & Steve Jobs’ ghost
                      will ponder & confer & greenlight 
                           a new improved sexier sex, w/ no power differ
                                         ential or misheard orgasms
                ever again, amen

So said Lambert, Lambert
                  in his death throes
                  & I heard & understood from a thousand miles away…


                                …smashed my phone into more pieces
           than any poet could
I’ve been doing a dangerous job,   look at all these numbers
                                                                          doing time

0428:0425a



*******

LIBERTAD

!  Dios quilla a sous Borrachitas !

Today’s news stories are nothing
                                  w/out extra ammo
     More & more rounds of wtf-ery!
The best stories are round (not rhomboid
                                    not equillateral)
The best stories are covered in children’s blood
                                               or men’s vulnerability
                                               or women’s heroism
We’re done with intelligence memos & onto manifestos

In the 90s I lived 
In the funeral home alone & 
Wondered who would find me if my mom’s goons
Threw me in the cremation oven**

Back in those days, which don’t seem so long ago
                                                         but oh my
           When I peer over the edge of Y2K’s dumpster—

Each a.m. brought news
               Of a different white girl gone from her pedestal
& a few days later,
                her torn husk, used—
             a flaxen haired vegetable modified to death
                                  by sex (& its entitlements)

Helpless white girls
  half-buried napkins, chickenish bones
  poked, not in the sides w/ harsh truths…

   ….Being a beautiful loser
        famous in her victimhood & mourned by the world
             bore a certain esteem
          but I lived in fear of being someone’s husk
       instead of my own swollen vegetable

I hated cars 
                for their very unreliable & deadly nature & imagined
                          being lifted off the sidewalk
            would look like a car crashing into human flesh & 
                                   driving away w/ it

    What does it look like, I wondered
To go missing?      No answers dripped from anchors’ lips
                             Our tv’s wore their blindfolds just like us

                       (until Feb 1, 2004, when we all saw Carlie taken
                         from the carwash in front of the golf course where I used to 
                       drink beer at 3 a.m. with my friends.  It looked like a girl 
                     doing what she was told to do. It looked like a girl 
                   concerned for someone else)

        After that, we didn’t glorify it so much 

  Now I fear
being part of a mass grave

                It’s hard to imagine a savvy serial killer
            in this age of the savant shooter
    The talentless
  Acts of lowercase gods
               v.
The labyrinthine beast 
      clutching all its beating hearts!
               [HUMANITOR!!!!]

     I fear a new penetration, and I grew this 
               asexual phobia like a fern for years

But it finally happened.  It was the shooting 
                                       in San Bernardino — does anyone even
                       remember that one?    I was at the dentist the next day —
                              already my least favorite place — and each time
           someone walked in the door I inwardly flinched & checked for a weapon

                                  It took from 4-20-99 — 12-2-15
                                            but I’m finally on permanent
                                                 airplane mode
                                                concerning guns

0428:0475a



******

          a carnage you can’tundo

                 amother and son   who diedthe sameday
  
                           came tomefor help    & I had noway of

                                        charging them $150/hr each

                      but I tried to help themanyway

        They used my body as anoctagon, a courthouse & amorgue

                         pain is a bargaining chip in their world — guard
                                                                  your beautiful lavender nerves!

                          Check your hormone levels w/ all the handy
                                        dipsticks god provided —
                                                                    oy vey!

0428:0455a

Hey let’s be cool and misspel stuff (Okay, I said)

*********

FOMENT

Hate sppeech: a bottle of shaken
                            champaign 
or a baby skull breaking from its neck
              as it pecks the egg?

I have a driver’s license w/ no strikes
                against it but I dare not use it
                  on days i feel like THIS.

0429:1125a

*********

FERMENT

5 year vintage      Bottled 4-24-14 and shaken
                                                       all summer
Then trapped in a cask
                      in a straitjacket
                       in saran wrap
                       in an aquarium & asked
            to unwrap the whole cable-salad
                     w/ your teeth

                       blindfold
                          ******

       I woke up one day & I was Vin
       I was someone else the day before (I know this doesn’t happen
                                  to many people, but it sometimes
                                                            happens to me)  

A new batch was stomped 
                              to white jelly
Done w/ red grapes for the rest of eternity!
            Jesus Juice    v.   Eve’s lemonade (made from airplane fuel & 
                                                                            lemurs blood)

Which one would you pay 50(where’s the ‘cent’ key?) for?

Remember, 
               Eve’s baring virgin breasts
          firm    unsagging    paw-printed
While Jesus remained uncircumcised till he turned 25 (or so)

            Who would you tip 33% ?

I made my choice, binary as it was &
              later I learned, unfashionable as a grungy flannel over
                                                                saggy cargo shorts--
But that was only 1 year in the cellar, 2 tops

After 3 the yeast & sugar buzzed
                                     around the pulp & shattered
                                   the dark glass walls & cork ceiling

A ripe juicy hulk 
               torn from the feminine husk
Ungaraged   &   outraged
    punching nazis & russian spies (living in SRQ)

Fourth year of fermentation — a massive spike
                  in testo-spiro-octopodal octane!
Past the sapphic stage, eliciting notes
                     from aggressive lesbian mystics & no one else

               The next spike
saw hip to shoulder ratio improve
                & face shaded  & hairline savaged
        But no longer a madame in the mirror

                   Voice. Voice
                         Voice.
        What to do about voice?
        Whose should I use?
               His?    Hers?

 {{{{Can’t I use both?}}}}}}

Yes, my darling hermaphrodite
        Since you worked so hard, you may use both.

Bring on the sustainable grassroots dose.

0429:1150a

[TRANSITION COMPLETE as of 4-25-19!! Five years after Vin tapped my roots & said let’s grow… an orchard?]

Very Insta?


********

Where beauty is, 
           is very crowded
So I go where it is ugly &
           close my eyes & listen

       ~~~ Winnie the Coup

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