Thighs Like Sausages

Just finished reading Shanna Compton's neat chapbook, Down Spooky (I have #31 out of 50).

from Contrast Girls:

That girl there wore stiffened stays
and laced herself with bones.
She tied herself with strings, became
a little ham of rage.

----

Who hasn't been a little ham of rage at one time or another?

Hard Lemonade

Welcome Bennington drinking buddy, Michael Schiavo. Please note that he's not the guy fighting to get his wife taken off life support.

Tiny Bubbles

Tender Buttons at a Tender Age


Poet Perched on a Fire Place as a Young Girl


Poet as a Wayward Teen


Poet as a Young Dork

What I Learned in Atlantic City

1. Social Security checks arrive on the third of each month.

Have a Lucky Day

I'll be away for a few days. Atlantic City, here I come. Please be gentle with me.

Linky Loo

Here's the full, unedited, too-hot-for-TV presentation of Chris' bandage removal. Pictures of stitches included. Warning to Northern Virginia motorists. He's driving today.

Sam's instant family: Notice how he puts pets before people. One time he almost wrecked his car and killed me to save some dumbass bird that flew into the road.

There's a beautiful new issue of Drunken Boat out now with a transcript of an interview with Norman Mailer.

Tittygate, Part 2

This evening Chris took off his bandage.



Apparently it was very painful.



Darling, there can be beauty in a bandaged shoulder:

The Bandaged Shoulder
C.P. Cavafy

He said that he had hurt himself on a wall or that he had fallen.
But there was probably another reason
for the wounded and bandaged shoulder.

With a somewhat abrupt movement,
to bring down from a shelf some
photographs that he wanted to see closely,
the bandage was untied and a little blood ran.

I bandaged the shoulder again, and while bandaging it
I was somewhat slow; because it did not hurt,
and I liked to look at the blood. That
blood was a part of my love.

When he had left, I found in front of the chair,
a bloody rag, from the bandages,
a rag that looked in belonged in garbage;
which I brought up to my lips,
and which I held there for a long time --
the blood of love on my lips.

The World is a Mean & Unfair Place That Sucks Out Your Blood

Billy Corgan has a blog. And a book of poetry coming out later this year from Farrar Straus & Giroux. WTF? Apparently he loves me because I've purchased some Smashing Pumpkin CDs in the past. That's great. Create a CD with the quality of Siamese Dream or Mellon Collie and I'll buy another. "It's you that I adore/You will always be my whore" Again, WTF? I got a better one "Bitches and hos, Bitches and hos, dat describes all da womens I knows" or perhaps "The front of a boy's butt is a weiner and a nut."

He reminds me of another rock n' rock musician that I know. Similar stream of conscious writing style. Kind of spooky. Tender Buttons knows what I'm talking about.

Now where is the publisher for my book of poetry? Got a rejection today from a place I'd been hoping to place my work. Guess it's moose cock for dinner tonight.

Gromit

Busy cleaning barf out of sinks this evening. Apparently somebody is unable to bend over and reach the toilet. Send Chris speedy recovery wishes. His shoulder surgery was today.

For Chris:

Vomit
Russell Edson

The house grows sick in its dining room and begins to vomit.
Father cries, the dining room is vomiting.
No wonder, the way you eat, it's enough to make anybody sick, says his wife.
What shall we do? What shall we do? he cries.
Call the Vomit Doctor of course.
Yes, but all he does is vomit, sighs father.
If you were a vomit doctor you'd vomit too.
But isn't there enough vomit? sighs father.
There is never enough vomit.
Do I make everybody that sick, sighs father.
No no, everybody is born sick.
Born sick? cries father.
Of course, haven't you noticed how everybody eventually dies? she says.
Is the dining room dying . . . ?
. . . The way you eat, it's enough to make anyone sick, she screams.
So I do make everybody that sick . . .
Excuse me, I think I'm going to be sick, she says.
Oh where is the Vomit Doctor? At least when he vomits one knows one has it from high authority, screamed father.

Making It Nice For People

Today I've added two new links under the "Peeps" section: Peterb, who's all domesticated and happy raising a daughter who's better, smarter and more beauitful than anyone else's crummy kid, so don't even think of implying otherwise. And Phatback aka Al Michael. Phatback promises a lot of steamy girl on girl shower action, but for now offers a timely meditation on chicken soup. Some people find Al mysterious. I think he's just conflicted. Complete the Navy Seal exercise program or weave a ribbon for his bonny hair? Play Warcraft with Reb or huddle underneath the bed wetting himself?

The Tenors Want Their Testicles Back

Twenty-one things I learned this week during my trip to NYC:

1. Amtrak sells more tickets than seats.
2. A poet's life quest is to explain to the people that a.) War is bad. b.) Valentine's Day is evil. c.) The Jazz folks don't care about literature anymore.
3. P.F. stands for "Pretty Fucking Late"
4. There are people walking this earth who refer to P.F. as "Fletcher" or "Fletch."
5. All tenors should be respected and honored. One should not make jokes about their manhood.
6. Knowing a friend of a friend equals free drinks and discounted cover charges.
7. It is possible for a classic rock cover band to do a mean rendition of Outkast's "Hey Ya."
8. I remind some people of the wife from the cartoon "The Family Guy."
9. The wife from the cartoon "The Family Guy" is really hot.
10. Being in the same bar as the losers from "The Apprentice" is not particularly thrilling.
11. P.F. is not a poet of the people.
12. Owners of rare books stores get really upset if mentally handicapped people start knocking stuff over.
13. Just because you pay a lot of money for a pair of earrings does not mean they're actually intact.
14. Just because the store manager assures you on the telephone that they'll be open until 7 does not mean anyone will be there at 5:15.
15. Sometimes Tic Tacs are not enough to combat alcohol breath. Sometimes a cold shower is required.
16. Mexican is not appropriate cuisine for a Valentine's Day date.
17. Arnold Schwartzenneger plays a more compelling robot in "Red Heat" than in "Terminator."
18. Drew Barrymore is a line jumper.
19. Buddhist monks (heart) Drew Barrymore.
20. Laura does not (heart) Drew Barrymore.
21. Laura now realizes the error of Jello in eggshells.

Out Of Service

Just got back from a late supper with Mr. Gimpie who entertained me with stories of his Miami trip.

A useful Valentine's Day Guide. Oh, and if you're over the age of 18, stuffed animals scream emotionally stunted freak. Unless you're Sam and decorate your kitchen with them. That has the very eery whisper of REDRUM.

Just call me a romantic:

Love, Sincere

Warned about the blisters in the biscuits,
I swore, only one wedding
no matter how many husbands.
Breakfast might be sweet
but there’s always lunch – the eating trail to obesity.
Who would love me then?
One ceremony, one vow
not a threat, not an ice pick beneath the pillow,
my love, sincere.

If you leave me, I’ll call on pigeons
and their filth to rain my wrath.
If you leave me, I’ll burn the curtains.
A woman scorned is a home scorched.
Now get the lumber and glue,
build me that shrine to Vishnu.
Time to celebrate six years.
Let’s buy that bigger house,
fill it full of stuff,
never dust lamp shades.

------
I'm going out-of-town this weekend and won't be back until Sunday. Hopefully when I get back there will be a phatback blog to link to.

Late Fragment

Raymond Carver

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

-----------
In Memory of Nick Schnur (one day late)

Hernia

My pal, Sam, has saved every single e-mail since 1913. Before he started using back-up tapes he'd print out the e-mails and store them in boxes. Thousands of back-breaking boxes scattered amongst African relics infested with critters. Never again will I open a Ritz cracker tin. I no longer offer my services to help him move. You're on your own, bub!

For the past 100 months he's held an e-mail contest. In honor of this anniversary, he's put together a lovely retrospective. Notice how he capitalized "Poetry" -- good boy.

Lookout

Does anyone know where I can get a copy of the film, "Blood-Sucking Monkeys from West Mifflin, Pennsylvania"? I lived there for a number of years and I have a real affinity for documentaries.

Offering More than Just a Mall

Here's a poem by Ed Ochester:

Monroeville, PA

One day a kid yelled
"Hey Asshole!"
and everybody on the street
turned around

------------

I never lived in Monroeville, but for a little over two years I lived across the bridge. Just had to say that.

------------

Should Be Doing

Right now I'm supposed to be in Arlington working the phone banks for my first choice for a presidential candidate, but I didn't go. It kind of seemed like a waste of time and I have other things I should be doing here. But mostly I'm just making excuses. My eyes don't seem to want to stop watering.

Spotting a Fake Smile

I got 16 out of 20 correct. How many did you get?

I put down that I was retired because none of the job descriptions fit me. Must be why I'm so good at spotting fakies.

Women (HEART) Jewelry

For those of you employed at AOL Dulles, stop by my table at the vendor fair on Thursday between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. I'll hook you up. Remember, Valentine's Day is just a little over a week away. Ladies love my stuff. If you know what I mean. Oh, I think you do.

Tripping to the Big Spooky City

My plans have been finalized, I'm heading up to NYC Valentine's Day weekend to hang out with some pals and go to some readings. Anyone have any suggestions of must-attend events going on then? I'll be staying with Laura, poet, journalist, Internet producer, woman of many many hats -- if you like the Simpsons, you'll enjoy her article on a suitable second wife for Ned Flanders. P.F. is coming from Boston and will be staying with his friend. He's a man of many many hats, poet, translator, marathon runner and teacher. You can read some of P.F.'s poems here and here.

Yes, I know, I won't be around to celebrate Valentine's Day with Chris. Well, he was out-of-town last year. Payback is a bitch! But seriously, for all of you weeping for my one-armed-gimp of a husband, never fear. We'll celebrate on Sunday when I get back.

In other news, I heard last week that Manic D Press will include my poem, "Depression," in its upcoming anthology, It's All Good. Pip pip. The book is scheduled to be published this September.

Wisdom Puffs

You can sleep when
the Mexicans

convert the Mayan
temples into ski slopes.

Hot sandy runs
of fun.

* * *

Cows screw like people
like people who watch

way too much
Animal-Planet.

* * * *

Don’t smoke those angels'
haloes – your whole future

rotates above
their soft skulls, sticky blue

ice cream, all artificial
all cancerous.

* * *

The Sexy Years:
a few good parties

washed down by way
too much boxed wine.

The Spandex Years:
never as good

as you thought
you looked.

* * *

Every sector, a genius,
dumb asses in every field

and their victims
everyone else in between

enough to carpet
every McDonalds in moss.

* * *

Hah, hah rubber bullets
hah, hah, what an invention.

These non-lethal techniques
sure do hurt!

These less-lethal techniques
sure do sting!

Reviews

Book and literary magazine reviews are now online at NewPages:

Fire Eater by Kathleen Jesme

Vanished Act: The Life and Art of Weldon Kees by James Reidel

Father of Noise by Anthony McCann

And a review of the magazine Image is listed in here.