the parasites will love you when you're dead la la la la la

since my last, i may or may not have gone certifiably mad. i cut my hair with kitchen scissors in the bathroom sink after a firedance with nihilism. i traded places with the ocean. i came at the circle from outside. the distractions sprout tentacled distractions which sprout other infinities. i offered myself as a temporary storage vessel to daniel johnston should he need to transfer his consciousness anywhere. i shook hands with the atmosphere and the economy. both had sharp canine teeth and positive things to say about the other, though i suspect this was the requisite social nicety. i set a serious deadline for infinite jest. i stopped communicating with people. i laugh maniacally at mentions of the challenger explosion and photographs of ronald reagan. i think often of appalachia.

and else has happened
say hello to my little friend

not that one. but similar.

i am a bad parent. i abandoned it on an escalator. i fed it dishwasher tablets. i let it watch scarface. i raised it in california. maybe you would like to adopt it? it could make a decent and biodegradable doorstop. you could practice your dart throwing technique on it. you could regale it with stories of vietnam. you could send it on an aeroplane to russia when you are done.

my humble thanks to michael at bedouin books for giving it such a handsome skin in which to live. i could not be happier to be part of the caravan. if you are not currently living in a cave, gourd, or tepee, my recommendations of their entire past and pending catalogue defy the gravity i have known.

if you do live in a cave, gourd, or tepee, perhaps you should contact me and we could combine resources.


i wish i had a horse's head; a tiger's heart; an apple bed

a series of redshifts

plenty gum soured in the cheek; half-hardened;

plenty remold wanting
plenty spit wanting
crowded palette; mostly distaste for gum

i will await the legalization of marriage to music. in the interim i will marry a six-legged cat who treats me badly. i will be popular in missionary-plagued countries. my profession will be taking bets on whether the human race succeeds in colonizing the jovian moons before the sun engulfs the earth. i will have 50 million years of job security.

heavy rotations of sparklehorse, grizzly bear, four tet. circling by the latter goes koyaanisqatsiward in influence i think. saturday by the former churns acidities in me today.

drunk all of LIT #17 & licking the bottle. deep digging sasha fletcher & anne boyer.

some news older than larry king

> kill author 5 (octavio paz) featuring eric beeny, molly gaudry, marvin k. mooney & & &

two things in/along/side madmen & madwomen i respect in pear noir! 3; and a carte postale about martin scorsese; and kgm's carte postale which is maybe my favourite thing by her ever

pank 4 i am told is circulating by owl express. happy to be nested there & excited for it to crash my mailbox

& rejection section. what's your confection?

& speak of cats, this at diagram

& a bewildering kindness; being an apospecimen award from a cappella zoo; thank you colin & else

tahiti 2.0


jerome david

dreamed a submarine wreck & bear fetus in a petri dish
it hurt to have the bends

so long
& thanks for all the bananafish

days are now swirling aloud with cancer
i now bathe during thunderstorms
congress is still a glorified fraternity house

here are some objects i adore enough to keep in my bed
& wake strangled, bleeding & with indentations of them on my face

{first year}, mlp
i is to vorticism, ben mirov
play, mathias svalina
cheap headphones

six feet under season five

lately when i think of writing i visualize this

watching a lot of early conan
listening to a lot of neil young
rereading, refalling for we take me apart


new my name is mud
new series (pl.) @ pangur ban
this by eric beeny
believe my poorly-constructed yet sincere blurb and buy this
everything all of the time @ pank



today is not a palindrome

j.a. tyler was kind enough to include something of mine in mud luscious X.0 alongside gena mohwish, david erlewine, adam moorad, zachary bush, andrew borgstrom, howie good, michael hessel-mial, more good people. meanwhile the man behind the curtain continues to put everyone to shame with 13 books in print and en route. there is much to anticipate and never a dull moment.

and then there is
and diagram 9.6 containing roxane gay and ben mirov
and things which might give oprah an aneurysm were she to read them


cellar door

gorged on lists & the semantics parade
reached a pavlovian vomit reaction to xmas music

still climbing out of self-imposed brain valleys

right now there are kites in iceland

i want to put paul simon in my pocket & talk to him in open public

if i am honest i have no interest in self-defense

sometimes in los angeles it is fun to taunt the celebrities with your anonymity

here is why i rarely write "stories"
you can laugh it is healthy
thanks to crispin for making a generous warm place for it

my chickens are being razzed
my museum is being fucked
i am being taken apart

i find this film highly underrated
maybe try to imagine that's not enya


the contents of my lungs are mostly the result of a handful of supernovae and years of poor ventilation

out of practice. kneesliding. was near starting the i-am-dead rumour but i am neither a close enough nor a reliable source.

i have been in my state's capitol. home of barbara boxer, cactus, streets paved with VHS copies of the perennial classic jingle all the way.

it is hanukwanzmas. let's take off our kaftans and dance, fry up some latkes, set fire to indoor trees.

it has only just struck me that the year is taking the decade down with it. i am typically not aware of these things. when someone says something that implies what day it is, it usually comes as a surprise. i choke on the elements in my windpipe and am practically offended by wednesday.

my top five albums of the year:

animal collective - merriweather post pavilion
akron/family - set 'em wild, set 'em free
st. vincent - actor
the flaming lips - embryonic
grizzly bear - veckatimest

honourable mention is thao & the get down stay down

officially added to my as-yet pending top five books of the year:

kristina born's one hour of television. my favourite is page 79. the first line is "enter your house to win great prizes". what follows gives me good chills. i advise not operating heavy machinery during or after reading OHOT. i advise not attempting to sleep or walk or generally utilize any cognitive processes after either. j.a. tyler wrote a handsome review located here.

my punctuality is stunning

the new issue of > kill author = j.g. ballard = those cats have impeccable taste
read it or pygmies will stab you. true this is not a festive thing to have happen but probably best to take precaution.
this by crispin best makes me feel vodka-warm about where literature is going or where it goes in the middle of the night. maybe there is a wormhole in his chest which displays the future. someone should verify this. crispin is legend in this way. this is by a talented (non-internet, legitimate human) friend of mine. there are other brain cell-imploding materials herein by the likes of cami park, ani smith, daniel bailey, rc miller, more.

many great recording artists fell victim to bad production decisions in the 1980s. lately i have been listening to paul simon's bad 1980s production decisions.

what else?
bought tarot cards because i have no use for useful things + rain because the layers of city strata under ours are parched + admittedly hot for dexter morgan + directionally polarized lately and trying to parse things down + finally saw synecdoche, new york & was elegantly ruined, wordswept, lungs paper thin for two hours + missed that feeling + received and read the nightmare filled you with scary by shane jones and the feeling relapsed sweetly + fingerless gloves because the moon laughs its secrets and you are more apt to lure them out with dexterity intact

this carries not unlike the shining:


note found on pillow

i am redividing inside you.
have a nice day.


faux pas/fox paw

i dreamed i was holding a severed starfish in my palm. i welled compassion.

i am diseased. i know this because i do not recall swallowing any knives, syringes, bees, or matches. i have taken to writing any of the twenty standard magic 8-ball responses on post-it notes and attaching them to my throat.

reply hazy, try again.

today i am happily devouring the failure six and prose. poems. other good things in the queue/mail/future:

one hour of television - kristina born
mockery of a cat - lily hoang
i am richard simmons - ben tanzer
boots walking in america found a trophy - krammer abrahams
museum of fucked - david peak
when the cats razzed the chickens - mel bosworth

mel is awesome. you can see him lend his awesome vocal cords to some words i wrote here. you should subscribe to his awesome project. and order this now. it will stave off senility and baldness and give you x-ray vision.

and bedouin books just released howie good's ghosts of breath.
it is beautiful and smells of clean band-aids and the adhesive lick part of envelopes. i once mistook someone for the adhesive lick part of envelopes. it happens.


binge & pear noir! & nano

i have been paid which means book binge. also there was that elephant chariot and monocle i wanted to buy.

i have a(n) (overdue) list which includes

the failure six - shane jones
adam robison and other poems - adam robinson
one hour of television - kristina born
prose. poems. a novel. - jamie iredell


pear noir! #3 is on the launch pad frothing. i get tourettes twitches reading the lineup. thank you daniel, patty & eileen for inviting me along for the ride.

NANO # 3.1 is also cracking its way out of the jesus egg. read this by jimmy chen. preorder a copy here.