spam flood spam flood

the april decomp is now live. it is the fifth anniversary issue. i have something about the airport in it. my thanks to the very cool jason jordan.

so is the new lamination colony. it is one of the most beautiful things i have ever seen on the internet. it is a rothko lollipop or something and i want to lick it. specific things from it i enjoy include but are not limited to gena mohwish, cooper renner, michael bible, joseph young, jac jemc and adam robinson. there is still much navigating to be done.

mirror music for ingrown wings

forget everything you know about relativism
because you can feel the earth rotate
and you are vertiginous

forget the green trapezoidal digits on a clock
even if they are diluting into a two-day-old glass
solution of dust and water on the table in the dark

forget the arm outstretched
across cold tight bedsheets
stroking without your permission
the glass and the morse buttons
on your shoulder blades
that you evolved away from
that once suggested flight

when next you are choking try this

here is a tip for when you are choking
in the morning you will be drinking tea or coffee or beer
and a bead of it will lodge in your esophagus
and you will not panic you will play
the dylan album
with bob on the cover holding a grey cat
and also there is a woman in red on a zigzag couch
and they are bathing in magazines
and all of this is seen through a hole in the door
it is very important that it is this specific album
because of the pitch and key
and tonal quality or something
anyway you will play it and sing along
your vocal cords will dislodge the bead of caffeine
or alcohol
in 50% of cases
and also the bead will act as a reverse throat capo
and allow you to sing below your octave
without your throat getting sore
this is a good time to break out
your cat power impression
in the other 50% of cases
it will worsen the choking and you will die
facedown in tea or coffee or beer
while bob sings it's all over now, baby blue
it is not yet a perfected science


some people talk about characters in novels they identify with and i always identified with the harmonium in the sirens of titan because it ate music

it was like an unseen hand injected hard wine into the thigh marrow of last night. there was something in my peripherals. i mean besides the bayonets and the game show audience and the pheromones and the faked sounds of attraction they were making. it must have been the hand and syringe.


you kept repeating the same patterns that alienate me so i went away from you and reenacted us

with plastic bottles while the lesbian ghost tried to have sex with me

with my finger in the slab of fog
i draw a map of us
and perform our relationship
with a shampoo and conditioner bottle
as the lesbian ghost who haunts my shower looks on
with yellow hair tangled among pink ribs
i know she comes from 1944
i know she almost survived
i don't know how many times i've told her
you're a minor nothing will happen between us
i don't want tea now stop coming in when i'm naked
but she doesn't listen
she stands there akimbo with teacups at her feet
and stares the whole time i am in the shower
vapour weaves a cemetery path
the thing accelerating
with every morsel of its thingness
the refusal of the thing to condense
for want of constant heat and enormity
in a towel i perform our relationship
with a shampoo and conditioner bottle
and it is the pinnacle of my performance art career
until i remember miranda july has already done this
with shoes
and i think fuck
but the ghost doesn't mind and claps her tiny hands


fun fact: colma is a twentieth century necropolis

some trees should just stay in my head
not grow out from my cerebellum
and curl into eyelashes
sometimes i have a fantasy of apocalypse
maybe that is all i wanted to convey

i now have a paypal account
and 68 dollars courtesy of the US government
i want to go on a chapbook buying binge
what should i get

mise en abyme

the people who surround me have elected me their therapist. i do not want this role. i do not want to solve any other people's relationship problems. i barely understand my own. all i know is i'm supposed to be perfecting my karaoke skills.

sometimes language seeps through pores in the internet. the internet is a little like living twice. the two-for-one bin at your local big evil capitalistic corporation. the internet is neither a place nor an unplace. the internet is a pixelated limbo which i sometimes choose over breathing.

cyclical patterns of creation, complacency, disturbance, destruction, existential boredom, creation, repeat etcetera. is this what you're supposed to do? do you
do it because if you don't it's like not vomiting when vomiting will improve your condition by expectorating cheap wine and bad americanized curry? do you do it as a feeble attempt at procuring your immortality in a universe that busies itself with expansion and folding itself over and expanding some more like kneaded dough until it reaches an outer edge of a consciousness nothing alive can see and begins collapsing back in on itself all the while disregarding you and covering its ears repeating la la la? (the universe is an asshole)

ikiru was good. seventh seal good. there is a scene with a park swing. the camerawork in that scene and all the other scenes was done in 1952. i had to keep reminding myself of that.

i had an IM conversation with someone about different ways to cook and eat babies

i am vaguely curious about going to litquake this year

i am in the business of making abysses.


you will be jarvis cocker and i will be cat power but we don't have to frequent each other's social circles okay

i have something up at keyhole. my thanks to one peter cole.

also on my third reading of caves by matthew simmons. i recommend it highly. i like when there is namelessness. it is also relatable. myself i've dated a few obelisks in my day.

i win at linking

i love howie good's piece currently up at dogzplot. as a general rule barry graham is a literary badass.
i want a copy of this. the cat on the cover says 'meemur,' so you know it means business. along with what appears to be some amazing literature, it also features an interview with geologist of animal collective fame. i am seeing said collective of furries in may, possibly for free because i am poor but also happen to have a good friend. this is good because the last time i saw them, at the fillmore in san francisco, i had pneumonia and was coughing up lungs and blood. i scissored carpet to we tigers anyway. i try not to get pneumonia anymore.

i am going to make a post entirely of links and a poem entirely of verification words.


if i am honest i really don't want to be found

i was rejected by gigantic and mcsweeney's. this is the part where i pull a jac jemc.

i enjoy mcsweeney's regardless and gigantic is going to be great. possibly also gigantic. last night i heard a spaceship humming through the bed coils. relative obscurity is safe. i just saw a bird burst into flames. this is because the poles are shifting because it's the age of aquarius or something. i'm really liking everything at the march elimae. sarah mirza, krammer abrahams, ravi mangla and j.a. tyler particularly. but everything really.

someone told me if i like bergman i need to see kurasawa, so i am looking at copies of ran and ikiru. i think i am more drawn to ikiru. i have circuitous thought patterns and bad memory. i will die before fifty. or if i don't, at the first sign of decrepitude i will attempt to scale everest without a bungee cord or jump from a plane without a parachute.

salar de uyuni looks like the last scene in the truman show. i want to go to there.


the next night we ate whale

i have a couple things up at abjective. an ongoing thanks to the awesome darby larson. i also received a nice email today from juked saying something of mine was accepted and should be up in a few weeks.

introductions are worse than endings. also i am incredibly socially awkward. so i am going to treat this as neither. i am going to treat this as a continuation.

i do not have vanity license plates. i like an economy that says to its graduates,
hey kids, shoot for the gutter. i think barack obama is the hottest american president ever. i think eugene hutz is the hottest victim of radiation exposure ever. i am the jungian shadow of civilization. i will be paying off student loans for the rest of my life. i don't answer telephones. one life goal of mine is to become an insane deaf pianist in kathmandu. another is to become a slumlord. once i was hospitalized after discovering firsthand that drinking twelve cups of tea in a five-hour period is the rough equivalent of a hefty dose of crack. then i hallucinated a hobbit with a swastika carved into his forehead. sometimes i go months without returning correspondence. sometimes i feel phantom guilt. i am not part of the clique. i don't ever shut up about music. it is possible to orgasm from music. hello i am me.

i enjoy and casually stalk the blogs of some people who post at HTML giant. i'm also loving the artwork by anna pate currently on the front page at decomp. it could be a neutral milk hotel album cover. i would also be happy with a print of it.


i am going to change this

with my wicked HTML abilities.
but first i am going to briefly exist outside the internet.
i have been shooting a constant caffeinated stream of string quartet number five part five into my veins for upwards of 30 hours. some people will tell you this is counterproductive. the people surrounding me have taken it upon themselves to remove me from my hermitry. i said okay fine.