sabbatical

i dreamed i was skiing pregnant

i woke with blood on my pillow

i bought honey, acai,
acetaminophen, two lemons for the ill
read half of scorch atlas in a hospital parking lot
the hospital was under construction
the scaffolding was a monster's skeleton
its horns were elevator shafts in the future
this was when i realized
there is no one left in this town
who remembers the tact needed to speak to water

today i did not mistake tethered bear traps
for shoes
ankles will heal

let ferment the weathered objects

no engagements today
no people

just the only three kinds of leaves
of which one is paper

i have an idea for a literary magazine. but i think it would consume time i do not have pocketed to spend. i will invent harder about it.

i think caspian may be delayed until winter/early 2010 while bedouin books undergoes various metamorphoses. in the interim one day there will be nothing to show that we were ever here by scott alexander jones is out. i quite like this title.

some lately favourites:

- wood by shane jones
- a boy by lauren becker
- this by j.a. tyler
- this by keith nathan brown

meet me in montauk

drums, unscroll, ken jennings

my current gmail session displays this advertisement in the margin:


sleep apnea? play a didgeridoo.

there is a busker who plays didgeridoo and hang drums on the santa monica pier. he wears corduroy and birkenstocks. he also has a business card and a lexus.
i do not know whether he has sleep apnea.


this is a hang drum when it is breathing




there may or may not be dirt in the yerba mate i bought. nice fertile dirt full of bones and clay pots and other debris from civilizations built over. i wonder if this is what happens to fair trade in a bad economy. in lieu of money, compensate farmers with the water they would have otherwise used to clean the dirt off their product.

was wanting to delve into murakami for quite a while so i bought kafka on the shore.


sometimes i think about font. i think about it being a factor in the amount of attention i give certain words. i think words behave differently depending on what clothes they are wearing. words dressed in courier look like balloon animals. they are less dense, somehow allowing time to savour sound. they look like they live in refrigerator boxes and scream at intervals about endorphin bursts. lately i am giving arial doubt benefits. i think of arial as the lingua franca of online literature. it is best worn under flannel and probably sold at american apparel. do you enter different mindframes, or write differently, depending on font? do you have a weapon of choice? does font even matter?

unscroll numero trois is alive. the words there are dressed in times new roman and carry cocaine, percocet and dynamite in their briefcases. i am happy to have something there alongside andrew borgstrom, michael bernstein, jeff crouch, alex stolis, ben spivey, david peak, eric burke, jeanette marie sayers, and none other than cooper renner.

big fan of gargling cinderblocks by eric beeny. it is portmantotal magic. if you are asthmatic or infertile, reading this could cure that.

PANK is looking dapper. check out its makeover and september issue. it features teeth-kicking pieces by brandi wells, cami park and frank dahai, among many others.

so young to be tired so tired got younger

- 9 9 9. happy scorch atlas day.

- i start a new job tomorrow. am nervous. will need to relearn conversation and circadian rhythm. will need to limit tea intake to under five cups per hour. and no more snorting lines off the interns.

- there is a fan-severed fly corpse on the floor and i am leaving it there to remind me of how cliche televised funerals are becoming. i named him cornelius. i saw him happening toward death, tried to save him but he happened too quickly into the fan. pathos everywhere.

- i like this post by molly and the ensuing discussion. which reminds me of something entirely unrelated. i think wherever narrative is chronology or linearity, i am tired of narrative also. but narrative is many things. i too wonder whether the word narrative, what it wants to mean, is obsolete. i think narrative as understood sometimes becomes something elastic, and much like a label. i am reluctant to say everything is narrative and reluctant to say nothing is narrative. the word seems too easily rationalized. i considered dada. i considered whether there were words in the english language that can be placed on a page which are not anchors. like the word 'the' anchors something spatially and the word 'if' anchors something in time. maybe there are no words that are not anchors. maybe there is no answer other than just let language happen and evolve and nothing else matters. there is plenty of nothing from which many somethings will out. when there is nothing make more.

- some guy was twittering in congress. then larry king wore a rainbow pastel tie. real men wear rainbow pastel ties. except for the tie part.

- elimae and decomp this month are pocket-sized, but lethal. i like this by ravi mangla, this by lydia copeland.

- 1504. j'adore.