THE FATE OF MY IDEAS


Not every idea I have gets made into a movie.
Some are too sexually explicit. Others are not
sexually explicit enough. "I think there should be a law against lint"
is one idea that was deemed not sexy enough.
One that was called too sexy was:
"I think lint should be legalized."

My ideas go through a lot of unpredictable twists and
turns, but eventually they all become fish food. Here, little fish...

The idea that my ideas become fish food
is itself one of those ideas.

I don't know why I put up with this.

This situation, I mean.
Everything goes away and means nothing.
Whose idea was this? And why won't it find its way
to the belly of a grouper like the others?

THIS MUSIC


This music makes me want to scratch my hair.
In the tub, under water? No.
Just generally. I see. Let's
listen to music. Which music
shall we listen to how about Moby no
how about Joy Division no how about The National how about
DeVotchKa. The music of my peers is the music of the spheres.

Each sphere is labeled with an epigraph.
Some of the labels are long
and cover the whole sphere,
wrap around the whole sphere, overlapping
in some cases. Some of the labels are wrong.
Some of the labels are doing very well.

Under the right conditions I can listen to
almost any music, except for the kind
that makes my peers explode
with slaughter. I mean laughter.

THAT LITTLE ROOM


Huh. That's the first time
I've ever seen anyone
come out of that little room...
that little room near the end
of the hall, that little room.

Rain was falling when I woke up this morning.

I've walked by that little room,
that little room by the stairs,
so many times. Those stairs
are for emergencies. I don't recall
ever seeing anyone come out of
that little room. Just now
was the first time.

This morning I couldn't remember
the lyrics to "Manic Depression".

SUNDAY


There is a large screen TV in my lobby
with a handwritten note that reads
"For free. Still works. Had to Move."
The screen is at least five feet wide.

For some reason, my left eyelid
has developed a twitch, or flutter
that occurs periodically without warning.

One time,
I learned how to carve a toy car
out of a block of wood.

THE LARGE SCALE STRUCTURE OF THE UNIVERSE


You can only see it at night, the security light
on the side of the building across the street
trying to come on, flickering, staying on
for a while, going out, flickering

and don't you, don't I, have better things to do

Come this way, come on
this is not a code
even if it were it would not be
ours to decipher

Turning this over in my hand I see
miles of my own making, holes without
socks, I'm just happy

to be here, to read and be seen, though often confused

by my own expectations, I'm likely to
fizzle out on my bed before
morning beneath

calves of a
celebrity-look-alike daydream

PHILOSOPHY


I love your new hairstyle. What's it about?
It's about as easy to describe as a slice of sunlight
halving a mailbox. There's no mail today,
except for some bills. Would you care for a bill?
I'm sure that "59 degrees and sunny"
is a kind of forecast, but that's the extent of my sureness.
Where were you and your hairstyle planning to take me today?
Not to the hospital, I hope. Are you planning to injure me?
Taking an arm-in-arm walk Edwardian-style
through some exotic example of the empire's waning influence
(or just a regular city park in America) would be ideal.
Our goal—well, the goal I now propose—in taking such a walk
would not be to pretend that hospitals don't exist,
but simply to acknowledge the fact that record stores do.
Did I mention I admire the way your philosophy complements my shoes?
And do you know what's weird? There are a lot of moments
in which I feel pretty dumb, but right now isn't one of them.

UPON OUR ARRIVAL AT THE MALL, A PROBLEM AROSE


That night the mall was closed
but the malt shop was open
I said Whoa to my friends
we're in the fifties we went inside
de Gaulle was a proper noun we all knew
all of a sudden it being the fifties and all
and Eisenhower loomed large
as did Elvis, the end of polio, desegregation of
schools and other fifties stuff

It was fun for awhile but then
we started getting headaches which we theorized
were probably due to our brain chemistries'
being somehow fucked up by time travel

Whose idea was it we asked each other
to go back to the fifties
not mine said each of us in turn
I just wanted to go to the mall

DUDE ASKED ME


This dude asked me
as I walked along the river
"They don't have seals here,
do they? Are these even
brackish waters?" It was
the first time I'd ever heard
anyone use the word brackish
in conversation. I hope it will
not be the last.

Saw Richard Belzer again. Walking his dog.

Girl browsing poetry section at used bookstore tried to be helpful and/or tried to talk to me. Missed opportunity. Idiot.

Fucking Hitler's birthday. No wonder I'm in a shitty mood. Though it is partially mitigated by Richard Belzer.

Good news: 420th post to this blog was made on 4/20. Completely unintentional. Some of the posts are saved in draft so there are really less than 420 visible. Additional unintentional: Pink Floyd poem posted on 4/20. (To all interested governmental parties, let it be known, I have never partaken in any controlled-substance-related activities.)

WISH YOU WERE HERE


If you'll permit me,
I'd like to discuss
Pink Floyd. High school,
though a crock of
shit, was at least
better than middle school.
Today I'm more than
eight hundred miles away
from both of them.
I'd like to discuss
the identical bandannas of
the two young women
behind the counter at
this coffee house, but
I'm not sure if
"young women" is the
phrase I should be
using since it makes
me sound like an
old guy. What's on
TV later, I wonder.
Now I really sound
like an old guy.

THE SPECIAL MAN


Paradigm is not a word I use lightly
or much. It takes a special
kind of man to use it. That man is flaking out
right about now. A rock has
come through his window and lies
on the floor. Upended are
his curious notions regarding our age and his
place in it. It's tricycling through a milkweed patch
that he'd rather be doing than following
the latest recipes for disaster
preparedness, or so he tells himself as the roof caves in.
Picking through his rubble, I come upon
an awl that was once important to him,
and smoke clears my nostrils of
curious notions. Immediately I want them back.

OCCUPANCY BY MORE THAN 2 PERSONS IS DANGEROUS AND UNLAWFUL


Whether it's a lens that shows you more of the world
or more of yourself,
a substance kept in escrow
is more akin to a two-week trip to the mall
with members that own more
than a maximum of premises. In addition,
a bust shot of a schoolgirl with a stamp
urges commuters to speak out for any firm,
corporation or cat. This code was erected by another
REGISTERED SEX OFFENDER
who has rates listed on the unmuzzled animal.
Just inside the spotlighted, canopied
double glass doors is an eloquent
word of warning: "Strangelove".

Churchy McChurchface is in town, clogging our streets with his eminence. Actually it seemed to be business as usual on the subway this morning. Speaking of which, I knew it would be a good day when the 1 train waited for me to buy a new metrocard. How cool is that. Here's how it went down. I started to go through the turnstile with my old card just as the train pulled in. The "insufficient fare" message came up and I cursed my luck. So I took my time getting a new card, but when I turned around to go back through the turnstile, the train was still there, doors wide open. I'd managed to get out of the house about ten minutes early, so the train wasn't very crowded. Plus it's Friday, which means it was less crowded to begin with. We're past the exciting part of the story. I got on the train. A guy got off (disembarked) at 125th and I took his place. The story has passed its climax. At 96th I switched to the 2,3 as usual and eventually got to work. Where I am now. This story has come to an end, far past the point where it should have.

PEOPLE, PEOPLE


Come on. Listen.
Before adjusting the valve
pressure, you have to
shut off the flow
to the main line.
Otherwise tank 3 backs
up into tank 2,
tank 2 backs up
into tank 1, you
see where I'm going
with this. Basically,
what you end up with
is one big damn
mess to clean up.

People, people. Listen:
I'm your daddy...

Saw Ashbery read at The New School last night. This was the first time I'd seen him. Whenever there's an Ashbery reading I usually hear about it only after it's over, and I heard about this one the morning of. Standing room only (though I got there in time to get a seat). A great, sunny room and probably a couple hundred people. Good sound system. He read some of his later stuff, including "Memories of Imperialism", a popular favorite. Then he read from his translation of Reverdy's Haunted House. If I were a different kind of person I would have stuck around to meet him and have him sign a book. Nice weather afterward as I walked to the subway.

IN ROOMS


The coffee mug
felt like home.
It was a mug
that made every other mug
look like a wall
through which a mug
had been thrown. No mug
sat on the bed,
nor did the bed
wish to support a mug,
especially one so light,
one that so reflected light

as to seem a source of light
instead of a mere mug.
Regular mugs emit no light,
are comfortable reflecting light
as one is comfortable at home
after a long day in the light,
feuding with light,
shoving it through a wall
to make the wall
transparent, to let the light
come in and graze the bed
as one prepares to make the bed

become more than a bed
with the help of light.
Under the bed
is another bed
and under that a mug
inside of which a tiny bed
is under a mouse. The bed
serves as a home
for the mouse, a home
consisting of bed
and nothing else. Each wall
is blank. Each wall.

On the other side of the wall
there may be another bed
or not. The wall
is not the kind of wall
that permits light
to pass through. It's a wall
opaque by nature. Damn wall.
There may be a mug
over there, the kind of mug
you'd hang on a wall
or one you'd leave at home
if your home

wasn't where home
should be, so many walls
defining your home
to the point where "home"
comes apart like a bed
being moved from an old home
to a new home
where the soft morning light
seems too harsh a light
to call home,
where no new mug
matches the old mug,

a superior mug
lost to time and home
behind some wall
where a bed
used to be, and light.

Take a walk with this book and be glad.

This construction: "[Such-and-such a thing] does not a [such-and-such a thing] make."

Stop it. Please? Thank you.

Sorry for being mean.

But please.

Enough.

Thank you.

IT'S ONLY TEMPORARY


The part of the bar
that was made of wood
was the whole thing.

Same went for the napkin.

I was all man. All man
was looking for a good time

in small groups overlooking the
squirming streets.

They never tell me anything.

I'm married to my shirt.

DESERT ISLAND DISC


Is there a finite number of bands
to be into right now? Doesn't seem to be.
The minute you finally become familiar
with the work of one popular new recording artist
you learn the name of another one you need to know about.

It can be hard to keep up.
The solution is to buy an island,
preferably a desert island, and then
move there, your new home,
where you will learn to catch fish
with your bare hands,
where you will live out your days.

If you can, bring a friend
and a frisbee.

KIRKWOOD


Kirkwood is the main
street in a town
where I used to
live and Kirkwood was
a 19th-century astronomer
and Kirkwood is a
nice place to walk
up and down in
the summer as well
as the other three
seasons and Kirkwood made
some important discoveries in
the field of astronomy
I don't remember what
they were but they
were important and Kirkwood
is always full of
students except in summer
when it is still
full of students the
only difference is they
are not in school
unless they are taking
summer session courses like
Intro to Astronomy which
I took because I've
always liked astronomy and
I needed an easy
science course but anyway
it was fun going
up inside the century-
old observatory called
Kirkwood Observatory in which
important discoveries are no
longer made except for the
one that begins with
the words "man I
love this old observatory..."

Friedberger Friday! (The Fiery Furnaces)

MANAHATTA PARK


is more of a plaza
not a Spanish plaza
but like one you'd find
in Chillicothe Ohio

never been there, I'm
fine here the sun
is in my shoes, fountains
are being shown to babies

how long do they expect these
buildings to last
they are up against
each other

two sightseeing buses back
to back the sun is in
my hands I am digesting
pizza and the blinding light

Who needs Madonna when you've got Goldfrapp?

A true Englishwoman.

AFTER FRIDA KAHLO


got written about in a poem
for the hundred gajillionth time
it was clearly time for me
to write the next one. This
is it. But first I have to take
a moment to thank all those who
made this poem possible: first, the number 1
train I'm sitting on. Second, the fine folks
at Procter & Gamble, as well as the
National Endowment for the Arts,
which believes that a great nation
deserves great art. Tonight,
an hour-long conversation with my skinny white ass.
My skinny white ass has appeared
in a dozen motion pictures
and has served as the CEO of General Motors
since 1974. My skinny white ass's new memoir
just out from HarperCollins
is entitled Skinny White Ass:
Growing Up Skinny, White, and Ass-like
in America. My skinny white ass
for the hour—don't go away.

From Craigslist:

P.S. IF YOU MAKE AN APPOINTMENT FOR AN INTERVIEW AND DONT KEEP IT.. THATS KIND OF UNPROFESSIONAL AND RIDICULOUS. DONTO MAKE AN APPOINTMENT IF YOU ARE NOT GOING TO KEEP IT. REMEMBER THERE ARE ALOT OF PEOPLE IN NEED OF WORK.

Yes. And let's see, what else is unprofessional and ridiculous? How about a classified ad with:

1) all caps.
2) bad punctuation.
3) an angry tone.
4) "a lot" spelled as one word.
5) "don't" spelled as "donto".

WAY THE FUCK AFTER CEZANNE


I have to say that I am mightily impressed
with a branch of mountain over ripped
earth-sheltered North Dakota
as she works the fresh dried kidney acid

of remarkable deportment.
What a marvelous gift idea!
Rabbits probed their thin sweet hips
to bursting. Remember how

I wanted to hang out with my buffalo
on Saturday? Abduction fairies
protect the oil of the unripened mountain
symmetrical as snow; the mountain like

eye-lashes during the flock of robins'
closer inspection, wherein you misunderstood me
against winter crops west of Lake Superior
because there is good to excellent juice
located in this page.

Almost hard to watch, isn't it? My stomach turns when they start to dance. This should be shown in schools. God I love this band.

Ladytron

BECAUSE WE LOVE WHAT DISAPPEARS (BEFORE, DURING, AND AFTER A LINE BY CLEOPATRA MATHIS)


We're not suggesting any of these scenarios because we just don't know

the reason we say this is that it’s not the sexless marriage
that is away from sex because the marriage
produced children who love to jump and play...

Hey! And we love the abuse because it makes us feel like we are needed
and it eventually catches up to them
now, but I know I want to disappear

Seven years disappear below my feet
I love that song with a deep, permanent ache
probably because a million years ago when I used to go
to see the islands, a lawyer said in a hotel lobby,
“because we figured they’re only going to get worse.”

Expansions seemingly disappeared off the face
of the internet. Don't worry Eric, we got your back
because we love our readers, and we love the abuse,
I know I wanna disappear disappear I wanna disappear disappear baby

we disappear and over 100,000 other books are available for a bitch
because a woman needs to be a bitch, we remember from King

Yes, we were very pleased with that indictment

We shared many calls like that one as she began to forget
my love for her will never disappear!
Just because she cannot remember, doesn't mean.

Sometimes I read so many theory-heavy poetry blogs that I become very afraid of writing poetry. Then I come back to lines like these and that feeling goes away:

                      Do not be defeated by the
Feeling that there is too much for you to know. That
Is a myth of the oppressor. You are
Capable of understanding life. And it is yours alone
And only this time.

--"Some General Instructions", Kenneth Koch

Hm...that quote out of context makes it seem like a deadly serious poem. It ain't, be assured. Here is another quote to prove it:

Sexual information should be obtained while one is young
Enough to enjoy it. To learn of cunnilingus at fifty
Argues a wasted life.

BOOM


Look at that fungus. It's square
like a boy. Does happenstance affect it?
Moving northeasterly,
do moonrocks err?

I'm telling you it doesn't matter—
keystone-shaped sweethearts
are never more than a minute
away, foiling the best of us.

He/she was sticky. Never saw such Plato.
Irregularly-timed bursts from yon pulsar
gave away the tale
as it was relayed under the bank's immensity.

AN HOUR OR SO ON THE BOWERY


You are the tallest pope in history,
Pope Giganticus X. The other nine
with your name were just a wee bit shorter.
What's on your mind these days? Are you worried
about the economy? I'm worried about the economy.
I don't believe in God. Does He believe in the economy?
I have so many questions
and leg hairs. Several follicles have become infected and have caused
boils. I'm going to watch a movie later, I'm at
a new coffeeshop. A firetruck arrives with siren and lights
and parks in front of the place. I'm drinking coffee and thinking about
poetry, women, the Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument, and
that's about it. I'm also wondering who,
among everyone I know, would approve
of what I'm thinking, doing, or saying
at any given moment, this current one for example.
Must improve. Must be always improving. Must go
out and celebrate unpleasant subjects like sexual jealousy
in order to kill them for all time. It's
Saturday night. The firetruck turns off its lights and drives away.

Wow. SNL was funny tonight. Yes it was. Wow. Christopher Walken. Genius. Genius.

Regarding the picture below, does anyone get the joke?

POEM


No one can tell
what disease I have
on. Nameplate's fudged, everyone's
a party. Thankfully a
gate swings open and
a body flies out.
But it's only a
body of work. The
only footsteps I hear
are those of my
fingers doing the talking.

Every month is poetry month in NYC. Just got back from a reading (three trains got me back here from Carroll Gardens)--Michael Schiavo (not that Michael Schiavo), Farrah Field, and Jared White. I'm giving you their names so that years from now I can brag about seeing them when they were young. Go me.

City on the Edge of Forever, or Self-Portrait as Warped Reflection in Public Art Sculpture, Wall Street Plaza, New York City, New York State, United States of America, North America, Western Hemisphere, Planet Earth, Solar System, Milky Way Galaxy, Local Group, Virgo Supercluster

COFFEE TABLE


A slice of cake
was more or less resigned
to the idea of being eaten by
an obtuse person.

Outside, the town square
was lined with naked saplings
like so many sad bastards
forcing the fun.

Inside, walls were threatening
to close in on the weekday in question
without asking any.

When a piece of flounder
went missing, an entire flounder
was sent to look for it.

KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE

                                        for Jean


The ocean is something.
You don't have to drive around looking for it.
Just drive straight
in any direction and you will find it.

You can also walk there
or take your bike.
I didn't mean to offend anyone.

Complete coincidence, but here is a long line I didn't have to stand in last night...because I got there early enough to be let in after just a few minutes. It was an art opening curated by Dave Eggers. Saw him as well as Ron Padgett. Very cool stuff on display—funny drawings with words, some of them done by people who aren't alive anymore.

LONG LINES


Restaurants come in two
varieties: small French ones,
and ones that are
crowded with witches. These
are the two kinds
of restaurants. I classify
things this way in
order to keep the
Hounds of Hell at
bay. My old post
office was called Hell
Gate Station. The fact
that I now live
on the other side
of town is just
one of many reasons
I no longer go
there. There are two
types of post office:
those that are endowed
with an aura of
postal service history, and
those that are L-shaped.
I avoid them all.
When I'm not avoiding
the post office I
enjoy standing in long
lines at the post
office. It helps me
overcome my fear of
witches. Don't ask me
how but it does.

Confession: I've never met Sienna Miller or her friends. However, I did go on a date with one of her enemies.

MY EARLY ATTEMPTS AT GETTING PEOPLE TO LIKE ME DREW LITTLE RESPONSE


So I thought I would try a different approach
wherein I describe what's going on in my basement
and you tell me what about my life needs to be fixed.
The TV's on down there, which is nothing to be sad about.
A purple-shaded lamp occupies one corner handsomely—
I've replaced its old bulb with a compact fluorescent.
On the negative side, the carpet still embeds
a few crumbs left over from a recent political rally I held down there.
The crumbs are from snacks people brought.

By now you might have guessed
that nothing about my life needs to be fixed,
which is true, but I'd like to continue
telling you about my basement. It was designed by I.M. Pei
whom I commissioned for the job at a time when I.M. Pei
was the only architect I knew about. Now I know about Frank Gehry,
so I know about two architects, but as I say
I knew of only I.M. Pei
when I commissioned him to design my basement.

One sure thing about my basement: parties are frequent there.
Cocktail parties, fraternity parties, political parties (ha ha),
I host all kinds. Helen Gurley Brown is a frequent guest
as is esteemed character actor Paul Dooley. Younger folks
like Sienna Miller and Sienna Miller's friends
also put in appearances. It was one of Sienna Miller's
friends, in fact, who suggested I hold a political rally
in my basement. He was a heartthrob and I was a livertwinge
in his presence. He also suggested people bring chips
and Sienna came up with the idea that we all bring soda or beer
and that's how it all got started. Since meeting Sienna
I'm becoming more popular every day.

So I accidentally accessed my blog at a public wi-fi location, skewing my stats with my presence. Hence the reset. It's for the best though--a fresh counter for a fresh month. Let the games start. Or whatever.