Saturday, January 31, 2009

Shroomer


The skinny bearded guy lying face up in my doorway calls "everything" weird once every eleven seconds.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Welcome Back


I nuke two chicken patties. The ham and cheese kaiser roll warms up in the panini grill. In the dining room my homie tries to persuade his homie to sleep on the couch and to not drive home drunk. His mother has a lump on her breast. I'm the only one who hears and during our twelve second exchange I try to act like it isn't a big deal and he shouldn't be scared. You express hunger, buddy. So the three of you hydroplane down to the O for some pizza. I eat my cordon bleu sandwich in safety, wishing I would help more.

The French

What sense does it make for transportation workers to strike due to economic woes? I mean, the people that ride public transport in order to get to work, shop, live, can't get there...how exactly does this help the economy?

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/7857435.stm

Monday, January 26, 2009

Previously Written: To The Stupid Kid


My rediscovery of poetry a few years ago started with hip hop. What I didn't know then was that lyricists are really just poets that incorporate a lot of rhyme and rhythm into their poetry. I was very interested in battle rap, rhyming poems that share a common aim: to elevate oneself and simultaneously degrade an opponent. I used to visit online forums and post lyrics against other web emcees. We were judged by other forum goers, who were mostly Canadian underground hip hop fans. I wrote this poem to be a sample of that community. I borrow a lot here.

To the stupid kid who thought he could challenge Tabasco Velasco but had to change his boxers because I made an example of him and verbally curb stomped his British ass in front of his disappointed father and his girlfriend who played Cho Chang in the last two Harry Potter movies and probably never slept with him because the obnoxious Slug wannabe rapped worse than Kevin plays Madden
and Kevin fucking sucks at Madden


In your distress
my hormonal levers
depress, you never guessed
I’d sever your best tonal endeavors
and yes you’re pressed, pinned,
not destined to best me
I attack with cat naps and
make the kill with narcolepsy
you’re a sleeper to my Sean Nokes
snapping off the belt
if you shot a verse
with arrows and boobs
you wouldn’t be felt
you dug in real deep shit
logs hugging your kneepits
sloppy trails
reveal your copy and paste secrets
stiffened like a puppet
and I’m lifting up your strings
I could kill you in two couplets
like a zombie king


Thursday, January 22, 2009

Penny Meditation

I swig my coffee. The copper taste of a penny, the acid hops in my throat like a virgin at a rodeo. My mouth is stagnate.

The Chinese are ruthless

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/7844274.stm

I agree that those s.o.b's deserved the death penalty, especially if they were aware of the toxins in the milk. I don't always agree with the Chinese, but on this point, I nod to them.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Sandwiches

Wisdom #2 of the day: If you black out while eating sandwiches, just stop eating them. Thanks.

http://bodyodd.msnbc.msn.com/archive/2009/01/14/1745186.aspx?GT1=31037

Mac

Wisdom of the day: If you are a PC user, and you generally don't have issues with PCs, don't buy a Mac. Thank you.

Garageband

Oh the horror of opening GarageBand. Don't they know that keyboards don't hit symbols or tap on basses?

Head hurts

I am constantly ramming
the oval that resides
above my neck
but below my soul
into a solid brick wall.

The synapse that ticks
inside of this oval
above my neck
but below my soul
has an irregular beat, now.

The neurons are unsure
where the signals should go.

Maybe they need a dispatcher
to get the message across, the gap.

If I could just throw this message
across the grand canyon...
My arm is not that strong,
and I am not the muffin man.

My head hurts.

Jessika


Diyos kong syota ito

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

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Sign up for a Kentucky Fried Chicken credit card today. With every use you earn points toward your next KFC purchase.

Black Submarines


Let us wolf down shrimp linguine with squid ink
and check out the angler fish tomorrow.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Previously Written: Two Hip Hop Snobs Eat Shit


This is the first of many poems I wrote featuring a character named Louis. He represents someone with whom I've been best friends since high school (I'll leave his real name a mystery). In either ninth or tenth grade I would go to his house on Fridays, play videogames and basketball and return home on Sundays, most weekends at least. Anyway, he's a man of very few words and many people find him very difficult to talk to. For this reason I find this poem, which is a paraphrased conversation, very pleasing.

Two Hip Hop Snobs Eat Shit

(Nelly is a mainstream rapper.)
(Jason Kidd plays basketball.)

Me and Louis drink Feldschlösschen at the tram stop

Nelly’s so bad
Really fuckin stupid
You remember that line?
“I’m just kidding like Jason”
“I’m just kidding like Jason!”
Hahaha
Who the fuck is Jason
He just picked a fucking name
I’m just kidding like Bob
Had to rhyme with basement
He’s all – what rhymes with basement
Random ass fucking Jason
Like we know how Jason Kidds

Our eyes meet with horror

Monday, January 12, 2009

I Just Can't Wait To Be King


Why tackle me whenever you win at checkers, Nala?

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Snails


Yes! It's an old day and daily I skip

laps between an empty gucci coach and a. testoni - sounds like a pasta
that I don't want to eat.
But it's a new year and every week there's another
airport through which to jostle.

You could lose an arm here like revolver ocelot
or the cast of samurai candid camera. The heck is javanese?
We're stuck starving in an elevator and I got the guinsoo. Well bananas
and cherries were crowding the stairs like sea hares.
There is harm in eating
your neighbor. Let's tell her we miss her: split
seconds I have time to forget which way that son is going.

Friday, January 9, 2009

The Biggest Temple


I cannot look at Buddha ruins for two hours.
Instead I will descend Buddha ruin
stairs for one
and chill with the postcard hagglers
until my hungry yawns
knock Yogyakarta into the sunrise.
The quakes will make Dad drop his camera
onto a breakfast table.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Wisdoms: Mom


"When you were little you really liked chicken nuggets. I couldn't find them at the Pathmark so I asked an employee 'Where can I find chicken mcnuggets?' and he said 'Mcdonalds.' "

Soekarno Hatta International Airport Bathroom


Three locals in flannel lean on urinals. They are smoking.
The middle moustached dwarf cackles something about duty free shit.
I don't look at them when I pee.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Previously Written: Kovalent


I wrote this poem at the 2008 Kundiman retreat. Poetry seems to flow so freely out of you when you're there. Maybe it's the atmosphere. I only know that what little shell guards me was broken for four days.

Kovalent


We're content as sloths. Six species with tummies full of symbiotes, digesting leaves over a month, and we have chemistry

with Mr. Hacker next period. He chases us with boredom, tunnels suck in our eyes over and over throwing our heads balance on drooly palms. I beseech to bathroom but Hacker has elephantitis, "Peps, you pooped last month," no, then I played with my turmoil, he prefers us asleep, when it’s his turn to duty. Smad turkey. He admits thanksgiving dinner aftermath* to our nostrils and we all prostrate. Hacker douses us with Watsons iso tone and his arms and legs champagne, his head sinks into his ribs, his torso poles us into place. Silently the silence comes – is it the end of our world? We are one, we are a robot, a vigilante vindicating through Hackzor’s monocle of justice, dynamiting Mrs. Apted and her physics class strumming gravikords and vacuuming skunks while the thigh magenta grows, grows, then, a comeback, an up smash, an of the fallen living dead sith pink panther nerds*, we see dead people, which limb pointed out the closet empty of economics and theory of knowledge? Love polypeptides yourself because the time is now. Veal patties; they ain’t got dodgeballs on us and we got four more toes.


*Not yet a Cold Stone Creamery flavor

Sunday, January 4, 2009

These are some of my favorite lines from songs:

{Credit to No Doubt}

It's too bad, you're so sad, wish you could have had what I had. And its so sad, its too bad, maybe I could make you feel better. Maybe I'm supposed to make you feel better.

I'm like you, I had it easy, You're dark blue, stained from previous days.

I sip on dreams and choke on real things.

I concentrate on empty spaces, A passive pondering of blankness, Sit down shut up, controlled obsessions.

Am I wasting all of your time, And all my cute days on regret?

Damsel in distress is quite submissive, Look how sun burnt my vanity is.

If we both want the love and I want long enough, Then the ground that we're on might be common.

If you bore me then I'm comfortable, If you interest me I'm scared.

Like a fresh battery, I'm energized by you.

I'm sorry, you've had some scarey days.

Frustrate


"Don't worry!" said the astronaut, "it's not my juice.
Maybe yours." She harnessed the crown
and balanced on the moon.
"I'm Lucky, and I'm home." It's an advantage
like putting sugar in spaghetti.
However, notice the way the clouds stalk around her temples,
bouncing hotly with charisma and youth.
Lucky gasped at them, "This isn't Hong Kong," she gritted.
The astronaut came alone on the moon.

Friday, January 2, 2009

Stuff Toy


I don't care
if you're a teddy bear
with one eye,
don't you dare
wink at me.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Happy New Year!


I hope I'll be as happy as I was in this picture forever.

New Year's Eve Like You're A 22 Year Old Expat All Over Again


I switch the channel to Animal Planet. Two sea lions kiss noisily. Fireworks whistle out the window behind them. Channel up: Meg Ryan makes out with less pretty guy. Internet pic of the minute: "I love my wife" tee on Portia de Rossi next to Ellen DeG grinning. The 10 Hottest Videos of Girls Kissing. Mom and dad treat Ninang Dolly and her baby's daddy to raisin bread, foie gras and cheeses. I'm not drunk. Aint there someone I could be getting drunk with? Cupcake on discrete webcam at work. I found my New Year's kiss. The screen can only kiss back in spirit. It will do. Dad finally opens the last present. "Mike sent me Sex and The City the movie. Want to watch it?"

Fruits Awaken


Bananas in pajamas: they're coming down the stairs.
Bananas in pajamas: they're gay.