Saturday, July 31, 2010

Joseph Lease

I see poet Joseph Lease defriended me on FACEBOOK, because I asked the question "Is FACEBOOK real?" when he sent me an invite to "like" him.

I was amused by the funny grammar of the invitation which says (when you receive the request) "Joseph (Lease) likes Joseph Lease and thinks you should like it too."

Like it too.

A first person request for admiration is turned into a third person grammatical pointing at an entity which is presumably separate.

Well, not separate from the poet's ego.

Love Joseph Lease's ego or cease to exist.

Joseph Lease, this soooo makes me want to run out and read your poetry.

Read it.

You give me great faith that poets are indeed careful readers of language and its nuances, and that they are an ethical, friendly breed apart.

I'm glad to know that our FACEBOOK friendship was not a potentiality for possible communication, but that rather I existed only to "swell the throng" of your admirers, gathered up by sending invitations to others to admire you.

You are a Great Example for me to remember.

And I will remember you as such.

Whine and Ye Shall Receive

I was lamenting what I perceived to be a dearth of mail art in the American poetry scene anymore, opining that it seemed to dry up just as the net was taking off.

It makes a lot of sense, in that artists now have easy access to free online galleries where they can display their work.

So mail art probably stopped being mailed. To some degree anyway.

Rob at Bumpo's kindly pointed me in the direction of an artist (Yvonne Stewart) who works in many media and happened to be participating currently in an exhibition of mail art in Edinburgh.

She has a brief post about it on her blog (check it out): Sketchstitch Blog.

But there are more photos on her Flickr, which is here:

Yvonne Stewart's Flickr and pics of the recent Mail Art Exhibition in the Spider and the Fly at the Magpie Market in Edinburgh.

I like the jaunty rhythm of that: ..."in the Spider and the Fly at the Magpie Market..."

It must be fun to tell someone to meet you in the Spider and the Fly at the Magpie Market.

Sounds like something from a nursery rhyme everyone's forgotten.

Thanks, Rob.

And thanks to Yvonne for the art and pics.

Blogger/Flickr are great at giving one vicarious gallery/museum experiences.

Well YouTube too, of course.

So you have no excuse for not knowing what's showing at the Louvre right now.

(Here I lift my finger to my lips and move it up and down making that bubbling sound.)

Because I have no clue lol.

Hi Rob

Thanks for the link. I am going to go there now. I couldn't find your comment after I approved it. I went back in and it was still in the "waiting room"...whatever the hell Blogger calls it...and I tried to cut and paste the address, but apparently you can't "mouse-grab" it. But I think I have it memorized.

I'll go there now to check it out.

I know it's silly to bitch when Blogger provides so much free, but I wish they would have a "Go to Comment" option when people comment.

Because people often comment on something that's far away.

Or at least give you an indication of where the post is, like a date or something.

Blogger dorks = Blorks?

POSTSCRIPT: I added myself as a follower on her blog. I need to check out more visual artists' blogs more often.

To Poetry Editors

I have secluded my poems per your request
Nobody shall have my poem's virginity before you
Droit de fuck
I understand the position
Seignurial rights
We all love negligees that show nipples
I'll pinch them they beam like headlights
Pink headlights in a fog gauze
"Where are you driving me?"
"Why is that weird lunchbox on the front seat?"
I'm only kidding
I'm grateful you asked me
I realize I'm getting older
I can see skulls in both my kneecaps
I pretend weeds that flower are "okay"
I don't fight back against squirrels with much conviction anymore
My living room (my smile) look like Mina Loy's
In that late scary photo
Mina Loy was sorta the Vampira of American poetry
She knew a lot of Ed Woods
Everyone in poetry eventually does
Who cares if the car is going somewhere Lame
As long as Eros is at the party
I want this, even though
I know it's only a motel you're driving to
A motel party with red plastic cups
"Works for me" as glib Nature always says
My intentions are translucent
Translucent as my pearlized nightgown
And all my thoughts are pearlized too
In your hands, I quiver like tissue paper
Over the frontispiece photo of a long dead poet
19th Century American Poetry's version
of Victoria's Secret

Blue Glass Swan Alarm System

Blue Glass Swan's a decent sort of love
Swan stands before a vulnerable window
Guard this Ghetto Window
I say to it and Swan nods
Like a gentlemanly blue candy
This is the perfect alarm system
A Blue Glass Swan
Don't laugh, it works
Don't disparage candy
Candy can last thousands of years
I go to the museum sometimes
Just to look at candy
Blue Swan is yawning
Waiting to sacrifice its glass life
Blue Swan looks at its watch
When I turn my back
Death is terribly late
Like a whore taxi cab driver
Who senses a better tip
And evilly prioritizes
Death's picking someone else up
Right this moment
Talking to this person
With an atrocious accent
Somewhere else
This is a decent love
I tell myself and the Swan
I pat the Swan's blue glass head
Blue swan ready to sacrifice itself
At some killer's cued entry
Dear Killer in the Wings,
You always miss your entry
When you do show, forget your lines
My Blue Glass Swan grows tired
Waiting to shatter
And obligatorily Save Me
Dear Killer in the Wings
The audience's stomach is growling
They have lovers and fairy tales to attend
We can't all just sit around
Waiting for you to remember
You are a part of this play
While we were all rehearsing
You were out fucking around
With lovers you didn't respect enough
To even give your number
And now they have no way of reaching you
And I have to tell you
Even though my cast mates warned me
You really Suck at This


Flashes go where the loveless float
Your address is a cloud
Sometimes I outsmart myself
I run to save my life
And it is ridiculous
Perhaps my one goal in life
A refrigerator for lightning bolts
You should be more afraid of me
You should
I am like this Viking bunny
I invite you into a fridge
I stand and hold the door
Try to coax you with wiles
My mind's a chocolate-covered carrot
You don't tell me
You're a chocolate-covered lighting bolt
You're a ridiculous sandbar
Float in the ocean of death
The Loveless Parade marches down the beach
Every morning the same time
They grow bigger like FACEBOOK
And have more status changes to announce
Your friends, the lightning-addicted
Oh my God, Oh No
One morning you wake to find
The Ocean has defriended you
Now you'll never know what it is doing
Behind your devious back

Love Welfare

Website Widgets


Website Widgets


Website Widgets

You Can Never

Website Widgets

I Missed Website Widgets

So I created a blog just for them.

All Neon-Like.

A nod to Bjork.

Website Widgets

Cake + Lain = Building a Religion

I love cake. ("They all love cake, Jeri.")

I remember finding Lain too.

But I didn't see all the episodes.

Just the first few.

It was right about the time I started talking with A.L.I.C.E. online.

And the two things complemented each other.

I mean Lain and A.L.I.C.E.

The A.I.M.L. brain.

This is from a pretty great album.

Don't Let's Start

I think this is one of the most spiritually beautiful songs I know.

Plus it's like the musical equivalent of crack.

Bjork Primer

That's what you put down before you apply the Bjork paint.

No rest from This Condensery.

And the amazing thing is there isn't a single bad song there.

In fact, almost every one is a classic.

For the record, her name is pronounced "Byurk" not "Byork."

But it's too late for anyone to change that.

But over there that's how they say it.

Oh, the Ghosts are Back

I called Lee to tell him and he said it's about that time of year.

But they're early.

It's usually fall. And late fall at that.

But this is a definite.

Or there's an interloper.

Lee knows to leave the kitchen light on when he leaves.

I saw it on when he left.

I went into another room and turned around and the light was out.

I thought it blew out.

The switch was off.

This troubled me so I immediately turned it on before going to bed.

I woke up and went downstairs and it was off again.

Again checked. Not burned out.

Switch off.

I called Lee to ask if he stopped in sometime during his shift.

He said no.

I checked all rooms, all doors and windows.

No breaches.

The alarm system is on.


Go figure.


Or Dru has learned a really amazing trick.

I Decided

to create another blog for Website Widgets play.

Rather than junk it up here.

I'll name it "All Neon-Like."

As a Bjork tribute.

Dru is Afraid

when these girls visit or spend the night.

They don't "do" anything to him.

He's just neurotic.

I always see him loitering somewhere then, pretending to be busy studying a pattern in the wainscot or something.

Dru's afraid of girls, Dru's afraid of girls.

I like to watch t.v. with them because their "comment stream" is so damn funny.

God, this toy really gets inside your head, doesn't it?

Comment stream.


Friday, July 30, 2010

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Tao Lin

If you visit Tao Lin's site, you will see he is conducting a contest (with some nifty prizes, including cash and drafts of his mss.). These are sweet. Good investments. Except for the coin collection. That's pretty much naff. Okay, I like old coins. That Walking Liberty silver dollar is pretty. I think that's the name.

Since I was up with the collywobbles from my Dollar Tree delight, I watched a couple of the video entries. That's one category. You can film yourself talking about the author or his books, character, whatever. He doesn't care if it's negative or not.

My favorite clip has already lost in its category because I think you win by being longer and it was only forty-eight minutes. And two other people had talked for over two hours. Very slowly. I didn't watch it all but it was an interesting clip. I mean the forty-eight minute one on Vimeo. It was interesting to me because it featured a defensively hetero male having this funny engagement with Tao Lin's writing (he had read a total of twenty-two pages of one novel). He kept thinking the writing was making advances at him or something. Or maybe the cover was making advances at him. At one point his girlfriend alludes to Lin (metaphorically) hugging his readers and the hetero recoils in hetero horror. From the metaphorical hug. It's really a fun clip. I would have watched the whole thing if I hadn't had to post the albino squirrel video lol. And then the young hetero said something fascinating about the cover image of Lin's forthcoming novel, Richard Yates.

He said it looked like a "reverse facehugger."

And the two young women (one presumably his girlfriend) immediately and rightly jumped on this stunning phrase.

It completely sounds like a bedroom term. I was sure it was something cunnilingual.

But No. He meant the creatures in Alien. Facehuggers. The earlier rather crustacean phase in their metamorphosis when they wrap around a human face and inject the larva or whatever. The one that later gives itself a Caesearian section.

He's referring to the stunning visual impact of the conch shell the author holds in front of his face on the cover of the book. Check it out online. If it doesn't win a book design award, I'll be shocked.

I thought that was interesting, his reading of this image as threatening. Then he made the much more obvious interpretation of the image as vaginal, which is an unmistakeable one. It's a very pink interior to the conch.

What's funny is the hat Tao Lin is wearing, which seems (for me) to hearken back to the time when Richard Yates was still alive and in his prime. The floral wallpaper is the perfect visual complement to the foreground of the image. I don't know who took that photo, but they totally know what they're doing.

It's funny and appropriate. The idea of equating Tao Lin with the vaginal and the creature from Alien at the same time. Because his persona (I don't presume to know a writer's real character in ninety percent of writers encountered) eschews masculinist tendencies (or possibly masks them) which is why I think he appeals so strongly to women. Of course, there's always just bone structure and "looks." But women seem to write about him and after him in a way that they don't often do with male writers--even male writers they admire.

And yet there is the other thing. The Alien thing. The master of the medium. Propagating. And the medium is definitely the net. Not that the books aren't solid writing as books. But sometimes they seem just a tad more real when they are backlit by the computer. When they are on their home planet.

The Alien thing is funny and apt too. Because Lin is clearly a master colonizer. He has injected himself everywhere. At first this was done forcibly. But now the Alien Queen can actually relax for a bit. Because he's certainly realized he's gotten to the stage where people are making the comparisons he wants made for him. Blogs are talking without prodding or incentive. When talks about Bret Easton Ellis's Imperial Bedrooms, they mention the influence he has had on a new generation of authors. Authors like, oh say, Tao Lin.

Many of the comparisons with Ellis seem to focus on the commonality of attention given to the superficiality and vacuity at the heart of American culture, the desire for brand and commodification which turns people into American psychos. But this is funny. Because the comparison is invalid. With Ellis, it's an indictment of that superficiality and vacuity and the way it's used to cover up the real massive damage of the psyche. His characters are always fleeing. Ellis grew closer to Fitzgerald after his first novel, which probably owed as much to Camus as it did to Petronius. I read some quotes from him at his one reading and I was surprised to hear him refer to "immoral" acts in Less than Zero. Funny. I had thought he would have used "amoral." Because that's so much more swank. The cachet. I bet when he was twenty-three he said "amoral." Tao Lin's first novel was in another universe altogether. It was more about apperception than it was about perception. He rarely has a perception he doesn't filter through apperception. That's not really filtering, I suppose. It's more a loop. Feedback is created. That's the noise he loves which is a big part of his style. You understand why he likes the music he does then when you realize that. Also, if you haven't gotten by now that the author hates abstractions (and value judgments) and feels that his ultimate investment is in the idea that only concrete reality exists, then you probably haven't really been reading fully awake. I believe he said somewhere that he believes that abstractions are the root of all evil. This is a mystical and well-intentioned idea, but it's also a disingenuous one. I thought it was funny when someone (Lin?) edited his Wikipedia entry from the line about writing "concrete reality" to writing "concrete." He is writing the concrete. He must have realized that concrete reality is an oxymoron. That word's an abstraction latching onto concrete (something). Like an Alien facehugger.

Oh, of course he writes about much more than that. No author writes several novels* with only one idea in his or her head, and an idea that's been around for centuries at that, sometimes in favor and sometimes not. But conviction is a good place for a writer to start. Whether they are right or wrong or both or neither.

I can't think of another writer (maybe Vonnegut or Brautigan) where the variation in the critical reception was so age-segregated. Okay, that probably wasn't true of Vonnegut really. Not completely. His experiences in the War meant he wrote books that made sense to a wide age range. But then he started doing that sci-fi, countercultural embrace thing and the fan base started to shift. Vonnegut's a complicated figure. He evolved (okay, changed) his entire life. I always say it's no mistake his books are shelved so close to Voltaire's Because really they were the same person in different ages. But Brautigan, yes. The generation thing. People like to compare Lin to Andy Warhol and I suppose that's unavoidable. The delegation thing and the idea of communal creation, the mockery of pop culture, and the mysterious androgynous hierophant who has a huge Emotional Disconnect (which may or may not be a "put on") who does the star making all point to a new Factory. All that's missing are sex and drugs. Okay, get real. Right? But it's not foregrounded. Suicidality is ironic and not sincere with most of these writers. Not that I'm saying that's a bad thing! These are just different times.

In the night, I also read Lin's Gawker piece on being arrested (again) for "trespassing" in NYU's one coffee shop. I think that was the location. Anyway, this little essay is broken into the stages of the actual arrest. It was definitely readable and certainly nowhere as bad as the comment stream suggested. But I don't think the commenters were making a formal critique of the writing, apart from their hatred of Lin's use of those ubiquitous "language is lying again" quotation marks, so much as they were critiquing what they perceived to be an indulgent act. Possibly they believed he lacked that old Sartrean authenticity. They seemed to believe he was deliberately putting himself in the trammels as another publicity stunt. I have no idea if that was the case. Maybe he didn't want to say the conciliatory thing. Because one senses the conciliatory thing would have gotten him off the hook. But he didn't want to eat ass I guess. It's not that bad really. Ass. I would do it to a cop or rent-a-cop any day rather than lying around on cinder block furniture. Maybe Lin sees it as a dialogue class by now.

The funniest bit in that "arrest essay" was the part where they are having trouble fingerprinting Tao Lin and he offers to do it himself since he now knows the "right way" to do this. I do too, but only because of the post 9-11 federal laws for those who work in the transportation industry. Roll, don't press! But the funniest bit is at the end where Lin talks about cleaning the ink off his fingers and he does this green aside where he says he only ever uses soap and water to clean anything. It's the best moment in the essay. By far. He wants to remind you that he's green even if he's criminal. How can you not assign that to conceptual art. Artists hate being put in dovecotes of any sort. Of course. It's like the thing with feminist. Nobody really wants to be called a conceptualist or a feminist. Well, they do. But they want to be a lot more than that. Because both of those categories (probably compltely unjustly) have been assumed to have a completely defined set of core values. And of course, that's wrong. Completely wrong. Neither one of those things has been defined because neither one of those things is a closed set. Tao Lin is sometimes a conceptualist. And I think the way that paragraph I am referencing above brackets moral behavior within what is (nominally, ridiculously) immoral behavior is Tao Lin enjoying being a bit of a conceptualist lout. Well, it's stupid to call that sort of trespassing, soi-disant, immoral. That's a different type of branding. Not the kind Tao Lin excels at. The kind society excels at.

I also read his review of a bunch of different blogging platforms online. It was a funny article, but the Gawker piece was better. It was interesting to me because it showed the master of the medium assessing the medium and only occasionally pulling out some literary tricks to enliven the article. But it was a mismating of mindsets. It was too arty for the techheads and too tech for the literary sort. But it's useful writing in that he actually does review the strengths and weaknesses of the various blogging platforms in concrete detail. If you are on Blogger, you will be happy to hear you're on one of the better ones. By far. I hadn't even heard of a few of them. The article is funny in places. Like his review of Wordpress and some blogs which he sees as Wordpress clones.

*I say several because I'm counting the co-authored Hikkomori, which actually may be "his" purest work. But then I'm a sucker for the epistolary form.


There's another good name for a poetry collection: The Worthologist.

I was just researching how Worthopedia came about and I read that their consultants are known as Worthologists.

Isn't that killer?

Can you take your boyfriend to a Worthologist?

Lee, Don't!!

The Sentence from Yesterday Which Stays with Me the Most...

is this one...

"I also know that when I was 8 I slid into a profound depression of self-negation that had not yet fully abated though it was already 40 years duration."

I keep staring at that sentence.

And I feel like I must have won a lottery or something.

This person was on Oprah's site.

So there is hope.

You Know You Can Go to the Museum Free Any Time of Day or Night

I'm talking about EBAY.

I was looking at "antique silhouettes" last night and really teasing myself.

I saw what I'm sure are modern fakes in there too.

You have to be careful on EBAY.

The wording and the games people play.

There are some gifted artists out there. I mean gifted with faking "antiques."

It's a whole freakin' industry.

I always hate it when I have a genuine antique and a certain photo makes it look "fake."

I'm like, "Lee, this totally looks faked in this photo."

And then he takes another photo and you can see there's no way to fake certain wear and tear.

If I ever have any doubt about an item's age (and I do all the time) I TELL Lee to tell people. "This could date from anywhere from 1930 to 1960."

Because there are items like that.

If it's a case of a non-listed or obscure artist...or an often will get nowhere.

But Google is a godsend in that you can find a lot of things out.

That Worthopedia site is pretty good.

I remember one time I found these really quirky frog bronzes and I had no idea about the origin.

They looked French and looked 1930s.

Patina can help you estimating age sometimes.

Worthopedia gave me the answer.

I could only find one other set of these and they had sold at auction in England for a decent price.

But they had no clue as to provenance either.

Thank God for artists who sign.

Don't get me wrong. I sell a lot of baubles. Chinoiseries. No, I won't sell resin lol.

If something makes me smile, giggle or laugh and it's not too much of a packing bitch for Lee and it can be marked up ten dollars or more, I will probably fall for it.

I used to give Lee a lot of stuffed animals to sell.

I'll still pick some up occasionally.

But I think that's how Dru got fleas that time, so now I'm paranoid about those items.

I hate that that experience has turned me into a "Tag Queen." Now it's usually Gund (and not even all of theirs are that hot) or Steiff and a handful of others.

Animal Alley really does the cutest animals, although I don't think they're a prestige label. But they make quality animals that are often very realistic and always cute.

I found a Steiff duck in stellar condition the other week. I didn't know they even did ducks. I thought they were only bears.

I guess I could create a quarantine station for stuffies.

That could be cute. Take pictures of them in their horrid detention centers.

I'd be just like our government.

Everything is like forty cents anyway.

They sell antique bronzes for five dollars. That's their idea of expensive in the thrift store. They really don't have anybody screening this stuff. This is why I now have about six paintings by listed artists from different nations.

They'll set a painting by an Ashcan school painter next to some piece of Gorman dreck. And the Gorman will have the higher price. Because it's, like, bigger lol.

God knows every thrift store is now Resin World.

I don't think there is a single familiar human image that has not been cast in resin by some dollar store or other by this point.

God, I wish I lived in an area with a much higher socioeconomic status/profile.

I can only imagine. There must be some thrift stores out there that are located near some ridiculously rich exurbs.

And the same thing probably happens there as happens here. People die without telling anyone what's worth what in their home.

Or there's nobody left to care.

Oh god, this Scissor Sisters song! I love this.

Why does my MediaPlayer punish me by never playing them.

I don't understand its randomized brain.

It knows I like Rufus but it forgets I like Scissor Sisters.

I know. Playlists.

But I must have forgotten SS when I made mine.

I have this fantasy where one day I will walk into a thrift store and find a Fernand Leger.

I don't know why I chose him.

Certainly there are hundreds of artists I admire more and will bring more money.

But I have this feeling he will be the one I find. If I do.

Or someone whose paintings I don't really like. Foujita. Marie Laurencin.

But still good currency.

Dr. Gachet used Vincent's one painting to cover a hole in his chicken coop.

I wonder if that's true or apocryphal.

I used to be able to quote actual sales prices for paintings. Back when I had a sick memory. Nearly photographic.

Long gone.

Yatsuda Fire & Marine Insurance Company. 48 Million. For Sunflowers.


It's still in there? But old art prices.

Those glory years.

The market was running buck wild then.

Now we should all walk around thinking, "Poor poor Damien Hirst..."

Yeah, right lol.

What's the Buzz

Probably this happens to a lot of people. I often have my MediaPlayer on random play or I select a single artist and let it play only the albums by that artist or group.

But then every day one (sometimes two) damn songs get stuck in my head.

These are never the best songs.

These are always the "most infectious" songs.

Now since about six o'clock last night I keep hearing Basement Jaxx's "Everybody." But ONLY the chorus.

The woman singing that one phrase over and over again. At first, I thought Indian. Then Laotian for some reason. But it is Indian. I don't watch a lot of Bollywood lol.

I just researched it. It's Reena Bhardwaj. You can read her Wiki.

That's the joy of Basement Jaxx. They don't really have a core identity.

They just shift their musical consciousness constantly.

Everybody thinks of them as house music or something but then they write mellow pop like "If I Ever Recover." They have Siouxsie singing on a track ("Kish Kash").

I bitched at first about Crazy Itch Radio (2006) but now I like more tracks than I don't like.

Sometimes I'm okay with picking out accents. My ear is generally pretty good.

There was this young guy I was randomly talking to the other day, and in the middle of the conversation I said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but do you have the slightest trace of an accent ever? I'm getting South African or something."

He was actually Polish and had come over here at the age of nine.

But it was just the teensiest wee bit. And only on one single vowel. Like at the corner of the vowel there was a knick. I mean you'd only hear it like on one vowel every twenty-seven sentences or something.

It sounded like a Boer vowel though lol. Probably because I was only getting a ghost of it.

He was amazed because he said people never detect it.

I find that hard to believe.

Not that it was obvious.

But you know how closely we listen to people.

I like the Long Island accent.

We get a lot of those down here on business, and when I worked I would always run into them.

That's so easy to pick out.

One of my boyfriends way back when had that accent so I'm pretty used to that one.

The Thing About Texas

I woke up and the ID channel was talking about this creep out in Texas who had murdered his wife.

A real milquetoast preacher creep who had gotten his wife to a point of complete and ridiculous subservience.

But later even that wasn't enough and he killed her. Presumably for the money and thrill.

And they put the slug on one of the spots they run the most so I have to hear his wimply little voice saying "Why would I KILL my wife?" in this milquetoast way and you just wanna pour salt on his skin and watch it do the Sodom and Gomorrah thing.

But that's not why I'm posting this.

Why I am posting this was the shocknig revelation that Texas has this dealio where even if they decide you are guilty of murder they can give you ANY sentence whatsoever, ranging from one day to life. They can even give you probation. For cold-blooded, calculated, first degree murder.

I mean this is the state with probably the most inmates on Death Row, and this is the state that practices capital punishment like the Drive-Thru at Burger King. And I believe in capital punishment as long as it's applied fairly and not in a racist manner or used against the truly mentally deficient--no, not merely crazy--everyone probably knows by now the only acceptable insanity defense (which NEVER works) is when you truly cannot tell the difference between right and wrong or realize what you are doing when you commit the crimes in question. It's like only schizophrenia during certain hallucinations--or some other form of complete psychotic break along those lines. Just being schizophrenic isn't even enough. It's a tough walnut, the insanity defense.

Texas probably doesn't fare well if you looked at how they apply the death penalty, but I'm not sure. I might be surprised.

But in most cases I really don't understand the liberal kneejerk reaction against capital punishment.

I think this usually indicates a lack of imagination on the part of these liberals. Or lack of knowledge. Because if you read what some of these people did to other human beings I just don't see how you could possibly justify keeping them on this planet and spending enough money on each of them every year that you could lift an entire family out of poverty. Some people are truly reprobate. Sociopaths (and this term is thrown around too easily in court and everywhere else) don't get better. True sociopaths are rare. I see so many criminals called sociopaths on ID when they are merely drug addicts who had complete breaks with reality and such. A true sociopath doesn't get that way by taking certain drugs. Addicts are capable of doing things which look like things that sociopaths do but sociopaths can do these things in their coolest hour. You know, like those studies where they see their heartbeat doesn't even change as they're slicing someone up. That's a different sort of animal. It's not your hopped-up crackhead setting fire to a house and stabbing people wildly because she couldn't get drugs that night. She will wake up in jail and realize what happened. Sociopaths never "wake up."

So that does piss me off when ID misuses that. Consult Candice, ID. You have one of the best FBI ex-profilers on your network and she will clarify all the sloppy thinking you do on so many shows. She can tell you when you're dealing with a borderline personality disorder, which is one of the diagnoses you miss a lot.

Anyway, they didn't speculate on the origin of that weird Texas proviso, but I am CERTAIN that speaks to the popularity of vigilantism in that part of the country (especially in the old days).

But they should have that law "looked at," as they say and expunged.

Because I'm guessing that was used to spring vigilantes where the Texans of days past knew they couldn't deny stone cold reality introduced in a court of law.

But they could just wave the flag and up the varmint jumped on his horse and rode off into the white sunset.

Pics of the Albino Squirrel

He is as white as fucking Sean Puffy Combs!

OMFG Horrible Night But a Good Ending

I ate something that made me sick.

I woke up in the middle of the night and thought I was going to die.

And then while I was chugging aloe vera juice to get back to normalcy and just getting my stomach settled, my Mom and Lee both call me to report they think I am the victim of identity theft.

This is 3 a.m. in the morning.

So that's all I need to freak me out. Because I already think I have food poisoning.

My mom got a letter in my name from American Express that referred to what she thought was a credit card in my name with fraudulent charges.

So I called the 1-800 number for American Express and they said this card didn't exist. Then my mom calls me back and says it's a "prepaid card" and I figure "oh good." They can't do much damage with that.

So I called and talked to the prepaid card department and they had no record of any card in my name either.

Long story short, it was some card given me by DHL in 2003 or something for meritorious service. And there was $1.50 or something on it and some computer brain sent a piece of mail to remind me of this.

They said "this is what you have if your card hasn't expired." Well, the card had expired. Like six years ago. So why the fuck didn't they know that since they issued the card and why the fuck did they send me this piece of mail. At an address where I haven't lived in actually nine years or so (my workplace probably never updated my address when I moved).

And the aloe vera worked. Now I don't trust the DOLLAR STORE for frozen foods. I bet that ended up there because they knew something was wrong with that fucking meal.

Anyway, Lee was nice enough to swing by my Mom's house to pick up the piece of mail so I could make sure it was okay and guess who was in her front yard?


Yes, I realize that's redundant.

White. Albino.

But think the "Great White Hunter" or something.

Lee didn't have our camera but he borrowed my brother's camera and my brother let Lee bring the SD card home. So....WE GOT SQUIRREL!!

Later today I'll upload this to YouTube, but I wanted to share it with you first.

Isn't he or she adorable? Like a freakin ferret. Note the vampirish red eyes. They're actually clear. You're seeing the blood behind them.

Should I try to rub sunscreen on it? Someone should tell it not to be out in these dusky hours because the owls are still about and supposedly an albino squirrel won't fare well in the natural selection process.

Lee also got some still photos so I'll post those above this.



Thursday, July 29, 2010

Who Jetted Today

I did, says the dog in shoe.

S&P shakers.

Older ones with corks.

Lee, where is he going?

I think Arkansas?

He reminds me of Petey.

The dog on Little Rascals lol.

Painted cast iron never has a problem getting a boyfriend.

Final Exit

I got this email the other day that I just now saw.

I avoid email.

I usually sign on to my screen name that no one on earth knows so I can comfortably limit my email reading--once or twice a week.

Well anyway, the email said that one of my Goodreads friends had liked my review of Final Exit.

And I thought, that's funny. Because I don't remember reading Final Exit. Or reviewing it.

But apparently I did, because when I clicked on the link here was my review.

Don't do it, Kid! Hold on to that morphine clicker like a queen. Make them endure every last excruciating moment of you! That's what I plan on doing. Well if I follow the pattern in my family I'm going to be here half a century from now annoying you people. My grandfather was still chattering away on the afternoon he died. The hospital staff said "where does he get the energy??" They were sort of tired. Then he died.

So I didn't read it lol.

But it had some thumbs up.

It's my strong belief that suicide should only be left to professionals anyway.

And this book just encourages amateurs.

Amateur porn is fine.

But we have to draw the line somewhere.

More Lies, All Lies

I'm having a lot of fun writing my Blog of Lies (see my blogroll).

As the guidance counselor told Jeri Blank, "Go with what you know."

So she mixed up glint.

And I made a Blog of Lies.

Here are some samples, lastest posts.


I would never scratch BUTTFUCKER or PLANETFUCKER into the paint of anyone's Hummer.

Posted by William Keckler at 11:19 AM 0 comments Email This BlogThis! Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Google Buzz
Labels: buttfucker


I think Nicholas Cage has made good career choices both before and after winning that Oscar.

Posted by William Keckler at 11:17 AM 0 comments Email This BlogThis! Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Google Buzz
Labels: Nicholas Cage


I have never posed as a child with progeria in order to ask the Make a Wish Foundation for air fare to Vegas.

Posted by William Keckler at 11:15 AM 0 comments Email This BlogThis! Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Google Buzz
Labels: progeria

I Can Count Those I Slept With

I can count those I slept with on the fingers of both hands. Okay, with the toes included.


Okay, can I count the teeth?

Occluded wisdom teeth?

Posted by William Keckler at 11:09 AM 0 comments Email This BlogThis! Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Google Buzz
Labels: sluts

Double Lie

I have never been attracted to K.D. Lang dressed as a man.

Nor regretted her lack of a penis.

Posted by William Keckler at 11:08 AM 0 comments Email This BlogThis! Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Google Buzz
Labels: k.d. lang

Double Lie

I believe in reciprocity in sex and blogging.

Posted by William Keckler at 11:01 AM 0 comments Email This BlogThis! Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Google Buzz
Labels: double lie


I think libraries are more important than liquor stores.

Posted by William Keckler at 10:59 AM 0 comments

If I Remove Friends

from the list, these are the cities which read the most entries today/yesterday on my blog.

And if you are a friend and in this city, sorry. I didn't know you lived there or were visiting.

I would like to visit Guadalupe.

New York New York United States

San Francisco California United States

Lewiston Idaho

Bangalore Karnataka India

Guadalupe Zacatecas Mexico

Royal Leamington Spa Warwickshire United Kingdom

Bellevue Washington

Oslo Oslo Norway

Doha Ad Dawhah Qatar

Calgary Alberta

If There's a Better Example

where it's the singer, not the song than Bryan Ferry, I am hard pressed to think of it.

Just now.

Because I fall for that voice every time.

Because so many of his songs would be absolutely nothing sung by anyone else.

Is It July Everywhere?

Really? All at once? That seems so wrong. Antarctica must be holding out.

I bet the penguins are bitching right now.

(For the records, the penguins are very "pro-hole in the ozone layer." They told me.)

I just think you should be able to travel to countries where the days of the week and the months are different.

Not just the hours.

And I don't mean that flying to Japan or Australia trick.

I also like to live inside the French Revolutionary Calender.

Their months are much better.

When I Publish Another Poetry Collection

(in the year 2048) I want it to be titled The Disney Animal of Your Dreams.

I think.

No. Queenorama is much better.

Found Ecstatic Poem #10

You know what they say that seeing is believing? No wonder people believe in the power of death. The normal mirror image of me is a dead thing. How many times a day do I receive the subtle message that I am dying or already dead from the reflective surfaces around me???

It's all a lie! I AM ALIVE! LOLOL!!!:^0

Thank you from my heart for being willing to post your experience with the true mirror. It has changed me forever.

love love love


Found Ecstatic Poem #9

This week was Pentecost. As a kind of joke, I wondered aloud last Sunday what quest the Holy Spirit would present to me, like in the court of King Arthur at the feast of Pentecost.

Monday I read your post and was profoundly intrigued. I have been studying my consciousness since I was 8 years old, using my life as a petrie dish for my experiments. I also know that when I was 8 I slid into a profound depression of self-negation that had not yet fully abated though it was already 40 years duration

Well, this week I snapped out of it, all at once. I placed a mirror in my bathroom at not quite a 90 degree angle to the bathroom mirror. About 87 degrees, just enough so that I could look my true reflection in the eye, but not be bothered by the center seam of the 2 mirrors.

All I can say is wow.

I feel like I have woken from a nightmare. I feel like a princess who has been under a terrible spell that is now broken. I feel like a curse, or sentence, has been lifted.

How amazing to know that the dead woman in the flat mirror is not me! I AM ALIVE!

Found Ecstatic Poem #8

I personally do not have any reflective surfaces

in my house anymore, just The True Mirror which I cover up when I don't use it.
I do not want to give the illusion (normal mirror) any energy anymore. You will
be surprised! Just cover the mirrors in your house and you will see how your
whole home and energies change! And notice how often you (your ego) has/have to
"peak under the cover".. Consider, you have seen your "false
self" millions of times everywhere, you cannot escape this negative/false
image! Look, how your ego will freak out because it doesn't want to die! And
think about this, almost the whole world especially the western world will not
be interested in you finding out about this, because the mirror keeps the
people in fear and separateness and then you are easier to control! Because the
whole problem is that everyone has forgotten WHO WE REALLY ARE! I am (your are)
not just an image. I am (your are) divine.

I am love and there is NOTHING ELSE.

Found Ecstatic Poem #7

So, don’t get fooled

by the reversed image in the mirror and by the “mirror world people” (people
who are identified with their mirror image/body/mind). If you would like more
information for the “NON-REVERSED MIRROR” I will give you my website and email.
Thank you Oprah and I think you are very brave to have this class and thank you, Eckhart for your teachings! Ich hoffe, dass wir uns irgendwann, irgendwo im "Jetzt" kennenlernen!

Love and Light to you ( ALL THE OTHER PARTS OF MYSELF), Namaste

Found Ecstatic Poem #6 (In Which Meister Eckhart and Oprah are Beseeched in a Single Sentence)

I wished so much that
Oprah and/or Eckhart, whom I wanted to tell you this for years, would tell the
world about the NON-REVERSED MIRRORS and how “dangerous” this old-fashioned backwards
mirrors are! The normal mirrors should have warning signs on them! I would like to apply the 3 modalities of awakened
doing and replace all the mirrors in the world with NON-REVERSED REAL MIRRORS! I think this will bring a shift in human
consciousness and A New Earth! I am writing a book about this which will be
called “Beyond The Mirror World”. There is so much to tell you about it, I hope
I will have somehow the opportunity to show the NON-REVERSED MIRROR to Oprah
and Eckhart. I cannot watch the web class, because I live in a remote Mexican
village which is only accessible by boat and I have a very slow dial-up
connection, I do have skype and wonder whether I can listen to the class with

I will try to send a video to you Oprah.

Found Ecstatic Poem #5

No one
seems to know this! Oprah even wrote this week in her newsletter “Look in the
causes so much emotional and physical suffering. "It" is your Ego! The Illusory Self! Why is it that we still use
these old fashion devises in spite of our technology? We don’t use gramophone
anymore, no?

Found Ecstatic Poem #4

Then I research about
the effects the mirror image has, and you won't believe it, because your right
brain hemisphere reads normally your face and it can't in the mirror (try to
read a book/or handwriting) and it tries and tries, it gives up and first goes
into shock! And then it gets numb! And causes serious damage to our central
nervous system. That is why you cannot see the Oneness! Billions of people are
hypnotized! Oh, there is me (in the mirror) and there are the others. So you
never see yourself, like others see you but a backwards image which is the
illusion because "it" exist only in your head! It was also
overwhelming for me that all of a sudden I could feel everyone, mostly fear!
Now I know, that no-one wants to feel themselves (the pain body) and then there
is fear of Love! When people tell me “I
don’t have problems with the mirror” that is “in defense of an illusion”, page
67. I am referring to Eckhart’s teachings on my website for years. I live and
love his teachings and can refer to all the chapters of “A New Earth”. All of
them confirm what I have discovered/realized

and I have compassion now for all

Found Ecstatic Poem #3


was wearing black for more than 20 years, because I thought “it looks cool”,
after my awakening I was wearing only white because I’ve found out that black
is the absence of color and depresses you! White contains all the colors of the
rainbow. My awakening was kind of similar to Eckhart’s experience the morning
after his, as he described in “The Power Of Now” which a friend gave to me
later. Before, I didn’t even want to read anything because it was not
interesting and as I said, I didn’t know anything about spirituality or anything for that matter. I was totally identified with my body/the person, like almost everyone else. All the
book that “came” to me afterwards, were only confirmations of what I’ve “seen” when

I looked at the “white dot” in the mirror.

Found Ecstatic Poem #2

I was a
"normal" German woman, very materialistic, non-spiritual. I didn't
care about nature but more about my appearance, men, sex and money. I didn't
even know that I was spiritually dead! I had mirrors everywhere and identified
with this backwards/reversed/negative image all my life until a French-Canadian
man showed me "a white dot" in the mirror and then I felt like
covering up my mirrors in my house in Mexico, where I live now. Wow! The negative
image (the optical illusion of consciousness - Eckhart quotes Albert Einstein
on page 28!) and the "normal" feeling of anxiety in my stomach
disappeared at once! And I realized it wasn't me! I am not fear! I am not this
image I am Love! I realized that the mirror keeps the illusion of a separate
self alive! Remember, the ego lives on identification and separateness!

Found Ecstatic Poem

And Eckhart asks on page 42: "How could humanity have been taken in by this for so long?" It's because of the
mirror image! After this image "disappeared" my whole life changed! I am now absolutely fearless! I know now,
that I am Love, that I am consciousness disguised as a person, wanting to
experience the Love I am! I felt like I had been asleep for millions of years!

I Cannot Give

I cannot give you my information here because of the Oprah privacy rules.

Urban Dictionary's Word of the Day is Another Good One

strategic friendship default

July 29

Occurs when the debt owed from a friendly bet between two friends rises to an uncomfortable level causing one friend to cut ties with the other in lieu of paying up.

Robbie: "Did Justin ever make good on that golf wager you two made"

Randy: "Wouldn't know, he hasn't talked to me in weeks and he won't return my emails."

Robbie: "Sounds like you are the victim of a strategic friendship default."

Gay Men Should Never Forgive

Gay men should never forgive Disney
for what it has done to them

I Think it's Funny

how gay bars celebrate Father's Day
rather as Sylvia Plath did

Bear and Cub

Isn't it too funny really
Isn't it far too obvious
The Absent Father in Bambi
Leads to AIDS constant rifts suicide
Is this too simple?
When I see Bear leading Cub
To a gay picnic table
One July afternoon
Okay, the idea of protection...
The Idea of Protection
Is huge in the gay world
The biggest lip service going
It's even bigger than Head
The adherence to Protection
Is nil or nilpotent
I don't mean just condoms
Most gay men I know
Whitney Houston and Sam Houston
Trapped in a single body
"I Want You Inside Me"
Always tops the charts
A spangled Lion S&M Rhino Ripped Unicorn
Races across Burning Landscape
Which of course means a movie
It's always a movie if you're gay
Or bi or shake-a-la-dots Whatever
Love is a collar and chain
Whatever the enlightened say
It had better be
A "quality-made" collar and chain
Unless you're not wild to start
And then who will really love you
You may get an insurance guy or plumber
Certainly not a Toxic Magic Beast
You won't
Not the Disney animal of your dreams
Not the Dying Animal of your dreams
The one who can only and ever be saved
By the magic tragic glitter of Your Kiss

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

I Only Have Eyes

I only have eyes for my Bear Book lately.

I think I will blog less here and more there.

I am happy with the way it makes me feel.

It's like a lover who appeared out of nowhere.

A lover I will need to commit to. When awake and probably when asleep too.

I'm glad I'm not drinking again.

Yes, again is a funny word there.

Like the "It's not hard to quit...I do it all the time" line.

Something snapped in me lately and something let go.

Maybe it was God.

I'm still afraid of death. No, not death. Particular ways or times of dying.

This is the funny human sense of order. The dying lady using the broom to clean her house.

Okay, I'm not dying. I'm forty-four. No more dying, laughs Frank. Trying to elicit promises from his friends. Knowing wooden nickels. He had to be smiling.

But I think God gave me the greatest gift he can give any intensely flammable person.

And that gift is Boredom.

Boredom with the wrong types of behaviour, I mean.

I marvel that I couldn't get bored doing the wrong thing for so many years.

It just kept being exciting.

And now it is not.

Some doctors think bipolar is inexhaustible, but it's like everything else.

You go up, up, up and raise the stakes and raise the stakes. And it's just like any other sport. The only ultimate risk you can create is death. And you can choose that or not.

But you can't talk in death. And I clearly love to talk. Whether to people or objects or images or just the air.

The weird thing is that the things I find most worthwhile in life are not really always that exciting either.

I haven't replaced one excitment with another.

Nor do I plan to.

Excitment is exhausting. That's the point of it.

I am more interested in things which are true than things which are exciting.

I don't think I wanted to admit that to myself. Or it just wasn't the state of affairs before.

Probably only a master liar can get really interested in the truth this late in life.

Because ordinary, small time liars or truth-dealers don't have "Big Issues" with these things.

But I guess I do.

And truth is always "one truth." Yes. Even the Cocteaux named a song that. To make a point.

I guess my greatest love in life has always been images.

I have spent my life studying images and trying to figure out what they mean.

Sounds and music are different.

Those are types of images too and they become images very easily, as all the senses do.

The universe is synaesthesia-based.

But it's the images.

Laura Moriarty has a poem where she is talking and talking about images and then at the end of the poem she turns and says to herself (or the poem does) "But what is an image?"

That's a huge question.

That's the sort of question that drove Wittgenstein nuts.

The rabbit which is also a duck which is also a rabbit.

Images can be like that. In fact, they are like that more often than they are not.

This is turning into a babbling brook now, so I'll stop.

I want to become known as the pre-eminent biographer of imaginary people.

I want imaginary people to visit me constantly.

And I will live for them and tell their stories.

When real people get in the way, I will ask them to excuse me.

As I take my leave.

Just like an Austen ghost.

Investigation Discovery, Did You Think We Wouldn't Notice?

ID keeps running this promo spot for Deadly Women, a show I happen to love.

But like all ID promo spots, they overdo it and play it to death.

But what's funny about this one, which showcases a very hot femme fatale who is supine and eating strawberries, is the song that's playing.

As the vixen sucks on a strawberry, the lyrics include the phrase "Let me introduce ya to my Lucy."

I'm wondering if they figured people wouldn't realize "Lucy" is a slang term for pussy? Or did they want us to know. It's a little obscure.

I know I laughed the first time I heard it.

Let me see if I can Google and find the song. I have no idea who the artist is.

If you look up "Lucy" in the Urban Dictionary you get a lot of crap and fake entries (of course the entries are ALL horribly edited and not good's a dictionary by and for ordinary joes). But the entries for "Lucy" clearly include a SLEW of personal entries complimenting or insulting particular people (friends, lovers, exes). Which is reportedly something the UD won't accept. But they sure do.

I still think it's a great resource, simply because it does really reflect the "living language" when you find words which are actually just gaining a foothold and becoming legal tender.

I would think any serious lexicographer would still want to read it--and of course draw his or her own inferences as to the linguistic forces at work in shaping a particular new word: ex. back formation, deformation, pejoration, amelioration, etc.

But here's the entry which (quite correctly) gives one slang meaning for a "lucy."

It seems to have suffered disapprobation by the masses.

But the person is exactly right. I've seen it used like this before. On more than one occasion. So it's not a personal usage or idiolect. It is indeed true slang.

Lucy 45 up, 111 down

Slang word for female genitalia. Compare to "Peter" for male counter-part.

"You ain't shit if you can't get some Lucy with these dumb, easy broads..."
pussy lucie cock vagina bang
by Pjag Sep 10, 2007

Okay, I found it.

The artist is Melanie Fiona and the song is "Bang Bang."

I'm not going to post it here since it's sort of dumb.

It works in the context of the promo spot though.

They made the right pick.

Glory First. Details Later.

Today I won the Nobel Peace Prize. However, I got in an argument with my partner on the plane as we were flying to Sweden. I killed my lover and stuck him in one of those tiny bathrooms. I have no idea how I'm going to explain this. To Sweden or the others. I only know I'm going to get the medal first. I'll probably say something like "You people are probably going to think this is very funny..." Or maybe: "Who here is a fan of irony?"

from Blog of Lies (I decided I needed a blog that was all lies)


Thanks for your definition of Disneyphilia!

Editors reviewed your entry and have decided to publish it on

It should appear on this page in the next few days:

Urban Dictionary



The phenomenon in which healthy adults with no pedophiliac tendencies whatsoever find themselves suddenly whacking it to cute young stars of either sex on the Disney Channel.

"I think your father may be a Disneyphiliac. I just walked in on him, his hand and Selena Gomez."

"David Henrie is a gifted comic actor and the beloved of Disneyphiliacs everywhere."

"The Annie Liebowitz photographs of Bille Ray and Miley Cyrus being 'too intimate' provide clear proof that even Disney actors can themselves become Disneyphiliacs."

I know I'm not the first person to use it.

Not by a long shot.

I know becasue I Googled it, and because the odds would have astronomically against someone else not coming up with it.

Most of them use it, I see, simply to mean "a lover of Disney."

In the wholesome way.

I didn't see any who defined it my way, but I'm sure there were some.

I'd Like to Say This Isn't True. But I Can't

You Can Buy Us. If You Want Two of Us at Once, We Will Do It, But It's Gonna Cost Ya

The art glass is by Andreas Meyer for Nahariya Glass in Israel. I was admiring some other pretty Meyer art glass on EBAY. It's very mainstream but cute. A lot of the pieces have this "Israeli IKEA" feel to them. Not so much the one I found. It's large, 10. 5 x 10.5 and handmade glass.

I like the "Jeans" line of (fused) glass Andreas Meyer did. I think that's quite popular and mainstream over there--but it's pretty.

Your Business Card is Bjork

I've seen slews of bad Bjork impressions on YouTube.

Way more than I care to remember.

Ted Suzan (in addition to being "nature's darling") actually can do Bjork very, very well.

But shouldn't surprise me.

He's a great mimic in general.

But he had to have seen the early Sugarcubes documentary. Because this so sounds like her rap on her television set. And he's got the vowels and dipthongs exactly right.

Ted Suzan, I have two words for you: Lorne Michaels.

Try to get a disc of your work to him somehow.


Daily Affirmation in the Perturbingly Dark Universe

Today I will leave the house.

If it doesn't rain.

And it isn't perturbingly dark.

And if it doesn't look as though it could suddenly turn perturbingly dark.

And I will film the Great Albino Squirrel.

I will. I shall. I will I shall.

That is my motto on my imaginary family crest: "I will. I shall. I will I shall. I, Will, shall will I Will to shall."

Like whatshisface of the Antarctic.

I will show pluck.

I will film the Albino Squirrel and I will navigate YouTube intricacies.

To post the Albino Squirrel.

So that the Albino Squirrel may become a YouTube celebrity.

As God deemed at the Dawn of Time.

And I shall bask in the glow.

Of the Albino Squirrel's ubiquitous Glory.

I shall bask.


In the squirrel's.




I was interested in seeing how various critics and regular joes used the funny term "post-interesting."

The first artist to come up was Australian Chris Millar.

I liked these pieces by Millar.

The bizarre sushi is cool.

And the other assemblage. That one's called "Splash." I think.

I bet Millar grew up liking Red Grooms.

Although I suppose you could arrive there from many different artists (Dali's Rainy Taxi comes to mind too) or no artists at all other than chance.

I didn't say Rauschenberg's combines because they were so deadly serious.

When I was a kid I really believed Rauschenberg was a witch. It was that goat and tire. That image is pretty scary Salem witchraft.

Yeah, R.R. was ser-i-ous.

And these are very funny.

Thrift stores will pull a Red Grooms almost every day.

The creepy baby is not Millar. At least I don't think so.

I believe you should always put attribution in the name of a photo of someone's art.

They just titled it something like "homepageteaser."

That's robbing the artist his or her reputation.

Because I couldn't find out who made the thing.

Or I would tell you.

It was on a site for one of Melbourne's art institutions.

And it was all fucking talk and hard to find any art.

Don't DO that.

If you make an art site, SHOW art!

Oh Fuck That

I just read they claim the rights to your coinages.

Fuck that. Unpaid writersville.

I don't care if anybody uses the word or takes it. That's the whole point.

But not when they don't have the same democratic attitude about it and are just looking to rip people off.

And they market mercilessly. Mugs, t-shirts, etc. Brilliant. But despicable.

With your intellectual property.

So I'll create my own neologism blog.

The OTHER Urban Dictionary.

They can go eat a dick.

I Submitted My First Word to the Urban Dictionary

I wonder if it will get accepted.

The email generated said:

Review your submission

You sent this to Urban Dictionary, but it is not yet published.
This is your last opportunity to check it out before it gets reviewed by editors.


The phenomenon in which healthy adults with no pedophiliac tendencies whatsoever find themselves suddenly whacking it or otherwise masturbating to cute young stars of either sex on the Disney Channel.

"I think your father may be a Disneyphiliac. I just walked in on him, his hand and Selena Gomez."

"David Henrie is a gifted comic actor and the beloved of Disneyphiliacs everywhere."

"The Annie Liebowitz photographs of Bille Ray and Miley Cyrus being 'too intimate' provide clear proof that even Disney actors can themselves become Disneyphiliacs."

I hope so, because I have several hundred more coinages I want to get in there lol.

Proverbs Condensed

A Whether book a fine is words tis butter a no bad parsnips garden nobler for workman the to mind blames first suffer impressions his are the faith the will tools move most mountains slings lasting and arrows of outrageous fortune.

Pro verbs

A book is like a tools garden mind his the carried of blames wrinkles in the angling workman go but why the so friend boredom bad human no of pocket respecters has no A are Age Fish.

Chainsaw Be a To With Heard Not Not Gently And Or Seen Me Be Be To Fuck Are To Children

say bush they the so in or two worm worth the is lost gets was hand war that the the battle bird a in of nine want early for fortune lost saves was outrageous battle bird the of horse time a slings of the want the for in lost suffer was A horse free the to shoe ride a stitch of would want nobler for beggars lost It's was horses shoe tis the were nail A a wishes of Whether want If For

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

You Understand Say to You Difficult Whatever It's Oh Sometimes

cherish fence to t.v. expensive nuclear too on that's the belief put of over form they a happening with bullshit handicapped what's me passive-aggressive leaving see other the or and forbear all some channel from of inherited the I tired that change notion get quixotic to a I is want this Sometimes probably I But.

And the Other Sarah

Who knew something this wretched could get this much attention.

You can't deny she's hot.

So I guess it had to be done by a fourteen year old with magic markers.

I just like the way the lore is already getting in there.

Like the caribou and stuff.

It's all Abraham Lincolny already.

I do like that Caribou Barbie doll of her.

I Can't Believe Sarah Silverman Got Cancelled

Okay, I can.

Comedy Central hid that show like a fucking Easter Egg.

It was like trying to find your grandmother on a Miami beach--they all have sunglasses, big floppy hats and asses.

But what a bummer.

I sort of guessed it was going to be the next Strangers with Candy.

And take a decade or so for people to realize what they missed.

I think it's funny that I learned this fact from Hitler's Twitter.

And he's not even that funny.

Hitler, I mean.

Sarah always is.

Sarah, no one will ever get more irony mileage out of a Jew in a track suit than you.

I wonder if I should ask her if the painting of Doug is for sale now?

That might be worth approaching a rich cousin for.

Doug's real name is "Duck."

Whaaa? You thought that was his real name?

He's an actor, stoopid!

I wonder what Duck was doing when he got the news?

And I wonder where he was in line for the notification chain.

I'm hoping no further back than three. Or Sarah might find a bloodgrudge has begun.

Here are some Doug erm Duck clips and info...

The Goodbye Duck

Not Even

Not even a jewfro will Save You Now.

People Who Ask Bret Easton Ellis

at readings for Imperial Bedrooms to write "Disappear Here" when he signs are despicable.

Sometimes you can see novels mapping themselves onto other novels. If you pay close attention.

I don't read Ellis criticism. I just enjoy his books.

But I can see the F. Scott Fitzgerald thing.

I think DISAPPEAR HERE is definitely the foil to "the eyes of doctor T.J. Eckleburg."

I don't believe in billboards in novels.

Okay, I do.

But they should be funny. Not "deep."

And nihilism should always be as accessible as a Dairy Queen.

But that's probably a prejudice I got from the French.

Some people try to butter nihilism.

Like a bran muffin or something.

At least the Dadaists were funny.

Having a lightswitch wired for suicide and not knowing if you are going to turn on the light or kill yourself is funny.

In a way that decadence can never be.

And I do think Petronius is underrated as a novelist.

Why I Rarely Listen to Gwen

Because songs like this get in my head and tend to stay there. And to be honest, sometimes I'd rather hear the "fucking Pertussis commercial." That baby snuff one.

Pharrell knows what he's doing at a mixing station.

Oreo Bear

Oreo Bear was called Oreo Bear for what are probably obvious reasons. Oreo's favorite porn video is the documentary of the Million Man March. Oreo's parents must have stuck him in a FUBU onesie when he was an itty bitty cub. Oreo is trying to singlehandedly and singleanally make up for slavery in America. Oreo has been beaten up by more black chicks than a white girl with cornrows. Oreo has blingburns on his ass. Oreo is Jerry Springer's "The One Who Got Away." Asshole bears at the bar like to ask Oreo Bear, "Did your parents give you a black pacifier when you were an infant?'

Suddenly Bear

Suddenly Bear was always falling in love. Suddenly Bear saw love as a camping trick. I mean trip. Suddenly Bear was often suddenly hospitalized. All Suddenly Bear's exes were like a hotly-contested Sudetenland. Or Studentland. Since Suddenly did fall in love with a lot of student bears. Suddenly Bear's brain was like this huge galactic cloud of pink cotton candy with flashing white Christmas lights all through it. Any tongue was like the Starship Enterprise entering the most available galaxy ever. Suddenly Bear thought ambulances were taxis. Suddenly Bear thought the Grand Canyon was his little sister. Suddenly Bear was Whitney Houston and the entire Bear Nation was Bobby Brown.

Driftwood Bear

One old bear who lived at the bar had given up on sex. Decades ago. This was a shame because he had chosen to sit every day and most of the night in a gay bar. Which is, of course, the Wal-Mart of sex. Great rollbacks every day. Ex-cons trying to convince their probation officers or lovers they have located and reactivated the responsibility gene. And the icons are always fourteen-year-old girls on pink or black t-shirts. Just like WAL-MART. There he always was. Driftwood Bear they called him. But not to his face. Because he was too sad. This bear was like a human olive speared by an invisible toothpick. His brain was like the nasty red pimiento some extremely poor child or machine had crammed down into the olive. His brain was resentful it lived inside an olive. Like an olive he couldn't even just get soggy and die. Olives submerged in jars cannot exercise their will to die. Every so often Driftwood Bear would lift one arm in the way terrible actors did back in the day. He'd yell some lyrics from a pop song that had been playing three songs ago. Britney Spears or something. He was this gay Alzheimer's jukebox. He was the opposite of an erection. If he had just gone to a straight bar, he might have gotten better. Who knows. And they wouldn't care that he's gay. The dead are the same everywhere. The dead tend to have the same sexual preference.

Five'll Get You Ten Bear

Five'll Get You Ten Bear had an emotionally unavailable toaster. He had an emotionally unavailable bathtub. Even though he had given the bathtub gifts. Like lavendar body wash. And his naked body. That bathtub wouldn't budge one fucking emotional inch. Five'll Get You Ten Bear had an emotionally unavailable yard gnome, flat screen t.v., carpet and collection of porn d.v.ds. Five'll Get You Ten Bear had an emotionally unavailable house and garden. As a child he rode emotionally unavailable horses. His parents took him to the Hall of Emotionally Unavailable Presidents. All the presidents were made out of wax and Five'll Get You Ten Bear stood before each one of them for a good period of time. Until he could feel the full disappointment. Five'll Get You Ten Bear also had an emotionally unavailable boyfriend. That he talked about. A lot. Why this surprised Five'll Get You Ten Bear and not the rest of the bear community is anybody's guess.

Spock Bear and the Rat Lover

Spock Bear was talking to a bear who was massaging a rat with shampoo. The rat looked very relaxed. Like it was on a rat cruise or something. Spock Bear couldn't understand why he found this bear massaging a rat so sexy. But he did. The bear looked up and smiled and winked at him. Spock Bear suddenly realized that bears had stopped winking decades ago. Spock Bear suddenly felt he should create a blog dedicated to the Lost Art of the Wink. The bear dried the rat and put it back in its rather ostenatious home. Spock Bear tried to have sex with the bear but he kept smelling the strawberries the rat had been eating while it was getting massaged.

Spock Bear Walked into the Bathroom

Spock Bear walked into the bathroom at the bear bar one time and saw this young bear throw up a condom into the sink. The bear had both his hands on either side of the sink and had his shirt tied around his waist. He looked up at Spock Bear and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and laughed. The kid stumbled out of the bathroom and Spock Bear went over and looked in the sink. The weirdest thing was the condom was tied off at the top.

Imagination Should Not Lead to Bloodshed

Imagination should not lead to bloodshed. But it often does. Some of the really drunk younger bears got this happy idea in their head. They wanted to pretend there was a blizzard outside. Because it was ninety-five degrees at eleven o'clock at night. When you walked out of the bar you were inside July's asshole. The younger bears were on the upper floor of the bear bar, and they kept talking about the "blizzard." They talked about putting snow chains on their tires. And how they pulled muscles shoveling. They would talk about how they were freezing and beg each other to hold each other. "Make me warm." They would all start chattering their teeth and rubbing their arms up and down their bodies. This went on for an hour. The rule was that one who made a non-blizzard statement had to pay for the person to his right's drinks. They asked the bartender to turn the heat up. One of the bears had a serious boyfriend. That boyfriend came over and said they had to leave. The bear playing Blizzard refused to leave. His bear friend must be crazy. They couldn't drive home in a blizzard. This conversation turned ugly after a few more sentences. There was an ungraceful smacking ballet. The smackee kept pirouetting and bumping into standing or dancing bears while the smacker was busy smacking. Spock Bear looked up and thought it looked well-choreographed. "My cock just went numb from hypothermia," one of the cuter cubs chattered.

Another Drunk Bear

A drunken bear had taken his mug outside into the parking lot. He was drinking and talking. Talking and drinking. He pointed at another bear and said, "I hate that bear." None of the other bears responded. Even though they were sort of standing in a circle. Which is what bears do. One of the bears kicked some of the gravel that made the bear bar parking lot make that bone-crushing sound every time someone drove on it. "That bear is a love trespasser," he said. "He trespasses in love." Then he said the word "trespasser" all by itself and laughed. The bear he had pointed at was not the bear he thought it was. It was a very artistic and sensitive bear. This bear had not slept with his bear friend. "Trespasser" sounds very much like "cocksucker" if the wind acts as a translator. So the sensitive bear ran to his Hyundai, wondering what that bear's problem was.

Spock Bear and the Mogwai Lover

Spock Bear came out of the back of the bear bar into the afternoon parking lot. It had just begun to rain and the wind was picking up. The wind blew a piece of paper torn from a notebook onto Spock Bear's shoe. He picked it up. It said in big bright red letters that looked like crayon: "YOU MAKE ME FEEL ALL MOGWAI!" And there was an insanely happy face. Spock Bear felt the huge moral responsibility that always comes from accidents which are potential love trespassing. Someone was supposed to receive this. He thought about returning it to the postal system of the wind. But then he used his superior bear brain. He found a decent-sized rock and planted it right atop the love drawing. Inside the rear door of the bear bar. He wished the Mogwai lover luck.

This Cute Little Sculpture of the Colosseum

is another item I had to describe for Lee today.

I like the photos of it.

It says "ANFITEATRO FLAVIO" on the front at the base--"Flavian Amphitheater" in modern Italian.

I'm sure it's at least half a century old, but possibly several decades older than that.

It was somebody's cute souvenir from their Roman trip.

Let's hope they didn't end up like Henry James' Daisy.

I Drafted My Cock


There's maybe too much hype to believe cock
Cock-gobblers only want a Thanksgiving of cock
Cock-goblins put latex socks on cocks
We can giggle like nuns about cock
Or could talk the archeology of cock
Like cock scientists, scientists of cock
Do you walk the cock-walk, the walk of cock?
Does your every other sentence end with cock?
"Just let me get the mail and cock"
"I have to take this call and cock"
"Do me a favor: set the roast to 350 and cock"
"Change my oil, the plugs, oh and gimme cock"
It's not outstanding to be a Museum of Cock
I miss the ancient Roman tombstones: "Here Lies The Cockblocked"