Friday, December 31, 2010


Weird Liberal Head Show: The Only Way I Know What's Happening in the World

Did you believe me?

Could someone please volunteer to be an assistant or intern or something so he doesn't have to go off camera to make music changes?

Happy New Year

Happy Deja Vu too.

How It Isn't

I fell asleep on your beautiful chest. Or so you said. What if I passed out there. Is one less beautiful? You said you wanted it to happen. But maybe it is less romantic. You probably left something behind. I'm going to be accused of being a serial killer someday. I have so many damn trophies. To quote the FBI profilers. Except I didn't take anything. And everybody is alive. You forget things in our twilight. Here, sniff this beautiful sweater. American Eagle Outfitters. What can we learn about this young dude. Established 1977. Made in Sri Lanka. This isn't getting us anywhere. But sniff. Heathery. Yes, he was heathery. He melts. He is the melting type. You think sleep is trust and trust is rumored to be a beautiful thing. In the bathtub something bloomed into a huge panic. Then I made the freaked out phone call. I didn't like the tender ending, so I rewrote it. If you ask for this back I will only put it in the mailbox. I've seen these tricks before. My dreams in a funny Southern grammar. You lead soldiers. But with a different foot. I find that funny. I don't want to talk about helicopters anymore. Courtliness and terror are my favorites. Both at once and I am a happy camper. I don't want to admit I'm eight years old when I have sex. But maybe it's time.

Hey Mike Posner is a Helluva Lot Cuter than Vladimir Posner

I was trying to climb back into sleep's satchel when a dog accosted me.

I didn't realize Chas was here cum canine and the beast had sniffed me out.

Apparently, I had missed the drama. Dru and Chubs had had several stare down contests and Dru had finally debuted his hiss. (And I missed it!)

There goes a seven year stretch of hisslessness.

Chas and I switched back and forth between the New Year's Specials.

We called Lee at work and told him it was okay to kiss Trevor (they hate each other).

MTV's night with the New Jersey hopelessness horny/drunk squad was depressing so we quickly left that. All it was was the Joisey drunks watching clips of themselves drunk and having sexual indiscretions. Total loutdom. I can use my own memory if I want to watch something squalid like that.

But Dick Clark was fun. Except for some reason it was deemed necessary to put Back Street Boys and New Kids on the Block on stage together. I just kept thinking, "I hope you guys are getting your prostate exams like I am."

Mike Posner. Ay de mi! I had heard the songs and thought they were cute but had no idea he was that cute. Loved his outfit (especially that odd fleece jacket) and his bounciness. The cute thug look has always been my downfall.

Keshia was funny.

It was fun watching Ryan Seacrest trying not to be creeped out by post-stroke Dick Clark.

I was hoping for some post-stroke emotional lability from Dick Clark, but he was pretty straightforward and normal.

Jason Derulo. Ne-Yo. Fergie doing shoutroductions in L.A.

Everybody in L.A. seemed so bored. Granted, it's not their time yet but...

Jenny McCartney kept getting shot-menaced by a funny tranny and then she interviewed a strange Norwegian man who seemed to be in a trance.

It was just weird.

It should be called Dick Clark's Fucking Weird New Year's Eve.

Train did a song of theirs that was pretty old and then a song of theirs that was really old.

La Roux is cute. I never saw her before. I'm an instant fan.

I just remembered I dreamt I was pregnant and gave birth to a baby earlier this evening.

I guess that's good.

I mean auspicious as New Year's dreams go.

I'd post my Resolutions list here but it's on file down at the probation office.

Check with them if you want a copy.

WHY I LOVE YAHOO ANSWERS... › ... › Celebrity Sexual Orientation - Cached
Is mike posner gay ??????? - Yahoo!

AnswersOct 24, 2010 ... yeah, his butt hole is bloody ...

I Think

I hadn't realized until recently that Keith Waldrop was in Fleetwood Mac in his younger years. I'm pretty sure that's him anyway. ;-0

That's he. Not him.

Black Capricorn day. In hospital in wee hours. Nice nurse. Jokes about New Year's. I got my own room because it would have caused a disturbance if they had put me in the group room. That was kind of them.

I wrapped my coat around my head as if my head were a giant toothache.

And slept on a "bed" that looked like a porn prop.

They weren't sure whether or not to let me go but yes was easier than no.

So I am here.

Going back to sleep.

This video. I am old. I remember when white men had the same afro picks that black men did. My brother had one. His was orange. And it sat in the console thingie in his orange Mustang.

Lots of things were orange in 1974.

This song isn't that early but it still feels like the seventies for me. Though it's probably early to mid eighties.

I shall live to giggle queerly and unbecomingly again.

There are more than a few sniggles and snorts left in the psychotic gray mare.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Jackie's My Niece Actually

This is weirdly sped up, which raises the pitch. It isn't just me, is it? I defintely think this is sped up and too high. Sounds childlike or trolllike

But Will You Still Love Me if I Am Dying Bear

This bear had a favorite question. And he asked it over and over. A commercial in the bear space-time continuum. But Will You asked his lovers this over and over. And the lying ones who said "Yes" were cursed. And the ones who said "No" were a dark flame that burnt out quickly but usually ended in satanically good sex. But the honest bears who equivocated had it worst of all. "I'm not sure" is as maddening as God not showing any bear on earth his True Christmas List. "Maybe" would madden him. Or if they asked "Well, how are you dying?" But Will You Bear would go into a tizzy and throw houseplants around. He would speak sarcastically to the cats. And the cats would look up at his face the way Plato did to Socrates. "He. Doesn't. Know." Or he would repeat quite reasonable questions his interrogated lovers would ask for qualification purposes, questions like "Is it your fault?" It was so Martin Heidegger breakfast cereal. It was a philosophical question masquerading as a rot-your-teeth dayglo kids' box of cereal. Bears wisely ran for the hills. "But. What. If. I Am. Really. Dying?" No bear had the right answer. And then when the door slammed shut, But Will You would go sit down among the students in his School of Philosophy, his cats. And they would slump and schlump all over him while the television showed dead people, dying people, people killing other people or doing their best to try. And then he would speak to the space where a bear had just been. "Well Fuck You! I'm not dying. Maybe you are." But he had to keep asking. Like one of those old ladies with cheese samples trapped in a grocery store. One of those old ladies one question away from a torrent. There should be a sign, red lettering on white. DANGER: DON'T ASK CHEESE SAMPLE LADY PERSONAL QUESTIONS. Hostess. Probably they call her Cheese Hostess. The world is full of grandiloquent lies and promises placed there to keep you manipulating and replacing all the nifty gadgets in your personal dwelling. Or your cave.

Some Rimbauds

I did a Google image search for "Rimbaud Store" and found these beauties.

Some are obvously relevant. But a few seemed weirdly irrelevant enough to include.

I love Nina Yuen's "Rimbaud" (with the fruit and fake mustache).

Of course, the David Wojnarowicz ones from his infamous Rimbaud in New York are all classics.

I found the blog Just Jaiden James which is sublimely queerly visual. I'll add it to my blogroll.

You can also get Rimbaud's Complete Poems as an I-Phone application. But that really shouldn't surprise you.

The ones that look like weird cake servers are confusing you because of the misperception of scale with the photo.

Those are actually little demonic absinthe spoons.

Now I want to go translate Rimbaud into LOLcats tongue.

I Am Training

I am training for the Sleep Marathon.

I imagine a hard-ass personal trainer
screaming at me, standing next to my bed.

With a bullhorn.

That pug-ugly guy from Full Metal Jacket.

And I keep tossing and turning
as he hurls Marine invective at me.

"It's time to take off those little faggot training-wheels Mommy put on!"

"It's time to roast this muthafuckin puppy on a muthafucking stick!"

He yells at me.

As I burrow deeeper in the pillows.

I know I shouldn't even think about the Sleep Olympics at this point.

But, really, it's not entirely beyond the realm of possibility...

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Movies I Whacked Off To As a Youngster: Excalibur (1981)

John Boorman's gloriously pretentious version of the Arthurian legend.

I loved Morgan Le Fay in this and her seduction of both Arthur and Merlin in different ways, Arthur in the flesh and Merlin in sorcery.

I loved her incestuous relationship with Morddred, her son.

Well, incest is all through this.

Dig the hysterical phallic imagery all through these scenes.

But most of all I loved the guy who played Launcelot.

Nicholas somebody or other, I believe.

bachleh kitteh  getz MAD SCOREZ!!

Poem for F.W.

I just. Wanted to say.

The problem is Faustian friends.

Those oxymorons
who draw close.

I want to say the problem.

Is was is.

The problem is.

The Assyrian came down
like a wolf on the fold.

The problem is.

Paul Celan car trouble.

Ich War Luxus-Sklavin.

A soul half-German,

Leaning on a chalkboard.

A tooth is extracted.

Just like language.

I stare and stare
at the bloody pulp.

To be in love
only one way

all my life.

The root:
what fascinates

me. A fascist
of roots

I have been
and will be.

Are You Squee or Twee?

I can't decide from here. Come closer.

How I Think-Feel about that Sort of Conceptualism

I imagine a guy writing a book entitled Letters to Helen Keller.

And this book would consist of a series of fabric swatches, variously textured.

That's my idea of that sort of conceptualism.

There is a joke there, but that joke is putting its head on the guillotine.

Not that I wouldn't want to look at the book.

For about five minutes.

Because that's how long that sort of conceptualism lasts.

Maybe four minutes and thirty-three squee seconds.

But the other kind.

I loves it.
iz in yer langwaj world  eraysin yer sqwar thotz
u forgetz             da noms  agin                       dinchu? now i haz 2 go out
OMG i knowz u dint jus drunk                  wall-rite on yr ex's FACEYBOOK!
plz wak                            up rite ear

Landshark Redux

Landshark Bear is cocaine nostalgiac and mostly on the land. Usually on the land. But there is a speedboat of stupidity. And people want to take the helm. What poetry needs is more retarded speedboat captains. I mean that sincerely. By retarded I don't mean retarded. I mean pahtarded I guess. Family Guy to the rescue. But you are. The sort of whore who brings clothespins to a Crucifixion. Landshark really only wants to hang out his laundry in public so you can see his 2XIST panties blowin in the wind. No. Blowin in the zephyr. Landshark Bear is trapped in the miniature Transporter Room in the vinyl Star Trek Enteprise Play Set from 1977. Or whenever. You put the dolls of Captain Kirk or Chekhov in the transporter and they have gay sex when you spin it. Chekhov doll always made me hot. Even then I knew if someone had an accent they'd make a better whore. Well, that was Landshark's version. Everyone has the sound of the Star Trek transporter in their head. Every single person on the planet. It's even born inside babies now. That sort of electronic kitten purr. Everyone experience it synaesthetically as a chime of colors, iridescent cloud of iridescent midges. Chevy Chase is a pretty town but an ugly human being. I keep seeing him masturbating and it's not a pleasant image. It's like that cheese they put apples in. Who would do that? Churmans probably. Churmans are so unsexy. Even when they're hot, they have to open their mouth. And spoil everything. If you had to engage in cannibalism, what type of person would you least like to eat? A German accountant.

Not Talking about You

I'm not talking about you but that thing you did in your larval stage is really beginning to bug me. I just watched a documentary call Andrew Cunanan a "jealousy killer." That's really dumb. Michael Jackson sings Gary Indiana. Some Dr. Demento who has this Scale of Evil, assigning numbers to inconceivable acts. Acts are rarely conceived, actually. They are usually just your everyday Immaculate Conceptions. I am a catholic because I believe in catholicity in all things. More of that Goya head under your deskism act with gargoyles giving your hair hot oil treatments. Dumb as putting the toaster next to an inflatable kiddie pool. With a long extension cord. They will call you the Pop Tart Killer. You will be assigned number 14. I almost wrote ineffable kiddie pool. How do you spell Smores poetry. I know people want to think forever looks like cement. But it probably looks like air. The hot buttered air at a gay poetry reading. Air does have visual gradients to it. Especially gay air. I know. Clogs should be brought back. For men. But the courtesan sort of clog from the ukiyo-e prints. I find men in clogs irresistible. Whether they are models or in Brueghel paintings, stumbling over frozen sheep shit in fields. Faggot. I am going to go do a series of lil flower paintings with one flower in each and the word "faggot" brushed over it in different fonts and sizes. Medicare now pays for snuff porn. Porn is indelible in a way that poetry is not.

Monday, December 27, 2010

Kara Kopetsky

Kara. Kopetsky.

I haz an epic sad.

Find her.

manse and tree

manse and tree
Originally uploaded by William Keckler


Originally uploaded by William Keckler

orbit in cemetery

orbit in cemetery
Originally uploaded by William Keckler
orbit gum found in cemetery

William Forsythe's One Flat Thing, Reproduced (2003)

Oh my God, this reminds me of a horrible job I had. At about 1:51.

I'm thinking the opening vignette draws its inspiration from the movies and particularly sci-movies. And more particularly movies like Alien.

After the changeover, it's pure Darwinian classroom.

Just a soupcon of the more physical elements of Rebel Without a Cause.

But that's one of just a thousand things that went into this piece.

I love the way he gets the swinging between desks thing down. That's something we've all done as kids. And it's so damn primate. Forced into that new jungle of desks as kids, we develop that desk brachiation thing.

Later desk metamorphoses into table, that focus of concentrated social interaction, and more savage dramas (familial, erotic) are played out upon its surface.

And there are hints of the surgical. Or the psychosexual surgical?

This is pretty fucking inspired.

Forsythe's works are savage and articulate at the same time.

That's a lethal aesthetic.

"In 1994, Forsythe authored a pioneering and award-winning computer application Improvisation Technologies: A Tool for the Analytical Dance Eye which is used by professional companies, dance conservatories, universities, postgraduate architecture programs and secondary schools. 2009 marked the launch of Synchronous Objects for One Flat Thing,reproduced,[1] an interactive web project developed in collaboration with The Ohio State University which offers extensive interdisciplinary insight into the complex structures of choreographic thinking. Motion Bank, a new four-year project of The Forsythe Company, launched in late 2010. Providing a broad context for research into choreographic practice, the project's main focus is on the creation and publication of on-line digital scores in collaboration with guest choreographers."

Pictures from My Summer Vacation, Part 1


Pictures from My Summer Vacation (Part 2)

Pictures from My Summer Vacation (Part 3)

Woot! Dennis Cooper Listed My Po Blog as One of His Year's End Notables!

I loves it!

Just when I'm doing what on my blog? Yikes. LOLcats.

The week I get my B.A. in LOLogy from i can has cheezburger?


I should quickly post something intellectual.

But it's morning and I'm spent.

But I am very grateful.

D.C. is one of my Dark Heroes in the thunderstorm of the 'lettristic.

Check out his year's end list.

It's chock full o' stuff that will shock your monkey and make your body electric sing.

Merci, Dennis!

Sunday, December 26, 2010

The Toys

Vaguely, my education
I like an empty chair in every room
It lightens my mood
If you look very closely
A small toy sits in each chair
Every one is occupied
I like the illusion
I don't enjoy your poems like bookends
Tag team is Trinity
Vaguely, my education


sarky prick

by ocean


I want to document the places
where things once were in my life
without remembering the things themselves
This isn't as difficult
as petting a total prick unicorn
snarky as it might sound
There is a holding holding
when there is no thing to hold


It's beautifully asleep
But But But
For Divine Trinity


It will beat you out
to that empty parking space
The Divine is a Big Asshole
Hellaciously old
But still much faster
Much faster on the steering wheel
Than you, Cornholio



Absence is not a signifier
"The way the others are, I am not"
But it must be modest
No ideas
But in the absence of things
Thing Language where we begin
Oh Jack Spicer a vacuum cleaner
exhilarant yellow Dyson
Guggenheim Bilbao
Thing 1 and Thing 2
Queer to touch one another
Don't touch


Levity and the Grave
A husband and wife dressed as Theses
Twat a costume party long ago
dressed as Theseus & the Minotaur

Nobody remembers who married whom

Much later it is funny


Absence is nobody's signifier
It keeps a clean working space
You asperse us Shaker or Chinese

Mr. Bojangles Rediscovering Antarctica
Paint this
Is a butterfly awake?

If you are awake

ur doin it rong

The Younger Bear

The younger bear stands on its head. In Japan. The older bear takes a picture of the younger bear standing on his head in Japan. Beautiful. Says the older bear. Do you want a pit bull? The older bear asks. I don't know. The younger bear answers. A Mexican servant will certainly clean up the pit bull's shit. If younger bear accepts the present. A present is a concrete signifier for an abstract relationship. It is a dream. Dreams can stand on their head too. The older bear wakes up speaking Elvish in hotel rooms. Japan. America. It doesn't matter. A penis wants to live forever. Even a bear penis. Two older bears will run away from each other screaming Elvishophone explanations to younger bear lovers. Who will stand on their bear heads. Because they can. It's just like the joke about the dog sucking its own penis. Hibernation is a bear myth. During the winter months, the bears just hole up and play Wii. They have poetic bear feelings about the snow like Japanese authors. Because their penises want to live forever. They play dream tennis. Young and old people in sexual relationships do I mean. When nothing is dire, there is the weak light of snow just beginning. A younger bear will cover itself in snow like a bright coffin and laugh. In the hotel yard. Poor hotels don't have yards and gardens but rich hotels do. The younger bear is sitting alone in the dining room looking at another bear who is listening to Elvishophone from his older bear but secretly stealing glances at the younger bear staring at him. The young bear wonders what the other young bear would look like playing Wii naked. And then a pit bull bestower enters the dining room speaking Elvish too loudly. It destabilizes the male ballerina of the dream and he falls and breaks his ankle. "Forever doesn't look like cement." The younger bear suddenly says. The older bear realizes what a serious attack this is and clutches his bathrobe. A banana with a death urge rests in the middle of the dining room table. The Japanese have strange ideas about curtains, about syllogisms, about bears in general. Weak bears are always nebulous. Their Elvish is poor. Death is not sure what it means most of the time. And this is beautiful. Thinks the younger bear. He wishes he had the senses of a pit bull. For just one day. Energy in the wrong places is plangent. How pure it might be. To stand with the other lost young bear on their heads together. To run away. To run away home to one's pit bull senses.

Elvishophone Bear

A bear who speaks Elvish, sixty-eight years old, is playing Wii tennis with a seventeen-year-old bear. The Elvishophone Bear refers to the younger bear as "My Lover." The younger bear refers to the Elvishophone Bear as "Hal." The Elvishophone Bear wants to live forever. Because his penis wants to live forever. There is a sort of penis syllogism there, the young bear realizes. The young bear maybe wants to die soon. It's not even sure why it has this death desire. It's as nebulous as the desire for a particular food, like say a banana. It thinks this while playing Wii tennis. Light comes into this mostly dark room, but it is the weak light of snow beginning. Snow falls behind Japanese curtains. The older bear asks the younger bear if he would like a pit bull. Presents like pit bulls can cement abstract "realities." Or so most bears think. The younger bear lies. He says, "Yes." The younger bear imagines the pit bull wearing a bandana around its neck and a do rag on its head. He imagines the will to live in the pit bull. How pure it might be. How it might substitute for his own will to live, which others have pointed out is rather shaky. If the younger bear ever comes to his senses, he will probably kill the older bear. Or maybe the pit bull could do it for him. This would mean much less energy would be required. The older bear would probably say something very beautiful and plangent in Elvish as it was being murdered. The younger bear thinks that the Elvishophone Bear has probably written his will already and it, too, is probably in Elvish. The poetic Elvish of the eternally horny.

William Keckler, the Noted LOLologist


I think you can see my other kitteh LOLs by clicking on this.

I am also busy building a city to be inhabited by Gummi Bears for new photos.

Some bag of constructibles I bought a year ago.

My second childhood arrived early.

I think we're expecting a snowstorm.

I heard a premonitory gust of wind just now.

I Just Earned my B.A.....Wait for It...

in LOLology.

They give you a B.A. "degree" when you make fifty LOLs on the i can haz cheezburger site.


Here are some samples from my "doctoral thesis."