Wednesday, February 27, 2013

I Should Write a Book Titled

Body-Sculpting by Grief.

This Was Posted in the (Platonic) Friendship Section...It's Pretty Damn (Neo-)Platonic...So Wild....Great Basis for a Movie...

Ok, so I know this may sound a little weird, but I am very interested in leaving Harrisburg and going out west somewhere for good. I really would love to find someone to come with me. I want to go for good. I have an idea of where I'd like to go. It is cheap to live there, so we could find a cheap place to live and find jobs. I do not have a lot of money, but what I have may cover gas and some food etc. It will be very nice if you pitch in as well. I want to leave and never come back, so if you want to too that's great. Please do not send me an email asking why and expect an explanation and you not be interested. However, if you are interested hit me up and we can meet and discuss what we want to do. I am looking to make this happen within the next few weeks. I honestly do not care if you are a male or female, just please be somewhere around my age and not old. I want someone that I can get along with and enjoy hanging out with.

Kirsten Prout

has the most adorably sad face on earth.

I'm sure of it.

I'm watching Tell Me No Lies (2007) on Lifetime for like the third time.

So many of those close-ups of her with the pouty lips are to-die-for.

And she has the perfect voice to go along with it. A strange sort of warble that sounds like she just got awoken from a deep sleep after crying in a dream.

Someone should do a series of paintings (Chuck Close size) of stills from this "troubled kid" movie.

Those lips!!

I think she's older than in the movie in this pic, but it gives you an idea what I'm talking about.

Being Chaste

Being chaste
is being hard.


You know I think Jason Mraz is one of the greatest guys on the planet, but now I'm beginning to think he's psychic too with the lyrics here (even "You took care of the cat already").

You probably can guess my favorite line. It's quite simple: "Come back to me." He sings it as a plea not a demand.

So much vulnerability in this man's voice.

But then he can do a castrato turn in the middle of a song and make it sound like it fits there perfectly.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

I Submitted Fiction to a Magazine I Like

Stop the presses.

I'm actually getting things submitted again.

Let's see if sobriety helps me get more things accomplished.

I hear 'tis so.

The Only One

My love introduced me to this wonderful singer/songwriter.

I think this is my favorite song by him.

Thinking of this Scene, Stupidly Listening to Tannhauser

won't you celebrate with me? (Homo Version)

after Lucille Clifton

won't you celebrate with me

won't you celebrate with me
what i have wrecked into
a kind of life? i had no morals.
born in babylon
both nonnonwhite and inner black woman
what did i see to be except a shelf?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
craigslist and play,
my one hand fisting tight
my asshole; come celebrate
with me that everyday
some trope of gay vanity has tried to kill me
and has failed.

Poem from the Joyful Heart of Vanished Native Peoples

We love the Dawn
and we love the Day.

We love the apple
and its shining core.

We loved singing
and cutting off tongues ("Yay!")

We love you imagining
our colorful ways

in social studies courses
for morons,

and we love
our blessed extinction

dancing circles around
your Impoverished One.

Post-Apocalyptic Love Poem

Circling the corner
is mostly all I do.

The pigeons go
through the crazy snow

and swinging traffic lights,

My cat wakes me,
pretending it's dawn

and it's still night's
dark asshole.

You wake me, stupid cat,
when my lover

is just a donut hole
in the night somewhere,

and I say even the Mayans
who built those lousy motels

with the cheap calendars
on the walls

can go to Hell.

"Red Cardinal in the Snow" Poem

"I puts on my crazy hat

and I goes to work."

Monday, February 25, 2013

The Reason

The reason I don't like gay bars is that they are too much like pet cemeteries.

"There is Not Enough Light in the Annihilated World..."

A message arrives via a strange ticker-tape machine that reads, "THERE IS NOT ENOUGH LIGHT IN THE ANNIHILATED WORLD."

Earth's best engineers immediately begin working on the problem, even though nobody really knows what the message means or what the "annihilated world" is--or if it even exists.

This ends with a  movie starring Keanu Reeves and a really cheesy novelization, which is then made into a much better movie starring Keanu Reeves' grandson.

You are all fortunately dead by this time.

Tomorrow You Will Read in Your Preferred Online Newspaper

Tomorrow you will read in your preferred online newspaper that I murdered all the men on my street whose chirping car alarms sound too much like the chirping car alarm of my absconded lover.

I Have This Bumpersticker

I have this bumpersticker on my car that says

Just Now Forcing Myself to Read

I noticed many Kiowa poems
are like the sassier songs of vintage Blondie.

A Celebration

Now I am the Rabbit
in the Moon.

Now I'm the delight
of the masses.

Now the reason
Maurice Sendak

hated children.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Dear Joachim Phoenix,

I'm sorry I made fun
of your P.E.T.A.
fish video
in which
you simulate
a drowning fish

by simply being
a human drowning in water,

a video deemed
so controversial
it will not be shown

at the Oscars.

I'm sorry,
because I know
exactly how you
qua fish felt

since my lover's
been gone.

You thrash
so beautifully
and drown

so spasmodically
I want to watch you

over and over

and eat a coal
for every giggle
I had the first time.

It turns out fish
have feelings.

Who knew?

Joachim did
at 3 years old,
but he's sorta
a Buddha.

I lived the past
few decades
as a sort of fish

and I could have sworn
I didn't have any feelings.

Until now.

Until you left.

Now I sit
and watch Joachim
enact the physical symphony

of my grieving

as though it were Prokofiev
down under the sea

drowning at an invisible piano.

Because I do sort of feel
the ocean is largely

an invisible piano
with Prokofiev

drowning down under there

Just constantly.

The News

The day is grey and windy.
Branches move

the cat's mind
in the window.

The heart doesn't know.
The heart doth feel.

The School for Misguided Children
is on fire right now.

Some are just amused
even though many children

are still inside.

Probably doing shots
and telling tales

such as sailors tell.

For My Beloved

A big lox schmeaaar of the eighties and a big schmeeear of a kiss across your gorgeous thick German lips.

Even the Dead

Even the dead have to eat.

Dear Husband,

Dear Husband,
you are my smarter earth.

You are the smarter earth
which grounded me.

I am Untether now,
the fairy Untether.

only a spider's tendril...

broke loose
on a gorgeous jag

of morning's tooth
which is an ambulance's

giddy cry like mine
without you, now...


I am the fairy Untether now

of wind...stop talking...
I say to myself, stop talk....

Go cry some more
into the house floor

I tell myself,
that is is his house,

that is our house.


Husband, please,
you are my smarter earth.

I need to be covered
by you again soon, now.

Please come
bring your smarter earth

home to my weird fields
pulled by fogs constantly.

Please don't fall prey
to men who are spiders

in the fog, and only that.
You are smart earth

and a plow inside me
where my terrible fog settles and ends

with your fertility,
Dear Husband, smarter earth.

It's Not Okay to Be This Sad. It's Okay to Be This Sad.

Fuck you
if you tell people that.

Only the sad person
knows how sad

he or she
should be.

Only they know
how beautiful

what is missing
from their life

is, was, and will always be.

Show and Tell Literature

One theory talks about
Show vs. Tell Writers.

Plath, Berryman, Esenin,
Sexton and Mayakovsky

were great Showers.
To be charitable,

we can refer
to the other writers

as "Growers
not Showers."

Overheard in a Hospital in the Middle of the Night

"I have failed.

"I have failed
at my life
my entire life.

"I have utterly
failed at life.

"Like a sunflower."

Sunday, February 17, 2013

PLaY 66 BOY MIND route

PLaY 66 BOY MIND route a video by bikriderstar on Flickr.
I don't even know how to talk about this guy except to say he is awesome,, kind, beautiful and I love about 89.99999 of everything he does. Victor is from another planet and I would happily visit that planet.

These are People

These are people I consider geniuses:

Wendy Morgan.

Miller Rodriguez.

I'm just sayin.

You would have noticed that I linked to both their Flickr accounts if you noticed things like that.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

pet cemetery: cat tucked safely in, in Heaven

pet cemetery: "Ming. Blosser's Little Girl"

pet cemetery: nobody's dog

pet cemetery: no offense to the pet's former owner, but i think this means their pet is in hell

pet cemetery

pet cemetery by William Keckler
pet cemetery, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

pet cemetery: "Bagel"

pet cemetery: "Bagel" by William Keckler
pet cemetery: "Bagel", a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

pet cemetery: "Chelsea"

pet cemetery: creeping bench

pet cemetery: "Son Rage Corrupt"

pet cemetery: "Son Rage Corrupt"

pet cemetery: "Butterscotch Mess"

pet cemetery

pet cemetery by William Keckler
pet cemetery, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

pet cemetery: "Toffee" and "Rambo"

pet cemetery

pet cemetery by William Keckler
pet cemetery, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

pet cemetery: "Yvette"

pet cemetery: "Lee"

pet cemetery: "Lee" by William Keckler
pet cemetery: "Lee", a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

pet cemetery

pet cemetery by William Keckler
pet cemetery, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

pet cemetery: "Kenny"

pet cemetery: "Kenny" by William Keckler
pet cemetery: "Kenny", a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

pet cemetery: "My Girl Maggie"

Several New Tumblr Blogs Following Mine Today

And this one is fucking wild.

Love it.

Found the Twitter and it indicates: "Installation Urbaine Ephémère."

Paris-based · blog: lor-k-land.

"They shoot washing machines, don't they?" 

Friday, February 15, 2013

Please Help Me

Please help me. I am (dwelling, trapped, dwelling) inside a giant mushroom and I am not sure of how safe it is to come out. My mushroom dwelling has lysergic properties and these I enjoy, so I continue to break off the walls of my house and eat them, even though it is not quite clear where my body ends and the body of my house begins. Possibly they are co-terminous, meaning "the same thing," and I am eating my own lysergic body so PLEASE HELP ME.

It must have struck more than just me that the devices inside which we now spend what is sometimes the majority of our existence and certainly the majority of our thinking existence are very much like the message in a bottle of olden days, that hackneyed literary and filmic device much beloved by the picaresque hack novelists and directors of centuries past--and, of course ,Sting. Sting was basically singing PLEASE HELP ME when he sang "Message in a Bottle." I mean Sir Sting.  But then most pop singers sing PLEASE HELP ME over and over all the time, but of course they don't mean it. Flailing is the cottage industry of many a respectable modern man. They usually mean, STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME! which many semioticians insist is actually the same thing as PLEASE HELP ME. The deceiving logic in this position is that by looking at the person signaling PLEASE HELP ME you immediately trigger their acknowledgment that your problems are at least as great (if not worse) than theirs, and this triggers the epiphenomenal STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME. Paradoxically, you might have done some good merely by casting your leper's glance in the direction of the PLEASE HELP ME personage, by following them on Twitter or something like that, since you reinforced the notion that they exist, that their pain is real and worthy of attention, which is not even a certain proposition to the person in our pretty metaphysically shaky universe.

Pain and consciousness are often said to be the same thing--usually by this or that persnickety religion. But probably this is wrong. Pain is more likely to exist. The vehicle of pain is much more likely to flicker in and out of existence--half-exist--even as the pain continues like that "bright" and "stedfast" star in the Keats poem. Sometimes you are looking at the sun flickering above your head and you are only the sun's rays. There is none of you left in the looking. If you don't believe me about the precedence of pain over the vehicle of consciousness, tiptoe down the halls of any nursing home or hospice in the middle of the night. BUT PLEASE HELP ME.

The proverbial "cry for help" mostly occurs only in proverbs. People more commonly and conveniently die. PLEASE HELP ME.

Sometimes someone is seeming to enjoy crying out PLEASE HELP ME from the wilderness too much and for that we have The Boy Who Cried Wolf.

Then everybody disbelieves the PLEASE HELP ME of the Boy Who Cried Wolf and the The Boy Who Cried Wolf invariably ends up in county, state or federal prison alongside other Boys Who Cried Wolf.

Except now they are no longer Crying Wolf. They are actual wolves or the wolfened. Wolvened. Whatever. They are wolves and demi-wolves. They fall asleep crying into each other's pelts, which may be hairy or not. PLEASE HELP ME they say to each other, but because the person petitioning for help is in a cage and the person being petitioned is in a cage, the only help available is probably cuddling, a blowjob or anal sex. Of course, these Boys Who Cried Wolf may be women, but same deal. Just different blowholes.

Oh and/or the Bible. Is there for prison consolation. Or the other Bible. Or the other One. Which is filled with beautiful, poetic versions of PLEASE HELP ME.

Just now a bird cried out in the night outside my window and it sounded like PLEASE HELP ME but probably it was the cry of delight that precedes bird-on-bird or bird-on-small mammal murder.

Who am I kidding. My house has no windows. My mushroom house has only one window and I am staring into it right now as I type these words.

You are in my mushroom window.

How attractive and successful you are. (PLEASE HELP ME.)


We sometimes had nothing more than married people in the latter years of our marriage.

That wife and husband were respectively thirteen and eight years old but this should not matter.

Crossing a frozen lake, people are often tempted to refer to each other as "monsters," as "monstrous" or refer to each other's great, dying loves as "monstrous, pigeon-toed loves."

Pigeon-breasted loves.

Pick up the other person's pigeon and blow into its beak like you saw in the movie Birdy once.

And you can inflate a pigeon like a balloon.

I do not love you less for your massacres or the things you have written with a purple crayon in the deep, dark, middle of the purple prose night, which always has a deep, dark middle--like a deep, dark lollipop.

Someone attacked me for admiring a meteor today that exploded in the skies over Russia.

It didn't kill anyone but the sonic boom broke thousands of windows and it lit up the earth as though the sun had suddenly turned into a giant piece of aluminum foil some kid was shaking.. The light ran across the Russian cities with their weird Cold War sixties-futuristic architecture like Fountains of Wayne in New Jersey, and nobody really got excited or stepped up their pace on the street.

Somebody yelled "IMPACT!" in Russian into a cell phone, but only once.

Then everybody continued on.

We continue on.

All Novels

All novels are vampire novels.

No, I'm Not Blogging...But Fucking Amazing...Tunguska Redux, Tunguska Remix...

If you haven't seen the clips of the Russian impact (and you probably have) check this.

Outer space's adaptation of The Tin Drum.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Working on Book, Talking to Spirits

Must stop photography mania for a short time to bring a book to fruition.

 Talking to spirits is exhausting and I have to brush up on my necromantic skills.

Also, I should be exercising more.

 So, if you see (see?) quietness here it probably means something good.

If I come back and yakk, it probably means something not good, business as usual.

I count oneironautics as exercise, so sleep will be a big part of my writing/talking process.

I think I want to publish the book under the pseudonym M. Valdemar.

I think it would be fun to publish a series of books all under pseudonyms of Poe character names.

I think I'll go do that now.

vangelus vangelis vangelskeN

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Best Film Explanation of My Experience of Home Ownership (1908)

I Forget Sometimes that Jason Mraz is There Like God

When even the pope retires, there's still Jason Mraz.

I think it's funny that so many people whom I love really aren't Mrazophiles.

But I'd give the guy my liver if he needed it, even though I'm not sure my liver is "pretty."

According to the most recent tests, it's fine. No idea why it is though. And I'm talking as much if not more about the APA as other things.

But one of those people for whom I am so grateful that it's ridiculous.

Crazy Cat Lady's Dream Retirement

I would love to spend my "golden years" on the Japanese island of Tashirojima, which is apparently overrun and owned by stray cats.

I love playing videos of this island really loud so Malkin goes nuts.

This strikes me as an ideal place to die.

The cats would just eat me when I finally collapsed in the middle of the feline wasteland.

Later, when cats become super-intelligent and rule the earth, they will erect a shrine to me as a cat divinity who sacrificed himself for the good of the race.

Yay! Madonna is on Instagram!!

Yay! Madonna is on Instagram and posting racy photos of herself drunk and alone.

So now I can replace the void in my life with the void in Madonna's life.



YiYYYYY H by bikriderstar
YiYYYYY H, a photo by bikriderstar on Flickr.

Bitchy (But Funny)

is the Tumblr Hot Growlr Mess of the Day.

I imagine finding these is like shooting trout at the very bottom of an iPhone barrel.

Bearsically, just be on there...and you probably qualify....

Malkin Gets Tumblrd More than I Do....

Here he is on another cool site (non-Tumblr) which features some cat humor.

Oh, and Dru is also there! More Dru than Malkin actually!

Thanks for having them!


Untitled by William Keckler
Untitled, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

Love the Creepy Manson Cover


Untitled by William Keckler
Untitled, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

the cutest Valentine I've seen on Tumblr so far this year

was this one...

Monday, February 11, 2013

"that's it...we're breaking up..."


evol by Bieco Blù
evol, a photo by Bieco Blù on Flickr.

after a japanese theme

A Poisonous Book (Reading this Book Will Kill You)

I'm glad you can page through it online and avoid the arsenic.

Some very pretty patterns there!

My Dad and Sylvia Plath Share the Same Death Day.

Today. I haven't talked to my Mom yet today. We'll mention Dad. Then Sylvia. Then talk about death briefly. Then more pressing matters. I won't tell her my Sylvia Plath joke ("Why did Sylvia Plath cross the road? To get to the other suicide."). Since it's in bad taste...and quite possibly not funny. (It is to me.)

Cal Trask

Cal Trask by kf_leeds
Cal Trask, a photo by kf_leeds on Flickr.


Untitled by LUH 3417
Untitled, a photo by LUH 3417 on Flickr.


Tasty by Sea Moon
Tasty, a photo by Sea Moon on Flickr.

O A X 3

O A X 3 by JUN2901
O A X 3, a photo by JUN2901 on Flickr.


Untitled by SteffenTuck
Untitled, a photo by SteffenTuck on Flickr.


Untitled by Kaometet
Untitled, a photo by Kaometet on Flickr.


Untitled by Kaometet
Untitled, a photo by Kaometet on Flickr.

calm balm

calm balm by
calm balm, a photo by on Flickr.

after a parable by olivier christinat


cherubim by William Keckler
cherubim, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

Lynn Shelton's Humpday (2009): Almost Gay Mumblecore

I enjoyed it.

 I really enjoyed the director's eye more than the dialogue, although the dialogue was good in places.

 I got the impression the one actor was the poor man's Zach Galifianakis.

 I couldn't get over how the other main actor looked quite a bit like a younger Raymond Carver (if you changed his hair color). Maybe it was just certain angles, certain expressions.

Shooting a ceremony

Shooting a ceremony by bikriderstar
Shooting a ceremony, a photo by bikriderstar on Flickr.

ienAL tionaN

ienAL tionaN by bikriderstar
ienAL tionaN, a photo by bikriderstar on Flickr.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Bipolars and Fear

I hate my bipolar fear when it hits me, crippling me. I have this horrible sense of fear for like 30 or 35 hours now. I can't even articulate. My partner thinks I'm hallucinating. But things keep happening in my house and I don't know if it's just my cat playing tricks or the occult. Things get moved around in weird places. I don't see them moving (once I did) so it's probably messed up Ambien side effects. But there seems to be a narrative in the object placements. I found this item in my bed that I swear was never in this house before today. It's this creepy yellow finger condom type thing...but no, not's not a finger condom; it's not a gun finger thingie...I can't even get my pinkie in in and it's too stiff. Nobody should have been able to get in this house. Why did I wake with it under my back. Things like this make me think I'm going crazy. One time I woke up with my back all scratched up. I vagueely remember rolling over Malkin that night in Ambien too-deep sleep so I tend to think he was in survival mode. But then I could completely believe I have an incubus or succubus who jumps in my bed as soon as I take the Ambien. ;_) This drug is totally linked to somnambulistic behavir. I think some people have even driven cars while asleep. So I should assume it's all this evil drug (which I need!) I guess. I did a total Lady Macbeth act in the kitchen the other week in the middle of the night. Lee left it the way it was. I had stabbed a container of ice tea repeatedly. I had been rooting with a giant fork in a feng shui fountain. Ambien is a drug which will turn you into Conrad Veidt. I'm not shitting you. But you sleep with the angels once you fall asleep. God bless this evil drug. Book title: I Once Made a Porn Film on Ambien.

Thank God

Thank God I have this wardrobe of dysfunctionality. If I had to wear normal clothes when I felt this dysfunctional, I'd go even more bat-shit crazy than I already am. Dysfunctional people feel much better in dysfunctional clothes. We hate that other shit. I have a love-love relationship with the ugliest fleece sweaters. Everyone may turn on me but that fleece sweater will be my friend to the end.

If People's Mental Illness Were Diagnosed Using a "Planets of the Solar System Scale," My Diagnosis Would Probably Be

a Saturn this week. I think I was a Jupiter for two years of my life. I'm hoping to get back to a Neptune diagnosis, but at this point will settle for Uranus (accent on the first syllable, grow up!) Oh, to be a Mars! Or a lovely Venus of mental illness!

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Shit I Listened to When I Was a (Very Gay) Teenager

Surprised to find this (probably my favorite Piaf song) wasn't very popular on YouTube. Basically translated to "Broken Record." A song making fun of hope. I always saw Piaf as the French Morrissey (before him of course). Or he was the Manchester Piaf.



i still like this song but

how horribly dated does Longo's video look for this New Order video. it's just so there. planted in the eighties. it doesn't even make it into the nineties. not that the 90s were an aesthetic chucklefest.

Poor Kenny

Love this dated programme.

The Last Time

Todaddy Nobodaddy

Glenn Ligon: The Moon Belongs to the People!!!, at Luhring Augustine

Junk food

Junk food by Scoboco
Junk food, a photo by Scoboco on Flickr.