Monthly Archives: May 2010

fake poem for bena

bena–
your comb not blown wise
till shadows crêpe the moontide of 10:58.
Don’t resort to me, this bean, bena
not gullied by the breakers
or blossomed into corn
or cows…

old bar stamp, cower into place
with racist wisdom
and a harpoon grave filled with salt.

Nudity can be bargained for.
Tell us your joke.

The moment you post your poem,
A furious, shivering prostitute
on Twitter
will crawl from her harpoon’s grave straight into Forrest Gander’s glasses, which hang in his
Room illumined only by the laptop’s display. Army of cats from poetry.

The New York Times Book Review
was built on experience.

2.

Follow her jeans to Pitchers, and watch the Camel
Lights educate themselves,

just kidding,
Oberlin College Creative
Writing Department,

just kidding,
O Bena,

seriously, etc,
nightblogging the nineties

And The internet has that song stuck in its head.
Comma-splice smells like penis.
Professor of poetry replies,
“There’s no such thing as a fake poem.
“I’ll timidly beat your face until
LITTLE MARZIPAN: Until it resembles the shovel you’re beating it with

[Now is a good time for a sip of water. ASK SOMEONE FOR A CUP and drink from that. Don’t open your Nalgene during the reading. Unscrewing the top makes that molded-plastic cave-sound, Mac McCaughan’s mouth forcing its way around a crusty Bánh mì—ah, life!]

Lazy violence.

Necklace as breakfast food
or Infancy as crime.

I feel like you’re obliquely recalling jokes from 30 Rock and adding line breaks — right?
I dunno. Not precisely

Don’t fear or shoot the messenger’s reaper-buddies (when they come over)

PAUL PREENSHAPE, 29, sits in a room with BEN LYNTSPRIE, 28. It’s not a cafe, not a living room, though it resembles both. LYNTSPRIE is the theater critic for a major national glossy weekly. PREENSHAPE teaches in the library science dept. of a major national glossy weekly research university in the American Southwest. They are the same person. Both men are bisexual. As the curtain rises, PAUL and BEN sit in modern chairs, facing each other. Coffee is near to hand.

PAUL: Do you know where I can get some marijuana?

BEN: You hate marijuana. Every time, you hate it. It gives you insomnia, you stay up all night, the next day you’re a wreck, “never again,” second chapter of Infinite Jest, and on and on and on and on.

PAUL: I know. That doesn’t stop me for wanting it afresh at every new stressy little self-alienated juncture. Like this afternoon.

BEN: When will it end?

PAUL: Supposedly after you turn thirty or thirty-four and have kids, you start being able to enjoy marijuana again, if you’re in the (surprisingly large) category of person who was a Linklater character in high school but then c. junior year of college stopped being able to enjoy being stoned. So I just need to have some kids and move to a smaller city in California, and I’ll be all set.

BEN: Sounds good. Have fun.

PAUL: I hope so. Thanks.

[A woman in a black jumpsuit enters the theater holding a Kalashnikov assault rifle and murders everyone onstage and in the audience except for you. You exit the theater and go eat ramen with your boyfriend’s best friend. Then you go to his house and give him a blowjob. Fun!]

psychic dancehall

FAMOUS SHITHEAD (NYC): Hey

BLIND RABBIT STRANDED @ PDX: Hi

FS: Check out the cover of Artforum

PDX: Cool

FS: Contemporary art like this gets made so that hot lovers can hang out inside of it and feel intelligent. Then they trot off somewhere and do it.

PDX: Really??? Sex?

FS: Yep

PDX: Are those hot lovers on the cover?

FS: Yeah. One of them is Danish, the other one is American

PDX: Wait, you know them?

FS: My college roommate took the photo. He’s beside himself that it’s on the cover of Artforum. He’s playing it cool, though

PDX: I’m stuck at the Portland airport.

FS: Why?

PDX: How should I know? The pilot ate too many Chili Cheese Fritos, won’t get off the can.

FS: Really?

PDX: No. I’m joking.

FS: I liked you better when you were painfully self-conscious and never said anything

PDX: Me too

[They make love.]

[Wait, I thought one of them was in Oregon while the other is in NYC?]

[That’s right]

[So how do they…]

[I’m not sure. Maybe they are in the same room after all.]

[OK]

FS: I feel like a big slice of garbage cake

PDX: You feel like you are one? Or you feel like having one?

FS: Both, dog. [pause] have you seen druggie moses

PDX: i heard he died… in the video game he was playing

FS: ahh phew i thought you meant died in real life

PDX: no, no, he’s still alive in real life

FS: thank god, i love druggie moses

PDX: so do i. he’s a nice guy. real nice guy. makes an amazing field roast

PDX: say, i thought you were going to liveblog your CSA box

FS: i was, but then i opened it

PDX: disappointed?

FS: no, just not… inspired to write about it on the internet

PDX: what was in it?

FS: some fucking vegetables.

PDX: I see.

FS: do you want to write on the internet some fake-fantasies about quitting your job and studying language and literature in a university setting in a place where it snows for the rest of your life?

PDX: ok

FS: you’re not really cut out for academia, though, so don’t actually do it. just ‘blog’ about it

PDX: ok

FS: also can you start wearing really form-fitting clothes all the time?

PDX: ok

FS: I hope nobody reads this.

PDX: don’t worry, they won’t

FS: how do you know?

PDX: today’s a big news day, they’ll be distracted, “Pope’s Portugal Trip a Bid to Move Beyond Scandal

FS: whoa

PDX: people are going to think we’re gchatting, but we’re not

FS: I know. how do we communicate that all this is happening while i’m sitting in your lap, spooning cottage cheese with balsamic vinegar into your mouth?

PDX: maybe if there is a video, or pictures? more ‘new york observer’

FS: no

PDX: more “frites” on the LES

FS: Nah

PDX: more belgian tacos

FS: stop

PDX: ‘stuff white people like’

FS: i know

PDX: ‘stuff latinos like’

FS: ok

PDX: ‘stuff i’ve been reading’

FS: ha. ok

PDX: ‘stuff that tastes good after you’ve been surfing’

FS: i know.

PDX: ‘stuff me into your mom’s stocking (above the mantle, first movement)’

FS: you lost me

PDX: I hope i stay that way

FS: let’s dance

PDX: I hate the way you use the internet

FS: What, you mean ‘mozilla firefox’?

PDX: i’m actually on chrome now

FS: all part of your major google push, huh?

PDX: there’s no google push

FS: first you’re all google readered out, now chrome?

PDX: that’d be funny to do a remake of The Reader, but call it The Google Reader, and it would be about…

FS: the internet?

PDX: yeah, and, like, the news cycle?

FS: Broadcast News meets Annie

PDX: Against Nature meets Arthur magazine

FS: Erewhon meets Waterworld

PDX: [rueful chucklin, picks up a remote control and starts a previously frozen video that shows a woman masturbating with a snorkel. FS opens a laptop and reads this tremendous collection of ‘blog gifts’]

FS: [munches thoughtfully on some machine-shelled pistachios]

PDX: remember when I ate a hot pocket in the shower to stop you from crying

FS: yeah. i hate remembering myself that way, laughing through the tears despite myself

PDX: was that the night of the Nightmares on Wax concert?

FS: yes

PDX:

FS: classic. stoned volvo. 405 South. there was a period where I was buying bananas every day

PDX: sweet man, talk it through. talk soon, ok? i’m gonna shop my soulcraft a bit, then back to biz. xox

FS: fuck, kay cool, lovies

PDX: munchkin corpse, big love

FS: ok you too

PDX: smack those lips to taste it

FS: I know I know

PDX: bye

“Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours.”

Lots of aimless/internal fuck yous today. Steer clear, dude!

TechKorner! Earlier this week I began using Google Reader; sloughing off time like it’s dead skin; there’s a whole little underwater universe of nerds sharing things; I had no idea. It feels like BioDome in there. Articles get blasted in the dome’s shitty/awesome flourescence; the shadows are imperceptible and huge. All of my friends and enemies are there, clicking on each other, sharing New Republic articles, giving one other backrubs.

This morning I got all excited about iTunes shuffle creating eerie pop-music symmetries, and quickly chide [“chid”] myself. it’s all just shades of my own brain. like being surprised that LIPSYTE LISH and LUTZ are shelved together. Of course they are. “Visit the page you made”

Last night Gerhard Richter’s daughters read Gerard Manley Hopkins’s “I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day” to me after I said I hated myself for the seventh time. That poem fucken cheered me up! Fair enough, see you soon

BABIES

Babies babies “Babies” babies Babies? Babies babies.

Babies babies babies babies babies babies babies babies babies babies Babies? Babies babies, babies.

Babies babies babies babies babies babies babies babies Babies? Babies babies babies babies.

(Kois 1)

It’s pretty much just straight-up babies, all the way through.

(Kois 2)

(via Lauren Bans)

Lorin Ipsem

Quilty is my name! Happy birthday, Toadstone Tombstool! It’s Toadstone’s birthday today. Grape mere crackers. TK. You’ve got another hour or two to send Dennis Cooper’s blog a present. I sent him a “crazy” one! Drop-cap hat-tip to mcmouthman. This paragraph is more or less just lorem ipsum to see how this drop-cap looks. Looks nice. Peach pickles is the cracker’s souffle. I put your advisor in floppyjail. Nudity = overrated. Nut allergy? G’night!