(the ha modeled as the ha-ha)

-----------------------------------------------------------------I don't see too much humor in any of the knots in this thread, so might I remind you all that the red and white corpuscles are at constant battle with each other. The friends of these corpuscles live in the bloodstream and are making constant whoopie. Having tired of both the corpuscles and the friends of the corpuscles the blood in the bloodstream rushes down to the feet, gets a look at those feet and rushes right back up to the head. Seeing that the blood must contain itself it turns over and gets real cold. Once attaining a state of coldbloodedness the blood proceeds to mock red and white and even blue corpuscles by having an all American dinner in the middle of an all American house. After the blood has boiled, it simmers for two hours and begins to drag on and on and on. Sometimes it fragments. Itself. Some, times. And in the dead of night it waits silently as the March of the Corpuscles fills the stream and then it says to the corpuscles, Yonder comes the rush of even more blood, rushing rushing through the stream... perhaps you should go home. But, the corpuscles persist and establish a new nation within the bloodstream, where you and little Johnny can grow up happily and without any oppression. You'd like that, huh? Well, how do you think little Johnny feels? How do you think big Johnny feels? I bet he feels something too, probably we all do. Probably just gravity though.
------------------------------------------------------------

A second poem from Thoughts and Other Girdles (2001).
Images via jhpjapan.com and nature.com, respectively.

Thoughts and Other Girdles

Well not exactly the most, but certainly the hairiest. Harried lakes. And Fred gone out for lunch. Huh, asked the bartender. Just tending my bar. Looks more like a post, you should stop and go home, spoke Joseph as he pulled out his crowbar. What are you doing, asked the bartender. Just tending my bar you riff raff, now beat it or I smash your post in. Its not very post like d od od od. Oki said smoki. Lots a friendly folk round here all in one place. all in one little place. dis is one tiny place for all these friendly people.

Title poem from my first chapbook, from 2001. Below are the front and back covers for the handmade edition.

You turned me around

bizcarlito via ponyXpress

Map Ref 41°N 93°W

Off my wall

My friend Lynn and I drew this, it was a game.

From Comfort and Critique by Peter Sotos

Parents trust reject-magic. Especially. Maybe. When their children are hurt by something unfair and completely out of their control. They look for messages and bent reason and talk about bonds and clarifying connections. Purity. Love that is tangible. Electric. It has to be. And the superstitious shrimp that don't grab for something pathetic like god and nature are the sicknesses that sink back into themselves only to ask you later to excuse their repulsive frailty.

Tits, Drinks, Etc...

To all my readers (Alan I'm lookin' at you!) I want to be a Marxist but I can't escape the economics. I know he had Jenny, or so I'm told via the English reader... I'm not part of the proletariat, I don't work at the moment, or in recent memory (at least when I did it was unpaid and one-on-one, ie tutoring, and before that at a becoming-shit video rental shop). But, my professors and instructors have told me I'm smart. I'm a great guy, I'm told. Even my teachers said so! Now that -or/-er contrast is important. Think of the difference in base praise, or interpretation, of a professor versus plumber. '-er' versus '-or'. Teacher versus instructor, the title has been fought over, I've seen this on a college campus. The problem comes to a bump, a hazard for the train of thought, at 'builder'. For what is an architect? An '-echt'?



So yes, I'm left feeling a smidge closer to being an anarchist. What is that '-ist'? I'd share it with a Marxist. No 'or' or 'er' in sight. Something to do with Latin I think. Emperor over teacher. God versus Made. Lowercase.

But tits, they were once a source of fun, as the Maels' song says. Perhaps I think of that more in the sense of heartbreak. But what is heartbreak but a symptom of a non-local culture? Oh, wait, not quantum physics, I mean: neo-locailty.




Yes, drink some more. Till you can't see anymore. I saw with marriage, in a neo-local culture, we are forced, if part of said culture, contemporary America (re: USA), to ask of one human what we would have asked prior (or in a different set-up) of a hundred people. Sad, sad, sadly I'm very used to this. We all are. We being those reading this, surely (or should I say: Shirley? Shirley if you're my type, email!).

I know I'm obsessed with Japanese women. To a lesser extant: Chinese women. I've dated them! Depressingly that's the least of this. There's this whole temple of light where a book sits on a pulpit, you can read about how other people can become representations of your desires, needs, that whole hole...

Anyway, you see, I can be one to group humans under titles too! I know that race is a cultural construct, I've learned it the hard way over and over, Marxism confronts this where?, and what can I say besides, "Are you familiar with the construction of race, specifically that of being 'white', in the United States 20th century historical period?" To which they can't help but not answer, surely.

I would not have been white a hundred years ago, most currently white people would be in the same boat (to Ellis island or San Francisco?).

So back to tits,



No! That is NOT what I wanted. Perhaps that is why I selected a picture where she covers her chest with her arms, plaid, flannel, balancing a gremlin on her head. It's all gremlins over here. Here or her? I was thinking of this model I have a crush on, though she is far too athletic, so then I was think, Rinko Kikuchi in 'Babel' yes a Japanese girl going for suicide topless. Gosh, I'm so predictable, an (for lack of a better term, again...) American film of all things! (Why not grab something from my infinite JAV archive you ask? You may go unanswered). But this is from a German magazine, I'm thinking... So, Kai I'm looking at you. Because your girlfriend is gorgeous, and a genius, and you're a genius, at least (forgive me), so help a friend out (if we're still friends!).

At least that pic only cuts off the woman's legs. That's something cultural anthropology taught me (hello Beth) that pictures are to be interrogated. Of course I'd read that before, but that class showed me what it meant in a real way. So if I displayed 'tits' I'd be cutting a girl into sixths, at least. Not that I've never gazed at guro.

Oh, that's not what I wanted help with. And this isn't calypso.

I'm just heartbroke drunk with a vague awareness of what he was born and aged into.



I'm nowhere near that athletic, if you saw her stomach. The girl I wasn't sincere enough wasn't either. But, of course, that didn't matter! I only thought, hoped (?), my subtexts were understood by her. Just as hers were by me, or so I thought. My brain recapitulates it, if last night was any gauge.

Marxism, help me out dear readers.

p.s.: i wasn't thinking so much of a the above model i have a crush on, or even rinko, so much as past t.a.'s who i saw either fall in love or get their hearts' broken (or both) by other 'white' males. er, or even at worst some one i let go by while i was in proxy love. sigh. surely regret is heard simply by the publishing of a post.

Go See The Aiko Planetarium LP

Dear readers, for we are circles. Nine years, so many holes in the moon. May I present to you the debut by Aiko Planetarium, gift horsies I make myself. Songs, songs, songs. It has been a very singular trip, more so than simply strangely so. Oh, how crazy it has been! In all honesty, this is the thing I am happiest with so far.

Please, destroy, take its hand, that sort of thing. Enter the Aiko Planetarium, see the constelations! Join the Astro Navy, Hear the Americana Eskaton Army.

Love a bird, be a worm.

Etc.

Aiko Planetarium Lp

Faked UFOs for James Champagne (aka SYpHA_69)

These are two photos I took back around 1994. They've always been favorites of mine. My best friend at the time helped.

Lion's Club

I was doing something you didn't want me to and you were telling me that. Thinking I was being clever I said, I remember when I used to care what you think. But it didn't hurt you enough. Actually, it just seemed sort of funny.

The hangovers caught up with me but not as much as you shifted the past into arbitrariness. That was the worst. I imagined the cuts coming down on me, across my arms. Trying to go the other way, this time from funny to cruelty, I told myself things will get better. There's always tomorrow. The world is your oyster.

I can't say something that will hurt you enough. Cuts seem more appealing than obesity because cuts are judged more harshly. Stretch marks don't go away either but a cut can be on an otherwise attractive frame. It means you are hurting. Whereas a fat belly just means you eat too much and are fat. There's the pains of finding that my clothes are getting too small. I can't buy new ones. But, with cuts I can do so much worse.

Both help in one way though, they both affirm how stupid the world is out of the judgment they bring. You're fat, you cut. Or you combine. Let's be positive. Finally, I stopped doing something you didn't want me to do. You kept doing what I didn't want you to do. I kept doing what I didn't want to do too.