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Showing posts from 2014

"Weather", "Tchaikovsky," "Ligeti," and "Gorecki":This Fucking Guy goes On About the Weather, and a Few Composers He Happens to Fucking Like

Weather You know, If I had had Any fucking idea What the temperature was Before I motherfucking left for work I would have brought my fucking bike helmet And rode down here. I feel like I really fucking missed out. But I can't blame the motherfucking weather I should have fucking checked the fucking weather Then I would have fucking known Ok, I just checked the weather It's like 6, maybe 7 degrees Celsius Colder than I fucking thought If I had seen that before I left, I would've been like, "Fuck that, That's too motherfucking cold." But it wouldn't have fucking been It would have been a really nice motherfucking time So what the fuck? What the fuck should I have fucking done? 12/15/2014 Tchaikovsky Yes, 'tis the fucking season When I fucking find myself Listening to a lot of Tchaikovsky Now, I like that motherfucker There are so many nice fucking tunes In the motherfucking Nutcracker That it blows my motherfuck

"Report": This Fuckin' Guy is Pissed Off About Some Fucking Bullshit

Report So a fucking Senate report comes out That is basically the same As the motherfucking Red Cross report from  Two thousand and fucking seven And these motherfuckers all over the fucking place Are acting like this is fucking news? Asking if torture is really fucking torture? Fuck you. I mean, ok: It's not like I fucking go to the mainstream fucking news media For fucking news. I go because I like to know what people are being told.   And of course, people are being told bullshit, Like that old fucking song: "In Leningrad, the people say" (Just fucking google it), But it's fucking worse than that We're all fucking being told, "It's okay, you didn't know." Fuck you you didn't  know. You don't have to read the fucking New York Review of Books (You should, but you don't have to) You don't have to read fucking Truthout, Or The Nation, Or the Progress Report, Or whatever the fuck. To tell y

"Cucumbers," "Block," "Spit," and "Assessment": This Fuckin' Guy Discusses Himself and His Process, Engages in Self Promotion, And Comes Up With Something, Maybe, While Listening to PiL.

Cucumbers Damn, my last poem was almost two fucking weeks ago? Did you fucking miss me? I fucking missed me. What the fuck have I been fucking doing? Well, my job, for one thing-- I do have a fucking job, And a daughter, These are matters of public fucking record, But the real and actual reason I've been a little missing in fucking action Is I haven't had a fucking thing to say. Or like maybe the things I might have thought Would make good fucking poems I'm not so fucking sure about anymore. Like last fucking Sunday, A week ago today, I was at a fucking party, And we were talking about cucumbers, And I was like, "Fuck yes, cucumbers, They are very  really fucking refreshing and shit," And so on, And yes, I really do fucking like fucking cucumbers, But even as I was talking about it, As Ray's motherfucking party, I was thinking, "Fuck me, This Fuckin' Guy Is really scaping the bottom of the motherfucking barrel." And

"Scrape": This Fuckn' Guy Fucks Up.

Scrape It was bound to fucking happen And it was all my fucking fault And I feel pretty fucking bad about it And I still want to do something about it if I fucking can Or maybe I should fucking let it go. But anyway... So, I'm riding down Broadway, on my way to work (Yes, of course this is another fucking Citibike story), And I get to one of those really narrow fucking sections Where the motherfuckers are doing all this fucking construction So there's only one fucking lane, And there's this cab in the middle of the motherfucking lane, But then it moves the fuck off to the right, Which looks good for me, because I'm on the left, But then it fucking inches back, I think, Or maybe it fucking didn't--maybe I just never had enough fucking room, I don't fucking know. But I hit the brakes,  But I still fucking pass him And in so fucking doing, The fucking handlebar of the motherfucking bike Scrapes across both doors of the motherfucking cab. An

"Death [rev.]" This Fuckin' Guy Attempts a Rewrite

Death [rev.] Considering how fucking old I am I have not experienced a shitload Of pull-your-heart-out-of-your-chest- And-kick-your-fuckikng-ass-from-here-to- I-don't-fuckking-know-where-the-fuck-kinda-deaths. Some. One already this year. But not all that fucking many. But I'm about to. I'm fucking about to. I'm about to experience another fucking one. And I've never, ever, ever in my entire fucking life, Been able to even fucking, fucking try To tell someone who was about to fucking die How much I love them How much they fucking mean How much..I don't fucking know How much fucking everything. But I did. I fucking did. I fucking tried. I fucking tried, at fucking least. I fucking tried. By way of fucking background When we fucking lived together Susannah Fucking Ryan taught me fucking mountains of shit Including a shitload of mystical shit She designed and fucking executed the fantastic fucking record cover For the King Missile album "Mystical Shit"

"Bag" and "Gordon": This Fuckin' Guy Gets a Little Fucking Metaphysical in the Morning and Bumps Into an Old Friend in the Evening.

Bag As I rode in this morning, On a fucking Citibike, of course--what the fuck else? I saw this on a fucking tote bag that a woman was carrying: NOW IS BETTER (I think that's what it said - Her fucking arm was obscuring part of the fucking bag). Now, There can be some wisdom in motherfucking tote bags Like the one with that John Waters quote: "If you go home with somebody, And they don't have books, Don't fuck them." That's pretty fucking wise. And maybe this fucking tote bag I saw this morning Has some fucking wisdom to impart But at first fucking blush, I was like Yes--for me, now is better. But it sure isn't fucking better for everybody. And if I had seen that shit a couple of fucking weeks ago, Or even, say, Monday fucking morning , I would have been like, How the fuck is now better? Now fucking sucks. And how about those motherfuckers with Ebola? Or even all those motherfuckers Who are fucking worried about catching Ebola

"Death": This Fuckin' Guy Cries a Fucking River

Death Considering how fucking old I am I have not experienced a shitload Of pull-your-heart-out-of-your-chest- And-kick-your-fuckikng-ass-from-here-to- I-don't-fuckking-know-where-the-fuck-kinda-deaths. Some. One already this year. But not all that fucking many. But I'm about to. I'm fucking about to. I'm about to experience another fucking one. And I've never, ever, ever in my entire fucking life, Been able to even fucking, fucking try To tell someone who was about to fucking die How much I love them How much they fucking mean How much..I don't fucking know How much fucking everything. But today I fucking did. I fucking tried. I fucking tried, at fucking least. I fucking tried. I spoke with her on the phone this morning And heard her beautiful fucking voice Like it wasn't 25 fucking years ago Like it was fucking last week or yesterday Or some fucking shit. To fucking cry And fucking think, About someone you fucking love so fucking much, I can't belie

"Proof" and "Stapler": This Fuckin' Guy Links to Some Old Fucking Videos For Throwback Thursday.

Proof I am fucking aware That at least once, and maybe more than once I have asked, rhetorically, "What the fuck do I have to fucking prove?" But clearly, I was being fucking disingenuous. Because when I was watching NY1 this morning (Yes, I  still fucking subscribe To Time Warner Motherfucking Cable. Yes, I'm a fucking sucker. Fuck you.), And when the fucking story came on About the motherfuckers citibiking into work this morning In the goddamn heavy motherfucking rain, I was like "Fuck you. It's on." I was already fucking smarting ("Smarting?" What the fuck kind of word is "smarting"?) From having someone sing " Wuss " to me last night Because I wouldn't take a bike home From Carnegie Fucking Hall. Which, for the fucking record, Would have been a fucking disaster: I got soaked just walking three fucking blocks From the fucking Broadway/Lafayette F train fucking station, Even though I fucking had

"Peace," "Endings," "Metatweet," and "Trip (With "Cake" Infuckingside)": This Fuckin' Guy Has a Fucking Religious Experience, Then Gets Really Meta and Petty and Personal and Small and Self-Indulgent and Tiresome and a Little Fucking Hard on Himself.

Peace This fucking morning Was fucking beautiful, and As I walked toward the motherfucking Citibike fucking station For my first motherfucking bike ride Since fucking last Thursday, I saw a motherfucking squirrel climb up a tree: The fucking light breaking Through the motherfucking clouds The fucking smell of Autumn in New York: God damn motherfucking fuck, There fucking are no motherfucking words. The motherfucking feeling of timelessness And fucking ecstasy and fucking oneness And fucking nothingness That fucking feeling of being there And not fucking being there And being fucking everywhere at once And fucking nowhere In the same fucking instant, In that single motherfucking timeless moment Of Peace. Motherfucking peace: Not wanting fucking anything Not needing to fucking know anything Just fucking feeling, being/not being, Knowing that the fucking moment will pass But even being fucking fine with that I stood there and watched the fucking squirrel

"Mic" - This Fuckin' Guy Writes a Poem at a Mic.

Mic So a couple of fucking hours ago On my way to run some fucking errand I pass by a sign that says "Open mic tonight," And I'm like, are you fucking kidding me? So I walk in and I ask how fucking long it goes until And the woman at the door say "10," And I'm like, ok, I'll fucking come back, then. I'm thinking I can read some of my fucking poems That I'm going to read In fucking Los Angeles on fucking Friday, Saturday and motherfucking Sunday. But it takes fucking forever for me to finish All of my fucking shit, And I don't get back to the fucking place Until like nine fucking thirty. And I figure no fucking way Am I going to be able To sign up for this fucking mic. I order a fucking sparkling water I fucking love sparkling water - This one's called Bolle, And it's pretty fucking good. And like three fucking minutes later, The host, Eve, she fucking says,  "ok, we have a fucking open slot. The first

"Flat," "Scrape," "Tape," and "Length": This Fuckin' Guy Goes on Way Too Fucking Long for "Metatweet."

Flat I took out a fucking Citibike this morning As I am fucking wont to do I save so much fucking money riding these motherfuckers, For one fucking thing. But for another fucking thing, I like riding a motherfucking bike to work I really fucking like it. But I start riding this fucking bike And I realize it must have A motherfucking flat But I'm figuring it can't be that bad of a flat Because it hadn't fucking been reported broken Which is an easy motherfucking thing to do: You just press a motherfucking button When you return the motherfucker. So I start riding, south on Mercer, As I'm wont to do, And yeah, the bike's a little fucking wobbly And a bit hard to fucking pedal But it seems fucking manageable. I could have just fucking returned it, But if you return a Citibike Even a fucking a broken one You have to wait two fucking minutes Before you can take out another one So I was like, fuck that shit, I can fucking do this. Because I&#

"Flies," "Research," and "Rating": This Fuckin' Guy's Got a Few More.

Flies Ok, so I was just walking out of the fucking garden And on the ledge outside the fucking pediatrician's window Two fucking flies were fucking This was not like that time with the squirrels I mean, it's the same sexual position (Which, now that I think about it: so many fucking Non-human animals fuck like that all the fucking time (Not to mention human animals, who also fuck like that sometimes), So why is it fucking called doggy style? Is what I'd fucking like to fucking know.) So, it's the same fucking sex position But very different fucking methodology (From the fucking squirrels, I mean.) These flies looked like They weren't fucking moving at all Can a fly's dick just pump in and out Without the fly moving his hips at all, or what? Do flies even fucking have hips? I don't know why I'm wondering When I can just look that shit up Which maybe I fucking will In a moment or fucking two But I'm fucking recalling The la

"Doc:" This Fuckin' Guy Watches a Movie.

Doc I don't watch a whole fucking lot of documentary films. My reasons are mostly fucking stupid, so I won't go into them. But let me fucking say this: Martin Fucking Scorsese Is one of the most underated fucking documentary filmmakers alive. We can start with "The Last Fucking Waltz," And mention "Italian Americans" And then there's the fucking George Harrison one And the Bob Dylan fucking one And, although I haven't seen it, He made one about Fran Fucking Lebowitz, for fuck's sake. I mean, come on, right? So, okay, last month, I found out he just did one About my favorite fucking magazine (Or paper, or journal, or whatever you fucking want to call it): The New York Fucking Review of Fucking Books This fucking film is called "The 50 Year Argument" And I fucking watched it last fucking night And I fucking loved it I fucking loved it It's got fucking James Baldwin in it And Susan Fucking Sontag And fuckin

"Accordions" - Because Why the Fuck Not?

Accordions Okay, it's Sunday fucking night And for some fucking reason For the last several fucking hours I've been hearing fucking accordion music in my head And thinking about accordions Now, I happen to really fucking like accordion music I often find it really fucking soothing Like, if I was having a really hard fucking day --which I'm not; today has gone pretty fucking good, mostly-- But if I fucking was, It would be really fucking nice To lie down on a comfortable fucking couch Or sit in a nice fucking chair Or, fuck, just sit on the fucking floor And listen to some really nice relaxing fucking accordion music That would be a nice fucking time That would be really fucking splendid But, now, to be fucking fair about it, You can play a fucking polka on an accordion And sometimes you really fucking should There's a time to relax, And there's a time to listen to a fucking polka Or maybe some fucking zydeco I don't fucking know, I

"Rain," "Blabbermouth," "Weight," "Thighs" and "Arms": Some More Solopsistic Narcisistic Nonsense From This Fuckin' Guy

Rain Today - let me fucking tell you I fucking loved the rain. Last year, when I was re-learning How to ride a motherfucking bike The rain would really fucking piss me off But fuck me, I can ride a motherfucking bike now, motherfucker So this fucking morning When I was slowly fucking weaving Around those cars And fucking busses and  motherfucking trucks I didn't even fucking feel Like I was taking my motherfucking life In my motherfucking hands Which fairly fucking recently I did fucking feel like maybe I was And so this is a good fucking thing Because today, it's like I actually want to maybe fucking live That's fucking nice, right? 9/25/2015 Blabbermouth I'm such a motherfucking blabbermouth You wouldn't fucking believe what I just wrote I don't know why I want the fucking world To know my stupid fucking petty shit But always every mother fucking time I get a fucking idea in my mind I write it down and motherfuck, I want To p

"Wedding," "Reception," and "Show:" This Fuckin' Guy Has an Excellent Fucking Weekend

Wedding That was a really fucking nice wedding yesterday I wore the black suit and those nice fucking black shoes And what the fucking fuck was I worried about-- Half the motherfuckers in the place Were wearing fucking black The bride, who I've known a pretty long fucking time Was fucking beautiful and fucking hilarious The groom, who I've only met a couple of fucking times Seemed really fucking nice and good and kind And they are both fucking brilliant And both so fucking in love I'm really fucking happy for them both Mazel fucking Tov, you know what I mean? Reception And I had been fucking dreading the fucking reception I used to be fucking scared to fucking death of that kind of shit And I figured there'd be a lot of fucking rich motherfuckers And I can get very fucking intimidated  by fucking wealth And there were a lot of rich motherfuckers But I talked to some of them, and they were really fucking nice I talked to one motherfucker about j

"Bump," "Bruise," "Ducks," and "'Duck'": This Fucking Guy Suffers a Minor Trauma.

Bump Last night, I was rushing to get some fucking laundry Out of the motherfucking dryer And some motherfucker Had left another fucking dryer door open And BANG! my motherfucking head And I mean fucking BANG! And that shit fucking hurt And I was very fucking glad There were no other motherfuckers In the motherfucking place At that particular time Because I slammed that fucking dryer door closed And that shit swung back And I slammed that shit shut again And I did that shit like four fucking times While screaming "motherfucking cocksucker motherfucker" Or words to that fucking effect. I don't fucking remember, exactly. Anyway, then I'm folding the laundry And the shit still fucking hurts, And I look in the mirror Above the fucking folding table And it looks like there's a little fucking dent Or a gash or some shit And then I felt my head And there was a fucking bump And I smiled, because If I'm going to act Like a motherfucking

"Shoehorn," "Shoes," "Suit," "Solution," and "Stink": Another Friday, Another Five Fucking More.

Shoehorn Goddamn fucking fuck, where the fuck is my shoehorn? I know that motherfucker was right here, yesterday, In the fucking shoes I was wearing in the motherfucking office yesterday And yes, fuck, yes, okay, I left in a motherfucking hurry yesterday, But I fucking know that before I left the office: I used the fucking shoehorn To put on my motherfucking outside shoes And I left the motherfucking shoehorn In the motherfucking office shoes. So, what I'm saying is, Some motherfucker came in here And stole my motherfucking shoehorn. Yes, I know that is fucking implausible. I know that didn't fucking happen. But then, where the fuck is my shoehorn? 9/12/2014 Shoes Goddamn these are some nice fucking shoes. So, on Wednesday, I think it was, I noticed that the shoes I was wearing had a fucking hole in them So I got out these fuckers And started wearing them But then, this morning, when I was getting coffee, I looked down at my shoes, and fuck me, th

"Memory": This Fuckin' Guy Forgets Some Important Fucking Shit.

Memory Last night, my daughter instructed me To make a very fucking secret preparation In the early fucking morning, Just as soon as I woke up: Boil some fucking water Put some fucking vanilla in And stir that shit, etc. She told me not to tell a fucking soul. (Now, again: This is artistic fucking license; She doesn't really fucking talk like that. Not yet.) But I fucking forgot: I woke up, Had some fucking coffee, And started exercising While watching this fucking documentary On Joan fucking Rivers That I'd been meaning to fucking watch For about a fucking week. A few hours later, When she's eating fucking breakfast She fucking looks at me and says, "Daddy..." And I'm like "What? Did I fucking forget something? What?" (Again, AF fucking L, okay?) And then I fucking remembered, And I was like, "Oh shit! Jesus, I'm really fucking sorry." I felt really fucking bad It was very fucking important to her An

"Phone," "Fruit," and "Sleep": This Fuckin' Guy Writes Three Poems on his Motherfucking Phone.

Phone I don't like writing poems on my fucking phone. I mean, it's a perfectly fine fucking phone, But I like to write with a physical fucking keyboard. Sometimes, I like to really pound those fucking keys. And tapping on a fucking phone can be really fucking unsatisfying. But I deliberately didn't fucking bring my laptop with me today Because I didn't think I'd have any fucking time. But fuck me, I do have time. So here I am, fucking tapping. It's so fucking weak. The medium is the fucking message And this medium is fucking weak So this fucking poem will probably be fucking weak, If Macluan is to fucking be believed. And I don't know if I do fucking believe him. I didn't even fucking understand Understanding Media . Fucking Macluan. Fucking phone. Fucking fuck. 9/9/2014 Fruit Where I work They leave free fucking fruit out At 6:00 pm For all the poor motherfuckers Who have to work late. And then they take it away again in the

"Moose," "Horses," and "Elk": - Is This Fuckin' Guy Running Out of Ideas? Possibly...

Moose The deer in that video Was so fucking big It reminded me of the huge fucking Moose I saw that one time. And, ok, first of all, One fucked up thing about moose Is how the fucking word "moose" Can be fucking singular or plural It's the same fucking word That's fucked up. How the fuck are you supposed to know How many fucking moose you're fucking talking about? So I was in Canada one fucking time And I woke up and was walking around (This was in Banff or some shit We had done a festival with Mudhoney And some other fucking bands And Clelia thought it would be a nice fucking place To have a vacation after the fucking festival And fuck me, she was totally fucking right) But, so I woke up and walked around and fuck me Look at the fucking moose! Fucking big motherfucking moose! See? Did I see one, or two, Or a whole fucking shitload of them? You don't fucking know. You weren't fucking there. So I'll tell you: there wer

"Deer" Another This Fuckin' Guy Poem.

Deer Oh shit! Check this shit out Look at this fucking deer Fucking up this hunter over here This deer is fucking this hunter up That's right deer Get that fucking hunter Fuck him up. We're here, we're deer, get fucking used to it. I like how whoever took the fucking video Didn't fucking help that fucking guy at all; Must have been thinking That's right deer- Fuck him up. Oh fuck yes. That deer has that fucking hunter on the motherfucking ground. Stomping a fucking mudhole in his ass Fuck yeah That is really, really fucking nice. 9/6/2014

"Tree," "Stump," "Branch," and "Acorn" -- This Fuckin' Guy Just Keeps on Fucking Going.

Tree Oh my god I fucking hate myself right now. I wrote a fucking poem this morning, And it's fucking unpostable, Which really fucking motherfucking sucks. I spent like an hour and a half on the motherfucker. I really fucking tried to get it right. And I think I fucking did, I really do. But it is definitely fucking unpostable I'm fucking sorry, but it really fucking is. And it fucking sucked, I was like, almost fucking finished, And suddenly I'm saying to myself, Wait a fucking minute, I can't fucking post this. So then I fucking get into Why am I fucking doing this, Why am I fucking finishing it, Why fucking go on, Why do fucking anything, The tree will fucking fall, And nobody will fucking hear it. It will not make a motherfucking sound. Instead, I'm over here, Fucking telling you about the fucking sound That tree just fucking made. Fuck me, you should have heard that shit. It fucking went BOOM! I'm fucking serious. Actually,