in between

Like a balloon filled with air and tied at the neck

Released

Slowly deflating 

No fear but the ending

Molecules unstuck

Particles leeching back into where 

they began like a song

The slow fade out, living some kind of climax

Before the repetition starts

Or the jam

An unwinding of structure that leads to silence

Before the band picks up again

And in that silence

What silence

Some kind of gasp or breathlessness

Or simply a continuum 

Part of the music

Or part of the in between
What floats away

for Doug

In our portraits of the dead

We draw veils

Transparent and pure

Weightless, untouchable

Barely perceptible --

We walk through them

Like a breeze,

A passing thought:

We see through them

Into nothing

We are mostly unconscious 

To the truth of this, or lack thereof --

The possibility that our understanding

Is inverted, and instead

The dead see through us

Clearly, as if through a reticle:

Not merely through but into

And out again --

A devouring of intention,

judgement, plans --

The work we do and or have done

And how 

Our scores mark up 

Against a godliness 

For comparison's sake --

And would we feel it then, these

Eyes of the aftermath, 

Eyes of eternity

Poring through our bodies like light

Through a magnifying glass --

Or light trapped

Inside a prism --

Identifying each part unseen, unrealized:

Would it feel like air

Would it feel like this

Is it our breath

whatever it was you liked or needed

the feeling returns
something like a tremble
from the outside towards the center
a summoning 
a physical memory of a connection
to the unseen
a dose of it, this ancient sense
remarking on 
the glory of it all;
the impossibility
with nothing short of lightning

and then a grounding.
reality again must assume everything
can be touched and conquered
and is whatever it fucking looks like

i am writing a poem
for the first time in months
and just now the computer on my wrist
reminds me to walk at least two-hundred and fifty 
steps this hour
or my time will not be counted 
i will not progress

sometimes i do as it tells me
or, as an alternative 
peer into a MacBook Pro 
with more than twenty-five open tabs 
leading me to infinite permutations
of brief, dissonant escape

it is bleak, but i am still summoned
i listen and respond
to the old and powerful vibration
in my heart

do these milestones;
this progress towards adulthood
represent more than the breaking 
of a horse?
maybe the strongest wills have a secret wish 
to be broken
to be softened 
into something more favorable and more tenable and 
whatever it was you said you liked or needed

all the editing before the thing is written
interrupted by electrostatic discharge
the chaos of control

water

how to reach it when
beyond is the closest you come
and there was the slightest inkling
a lighter shadow than the last
an indicator of an indication
a drop of blood on the sun

i remember o how i remember
everything ever lived
and how it used to feel to know
tomorrow wouldn't be like
this day because tomorrow
would be a different color
there had not been two of the same
colors in a row
in all of time

and beneath the smoke of the foundry
of my heart
and within the latticework of the scaffolds
of my spine
someone is drinking heavily
but it isn't me anymore
a different blood type

or the color of the moon
ruining itself behind a mountain
and the river flowing up between the clouds
where i saw you drinking
like you had been born thirsty
and i thought
we are born without water
we are born without anything
to keep us alive

i had ideas once

i had ideas once
and i hoped they'd come back to me
thought i could
reel them in
on the hook of what i chose to want
and still want

i had ideas that i could
go anywhere and be anyone
that i could pay for my life with admiration
for what it means to be alive
and then suddenly
as soon as i wished it so
be rid of every earthly obligation
to anyone
or any thing

i thought of myself
purely in those moments

of me only

a subject in photographs
when they were taken
and it all seems to me now
a joke
a farce

that in the moment of being photographed

when the opportunity for remembering 

the former self is created
one has no conception of who will be 

looking back
and how everything will never be
how everything used to be
 

how terribly sad that is

when all you want to do

is live however living materializes for you

without paying for it

with your life

Sell Your Soul for the Super Bowl

Every year companies invest millions in Super Bowl ads with the hope that the Bowl’s wide viewership will give their products a Midas touch. The football game to end all football games (for the season) gives TV networks more viewers on one night than they get for entire seasons of shows. At least 100 million people turned on, tuned in, and ate wings while allowing themselves to be bombarded with one 30 second ad after another. But what are we really getting?

The advertisements are entertaining, or at least they better be at the price of 3 million dollars each. Unfortunately, not all of the ads successfully entertained me, unless shocking me senseless and forcing me to confront the bleak realities of capitalism and consumerism counts as entertainment. 

Eminem was in a Chrysler commercial. Yes, yes he was. I know Chrysler is a Detroit-based company, and there are plenty of people out there who would say he’s just doing it to support his struggling hometown. But is that enough of a rationalization? Can we please see the paycheck Em got for his cameo? It had to have been huge. I guess everyone can sell out to the establishment, even Slim Shady.

There’s more. P. Diddy was in a Mercedes commercial. I could go ahead and cry. Why are our musicians so willing to align themselves with material goods? I guess it’s because so many musicians and pop stars represent luxury goods in their music, which is basically free advertising (think Gucci Mane… his NAME is Gucci) so maybe it’s time they actually got paid to do it. Perhaps it’s another smart business move for Diddy… but whatever happened to Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems? Now it seems like Mo’ Mercedes, Mo’ Money… Mo’ Money. Period. Seems like the only problem now is not getting mo’ money.

The cast of Glee had a commercial during the Super Bowl and an entire episode after the Super Bowl dedicated to Chevrolet. What happened to aspiring actors, singers, and dancers wanting to star in musicals and make films and write plays and share the experience with a live audience? Why would a high school glee club’s main ambition be to participate in a Chevy commercial? Commercials are for selling things, not for showcasing artistic ability. American culture is so used to conflating money with every kind of success that we can actually have a show about talented young kids who desperately want to help Chevy sell more cars.

This next part is just for Adrien Brody. Dear Adrien, you are an indie movie star. You are so cool and I am your fan. Why did you have to go a do a Stella Artois commercial? Is it really your favorite beer? I know it’s an aristocratic beverage and perhaps you see yourself as a debonair gentleman but please stop trying to sell me on a type of beer just because the Stella executives were willing to pay you enough to do it. 

And now... something especially disturbing. Groupon’s Super Bowl ad (I hate saying the name of the company; more press means more money for them) featured actor Timothy Hutton, who at first seemed to be participating in a tourism ad on behalf of Tibet. 

He began, “The people of Tibet are in trouble, their very culture is in jeopardy…” But then things took a turn for the ethically unsound, “…but they still whip up an amazing fish curry! And since 200 of us bought in on Groupon.com we’re saving on Himalayan food!” Then the ad cuts to a screen that says SAVE THE MONEY and we are all supposed to think that saving money on food in Chicago is better than a real investment in preserving an ancient and geographically distant culture that predates 200 BC.

This commercial has since been played on almost every morning show, which makes me think its obscenity was really a genius advertising ploy to help Groupon reach an even greater audience than its 30 seconds during the Super Bowl. Maybe no press is bad press, but this just feels dirty. 

There’s so much more to be freaked out about. We all expected it from Justin Bieber… but seeing Ozzy Osbourne with him in a Best Buy commercial is just too sad. What happened to the old Ozzy (aside from decades of drug abuse)? Did the anti-establishment mores of Black Sabbath die like the Wicked Witch of the East when a Best Buy dropped from the sky? It looks like the time when artists didn’t have a price and people made music for love instead of money was just a fairy tale.

matter

what matters to the universe

there were reports

of that which is tempura

quietly consensual

a dog with tail in mouth

the moon is a broken condom spilling

luminescence everywhere

it was the way she stepped soundlessly

over the dry leaves

you looked at the painting,

that is why you are sick

more alike than

we understand we are

the illusion of power

is power itself

grew together/-\equivocally up

an insistence 
mortar
adjust slowly
adjust Sir Beautiful
adjust

the jury decides behind the wall of your choice
your jury derides behind your jury's henchmen
and mine, me looking to you
through an explanation
and the rewards, o those rewards
will meet you halfway, Sir

cretins of continuity
give medicine
in exchange for service;
be the same or be different
it does not matter
for all behavior

an insistence 
mortar
adjust slowly
adjust Sir Beautiful
adjust

will honor your memory to honor memory

and weep, get out of the house
move
escape
self-possessed total chaos, domination
theory is as theory says it does
determine an indeterminate self

just because something else
commands the trachea
does not mean all hope is lost
or that only fear remains

the theory of the universe
is that in theory there is no universe
imagine experience imagine remember
imagine experience imagine memory --

indeed it was indignity
that caused dear ones dear loss
the great divide divideth wide
and cursed the battle for the cause --

experience magic memory
remember imagined experience
fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
what thou among the leaves hast never known

crooked pains amass indelibly
dawn bends over the horizon
while night stares up its skirt

talking about "disgusting" weather
wearing too much perfume
your rules the rules
my rules card games

black suit black pants black heels
clacking uncomfortably
underneath the granite slabs, uncultivated farmland
unadorned yet unattended, to be managed plate-by-plate

just a feeling about assumption
to canvass a carcass with experience
not enough hearing and answering
nothing commensurate with "probably pretty likely"

j lo

about the pediatrician and
another pregnancy phone call
brands little girls like cattle
until the roof caves in
a cave caving in the books, clothes, bed

the antimaterialist's dream come true
the antimatter coming true becoming you
beautiful

a margarita in a pricey dive
a margarita in a roadside hideaway
a margarita driveway
Margarita
Coup de
Cruella de
Hicks
ville

the period piece
of what exactly
pooling over the plaster
sinking by the second
no drain to move beyond
 

father fraternity

mother sorority
i am waiting for tonight
to prove my autonomy
 

with your sister by accident
disillusionment is maturity
the value of one dollar's
worth of

s
t
o
p
s

gone on the days when the sun used
to set on my empty hart all alone
in my bed tosing and turn
emotions were strong i knew i had to hold on

intergallactic chat roulette
batteries that die when you do
a thought that needed having

donovan

your language is donovan donovan

dentition

the woman in red said, "take care of your feet and rebuild"
with no teeth but gums
woman loved false teeth man
man loved eight-tooth smile

something is probably wrong
chips down and eaten up
triangles try and keep trying or else
a pyramid takes itself more seriously

little better than you could ever be
or ever could
nothing is dramatic
the out-of-body experience is so inauthentic
eardrums recapitulate
yourself laughing at yourself
when you're not laughing

pointed toe nails for the ballerina
flat feet for the tall man
green slime where the limericks were abundant
recycled recycled recycled

countless turns back to the keys and it is the keys
that earn money so you can play the jailer
less social current
more fragility
where i lay my laurels beside my underwire

the gap between gold and gold filling
gold and gold alloy
gold and gold plated
gold and gold teeth

the trace is left but never followed
no need to check
everything spilled becomes the denim
engage the eye patches your body built for you

help yourself sleep
help yourself blink
help yourself unconscious
the crystals took and kept taking
white light whited the ghosts of Yiddish past

something taken is something again

i had been sleeping in the park
on a queen-sized bed with sheets, a comforter
and four pillows
i wanted to go home
the soma stained the pillowcase
the woman was not sexy, she was famous
a dream by the window

that would not close from too much jewelry
wind tore inside and i looked for my rings

while weaving charms into an airtight seal
my mother's parents waited to take me
to the theater after my twin brother was murdered
and most people thought suicide
but i witnessed everything
and it killed everybody

ambience reads the rupture
unlike rock 'n roll
unlike tradition
the tedium affords no pleasure sufficient
to continue as we continue

we demand different hooks

exercise overcomes
the suggestion made to push 
straight to the threshold
then something else happens
all felt waves are alpha waves
 
conscious below
heaven above
the earth between, among, or else

ophidian nightmare, the kind that sleeps
through meditation to awake with hammers
for the carillon
and makes prevenient daylight
because it did not arrive with the Sun
but stanches alluvion for drought
and waits to rub sulphuric dust
oxidized by a vast diaphanous lung
for this gift, or isn't it that speaks
to not one when all are beckoned
forward in perpetuity, the stygian rotation
flouting time and space as devised
vermiculate earth, the recidivist love

to know poetry is to be a Scientist

to know poetry, a Scientist
compares grand plies to the professionals
and eats like an opera singer
and drinks espresso that has been drawn
by someone who actually knows how

subjective resonance

the universe and beyond

is either a freak accident or
an intelligent design

the universe and
beyond is simultaneous
ly a freak accident and
intelligent design

A freshly lit Cuban cigar in a train car.

how many turned to poetry
on September 12th --
of what value is the act

if something does not occur
it is either nonexistent or
unrecognized

I can do anything for 2 minutes,
in "physical therapy" is strength
in "therapy" is recklessness
to friends is "boastful"

I can do anything for 2 minutes.

anomalies arising in human/machine
interactions are available
for study and examination

pairs of operators with shared intentions
induce further anomalies, especially when
individuals share an emotional bond

When did I start liking Russian dressing?

these anomalies can be demonstrated
with the operators located
up to thousands of miles

from the laboratory,
exerting their efforts many hours
before or after the act
ual operation of the devices

You begin to care about it the same way you know
you could get used to anything.

human consciousness is independent
of the distance between the percipient
and the target, and independent
of time

between specification of the target
and perception effort, yet entirely
correlated with such subjective variables

as intention, meaning, resonance, and uncertainty

it reasons --

the basic processes
by which consciousness
exchanges information with its environment,
orders that information,
and interprets it, also enable it

to bias probabilistic systems and
thereby to avail itself
of some control over its reality

Romeo and Juliet was sad, but awesome, too.

to the rest of the world

to the rest of the world

in cubicles a qualifier for "the rest of the world"

anything unprofessional is

a little too unprofessional

the pizza boy avoids everyone

for fear of having to provide additional entertainment

before sleep binds functionality to physiology

and life reinvests the harbinger of demonstration

as concern or a question

borrowing your furrowed brow

bodies meant to move rely on paralysis to “keep going”

sit there and say nothing because the boss will hear you

but oh my god it is so cold in here

you can hear the locusts coming

internship haiku

sit at desk a while
tick tick ticks many more times
get up and go home

Adrian

which way is up

left is right and right is left

my gps system just shattered

my maps are tearing themselves to pieces

oh, my glasses grew hands and now theyre bashing themselves with their new fists

ok, here's something else that's happening

everyone in here is a clone of abigail breslin

i'm skiing

the floor is pudding

nothing makes sense to me anymore

put on your gasoline shirt and strike a match

the wind smells like cheetos and my gatorade is crunchy

and my left foot is a hoof but it's also my right hand and my mom is here 

but she looks like my mom if she was being played by buster keaton and the walls
are turning into grapes

what bizarre world have you taken me to

you did this

you turned the universe on its side and inside out

if youll excuse me, i have to continue typing on this pumpkin to study for my exams
on cakes and wishing wells

both of them are on truggsday

and now im trapped here

with solange knowles

all thanks to you

all thanks to you and

your otherworldly romance

(which i actually think is quite nice and adorable)

oh!

everything's back!

IT IS?

except i think my teeth are wooden

how did that happen

oh, that will fade

it's a faux wood finish

just drink some cola it'll rinse right out

but make sure the cola is licorice flavoured

you

you master of the universe

you queen of new england

Progress

I love you the way 

Madame Marie Curie

loved Radium.