an honest democratic convention

the whole shabang: under 2 minutes

let's have at least 4 years of significantly-less-evil business-as-usual.

John's a war hero and lil John's adorable, they're both millionaires who listen to classic rock format radio and they understand the existence of black people

then like 3 days of clapping because neither of the john's are george w bush (or dick cheney)

during which time 407 leftists, anarchists, peacepunks, puppeteers & vegans are arrested
(along with two posterworthy grandfathers and one suited yuppie who was just passing through trying to get a decent goddamn cup of coffee and will now vote libertarian just to "show the bastards"
22 are accidentally teargassed
the rest hit up cbgbomfug, hop on greyhound, or thumb their way home
about 90 get lost somewhere in rural america
of those 90, about 2 dozen get sodomized
6 in trucker bars, 4 in trucker trucks
2 in trucker hats (that are so totally over)
7 in forests
3 in basements
and the remaining 2 are miscellaneously fucked up the ass
approximately half enjoy it
one really would have but the guy didn't know what the fuck he was doing and should've used a water soluble lubricant instead of just massage oil which breaks down the latex in condoms and he didn't even use e-goddamn-nough and it hurt like fuckin hell
3 others are never seen from again

george w loses the election but opts to stay president
neither the supreme court, the democratic party nor the American voters object
say goodbye Syria
word

unititled

it is 3:20 AM
the Irishman is saying funny inbetween fratboy hoots
it's 3:20 AM aND i AM AT A HOME THAT IS NOT MY OWN
IT Is 3:23 and I will not fix the CAPS LOCKed
3:23 and i am pestering artists
knock knock knockin on the clubhouse door
3:23 and Centrum carb assist will make your life complete
3:23 or 24 or 357777777 and there is a little man living in my eye
a tiny mariner whose been beached under my eyelid
feeding
like a suckling barnacle
poking me with his triton fork in some phallic thrusting manner
burns when i blink
burns in front of computer screens
burns with jealousy for no real reason
and where
twitch
are
twitch
all the tattooed girls from myspace
twitch
burn
in real life
twitch
they must be too rockabilly for the bus
burm
carpooling in
ca
di
llacs
twitch
with steers' horns
-no-
ram's horns spiraling up like ancient antennas on the hood
ping
ivory white
""
jet black
<<
perfect ansel adams grayscale tits
>>
poking like jayne mansfield behind a sheet
...
poking like me from the otherside
""
the fuzziest of fuzzy dice
lips as red
as

these eyes feel

it's 3:30 in the morning and I'm not going to get laid
,at least,
not before

sunrise

twothirtynine

It feels
i've wasted three hours now
looking for local fame and notoriety
through internet popularity contests
instead of writing and now
the tv ads are all pushing motorized wheelchairs
and the cartoons have gotten as serious as they'll get
without preaching
environmental
messages
to kids who'll believe in them
until they're oild enough to act for themselves andfind themselves guilty
because out of the tooth fairy and St. Niklaus and Elmo and Jesus
and all the other bedtime stories
if the ninja turtles or the captain and his planeteers were real
they'd
be
judging

maybe it's the news
maybe i'm tired
or lying
but it looks like the skin is trying to melt off john kerry's face

i'm not sure because
even though these walls are thin
I cannot see through them
to the television set
that blues
and strobes
on the other side

unfinished political poem

If I am as good at English as I think i am than I assume that a pro-test should be some sort of an exam
put on by a panel of experts who actually understand the field of their choice
cuz it's hard to even pretend we've done what we've said to let every idiot have their voice
and in this info age you need to understand where we get our information
cause there's no real fair and balanced from npr, limbaugh, the daily show, democcracy now or the nation
and when you put grease on paper you can see right througgh
and the same shit happens when you watch greasy news
with pundits flappin one wing when to fly they're needin two
you have to wonder if what you're lookin at is lookin back at you

but i'm out of my element
the philament's showin weak so lets take a closer look at the goings on of my street
as I walk home from my girlfriends house
down Touhy and Greenview
the buses are just arriving at my local special needs school
and on one bus is a little white boy and a little black boy and they both have cerebal palsy
and the white boy's trying to get his friend to touch somethin gross underneath the bus seat
simple imaginative fun the type i'd be havin if i could
but what's going on outside the bus in the special needs school in my neighborhood

...and the more i'm around kids
the more my writing gets Seuss-y
here at the Daycare at Greenview and Touhy

oh what oh what do I see
I don't see slides for sliding now swinging on swings
I'm sure I don't see them they simply aren't there
in old East Roger's Park
where the playground is bare
blacktop
all dusty and dark

they're afraid of the lawsuits it'd bring
the jaded surmise
their afraid of the money, the public outcry
if some poor retard breaks his neck on the slide

so what's the point of giving funds for slides that aren't for sliding
or books that won't teach the teachless
any more trhan the toys already garnered from community outreach

and maybe i should mention that I wentr to special classes at a public school where they thought I was teachless
where social workers ran ragged grasping any mind that could be reached
and I was too smart to be dumb so they
said they didn't have to pay
my father had to take them to the court so that I could stay
at a school where my mother ran the P T A
and after occupational and physical therepy
and sweat pants and velcro shoes
and name the shape,
and condescension
ritalin
i paid my dues

A New Game

Weird.
So I come home from work to shower and change after a few more than a few after-work drinks. I open the door and, in my living room, my roommate Ryan is sitting on the couch staring at the wall in front of him. There's only a dim lamp on and I can barely see his features but he looks pretty intent and focused in his dormancy. In front of him is one of those 1950s TV dinner trays with the legs attached. On top of it is the glass chess set my Bubbe gave me three Hannukahs ago that I don't know if I've even opened myself. It's in front of him, with a handful of clear pieces in front of it and a handful of opaques to the left. On the right of the board is his cell phone, a silver Kyocera with a thick antenna. I used to have one myself, it's the model you get from US Cellular for the interim while they fix whatever's wrong with your current phone. He was making a point not to look at any of it, just straight ahead, off into space. Even when I looked at him, stared incredulously and exaggeratedly trying to turn his head... nothing.
Then, his phone started to dance across the tray. vvvvt vvvvt vvvvt He jumps back into lucidity, picks up the phone, looks at it, and moves one of the foggy bishops across the board and snags a clear pawn, grouping it with the others in front of the board. TRhen goes back to staring.
"Hey...Ryno."
"Oh...oh hey, man. What's goin' on."
"Nothin', just changin shirts then meetin up with Amy at L & Elle's for some drinks. Who was that on the phone?"
"Wrong number." He was, of course, lying and not even trying to make it sound believable. I coudn't figure out why he was being so weird, but whatever he was doing it wasn't going to affect me so I let him have it.
"So, whatcha doin'?"
"I'm playing a game." Me too, I thought to myself, getting frustrated.
"Chess?" I asked, just trying to make conversation.
"No," he said coldly, almost as if he was surprised, "I'm playing a new game." And with that he brushed me off with a quick pardon me look, turned around and started typing on his phone, intently.
Whatever, I thought. I was gonna ask him to come out for some drinks but fuck it. I don't wanna deal with him all night. Too much like babysitting. Hopefully he'll be back to normal by the time I come home later. For that matter, hopefully I don't come home later. And I don't know who he's playing, but my money's on Ryan. If he loses as focused as he is it'll be a damn shame.
'

Fahrenheit [made up number]: the temperature at which khaki burns

an unprovoked rant against the Chicago Cubs

last year it was a big deal when a porch collapsed in Wrigleyville (home of the lower members of Chicago's upper class and grazing mecca for suburban dads playing hooky, glazed lightly with cheap domestics as a hundred years of blue caps and fake greeks empties out into every pocket of alley, street, brick and grass)
Though seven people roughly my age died at what was essentially the same party I was at during some portion of every weekend of May through late November, I was unsympathetic. I was reared ("right," some would say, from a White Sox loving, softball-playing fanatic from South Shore and Old Maxwell) and fought through millions of dollars of Daddies' monies to find seats on the train and built a high bitterness level towards them.

As stated, I was unsympathetic. In fact, i yearned for massacre, piles of red C's reduced to sheets of ash the way the old stars pinned to my grandparents' brothers coats that lit up night skies in Bruchenwald. I wanted the statue of Harry Carey's bronze yapper stuffed with pieces of paper, vomiting up names and prayers like a too-full wailing wall.

To watch every kid drumming on an industrial bucket and every CTA panhandler ever told off in the hot breath of lite beer to spit tar om some Tomb of the Unknown Yuppie

I want to ride a tan goat to Wrigley and split the keg of single malt scotch I've tied around its neck and nibble on its beard and lick its teeth and pull it up on hind legs so we can trot and dance like randy Pans as we watched Addison, Sheffield, and Waveland burn to the god damned ground

Getting the hang of this

I'm neurotic because I know you're reading and
I wanna fuck you cause I know you're not and
more than anything I'm loking over my shoulder because I'm typing this in class
and I'm sweating torrents because the school believes my tuition doesn't warrant air conditioning

hog wet and dog ugly
even in thrifted shirts worn tissue thin
because some poor bastard who worked a crapjob and actually worked an actual job to make his living and all he got was this lousy t-shirt until he died and it was boxed up and sent out and probably found by two sets of ironic hipsters about my age who picked it up and wore it out until they got real jobs and Diesel wardrobes full on and laughed it off and boxed it up discarded and discovered over and over so by the time I shilled out a half dollar and three dimes it carried the musk and memories of three or four generations of people I despise

and the guy talkin to the guy sellin street wise that fancies awkward conversations looked into my eyes and asked if it was the place in Roseille so when I explained it his face shone with displacement and frustration

and i'm all depressed coz i'm at my parents home and I
wanna fuck you coz i know that you're alone

and I need to drinkj the best bottle of whiskey my folks' loans could afford
for the sole purpose of writing a fuck-you poem and being justified in utilizing
exclamation points the way I use spurts of come to blot out the freckles on your white, white skin

and let me begin to rip your clothes off and not nudge and tug and 'are you in the mood?'
'do you wnna?'
'i kinda think'....
and leave on your glasses coz i want you to see this and tuck your nosering in so i don't take off the chrome and go so far down on my cock that i can blah blah blah your throat and your hand so far up my ass you can make me talk like a muppet and wear my smell like a glove and you've got a tongue ring fucking use it and

i can feal myself switching gears

I really hate the fact that I want to see you every day and...

for the life of me I don't want anyone to read this
but i want someone to like it

.
..
....
........
................
................................
................................................................
................................................................................................................................
.................................................................................................................................................................................................
i will [not continue the angsty self deprecating capper

murky waters are
a) cliche, just like everything else
b) my opinion of last century's information supersomething

it is never a good idea to read someone's diary
and follow links and links
and links because they're blue and go click
and the words are white on black screen
or searing against my wantingtobebrokenwaitingfortheinevitable
core a zone

i wish i spoke
french
i wish i spoke
less

because it's never good to read the thoughts someone puts out
the way they put them out when they know someone is reading
and tread backwards until the time before you never existed as anything more than
coincidence

Day 2 Haiku

I have my own blog
only 3 years too late I
must be important

p.s. nature type things

Daily Capper [3] -things you don't want to know

this post will not prove i'm not dreaming

as per usual she is asleep in the next room
so for a bit it is just me and the radiation

[last year when I worked at a hair salon I learned computers release comparable amounts of radiation to a cross-country 747 and that the ever increasing use of personal computers is leading to a vast rise in incidents of thinning hair and full-on baldness in men and women --and we're each wasting our time here]

but for a while it's just me and the light boxes and the radiation
a balloon doggy gagging a balloon double-dong
looks over me like an ill-spirited Kali

a fly is trying to suck the nectar from the reran Irishman
daddy longlegs has made himself the king of laundry mountain
a moth rails against what it's allowed to believe are the limits of heaven
tempting gods and kinky balloon doggies alike

then there is blood
I jerk off on the futon and bleed on a towel
I brush my teeth with her toothbrush
and fill the sink with copper

this doesn't usually happen
I should mention
ignore it for a day
stop making cancer jokes

I am fat and should be asleep'
my eyes reflect glowing squares reflecting rich pools reflecting glowing squares
50/50 she reads this tomorrow
good night

1-- this dear little mother has sharp claws-maddening frustration

The man on PBS is comparing the "twin" cities of Prague and Budapest, explaining their significance to the Hapsburg Empire and my hand is on my penis. Though the events are happening at the same time, they are completely unrelated (I assure you). I am wearing Sarah's pajama pants, the black onmes, not the red ones because she doesn't like the way I flop and wag in them. She is in bed "waiting for me." I put "waiting" in quotes because what she is doing is sleeping.
The girl cat with the boy's name and no working genitals is staring off into space. The gothic craze that swept Europe and resulted in a flux of cathedrals has nothing to do with the reason it seized my ears and involuntary picqued my interested
Kafka is briefly mentioned [more on him later]
We were just talking about him, and Praguey knickknack souvenirs. Her commie pocketwatch is broken.
[Hold on- Wenceslas-fun. Hitler-hat?]
One of Sarah's European cohorts, a bubbly and much touristy student nought a shirt bearing Kafka's image and the tagline Czech it Out! "My boyfriend would love it!" Apparently, he did. If I were to mak a shirt, I rambled the way I do when I'm lying next to her under the covers under the air conditioner... it would have a picture of Kafka and just the words "Stop Smiling". It's at least cute enough.
I'm bored.
A click awa, Beastmaster falls victim to a vicious fogmachine attack
click: snowy blue cross commercial click: osama
click: "It's only a matter of time" vlick input black click
input blue ... spanish ....worship .. shopping
dating shopping by way of personal inspiration grammar spanish prayer
sleep

[when death rings the bell and the twelve apostles roll by the windows you know your time has come]