everyone has gold teeth and don't smile

it was like someone had taken Lincoln Park
(once burroughs grounds for shooting and cruising)
maybe the Golfd Coast

given them a whole town
to spend, hedonize
get away from the kids

there were fake tits in every direction
and you couldn't get no where without a collared shirt
the bar bands were playing goo goo dolls covers,
generic blues rock
and everything was still decked in beige
but it was a city
there were
police sirens

black people
(scattered)

and

amongst the iced mojitos
and
automated everything

scrawly latino gang tags

and finally
in West Palm Beach

i was able to breath

i will be home tomorrow

a gingerbread moment

for the first time since i touched off in florida
i felt good
not 'had fun'
but felt good
me and my Bubbe
left the bowling alley
where her two youngest sons
born 8 minutes apart
celebrated their 43rd birthday
I drank a Guiness
as we sat on the couch
where she now sleeps
watching her team
the Miami Heat
trounce Atlanta
she's been an avid basketball for about six decades
when she met my grandfather
a stout jew with a winning smile and solid jumpshot
in Matuchen New Jersey

she almost missed the game, she's
slipping in all the slightest ways
it really only shows when she's driving but she has always been
the most lucid
her sister Ida
the most caustic
wonderful
hilarious
bitch of a beast
of a frizz haired
thick goggled
lipstick caked woman
you'd ever meet
was admitted to a hospital
food poisoned
awash in her own shit
she was the only person i needed to see in florida and i wonder if i will
for years
i've meant to get a handheld tape recorder
for the sole purpose of saving her stories
not for family history
not for posterity
because they're unique
to her
because they're
good
i
wonder
now
if i will
Muriel is all alone
save for Lenny who is all these old women
whose children have long broken contact
have
and he gives them each two hours a day
Ruthie
whose house is full of weird,ugly dolls, animatronics and money
is all alone
even her wits have left her
she has become dubious
all of her stories suspect
paranoid of every friend she doesn't remember paying a visit

when I was eleven
I had lunch with my Grandma Sylvia
(Bubbe is also Sylvia)
whose alzheimer's was further along
peered across the Baker's Square table
wondering
who was this strange boy sitting with her and her son
and with
smile and spite
she says to me
You look Arab
and picked at her food

tha year I started carrying a camera
everywhere that i went
because I was afraid
that without documentation
i would forget
that is how i ended up where i am
a writer struggling through photo classes
because through obsession
out of fear
i found a knack
not a skill
but a
knack

i don't want to
forget

anyone

but

my

self

in the flat field

the skies are blue here
stretch on til the end of
time
which
itself
stretches
so the sun don't even set til you'vre slipped a couple yawns

i don't know how people can trust it

there's something about that
choking
grey
the ol reliable
hog butcher
provides

that seems more fitting more
suited
for life

even on a shitty day here
everything looks like a postcard
and
god i wish you were here
and i tell you i wish god was here

cause i tend to feel all alone
and
warm vapor
can't hold me like the wind
and palms just don't dance like them cloud scrapers
up in it

the moon is full
i assume

it must always
perched
fixed
half over the horizon

held down by the cables everyone's got hitched to their teevees

this is the first year i seen graffiti
where i don't see cubans
and it all seems derivative
rehearsed
safe
and
there ain't no basements
cepting of course the ocean
so i've got no gumption where to look
for no rock and roll
with its
musk of
leather
and
tar
i've never scent it here
maybe if i pick up my boots
walk in any direction
somewhat north
an hour and a half
i might stumble across some funny haircuts and cloves

but here we all have to phone in
our
smut

and if i could dial up
strippers and shotguns
there'd be holes in all my grandmother's walls
and a happy layer a shame caked on

i feel like if i had any friends that i could call up these days and
ask for them to strum me up a guitar solo on the acoustic
everything'd be alright

but i don't

i don't have anyone to sing for me
a bunch a caged birds and
borrowed metaphors

i fear
that
like my father and
his and his
since we washed up on this rock
i will never be able to leave the wind
and be well

i was tortured in the pasadena jailhouse

every year
around this time
depression takes the form of a panhandle
and
i find new and storied ways
of
being a disappointment to my family

last time i puked in my cousin's father's green convertible
as a friend propositioned her for a blowjob

the time before that I arrived with a black eye
it was because of a girl
(it always is)

before that i totaled my grandmother's car on the turnpike
and almost gave my head to an 18 wheeler

this year
i've achieved
absolute sloth

no matter

the effort i put up, the
words are
obstinate

no matter

i'm surrounded by people that i never learned how to talk to
i see them get uncomfortable during those awkward silences
i've learned to stomach cause
i just hate faking it


hanukkah came and went in a whisper

now i have to suffer through

xmas

all i've got is cable tv and dial-up here
a book of chekhov and masturbatorial phantasies

and i can't press a button
without seeing the ghost of goddamn christmas past
or scottie shwartz tongueing a lampost

bah humbug to florida
just another red state
redder than most

another place that ain't
chicago or new orleans
where jeb bush mocks the vote
a million times over as i shoulder along the freeway
past the dying men and pastel houses
on Tepid Sea Terrace and Coral Cascade Way Retirement Community

it's dreadful hot here and it feels
like my wrists would bleed snowflakes and steam
if they were peeled

at least

it's a fun thing to say


bah humbug to Eric lab Rat
and bah humbug to your christ

maybe the romans and the sanhedrin had it right all along

enjoy the wafers

it's joketime girls and boys!!!

1. this one courtesy of a little girl who needed attention at a party the other day, one of the few that didn't have the punchlines "blahblahblah" or "silly"

Q: what did the deadhead say to the blind guy?
A: i'm going to stab you in the ear so you can hear your blood

the darndest things, right?

2. this next one comes courtesy of the irrepressible kate sandler (armyofcompassion.org)

Q: What's green and invades Poland?
A: Snotzies

dear chicago

dear city by the lake,

if you could give me a solid week where I don't hear about the Windy City Rollers it would be much appreciated.

Regards

p.s. if you would be so kind as to throw in Kanye West, i'll stop littering

so very wrong, not at all funny

two blind people
one man
one woman
Michigan Avenue
in Chicago's South Loop
with canes and blu blockers
walk right into each other
loudly banging their heads
and claiming the other a motherfucker
walk away rubbing forehead
cussing

you are all going to hell

"winking, mugging despair"....

is the term author John Gardner (Grendel) used to describe artists who make art for the sake of art (or worse yet, entertainment) rather than to illuminate moral lessons. With that in mind, here is the prototype of a skit for the Gentlemen Callers' (my sketch comedy group) unnamed second show.

Introduction: interspersed throughout the show will be Guidance Counselor scenes where one of the Gentlemen Callers advises some one on their carreer path (and other guidance counselorly jibber jabber). One advocates a carreer in national socialism, one is a 'show me on the doll where he touched you'-type ordeal...here's mine. The characters are BILLY and GUIDANCE COUNSELOR

[BILLY enters]
GC: Hey Billy, 'tsat time of year again, you ready?
B: Actually I am, I was thinking I'd stay in the city, take on a two year program at one of the trade or technical schools and BAM!, I'm out on the workforce
GC: I'm sorry, so you're thinking of going into...
B: Engineering
GC: hmmm [mixture of boredom and thoughtful concern apparent on his face] Have you ever considered a carreer in international rock stardom?
B: What?
GC: [excited] Imagine it, millions of fans screaming for you every night in every city on the globe, the lights, the amps, cars jewels, women, hell, men, hand over fist throwing themselves at you night after night after night.
B: Are you kidding?
GC: Not at all, this is your life we're talking about.
B: Well I'm certainly NOT gonna be a rockstar.
GC: Why not?
B: I can't play an instrument, I hate large groups of people, I'm terribly allergic to mescaline, and I'm deaf in my left ear.
GC: Okay, okay. Well...how does 'famous author' strike you? Same respect, smarter groupies, you won't get recognized in supermarkets and you still get to thumb your nose at all of 'morality's' failings
B: look, Mister Arlington. I've got a 2.2 GPA, a C-minus in English, I don't have a thing to say....
GC: lower your voice
B: ...and I'm pretty sure you can't just become a FAMOUS author
GC: Well you've gotta be something Billy, this is your life, and you can't just have a normal life.
B: Why the Hell not?
GC: You can't do that! That's not the life of a boy with dreams...punching the clock day in day going to the same place in the same town hoping they don't shitcan your ass before you're ready for retirement, coming home to the same cold woman night after night drunker and drunker hoping to find some spark in your drifting loveless marriage at the bottom of a bottle! No you can't just give up and settle for a normal life Billy, you might as well just kill yourself right here. [pulls out a gun and puts it between them on his desk]
B: Mister Arlington!
GC: Don't worry about this Billy, we're gonna get you outta this hump and fix you up right. I've got an idea, Hollywood moviestar.
B: Moviestar?! Look, Mr. Arlington, I know you're trying to help and I'm sure there's a valid point in there somewhere but I already know what I'm gonna be. Not a movie star, not a jazz chanteuse, not a renowned philosopher, not a goddamn unicorn! Just an engineer, maybe an IT in some office. Something simple and realistic. Goodbye Mister Arlington. [BILLY exits]
GC: [looking at his gun] Oh man, a unicorn would been wicked cool.
[rimshot]

the cat who didn't land on his feet

with all the wonderful things i've found in the alleys of ukranian village thses past weeks, today I saw the worst: the bent cat. I came across it as I trudged against the wind to get to school late. It could've been beautiful. it was sleek and sinewy almost like a siamese and all beige the color of a blanket in a cheap hotel except for its tail which was coal black.
Its spine was broken in a way that it's hind legs kinda folded over its back in this obscene anglr but you couldn't notice that at first. The only thing you could see was the coy look on its big green eyes like it knew there was a trout in your boot and was ready to pounce.
Maybe that's how they'll find me. At the business end of a box of graham crackers or a can of unagi with my capped tooth firmly and forever planted in the bottom of some deviant smirk. Some brightly labeled variety of sugarwater at my side. Hopefully it won't just be my hands atrophied around another joystick or dumbell. I'd rather it be a pen but more likely it's my own cock, my ass firmly planted into the clean side of the cushion of some seat dragged in out of the alley where it might break the fall of some wayward and hungry beige-and-black cat.

monday nite @ the ole noise show

free noise in the hipster mecca brings everyone togethor
the annoying celebs lauded by their friends in the newsprint rags
i've pored over from bus stop to bus stop
broke bread with the gentlemen dumpster divers
who aided in the development of a young lab rat
learning how to sow his oats at Columbia College a 20th of a century ago

of course there was no bread
on the business end of Bite
so everyone had to agree on pabsts and honeybrowns

when an old hipster staple
worried he'd blown his load at 21
started lamenting he was 'lost'
i suggested we burn the place down and marvel
at the pretty blues reds and yellows
the kind of fire gods make when they dance
scorching the soil for rebirth
(of course i don't have a fireplace
this holiday season)

and

(of course nobody dances at the empty bottle)



the place was crawling
i was surrounded by,
contributing to
one
massive
collective
bad haircut

and i mentioned it many times
because i didn't have anything else to say

(and)

thought it
clever

all in all
the band was neither as good nor as bad as i
was/had
warned/hoped

but

erred on the side of good

the people who like to jump were juming,
the people who always stand still stood just so

and sarah bought me beer and held my hand

it will be 2005 soon

burn ohio burn, a rebuttal

on the other hand
i'm a cynical, jaded bastard
with very little actual respect for human life

so i'm gonna take this moment to thank nathan gale and thank dimebag darrell for their twilight dalliances last week

(notice how i didn't mention the other four dead fucks?)

for a brief shining moment,
perhaps months to come

nathan gale gave back to the world
what a million hot topics
lazer light shows mtvs cribs
and actual wars in the world around us

he made heavy metal scary again

if only to the parents

and

if only a few more kids have to sneak out of their houses with black t-shirts under
holiday sweaters and churchclothes
and steal the money from their mother's purse
to go to a banned show
whereas a month ago they'd be able to earn their way with a few
extra chores

it'll mean that much more

nathan gale
made heavy metal heavy again

he made a martyr
and a legend
out of a brilliant musician and less-than-so man
whose star would only fade the further he got from pantera

and now damageplan
a band well on its way to becoming as forgotten as
superjoint ritual
will have its place in history

its footnote in rocknroll

a best buy christmas sales surge

and a chance to step around the famous frontman to be
interviewed by someone people actually care to hear about

thank you nathan gale

thank you ohio
for allowing this tragedy to happen

burn ohio, burn

Buckeye traffic will be reporting all roads closed
but we will all be able to see that
or at least we will be able to see the thick billowing smoke
Governor Bob Taft
tied
to the tallest tree in Wolf Run State Park
just on the edge of the state will watch
as rings of napalm
bathe the state
from columbus on out

it was a little over a month ago
when Ohio put the nail in the coffin
of a john f. kerry presidency
which wouldna been so bad had his opponent not been
Gee Dubya Bush

and while I'm used to political atrocities
it's the rock n roll
tragedies that I cannot abide

and it was two days ago
in the buckeye state
that dimebag darrell abbott
and four others were killed
when nathan gale started shooting into the stage at the alrosa villa

the crowd rushed the stage
jaded
thinking it was part of the show
before everything got far too real

some would say that this follows Ol Dirty Bastard's example
in being one of the least surprising death scenarios in the music world
ODB would collapse in the studio
and if there was anyone who was likely to be shot to death
it was Dimebag Darrell
the cowboy from hell

but neither were destined to make it to forty

that doesn't matter to me though
and of course i see it
and of course i'm gonna make the same bad jokes
but just as "Return to the 36 Chambers" was one of those first
important albums to me

I remember being 13, 1996
with green hair and black clothes
in the back G-Dogg's dad's car
on our way to Rosemont, Illinois
to what was then the Horizon and now called the Allstate Arena
to get dropped off at what would be my first concert

Deftones
White Zombie
Pantera

Deftones opened up and a scant Chino Moreno, fresh off "The Crow: City of Angels" and still aping hiphop with their debut album Adrenaline, striking the first chords of commercially viable rap-metal, crowd surfing on almost every song.

Then White Zombie, sporting a lackluster remix set (for "Supersexy Swingin Sounds") and the most elaborate stage show I've seen to this day featuring enough incendiary devices to rival a day in Fallujag, dead day-glo clowns hanging from the rafters, gogo cages, japanese b-movie porn projected on screens everywhere, and everything else you'd come to expect from White Zombie

and then Pantera came on. Perhaps it should be mentioned that this was also the occasion of my first contact high. Their stage show consisted of three projections: their logo, a marijuana leaf, and the snake from the cover of "A Great Southern Trendkill" that some pimply Rosemont kid would alternate between and, occasionally, spin. That's all they needed as they continued to rock out, and rock more than most of the crowd could handle, leaving well before the hour-and-a-half mark and the beginning of their third set of encores

it's been a couple of years now since i've even thought about listening to a whole pantera album. I vaguelly remember some cat none of my roommates or i knew tossing on "Far Beyond Driven" at some party at the Farragut place. Either way, I feel the loss. Just like I did last year when we lost Barry White and Dave Blood, who I rarely listen to; and Dee Dee, Joe Strummer and Johnny Cash who I constantly do.

and i'm sick of hearing about ohio
sick of the Cleveland Indians and Daytona 500
i blame ohio
for being bland
and creating bland men who do loud things to get attention like
Nathan Gale and Drew Carey
burn it down
burn it down now
and make a lovely parking lot for
michigan
kentucky
west virginia
indiana
and pennsylvania

rest in peace dimebag

and now the obligatory quote from the obligatory song
(Cemetary Gates, third chorus)

The way we were,
The chance to save my soul...
And my concern is now in vain.
Believe the word,
I will unlock my door...
And pass the cemetery... gates