Monday, October 31, 2011

November Guest Posts


Halloween

i've been living in filth ever since you left
because if i wash the sheets then i lose your scent
there’s an empty space where your body used to be
and the ghost of you won’t let me sleep
every day has been like halloween
the wolves just won't stop howling at me
the heart in my skeleton misses every beat
the flames of the devil are at my feet
and death is at my door

Thomas Pynchon Chronicles I


Come out, young crab, come out. I am in the place that no longer gets to see you.

You have alienated the masses. You turned "us" into "a." So complex you are, eh?

Come out, come out. Unless you're caught in a snag.

The search for The Golden Fag continues.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Gabby

We like to laugh stringy word taffy
On a cobblestone with debatable falling rain,
Our faces contorting viciously
For a Wal-Mart bicycle falling to pieces.

Our conversation’s lease has been extended
Because when we ponder we search
Through many tongue dances and waltzes
On the hunt for meaning
Taking place somewhere between our vibrant jaws


Huntress pulls the sword from the rock
And we rediscover wheels forged at birth
During divorces and hurricanes and deaths
And “Why are we here?”
Tumbles through a break in a sentence
So we fall with it.

The trickling rain is now true
Until we deny the truth,
That has fallen out of favor.

We are lies.
And as I imagine you with me and wanting
Being oscillates under nothingness--
And is it hailing now?

Giggle factory, laugh riot, sun-kissed sound
Begins while I wonder how we can be in multiple states:
You, in search; me, in wait
Always waiting
For a special word union.

We have known of this proverb of the proverbial discontent,
Of two youths standing around in wait of an ideology
To shoot and kill and bring back for the feasting of more flashing teeth.

Gabby, I will serve you dinner, 
How does Friday sound?
Yes.

We will speak as usual,
Turning capitalized ideas into baguettes
And me into cut and chewed goat cheese.

As knowing and nothingness resonate with our beings.
We will shake and collapse
And be devoured,

Until we realize it's snowing.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Esquire 78


A guy walks up to me. He is the father of a girl I went to high school with. He always makes snide jokes about marijuana when he sees me, as if he has more than a sneaking suspicion that I am an arsonist; a chronic partaker in the burning of tetra hydro cannabinol. It offends me every single time he does it, but I never say anything.

“So, how’re things over in Ithaca?

“Fuck you Mr. George.”