Letter Head

Needs work

2008-09-26T04:01:00.000-07:00

Imagine the sum of the hours I put in
beginning at nine when I first put my foot in
the door of the office where most of my life is
a series of emails and phone calls and coffees

Imagine the sum of the fruit of my labors
a series of rote tasks and routine behaviors
and ersatz accomplishments tending towards abstractions
additions, subtractions, multiple meetings and

memos directed at practically no one
relating to streamlining something and so on
and on to agendas and hidden agendas
believers, pretenders, neverending memory chains

bound to a pattern that's bound to be broken
as soon as some certain subtexts are mispoken
and opening eyes to a bloodshot revision
of everything under awoken, awoken

DFW

2008-09-14T20:50:00.000-07:00

I sat on a rock and looked at the sea
the beach was dialectic
Waves in, waves out
Of water/land
Of rocks and not rocks
I sat upon
Everywhere was a map projected in 3D
I thought

Selfconsciously, or
imaginarily selfconsciously
for the rocks were as really black-and-quartz speckled
as any old boulder-sized rocks could get,
in a world (the Voice of God)
where we have no choice but to
grin and treat it as real if we
want any chance to have feelings
It has to be real because we can't know what it means to say it isn't

at least not after young-adult-age revelations of “relativity” and whatnot, can we know

On the boulder I sat on
the beach, there were roaches on the rocks - not real roaches,
but bugs of some sort on the beach,
We (she and I) had seen these before on the beach in La Jolla and gotten nauseous like roaches make us -
But those bugs had been bigger.
These ones were smaller.
They are greyer than roaches, more segmented, smaller, more lateral antennae,
(antennae parallel with the plane of the ground or the boulder they walked on)
For here were the bugs on my boulder, and on all the beach-boulders
Were all these bugs running (not boldly, just business-like)
doing their business and cared not a whit about

My beach was a short steep hill of rocks
Or a short hill of boulders
Run down to the beach with a thin strip of sand
being lapped by the water

But off to the left of me
Off to the left of me hundreds,
or dozens of feet down it opened up, under the highway
(it was an un-named unofficial little beach along the PCH south of Malibu)
It opened into a wider strip of sand that was enough
that some folks treated it like a real beach
To the extent that a young couple lay sunning;
To the extent that some parents were sitting while their daughter was digging holes;
To the extent that one group of Young People was picnicking;
Even to the point that a beach-oriented photo-shoot was taking place:

A guy with a camera and
a big reflective piece of silver material set up while a bikini-clad putative "babe"
was kneeling, her chest thrust out in a way that was "sexy";
The camera man directed while
Others in the group sat nearby, some bikini-clad babes
as well as some dudes
And a girl who was there in another capacity because
She was unfit and dumpy
The bikini-clad babes sat easily among the dudes
(who were dressed kind of like no-good punks)
as if they all belonged there together.
All of their faces were blurry, I was that far
and the reflective material was really working, sending
glare-blasts in my direction
The whole scene could have been a story,
but was just slightly too grimy to not be real

I may have been there or easily not there
so even were my convictions to feel and to negate those feelings;

The guilt for the feeling sorry for oneself for another one's death and
the noticing the guilt which was unnameable but there. I bore it.

The bugs were still there. How easily I might have made the bugs
into roaches. They may have been roaches. To make the bugs into roaches would have been
Like lifting one layer of a map, and laying down another
Pick up the political, lay down the topographical, for example

The people in the photo shoot were just as blurry when I walked closer.

The dialectic was dead when I stood up off the boulder for
my brain was already back in the car
off to somewhere to treat myself nice
which disproves the main thrust of one side of the debate,
insofar as was there any thing else I cared about?
Did I really expect Him to write another book that good?

w/r/t feeling good,
a therapeutic massage can be a risky thing (to receive)
for anyone with a certain kind of shaky grasp of self and purpose;
one runs the risk of
the map of the body and
the map of the mind and
the map of the body in the mind and
the map of the body in the mind in the mind etc
getting pressed too hard and running together
the spaces between layers runs out

But is that part of the purpose?
an integrated sense of self – one could put it like that –
could be considered a good thing, but
what if one got mixed up and just a little lost and
one’s self or one’s “sense of self” had actually
taken root in those spaces, or
pitched a tent in those spaces, and
could somewhat comfortably sometimes exist
in there, “off the map,” as it were?
To be thrust out, by this therapeutic smashing together, then, can be painful

similar perhaps to wallowing in between the reality and the hypocrisy of a particular programmatic way of thinking such as 12-steps where I have wallowed

Change moves in spirals not circles. (Sometimes referred to as "negation of the negation") But does death?

All the while the foam

At times I called his book the "The Big Book" like in AA
There was AA in it, and so I thought: had it been his intent
actually, to create another Big Book? Another system by which
the world could be analyzed and interpreted and handled

and I remembered just now how the book ended with a washing ashore,
a rebirth, but was that supposed to be death?

In his big book though there were no steps. As I dug deeper, thinking, was there some pattern of 12 which could be gleaned? And then I thought that maybe the glory was that the system did not need steps, for that though it was an "account," of sorts, of things, it left more room for beauty, and in acceptance of more pain, more beauty. And I thought his book did not need steps, but in a way I can't describe it sadly told me how to live, or so I thought

but it didn't work for him, or if it had, it then stopped. For he hanged himself.

meanwhile I heard mostly waves, and the sun
Did I mention it was sunny?

Did it matter if there were others also on the rock-slope?

These questions seem specious

My boulder was truly as black-and-white quartz speckled as any God-honest rock
Had any right to be

I had as much right to be there as anybody

My roaches had a right to die, as did I

As if there were any other way to be

the dumb thought that if only I could have

if only he could have known

but if only

How could someone so lonely have felt okay enough to ever write something like that?

The roaches did not care; and I don’t care that they’re not roaches,
because they don’t care because not roaches is not what they are either as far as they’re concerned;
What are we called, or what are we defined as “not,” and by whom, and who cares?

and I don’t care if I sound dumb, so

The temptation to pretend to be God looking down at bugs, and reflect on their relative obliviousness; and so we are to them as God is to bugs, if the bug just wants to eat our bread on the counter and we squash it, how was it to know why? and so who are we to think to comprehend the will of G-
except

exCEPT

when the bug sees us and runs under a rock, how

when the light comes on and the roaches go running

Why don’t we get to see God’s hand coming, where’s our chance to run under a rock?
Where is our rock to run under?

Or is that what he did?

all the while the waves
meanwhile the sun
the photo-shoot

I didn’t even mention the most perhaps important part:
If, as I said, this short slope tumbled down right off the highway,
if this coast cut right across the PCH,
Wouldn’t there be cars whizzing by?
If – as was in fact the case – I was five feet from the highway,
weren’t they right there?
with the beach five feet lower, were I to whirl around –
For I sat facing the sea, and then when I stood,
I stood facing the sea –
So were I to whirl around to face the road,
would there have been cars in a blur flying by
in a rush of a blur of the tires at eye level
gray and black blobs flying by screaming

Like a nightmare, where I to be whirled around to face that fact
so instead I looked at the sea
and thought about comfort

He was very, powerfully, clinically depressed.
God rest
him
me
I

I feel smaller

Closing Windows

2007-06-21T14:40:00.000-07:00

Don't close your browser window
when you feel me walking by
This is that type of office
But I'm not that type of guy

Without rhyming:

You don't need to close your browser window
when I walk behind your desk
This is that type of office but
I'm not that type of worker

It's true I do my job sometimes
I don't know how to not do
But I'm sure that I would rather be
wherever you would rather be

If you are online shoe-shopping
I probably can't help you choose
But certainly I won't stop you
From looking at a pair of shoes

Or maybe you're just browsing
or you're talking on some online forum
I am not the person who would care
if you do that kind of thing

This is not about what I do,
even if I didn't do what I do, I
don't want that you would think
of me as a judgmental person

I am a judgmental person,
I judge Management quite harshly
When they micromanage I think
of them as somehow rotten inside,
or else comfortable lying,
or at least just quite deluded
if they think they comprehend the way
we have to do these jobs.
You should see some of the memos
that I've sometimes started writing,
they're absurd, and harsh, and damning
of all Powers Managerial -
In the end these words are just dandruff,
allergic growth material,
is why I never send them.

PG-13 Poems About Blackbirds

2007-04-04T10:01:00.000-07:00

With shaking leaves, the maple branches seem to coo and cluck;
Spring is in the air, and all the blackbirds want to f*ck

Take Your Vitamin T-V

2007-03-28T08:44:00.000-07:00

Used to be when someone told me that they don't watch any television, I would regard them with a sort of reverence; perhaps making shamefaced reference to the hours I waste watching whatever HBO puts up, plus a handful of basic cable reality shows, a few network shows, boxing, some Comedy Central fare - apparently the list goes on and on - and I was often jealous of these people who did not succumb to the temptation, and I thought with envy about all the extra time they must have for more worthy activities.
It seems to me that TV-free people used to be really rare, whereas these days I feel like I am encountering more and more of them. And I must admit that one of the ways I most often learn of these people's TV-free status is on their MySpace page, where they've answered in the "Television" category with "I don't watch TV" or "I hate TV" or "No time for TV" or something like that. (Before you make fun of me for using MySpace, let me say that at least MySpace is overtly silly rather than putting up a front of cleverness.) I have come to suspect that this increase in the TV-free population represents less a return to the woods or the book club or the salon (the intellectual one, not the hair or nails one - and not the internet one, which I will talk about soon), and rather more evidence of the role TV used to fulfill being supplanted by the internet.
This must be a good thing, right? I mean, TV is just mindless entertainment, whereas the internet is all like, learny. Plus, whereas TV isolates, the internet connects us, and is all like, community-ish, right?
I don't think I've exactly got the "scoop" on this; I mean, does anyone still think the internet is all learnish and communityesque? I sure thought it was for a while; and then one day I was like learning instead of working, at work, and I had read all the Wiki community had to teach me about the Byzantine Empire, had just skimmed through something about the science of risen bread and then read about the unusual feet of the american coot; and that was it. I was done inter-learning. I'm not saying there isn't a ton more I could potentially learn on the internet, if I had the drive to search for it. But why bother when it's so much easier to look at sports scores, celebrity gossip, restaurant reviews, and (when at home - occasionally!) porn. In the olden days of like the 1990s, the um fathers of the technorevolution predicted great things from the net, spontaneous democratic communities and vasty libraries of free information, and sure, there is plenty of all that - alls I am saying is, there is wayyyyy, way more garbage. Wandering onto the internet is looking for information is not like going to the library; it's more like going to an adult book/video/dildo store that also has like, one shelf of regular books.
It's kind of funny that this development was not obvious to all of us from the get-go. We were told that the internet would be wide-open, giving everyone the opportunity to seek out, with ostensible privacy, whatever they wanted to read, learn, look at, hear, or purchase; how could this not evolve into an ethereal sewer system for our most basic human urges.
I'm not just talking about the numbers of certain types of sites. It's fairly obvious to point out that one can easily choose to visit only the most high-minded sites. I would argue that this may be the case for now, but in the future there will be less and less room for unadulterated um... non-adultery.
We are learning that there is apparently not, as was the promise, room for everybody; at least, not within the boundaries of what will ever be seen by anybody. I don't know all there is to know about the politics of search engines but I know that if your smart informative site about Bagels doesn't already get a lot of hits, it is not going to come up on a google search on "bagels." Unfortunately, there is money to be made advertising on the web, and everybody knows what money changes. Those who are making money selling adspace on the web must, in order to keep making money, produce more eye-and-ear catching sites, which of course cost more money to maintain. So as the internet becomes increasingly noisy and shiny and flashy and video-filled (and more TV-like, really), how the fuck do you expect to catch someone's eye with your text-based bagel blog, pretty as the digital pix may be?
But I digress. My point is, the internet is getting dumber and meaner and more self-indulgent than TV ever was. To illustrate my point, look at the "Rants and Raves" section on craigslist. Craigslist, i.e. one of the original altruistic communityesque places on the internet; find a roommate, sell your desk, etc; or, just hurl racist insults and attacks at people and post pornographic pictures. Or go a step further, and check out the once-highminded Salon.com. I used to check out Salon for interesting, thoughtful articles. In recent years, as they have become increasingly hungry for ad revenue, they have gone to publishing articles notable exclusively for their potential to stir controversy, often eschewing writerly quality, solid research... a point, in many cases, altogether. The reason being that in '05 Salon adopted a self-publishing "Letters" system whereby anybody could write anything and post it instantly (and anonymously) as a "letter" in response to an article. Thus Salon letters became a sort of meeting ground for angry people who want to argue and insult people. Just as people who wanted to f*ck found an outlet in internet porn, people who want to fight are finding their outlets online. Depending on your social class, you can pick craigslist rants or the more um 'intellectual' choice of Salon (though there is less and less difference as Salon continues to lower itself). The real point (I promise there is one here somewhere) is the ability to post anonymous "responses" has superseded the articles themselves in terms of attracting internet traffic. People clearly started coming to Salon*, and staying on Salon for long periods of time, looking for a fight. And so increasingly, Salon started pandering to this kind of behavior, posting articles that would provoke e-haters to respond angrily - first at the article, and then at each other.
Take, for example, Herbivore vs Carnivore. It's a Salon.com review of a book about the history of vegetarianism. From the review it doesn't even sound like the book delves very deep into the question of morality and vegetarianism, and neither does the review. So why is the article titled "Herbivore vs. Carnivore"? Perhaps, an invitation for herbivores and carnivores to fight each other? And sure enough, that's what they did. Within minutes, meat eaters were defending their meat eating and bashing vegetarians, and vice versa. It was clear that most of the "letter writers" - more accurately, the e-haters - had not even read the f*cking article before writing their "responses." Then again, why should they? They had no intention of ever reading the book either. And this is what defines salon.com: a boring piece of writing about something boring someone else did, framed in such a way as to provide adults a forum for taking out their aggression and bitterness.
I may be picking on one sight excessively, but this is the internet, so who cares what I do? Besides, actually, Salon can kiss my ass. I would put up more links to their site to back up my arguments but I don't want you to have to look at their ads.
See, with the internet, we are in control; no wonder it sucks. Our monitors have turned into mirrors for our insides, a way to project all of our visceral urges to fuck and fight onto a surface a few inches away and just cycle it back in, over and over again. People criticize TV for pandering to our base instincts, but at least a TV show is aimed at a collective audience. Increasingly, all the internet has to offer us is insight into our most basic urges. At least if I watch "Heroes," I get a whiff of something which appeals to the masses. Even with DVRs, and cable and satellites and On-Demand, we do not have the same level of individual control on TV as we do on the internet.
As I sit here at my desk, f*cking around on the internet (in my defense, most of our internal system is down today, making work impossible right now!), my colleague is ten feet way doing something completely different on the internet. I have no idea what. Should I ask her? Of course not, it's private! It's none of my business. However, if after several hours of travelling throughout the individual, isolated whole-wild-worlds between our personal faces and our personal computers - if, once we are done we go to our respective homes and watch TV, we can talk about that tomorrow. Maybe first thing in the morning, before we plug into our isolation units for another 8 hour tour of the world wide waste of f*cking time.
So, I urge you: Get to your TV! Turn on, tune in, and drop back in, to like, the mainstream or whatever. By now, hasn't the internet given you enough of who you are to see that it's not all that exciting, and is maybe kind of gross? And a little bit just like everyone else?
House is on tonight. Or, if you don't like House, there's probably Dancing with the Stars, or American Idol or some such stupid shit. It might be mind-numbingly dumb, but hey, it's better than the internet.

From the Corporate Files of Flantek, Inc, pt IV

2007-01-29T11:25:00.000-08:00

From: Don Eddinglinger
Sent: Friday, December 1, 2006 2:55 PM
To: Carlton Turk
Subject: You

Dear Carl,

You're fired.

Sincerely,
Don

From the Corporate Files of Flantek, pt III

2007-01-22T14:25:00.000-08:00

From: Carlton Turk
Sent: Friday, December 1, 2006 2:50 PM
To: Don Eddinglinger
Subject: your email

Dear Don,

As you are my friend I feel comfortable admitting that I am just slightly worried about you. As you are my boss I am just shy of comfortable storming into your office and taking a big steaming dump on your desk without pausing to note whether your head lay on it unconscious after an exhausting session of lunchtime self-flagellation. I have been on the receiving end of condescending, pedantic manifestos of pseudointellectual self-indulgence before, but not to such a staggering degree since the neurotic grad student TA of my undergrad Intro to Religious Studies section manipulated me into reading his dissertation in lieu of writing a midterm paper, some years ago. The aforementioned worry I feel for you lies in the fact that your epistemological musings are typically more coherent than those of a teenager on acid for the first time. And let me block your counter-poke which I can see coming from a mile away i.e. no, Don, it's not that I don't undertstand your argument because I do, but I wonder if in fact you understand it and if so, why you choose to express it as if you were a very very dumb person.
In the spirit of "Do unto others etc" I will keep my reply short. Vis-a-vis your "point" about sarcasm, I will take it for what it is worth which is very little except in an alternate universe where words can be used as currency and therefore your email would be a bountiful inheritence indeed, numbers-wise. As for the offense you feel I have wrought against your precious Report on Office Morale, my mention of it was by no means, as you seem to suggest, a matter of casual flippancy towards no particular end but quite to the contrary, as should surprise absolutely no person who actually pays attention at all ever I was making a very specific point and being quite 100% as always intentional with every single word thank you very much, to wit: the Report on Office Morale showed that morale is quite high; which point I believe emphasizes the sheer silliness of some of my people dressing like slobs. By mentioning the report, I am rhetorically asking them, "Morale is reportedly quite high but is the data perhaps flawed since you seem to be committing career suicide which is not a happy-person behavior?" I was trying to be a little more subtle than that so I can see why it may have eluded you what with your newly apparent (previously repressed? maybe potty-training-gone-awry-derived?) hangups about whatever semantic loneliness you feel is inherent in anything other than the most explicit kind of communication.

Best,
Carl

From the Corporate Files of Flantek, Inc, Pt II

2007-01-16T13:57:00.000-08:00

From: Don Eddinglinger
Sent: Friday, December 1, 2006 7:30 AM
To: Carlton Turk
Subject: Policy

Carl,

How is "Causal Friday" going so far? One has to admire your managerial aplomb, Carl, if not the resultant sales figures for your group.

Despite my concerted efforts to avoid my secretary Ellen yesterday afternoon she succeeded in penetrating the threshold of my office no less than four times to inform me that she as my subordinate proxy had been the recipient of that same number of separate semi-formal complaints from your staff regarding your "New Policy" "memo," the basis of their complaints being that said "memo" was "unprofessionally and unjustly abusive," and contained "embarrassing personal insults bordering on libellousness (sic)" and other such quasi-literate pained and painful verbiage (Do your people need a primer in English Carl? It's a wonder that one of your men [who I will not name here] sells what little he does given that his clients probably gawk at him uncomprehendingly to the point of drooling on their shrimp caesars while wondering how they ended up "biz-lunching" or "blunching" with an anthropomorphic robot parrot with a learning disability [fuck it I'm talking about Ted if that wasn't obvious enough]). As to why Ellen found it necessary to violate my solitude four times regarding each of the four separate complaints despite their being virtually identical in tone and intent and alas degree of linguistic poverty (notwithstanding a few individual flourishes of exceptional abomination in the style category), by the fourth time it occurred to me that the fact that I could still hear every word Ellen was saying despite my crouching underneath my desk with my forefingers inserted snugly in my ear canals singing "I'm not listening I'm not listening," signified that her voice was at a volume and pitch suggesting that her general unflappability had been challenged somewhat by the force of these complaints. So I had her print the two emails (both of which c'd your email) and transcribe the two phone calls verbatim (her calls are all taped for security purposes).
A couple of observations:

1) Sarcasm, especially in the hands of a person with a bit of panache, can be quite amusing. It can also be an effective mode of communication, BUT: Effective in only one direction. Remember, effective communication to subordinates has two main functions, namely
i. To get your information across, and
ii. To limit, reduce, or otherwise define the volume and nature of information that comes back to you. Sarcastic language, of course, is attractive because of the alluring gap (think Chaucer's Wife of Bath) between literal meaning and real meaning; our susceptibility to verbal irony is in that part of our consciousness which stands alone on the harsh dust-blown vast plain of meaninglessness between the universes of the Signifieds and the Signifiers, waiting for mythical Mother Meaning to reabsorb it into perfect oneness again - it'll never happen - but as luck would have it sarcasm comes along from time to time with that alluring gap or slot or notch which it just so happens is the perfect size for that sore little exposed meaning-yearning part of us to lay in - for a little while - and feel not so alone for once. And then it's gone. Not to say (not at all!) that sarcasm makes us happy; that S/s reconciliation-seeking part of us only cares about its own satisfaction, and gives not a dot about pleasing the rest of us; case in point when a subordinate is whipped with a stinging criticism laced with sarcasm, that little self/meaning-seeking part of him, all comfy and confident post gap-cuddling, stands up and proudly announces, "Here I am, a pure, uncontaminated Subject! Hallelujah I have seen the TRUTH!" Which "truth" as perceived by Little Part adds extra weight and momentum to the thrust of your stinging blow, thus hurting your subordinate twice as much. It's as if that gap is now the space between the two tips of a whip newly double-tipped. Which brings us to the crux of this: What else do we know about gaps, Carl? I’ll tell you: Things move through them.
I submit to you that the gap between literal and intended meaning, the gap that makes sarcasm so effective, is the very opening through which your subordinates are clumsily lobbing inane semi-formal complaints at me like annoying grenades. Or like noisy pebbles bounced off the glass between me and the weather outside, making pinging sounds which I managed to sleep through but which awoke my bloodthirsty Grendel of an Executive Assistant.
Carl, a sarcastic approach is only ½ of a gameplan. You’re great on offense, Carl, but once you make the sprawling under-the-basket floor-tumbling layup and it’s time to get back on defense, you guard your man with your arms spread out at 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock and what’s he do? 12 o’clock all day, Carl, wide open shot. Good thing I’m above the rim to swat it down. But I’m also David Stern. And David Stern is too busy to get in the mix of actual games most of the time.
In short, if you tell your man “You look like shit, go home and change or you’re fired,” it leaves little room to quibble. Less amusing perhaps, but it’s safe to say in this case I’m the only one who found your “memo” amusing and of course my amusement is qualified by the knowledge that the only reason I’m seeing your “memo” is that it was blown in with the latest monsoon of subordinate whinging generated in your area. Carl.

2) Your mention of “the Staff Morale Committee's recent report on data from the Staff Morale Survey” as a justification for your new “Policy” is puzzling and possibly inappropriate. The naming of this very real and somewhat significant report does not seem to enhance the effect of your sarcastic upbraiding; at best it represents a waste of words, which for a very deliberate craftsman of office communication such as yourself is surprising in and of itself. More troubling is the idea that in naming this report in a context where the literal importance of words is subjugated raises the possibility that the report as such is considered by yourself to be insignificant and possibly worthy of mocking, a notion which you would be ill advised to place in the minds of your subordinates or, in a roundabout and bothersome manner, me.

Best,
Don

FROM THE CORPORATE FILES OF FLANTEK, INC

2007-01-12T10:29:00.000-08:00

From: Carlton Turk
Sent: Thursday, November 30, 2006 10:35 AM
To: (AllStaff_DistList)
Subject: New Policy

Good morning all and I hope you are having a pleasant and productive Thursday,

Starting tomorrow, and in response to the Staff Morale Committee's recent report on data from the Staff Morale Survey, we will be instituting a new Dress Code sub-policy known as "Causal* Fridays." Please dress accordingly.

Regards,
Mr. Turk

*This is not a typo. You are expected to dress in such a way as to fulfill a causal relationship between Dress Code policy** and your appearance.***

**Specifically, our Dress Code establishes that all employees must dress in a manner reflecting their expected on-site comportment, i.e. professional attire.

***Did I miss the memo that said it was okay to start showing up looking like we're dressed for a trip to the mall rather than a day doing actual business? Seems unlikely since I, your boss, would have been on the distribution list for such an important memo. (Craig, is everyone's email working okay?) Furthermore unless there is a coup d'eta underway any changes to policy are vetted through, and 99% of the time created in, my office before being announced. By which I mean to point out, my question was rhetorical, of course I did not miss any memo, there was and will be no such memo. So Ted and Alan wherefore the short-sleeve polos? Are we here to sell or to act out our favorite Dockers commercials because if it's the latter, again, we've got a flow-of-communication blockage problem because I somehow never got your requests for time off a.k.a. time not working e.g. play-acting.
Speaking of recreation, nice sweatsuit, Susie. That color really suits you no pun intended. Would you call it teal? And the material - is that velour? It looks really fine. Almost too fine, I would say, for going for a run or whatever it is your doing this morning instead of working (Terri, do we need to print out more Request for Time Off from Work forms?). I would almost suggest, Susie, if it were my business, that if you are going to be engaging in anything really vigorous that you change into some plain old cotton sweats, because that sweatsuit looks so fine that it could almost be mistaken for professional attire in some offices, but not quite, and not here, not ever. While we're "chatting" here Susie I just want to say I'm glad you are settling in so well and I hope we've done a good job making you feel welcome and of course also providing you with all sorts of pertinent information during your orientation such as our policies regarding vacation time including the policy which describes how vacation time accrues on a monthly basis at the end of the month which would of course mean that someone who had been working here less than a month - e.g., you - would not actually have any vacation time to use for a morning off running or boating for example and therefore even if such time were approved (unlikely) pay would of course be deducted in proportion to the time spent not working i.e. doing whatever non-working types of things people do while wearing sweatsuits. And while we're all here let's give a big round of "e-pplause" to Doug Reimer who based on his footwear has apparently decided to move vertically (downward) within our firm, vacating his position as Associate VP of Sales in order to "mix it up" a little more as a bike messenger. We'll all miss you upstairs Doug, but your resultant cut in pay will really help out with the budget situation. Numbers-wise some of the best work you've done for us in a while Doug not to give you a hard time though it must be hard what with half of your sales team apparently (by appearances) taking time off to go to Costco which choice of shopping venue is a good one for anyone looking to save money for example anyone anticipating receiving no bonus at all this year. Stay positive, people, the weekend's just around the corner along with possibly much much more time off for some of us!

Q: What happened to that one poem

2007-01-10T11:03:00.000-08:00

about the sort of viking guy who is also like Jewish?

A: Who are you? Well anyway, I submitted that poem to a small Canadian journal's semi-annual Long Poem contest, because
1) It's long, and
2) How many long poems can there be out there?
(1 + 2 = why not give it the old "university attempt")
and
of course most of these kinds of publications stipulate that you MUST not submit something that has already been published, AND at least some of these type joints consider posting on a blog to be a form of publication ! ! ! ! Who knew? Congratulations, me, I am published a thousand times over! Never mind that my readership is significantly lower than it would be if I wrote my poems in the bathroom stall at Whole Foods (note: check if this also constitutes publication). NOT to complain to any kind soul who does in fact happen to be reading this (Hi Mom aka "Anonymous"![AMomynous?]), I certainly enjoy the company I have, and it would be immoral for me to encourage anyone to go forth and multiply on my account.
I'm hungry.
Of course the rule as a whole makes perfect sense because what journal of new anything would want to publish something that was not really in fact new at all?
What is I think slightly less fair is the rule that publishers of these periodicals also tell you not to submit anything you have submitted anywhere else; because, God forbid, the New Yorker and Harper's and the Atlantic Monthly might accidentally all accept and publish my obscure poem at the same time! (I only actually submitted anything to one of these places, the New Yorker, and I was like 19 at the time and probably high - and No, they didn' t publish it!) I can certainly understand why such a thing would suck if it were to actually happen; However, what are the odds, considering how picky these picking persons are with what they pick to publish?!? People!!! If I am writing one pathetic little thing and sending it everywhere that is probably because I am an unpublished nobody who has a minute chance at getting anything published anywhere that pays (and I don't mean pays with a FREE COPY of the issue that has your work in it), and so the odds are next to zero that 2 or more reputable places will take pity on my drivel and decide to use it; and if they did, couldn't I just say "Thanks" to the guy who offers me 1.5 beans to publish it and "Sorry, my bad" to the guy who offers 1 bean.
The only situation where I could see it being a problem would be if like, J.D. Salinger reappeared with a new story and submitted it to several magazines with a hopeful note and a SASE, which is of course a joke because anyone who would get obvious "Yes pleases" from multiple sources would not be the kind of person who has to "submit" things places.
Before I go on any longer, I should mention that there are probably a million writers on blogs and elsewhere who would (theoretically!) read this and think, "What an idiot" because they actually know about the business and know that the submit-to-one-place only thing is either in fact quite necessary or else something that hopeful writers just ignore all the time; and here I must own up to the fact that I am probably just working out some excess caffeine ranting like this rather than doing a little research and finding out the answers myself, and I should point out also that I have submitted things places a total of about 3 times in my 15-year off-and-on "writing" "career"! ! ! So I dunno!
Have a nice day!
Raymond

A Great Holiday Recipe

2006-12-20T15:54:00.000-08:00

A couple years ago the "turducken" craze swept America like a hurricane, leaving in its wake a trail of stuffed bellies and satisfied holiday households. The novelty of the tight layering of the turkey, duck, and chicken carcasses appealed to grownups and kids alike, akin to a Neopolitan of meat. Since then the national palate has grown accustomed to the flavor palette, and the turducken has become another humdrum affair that's fun when hot out of the oven but yields lukewarmly received leftovers ("Turducken tacos again???"). Clever cooks have put down the old recipe and held on to its central innovation: the revolutionary technique of whole-animal layering.

As a result a whole new kitchen culture has emerged, and 5-star chefs and 5-bedroom households alike are experimenting with different layers of meat animals. This new style of cuisine is commonly known as "culinary babushkaism," or "meat matryoshki," in reference to the Russian-style "stacking" dolls.

I've tried several of these recipes and I've chosen one which is ideal for a large holiday gathering, because of its size and dramatic presentation. Not to mention the layers upon layers of great flavor! The list of ingredients might look daunting but keep in mind, you basically just have to repeat one step several times - namely, insert a smaller animal into a larger one.
If you've ever stuffed your foot into an almost-too-tight shoe, or shoved a lackadasical commuter deeper into a packed subway car, or, indeed, shoved anything anywhere that didn't seem like it was expecting to be stuffed that way, you are qualified to prepare this dish. So start stuffing - it's worth it!

* * * * * * * * * *

The Worldbluewhalegreywhalelephantrhinostrichturduckchiquailhummingbirden

You will need:

1 turkey, plucked and cleaned
1 chicken, plucked and cleaned
1 duck, plucked and cleaned
1 quail, plucked and cleaned
1 hummingbird, plucked and cleaned
1 ostrich, plucked and cleaned
1 rhinoceros, cleaned and deplated and dehorned
1 elephant, cleaned
1 grey whale, cleaned and debaleened
1 blue whale, cleaned and debaleened
1 whole wide world
NASA
fresh parsley for garnish

Place hummingbird inside quail. Place quail inside chicken. Place chicken inside duck. Place duck inside turkey. Place turkey inside ostrich. Place ostrich inside rhinoceros (if ostrich is very fresh, remove legs first to prevent possibility of residual reflex kick-out). Place rhinoceros inside elephant. Place elephant inside grey whale. Place grey whale inside blue whale. Let ingredients rest about 20 minutes.
Dig a hole to the center of the world, with a diameter slightly wider than the blue whale. Using NASA, launch the other combined ingredients into the center of the world. Garnish with a few sprigs of the parsley.
Enjoy.

Variants:

For large groups: Stuff the world into Jupiter using NASA combined with the space-folding technology depicted in "Dune."

If you do not eat red meat: Substitute manatee for rhinocerous and orca for elephant. If orca is too small to fit snugly inside grey whale, place orca inside whale shark and place whale shark inside grey whale.

For vegetarians: Mushrooms of descending sizes may be used to fill the world.

2006-11-09T11:58:00.000-08:00

On Justice

I.
Sending a guilty man to prison’s a terrible feeling
We all know guilt is not pleasant, nor is prison appealing
If someone somewhere has done something, someone can prove that he did it
If that something’s against the law as it’s written, a crime’s been committed
If that someone’s tried for a crime in a court of law*, he needs a defense
Even though he’s still innocent until proved otherwise, is the pretense
If he’s poor, his defense is provided for him by the court, free of charge
Let us pray, for his sake, his attorney’s at least not a total retard
For some reason, the good ones will often choose (much better paid) private practice
Either one, if he does his job well, sleeps well, one on a comfier mattress
DA’s (prosecutors) are often badasses with futures in politics
Campaign on the fact that you put away bad guys – the voters will swallow this
It might not seem fair, when we put it that way, for our poor defendant
Thank goodness his jury’s comprised of us regular folk – ain’t that splendid?

*It’s funny to say “in a court of law,” like they do on Law & Order –
As opposed to a trial on a basketball court?? Can LeBron be my lawyer???

II.
I spoke in a room, quite deliberately, with eleven like others
A slice of society perfectly random, my sisters and brothers
We spoke of the law and the rule of the law, not of personal morals
We put aside all of the usual weapons we use in our quarrels
Our words piled up, God-inspired odes to truth writ in the language of justice
We swapped sweet love notes on the law with the judge like Livia and Augustus*
With the law as it was, and the logic, we only could reach one conclusion
And justice was served, up to that point, I’m sure, but here’s the confusion:
What possible good is derived from sending that sad man to prison?

*If Claudius in Robert Graves’ book was right, then they wrote letters often
As Livia had the Imperial ear lubricated and softened
More often than not their letters dealt less with love, dealt more with policy –
Gentle suggestions about who was fit for death, who for idolatry

III.
Next to boxers and fighters and footballers, cops are tops at sanctioned violence
I say this without passing judgment (he said, to the crickets and the silence)
A cop, in the course of his job duties might have to take a man down
A relatively simple matter of putting his face on the ground
If a cop does this to you, whatever you’ve done or not, please don’t fight back
If you find yourself handcuffed and scuffed up a bit, you are on the right track
If you try to prevent him from cuffing your wrists, you’re resisting arrest
If you’re trying to stay standing up, I suggest you cease and desist
It’s nothing to do with the cop being mean or you making him pissed
Resisting arrest is a felony* even without one thrown punch
Resisting arrest is a felony, even without one thrown punch
We sent that sad someone to prison and left for an early late** lunch

*Actually, it can be misdemeanor - depends on the circumstances

**Is there any purpose to this oxymoron but a forced verbal tension?
Am I lobbing lawyerly lexical bombs at some facts I won’t mention?
If there is some sad thing I‘m trying to say, can I come out and say it?
Do I just feel guilty for lunching while he’s on a prison-food diet?
To put it in terms of our lunching selections is doubly insulting.
What’s singly the biggest insult is my guilt at another man’s guilting.

2006-10-25T10:11:00.000-07:00

I Saw a Young Woman Standing Outside with a Houseplant

Her face is stoic and her manner is mild
She holds the plant beside her like a handicapped child
Her gaze is fixed forward; Is she feeling doubt about
the propriety of moving a plant when moving out?
Down the walkway, into the car for a ride
Is a plant ever meant to be taken outside?

You seem human, I think. Don’t worry, I trust you
So does the notion of caring about a plant disgust you?
Don’t misunderstand – I have plants, and I like them
But their lives remind me of the lives of all of my items
The fact that my car can even move seems strange;
It makes me nauseous to imagine going through an oil change

Now, as I write this, I am clutching a pen
that might know more than most books about the lives of men
(Please know, I don’t mean to imbue things with glory,
which seems clear in light of the grossness of stories;
It ennobles nobody to say your bed has a soul
When the pillows resent you and the frame’s an a**hole)

It troubles me, catching and murdering fishes;
If they really have feelings, then the hooking seems vicious
Magical Mackerel, please grant me three wishes:
Take my bait, Die quickly, Be rather delicious
Lest I inadvertently create vegan-canon-fodder,
Let me sprinkle some bouillon in your sprouted-wheat water:

Don’t bank on all that karma sparing animals will rate you
before you contemplate the fact that vegetables hate you
But restricted diets are fun; Why else would some people starve?
Why would some Jewish men only eat pu**y that’s Parve?
These are the rants of a glutton, mutton-mudsucking omnivore
The war cry of the species that, so far, has won the war

Flesh-eaters will yield to the age of the microbes;
Germs see us on the menu, and say “I really like those”
But it’s mean to mock omnivores; Don’t laugh at a goat’s meal
‘cause his food looks like sh*t when your a** looks like oatmeal
I digress: Oh slum-lord of your vegetable garden,
Mother Earth doesn’t like you, I’m begging your pardon:

Dear raspberry canner, dear dill-pickle diller,
Dear nutri-rich ritual serial killer;
I wanted to sing a fond song about goat cheese,
but I couldn’t remember the words, so I wrote these:
We can inject human ligaments with some spider’s silk,
but there’s no cheddar cheese made from human breast milk

Why is that? If you offered such a product, I’d buy it;
And would it not fit a cheese-eating vegan-man’s diet?
For the source, of course, would be consenting adults,
Who had sold their own milk, and didn’t mind how it felt
So no earthly creature’s abused or exploited
And all that bad karma adroitly avoided

The question, of course, is what did the girl eat
That went into the milk that came out of her teat?
For her cheddar can hardly be considered pure
If she’s eating pigs stewed in their own manure
Speaking of sh*t, sh*t’s an animal product
That’s karma-free; animals no longer want it

Can I be un-ironic, comparing such turds
non-self-deprecatingly, to my own words,
insofar as they are mine, but once released from me,
vacate my conscience as if they have ceased to be?
This belies my earlier sh*t-eating statement,
For beasts mark their trees, prairies, workplaces, basements,

and social milieus with excretive creations
like calling cards stating their ranks or their stations
in life, as it were. So what is my purpose,
in flogging men, beasts, piles of sh*t, plants and carcasses?
Ostensibly, I was “inspired” by a plant,
and I tried to make it about me. But I can’t

What makes humans fawn over flowers and houseplants?
Why can a fern own counter-space that a mouse can’t?
Glue-traps for rats, poisoned motel rooms for roaches
While tulip bulbs bulge and cruel ivy encroaches
on our human world that is peopled by products,
The boon and the burden that knowing God got us

I picture that girl standing there with her plant pot
and want to say something acute, but I can not
For all I know, she’s thinking all about kittens or
knitting her boyfriend a new pair of mittens for
Winter, while holding her houseplant distractedly
Quite unaware of how it’s impacted me

She may notice, once it takes root in its new room,
its leaves growing fuller, or maybe a new bloom
reflects warmer colors, expressing its gratitude
Maybe her plant grows a positive attitude
In all likelihood, she won’t realize her
plant has been fed by my rank fertilizer here

Meet me in the pram

2006-09-22T11:26:00.000-07:00

O, the burdern of self-consciousness
Meet me in the pram
Cover me in Cottonelle (TM)
A milkfed mottled yam

Bury me in britches big - the dirty ones -
God damn

I have to go to school, you c*nt
Meet me on the tram

I have to go to school, consent
to meet me on the tram
I'll hold a red tin lunchbox holding
wet, suspended ham
You hold a bag of books, or maybe
brittle blocks of bran

Slow, the bus approach a bridge
Leaping off the span

Leaping off the bridge's span
A bitter, lonely man
Leaping, though his cupboards full of
tuna by the can
Why would someone never ill, with
food always at hand,
want to take his own life?
Simple: Because he can

That's over, passing by the bridge
our double bus-cum-tram
Topping yonder treed hill stands
a block of marzipan
That's the school wherein we sit
and listen to the man
In pictures, in the books we read,
he'd whack us on the hand
No more time for that, we have
careers must need be planned
The test is done, the bubbles burst,
no Scantron left unscanned
I wish somebody soft and warm
would take us by the hand

Someone soft and warm, or cold,
should hold my little hand
Once grown fat and lily white
now made of marzipan
A hand once firm and plastic,
now a bacon-wrapped tin can
Hardly human cattle, I
could hardly feed a man
Believe you me, I'm bloody old,
I'll bleed out when I can

I hardly can believe I once
was carried in that pram
It's easier to fathom when
I see that I still am
The burden of self-consciousness
is pried out of the coffin
and rolls away
The blood can breathe
The ligatures can soften
The body's million mouths
can open wide a loving yawn
My cells resolve into a cloud
Meet me in the dawn

Click on Comic to see it bigger

2006-09-04T22:50:00.000-07:00

Poetry Time

2006-08-03T08:43:00.000-07:00

The morning drizzle's tiny like the tears of hummingbirds
A cloud is like a dream; a fart's a cloud of tiny turds

- Walter Pearly Wescott (1838-1848)

Mountain Theme

Sour mountain air
Rotting wildflowers
Pungent like your farts after too much kishka
How could a scene of such profound visual beauty
flagellate one's sensibilities like so many long tendrils
of hard unyielding truth?

The flowers look like painted whores,
yet the strumpets in the valley won't give anything more
than a "sensual massage" for less than the price
of half a pony

- Nikolai the Unwieldy (1610 - 1820)

Cloud of gas
from your ass
detonates the senses

Bitter poison
Call the boys in
Cover up the blintzes

- Traditional Yiddush lullaby

Dinner Haiku

Chopsticks cease clicking
Wife, you've stopped your eating - Why?
Eyes closed, you grimace

I reach for your arm -
Are you okay? Oh, I see -
Take some Beano, bitch

- Shunsho (1202 - 1237)

Click on image for to see bigger

2006-06-06T07:04:00.000-07:00

Pinky Squirrel

2006-05-08T22:52:00.000-07:00

Here is a comic I made. I am looking into ways to post online, this prolly ai't the best. But you can click on each of the 4 pages to make them bigger.

This might have been funny...

2006-05-08T10:35:00.000-07:00

... if I had posted it on Friday. But yet, probably not:

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

And if you don't wash your hands after contact with someone suffering from conjuntivitis,
Happy Pink-O de Eye-O!

If you go to bed with an elderly person,
Happy Wrinkly Thighs-O!

If your Mom likes to cook with skunk,
Happy Stinky Pot-Pie-O!

If you try to get rid of it and it clogs up the garbage disposal for weeks,
Happy Sink Full of Flies-O!

If your father beats you about the face with sausages,
Happy Links in the Eye-O!

If you like thick french fries with an interesting exterior texture,
Happy Crinkle-Cut Fries-O!

If you are an alcoholic and you decide to have just one Corona and maybe one shot of Cuervo to celebrate the day the Mexicans beat the French,
Happy Drink 'til you Die-O!

That last one was like, the serious one. That and the one about the pot-pie.

Love,
Me

Motherfucking New Poem

2006-05-05T09:36:00.000-07:00

Probably

So much of my life I have been
trying to be cute and it's
apparent this has been
a rather frivolous pursuit and so
I think that I might soon
give up and take another route
perhaps a one that won't make
persons want to punch me
in the mouth

The fact is no one ever really
punched me in the mouth at least
not in a way where beating me
was what it was about insofar
as I think this kid in 1st
grade who I ratted out but
only after I had punched his
stomach he then punched me back

It's important that I mention
that I merely punched him back
because he'd punched me in the
stomach, it was him on the attack
and then I punched him in the
mouth (that's how it happened, then, in
fact) but not so hard but he
punched harder when he punched
me in the eye

It was a bigger deal, to me,
that he had punched my eye
cause punching faces was a
bigger deal and I started to cry
and I don't know him, who he
is and so I'll never ask him
why and even if he still
remembers, and I think his
name was Ian.

I think his name is Ian but
I don't know who he is or
if he's even still alive and
if so, what's his line of business
and would he remember me, and
does he have a wife and
kids or is he dead because
he joined the army or OD'd
on drugs.

There were some other kids in school
I'm sure got into drugs because
they had that kind of family and
wanted to be thugs and I
don't mean to make
assumptions based on how a
person looks but certain guys,
the way they look, they probably
get into drugs at some point.

This guy likes you

2006-04-21T10:58:00.000-07:00

This is my friend Sammownes. You can read more about him/by him at:

http://sammownes.blogspot.com/

Yeah!

New Recipe

2006-04-21T10:53:00.000-07:00

Death Stars of David

1. Assemble ingredients for one batch of matzoh balls
2. Substitute bacon fat for cooking oil
3. Cook it and eat it
4. Call your orthodox uncle and tell him about what you just did in your best Darth Vader voice
5. Evil!

New Bad Poem

2006-04-21T10:46:00.000-07:00

Hi! It's time for a poem that is bad. Probably not good, too, but definitely it is bad! Happy day! I love you!

I can't decide whether to name it Clothing Time or Cloning Time and really, neither of them is relevant

(a poem by me)

My role is to proliferate profiteroles
My rate is over fifty-five percent per plate
My working space is narrow, work is harrowing
My neighbor pokes the chicken marrow out of bones
His poking stick is broken and his spirit is
He's thinking about quitting but he never will
If I don't get some overtime I'll kill myself
Not saving in this day and age is suicide
My neighbor wants to steal some empty chicken bones
He's asking me to hide them in profiteroles
No
Can I get a ride home?
No
Can I borrow your car?
No
Can I borrow a houseplant?
No
Can I pick up your shift?
No
Can I work in your overalls?
No
Just once?
No

My Newest, Freshest Ideas

2006-01-20T11:17:00.000-08:00

On this site we strive to present the best, largest, ripest, most fragrant New Ideas for Making the World a Better Place to Live - or something else - in.
Some of these ideas have been invented in my very own high-tech IdeaLab; others have been cultured in my very own Jumbo-Size ThinkTank; some have been cobbled together with parts of old ideas that were discarded in my special Dumpy TrashHeap. All trademarks! The important thing is, all of these ideas are numbered, written down, and offered, to you, from me, free, of, charge! Let's begin:

Idea #1: Helping People Agree with Themselves

This is a handy discursive maneuver that can help people feel better about themselves when you talk to them, thereby raising the overall Satisfaction Index of the world's human population. I'm not sure how new this tactic is - I've just been noticing it a lot recently - and I certainly did not invent it - I just feel it's time to codify it, so that all might learn to employ it as a world-bettering tool.

Helping People Agree With Themselves (HPAWT) is a simple maneuver. Here's how it's done:

1. Have a conversation with somebody.

2. Wait for that person to make an observation.

3. Utter a short phrase expressing agreement immediately followed by a short phrase seeking agreement (Example: "I know, right?")

4. Look on approvingly as your co-conversant expresses his or her agreement (with his or herself!) with a phrase such as "Yes" or "Yeah."

5. Pat yourself on the back - you've made the world a better place.

Here's a short scene depicting HPAWT at work, featuring you and your friend Bill:

YOU: So, how are things?

BILL: Fine, fine, not bad. I'll tell ya, though, that Professor Dinkins - he sure is a mean old bastard!

YOU: I know, right?

BILL: Yeah! You know, I am happy, and I love you!

YOU: Now I feel great, too.

Wasn't that nice? Again, I don't know if HPAWT has been going around forever or what, but I have only recently noticed it as a rather widespread phenomenon. First, I noticed several people around me using it (all very nice people!); then I noticed it on TV (all great shows!); and then I noticed myself using it (I'm great!). At first I was not using it consciously at all; I had simply picked up HPAWT by emulating people I admired.

HPAWT is so effective because it doubles-up the agreement factor, and then some. First, you agree with the other party: "I know"; then you, ask if they agree: "Right?"; and guess what? They agree! Of course they do, they're agreeing with what they just said! And it's wonderful! Now they've just been agreed with twice. Furthermore, they have taken part in both the roles of the agree-er and the agreed-with. They now feel like two agreeable people instead of one! Well done.

For comparative purposes, let's see how good you might make someone feel using the standard, single agreement instead of HPAWT. Here you are again in conversation with Bill:

YOU: So, where y'at?

BILL: Oh, you know, same old same old. I tell you though, that Captain McBacon... he sure is a barnacly old bastard, is he not?

YOU: Yes, he is.

BILL: Good. Well... hmm...

(silence)

BILL: You know, I sure have been feeling lonely.

YOU: Yeah anyway, I kinda gotta... left some, uh, rope, over starboard, there-

BILL: Yeah, sure, bye, good talking to you-

YOU: Yeah, I agr- wh- I mean...

BILL: What?

YOU: Nothing, sorry, bye!

Later that night, Bill kills himself...

Hi Kids!

2006-01-18T16:12:00.000-08:00

Boy, it sure feels good to be back on the web! And how! And why! What? Yes, of course! Please!
If you don't know me, I am Monty, and this is my super-duper world built mostly for the young-at-heart... A world created by a God that hates folks with heart ailments!
I had a blog for a while when I lived in NY, you can find a link to it on the left. I haven't been online for a while because of legal issues (chiefly, the illegality of someone forcing me to write at gunpoint presented an obstacle, my being otherwise somewhat lazy and inclined to "vacationing" and "taking it easy") Anyhoo my friend Ray had this site but wasn't doing anything with it; and since he likes me, he gave it to me!!! It seems only natural that I would take over his site - after all, he and I are like the same person, but with two different names! Anyhoo while he's out saving the world, let's you and I hope to have some fun together!!!

Love,
Monty

Recently written

2005-11-12T11:13:00.000-08:00

Hi! I have a couple of poems that I wrote in recent months, and I will post them. Here is the first:

Men vs. Monkeys

You cry for men; I cry for monkeys; one of us is smarter
You have a man of letters, I've a monkey for a martyr
While reading old love-letters hurts, writing them is harder;
The ones I help the monkeys write to me come out much better

In love and correspondence there are no uncharted waters
And so the bridge you'd like to build to me is a non-starter
What's the point of bridges where there isn't any water?
Wanting something bad is no excuse for trying harder
My monkey needs a morgue, and your cold dead man needs a sweater

People make their feelings up and offer them for barter
Monkeys eat their vegetables, and dip them in the water
They form a group, with heirarchies and rules writ in a charter
Men are somewhat similar. Men kill, and monkeys murder
It's up to the beholder as to which method is better
Men wield more elaborate weapons, monkeys swing them harder

* * *

New poem

2005-11-07T09:31:00.000-08:00

I wrote this on Saturday.

Business Casualty

A steady stream of broken dreams
is flowing through my inbox
I am immune to human ruin,
memories, and chickenpox

Well ordered sets of your regrets
are spread out on my spreadsheets
A lengthy list of chances missed
for shredding into mincemeat

The balm that eases my disease is
waiting in my lunchbox
A lady's lap in Reynold's wrap
A salad dressed in kneesocks

If we could choose from good reviews
and sex, no one would choose sex
But intimacy's in because we
know the toilet's unisex

FAQ

Is an email male or female based on who has sent it?

Can little labors for our neigbors lead to fences mended?

If someone's face is in my space is it okay to dent it?

Has any slob who's had a job said "I like work," and meant it?

***

Voice Your Voice Hear

2005-10-18T15:10:00.000-07:00

What? should I do with this site? I was considering posting new writing of mine and/or of friends, on an almost daily basis. Would you read that? "If it was any good?" What the fuck's that supposed to mean?
Maybe I should start with the title. Last time I had one of these, I pretty much let the title dictate what happened underneath it. And I changed the title frequently, oftentimes giving it an explicitly misleading title in order to "trick" Salon.com blog readers into checking it out; for example, there was "Monty's 'Six Feet Under' Spoiler Site." That was a good one. Ha ha. That time I was like, "Episode 34 Spoiler: It will suck." Ha ha. Then the rest of the page was talking about the relative merits of different birds, vs. the merits of eating them (Among other things I believe I concluded - *SPOILER ALERT!* - that one should not eat hummingbirds. And that penguins probably taste shitty. And that it's a shame that geese don't taste better, because they're such assholes. And that ducks test one's very moral mettle by virtue of their being so simultaneously cute and nice and tasty. And that rabbits are not birds.)
Hmm, maybe some other kind of Spoiler site would be a good idea. Like, I could do C-Span Spoilers, where I would provide a sneak peak at what legislation will be passsed this season. Or, Historical Spoilers, where I leak juicy tidbits about what will happen in upcoming weeks of our very existence! Or - get this:

-Ray's Super Sneaky Refrigerator Spoilers-

This week: Those artichokes will probably spoil. The hummus is going to go any minute now, but I've managed to eat almost all of it.
Those leftover tortellini have been in there a while. They probably aren't spoiled yet, but because we know they've been there a while, we won't eat them, and we'll try to ignore them until the tupperware is about to burst. Those turkey franks can't be any good; but it's hard with those, because they always look the same.
The rice pudding is fine.
The sliced havarti is spoiled, but in a different way. It's perfectly fine to eat, except that it's been so coddled, fussed over, petted and preened, that it promises to make a troublesome and uncooperative sandwich.

Next week: Stinky olives, sour cake frosting. Pampered herring fillets.

Did somebody do that joke already?

Anyway, what I really wanted to do was ask: What would be a good title for a weblog? By my estimates I have about 14,700 regular readers right now, so I should get a lot of suggestions. I'll pick a few of them, and maybe put it to a vote. Thanks so much!

Love,
Ray

PS - Please don't suggest the title "Math Club," because that's the name of my band. Unless that's the name of your band, in which case: Can I join your band? I like to sing, and I'm pretty good at math. Also, I'm one of the best rappers in the world. I'm probably like, #4 or 5 on the list. Depending.

Ideas for Rent

2005-10-17T11:38:00.000-07:00

What’s the big idea? Sometimes I think of things that I think would be neat, or “really neat,” as the kids say these days; things I would like to see; things to do, or make, or something. Most often, I am too lazy to do or make them. Or I just don’t really want to do them; but I would still like them to be done. I suppose I could attempt to arrange for things to be done by someone else, with me as…the guy who doesn’t do anything but tells other people to do things. But this type of “outsourcing” requires certain skills I don’t have, such as “networking,” “motivating,” “team-building,” “asking,” and “speaking.” Plus, the doing-while-not-doing involved in this role is still a bit too active for a guy with my sort of life-style. Now for the good news:

Here is your once-in-a-lifetime chance to do all of the things I would like to see done!

Some of these ideas are for what might be called “art projects.” Some are not. Often, I will be divinely inspired while eating waffles, or sitting on the can (rarely both), shortlythereafterwhich I will present the newborn idea to my ladyfriend in the following format:

“Hey, you should do/make ____________ .”

She generally responds with some combination of a grimace, and/or turning up the volume on the TV, and/or issuing the statement:

“You should do/make it yourself.”

Which she does not mean in a mean way, just as an honest statement. Sometimes I say something about wanting to see it done but being lazy, or if it’s an art-thing I say something like “You are the artist.” Which doesn’t work. A lot of artists would like to work on their own ideas, apparently.

I myself make some drawings, which are fun to make, and comics, which are fun but require some work and discipline, which is not always fun. I also like to write and film things, but I put that in a different category (purely for logistical reasons). Anyway, that is about all I am willing and able to “make.” Except for cake. Or breakfast. Soup. Steak. Fish. Not so good with chicken. Made some rice pudding the other day, thought it came out nice. Didn’t even follow a recipe.

Anyhoo, here’s how this will work: You take one of my ideas, and do/make what it describes. If you sell it, you give me half of the money.* We both get rich and/or famous. Then we have sex – wait, never mind. Get to work!

Idea #1: The What Would Jew Do? T-shirt. I’m sure I’m not the first person to think of the phrase; but I’ve never seen or heard of it on a T-shirt. You make these shirts, they will sell like crack-batter hotcakes. You don’t need a great marketing plan, just sell boxes of them to the dudes that sell clothes in the street in NYC, where cheeky Jewry flourishes. Possible Spinoff Product: The What Would Jew Don’t? T-shirt for anti-Semites.

Idea #2: Chocolate guns. The absolute first thing I must mention about this idea is that it’s not really mine. I saw it on South Park. Cartman was eating delicious, seemingly life-size, chocolate guns. So we would have to work this out with those South Park guys. Anyways, the “life-size” part is very very important. When I did an internet search on chocolate guns, the only reference to a real life cocoa-candy pistol described molds for chocolates for some (weak!) 30s gangster-style party. (Did they also have chocolate moonshines? Chocolate Great Depressions?) Anyway, these were not life-size.
Before I go any further, I must make this statement: The life-size chocolate pistol is not meant for kids!!! Please do not mass-produce them and distribute them to your local bodegas! Moms and Dads, do not give them to your children, or any friends who happen to be “urban youths.” In fact, don’t really take them outside or give them to anyone.
See, this is one of those “high-concept” kind of things. The chocolate gun – with accompanying chocolate/almond bullets – is meant to be viewed in a glass case at a fancy gallery or museum, and/or purchased by a rich person for a very high price. I’m not sure what it is supposed to mean; or, more accurately, I don’t mean it to mean anything more than “chocolate gun.” But it seems like it could pass for meaning something, right? I have only a very passing relationship with the greater art world – so correct me if I’m wrong – but I’m under the impression that someone could, say, glue a turd to a termite, and issue it an honorary law degree, and convince at least a few people that it’s a work of great beauty. And meaning. Anyway, all smarm aside, I think the chocolate gun would look cool. You would have to make it a very precise replica (except for the internal parts of course – I don’t want it to fire), or it would look weak.

Idea #3: Glue a turd to a termite, and issue it an honorary law degree.

Idea #4: Serial TV Shows on DVD. So there was this show “Firefly” on Fox. Joss Whedon, the guy behind “Buffy,” made it. It got lousy ratings and was cancelled after a season. The fan-base, though relatively small, was so adoring of the show that when it came out on DVD, like, anyone who had ever watched the show bought it. Seeing the potential for more profit, they (whoever) made a movie out of it (called “Serenity’). So I’m thinking, if the people who watched it are so devoted, wouldn’t they buy more episodes if you made them? Sure they would. Make it a serial, like they did with novels in ye old days; have new episodes released on DVD periodically (not sure if weekly would work for this format?), and fans would subscribe, or buy one at a time, whatever. No ratings or ad-sales required.
I am assuming DVDs themselves are now cheap to make; and with a serial you would not need any fancy packaging at all. Or, you could pay and download online, though I don’t know if that makes it much easier for people to steal it.

That’s enough ideas for now. I will put up more soon. So let’s get this money! And fame, and stuff.

Love,
Ray

*The financial arrangement is negotiable. But you can’t steal anything. I know tons of really good, really mean lawyers. And FYI, you don’t need to “copyright” written words or ideas to establish ownership. You just gotta write them, is all. And if someone tells you to mail something to yourself to copyright it, tell them to take a flying fuck at the moon. That does nothing except waste your stamps. xoxo

What to Do?

2005-10-14T14:34:00.000-07:00

So, what does one do with a blog these days? I was looking around this morning, and it seems that folks do a lot of bad blogging. Bad! Good thing I am such a good person.

My first blog (there is a link on the upper right corner over there) was mostly a series of semi-comedic "rants," perhaps with the occasional "humor" "piece." At times, I did try to set up some semi-regular features, such as my interviews with people who were not usually interviewed (such as my brother Jed, and Becky, a chicken-raising lady from Wisconsin who somehow became my most devoted reader), and a really valuable series of stories written for, by, and about birds. Indeed, I daresay birds have never had a more devoted champion on the airwaves. I was, am, and always will be all about knowing them, understanding them, and telling their stories, while sometimes eating them.

The first and only blog I ever really followed was Julie Powell's "The Julie/Julia Project." If you don't know about that one, I would suggest that perhaps you ought "atsk" somebody. Oh, you're asking me? Well, mostly, Julie, a young lady newly married and living in Queens and working a dooky admin job in Manhattan, decided to cook all 500+ recipes in Julia Child's book (the one about French cooking), in the space of a year. The trials and tribs of her work-a-day life were patched around the framework of this strange and difficult culinary project. She' s a good writer, and seems like a cool chick, and what with the drama inherent in her task, the blog made for a good read. And now she like has a book out! which documents her yearlong journey. I don't think I'll buy it. I'm sure it would be a mostly fun read; I skimmed a little of it; but what was so enthralling about the blog was its immediacy. To give the book more of a "mem-wah" kind of feel, I suspect she has had to fill it in a little, make it a little more arc-y. I was happy just to read about her having cocktails and watching "Buffy" (after stuffing organs with things and sauteeing them inside ducks n shit), and now that the project is over, I don't really feel like I need to go through a rehashing. But let me make clear!:

1) I am not saying she should not have done the book. She is a classy writer who got noticed becasue of the blog, and therefore the book is precisely the right vehicle to launch her career of book-ness.

2) You should buy her book.

3) When I say I skimmed it, I mean, I think, I read a sentence or two. Which makes me highly unqualified to review it....

Which leads me to "Literary Blogs." It seems that a lot of lousy-writing, pretentious bastards have things they call "literary blogs," where they pan books and try to sound clever. It's not a good thing. I won't mention any by name, or even talk about it anymore, because I spent all my shit-talking chips a long time ago. But...yuck!

Welcome to Your World

2005-10-14T09:56:00.000-07:00

This is your first day of the rest of my life.