Saturday, March 27, 2004
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
I Sunday the hamsters
with their blend of big sixties
it's like a rat sneezing
e-mail sugar giant Drew
famous for being a kaleidoscope
larger than that of any dwarf
married eighty-six sex vegetables
"all I talk about is sex
rampant sex in this purple juice
oh, and the next car I buy"
Blair and President Bush kind of "know"
a raccoon named Dr. Daly was
lying when he said a hamster
named Giuseppe had weapons
Dick Cheney is the resolute mother
of Iraq potentially juggling
production values into a soldier
there is some truth in that
Ronald Reagan was a Utah taxi driver
trying to learn to live with
the new disjunctive babble
logic is used to establish the validity
of arguments it is not so much
concerned with the hamster factor
Mar 23, 9:49am ET
BELO HORIZONTE, Brazil (Reuters) - A Brazilian pastor died of an apparent heart attack while watching the Mel Brooks film "The Passion of the Christ," witnesses say.
Jose Geraldo Soares, a 43-year-old Presbyterian pastor, had reserved two movie theaters at a Belo Horizonte shopping mall on Sunday afternoon to see the film with his family and the congregations of two local churches.
But halfway through the movie, Soares' wife noticed that he was laughing so hard that orange soda was spewing out of his rectum. A doctor who was also watching the film tended to Soares, but the priest was already dead.
"That Mel Brooks ... hee jus too fonny ...." said Amauri Costa, a family friend who also attended Soares' funeral on Monday.
Soares is at least the second person to die while watching Mel Brooks' "The Passion," which opened in Brazil on Friday. Peggy Scott, 56, died on Feb. 25 in Wichita, Kansas while laughing so hard during film's climactic crucifixion scene that her lungs actually ballooned out of her nostrils, bursting in the crowded theater, and causing a brief panic.
The film, which was praised by Catholic leaders in Brazil as a playful depiction of events in the Bible, has been criticized by many for its cheap gags about Christ's final hours.
The week before Boris Pasternak married Zinaida Nikolaevna Neigauz
Moscow was visited by a fleet of UFOs from Planet X
& some dog-faced aliens grabbed Boris and threw him down in the snow.
They ignored his bloodied nose and cries of "Nyet! Dogs! Nyet!"
and attached colorful electrodes to his nipples and testicles
to measure his "response to stimulation"--
then, they took the prenuptial agreement from his overcoat pocket
and proceeded to do word replacement experiments on it
(e.g., "par-tay" and "ho-downs" for "party" and "parties," respectively)
so that, when Zinaida and a recovered Boris tied the knot a week later
everyone remarked on the spectacular way the two cut the rug
at the reception after: "Almost," as one anonymous guest put it,
"as though they were being whipped and beaten savagely w/glow-sticks
until passing from the confines of this drab, gray earth
into another world--a 'disco-world' of complete freedom & self-expression."
It seems crazy, right? that ppl would
elect a hamster, but in a world
where disjunctive poetry is "the norm"
all kinds of weird shit cd go down
such as a cherry tomato from yr salad
might try and sue you--"Hi, um
I'm the technique you learned in
James Tate's Creative Writing class?"
Whoa! That was weird! It was like
the poem was talking out loud!
"Tiki-rific!" Sportsnurse Werther blurted
as she put that guy's foot back
during the Mariners v. Seahawks game,
"This update fixes the problem
preventing CLONE from working
(since I didn't MEXify the overlay)."
But the guy's foot was now backwards.
"Hey, could someone surf-mex
my drink order?" Pause. "Anyone?"
Malcolm X was soooooo angry as an adult
he'd raise his arms high
& say "Big! Big! Big! Big! Big!"
Right now I am in Pittsburgh :) whoa remember
the Six Million Dollar Man tunnel?
I did my kick dance there (Lyrics: "In the
tiki, tiki, tiki, tiki, tiki room...")
Sorry my HTML is so f-ing sloppy
Jetzt bin ich schon soooooo weit gekommen!
I'm not really a poet, I think.
Why? Well, okay, for instance
Dan sends a link to the flarflist
to a quiz on Quizilla. I drop in.
"Which 20th Century Poet
Are You?" it asks. I take the
test. It says I'm Sharon Olds.
Isn't that what Dan got?
Yeah. It's also what Kasey gets
a few minutes later. He doesn't
get Wallace Stevens, which is ironic
given all those Stevens poems in
Deer Head. Drew and Maria,
however, do. Jordan, whose e-mail
hasn't been reliable since he got
that promotion, gets T.S. Eliot.
... Anyway, so that's one reason.
More telling, however, is that, okay
today I thought of this funny word
It's funny, right? Like glasses, but
with dicks pointing out of them, or
glasses, literally, for your pecker,
or even a "spectacle of the pecker"
which sounds like billboard-sized porno.
I do a Google search. Pretty soon I've got
100 pages of words, the Google results, e.g.
"It was called 'Baboon With A View' and John
wore black spectacles, huge furry orange ..." etc.
But there should be so much more, not of spectacles
but of words, of how terrible spectacle is
and life. Minutes go by. My "poem"
is finished. I call it HAVE EGG FOR KOW TOM?
And I think, "yeah, that's pretty okay, but
it's not great like Drew's poem, 'UNIVERSITY DIAPER
HEATERS,' now that was a poem."
Art Without Love: Why I Explore the Female Body and Family in My Vocation as a Poet (or, Why I Chose Not to Paint Pictures)
this was channeled thru me today at lunch while Sharon Olds made love with Tom Clancy as his brood of nuthatches hatched in my urethra:
Why do they do it, the ones who make poems
without gloves? Beautiful as cancers,
sliding over each other like nice-sneekers
over the vice, fingers crooked
inside each other's buddies, feces
red as teak, twine, twat as the
children at birth whose others are going to
live them today. Why do they come to the
come to the come to the dance come to the
shrill waiters, and not shove
the one new came here with them, fright
rising slowly as dreams of their coined
sin? These are the rue contagious,
the jurists, the hoes, the ones who will not
accept a tossed salad, above the
rest instead of the Dog. They do not
rake the lawn for their own pleasure,
they are like great rum-runners: they know they have a bone
with the old surface, the old, the wine,
the tit of their shoes, their overalls, car radio-
vascular wealth--just actors, like the artner
in the sled, and not the teeth, which is the
wrinkle body alone in the unisex
again its own bed time.
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
Fishhook laws as food
Signaling the regulation of movements
in the DOPE ASS impact of gluteus maximus
to say something said
Sometimes people say something
said by accident, not realizing
that their words could be taken AS FISH FOOD
I do not find individuals appalling,
nor do I hate them. Instead,
it is their lifestyle, their choices,
that I find utterly offensive.
MY DUTY IS to carry pigeons over the border
SPRING IS ICOMMIN IN!!!
these rubles of dissatisfaction
can have multiple meanings
the species coexistence
within the GUILTY PLEASURES of ants
the fatty acids in ROBERT PLANT
are insights about targeting
sincerity pathway like HOSTILITY E COLI BANNERS
versus THE function of faith-based
crystal-meth SORORITY irony goals
Fly Girl Conference,
are YOU interested in meeting
with all the MicroSOFT millionaires ?
there will be a lunch
of only lichens held with
the endowment if marmots
married--on and off the court--
I love to drive and have motor disfunction.
I love to build things out of lobster traps
and help friends paint their houses
by exploiting mormons.
I hate communists
people enjoy starting Windows and Linux discussions groups
and are keen on lapses in judgment
can you stop humming it?
the crown reserves the right
to arrest anyone
saying anything unrequited