New Year's Eve

New Year's Eve, passed by a
giant digital clock stuck on
my birthday.
Happy Birthday,
everybody!

For the New Year

For the New Year I'm going to stop telling The Truth.
Hasn't gotten me anywhere.
For the True Year I'm going to tell the trUth about
U, you liar. Or maybe I'll lie about U, too.
For the True New Year I'm going to gut your excuses &
Disembowel your endless dissembling
 each of you Liars I know
 so closely from so far off
 or maybe right beside me still.
For New this Year I am going to let you consider what
Justifications you sell and why I ain't buying at any rate.

Send your sweet apologies
toot suite or you shall not be forgiven
for that would be
so This Year.

Heaven Express

Greetings Beloved 'N' Beautiful Reader,
If you have room for my poems, you may have space for my lyrics & vocals in what's likely my favorite project yet - Athletic. The latest 'press release' follows.

Picking up where we left off with last year's promise to Free Athletic! you can now download:

HEAVEN EXPRESS

featuring assorted renditions of several classics; the only appearances of such gems as (I Was) Atheist & God's Not Dead; our scorching rendition of Burning Love; and our infamous 9/10/01 quartet session (absent one Bill Britt). Available in your choice of high bitrate lossy codecs, this album will enter your love.

http://athletiquette.com/earlydcr.html

Also, open recruitment for Athletic 2014 lineup is underway. Current members encouraged to join on.

The Eager Hero Returns

The Eager Hero Returns
He's viewed as too eager
And not given credit
Though the Hero was true.

This time The Eager Hero ain't so eager.
Just wants to be left alone most of the time.

It was reality TV is to blame.

Yes. Now.

Yes. Now. Today. Sensational.

Had this dilemma about love

Had this dilemma
about love
Touched it and made it
moist
Touched it and we all smiled.

Had this dilemmas
about love
we married and had beautiful
babies.

Had this dilemma
she came
and I came
& we both cheated and
came but it meant
little
'cept when we
came together.

Do you understand,
it means nothing
'cept
me
and
you
Together
?

What simple

What simple, elegant, honest time

left me cast upon
your silk sheets,
darling?
What horrible follow through
sent me packing?

It's your delicate hand
I wish to marvel at in
my palm, it's your
smile I wish to bring forth by
lamplight.

mArtyrist approaches Winter

I went to tell everybody, but I could not get a Cross.

Someone In Alaska

Someone in Alaska
read at least
one of my poems today.

or looked at
least.

This is my simple thank you.

Any visit he dare

Any visit he dare pay me

shall be the last earthly appearance

of the Ghost of Christmas Past.

All Clouds

All clouds are new
Each cloud is new
Etc

Alerting The Intended Recipient: You

Alerting the intended recipient you
to the sender immediately.
Do you recognize him from this
picture? Do you have any idea why
he might intend to send you this?

There is a certain passionate
suspicion among the department.

We suspect he did it on behalf of the surrogate. He did it on behalf of your stand-in. At least, that is our suspicion.

Does that sounds likely? Are we leading you? Please make your statement free from pressure. Just perhaps she is softer than you? And she has convinced him to tell you, and so he sent the emollient?

About This Cold

Something about this
Preseasonal cold's making me want
some sauteed spinach.
And a bottle of
Mezcal.
And a
Fallen angel.

Fast Talking Bible Assessor

I hear a fast talking gal say
Sacrifice a Stalker.
Next, she speeds through a retelling
of the tale of
Samson and Delilah
.

Her male companion points out
she tells her Bible stories from
A Woman's Point of View

- You remember the name of Hannah, who no one cares about.
(Don't forget you have pretty notes.)

I think she is studying
for life.

Can I Call You

Can I call you
Contemplasia?
It seems to be your name.

I have no cure
for what plagues you.
I'll treat you just
the same.

Get the Idea

Did someone
Get the idea
For dental floss
From eating celery
Or
From eating out?

Ticket Taker

T T : Can I have your last name?
Me Me: That sounds like a proposal.

Before The Maid

Just because I'm
the
kinda guy
Who cleans before
the
Maid comes
doesn't mean
I've got a Maid.

Tony Bennett

Tony Bennett benefits so much just from still being alive.
But I guess we all do.

these nightmares

I keep having these nightmares where I'm in love.

The Smiths

Thank goodness The Smiths recorded all those great songs so I can hear them while waiting in line at Starbucks.

I lied

I lied about my heart.

The Old Robot

I vacuumed the old robot, but the old robot keeps on dying.

Whoever you

Whoever you may be ///

SHE just introduced a song
- the last song, sorta -
on that grey market recording and didn't SHE ever sound like your impersonation of HER? The lyric (this is a new insight; take note) reminds me what I once wrote

about: you
on: a puke bag
aboard: an airplane

I should have filled it up and
sent it to you.

Engrossing imitation of the sweet life you always managed.

Cashier: Alright

Cashier: Alright, you have 45
seconds to live.

Customer: What?

{curtains}

Advantage: Capitalism

There's a lot of shit for sale in this world.
Advantage: Capitalism

Something happy

Something happy reminded me of something sad.
Something sad reminded me of something happy.
That is, they both reminded me of the same thing.

It's not your face

It's not your face I see
everywhere I turn.

It's the
back of your head.

On Facebook

Why are you on Facebook?

When I was your age
I was
on
drugs.

Yes

Yes, you

Thou shalt not

Thou shalt not have
a ringtone
that sounds like
an ambulance
or
fire alarm.

Beautiful Waitress

Beautiful Waitress: Anything else you'd like me to grab?
Me: [pause]

Not a poem: Graham Nash vs Christine McVie

As far as American/Anglo Rock Classics go (including all of North America - in this case Canada) I'd have to say Rumours is better than Deja Vu, just because Graham Nash's songs are considerably lamer than Christine McVie's songs. Well, at least Our House is lamer than You Make Loving Fun, which is downright tolerable compared to Our House and heck, better than the average pop song. Is Don't Stop equally as annoying as Teach Your Children? I hate saying this, because I hear Graham Nash is a really nice fellow. If Chicago (/ We Can Change The World) could just replace Our House, than Deja Vu would be an infinitely better album and possibly better than Rumours. I mean, gosh it's got that smoking Joni Mitchell cover, Almost Cut My Hair, Helpless, etc. Still, Rumours might win. Either way, I'd rather listen to  Pussy Cats than either of these albums. An American and his English hero, who was fighting to stay in the USA. Not to mention the heartbreaking bonus track outtake version of the cover of Save The Last Dance For Me. I danced & cried to this once. Not alone. That's not important. Harry's voice is -

The last thing I ever said, #1

If I got hit by
a bus and died right
now, the last thing I will
ever have said to another human being
was:
"Oh my god,
  What a cute baby."

Advice

How come the media has never used "Diet Nam" to refer to one of our lighter military entanglements?

I was watching a rerun

I was watching a rerun
of some happening show
thinking how good
you would look in that dress

If we had lost the Cold War

If we had lost the Cold War,
pickup truck commercials would be
exactly the same.

you never really know

you never really know
how someone else feels
until they feel nothing at all.

and even then
all you really know is it
just doesn’t matter.

Also, you are
under surveillance.

everything

everything is overstated

I want to intellectualize

I want to intellectualize
the diminishment of
my emotions
but that only
furthers the
condition.

The disillusionment of Mr. Cock & Balls

Mr. Cock & Balls

having exerted himself inside and rested beside

many a vagina

has grown weary.

He boards an endless connecting flight to nowhere.

Finally, he meets abroad.

A broad: who are you?

He: a man

Broad: seed me

{they breed}

{the child is a demonish clitoris}

The child: I need some licorice.

The parents { in unison } : how old fashioned!

The child: I am the king!!!

The world {revolts}

Tomorrow, the kingdom

{ curtains }

Use With Caution

Use With Caution - Highly Flammable

Use with abandon too

Never til now thriller: General Deficit [take one]

Omar Thimble, Master of the Ancient Art of Pain, in a new kind of role: the citizen decider.
Chief designator.

Art betrays its viewers with promotion; the cast go rogue on the producers and the authorities; free people audience.

- In a few moments we will hear from the military.

- General Deficit?

  {General Deficit turns, smiling}
-Yes?

Wide awake and no one

Wide awake and no one to be.

Nothing Miley Cirus

Nothing Miley Cirus does could ever be as offensive as being Hannah Montana.

Let's get together

Let's get together before the war's on.

I don't care

I don't care how passable he may be on SNL, Justin Timberlake's music remains total horseshit. Take Back The Night? What's his next single: Never Again? OK, next up: more fucking poetry from yours truly.

Jerk Driver

Jerk driver: Cross the street!
Innocent me: Drive your car.

I went into a church

I went into a church, sanctuary from
the hot sun and an attraction to the
hometown tourist in me. Ago I lived
around the corner but now it says
All Are Welcome, so this time
I entered. Therein remembered
the last time I roamed
a place of worship
you got behind
the pulpit;
it was
us, only:
you addressed a congregation of one.
I took some pictures;
We kissed; we must have; we always did;
we could not abstain.

This church was nicer
fancier
famous
But the experience was lacking.

Then I passed a physically and
mentally ill
person nearly folded onto the
sidewalk. S/he was
screaming about being Deceived in
Love
through a mouth
rotten with sores.

Then I walked through that art fair from
last year
but it's next year already;
Somebeast stole off with this year
buried it or chopped it into little pieces
for the freezer or hung it on a cross.

I saw a sign

I saw a sign for
Polish masses and I thought
of a throng of Poles until I realized
I was passing a church.

Other signs say keep off the grass
but everyone waters the sidewalk so
what the hell. I can't walk on water.

How people have time to judge others
when they should be busy
hating themselves, I dunno.

Not that some folks don't deserve judging;
Good or Bad I suppose we all do anyway.

So come ye throngs upon the lawn
Judgment Time is nigh
Yeehaw.

Is it bad luck

Is it bad luck to
Run
under a ladder?
Is it bad luck to be run over
overrun
or overtaken with emotion?
Is love luck
good or bad
or is love the flat out essence of
Luck?

" How you doing? "
- alright. been down on my love.
" What harkened, I thought Y(ou) + X were crazy in luck? "
- guess our love ran out.
" Remember, you have to lick yourself before someone else can like you. "
- you mean lock my wounds?
" No. It was just a dirty joke. But since you mention it, never love your wounds - They can't live without you. "
- can't love with 'em, can't limp without 'em

{ With A Little Luck by Wings plays on a pan flute or a horned skull. Hooves up, lights out - for love }
{ end }

What joker

What joker made the
Hollywood Clinic
STD test
$69
?

Someone also
working on a
Romcom
screenplay
I
hope.

Not much sadder

Not much sadder
than a birthday balloon
on a child's grave.

And yet it looks
tacky and strange.
And yet it is sadder than
Hell.

Abandoned charm

Downtown Los Angeles is
losing its
Abandoned charm. My heart is
losing its
Abandoned charm.

{ charm that has been abandoned; charm of being abandoned }

My heart has lost its
Abandon

{ bold hopeful reckless openness }

Democracy is
Losing. Or being
Abandoned.

Cast your vote to
Make love with me
Upon some still
Abandoned
Downtown factory or
Theater
not even worthy
of
Set
designation by
Hollywood.

It was a fumbling time

It was a fumbling time
in Almond Prefecture
and I found love
in the market of the ambling eye.

She looked like all the women
I've ever known
in a punk, fuck you, no one else
matters kind
of way.
But maybe it was the ambling eye
made her look like the others maybe it
was the ambling eye made it look like love
but either way it was love.

When we made love we both always
cried.

She was lost to me in a storm of
cancer and cataracts and boomerangs.

I then fumbled and sync-stumbled again,
a crippled sunbird,
back to the USA

Personality crisis ensued.
I dropped my pants on the
Tonight Show.
Wouldn't pull up my trousers til they
made me the host.

Finally, I got the job
I was born for.
The best since Jack Paar
Freed the nation from stupidity of
Leno and his appointed
successor(s)
Did it all thanks to her:
A far off dead woman in a distant
fictional land
where love exists.

Your Santa sleeve

Your Santa sleeve is dragging,
Jesus
& I found the escape hatch under the
Cross.

I left all my blood with three saints
my bones are on exhibit
my skin is over in
Wardrobe and my
soul is up for grabs.

I can't fathom

I can't fathom
the way I designed
this thing.

It doesn't work, the rules change, but still it's
impressive.

Just because

Just because
there is no
God
does He have to
take it out
on me?

On menaces ice cream

*•* On menaces ice cream: sorry, typo -

On Persian ice cream purporting to ease effects of menses:

- uh, I guess I'll still have a waffle cone. Though it doesn't pertain to me.

My date'll have two scoops.

I didn't really; make that joke. But the ice cream does; make that claim

*•* To struggling tourist girl whose boyfriend is yelling annoyed at train station CTA card insertion frustration, I offered:

- I'll show you how to put it in.

And I did. Shut up her jackass boyfriend. Brought a smile ape on her face.

Upon her face.

The ape kept walking

Arms low

Humbled. Sedated. Disarmed.

I caught the train alone, nowhere to go

Having already been

Somewhere similar

New adventures of your murder

New adventures of your murder
Your murder was strong
Your murder was right

Then came the telecast
You were alive again
Every week to be murdered

Then one week you won.

Have you heard of Trader Joe's

Have you heard of Trader Joe's
Bosnian Sheepherder's Cheese
?

It's somewhat
controversial because it's made
from the milk of
primarily older Bosnian sheep
herders.

Some dairy farmers association wants
the name changed to
Trader Joe's Bosnian Sheep Cheese but
the grocery chain refuses.

I understand; if you want the
name changed then stop
herding sheep and start
milking them.

I thought if how hot

I thought of how hot it was
and how hot it isn't
So I thought about you
about you and me
& some reason I thought of the
Skunk that kept us from your door.

And then there was a skunk right in
front of me and I avoided this skunk
too. Yet there are so many skunks but
I've only seen one
Firefly
- just now it was - and I knew it not by stench or stripe nor not in the
Dark but 'cause it lit up
for a moment as I
passed by.

I have you

I have you memorized. Like a race track.

All those years I go

All those years I go

on debating

whether The Long and Winding Road

is more tolerable

or more insufferable

with or without the heavy-handed overdubs.

But Phil Spector was clearly convicted of killing Lana Clarkson.

I wonder if anyone imagined when they first heard

Imagine back when I was two

that it was written & performed by a homicide victim who produced it along with his

widow and a

murderer.

Also:

Harrison sued over My Sweet Lord

later stabbed by man from Liverpool on a delusional mission from God.

I've got a feeling somewhere, right now

someone likely to kill is recording with someone likely to be killed.

It's not so rare, really. Not nearly as rare as all the talent listed above.

Anyway:

"You better get yourself together… Pretty soon you're gonna be dead."

These fucking people

'These fucking people with their pathetic "allergies" - they make me sick!'
Grandpa said to his nurse, waiting to see his next patient . Then he dropped dead choking on his own anger, like a real man.

Dead calling of my lonely heart

Dead calling of my
lonely heart;
to open this plane
organically / to melt through this
window myself only, keeping the seal
exact to my body till it closes
safely behind me
& I plummet down through these clouds
to whatever city that is which
lies below.

Then what? Just
another town and
with a twisted ankle to
slow me down.

Pointless, dead calling: to
limp slightly for a moment or two
until I heal and see just where
I've landed. Feeling guilty if
I scared anyone on the plane.

Guilty verdict on myself always,
even
when slapped by a raving nurse
while
pulling bodies from
my hometown's
rubble; even when kicked by a
ravishing mystic
in the sweltering burn of my adopted
metropolis. What will change here?

Suddenly free from even a limp, yet having fallen from the sky, I anticipate what follows.
The blue skinned wing-browed locals think me a deity or a trickster.
I deny
any divinity and admit to the
latter characterization.

- Then why the guilt? The wiry, azure
Madonna asks.
- That was a Hell of a trick;
I'll bet you've got more.

Love. At last. Real love. Free from judging, emblazoned with trust, not injurious in the slightest.
We wed in the floating town centre. A true intimacy with my bag of tricks and she's with child. We name the baby Jesus. For mischief. And, just the same, maybe.

Super

I've always

had it wrong

why I'll never become a

Superhero.

It's not that I ain't

Super enough

already.

It's just I will

never be

a

hero.

I have become

I have become dizzy
with lust for Tomorrow
I am drunk
with memories of
Yesterday
I can barely
stand
Today

I descended

I descended
into the sewer
made love to a
denizen of the city underworld.
Our child rose so high
back to the surface
became the first openly
Under Governor.

Let us rot
in the belly of
the old mob
town.

We pirouetted
anyway
disowned by our
successful progeny.

You never want to
die before your child
but we had to kill
the bastard one day.

Not really a bastard
but he would not admit
I was his Sire;
so practically a bastard.
Got too big for his bridges
far underneath which we'd
bred him.

Now we have a
vastly loyal
daughter,
supports us on the
campaign trail
right from the
gutter to the
White House.
The usual path.

She'll be queen of the
Oververse
someday.

I Don't Have Much

I don't have much time left /
They come for me a little past dawn /
so I make it through the bars
go sit on the chair

- last place they'd think to look ;

by the time they feel the light &
find me, I've tinkered
with the machinery
to amplify my abilities rather than
terminally diminish me.

I don't spare any of them
Drop 'em all to the glistening floor
with one last laugh each
Leave not one standing

Need the world to know
the rest of us are not to be trifled with
or stripped
in any way
or of anything

And yet the arrogant baker

And yet the arrogant baker snubbed my request to slice.

Enter Earth's Power Yoga

"enter earth's power yoga" The sign wasn't very convincing. I walked past it. fell into a hole in the ground. Fellated by a series of diseased witches. Danced with unrepentant Confederate soldiers. This is my time in Hell. Nixon singles in a run. Castro's on the same team pitching a perfect All Star game but back on earth he's still alive. He died tomorrow. He's just visiting. All the movies are sold out, esoterically the one about me which the demons especially love.

I represent myself; get off on a technicality. Spit back up the whole to ol' Earth.

Hell wasn't so bad, looking back; more like the womb then I woulda guessed. I still don't remember the best parts. But my vantage point was likely skewed. I was so very bored, and alone, and I just wasn't up for Earth's Power Yoga. Just not in the mood, ya know? Maybe if there'd been a better sign. The signs in Hell were all wack, direct you the wrong way as the Fallen Angel is wont to do. But you knew that, going in. I had no idea what to expect from Earth's Power Yoga. Pagans? Heartache? Some hybrid with Pilates or robotics? And I didn't even care. Poor salesmanship. Poor signage. They could learn a thing or two from Hell.

Oh, Hell. I just realized. That sign, "earth's power yoga." That was purely a detour toward the damned. I went after all. I recall some stretching, and some rending of flesh poses, some eternal hellfire salutations. The usual.

Note: now I'm bored again. Damn it. And Hell's actually kind of a bore, when they know you don't belong there. That was the technicality I got off on: not damned; Do Not Belong. Same loophole that makes me an outsider here. But here, there's nowhere to be returned to. Never no going back. No womb at the in, Sonny. No place like home, because home is a fiction like heaven and hell.

Windows

Windows & Android got big
copying Apple.
Apple got big
copying Xerox.
Xerox got big
copying.
I'm getting nowhere
too far removed from my sources on
Mount Olympus
Hermes, mainly, methinks; whoever. Maybe
my system sourced
Pong, or an abacus. Intellivision, or Chutes
and Ladders. The snake in the Tree.
Zoroaster or Blake. Bill
Finger or Steve Gerber.
Some forgotten saint. Some dead
Singer.  That
Charlatan,  main man of
the Mercury Theater on the Air.
Hermes, Mercury: copies (eloquent tricksters,
GUIdes, winged messengers).
When in Rome, it's still Olympus. I'm going to
fiddle with this poem while
America burns.

Hey in thin cotton

Hey
in thin cotton
Atop your bedsheets
Fan blowing, central
Air
Someone/s else beside you
Now. Tonight. Tomorrow. Yesterday.
Whenever, forever. Even alone.

I was just driving so fast now; impossibly fast;
how did I push this so fast ¿
As if speed would either allow me to taste you
Or crash me into a
Different wish.

I. Will tell

I. Will tell
The world
From a rusty
Mountaintop
I will make a florid
Gutter
I will puke
A dozen words
Or so
I will pass dirty
And unshowered
And filthy
With feeling
In the late
Desert
Still breeze
I will sing your name
And defying Satan
I will plummet
For only a
Filthy
Generation
Demands proof.
I extinguish
Doubt
I speak
The truth of my
Unvarnished truth:
Embrace me.

Weaponize your heart

Weaponize your heart
Weaponize your soul
Burn out your eyes
Sleep away your dreams
Leave your mind exhausted.
Put your hand where it's
hottest. Put your
hand on the swampy
altar of our
desire. Let it sink into the
murk where we shall finally
fully meet.
With your heart and soul
aimed for the kill
& the whole of me
distracted
enamored
by your fingertips
in the bog we've engineered.

I decided to be

I decided to be my own mascots. Which is funny, because sometimes people mistake the mascot I'm being for me.

I guess I'm having a black President

I guess having a black President
spy on us turns
"Big Brother"
into a sad belated pun.

There is no new word

There is no new word for breeze today. There are only the same words as before. There is a breeze at the beach as long as he sidesteps the jellyfish.

Royal Prop Infant

They already have the Royal Prop Infant gestating for display, as in sooth the future queen shall birth a venomous beast as foretold in the prophecies of the imminent endtimes.

Any alliance with even merely decorative royalty is yet another betrayal of all the blood we have spilled.

It will be our time to defeat that lot again, or face the return of the ungodly right of kings and queens and their privileged and insidious lineage!

Macabre Me-Thing

I have just made the
disconcerting realization
that my empathy overrides my other
capacities.
Please have no
Fear.

I had this idea

I had this idea so
I made a lake from a pond.

I need a name for it.

Have a Red, White, and Blue

Have a
Red, White, and Blue
Independence Day.
Or
whatever colors you prefer,
really;
It's a free country.

A pencil today

I found a pencil today
with no eraser.
I found a typewriter
without correction ribbon.
I technically excised
Undo from my
computers so if I try now
( if I try frantically )
all I get is a
command to sleep:
zzzzzzzzzzz…

Rectifier: false

Technology has enabled my
regretful illusion that I can
connect zzzz
correct things.

I'm sticking with what's broken
or just leaving it
alone.

I Was Driving Just Slow

I was driving just slow in the rain. The song I wrote for you came on the radio. I turned it off. And it was silent, except for the rain.

I think the moon

I think the moon is going to leave. Honor its presence in the meantime; recognize its pull; soon will be time to commemorate its departure.

Oh What

Oh what I have never
told
you in
person I
hope I have just
shown
you in verse.

No Service

No service. No assistance. No help. No love. It was the future. The future just as planned. All so suddenly. Yesterday for sale. Improved input technology. The way manufactured no longer by God. The new American way from before. The named memory. The hairless now. Totally exposed.. euphoria.

She was a practical girl

She was a practical girl who liked pretty tools. I was a temporary drunk on a one time bender. Only so much use for a bent tool. I hammered out the rest of my days in dulled sobriety. She went to the toolbox for something shiny and new. We met once again on a movie set. They were ruining my most important script. She was arm in arm with the star. He sure butchered what was left of my lines. I cashed in on the box office. Started drinking for real. That's how I ended up back in Hollywood. Rich as the finest gem in a plaster setting. Alone as the last of a breed of naive Americans. Sipping something extraordinary with which I flooded Mulholland Drive, flowing through every canyon road, down to the valley on one side, onto Sunset on the other, spreading, rolling, until every street in the city limits was a distributary of a river of elixir - sharing my meaningless wealth in a mostly destructive but ever so slightly revolutionary way.

DOMA

I met her in a nation
in a coma
I asked her name and in a
purple voice was told:
DOMA
D-O-M-A
DOMA

Now I ain't dumb
so I do understand
the lay of your life
can get screwed by
the hand of The Man
even after DOMA
Watch out, even
After DOMA

Cheering Queers kissed on the mouth!
I tanned and tried voting in the South!
I got down on my knee!
I showed my voter ID

Some even asked of my literacy

It’s 5 to 4
and it ain’t going to be any more
as long the country’s the way
it’s been long before
before DOMA

Now I ain’t the land’s most flag-waving man
but I know what I am, I’m an American
unlike DOMA
D-O-decades-after-A
DOMA

D’oh
D’oh
D’oh
D’oh
DOMA

So, duh

I am running out of ways to say how you killed me. But the bench where I first took your picture; the tree you hugged; the train stations: they all say it to me. Maybe if it keeps raining I’ll surface; I ain’t buried so deep. But it seems it never rains quite hard enough to unleash my filthy corpse.

Could this be what happens when I don't have a Coca-Cola™ for over a year?
Left for dead
as a traitor to America™?

No, that ain't it. I am just
trying to change
the subject.

Rescued from

Rescued from the storm
By a coven of knitters
on Lincoln.
Still, was all wet
already.

The head knitter
then recognized me as
fellow who saw her other day
in abandoned shelter
on Lincoln where I had said to her
-There used to be a bus here…
and we again discussed
fruitless community attempts to save the bus.

I need further rescue
of the kind
I'll never find
On this street again.

academinotes {2011}

I might make a bad viual arts teacher- because I’m over painting’s fundamnetal flaw of tiime  and quickly finished in museums. urn

barbr krgr
cindy shrmn - because of prfrmtv aspect, though i hate her inclusion
yoko ono - bcus she does all

bill viola
komar and melamid
jeff koons because he’s a joke

my favorite visual artists are friends of mine

i'm too enamored of art to fixate on culture. context is king only for art that is somewhat lacking

i like the idea of getting it all wrong viewing art and still getting a lot out of it, by being active viewer

"That was all new to cinema, but as none of us really knew how to do any different, it didn't feel like a risk." - Raoul Coutard

i'm impressed by cave drawing, by lady gaga's shoes, by the arrow in the fedex logo

i don’t see distinction between hi & lo art, just intense or weak art. weak art bores me

i just as soon look at a hipgnosis album cover or an impressive menu than almost any painting made before the 19th century
i like how doucet abandoned her art
one of my favortie visual artists ever is a comic book artist. he;s bold & inventive. that;s rare

  i like kirby bettr than lichstn & bttr than the hollywood rapists
hollywood the most popular intrdsplnry art
i see in my job what art mostly is- it’s total compromise if you want to live off it.  But hollywood does occasionally merge art with profit. It’s also hype. The poster I’ve been working on for hot book blockbuster has ‘leaked’ online, is it a real leak? is it just hype? Aren’t the great artists of the past hype? at least some of them? did they have good PR?
only diversity I care about is divrsty of individual
we’re not taking about reality; we’re talking about art
I don't have interest in art that is identified by its racial or gender afiliation. i think it’s prosaic inherently, and not poetic. dntbelieve in racial / gender pride- it's no more deserverd than shame
it's missplaced like positive stereotypes

mockery as child did not cause me to feel I should be proud of myanymore than I should be while knowing I shouldnt be ashamed

should not feel pride of language & democracy and the trojan horse, anymore than shame in their disastrous military coup in cyprus.  every generation is new and while the past is important,and nothing is original , nothing is as special as the fantasy of uniqueness in the arts

what classes are these exactly, anyway?  my real emphasis as artist is a performer, and how the visual supports that,  from my face on outward

I think painting is an urn full of yesterday. unfortunately more like the inside of the urn, not even the outside, and shows you no glimpse of life. stuck in time.  because time & the moment are the greatest thing in art.  I don't want to read a novel because the world may end before i'm done. this is a fast world. I want succint art that gets to me yet allows for more inspection if I have time. yet I still wanna watch the empire state building for eight hours if i ever get the chance because t hat will halt time , abuse it even. but painting doesn't readily allow for maniuplation of time. yet video art is ugly, if you can see the screen. installations can do it

there's some graffitti of warhol, too.

there's beutfl mntns & an empty billboard outside my window on world famous Sunset Blvd, for days now. this is unheard of.  they always are in use. instead it's actually wrapped in white canvas. I want to keep it that way. you might think i'd want to go out there and cover it with my own work, or encourage students to cover it with theirs. But, this world is full of visual clutter, and I wouldn't want any so-called artist putting up art there unless it was hot.  I'd rather have more advertising that I can easily ignore, I don't want art that I can ignore. All we have time for in my view is art that blows yer mind -hi, low, visual, American, foreign- there's some innate element that makes art good or bad, other details be damned.  I know it when I see it, even if I don't understand it.  Knowing whether art is good or bad is better than understanding it. A guy I knew could play the horn, and he thought Kenny G was better than Coltrane. I can't play the horn, but I sure know better than that. I don't know how to pass this 'eye' of mine onto students, if you're interested in giving me a shot that will be my prime objective.

I felt something about Jesus

I felt something about Jesus
just now.
I felt sympathy for Judas too;
for not existing,
for being synonymous with
a whole people,
for being a scapegoat for the
Romans.

But back to Christ.
Who is better at being Christ?
: Zoroaster? : Ian Gillan?
: Your flat screen TV with young
  Mr. Gower?

I had a sad X--Mas Eve
watching my third favorite movie
not alone.
I had a sad X--Mas
of accusations
not alone.
I had a numb New Year's
      alone with
some of my best friends.

I don't remember Easter.

And now, off season, I felt something
about Jesus.

Don't you know me, Bert?
Happy New Year to you…
in Jail!

Why don't you man up
(& come down)
like the
Father? Whose art, in heaven, has
so many shots of Thou
staying up on the cross.

Though that would oppose my feeling of Jesus.
Not about.
That's it:
Of.
My feeling
Of
Jesus.

I think I am
better at Christ even
without Gillan's chops
or young Gower's glow.

I have a certain
Jesus sais quoi.

Merci
please
Mercy on us
All.

I am trying to say none

I am trying to say
none of your names
( at least not aloud )
but I caught myself shaving
blurting out a couple of them.

Better I had cut myself shaving,
bad.
Better 'twere blood running down
my neck and my
white shirt, o'er my
naked crotch and
pooling on this
stranger's floor,
than any of your names escaping
my lips.

Overheard on Train

Guy one - " he calls soccer football "
Guy two - " my dad's from England and has a British accent "
Me - " what do you call golf? "
Guy two - " Golf? golf. What do you call it? "
Me - " I call it boring "
Guy three - " coming in hot over here! Got any more? "
Me - " I got plenty "
Guy three - " keep 'em coming "
Me - " I'm too tired "

Epic Whore

This world is full of vipers and vixens and pimps and mostly strangers.
I feel I deserve to be cast as the romantic lead in a righteous war epic, but I keep getting the whore role in a morbid sitcom.

Stretch of Stars

It never occurred to me I might walk on the Hollywood Blvd star of someone I've met.

I want a whole stretch of the street for all the stars I know that no one in Hollywood has heard of.

Scenic Prep

I am going to press you all flat and make a crowd scene backdrop out of that."
  - so the police came
It was too late.
And the newfound symphony played.

A Rat

A
Rat
crossed my path and
I thought of how they
used to make
You
scurry.

Uh Moon Uh

Dreamless sleep
and sleepless dream
I’m not from where I used to be.
So defiled by this world
any parents could abandon me,
Mr. D.

And then the moon
that hugs the tree;
and then
A Moon a
better me
& then
A moon a-lovin’ me
& then
A Moon, uh
let me be.

Now in the sun I recognize Nothing.

Peel your fruit from the inside out

Peel your fruit from the inside out.

On the run from almost nothing

I'm on the run
from almost nothing
& doing good deeds for strangers.
Stopped a lady from
backing into a truck;
Offered a young girl the
last bowl of gazpacho
(didn't even know she had
a mouthful of rubber
bands);
Let the people know
about the steam coming
off the streets.

There was stream
coming off
the streets.

My Father Told Me A Joke

When I was a preteen
I'd say maybe ten or twelve
I don't recall
My father told me a pretty hilarious
Joke I do
Recall.

He said :
Son, do you know why Greek priests
wear long flowing gowns
that reach all the way down to the
ground?

I said :
No Dad, why?

He said :
Because underneath or inside
one of those gowns
you can fit an
entire young
boy.

My mother was fairly
aghast.
But this is
Father's Day.

In Greek mythology

In Greek mythology
I'm the one who
Comes for you in
The underworld.
In realty
You're the one
Who sends me
there.

suicide mission USA

last year at this time
I planted a bomb
in my heart.



is there nothing
I can do
in service
to my country?
nowhere I
should be
when I
finally
explode?



dear Mr.
President
which innocents
or innocence
should die
in the name
of freedom
of
the heart?
just my own?



but I’ve
been such
a good
American
and I’m tired
of
dying
alone

.

I have wandered

I have wandered

as if on a mission

I have wandered

lonely as a cloud

I have hated myself for love

I have hated myself for beauty

I hated myself for nothing

and you

I have loved you

for nothing

but your fine ways 

and your diction

and the way you hold your 

head when you smile

Chicago Again

first night back
in crime city and
i nod off between blue line stops
looking at Hawks score and
someone stole my phone right out
my hands
with poems that are gone forever
that i'll never rewrite

I've been so mad at myself for falling in love
but never so mad at myself for
falling asleep

Sure Ain't Mine

All I can do in this chair is think of you. It suspends me in the air but I am caught in thoughts of you.
All I can do at the lakefront is craft words you'll never read; maybe the lakefront ain't for me no more. Maybe the words ain't for you. I think they are. Maybe the words ain't even mine.
Maybe the elevated ain't for me no more.
Nor the Loop; nor the Chagall; nor the Millennium music nor the grandest & most patient pose I ever struck in front of Essanay Studios nor acts of love in such flatlands from which I hail nor art films shown where a famed reviewer is mistaken for a critic.
Maybe I should run toward the sunset. But you once wished upon the sunset for us to wed, and the sunrise appears over the forsaken lakefront so perhaps I am stuck with the new moon in an empty sky.
Maybe I was born here, just a few miles from here, and maybe another part of me was born right here, in this chair - or was it the other chair? Maybe it all ain't for me no more; maybe it ain't even my hometown now.
Our friends' children get my joyful attention for a moment but then one mistakes your umbrella for mine. I think it's your umbrella. It sure ain't mine, rain or shine.

Tear me to pieces

Tear me to pieces
Literally, not just verbally as we're so
Used to.

Rip my heart out, not just
Figuratively as you've grown
Bored with.
I want my last sight to be my
Still beating heart
In your delicate
Witch hands.

Don't include
My remains in some potion to
Lure another.

Someone take my skin off

Someone take my skin off, all this blood I don't want. Someone who somewhere has wires for veins.

Send me back to the ocean, back in the sea, or pond even.

Keep me off the ground.

Let me sleep at night.

Monster Romance Comic

How did they end up monsters in a
Romance comic
when they were reworking our
Dramedy into a Romcom?
Where is the adaptation that ends
Well?
The Broadway musical?
We need a return on this.
No one's buying
Monsters In Romance Comics
Monsters in Romance Comics with its stellar scripting. Such augmented illustration. A superb title.
In one exceptional issue we all win when a certain Monster Romance ends happily.
On another recognized classic of the genre,
Monsters Solve Love
The main characters are monsters who solve love.

I hope I have your attention:
Monsters For Sale

I put my hand to my face

I put my hand to my face and won an
Oscar.
I had a Grammy effect on everything
I touched.
Listen, say:
Gone.

here to turn off the universe

I am here to turn off the universe.
I know you may not believe me,
  but
I have bigger concerns.

The words of the endeavor

The words of the endeavor were grand.
The results lacked impact.

I wanted to have my bones ripped out
My body ripped to pieces.
There was this massage specialist
Did the trick

I was a wonder
A jellyfish only
Madder

A piano part that won't fade

All these poems

All these poems I'm
Posting
You should be
Reading
Aloud

Sex Holiday

The President is on a sex holiday. It was thought he needed some new press. The Secretary of State is doing tons of blow with the rest of the Cabinet. Cuba attacks Miami. No one saw this coming. The Vice President, in a corset, acts decisively. Sends in some Marines and the invaders are put down. We grant Cuba statehood. Make it the new capital too. The whole state. They get to vote. The VP wins his promotion easily in the next election.
In the following war with Japan , needless millions die on both sides until Canada intervenes. No one saw that coming either.

OT '13

2013 Overcoat Thrust attendees. A fan club gathering for an obscure poetic detective unaware of his actual place in literature. Starts with a new Thrust adventure: getting to the convention held in his honour; he's going to sign some things for profit.
{ OVERCOAT THRUST ZEROS OUT ABOUT CASHING IN }

The first dark moment he insinuates the shadows. The very first chance available. They'll never get his autograph like this. He'll be out of here in no time and on to the next case.

From love to other concerns

From love to other concerns he was exhausted. Completely exhausted. And there were the dizzy spells that were also magic spells. Fainting into wonder. And the villains then began to assemble. In the dizzy magic realm there were now villains. He could defeat these villains, with near ease. But still, exhausting. And the damsel was a shopkeeper. In the magic dizzy existence the damsel was a capitalist. And with each villain defeated (even with the repeated defeat of some) he would reap reward to heap on the damsel, which she would invest in the shoppe. For she truly was a capitalist, in a fantastic otherplace accessed by his fainting.
And when he came out of the faintings there were villains and the damsel was a capitalist too.

I went home homelessly

I went home homelessly. I followed some trails. Nothing there of course.
I went home homelessly and was alone when I got there.
I painted a street number in front of the empty lot. I built a mountain there. At the top, it rained a little every day so I always had fresh water. The weather was perfect , so I was naked a lot. I turned into a bird.

Now everyone can

Now everyone can you hold hands ?

Okay

I have nothing more to ask.

I am trying to solve

I am trying to solve a puzzle made solely of one missing piece.

Write alone all

Write alone all of you.
Make pancakes too.
It's all for the dance
Tomorrow at noon

Such a lot

Such a lot of temporary encouragement without any allegiance. The new heirs disband. The heroes in absence , the opposition spent. Nothing.

My father looked like Abe Lincoln

My father looked like
Abe Lincoln
if Lincoln were shorter and
Lebanese.

My mother is as
adorable as a
Cypriot could
be.

And I turned out like this.

Born in
Lincoln's Land
abandoned at the other
End of
Route 66

finally returning to
My hometown
at the cost of endless
Fractured
Heart Poses.

Now for now I'm back in the
Perpetual California Sun Salutation

late afternoon light
hitting my face
which throughout my life
has always been seen,
except by a couple of nuns and
one or two lovers,
as quite
Honest.

Must be a familial trait
on my
Fathers' side.

MyNewBookDrive

I am going to write a new book., it starts right here. You're with me from the beginning. You gonna stick with it till the end , baby? I shouldn't have called you baby; You're the reader.
I am from another time: about two minutes ahead of the present. By the time you read this, it still won't be current. It'll be early.

Chapter one – the oblivion parade
oh oblivion and its dancers
oh fire
oh parade.

Look her wands are running wet from the fountain of sin. She leads the parade.

Oh oblivion settle in, it's a long night
'Til the end of the parade

Chaos 2 – the bugs
my typewriter did not
attract insects in the dark in the night like this laptopscreen does.
Bugs flying around
the side of my eyes toward the screen. DO you see them?
They haven't
landed on a word yet.

Thee Three -
father, son, holy maid

For
You I write this book

Chapter 5 – parade tryst
they had a tryst during the parade
in a ground level room on the parade route
no curtains but the legs of all the paraders & the parade goers kept anyone from seeing.
The two of them I think it was. Just the two of them. In a tryst.

Six six Six six Six six
- when i drove

when i drove the letter in to a bug I felt I had gained control of the situations

Chaplin 7
- Chaplin 7 had been designed as an improvement of course. After the disastrous 3 through 6 period, not much to strive for.
There were blue wings
and the hat could fly
(but the hat
could always fly)

eight) the winning stretch
with the season on the line we win 9 and 10, too.

ElEvEn – appendix
* The author would like to thank Charlie Chaplin and you.
06 03 2013 USA (WEST)

Embarrasself

I embarrassed myself
Today.
What did I do?
Tell someone I love them?
Open the door for a sick child who then
                 kicked me?
Write this poem?
Oh, yeah
I wrote this poem.

As if by divine endorsement of the virtue of the search

As if by divine endorsement of the
virtue of the search, I have found your
missing (   ). I am thinking of burying it, or
- at greater expense - sending it directly into the heart of the sun. If you have
any subjectively more practical suggestions,
they will be given
preferred consideration.

I and the beep meaning the beep and me

I and the beep meaning the beep and me
And the bark. Meaning the barking.
The noises and me. Short sirens too. Now a helicopter. And me. The noises and me, the copter closer. The dogs now panting. Garden tools drip. The copter known as a chopper to some still circling. And me. Making some little sounds too I'm sure. I hadn't thought. And some damaged part of me is making the ringing I only hear.
What's with the copter, you ask. So then the asking and the chopper together. And me. I'm still here.
What's for sleep tonight?
With or without these sounds.
For an bleep , sleep disrupted.

2nd chapter: the sun up and hunger.
Part 3. I forget about the beep. It only happened once, at the beginning.

The Bond theme plays all the other theme songs. All theme songs in a medley sounding like the Bond theme.

I forget what plays next

Charged with parables

Charged with parables .  it is.  Such is the charge:
Misrepresentation of Contemporary Contemplation as Narrative Attaining Status of Parable.
I was like, man, they don't even get me.

I have killed this

I have killed this room once
Looking for a laugh,
But I killed it.

Everything I had was impossible to hit. It flew by them. But then they laughed!

I have a volunteer career in public service:
poet

Draw me in red lover

Draw me in red lover; draw me in blue.
Paint my faces, all of them, lover.
Get my good side, show both eyes.
I'm sitting still
Being a patient subject.

Cast me in deadly heavy metals, love. Cast me as a piñata.

Pt. 2
Both silent
Sleeping
Both
Asleep
And quiet
Sleep

A face really sells

A face really sells it. Look, there's a face.
Now you believe it. Looking at the face.

I want to shoot

I want to shoot a reenactment of the US Civil War but with an all Asian cast. I just need a punchline and this would be a hell of a joke. Or a big budget, and it would be some other hell. Blood and dying and bayonets and burning.

Now how this here

Now how this here item is for sale now how how how this item is for sale for sale for sale. Now this here item is still for sale is he right I'm here
If he's right I should have brought my rifle.
But the others thought he was wrong. But it was his call. But now it's just someone else out here thinking the same sale.
Inventory:
Ivory blade
Cashew bar
Water racket
Socks (pair)

She buys on first pass. Then a crowd. A big run on water rackets. They move in big numbers. No one knew. No one had thought to sell water rackets to everybody.

The rackets squabble and kill in the follow up.

The Robots Do

The robots do everything. Finally. The robots do everything finally.

These androids do less.

Human. human human
Do nothing
Please
In desperate but essential protest
Do nothing.

Straight Porn Demo

She holds him close. He let's go. Lets go. Let's lets.

From str8 porn demo 847;. Q.nmdhfk.2913
  He be the cummer. She be the cummer two.
The beautiful music from Beirut and middle America comes in.

The most beautiful, even the English.

Wet and the race continues more or less happily.

Then in a height of paradise, take a break.

Like an African Viking. Straight porn demo.

I am here to sleep

I am here to sleep. I can't sleep there. Are you sleeping? How can you, so easily, there? Open the window a little. Wash your eyes. Maybe then sleep.

What Time to Kill the Hero

What time to kill the hero
With everything else to do.
?
So the hero sneaks in. This time it's you.  For us, like your first pamphlet said. The girl kisses you as you aim the canon {sic!} If you're a straight woman or a gay man, you'll need to be comfortable with that. In this sequel you're a ladies man. You can thanks be to casting. Hopefully you're bi; this could be a long mission. But you can do this.
No one's going to miss this.
You're a hit. We'll
Always
Remember
You.

No time for an extra

Wait.
Hubert.
MBB your mother appears
Sector 3 Project is over.
Wait we
Have to
Deactivate
You.

Oh shit , the mystery

Oh shit ,  the mystery. Here it arrives. The hero has been 7 or 8 actors and 2 or 3 actresses depending on the genre gender identification of the Irish one. The Irish was very popular, played it as a Welshman. Now it's scratchy in the world and it's a vital American. One of the ones we can be proud of. This time it's me. And when I said actor, I ain't playing. This is for real. Now to find the mystery. It suddenly seems all gone. Now that I'm tailing it. It must not be about the mystery then. It's a distraction. Diversion. Took my eye off the ball: Mystery.
Yes I don the gas mask. No cape. No cape? Case closed. No cape, no mystery.

Everyone wear a cape immediately!
In defense of mystery.
Obviously.

Wolf Vegan Pizza

I've been getting the vegan pizza wrapped in wolf fur. They skin the live wolf right in front of you, and the hot bloody fur adheres to the pizza like its own skin. It's horrifying - and tastes terrible. I don't like it. No one seems to. It's really catching on.

Over Amuse

Silent siren,
it's not that I' musing you.
While no longer amusing you.

Oh you muse you,
you've used me too,
abused me unduly
Truly,
You

I think I can say yes Lana

I think I can say yes Lana
I think I really can.
I think I'll love you best then
but I ain't the average man.

I have so.e free

I have some free words for sale cheap.

I have so.e cheap

I have some cheap words for sale for free.

I Love Los

I love
Los Angeles
but only like
very early
Randy Newman

R(double)/You Station

Third rail sleepwalker, footwork that defies the charge. Ghostwritten goodbye novella, never even glanced at by the name on the spine. Everybody at once unaware of the gathering teaspoons of reason and reasons and rain. No survivors; no remains but for the glow everywhere, wholly dimming any dawn tomorrow. Solo dance that splashes the rain and carries the current to them all. Sleeping &/or walking, or talking, or making love, or finely chopping basil, or up late reading, or up so early waiting for the first run at our station, so named as our station by crafty initials. From my doomed dancing slumber meant only to maybe martyr me and disturb the morning commute for you and just you, me and the rail and the rain brighten everyone in town, the charge coursing through the streets and down decorative fireplaces and up stairways and handrails, through sockets and ear buds and skillets and e-readers and bicycle chains and doorknobs and faucets and silverware, finally but immediately reaching and alighting each citizen and visitor in the city, hometowners like us and even those just passing through. A single act of dreaming showmanship instead making me the instrument of unprecedented urbanicide. Everyone lit up like one last lonely New Year's Eve.

Game

Whenever I've been
in the game
I've only won the chance
to play again.

And if my wish
to win remains
I'm told to go play
some different game.

(This from
whoever I dreamt
was on my
team.)

I Need

Never too soon for tequila. I need a drink.
I need a blow job and a world that cares about poetry and a life where I can believe the eyes I stare into.
An endless hard on and a stash of morphine and a freak goddess and a theater of misfits.
I need my cock enshrined by a loving mistress with a delicious cunt.
And a Cadillac. I need a Cadillac's power.
And the endorsement of heroes and villains.
Oh I need a world I belong in , dick first, balls deep, wet as a rainforest.
Free of corporation dreams and crowded with beautiful children.
I need a world where God reigns whether or not we invent the God s/he is.
I need
To be
Real
Where real
Is welcome.

Where lovers tell the truth;
The truth that lasts.

Existential Geographical

I'm on an existential geographical bender
I stated.

"traveling uncontrollably?"
   A friend asked.

I agreed, explaining it was In some attempt to get perspective on other things I can't control, or perhaps to ascertain just what I can control.

But it's not true. There is control. I wish I were traveling uncontrollably. Sinking,  spinning,  skyward or otherwise suddenly ending up anywhere for no known reason. And then again suddenly. I could die in the Congo or end up in bed with a maid in a condo.

Uncontrollably traveling and finally free.

Today's song

Today's song is the song you are singing.

Doc Says

Doctor says - Then don't do that. And all the punchlines follow. A torrent of punchlines. No humor ( no setup ; no context ; no humor / = horror

Double

She said
I can make it
A double
For five

[ which was less than a single ]

So I had one

They also sell food.

Because this poem is so many weeks old yet the reader may presume it is new and because I can mistake any time for now I have written a title long enough to span the gap between then and now , or at least a title longer than the poem. Since I can't measure the gap between then and now. Because I can mistake any time for now. Any time, for now. Amen.

Since you won't listen, I'll tell everyone else. Since no one else cares, I'll tell God. Since God won't reply, He is as unreal as you.

Your Wealth

The most beautiful, party bound couple in Gatsby period dress sat beside me at the great sushi bar. She asked me for words for a birthday greeting. I said: is your friend wealthy? She said she is not. I offered:
Your wealth is in your friends and the love that surrounds you.

She went for it, repeating it to me verbatim and writing it on the card. He told her: You gotta give credit....
I identified myself, for the record:
"guy at sushi bar"

Rush Street, CA

In Culver City in a bar called Rush Street watching Bulls give up the Gentleman's Sweep while an older gentleman insists he determines the outcome of the game because he himself is the Holy Spirit. I tell him I'd never meet the Holy Spirit if I were actually on Rush Street. He says I am. I say, no - I mean for real. I am for real from Chicago.

He, the Holy Spirit, is also Father, & the Son Jesus Christ. And America, Time, Space, Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, Darkness, and Light. Cold and Heat? Yes! (which I point out perhaps necessitates the Miami win. As does James being a book in the bible, he explains). And he is all these things again and again, and so much more. I am surely forgetting some great claims of his. Maybe surely. I asked : so you are Yahweh, you are Jehovah, you are Allah? He said no. That is just one demigod of seven. I am the true God. I am the Creator God, he says. I am the light that came into the black hole. I am the Lord of Lords; I am the Lord of Hosts. The fallen Angel Satan too. And all the angels. Yin and yang? Yes. And the Wizard of Oz, he adds. I asked: are you my ex-girlfriend too? He said, I am! And she is a bitch! First i exclaimed - Shit! Trying to laugh it off and hoping this whole thing, hoping for a second this whole thing has been a put on. Wizard of Oz, even. Exposing the man behind the curtain in all this. But then he gets full into it and i see the laughing, drunk with divine power smug hate in his face. He says - a nasty bitch! I said - Hey..! (All the while the bartender keeping an eye from a distance to see if I'm able to manage this uninvited conversation with such a boisterous insistently delusional customer.) He said:  many of them* are nasty controlling bitches because they want what God has, and only he, this older fellow sitting next to me, is God. (* "them" - no longer including himself as one; that claim seemingly an insincere transition to this tirade.) Like Eve, he bellows, they want God's knowledge but he is the only true God. This sudden switch to cliche sexist theology, though remarkably self-centered and maniacal still, now left me bored, and insulted. Insulted for the woman mentioned, and for all the women implied, and for wasting my time with this god I had wished was a little less harmful than he turned out to be.

I've long thought the Holy Spirit was the sublimated feminine aspect of the Christian Trinity. There's no third to Father and Son that ain't Mother. I decided not to throw that at him. For then he may or may not realize what a bitch he is. He said, after all, he said finally: "I am Everything!" And the situation may or may not have remained under control, with an increasingly agitated Everything embracing his inner bitch that wants what only he, God has. Or rejecting that as Everything he is also Eve. The Eve in Eve rything. Either way I was done. I wasn't up for telling him, subtly or otherwise: You're a bitch god. There were other patrons, and his wrath, to consider. I was done. Standing up from the bar I said : this must not have much meaning or value to You, being All You are, but I wish you a pleasant rest of the evening. Then I left Rush Street and went back outside to California, where I had been all along.

Arty Opening

I am at an art opening . why haven't you joined me here? What sin have I committed? Was your suspicion of my indulgence in some impending generational betrayal instead an unrecognized premonition that the love of ones born so close together would become somehow taboo? But even of ones grown so close? After this fistful of popcorn I could move back to Los Angeles, but with such a view of the lake and the museum campus, and with such beautiful friends, why? Though I have such beautiful friends up and down California too. Maybe even somewhere else's too. The popcorn is clever enough; Oh, how have I become deserving of mere Pop Parmesan shards but not your Dada~Surreal love?!? How did I earn only a month in advertising? Which saint shall I pray to? Are you a martyr I shall forever enshrine or am i an agnostic mystic with misplaced affection? What god allows my velvet Elvis water damage? What devil prohibits me from flying from the eighth floor into your arms? What last supper did I miss, hungry and clutching no silver, where dessert is equal parts you, me, and divinity? Is that the hand of Judas on my thigh, or some Judy's kiss on my cheek? In the garden? With Romans everywhere waiting to strike? Put back the soldier's ear; put back my heart; put back the cum of untold millions. The human raise has been set back by our demise. The human race deserves our blissful perpetuity. The human race gets nothing but bus stops and train wrecks and missed flights instead. See you in the aftermath, us each equally to blame. See you where I hover above the Great Lakes, solo mystified. See you in the wet dreams of some punk hoodlum altar boy. See you in the new book that follows Revelations.

Embrace Me Lesser

Embrace me
Lesser angels
Though you may be
I am just
This impoverished
Soul from the concrete
Heartland

Blue Judge Joke

Just because in exchange for a lighter sentence I once let a judge blow me doesn't mean I'm queer. He was wearing the full robe, so he felt very feminine. It seemed darn near hetero. Many judges are women.
And it worked: I got off easy!

Let's all be everywhere

Let's all be everywhere at once together.

If All You Were

If y'all were birds we
could see your wings with
which you
protect the hatched
and with which you
soar.

Or, we can see them anyway.

singer wants a "hell yeah!"

I'm at a bar where the singer wants a hell yeah if you're having a good time. I can't oblige.

(I left for the other bar; the singer at other bar is now asking for several hell yeahs)

So here

So here I found
a scratch.
Do you think it
got me here?

So here I have an abrasion.
Can this be where it entered?

See here, my eyes;
I think they're the weak points.
It all flew into them.

You issued a cruel directive

You issued a cruel directive
and walked away.
( like before , again as before & before. But
this
Time
still
no sweet invitation
follows.)

Alert

If I can stay awake
While driving
This visit
Is just
Beginning

My baggage in

My baggage in
the doorway
kept the train / shuttle
door open
for a moment.
The train announced sternly
- please do not block doors
  YOU are delaying...
They all at looked at me
being YOU
as I am
sometimes.
A smiling gal , and maybe some others ,
started to work up:
YOU are delaying …
When I announced:
I am delaying YOU ALL. Sorry, I'm from Chicago, this is how we are.
I heard one:
"That's a good enough excuse."
Perhaps they had been ready to laugh at me but I assured instead they, and the whole train car, laughed with me.
The smiling gal
kept looking and smiling
at Me.
Perhaps I should stay in
Colorado.

Feel better soon and Happy Chicago Christmas

I was looking for
something useful
and I found
something painful
that said
what they say is
Somethin' Stupid

I was starting to pack
to go away
When I unpacked
words that say
the Something
They sing

Either way
It's from our last day.

And I was - happiness -  comfort and warmth + sweet and good & "truly" as the object
    of her song

If Jesus

If Jesus came back no insurer would cover crucifixion, Affordable Care Act or not. If Christ came back, no one would cover acts of God, not even the network news.
If the Son of Man returns tomorrow: He will find me, uninsured, sitting at a desk, somewhere between the Chicago skyline and the worldwide web. And I won't ask to see the punctures; everywhere I look there are wounds anyway. I won't ask for a walk across the Lake with Him; which would be breathtaking. Nor for exquisite wine, nor for angels on wing to catch Him off the Daley Center.
When Jesus arrives tomorrow and finds me contemplating an elegant lunch or picking over whatever slim predictable dreams sink in my eyes, I won't ask for anything. I will just say Merry Christmas. I don't care what day it is; it doesn't matter if it's Lent. When He appears I will wish Him, and everyone, an infinite and merry and holy birthday.

And I came here for nothing

And I came here for nothing. And I left here with nothing. But I heard a sound when I was here: your heartbeat.

I was really caught offguard

I was really caught offguard by the tree elf rebellion. Nothing even stopped. Everything ran as usual but the tree elves now ran some of it. I had only been gone less than a year and came home fully unaware of the developments. It had escaped all but local news coverage.
At the elfport after I arrived it all hit me. Pretty clearly that got across the particular scope of things, and the patterns of distribution of labor in an elf controlled area.
I quickly called in Federal authorities and the tree elf rebellion was put down. They do have a great pasta restaurant though, right where the old gnome bakery used to be.

A childe mentioned

A childe mentioned you don't believe in me. A childe I didn't even know. Then an even younger friend, he mentioned playing word games with us. Was it all word games? I love words, not games. I don't like word games. And that's all this is. One word game. A word game of solitaire.

I was standing on my head on Lake Shore

I was standing on my head on Lake Shore Drive when you didn't notice, driving by / setting me spinning in traffic. I was making a name for myself atop Mount Rushmore when you just flipped past the news channel. I was pouring enough purple paint down the Eiffel Tower to make it something new when word came you don't care for France much. I was leaning on your jewelry; I was finding your lost journal; but you had abandoned such things. I was replacing the flag on the moon with one large enough to see from your porch; I myself was the man on the moon; A message came you now only go out in the daylight. Then I saw those United States just vanish from the earth, water between Canada and Mexico. All Our sundry earthly outposts disappeared too. So I just floated there; me, the last man in American territory, and the giant flag I'd placed there for you and retroactively for all those gone forever.

Is it too early for a flight

Is it too early for a flight? Is it too late to be grounded? Is it just the right time to hover?
I
think I
am about
to
hover.

If we, all-stars that we are

If we, all-stars that we are, always killed those that asked why the sky would be dark as my heart.

Panting, ranting, running out

Panting, ranting, running out of energy. All left to our spinning devices. Man and woman alike, left to our desires' devices. Eros invites us. And finally our hunger; our blind hunger for each other. Our blind adherence to love. Our blind gift between you and me. You on your pedestal, me on my typer. You singing songs, posting playing songs and me the viper, writing ditties I hope you'll encounter, I hope you'll interpret, you and I in lasting embrace.

See The Spirit

See the spook who sat by the door, the ghost by the window. See the impression you left on the floorboards exiting.

I just wrote a poem walking

I just wrote a poem walking up Lincoln. As much as I loved the dearly departed #11 Lincoln bus, (I rode the second to last run on the last night, with a bag full of cookie fixings) I might never have written the poem on the CTA. Still, I'd revive that bus if I could. I'd do a lot to revive that bus. I'm a believer. In public transit. And poetry. And more.

My Mayo is all out of sync.

My Mayo is all out of sync.

Expenditures for Forgetting (remarkable contraption

Expenditures for Forgetting (remarkable contraption)
• speeding ticket
• unopened Gitanes
• undeveloped film
• undeveloped land
• unspent energies (re: Eros' Laundromat)
• toxic tinctures of unwritten missives (darkest ink in fanciest bottles)
• the right song at the wrong pitch (jukebox)
• the never was is now then
• some gulf of tequila
• one more snowstorm for the road
• a flight somewhere that may be home
• my personal belief system

These shoes you gave me

These shoes you
gave me
cause me to
fall.

I would kill the Pope

I would kill the Pope to be by your side. Or at least the last Pope; damn Nazi. ( this is a poem )

They are now seating me in the dark corners

They are now seating me in the 
dark corners. They still ask how 
I'm doing, polite in their adherence to that custom. Is this dark corner a portal to the
underworld my wise friend
referenced? Is this fermented
nectar a potion to
ease the descent?

Is that bird outside your window
singing for you? Listen close.
Don't study it. Don't dissect
it, the bird nor its song. But listen close and hold it in your blood.
When a song is maybe sung for you, and you think you're learning it is, let it in. Harmonize with it. Let the bird sing you to the sky, or if needed hum its tune on your way down.

St. Last & Forever

St. Last & Forever, matriarch of the minions of misfortune, how I have wandered without leaving anywhere ever. Bring me to a river; drown my memories. Uproot my heart, take my feet from this mire. Saint of collisions, saint of little deadly barbs, saint of epidemics, saint of the end.

All of us split sideways

All of us split sideways. Then the wind splices us together. The sky want us more than the ground does: gravity makes a decision. We orient upward.
Fashions change.

Barred Poetic Disorder

My poetic disorder
Has been barred
From relevance.

Bard (poetic)
Not drunk but
disorderly , walking on the side
walk.

The straight couple in the SUV are arguing:
'You never listen / consider" some she says.
The gay couple smoking cigarettes need to lose weight but quitting smoking won't help that cause.

The sun exposes me as alone. So much so no one even sees me in this bright light.

Sidewalking, daydreaming for the luck of
Coincidental encounters we used to share.

I have abandoned the pursuit

I have abandoned the pursuit of my own smile, tracking my path along my frown of a jester.

Trust no one over 3'0"

Trust no one over 3'0"

Us in the meadow

Us in the meadow, the seven of us. Six in the leaves and me on the trail. The seven of us catch horses and ride to the jungle. We set up camp. The youngest are in pain. The eldest are in sorrow. Then! Lightning. We have fire, warmth, light, but still pain and sorrow. Better for the warmth and light and if bad enough solved by the fire.
Us back in the meadow, now all of us. The water is clean and we have harnessed the lightning. The pain is real and the sorrow is perfect but now the lightning fuels our departure to someplace further than the horses could take us. With our human pain and our perfect sorrow and the hope of focused, controlled lightning we are off perhaps to a realm of better storms and purer light. We, each of us, leaving a burn mark in the meadow.

Please listen to this message

Please listen to this message. I know you are tempted to hang up; I know you have decided I don't exist. But wait. I am calling to explain something; it's something scientific and I don't wholly understand it, but I will do my best. Once I do explain it, then I actually won't exist. I have volunteered for the displacement experiment. People say to me, they say: volunteer. Like that will make me exist again, in some new way. Ironically, I have volunteered for the opposite. The name is displacement but as the professor explains it is really more dispersement. (I have settled all practical matters: the dog has a new country home, and the combination to the lock at our storage pod is being sent by courier.) Once dispersed I may not even be a memory - if I even am one now, given the preparations thus far. Do you even recognize my voice, or has it already gone wispy from the initial phases? The professor expects as the first full volunteer I will indeed remain a memory. Once fully dispersed I will be as the wind. Can I tell you a little secret; can I tell you one last secret among all the secrets we have shared? If it's an early spring evening, still chill as winter's grip has yet to yield, and you feel a warm breeze on your cheek… if you feel that warm breeze on your cheek it is the harbinger of my kiss: it is my whisper. Dispersed, but devoted. Your former human, saying hello.

Lost notes on reconstruction

When i was in the civil war , or rather afterwards, i spent weeks assembling notes in various styles on how we could reconcile. Those notes stayed in my jacket pocket, never shared, until in this new dreary life of greater weapons they were lost by a dry cleaner.

Where I walk down a hall

I have this idea. Where I walk down a hall. And I throw my body against the walls. It's my naked body, like clay. And there is wine instead of blood. And I am naked and bleeding wine and you are there like a chalice. And you, the chalice, are overflowing. And me, the clay vineyard, bleeding.

Hold the problem

Hold the problem for the second. Just have the moment. Then the problem. Oh no, uh. Problem. Uh problem. New problem. UNproblem. Ur problem. OUR problem.
(Pick a Problem)

I heard the king singing

I heard the king singing Heartbreak Hotel as I rolled down window, then I saw the Elvis impersonator was working the tollbooth.

Everyone with a broken heart

Everyone with a broken heart raise your hand: your left hand; expose your heart. Against your better judgement. Against your mind's wishes. against all the losses and against the nightfall. Raise your hand to expose your heart. Raise your head too.

If you could mention the polarity

If you could mention the polarity. What you're missing is what's extraordinary about each of us. What's your missed off I'd wish is special. But matter the fact there is no special. Just the usual. I'll have the usual.

New County Blues #1

Events in the new county provoked panic throughout the nation.
- Why do we need a new county? - We don't need a new county. & even - Maybe we need a be country, from some. (Meaning - maybe we need a new country)
And then the new county seceded . it became the nation of Respectica. I'm just joking. It became a nation of dirt. The new county sparked outrage , seceded , and became dirt. The nation withers around it now, sinking. In comes the revealer. The revealer says "Of these endtimes …" and we sink that way. We sink into the dirt of the new county by words of some revealer. Then you remix the revealer and we rise.
- New County Blues #1

From the letters of the alphabet

From the letters of the alphabet I brought forth the colors of the rainbow and everybody's lovers fought. There was nothing worth agreeing over. There was strife as glorious as Old Glory. The next track that drove down Main Street was the last track to do so. After that it was rockets. After that it was missiles. After that it was warheads and locusts and plagues of gum arabic shortage. And everything came included. And everything came unglued though too. That was my original point. In the shortage it all came unglued. And we needed the enemy. And the embrace of the enemy. The binding embrace of the enemy.

I don't want to text

I don't want to text. I don't want to instant message or email or write a postcard or post. I want to send light. Let me send light, Lord.

everybody to write a song

I want everybody to write a song. Let's all write it together. Now is the time. We will never play this song, except for maybe.
Rule of composition as follows:
{(%of#/you)÷(all)=π}

mortal attempting

Just another mortal attempting to immortalize with words the ineffable. {The personal and the divine. Both. Which nature does not even perpetuate, but rather confines to moments between moments / to moments between us & us / between you & me / between our hearts and the sky and our mind and our thought of the sky. Our hearts' thought of the sky ; before science ; before flight / these words are for the sky and they are by way of saying to you - the sky and all thoughts of the sky and all dreams of the sky and all prayers to the sky and the clear and the cloudy and the bright and the night and all the sky is and all we dream it to be or to have ever been it is for you and whatever the future sky be too.} That is, I declare: whatever the future sky be, it be for you.

The wind off the lake

The wind off the lake
has vacated my skull
of the thought of success.

The wind off the lake
has cleared my heart
of the word yes.

Is it spring?
When can we kiss?
When can we play chess?

I lose track of the seasons;
I'm from Los Angeles.

For every broken promise

For every broken promise, something else breaks

No Poem

No poem nor plea nor pledge nor pratfall even. No missive nor minstrelsy (no music) nor even madness. Nothing for this demon I now am to do. Am to do? Nothing; to the Devil with us all. And there, maybe: one last dance in/of flame. One final chance for the light to be seen. Finally again, and truly final, our eyes alight.

Hello doctor

Hello doctor. I will be on fire on Tuesday.

Hello doctor. I will be on fire on Tuesday.

This is to say that the office is closed until Thursday. If this is an emergency call back Wednesday.

What blog phenomenon?

What blog phenomenon?

After the flood before me

After the flood before me, in the time of five hundred and fifty year lovers and new animals everyday (each day) there came into flowering a beautiful seamstress. Her hands' maneuvers flowed into garments of wonder which clothed history we have either read or has not been written. The glove between Arthur and the sword; Houdini's cape; Some glorious gown, you did not know, which became a vinegar rag to burn the throat of the messiah; Isadora Duncan's scarf; Salome's odd veils which doomed the Baptist; Every thread at the coronation of any queen; And this: she sewed this, which I have found through some miracle / through some lucky adventure of my open heart / through some unrepentant faith in a magic unknown for ages / thru seeking what can attire you better than words for the true hopefulness of unexpected winters in spring and summers that fall within reach. And here I bring it to you.

Prequels to Sitcoms (e1)

Prequels to Sitcoms (e1)
Cathedra McGill: Cathedra in the Meadows
" Cathedra in the meadows did follow the scenario through to the intro. Upon entering intro Meadows is more McGill. She is armed and in pants and generally more practical. When Meadows appears, still ( despite the transformation ) hilarity gathers. Transformative power of the scenario is trigger for comedy mechanism." Scenario to be determined.

Decide on the sky

Decide on the sky.

Someone put their hand

Someone put their hand on me at the station. It could have been a child or a bishop. My face; they put their hand on my face. It could have been you or your sister. They put their hand on my face at Union Station and I could not see. I could hear the track numbers. I could feel the breeze. But I could not see. I could smell the hand on my face. It smelled like you. Like it had touched you, or your face.

Everybody's favorite new color

Everybody's favorite new color was not only sold out. It didn't even exist. The country stopped.

Sounded out her parts

She sounded out her parts to maestros past and future. Her present cadenza had no conductor nor audience. Each crack in her dresser drawer, each homeless utterance - each moment unsung in his direction seemed a small squandered melody. Then the aliens landed.
She gathered matches - traditional Martians, thwarted by fire (or was it the flu?). She summoned her league of right fielders and henchmen, madams, pimps, and minstrels. They in turn assembled house sitters and vagrants, junkies, jugglers, asthmatics and undead sled dogs. From old waning reels which they baked for one last spin they gleaned the instructions. Distorted directions, confused by crackling playback but clear enough for the first three steps.
The fourth step however was paramount. Consensus was on the side of division. She insisted instead the proper quarter step was unity. He appeared presently, always presently, as if in agreement. They throttled the invaders as one, proving their tactical assessment. It was all in the wrist, in the swivel of the hips. But no happy ending; funny how visionary strategy could be so shortsighted. The last fourth of action indeed called for unity: with the strange visitors. They came in peace.

When Christ

When Christ came back for 40 days, was he still fully human or was he just fully divine?

Before Easter

Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to be for the next few hours.

Dreams of sundry puzzle pieces.

Dreams of sundry puzzle pieces.

Smiley While

Library Industries' very personal compilation(s) of best of the officially (except as noted*) available Smile / Smiley Smile era tracks, prior to 2011 release of "Smile Sessions"

front cover

Look! Listen (vibrate too), I’m playing this Smile/y mix right now and I don’t want to distract myself from it at all so I ain’t gonna write too hard. This music is sacred to me in a very profane world. Listening to it properly is more important than writing about it successfully. Consider this speed-blogging on something I've spent years loving and thinking on and talking about in far more coherent ways. Because sharing this music with y’all Right Now is what counts.

The tale of The Beach Boys' SMiLE album is well represented on the internet / you can read about it everyanywhere. Not here; I shall skip those facts.

Years ago before computers played consumers their music & allowed us (those consumers) to arrange things into playlists I used my Philips CDR785 3-CD Integrated CD Recorder to assemble the best (my personal favorite) versions of all the SMiLE era and Smiley Smile tracks which had become officially available by then. I called this collection “Smiley While.” I think I named it such not just 'cause it sounded like "Smiley Smile" but also because I had this idea that the whole notion of time was essential to what would have been SMiLE; that time had notoriously become (or was perceived as) an enemy of SMiLE; that time had passed it by; yet it was timeless really. And so on. Smiley While. I grew up against The Beach Boys; couldn't stand 409 (though I lived in one in future years) but later I had heard Pet Sounds, Smiley Smile, Sunflower, Friends, etc... and this Smile era stuff was the greatest. No further Smile era tracks were to become officially available until much later, on the recent Smile Sessions. None of that 2011 set is in evidence here, though some of these same takes were used therein, in same or similar mixes / edits. What’s here is best of what I could assemble before then and at least one essentially, intrinsically, truly beautiful person has told me they gosh LOVE it far more than the official 2011 Smile Sessions reconstructed SMiLE so who am I to not finally share it with the world? I recall reading or dreaming that even Brian Wilson said the final version in that box was sunnier than SMiLE would have been. We’ll never really get to SMiLE; it never really happened and box sets don’t change that.

Notice where there was any version available not from Smiley Smile I instead used that other version? (Those versions all hail from the first Beach Boys "...Thirty Years Of..." box set. For Heroes And Villains I indeed used the Smiley Smile / final single version and the box set variations). Compared to Smile era versions or demos, the Smiley Smile counterparts were dismissive almost denigrating yes denigrating utilizing often a cheap humor that shows the band perhaps uncomfortable with the beauty they should have unashamedly presented.

You’ll notice NO eventual Sunkist commercial.  Personally I can't believe that if Wilson had finished SMiLE, with all that remarkable new music & all that lyrical brilliance from Van Dyke Parks, on what by all accounts was to be a single LP, he would have actually included Good Vibrations which had already been out and a hit for many months, So I left it off. Plus, it bugs me. Irritating lyrics from Mike Love and I find the parts that showcase him insufferable. Every time he says "excitations" I get almost angry. And even though it is a stellar production, to me it sounds borderline gimmicky compared to the Smile tracks that followed. [It is a sad coincidence that I am finally posting this at the time of the hit single's Theremin player's death...]

I feel like this music should be credited to Brian Wilson, Van Dyke Parks, et al. more than to some entity known as The Beach Boys. I wish I lived in a world where at first sign of resistance to this spectacular artistry Brian had kicked Mike Love back to pumping gas and instead started a band with Van Dyke Parks. Called it Dumb Angel or something. And really finished SMiLE. In lieu of visiting that alternate Earth, please enjoy my playlist.

I searched so strenuously to be able to legit-present a playlist for my blog visitors to hear, with links to purchase the tracks. Even joined sites I’d ignored for years, all in this effort. Yet Last.fm, iTunes, eMusic, Amazon, the new MySpace, Spotiface - they all failed us my Brothers & Sisters. All tracks can be purchased however from 7Digital. (You can also find the CDs used or new from various vendors). The tracks and the official sources from which they hail are listed below with links to the albums at 7Digital. I found they all sound to be at fairly matched volumes in years of listening and playing for others, if using the editions of these releases which I own on compact disc and which you can get from 7digital as high quality 320 kpbs MP3 files:

01} Heroes And Villians (demo w/ Van Dyke Parks) 2:23 from "Endless Harmony Soundtrack"

02} Fall Breaks And Back To Winter (Woody Woodpecker Symphony) 2:18 from 2001 "Smiley Smile / Wild Honey" twofer #

03} She's Goin' Bald 2:17 from 2001 "Smiley Smile / Wild Honey" twofer ^

04} Little Pad 2:29 from 2001 "Smiley Smile / Wild Honey" twofer #

05} Vegetables Promo 0:55 from "Hawthorne, CA: Birthplace Of A Musical Legacy" (Disc 2)

06} Cabinessence (Track Only) 3:58 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 5)

07} Heroes And Villians 3:37 from 2001 "Smiley Smile / Wild Honey" twofer

08} Wind Chimes 2:33 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 2)

09} Heroes And Villians (intro) 0:36 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 2)

10} Surf's Up (track only) 1:41 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 5)

11} With Me Tonight 2:17 from 2001 "Smiley Smile / Wild Honey" twofer #

12} Gettin' Hungry 2:27 from 2001 "Smiley Smile / Wild Honey" twofer ~

13} Whistle In 1:05 from 2001 "Smiley Smile / Wild Honey" twofer #

14} Our Prayer 1:07 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 2) #

15} Heroes And Villians (alternate version) 2:57 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 2)

16} Heroes And Villians (sections) 6:41 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 2)

17} Wonderful 2:03 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 2)

18} Cabinessence 3:32 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 2)

19} Do You Like Worms 4:01 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 2)

20} Vegetables 3:30 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 2)

21} I Love To Say Da Da 1:35 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 2) #

22} Surf's Up 3:39 from "Good Vibrations: Thirty Years Of The Beach Boys" (Disc 2)

23} You're Welcome 1:07 from 2001 "Smiley Smile / Wild Honey" twofer #

      all songs by Brian Wilson/Van Dyke Parks except # by Brian Wilson; ^ by B. Wilson/Love/Parks; ~ by Brian Wilson/Love

back cover, w/ Vegetables Promo

back cover, w/ Mrs. O'Leary's Cow

To present all this to you for lo-fi right now listening, I went finally to Grooveshark. Had to source "Surf’s Up" (piano demo version) from some Pitchfork comp; ‘twas missing from the Thirty Years box on Grooveshark. And… I settled for replacing “Vegetables (Promo)” from “Hawthorne” 2CD set which wasn’t available on GrooveS with a bootleg of  the infamous * "Mr. O'Leary's Cow." It's maybe better this way, or maybe it's worse. Probably actually better, though corrupting my years-long stance of assembling this from official, commercial sources. It's less lighthearted, perhaps; though maybe less aggressive. ("If I ever call my dog on you...") You can hear this slightly tweaked and possibly improved “Smiley While” playlist here:

Smiley While / The Beach Boys Playlist by LibraryEye

Or just by playing the widget at top of this blog's sidebar.

I even made album art. See it all around? Gosh. Smile at that.

This combination of Brian Wilson & Van Dyke Parks is a special American genius touched nowhere else. And, great playing abounds from fabled session cats. Please, please enjoy. I love you all.

You’re Welcome.