The Revolt of the Bees in the Rare Book Room

i have been asked to discuss dark matter
dark matter is your shadow and the ghost of your shadow.
if you are dancing,
dark matter might not be.
however,
if a butterfly does the jitterbug in africa
it's a whole scene
exploding the world
with its avant garde slang and hip politics.
but, elegant solutions are not my profession,
and not the universe's either.
so we can't really help you
with this one.

introduction to my feelings by j. evans pritchard p.h.d.

yes. the internet is a mysterious, numinous place. full of wonder and advertisements for porno.

here i am. and here you are.
and where does that leave us.
oh giant shopping arcade, what can't you do
(besides work when i need you to).

little thoughts

everyone should be able to do a couple things, besides reflect.
that's my theory.
i mistook a gibbon for a bonobo the other day. symbolically, i think that makes me evil.

the giggles

sometimes. my sister and i. when we are talking. get the giggles.
it's unstoppable.
it reminds me of things i don't ever think i did (like go into photo booths with friends).
that gut ache laugh that hurts but you can't not and it leaves something after like when you look at the sun too long.
pure. stupid. fun. a sliver of ape.

what happens to you in the dark?

what happens to you in the dark? do your movements dart and ease feline? does your soul become bouyant and your heart ready? does your shadow hover in the margins all around you? does time step back? are the ides upon you? do your lids close and open slower? is the blink all that you are?
a big pair of eyes joining the dark, setting their own units of time.

this summer and other tyrannies

dear octavius,

this body is no longer working out for me.
the back aches
the belly rumbles.
today i stepped out of the house
and the sun swallowed my nerve somehow it
seeped in and spiked a trillion cellular fevers
and hatched the tongue of the summer in my pantlegs.

ketchup is the joker of condiments, if anything,
not the king. it's not that i don't like it ...
i just don't like it on the table
as the default topping.
it's just that there are so many other condiments
worthy of a spot on the diner table.
like sri racha.
i thought what turned out to be a girl's purse was a hoagie
at this bar the other night.
it was pink and had a bow...but it was dark.
and then today a genre-similar delusion took place.
on campus i saw a guy walking
with what i presumed was an open book, he seemed
to be reading it, in that way one does when they are trying not to run into things.
glance happy.
but actually, i realized,
he was holding two cheese-conjoined slices of pizza.
but dammit it looked like a book.
a holy text, maybe. even.

i watched a very long japanese movie tonite
and like all japanese movies
it ended totally without warning.
i sometimes suspect secretly
that these same japanese directors are commissioned
to direct baffling american television commercials,
meant to confuse the viewer into consuming the first thing
that makes any sense to them,
which can only be
the brand name that magically appears on the screen
at the end of the darn thing,
and relieves the anxieties the viewer is having
about having possibly gone insane in the last 45 seconds.
the movie was nobody knows
and it was pretty good.

Dear Science

Dear Science,
I think I should be able to shed more skin at will and also i would like to understand more of this thing called physics but not on your terms. never on your terms. I bet you didn't know i could smoke with my feet while reading the Wall Street Journal and only while reading the wall street journal. Explain that one, Science. I dare you.
love,
The Spirit of Aloha and Her Orchestra

i identify with blueberries. i don't like them, but i get em.

sodapop

good people love people, hate colanders.
i'm thinking of writing a travel book called "Just Like Jersey: A Relative Travelouge full of lies"...do you think it'll fly? nah, me neither.
geisha mambo never got made because i am awful. welp, on to not doing bigger and better things. thinking of trying to design some dresses that you can unsnap unzip unbutton whatever to make flare out for when you feel (or actually really become) fat. 'I Et Too Much', i call em. they would go from sleek little things, for when you have to be sexy, to maternity clothes. like tents.

maybe they could make a whirring noise as it happened. or i would just stand there and make the whirring noise.

my favourite noise is an automatic car window rolling up. if i could make any noise happen during conversation it would be that one. for my heart.

and then they laughed at me.

the hose the hose the hose is on fire.

mood: shoot me. but don't really.

i have decided that i would like the song 'the roof is on fire' better if the lyrics were 'the hose is on fire', and then the backround singer ladies nymphony chanted 'actually, really, this is serious and very true in the reality we share together'. kev explained to me that the song is based on a historical event and i don't care. there is no precedent for this preventing remakes, and anyway the song is dumb. this is real to me, this is what's weighing heavy on my mind. this is why i can't sleep at night. i want this improved version of the song on my desk by tomorrow morning.

i just watched a documentary about dylan

mood: hegemonic

and it occured to me that the world would be a much cooler place if it were run by competing groups of psychics. that ran corporations, and the government (goverations) and developed our cities and stuff like that. it'd be pretty much the same, what with all the marketing strategies and whatever, but the hype would be a lot cooler.
thoughts? does anyone know how to actualize my plan?

scenes from Rembrandts would not be a movie i would watch twice

when i started working at a (pretty) nice resturaunt i thought i would overhear tons of interesting conversations. nope. not a single one. the only great thing i ever heard from a table (and i always listen in in the hopes that someday...) was this group of well-dressed yuppy types, talking about politics. The girl voiced some sort of progressive view, i think denouncing bush, and the guy said, and i'm serious, "i just think that you have very strong, relatively uninformed opinions". and get this, the girl agreed with him, saying that it was true and she was proud of it. oh life. sometimes you make gems.

Intellectual heritage or Poem for Plagiarists

i improved walt whitman today
went through and crossed out and made pleasing
drew my lover's face in the margins (though it is not a marginal face)
drew it right into the wildest largest passions,
the expression of a poorly made man.
sweet and strong.
with eyes of shell and lapis lazuli.
my love is made of soft gypsum (and rough gypsy),
when my lover wears the ketchup
his beard is licked with flame
he likes to wash it,
and i like to wash it.

until jets of love, hot and enormous
blast those little red shoes right off my feet!
and send me flying
into savannah, georgia
and a park walk.
you aren't nearly as good at describing women, walt.