Another Haiku

For National Poetry Month, 2013
[ via ] :

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As The End Draws Near

. . . of National Poetry Month this year, that is.
Grifted from my Tumblr, here’s :

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National Poetry Month Continues : with Justin Chin

Back When I Knew Who I Was 

i was content to spend my afternoons
wondering what co-dependent meant
not realizing that those lazy
humid daylight hours was better  
spent figuring out the physics
of dependency and codeine dreams

back when i knew who i was
i was much better than i ever thought i was
i could conjugate fuck like nobody’s business
       fuck me, fuck you, fuck it, fuck him, fuck her
       fuck them, fuck yourself, holy fuck, goddamnfuckit

i could shovel dead pets off the driveway
     that my aunt ran over on her way to choir practice
     and not shed a single tear
i could choke down every family fight about money,
every caning that would come for no reason after those fights,
every time we were forced to go to my rich relatives for dinner and we’d
find ourselves in the kitchen cooking and doing the dishes.

i believed i knew the meaning of alcohol
i believed i knew how to get out of every scrap
i believed i wasn’t gonna make 25
i believed in 18 molecules of carbon
21 molecules of hydrogen
3 oxygen and one fab nitrogen
all in a sweet mixture enough to make me
feel like jennifer beals in flashdance
twirling my ass
in front of the snotty audition,
praying for a stinking place in 
the dance-a-thon of actuality

back when my balls were the size of brazil
and my ego was the size of the antarctica
and my courage was the size of phlegm
i learned to trust few people
learned to want little
and to need even less
i learned to say “FUCK IT”

with such ease and venom
the most cynical rattlesnake
would have its underbelly turn emerald
in two seconds flat.

you could wake to find yourself in some sweet danger,
in some piss-flavored version of addiction
designed to make up for lost time,
lost ideals, lost lovers, lost causes, lost saviours
but -shit- these days,
all i find is myself back when i was
back in the conga line of perpetual desire
the territory of an incessant need
i crave my one habit of a good man
and i want to secede from
the grip of addiction philosophy,
from the colony of “i should’ve known better”

fuck that 12-step thing, i say,
i like to keep my options open
and i like having the option
to get absolutely fucked up
when i feel like it,
and not feel like i fucked up, dammit.

do things change that much?
can some stupid sign from the almighty
whip you right around?
maybe i should be looking for visions of jesus
in billboards of spaghetti sauce,
visions of buddha in men’s semen,
maybe i’ll be a much better person
if i knew who i was when i knew who i was
but who the fuck do i think i am?
i can’t even piss straight into the bowl,
can’t even tell my lover that i want to cook him
breakfast for the rest of my life,
can’t even cross against the light,
     (ooh, walk to the light, walk to the light….)
can’t pay my bills on time nor balance my checkbook
can’t dance, can’t mosh,
can’t get fucked up like i used to, not that i want to anyway
can’t take it like a man, whatever that means.

all i can is kiss who i was
back when i knew who i was
goodbye, one great big tongue smooch
and wish him a good journey
as he walks to the light
and falls off the edge of the earth
and into a peaceful hell.

i’ll meet up with him later.

Justin Chin, from Bite Hard
     Manic D Press, 1997

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And Up Next, In Honor of National Poetry Month : Sparrow 13 Laughingwand

from the anthology Signs of Life [ Manic D Press : 1994 ]
as well as Hell Soup [ Manic D : 1996 ], Sparrow’s collected works, self-described as “ranging from Hillbilly childhood to savage sissy.”

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In Celebration of National Poetry Month : Gazpacho by Michelle Tea

1:30 a.m. gazpacho in my room
red and green and tasting
like tucson like too much
parsley and cocktails on
the porch, mezcal, tastes
like tequila someone played
a trick on we bought it cheap
in mexico two bottles per gringo
over the border gazpacho and
burritos enough to feed the
neighborhood and i did because
the neighborhood was crashing
at my house showing up at sunset
to eat at my cinderblock table but
it was cool i could afford it could
afford to pay rent buy groceries buy
jugs of red wine to get them all drunk
bongs of pot to keep them all stoned and
gas tank full for road trips i
was making lots of cash and we were all
cool liberal fuck liberal we were
radical, anarchist cookbook beside
the moosewood cookbook on our bookshelf we
knew all about things like the
distribution of wealth and like i said i
was making tons of money and they weren’t
making any they were unemployed because
finding work is hard or they’re students of
in the emergency stage of the sexual abuse thing or
some other piece of laziness doctored up as
politics you know capitalism blah blah blah so
i was supporting an ever-changing band of lethargic
sunbathing potheads because i was making so much
money and yeah i was making it by leaving my body
so that strange men could fill it like a kind of
demon spirit but fuck it was my choice no gun
to my head no linda lovelace scene here and
i was really into communal living and we were all
such free spirits, crossing the country we were
nomads and artists and no one ever stopped
to think about how the one working class housemate
was whoring to support a gang of upper middle class
deadheads with trust fund safety nets and connecticut
childhoods, everyone was too busy processing their
isms to deal with non-issues like class
and besides,
you don’t think rich families have problems
you don’t think rich families have secret rapes and
alcoholic dads and feed their kids bad food with
sugar and preservatives i mean when you
get right down to it we’re all just humans,
all on the same path to destruction because
our mother earth is being raped (is it ok
if we borrow that term from your
oppression, it’s reall powerful) anyway,
the class trip is just divide and conquer,
blood money is just a redundant phrase and all work
is prostitution, right? and it’s just so cool
how none of them have hang-ups about
sex work they’re all real
open-minded real
revolutionary you know
the legal definition of pimp is
one who lives off the earnings of
a prostitute, one or five or
eight and i’d love to stay and
eat some of the stir fry i’ve been cooking
for y’all but i’ve got to go fuck
this guy so we can all get stoned and
go for smoothies tomorrow, save me
some rice, ok?

Michelle Tea

from the anthology Signs of Life [ Manic D Press : 1994 ]
as well as The Beautiful [ Manic D : 2003 ], a collection of Tea’s poetry

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It’s National Poetry Month . . . Shake The Dust.

“This is for the hard men
Who want love
But know that it won’t come
For the ones
Who are forgotten
The ones for whom the Amendments do not stand up for
For the ones who are told to speak
Only when you are spoken to
And they’re never spoken to
Speak
Everytime you stand
So you do not forget yourself…”

 

Anis Mojgani

 

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Define “Surreal”

I chance upon a Tumblr post re-blogged by the teenage daughter of friends, when I was a teenager. I mention aforementioned post on Twitter; then, the following day . . . I discover news of how I’m able to pick my nose with my tongue has been picked-up and re-posted

by The True Blood Daily. In Australia.   [ CLICK PHOTO TO ENLARGE ]

[ Tumblr Blog : To Which The AU Paper Linked ]

 

Surreal? And yet not, actually.

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Faggot Dinosaur Give-Away!

Though much to my chagrin, no : I don’t have some butt-humping Brontosaurus to send your direct. I do, however, have an invaluable relic uncovered during the most recent excavation of my abode. And like, I’m sharing. I’m sharing, Mary!

So, anyway. Yes, it’s been a minute, but I’ve mentioned Ali Liebegott‘s wicked excellent anthology Faggot Dinosaur in the past — a detail whether or not you recall, all the same : You need this journal in your life.

About the project [ Shoddy scanner notwithstanding ] :

In short, the anthology is “a visual and literary collaboration of dinosaurs knitting, fucking, and listening to Barbara Streisand! Queerness of the Paleolithic Age abounds at Faggot Dinosaur.”

Though to expound upon the extent of how it abounds . . . This gorgeous, full-color, perfect-bound compendium of cool includes contributions from Resa Alboher, Jen Benka & Carol Mirakove, Denise Bilbao, Cooper Bombardier, Lisa Brown, Clint Catalyst, Justin Chin, Lucy Corin, Carmella Fleming, Leora Fridman, Nicole J. Georges, Hilary Goldberg, Nicki Greene, Michael Henry Hayden, Diane Hoffman, Sade Huron, Elyssa Joy Kilman, Andrea Lawlor, jojo Lazar, Janice Lee, Ricky Lee, Cayenne Link, Amy Macabre, Mary Meriam, Na¹amen, Sawako Nakayasu, Kirk Read, Steven Reigns, Joshua Robinson, Tracy Jeanne Rosenthal, Roxanne, Sam Sax, Cedar Sigo, Michelle Tea, Masha Tupitsyn, Vlad Viski, Ed Wolf and Yasmin San Francisco.

[ Illustration : Victor Ray ]

It’s a charming little beast, this book. Indeed, indeed! I mean, as with Liebegott’s other works, you should already own one. Seriously. Regardless, for one lucky reader out there, I have a copy with fifteen contributor signatures to donate. That’s right, kids : the only journal in the world with autographs from Justin Chin, Janice Lee, Michelle Tea, Ricky Lee, Na’amen, Mario Ashkar, Kirk Read, Tracy Jeanne Rosenthal, Jen Benka & Carol Mirakove, Lucy Corin, Hilary Goldberg, Carmella Suzanne Fleming, your host of this humble Dot Com, and of course, The Liebegott herself. So much crazy mad queer ink smeared all up in one place, yet I plan on sending it somewhere, to someone else. What’s the T?

Well. For your chance to receive this collector’s item, all you have to do is leave a comment — email address included; my telepathic skills don’t pay the bills, ifyouknowwhatImean — by 9:39 PM Pacific Standard Time, the Third of March, Two Thousand Thirteen.

[ Illustration : Nicole J. Georges ]

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Oh Really. Know What I Have To Say To That?

animated gif, funny expression

animated gif, funny, reaction

animated gif, the olsen twins

animated gif, fairuza balk, the craft

animated gif, goth girl, blah blah blah

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Rubaiyat For Rocky

Repeat of the screen grab, except with linkage in working order : “Rubaiyat For Rocky” is from the book Cottonmouth Kisses. Thanks to Beauty Nursed On Darkness for the spiffy lay-out / introduction to the Tumblrsphere.

Apologies for the didactic, but simply “For Those Whom” . . . [blah blah blah]

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Well. . . Truth Of The Matter Is

animated gif, sparkly, stars, twinkling
James Franco, animated gif, text, phone, sex
James Franco, animated gif, comment response, yes
James Franco, animated gif, low resolution, reaction gif, yes
James Franco, animated gif, low resolution, comment response, yes
animated gif, yes, good phone, phone sex, crop
animated gif, sparkly, stars, twinkling

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My Contribution To Paleolithic Swishin’ and Dishin’

Details about the project/anthology in which it appears
And nerdy stuff about the form in which was written “beneath the cut”. . .

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Hilary Goldberg’s recLAmation: Watch It; Win One of Three Signed DVDs

So, let’s talk about Hilary Goldberg‘s recLAmation, a feature-length genre-hopping experimental documentary-slash-fictive narrative shot on Super 8, in which capitalism in contemporary Los Angeles is overthrown, and queer superheroes — one of which there’s a more-than-decent chance I inhabit via Gaylord Wilshire, spandex tights and flame-retardant cape notwithstanding — navigate a possible future.

Hilary Goldberg, recLAmation, movie

Yes. Yes, let’s talk about it. I spoke of its unique tripartite structure in a previous post, though in brief : In the first two sections, Consumption and Colonization, personal narratives interact with moving images of contemporary Los Angeles, stop motion animation, and sound design. Writer/director Goldberg’s memoir unfolds, offering reflections on time spent with her mother’s violent fiancé and in a mental hospital.

The filmmaker’s recollection of forced institutionalization is as poetic as it is poignant.

[ An excerpt ] :

“There were no ‘Please Do Not Disturb’ signs on the doorknobs because it was too late. Ghosts haunted the halls, moaning and groaning with each unbearable second. People cried and screamed and urinated on the floor. A man continuously kicked himself in the head with his bare foot. Others paced quietly, then dropped to the ground in fits of madness with intervals like a John Cage composition.”

As with the stark black and white film stock utilized in Goldberg’s neo-noir project In The Spotlight, the employment of Super 8 — an anamorphic film format known for producing a unique dream-like quality, as if everything is coated in an amniotic haze; it’s also believed to invoke feelings of nostalgia for the viewer, mimicking a sense of connection to the material presented — renders these passages particularly powerful.

Then? Then comes the third section : a fictional narrative envisions a dream of Los Angeles after it has been liberated from capitalism.

At any rate, after a successful international tour and critically-acclaimed jaunt around the festival circuit, it’s available to view via streaming, here and now. . .

The film stars Joy Anderson, Clint Catalyst, Irina Contreras, Amy Goodman, Jessica Gudiel, Jessica Hoffmann — with narration by Goldberg.

Preview, film stills, and contest info “beneath the cut” . . .

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In The Spotlight : Give-Aways, “Streaming,” Check It!

Yes, it’s been a while . . .

but some of you might recall my repeated mentions of Hilary Goldberg‘s short film “In The Spotlight,” starring the wicked way Richter literary genius Michelle Tea, screen-writer/producer/actress extraordinaire Guinevere Turner and me, in the role of a creepy literary charlatan known as Bell Wartock. [ The smarmy, nefarious style fiend — due in no small part to the brilliance and boundless abilities of costume designer Adele Mildred — may very well have inspired a tribute and a smidgen of merch in the nascent days of his creation. I mean : Bell Wartock is, after all, “the voice of a new generation.” ]

Director Hilary Goldberg between takes, with Michelle Tea [ as Olive Clutch ] and Clint Catalyst

Well, after great critical acclaim and a tour of film festivals around the world — including Inside Out Toronto, Frameline, Outfest, Vancouver Queer Film Festival, Fresno Reel Pride, Women Make Waves Taiwan, Seattle Queer, American Cinematheque Third Annual Focus on Female Directors, Reel Women International, Frederick Film Festival, Reel Pride Michigan, and The Dark Arts Festival in Salt Lake City — this meta-fictive neo-noir is finally available to watch in the comfort of your own home…for a scant 99 cents.

Still on the proverbial fence? I know; I know — it’s almost an entire dollar, maing! As you mull the idea over, feel free to peek “beneath the cut” and view the film’s official trailer, stills, and…oh yeah! Details about that give-away I mentioned!


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Only Pictures

Mad gratitude to Beauty Nursed On Darkness for the post [ditto 115 Tumblrers, for the notes!] Much appreciated, indeed . . .

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