The Shrinking Lover

I recently rented Talk to Her (2002) by Pedro Almodovar. Near the end of the movie is this incredible silent movie, The Shrinking Lover, that parallels the primary plot line about a male nurse and his patient, a beautiful dancer in a coma. Not that I didn't like the rest of the movie, but the not-so-repressed Freudian in me wanted more of the silent movie, just like I wanted the Dali dream sequence in Spellbound to continue a bit longer.

I have edited out the set up to the silent movie -- where the female scientist creates this elixir her lover impulsively drinks. He begins shrinking daily and decides to run away, sparing her from watching him diminish into nonexistence. He leaves his love and spends his remaining days with (but of course) his mother. The segment I have uploaded starts where the scientist has retrieved her tiny tiny lover by secreting him away in her purse. (A purse. Now what could that be a metaphor for?) She checks into a hotel and they spend the night together.

What is Almodovar's unconscious agenda:

• Rape?
  
• Passivity in women?
  
• Tiny men?
  
• Returning to the womb?
• All of the above?

The Scoop on Poop

Words evolve. And as they are used, there is greater need for clarification and further discrimination between this and that, between wheat and chaff. Listed alphabetically, not in order of preference or frequency, the following phrases have been in circulation for some time and define virtually the same activity:

• 

  Clear the traffic jam on the Hershey Highway
• Download some brownware
• Drop anchor, a bomb, a deuce, or a load
• Drop the kids off at the pool
• Grunt a growler
• Launch a torpedo
• Lay some cable, bricks, or logs
• Make a deposit at the porcelain bank
• Make a stinky
• Pinch a loaf
• Salute the throne
• Take a dump or a load off your mind
• Test the plumping
• Sjvsdtta en barkbet (Sweden)
• Squeeze one out, a coily, or the cheese

The list above is hardly comprehensive. The substitutions for the verb are myriad, the direct objects countless, making combinations and variations exponential. Perhaps the size of the direct object (e.g., log, torpedo) may be indicative of the quantity of the bowel movement. For brevity’s sake, I shall forego a qualitative analysis at this time.

One morning, during a recent discussion with my wife, and explored and expounded upon over cocktails with friends later that same day, I posited the need for an ordinal term or phrase that signified the number of shits taken in a day – because after all, people are counting.

1. Dump – the first shit of the day. The shit you take when you first wake up; or, the shit that wakes you up.
2. Deuce – the second shit of the day, usually taken after coffee.
3. Tribble – the third shit of the day, usually taken immediately after arriving at work. Most enjoyed while on the clock, while reading a newspaper paper, Sports Illustrated, or emails on your Blackberry.
4. Squatro – the fourth shit of the day. Taken just before lunch in order to make room for the combo deal at Quinzos, a carnitas burrito with cheese and guacamole at Chipotle, or the all-you-can-eat at the Indian buffet.
5. Quince – the fifth shit of the day. Taken late in the afternoon, before you take the metro home, ride your bike, or begin your two-hour commute through Malfunction Junction, hoping there’s no overturned 18-wheeler again. May be taken at home if you had a salad or a Smoothie for lunch.

Sure, the numbers could go higher, to infinity as I hear numbers (real ones at least) are alleged to do. But if you are taking more than five shits a day, make that if you “drop more than a quince” a day, you need to seek medical help immediately.

For a gastroenterologist in your area, click here.

Sip-N-Sale This Sunday at Pal's

Please axe me about

"We weren't just participating... We were the best!"

Antebellum fucko fever

I've been researching Yellow Fever a bit this summer, and have come across many an example of the New Orleans fucko continuum. The following item from the Picayune detailing the summer funk of 1837 seems to have particular resonance today. From 172 years later, I feel ya:

The levee is dull, dreary and lifeless at this time. No business doing, and the few ships in port are losing money for want of cargoes. Steamboats arrive but seldom, and bring neither news, money or goods. Every person feels like sleeping or running away for the next three weeks and a half - but most of those now in the city are bound to stay, to fulfill engagements, live or die. We make out to bury our dead, drink juleps, or brandy toddies, talk to each other and read letters and the news of the day...

Gv me the wd 4 Unconscious Forecasting

July
3, early, I
say to Janine – summer
here gives you that Life goes on, Long
after

the thrill
of living is
gone feeling. Later that
night (news to me) on NPR,
Fresh Air

has John
Mellencamp on
the program. Themes are put
out there – Race, Mortality, Girls –
if Girls

counts as
a theme. But it
all leads up to a dis-
cussion of that exact line, of
course, right?

the line
was from a time
when the Lower Chakras
(my term) did the writing –
thanks be.

Urban Dictionary Definition of UNDAY

Hey Undayers-

It's been so long since I signed onto The Unday that I forgot how to get here. So I simply googled Unday and found that Urban Dictionary had a listing. When I clicked on it here's what I found:


1. unday
unday means balls or eggs in urdu/hindi. unday can be referred to both; chicken eggs, and human male eggs(balls).


1. look his unday(balls) are showing. Tere unday nazar aa rahey hain.
2. look the chicken is laying eggs(unday).

2. unday
The period of time that occurs during the events of Saturday Night and Monday (or sometimes even Tuesday) Morning that nobody has recollection of after the comedown/hangover of a big weekender. After unday, you will feel like you have lost a day that you could have legitimately used for sleeping or recovering for work/uni the next day but can't because that day seems to have dissolved into nothingness and you probably knocked yourself out for over 24 hours.
A: *wakes up* Man I feel like shit... what time is it? we've got to go meet up with Sasha
B: That was yesterday. It's Monday today. And we're late for Uni again.
A: Shit whatever happened to sunday?
B: It's not sunday, It's Unday.

Sunrise on Friday, dPercussion on Saturday, Rave Saturday evening, Afterparty on Sunday, then it's Bank Holiday Unday.

It's a similiar but different definition of ours. Instead of Unday being the day to accomplish your shit that you didn't accomplish while partying, this definition makes an extra partying day into an Unday and BLAMES the Unday for not having that day to recover/sleep off your hangover!

Also, let us not forget the primary definition. Chicken or human male egg (balls)!

I F Y o u A RE H o t R e a d J O Y C E

( please ask me about )

SHADE DERIVE

b/w

Sunday Morning Bumper Bocce (Coming Down)

Janine Hayes Was King

the old man in the
sea grape tree ogling the
morning bikinis

Je suis jalouse - Emilie Loizeau

Je suis jalouse

At The Audubon Zoo

Photo by Jeremy Yuslum (ask him about his awesome costume idea).

Last Saturday, Neutral Ground on St. Claude Ave., by the Front Gallery

Local Favorites for New Orleans, LA

Kinsey
30 Rock
the 400 Blows
Like Water for Chocolate
Let the Right One In

Unrequited Backstop

Ms. Jackson


Tis not that mine heart can just be sawed!
Camping with stars strapped to trunks for naught,
look what the black rainbow of thinking has brought
earthy thee, winds your nosey nearness flawed.
I can’t heft the flight path of nighties shed
oer apple-bough pluffed sheet dreams wrought
in fields, our streets, or if one call can be fraught
with any more pleasure. Perhaps high people read
you best who in the times of vinyl did say
thou were clover honey power unto the old:
No blossom turns cheek but to sturdy day
subtly right as sweet olive essences unfold
in aged cage-match love taken to sunshine lie,
to be the whole beach beneath you and swelly die.

Temptation to Exist

"Where do I get my ideas from? You might as well have asked that of Beethoven. He was goofing around in Germany like everybody else, and all of a sudden this stuff came gushing out of him.

It was music.

I was goofing around like everybody else in Indiana, and all of a sudden stuff came gushing out.

It was disgust with civilization."

- Kurt Vonnegut, "Armageddon In Retrospect."

The Tuesday Quote

"... A compressed version of a doomed love affair, played out in fast forward: cozy at dawn... mental note of full lips and fine skin (his); a shy introduction; curiosity; offerings of food; jokes, booze, confessions; solemnity; recognition of other as an alien; contempt; and, finally, indifference."

- Isabel Fonseca, "Bury Me Standing: The Gypsies and Their Journey." Photo by Oleg Shatsov.

Go Jose!

*




THIS YEAR'S JOSE BIRTHDAY POEM


Oneday hopefully we'll know more of your land than
Inca Cola and ceviche and the cool family
and friends that came to your wedding
but we do know the good time good works cool hand
style you've brought to being friend and neighbor
and crayfish cooker ingenue
as you catbird sit one year younger
than Christ on the cross.


It's awesome to be born on the cuff link of hurricane
season, and to survive one as mainly hero to pigs
and the gents who discovered your alternative treasure
on the banquette of the Brown Derby restaurant.

Remember: when Life lemons, turn to Rico.
Nobody lives forever anymore so please delight
in a baby pool of pisco sours
as a year of sweeter times will surely yet unspool.

Apropos The Unday Dialogue

"It is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do."

- Jerome K. Jerome. Photo by Oleg Shatsov, NYC.

P.S. Happy Hurricane Season 2009, y'all!

Miami Kills Impasse Dead

by Brett Evans

20 May 2009

11:00 pm

(Written last night at Jeremy and Tatyana's house, after Brett asked Tatyana to give him five words. She did: consistency, bliss, plan, meow, blaring)

Somewhere over the twist

someone needs a certain chica

to just pick up where you left off

and bless whatever moon

is blessing you - from the beach
to this room. Except for very fine

friends & family sometimes, no plan

& the occasional fantastic stranger -

consistency is an overrated
concept. Life is a mess. Of course

let's go for the glorious meow.

We could be the blaring of
our own tender meaning - meaning

these people here break the impasse

Happy Anniversary, T and T!

Dear Todd and Trish,

Happy wedding anniversary!

Wishing you a long, prosperous, healthy life

together.

Your wedding still makes me cry,

it was the perfect pre-K moment in time

we are left to long for.

You take harmonious co-existence

to another level,

and give marriage a good name.

Bliss out,

Love, Tat

Weather-Appropriate Quote of The Day

"He lives as one dreams of living, in a caravan. And even when it was no longer a caravan, somehow it still was."

- Jean Cocteau on Django Reinhardt, from "Bury Me Standing: The Gypsies and Their Journey" by Isabel Fonseca

We Put the "Me" Back in Miami

"Within this fragile eggshell is a dream which reveals itself when I wake up lying peacefully and my knees open to the sun." -- Patti Smith (overheard on the stereo, on the way back from South Beach/St. Augustine, with Janine driving all the way home).

Superfecta + 1

Punday
Saturday
Sunday
Unday
Bunday!

Hear ye a statement of the obvious

Let it be known that to fill one's weekend with Fest, sans unday, tis folly. Where is the time to rebound from mild sunstroke? To bounce back from the ill-timed (double) round of crawfish sacks n' beignets? To repent over-texting one's coordinates? Needless to say, a punday is of no help in these matters. Only an unday will do (and a Corpse Reviver No. 1.)

drink recipe dart (try this festival season)

*


Corpse Reviver No. 1

1/2 Brandy
1/4 Calvados or Apple
Brandy
1/4 Sweet Vermouth

Stir well with ice and strain
into glass.

*

tag in

wearable assemblage art by Cree

and a brinish tear rolls down my round face, drops to floor

swagger at the tables, watch the coup round thee

march to my door

Chump Day

So as with everything I'll have to pay back my 2 consecutive Jazz Fest Undays with three consecutive "Chump Days". What's a Chump Day you're asking? Well it's very narrowly defined. Back story: I went to the dentist yesterday for the first time since Katrina. I was a bit cocky with the doctor telling her that my mom has a mouth full of cavaties but I've always been lucky and only have had a few. Well.... as you can probably guess I have some cavaties. SIX! She said it was normal for not having seen a dentist in some time and told me to schedule three appointments because she wouldn't be able to do them all at once. I promptly scheduled three appointments on three consecutive Wednesdays at the end of May. So those my friends will be my Chump Days (on hump days no less!). And being the good Catholic that I am not I have rightly guilted myself in believing that because I championed my Undays I am being punished with Chump Days.

A little more about the Unday

I don't mean to brag but I think I have the Ultimate Unday. This upcoming weekend (and next) I have off Saturday, Sunday and well, an Unday. The unday is the ultimate because it follows a serious weekend of festing (did I just use "festing" as a verb as in "I will be festing"? Eww). Yeah, but it's true. Somehow (without requesting) I have off BOTH Mondays following the fest. And you know what the rule is kids. A monday off following a full weekend off= UNDAY! That's the name of the blog and that's what I'm blogging about right now. Ah the exhiliration!

*Again this is not a gloat, just a simple observation. Then again isn't the nature of Unday a little gloaty? When someone is granted an Unday they sort of having bragging rights. You don't just keep such information to yourself. You spread the word of Unday and the power thereof. It is what we all aspire to have (atleast) so it's obtainment should be celebrated! So should an exacta Bunday and the now newly designated Punday. Shout it from the hills (or the bayou in this case). UNDAY! UNDAY! I've got an UNDAY!


**This Unday sponsored by Patti at Port of Call. Thanks Patti!

We Simply Love Todd

Today is Todd Appreciation Day, bitches!

And Coda Cola

( that 's Gabriel's Name Dish )


Broccoli Rob
Janine Jam
Taco Brett
Jose Tomato
Lemon Cissy
Ketchup Todd
Egg Omelet Patricia
Christie Hoagie
Julie Birthday Cake
Jeremy Shrimp
Jan Pie
Dr. Bob Snails

The April Birthday People

Has candlewatt power

(for Todd on his birthday)

As the blue moon hangs pink
over the new time home,
the bean can on the desk
rings for you
to follow your bliss into
another year of being.

No traditional lane system here
just a scheming for a dish served
on a day off beamèd directly
to your nightstand

which bends to bantamweight plays
limned with pens
objectionable to daily learning —
something about Section 650
being “off the grind,
high above the grid, avec plaisir”

& your style,
objecting to a concept
as gnarly as, say, the bloody clovis,
but willing to entertain & dissect
it all into a night’s fisty knot
which can be yet defanged to
a shirt-bright spinnaker,

fenagled into a pyjama pants bunday dance party,
bowling the boat of those most among you
onto a sparking, undiscovered shore.
Such as only you could properly rock
your rainbow afro of truth be torch
and skypaint and firestarter there.




16 April 2009 B r e t t & J a n I n e


***********************************************************************************

For Julie on her birthday


Because you’re one of the people
that cause the flag to get raised
and sky scrapers to become nicely
hand-sized so we don’t have to
surf the ledge, a communal clink
is hereby put out across the loudspeaker yard
& oer the land as boisterous witness
to your presence.

It’s nigh mellifluous
& laden with intelligence
turning champagne bottles into bowling pins
& hoffing sessions into Fellini-esque grandeur.
Because you are the Miss that we love to sass
all the way to the wine bank and back
something about swaying & rock n roll
should be noted here
because being Queen for a day (& only one!)
entitles you to be the bad ass momma you are
times eleven.

You’ll always be warm and delicious to us,
your friends, through rough water, Wilco bleeps, beaches and Gras.
The gathering storm is a good one.
It means all your friends are coming together to roll the spiral bunting.

19 April 2009 Brett & Janine

Set your Jazz Fest Calendar...

I know we all have our own J.F. agendas, but as we approach the fest I wanted to share my #1 pick: Chuck Brown, Sunday May 3, 3:00, Congo Square.

The "Godfather of D.C. Go Go," Chuck's best known song is probably "Bustin' Loose". The man is now in his mid-seventies, but as you will see in the video below, he has not slowed his roll. Hope you'll join me.

La Nouvelle Orleans: 504 4Ever (Or, Until We Sink)

Peeps and Undies,

my writer/editor Philly friend Gretchen has posted today a lil' article (more like a LOVE proclamation) about this fair city I wrote for her travel-y/food-y new site. Unfortunately, it's on MySpace, so unless you're a member you won't see the accompanying pics (I am not, and I wasn't able to). Gretchen apologizes promises to migrate to better digs as soon as she is able.

Since some of this blog's contributors were quoted in the letter, I thought it was only fair to share.

Love and FQ Fest,

Tats (indisposed at home with a hula hoop and tea)

Lazy Quatrains

Hey, I'm no poet. So you know that when I see a chance to get my verse on, without having to actually "write," I'm on it. I came across a rhyme generating website during the course of business this week - http://www.pangloss.com/seidel/Poem/ - so I gave it a whirl. You supply the first line, and the computer does the rest.

This one goes out to the plus-sized hat models:

Slosh(ed) models compete in a triathlon of shellfish
Pundit plots of putrid poetry
Are you blueish?
When by shapes my words are known, I try

Slosh(ed) models compete in triathlon of shellfish
On this salty, swampy, sumptuous eve
"Thanks!" They replied "I'll rhyme orange with fish!"
One's heart would be a sticky sieve

Slosh(ed) models compete in a triathlon of shellfish
Carving out a pernicious void
And kick stealthy strokes like the Flemish
And drowning in dreams, as I can't avoid

Slosh(ed) models compete in triathlon of shellfish
But oh I must now take my leave
Beautiful music emerged -- no blemish
I took liberties I SHOULDN'T have

druncle

druncle or drunkle - n. An uncle with a drinking problem.

ex. The family reunion took an edgier tone when druncle showed up topless.

Let the Fatholicking begin

It's Holy Week. Two of our fellow Undayers are in today's metro section of the Times Pic. Squint and you can find them beneath the heading "Thoughts of Sacrifice". And nothing says sacrifice like gogging down a couple of bottles of wine!

Matine, Good Deeding -and- Humpday Angsties

Some of you already heard this around the campfire, but Johnny T. and I escorted Ms. Matine, a 94-year lady, to her St. Bernard church down the road for Palm Sunday mass.

Jonathan also has a garden in the back of the church, where "we" (mostly Johnny and Ana Helena (friend of Ben), despite my landscaping resume) planted a few new additions after mass and the subsequent visit to Matine's house.

To rudely splice in the umpday angst -- I've been wanting to write about this/ haven't -- and the thing is, it seems as you gravitionally go toward a new weekend, it becomes less possible. Hump be the last stand methinks.

In any case, I highly recommend a trip to St. Bernard with Jon Dan Travvy to check out his Adamic (pre-kickout) handiwork. I was feeling like a representative of ASCO Sunday morning after the Saturday crayfish berl indulgences, and almost didn't make it. Through my child-memory mind I also remembered the Palm Sunday mass as eternal, so it seemed quite daunting. But as we process ed in to the church with palms, we were hit with a yellow light like a sun vitamin. The church itself is very un-baroque, and seems more like a country Baptist church than the typical Catholic offering. The reader lady's Chalmette-inflected passion play was also quite nice.

You're probably wondering how J., A-H, and myself got tasked with this. The answer is that Matine typically goes to church with her granddaughter Monique, a friend of Jonathan's. She was in Florida. Cue the replacements.

Matine lives in a replacement house on the site of her 'cane-capsized former house. It is a pre fab of sorts, but has porches, and still has the barn out back where Matine and family members weathered the storm, which had to be sawed open by rescuers. The saw job is still there for the seeing. There's a new raincatcher for to serve fresh rainwater in the kitchen. Monique lives on the property in a railroad container car, in some post-K, Cajune-M.I.A shotgun of sorts, with a geodesic hut and chicken wire fence attachment to that for her dog.

Ms. Matine served us chicory coffee after church and it tasted great (good-tasting homemade chicory coffee, as opposed to Cafe du Monde, is a feat I've never been able to master).

If there was a cartoon cutaway of my belly (skipping tarny-soul view) at this point it would have shown nothing but the communion wafer and the coffee, to be joined later in the garden by one of Ana Helena's chemically delicious green swedish fish.

It also turned out - as the promised storm was nowhere, and the powerful nearer-to-Gulf sun beat down - than Ana Helena was friends in Alaska with a couple - Rocky and Destiny (a whole nuther tale) - than I was friends with in Savannah, GA.

We tried to go into Rocky and Carlo's (no relation to Rocky and Destiny) on the way home, but it was blue-closed old style. We stopped at a convenience store and I got to add an apple Hubig's to my near-empty belly, along with some Zapp's and Chex Mix from the car friends. Vitamin Water then. This the new loaves and fishes. We were all in such a good mood at this point - I even thoroughly (say in Arabi inflection) enjoyed checking out a picture of Ana's 20-month old daughter - everything seemed like a feast. The wind spiced the world nicely through the open windows of the Pathy [Pathfinder] as we toured through the oak-columned road, wheeled along the edges of the Chalmette Battlefield, and went past the yet-floodskanked planted helicopters of the old Jackson Barracks on the way, ultimately, back to the Ninth Ward where Ana Helena was scheduled to give Ben (believe it) a massage.

And then all was later recounted, spun, and examined on Judy's deck that Sunday night, just upstairs from the scene of the rubdown.

Johnny and I were so pleased with the day's events that we even threatened/ are threatening to go to the St. Bernard church's walking of the Stations of the Cross on Friday. Is this Church Slumming or are - we - for - real?



**************


In other notes -- I watched CLOVERFIELD last night. As someone who went through the Poseidon Gras that was Katrina and lived before that in NY, it was a weird experience: a perfect house blend of the hurricane and 9/11 disasters. I actually liked the movie a lot: much better than what I expected. It could just be, however, that scenes like friends getting separated by escape copters hit some deep place. Last night I ended up with dreams far more diabolical than the movie, and then near morning woke with laughter because Marc Robinson had decided to rename himself "Va-necknuts" [I'm sure that's not how he spelled it - I assume an umlaut was involved].

Balance

I've had an Unday dream for some time now. It's truly the missing ingredient in a balanced existence. Most important though, Unday will give us the time needed to equalize after Dome & Willy afternoons.

$30 a day wine habit?

uh, I made the mistake of looking at my bank account today and saw that T & I spent $120 at Cork & Bottle over the course of 4 days last week.

I'm guessing this doesn't top all time C&B consumption, but it gave me some pause.

At this rate, I really do think they need to consider some frequent buyer program. Can we earn "slugs" with every purchase until they amount to a bottle? How about one of those buy ten get one free cards they punch? Or something. I mean, damn, we are some loyal customers.

On the plus side, I never got a hangover.

2 hours off

Is this blog on Greenland time?

Options

Anyone want to go see "Midlife, The Crisis Musical"?
As Jaime Patterson once said, "I'd rather eat my own hair"

x

birthday son was composed by Julie, Janine, and Brett

Birthday Son

(for Frank Sherlock on his birthday)


Sent down the Schulykill in a reedy basket
to uni-gog the guttering grid,
dark nighties lifted up in your honor
stick on the fork of the upside-down metro
polis. Yowza, the calendar says
to rescue a stranded worm.
We'll hold a fresh minted caterpillar
in abeyance for you, along with a heavy
stack of mid-city money. It's nearly funny,
you at 40 when so short ago
we had the Poetry Kingdom alock
in the Figure 4. Waiting the arrival
of near death we rejoice in its coming.
Your cake seems to be wearing black socks.

Blog Logistics

This blog is pissing me off. I have just, for the second time, lost a post. The first time I lost a post, I hadn't signed in properly. I wrote a response to a comment from MosquitoKiller because the blog gave me a comment box in which to respond, but then I couldn't post my comment because I had not signed in. I copied my text, signed in, but when I tried to paste it, I found that the process of signing in somehow erased what I had copied. When I clicked back, attempting to retrieve it, it had vanished.

Just now I responded to another posting from MosquitoKiller and clicked the preview function to check over my comment before posting. I found a phrasing I wanted to change, but one cannot edit in the preview function. I didn't see an option to return to the edit mode, so I clicked back and lost my text again.

Perhaps I'm blogtarded, I'll cop to that, but I don't understand why the logistics of blogspot have glitches that email does not.

Humpday

When I worked in offices I always used to hate the term "Humpday" (Wednesday). As in, "Hey guys guess what... it's humpday!" Humpday of course refers to the middle of the week. Going over the heinous hump to get to the better side. It always just made me think of two animals in the wild humping or two gross people in South Philly doing the nasty.

In Philadelphia humpday meant going for cocktails at some lame bar named "Rouge" or "Firm" or "Velour". But in New Orleans on humpday we have music in the square! I attended last evening with some girls from work. I haven't been in a long time. It was fun. There were alot of young urban professionals which I forgot New Orleans had. They were dressed in pumps drinking Abita and listening to The Bucktown Allstars. My friend Margaret was trying to soak it all in. She is a native of New Orleans who will be moving to Brasil in 6 weeks. She doesn't know when she'll be back so she's embracing all that New Orleans has to offer. She turned to me and said, "This city is so great. This doesn't happen anywhere else". I told her she was right. In Philly a gathering like this would be a big deal. It would only happen once or twice a year. People would get really drunk and there would be atleast a few fights.

But I digress from my inital thought- humpday. Humpday is great in New Orleans. So much better than anywhere else. I saw the utterly handsome Scott Fajita (SAINTS!) walking around like a normal person. He fit perfectly well into this humpday scene. The whole thing got me thinking about how us human beings delegate our days. We really just want to have fun. The weekend is the prize. The Unday is to be determined. Humpday is the vehicle. What's next?

Bayou Bridge, 1 April (sighting)

Alex Chilton rounds the bayou
in his ratty Volvo
missing a hubcap and hair with amigo
window-down
alaughing all the way

from Saturday night's porch recital

Rob: "hoof job"

more SBFEP

3 { Penetrator #43 / Rampage in Rio }


this is a test of the emergency bedpost
because the announced punishment formation
didn’t go off as scheduled
the just a tad closer walk with garbage
down the sun-soaked pebbly side sidewalk
So maybe it’s now okay to ask – is Life
enough to build a dream on?
reduced in rank to that of Standartenfeldwebel
loosened snare drums and wobble moan banjo
how could not the shirts turn to paper (after great
trunks shattered for this ) & briskly fly away

Janine and Brett wrote this b-day jam for Jonathan

JON DAN TRAVI AT 33



The pans in the fig tree signal the season
the bloody clovis cries out to his father
for the shimmier Season of the which
cake-in pleasantry must hit the ceiling,
a Ballard ballad under the City Park
interstate ogre-me edens a littery, piebald
setting for seating a new birthday
rear duchess.
Perhaps we will salute you
lasso you in for a few lashes
hurl cupcakes at concrete and call it a night.
Grimalicious and 33, and great at You —
JT, you must enhance our mortal flirtations
turn lil pip wishes into seafood shell currency
something kite-tight for the shag in our souls.


Q

The last time we did this over the net
we were fired for loving on the job
catapulting us to fun war capital
and making a habit of wigs.
You were wearing one yourself
but it was your own hair.

(Light is the head ever in Greystoke.)

May your years be like a night of karaoke
never-ending. Keep shaking your
salt-and-peeper moulah maker :
we dig your hands-free pumping, we dig your
pix and your 10,000 words
for the mule.





25 mar 2009

Happy Birthday, Johnny!

While I can't wait to eat some oysters at Jonathan's b-day underpass bash tonight in the park (and spot some dead hookers, if I'm lucky), I thought I'd post this video link as a prequel to the party and a birthday greeting to our Johnny. S dnyom rozhdeniya!

Los Colorados Hot 'n' Cold

XOTatyana

stupid book fractured epic poem

2

We sat in the uncomfortable
plastic chairs in the Balkan Falcon memorial
laundromat and studied the book
building a little secret hill in the skirts
of Empire for the beautiful forearm
handing over the tasty little tract
"Heroic Realism" and whiffs at the plate
foregiven later in the bedroom
Rush out for
this New Love that can
smartly stain with printed robber matter

LET'S LAUNCH A NEW POETRY SERIES!

STUPID BOOK FRACTURED EPIC POEM

1 { YA }

hid on the big island with some dead end dada
and ciccarone rinds "It was the Indiana
Zephyr" and "Mozart meets Leon Redbone"
is there a rubric for grading Gabriel
‘s want to climb the tree? The Library
has discharged all the zen books because
no one was reading them
Vandals off on a lark down the lane
with the overrated trophies
Another extraordinary wave of badness
makes me turn with love to the Bird

Calling all Quorum

The first item is to settle the fierce raging debate about whether the Unday falls (on the Sino-Mayan calendar, or ours) between Sat. and Sun., or between Sun. and Mon.
So far the latter is leading in unballoted opinion.