Saturday, October 31, 2009

whispering wolf blitzer

Macaulay Culkin Gets a New Job

I step out of the hotel lobby and get hit with the harsh cold of the mean season. It's the type of cold where you wish it would snow just so you could get something out of it. I wait next to the doorman for my cab because the lobby music is too awful to bear. "Vvvvvvvv," the doorman shivers. "Tell me about it," I breathe. "Jesus, it is fucking cold out here. I'm freezing my balls off," he whines. "Heh, yeah." "I'm gonna turn into a girl in this shit. Just have 'em fall right off and clunk down my pants." I give a half chuckle. He isn't done. "I mean my sack is like an underdeveloped walnut right now. It's ridiculous." "Okay, I get it," I say. "They're like two tiny grapes getting stabbed with invisible icicles. They hurt with this sharp stinging -" "Dude, that's enough. That's really gross."

He stares at me. "What's wrong with you?" he asks. "I'm over here trying to commiserate about the weather and build an amicable bond between us and you're just shrugging me off. Is today Asshole Day or something? Fuck this," he mutters. He takes off his hat, throws it to the ground, and storms off. A man in a suit exits the hotel and glares at me. "Did you just piss off Rick?" he asks. "I have no idea, he was complaining about the cold, and then he yelled at me and left." "Look, I can't have a hotel without a doorman. You pick up that hat and get to work." He goes back into the hotel and I stare at the hat. My cab pulls up, and I put the little black cap on my head.

A couple hours later, Rick comes trudging back to the hotel. "Hey, I'm really sorry about that," he starts, "I overreacted and - what the fuck is this?" I'm holding the door open for a young woman with a tiny dog and shopping bags. "Uh... they made me do this." "First you treat me like shit, then you steal my job? Fuck you, man!" Rick stomps away. The manager comes back outside. "Was that Rick?" "No sir, just some lost person looking for directions." "Humph. Well, keep it up," he says as he walks back inside. My cab is still waiting for me. The driver is napping in the front seat. I'm plotting my escape.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Old Poem

The pain in his left leg spikes. His cane is made from the roots of oak trees and bound with vines. His beard has lost all traces of red. The old poem drives a buick and eats at Bob Evans once a week. The old poem wishes you would call more. Lawrence Welk is on, why aren't we watching it? The old poem voted for Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Gene Kelly makes the old poem feel uncomfortably warm. The old poem thinks this soup is too hot. Turn down that music. He bought this blanket at Target on sale. The old poem can't believe you're going out dressed like that. The old poem has fallen into the love designed by the Lord. Then it got cancer. The old poem is too old for irony and too young for death. The old poem needs some time to make up its mind. We were thankful there was no body at the viewing. The old poem would have wanted it this way. The old poem was cremated in a scented candle. When we scattered its ashes the wind turned towards us.

Fluid Dark Like Womb or Sea

Suck my spider
on a bearskin rug
who's left angry
but flat.

Give me
your lightning
and put it through
my body
like knowledge.

Take my glass
once sand burned clear
to hold booze
swirling like danger.

Hold my
nebula so I
can give you stars
from my
dust blanket.

How to Ruin Legitimate Attempts at Conversation

If I won the lottery, I would just put the money in the bank.

I wouldn't bring any music with me on the island, because I hate music.

We're not going to name the baby; it died.

Let's not do anything this Friday. Please don't call me.

I'm not from anywhere specific. I wander the country seducing people and robbing them in the middle of the night.

Of course I believe in God. He speaks through me during intercourse.

I don't follow sports because my dad beat me as a child.

I don't want you to know my middle name. Let's talk about something else.

I don't read books because my dad beat me as a child.

I weigh less than you because you are fat.

My favorite drink is O'Douls.

I don't have a favorite season of the year, because my dad beat me as a child.

The only time I ever left my hometown was to get special suntan lotion for my back.

My last job was pimping retired women.

That's not a scar.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009


this sandwich is a bad person. this sandwich is a bible verse where christopher columbus rapes his wife who is a young west indian woman. i eat the sandwich. i puke out the national anthem. i begin to sweat. my sweat is a guitar solo played by a white man over black music. it is sweet. the sweat soaks into the air and evaporates into a rain cloud just below the ceiling of the mega-church where we have gathered. it begins to rain and the rain is acid rain. there are others. they begin to sing glory, glory, hallelujah. the sun is always shining here. it shines into the roof and through some filters that make the bulbs glow like something swedish. someone shoots a gun at everyone here and we all beat him the fuck up. we eat his body. but first we bless it with the horrible prayer of our horrible hearts. we begin to fuck one another in a messy pile of bodies. whoever cums first is the winner. the winner gets a medal. it is the nobel prize in cumming first. everyone but the winner begins to cry. "i wanted that award," we scream together. we scream all-knowing. we scream one voice channeled through, lifted from the inside of the rain like a stolen vcr with a bootleg copy of the jfk assassination inside it. i will eat your scream screams another scream and this scream is the devil. and the prayer of our hearts is not powerful enough to outscream this evil scream. and we are turned into an inward self-fucking where we are one beautiful body pounding inward on itself with jackhammer force. and what of it we scream like a casserole unbaked. what of it?

The Thing in the Dirt

Please look at that thing over there.
See how it does not move.
You normally do not see it
because you are moving too much.
Become still like that thing
and recognize that in death
you will become just like that thing.
Now return to your trivial
matters, but remember
that thing will be waiting for you.

Monday, October 26, 2009

flogging bob ross

Macaulay Culkin At Dunkin' Donuts

I'm standing in front of the ugly orange counter about to order three dozen bear claws when an old man hobbles up to the counter. "Hey, do you got any milk back there? This creamer's fucking awful," he wheezes. "Sir, this customer was here before you," the tiny lady behind the counter says. I just give an awkward smile, and the man says, "Who, this faggot? He can wait, I've got coffee over there getting cold." The tiny lady seems angry, but she just clears her throat and begins to repeat herself. I try to say "Excuse me" but instead I punch the old man in the stomach and dash out of the Dunkin' Donuts. A couple days later I hear that he died and I feel guilty, especially when I'm reminded that my punches kill people.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

brandishing brandy (the singer not the liquor)

Sorry this is a crosspost but oh well. on my blog i explain what i think I AM SHAUN GANNON is doing and talk about which lines are quotes and where they come from. also i'm letting u people know i'm doing another recording of it which will be available for download within 7 days.

have a nice day

burying michael jackson

Macaulay Culkin On His Way To Work

I shake a rock from my shoe. A woman adjusts her wig. A praying mantis hops across the sidewalk. Meteorite dust flies in the eyes of the paperboy on the corner and he is blinded. I look at the sun. I throw up. It is dark red, and I worry for a moment, then remember I had Jell-O for breakfast. The woman with the wig is holding the newspaper boy, who is crying. Her wig blows off and she lets go of the child and runs down the street after the tumbling black mess. The paperboy begins to sob even harder. I walk over to the boy and hold his head. "You will be alright. You've been touched by outer space." He stops crying. I walk to work, but not before throwing up again.

The Most Serious Man Who Ever Lived

He never drank because it cost too much.
He never laughed for the same reason.
Holidays were an excuse to buy discount furniture.
His hobbies included model cars and matchstick bridges
Sex included one or two women he duped into bed.
He never saw a Will Smith movie.
The newspaper told him what he needed to know.
He didn't need to know much to survive.
When he died, no one thought to laugh.
Or they did. And they pitied him.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009


we should all get together and write a poem in that google pages thing

Monday, October 19, 2009

Not Just a Bag of Bread

The cheap thrill nuclear family
waddles up to the swarming ducks
and each group becomes enthralled by the other.
The humans are armed with unwanted
white bread, and the ducks are trumpeting
hunger songs like battle chants.
The little girl screams as the outnumbering
ducks overtake her and she slackens her grip
on the bag of bread. The dad says
Don't drop it, but she does, and the beaked ones
peck at the bag's opening to extract its innards.
The girl backs up against her father and watches
nature remove her from the equation.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Be Profound

"Be profound" I told her
in hopes she would comply
but I neglegected,
and much projected,
"Go to hell" she replied

Saturday, October 10, 2009

csu has a printshop. it is badass

still to come: glitter out the mouth of the earth spine, dead leaves, accolades.

I'm uncomfortable, literally

is it okay
to piss in conversations
'cause I want to
'cause I'm uncomfortable

Eat Me

Man, so I was at this wedding, right?
And my heart got cut right the damn out of me
but not by love or those creepy flower children
but by Aztecs, and that's okay.

Man, so they take me to the altar all wah-wah, right?
And they's layin' me out and and I'm just takin' it
because they need to appease they's sky lingerers
and I ain't usin' it much except for when I see dogs murdered
or when I heard the squeals of dying rabbits
or my mom tells me my dad's gettin' dead
and I caught a wink from the bride
and then the groom, but they's probably just nervous
or they're attracted to the submissive aspects of sacrifice
but hey who isn't?
Don't answer, it's no one.

So they's cuttin' me real deep and I can feel
their stone knives wrenching through my gut chasms
and it's okay.
I feel it, and it's okay.
It feels like they's puttin' their sky into me
and I can feel the blue and then I can feel their sun
and their jungle and why they do what they do
and their stoic tears and they put their hard times
and the hard lines of their cheekbones in there too.

So there's still this wedding, man, right?
Everybody was cool and they understood
and so they just combined occasions
and that's cool, 'cause I ain't gonna be selfish
and the priest is cool with it 'cause he studies bible
and so he knows them weird magic weird blood stories
and so this couple was joined in wholly or somethin' matrimony
right as these Aztecs buried all they's rigid faces
into my heart, and that's okay.

Friday, October 9, 2009

skinning shel silverstein


Waking Up Tied to a Wooden Chair in the Backyard

Someone unknown is sliding a garden hose down my throat
down the windpipe and I am gagging horribly and that same someone
is grabbing the valve on the water piping next to the house's siding
and is sneering like an evil thing doing evil things and
now he is turning the valve and I can feel the hose tensing up
and the tubing is exhaling a short puff of cool air down my wind pipe
I am gagging horribly before the torrent of cooler water
oh my god it is shooting out of the tubing and into my tubing
and it is filling me up quickly oh my god I can't breathe
I am an honest man and I am always trying not to hurt anyone
why is this happening my eyes are filling
with the shade of trees I can't see
make sure someone feeds Duke.

Thursday, October 8, 2009


god damnit you know there are a lot of things to say
about how things really are and remember that time
when you could write about anything forever or for
the five minute time limit and that really meant you
could think about anything you wanted like how cold
the carpet felt against your cheek when you lay down
on it and desks made of metal and plastic were cold
and you felt all of these things all the time every time
things were starting to feel old but it felt nice to know
when bad things would happen and when good things
wouldn't touching the stove burns your hand your hands
will get you into trouble more than twice, even then
you wish you had more trouble and more back and forth
stop-the-drama come fuck me don't let me go bullshit
you could cry in a corner but you'd rather have a typewriter

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

A Used Napkin Pencil Sketch of Meaningful Communication, on a Timeline, Located to the Right of the Invention of Technogadgets

All day, every day.
I must tell you about my insignificance.
Spotlights feel hot on my skin.
My skin is my largest organ and it feels good.
And feeling good feels significant.

a portrait of ryan's mom, october 6th, 2009

monday, midnight.
ryan's mom is hot.
not really, but i still banged her.
it didn't take that long.
that's how hot ryan's mom is.

Monday, October 5, 2009

A Portrait of My Mother, October 6th 2009

Monday, Midnight
My mother is imprisoned by her cat.
She won't ask me to leave it in the woods.
It's been ten years since my parents divorce.
She sleeps with her door open.

Friday, October 2, 2009


FUCK THIS GAY EARTH is an important phrase, despite its homophobic overtones. It is the zen koan of the 21st century. It is as broad as it is specific. It is important to me. The cathartic qualities of the phrase are greater than any other expletive. Say it with me now. "Fuck this gay earth." Do you feel the power? The hatred vibrating in your vocal cords is your birthright, just as it is mine. Savor this feeling. It is yours forever. Fuck this gay earth.