Wednesday, August 21, 2019

Butterknife and Sixty and Wisdom Teeth

  • Fifth update, you'll need wait to see what the Danes possess
  • 60th birthday poem appeared in beige tablet last night, finished now, can I wait a week?
  • Yes, self-published, but first published poem, self or otherwise, w Trump/Greenland allusion, no one, ten years from now when no one is reading it, including me, will get the allusion from our cages for Trump dissenters on the north coast of Greenland

Tuesday, August 20, 2019

Losing Everything as You Go and Go and Go

  • Yesterday on twitter a debate on which shitty fast food chain makes the best factory farmed mistreated chicken harvested by underpaid over-worked and mistreated workers sandwich
  • And a re-litigation by motherfucking professional Democrats on Susan Sarandon and how she single-handedly brought Trump to power and will prevent the coronation of rightful King Biden
  • The ways in which writing may or not resemble sex
  • August - as someone born in August let me say Fuck August, the stupidest month of the year in Clusterfuckistan as a whole, Blegsylvania too, my stringtowns especially



Brenda Shaughnessy

My six-year-old said “I don’t know time.” She already knows it’s unknowable. Let it be always a stranger she walks wide around.
I fantasize about outer space as if I have some relation to it besides being an animal in its zoo. No visitors. No matter how far I travel on earth I wind up sitting in rooms.
Wind up running all over towns and streets the same. Then get hungry as anywhere, again. Going anyplace, I think: I never want to go home and I can’t wait to be home.
All travelling’s a way to imagine having a home to leave or return to.
The shame of never leaving home. The anguish of no home. Changing house keys on the unchanged ring. The ring is the home, the thing inside trees.
Claiming a tree “mine.”

Car feels like a pod, an exoskeleton, a place inside me. Car short for “carapace.”
I blame the weather, blame myself if the weather is “nice.” Tell myself the weather ruined my plans, though it’s me ruined the weather’s.
Plan: like plane like plain like pain/pane. Like planet. Plan acting like an overlay on everything most elemental. Trying to make everything go according to it—feelings, food, flight, ordinariness, the very earth.
Stop already. Stop as if you can. As if you can breathe back in your own baby, your two, your three. 
Breathe out all the ones you never had. Breathe in one two three. Breathe out all the others.
I don’t want to be cremated. I want to be part of earth. Space may be my original home but I only remember here.
I cling to this life. I’ve taped myself to it like a card on a gift. Happy birthday! Many happy returns and hope it’s lots of fun! We miss you! Love, Me.
A gift is always an exchange of energy. Like water boiling, like photosynthesis. Inside the box is a water pitcher and a picture of us together as we were when the photo was taken.
Now it’s given. It’s only a copy, but the original was a moment and was burned up, caloric.
Simone says before bed, “I’m imagining a strawberry automatically drawn. I dream so much when I’m awake.”
When I learned to tell time I told it. I told it so; I stopped listening to what it tried to tell me: You’re already losing everything as you go and go and go.

Sunday, August 18, 2019

Privy to Sounds Parallel but Unreachable

  • I keep my word and will not drive to work to scan the latest additions to poem in progress in big tablet (which I did not work on last night so not to tempt my vanity this morning)
  • Here however is first of two two farts from last night, this one at the other place, I will not ask you to move to other place but other (paid) place does things my free fucking blog platform can't do both onblog at at twitter
  • Here is the second of two which really requires a high tech scanner since the subject matter (besides *me*) are the five colors of ink in which it is written:

  • I also need post so I can today in tablet the rest of this page (in cobalt blue ink) as well as bleed today through the next
  • but yes, I obsess on ink and tablet since it's the one thing I can obsess that I can control (and/or can post here)
  • UPDATE! Was a year ago today I heard that Tom Clark had died.
  • So I finished Saturday in redorange tablet (I'm not supposed to deliberately write first and only one draft poems in redorange tablet, revolution, motherfuckers) out of order, Sunday will start on page above and next page before finishing below


Brenda Shaughnessy

An animal is scritching in the wall behind my bed. At first I thought it was some kind of water crackling in a heating pipe but what kind of water stops when you thump the wall? I don’t mean to be mean, I mean to make it scurry off, to send it to scritch somewhere I can’t hear.
No, I’m not afraid—it is small, by the sound of its scritch. I’m not in Room 101, not worried about a gnarled whiskered rodent face chewing my eyelids in my sleep. I know these small animals, if it is an animal,
are generally afraid of big, intelligent me so far up the food chain, capable of terrible violence if frightened. I know they know they can never physically get me and are only after a crumb or a drop, like everyone really.
No, I’m trying to protect my peace of mind, my inner life, my pest-free dreams, from these unseen labors in a frenzy in the wall behind my bed. I was going to say it drives me mad and that is its fault, or was I going to say who am I to judge the urges and intensities of another species?
What I’ll say instead is that I am part of the universe, privy to sounds parallel but unreachable, and on some other level, that I know I am alive, factually, unloving and alone.

Friday, August 16, 2019

That Groovelessness of Space

  • I have litbloggers who are on this shitty blog's blogrolls and whose owners read this shitty blog but don't list this shitty blog on their blogrolls, I get it, this blog isn't a litblog, it sucks, it says *fuck* a lot
  • but - and I'm certain I had nothing to do with it - I never had a blog I linked to go dark within an hour of my linking to the latest post, a decent bleggalgaze, until yesterday
  • laugh, I lost the utter from utterfucklessness on Wednesday, I lost the less from fucklessness last night
  • thanks to that blogger, I'm happy with Friday fuckness
  • Good news! this (full-size here) will be last post of current project until at least Monday as I don't have access to a good scanner until then and I'm not so relentlessly vain as to drive to the Library on a day off to scan and post.


Todd Hearon

We've packed our bags, we're set to fly
no one knows where, the maps won't do.
We're crossing the ocean's nihilistic blue
with an unborn infant's opal eye.

It has the clarity of earth and sky
seen from a spacecraft, once removed,
as through an amniotic lens, that groove-
lessness of space, the last star by.

We have set out to live and die
into the interstices of a new
nowhere to be or be returning to

(a little like an infant's airborne cry).
We've set our sights on nothing left to lose
and made of loss itself a lullaby.

Thursday, August 15, 2019

An Ancient Woodland Indicator Called *Dark Dog's Mercury*

  • Third day below, at least four more days, won't know until I abandon how many more days how many washes in total
  • Didn't notice the new sub-tag, did you
  • I am rereading the whale-killing novel, one chapter a day, the only fiction I can right now, the fuck is wrong with me
  • I think I rid the utter from fucklessness for now using the only two self-fooling tricks I know
  • they don't work on fucklessness though I'll keep trying


Forrest Gander

As grains sort inside a schist

An ancient woodland indicator called dark dog's mercury

River like liquid shale

And white-tipped black lizard-turds on the blue wall

For a loss that every other loss fits inside

Picking at a mole until it bleeds

As the day heaves forward on faked determinations

If it's not all juxtaposition, she asked, what is the binding agent?

Creepy always to want to pin words on "the emotional experience"

Azure hoplia cockchafer, the caddis worm, the bee-louse, Blister beetle, assassin bug

The recriminations swarm around sunset

When it was otherwise quiet all the way around

You who were given a life, what did you make of it?

Tuesday, August 13, 2019

Theme Song August 2019



Juliana Spahr


We come into the world.
We come into the world and there it is.
The sun is there.
The brown of the river leading to the blue and the brown of the
           ocean is there.

Salmon and eels are there moving between the brown and the brown
           and the blue.

The green of the land is there.
Elders and youngers are there.
Fighting and possibility and love are there.
And we begin to breathe.
We come into the world and there it is.
We come into the world without and we breathe it in.
We come into the world.
We come into the world and we too begin to move between the
           brown and the blue and the green of it.


We came into the world at the edge of a stream.
The stream had no name but it began from a spring and flowed
           down a hill into the Scioto that then flowed into the Ohio that
           then flowed into the Mississippi that then flowed into the Gulf
           of Mexico.

The stream was a part of us and we were a part of the stream and
           we were thus part of the rivers and thus part of the gulfs and
           the oceans.

And we began to learn the stream.
We looked under stones for the caddisfly larvae and its adhesive.
We counted the creek chub and we counted the slenderhead darter.
We learned to recognize the large, upright, dense, candle-like
           clusters of yellowish flowers at the branch ends of the
           horsechestnut and we appreciated the feathery gracefulness
           of the drooping, but upturning, branchlets of the larch.

We mimicked the catlike meow, the soft quirrt or kwut, and the
           louder, grating ratchet calls of the gray catbird.

We put our heads together.
We put our heads together with all these things, with the caddisfly
           larva, with the creek chub and the slenderhead darter, with
           the horsechestnut and the larch, with the gray catbird.

We put our heads together on a narrow pillow, on a stone, on a
           narrow stone pillow, and we talked to each other all day long
           because we loved.

We loved the stream.
And we were of the stream.
And we couldn’t help this love because we arrived at the bank of the
           stream and began breathing and the stream was various and
           full of information and it changed our bodies with its rotten
           with its cold with its clean with its mucky with fallen leaves
           with its things that bite the edges of the skin with its leaves
           with its sand and dirt with its pungent at moments with its
           dry and prickly with its warmth with its mushy and moist
           with its hard flat stones on the bottom with its horizon lines
           of gently rolling hills with its darkness with its dappled light
           with its cicadas buzz with its trills of birds.


This is where we learned love and where we learned depth and where
           we learned layers and where we learned connections between

We learned and we loved the black sandshell, the ash, the american
           bittern, the harelip sucker, the yellow bullhead, the beech,
           the great blue heron, the dobsonfly larva, the water penny
           larva, the birch, the redhead, the white catspaw, the elephant
           ear, the buckeye, the king eider, the river darter, the sauger,
           the burning bush, the common merganser, the limpet, the
           mayfly nymph, the cedar, the turkey vulture, the spectacle
           case, the flat floater, the cherry, the red tailed hawk, the
           longnose gar, the brook trout, the chestnut, the killdeer,
           the river snail, the giant floater, the chokeberry, gray catbird,
           the rabbitsfoot, the slenderhead darter, the crabapple, the
           american robin, the creek chub, the stonefly nympth,
           the dogwood, the warbling vireo, the sow bug, the elktoe,
           the elm, the marsh wren, the monkeyface, the central
           mudminnow, the fir, the gray-cheeked thrush, the white bass,
           the predaceous diving beetle, the hawthorn, the scud, the
           salamander mussel, the hazelnut, the warbler, the mapleleaf,
           the american eel, the hemlock, the speckled chub, the whirligig
           beetle larva, the hickory, the sparrow, the caddisfly larva,
           the fluted shell, the horse chestnut, the wartyback, the white
           heelsplitter, the larch, the pine grosbeak, the brook stickleback,
           the river redhorse, the locust, the ebonyshelf, the giant water
           bug, the maple, the eastern phoebe, the white sucker, the creek
           heelsplitter, the mulberry, the crane fly larva, the mountain
           madtom, the oak, the bank swallow, the wabash pigtoe, the
           damselfly larva, the pine, the stonecat, the kidneyshell,
           the plum, the midge larva, the eastern sand darter, the rose,
           the purple wartyback, the narrow-winged damselfly, the
           spruce, the pirate perch, the threehorn wartyback, the sumac,
           the black fly larva, the redside dace, the tree-of-heaven, the
           orange-foot pimpleback, the dragonfly larva, the walnut,
           the gold fish, the butterfly, the striped fly larva, the willow,
           the freshwater drum, the ohio pigtoe, the warmouth, the
           mayfly nymph, the clubshell.

And this was just the beginning of the list.
Our hearts took on many things.
Our hearts took on new shapes, new shapes every day as we went
           to the stream every day.

Our hearts took on the shape of well-defined riffles and pools, clean
           substrates, woody debris, meandering channels, floodplains,
           and mature streamside forests.

Our hearts took on the shape of the stream and became riffled and
           calmed and muddy and clean and flooded and shrunken dry.

Our hearts took on the shape of whirligigs swirling across the water.
We shaped our hearts into the sycamore trees along the side of the
           stream and we let into our hearts the long pendulous
           polygamous racemes of its small green flowers, the
           first-formed male flowers with no pistil and then the later
           arriving hairy ovary with its two curved stigmas.

We let ourselves love the one day of the adult life of the mayfly as
           it swarms, mates in flight, and dies all without eating.

And we shaped our hearts into the water willow and into the eggs
           spawned in the water willow.

Our hearts took on the brilliant blues, reds, and oranges of breeding
           male rainbow darter and our hearts swam to the female
           rainbow darter and we poked her side with our snout as she
           buried herself under the gravel and we laid upon her as she

We let leaves and algae into our hearts and then we let the mollusks
           and the insects and we let the midge larvae into our heart
           and then the stonefly nymph and then a minnow came into
           our heart and with it a bass and then we let the blue heron fly
           in, the raccoon amble by, the snapping turtle and the
           watersnake also.

We immersed ourselves in the shallow stream. We lied down on the
           rocks on our narrow pillow stone and let the water pass over us
           and our heart was bathed in glochida and other things that
           attach to the flesh.

And as we did this we sang.
We sang gentle now.
Gentle now clubshell,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now warmouth, mayfly nymph,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now willow, freshwater drum, ohio pigtoe,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now walnut, gold fish, butterfly, striped fly larva,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now black fly larva, redside dace, tree-of-heaven, orange-foot
           pimpleback, dragonfly larva,

don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now purple wartyback, narrow-winged damselfly, spruce,
           pirate perch, threehorn wartyback, sumac,

don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now pine, stonecat, kidneyshell, plum, midge larva, eastern
           sand darter, rose,

don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now creek heelsplitter, mulberry, crane fly larva, mountain
           madtom, oak, bank swallow, wabash pigtoe, damselfly larva,

don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now pine grosbeak, brook stickleback, river redhorse, locust,
           ebonyshelf, giant water bug, maple, eastern phoebe, white

don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now whirligig beetle larva, hickory, sparrow, caddisfly larva,
           fluted shell, horse chestnut, wartyback, white heelsplitter,

don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now white bass, predaceous diving beetle, hawthorn, scud,
           salamander mussel, hazelnut, warbler, mapleleaf, american
           eel, hemlock, speckled chub,

don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now stonefly nympth, dogwood, warbling vireo, sow bug,
           elktoe, elm, marsh wren, monkeyface, central mudminnow, fir,
           gray-cheeked thrush,

don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now longnose gar, brook trout, chestnut, killdeer, river snail,
           giant floater, chokeberry, gray catbird, rabbitsfoot,
           slenderhead darter, crabapple, american robin, creek chub,

don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now king eider, river darter, sauger, burning bush, common
           merganser, limpet, mayfly nymph, cedar, turkey vulture,
           spectacle case, flat floater, cherry, red tailed hawk,

don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now black sandshell, ash, american bittern, harelip sucker,
           yellow bullhead, beech, great blue heron, dobsonfly larva,
           water penny larva, birch, redhead, white catspaw, elephant
           ear, buckeye,

don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now, we sang,
Circle our heart in rapture, in love-ache. Circle our heart.

It was not all long lines of connection and utopia.
It was a brackish stream and it went through the field beside our

But we let into our hearts the brackish parts of it also.
Some of it knowingly.
We let in soda cans and we let in cigarette butts and we let in pink
           tampon applicators and we let in six pack of beer connectors
           and we let in various other pieces of plastic that would travel
           through the stream.

And some of it unknowingly.
We let the runoff from agriculture, surface mines, forestry, home
           wastewater treatment systems, construction sites, urban yards,
           and roadways into our hearts.

We let chloride, magnesium, sulfate, manganese, iron, nitrite/nitrate,
           aluminum, suspended solids, zinc, phosphorus, fertilizers,
           animal wastes, oil, grease, dioxins, heavy metals and lead go
           through our skin and into our tissues.

We were born at the beginning of these things, at the time of
           chemicals combining, at the time of stream run off.

These things were a part of us and would become more a part of us
           but we did not know it yet.

Still we noticed enough to sing a lament.
To sing in lament for whoever lost her elephant ear lost her mountain

and whoever lost her butterfly lost her harelip sucker
and whoever lost her white catspaw lost her rabbitsfoot
and whoever lost her monkeyface lost her speckled chub
and whoever lost her wartyback lost her ebonyshell
and whoever lost her pirate perch lost her ohio pigtoe lost her


What I did not know as I sang the lament of what was becoming lost
           and what was already lost was how this loss would happen.

I did not know that I would turn from the stream to each other.
I did not know I would turn to each other.
That I would turn to each other to admire the softness of each other’s
           breast, the folds of each other’s elbows, the brightness of each
           other’s eyes, the smoothness of each other’s hair, the evenness
           of each other’s teeth, the firm blush of each other’s lips, the
           firm softness of each other’s breasts, the fuzz of each other’s
           down, the rich, ripe pungency of each other’s smell, all of it,
           each other’s cheeks, legs, neck, roof of mouth, webbing
           between the fingers, tips of nails and also cuticles, hair on toes,
           whorls on fingers, skin discolorations.

I turned to each other.
Ensnared, bewildered, I turned to each other and from the stream.
I turned to each other and I began to work for the chemical factory
           and I began to work for the paper mill and I began to work for
           the atomic waste disposal plant and I began to work at keeping
           men in jail.

I turned to each other.
I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
           harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface,
           speckled chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio
           pigtoe, clubshell.

I replaced what I knew of the stream with Lifestream Total
           Cholesterol Test Packets, with Snuggle Emerald Stream Fabric
           Softener Dryer Sheets, with Tisserand Aromatherapy Aroma-
           Stream Cartridges, with Filter Stream Dust Tamer, and
           Streamzap PC Remote Control, Acid Stream Launcher, and
           Viral Data Stream.

I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
           harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface,
           speckled chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio
           pigtoe, clubshell.

I put a Streamline Tilt Mirror in my shower and I kept a crystal
           Serenity Sphere with a Winter Stream view on my dresser.

I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
           harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface,
           speckled chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio
           pigtoe, clubshell.

I bought a Gulf Stream Blue Polyester Boat Cover for my 14-16 Foot
           V-Hull Fishing boats with beam widths up to sixty-eight feet
           and I talked about value stream management with men in
           suits over a desk.

I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
           harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface,
           speckled chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio
           pigtoe, clubshell.

I just turned to each other and the body parts of the other suddenly
           glowed with the beauty and detail that I had found in the

I put my head together on a narrow pillow and talked with each
           other all night long.

And I did not sing.
I did not sing otototoi; dark, all merged together, oi.
I did not sing groaning wounds.
I did not sing otototoi; dark, all merged together, oi.
I did not sing groaning wounds.
I did not sing o wo, wo, wo!
I did not sing I see, I see.
I did not sing wo, wo!