Aural Sex

"I would shiver the whole night through..."

2010-09-25T19:19:00.000-07:00

It's inevitable, reaching that certain age where the music you grew up with suddenly goes from being the contemporary to the 'classic'. People start forgetting the lead singer of this group or the guitarist or drummer for this group. Regardless of how passionately they were loved, much like any other fancy, they're put on a shelf after a certain time. They get loved into being real, much like the Velveteen Rabbit did, but they still go up on that shelf.

Thankfully, a good bit of the music I loved back in the day I can look back on without cringing. Sure, there are some that would have people raising their eyebrows at me (yep, I had Milli Vanilli's album and I wore that thing out - fucking awesome! yeah, I said it!) but I've long since given up on that 'cool' bullshit. I like what I like and if you don't like it, oh well. More for me!

Since I'm able to look back on my lifetime of music that's followed me and grown and evolved as I have as a person, I think my tastes have aged gracefully and I don't usually make too much noise about 'today's music is shit! this old stuff is kickass and you stupid kids don't know what the fuck you're talking about!'. I love Lady Gaga, A Fine Frenzy and 30 Seconds to Mars and everything in between. The spectrum is broad and fairly eclectic, with a nice mix of obscure indie stuff that makes me feel comfortable and happy in saying that I'm also both a Little Monster and an Echelon member. Everything balances itself out nicely. Finding new music to fixate on is one of my most favorite things. I'm a band's best friend. Love me up right just once and I'll be yours forever, unless you really fuck around on me and break my heart.

Like I said, I usually take the 'classic' thing in rather graceful stride outwardly, even though I might be smarting on the inside. But there are some things that just derail my grace train and make me go into full music geek raeg mode. Like this stupid ass thing this little tween rock twerpfuck had to say about one of my contemporaries. You might have been unfortunate enough to have heard of this goofy little shit already and, for that, I'm awfully sorry. I share your pain.

Yep, I'm talking about the one that the sincerely awesome John Cusack refers to as "The Bieber". Yeah. All I had to do was say that and immediately, you're hearing overproduced white-boy Disneypop masquerading as legitimate music. In the industry, the extra-scrubbing-bubbly term frequently used 'blue-eyed soul' (think of the other Justin, here - Timberlake, that is), but this little bastard is too young to know wtf 'soul' is. The closest he'd get as far as 'classic soul' is fuckin' Vanilla fuckin' Ice (yes, that extra "fuckin'" was necessary, if you must know).

Now, as I said, this little shit recently said something particularly stupid about one of the performers of my era -- Kurt Cobain. Say what you will about the kind of music Nirvana produced, but - again, to use one of those icky industry terms - their first album was a game-changer. Kurt delivered a sharp kick in the nuts to the early 90s hairbands, jammed their round brushes up their asses and ordered 'em off to the unemployment lines. 'Cause, c'mon, let's face it, how many times could we really listen to "Livin' on a Prayer" and "Don't Know What You've Got (Till It's Gone)"? Honestly. To go from purdified, fluffy-haired girlboys in their mascara and eyeliner and tight spandex to a chap with limp, stringy, greasy hair, a pair of dirty chucks and the baggy, ugly clothes he pulled out of his very own goddamn closet that morning was a revelation.

Back in the day, I knew the more obvious Nirvana hits - the singles and the concentrated awesome that was the Unplugged episode with the group - but wasn't what you'd call a big 'fan' (I was going through my one and only 'rap' phase back then - I was a big fan of R&B/rap girl groups back then, like Salt N Peppa and the like). These days, I'm starting to think that it's not that there's any particular music that I dislike - there's just some music that I'm not ready for, evolutionarily speaking. I could very easily see myself falling in love with Nirvana's entire catalogue and then some, now. Especially considering the fact that I've been living in Kurt's home state - now my own adopted home state - for the last almost-five years.

But back to the twerp. Yeah, back to him. The thing that this impudent little fucktard said really did leave me horrified. Horrified and strangely shocked and offended, all at the same time. What did he say, you ask? Well, let me share:

“I feel like the Kurt Cobain of my generation, but people just don’t understand me."

... yeah.

Let's let that sink in for a moment, okay?

The six-year-old is comparing himself to one of the vanguard musicians of my generation. For realsies. No playplay. Little fucker is serious.

I'm halfway hoping that some Nirvana fans will go to a Bieber concert and chuck a five-pound bag of candycorn gone stale for a year at the punkass's head. Hard.

All kidding and wistful daydreams of comeuppance aside... seriously, what the fuck?

I mean, granted, not everybody is going to think that what Kurt did was original or interesting or maybe not even good, but still -- I hope to fuck nobody's taking that little shit seriously. I think the only ones who are are the Biebsters or the Biebstans or whatever they call themselves but that's only because they're also six and have never lived in a world without internet, Blue-Ray and cellphones that cost as much as a kid's meal. They don't Know. That's the greatest tragedy of it. Hopefully, with luck, one day when they grow up, they'll be digging through their parents' boxes of Old Junk and find some Nirvana cds and they'll finally get it, but ... hey, I'm an optimistic kinda gal, I guess.

This guy embodied my youth, flailing about like a wounded albatross at the middle-school dance to this song, jumping up and down like Kurt in the video, knowing all the while that I would never be as cool as this guy and yet, somehow, that was okay. 'Cause it was only after I grew up a bit that I realized that even Kurt wasn't as cool as Kurt appeared to be.

If you've got even so much as a brown belt in Google-Fu, you can find the address for Kurt's house, up in Seattle. Where all the shit got real and everything disintegrated out from under us like sand under our feet as the tide rolled in.

As I mentioned before, I've lived here in Washington state for nearly 5 years (it'll be 5 years June 27th) and so I've probably unwittingly wandered some of the same streets that Kurt did, at one time. I've come to know and cherish the balmy, drizzly weather that's settled over the state for the better part of a year, most years, and appreciate the tidy streets and extraordinarly green grass and trees (and moss, can't forget the moss!). I find it genuinely beautiful, here, but I could see how it could be a place that some people might find hard to handle. It's definitely not the state for you if you have Seasonal Affective Disorder, for instance.

From what I know, Seattle has the highest rate of suicide in the country and, again, I can definitely see it. I find it curious but strangely symmetrical, how this young man (younger then than I am now), struggling with his fame and his marriage and his art and all of it tangling up into this unmanageable heap of rubbish being born here and giving up here. Whereas I wasn't born here - had never even so much as visited here before I moved up here in 2006 - but for me, this place has become my sanctuary. I'd never been here before, but I felt pulled here all the same. As I said, it wasn't as though I was a huge fan and was going on some kind of alt-rock pilgrimage or anything. I've never even gone anywhere near the house. But, somehow, this place is where I was meant to be.

I've been up to the heart of downtown Seattle, with its hopelessly crooked, warped streets, and all those beautiful old buildings built on top of the original old, beautiful buildings that were there before the huge fire in the 1889 that drove them under. I always feel uneasy walking around Seattle -- not out of fear of another earthquake, but at the thought that there might be one cobblestone or one bit of sidewalk that is wedged atop the corpse of somebody's house from the 1883 and woops, there I go. Weird sort of not-exactly-phobia, but there ya go. I have "issues" with heights and the depth of Seattle really fucks with me - a lot.

I don't know what Kurt saw when he looked out over Lake Washington. I don't know if this place I look at as (the closest thing an atheist can get to) a 'spiritual' home appeared welcoming to him or if its gentle bleakness only added to his emotional strain. From what I've read, he was a pretty quiet guy - like many people in Washington, lots of of us tend to be shoe-gazers - and fairly fragile. Constant stomach problems, from what I know. Probably from stress, if I had to guess - much like I'd suffered for a good two years (and thankfully recovered from).

Some people say he was depressed, some people say the Rome incident was the first, failed attempt, other people say he was just fine and wouldn't dream of doing any kind of harm to himself on account of his young daughter, Bean. Others still contend that it was all Courtney's doing - all part of some blearily pointless conspiracy. Me? I'm not sure. I thought I used to be sure, but now... I just don't know. Maybe having this place in his veins was too much - being born here did him in. He seemed a sensitive sort and it all just seemed to matter to him so much. The music, I mean. Not the music videos and awards and all the shit that went with it -- but the actual music. I think he had that in his blood, too, but the mix wasn't enough to balance out the toxicity of the city, the dreariness of the rolling hills draped in the needleprick-tiny droplets of rain so fine that they're more a bigger kind of fog than a sprinkling. I think that too much peace and quiet can do just as much damage as too much noise and calamity. Maybe that was the problem: going from the relative quiet of Aberdeen to pretense and cacophony all at once overloaded his brain. It overwhelms mine, every time I go to Seattle. Or maybe he just cared too much -- as I've heard it said, if you really want to be a musician, don't get into the music business, otherwise it'll tear you up inside, being at the mercy of PR people and A&R and record companies, tweaking your 'image' and your art and stripping away all of the imperfections and ugly that you liked about it so much before.

I'm not entirely sure where I'm intending to go with this post. Not a clue, actually. I guess all I'm trying to say is... even on his best day, with fifty million Biebrats hanging on his every inane tweet, Justin Bieber will never be Kurt Cobain. Hell, he couldn't even hope to be a button on one of Kurt's old flannels. Even one of the buttons that's annoyingly broken in half, but you just can't be arsed to fix it. Not even that much.

No, not even that much.

"Je ne suis pas un nègre."

2010-09-25T16:51:00.000-07:00

I've got Saul Williams' "List of Demands" playing on my headphones.

I've admittedly never been a big fan of rap but, for me, Saul's work transcends rap. His music started out as slam poetry - which is how I discovered him, initially, as a fellow poet - and blossomed into what most people know him for today. Nike commercials, marketing.

But I will always remember Saul - Mr. Williams - from seeing him in a tiny little indie movie called SlamNation. A film that documented the numerous rounds of nationwide slam poetry competitions - culminating in a finals slam in Portland, Oregon. For those who aren't familiar with the concept, it's the literary equivalent to bloodsport: recitation as gladiatorial battle. Of all of the performers, there were a handful who stood out to me and remain lodged faithfully in my heart - passionate, frenetic performers like Taylor Mali and Beau Sia -- and then there was Saul.

There's a certain vibe you get off of some people that people refer to as 'shamanic'. With Saul, it was this very quality that drew me to his work. It's nothing short of transcendent -- the subject matter is deep and thoughtful but it's delivered with quickness of tongue and brain that's perpetually astounding, to me. The first poem I ever saw Saul recite was "Ohm" and it's still one of my favorites. In his work, he writes a great deal about time and history and if anyone has history to write about, it's Saul. There's an undeniable rootedness to his work - by turns human and real and utterly breathtaking in its beauty. This is the kind of writer I strive to be and often feel a deep twinge of despair at the thought I will never be that Great. Saul Williams is a truly Great writer.

The reason I bring Saul into this is because one of his works - another piece, presented as a group piece in the slam finals in Oregon in SlamNation - is one called "Sha-Clack-Clack". It's a breakdown (a tear down?) of a lot of the stereotypes he has to shoulder and he does it with his usual wit and relentless intelligence - he's chasing every last one of these stereotypes down and smashing it to pieces and so he should. These are inheritances that he didn't want, didn't ask for, but still has to wrestle with -- and wrestle he does -- not all of his work is fighting against that involuntary lineage/heritage, but still, it's there and he deals with it -- and well. He knows his work back to front and upside down and can recite it at the drop of a hat.

Even in the group performance (which he wrote a large portion of - though that's a rather controversial matter in slam circles) when his other teammates are reciting the words and Saul is silent, you can still see him mouthing the words to himself, going through the rhythms of the work on his own. When he performs, he is a man who gets taken over by his words - they elbow him out of the way and all that's left are the expressions of his psyche in their purest form.

As a writer of some twenty odd years, words are unspeakably important to me. Their meanings, their etymology, their common, everyday use and their literary use. To 'die' in Shakespeare's work is a very different kind of death than the way headlines use that word today. It's a shame; it's a delightful turn of phrase.

There are some phrases, though - some words - that have a history and a heart to them that's twisted. Someone took the word and did bad things to it, bent it out of shape from what its original intentions were. For me, a word that's misused is a sad thing. Almost like a crime scene. It's an unfinished thought, a sentence left hanging in mid-air after the mistake. When I was nine and my mother told me I'd used the word 'demise' when the word I really meant to use was 'regret', I came to understand then that choosing your words carefully is very important. In my case, it was the difference between sorry and dead.

More recently, there's been a user on YouTube called Variablast, who's been campaigning to get people to start using the word 'nigger' in more common parlance in an effort to 'reclaim it' -- to rescue it from the clutches of the evil racists -- and change the meaning entirely so that it means 'human'.

Suffice it to say, as a person who loves words and has had a lifelong affair with the English language, this whole undertaking presents some problems, for me.

One of my favorite comedians of all time, George Carlin, had a whole bit about language and words and how much he loved them. He specifically spoke at length about 'bad words' and how there is no such thing as bad words - that the most important thing to look at is the context of them when they're used.

Personally, I don't think that 'nigger' is a bad word. As George said (and mixing it to paraphrase with Shakespeare): for there are no words either good or bad, but thinking makes them so. I don't think it's a bad word, but I do think it's a word that's been twisted and Variablast's attempts to wrench it further out of its intended sockets to suit his own purposes is, as I said before, a rather dodgy proposition.

Sure, there are plenty of words whose definitions have undergone significant overhauls in their lifetimes. Just look at the word 'gay', for example. It once meant someone of a cheery, fun-loving disposition. Now, it refers to some guy named Beeftart who works at the leather bar on Christopher Street. It refers to me, too. But it also has a more negative connotion - meant to define something that's stupid or annoying or disappointing (all you have to do is join XBoxLive or WoW to catch the full brunt of that particular usage). There's also the word 'lame' - the common usage of which is similar to that of 'gay', these days (and, in some circles - can be just as much of an offense, depending on the company you're in) - a word that, in the Bible, referred to those who were afflicted with some illness or injury that prevented them from walking. These days, it's more often used to describe what Apple have done to their latest expensive and shiny gadget (will those grow legs someday that will be afflicted? I wouldn't put it past Steve Jobs).

I don't think 'nigger' is a bad word, but I also don't think that it should be up to a white man to decide the hows, whens and whys of that word being retaken. Reclaimed as a dove bearing an olive branch. A sort of verbal reparation. For a white man to wander up to a group of black men and start using that word - without, presumably, forewarning these men beforehand - is shortsighted and rude. It's not letting the guinea pigs in on the experiment. And, to me, that's really all this whole thing seems like: an experiment, a doddle, a fancy, a whim. An amusement until the next superficially shocking thing comes along that this person can throw in people's faces to see if he can get them to flinch. I'm sure he finds this whole thing most diverting but that's really all that will ever be, to this man - is a diversion until the next amusement comes along. He has no cultural connection to or personal context for this word. Not like those men he approached did and do.

Renegotiating the English language is a fairly easy task - it's one of the simplest and smallest languages in the world, which is why it's so easy for non-English-speakers to pick up and run with - but that's why it's so important to approach something like this with more care than it's being shown. As far as the words 'fag' and 'dyke' are concerned, they were reclaimed and repurposed by the very group they were aimed at to be identifying language. As neutral as calling grass green. I'm a dyke and that's that. Much like with the word 'nigger', which another masterful comedian, Richard Pryor, used very often in his work (only to abandon later). Richard's stance was - unless you are one, it's probably not a good idea to use the word. These days, it's becoming more and more frowned upon when straight people use the word "faggot' and with good reason - it's a blatant expression of intolerance.

Looking at the etymology of the word 'nigger', we can see that it originated from the French word nègre, meaning 'member of a black-skinned race of Africa'. So, functionally speaking, it is not a bad word. However, history and common vulgar use by bigots have tainted the word - I think irrevocably so. It was a word that was forced onto a people that did not choose it of their own volition, brought to a country not of their choosing or their free will. For a white man to decide to take up that culturally sullied word and try to rebrand it to suit his own vague ends is presumptuous and horribly insensitive. It was a word his people - my people - forced on them and now he's deciding to take it back. Again, without their say-so or as much as a by-your-leave. Like it or not, the word has come to mean something very different from its basic beginnings. Is it a bad word? No more than the words 'chair' or 'hat' are. But if the word 'hat' encompassed the painful life experiences of hundreds of thousands of human beings, I'd personally be very careful as to how I utilized it. The word is very negatively culturally loaded and to try to pretend otherwise for the sake of trying to manufacture what would more than likely be nothing more than a short-lived internet meme is repulsive folly.

The thought that this is being batted about as a potential perk of free speech is all well and good, but in my mind, Variablast's efforts to 'reclaim' this word for everyone (even me, he said, though I roundly refused the offer) is no better than Dr. Laura Schlessinger chirping the word 'nigger, nigger, nigger' over and over again on the radio, like some depraved parrot with Tourrette's Syndrome. He might not intend for it to be insulting to the people he directs it at, but these people don't live inside his head and have no idea what the hell he's playing at and therein lies the problem. It can't become common parlance without a certain level of understanding and, I'd wager, for a lot of people, that word will always sound wrong and insulting coming from someone like Variablast. No amount of parroting will fix that.

I know a lot of people - especially in the LGBT community - are very fond of claiming to eschew labels. "Why do we have to call [this/that/me/you] anything?' "Because," I usually answer, "words help to let people know what something is. That's what they were created for." When he says 'nigga' in "Sha-Clack-Clack," Saul owns that word in a way that Variablast will never be able to do. There's history there and heritage. Being descended from that kind of societally-constructed misery is nothing some manky white dude will ever be able to comprehend. I won't, either, but at least I'm admitting that.

We are different and we are all the same. We're humans, but to willfully ignore the history - even the dark, unpleasant, bloody bits - just for your own amusement or some attempt at being shocking is just disgusting. I can see the beauty in such a word, but I won't reclaim that word. It's not my place. I've got too much respect for my mother-tongue (as simplistic and awkward as it can often be) to do such a thing. There's already been plenty of injustice and entitlement heaped onto it from my end of the see-saw - my conscience as a writer and a human being will not allow me to add to that weight out of a sense of blithe obliviousness.

So let's take a look at the word and then listen to Saul use it. Maybe you'll feel the same sense of wonderment and reverence as I did when I first heard him perform.

"Sha-Clack-Clack" by Saul Williams

"If I could find the spot where truth echoes

I would stand there and whisper memories of my children's future

I would let their future dwell in my past

so that I might live a brighter now

Now is the essence of my domain and it contains

all that was and will be

And I am as I was and will be because I am and always will be

that nigga

I am that nigga

I am that timeless nigga that swings on pendelums like vines

through mines of boobytrapped minds that are enslaved by time

I am the life that supersedes lifetimes, I am

It was me with serpentine hair and a timeless stare

that with immortal glare turned mortal fear into stone time capsules

They still exist as the walking dead, as I do

The original sulphurhead, symbol of life and matriarchy

severed head Medusa, I am

I am that nigga

I am that nigga!

I am that nigga!!

I am a negro! Yes negro, negro from necro meaning death

I overcame it so they named me after it

And I be spitting at death from behind

and putting 'Kick Me' signs on it's back

because I am not the son of Sha-Clack-Clack

I am before that, I am before

I am before before

Before death is eternity, after death is eternity

There is no death there's only eternity

And I be riding on the wings of eternity

like HYAH! HYAH! HYAH! Sha-Clack-Clack

but my flight doesn't go undisturbed

Because time makes dreams defer

And all of my time fears are turning my days into daymares

And I live daymares reliving nightmares

of what taunted my past

Sha-Clack-Clack, time is beatin my ass

And I be havin' dreams of chocolate-covered watermelons

Filled with fried chickens like pinatas

With little pickaninny sons and daughters

standing up under them with big sticks and aluminum foil

Hittin' 'em, tryin' to catch pieces of fallin' fried chicken wings

And Aunt Jemima and Uncle Ben are standing in the corners

with rifles pointed at the heads of the little children

'Don't shoot the children,' I shout, 'don't shoot the children!'

but they say it's too late

They've already been infected by time

But that shit is before my time

I need more time

But it's too late

They start shooting at children and killing them!

One by one, two by two, three by three, four by four

Five by five, six by six, but

my spirit is growing seven by seven

Faster than the speed of light

Cause light only penetrates the darkness that's already there

and I'm already there

I'm here at the end of the road

which is the beginning of the road beyond time, but

where my niggaz at? (Oh shit!)

Oh shit, don't tell me my niggaz got lost in time

My niggaz are dying before their time

My niggaz are serving unjust time

My niggaz are dying because of... time"

Queers and Frayed Yarn [cast-off poetry clippets]

2010-08-18T07:43:00.002-07:00

"Love Letters"

I want to write you love letters

because you deserve to have love letters

and you seem like you could use some and you might like to have them

maybe I'll write you some, sometime

I only wish I had that kind of time, that depth of love

to have monuments built

and manes burnt

and wreathes flung

I wish I had someone to write love letters for

I'd like to write some to you, if you'd let me

you're beautiful and smart and I see a loneliness that matches mine

and I want to help replace it with something lovely, even for a little while

even if it never went anywhere,

even if you never wrote back

even if you wrote me back and only talked about the weather

I'd still like to write you love letters, because I think you deserve them

As much as I love technology, something makes me sad about email

there's no paper to rub your fingers against, no impressions from inkpens pressing thoughts into pulp

embossing them there and impregnating the paper with meaning as much as with the scent of skin

I guess it's just as well - my handwriting is awful and you might not be able to read what I had to say to you

I want to write you love letters

because I think you deserve to have love letters

and you seem like a woman who'd appreciate them

because everybody should know what it feels like to see the inkstamp someone's heart leaves behind on a sheet of paper and know that it's just for them

"Centralia"

The town is dying

the town is dying

the town is dead

the town is burning

He is a caretaker

he is the cryptkeeper

he is the maintenance man

for a ghost town

for the town that

no longer exists

a museum curator

for a borough that

had its lights strangled out

years ago

by smoke

he's the doting father

of a stillborn town

tending to its moldering cradle

and fluffing its sparse, withered curls

in the hopes that it would

show some genuine signs

of life

a deed as every bit

as good as a death

certificate

"Tender Fall"

I needed you in my life

sometime

for some time

just wanted to feel you melting away on my tongue

I wanted to be a part of your life

for a while

just for a little while

only ever wanted to know what your skin felt like when it was against mine

and that was all

with us, it was you and I

and that was all

and it was fine

"Untitled"

jackals, jackals

burning bright

atop the willow tree

you came for aught

you came for naught

and then you came for me

betwixt the fine, fluttered leafy pages

of that willow tree

the babes were set to speaking

and the branches set to shriekign

aught for naught

and them for me

blisters prickle

palms unclean

at turns so fickle

the snapping fiends

tithed naught for aught

and aught for spleens

"The Quicksilver Prince"

getting the brain quiet

getting the world quiet

trying to find the stability of grass

and solid ground

underneath your hands

underneath your body

and hoping that the rest of the planet

won't fly off in its circuitous orbit and leave

you behind again

maybe if you thread your fingers

into the coarse, dusty grass

and hang on tight enough

it'll slow down

it'll stop

it'll get better... somehow

but when do you know?

when do the eyes in the mirror

finally reflect what you've been hoping to see

for so very long

a face that you recognize

a face that you are content with

a face that you don't want to claw away

because of all of the ways you've hurt them

how do you make it back from there?

the faraway place you pushed yourself to?

each shove sending you further out

into orbit

away from your own hands to

pull yourself back in

where does the peace come in?

who do you have to steal to get it?

who do you have to approach and promise

to be a very, very good boy

and never do those awful things again

when does the perfect storm in your skull

quiet down

and give you room to seek out that answer

give you enough steps to jump

and crash and

win

don't you just want to take off

like a bottle rocket

pull off all the saftey harnesses

and grounding cables

and catapult into the waiting arms of

the heavens

to get caught and held by them

like the star that you've always wanted to be

burning off bright and blinding

and unafraid

it would be so much easier

to give in to that

but would it keep you whole

or burn you away

peeling off layer after layer

of who you are

until all that's left is the

unremitting challenge of your bare bones

bursting apart like green grapes

and dandelions

breaking apart like all the brightest stars

tumbling back to earth like motes of gold

to kiss the welcome, warm earth again

"Archetype" text

2010-08-18T07:43:00.001-07:00

when I look at you

I can see the soft-faced girl that you were

soft

but on the inside of you

nothing was

not brittle

but deadly flexible

like a thin aluminum ruler

with razor sharp edges

that can bite into you when it connects

like a snake's strike

drawing lines of bright, coppery blood

I miss the softness of

that quiet girl

you once were

wedged up into a corner

and smoking

and kind of hiding at the same time

but not meaning anything by it

it's not that you want to be alone

it's just that you and alone are good friends

alone has kept you company and knows your stories

alone is familiar and comfortable with you and

you're familiar and comfortable with it

and that's okay

because alone's been my best friend for a while, too

we grew up together, y'know

just in case you were wondering

this one goes out to the one I love,

the one who is many and yet is not interchangeable

is as singular and magnetic as the way

the north star is to your eyes on the blackest, clearest night

the way your eyes seek it out and hang there

until you can't tell, anymore, if you're following it or it's following you

dark and dark and dark and sometimes light

but away and enticing and what makes my skin feel

ennervated and charmed

and makes my body want you

and want to feel what you feel like

pressed solidly and surely and gently up against it

and makes my brain get that yin to make you laugh

or smile

because no matter which face you wear, your smile is always beautiful

and broad and mischievous and it makes your eyes shine

and it makes me love you more

because for as intense as you are, as dark as you are,

that light that splits you in two then, into twins,

then further, into fours and they all

make me cum and grin and tip head first off the cliff

and go happily falling

to wait for that sun, those stars and lights to fill me again

"Quantify" text

2010-08-18T07:25:00.000-07:00

we can recognize each other

you and I

like can sense like

the referred shiver of familiarity

that nothing else can match

things we don't know how to cope with

answers we know but don't really want to know

secrets we shelter and hold closer than any lover

sides that no one else can tap into

sides that people shouldn't tap into

not if they want to stay safe

does it make us stronger

or even weaker than we fear ourselves to be?

bent knees and bowed heads and perverse sacraments

that only make sense to those who've heard the whispers

the same one we sense

like trickles of electric ice water along our skin

biting and teasing and siren song

to those deeper, gravelly voices within

a rusty lock being fitted by a pristine key

that will fit no matter how much time has passed

because there's no putting this away

no setting it aside

it's never gonna be that easy

with fingers around a throat and squeezing until there's that tension

feeling the concrete weight of having that upper hand

not for the fear's sake, but just because

we shy away from it because

it's too much of who we are

and we know it

everyone has their day selves

the safe, approachable, civilized selves

but the lights are always out inside my skull

and I can hear you breathing fast and aroused

because you can't help it any more than I can

we are answers for each other

when everyone else looks like flat question marks

I can't rid myself of that part of me

any more than you could rid yourself of that part of you

and that's why it's so perfect

we chase each other and ourselves in these tight death rolls

and we're never sure if we really want to catch

because what would that mean?

giving in feels too easy

and would feel too good

to ever let it happen

there's the burn of you

like raw alcohol on my tongue

and you're clean where I'm filthy

and you're good where I'm wrong

and you're holy where I'm forsaken

but isn't that how all the best love stories go?

"Treatise" text

2010-05-09T07:26:00.000-07:00

It is the most exquisite damage

that any two humans

can ever do to each other

apologizing and running each other over

running each other over like cars and

then apologizing

and smiling

simple and cold

and sorries

a bloodless murder

with warm lips

and whispers

it's the most horrible damage

we can ever do to each other

Jack the Ripper would think us kind

in comparison

and when do we ever think twice

think ever about the things that we do

the sundering we're capable of

without even knowing

the flats of hands hitting and hitting

slapping at the walls, at faces

and wondering why they don't ever come down

why they don't ever open

why there is no door to breach

to get at the person we see inside

the love we see inside

like a shop window filled with pretty sweets

that are so very near to the touch

but held so very far away by something

unseen but solid

and yet as fragile as flesh

as fragile as glass

as breachable as a promise

and when. if we do

what then?

more torment

more tears

and why?

because we haven't the kindness

we haven't the generosity

we haven't the heart

not to love the one we love

because it's no place we want to be

and the maps don't show it

and the buses don't run

but we can't promise that

is the greatest gift of all

not falling?

is the greatest promise of all

no promise at all?

is the greatest love

knowing enough to back away

and spare them the car crash of you

to begin with?

sometimes I wonder

"The Shpiel" text

2010-03-24T20:52:00.000-07:00

Welcome, welcome, welcome to you all! To the very first inaugural reading

right here at the Broken Inner Child theater

I am your host Eloise Poppycock Flores-DeSanto Marquez Schwartz

and I wanted to take the opportunity

to thank you for coming for our first poetry reading here

at the Grounded Coffee organic, gluten-free bakery and cafe

I'm sure you're all just as excited as I am to be here

so you can get a chance to see some of our brilliant new poets taking their first baby steps

on our poorly lit but loving stage in front of our equally poorly lit but loving audience (some of whom, I can see, are also rather bouncingly, gigglingly drunk at the moment)

and we also have a few more familiar faces, like Battleaxe Jones, who'll be reading her

titillating poem "My Vagina is not a Glass House" which won her a Venus's Clit award last year

at the feminist dyslexic colorblind queer ladies of color slam where they went up against Burning Bush, the team from Portland

or should I say they rubbed up against burning bush? is that allowed? or did you guys get some antibiotics for that?

you're good? Okay, yeah, you're good? Good. great.

Next up, we'll have Indigo Wintersby Fuckland reading her revealing piece about

her cat, Gomer, called "My Cat... Gomer"

I don't know about the rest of you, but I saw Indigo read that one

at the SF slam last year and I just couldn't stop crying, you know?

there was something about it that was so... moving.

and when he ate the homemade blueberry yogurt and then died? UGH! my god.

oh, damn - I spoiled it for you guys, I'm sorry. shit. fuck.

nevermind! forget I said anything. sorry, IWF. Sorry!

Okay, anyway, moving on! We have Bretley Greenspan-Quetzacoat'l

with his powerful indictment of male supremacy called "My Bishop in a Turtleneck, My Country, My Betrayal"

as many of you probably already know, this was the piece

that Bretley read at the Paramus slam in 2001 that won him the Gravitas Pen Prize

for most creative title – that was a proud year for Bretley's team from Rockaway – let's hear it for 'em, huh? All right, all right!

So after Bretley, we have a really special treat.

This is only our first gathering, but we've arranged for some wonderful intermission music courtesy of Braid and Flaxseed – a wonderful indie chamber music duo, Braid playing the standard saw and Flaxseed accompanying on violin

then, when we get back from the completely gender neutral = and beautifully decorated, by the way - toilet facilities, you are going to be graced with the genius.

Our beloved guest for this evening, a genuine poet laureate,

our most prized writer here in the area, Rebecca Bartlet, who'll be reading from her new chapbook “Winners Never Sneeze”, which you can also purchase at the table at the very back

along with the chapbooks of all of the poets who'll be presenting tonight

and while you're back there, you can buy yourself a whole grain poppyseed muffin and some hot, freshly brewed chai, provided by our lovely hosts Lorelai and Sunbeam who are the owners of the Grounded Coffee cafe that you find your well-tatted selves in this evening

Now that we've gone through that, how about we get the show on the road and read some fuckin' poetry!?

To hold you over...

2010-03-22T10:16:00.000-07:00

I know that I've been called upon
by our mate GingerGreek
to grab a pitchfork and a torch
and give you all a peek
to the gut-churning underbelly
of YouTube's bottom third
the nutters, twats and other monsters
that we so often herd

Oh, I promise you, I've plans, mate
got my eye on one just now
I won't say who, that'll be for you
to wait and figure out
just know for now, I've found 'em
and know the game's afoot
this little scrib's just to hold you over
while I put on my boots

[PS: This is here rather than at my YT channel because I found out yesterday that I am officially over my monthly download limit for my ISP and still have to get myself some video-editing software before I can record this properly and set it to video! Patience!]

Thank you.

2010-03-06T00:54:00.000-08:00

I just wanted to take a moment and extend my deepest and most heartfelt gratitude and thanks to the lovely, wonderful people who showed up to my impromptu BlogTV last night. I had no idea what I was going to do about the dilemma I was facing with my newer computer having been KO'ed and my older one just barely functioning.

I placed my order for my new computer just a few moments ago and I'm so excited about the thought of all the things that I'll be able to do with it. I will finally be able to feel the relief of not having to worry about my system crapping out on me from sheer age and decrepitude. The one thing I was most concerned more recently was losing my job as a result of my technical issues rendering me 'unreliable' as an employee but now, thanks to you guys, that won't happen. What amazes me most even now is that two of the biggest contributors were people that I don't ever really recall hanging out with in BTV before. They just showed up and donated and I was just stunned.

Considering my line of work and what I've been through in my life, I have more cause to be pretty fucking jaded when it comes to human beings than your average person. Most of the time, I feel very pessimistic about the human race in general, but when I see things like this and see people giving money to help -- to help me, help Haiti, help Chile, help MSF/DWB -- it really does remind me of why I don't ever truly give up on people and why I never will. Times like this really do help me to remember how genuinely caring and incredible people can be.

I've taken the donate button down so that there isn't any confusion about whether or not I still need donations, just to be on the safe side, because I only wanted to accept just as much as I needed. I don't know how I'll ever pay you guys back, but you have my eternal gratitude. My computers are my life and when they're ailing, so am I, and you've all taken a tremendous weight and stress off of my shoulders.

Thank you. <3

SOS

2010-03-03T21:35:00.001-08:00

I honestly can't even believe that I'm typing this right now. I'd already gone through one fiasco when my 'Save the Pornstars!' video was taken down. Then, I went through another one immediately after when I had to go and have emergency dental surgery that cost me $350 out of my own pocket that I couldn't even afford when I paid it. But considering the kind of pain I was in at the time, I would have probably paid twenty times that much -- even if I didn't have the money.

So, now I'm short $350 and, after everything is said and done, I'll only be getting about $50 of it back from my worthless insurance.

Trust me, all of this stuff that seems like incidental, unimportant shit will be important in a second.

A fact about me that probably won't come as a surprise to many people: I hate asking for help. I don't like being a burden to other people and hate being in people's debts. At this point, though, I have very few alternatives.

Yesterday, when I was in the middle of work, we had a strange power surge. It shut down my work computer and when I was in the middle of starting it back up, the power went out again. When the power came back on and I tried to restart the computer again, my worst nightmare was realized: my computer got to the OS loading screen, started loading and loaded for all of 2 seconds before my computer restarted itself.

I don't have any tools to diagnose the problem myself, but checking the symptoms against some troubleshooting info I've been searching about online, there are several possibilities: my motherboard and/or some sticks of my memory are fried from the surge, somehow the surge fucked up the harddisk and corrupted the boot files or... like I said, it could be any number of things.

I have another computer that's much older and it's barely running as it is, since it's been my backup computer for the last 2/3 years and was my primary machine for at least 3 before that. If that computer were a person, it'd be time for it to go to the old folks' home. It takes forever to start up and it usually will only start up if it feels like it or if the wind is just right. I've relied on it several times when other computers have failed me, but I'm terrified that this one won't last much longer.

See, the thing is - I work out of my home and my computer is the only means I have for doing so. The company I work for has very particular requirements and this old nag of a crate of mine just barely passes muster. I tried to restore the entire thing so that it would wipe all of the junk off and now I'm stuck with Windows Home OS which I'll be desperately trying to replace with Pro over the next few hours. I'll be lucky if I get it done and get everything set up in time to be ready for work tomorrow. Beyond that, I just don't know how long this computer is going to last. I was up until about 10:30 this morning, trying to do everything I could think of to get the thing upgraded but it's tough going. The system is just so old.

Part of the reason why I'm typing this and why I'm not doing a video is because I don't even have any video software on that older computer, now. Right now, I'm typing this out on my Mac. And, also, another reason why I don't want to do a video about this is because I'm afraid I'll burst into tears.

I need help. Really badly. I fucking hate it when people e-beg, but at this point, I don't have any other alternatives. I've wracked my brain and spent hours trying to fix the problems on both computers and I just don't know what else to do. My last hope was to get Windows 7 loaded on to one or the other of the machines, but the newer one with the reboot issue isn't recognizing the thumb drive and I can't even get into the boot order menu for my other computer, it's so fucking old.

I'm working all the crate fu I can and it's failing me.

I hate asking for help, but right now I need it. It's not just about me being able to make YouTube videos - it's about being able to work and make a living. Having a working computer is essential to my ability to feed myself and pay my rent. With all that's happened more recently, I just don't have the money to afford a new computer right now. I've been looking at refurbished ones or cheaper ones, but at the back of my mind, my crate fu guru is telling me that it would just be a short-term fix for a long-term problem.

I'm not asking for any one person to buy me a computer. Nor am I asking anyone to donate anything they can't afford. I know what it's like out there right now. I don't know if or when I'd be able to pay anybody back but I could try to do some more stuff on my channel at your request if I can get myself set up again - questions, outgoing messages for your voicemail, recorded audio of me reading stories you pick - whatever I can think of or whatever we could work out. The only thing I ask is that you please don't ask me to show my face on camera. That's the one thing I just don't feel comfortable doing. Seriously, I'm willing to do what I can to pay people back or barter or whatever it takes. I just really need your help right now.

I feel so pathetic and ashamed to even be asking, but I just don't know what else to do.

ETA: Trust me, guys - I tried everything I knew how to do to fix my computer. I tried to boot into every safe mode there was and I couldn't do or see anything. No desktop, no menu options, nada. :(