If it's
Schrodinger's box
you have to think
outside it.
Friday, June 04, 2010
fiancephalitis
My girlfriend
is a new noun.
Soon to be
another new noun.
Hopefully
the new nouns
end there.
(I now pronounce you
only three nouns to be.)
is a new noun.
Soon to be
another new noun.
Hopefully
the new nouns
end there.
(I now pronounce you
only three nouns to be.)
Friday, May 14, 2010
Cosmic Joke
Stop me if you've
heard this one before:
Within an hour
of telling Jeff
my plan to propose
to her in four weeks
she calls and tells me
she's not in
love with me
not happy has lost her feelings
and she doesn't feel the
same commitment (anymore).
Where's my rimshot?
C'mon,
I can take a joke.
But that rimshot
better be as loud
as fucking thunder.
heard this one before:
Within an hour
of telling Jeff
my plan to propose
to her in four weeks
she calls and tells me
she's not in
love with me
not happy has lost her feelings
and she doesn't feel the
same commitment (anymore).
Where's my rimshot?
C'mon,
I can take a joke.
But that rimshot
better be as loud
as fucking thunder.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Soroughly Thoused
The key to life is to never have a door.
I am where
my eye is a knot.
Welchful faces,
welp, that’s me,
full of lament.
Raise an Army of Sisyphi,
and thin out their ranks in the afternoon
with waffle ball bats.
Never come between a man
and his stripper.
Nonny nonny boo-boo,
the underpaid nanny’s in the kitchen making pasteles and
I can make dreams from the lint in my pocket.
A hand in the stomach
married to a mouth in the heart.
Let’s catch no birds with no stones
for a change.
Let’s play with ketchup
and leave all this mustard behind.
I am where
my eye is a knot.
Welchful faces,
welp, that’s me,
full of lament.
Raise an Army of Sisyphi,
and thin out their ranks in the afternoon
with waffle ball bats.
Never come between a man
and his stripper.
Nonny nonny boo-boo,
the underpaid nanny’s in the kitchen making pasteles and
I can make dreams from the lint in my pocket.
A hand in the stomach
married to a mouth in the heart.
Let’s catch no birds with no stones
for a change.
Let’s play with ketchup
and leave all this mustard behind.
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Optimiasma
Tomorrow will be better.
Tomorrow’s tomorrow will be betterer.
Tomorrow’s tomorrow’s tomorrow will be bettererer.
Yesterday was shit.
Today I am just figuring all this out
copyright © 2010 thedoog
Tomorrow’s tomorrow will be betterer.
Tomorrow’s tomorrow’s tomorrow will be bettererer.
Yesterday was shit.
Today I am just figuring all this out
copyright © 2010 thedoog
Friday, April 23, 2010
Nothing Nearly
I didn’t realize it
was Wednesday until it was Thursday.
I didn’t realize it was Spring
until seven dogs barked
all at the same time.
The heat did not click on
because, you’d say, it was
warm enough outside—
because, really, I believe, the
cat left the shades undrawn
and the sun was
waved through the
checkpoint of solitude
and warmed all the more
than just that patch of couch
I lay on when
you are not here.
was Wednesday until it was Thursday.
I didn’t realize it was Spring
until seven dogs barked
all at the same time.
The heat did not click on
because, you’d say, it was
warm enough outside—
because, really, I believe, the
cat left the shades undrawn
and the sun was
waved through the
checkpoint of solitude
and warmed all the more
than just that patch of couch
I lay on when
you are not here.
DD Form 214
I won't be
ordered anymore
to kill
any more brown people
anymore.
(no folding, ironing, forming,
gas-masking, pt-ing,
subjugating;
not by me–
but it will
go on
and on
until we've fucked
all the differences away)
so they say.
ordered anymore
to kill
any more brown people
anymore.
(no folding, ironing, forming,
gas-masking, pt-ing,
subjugating;
not by me–
but it will
go on
and on
until we've fucked
all the differences away)
so they say.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
vary us
we are all made of whores.
the privileged
envy the afflicted.
for the privileged
every day is a cocktail hour for one.
identity is an invisible birthmark.
Nietzsche is 'they.'
the privileged
envy the afflicted.
for the privileged
every day is a cocktail hour for one.
identity is an invisible birthmark.
Nietzsche is 'they.'
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Book Review: The Proteus by Christophe Casamassima
The Proteus by Christophe Casamassima
ISBN: 978-0-9816733-0-1
Publisher: Moria Poetry
Order the book.
The Proteus at once twice three times three times hiroshima shimmy shum—a saucy salsa language bubblebath in an ocean that will be drained in a thousand years and the skeleton of a new creature will be discovered: the thesaurusosaurus. Much like the stegosaurus, but with libraries on its back instead of shields.
Or perhaps it is a singing thesaurus, or what a thesaurus would sound like if it were an opera. Not that Casamassima is using a thesaurus to construct a text like a freshman composition class may overuse; no, the sounds of words to Christophe are musical notes that he has clearly memorized (or purloined from other literary purloiners) and we are a lucky audience at the debut of a concerto that has no fixed address: not in a hall, or even in a time or space.
Casamassima proves he is a master debater in the field of intertextualcourse, and an ahimsa scribe of space, white space, and grey blends from the black symbols us simple folk call words.
Casamassima shows us that sometimes you have to bore through a text to get to a reader; sometimes you have to knock down a context to speak to a reader; sometimes you have to swat away subtext to captivate the reader; and sometimes you have to do all three simultaneously with power tools made from moth wings, moths that had the temerity to eat every bible the gideons left sitting around like pigeon droppings on a deposed dictator.
The Proteus is a fascinating thought experiment of what happens if you try to juggle chainsaws and infants: the buzzing remains long after you have slid the book on your shelf or dropped it off at The Book Thing or left on a subway seat. If the language Casamassima is working through doesn’t make your inner ear itch, then at least the book makes for an interesting hat.
ISBN: 978-0-9816733-0-1
Publisher: Moria Poetry
Order the book.
The Proteus at once twice three times three times hiroshima shimmy shum—a saucy salsa language bubblebath in an ocean that will be drained in a thousand years and the skeleton of a new creature will be discovered: the thesaurusosaurus. Much like the stegosaurus, but with libraries on its back instead of shields.
Or perhaps it is a singing thesaurus, or what a thesaurus would sound like if it were an opera. Not that Casamassima is using a thesaurus to construct a text like a freshman composition class may overuse; no, the sounds of words to Christophe are musical notes that he has clearly memorized (or purloined from other literary purloiners) and we are a lucky audience at the debut of a concerto that has no fixed address: not in a hall, or even in a time or space.
Casamassima proves he is a master debater in the field of intertextualcourse, and an ahimsa scribe of space, white space, and grey blends from the black symbols us simple folk call words.
Casamassima shows us that sometimes you have to bore through a text to get to a reader; sometimes you have to knock down a context to speak to a reader; sometimes you have to swat away subtext to captivate the reader; and sometimes you have to do all three simultaneously with power tools made from moth wings, moths that had the temerity to eat every bible the gideons left sitting around like pigeon droppings on a deposed dictator.
The Proteus is a fascinating thought experiment of what happens if you try to juggle chainsaws and infants: the buzzing remains long after you have slid the book on your shelf or dropped it off at The Book Thing or left on a subway seat. If the language Casamassima is working through doesn’t make your inner ear itch, then at least the book makes for an interesting hat.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
viviparous blenny
viviparous blenny volume one: synchronicity is available for order.
http://www.twentythreebooks.com/vivi.htm
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Poem inspired by the last lines of a Bukowski poem
of all the trips
to outer space and
of those few trips
to the moon and
of those forays
to the international space station,
didn’t anybody ever
think about,
or attempt
to have,
a little zero gravity sacrifice to Venus,
a little intergalactic twatting,
a little cosmic dipping of the wick,
a little interstellar tube-snake boogie?
that would be:
one small orgasm for a man;
one fantastic Penthouse Forum for mankind.
© douglas william mowbray
to outer space and
of those few trips
to the moon and
of those forays
to the international space station,
didn’t anybody ever
think about,
or attempt
to have,
a little zero gravity sacrifice to Venus,
a little intergalactic twatting,
a little cosmic dipping of the wick,
a little interstellar tube-snake boogie?
that would be:
one small orgasm for a man;
one fantastic Penthouse Forum for mankind.
© douglas william mowbray
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Variation on Danielle's Poem
First grade, fifth grade, something something 101, entry level, 401 K, Roth IRA:
rough timeline of reduction in the amount of questions asked in your life, like:
Would you party like an old man if she said chocolate?
Exactly how do hungry kids dance today? (they start with this simple truth: don’t walk tonight where music is)
What are day? (as opposed to ‘Which ain’t night?’)
Why did he?
How does love eat house?
To reverse the timeline, do not wait on Doc Brown,
follow these simple steps:
Smile big at her
Ask him or have dinner
Need bad ugly car
(Remember it will make them look)
Ride up the thing going on time
Tell the day go take me
Clean tomorrow and you could get mother
Little talk when we want money please
Drive out for good shopping
Follow these and you will get back to being who you were before you were:
a beautiful wild woman kissing hot food.
rough timeline of reduction in the amount of questions asked in your life, like:
Would you party like an old man if she said chocolate?
Exactly how do hungry kids dance today? (they start with this simple truth: don’t walk tonight where music is)
What are day? (as opposed to ‘Which ain’t night?’)
Why did he?
How does love eat house?
To reverse the timeline, do not wait on Doc Brown,
follow these simple steps:
Smile big at her
Ask him or have dinner
Need bad ugly car
(Remember it will make them look)
Ride up the thing going on time
Tell the day go take me
Clean tomorrow and you could get mother
Little talk when we want money please
Drive out for good shopping
Follow these and you will get back to being who you were before you were:
a beautiful wild woman kissing hot food.
danielle's poem
would you party like an old man if she said chocolate?
I'm crazy now so smile at her big
little talk when we want money please
I live to need bad ugly car
beautiful wild woman kiss hot food
let's clean tomorrow and you could get mother
remember it will make them look
don't walk tonight where music is
how do hungry kids dance today
love can eat house
ride up the thing going on time
ask him or have dinner
tell the day go take me
what are day
why did he
they drive out for good shopping
I'm crazy now so smile at her big
little talk when we want money please
I live to need bad ugly car
beautiful wild woman kiss hot food
let's clean tomorrow and you could get mother
remember it will make them look
don't walk tonight where music is
how do hungry kids dance today
love can eat house
ride up the thing going on time
ask him or have dinner
tell the day go take me
what are day
why did he
they drive out for good shopping
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
La Phew, Hooah
I was fuckin’ around
and now my knee
smelts like jasmine.
Which aint so bad.
Now’s there this faint
scent of a woman about me.
Yeah, yeah, I know,
yuck it up.
I smell like a sgirl
and now you’re
thinking about Al Pacino.
But this is loneliness talking.
And loneliness
has a French accent.
Least, that’s what I been told,
and other things like,
apparently, you might want
to be scentless in
But all I got is this blindness.
That’s all this man’s Army ever gave me.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Sun of a Bitcher
I picked up a sock that
wasn’t mine and it
started to snow.
The difference between
my heart and your heart
is the difference between
an interpreter and a translator.
Stop playing with your cancer, she says.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Burma poet held for secret insult
| By Steve Jackson BBC News |
The Burmese authorities have arrested a well known poet, who published a love poem with a hidden message criticising the country's military leader.
Poet Saw Wai's work - titled February the Fourteenth - was published in a Rangoon magazine, The Love Journal.
Taken together, the first words of each line read: "General Than Shwe is crazy with power."
Dissidents in Burma have used similar techniques before to get their messages past government censors.
Authorities 'sensitive'
At first sight it appeared to be a straightforward love poem looking ahead to Valentine's Day, but eagle-eyed readers soon noticed what the Burmese government censors had missed.
It was not long before the authorities became aware of the poem and Saw Wai was arrested.
It is not clear what will happen to him now.
Burma's military government is highly sensitive to any criticism, especially since the pro-democracy demonstrations last September which were put down by force.
The authorities closely monitor the media and dissidents have resorted to increasingly elaborate methods to get their messages across.
Last year an advertisement was placed in one of Burma's main newspapers in the name of a Swedish travel company which contained the hidden message "Killer Than Shwe".
The company did not really exist.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/asia-pacific/7205216.stm
Published: 2008/01/23 16:36:03 GMT
© BBC MMVIII
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