from slowwave.com


someone gets a lot of thought these days

off beneath the waters,
don’t know where
sung to sleep by dophins and whales i guess
till we meet again
don't know when
out in the intergalactic nothing
a blind idiot God singing nonsense songs, no discernible words, no
that make the waves
beneath his head
those echoes follow
paths as only that eyeless heartless
one knows
till he says
'you look so pretty sugar...
that's right'
heavy loads lose weight in the heat
then under the skylights lamplight catches highlights
and i delight
in my dream the other night
before the ritual with the bird and the ovens
in perfect obedience
i turned over to find him in my bed
oh, oy,
one more pair of heavensea blue eyes

i make myself believe, i think:
'in these silences' says the King,
'who knows what things may rise'?
it's just as well
there is such a climbing beauty
in being the undaunted hoper
a dreamer of strangest-dreams
i see the colors and the tender sweet reaching
so clearly
sometimes, sometimes

come on back, barbarossa
i don't want to know if i am wrong or right
i just want to taste believing again
as dark and glossy
as steak-heart liquor
as alive as a new leaf
as pure as the first breath of Saturday morning
there's nothing for the faint of heart like Belief

a vale of tears

this Vale of Cashmere
watercolored gold and maize and flat brown
like nineteen-seventy-two
paths all laid out in rails of fallen trees
those black bike messengers
lingering in the darkness
on a long red carpet of used rubbers
printed in half-moons and horseshoes
what a mighty, monolithic loneliness seems to spring up at dusk
echoing the hollow sneaker footfalls and owls
and the long lowing sounds
blowing from the zoo
all those men who linger in the dark
beside the fountains choked with rot and algae and leaves
beneath the willows and on the fringes
of Olmstead and Vaux's broad, elegant lawns
laid and seeded
drawn with rulers and blissful Christian good intentions
for daylight and small children
for safety and a place to go
on weekend mornings and weekday afternoons
and not for this silent pocket
of park where they are all standing
waiting or sitting blowing clouds of grassy smoke
waiting for someone to come along
though the membrane of sunlight at the edge of the grass
and pass into that inscrutable darkness
beyond the Vale of Cashmere


never once tone-deaf to the Almighty

stopped up with thoughts, i am,
filled up with longing and eternal foolish adolescent loneliness
comfortable without comfort
alone but not lonely, though
babies' cries do come drifting down from between the floorboards
through the thin walls of these hundred-year-old houses
to me in my too-warm, too-soft bed
many arms pleading or holding at bay
hard words,
i speak them to myself or hear them spoken
yet best comforts come on forks, on sheets, in dreams
i can't trust myself
though my wishing wants so much to make it so
my poor eyesight and my weak, weak heart
what a terrible, laughable allegory of infirmity, i am
i'm so soft, they leave fingerprints on me
i have always been this way, from the start



heaven and hell

fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
en el infierno su siya va ser la que esta al lado del bano roto de los demonios de la diarrhea

"in Hell, his chair will be the one beside the diarrhea demons' lavatory"
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:

fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
pero tu y yo vamos a estas en el cielo al lado del open bar y el buffet de mariscos frescos

"but you and i will be in Heaven next to the open bar and the fresh seafood buffet"
sunnydiaz says:
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
mmm camarones y vinito frio

"mmm cold wine and shrimp cocktail"
sunnydiaz says:
sunnydiaz says:
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
sunnydiaz says:
sunnydiaz says:
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
me imagino que el cielo es como un resort de lujo

"Heaven's like a luxury hotel"
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
los mejores chefs cocinando

"the best chefs cooking..."
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
las playas mas bonitas

"the most beautiful beaches"
sunnydiaz says:
espero que sí

"I hope so."
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
las fiestas mas divertidas

"great parties"
sunnydiaz says:
pero temo que sea junk food y miami

"But I am afraid it'll be junk food and Miami"
sunnydiaz says:
y no se

"and I'm not sure..."
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
la gente toda contenta

"...the people all happy"
sunnydiaz says:
tú crees?

"ya think?"
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
y plenty of hammocks for everyone
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
to nap under palm trees
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
and you can fly and breathe underwater
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
and you can eat all the foie gras and risotto and flourless chocolate cake you want and never be chubby or full
that would be great
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
and there are always good books to read and movies to watch and music to listen to
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
and if you want there can be no one around, and if you want there can be lots of fun things to do like trips to nice places - adventures, painting and dancing and storytelling and museums of stuff from all over the universe explaning how it all works
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
and sometimes there are big thunderstorms, and sometimes God comes over to your front porch and you and he and maybe some of your friends hang around and have chocolate malted milkshakes and talk about stuff
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
and all the animals talk
sunnydiaz says:
oh dear
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
sunnydiaz says:
yes of course
gpesoa says:
but i'm afraid we'll just die
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
what and there'll be nothing
sunnydiaz says:
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
well it won't matter then, will it? so we might as well imagine it being as great as we can, since let's face it, this life's kind of a pain in the tuchus
sunnydiaz says:

fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
meanwhile, hell!
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
there are always bajillions of nasty smelly people staggering around all mangled and deranged and the carpeting's wet and sticky and there's trash everyplace and the windows are all broken and there's goop in the fountains and flourescents flickering
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
and the music is ashcroft live and crocodile rock and klezmer
sunnydiaz says:
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
and you can never bathe or shave
sunnydiaz says:
that's cruel
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
and all you do all day is sit around and get tortured
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
according to your own personal horrors
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
something different every few days
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
like three days in molten lava, three days in a box full of bugs, three days doing data entry
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
three days being yelled at by your parents
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
three days starring in Deliverance
sunnydiaz says:
sunnydiaz says:
sunnydiaz says:
sunnydiaz says:
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
three days in bed with rosanne barr and george bush
sunnydiaz says:
godddd you should work for the devil
sunnydiaz says:
as a producer
sunnydiaz says:
or something
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
or God
fenchurch, five inches aboveground says:
i'd be good at designing heaven
sunnydiaz says:
well he's behind, always

Oh I used to be disgusted
And now I try to be amused.
But since their wings have got rusted,
You know, the angels wanna wear my red shoes.
But when they told me
’bout their side of the bargain,
That’s when I knew that I could not refuse.
And I won’t get any older,
now the angels wanna wear my red shoes.
I was watching while you’re dancing away.
Our love got fractured in the echo and sway.
How come everybody wants to be your friend?
You know that it still hurts me just to say it.
Oh, I know that she’s disgusted (oh, why’s that?)
Cause she’s feeling so abused. (oh, that’s too bad..)
She gets tired of the lust, (oh I’m so sad)
But it’s so hard to refuse.
How can you say that I’m too old,
When the angels have stolen my red shoes.
Oh, I said I’m so happy, I could die.
She said drop dead, then left with another guy.
That’s what you get if you go chasing after vengeance.
Ever since you got me punctured this has been my sentence.
Oh I used to be disgusted
And now I try to be amused.
But since their wings have got rusted,
You know, the angels wanna wear my red shoes.
Red shoes, the angels wanna wear my red shoes...


i dreamt of erik last night, i dreamt that we were both sentenced to prison for one year and found each other as we were surrendering ourselves.


Bikerbabe says: "as a friend of mine says... I live in my own little world, but it's OK, they know me here"

we love you, Bikerbabe! we will miss you! keep in touch!!!

more Clem Snide, from Your Favorite Music

Loneliness finds her own way
'Cause her skin is so soft
I'm cutting my teeth on her shoulder
and cracking my knuckles while holding her hand

And loneliness finds her own way
And the bridges are out
Under construction forever
Changing her form she fits like my clothes
And trying to kiss her I bloody my nose

Loneliness finds her own way
Through parking lot cities with a coal miner's sense
And I know her love is not worth it
As the thing to try and impress
As the thing to try and undress

Loneliness finds her own way
For her I wont be afraid
I'm holding on to her picture
'Cause her good looks have faded from all those parades
Good looks have faded from all those parades
Good looks have faded from all those parades


yes, rubbish.
hope is a weak little thing.
such a fierce wind as i
can break its hoping wings.
i can break myself
again again gaining tiny insights into
flying mechanical things,
but never into the magic
that breathing faith
brings into the divorce
of sad unwilling
which don't want to leave
you back there in the cold and go
drink hot whiskey in the grim pursuits of the day.
in my heart
the hedges and the white limbs of the statues
the eyelashes
of eidolons in repose-
my hopes and all best intentions
become nothing more than very kind lies
wasting your lovely liveliness.
and what of mine?
these are footsteps
these are breaths
these are the moments we must live through
before we are what each of us becomes alone.

everything means less than zero, hey, hey...

you know, it seems to me that it is a pretty crap time in my life when i mention antidepressants twice in one week in a public forum. everyone i know feels like shit. except kare. she's happy. i think mr mcsomething is taking her to cabo for the holidays. and she's a republican so...
i miss the early nineties. i miss optimism and clinton and high school, for heaven's sake. is anyone else happy?
oh, lawrence, i forgot lawrence. this is like the best week of his freaking life. arafat bites it and bush wins the election. i'm surprised he didn't get a 'who's your daddy?' Taz-tattoo or something. and he's getting some looooove.
yesterday, tory IMed me to say 'it's hard being a friday night person in a monday morning world.' fucking WORD tory. word. i'm lonely and i have no money and i feel like shit. i can't write anything decent, evidence my last million posts have either been immediately deleted or have just been images.
the only good thing that's happened today is that my new digital camera came in the mail. maybe i'll turn this into a for-profit vanessa porn website. okay, or not. last night i dreamt that chantal and i shared this horrible, run-down dormitory style apartment, and patrick was over. it was halloween, and i wanted to get dressed up, but i realized that everyone had left without me, and the only thing on every channel was hockey and basketball. this was a better dream than the night before's, when i was running around dwight englewood near tears because i realized that it was the first day of school, but that i also had to come to work and i was late for both first period and the goddamned tuesday morning meeting. also, my best friend was addicted to gambling and loan sharks with guns started a shootout during assembly. that was some creepy shit. i woke up shivering.
i'm hoping the digital camera will be inspiring. i'm hoping that anything at all will be inspiring because i'm tired of the postal service and clem snide and liz phair and everything just sounds like bullshit except that one fucking elvis costello song, Less Than Zero, which is just as despressing as it sounds and has nothing at all to do with Michael J. Fox, who is still cute and funny and wonderful despite his illness and what happened to Spin City. ghhhgggh.
last night i went home and drank red wine and watched america's next top model and it was like nothing at all had changed since last year, except for the fact that i'm not dating JR anymore, and it's not like he'd have been there anyway, is it? so i ordered some mexican and i watched tv and i read my sheri tepper novel (excellent) and when the show was over i scarfed two tylenol pm cold tablets and pulled the blankets over my head and before i knew it, it was time to get up again. joyful, joyful, we adore thee...
this morning robert and i randomly started quoting from Yeats' The Second Coming. you know, that is not what you'd call a happy poem, which only makes it funnier that the reason, we both realized, that it was caught in our mental spam-filters is that some crackbaby at the MTA decided it would be a really good choice for one of those Poetry on the Go placards in the subway.
so NOT the last thing i want to read as i cough up my spleen amid curds of bile-rich foam during a sarin attack, or just before my life is cut short(ish) by some other straphanger's femur being driven into my brain by a potent explosive blastwave. you'd think these people would have the good sense to make up some nice cheery e.e. cummings shit with illustrations from Yellow Submarine, or maybe pictures of the Great Barrier Reef or the Andromeda Galaxy and sweet passages from Rilke-

You, you only, exist.
We pass away, till at last,
our passing is so immense
that you arise: beautiful moment,
in all your suddenness,
arising in love, or enchanted
in the contraction of work.

To you I belong, however time may
wear me away. From you to you
I go commanded. In between
the garland is hanging in chance; but if you
take it up and up and up: look:
all becomes festival!


You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspected
turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods-
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.
You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,-
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled,
gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...

they say bad politics make good art, that one must suffer to be beautiful, that absence makes the heart grow fonder, that it is better to have loved and lost, that it is darkest before the storm, that when life give you lemons, you ought to make a fucking Snapple brand low-carb soft drink and patent it and prop up the economy and buy a house with marble floors in Upper Saddle River, but i think that's what they say to us. i think maybe they tell each other that there must not be a mine-shaft gap, that everybody know the war is over and the good guys lost, that absolute power is fuckin'-a what it's all about, and that all the golden parachutes and silver linings have been RSVPd, that tee time's at eleven and the Alaskans are all for the pipeline, and that that's just fine.

modern life is rubbish.

BikerBabe: lunch?
VanessaIAB: eating
VanessaIAB: salad
BikerBabe: bleh
BikerBabe: salad bad. chocolate good
VanessaIAB: the salad of sadness, dressing of despair, croutons of crapulence...
VanessaIAB: beetroot of beastliness
VanessaIAB: avocado of abhorrence
VanessaIAB: grilled chicken of grimness
VanessaIAB: sesame seeds of sinisterence
BikerBabe: radicchio of rejection
VanessaIAB: frisee of fear
BikerBabe: tomatoes of turpitude
BikerBabe: radishes of reproach
VanessaIAB: arugula of apathy
BikerBabe: cucumbers of cheerlessness
VanessaIAB: walnuts of woe
BikerBabe: all in an attempt to fight chocolate of corpulence?
VanessaIAB: exactly
BikerBabe: :-(
VanessaIAB: french fries of fatassitude
VanessaIAB: pepperoni of portliness
BikerBabe: parmesan of paunch
VanessaIAB: haaaa
VanessaIAB: Look upon me all ye mighty, AND DON'T FORGET TO TAKE YOUR PROZAC!
BikerBabe: and learn Canadian anthem
VanessaIAB: o canadian for sweaters with reindeers on
VanessaIAB: may a nameless universal consciousness think fondly on you, if at all....
VanessaIAB: and crown thy moral relativism
VanessaIAB: with community activism
VanessaIAB: from tree to frosty tree
VanessaIAB: o canada
BikerBabe: mmphhh
VanessaIAB: o canada
VanessaIAB: may aforementioned higher power look after you like a favorite neice
VanessaIAB: and crown thy moral relativism
VanessaIAB: with community activism
VanessaIAB: from tree to frosty tree


new photographs on KingMorgan.com

These are all really gorgeous, but here's one of yours truly as well as my two current favorites.


What do we do now?

"As we have four more years, now we've got some time to consider and to plan effectively. Despair is OK for an afternoon, but it's important to remember: This is the most corrupt presidency in modern history. It's unlikely to improve. So there's lots to do."

-Rick Moody

"can someone remind me why secession is not an option at this point? i mean let's be realistic, we live in a divided country. can't we have the breakaway republics of 'north-east-istan' and 'pacific-stan'? wouldn't the red states be happier without us?"


"This much has changed for me in the past few hours, after raging at 51 percent of the people in this country. To be honest, I didn't really care much about the feelings of that 51 percent -- I far more cared about rectifying our terribly tarnished image throughout the world. (As my Italian friend just wrote to me, "The fact is four more years of aggressions, lies, destruction of social systems all around the world, are just too much. It's medieval. I'm scared.")
Now, however, I realize that we have to treat our own country as a foreign country, with whom our relations are strained beyond the point of communication. Do we compose for that 51 percent, our alienated brethren, novels or poems to mend this rift and sway their minds? My cynical guess is that Roth's "The Plot Against America," for example, didn't experience soaring sales in Mississippi -- which is not to discount the importance of writing politically engaged and evocative fiction. This choir loves to be preached to. But in terms of lessening this divide, I think straight activism is the mandate -- continuous visits to these red state communities in an attempt to mend this divide, person by damned person, starting with ourselves. I cannot -- cannot -- understand why 51 percent of the people in this country voted for George Bush -- and that is a problem. We need to understand why, and if we understand why, then perhaps our attempts at communication will be more effective. "

-Heidi Julavitz


buddha on lotus, redux

soooooooo depressed. sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo depressed.
not enough prozac in the world to cover this week.

i'm not sure if i'm more upset over the work situation or the president.

is it possible they are equally bad?


buddha on lotus

headache, headache, headache, terrible day. arrr.