1.11.2016

I Wouldn't Even Know Where To Start

Every expletive ever.

RIP.

A Poem About Self-Hatred

"Hello. I'd like to place an order for delivery."

1.03.2016

I Know You Were (The Poetry of Bullshit)

I know you were staring

at the wall, at the ceiling, empty bed, cold comforter,

the regrets of a lifetime

traced by eyes
upon the cracks in plaster,

the shoddy drywall work of a now------------forgotten Guatemalan

who spent a day
in your future bedroom

thinking about a wife back home

unseen in almost a decade

doing subpar drywall work (but only on that day)

in YOUR future HOME.

Where was I?

Regrets, cracks in plaster,

you staring
and I know what you are wondering about.

According to the NEW YORK TIMES,

it's ok

turtlenecks are "cool" again.

The next Juan will fix your paint job.

You don't have to regret that impulse purchase

made at Lord and Taylor

so many years ago.

No longer a vague shame.

Another soul is saved.

12.31.2015

Star Wars: The Return Of The Return Of The Jedi

I started to write, and may get around to completing, a review of Episode 7. I want to see it one more time to make sure that my reaction was at least somewhat objective but I just had to post a link to this even if a million other people have.

Lucas put his foot in his mouth more than a bit with the "slavers" reference, but, besides that, all-in-all, a fairly sound precis of the new film. Read the comments if you want to see grown adults acting as if their pacifiers have been removed prematurely.



12.29.2015

White Sustenance

I can't help but think that the below is both the apotheosis and nadir of indie simultaneously. Look at The Guy. I both revel and revolt at his insidious a-professionalism. On the one hand, the obvious one, the one you use to write with a pen or throw a baseball, yes, well, there is something daring about the lack of polish, the casualness, the diffident insouciance. And yet. Even in 1988, there is something so obvious, so studied, so monomaniacally blatant, I mean, Calvin has tight abs and he wants to fuck you. And somehow, because he doesn't have a perm, it's alright.

Twenty-eight years later, the wardrobe is the same. And Jamie Principle is probably still broke. It's not as if nothing has happened since then, it's just that, well, I don't think that the necessary consensus has been reached to place all that has happened since then in proper context.

Po(o)p is progress.


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