By - Apr 30, 2017

I just watched a Tony Robbins video
You may judge this a counterrevolutionary gesture
Thinking about the people I forgot to write back to
I ate as much peanut butter as I could

(Pats the boot of his gun affectionately) a kind of bug
As siphoner sucking up the purple world thru its straw
Whorling hurricanes out from the backs of beetles, diaper rashes
Heavy tits heavy eyes of a heavy lady, a lady with fibroids
A lady who suffers migraines, I wanna fuck a woman who knows pain

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Father John Misty’s “Pure Comedy”

By - Apr 28, 2017

I want to defend the new Father John Misty album, “That’s Entertainment” or “All That Jazz” or “Misty ...

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Thank You, Andrew

By - Apr 26, 2017

Standing on the dock in the afternoon rain, my dad says he’d rather I have a bad time fishing with my old man than a good time playing computer games.
    He doesn’t say things like “Your old man” much, but sometimes he does. Or he’ll call me sport, or champ, mostly when I do something dumb. One time I light a whole book of matches on fire and throw it on the floor and stomp on it. It leaves a black spot and my dad says, “You really just did that, huh.”

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Keeps You Sharp

By - Apr 24, 2017

I was walking home through downtown St. Pete, sweating badly.

This older guy crossed paths with me near a concrete ledge overlooking an area of creek.

‘Man, goddamn it,’ he said, stopping by me as though we’d already been talking.

I stopped too.

‘This motherfucker….’ he said, gesturing out somewhere.

He had faded tattoos and big, raw pock marks all over his arms.

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Skevanston, Illinois

By - Apr 24, 2017

In 1977, my parents bought a house on a busy street. The home fell inside of a half-square mile oddity of land and bureaucratic mishap that the locals called Skevanston. This real estate snafu allowed people like my parents to buy a better valued home in the city of Evanston’s school district while paying the town of Skokie’s lower property taxes.

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So You Think You Can Dance (On My Grave)

By - Apr 23, 2017

Can you imagine I’ve never shaken one hand, never faked one smile, never kissed any curator’s asymmetrically pant-clad ass, to achieve this comfortable if not wildly successful career I have?
    That in four years I’ve gone to six art openings, three mine, one my wife’s, two my best friends. Did you know that was possible? To just stay home and work?

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excerpts from Person/a

By - Apr 21, 2017

Lately I have been wondering how many accidental car crashes are misdiagnosed suicides. It seems that if your intent is to kill yourself without afterward being thought an asshole by your friends and family, running your car into a tree or telephone pole would be the way to do it. Nobody gets hurt and everyone chalks it up as a “freak occurrence.” Of course now that I’ve posed the question in this form, I have eliminated it as a possibility for myself.

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By - Apr 19, 2017

I wanted to write a love poem

the most impossible thing

and I did
and it wasn’t hard

and afterward I took a walk
and nothing seemed hard.

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Unmovable Mover

By - Apr 17, 2017

my other body always knows what to steal and when to stop

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Five Poems

By - Apr 15, 2017

Time poem

If time is money

and I don’t have money

then I don’t have time

for your bullshit

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I Know About Micrograms Now

By - Apr 12, 2017

In 2012 I didn’t know much about micrograms.
Drugs I used then were measured mostly in milligrams.
2 milligrams of Xanax, 30 milligrams of Adderall.

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Office Day

By - Apr 10, 2017

What do I do in the evenings? I take off the mask. I stare into the eyes of a man in a photograph. I hum. The humming is based on ancient chants I read about in a book. Lately, my concern has been with wholeness: Am I whole? Should I be completed? What will do the legwork of this completion?

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By - Apr 9, 2017

Yesterday you went to the desert I put on Brahms channel and washed the tub my fur stood up seeing your ...

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Tupac Dies in the End

By - Apr 7, 2017

Tupac sits among the thousands of people at the Seldon vs. Tyson fight. Tupac feels calm. He loves Tyson, and he wants to watch a man get destroyed. He wants to experience victory. Suge Knight is sitting next to him – his best friend, his boss, the owner of Death Row Records. As Tupac looks around, he thinks that he has never felt like one of them. He has always felt, deep in his chest, that his life was an emergency, that he could never quit for even one second. Everyone around him lived in mimicry, and this mimicry killed him.

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Three Poems

By - Apr 5, 2017

I wanna b a mountain does a mountain still get her period? I wanna b a racoon but still date Donny H. like I ...

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By - Apr 4, 2017

Back when I was doing cocaine, we found a chicken in our yard. We weren’t sure how it got there, but it wouldn’t leave. My wife made me take a broom outside to try to scare it away.
     “It’s just a chicken,” I said.
     “You’re a chicken,” she said.

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Interview for the Position of Grand Inquisitor

By - Apr 3, 2017

1. The ability of language to comfort has eroded entirely. Words spoken now serve only to point. You’re given the material means to craft a language free of the dead weight of history. Describe its grammar.

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Some Dogs I Know

By - Apr 2, 2017

German Shepherd – Narc. Hates fun. Fascist. Bred to fight crime, so don’t buy if you’re a criminal. Sharp teeth. Loud ass bark. My parents had one that they named Cybil. Cybil Shepherd, haha. My parents got caught growing pot in between their tomato plants down in south Jersey. I think Cybil Shepard reported them to the cops.

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By - Apr 1, 2017

Hi everyone, The function of this post is to provide an easily accessible, organized list of everything I publish ...

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