Blogfarm, blogfuture, blogheart, blogtown, blogtrain, blogcap, blogcane, blogclone, blogclown, blogstop, blogpound, blogtrap, blogcork, blogcow, blogcrown

…anyway, this morning as I was walking into the office, I am Jewish, I am “all traveled out,” not going anywhere for the holidays, what about you, skeleton-crew people in the office are doing LOTS of shouting stuff out to each other, feeling their oats, it’s OK, it’s kind of bugging me, I do it as much as anyone, I am a hypocrite, but please stop talking to me, I am trying to write about my life on a free website that I maintain, please do not speak to me (Nota Bene: I am not talking about you, McMüller, everything you have said today and every day is perfect, seriously, please do not stop talking) (everyone else, you must stop talking)

anyway, as I was walking into the office, there was a young woman posed semi-confrontationally on her bike, gazing self-consciously into the closed hipster Design Beyond Reach store next-door, we did not make eye contact, her face was poised in a self-conscious semi-angry mask of seriousness, the one that says “I am feeling confused and I know a total stranger is regarding me  in a public space; I need a shield of total seriousness to protect me from embarrassment as I gaze into this twee, shuttered shop.”

Her expression was overwhelmingly serious, which is why I came close to laughing out loud when, with terrible concentration and gravity, she removed something from her bag, which could only have been a cell phone, but in fact, as I sauntered by with perfect posture and generous love in my heart, I recognized her removing from her bag a pack of———-Dentyne Ice! She was self-consciously producing a stick of gum! This woman was a rookie undercover cop. My heart went out to her. It stays out with her. Except somewhere, by now, I know she’s speaking out loud, and, despite myself, only because I’m trying to concentrate, I want her to stop.

•*•*•*•*•||||•*•*•*•*•

I want to conduct a roundtable discussion that I’ll title “Slapstick on a Pig: New Feminist Humo(u)r(s)” with Lisa Hanawalt and Lauren Bans. I will moderate, but my “moderation” will just be Hanawalt and Bans mocking me. I will “sell” the interview to an online magazine.

•*•*•*•*•||||•*•*•*•*•

I have been meaning to say HEY THANK YOU to everyone who laughed politely and didn’t throw acid/beer/vodka-tonic in my face at the Make-Out Room earlier this month. In particular: I couldn’t have asked for better volunteers from the audience. Total-stranger hilarious woman with empanada, I’m looking at you. KUDOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

grumpus

BLOGGING IS A POINTLESS ACTIVITY/////////////

HERE ARE MY POINTLESS THOUGHTS ON BLOGS//////////////////

A GIANT SANS-SERIF WHO CARES DESCENDS UPON THE CITY, CRUSHING EVERYTHING THAT IS NOT AN ADORABLE ANIMAL OR AN ATTRACTIVE WOMAN

M.A. ORTHOFER’s UNSWERVING GROUCHINESS ABOUT BOOKS AND BOOK COVERAGE ALWAYS MAKES ME HAPPY. I’M NOT SURE WHY. PLEASE “STAY TUNED” FOR A 400,000-WORD “BOOK-LENGTH ESSAY” WRITTEN BY ME AND MY ANTHROPOMORPHIZED SPIRAL-BOUND NOTEBOOK (WITH AN ANTHROPOMORPHIZED ALL-CAPS “ANTHROPOMORPHIZED” SCRAWLED ON THE COVER) INVESTIGATING WHY M.A.O.’S UNSWERVING GROUCHINESS ALWAYS MAKES ME HAPPY.

I LOVE THE PHRASE “AFTER THE JUMP”

[EILEEN MYLES IS SEMI-LOVABLY GROUCHY IN THE COMMENTS SECTION HERE (thanks to Gerhard Richter’s Daughters for the link)]

is it true that reading all-caps text makes you, the reader, feel assaulted/exhausted?

(have you read the new Padgett Powell novel-in-questions yet?)

do u find all-craps (“craps” being just-invented slang for kute-lee miz-zpell’d all-lwrcse) equally exhausting, but in a different way?

WHEN SHE IS IN COLLEGE WILL YOUR DAUGHTER STUDY THE WAY “THE INTERNET” HAD LOTS OF GOOD SEX WITH “LANGUAGE” IN THE EARLY 21ST CENTURY?

WILL YOU NAME HER BETHANY???????????????

I’m going to mention this blog on stage at the makeout room a week from today, on behalf of the Rumpus dot net, I am “mediumnervous”

Oh, fuck!!!

I will attempt to perform an erotical, dialogic jam session in the style you may be familiar with from this website. So if you’re in town, and you like dialogic jam-sessions, do come along! I am a chubby, affable acid casualty! I have severe night blindness!!!

[Leave a comment on this blog post for half-price tickets!]

[Why hasn’t this dog emailed me back yet??]

Domo Corpusti

OCEAN: The black flag wavers for a fucking second, not safe for work, a grand glugging gets going and the waters of the world drain away.

BUSTY CACTUS: They drain? Don’t you think they’d evaporate first?

OCEAN: Naw. No. They drain. Through mine anus. Through mine geo-bio-tunnel. Which, I should add, can be quite sensitive. There is a monolithic crustacean scurrying back and forth there right now, and it’s driving me fairly batty with Enchrodinicius [flutters his eyelids]

B.C.: Aight

O: Yepp

B.C.: Wanna tangle

O: Nope

B.C.: Cooking school vacation?

O: Naw

BC: Comic book store

O: Naw. When I feel like this, all I can listen to is stuff from Apraxia records.

BC: These guys?

O: No. Where did yo find that.

BC: Tee hee the internet

O: You’re a terrible person [stabs the busty cactus in the face with a pen knife]

BC: [horrible screeming (sic), cactus blood everywhere. this is a nightmare. weeping, moaning, awful]

O: [horrible screaming]

BC: [horrible screaming]

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Continue reading “Domo Corpusti”

Puteţi să vorbiţi mai rar?

Two Slavic tourists are walking down the sunny-ass asphalt. They chatter heatedly, Slavic arms gesticulating with animation. They stop outside of a COFFEE SHOP. The hung-shingle-style sign swings EVER SO GENTLY IN DA BREEZE. Should I render it “L’Breeze”? Does a dead animal breathe a little when you step on its stomach? Would the cynic step on her neck? The sign reads DON’S COFFEE AND SALADS——AND SO FORTH. The SLAVIC COUPLE, well-suited for each other SEXUALLY, to say nothing of ROMANTICALLY, are having a heated, unintelligible argument outside of the COFFEE SHOP. It seems like they’re arguing about whether or not they should patronize DON’S, or if they should KEEP LOOKING. This conversation goes on FAR LONGER THAN IS REASONABLE. I mean, how long can you actually discuss a coffee shop? You either go in, or you keep looking. The fight is clearly about SOMETHING ELSE. There are DEEP ISSUES AT PLAY. But since neither of us (me, “da writer”; you, “da audience”) SPEAKS ROMANIAN, I MEAN SLAVIC, WHATEVER, we can’t know for sure what they’re saying.

AT LONG LAST, the ROMANIAN DUDE, VASSY, throws up his hands, and the ROMANIAN WOMAN, PETA, stamps her foot on the sidewalk a few times, like an adorable bullshit minotaur, and they enter DON’S COFFEE AND SALADS AND SO FORTH together.

Standing behind the counter is the owner, DON, 51. He wears a backwards Kangol English driving cap and a mustache. He is just pleased as “Punch” to see and to serve them.

DON: HALOOOOOO! WHAT CAN I SERVE YOU NOW!!!!!!!!!!!

ARGUING ROMANIAN COUPLE: [Unintelligible arguing in Romanian]

DON: [Looks perplexed, doesn’t speak Romanian] Excuse me, please?

ARGUING ROMANIAN COUPLE: [Continue gesticulating and arguing, shouting at DON and at EACH OTHER]

At once, a diaphanous scrim  descends over the scene. The actors are still visible, but they are darkened behind the scrim. BRIGHT SUPERTITLES appear on the scrim. The couple continues arguing behind the scrim while the supertitles play. Don sort of freezes in a pose of good-natured confusion.  An asterisk indicates when the screen should clear and a new phrase appears on the scrim:

AUDIENCE

*

<

p style=”text-align:center;”>IN ORDER TO UNDERSTAND
THE ARGUING ROMANIAN COUPLE

*

YOU WILL NEED TO EAT THE ARTISINAL CHOCOLATES

*

THAT HAVE BEEN PROVIDED UNDERNEATH YOUR SEATS

*

MANY THANKS TO TITSBOROUGH ARTISINAL CHOCOLATES FOR PROVIDING THE FREE ARTISINAL CHOCOLATES

*

PLEASE SUPPORT TITSBOROUGH ARTISINAL CHOCOLATES AFTER THE SHOW, VISIT THEM ON THE WEB AT TITSBOROUGH.BLOGSPOT.COM

*

EAT THE CHOCOLATES NOW, AND YOU WILL UNDERSTAND ROMANIAN FOR THE NEXT FIVE MINUTES OR SO

*

<

p style=”text-align:center;”>IF YOU ALREADY FOUND AND ATE
THE CHOCOLATES, YOU ARE FUCKED

*

IF YOU STEPPED ON THEM BY ACCIDENT, YOU ARE FUCKED

*

CALL THE SITTER

*

“TENDER BUTTONS”

*

BULLSHIT MINOTAUR

*

LAZY FLASHLAMPZ

*

[PICTURE OF HEAD INGESTING ARTISINAL CHOCOLATE, WITH A ROMANIAN PHRASE COMING OUT OF THE HEAD’S EAR]

kind of like this, you get the idea
kind of like this, you get the idea

As the audience “munches,” the couple’s argument begins gradually adding English-sounding words. For a while, it’s an insane hybrid of English and Romanian, and gradually they’re speaking only English.

VASSY: Excuse me, “Don,” I presume, I’d like to order a cup of coffee. I can’t listen to this bitch without at least 200 mg of caffiene up in this piece.

PETA: Yes, Don, thank you, I’ll have one of your “Large Marge” Margaritas, please. I don’t think I can stand putting this asshole’s dick in my mouth again without being just north of the point of falling down drunk off my ass.

DON: Wowzers. OK. Large coffee and a Large Marge, coming up.

END OF SCENE ONE

TO ALL THE SECRET BLUSTERERS

ALL-CAPS NARRATOR: I LOVE FITTED BASEBALL CAPS, YOU’RE ALWAYS PISSING AND MOANING ABOUT HOW FITTED BASEBALL CAPS CRAMP YOUR STYLE, BUT THAT is YOUR STYLE, YOU ARE A HUMAN FITTED BASEBALL CAP, SO WHAT’S THE BIG IDEAL?

[A newt enters wearing big sunglasses, walking cool. He didn’t sleep the night before. He carries his own autobiography in a plastic bag.]

NEWT: A man told me that to be a man carrying your belongings in a plastic bag is pathetic, ‘who the fuck does that, what kind of man is that.’ But I’ve had famous friends as long as I can remember, and still I carry my belongings in a plastic bag. What does this make me? I begin to remove objects from my plastic bag.

[NEWT takes a tattered New Yorker, folded over to a ‘random’ page, out of the bag] Sure, I wanna read something on the subway. [Lets magazine drop to the floor. Takes a copy of Henry Green’s Loving out of the bag.] And other times periodicals aren’t good enough. Dey ain’t apposite. I need something a little more ‘lasting.’ [Takes a portable televison out of the bag.] I love infomercials. I’m an avant-gardist. [Takes a horrible banana covered in furry mould out of the bag.] But I’m no ‘hunger-artist.’ [Stands there for a sec, just ‘digesting.’] To be an avant-gardist with your objects for the week crinklingly bound in a plastic shopping bag is a contemporary phenomenon. I’m the genius with an air of the indigent. I’m so great. I’m the best. La la la. The world’s accumulated memories of me are so, so great and so fun. I’m a clown; a million birthdays were made awesome by my pratfalls. My every appearance on recorded film, VHS or digital, is so much fun to watch. I’ve got more teeth than the three of you combined.

NEWT [CONT.]: This is a failed passage. The crew, in their attempt to sail the boat across the channel, didn’t make it. They sank. All the reams of literature they were ferrying to the new world wound up floating on the paper-thin surface of the ocean. Reading my writing, especially if you know me, is not fun. Imagine a metal washer floating on the surface of your mug’s coffee. Imagine a possessive noun getting roughed up from behind by a transgendered princess. Imagine a hurt buttercup’s feelings, perfectly intact. Dude. Pointlessness: C’mere. Slather a thesis in tahini, and cry in frustration that you’re not entirely at peace. Your friend’s feelings mirror your own, and therefore they disgust you. Making sense, particularly in the summer heat of NE Ohio, is a canard. Making out with kismet is the best Memorial Day present you could have asked for. What are your totemic power-words?

  1. Shower
  2. Louche
  3. Loaf
  4. Necklace
  5. Break-neck*
  6. Shibuya
  7. Hatchback
  8. Cower-leaf
  9. [leaf]
  10. Providence
  11. Spine
  12. Shame
  13. Leery
  14. Weed
  15. nudity
  16. frame
  17. Shrine
  18. Darshan
  19. Sproul
  20. Wicked
  21. Phish
  22. Batista
  23. St. John’s Cathedral
  24. Skulptcha
  25. Moons
  26. Labia
  27. Nile
  28. Niles [Frasier]
  29. Niles [Multiple-worlds rivers]
  30. Dick [P.K.]

Batista

LOAF IT OUT

SAM: Hey, Shwarma!

SHWARMA: Hey Sam!

SAM: What’s that? [Gestures at SHWARMA’S lap]

SHWARMA: [gesturing to own lap] Aw, this? It’s coffee! [Smiles, then blesses a textbook with open palm] I’m trying to learn FinalCutPro.

SAM: Ah!

SHWARMA: But I have ADD, and I ate an eighth of mushrooms ten minutes ago.

SAM: Wow. You’re not gonna be learning FinalCutPro once those kick in…

SHWARMA: I know. I’ve got my BART card all charged up, my chain is lubed and my tires are perfectly inflated. The minute the shrooms kick in, I’m heading to the park. In the meantime, though, if you don’t mind… [a beat]. I’m trying to finish up this tutorial.

SAM: That makes sense. Sorry for bugging you. I’ll leave you alone. [Sam reaches behind herself and deftly corrects a wedgie that had formed in her ass. Shwarma notices, conspicuously. I think they’re lesbians!]

SHWARMA: Well… what are you up to today? [She’s clearly taken with Sam. Who can say if it’s a purely sexual thing, or if there’s a ‘deeper’ affinity. But, like, does our common conception of sex as superficial, and friendship or whatever other affinity you want to choose as ‘deeper’ — really obtain? Does that conception really obtain? Can you use the word ‘obtain’ like that? I think you really obtain, for real, in a big way, Shwarma. Keep it going.]

SAM: I was going to head over to Agent Provacateur to buy some lingerie. I’m not seeing anyone right now, and I’m not planning to, but I still like to buy supersexy lingerie and just preen around alone in the mirror. If no one else is enjoying me, at least I should enjoy me, right? Then I was going to go see some art, either at 49 Geary or the MoMA. Then… I forget. I had more plans, maybe go for a ‘hike.’ There’s a new ‘lesbian trailhead’ I wanted to check out.

[The mushrooms are beginning to kick in for Shwarma. Her intense focus  slowly dissolves as Sam’s continues speaking, until her attention refocuses again in toto on the window. Sam trails off and follows Shwarma’s gaze.]

SAM [Con’t]: What are you looking at?

SHWARMA: Are butterflies friends or foes, would you say? ‘Foes.’ ‘Phoze.’ ‘Fose’. Has there been an historical time when butterflies were pests? Is a caterpillar the pest? [Big beat.] I want to start a band. Let’s start a band called “Caterpillar of Industrie”. With Industrie spelled “i-e”.

SAM: I like you. This is fun. I’ll be in the band.

SHWARMA: I want you to play ‘silence’ in the band. You’re like the John Cage of the band. It’ll be so famous — “You know how Caterpillar of Industrie has these really resonant, heartbreaking silences? That’s Sam. She plays the silence in the band. It’s incredible. No one is quiet like she is.”

SAM: I’m not taking any of this personally. It’s a funny idea. [Little beat.] Are you ready to go to the park?

SHWARMA: I’m already in the park, Sam. I live in the park. The park comes with me wherever I go. Le parque, c’est moi. The park is there, with me at the DMV. The park’s at a Primus concert. The park is at Whole Foods. The park is in jail. I’m in the park when I’m at Osha Thai on Valencia. The park in the nineties. The park in the Hague. Park in the academy. Park in the asbestos dungeon. Park in Spring. Remember the park at that Diane Arbus exhibition?

SAM: I remember how suprised you were with yourself that you didn’t like that exhibition.

SHWARMA: It bugged me because of that Nicole Kidman film, which I didn’t even see. But I was annoyed that the film informed the exhibition so much. When I’m a powerful art curator I’m going to stage an exhibition entitled “The Borrowers Down Under,” which will be a salon-hung show of Arbus photos, Mike Slack photos, and Robert Downey, Jr., in the gallery, doing something Beuysey; a performance piece. And there’ll be variations on the movie poster for The Borrowers Down Under, with animation cells, the whole ‘bit’.

rdu04

SAM: I think you mean The Rescuers Down Under.

SHWARMA: Of course I do. OK, I do. Wow. Wow. OK. I think it’s right, it’s time for me to go outside!! They’re kickin in. [Giggles for forty consecutive seconds.] Are you coming? I need to change my clothes! I can’t wear this shit! OK, Gak!! [more giggling, destroys her closet searching for a spaghetti-strap adventure-top]

SAM: OK. I’ll come. [Frowns with concern for her friend, who is on drugs]

drunkblogging the crankysphere

WRITING IS A PERFORMANCE

AND HOW MANY PLAYS HAVE BEEN PERFORMED IN AUGUST RESPECTABLE THEATERS IN NEW YORK CITY BY DRUNK ACTORS

IS THIS A PROPER SCHOOL OF ACTING? DRUNK ACTING?

GUYS, I’M WASTED

AND HERE I AM ON THE INTERNET, HOLDING MY fIREHOSE

I’M THE CLEVERSEST PERSIMMON IN THE BUCKET

AND THE BUCKET IS EMPTY

I WENT TO “DADDY’S” AND DRANK A BASKET OF WHISKEY WITH INTERNET PRIVACY, WHO IS A FINE WRITER AND SOMEONE I ADMIRE DEEPLY, WHO WITH HIS INTERNET SAVVY AND HIS CRITICAL THINKING SKILLS WILL SURELY FIND THIS WEB SITE

I ENJOYED LISTENING TO HIM RESPOND TO MY EGOISTIC, EARNEST ENQUIRIES WITH GRACE AND TINY GLASSES

GOD, FISH, BREATH, WATER

NARNIA, SPAIN, LONDON, INDIANA

CHANGE, SQUASH, BUTTS, FAT,

LABIA, LARD, LARDO, LANYARD

SO IT’S NEW YORK, AND IT’S YOUR OWN CRITICAL FACULTIES PREENING IN THE MIRROR, “OH, OH, THIS DRESS MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A FALUN GIXEN, A TROMPE L’FOXXXXX, WEAR IT, GIRL, AND BE BLONDE AGAINE”

SHAME ON YOU, SHAME ON RICE, SHAME ON ME SHAME ME TWICE

LADLES APPROACHING INFINITY

MY FEELINGS CAN BE TWO THINGS TONIGHT: HURT OR BLESSéD.  WHICH ONE YOU PICK? BAMFA

DUDE, I’M WASTED, I HAVE TO GO TO SLEEP, I JUST ATE A TUNA MELT, THERE IS NO-ONE  WHAT WILL MAKE YOU A TUNA MELT AT 3 A.M. IN SAN FRANCISCO UNLESS IT’S YOUR GORGEOUS WIFE BUTTHEENISTRIAHG, AND ONLY THEN HER MELTSZ IS FULL OF RESENTMINTS AND PIMIENTOES

LOUCHE/LARBB

beef larb is also used to caption images. a woman notices things a man can't.
beef larb is also used to caption images. a woman notices things a man can't.
beef larb is one of the loneliest meals you can eat. aimee mann will never call your cell phone as long as you have a phone and a face. you should join netflix and abandon any hope of wooing the carpenter's wife
beef larb is one of the loneliest meals you can eat. aimee mann will never call your cell phone as long as you have a phone and a face. you should join netflix and abandon any hope of wooing the carpenter's wife
cats are fake pets. it's ok to date republicans, as long as they work in a non-ideological sphere, like iTunes or iMplicasphere. Your nudity is a gregarious tree-horn. Seriously, the steve guteberg of your generation, go asleep
cats are fake pets. it's ok to date republicans, as long as they work in a non-ideological sphere, like iTunes or iMplicasphere. Your nudity is a gregarious tree-horn. Seriously, the steve guteberg of your generation, go asleep

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VlKR0i-51S4&feature=related]

dude, fucking larb, I know, right?? Pantaloons are breakfast in breadddddd
more larb