July Notes


I am continuing to adjust to the new job and having very little personal time. By evening, I’m exhausted and ready to crash.

We move into our new apartment mid-August. Very exciting.

Watching John Cassavetes films at night. Oh, and what about Brian K. Vaughn, Warren Ellis? Comics, the new potatoes growing out the ears.

Chilled out. Leaned back in bed.

Keep thinking of books I wanna read, but the required energy is not at arm’s length.

Feeling sedated. Spider bites that show up on my arm, discovered driving past the man-made pond. Texas. Texas heat. Texas humidity.

Buddha nature. High fever. Delusions and word play.

Save. Save your goddamn file. Beware of power outages.

Traffic is almost unbearable.

Type as fast as you can. Write a blur at the lunch table. Load headphones onto your ears and splash out the world. The time you wind up spending with yourself, without amenities, without radio, may reverberate something of interest.


Going through manuals, articles, comics. The employee manual, for instance, says Congratulations! You were very carefully selected to join a team of elites. Now, prepare yourself for training that will ensue in the coming weeks and months. At the 3-month mark, the trial period is over, at which point we will weigh all the pros and cons and see if you’re really worth it. Well, I am a ninja, bracelet or not. How keen are your powers of observation, higher-ups?

Articles. Well, this one has come in on my Google alerts. Seven Soldiers of Victory. Kicking your ass. Take notes.

I am
a full-time
of all the
little things
around me

and so
are not you?

oh dear god
the communication
flimsy in
the work space
each person
a different language
not understanding
each other
even during
a slow period
work moves
slow through the flow
a motherboard
swings like
a broken airplane wing

open mic
a quick drink

living down here
in the center of things
will be ideal
will be
more real
no more a
sitting duck in traffic
not like

backed up fifteen miles
checking for
new birth marks
this one
was here
all along

landed on my chest
landed on the moon

they should send
some gay men
to jump around on
the moon
don’t ask me why

random missions
to other planets
for the hell of it
in spite of
vedic injunctions
that say
“no, absolutely not
you cannot go!”

anarchism and vedanta
do not mix

I am a
simple minded anarchist
I am this and
that and this over here
what was that?
I am alive inside
the Texas border
who would have
ever thought?
I’ve crossed over
into another life
the thing inevitable

you sync up to that
you disconnect later
queue the music or don’t


And so…. Audio!

I’ve decided (at least for now) to stay on board here with Live Journal, yet at the same time to move forward with the audio stuff which can now be found here (and also in the links sidebar to the right). Feel free to drop me some feedback. Thanks.


I’m seriously thinking about switching this journal over to blogspot—mainly because I like the format better and it provides free access to audio posting through phone. I will post the URL here in the next day or so when I have it all together. If anyone has any suggestions as to why LJ is better and I should stay here, please feel free to drop me a line. I may keep the main journal here and just route the audio posts at blogspot. That’s an option, too.

Work went well today, my first day. Not a whole lot I wanna say about it; I think I should make it a general policy to try and write from a deeper place within instead of small little details around an office that can just bore the hell out of people. The challenge then, is not to become worn down, to know what you wanna say… you don’t bore yourself, so you don’t bore others, you don’t write boring things. It is a challenge. The days all mesh together. What day is it?

I now have a different type of free time. Less, but more meaningful or concentrated, appreciated, compact, sometimes sleepy. I continue to dig into comic books and am reading the novels Brave New World and Dune (Book One). My own stories, however, remain quiet in me, besides a few poems I might kick out on stage.

A man, a woman, starts to watch the time pass and what it does to the body. He starts sympathizing with other 50-60 year-old men around him. She is removed from the silver screen and forgotten by 35.

Questions. What will become of our society? Will we eventually give in and become addicted? What’s our direction? Is it God? Is it hope? Is it consistently applied intelligence? What gets us through? Will a storm come and stomp us flat like so many others? How many more crappy movies will be shot into the vein? Will you fall in love with more than one person? This is more worrisome than the sun burning out, or comets.

Questions but no answers. Answers all relative. Waiting around for the answers.

You can write any damned thing. I am a selective reader with limited time and may not even be able to get around to all the classics before my time is up. A car could come screaming out of nowhere and mow me down before I get to finish Brothers Karamazov again. Bollocks.

First day

I start my first day on the job in just about an hour; starting out part-time as a prepress specialist/graphic designer for a small print shop. Needless to say, having been out of work for so long, I’m excited and ready to jump in head first. Since I don’t have all that much to say for now, I thought I’d add one of my new poems:


cold feet
like the tundra
second thoughts
seasonal asthma
in the forefront
of your mind

anyone can
do this
but they’re not
so here I am

my feet are cold
get this way
at night
and the
air conditioner is
on them
this helps

when I was
little would
put my feet
down into the
edge of the pool

some women come
home from a long
day at work
take off their heels
talk about
soaking their feet

men and women
go to school
learn about

if a bowling ball
falls on one
and all feeling
is lost
this schooling
in handy

the students
arrange themselves
around the foot
and breathe life
back into it
blow it up like a balloon
it comes
back down in the field
pops on a blade of grass
it dies in the soccer field

feet are sensitive like that
always flying
off the handle
said to be
the most sensitive
part of the body

and I believe this

since moving
to Houston
this now seems to be
the hottest spot in the village
and still
I’ve got cold feet

small babies
mistake them for
ice cream bars
and are

when the big toe
is bitten off and spit out
the foot jerks backwards
in displeasure
a human scream
becomes audible

just when you thought
all the angst
has left your body
someone steps
on your bitten off
ice cream toe

and Bush
becomes president