beach blanket bingo

please. just read the plot summary of this. that’s all i ask.

marching song

today i was interviewed for a position at the union square trader joes by the former Sausage King of New York. they have benefits!

i am rediscovering neutral milk hotel

currently the new school poetry program is obsessed with Serge Gainsbourg and pigs

i bought a tupperware for files at surprise surprise but have yet to find any file folders to put inside of it. nothign is sadder than an empty file cabinet in the middle of a floor that’s covered in papers

and so i leave you with this: if only this had happened to crack Whitney, that french bastard would have been [some sort of creamed/sliced french meat dish here. whatever. i'm not even trying anymore] just sayin’.

“i am not drunk! i am not drunk today!”

the problem of my late-night catholic attacks: solved for good

“Ever wanted some absolution right after being a jerk at a party? Well, for one day next month, your prayers have been answered. The Post reports, “21 Manhattan parishes will offer all-night confession” between Friday, March 6 at 7 a.m. until 7 a.m. on Saturday, March 7.”

well praise be to god. this place now has everything.

from gothamist.

ha.

also, this from Gawker: “Let us consider the NYU Twerps”

“once you realize your life is destructive and bad and You Are Part of the Problem (forking over how much money to some prick like John Sexton so you can get a useless degree and spend a couple years fucking around with casual sex and cocaine? why not drop out and become a blogger!), well, you either just keep studying sociology with the cute-but-socially maladjusted daughter of the guy from Warrant and bitch darkly about how much you hate these losers or you Rise Up.”

and best of all:

“And hey, at least when New School kids have sit-ins they’re protesting an actual war criminal.”

this shouldn’t tickle me as much as it does. but. it does.

the laws sometimes sleep, but never die

so the weather here in new york is being really horrendous, bleak and gray and damp. scotland style. since moving here, i have found myself compelled to talk about the weather almost constantly, about which i feel kind of guilty, as if i’m being unabashedly boring. but it’s important, goddammit! this shit effects my mood. i suppose it’s sort of like telling people your dreams. you know nobody really wants to hear about it and yet you go boldly forward anyway.

i would really like to smoke some weed right now, but my roommates model friend from houston is here for fashion week and i’m not sure how all that would be recieved.

last night i went to a going-away party for a friend i met when i first moved here. it was around the end of august/beginning of september, when things had just started to get slightly less sweaty and miserable (there’s the weather again) i took the L to williamsburg (my first impression of it was ‘not that bad’ and i guess despite all my bitching, i maintain that sentiment) to meet up with mike, his ex-boyfriend’s friend annie (also our friend at this point) and her friend sam (the one now moving away). it’s strange to think of myself then, at the beginning of this sojurn (almost six months at this point), compared with now. strange, yeah, but i don’t know exactly how. am i different? i feel a little turned-up a lot of the time, a little more intense, a little more pale, but that’s really about it. i guess i know more about poetry than i did before. i guess i’m less misanthropic than i thought i’d be (about the same, a steady 7 or 8).

anyway. same is leaving due to layoffs and economic bullshit, and had a party at her loft in greenpoint as a farewell, which also happened to correspond with her roommate’s girlfriend’s birthday. i’ll sum it up. 40 foot dragon hanging from the cieling, fortune cookies, birthday girl in an anime wig being really intensely spanked by this roommate boyfriend while cameras clicked away at her spread buttcheeks (los angeles? fancy seeing you here!). a friend of mine from the program who is taking a vow of silence simply wrote “wtf” on my ring finger, which allowed us to signal one another when certain things like fire dancing, flickering light-up balls, and extended dance remixes of “walk that dinosaur” were produced.

christine and i composed a freestyle rap about hot topic and took turns shouting fortune-cookie fortunes at each other.

“good news will come to you from far away!” (got that one three times. i sure hope so)

“you will be showered with good luck!”

“god has given you one face, and you make yourselves another!”

“you and your wife will be very happy together!”

“the laws sometimes sleep, but never die!”

good times. sam, you will be missed.

hm.

i knew these existed, but did not recognize the liaws aspect until i saw them again at a store.

behold:

lobster claws to eat….lobster claws.

nice.

some poems

i’ve recently been bestowed by a whole bushel of liaws-related writings. it’s getting a little ravenous.

a sampling:

The Judges of the Little Box

by Vasko Popa

Why do you stare at the little box

That in her emptiness

Holds the whole world

If the little box holds

The world in her emptiness

Then the antiworld

Holds the little box in its antihand

Who will bite off the antiworld’s antihand

And on that hand

Five hundred antifingers

Do you believe

You’ll bite it off

With your thirty-two teeth

Or are you waiting

For the little box

To fly into your mouth

Is this why you are staring

Last News about the Little Box

The little box which contains the world

Fell in love with herself

And conceived

Still another little box

The little box of the little box

Also fell in love with herself

and conceived

Still another little box

And so it went on forever

The world from the little box

Ought to be inside

The last box of the little box

But not one of the little boxes

Inside the little box in love with herself

Is the last one

Let’s see you find the world now

Star

by Robert Creeley

Where

It is

There

You are

*

Out there

In here

Now it is

Was also

*

Up where

It will be

And down

Again

*

No one

Point

To it

Ever

(from 68 Quick Poems by Brandon Downing)

23

As the bottled-water

Trucks loaded with water

Drive out in the rain

37

Haunted Carter. Haunts

The kilns. Of names.

And comes up with itself.

And haunts itself.

BAM.

LASERS

are a form of optical feedback, made by reflecting two curved mirrors against each other.

WHAT.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT THIS EVEN MEANS.

The Droste Effect

T.L.A.

T(hree) L(etter) A(cronym)