Get my new album!

That's right, my band, Good Evening, has just released our debut album, In Public. Please check it out at http://goodevening.bandcamp.com and then buy it! You'll get the 13th track when you download the album.
Thanks for your support!

Produced by Max Glascott, Cover Photo by Marta Sasinowska, Design by Bartek Karas

The Bee

I left him
where he fell on the bedroom floor,
for although he was no longer
alive, in death his fullness
preserved, startling to the sight.

I wondered how he’d hid away
in my bag, unnoticed and died
there, untouched. I sat on my bed,
how am I to murder this already resting thing?

Swiftly tissue covers-
I am sorry to disturb you.

Ardent yet remote

Ardent yet remote,
The early months
Like the base of a wedge
Ascending;

There is immense pressure upon us.


Can this be tested,
And how firstly

Overlapping the lights
Becoming more like light.

coffee sweet to the bitter mouth

coffee sweet to the bitter mouth
in the morning when sleep still
sleeps bitter inside.

a book moves with me in, about the room.

so that equals this

I am/
       part of a public timeline
I am/
       telling something about myself
I am/

I am/
       divided between

over shortcomings. crude.

      /
       lost within a metered vast pocket.
heat goes on. numbers were always
a concept now create.










   what.smells.

potatoes.

   what. projects.

cold stilted air.

   what.repeats.

"I have not seen you in a long time."

days, circles.
weeks are spirals.
the bigger units yet TBD.

something.smells.
an inquiry. how
that air penetrates
these walls not
as cold as
outside but decidedly. near.

Excerpt from "Divide Yourself /unevenly"

Ended up being the same person just years apart.
Do these personality traits cause sameness?
Are they separate or

The literal sensation of walking backwards
gave way to a more poetic thought
of walking backwards/ But I dismiss it;
This is no metaphor.

Men. Women. Unfinished projects.

Restless intestines. It's pretty cold in here.

It's an apparatus/ to connect/
the female and male ends of the/ system/
it's a/ walk down the newly salted stair/
it's/ a/ forgetting if it was high school or college/
it's/ getting somewhere. is this me?

To momentarily divide the self: we'll take
the present moment. This is one.
Now, any speculation on previous action,
the actions this self has occurred,
two. Looking at oneself. I can see my face.
I can literally see it, just a glance
of the profile, but enough to prove that
that was me. It was me looking at me
And thus born second chances.


Photographs relate to moments.
Movements are measured in displaced time.
Reverse this.
Time displaced in measure are movements.
Cradles within houses.
Subtropic houses my father may have grown up in.
Movies. (This is it) Movies. Smells.
Smells that I cannot stand.

And this, interestingly enough (you may not find why this is case calls for "interestingly" or you may see the reason and not find it in your heart mind to agree, or you may understand and agree) this is where I began my second book. Now.

I Just Want to Shower, pt 2

There once was a clog in my drain
So perverse we could scarcely explain.
But with tub set to "bath,"
Had to awkwardly laugh
At a reason so painfully plain.

I Just Want to Shower

Still watching this blackening puddle defy
The draino, the acid, the sedentary lye
And brew in my tub. Though the workers implore;
"Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

Some New Works (on paper)

The New Inquiry

Check out this awesome new blog that I'm contributing to:

http://thenewinquiry.tumblr.com

Your internet resource for all things interesting and smart.

this treehouse

the tops of church
steeples, vertical hidden
by the breath of clouds, things
move slower moving through them.
things move in familiar.

for weeks, i sat up
before bed after
bed. and i finally
realized what it means
that we each
have our own life.


and the dishes
sit unclean amongst
the foodscraps, fruitflies
the compost bin is full.

and thousands flew out of it outside.

Pleasure to Arrest at the Castle

This is at We Play Music my band's first show that we organized at the Castle. We are called Pleasure to Arrest. The first song is an original titled Don't Tell Me, the second you will recognize as Can't Stand Losing You by the Police. More shows to come. Enjoy!

part-scene

Doctor: You look so…

Patient: What do you mean?

Doctor: I didn’t mean anything by it.

Patient: So what your saying, is, nothing?

Doctor: Essentially, yes. Don’t take it the wrong way.

Patient: Well I have to. Nothing is never taken in the right way.

Doctor: I’m sorry then.

Patient: For what?

Doctor: For what I said before.

Patient: I thought you never said anything?

Doctor: Then I’m sorry for that.

Patient: For nothing?

Doctor: For anything.

Patient: I guess that’s it then?

Doctor: Yes, I’ll see you again next week. Goodbye!

(exit Doctor)

possible new play

On stage, center. Stage dark except for a spotlight in which Scientist stands. Tall in lab coat. One hand rested on the patient table on his left side, other hand running through his hair. There is also some kind of meter to the left of him, measuring Patient, and on the other side of that, a small table with his operation tools.

Scientist: (to self) To begin the surgery is to begin the science experiment. (to audience) I am no doctor; I am a scientist. I have each tool neatly placed beside the patient. She suffers from (pause, thoughtfully) an incomprehensible delusion, (pause, then continued as if startled) nausea and vomiting, lack of menstruation, lack of appetite, lack of insight, and so on. She was placed in my care, beside these tools only ten minutes ago. Her vital signs are normal. There is no physical cause for the ailments, at least not one we can tell. But look. Look at the way her body lays beautifully on the table. She is etherized upon the table, skin slack and she is prepared for incision. I am her, the one who cuts into her. To cure, (drawn out) something. Do we know what to do? (shakes head) No. Oh no, we have no clue, well it could be any number of things, you see, and I am just an experimenter, we can only plan so far, guess so much. (takes scalpel into his hand, daintily, draws it through the air over her body, as if looking for specific spot) (now more to himself) A cure for isolation. To end it. Oh, but where to begin?

in my adult body

between us touching
little fingers grazing
lightly, I've noticed lately
the sentence between us

in my adult body:

the lower abdominals
the way they slither down to the pubic hairs' end
the small bunch of skin that gathers above
the crease the bra indents on the back
the boney, veiny, slender feet
the hair
the way it grows out
the way the shape of the face changes
as it grows out
and its shape
the first tattoo bleeding to illegibility
of the blackened ankle skin


we continue to look at ourselves
the body changing/changed


something behind all things
that makes it flat, the three-dimensional
crowded forward the optical illusion illusioned

the world infinite bc
only living things can die
only endings can end.

we become small scale duties

----I clean the kitchen after every meal

the nervous habits accrued
----my back is beginning to curve
----up top the vertebrae clicking each
----time, everytime I get a chance
----I remember
----I, still, want straight(er) posture

we are the impossible sentences we compose
that we then must abandon
alright, the spoken speech is inexplicit

I asked you if I could rest on your lap
but didn't

A monologue from How to Speak to the Dead, 2007-2008

Do you believe in the multiple worlds [theory]? If you do, then I can meet you in the past. But you will be scared because I am from the future, and you will be surprised at my age. I will not be the daughter you know but instead the daughter you would never know. I cannot save your life, because I am no scientist, but maybe we can get dinner and we can talk.

I will tell you, I am a time traveler. I will not tell you that you will die, because that would make you scared. I will try not to be upset at the sight of you, because after I explained my story, you would know something was wrong. You would know that you had died in the time I come from. I do not want you to know when you will die. I will instead act as if my excitement is due to the fact that I can travel to the past; that my time travel has worked. You will be proud of my achievements.

It is Again Today

The smoke rising off
the tops of buildings;
this air is warmer than
our air and denser.

The cars curl with
the curve in the street
from the outline of the state
on the lake like lights
in mammoth veins.

After (con't)

V.
Then we began crying.
Theses tears, psychic tears,
result synaptic flood,
cannot pinpoint origin,
all encompassing,
possession.

But
the brain counters
through inhibition. The entire body
crying entity then desensitized receptor.


In attempt to equalize ability to weep is lost.


Afterwards,
the ears search sensitive.
The range of audible sound,
the range of inaudible
sound and all are interruptions.

All senses require a relearning;
A laugh cracks unfocused silence.
a recognition;
Those people are laughing too loud.
and a comprehension;
How are they laughing at all?

VI.
There are three types
of dying breaths; yours
shallow half breath, body
breathing itself when the brain
stops when the heart stops.

Eyes barely open.

It is uneven breathing
uneasy. We are unaccustomed
to such strangeness, a new concentration
on our breath to vicariously
right yours.

Eyes uncloseable.

After (work in progress)

For those who read this, I'm sorry it's been so long since I've posted. Here is a new addition to my thesis. When it is finished, it will be the longest poem I've ever written.
Thanks for reading.
_________________________________

After

I.
The bed, your eyes almost
wandered, nerve tissue and cells under flesh
decomposed, the fleshy matter terminated
uncontrolled. Festering belly. A wave
of your hand because you could not
speak, whispered raspy, I love yous.

Experts on death suggest the body
attaches to pain.

A grey lightness to things
which are changed;

The sheets covered
like limpid paper, a body lingers
hollowed in bed.

Dad, there was nothing else,
what else was there
to say. We were exhausted.


II.
If we measured in hours,
the hours became capsular cavities,
hollowed by capsular minutes and so on
down to stillness itself, until barely
anything. Division slowed the brain.
I thought,

I am the gridded picture window
outlining the portrait of the front yard.
I am this couch I sit on.

But I am the smallest unit,
hollow atom creating something larger.
Inconstant quantums making empty electrons.
We were barely anything at all.

III.
Your smell was something rotting.
Your room, sterile chemicals from a bottle
from a box.
We were the disgust we were ashamed of.
Your body an alien, belly protruding and painful,
impossible to hold.


IV.
The mind, it thinks nothing.

Vital organ functions taking place
in the nervous system, in the spine;
poorly the stomach acid circling.
The solid stomach no longer finite.
We are no longer eating.

Daily activities assigned to more primitive
parts of the brain; the body walks itself.
The impression of floating.

Even feelings are soma.
Passive branches the brain in waves.
A largeness.

We wonder what it is like
not to feel this, the body growing
another layer, tree-like spiral.
We are covered in loss.

movement

moments that pass quietly invisible
systems the quiet hum
of the bus on the ride
to where I left this morning

I am hundreds of heartbeats



molecular apparitions of all
that happens inside me there
is no pause between breaths

but the breath that is happening now



each person a small piece
looking at myself out the window
inside at a book or paper

each a reflection hearts beating
fingers pressing cell phone
buttons eyes back and forth
forced across the quickly
moving sky outside

a snow covered lake



a river covered in ice
on which we cannot stand in which
we cannot swim

a full breath