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Tonight I sat out back

Tonight I sat out back
between the mini garden and the petri dish hot tub
and watched the dusken sky turn to an orange mottled gray
and the rare Portland thunderstorm breathe to life above me
You could tell the trees were happy
I am unsure about the banana peppers and the marigolds
but they are transient as I- The trees win out

The lightning arced and slammed into clouds above my head
and just like my mother taught me
I counted the seconds
and just as always
it never really made a difference
because it’d explode regardless of how many miles
and I realized
I didnt really know what the ratio was

the explosions
had a continuity
and I was instantly
In Las Vegas
as the most vicious sheets of icepick rain
slammed into the ground and veins of electric feathered across the valley
In Atlanta
at Donna’s watching the rains pull down a hillside
and dumpsters bobbing along on a hillside parking lot (thats a LOT of fucking water)
In Athens
watching the greatest storm of my life well up over the West Virgina hills
and crash across my porch for nearly two hours; it was like fucking
In the woods in Monsey
Cutting from the strip mall past the Yeshiva
and to my development, the smell of earth, inhaling and drinking
In Spring Valley
watching the from the huge picture window in the living room
that framed the foothills of Harriman State Park and imagining I could grab and hold
the lightning in my hand and make it act upon my command.

The trees were enthralled
my bare chested roommate agreed
as she giggled and hiccuped twirling in the drops

Breathing deep
Breathing deep

The storms mirror the heavens
the primordial essence of anything
that is ever to be
or was

and we
get to enjoy it

Comments (6)

it’s happening again…

I have so much to write about- so much squirming around up there. Yet when I go to write, I can barely squeeze out a word or two and it just stops. I don’t understand it. If it’s a masochistic self-loathing causing it, wouldn’t that like just be an award-winning novel right there? 11 years now… the 20 years prior I couldn’t stop writing. The past 11 in small fits and spasms some words come out.

I hate it.

I’m broken.

Comments (1)

found… words…

I am digging through old boxes of mine in Ohio- Things from elementary school on- and I came across a box circa 1995. Inside- lots of magazines (Eulenspigel!!!) and things- but a stack of printed papers with about 200 poems I had written- so far at least 50 or so that I had totally forgotten about- some aren’t very good. Some are really bad.

Some… I like. Some… well you decide…


sax and violet ins

i long to hear the alto sax
of your voice trill in my ears
the waterfall of your mouth
spilling across my breast
the ballet of your fingers…

“get to the point…”

okay, okay… i wanna fuck.


I feel
the load of words
and thoughts
building and pressing
grouping and compressing

a few slip silently
from deep within me

looking around
to see
if anyone noticed.


as he goes
she knows


lizard gizzards, one dollar.

lizards inner gizzards
“mister, are you okay?”
“No, here have a dollar.
Tell your mother that it’s from
a lizard gizzard”
“I’ll take the dollar
but I have no mother”
“Then we are even,
for I have no son”


This wall
against my back,
feels good.

for the love of…

hide thing forcible tracts. oh snickened harblaster.
for only the truly ignorant and ranted may step forth to claim the destiny of truth impaled!
for whence the trodden-over may rise and bite the flesh of realm,
only then should he-beasts forward by nexihaunt.
the truth within lies barren as fodder for carri0on picking vermin
and the remaining only writhe in justified horror.
buxomed beasts of ne’er well overbreed, locks of false gold higher yet

for sooth does the apocalypse still weigh heavy or is it a blessed gift?
when shall thine soul be delivered of Deaver?
Oh heavy heart.
Oh heavy soul.
Oh heavy.



couple pics of stuff found…



Comments (5)

Too Much Good Air

I am blocked at the moment- I have several posts in draft form.


A too much good air retrospective!!!!

tmga officethe office; 1985

Volume 1

TMGA Vol 1 Issue 1 TMGA Vol 1 Issue 2 TMGA Vol 1 Issue 3 TMGA Vol 1 Issue 4

Volume 2

TMGA Vol 2 Issue 1 TMGA Vol 2 Issue 2 TMGA Vol 2 Issue 3 TMGA Vol 2 Issue 4

more to come…

Comments (2)

the magical interweb

noted in my stats as a search string that brought a visitor to my site…

men shaving all body hair…

Comments (3)

Literary Bathroom Humour

recently read in the men’s room at Powell’s

Grout Gatsby

Midnight in the Garden of Grout and Evil

Like to see some additional suggestions as to what i might add (covertly). So far all I can think of is:

Grout Expectations
Anna of Grout Gables
Hitchhiker’s Grout to the Galaxy
Grout Throat (I know it fails the test- but come on- that’s funny…)


Too Bad Our Leaders Don’t Read

Current mood: distressed
Category: Life

One of my favourite passages of the Tao Teh Ching (from one of my favourite translations).

As the body counts worldwide are growing faster daily, maybe someone who knows someone who know’s someone can stick this under the noses of the “deciders”. Just replace “Tao” with “God” if it will help. Works with Hippies and Scientists as well: God=Love=Heaven=Universe

FINE weapons of war augur evil.
Even things seem to hate them.
Therefore, a man of Tao does not set his heart
upon them.

In ordinary life, a gentleman regards the left side
as the place of honour:
In war, the right side is the place of honour.

As weapons are instruments of evil,
They are not properly a gentleman’s instruments;
Only on necessity will he resort to them.
For peace and quiet are dearest to his heart,
And to him even a victory is no cause for rejoicing.

To rejoice over a victory is to rejoice over the slaughter
of men!
Hence a man who rejoices over the slaughter of men
cannot expect to thrive in the world of men.

On happy occasions the left side is preferred:
On sad occasions the right side.
In the army, the Lieutenant Commander stands on
the left,
While the Commander-in-Chief stands on the right.
This means that war is treated on a par with a funeral
Because many people have been killed, it is only right
that survivors should mourn for them.
Hence, even a victory is a funeral.


Sleepless in Insipidity

Current mood: blank

another sleepless night
why can’t I be tired
at a reasonable hour
it makes no sense
if I will be tired later
why can’t I be tired
and sleep now
and be awake later
when I am more useful
to myself
to society
to the world as a whole

I never did
fit into the greater scheme
of things

and stuff

instead of
watching Oblongs
and BeBop
which are wonderful
in their own right
and eating fat free
Fig Newmans
which are also wonderful

and righteous

wholly not productive

I could be
trying to write
getting caught up on work
unpackaging my mop in a box
and mopping this fucking floor
cleaning the fish tank
driving around
distributing lawn bags
to the homeless
since the night
is moistening itself
once again

but no
I’ll stay up too late
alone in my boxers
think about my kids
and my mortality
and how fucking stupid
the president is
watch one screen or another
and understand
that regardless of
an analagous circulatory system

electrons dont have

the gravity of blood

-Rex 06


whats right and whats wrong

i already had my mid-life crisis when i was about 28- when my marriage fell apart and what little construct of a world i built went with it.

i can’t remeber a time in life that wasn’t a crisis and at the age of 40 I think i’m beginning to understand that this is how humans beings tend to build and relate their lives- without crisis and strife there is no measure for them.

so i am finally beginning to understand why I’ve always felt so disconnected from almost everyone around me. because as much strife I’ve created for myself, I’ve always been trying to avoid or get rid of as much as possible.

I’m finally beginning what I’ve tried to define since I was maybe 12 or 13 years old- why this world is just so fucking wrong and so many horrible things go on that are so avoidable.

I love MLK and Vonnegut that much more right now and for being able to finally begin to wrap all this information and knowledge I’ve collected into a single theory which is finally making sense to me as to defining what is so inherently wrong in this world; I understand it’s nature all that much less.

Scientists call whatever they really can’t understand “dark matter” when explaining the universe. They are discovering that dark matter makes up the majority of matter (anti-matter?) out there.

I think it’s the key to all existence. and is as beautiful and as un-understandbale as anything– much less our souls.

and with that it’s time to watch trigun.

for all it’s fucked-upness, life rocks. even if just in small bits.

Update- I found the new word for all thats wrong– Genism.

I’ll explain soon




There’s that pervasive cynicism
That makes it so easy to discount
It is just far too easy
Just because
We all know how it should be
And we are most likely right.

So why is it
That common sense
Never prevail
Without a fervent vigilance
And a rod in one hand?

It’s because we assume
That what we see, is
What we get
Dig a little deeper
Split some flesh
Into the sinew
You might just find
What was on the surface
What you determined to be the truth
What you gave up hope on
What is that may be
And should have been
Was just that
All the time

And we tried


We were wrong.