Still shot from Big Hair Dance.
Monday, March 29, 2010
100th Post
My blog dashboard just informed me that my last post was my 100th. Cool. To celebrate, my high school self will perform a big hair dance.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
27 March 2010
Housing Works, one of my favorite places that I rarely come to in the city -- books, coffee, hardwood floors, high ceiling, balcony, small wooden chairs and round tables . . . over stimulation of nostalgia and loved ones everywhere:
- Monet and Brklyn Bridge books = Mom
- tables/chairs = Tulsa dreams of Beats in NY
- Blake's Marriage of Heaven and Hell = Brixton-aparment sutra epiphany
- cute wife and notebooks = college IHop late nights/early mornings
- metal rolling ladder to high shelf = smell of portland mix, sun burnt arms/neck, stained hands of summer stone masonry
- stage lights strapped to pillars and celing = back stage of ORU's Howard Auditorium where I catch Leslie who stradles and kisses me in costume shop
- inappropriate children run and scream 'round shelves = inappropriate children run and scream 'round pues of worship
- charity to prevent AIDS and HIV = all forbidden scandalous thoughts of homosexuality and poets and classics and Michealangelo, Whitman, and Nureyev
- coffee buzz, rock music, bookshelves = dreams of intellectual peers, coffee buzz "behind the eyes", tape recorded conversations w/brother in midnight living room on E 21st in Tulsa
Monday, March 22, 2010
yes, I still write these things
I want to dance the
rainy Brooklyn sidewalks, lead the
bums and misfits into a choreographed
showtune of puddle splashin',
lightning lighting, thunder percussion --
spin off the walls and wail into
the lamp posts
Cliche crab apple Hollywood cream and more . . .

I'll tie his shoes and he'll spit
shine mine . . . then, an arm-and-
arm street-funk shuffle, by couples,
'cross the Brooklyn Bridge
-- small lighted
globes on girders are the only stars in
the galaxy of soft-shoe stutter-step
into Big Town . . .
Baby baby baby it's gonna be
a long night of kiss and squeeze --
straight to hell, and OH the
happy Persephone parade . . .
Blind folded, one by one -- tick-tock
cadence of moon tide clicks our
stiff limbs into clop clop
clop, one-by-one moan stride . . .
-- all hidden eyes blazin' with glow of
ocean --
rainy Brooklyn sidewalks, lead the
bums and misfits into a choreographed
showtune of puddle splashin',
lightning lighting, thunder percussion --
spin off the walls and wail into
the lamp posts
Cliche crab apple Hollywood cream and more . . .

I'll tie his shoes and he'll spit
shine mine . . . then, an arm-and-
arm street-funk shuffle, by couples,
'cross the Brooklyn Bridge
-- small lighted
globes on girders are the only stars in
the galaxy of soft-shoe stutter-step
into Big Town . . .
Baby baby baby it's gonna be
a long night of kiss and squeeze --
straight to hell, and OH the
happy Persephone parade . . .
Blind folded, one by one -- tick-tock
cadence of moon tide clicks our
stiff limbs into clop clop
clop, one-by-one moan stride . . .
-- all hidden eyes blazin' with glow of
ocean --
(Oh, each of us -- a drop in a
tidal wave . . . but we're comin' down,
baby, we're comin' down)
*sound of wave crashin' . . .
whatever the sound of ideas, people (water?), and
bloody hearts upon
pavement (stone hearts) sounds like*
*whatever that sounds like*
*whatever that sounds like*
Monday, March 1, 2010
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