ILOANBooks

The Enigmatic Symphonies of Instrumentism #6 by Lewis Gesner

2012-01-31T19:49:00.000-08:00

Symphony of Instrumentism Six

Pitching Points and Travel Lines

The performer walks into the space. At his side is a sack in which are 150-200 black circles
of 4 inch diameter, and 150-200 red circles of 4 inch diameter. As he reaches the center of
the space, he steps backward toward the wall, then takes the circles out, red in one hand
and black in the other, and throws them up into the air so that they scatter outward in all
directions. He then walks to the circles to pick them up one at a time, always going to the
nearest to pick up regardless the color. While walking, he emits a continuously rising and
falling glissando over his midst note, using any one of the M.P.P. (mouth part positions
that, vocalized through generate one of seven different phonetic sounds.) For the black
circles, the performer sings the Lest, or, his lowest note. For red circles, he sings his
Hest, or, his highest note. When he collects the circles, as he arrives at the circles, he
sings their designated note, then puts them in his sack and moves to the next closest,
singing his midst glissando as he walks and travels between circles. He performs in this
way until all the circles are collected.

Sing Stall Phrase Building

The performer puts blue tape down on the floor, laying a long strip along the back wall the
length of the performance space. He then lays a line from one end at ninety degrees
out toward the audience. In a few feet he lays down another line of tape at a ninety
degree angle toward the audience, in another few feet, another line, until there are five
lines at ninety degree angles from the long line, beginning at one end and terminating
at the other. This creates six stall-like slots with open ends to the audience. He then
brings six cards out of his pocket. On each is graph paper and on the graph is a big
black dot or a small black dot. If he turns the card over, you can see that the
opposite side of the card is also graph paper and a dot, but the dot is the oppsosite of
what is on the other side; one side is a small dot, the other, a large dot. The performer
goes from one end of the long line to the other, throwing a card into each stall along the
way. He then begins a return from the other side, stepping into each stall and emitting a
sound and nature based on the side of the card which is face up. If the large dot is face
up, he stretches arms and legs out as far as he can from a standing position and emits a
black noise voice with as much force and intensity and length of breath as he can. If the
small dot is face up, he appears to crumble, even crouching small in place, and emits a
weak and diminutive black noise voice which quickly fades for loss of breath. This is
performed in each stall until all six of the cards have been collect and the performer is
at the other end of the space.

Parsing Tape

Three rolls of transparent adhesive tape are produced. They are each 1200 or 1400
inches long. The first tape is used to run continuous unbroken tape along the back wall
from far left to right, onto the adjacent wall, and onto another if available; otherwise,
back again, or even down onto the floor until all of the first roll of tape is used. The
second roll is produced. This roll is snipped into lengths two or so inches long. The
lengths are stuck to the floor and then on top of each other in a stack before the
performer until that roll is used up. The third roll is produced. A cardboard paper towel
tube is also produced. The third roll of tape is wrapped around the tube unbroken, around
and around until it is used up.

The Enigmatic Symphonies of Instrumentism #5 by Lewis Gesner

2012-01-27T08:51:00.001-08:00

Symphony five is lost

The Enigmatic Symphonies of Instrumentism #4 by Lewis Gesner

2012-01-24T17:44:00.001-08:00

Symphony of Instrumentism Four

Four Corners

A ten by ten inch square piece of board in brought to the empty performance space.
Using a felt marker, the performer draws a diagonal line at each corner, making a
triangle at each tip. From a bag, he then produces hammer or rock, a sanding block,
a knife and a saw. Choosing a corner, the performer hits the edge with the hammer
using whatever hold or position seems to give most control, striking until the corner
snaps off approximately where the diagonal line is, or breaks apart up to along that line.
He then turns the square and takes to another corner with the sand block, sanding
until the corner is even with the diagonal line. Turning the square to the next corner, he
begins to whittle at it with the knife, which he continues until the corner is again
taken down to the diagonal line. Lastly, he turns to the fourth corner, and proceeds to
saw at it along the diagonal line until this corner is also gone.

Targets Wet Missiles

The performer takes black duct tape and cuts short two inch pieces, placing each on the
the wall in a row from the left end to the right with about twelve inches between. He
then returns to the left end of the wall and begins another row about twelve inches
below the other. He repeats this with one more row. He then produces a bucket of water
and two rolls of toilet or tissue paper. He then takes a single tissue or segment of toilet
paper and dips it into the water, taking it out without wringing it, and throwing it with
some force at the first upper left piece of black duct tape, the target. He does this with
successive pieces of tissue at progressive targets from left to right, and beginning at
the next row, progressing to the right until all the black tapes have been targeted.

Floor Rotations with Black Noise Voice

The performer clears the space and places tape lines on the floor which intersect
at a center point, forming eight pie slices, or, eight radial line positions until they
repeat. A black dot at the center point will help to separate the continuous lines
and help them appear like radius rather them diameters. The performer then lays
down on the floor in first position, which is a line running from front center straight
back toward the wall. The performer lays on his side, body rigid, head at the wall
end of the line, with body and head directed to the right. He then opens his mouth
and emits a “black noise voice” sound, which is like a hoarse throat which is vocalize
but sounds unpitched. He does this, or, emits a sub-vocal version (apparatus is in
place, wind force withheld) The explanation of this can be seen in a self explanatory
vocal score sample given here. The performer will alternate vocalized and
nonvocalized articulations of black noise voice. After one iteration, either long or
short, loud or soft, (in the score, vertical axis means volume, horizontal, time) the
performer moves the body position to align with the next radius in clockwise movement,
and repeats the action, with variation in its obvious parameters. This may be done
once all the way around the circle as a simple example, or it may be continued in
rotations beyond one. An mpp (mouth part position) may be chosen for the iterations,
preferably one of my standard seven of                                                           . The
mpp should be retain at least through one rotation until another is chosen, if change is
personally desired.

The Enigmatic Symphonies of Instrumentism #3 by Lewis Gesner

2012-01-20T10:04:00.000-08:00

Symphony of Instrumentism Three

Flips and Flip Maps

A stack of flat(ish) pieces of various materials is brought into the space and placed
on the floor to one side of the performance space. These materials may be short
lengths of board, plywood, a book, a CD case, a brick, and a variety of other materials
that vary in weight, texture and composition. They should be predominantly flat(ish)
and rectangular. The performer enters the space, holding a stack of blank business
card size pieces of stiff paper, and a roll of adhesive tape. He places these supplies
on the floor and squats beside them. He them takes two of the cards and, using
the tape, attaches them along one like edge of each card. So, a long side would
be taped to a long side, a short side, to a short side. The pieces are now hinged
together by the tape. The performer then proceeds to attach another card to the
two, randomly selecting a side to attach it to, creating an additionally hinged
element. Each time a card is attached, it will be folded along the hinge over the
previous cards, so that what results is a stack of cards that are all attach to each
other on one of their sides. He continues this procedure until he has lost any count
or any sense of the elements’ ultimate orientation to each other. He then takes the
stack of attached cards and unfolds it onto the floor, revealing the resulting
single flat shape he has created; his map. Standing up, he looks down on the spread
map. Next, a piece is chosen from the stack of rectangular materials off to the
side. The chosen material is placed on the floor beside one end of the “flip map”,
or, paper shape, just revealed. Then, the material is “flipped” on the floor from face to
face in a parallel path to the flip map beside it, turning corners and moving in exact
duplication of the paper path, until the end of the map has been reached. Completed,
the map is refolded and placed aside. New cards are retrieved, and another shape
is begun using the cards and adhesive tape, following the same procedure with these
as before. This is repeated several times. If the performance space is very large, the
shapes and flip materials may be left in place after each process is complete.

    Transfers

A box of one to several hundred small household materials and objects is
gathered. While these things should be common and easy to acquire, consideration
should be made for variety. The performer takes two objects at a time out of the box.
The selection may be made for similarity or contrast. The only stipulation is that there
is awareness of material aspects of the objects chosen. The performer initiates a sound
made with one of his chosen object. It may be rubbed, or scraped. If it is struck or tapped,
it must be done repeatedly so that a continuous sound is sustained. After the initial
articulation, the sound should be made to reach a dynamically steady, even state. At this
point, the performer begins to initiate a sound with the second object, using the same
means of articulation as with the first object, which he continues to sound. He then begins
to recede in his playing of the first object, as the second gains an even dynamic, the first
finally retiring as the second replaces it. The transitions should be as even in volume and
dynamic as the tonal and sound generative differences allow. Think of the passing of a
baton in a relay race.
This is what the composition looks like, with the dynamic decline of one and
introduction of the other sound placed in a square where they dynamically pass one
another in a “transfer.” Also note the mirrored ends of the envelope, with one sound
attack, the transfer made evenly in the center, and the tapered decay of the second
sound that closes in…

Two of the Same Threshold

Two identical wine goblets are wrapped and tied with equal numbers of paper
towels and string. Each goblet will be wrapped, as part of the performance,
with one complete roll of standard paper towel roll, torn off into its perforated
segments and individually wrapped around the goblet. In sequence, the goblets
are then dropped onto the floor at arms length, a segment unwrapped from it,
dropped again, segment unwrapped, and so forth until the goblet is no longer
sufficiently cushioned, and it breaks from the drop. The second wine goblet is
then repeatedly dropped and unwrapped in the same way.

The Enigmatic Symphonies of Instrumentism #2 by Lewis Gesner

2012-01-17T17:26:00.000-08:00

Symphony of Instrumentism Two


Evolution

    Using my three note system of hest, midst and lest, this movement explores one means
    of generating the wide note, midst, pitches, as well as a visual equivalent that functions
as a spontaneous score and an illumination. I use seven mouth part positions (m.p.p.)
here to form the phonetic sounds I will make. These mouth part positions are
ah,   ooo,   eee,,, rrr   lll,   mmm,   and   zzzzzzzzzzz.

and they correspond roughly to the sounds you would make vocalizing with your mouth
apparatus positioned in this way. Firstly, I have a piece of paper that completely covers
a wall. This paper can be from a roll or may be made of separate pieces of paper that have
been attached to each other. The important thing is that the papered wall surface will be
used like it is a single continuous piece of paper. When the paper is in place (this prep.
Is not part of the live performance) I divide the paper in various rectangles, squares, and
even triangles using a highly visible marker. In the upper corner of each of these shapes,
I draw an m.p.p. symbol. That is the prep for this movement. When the piece begins,
I enter the space and approach the papered wall. I hold a colored marker in my hand. I
take my time, then, choosing a place to start, I begin making a line. The height at which I
start will correspond to the pitch I emit; above will be higher, below, lower. I will make a
closed shape, not raising the marker from the paper. The shape will take full advantage
of the size of the paper and wall. The contours of the lines I will draw will influence pitch,
effects such as trill or tremolo, and anything else I can see to interpret in a direct responsive
way. The phonetic envelop of the sound I make at any time will be determined by the
particular section I am drawing in, with its m.p.p. symbol in the corner, making that
determination for me. I can and will of course, make decisions concerning my path based
partially on what phonetic territory I will be forced to pass through. Again, the marker will
not be raised. This will be a closed shape, begun with the first mark, and ended when the
            line I make circles around to the point where the line began. I will vocalize simultaneous
to my drawing throughout in a point by point correspondence. While I may dynamically
change in volume, especially if I have discovered a means of notating this parameter
with my line contour, the simultaneous vocalizing will always be implied, even if for
dynamic’s sake it is not heard. This section may vary widely in the time it takes to
complete. It should largely be a matter of inspiration, and if the drawing space allows,
not crossing lines and retaining the single closed shape theme as the larger parameter,
this movement may last as long as the sense of invention lasts.


Weight Pitch Generator

    A square measuring two feet by two feet is marked off on the floor to the
    left or right side of the performance space, approximately six feet in front of
    the wall where “Evolution” movement has been posted. The tape should be
    of sufficiently bright color to clearly demarcate the square from surroundings.
    A collection of small to medium sized objects (all of a size that may be held
    in hand(s)) are taken from a box and dumped into the square. The edges of
the square are tidied up so the objects don’t spill over the tape borders. The
performer then steps into the center of the square amid the objects and stands
facing forward. One at a time, the performer picks up objects and assesses
the weight, bouncing it in the hand, tossing it in the air and catching it and so
forth. He makes an evaluation based on a mental scale of from light weight
to heavy. This scale may be adjusted in relation to other objects he picks up
later. He now thinks about his vocal range in terms of pitch, and makes a
pitch equivalence judgment in relation to the weight of the object; a heavy
object will have a related lower pitch in his vocal range, a medium weight object
will be in middle range, and a light object (again, this will become relative to
other objects) will receive a pitch at the higher end of his range. He then emits
this pitch, sustained for the length of a breath with no vibrato. This done,
the object is returned to the pile he stands in, and another object is plucked
from inside the square. The same process is performed again, this time also
measuring the objects weight and related vocal pitch in memory to the last
object. The pitch chosen will then be in relation to the weight and related
pitch of the last object. This is repeated many times, the relationships of
object weight to vocal pitch become more precise, repeatable and accurate.

Weighted Roller Roll Emphasis

A square measuring five feet by five feet is marked off on the floor to the left
    or right side of the performance space, on the side where the other square
isn’t, approximately six feet in front of the wall where “Evolution” movement has
been posted. This tape should also be of sufficiently bright color to clearly
demarcate the square from surroundings, but of a different color from the other
square of tape. Cardboard rolls of different sizes will be placed now in this
square. Some will be the size of empty toilet rolls, while others may be lengths
cut from poster tubes, and much larger diameter pieces, cut from cardboard
cement column forms. Several bags of stones will then be placed in the square,
a roll of duct tape and a razor. The performer enters the square himself. He
sits or squats facing forward. A cardboard roll is picked up, rolled along the floor
in front of the performer, another is picked up, and so on until one is selected.
A stone is now taken from one of the bags. A piece of duct tape is cut, and the
stone is taped to the inside of the chosen cardboard tube. The tube is then
rolled outward from the square, forward into the audience area. The rolling
pattern is observed. A second choice of tube is made, and another stone is
selected. It is also taped to the inside of the roller, which is also sent rolling
out of the square and observed for special rolling emphasis and characteristics.
Others will be done, now in obvious variations. Multiple weights may be placed
inside the rollers to observed possible complexified rolling patterns. These
are also acts that may be specifically scored. Here are some scored “rolls”
that may be interpreted, and further specified for more exacting weight and roll
dimensions.

The Enigmatic Symphonies of Instrumentism #1 by Lewis Gesner

2012-01-13T09:28:00.000-08:00

Symphony of Instrumentism One

Chromatic Tapers

The piece begins with this first movement. Lines are laid down on the
floor with colored tape. The lines cross at a center apex, so that they form
pie slices of what might be a circle. At the apex is placed a large black paper
circle; like a bull’s eye. In the space of each pie slice are placed multiples of
a single material; in one slice, a stack of typing paper. In another segment,
a pile of rubber bands. In another is a box of toothpicks, in another, envelops
and paper clips, in another, plastic bags and little rocks. I construct this setup
as part of the piece, quickly and efficiently in front of the audience. When all
is in place, I choose a slice of the circle to sit in, do so, and begin. Let’s say
the first slice contains elastic bands. I take each band, and as quickly as I
can, I flick them into the center dot to their accompanying snapping sound.
When I finish this, I move onto the next segment clockwise, which has envelops
and paper clips. I place a paper clip in each envelop and seal it, then throw it
into the center until the material in that segment is used up. I get up and move to
the next segment, which contains the box of toothpicks. I open the box and
taking them out one at a time, snap each between my thumbs, then throw them
into the center dot, again, working as quickly, or, chromatically as I can. I perform
this way until I complete the circle and all the materials have been used up in a
similar, simple way, each having its own signature repetition of sound event,
performed in a chromatic, or, -no space between events -way.

variation

There is one person in each of the segments of the circle. Each works as rapidly
as possible, but of course each person’s rate is different. They will end at different
times. The first person who ends goes and works with the person in the segment
to the right or next closest. The next person finishing does the same, and so forth
until all segments have been finished. While the manpower performing the piece
remains the same then, there is a shaping of the sound output; it begins maximally
broad, with a person in each segment, each working with a different material, but
ends with a uniform sound quality, everyone crowded into one segment, with one material.
While this is a gradated shape, with broadest variation tapering down to uniformity, it
will be erratically shaped as well, as completion times will naturally vary, and be
complicated by the additions of workings in some segments.

Wall Swings

I produce a handful of small eye-hooks from my pocket and screw them into a wall
from left to right, at widely varied heights, from the beginning of a wall to its end.
I then retrieve a big cardboard box filled with many common objects, from marbles
and rulers to kitchen utensils and office supplies. I take the box and strew its
contents along the length of the wall, where it meets the floor. I produce a roll
of cotton string and a pair of scissors. I cut a random length of string, choose an
object from along the wall and tie the string to it. I then attach the other end of the
string to the first eye-hook, farthest left on the wall. Holding the object out now
at arms length, taut on its string, I let it swing into the wall, or, if the string is longer
than the height of the eye-hook, onto the floor. I proceed to select another object
from along the wall, and cut a length of string for it, performing the same swing-to-wall
act. I do this until all of the hooks I have placed on the wall have been used for a
swing-to-wall.

Object Mute, Negate

I produce several rolls of toilet tissue, and again, my roll of string and scissors.
Selecting from the objects still strewn along the wall, I select one and drop it onto
the floor at arms length, let it hit bounce and come to rest, observing sound and other
qualities of the material. Now, I wrap the object once fully in the tissue and secure
with string. Again, I drop the object, observing the now muted sound quality. Picking
the object up, I wrap it again, and drop. I do this until the unique qualities of the object
have been lost and it has gone from muted to negated. Now, I proceed on to the next
object, performing the same act. I continue gradating then negating the sound qualities
of these objects until the objects are used up or I achieve the performance’s maximum
duration. This is the end of the symphony.

DETRIOT

2011-12-27T21:54:00.000-08:00

the wild dogs went roving
through the late decades
of the twentieth century

clomping their jaws
here and there
excavating the hulls
of burnt out riot houses

the dogs
with their wireskin thighs
and long cheeks, doomed
prevented kids from attending school

spat more than you spat
groomed the steel wool which bloomed them
breeding

the last bus left town at 6:15pm
everybody was on it,
kids climbed on the back bumper
tossing steaks
into the fog of exhaust
blending dogs and headlights

the adults
were hypnotized by the ticket
in their hand
, how the driver
was not mean

SMARTPHONES

2011-12-23T14:48:00.000-08:00

City of Layers

would beabout the city of New York
and how it is all stacked up
like apancake pile
beginning in the basement
which is a poeticdevice
meaning the subway

and rising to the skyscrapers

but City of Layers will never be written

because now Vanessa

has me thinking about people instead

and the way you sometimes catch them

sincerely smiling at their smartphones

SAINTS

2011-12-19T18:43:00.000-08:00

they went to jail
died on stakes
they peppered other people's minds

blacked out
white as a ghost
woke up on top of a mast
shaking, dehydrated
spent with no memory
but good,
shaken back to life

picking rocks out of their mouths
peppering sidewalks
seasoning our commutes
all the saints were swinging

INDIANA

2011-12-18T14:19:00.000-08:00

midwestern morning skies i've seen
the sun stretch thru the clouds
to puncture our earthly dawn

shhh
the AM radio, the interstate
forgiveness, resilience
Rod Sterwart and The Small Faces
proclaim It's All Too Beautiful
to the beat of glass shattering
in a city, probably

midwestern morning skies i've seen
the sun stretch thru the clouds
to puncture our earthly dawn

AVIATOR SUNGLASSES OVER BASEBALL CAP

2011-12-13T16:35:00.000-08:00

it's not an interesting thing
to tell the world
youwish to control it

it would be more interesting
to see youbite your fingernails
on a fire escape in the snow

MYRTLING

2011-12-12T12:52:00.000-08:00

i used to believe
the doors at duane reade labeled
IN / OUT
were disregarded
with impossible consistency
until realizing
the signs were made by myrtle
and i was reading them backwards

it's that song again
about tattoos and drinking
on the roof
you don't even shop
at duane reade
you left myrtle for the ATM
you exited myrtle

you step back into myrtle
where the empanada ladies
sell cold orange soda
and the dogs all get
vaccines for free

you step into myrtle
where the sidewalk
sparkles like red tetris
where the sweatpants
and the leather jackets
hold hands and playfully
tell each other to shut up

HERE IS GOOD AGAIN

2011-12-08T22:13:00.001-08:00

i'm told that when man learned to control fire- to create and eliminate it- was when our brains began to expand and make us thoughtful. instead of going to bed because the world was dark and cold, we could stay up a little bit later and look at each other with bags under our eyes and animate our dreams with our mouths and hands.

BRIEF INTERRUPTION

2011-12-07T16:17:00.001-08:00

this stillness
what is still
this stillness

the silverware is oily
my bank account is online
music is still music

beneath the quiver
of a doorbell
that is a kitchen knife
rising in the black of
-and white

so well dressed
no hot water, no heat
the boiler still
incomplete

the pads
of the cat's paws
tap

SPACES

2011-11-28T18:55:00.001-08:00

from the beginning
it was never easy
bloated between pockets
and staring at the chair
this was what their lives
had been hurtling towards
since an assertive gesture
six weeks ago, thanks

by the third hour they had
molded into one

consumed by a hum
like a car window cracked
on the freeway
and insular in its breathing
vibrating on low

a stewardess
saying "trash"
twenty times or more
i turned to the man sitting next to me
and a voice said
"excuse me"
that voice came from me

INBETWEEN

2011-11-23T13:33:00.000-08:00

a man rattledthrough my subway car
with a cane and a cup which
rattled more than jangled
hewanted money but didn't ask for it
he tried to pick my pockettwice
it's the first time anyone has tried to rob me
since iwas fourteen

he was in pretty bad shape, mumbling
i justmoved away from him
a couple puerto rican teenagers
laughedabout my cowardice
looking me in the eyes
perhaps they werefourteen themselves

STATIONARY

2011-11-22T19:20:00.001-08:00

when the train slows down
heading into your station
and you preemptively stand up
and walk to the door
and then the conductor,

ladies and gentlemen, we are being
held momentarily by the train's
dispatcher. please be patient.

and the air conditioner hums
and you can hear michael jackson
in someone's headphones
and you are neither exiting the train
nor resting in your seat
just holding a metallic handrail
feet at angles

that inflame and engulf
wait
take a moment to think about that

since you're barely on the internet

ULTRACOM

2011-11-21T20:43:00.001-08:00

thank you for calling ultracom, how may i help you?
divina, please
divina brown or divina rutherford?
uh... i dunno, i'll try either.

[holding music]

this is divina.
hello, we spoke earlier. i need help setting up my ultracom.
ok, we can hook up the machine for you, let me fax the form to you.
ok, thanks.
what is the make of the new machine?
ultracom t1e
i thought that was the one you were renting?
both are ultracom t1e
ok, but ultracom t1e doesn't exist. it must be t7e
it isn't. i'm looking at it right now.
i'll have to call you back in an hour. my technicians are out to lunch and i don't know what kind of machine we are talking about.
ok, and is this divina brown?
no. who is that?
i was told there were two divinas in the office.
no, just me.

KEEP ME AROUND

2011-11-16T17:40:00.000-08:00

more and more lately

i've noticedkids
running a few yards
ahead of their parents
then turningaround
grinning, and waiting for them
they are likeyo-yo's

more and more lately
i've seen old people
usingcanes instead of walkers
and the younger people
using canesinstead of crutches
the cane the cane the cane

you cantell what kind of underwear
a woman is wearing
based on herchoice of footwear

it wasn't always this way

i'm observant,friends
in 2005 i noticed all the skulls
appearing onsweatshirts
and shoelaces
you see that less now

remember when everyone liked

pirates and robots?

well i do

CELLLPHONE LAUGHTER

2011-11-10T02:56:00.000-08:00

picture afingernail moon

turn it 90 degrees
so it balancesperfectly
on its edges
like a smile here
(but still amoon)
this
is the best grin i can give you

some landmark

almost silently
rubbing mystupid beard
against the collar
of my shirt

IF YOU STAY UP LATE ENOUGH

2011-11-08T16:29:00.000-08:00

you become

a candle
in anotherwise empty cave

CHECK OUT GIRLS

2011-11-04T11:11:00.000-07:00

wonder about the women at food bazaar, that vainest of grocery stores
wonder about the ones with kids, grandkids
the ones with spidery hair, the worst english, overweight
staring into outer space, bored
between the register and the plastic bag carousel

surely aware that their younger skinnier counterparts have longer lines

the price of admittance
to smile at her and watch her handle all your groceries, to check her out
is only time
there is some reciprocal relation between the time one waits to pay for groceries
and the time in which the check out girl has been alive

and the old women see you come and go
come and go
arms folded, gossiping, getting paid

headin' home

NEAR VINCEWORTH'S WEDDING DAY

2011-10-24T23:00:00.000-07:00

fill your house

but on what grounds?

fill your house with bees
that come to land upon your ankles

watch them there
above your feet
which rest upon the plastic dragon
who breathes water
in the plastic kiddie pool

      yea, right there interested
      in your skin?

yea
the world is nothing
if it isn't things that can hurt you

and those bees
they keep their stingers between their legs

you sit there high

       yup
the whole gang is perfect
below the sun

PEDESTRIAN BOON

2011-10-23T10:06:00.000-07:00

mattress usa

on myrtle ave @ norman st.

advertises a

lay-away plan

ERIC JERMAINE

2011-10-22T15:38:00.000-07:00

to crook ones neck
like a violin player
bent at the knees
like a pianist standing up

to dress oneself in opera houses
allow the frequencies, the impossible cottons,
to sculpt oneself in the reflection
of their most brilliant and unusual dreams

i should like so much
to wear my hat
like a bird's shadow

for every question posed
by all, which
dwarfs the minds of men
, let me keep conference
with my own chest
and pose from there
my answer, certain

TOP 12 STORE NAMES ON MYRTLE

2011-10-21T11:35:00.000-07:00

In northern order:

PRETTY GIRL
BOB'S TROPICAL PET CENTER
PLANET FASHIONS GEAR
BJ NICHOL'S FURNITURE EMPIRE
1/2 PRICE KIDS
LINDA'S DANCESTATION
TOOLS PLUS PLUS
FRAGRANCE PLAZA INC
KAYCI'S MAGIC CASTLE
YOUNG AND Q FASHION
DOUBLE CHINESE RESTAURANT
DRAMA SINGING DANCE KARATE

HALLOWEEN

2011-10-20T07:11:00.000-07:00

She was living in Chicago at the time.
She and her boyfriend were at the laundromat folding laundry
when a mother and son walked in.
The mother had whiskers drawn on her face in marker
the son simply had a circle drawn around his face in marker.
These were their costumes.
The mother walked up to the laundromat attendant
held out her purple plastic bag
and said,
"tree-tree-tree-tree-tree!"

WEIRDO STAYS PUT

2011-10-19T15:06:00.000-07:00

in the hot, still august of 2005 i moved to new york from san francisco into an apartment kitty-corner from a bodega called cheveres. in san francisco we called them corner stores or liquor stores but here they are bodegas and i liked that a lot. they played merengue music all the time at cheveres and they sold 24 ounce coors tallboys for a dollar even. the neighborhood was mostly lower-middle class dominicans, blacks, and hispanics. when my roommates and i left the house we caused a small scene. several 10-13 year old kids hung out and taunted us, "hey hipsters!" we laughed about it but secretly i think we were all horrified by the attention.

i spent christmas eve, 2005 in brooklyn. some friends and i got drinks and then i returned to my apartment. it was about 11pm as i approached my front stoop. there was a small party happening in a building opposite mine and someone yelled, "get out of my neighborhood, weirdo!" i might have looked strange wearing my multi-colored beanie and long black coat. the beanie was a gift and i got the coat from the local thrift store, (which is now located down the street from its previous location.)

across from cheveres was another store called super meat market. there were nice people who worked there, a kid named lionel and an older guy who was also friendly and unassuming. that was in 2005. since then super meat market has closed down. the kids who taunted us have mostly grown up and moved to bed-stuy. the chinese food place has changed its name from new happy to chen yuen. there used to be a bearded homeless man who sat on the sidewalks all day long, sometimes he had groceries with him, in winter he buried himself in huge blankets... he disappeared around 2008. cheveres is now called jaileen and the tallboys are $1.50.

the same clerk works at jaileen who always worked at cheveres. in the first couple years i asked his name a few times but it always came out incomprehensible and i finally stopped asking. he and i are friends of six years with no idea what each other's name is, i call him "man."

one afternoon, maybe 2009, he informed me that he likes to go down to myrtle on the weekends and get an iced coffee from dunkin donuts and walk up and down the promenade. i agreed wholeheartedly with him. myrtle is about eight blocks away from that old apartment but it took a little over a year of living there before i got comfortable going down there. you can imagine how hard this was when you consider how hard it was to leave the house at all. in those very early days my only destinations was cheveres, or else the subway which took me into another world altogether.

BRILLANTE CAR WASH

2011-10-18T21:05:00.000-07:00

i see the bristling mustaches
of Eastern European philosophers
in the revolving brushes
on the underbelly
of street sweeping machines
cracker crumbing the
wet gray angles of Gates Avenue

i see the Mesopotamian wheel-barrows
filled to the brim with watermelons
all tumbling and bumbling
in the belly of cement trucks
passed incredible below my window

STEVEN

2011-10-17T15:20:00.000-07:00

he asked me what i thought of Jon Gotti
i didn't think about Jon Gotti
so i asked if we could rephrase the question as:
what do you think about the mafia mentality?
and he said that worked just fine
but my response was "i just don't know"
i was only there to watch the basketball game

so he told me a story
i think it took place in the 70's
he and some some friends
went to Howards Beach for a BBQ
they rode their bikes
into Jon Gotti's block party
so Jon Gotti walked up to them with a body guard
and asked them why they were there
and did Steven know who he was?
Steven did not
so Jon Gotti said, 'I'm Jon Gotti'
Steven's hot headed friend Hector behaved like a saint
and Jon Gotti liked how well behaved everybody was
so he got them plates of food to eat
when they finished, Jon Gotti suggested
they get the fuck off his block, and they did

the telling of that story must have reminded Steven
of the story he told next: back in middle school
he'd been good friends with a girl named Antionette
just friends - he ate dinner at her house sometimes
her brother Timmy was out of jail (for killing people)
and they dined together a couple times
then one day some girls beat up Antionette at school
Timmy said he would handle it
the parents said, 'no Timmy! let us handle it!'
but Timmy went to the middle school the next day
(he was about 25 years old)
and he brought a bullhorn
he said, 'i wanna know who beat up my sister'
several times
this happened in Bay Terrace
a teacher came out
he said, 'are you the principal of this school?'
she said no, so he said
'get her out here right now or i'm gonna blast the shit out of this school with my gun!'
so she got the principal
but then someone called the police!
so the prinicpal was out there with Timmy
and then a million cop cars arrived
they tried to re-arrest Timmy
but he said 'if anybody shoots, i'll kill the principal'
so all the cop cars drove away
"they all drove away?"
"yup"
Steve laughed and sipped his beer
"so he got away?"
"MOST of the cop cars drove away, but some stayed"
so what happened?
"Timmy used the principal as a hostage until he got into his car and drove away"
"did they ever get him?"
"I'm sure they probably did"

Later Steven told me about the time he met Stevie Wonder
it was at a music festival
Stevie came out to talk to the fans
it was great
and then someone tapped Steven on his shoulder
while he was mid conversation with Stevie
she said, 'do you know who i am?'
and Steve was so amazed, he said 'yes!
you are Diana Ross!' and that was how
he met Diana Ross, right before he met
Gladys Knight.

CLARA

2011-10-16T21:13:00.000-07:00

buildings wilt and bloom like all things planted in the earth. but while a flower always sprouts on the top of a plant, so it is the opposite with buildings, whose shop awnings emerge colorful, age, and are replaced uniformly from the bottom. if you really want to see how old a building is you have to look up. sometimes when she has nothing else to do, clara takes mason jars, sprays the insides with the dim flashes of a weeknight talk show, and fills them with bouquets of buildings. she leaves them on the fire escapes of her neighbors. if you look up at the right time, you can see her gently tugging them out from the sky and assigning them unpronounceable names. she was born in 1892 when her name was the 9th most popular woman's name in brooklyn.

THE BENCHES OUTSIDE 'PASSPORT PHOTO'

2011-10-15T01:51:00.000-07:00

a mother pokes her four year old son in the ribs
"don't touch me!"
a mother pokes her four year old son in the ribs
"don't touch me!"
a mother pokes her four year old son in the ribs
"what the hell did i do to you!?"
the mother smirks, turning to her husband
the four year old kisses her
"don't kiss me!"

THE ORANGE PELICAN

2011-10-14T00:24:00.000-07:00

things that cost a quarter are basically free. we got these kinds of things on myrtle. firetrucks, ponies with stars painted on their sides, giraffes in top hats, squirrels in sunglasses... they look like porcelain but are actually made of a much more durable space-age material. the children ride them and then they go to the store and buy ice cube trays with their mothers.

a lone, bug-eyed cow on the sidewalk, moving gently in a small, mechanical motion, playing music from atlantis. a just-barely-not-mickey-mouse mouse outside the drapes and blankets store. sometimes the kids are filmed as they ride them, up and down, up and down, smiling patiently into their father's telephone. i know that small children consider these rides a perk of strolling along myrtle. as an adult i know these rides are sacred things. they remind me of an irrelevant portion of my childhood that never took place. i walk past these things, i am doing something else.

i walked past an orange pelican ride and nobody was on it. the music was playing and the pelican was moving slowly up and down in the way it's paid to move, but there was nobody around except for me. i'm almost thirty years old and i am not the rider this orange pelican is looking for. a guilty feeling overcomes me like ignoring a beggar in your path. there were invisible children at the coffee shop that afternoon.

TOMPKINS SQ. MYRTLE

2011-10-13T21:54:00.000-07:00

within the last month there has been a change on myrtle avenue. the population has opened up to a small eccentric minority: gutter punks. the first time i saw one i was approaching her from behind, walking faster and on my way to san remo, i thought she was a normal girl coming off a rough night, but then i saw her face and realized she was deadly serious in her tormented wanderings, she wore a shirt that said The Germs on it and i marveled at how truly filthy she looked. she was heading in no direction, moving slowly. it fascinated me. what in the world was she doing on myrtle avenue? she was definitely not shopping for an oscillating fan. was she lost?

the last thing i expected would be for her to stay, but she has. in fact she has a friend, a man who sits with her. the two of them have a cat, a very small and loyal kitten. the cat cleans himself while the gutter punks stare out into oblivion, their cardboard request for money in front of them. the good people of myrtle avenue gazing in disbelief at the three of them. sometimes the girl reads newspapers, right there on the sidewalk outside the mandee store.

one time i saw the guy walking down myrtle opposite me. he was wearing a back pack. a police car pulled up next to him and the cop said, "where's your girl?" and he replied laughing, "she ain't my girl. she's up that way" and pointed towards queens. the cops smiled, waived, and pulled away in the opposite direction. it was as if they were old friends. the gutter punk proceeded to stop a man who had just left a store and asked him if he could spare a cigarette. the man didn't think twice, he gave him a cigarette.

i believe everyone on myrtle is secretly fascinated by, and gently obsessed with, these gutter punks. what does their presence imply about our neighborhood strip? punk culture aside, i've also noticed standard grade deadbeats high as a kite on heroin, barely capable of holding themselves up. one guy was sitting outside the carvel ice cream shop with his face completely euphoric and tilted to the sky, he was only there in body. yesterday i saw a man slumped over outside mcdonalds somehow suspending an unlit cigarette between his lips, and another time i watched some derelict puke his guts out into the garbage can on the corner outside deli catering. these kinds of things simply never happened on myrtle until about a month ago.

there are an inordinate number of closed down shops on myrtle, but people are still shopping and the rent in the area is going up. gentrification has taken notice of myrtle's proximity to manhattan and transplants from all over the country are winding up here. all of us, the hispanics, the blacks, the polish, and the young white college grads... we all share the experience of this phenomenon. the gutter punks are iconic, newly arrived. the rest of us have shared this avenue for years in relative anonymity and perhaps there is some jealousy there.

we are familiar with crime and we know how to protect ourselves from danger, but these junkies and gutter punks seem to be harmless to everyone except themselves. what are we to do with them? do our thugs rob them? do our police harass them? do we shun them and pity their little cat friend? no. if anything they are a testament to our recent success. they are here to ask for our change. we are a demographic worth mooching off. we are a prosperous and inviting community.

NEW THINGS

2011-10-12T21:31:00.000-07:00

it was an overcast afternoon. three kids were out of school and en route to the domestic universe by way of myrtle. hunched over outside of a women's clothing store, very eagerly examining what any former child knows could only have been an insect. the three of them, crouching around a sidewalk tree. two girls and one little brother, huddled down beneath the branches and oblivious to the pedestrians.

they were doing child experiments on the bug, seeing how it reacted to various stimuli. one of the girls stomped the ground next to the bug to see if she could get a rise out of it. the other two leaned in on their knees to see what would come of this. these little people did not exist in the twentieth century.

HOME

2011-10-11T22:33:00.000-07:00

it's not that
until you can walk
to the bathroom
in the dark
without bumping
into anything

new york
is not that
until you start
dodging pigeons
who fly too slowly
out of your way

THE ROME EXPRESS

2011-10-10T20:45:00.000-07:00

there is a 24 hour bodega on the corner of myrtle and forest road. they carry zywiec beer, $2.25 for a tall bottle. that's a good polish beer. i used to go there all the time and purchase these late at night, two of them. i'd take them back to my apartment and drink them while quietly watching british sketch comedies from the 90's on the internet, trying to drown out the sound of my 41 year old roommate having sex with her boyfriend.

going to the 24 hour bodega was only pleasant 50% of the time. it depended on which clerk was working. the nice clerk or the unfriendly clerk. the nice clerk said things to me that were not entirely pertinent to our transaction. he replied when i asked him how he was doing. you could just tell he was a good guy. he watched sports during his shifts and guys from the neighborhood would hang around and watch with him. the unfriendly clerk uniformly frowned at me like i was all the bad news he'd ever heard. he always seemed to be listening to katy perry songs and i don't think he enjoyed them.

i bought beer from the unfriendly clerk moments after finding out osama bin laden had been killed. he was the very first person i told. i walked in there, it was almost eleven o'clock at night, feeling some form of surreal patriotic disbelief. i am pretty sure i was one of the first 700,000 people to hear the news, so i was excited to let them know at the 24 hour bodega. i thought this could mark a shift in our strained relationship.

did you hear the news?

he looked up at me forlornly as if to say, the only news i'm hearing is the bad news of your presence.

they got bin laden! a special group of soldiers. they had a helicopter. isn't that amazing?

he shrugged and took my five, bagged my zywiecs and handed me my change. maybe he thought i was tricking him or else innocent in my insanity. i went home feeling like maybe i was wrong about bin laden being killed. maybe i misunderstood the news and would have to apologize to the unfriendly clerk next time i saw him.

during the day, the 24 hour bodega was another place entirely. the bamboo plants and flowers outside sparkled in the myrtle sun and there was a lady clerk who was never there at nights. she presided over the sun kingdom, not the moon kingdom. it was weird to be in the same place and be somewhere different. it was like a friend who lived in an apartment where you used to only like half the tenants.

i would order a fantastic sandwich from her called the rome express. she would turn around and say to the shadowy man in the sandwich area, "one rome express on a roll" and then i would look around, admire the new chef boyardee logo and read the headlines on the newspapers. i would marvel at the lesser known / more exotic flavors of top ramen and scoff at the price of tostitos cheese dip. then my sandwich would be ready and she would smile at me, "rome express." it was like buying a train ticket.

FIRST FROZEN BANANA

2011-10-09T17:33:00.000-07:00

a man stopped me and asked if there was a sprint store on myrtle. the person obviously picked me out because they could tell i was someone who knew a great deal about myrtle. i had been wearing headphones so i had to turn off my music and remove them in order to even hear what the question was.

"is there a sprint store around here?"

i wanted so badly to know the answer but it was just out of reach. i don't use sprint for my telephone provider, i use at&t, so i don't notice when i'm in the vicinity of a sprint store - they just don't blip on my radar. of course anyone who has been on myrtle avenue knows in their heart that this is a street that has a sprint store. they may not know exactly where it is, but they know it's here. i told the man, "yes, there is a sprint store around here."

"where is it?"

"i do not know."

the man laughed, so i laughed too. then we went our ways.

weeks later i stumbled upon the sprint store on myrtle. i knew i could picture it and there it was, exactly where it belonged in time and space, a sprint store on myrtle. occupying its perfect location like a god-sent strand of hair on earth's head.

i remembered the man who had been looking for the sprint store. i wonder if he ever found it? he seemed like a friendly, good person - much better than your average at&t subscriber. i decided to learn more about the sprint network community. i walked into the store and found a pile of informational pamphlets and picked one up. a man in a polo shirt inquired, "how can i help you?"

"just having a look around." i said with a smile, holding up the pamphlet in a goodbye gesture. when i pulled the handle on the door it popped right off the door-frame and stayed there in my hand. i stood there holding a long thin aluminum door handle, unable to make my exit, gazing helplessly at the man in the polo shirt. he assured me it happens all the time and instructed me from across the room on how to reinstall it.

i wondered what his role with the company was if it did not include fixing the door when it breaks off in a customer's hand. perhaps the person with that job was on his lunch break or had been recently fired. i could have asked if they were hiring but my instincts told me to to leave it be so instead i went home and retrieved the banana i'd left in the freezer that morning. it was the first frozen banana i ever ate. they do not get as hard as popsicles.

STRANGE RESUME

2011-10-01T14:02:00.000-07:00

a woman tells you about

how her neighbors used to dress theirdogs

when she lived in the trump building

like they were hollywood starlets

and wants to know if you're hiring

APPETIZERS

2011-09-28T22:23:00.000-07:00

Leaves are chips
in this thin sea

we dip them in
the galaxy

Rocks and chimneys
eat for free

alongside cure
and malady

BEYOND MY BEDROOM DOOR

2011-09-27T07:14:00.000-07:00

Pouring a cup of coffee, stirring some cinnamon into it. It's late spring in Ridgewood, Queens early afternoon sunshine glowing off the totally white walls. The shadows of pigeons swirling around the room, dipping and diving in the clear blue sky as a single unit like fish do. From the bathroom comes the sound of running water and voices in the shower.

..wash your ass!

...hm?

...wash your ass!

...yea i know

wash the inside of your ass!
...it smells!

Bach's violin sonatas
skate across the linoleum
over the carpet
into my room
Closing my door

cinnamon coffee
the internet
birds

JOKER

2011-09-26T13:23:00.000-07:00

From 1st Ave to Lorimer St. with Andria and his girlfriend.

Valeria used to live in a squat in London. She and her friends would steal animals from the zoo; she had snakes, a scorpion, a tarantula, two dogs and a monkey. At one point she also had a giant rabbit monopolizing an unused room and a baby kangaroo who did not 'work out.' She also had a sheep whom the neighbors signed a petition to kill, and then they ate it. The monkey was named Jolly, which translates in Italian to Joker.

MY WILD SIDE

2011-09-25T14:48:00.000-07:00

go stand out in the hallway
and i'll go fall asleep
push the buzzer, don't be denied
invite me to my wild side

now take this bucket full of pears
fling them at my head
get smart if i should try to hide
i'll meet you on my wild side

invite me to my wild side
you'll get your answer there
call forth your hands
insane demands!
invite me to my wild side

pour ice water on all my clothes
pan fry this deck of cards
kindly paint the curtains grey
if you wish to hear about my day

invite me to my wild side
can't believe i had to ask
buckets of pears don't buy themselves
my life's alive, the nouns decried
invite me to my wild side

CAT VIDEO IDEA

2011-09-23T17:28:00.000-07:00

it's called "the most boring cat video ever made"

for the duration of the song Wipeout
cats sleeping and cleaning themselves

DONALD

2011-09-18T14:44:00.000-07:00

a total orphan
before he was 2 months old
/ he is emotionally stunted
teenage girls would love him
if he went to their school
and he would break their hearts
like porcelain coffee mugs

donald has less than
a kindergarten level education
/ spent his childhood in hospitals
nearly lost his tail to a lasceration
when he was only 7 months
/ had it shaved for surgery

now he's twice that age
not interested in school or girls
prefers to hang around the house
examining the space below doors
fighting plastic bags
and pushing things off ledges

GRATITUDE IS COMPLICATED

2011-09-10T13:38:00.000-07:00

i'vebeen working

as a veterinary receptionist

for six years now

and i just received my first

'thank you for being good

at your job' type card

it was from the owners

of a cat who accidentally

strangled itself while they
were atwork

they ran in without calling
a doctor saw them rightaway
the cat was dead

THE FABLE OF THE CHURCH BELL

2011-09-06T15:00:00.000-07:00

The church was the most impressive building in the village. The new rector came from the city where they had lots of impressive buildings. He decided to put this little town on the map.

He started a fundraiser to build a giant bell which would ring in the hours of the day. They sold high end designer shirts to raise the money and all the villagers bought them. Everyone was sharp dressed now and even though they didn't have a lot of money for groceries they looked good.

Finally they had raised enough money and the new rector rang the bell. It's rang resounded so loud and deep that all the windows in the village shattered and it was winter.

NOT GETTING ANYWHERE

2011-09-05T19:00:00.000-07:00

we all stand around, looking back and forth, making small circles, sometimes listening to our music and sometimes glancing at our books. some of us have been on this humid, narrow platform for over an hour. we are not strangers to stagnant crowds, we are professionals.

two grinning jamaicans drinking from baby blue bottles wrapped tight in plastic bags. an inordinately diverse group of loud mouths smacking each other, screaming idiotic gibberish, and giving a large radius of commuters something on which to direct their wandering frustration. a frail old woman in a short blue dress inhales from a smokeless cigarette while badgering another woman who just wants to go home and see her cat and go to sleep. most of us are unremarkable, trying our best to be unremarkable. most of us didn't know which way to even look for the train to come. shuttle bus weekend is anybody's guess, but the old school riders, we know.

a gentleman reading a book next to me, it had an interesting cover. he was overtly literary. probably not a fan of genre fiction and yet his existence was a kind of genre; a book person. at some point he pulled out a small piece of index paper and began to scrawl something on it. typical, i thought - and not a little bit hypocritically. but as i took another peek i realized he was writing a love note. it started "you're cute..." and i knew who it was written for.

she was three feet away, two feet away from him. i tried not to stare at her. beautiful women don't like that. she was certainly gorgeous tho, cat eye glasses and light brown hair, a t-shirt and shorts but with style. a regular girl-from-the-loft-next-door beauty.

but my friend the bookworm was not her only admirer. another gentleman, easily the douchiest of the three us all, starts asking her questions about the subway situation. "when is the train supposed to come? will it be on this side or that side? i'm trying to get into manhattan for a concert. do you like music?" a love note became a bookmark and there's no story here.

THE COINSTAR SUPERSTAR Pt. 2

2011-08-31T09:24:00.000-07:00

i took my jar of change down to the coinstar at TD bank because this is what one does when one is preparing to move. it was a mason jar that had been accumulating change since last august.

they allow you to guess how much change you've got before the counting begins and if you are within $1.99 you get a prize.

i guessed $68.54 because it spells CA.SH in pager code and my total was $68.21. i grinned at the little receipt. then i grinned at the cop standing next to me. he smiled back. the bank was silent now without my change clanking through the machine.

historically i have never been good at estimating. this is a significant development for me.

i went up to the ladies at the desk to get my money and my prize. they were not as impressed as i expected them to be. one of them retrieved a green plastic rectangle with TD written on it in white and handed it to me. that was a confusing moment. the cabinet from which she pulled the rectangle was in the same place in my veterinary clinic where we keep the ashes of cremated animals, near the floor opposite the desk. what is it? i asked. it's a piggy bank so you can start saving up your change again.

i raised my mason jar over my head and slammed it down against the concrete floor. the ladies mouths opened but nobody said a word.

why did you do that? one finally spoke. i didn't do it, you did it. you shattered that jar the moment you gave me this durable, light-weight, plastic piggy bank. you shattered my mason jar. without my accumulating pocket change that jar had nothing.

the police just stood there watching and i tried to think of something else to say. can i have a pen? no sir, i think you should leave, was the lady's reply. commerce bank always gave me pens.

a man in a sleeveless v-neck sweater emerged from the back and observed my jar. something in his eyes told me this was not the first time he'd seen this situation play out. he turned around to get a broom and i headed back for the door. being a winner, being good at estimating, has a dark side that good estimators almost never talk about.

back on the sunny sidewalk i tossed the green piggy bank in a garbage can and used my new cash towards an iced coffee. the glimmering ice cubes reminded me of my mason jar, spread apart now in so many pieces, i might have liked to spread those shards into the breeze on a mountaintop but that would have been dangerous.

LOOK FORWARD

2011-08-30T20:59:00.000-07:00

someday
your reputation
as someone who says what they think
with no regard to consequence

will catch on fire
and you will be free
from the burden of being
who you are:

someone who approaches
every new situation
with taste and grace

Culture Corner With Jack Burton: The Seagull

2011-08-29T11:14:00.000-07:00

Heya Folks,

It's me, your old buddy Jackie Burton. Been a while since I rapped at ya, but I got somethin' on my mind so shut off the iPod and lend me your ear, will ya? I'll give it back, that's a promise.

Now I don't need to tell you that The Jackster prefers to live his life to the maximum; his hobbies include driving fast trucks, dodging punches, gambling with criminals, and helping people in trouble. What you may not know, however, is that The Jack Man is simply spellbound by the magic of live theater. A successful show... oh, how do I phrase this? ...It opens the heart... like the wings of a newly formed butterfly; unfolding - blossoming - revealing us to ourselves. It's a sublime and transcendent experience! 'Course, sometimes things go horribly wrong. Sometimes the production is an endless chain of malfunctions and there ain't no flowers bloomin' - maybe Venus Fly Traps - and guess what? You're the fly.

I recently took in a free production of Anton Chekhov's The Seagull at the Parker Hudson Community Theater. It's an all-time favorite of mine; top shelf stuff. A comedy so sharp you might mistake it for a melodrama. A reflection on family and failure, success and ambition. I mean here's a play that's right up there with The Great Pyramids, tank tops, and Democracy... Chekhov's genius is in creating authentic characters and defining them through their insincerity. So when I realized the jackal-bats on stage intended to take that insincerity and portray it in compound with their own insincerity, well, it had me sincerely goin' green. And no, I ain't talkin' about recycling. Unless yackin' up Jack Snacks qualifies as recycling - which it doesn't.

Now listen, nobody ever said Chekhov's plays were easy. To stage a successful production takes exceptional hard work and determination. The script is a ninja star of subtext and it never stops spinning - so you can imagine my disgust when they opened with a song. News flash folks, The Seagull is not a musical.

The script was revised, peppered with references to contemporary life; the internet, John Steinbeck, New York. I don't mind daring theater, the Jack Attack accepts all challenges, but it was done so halfheartedly. It was more like they took a red pen and marked up Chekhov's masterpiece with the willy-nilly carelessness of a waitress jotting down your order, "that'll be a serving of one timeless masterpiece with extra crap sauce and hold the subtlety. Anything else?" Yea! Kill me, please! The dialogue was disjoint, moods shifted incomprehensibly, and most of the cast was yelling their lines instead of simply enunciating from the diaphragm. That's theater 101, kids.

I panicked! I scanned for the exits - but then I regained my cool. Jack Burton doesn't walk out in the middle of an act. He waits until intermission like a gentleman. Well these goof-blisters out-smarted me on that front too - no intermission! It was not a pretty sight. I mean I've been in some truly harrowing jams over the years but nothing that compares to the tooth grinding torture of sitting in that auditorium for over two hours.

Anyway, like all things ultimately do, it ended. They did one last song and they set us free - dazed, humiliated, and vaguely angry, into the world to guzzle beer until we finally washed the taste of blasphemy out of our mouths. Folks, let me leave you with a word of caution: think twice before attending a free play. It may seem like a can't lose situation but Old Jack learned the hard way, sometimes there's a required donation - and it ain't money, it's your soul.

Here's your ear back. Thanks for the loan.

Your pal around town,
Jack Burton

this is an editorial by Jack Burton from Big Trouble In Little China and may not reflect the views of ILOANBooks

PIXEL

2011-08-27T21:14:00.000-07:00

with my finger
tiny flying insect guts
spread across a laptop screen
back-lit by the internet

ENTHUSIASTIC YOUTH

2011-08-25T13:24:00.000-07:00

certainty as an icing spread sweet and rich upon the thick headed skulls we can fall on soft strangers safely making out some temporal achievement absurdest (attractive?) -most!

among them most, resembling, but never compared to, the over eager cop in training hung up like bar hooks his fingers in his belt loop try'na be a good dude in a pentagon of newlywed duffle bags - watch as new law goodbyes its rookies with a CUNY smile, enjoys bbqs responsibly, birthday parties, warm like somebody's tongue, a nursed corona.

justice you tetrino, you kaleidoscope you are never done digesting and some bearded babies wanna know if you can spare a (high) five. these crimes of taste are not why you joined the force. look

here's a child mindful not to wake his mother sound asleep, cooing in her exhausted ear, "there will be cake, my child i was in heaven in 2006 and god told me to tell you this life will certainly yield cake."

GRANDMOTHER'S SPIDERS

2011-08-20T20:05:00.001-07:00

grandmother's spiders
live in the third basement
in her scarsdale house
the basement with the floral couch
and the wicker chairs
she couldn't abandon
in 1990
beautiful chairs
shame to just throw them out

grandmother has many spiders
but these are her happiest ones
ticking their legs around
in the moist wooden silence
trying to see how calm they can be

on five pitch moonless wicker chairs
that embody everything good about 1967-1978
with a gentleness that astounds even the spiders

UNTITLED #7

2011-08-15T18:44:00.000-07:00

The pickles were gone
and the juice was there
and i thought i’d just taste it
and yes, it is as good as pickles
so i tasted more
and before i knew it the jar was empty

-VN

WILD AS TEETH

2011-08-12T19:06:00.000-07:00

the core of a feeling
, as if consciously preserving itself,
will only meet you packaged
in meaningless words

what is truest is infinitely wild
too slick for letters
too precious for the labored

declarations
burning chaotic and violent
as a star in the country sky

NO BOATS

2011-08-03T18:19:00.000-07:00

is
waterbugs
a
poem?

impossible things
the engine of chests

have you heard the tick tick tick
of a summertime waterbug
from your shirtless bedroom?
out the window?

itching your shoulders
with your beard
longing for boats
not assigning names
aware that names are less than
names are less than questions
tick tick tick tick
says the waterbug

LADY BUGS

2011-08-02T22:41:00.000-07:00

when you slap a presence
against your chest
in early august near the fan
it might turn out to be
a lady bug

you may revolt
no fault to oscillating fan
no fault to rolling stones
there you be

RHODE ISLAND TO NEW YORK

2011-07-31T19:29:00.000-07:00

you aren't totally asleep
on the school bus in 1989
leaning precarious
against the window,
lined with metal mindful
the road bumping
against your head

MYRTLE AVE MCDONALDS

2011-07-27T08:42:00.000-07:00

i wish to climb inside
the head of the gray
old polish woman
presiding over a table
covered in newspapers
and see what
Marvin Gaye's Sexual Healing
is doing up there

MY CAT SHAT IN MY LAUNDRY BASKET

2011-07-25T15:23:00.000-07:00

while looking me in the eyes
i had only just walked in the door
hadn't seen him in two weeks
i'd been dog sitting for some schnauzers
while my roommate
who hates cats
took care of him

DOUBLE HELIX GUILT

2011-07-22T22:37:00.000-07:00

your bad dreams
a woodcarving
on your mattress

still and breathless
winking at the moon
afraid to let it bury you

like a murderer;
your bad dreams
kill

you scrub the fingerprints
entwined as you are
from this thing
which, in it's plunging,
has unclogged
that which tears
incomprehensibly
through the silence
beneath your skin

AXISES OF EVIL AND OTHER AXISES

2011-07-21T15:11:00.000-07:00

there is something very WW2
about babies dressed as sports fans
something criminally tragic
about well dressed adults being mistreated
and something so dandelion
in senior citizen sweatpants

ASLEEP BEFORE MIDNIGHT, LIKE BOBBY KAVANAUGH

2011-07-20T18:22:00.000-07:00

in 2000 some of us got nicknames
like an older man, 21, named Boobs
who was always wearing a towel

later we got wise
and stopped charging our phones
so as not to upset our cats

POETRY

2011-07-11T18:31:00.000-07:00

it's a small, good feeling
every now and again
when i re-discover
i genuinely like poetry

i know there is no
bad poetry
because i've seen
the unloveable poets
at their lawn chair microphones
dripping beautiful, alien
poetry from wounds
that don't make sense

but i start to think
poets only
enjoy themselves
like the refractive company
that actors make
needing one another
just to make a play

or else they only like themselves and arthur rimbaud
which is understandable
or actually
just themselves, rimbaud, bukowski and leaves of grass

and brautigan,
if they've read him
... brautigan and o'hara...
and kennneth k oh, and certain ginsbergs...
and estrada...
...and patchen...
plath and silverstein...
...and the authors of almost all
of the reasonably short poems

it's a small, good feeling
and i can always use a good feeling
today i can use one because
someone stole my bike

GROWN-UP THING TO DO #41

2011-07-06T17:24:00.000-07:00

realizing that someone
is not telling the truth
when even they themselves
believe that they are
is a grown-up thing to do

REVERSE ENTROPY

2011-07-05T08:28:00.000-07:00

at work
we return
from seven different
holiday weekends
with the same
hangover

nice to have
so much
in common

HOME NOW WITH MY CAT

2011-07-01T18:41:00.000-07:00

HOME

theenormous
intersection
crossing
valencia
at 15thstreet

NOW

ridingthe express
101 bus
from cotati to san francisco
opposite indian girl
and possessed by

the wanderer's boner

WITH

a suntan
at black night time

duffle bag next to my bed

and work in the morning

it is silent here

pure as the white walls,

stucco

roommates sleeping,

MY CAT

and i look out our window

the BART train
seems to howl
through the
brooklyn/ queens borderland
or is it just the cave
of my ear canal?
setting the alarm

THE CONTEMPORARY OBSESSION WITH DISTINGUISHING TALKING FROM TELLING STORIES

2011-06-26T15:54:00.001-07:00

OLD BALLS

2011-06-24T22:45:00.000-07:00

how many lobbies have you sat in?
it is easy to forget that TIMEmagazine
is named
TIME

they've got old balls
at TIMEmagazine

SPIRIT RELOCATION

2011-06-23T16:07:00.000-07:00

saw the lady from 3c
in a different light today

sunlight
rifling for her newspaper
in the lobby

she wasn't wearing
the creepy hallway
anymore

EXITING A WENDY'S

2011-06-18T14:19:00.000-07:00

i was suddenly and unexpectedly
faced with
the empire state building

directly across

the street

what else could have snuck up so profoundly?

-shit! (love? death?)

JUNE

2011-06-13T12:12:00.001-07:00

my cat, Don Quixote,
has not even been alive
for one whole year

and yet he has already
developed a deeper
relationship with kitchen linoleum
than i have at 29

MEMETERY BLIP

2011-06-08T21:31:00.000-07:00

strange to think
that somewhere out there
is a person with the worst
day of your life
tattooed on their arm

SALAD FORK ATHEISM

2011-06-03T14:05:00.000-07:00

it's hard to say
bless you
to someone
who has not just sneezed

THE PUBLIC DUMP

2011-05-31T13:27:00.000-07:00

thedistraction has become so routine to me
i imagine ms. pacman andthe ghosts
navigating their way
through the maze of mydigestive track

WORK NIGHT LULLABYE

2011-05-19T13:28:00.000-07:00

whyshould sleep

feel like a police officer
patting youdown?

remain perfectly still
do not tug your blankets
nofunny business

the darkened walls of your room
are not theengorged shadows of streetlamps

GROUND

2011-05-17T13:36:00.000-07:00

theover-sacrifice
makes people stockholders
in a bankrupt dream

8-BIT LEGALITIES

2011-05-15T13:34:00.000-07:00

when arelationship ends

there is no avoiding
that time when youexchange
bags of each others belongings
pathetic items
unsurewhere they really live
like silent children
in a samuel beckettcustody battle
where the adults
are as calm and civil
as ahigh definition flat screen TV
at the bottom of the grand canyon

ASIAN COMPOSITION

2011-05-11T13:32:00.000-07:00

in water-proof khaki jacket

lookedlike the asian-american
of 1961
in his pressed way

he is older than he seems
with hisfinger on a subway map
he implores me

according to thenote
scrawled in his hand
he was looking for anapartment
in bushwish

ADJUSTMENTS

2011-05-07T15:05:00.000-07:00

Wearing contact lenses makes people nicer to me but not if I sleep in them. They don't like that squint. I think that's why they kicked me out of a coffee shop today.

On the Church Ave. bound G train towards Metropolitan a dude gets on at Greenpt wearing a Patrick Ewing jersey in honor of the Knicks game tonight against the Celtics.

I'm trying to love Deep Cuts by The Knife the way I used to but my headphones have grown old and the slightest movement mutes the left earphone so I'm perfectly, unnaturally still.

A lady gets on at Nassau wearing sunglasses. The Patrick Ewing guy is talking to her but I can't hear what they're saying. Then he starts taking her picture with his iPhone, searching for better angles he sits next to me. Then he leans against the handrail. Then he sits next to her and they shake hands.

Trying to listen to music on broken headphones can make a person go crazy. They are worth replacing

MAGIC BIRD

2011-05-03T14:08:00.000-07:00

allwinter long
i watched a pair of
bordeaux jordan 7s
hangingfrom the telephone wires
in the sky near near the school

by my apartment

it wascold out there
at times the shoes
were caked in snow

they are still there now

i can't imagine

what they would feel like

to put on

UNCONCIOUSNESS

2011-05-01T16:28:00.000-07:00

you should be asleep

when your mind

is uselessly creating

images that evaporate

and reincarnate

like condensation

beneath the duty of your nature

or any other nature

NON-LINEAR BANNISTER

2011-04-28T19:10:00.000-07:00

my apartment complex
, which has been
flexing its way through winter
like a wind-blown squirrel
obsessing over a wet rock

, released it's tension
and with it
the residential pheromone
of humidity and bare arms
, it rises triumphantly from the carpet
, peels itself from the walls

creaking into my nostrils
like sleeping beauty's
discarded fart-filled blankets

ALTERED PERCEPTIONS

2011-04-17T19:07:00.000-07:00

The parents aren't accustomed to public transit. They take seats opposite their daughter and the father says, "I'm sorry we didn't get to spend more time with Trevor honey, do you think we disappointed him?" in a voice from a sub-urban living room.

The girl, in her all black canvas shoes, brown leather jacket, mini-skirt and leggings, looks out of place addressing her parents on this train. She would normally be pouting into a novel her roommate recommended, or else plugged into her iPod with hands folded on her lap. She hasn't been living in New York very long.

"No" She replies, "You guys did good. I mean, he's not really looking for any reaction in particular. He's done it to me too. There's no wrong response."

Her mother, a squat woman with a concerned intelligent face leans forward towards her daughter, "Where are we going right now?"
"6th avenue."
"Pardon?"
"About eleven stops. About eleven stops from here."
"Ahh!" The mother leans back contentedly. Like her husband, she never looks around. They glance at the advertisements but their child is the only person on this train.

The girl addresses her father again, "What he's trying to do is create an out of body experience." Her father considers this. "He was trying to make you feel like you were mom and she was you, or like you were both the same person."
He rubs his chin, "Right."
"Did you experience that?"
The dad thinks about the question a little bit, his tone is never cynical. "No..."
He returns the question to his daughter.

"I did... I mean it isn't a completely altered perception and everyone experiences it differently. Like when he had you holding the camera so that it looks like your body is attached to mom's head."
"Right."

"Where is it that we're heading?" Asks the mother again.
"6th Avenue."
"Pardon?"
"6th Avenue, the museum is on 6th Avenue."
"Ahh!"

The girl glances around the car. Her father is waiting for her to continue talking but she doesn't. She is aware of all the faces watching her. They are hurtling under the East River and the train is full of other people in their twenties, all of them completely absorbed in the dynamic of her family, the sub-urban American nakedness of their dialogue.

She makes eye contact with a bearded guy holding a backpack that says Get Lost in his lap. He has decided he hates her simple minded parents. A girl with orange hair is staring at her, trying to guess which museum they are heading to. A guy reading The Pale King is trying to reach an opinion about the far-out boyfriend character - is he corny or brilliant? Could she do better? Would he sleep with her? Would she sleep with him?

Everybody remains completely silent for the rest of the ride. Her parents staring contemplatively at each Delta Airlines advertisement. One, after another, after another.

APRIL FOOLS #5

2011-04-16T20:38:00.000-07:00

Two Very Different Stories About Animals, Plastic Bags, and a Lack of Public Garbage Cans:

I. Intentional Placement

Coming back from Pathmark last year I discovered a dead cat near my house. It had obviously been hit by a car. I'd been the guy-who-scoops-up-dead-cats-in-the-neighborhood before and it's a role I probably took a little pride in. I love cats and I'm not squeamish. Removing their corpses from the afternoon sun dignifies them and it keeps kids from being traumatized. Everybody wins. The complication being that in this particular house I had no access to the garbage bins, only my landlord did - and she frightened me.

So I dropped off my groceries and returned to the sidewalk. I brought two plastic bags but it was impossible to shuffle the creature into them; rigor mortis had stiffened the cat and its guts threatened to flop out. Instead I used the bags like gloves, carrying the cat like one might carry a tray of orange juice and breakfast bagels. 4th ave would've been closer but I went down towards 3rd. The streets were less crowded that way. When I reached the intersection I discovered no public garbage cans on any corner - probably because it's a deserted area.

Not to be defeated, I walked south another block, and another... six blocks. No dumpsters, no public garbage cans, no place to drop an empty Pepsi bottle, a bag of Doritos, or an anonymous dead cat. I was far away from home and my hopes were dwindling. The cat was dripping blood and it's eye was falling out. The sun was high and hot. I tried to stay on the opposite sidewalk from pedestrians.

I passed a construction site and asked if I could put the dead feline in their dumpsters- they said no. A guy stopped me as I was turning to leave saying it would be OK, then his boss reiterated it wasn't OK. Maybe his boss thought I killed the cat. I must have looked a little suspicious, and I'm sure it's a liability to have dead cats in the company dumpster among all the fiber glass and planks of wood. I took the cat further still to 2nd ave, walked north up to 9th St. No garbage cans.

Two Hasidic Jews were leaving a building and in desperation I asked if they knew where I could discard of the cat. They suggested I put the cat in one of the dozen or so garbage trucks lined up outside Lowe's so I walked over there but all those garbage trucks were locked up, nobody around. No way to put garbage in them. Each truck had DON'T LITTER painted on their sides in red. No, we mustn't litter.

I remembered something Big Gimme Jimmy taught be back in college. He practiced a kind of post-modern living exercise called Intentional Placement; a process of leaving something - usually a piece of garbage - in a precise location on the ground. It is not littering, (which is careless and habit forming). Instead, Intentional Placement is a form of artistic expression. I'd seen Big Gimme Intentionally Place orange peels, cigarette butts, soda bottles... so surely it could be done with a dead body.

I left that cat tucked under the shade of a young tree on 7th street and 2nd ave; sprawled out and rigid on its bed of plastic bags. There was nothing to say. This was by no means a final resting place but it was an improvement. Things continued to be alive all around the cat. I could live with that. I went home and unpacked my groceries.

II. Intentional Placement 2

dog sitting for new clients
in jackson heights
i did not realize
there were no garbage cans
on the street corners
around the building
where the dogs live
eventually the dogs were eager
to go back inside, it was raining
so i carried the poop bag inside with us

clutched in a plastic grip
in a crowded elevator
sighing,
"which floor?"
"thanks"
ready with a line
"i'm taking it to the vet
have it tested for worms."
but of course nobody asks

(
can't leave dogshit in the kitchen garbage
flushing it down the toilet
seems like something an insane person would do
and what of the bags if i did?
)

returned alone to the streets
five more blocks in the rain
and no garbage cans
finally dropped it in some residential can
outside a nice house with a patio

some guy leaps out of his car
, multicultural brown
like a jackson height's stereotype:
"that's not your garbage can!"

but i continue
walking fast against the rain
not missing a step

"Hey! Guy!" he tries me again
let him chase me down

you'd have to be a brave motherfucker indeed
to confront a stranger
sopping wet without an umbrella
, not walking any dogs ,
who drops a bag of excrement
in your stupid garbage can

and this is why i make the big bucks

APRIL FOOLS #4

2011-04-15T14:27:00.000-07:00

Primal Spirits

It was my fourth and final week in Costa Rica.
I was 12 years old and there with my best friend's family.
More on my own than I'd ever been.

Iguanas resting on rocks, bats crowding the trees, crabs parting along the shore and I was Moses parting the red sea with a stray dog lingering behind
swimming pools, monkeys, Chicklets for sale everywhere for a few colones, terrible sunburns, ginger ale,
the magic was dense, we moved around a lot

One night I watched a dancing woman turn into a spider right before my eyes.
We ate crab right from the shell -
They seemed to always be dancing

Another time Dino, a five year old blonde kid, fell from the top tier hot tub and cracked his head on the cement below, pool level. Matt and I were the oldest ones there. Matt scooped up Dino, covered in blood, and carried him back to the adults while I watched over his older brother, Max - a seven year old. I can't remember how, but a massive loogie is a part of that story. A lot happened in Costa Rica.

It was my fourth and final week in Costa Rica, like I said,
there was a woman at our table
she was the center of conversation
a very old witch
and we were very lucky to be friends of her friends.
She addressed Matt, his little brother (Joshua), and I
One after another she guessed our astrological signs
She got all three correct
Smiling at us with her strange primal genius
She told us our birthdays
Precisely to the day
And again we nodded with frightened humility

the adults were laughing
they always laughed in Costa Rica
, they laughed while white water rafting
, they laughed among the hornets
and all throughout the rainforest, they
laughed while spiders clacked about
trapped in aluminum pots

in her heavily decorated, wrinkly hands
below the table and in her ancient lap
the old witch held our passports

APRIL FOOLS #3

2011-04-14T20:33:00.000-07:00

Treasure

Chad and I found a small plastic bag from Hot Topic one day. It had cotton draw-strings and the plastic was durable, of the highest quality; black, with pink lettering. It had suburban glamor. It was the kind of bag that could potentially contain a Slipknot beanie - or maybe a Nightmare Before Christmas action figure...

I can't remember where that bag came from but it wound up with us. Gemma had recently moved in with us, she was Chad's first cat, a domestic long hair with chronic diarrhea. She was probably 7 or 8 months old at the time and she would eat grass constantly, which would upset her stomach. She also ate kibble non-stop and was kind of a lard ass.

I had just returned home from an early afternoon class and Chad was not due in at CostCo for a couple hours, so we had some time to kill. Over an episode of Family Guy we decided what was to be done. We filled the Hot Topic bag with Gemma's miserable feces and threw it into the alley way behind our house. Then we ran up to my bedroom and waited for some Rancho Cotati high schoolers to stumble upon in on their way home.

One kid found the bag and excitedly grabbed it, realized it had something in it, and fought his friends off as they tried to take it from him. He loosened the drawstrings, peeked in at Gemma's feces, and exclaimed, "It's shit!" then flung the bag at his friend. Another kid picked it up, confirmed it was shit, and threw it at someone else. The four or five of them ran away from the scene with such urgency you could almost think they knew we were somewhere watching.

APRIL FOOLS #2

2011-04-13T21:31:00.001-07:00

the day hip chris died

too early tuesday
happens all the time
i spring from bed
faster than the hot water heats up
in the shower
and i'm employed

answering the company phone for money
it rings almost all the time
so when my pocket rang
at 11am
it was strange
not to be a third party

It was Mayla texting from California
"Have you been on facebook this morning?"
which made it 8am her time
"No?"

Then she called and started crying
Or sobbing really hard
and told me Chris had taken some bad speed and overdosed
Chris had partied himself to death
Last night / this morning

I got choked up next to Jean, my co-worker
who now had to answer twice as many phones
I'd seen Chris last wednesday
he drummed the shit out of some show
but now he was dead
I went outside and Mayla told me what she knew
His friends, some Tom's River derelicts,
found him on the floor that morning

I called a bunch of people who loved Chris
because they deserved to know
walking in circles
there were tears on my face
on streets where i'd always been normal
It was february but I didn't wear a coat

Everyone consoled,
was shocked and heartbroken
And it made sense

Jean asked me if i wanted to go home
the soft XM sixties radio resurfaced
and i replied with breath
that just floated in my throat
as i got another text

Mayla:
Just found out
it was just a sick joke
, I'm so sorry

APRIL FOOLS #1

2011-04-08T23:51:00.000-07:00

courting a 1pm nap
in two pairs of pants
and three shirts
phone vibrates on the end table
which is not mine
reminding me none of this is mine

no matter what
my phone might tell me
the caller is nowhere
we are both nowhere
near nowhere
home
cast off blanket
and big eyed dog on floor
both tell me so

SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE

2011-03-31T10:17:00.000-07:00

After several hours on the road we pulled off for gas and to pick up snacks from a Stop N' Shop. I slowly hoisted myself from the seat and stretched my stiff, weary legs. The composed February evergreens indicated we were closing in on the border and the air washed my city lungs like spring water. Looking up, the endless gray sky was as vast and sprawled out as the upstate highways we'd been driving on - but the hum of the road was finally hushed. The still silence of country life resounded in the gravel underneath our shoes.

Vanessa made friends with the overweight teenager working the register. He was frustrated on account of Neil, his co-worker, who should have been at work an hour ago. Nobody knew where Neil was and I never would have known Neil was even missing if Vanessa hadn't told me so. The teenager wore his frustration gracefully, like an old coonhound with a full bladder and nobody to let him outside.

Next door to the gas station in the otherwise-nothingness sat an old gray shack; creaky and crumbly, plopped upon itself like a precarious pile of books. In the driveway were several cars, each one a stoic meditation of cold metal in varying extremities of stillness. They could have been the exposed roots of whatever kept that shack from simply blowing away. The four of us followed our curiosity up the hill and towards the entrance.

Inside was a wall to wall junk sale - books, records, artwork. A man waived us in from a table in the middle of the room, "Come on in folks, have a look around!" his unkempt curly hair was graying but the passage of time was too busy everywhere else to make him old. In fact, his mustache was still tobacco brown and there was a trace of mischief in his eyes. He looked like the third Mario brother and this decaying shack housed his accumulated inventory of frog suits, warp whistles, and p-wings. With him was a woman who barely acknowledged us, transfixed on the game of backgammon she was losing.

The entire shack had the old book smell so dense and full that the act of looking actually felt like reading. There was no place to direct your eyes that wouldn't beg some question. No blank space, no vast horizons. We wandered the labyrinth-like narrows, dwarfed by stacks of tackle boxes, empty photo frames, baseball autobiographies, and Donald Duck inner-tubes. There was nothing to be sought after but everything to find. The man watched me fingering through a stack of paintings, "Oh, you like art! My son did those paintings."

Vibrant wood-wrapped canvases mostly comprised of large deliberate dots of acrylic primary colors, plopped in incredible patterns to create landscapes, chairs and faces. I said, "These are great." I would have bought one but any one of them would have dominated my bedroom with manic authority, I'd have had to pay it rent. Besides that, the possibility of discovering the price on his son's artwork was more than I'd be willing to pay was an awkwardness I couldn't chance. These paintings were perfectly at home in the shack, so there they'd stay.

"We're drinking beer tonight." the man excitedly blurted, as if we couldn't see the box of LeBatt Blue sitting plainly in the chair next to him. Dragon told him we on our way to Montreal from the city. "Which city?" he asked.

I didn't want to spend a lot of money but I needed a souviner so I settled on a Vest Pocket Dictionary that looked like it was from the 1930's. "I'd like to buy this" I said. "Oh, that? You can just have that."

Phil bought a few records including a handsome Leon Redbone album. As he paid for them I looked at the half empty twelve-pack sitting in the chair next to the man and across from the woman. In that moment, and there's no way to explain how I knew it, I was certain that those were not regular beers. Those beers were his son the artist, transformed perhaps by some immortal backwoods wizard, and there with us occupying his space in the middle of nowhere..

YESTERSCOPES, REVISITED

2011-03-25T08:42:00.001-07:00

To commemorate 3 months of Yesterscopes in print, we've decided to share with you a few of the subway riding somebodies who wound up on the cutting room floor.

To all the commuters, sight seers, and derelicts on the NYC Subway, ILOANBooks thanks you for keeping it real.

FIRST GENERATION, JEFFERSON AVE

2011-03-23T14:35:00.000-07:00

i was walking away from a taxicab, towards home, when carlo and i spotted each other. he was standing in the doorway of waterlaunge smoking a cigarette with one of the club's pretty young girls (who may or may not be hooking, the jury is still out on that). it was about 2am which meant the night was young for waterlaunge.

carlo had a scarf draped stylishly around his hooodie and a glazed, happy look in his eyes. we hadn't seen each other in a year but i could tell he was moving from his thugged out teens into soft and silly drug twenties - which was relatively good news.

he and the girl were familiar with each other and seemed to be friends, like alumni from the same orphanage. it was hard to imagine carlo had been living by himself in bed-stuy for over a year now but he had been. it was my first time at waterlaunge, which was the newborn neighborhood monster. every honest, working family on the block wanted the place closed down. besides accusations of prostitution, the place was known to sell beer to minors, blast music until dawn, and fights were common out front.

i bought us a couple six dollar coronas to drink in plastic chairs at a card table and i thought about prohibition. carlo told me his brother was working at wholefoods in manhattan and sometimes sees famous people. his mother was doing good. he hadn't seen brian in a minute but the two of them were cool now.

there were about twenty people at waterlaunge. all males except the bartenders and the girls dancing to the reggaeton below the light fixtures next to the stereo. you had to yell in order to be heard. everyone knew the police had been scoping the place for weeks and i could have been a cop if not for all the ways that i wasn't. carlo introduced me to some of his friends, one was the son of the owner. he asked me how i knew carlo and i wanted to say...

back in 2005 carlo was a chubby little necessary inconvenience in the package deal of life on jefferson avenue. he and his friend wilbur: taunting the weird white neighbors from behind the handlebars of their bicycles, calling us hipstas from the afternoon stoop in varying degrees of hostility. by 2007 wilbur had disappeared and carlo was in high school. his was the first family of jefferson ave. then there was 2008 when he got moody and spent his nights on h-block. by 2009 i didn't even ask his mom about him because she would say she had no idea what he was up to. in 2010 i moved and so had he.

...but it was easier to just yell, "neighbors."

THINGS LISA BONET SAID

2011-03-17T08:15:00.000-07:00

Most people remember Lisa Bonet as the stylish, free spirited Denise Huxtable from The Cosby Show. Others are even aware of her marriage to Lenny Kravitz, nude photo sessions, and celebrity momness. But a very, very select few are aware of her cunning wit, getting to the core of weighty topics at high-society social engagements.

At the most exclusive soirees on the international scene, Lisa Bonet is considered a modern day Alexander Pope. One witness observed, "Her thoughts become words with such fluidity -- streaming like a river in a painting in a Chinese restaurant. And in the painting there's a rainbow overhead and little baby birds singing in the trees -- but when you're around Lisa Bonet the birds chirping are not birds at all. They are the guests! They're chirping excitedly to one another about the harmonious interminglings of Bonet's mind and mouth."

Hubert Mitcher - great grandson of Peter Amtrak and a continent hopping gentleman of distinction - has begun compiling Bonetisms, as he calls them, to be published as a day-by-day desktop calendar for ILOANBooks. Here is a sampling of the things he's overheard her say.

Over Strawberry Daquiris with musician Steve Harwell
"With no responsibility comes great responsibility. Time is a Chinese finger-trap; the more you fight it the tighter its grip on you."

With her arm around a weeping busboy
"Do not over-think beautiful activities until they feel pretentious and you abstain from them. Go ahead and do them, it will keep you from despising eccentrics in the future... and despising eccentrics, I can tell you from experience, is purgatory on Earth."

She was also overheard saying, "You make a good point, spike." to a picket fence in the deserts of Outer Mongolia.

Visiting a friend at the St. Claremount Sanctuary For Ungrounded Adolescents, she alluded to her philosophy on graceful aging
"A jar of salsa and a bag of chips make a temperance snack. If all the big chips are wasted on the full jar, we get towards the bottom and our chips are too small to reach."

In a pool at 4am with Mitch Hedberg in 2002, debating the ethos of lower class Germany under The Third Reich
"By that logic you must think all sanitation workers love garbage?! (she laughs) I will have you know there are many people who SIMPLY ENJOY HANGING OFF OF MOVING VEHICLES!"

On the phone with ConEdison on the veranda of the Tanzania Double Tree Hotel
"Help, as a form of nourishment, will never fit the infrastructure of a proverbial catalogical mess hall. The institution of Customer Service is an out-dated recipe for inaction and a bulwark against communication."

When asked what she and Angela Lansbury had been discussing privately all evening
"The only things lower than my personal interests are the interests I share with my friends."

"Describing a thin person as skinny doesn't make sense. In terms of skin, a larger person would have more of it, which would make them skinnier."

"SPECIAL DAYS" BY CHAZY BRAVERMAN

2011-03-15T15:38:00.000-07:00

THE DISTANCE IS MUTUAL, WALL

2011-03-10T21:08:00.000-08:00

from the bottom of a well you can see more stars in the sky than you could from the surface of the earth.
ceiling bulb makes the stucco look like mold that grows on refrigerated fruit.
there is plastic among an empty spray bottle.
hunk of meat / wallet
dominatrix / keys / cold hunk
phone... just phone
bamboo plants don't just need more water, they need you to remove the water they never drank. that water makes their hearts prune.
mellow orange, you can warm your hands
paper towels in inconceivable widths
you are voting on strangers as the bodega leans in and gives you a kiss
then the clink of your change while you agree about the rain
it certainly is
it certainly is
it certainly is

KICKS

2011-03-06T11:26:00.000-08:00

Like the ghost of Jacob Marley, the mid-90's have returned from the dormant fog of yesteryear to inquire what's become of the present. I've been spending my afternoons obsessively researching basketball shoes from the era - it's no secret this was a golden age for b-ball kicks. It started with some idle eBay window shopping - the Jason Kidds, the Penny 1's and 2's, the Grant Hills... of course the Jordan 11's (probably the first basketball shoe to ever attend a prom).

But it didn't stop there. I became enthralled with shoes I hadn't thought about in 15 years; the Shawn Kemps, the hideous Reebok Shaqnosis, the Air Uptempos with the giant AIR written on the side, the counter-intuitively awesome looking Dikembe Mutumbos, the Converse Larry Johnsons... Looking at these shoes transported me to a forgotten time. A time of Beavis and Butthead and microwaved cheese sandwiches. A time of physical and psychological awkwardness so full of uncertainty that I almost never consult its memories. A relatively shapeless time between Ninja Turtles and drivers licenses.

Revisiting those days through the lens of basketball shoes gives those memories structure and stability in the same way hoops helped me go from childhood to full blown adolescence with minimal insanity. In 1994, after a lifetime of public education, I started 7th grade in Catholic school. We had to wear uniforms so what you wore on your feet became disproportionately critical to how you wanted to present yourself. In other words: shoes were all we had.

It was during this time that I had my all-time favorite kicks. They were blue, black, and white: the colors of the Orlando Magic, my favorite basketball team. I didn't know what the shoes were called but I remember how good they felt. They were super lightweight, with a mesh top and support that made them comfortable as slippers. In fact, during summer these were the first shoes I ever habitually wore without socks. A classmate of mine was wearing the Jordan 11 low tops in Bulls colors and they were structurally similar; our shoes shared the same fundamental appeal.

The Bulls and Magic were the two best teams in the NBA. The Magic had a young Shaquille O'Neal and a pre-injury-plagued Anfernee "Penny" Hardaway who was only getting better. Penny was my favorite player; a lanky point guard with inventive passing skills and a penchant for dunking on fools. I wrote him a letter that year enclosing his rookie card, (in case he didn't already have it) and he sent back a signed 8x10 which I still have. My shoes were representative of my authority as an Orlando Magic fan, likewise my friend with the Jordans was the Bulls expert. In a way only 13 year old boys can, we based our identities on professional athletes.

Now, in 2011, Shaq is a gelatinous looking mound of week old leftover steak and on Facebook my middle school classmates are organizing our 15 year reunion. They are posting pictures of us in the playground, at sporting events, pizza parties... photographs of people I remember from the same era as the shoes, indeed these were their shoes. I had forgotten what most of these kids looked like, in my mind they were older - they aged within my memories. In these photographs I can see them exactly as they were back then; like a pair of Pippen Max Uptempo's never taken out of the box.

Through these photographs I am returning to the past with an objectivity that softens everything. What had once been a whirlwind blur is now a patchwork of moments interwoven by distance and tempered by perspective. The smell of a stairwell. The ridges on an aluminum bench. A tongue burnt from hot chocolate. Laying in bed at night and listening to The Five Stairsteps on 94.9's "Turn Off the Lights" with Xavier the X Man. Having a crush and catching a whiff of her hair. The girls, by the way, avoided basketball shoes altogether and wore all-white sneakers, usually K-Swiss or Keds. I quickly learned to worship those little white shoes, too.

In my research I've discovered those old blue and black shoes I loved so much. They were called the Nike Air Lambaste and it turns out Penny Hardaway actually wore them in his first All-Star game before he ever had a shoe contract of his own.

The shoes are virtually forgotten now; not a single pair on eBay. They just sort of disappeared in the midst of so many legendary basketball shoes. Nobody preserved them the way 'collectible' shoes were preserved - these shoes got worn and worn out. One guy wrote about how terrible the Air Lambastes were for actually playing basketball - this endears me to the shoe even more because I was no Jerry Stackhouse myself.

The Air Lambaste and I had a lot in common. We were witnesses to greatness and if our own potential was not immediately visible we still knew it was there. I saw the 95-96 Bulls become the greatest team in NBA history and the Nike Air Lambaste sat on store shelves among some of the best basketball shoes ever produced. The shoe is also a precursor to the Penny Hardaway signature series, (which is comparable to being, say, Salvador Dali's dad).

My interest in sneakers was a byproduct of my interest in basketball. Shoes were part of basketball - they probably still are. One of the beautiful things about basketball is that it has a clearly defined set of rules. You can have a conversation about basketball and not be at a loss for words. You can tell the truth. It is statistical and for the tough calls there's a referee. That trumps the entropy of real life.

In 1995 my dream job was to become a sportscaster. When I think back on that dream I believe it was based on the fear that sports were the only thing that made sense, (and that making sense mattered). Generally speaking, things have continued to not make much sense but I'm more comfortable with that these days.

That kid I used to be - obsessing over his basketball card collection, memorizing numbers from the official NBA Encyclopedia, playing endless hours of NBA Jam - that kid and I have missed each other. I can remember when he used to work the nacho stand at the school's home games just to bask in the glow of the game.

THE LATEST HIT SINGLE FROM 'CABOOSE'

2011-03-01T20:15:00.000-08:00

Cuddles like a snuggie
thuggie as Fergie on a porcupine's birthday
Can you smell my soul incense
dancing rainbows in my he- he- head?
roof-tin piddle

Big dog hanging on the side of the market w/ shoulder hair
gears newspaper holder you got 4 kids
umbrella in my meal
float Kardashian why up the hill
soup for a fraction of my windex summer split
PANT LEGS

Grooming on the styrofoam crane of cobbler
scream church songs like a tinkle of pee
figurine & fingers like a sexy utensil
My well-groomed toe hairs blow in her direction when the moonshines in my jasmine tea cup
blossoms like onion rings
Oprah bookclub baby

Acoustic camp fire lottery dream
my love trust argyle lizard lemons
flipping through channels without your comments
thirty years of trash-bags smell
gas up the Miada I got gas

My post modern cappuccino curator self-stamping teddy bear
I just want to dance with your pent-up aggression, baby
na-na na-na na

HEY CHAZ by Vanessa Nutter

2011-02-22T14:44:00.000-08:00

Hey Chaz

the lake is frozen over
but Albany won't come
they don't want to skate with us
maybe we're not good enough
oh no no no
we're just as good as Albany
we're halfway between New York City and the Paris of Canada
we're as good as Albany, Chazy

MNN Interview

2011-02-17T16:31:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Josh Volinski and the gang at Manhattan Neighborhood Network for taking the time to talk to us about independent publishing. Forgive all my stammering and incoherence, being on TV is scary! Also, the renowned diarist I couldn't remember is named Edward Robb Ellis and he looks like this: