tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-343735822024-03-07T01:04:35.204-08:00Elephant seals negate the tactile universe<small>"We could microwave ourselves again but the microwave's too small."</small>Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-88229823612024967012008-06-08T08:58:00.000-07:002008-06-08T09:41:27.205-07:00sunday morning<p>I've become afraid to write on my blog, or even to check my email. I don't know why. I have part of my novel <a href="http://www.noojournal.com/view.php?mode=1&issue=eight&id=151">here</a>. This is in <a href="http://www.noojournal.com">Noö Journal</a> which I like very much. Also read Noah Cicero, a translation from K. Silem Mohammad, Bobby Farouk, and others. Re-reading this part of my novel has energized me to start re-editing the novel. I've edited the first three chapters. I will do more. I will finish by the end of summer. Someone should email me and ask for the novel in September. It will be done. Someone probably wants to publish it. I could make it more controversial. I could add porn. I could add hand-drawn porn pictures.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-85722425514962324952008-05-03T09:33:00.000-07:002008-05-03T09:38:05.143-07:00The Coup, Two Against One, Something<p>I'm listening the The Coup when I write now. I think it is changing what I write somehow. It makes me feel sad. I like Steal this Double Album, and Party Music, and Kill Your Landlord. I think the lyrics are melodramatic but I like them anyway.<br /><p>I'm also reading Two Against One, but Frederick Barthelme and I like it very much. I think it is the most accurate depiction of relationships, from my point of view, that I've ever read. It's all the things that are embarrassing to write about, or that people don't usually write about because they are not exciting in of themselves. There are no flaming mini-van bank robberies, or jealousy murders.<br /><p>I want to ride my bike. I will ride my bike over the Columbia River.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-56801574730389710742008-04-12T09:10:00.000-07:002008-04-14T20:13:14.601-07:009:46AM<p>I'm listening to Buck 65 while I write this morning. I don't know what this means. It's meaningless. I've begun reading Americana by Don Delillo. Sometimes I really like it. He describes things, like a room, or people in a room very succinctly and I read very quickly, and laugh at his little jokes. Then suddenly there's a flashback, and I become bored. I set the book down and pace. I come back to the book and skim a paragraph. Eat some yogurt. Skim some more. Until I'm back to 'present-time'. I've read one-third of the book, which is good. I'll probably finish it.<br /><p>I'm writing a story which includes chicken strips and Les Schwab Tires, and PETCO.<br /><p>Everywhere in Oregon and Washington has Les Schwab Tires, PETCO, and Fred Meyer. I could live in Fred Meyer. Fred Meyer is like Target, but without the pretensions. I don't know what that means. Maybe Wal-Mart has the fewest pretensions. But Wal-Mart is overwhelming, and region-less. Wal-Mart is the same everywhere. At Fred Meyer I'm connected to all people. Similar childhoods in similar cities or towns or sub-city neighborhoods. We all know about the the eight lane roads with strip malls. I'm most comfortable at strip-malls, AM/PMs, 7-11s, and Plaid Pantrys.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-20071212649975869072008-04-06T07:18:00.000-07:002008-04-06T08:02:10.279-07:007:32 AM<p>I just finished reading Joy Williams' Taking Care. I think I will read some Andre Dubus next. I don't know why. I'm reading a lot of short stories. Normal short stories. Who are the new writers I should read? I don't know.<br /><p>I got my hair cut. My hair cutter was angry. She had an angry face. She cut more hair than necessary, but I didn't say anything. I didn't want to make her angrier.<br /><p>I will start a new story today with a character name Hunter. I wish I could plan stories farther ahead than that. I read someone, I don't remember, a writer, saying that writer's should plan their stories more or something. I felt guilty. And like not a writer. I never know what I'm going to write. I write one sentence and then another and things happen. Sometimes I don't like sentences so I delete them. I do this for a long time, until I think I'm done. This may be why I'm not a successful, Pulitzer Prize winning novelist. There could be other reasons.<br /><p>I made a folder on my desktop called 'Professional Stories'. That is where I put my professional stories. Coming soon to Esquire and Teen.<br /><p>Sometimes I think about becoming a Librarian. I would have to go to graduate school. It would cost money. I would be the only person in my family to go to graduate school. They would shun me. I would have to eat on the porch when I visit, from a little silver bowl.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-52806730270735278962008-03-30T08:35:00.000-07:002008-03-30T09:36:55.504-07:00Sunday editing<p>As I write a story, I must constantly edit the story. To write anything new, I have to read through everything I've written before, make little changes, and finally add a paragraph or two before I quit. This is taking for-fucking-ever.<br /><p>I'm reading Michael Earl Craig poems while I write.<br /><p>Defibrillator.<br /><p>I just read a story from Taking Care by Joy Williams. I took a bath. I read a little from Americana by Don DeLillo. Who is Don DeLillo? Am I supposed to read his books? I feel like I'm reading a Vladimir Nabakov novel. Maybe DeLillo and Nabakov are the same person, or had their genes spliced somehow.<br /><p>I'm listening to old Modest Mouse albums and I feel like I'm in high school again. High school was more than ten years ago.<br /><p>"Ofelia didn't answer. James moved in the next day. He quit his job at Target." This is the turning point in my story. I also wrote this sentence: "Minivans are a certain kind of despair." I will probably have to cut it.<br /><p>This is like diary or something.<br /><p>I like editing better than writing. I keep editing my novel and keep thinking I can make it better. I want to cut whole chapters and rewrite them. I want to edit. I edit every day. I have a problem.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-90362964392848951052008-03-29T07:59:00.000-07:002008-03-29T08:15:24.349-07:00Multitasking Poem<p class="poem">It's important to be efficient so I write a line every few minutes<br /></p><p class="poem">And eat only when my mouth's cold and wet<br /></p><p class="poem">And calling for the death of something beautiful<br /></p><p class="poem">Like the ant-army drilling little caves in my little legs<br /></p><p class="poem">In the late quiet of an early morning when the movies have all gone to credits<br /></p><p class="poem">And your palm's only a little sweaty<br /></p><p class="poem">From the feeling that you're really an otter from Australia<br /></p><p class="poem">The realization that there are scissors in the drawer<br /></p><p class="poem">Comes as you buy more scissors<br /></p><p class="poem">For the scissor-pile you will bury tomorrow<br /></p><p class="poem">When all hope for a corduroy jacket has disappeared<br /></p><p class="poem">And you are satisfied with your parking-lot<br /></p><p class="poem">I roll around in the kitchen and think about the refrigerator<br /></p><p class="poem">And the vegetables there waiting to be chopped</p>Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-9025201672743191122008-03-29T07:52:00.000-07:002008-03-29T07:53:45.149-07:00Because other countries are somewhere else<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>The sidewalk beneath me's cold but I sit anyway and think about the outlet-mall. The Gap's there and waiting and I want suddenly to stand in the Gap holding calmly my little switchblade-knife and then to tell the Gap-cashier, 'up with your hands bitch, give me your fucking money.'<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"Look at this," Ross says. He's holding a gun.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"You hate me, don't you?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"Huh, real chrome," he says. "See." He holds the gun sideways, in the sunlight.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"You're going to murder me, here, or in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">Lisbon</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">, maybe. You want my lungs, or kidneys. To sell on the black-market."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"Where's </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">Lisbon</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"Some other country somewhere."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"Anyway, hold it will you? It's heavy."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>I hold the gun. "They have guns in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">Lisbon</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">, you know. Ten-thousand guns. They hand them out at the airport, 'shoot at the airplanes,' they say. 'Use both hands,' they say, 'it'll improve your aim.' There are signs everywhere."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>We're walking and there's a wind. Before us and behind us small groups of elderly women pat their curly perms and I imagine myself permed and wonder if I would pat my perm or leave it alone, tie it down maybe, beneath a rain-bonnet. The sidewalk has many cracks and I watch them. I can see our reflections in the windows which are backlit and feature chrome pots, then mannequins in sequined dresses, then towers of shoes. High-heels, clogs. Disembodied feet. I want to steal the feet and pile them somewhere. On a bus, maybe. I hold the gun. "What do you think about feet, Ross?" I ask. "Are you for or against?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"In general, I approve of feet."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"Good, Ross. I like feet too."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>We angle across the parking-lot, zigzagging between cars. I tap each car with the gun. There's a sound when the gun hits the cars and I listen to the sound because it's beautiful. Ross's humming and Ross's face's closed and block-like, so I think about Ross's feet and how to remove the feet. With an ax? A skill-saw? Could I attach Ross's feet to my feet and have double-feet? Are four feet better than two? I imagine a sewing-machine, terrible and ten feet tall with a conveyor belt and a glittering invisible needle. "Sew the feet," I say.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"Huh," Ross says. He sounds very tired.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"The feet, I'd sew them to my feet. I need another leg."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"Oh, great." Ross's yawning. "Where are we?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"</span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">Lisbon</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">," I say. "We need to buy a containment-unit."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"What?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"For the feet. I'm taking the feet, all of them, and I need to keep them in a containment-unit, with formaldehyde or something. I need one-thousand feet. Foot-museum. A warehouse with chrome shelves. We'll have to guard it, hire guards, there in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">Lisbon</span></st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">. For the feet."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">The sky's gray and very close and I think I could rub the gun on it if I wanted. We enter the Gap through a sliding-door. There's electronic music. A boy with a high voice screams something. The woman behind the counter has short brown hair that points around. There are barricades made from seatbelts and three women line up behind them. The women are smiling, occasionally combing their hair behind their ears. One removes a rain-bonnet. I stand near a table with blue and pink v-neck sweaters and fold the sweater that's unfolded. The gun's in my waistband and I don't know what to do with it. It's very heavy there and my jeans are sagging slowly from my waist.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"Do you like this?" Ross says. He holds up a checkered shirt. "Do you like this?" Ross says. He holds up black corduroy pants. He removes a tennis-shirt from a hook on the wall. "I like this," he says.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"Can I help you?" someone says. "I think these boxers are just dynamite, the patterns," he says. "I just love boxers." He moves away.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>I stand near the mirror and feel confused. Could I make a containment-unit from boxer-shorts? Above me are fluorescent-light-panels and the fluorescent-light-panels are buzzing quickly and each fluorescent-light-panel's separated from every other fluorescent-light-panel by gray acoustic ceiling-tiles. I move sideways, then at an angle, between tables heaped with folded pants and pink t-shirts. "Can I help you?" someone says. He folds a t-shirt and crosses his arms. "T-shirt right, you're looking for a t-shirt." He holds one up. "This one?" he asks. "This one's cute."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"No," I say. "I'm looking for this." I show him the gun. The chrome's shiny in the fluorescent-light. He doesn't answer. "See this," I say. I move the gun nearer to his face. It's almost as big as his face and I can't see his face, I can only see the gun. I'm moving. Outside. The sky has moved in and the sky and the parking-lot are almost touching. I hunch as I jog out onto the asphalt. I hear my shoes slap on the asphalt and the slaps are unpatterned and jerky and inhuman somehow. The air's wet as I breathe it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>"Hey," someone yells. It's Ross. "Should I buy the checkered shirt?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><span style=""> </span>I look back and Ross's standing in front of the Gap, holding up his checkered shirt. I turn away from Ross and keep moving. Somewhere ahead's the end of the parking-lot and if I keep jogging I'll get there. I watch my feet and my feet are moving and it's beautiful. The asphalt's black and new beneath them and ahead the sky's like a fog, settled on the ground and warm and wet. I could hold it, I think. I could never stop moving.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-80184883029040357202008-03-23T18:21:00.000-07:002008-03-23T19:27:33.085-07:00Multi-tasking<p>I love adverbs. A sentence with adverbs is lonely and alone.<br /><p>I'm multi-tasking. I'm writing a story and this post and reading.<br /><p><a href="http://www.bearparade.com/eatwhenyoufeelsad/17.html">"He isn’t sure if 'have to' reinforces the fact that they’re at work and might be a turnoff."</a><br /><p>That sentence was from <a href="http://www.bearparade.com/eatwhenyoufeelsad/">Eat When You Feel Sad</a> by <a href="http://www.zacharygerman.com/">Zachary German</a>, at <a href="http://www.bearparade.com">Bear Parade</a>.<br /><p>I'm obsessed with marathons. I saw a marathon on TV. The winner ran five minute miles for eight miles.<br /><p><a href="http://www.titular-journal.com/015.htm">"I pull my knife out from my pantyhose and stab him in the neck, and watch as he falls to the ground and dies. At that moment, I feel like there is something on television that I should have recorded."</a> From Die Hard with a Vengeance by <a href="http://www.pompadoured.com/">Gene Morgan</a>.<br /><p>I need to learn about these robot-dogs I see at the stores. Will a robot-dog make me feel more fulfilled as a person? Could I have a robot-dog career?<br /><p>Sometimes I think about going to school to get a Library Science degree and then become a librarian. This is a strange desire.<br /><p>I like the NCAA basketball tournament. I like Davidson. I want Davidson to take the whole thing.<br /><p>I just wrote a sentence. And then another. I'm on a rollOfeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-59274810696918070132008-03-22T11:38:00.000-07:002008-03-22T11:57:42.272-07:00I am writing a blog post because I feel guilty about not writing blog posts for a long time because I went to the zoo instead to watch the penguins<p>Good Morning. It's Saturday and I'm not working. I'm sitting around reading <a href="http://bearparade.com">Bear Parade</a> and also reading The Brothers by Frederick Barthelme which might have the same characters as some other Barthelme novel I read. I think maybe it's the characters from Painted Desert. I'm not sure. I just read Bob the Gambler. I liked it.<br /><p>I'm writing professional stories now. I'm imitating Barthelme and Lori Moore, and Raymond Carver. It's easy to write like Raymond Carver, I think. I think you have to use the word "the" a lot, when you normally wouldn't. And also "said". If you want to write like Ernest Hemingway, you should use the word "very" a lot, especially when describing wine, or a fine meal after fishing or hunting.<br /><p>I'm going to have a story in <a href="http://www.noojournal.com/">Noö Journal</a> which will also feature Daniel J. Bailey, Benjamin Buchholz, Mattia Cerato, Noah Cicero, Stephan Clark, Patrick Duggan, Bobby Farouk, Elisa Gabbert, Fitz W. Guerin, Carrie Hoffman, Tim Laing, Justin Lovato, Deenah Moffie, J.M. Patrick, Andrew Michael Roberts, Kathleen Rooney, Peter Schwartz, Claudia Smith, Leigh Stein, Jasmine Dreame Wagner, and Sam Wharton.<br /><p>I'm excited to be in something with <a href="http://noah-cicero.blogspot.com/">Noah Cicero</a>. He wrote <a href="http://www.alicebluereview.org/seven/prose/cicero.html">this</a> which I like and also <a href="http://www.fuguestatepress.com/human.html">The Human War</a> which you should buy, right now.<br /><p>Thank you.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-67221259682346200262008-01-13T08:45:00.000-08:002008-01-13T09:00:10.073-08:00Similes and Metaphors<p>I've decided that I hate similes and metaphors. I used to like them. Maybe I still like them when they're ridiculous and inaccurate. Inaccurate metaphors are enjoyable, maybe, sometimes, if I'm drunk on wine or something. But similes... Here are some similes from things I wrote that are terrible:<br /><br><br /><ln><br /><li>"There's a smell like stomach-acid."<br /><li>"...funny big eyes like little black rocks..."<br /><li>"...arms move like small insects..."<br /><li>"...black hairs pushing out of its skin like little burnt sticks."<br /><li>"Traffic has become thicker and the cars moves slowly, heavily forward, like little robot-glaciers"<br /><li>"Anastasia's eyes were very large and round like billiard-balls, maybe..."<br /></ln><br /><br /><br /><p>Anyway I kind of like "robot-glaciers" this morning, but only because it is a little meaningless. But it's impossible and false to compare one thing to another thing, and too easy, and when I read similes, or make similes, I find it too easy to begin to compare one thing to another thing and eventually each thing is the same thing and I can't see any difference.<br /><p>It's 8:54 am. I drank coffee and our neighbor is playing music very loud because, I think, he's a little deaf, or, he has a new sound-system, and has not yet learned how to change the volume. I kicked the wall and it stopped. This was very satisfying. Every person should have something to kick sometime.<br /><p>I read a little of the book 'NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN' because my brother likes it and he lent it to me. Here is my imitation of it: "He took the satchel and set in the crab-grass and looked at it. He looked at it for a long time. The caldera was wide and long and gray fog-shaped shadows shifted across it like dead predators with steel teeth. He could see the teeth beyond the satchel and he thought about teeth and satchels and money. He thought about it a long time."Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-3780428872616061512007-12-30T08:40:00.000-08:002007-12-30T08:58:50.947-08:00short poems<p class="poem"><br />You don't refuse to breathe do you<br /><br /><br />I find you on the center aisle of the corner Target<br />Holding the digital-watch that will make you happy forever<br /><br /><br /><br />It's good to have a friend to help you past the monsters on the way<br /><br /><br />There's a reason why I called you<br />But I don't remember what it is<br /><br /><br /><br />I'm a child again when I was really miserable<br /><br /><br />Burn the beds tomorrow<br />In the hugest pile<br />The carpets will hold us<br />Carefully in their tufts<br /><br /><br /><br />I was in a loaf of bread shaped like a camera<br /><br /><br />There are many ways to warm the kitchen<br />When you pile the bodies in thereOfeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-6615254673559443872007-12-29T10:46:00.000-08:002007-12-29T10:59:25.783-08:00Art Nouveau magazine<p class="poem">interviews a bunch of people. You should probably read <a href="http://artnouveaumagazine.com/JanuaryFebruary/taolin.html">Tao Lin</a> on technology Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and organic foods. After that, read <a href="http://artnouveaumagazine.com/JanuaryFebruary/noahcicero.html">Noah Cicero</a> on the beauty, love, and art found in everyday reality.<br /><p>I'm drinking coffee. This morning I read Frederick Barthelme's Natural Selection. Barthelme describes a car-accident and I think this is the most accurate car-accident I have ever read. I've never been in a car-accident so I don't really know. I don't have to work today so I'm happy.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-6003108484322988002007-12-29T10:37:00.001-08:002007-12-29T10:46:22.557-08:00Adam Brown please remove the fat that has gathered around my abdomen because i'm hungry and wish to reuse that space for lemon-zingers<p class="poem">Adam Brown you're beautiful<br />Here's my switch-blade-knife<br />I want only for you to carve me slowly<br />Into the shape that's most pleasing<br />If I were a person<br />I'd choose the penguin-shape<br />Which is more human than we are<br />Adam Brown<br />If you carved me correctly<br />We could fry the excess<br />And love it carefully in chili-oil<br />Which is my favorite spice<br />For brains<br />Which we can eat substantially<br />At the Best-Western in Astoria<br />Where we can be famous finally<br />For eating each other on stage<br />There are places in America Adam<br />Where cannibalism's accepted<br />And where we can open the store<br />That eat's other stores<br />Where we can be impossibly huge<br />And love everything<br />That has become a part of usOfeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-68160007045881475622007-12-16T08:18:00.000-08:002007-12-16T08:41:03.238-08:00Things I Like Today<ul><br /><li><a href="http://www.tinfishpress.com/library_software.html">farout_library_software</a> by Maged Zaher and Pam Brown. I have met Maged Zaher and he's very nice. He also wrote <a href="http://www.corpse.org/issue_9/poesy/zaher.htm">this</a> and <a href="http://jacketmagazine.com/29/zaher.html">this</a> and <a href="http://www.alicebluereview.org/one/poetry/zaher.html">this</a> and <a href="http://www.wavepoetry.com/bedazzler/2">this</a> and you can hear him read a poem <a href="http://weirddeer.blogspot.com/2006/02/daniel-is-elephant-by-maged-zaher.html">here</a> I don't know why I like these things so much but they make me happy.<br /><li><a href="http://www.bearparade.com">Bear Parade</a> Gene Morgan wrote <a href="http://www.pompadoured.com/stories/cave/2007/12/i_feel_hardcore.html">this</a> and it's why I like Bear Parade very much right now. I like everything on Bear Parade. Read <a href="http://www.bearparade.com/smallpalehumans/">small pale humans</a> right now. Read <a href="http://www.bearparade.com/touchmyomelet/">touch my omelet</a>. Read <a href="http://www.bearparade.com/iwillneverwriteabook/">yesterday i was talking to myself and i told myself that i was going to write a book and give it to you so i put paper in my bag and put a pen in my bag and rode my bike to the river bank and then sat on the ground and thought 'i will never write a book' and watched ducks swim away from me</a>. Tomorrow you can read <a href="http://www.bearparade.com/thisemotionwasalittlee-book/">this emotion was a little e-book</a> then <a href="http://www.bearparade.com/thelivingandthedead/">the living and the dead</a> and <a href="http://www.bearparade.com/compassionatemoose/">compassionate moose</a> and <a href="http://www.bearparade.com/hikikomori/">hikikomori</a> and <a href="http://www.bearparade.com/transmissionsfromnoahxtotaox/">transmissions from noah x to tao x</a> and <a href="http://www.bearparade.com/todaytheskyisblueandwhitewithbrightbluespotsandasmallpalemoonandiwilldestroyourrelationshiptoday/">today the sky is blue and white with bright blue spots and a small pale moon and i will destroy our relation ship today</a> and finish up with <a href="http://www.bearparade.com/fromtheideograms/">from the ideograms</a>. I've made all the links for you so read all of these things and then tell someone else to read them for a while.<br /><li>After all that, go read <a href="http://www.alicebluereview.org">alice blue</a>.<br /></ul>Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-45444515479773026042007-12-01T09:25:00.000-08:002007-12-02T19:38:43.585-08:00Bear Parade<p>Read <a href="http://www.bearparade.com/smallpalehumans/">Small Pale Humans</a> by Daniel Spinks. I'm reading this book this morning and it is making me happy. I just google-searched Daniel Spinks and he has three poems in Action Yes Quarterly but when I clicked on the link went to a medication advertisement [<a href="http://actionyes.org">www.actionyes.org</a>]. I wonder if the internet is trying to communicate something, and failing, sadly.<br /><p>edit: Action Yes is back so I will go and read Daniel Spinks on Action Yes.<br /><p>Also, I re-read Small Pale Humans this morning and enjoyed it again. I will read it again later.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-68209597349856683512007-11-14T10:10:00.000-08:002007-12-29T10:47:15.475-08:00Short Poems<p class="poem">NAKED ANTS<br /><br /><br />Tooth-brushing costume<br /><br /><br /><br />THE BEAN-BAG CHAIR STARES AT ME ACCUSINGLY SO I HIDE MY EYEBALL<br /><br /><br />Nobody wants to eat me today so I go home<br /><br /><br /><br />THE COOKBOOK MENACES ME FROM THE KITCHEN<br /><br /><br />I hang it from a tree as a warning to the others<br /><br /><br /><br />EMAIL<br /><br /><br />The pile has a knife<br /><br /><br /><br />DISOBEDIENCE<br /><br /><br />I will pee in the elevator probably tomorrow</p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><small>*I wrote these poems in five minutes. It was a race.</small>Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-61984480150870082622007-11-13T11:56:00.000-08:002007-11-13T12:07:51.092-08:00Boise, Idaho<p>I've been in Boise, Idaho to visit friends such as <a href="http://thecheesestringery.blogspot.com">Amber</a> and <a href="http://glassmadison.blogspot.com">Madison</a> and it reminded me of how I miss Boise which is a beautiful, flat, and small city. I ate a Kabob.<br /><p>We watched the movie Across The Universe and drank beer in the movie theater. The movie was designed to make fifty-year-olds feel comfortable with history and a little bit radical politically and to then feel more comfortable with today's day to day life.<br /><p>The movie ends with the song All You Need is Love or something. It's a musical. It's very dramatic.<br /><p>I also watched the movies The Darjeeling Limited and Children of Men.<br /><p>I think that writer's should focus on writing movies [after the writer's strike or whatever].<br /><p>I went to the discovery center and learned about DNA.<br /><p>This has become pointless. People do things and then do other things and each things seems very important but upon reflection how can anything be important or not important. Everything is probably the same on some scale.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-22513438392994057202007-11-04T14:53:00.000-08:002007-11-04T14:57:36.567-08:00Lamination Colony<p>You can read the <a href="http://laminationcolony.com">Lamination Colony</a> here. There is fiction from Gene Morgan, Shane Jones, and Andrea Fitzpatrick and some other things by Mike Young, Sean Lovelace, and me. Everything on Lamination Colony should be read by anyone who reads this message.<br /><p><a href="http://laminationcolony.com">Lamination Colony</a> is important and will cause the world-empire revolution that will change some things and leave others the same.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-34262839932530840662007-10-20T10:44:00.000-07:002007-10-20T10:47:46.972-07:00myspace cancellation<p>I canceled my myspace account. It was hijacked by spam-robots who shot spam robot-babies at my myspace friends. I will miss my myspace friends. If you were a myspace friend, and you now feel rejected, I sincerely apologize. Email me or something or become my friend on facebook where there is less spam and spam guilt, but still some robots and robot-babies.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-38817592811846572542007-10-20T07:29:00.000-07:002007-10-20T07:31:34.673-07:00'I never want to see you again I'm cold and wide in the esophagus I fill slowly with sawdust'<p class="poem">I have another request please I'll ask without hope<br /><p class="poem">How wide's your esophagus in centimeters please<br /><p class="poem">Or provide the volume please I'm calculating<br /><p class="poem">Densities of sawdust I test sawdust<br /><p class="poem">In my esophagus without hope or expectation<br /><p class="poem">The kitchen-tiles are white beneath the sawdust it's 6 AM<br /><p class="poem">I love the kitchen-tiles and fuck them<br /><p class="poem">I'm hungry and eat windows<br /><p class="poem">Carefully I eat little glass-cups<br /><p class="poem">You love me I think we could overthrow<br /><p class="poem">The US government<br /><p class="poem">And eat Washington DC<br /><p class="poem">I'm busy tomorrow I have Pilates<br /><p class="poem">I'm lying you're beautiful<br /><p class="poem">We could microwave ourselves again but<br /><p class="poem">The microwave's too smallOfeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-55695205095920365512007-10-06T13:06:00.000-07:002007-10-06T13:17:57.058-07:00alice blue<p>There's a new <a href="http://www.alicebluereview.org">alice blue</a> and I read it and it had stories by <a href="http://brothercyst.blogspot.com/">Nick Antosca</a> and <a href="http://noah-cicero.blogspot.com/">Noah Cicero</a>. These stories made me stab the mailman. You should read these stories and also, other stories by Greg Mulcahy and Matt Rittenhouse and David Gianatasio.<br /><p>Also there are poems. I like the poems by <a href="http://lovelyarc.blogspot.com">Zachary Schomburg</a> and by Mark Cunningham. These poems made me chew on my heater-vent.<br /><p>Other people on the roster include Sarah Bartlett, Matt McBride, Joshua A Ware, Anne Marie Rooney, Betsy Fagin, Arlene Ang, and Emily Kendal Frey.<br /><p>Read <a href="http://www.alicebluereview.org">alice blue</a>, please.<br /><p>Thank you for your consideration.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-4206023400566536592007-09-29T10:11:00.000-07:002007-09-29T10:16:55.959-07:00<p>I wrote a story for <a href="http://paperwall.org">paper wall</a>. It's in #6. The story has <a href="http://glassmadison.blogspot.com">Madison</a> as a character. It also has a bridge and a car.<br /><p>I didn't start editing my novel yet because I'm lazy and also because I'm afraid. Sometimes I imagine the novel walking around with a pitcher of water and a large kitchen knife. Pacing probably, in the hallway and I'm hiding next to the bathroom, behind the clothing hamper and everything smells bad. Or maybe with a taser and an uzi automatic-gun.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-72426307658818197202007-09-18T21:25:00.000-07:002007-09-18T21:26:36.315-07:00Please<p class="poem">Please taser me I want very much to be tasered I'm bored<br />And the cereal's somewhere it's March<br />I have a question<br />Will you please taser me? I like electrodes<br />Am hot for electrodes<br />And would fuck electrodes on digital-video for the internet<br />I'm probably kidding I wouldn't assault<br />Forty-thousand beta-fish for<br />Even one-million dollars<br />Or spread myself across ten oceans<br />Until you taser me or double-taser me<br />With one-million electrodes on my forehead<br />Or inside me and all the electrodes<br />Inside me there are two-million electrodes<br />And you're holding them there tightly<br />Triggering the electrodes in my stomach<br />My spleen my lungs which are quivering<br />Widely for them and the taser<br />Which is so so beautiful<br />And I'm thinking of tasers in helmets riding horses<br />And rows of tasers and ten-billion electrodes<br />Attached to me inside and out<br />You're triggering them I'm happyOfeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-85044062709271497882007-09-10T20:45:00.000-07:002007-09-10T20:48:55.981-07:00<p class="poem"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">When I'm cooking I have the feeling that I don't exist so I run into the hallway and knock on the apartment-doors until all the apartment-doors are open and there are people and the people are watching me and I'm moving quietly up and down the hallway and the people watch me until I know I probably exist<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p><br /><br /><br /><br /> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">I wanted to make this poem better but it's impossible<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">And most actions are impossible like cooking and breathing and talking with words that have actual and corresponding objects<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">Because even if things correspond I'm only a body with skin and my skin and body's sometimes clothed or unclothed but otherwise like a microwave-oven I think or rice-cooker or toaster or toaster-oven or something<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">Which I love because I love every object<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="poem"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">I can eat</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">Which's why I hate myself and want to be destroyed instantly<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">And without reason<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">So I tell me neighbors in careful and clear words to destroy me<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">'It's okay to stab me' I say 'I'll write a note saying it's okay and that I approve violent stab wounds' or 'to be burned now in my kitchen would be wonderful and I'll help you gather incendiaries or something'<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">And people laugh sometimes until I say 'I'm serious'<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">'I'm really serious and I'd stab a walrus to prove it'<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">But nobody has a walrus to stab and the blubber's too thick probably so I cook gnocchi and give it to this guy who lives across the hall and he eats the gnocchi angrily because he hates food and eating and everything<o:p></o:p></span></p>Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34373582.post-90494852129769106892007-09-05T17:54:00.001-07:002007-09-05T17:59:50.595-07:00note<p>I wrote the story below and it doesn't make sense. I tried to fix it but I quit. I quit the story below.<br /><p>Today I read all of the novel 'Less Than Zero' by Bret Easton Ellis. This novel is about getting tired of drugs because your friends are strung out all the time on summer-break after your freshman year in college. It might be about other things. The sentences are simple and I read the sentences very quickly until there were no sentences left. Some parts are all in itallics which was hard to read. On the cover there are quotes from reviewers about MTV and this novel and music-videos and the style of putting together a lot of short parts. The word 'staccato' appears. MTV is also in the novel a lot, along with 'Betamax'.<br /><p>After reading 'Less Than Zero' I suddenly thought that I could write 50 novels very quickly. Maybe two or three a year.<br /><p>Someone should pay me to do that.Ofeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08264688700590474975noreply@blogger.com1