THE MORAL COMPASS IS SO WEIRD...

A classic Christian execution
at fledermaus HQ.

And the moon burped at me,
the moon spit at me.

And I,
I farted at the moon.

Sometimes I regret what I said
about dreams
because this time
you were stripping in the car.

The bruise of horse manure

because it is pleasant
does not mean that it's soothing!!

DIAL-A-POEM

Someone wrote me, "I'd put money on this: you are one of two who didn't use Google to find out what i was talking about." We were discussing the current state of affairs in these dark ages -- namely Wojnarowicz's The Fire In My Belly and the Smithsonian's completely shitty, wuss-out -- and the above quote smacked of the such smug elitism. Maybe we're fighting the same battles over & over again but I'm convinced we're achieving great breakthroughs in cynicism.

The horrors of social network one-upmanship. Years ago, my friends called them "secret wars" and we all succumbed to the sting of paranoia and a subjectivity that barely kept in touch with its sibling. Now we're here.

And look here where it's not all that different and that's on me. There's a way of needing that I know now & it would be the bee's knees to chip away at that to reveal what's below. Trying to surround myself with that vibe is troublesome.

The wishy-washiness of liberals is horrifying & the absence of heart from the right is never surprising. I hope you're not sitting down cuz all that jerking of knees has gotta' leave bruises from the seat in front of you. That goes for me too, brother.

"Cynicism is my whiskey. And I had a few."

Congratulations to Pope John Paul II for making Time Magazine's Person of the Year.

And my apologies if that has seemed like a conversation between me & me. THIS IS FOR YOU.

RUG CULTURE

What if it were the last day of Earth & the first day of your period? Or if you hired strippers for your end of the world party & they showed up way too drunk? I heard a story about how a friend was ragging on a stripper's bodyguard for looking like Jared from the Subway commercials. He yelled "Hey Jared" one time too many & the thug flashed his piece.

The constant bombardment of information is so overwhelming that I don't think I could "tap into the zeitgeist" if I tried. What is the zeitgeist? Does it matter whether I can figure out what it is?

Drug culture is weird but this is the future & the future is so wild. There are whipped creams that gets you drunk. Four Loko has been banned but you can't suppress greatness. Some creep(s) will figure out how to make FOUR LOKO HOMEBREW.

Richie & I popped The Whip at Elks Lodge a couple nights ago and man it was good. I MADE A NEW MIX FOR THE OCCASION. Brad Hales was our guest and the selection was spectacular. If anyone has a line on even more "secret" bars in town, do let me know. Dark rooms with billiards & smoking in the back?

Last week I DJ'd an auction of prison art. This was my buy: "Passion Fruit." If you catch word of one of these auctions, you must go.

Home life is good. Someone said they thought ENB and I had broken up because I wasn't covered with bruises anymore. Outside right now it's the storm of the century.

Silence is golden, but a whisper is a treasure.
In the field of clichés
we straddled a horse together.

And when a baby kangaroo cried in the distance
how did you that make you feel?

EXCERPT FROM THE FORTHCOMING RELEASE, THE CATALOG: LANE

". . . it’s pure insanity to tear the zombies away.” A little booze changes their eyes into human “boob reflectors” -- which just goes to say that Lane’s boobs are pretty remarkable projections in their own right.
The semi-tropical atmosphere of the Wabangi Lounge -- home for such famous dances as the Watusi, and the old Wall Street slogan: “You bangi me, I’ll bangi you” -- adds background to Lane’s dancing style. After a couple of hours of pounding flesh, Lane begins to sound like a kettle drum. In fact, they fired the drummer because the beat she makes as her teats pound on her stomach, creates a more dramatic effect anyway. And once those old jungle sounds rise from the chasm of her chest, “honey” drips from the zombies’ erected cones.

IN THE DEEP SHIT OF SUMMER

That summer was unreal: I was eleven or twelve years old and the humidity was unbearable. Everything was slo-mo'd out. I couldn't bear to hear the neighbor kids laffing in the yard.

This past summer, ENB spent a month living/studying in Italy while I stayed back, in the deep shit of a huge project while taking care of the little man.

He was sick but I didn't know how badly. Meanwhile, the project became another full time job. Rarely did I leave the house.

Sometimes this city is such a joke. Any time a lil' storm comes along, power goes out everywhere. People get the crazies. I ran out into a wild gale in my boxer shorts without realizing my balls were exposed via a hole in the fabric. I screamed into the storm & came back inside.

But there were moments of respite & humor.

But I couldn't tell you what was going on for the life of me. What was up, what was down.

And I can't tell you how much I still miss the little man. Sometimes the wound feels so raw.

My good friend Richie & I popped The Whip in Hamtramck this past Wednesday & it was a night of surprises. We had a live guest: Eddie Kirkland, one time member of Otis Redding's band and John Lee Hooker's second guitarist. The man is 87 years old & whipped everybody; we had to unplug his amp at 3:30AM or he would have kept going. Tonight, Eddie & Richie play the last Gories show for a while. Also: RICHIE MADE A MIX FOR THE WHIP. 

Mike had a monster holiday party at the hair place. An unnamed band played a looooong set of Jefferson Airplane songs in a reggae style. Not a lot of fruitful conversation that night but many, many tasty licks.

ENB & I saw LUCKY DRAGONS play last week & it was a highlight of my life (one of many, of course!). There's something about Lucky Dragons. A realistic idealism. Punk rock taken to its logical place. And the jams are amazing.

There's a new show house in Ypsi called Chain House (formerly known as Stupid House). It was me + a bunch of noise doods + fist fights = success!

RECAP

My friend Richie is a beatnik. He plays drums for Danny Kroha, is Dennis Coffey's DJ, and puts out books. He's also an ace DJ and we started a new party called The Whip. The first one was a month ago and I MADE A MIX for it which doubles as a love mix for my best gal.

Two friends were just blessed with warehouses. We found all kinds of stuff inside one of them: live shotgun shells, a box of straight-up turds, a motorbike seat Mike had been looking for, cassettes of cursing lawyers, etc. Haunted space!

Over at the other warehouse, they were in the business of setting chairs on fire. Flames from the final blast licked the camera lens.

This warehouse had an ornate spiral staircase that lead to a tiny, banal office for dwarves -- a small room with tan carpet. Very spooky. The staircase didn't lead up into the room but ended at it. Inside the room, the mouth of the stairs is just a hole in the floor.

My homies in MI AMI made A MIX FOR 20JFG. DMM has this 100% SILK thing going on now too. Busy bodies. They're really changing up their shit right now & it's getting weird. Weird great.

I've been telling people that my new band is a young woman tied to a pole, a free jazz drummer stationed 20 yards away, and me & another person pretending we're not involved but trying to prevent people from "rescuing" her. The cops came to our first show.

ENB & I spent some time in the country last month. I told the father of my best friend's bride-to-be "not to be a pussy." It was a mistake; he was a forgiving host. ENB pumped rounds into the fire pit.

It's almost impossible to flyer in this town. Some dickhead told me that I should rent a "pole-like kiosk" specifically for flyering to be installed directly next to poles. He split when I asked him to pay for it.

Chacho finally came to me in a dream. We acknowledged that it had been some time since we last saw each other & spent the afternoon playing in a yard. We danced, let him shit on someone else's lawn, and played hide & seek in the house. It was the simplest, least weird dream I've ever had.

HOT WATER & LEMON COCKSUCKER

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SKULL WITH HAIR

He said to the sweet little thing:

Why hello there you sweet little thing! I didn't even see you coming my way and don't know how neither what with your natural radiance lighting up the night like this. Girl, you are a beauty. I love what you do with your hair.  You got a natural class. I can see your thighs in the stars and I wanna smooch 'em smooch 'em smooch 'em. I wanna kiss you on the wrist. I'll take you up to the trees. Some of them have little houses in 'em. What do ya' say, little darlin'?

The master of the house had carved a tunnel in the earth below the stairs; a cave of black sand with a host of rifles stacked neatly atop shelves. She remembered the rifles and how the stairs had rotted away to reveal the rifles. She and her mother saw the rifles. Then they saw the cave.

If she can get to the rifles. The moon lurked like a skull hovering above the staircase.

THE SORCERERS OF METHWICK

union leaders

with their mustangs 

and fancy toupées

talking to burger,

modeling laundry

crushing little tabbies

like a curse.