Friday, December 31, 2010

perma-nips & dinner with the fam

& all i want to do is just rub and squeeze and rub and i'm parallel with the table edge almost and the moms is all like, how's the salad, and the pops is all like, what is this place, and the sisters are all like:

betrayer betrayer

& they're mixed up in some kind of Narnia or Secret of Nimh shit & all i can think about is my hard hard nips...

& the sisters see me kinda rubbing & they're like, is it worth it?

& i say, what?

& they say, bohemian grove and haliburton & all your other conspiracies...

& all i wants is someone to rub my perma-hard nips

& that's what gots me in trouble in the first place & those are not mine cos i wouldn't cover my nips up

& then there's bbq sauce & accusations & remoulade & fried green tomatoes & still my nips are hard hard hard

& my sisters are discussing the One World Government

& all i want is a one world fascist to flick my nips and fuck me

& maybe there's a code in my bbq tofu

maybe the trains'll run on time

& maybe my nips'll get played with soon

yours in conspiracies,

Sunday, December 26, 2010

i am getting kicked out of my town

so i'll drive & drive & drive & there'll be balaclavaed anarchists waiting for me and they'll have fingerless gloves on & they'll welcome me with cold finger-tipped hugs & there'll be balaclavaed babies smashing smashing & there'll be a big mama who wants me nowhere near her babies & then her hubby'll come down again from the firmament & they'll fuck & the babies'll laugh & that is my jesus xtian story & i'll be left out & i'll go looking for Homegirl but she's on a train somewheres...

& the bitch is finally happy. after all i put her through & it was a fuck lot. it was. so she deserves her happiness.

& i'm not crossing the mason-dixon just yet. no.

i'll loop back to my old hometown just to say hey, just to say fuck you, just to say.

just to say, hi, maybe, to the ones who didn't kick me out & we'll drink manhattans and make out cos that's what you do when you're on the lam. innit?

or maybe i'll just go get my homegirl tattoo on. i'm finna get a heart with homegirl's name in it cos i'm a sap.

for realsies,

Friday, December 24, 2010

hot buttered rums

there are lots of things to talk about like -

peace on earth and some such shit

how to get a piece

how i giggle when a man says he likes his meat

how i like his meat

ho ho ho's just too easy

but i like hoeing in the gardens

i hoed the garden when i went to london

i'm drinking my second hot buttered rum of the eve and will soon ladle another down my gullet

i'll bathe in pooled butter and molten sugar and hot liquor

i'll stand in a snow bank & see if anyone comes by to lick it off

i'll melt the snow & stand in a puddle & someone'll put a scarf and hat on me and call me Frosty & i'll be the worst kid's movie ever

& this has nothing to do with any of it at all but this is my m.o: to tease & lead you here -

Freaky Fountain Press is publishing a couple of chapters of Homegirl! in an upcoming anthology & i'm so excited & i can't stop thinking about your meat...

i mean peace.

yo & yours,

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

four state lines & only two tampons...

so mama's crossing the country again cos her rellies still live up norths & they refuse to cross the Mason-Dixon even tho it's a wee bit warmer where i live.

& by wee, i mean a hell of a fucking lot.

& the truckers on the interstate are pissing mama off again cos they like to get in the left hand lane where she's doing like 90 & her whole car's shaking & her steering wheel's shaking & her arms are shaking & her legs are twitching & her eyeballs are popping & locking & it's better than twister with methheads until the trucks slow her ride down when they get into the left hand lane &  she starts cussing like a tweaker tearing at her own face & her dogs in back start barking barking. it's fucking glorious.

get to indiyucky in one piece & check into the motel & the clerk's giving mama the shifty eyes & mama keeps dropping things like little hansel & gretel trying to find their way out of the woods.

mama wants in those woods. she'd stay lost foreverever.

in my room, i get the flask out & it's whiskeys and water until it's sleepysleeper time.

5 am i wake up in pain. & it's my monthly visitor. my red auntie or someshit like this.

fuck. i only packed two tampons.

and i'm all like, why, period, why?

& my period's like, cos when i signed up for this gig, i was given some rules. & rule #2 is: you must show up at completely inappropriate times, like road trips.

i don't say nothing cos i'm all crampy & groggy & shit.

my period says, remember when you were wearing all white and you looked like a winter goddess? those white wool pants...

i says, yes.

my period says, & the second time you got with the ex-Marine...

i says, he didn't care.

my period says, yeah, there're some guys who don't. & some womens, too.

i say, you gots me, there.

my period hits me with a squeeze from lower back to my knees for confirmatory emphasis.

i say, what's the first rule?

my period doesn't answer cos it's just a part of my body & society wants me to be ashamed of the way my body looks & acts anyways. & if society knew i was having a little convo with my period they'd think mama was loony & make her even more ashamed of her body & the way it bleeds every month & there's that saying about not trusting a bitch who bleeds & doesn't die & i say don't trust a dude who tries to stick it in you who won't stick it in you when you're on the rag cos he's the real bitch & he's the one who needs a plug...

& here are two more plugs:

FIX IT BROKEN's  1st issue!!!!! & mama's in it, along with other good stuffs from Matthew Dexter, Zoe Alexandra, and Barry Graham and Peter Schwartz...

if you haven't already, buy mama's chapbook, Orpheus on toast. it is good like warm bread with melty stuff on it.

yours on the rag,

Sunday, December 12, 2010

mama got all ultimatumy

mama was fine. mama was even almost happy doing what mama do alone - vacumming nude, eating vegan ramen with sriracha for breakies, getting up at 5 to be the only person in the world, drinking too much and waking up in the guest room cos she took herself home at last call but then was too drunk to take advantage and then mama had to collect her clothes & slip out earlyearly. slink of shame. you know.

& then you show up again. you text or you email or you send a goddamn passenger pigeon or a flaming arrow with an embossed leather message or a baby in a basket down some backwoods nile or you tattoo me hello or you bend some spoons my way or my bush burns or somehow somehow i just know you're thinking about me again & it's usually round this time cos atheists & grindcorists get so goddamned lonely around the xmasses...

& then mama feels something & then mama drinks the maker's manhattans & then she gets yearnyyearny & mama goes to bed & pretends she's in a youtube how to rub one out for womens video & then she wakes up & then she's in the shower & pretending to be in a porno video - so fresh & so cleanclean - & then she's all wetwetwet all the time & you still don't show...

but you keep sending out odd signs like no pickup trucks on my lawn or one spur embedded in mama's back door or a deer heart in my growler and a jpeg of your penis in my dreams

& that's when mama gets angry & that's when mama smash. & that's when mama gets smashed & she sends you ultimatumy things like a tatt that says when or a heart tattoo that says mama or whores like a choir cos mama was alone & shut & you opened her up.

& you always do.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

this is the post where mama gets all reviewy and shit

& i have been meaning to write this post foreverever. for reals.

my review of Anthony Frame's Paper Guillotines  is up at Cervena Barva's newsletter

Dan Nowak is a friend of mine and his book Recycle Suburbia is my friend, too. his poems have taken me bowling & to a drag show & then we watched the Family Feud in Spanish together, all of us drunk on cheap vodka. yep yep.

Keyhole Press had a deal earlier and mama got three books for a niceynice price. just finished Matthew Simmons' The Moon Tonight Feels Revenge and let me say, fuck yes. that moon is feeling it. not only cos the book's dedicated to Boduf Songs but cos i can't stop thinking about stories like "Sleep Underground" and "This Mountain I Built." i've never slept underground or built a mountain but now i feel like i could...

& while mama's listing things -

new > kill author rocks! check out Alexandra Kontes' story, R.C. Miller's poems (especially the Bernhard one - yes!), and Tina Hyland's piece, along with all that other talent...

new decomP also rocks! & Tina Hyland's in it, too.

wow, good words make mama so happyhappy. so much happier than cyber-stalking all your new girlfriends...

your homegirl,