Hey dudes,

I wrote this poem from a Breece Pancake short story about a serial killer who drives a snow plow. It’s pretty decadent.

Raton the sign read

Think of that buck

Then at the bend

A young feller

With rawhide hair

A nice-looking young feller

Arm and thumb like

Soldiers do

The snow i see

come all the way down to fall like chimera for me

Thanks, he says

He’s a nice young feller,

Hair like buckskin

Teeth straight as a barber’s razor

Says I’m goin’ a Raton

Says it was cold

Nobody wanted a pick me up

An’ ain’t this where

feller show up dead?

Side a the road

Half a his skin peel’d off?

Guess you never can be too careful—

My hand over his mouth,

Find a kidney, knife against that buck

In the dead of night—I see his face

antlers on the wall

No, never too careful.

I lift my foot from the pedal

Chimera like snow

Breaks along the windshield to glide

down below

for me

Yeah, right around here; I think.

Has been a while.

Sure scared folks around here when it happened

all i can think is how straight his teeth were—just a boy;

that buck. Dead of night. Buckskin sheen

Under the lamplight

Of his hair like chimera

Say, I need a look at the map

It’s under the seat—

And while he digs I reach back; wrap my fingers ’round the wrench

But the chimera decides me:

i don’t feel like cleaning up the mess

Nice-looking boy

There’s no map under here, friend

Raton the sign reads 56 miles

The Hungry Ghost has come to Power. Other Asuras and demons drank at that well before, and gave form to Time before. But now is the Age of the Hungry Ghost, and she is the Flow that he drinks.

The Hungry Ghost drank a Flow. And as he drank, she became all. Her abstraction bound us all to Her. And she bound us to the body of the Ghost.

We lived in the headlands, high in the mountains where the river sprang forth from the wall of ice.

As a child, the Hungry Ghost had a small face on a small head with big juicy blue lips that turned blue when he got cold.

The Hungry Ghost was never a child.  Because he was a ghost. He sprang from History, already grown.

The Hungry Ghost had a giant rotund belly with no organs in it at all, no kidneys or livers or stomachs or bile ducts. Because he was a ghost.

As a child (and the Hungry Ghost was never a child, because he was a ghost), he was always so ashamed of his tiny face and his big lips and his big rotund body and his sometimes bedwetting. No one could understand how he got so fat while everyone else was starving.

And then he found the raw river. He drank of her Flow. And he did so as a sign of Power. And he did so because he needed to, because his belly ached for raw material.  He never again spoke, his lips only concerned with the drink. And so he lost his voice.  Without a voice, he became ashamed again that he had too much belly and not enough face.  He became obsessed with saving Face.

He never found the river, he had always drank that flow. He had already been drinking it. His umbilical chord had never been severed, and it lead to his mouth. Because he had no stomach, because he was a ghost.

As he began to drink more and more, his body began to grow, his flanks to become fertile, and those that lived there began to become rich. So many of us in the headlands simply swam downstream and made our homes on his body, where we also became unconcerned with our feet and then too concerned with our shoes.

As the Hungry Ghost continued to drink, some of us began to wonder why he did not explode beneath our feet. How he could simply swallow all that without ever filling up,. Children asked their parents where all that ever went. Parents, unsure, said that he was a Ghost.

No one of us knew for sure that the Hungry Ghost pees. No-one knows because he keeps it a secret. To save Face. Because he is ashamed that his WASTE is corrosive, poisonous, radioactive. He envelopes vast deposits of the stuff throughout the headlands in containers that he hopes are leak-proof and impervious. Why in the headlands? Because there is only the Land and the Body; there is no-where else to put it. In his shame, he can only hope that the containers stay sealed. They do not. The seepage contaminates the headwaters of the River and the WASTE begins to flow downstream.

The Hungry Ghost has begun to expect that he is drinking his own WASTE. But he must save his face. He must trust in the integrity of his containers.

The Hungry Ghost cannot sustain himself on its own WASTE. The Hunger demands only Raw materials and resources. And so he became sick. His WASTE became thick as sludge and he began to starve. And his face became shiny and slick.

And so, while many of the most naive people were still debating why his body didn’t fill up an explode, the Hungry Ghost was wasting away beneath us.

Where once there was nothing beneath our feet, there was again nothing.  The void had never left us.

No-one saw it coming when the belching began.  Finally at a limit of disgust, the Hungry Ghost began to choke on his own WASTE, began swallow huge dry heaves that shook our cities, while he struggled to take a few more gulps of the rank flow.

Men in suits in tall buildings began to look out of their windows listlessly, dreaming of the jelly art their bodies could paint on the sidewalk below.

And then the vomiting began.  And then, with the vomiting, the breaking-apart began.  There was no where for the vomit to flow, no downstream from the Hungry Ghost, and WASTE continued to pour in from the Headlands.  So it pooled at his feet.  It was corrosive, poison, radioactive.  It ate at his feet.  It broke off his toenails from his toes and then his toes from his feet and his feet from his fat little ankles.  And then the Ghost could no longer support his weight and he collapsed, wretching, into the pool of vomit.  His kneecaps came off of his shins and drifted away.  And as the vomit ate him away, we could see that he had nothing inside at all, and then we understood where we had been living.

Our cities became islands at first, then rafts, then nothing.  Many drowned.  Rumor says that a few of us managed to swim back to the corrupted headlands.

And so now I am back to being I, and I am an island, floating on a sea of WASTE.  The river has been dammed and she lies stagnant, as do I, far from her cooling flow, penning mindless fables.

(This is not a poem, I wrote it in my notebook and it has to look this way, the columns have to be narrow.)

One survives as a matter
of course. This is not up for
discussion. Birds in the background,
they I like. No cause for
concern. But a woman’s voice
is different. It goes farther.
And so what is a.

In the times when I was
young I was much the same
as now. As enclosed and
quietly friendly. A man once
said to me Beautiful it was
when I was a child. Now it
is a tragedy.

Superfluous he said. Those
girls. I think I came to the
park. Yes of course, and
there are people everywhere.
Dutching about the day.
Not particularly exasperated.
What would it be to be the
same.

The girls I said, I
think I smirked. It was
after the store where I bought.
I came out and twigged my
legs then. Whatever that means.

Licentiates one and all.
Sometimes correct and sometimes
mistaken. As a matter of
course. And so when I
looked back I said school
girls when actually they were
the approach. I was too
fixated then. Too earnest
to attract, to make a good
show. Christ. It wasn’t
what he said that made
him so.

And so what is a. Yes
many people here and flowers
too. And one over there.
Is she. But behind glasses.
Always! These and the
barbers where they go and
in the windows idealimages
and then they come out and
they are ready to. The night to.
Out and they go there to.

Is she, I swear. Look away.
There are birds in the trees,
it is not a cloudy day. “Well
hello, yes, it was indeed
and so, no go on, ah well
yes certainly it is, but, oh
well you see, ah me too!”

Yes it is certain she. And
so what is, and yes I
do not mind. I rejoice
in admixture. She is looking.
I am certain. You know
this now; remember.

As a matter of course. I
came here well I know not what
for. To sit and be stilled.
It was the shake, it was
mad on the street where
the approach and. All
licentiates, one and all, all
just only. She again. Christ.
I am not prurient she is
looking. All just only making
an argument for. But I am
getting hungry now.

untitled. charcoal on paper, 38 x 52″

Zephieyr Instructions Sheet

Table of Contents
1.    Quick set-up and construction
2.    Customizable construction options
3.    Maintenance
4.    Safety guidelines and concerns of use
5.    Troubleshooting
a.    Seepage
b.    Erosion
Section 2: Translations

Quick Set-Up Guide
1.    Carefully unpack.  Lay out component parts and compare to diagram 1a.
•    Due to the entirely organic processes used in construction, color may vary slightly. There may be natural variations to the color of the casings and the size of the main grommet.
•    Product may have settled during shipping. If the bags look empty, shake and fluff into wholeness.
2.    Sheet the Zephaer.  Be careful to leave the central flap unsheeted.  Zephiyr models I, IV, ?, and ? have four other flaps to sheet.  However, if it is windy, or if there is an impending power failure, you must pinch the layers of the corrugated sheeting together to prevent it from unflapping.
3.    Always remember: Dirt is the Worst!  Fully separate the main body of the Zephaer from the floor or the ground before flaking becomes uncontrollable.  You should always have adult supervision, and a bucket of water on hand to prevent Spillage or Seepage.
a.    See Page ivx for a full description of strategies for stopping flaking, including controlled exfoliations.
e.    Caution: leakage could cause severe disfigurations of the mouth or other relevant orifices.  If such leakage should occur, contact your local poison control center
4.    Decouple your completed Zephyier from its light-touch valves using a socket-hammer.  The Zephyar will soon learn to sustain itself on its own WASTE, however, you must ensure a constant flow at all times to the unit.
5.    Using the double-barreled nozzle provided, inflate the Zephayer until its surface is taut and the secondary layer presses against Flap 3
6.    Congratulations on your completed Zephieyir!  In order to prevent it blowing away, affix the guy lines provided to the windy side (see Option 3)

Customizable Construction Options
Note: some of these options are highly volatile.  Consult your therapist before you Follow the instructions for option 2.
Option 1—Colored Backplates.  For a wider range of backplate colors, including glow-in-the-dark and disco options, see our online catalog.  To change the backplate, unscrew the flywheels behind the secondary vestibule, remove the original steel backplate, and carefully insert the new plate.  Secure and rotate.  For Zepheiyrs within the public domain, it is recommended that the color of the backplate component be changed frequently to maintain audience interest.

Option 2—In emergencies and criminal contingencies, the Zephaeyr can be made to flow backwards.  However, doing so on high speeds can cause disjunctions in the outer casing that could lead to cracking.  In order to reverse the flow, simply insert a court-ordered reversal subpoena into the intake valves.  After evaluating the authenticity of the document (usually about 12 min), the Zephiear will automatically reverse Flow.  Evacuate vicinity immediately.

Option 3—Guy Lines.  For extra support on windy days, you can attach the provided guy lines to the windward side of the unit.  Use the loops and stakes provided, and attach the lines firmly to the ground.

Maintenance
Bi-Monthly Routine Maintenance
This rigorous maintenance and tuning routine should be performed on a bi-monthly basis to prevent component failure, blockages, outages, and total collapse.
f.    Controlled exfoliations should be performed upon the surface of the Zeyphir as part of your regular maintenance of the unit.
i.    To exfoliate the Zephayer, lift the front cover and remove the inner cartridge.
ii.    Using rubber gloves, run the cartridge over all the sheeted surfaces of the Zeypher. Rub against the grain.  The sheeting will flake geometrically.
iii.    Consume or dispose the excess in hazmat container.  Do not pour down the drain.
g.    Rotate the grommets regularly.  If your grommets have already gone, there is no need to rotate them.
h.    Dissassemble the driveshaft, lubricate the component parts with proZeph SpeedOil (available in our online catalogue), and reassemble.
Safety
•    The Zephayer is not a toy.  Keep away from nose and mouth.
•    Use Zephiayr only under supervision, adult or spiritual (also available from our online catalogue).
•    When using SuperVision, make sure the SuperVisor is raised and can see all primary angles of the Zephaeyr without needing to rotate or readjust.
•    In the event that the Zephyer overruns itself, evacuate the vicinity immediately and call your local department of corrections.
•    If there is a buildup of WASTE in the fuel tank, siphon some of it off immediately.
•    To prevent universal damage, only use your Zephyiar on hardwood floors.

Troubleshooting
•    Seepage
o    If your unit begins to leak or seep, check for blockages in the WASTE uptake tubes.
•     If there is a block, carefully disassemble the secondary pneumatic assembly, clean all component parts, and reassemble.
•    If there is no blockage in the pneumatic assemblies, then there is a problem with your power supply.  Contact your local electricity provider.
•    Erosion
o    If you use your Zephaier on other than hardwood surfaces, it may cause erosion.  If you find yourself sliding towards the unit, immediately cease its operation and allow it to consume the rest of its WASTE.

THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING ZEPHAYIER: DELIVERING PROFESSIONAL SUCTION AND PRODUCTION SOLUTIONS SINCE 1973

One is always being deceived.

So I was unsure whether to post this here, because I sent it to you all by email. This is mostly to open a more public forum for comments and feedback, so comment.

The new edition of Big Bridge is out, at long last! Big Bridge is a yearly online lit mag. It’s really intimidatingly big, and features some fantastic writers. It’s also got a good helping of nostalgia for the good ol’ days of poetry. It also includes an ahistory of violence, the lyric hypertext essay which I’m pretty sure you’ve all read. It might be worth another look, because I did add some graphics and layout at the last minute. Get all the popup-age.

You can find it off of the War Papers section.

jah love

jed

Please help! I need a title for my thesis… Here’s a sampling of the pieces that will be in the show. Unfortunately, I don’t have more photographs right now, but I hope this gives you a sense of the work. There will be about 20-25 pieces in total. India ink on watercolor paper, sizes varying from about 12 x 14″ to 36 x 42″. Any title suggestions would be much appreciated.

Hey dudes,

if you read my last post called “Black and Blue,” you’ll remember a point where one of the characters starts talking in an Irish accent. I have a lot of friends who do this for no apparent reason, and I think once or twice I’ve said “Cheers” instead of “Thanks” or called a truck a lorrie. For a long time I couldn’t think of any rational explanation for this other than base pretention. But a few days ago I was watching, I’m embarrassed to say, Entertainment Tonight, and they were talking about how Britney Spears has recently begun addressing the press in a British accent. Here’s something I wrote as an addition to that story that I thought you all might enjoy. Cheerio!

Black’s  occasional use of an Irish accent is not one easily explained.

Those who follow tabloid journalism will be familiar with a certain popstar’s recent use of a phony British accent while talking to the paparazzi. Her reasons for doing this are obscure, because this certain popstar is known to come not from Manchester, Leeds, Sussex, or Brixton, but rather from a small town in Louisiana.

 The popstar’s first hit was a song that rhymes with “Shmit Shme Shmaby Shmone Shmore Shime,” and its lyrics could be interpreted as either an admonition to overly-strict parents or someone asking for a spanking. In the song’s aburdly well-known and well-loved video, this popstar is provocatively dressed as a Catholic school girl. Later on, though in the meantime she would don a thousand provocative outfits, this popstar would insist on her virginity–even during a high profile romance with a popstar whose name rhymes with Justin Timberlake.

In short, for a long time this popstar (both fresh-faced and nubile, both innocent and sexy) embodied, as Chuck Closterman puts it, the paradoxical roles of both virgin and whore. For many years she reigned as America’s princess because she straddled the gap between Shirley Temple and Debbie from Debbie Does Dallas. America loved her all the more because she often straddled this gap wearing nothing but her bra and panties.

In her long (long, especially considering her age) and prolific career, this popstar only made one mistake: she became pregnant. The media and the public, confronted with the visual evidence of her defilement in the form of her turgid stomach, became sickened. They found themselves looking at a whore where once had been a virgin–and in our hearts we knew that we, WE, were the father. In a spirit of collective shame, the national perogative became, if not to kill her outright, then at the very least to drive her completely insane.

As a nation, we have succeeded: now she often addresses the press in an English accent. Why her insanity should express itself in this manner, nobody can say–there are no words to discuss the phenomenon. I do know that it can not be easy to have such a deep understanding of the fact that at the heart of the American psyche is a strong tendency toward a ravaging kind of canibalism.

I believe that, though under wildly different conditions, Blue sometimes speaks in an Irish accent for similar reasons. He is not a popstar.