we just figured out why human beings are so content to waste time
1.) Because it saves them from the horror of doing something useful.
2.) Because they think they're god, so what's the rush?
3.) Time is so utterly priceless! And it's irreplaceable!
4.) Time wastes them.
5.) Who cares?
6.) The good news is – you don’t have to be this way.
7.) The bad news is – you are

Don't worry, it's only 11:11

random notes, annual national night workers’ appreciation day

shouldn’t we appreciate national night workers
tonight ?
let’s write a poem
in the daytime
while nightworkers sleep in the sun
that’s nice
that’s special
special enough
for a national nightworkers appreciation day

herbert kornfeld is sleeping
after his graveyard shift
down at world hq’s import export wholesale conversation warehouse
snoring gently through well-earned
sun bright
sun day
dreams
a poem written on his behalf
dark infrared poignant pictures
he may never know he’s in it

let’s celebrate at Daddy Z’s
pickin’ parlor on the edge of town
fingers flicking frets faster than sound
the long appalachian howl
of east tennessee
shatters
a staccato blur
flashing the nightworkers
into still stanzas
verbal strobes constructing
visible profundity at Daddy Z’s
pickin’ parlor on the edge of town

nightworkers (not dayworkers)
guzzle booze, nicotine, possibility theory
gasoline, billiard games, rank speculation
night things belong to the nightworkers
a slow warp speed
speeding toward
arc lights on Gastonia Avenue

you get more than you bargain for, and less, at night
whispers echo louder longer, howling in the hangtime
clocks slow down before they stop
at closing time
but don’t we all
we and the nightworkers
streaming into a scrumptious dawn
as if every night
is national night workers’ appreciation day
they deserve a nightworkers nightwords poem
and we’re just the guys to give it to them

by the boy photons

the cape at the end of first

we fought our way onto skull beach
wrestled a hermit crab
into the muck
damn you wet sea!
I dare you dampen me again
hablamos español
con la cerveza y el sol
we read what’s forbidden in the dunes
we take a picture of the sign
we take pictures of the dunes and how we got there
we take pictures of the sky and how we look under it
we take pictures of shells and the road
and pine rows we saw from the road
we take pictures of the spirits
of people who lived in Florida before air conditioning
the crusty sun baked maniacs who lived there
because nobody else could stand it and because
they know their inner crickets

it was a day full of seconds
and firsts

This just in from our science department: the air around here is filled with invisible smoke. We're working hard to clear this up. Maybe we shouldn't have told you.

Kayaker falls off dock while explaining how he fell off dock. Cape Ah San, Florida. Clavin Urgam, the unpredictable Irish sportsman, was explaining to kayak repair shop assistant Gator Bean exactly how he fell off the dock and landed head first in the shit-colored bog. “You see I didn’t have the best angle on it, so to pull the kayak onto the dock I threw all my weight against the tow rope and just as I did, the rope knot gave way so I went pitching backwards across the narrow dock and landed belly up on this canoe which was precariously balanced at the opposite side edge of the dock. So of course the canoe decides to . . . ” As he was showing Bean exactly how the canoe lost contact with the dock, Urgam fell belly up on the canoe and rolled softly across its upturned hull, just as he had done the day before, which caused the canoe to tilt off the dock just as it had done the day before, resulting in Urgam’s headfirst tumble into free air until his head disappeared, once again, into the shit-colored bog beneath the dock. The now-dusky-hued Irishman emerged with a fine damp peaty dribble obscuring his rosy countenance and muttering, “Just like that,” but his final comment was lost, inaudible against the engulfing howls that emanated from Florida native Bean.

Thanks to the oft-underestimated communication skills of Gator Bean, the "event" rapidly yet eternally became known around Cape Ah San as, "Clavin's boo-boo."

Didn’t know it had an “h” in it. The administration was embarrassed to admit that despite his decade-long obsession with The Cradle of Civilization, culminating in a trillion dollar war, Maximum Leader W. Bush did not know that “Baghdad” has an “h” in it. Spokesmodel Ari Fleischer defended, “No, he did not think of it as 'Dad's Bag' and Yes of course he knows it has a “B” and a “D" and an “A.” Journalist Helen Thomas sought to clarify, “Is that because Saddam is BAD?” Spokesmodel Fleischer snorted, “Helen, this is why we don’t call on you more often.”

Stay tuned for an upcoming report on "Baghdad: Two A's, Two D's."

Sheetrock finisher experiences moment of intense "somethingness". “You know where you always see a seam? But now there ain't no seam? lt's like the mud and the gypsum and the paper and the ambient vibe and the whole throbbing universe had done become one endless single smooth wall and you just want to run your fingertips down the wall straight to infinity . . . the one, seamless wall . . . fingers gliding down the endlessly smooth and seamless wall with no bumps, humps, dips or ridges and for one small moment you know the wall, the truth, the meaning of truth, the lie of the truth and it makes you want to sit down and pop the coldest Bud possible and lean back on the long and flawless wall stretching infinitely to your right and infinitely to your left and take a long draw of that beer chilled to absolute zero Kelvin and just say, "Wow! That's one fucking smooth ass dry wall."
The sheetrocker affirmed all queries with a nod, a wink and a knowing smile.

the point is a funnel

so what’s the point ?
we were born to live
let no scholarship
get in the way of that
but heck let no
gluttony laziness industry
morality or the absence of morality
oligarchy or experience itself

get in the way of living

what’s the point?
the point is
a funnel

Cape San Blas, Florida
March 22-23, 2003



World HQ took a trip to the gulf to gather raw material for our ongoing top secret research project.
We had cameras, video, audio, pencils, four wheels under a V6 and 40 hours to get to the bottom of things.
Here's a partial log of our observations. Twigs included.

We left Atlanta heading south looking for a cuppa joe at 6:23 A.M.
Here's how
We got
There . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


Flat Shoals Creek 7:51 AM
Dennis Smith Road 7:53
Mountain Oak Creek 7:59
Chet Atkins Parkway 8:01
Mulberry Creek 8:05
Mountain Hill Road 8:06
Standing Boy Creek 8:08
Samuel Franklin Morast Jr. Memorial Parkway 8:12
Chattahoochee River 8:29
Welcome to Alabama 8:30
Dirty Dog Park 8:42
No Name Creek 8:43
Three Blondes Creek 8:45
Heavy Yellow Equipment Creek 8:46
You Want Some More Cheese Creek 8:47
Possum Trot Creek 8:48
Ogle’s Trading Post 8:49
The Swamp 8:50
Historic Marker 1500 Feet 8:51
Hurry Up Creek Rapids Shoals River 8:51
Historic Marker 8:52
Pittsview, Alabama 8:57
Alabama Don’t Name Its Fuckin Creeks Creek 8:58
And There’s Plenty of ‘em Creek 8:59
No Creek Creek 9:00
We’re Makin’ Up Names Of Creeks Creek 9:01
Continuation Street 9:03
Junior Drive 9:04
Lake Eufala 9:11
Fish World 9:12
Fireworks Half Off Year Round Buy 1 Get 3 Free 9:13
Airport Restaurant Lounge
Chewalla Restaurant
Town Terrace Motel, Best in Town 9:14
Walter F. George Lake 9:16
Gala Gas
Chew On This Restaurant 9:17
Bluff City Inn 9:19
Cheneyhatchee Creek 9:31
Automatic Gas 9:32
Hair South 9:32
White Oak Creek 9:34
Mrs. Maria’s Psychic Reading
Repo Depot
I Didn’t Hear a Word You Said Creek 9:45
Newville 9:51
Fred’s 10:05
Emu Oil, squeezed from the spleens of fresh emus 10:06
Dusky Hue, Alabama 10:25
Big Creek 10:23
Mad Dog Fireworks 10:29
Sadie’s Flea Market 10:30
Medford Ford
Junior’s Fireworks 10:31
FLORIDA STATE LINE 10:33
Marianna Beef Unit & Bull Test 10:56
Arthur G. Dozier School for Boys 11:07
Motel Sandusky 11:11
Chipola River 11:12
Spring Creek 11:15
Sniffy’s Cleaner’s Don’t Mind Us 11:28
1001 Uses for Mobile Home Parts 11:30
North Florida Rock 11:40
Sink Creek 11:41
Overdue For a Tornado Trailer Park 11:42
Altha City Limits 11:45
Altha Other City Limits 11:45
Stafford Creek 11:46
Chipola Church Grilled Chicken Dinners 11:50
Flowing Water Creek 11:52
One Stop Career Center 11:57
Bob Pforte Dodge
Last Stop Career Center “We’ll Take You Down With Us” 11:58
HIGH NOON
Hicks Creek 12:02 PM
Extra Horny Cows 12:03
Chipola River (again) 12:20
Creepin’ Water Creek 12:23
Gulf County Line 12:26
Dead Lake 12:27
West Arm Creek 12:38
Jehu Cemetery 12:39
Swampy’s Restaurant & Motel 12:40
New Hot Bulbs, Tan Now 12:41
Comforter Funeral Home
U Should C What I Saw 12:41
Howard Creek 12:54
White City 12:55
Five Points Landfill & Wildlife Refuge 1:00
Gulf Rifle Club 1:01
Port St. Joe City Limits 1:02
Rish Park 1:05

J.D. Bow Hunting Supply 1:08
St. Joe’s Bay State Buffer Preserve 1:10
Fooldja Creek 1:11
Broken Toe Kayak Shop 1:12



CAPE SAN BLAS, March 22 - 23, 2003

Helen Thomas embedded in Infantry Platoon. By presidential fiat, White House Senior Correspondent Helen Thomas has been embedded with the "Screamin' Shockenawequanawks" 901 Infantry Squadroon, heading overseas in a stripped down C-130 transport along with 312 recent graduates of the Mohawk Nation Community College and Casino Management ROTC program to reinforce the seige of Baghdad. Said Ms. Thomas, struggling into a biochempreventive body condom during onboard training exercises, "Yeah, he's the worst president in history. I said it. Yep. Me and my big fucking fat mouth.Got any astroglide?" Back on the ground in Washington, Ari "The Mouth of Bush" Fleischer uttered a meaningful no comment while the Dubya treadmilled in the shadowz, smirking silently to himself, eyes darting.

Construction superintendent fucks up idiot-proof timesheet. According to Buzz Sawyer, owner of Quando Quando Condo Inc., “We made it so any idiot could do it. On the left side of the goddam time sheet is the day of the week, and across the goddam top is the address of the job. All you gotta do is take two perpendicular fingers and run’em down the row and across the column till they meet up in a nice little empty box. And that’s where you put in the hours. It’s simple-ified, right? You just hafta think “inside the box”, right? You don’t have to speak English, you don’t have to engage in abstract thought, you just hafta find the right box and write down how long you, oh never mind. . . We paid a lot of money for this level of simplicty. . . ”

Apparently, the job superintendent, one Horton Maples, the very person in charge of filling in the time sheet for others who were in fact unable to speak English, managed to royally fuck up the entire timesheet so badly that not even the crusty Maples himself could decipher the apparently random numerals, chicken scratches and other perhaps Navajo-type or Sumerian symbols he himself had inflicted on the body and margins of the timesheet. Maples pointed out that otherwise, things seemed to be going pretty well, but Maples was forced to admit when pressed by Mr. Sawyer (the owner) that IF the workers were NOT paid in a timely manner due to a royally FUCKED UP time sheet, perhaps “THINGS” would come to a RAPID HALT, which would benefit none, least of whom his own self.

Our reporters indicated that at press time, Maples was grappling with a scratch-n-sniff LotsaLuck Big Three Blotto ticket.

people don’t call so often any more




my answering machine blew a head gasket
its steering wheel fell, spinning on the floor
plus it reeks, smell wafting through the house

at the telephone answering machine repair shop
in gothic downtown Helmer, Georgia
spare telephone answering machine parts,
plastic ribbons, rubber pulleys, micro tiny shiny metal barrels,
thin aluminum rings piling to the ceiling
I said to helmer with all these piecemeal answers

sprang instead for a questioning machine

now when the phone rings
it jumps to life and asks

what’s the capitol of missouri?
why is there so much mud in the world?
how long were you at the rave?
did you get that picture of me saving your life?
why do billionaires want more money?
how do you re-fry beans? do you re-eat them?
does your dad have an F-16 I could borrow for the weekend?

people don’t call so often any more

what’s up with that?

Rumsfeld, Cheney caught blowing chunks in White House Rose Garden. Yes, even two of the president's most trusted and powerful advisors have panic attacks, dark feelings of remorse, wild eyed heart stopping fear and irritable bowel syndrome. Just yesterday, whirled headquarters dot com's intrepid field reporter, Sdji Hvartic, was cruising the White House area looking for personal interest stories when she spotted the two politicos bending over behind a rose bush and "hurling bigtime". Cheney was heard saying, "Fucking French are making me sick!" Rumsfeld--"And those Turks------BLEEECK, RALPH!!!"
Sdji said it got pretty gross watching a couple power mad men relax their cardiac sphincter (see diagram) so she went to get a pack of mints or something.

President’s daughter caught masticating in public. Jenna Bush, who could have gone anywhere in the world on her spring break from Yale, chose to stay on campus, drink beer and chew with her mouth open. Observers, who wish to remain unnamed because Jenna’s daddy is dictator of the free world, indicated that the younger Bush particularly resembled the President when stuffing her face with French Fries and foie gras and playing “Show and Tell” with the Secret Service agents hovering in the shadows.

Free electrons thing of past. Physical physicists, as opposed to mere theoretical physicists, have determined that what’s "fucking everything up" is that we have enslaved too many electrons. “Before Edison, electrons could zip around from atom to atom, according to their supernal preferences,” propounded Clik Munderheim of Cal Tech. “But now, quizillions of electrons are stuck in chip circuits, beef fat and marital aides, such as the Hitachi 500 Rodeo Phlange. It’s just so sad. Isn't it?” Munderheim explained that a new tax on electrons would fund a program to pay for free electrons. He thinks this would really un-fuck things up.

Small things have a disproportionately large effect, according to government study. “Small things affect big things a lot more than big things affect the small. Or is that effect?” inquired Dr. Bruno Yasski of NASA. “For example, mountain ranges,” gesticulated the nervous Yasski. “Mountain ranges, which are pretty damn big, rarely shut down the international banking system, but computer chips often do. And those chips are quite small,” spluttered Yasski. When told he had a small piece of spinach lodged between his teeth and that nobody had heard a word he'd said because they were so distracted, the good doctor further proved his point by running head first into the wall, with no noticeable effects whatsoever.

the laws of thermodynamics, applied:

first law: energy can’t sit still
second law: free time is somebody else's work
third law: it’s cool to make heat
objective conclusion: energy can’t be lost or found
subjective conclusion: yes it can
corollary: it stings a little

hot stuff becomes cold stuff quickly
inside space there is a molten chamber
and a one time
one word
one pass word to enter
it is recognized
or re-codified
in the heat of the moment

where does heat go?
heat lost on pluto
pauses briefly in your kitchen
to fry your onions
your sweet chipolte peppers
on the front left burner
before continuing on its way
to expand a universe
just dying to cool down

friction
fiction
cold hard facts
hot romance novels
life is like an ocean
icebergs and thermal vents
might sting a little
and sharpen the senses

. . . the laws of thermodynamics, applied


by the boy poets riding thermals

This just in from our literary criticism department: The good thing about fiction is it's a lot more believeable than the alternative. Plus the fact that there's no such thing as non-fiction.

Accountant disturbed by inflating universe. No other details available at press time other than the general advice of "don't hold your breath".

High Alert: Department of Homeland Security declares that most people employed by the US government are "High". States Tom Ridge, Secretary of the Dept of Homeland Security, "About 12 people in the CDC in Atlanta ( CDC employee, Chief of Toxicology, Biff Glenn, in photo on left uses beaker-bong to get "High" ) lit a sizable "bong" in the beaker washer room and that was enough to put the total number of government employees who are "High" over 50%. I think the alert color for "High" is orange or red-orange, isn't it? Very pretty and look at the trails!"