Free Gratis Thoughts for the Week

October 8, 2007: These are the Free Gratis Thoughts Lifted from my review of the Words. Not that we need more material right now . . . but they're too good to ignore for later or sooner or whenever . . .

- - - JM

Note to self: I was preparing something. I don't know what it was. I don't know what the fuck I've done.

We're sorry we just bombed your nation. We didn't know you were there or even using it.

The president is almost as incredible as this loaf of bread.

A man's gotta do what he was made to do.

Seize the Crap Daily

I am like and so unlike the weather. But who's counting?

It feels like we just worked fourteen hours straight. Good thing we didn't.

How can you be impaired alone?

We're skirting the tangent so you and they don't have to.

I can't get it together to go to sleep.

Or

The air around here is better than a menthol cigarette.

You look great out of focus.

A fuckin' trio has only three people but four fuckin' letters.

And now, to sum up life itself: Cliffs are more mysterious than hills.

The world would be a better place if everyone were sleepy.

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

He's repeating whatever I say and now I'm typing it.

Free Gratis Question of the Hour:

Is it better to be a complete idiot, or an incomplete idiot?

Free Patriotic yet Sensitively Macho Declaration:

God bless all the groovy chicks in America.

We'd like to think we are where we think we are but we don't.

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

Our chaos theory is currently a complete mess.

Free Gratis Palliative for the Fortnight:

Don't worry; there are only two things to be afraid of:

the known and the unknown.

So true, so true.

Free Gratis Question for the Week:

If a tree fall in the forest and hits you

in the head, will it still hurt?

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

All that cleaning up made me dirty.

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

Don't mind us. We don't mind you.

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

I'm twilled to be wearing cotton.

Life is brief. Don't buy underwear.

Free Gratis thought for the Week:

If you can't control your own brain, how can you control your stretch socks?

Free Advice:

You should love yourself, but don't go marrying yourself.

Thanks to Leo Buscaglia - the Looooove Doctor

Free Gratis Thought for the Week

Never take the high road. It'll come back to bite you in the ass.

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

If you want to know where you are, just look at your feet---twice.

Free Gratis "Policy" for the Weak:

Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't French Kiss

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

I was fucked by my own personality.

Thanks to Colin Powell.

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

We'll lick your problems, one lick at a time.

Thanks to your cunning friends at Hurled WetQuarters

HQ's Free Hostess Tip of the Eon:

For fun socializing at home, install a salt lick. And be generous with the salt.

Thanks to Slim Pecker

Free Gratis thought for week: We don't shun, we eschew.

Free Gratis Hyper Thought for the Week: We can't change the past, but we sure can fuck it up.

She respects me for my soulium, but she loves me for my helium.

There are certain undiminishing tendencies which, if they continue to fail to become manifest, will likely require certain indirectly implied remediations insofar as this "body" is likely to do anything about anything even if it could or so much as gave a good goddam.

-- Galan Reenspan

Only man creates stuff that only man hates.

Thanks to Buffet St. Marie, Eden Prairie, Minnesota

The Swiss are Cheesy (but they think they're holey).

Thanks to Feta Jarlsberg, Geneva

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

Rich people aren't funny but they laugh all the way to the bank.

Free Gratis Suggestion for the Year:

Try getting high and calling tech support.

Thanks to Junior Biggs at Clewless Packard

Free Gratis Thought for the Week:

Did you know you were 80% boullion?

thanks to David Allen Coe

Relying on Impulse

theories of the human mission
rise up like waves from a placid inscrutable many-fathomed ocean
they gather and curl elegantly
organize syntactically
and crash symphonically
absorbed mutely
on the slow sandy beach
of what actually is

Buzz Aldrin and Frank Zappa
skipped our last cosmic canoe trip but showed up after dinner to talk
when the campfire attained wisdom
we rose up with the sparks
became giant ghosts
hovering over a glowing
deliriously hot metropolis

it might be late, tonight
under the cypress and stars
but it’s way early in a baby millennium finding its legs
relying on impulse
leaving traces of carbon, raw energy and theory
for the human mission

by the boy poets camping out by the everlasting flame

a r t i e


artie would be so pleased
that we scored some new material
at his funeral today

the reverend reverend clay pheenspurgen
laying on the jesus maximus
how he raised the dead and his own dead self
healed the sick, freaked out the romans
and just generally made a clean break
with the laws of physics and biology and causality

artie could've perfectly impersonated
reverend clay pheenspurgen
artie would have done pheensburgen
better than pheensburgen
his sonorous pompous baritone explicating the miracle of it all and
life of course is a miracle but he has no clue why it is
the reverend talking jesus cause he never met artie
but wait - he never met jesus, either
so there you go

but that didn't prevent his accusatory stare
as he spoke of christ's perfection
we all knew he was looking at calvin who was sittin right next to me
calvin shifted a tad uncomfortably in the "bleachers"
and I shifted away from him, just because

the reverend reverend clay pheenspurgen
insisted that artie wasn't really dead
even though he actually was really dead
that's why we were all in the room together
and pheenspurgen didn't know artie
but we did

artie loved cats
was the best pheenspurgen
could conjur
but we all knew artie loved guitar
cats and guitar and the way things are

eternal life blah blah blah
paul on the road to damascus blah blah blah
but when the rev finally wound it up
and looked to the side for the music to take over
artie's wife Barbara flipped the switch
and the loudspeakers blared, "everybody must get stoned"
and artie was, yeah, there and over there too

we noticed smiles in the crowd
the first fully human response
noted in patterson & sons funereal home
in a long long time

thanks, artie, we owe ya' one
or one more, we should say
thanks for the music you made
thanks for the harmonies
thanks for battling demons
to the death

gag reflex

you'll thank god later
for this effective reaction
to gastrointestinal adversity

it's so easy
to learn through heaving and hurling
blowing chunks has taught us more
than spinoza, descartes or larry the plumber

however, we should further study
the speed at which some
from deep pleasure learn
they seem so very eager
to learn
and learn
and learn
some more

the first thing
number one
the top of their list
conduct a lot of sex
the second:
avoid the
gag reflex

I Got a Bullet in My Brain

Giant Women of Sandusky, Ohio

The horses are normal size
12 hands high
The women are giants
48 hands high, legs long and strong
It’s not a trick of the lens or the light
The females grow LONG AND STRONG in ohio

THEY outfox men on a regular basis
MAYBE IT HELPS THAT THEY TOWER OVER THE MEN
IN OH-HIGH-OH

Tall women Residents of sandusky ohio
Tend to their twelve HAND
clydesdale stallions
PRANCING HANDsOMELY
in the women’s large palms

THE LARGE WOMEN DWARF THE POWERFUL STALLIONS
THE WOMEN SEEM QUITE PLEASED
AND SO DO THE STALLIONS
THOUGH NEITHER PARTY WILL SAY
I AM QUITE PLEASED

The AVERAGE-SIZED Clydesdales
TWELVE HANDS HIGH AT THEIR POWERFUL SHOULDERS
Obey the WOMENS’ whimS
March! Stop! Whinny! Laugh! SNORT!
Show your teeth! BITE YOUR ASS!
The SUDDENLY tiny horses do as they are told
And like it when the women
Pat their behinds and stroke their long necks
THE CLYDESDALES LIKE THE GIANT
WOMANLY FINGERS ON THEIR LONG NECKS

In the evening the gigantic women
Read large print books
About asteroids and quantum physics
THE HORSE NEBULA AND SINGULARITIES
THE GIANT WOMEN GET all the inside cosmic jokes
THEY Wink knowingly
At each other
Not wishing for anything
Being everything
PALMS OPEN WIDE, FINGERS OUTSTRETCHED

Shunya at the Krog

A series of still photographs put to music. In this one Shunya makes a cup of tea that transports her to the Krog Tunnel and back.

continental breakfast is not real breakfast

continental breakfast is supposed to be refined and cultured
the very best your continent has to offer
in the form of a splendid breakfast

like if your breakfast was a car, it would be
a 1948 double cowl phaeton lincoln continental
with air-conditioned-deep-flow-rubber-leather seats
and an ultrabore hyper-tuned solid sandog v-16
algonquin condor matador motor
it would be all that plus you could eat it on your knees
a grand continental breakfast should be
a lincoln continental divide yosemite canyon experience
and of course, complimentary

unfortunately, on our continent
a continental breakfast
is presented in the corner of the lobby
the innkeeper, as they call her, stares at your back
you pour coffee in your styrofoam cup, it’s way too loud
you spin to catch her looking but she won’t make eye contact
you turn back to the three foot display in the corner
pink slices of chilly coldcuts, rice krispies, bananas
a bright red strawberry
several nice dry donuts . . . what if you take them all?
the innkeeper drives you crazy
you rage in silent loathing at each item on display
everything’s on a goddam lettuce leaf
she’s still staring at your back
but this time you refuse to turn around

if you have a continental breakfast
in the lobby of our continent
you will not need a real breakfast
on our continent
a continental breakfast
is not a real breakfast
but it’s a real continental experience


by the boy poets and a glazed donut

i have a great idea for a movie

opening scene everybody would die except
just two or three would survive, to live
gruesome scabby yet riveting lives
the survivors would have cleft chins
and perfect breasts that heave on command
or off

and they, the stars, the beautiful stars
would repopulate the earth in 90 minutes
make it a better place for kids and golden retrievers

the movie crests into naked euphoria
in the first two seconds
when bill o’reilly explodes in a deluge of magma
surging up from the earth’s core
directly into fox studios

the remaining eighty-eight minutes
with the movie’s perfect pacing
of cliffhanger rescues followed by frenzied fucking
feature nancy grace, the former prosecutor
whose southern accent
with its bitter yet come hither edge
makes me and all other female cinematic
dorky ass viewers of cable tv cringe
and lust mightily at the same time
her full lips feverish and shiny
her open thighs ready to receive
the burning priapus of the sub-plot

anyway i digress from my movie idea
of the people who recopulate the world
and for a brief time live happily, so happy
in utah, where the mormons used to practice posture
before my movie sent them all to kingdom come


in the denoument, just before the climax
a really horrible thing happens, finally
after reams of crazy deaths and ecstatic coupling
but strangely, it seems rightly horrible
you might even say – apropos of
all the things, the death, the life
the well-hung dialogue, the rippling tears
the crippling laughter laced in the sacral bone
the very emulsion of the film itself
all melting together – beguilingly
a strange comic relief, a last straw
in the unending beverage that is my movie

by the stunt boy poets, recopulating

loose words

SHAGGY, JUICY, GROOVY
SHANGRI-LA AND SAN FRANCISCO
MEDIUM, LATER, SWAMP

FRENCH, JAZZ AND JERSEY
BARBEQUE, CRAZY, NEATO

RIGHT-ON, MAYBE AND MONTANA
FUNNY, SURE, SOON

THEM, THOSE AND TEXAS
ANTS, PANTS AND FRANCE

SAUTEE, PARTAY, LANGUID
SQUID, BIDNESS AND SHAMPOO

FULMINATE, SPARK AND ARMADA

LADY GODIVA, SALIVA AND UNCTIOUS
SUMPTUOUS, BUMPKIN AND BUPKISS

TREVOR, TREMOR AND TENNESSEE
STYLE, SUAVE AND SHEMP

CARTILAGE, CABBAGE AND CANADA
LOSER, LANGQUID AND DJ

TONE, TREBLE CLEFF AND CALIFORNIA
GOOSE, GONG AND GLEVELAND

FLORIDIAN, QUOTIDIAN, ROUSABOUT
TAXES, FAXES, SNAPS AND PABST

MARMALADE CLICKETY-CLACK
ALICE IN WONDERLAND SCRATCH MY BACK

BOARDWALK, BLATHER, BE FREER
MOON, SWOON, JUNE FREE BEER HERE

BASTIONS, FASHIONS, DAGGER AND SHEATH
CASTLES AND KINGS, RIVER RUN, RIVER BURST

BOARDWALK PLANKS AND INSULATION
HELLO SO SLOW, LAMINATION

Researchers from Cloyola University, in Huffakers, NV, divide themselves into control groups and found out that crankiness is no more than suppressed horniness.
After months of constant pounding sexual gratification, one group of volunteer researchers found themselves engaged in dry yet disturbing discussions of profound intellectual and moral fetter. While able to disagree about the swampier aspects of global warming, prayer in school, flag-burning, abortion-bashing, bush-busting and other bombast, the group did nevertheless maintain a degree of civility not found outside over-priced restaurants.
The placebo group of researchers, who were told to discuss the same subjects but without the raunchy, compelling and fulfilling sexual activity were soon mired in dead discussions that soon lapsed into recriminations and for some, loss of tenure, or even better, loss of life.

Eau Claire Defendant Cites Intelligent Design
Judy Wanamaker, accused of first degree misdemeanor assault, claimed an Unseen Hand or Spirit Force or Something Weird was responsible for a major melee knockdown catfight with neighbor Judy “Moody” Huff.
"I knew she wasn’t sleeping with my husband", explained Wanamaker, "but the combination of the love letter signed in Moody’s name, her lipstick on Harry's strange penis, and the way he, in a swampy sort of way, shrieked Moody’s name during our yearly scourge of love-making . . . the strange combination directed me to her kitchen where I linserted into her left buttock a swiss army fondue fork accessory.
“I knew nothing’s going on,” continued Wanamaker. “I have utter faith in Harry and Judy. I mean he's my husband, she's my best friend, so all I can conclude is that an Intelligent Designer arranged the evidence in such a compelling fashion to teach me a much deserved lesson in humility and love and some things I may never fully know.
“I apologize to everyone involved from the bottom of my heart. I am sorry for the pain I caused to Harry, Judy, my children and the community, and most of all, to Calvin Klein. He is such an intelligent designer.”



Homeless man refuses to work for food
Jethro Tullnitz, resident of Ponce de Leon boulevard, Anywhere, USA, proclaims, "I'm a bum and proud of it. And as they say under the Auburn Ave Bridge when the mood strikes, if I may paraphrase: Fuck you and Fuck working and Fuck the fucking do-gooders. . .but in a good and life-denying sort of way, of course. . .”
Tullnitz, who claims to have a resume “as long as a donkey’s stiff dick,” offered to appear in “meaningful or erotic independent films for a modest stipend and some decent personal grooming services.”
When asked to comment on any personal philosophy that sustained him in his endeavors, Jethro just smiled and took another swig of Thunderbird before muttering, “Trickle down, baby. Trickle down.”

a red orange horizon sunball
torches the cirrus clouds
in norway golf is played 24 hours a day from may til august
i read it in the ny times and saw pictures
labeled “teeing off at 3 am”

reminds me that i watched my dad
play softball at midnight
in the land of the midnight sun, sunny alaska
just past midnight the sun dip-punched the horizon
and my whole being was saying…..dusk
a few minutes later the sun began climbing
some superbig super-slow motion superball

midnight dawn, dad clobbers a supersoftball
one side spinning gold, the other chilly still purple

confusing to a confused boy of 13
still confused about
certain strong feelings surging through
his adolescent bloodstream
still outstreaking comprehension
still driven wild by kathy mozena
her scent her unforgettable scent

in norway golf is played 24 hours a day
i square up to the superhardball
dimpled ball in a stony dimpled northern land
my thought-swing happy, thought-free
at 3 A.M. I connect, a crisp icy thwack

sharp sound wave penetrates cool north air
sound wave floats across the pole
sound wave settles on a certain overgrown ball field
just across the top of the world

reverse-o-lution

• spinning
• the
• beginning
• never
• explodes
• like
• spelling-bees
• and
• beer
• hot motorcycles
• with hot vibrating women
• dogs barking naked
• like you
• barking at hot
• city lights
• two words
• keep vibrating
• centrioles in anaphase
• mitotic tension
• bristling
• just two words
• waiting to fill oceans

this poem is like open source software
it’s open to public debate, public improvement
subject to change

it started with the strictest of rules
you could write only one word
then later you could write two words

now it has no rules

that’s the whole idea

everything else
from zygotes to corporations
grows in the opposite direction
they have to I know but

they should try this
reverse-o-lution

maybe it is a little easier
maybe it’s a little more fun

rose against white

asleep
wrapped in white in the white attic
looking over the weekapaug salt pond
light, white, a window
in a white room
in a wide world

the only color
the orange sunglow of her skin
a blue boat in the window
two blue men in blue water
raking the bottom of the ocean
for mollusks curled on the ocean floor
two men dreaming about a white room
where a rose lies wrapped in white
a shock of hair black

she almost sleeps
she is lucid, imagines driftwood
dreaming her awake self awake
combing the beach
white with sun and salt and

driftwood
planted in the white sand
rose in black
scales the smooth white plank












by the boy poets drifting above the driftwood

The Claim: Chiggers Attack Humans by Burrowing Under Their Skin - New York Times

just when you think

just when you thought you finally knew roy
he leaves town without a word

you find out from a buddy
that he’s in boise working
working like he never worked around here
living in a yurt by the river and
cooking catfish over an open fire
it’s great in the summer he says
but you know better

he never said goodbye
he just left all of a sudden

so all the filaments that bound us
tear and twist in the sudden distance
throbbing in the jetstream

we’re in kind of a limbo now
stretched out beyond our limbs
on the rack
somewhere between
here and boise where
neither of us actually live
……but

because it was
so hasty
so sudden
so goddam quick
limbo became the only place
we share
a silent space
but not quite empty
who knew limbo
hurt like this, roy?

remember that photo?
at 6 feet under on memorial drive
you sitting on the upstairs patio
looking over oakland cemetery

we drank and laughed and talked
about what happened in april
about what it meant
we talked about these filaments
and what binds us together

it took a while before we both agreed
the waitress took our picture
we split the check
and everything was all tied up

your front view mirror

i glanced in the rear view a moment too long
found myself off-road heading for a brick wall
i could have panicked but instead
i consulted my trusty
front view mirror
a future bent by the soft mercury curvature
all things appear closer than they are
don’t know why or how but
something shifted, i saw
truth and fiction softly intersect
what is and what could be
and what should be
time and space turn smoothly,
i planned it that way
room to spare
time to document
an era to imagine

you never looked so good
we never looked so good
in your front view mirror
we never saw so much
texture
bricks pocked from the kiln and the weather
the sweat and the heft of the masons
you see the universe in the mortar
etched by time and lime and portland cement
you see dave
his name carved in the wet aggregate
flying to morocco for the summer
tells wild hashish tales
of true love and false imprisonment
drunk on beer and martinis
he’s hard to resist

truth and fiction intersect
scrape on the sleek refracting camber
of the front view mirror
in this one way
your front view mirror is a lot like
your rear view mirror

i have a great idea for a movie

opening scene everybody would die except
just two or three would survive, to live
gruesome scabby yet riveting lives
the survivors would have cleft chins
and perfect breasts that heave on command
or off

and they, the stars, the beautiful stars
would repopulate the earth in 90 minutes
make it a better place for kids and golden retrievers

the movie crests into naked euphoria
in the first two seconds
when bill o’reilly explodes in a deluge of magma
surging up from the earth’s core
directly into fox studios

the remaining eighty-eight minutes
with the movie’s perfect pacing
of cliffhanger rescues followed by frenzied fucking
feature nancy grace, the former prosecutor
whose southern accent
with its bitter yet come hither edge
makes me and all other cinematic
dorky ass viewers of cable tv cringe
and lust mightily at the same time
her full lips feverish and shiny
her open thighs ready to receive
the burning priapus of the sub-plot

anyway i digress from my movie idea
of the people who recopulate the world
and for a brief time live happily, so happy
in utah, where the mormons used to practice posture
before my movie sent them all to kingdom come

in the denoument, just before the climax
a really horrible thing happens, finally
after reams of crazy deaths and ecstatic coupling
but strangely, it seems rightly horrible
you might even say – apropos of
all the things, the death, the life
the well-hung dialogue, the rippling tears
the crippling laughter laced in the sacral bone
the very emulsion of the film itself
all melting together – beguilingly
a strange comic relief, a last straw
in the unending beverage that is my movie

we didn’t do what we wanted tonight

we wanted to ride marta without stopping
screaming all the way down the line
to the west end terminus and beyond
blaze new tracks for the good of the community
but the goddam train broke down at MLK
left our boots twitching
us murmuring incantations
over copper tokens—what good’re they now?

we didn’t ride where we wanted tonight
we listened to the same four songs over and over
Captain Beefheart, Boz Scaggs. Penguin Café Orchestra and Whodini
they’re good songs but they don’t mix so well
- - like drinking skanky beer
after a sleek lemon drop martini

so we got off the broken down marta train
its not what we wanted to do tonite
good thing we had our boots on
and a shiny sense of the impossible
otherwise we wouldn’t have walked all the way
to Ponce de Leon
visit Marlene and Kathy
who both work at the Majestic Diner
on Sunday afternoon

we ordered grits and implored them
we said we’d do whatever you want, Marlene and Kathy
we’ll call you Hepburn and deitrich, Kathy and marlene
we’ll fashion a Balkan ferris wheel
from a strand of pearl hominy
we’ll take you
to where we really want to go

but actually, what we really wanted
maybe all we’ve ever wanted, really . . .
is to blow up the marta train that broke down on us
blow it to kingdom come
pieces of aluminum and chrome
raining down all over marta repair yards everywhere
and after that, all we really want
is to do something else
something its hard to argue with
ecstatic coupling would be ideal, for example


by the boy poets, jumping the turnstile