Month: April 2012

Jumping out the window while naked and on fire – movie idea

Gary Oldman plays the self-flagellating killer with a penchant for klezmer  music and huffing down keyboard-cleaner. He only kills middle-aged men weighing in excess of 300 lbs and then paints the murder scene in watercolor while sobbing and clutching a Cabbage Patch Kid.

Mickey Rourke is the burned-out cop with a history of gourmet crystal-meth cookery and raiding the evidence room for underwear. Every internal affairs guy who has ever investigated him has been found beheaded and wearing clown shoes.

Willam Defoe – the priest who the killer confides in; when not dealing with the emotional tumult of this knowledge, he grapples with addictions to crack, the racetrack and Home Shopping Network.

Michael Madsen & Harvey Keitel – the hookers with hearts of gold.

And in true departures from past roles, Michael Douglas plays a middle-aged, affluent sex addict, while Al Pacino is the wildly-gesticulating senior detective who enjoys rattling foes with over-the-top histrionics that make no sense to anyone and seem to go on forever.


costume ball

Walking past
he wheezes
into his smartphone

“I’m gonna be a real asshole!”

I look up.


He’s got this chin,
this tapered, spindly chin
like a vase
or something passed on
to be placed on a doily
or in a cabinet.

You can just tell
it’s never taken
a good rap
or anything harder
than a good electric

I find myself
when said assholery ensues
they have a good app he can download for it.

Sacrifice Fly

Greenery spirals ahead
with trails
whisper flirtingly
along the Jackie Robinson.

Once again
zoned in
on the tracks
and once again
my power
is of the
warning track


The Boulevard intercedes
and I ford it,

pass the teen skateboarders
with kinder faces
than we ever had,

pass the fenced-off
that snarl watchfully
like any good mother might.

I reach the dome
and it is
my garden
for today
at least.

I remind myself
of the inches
and foul posts
and warnings
and warnings
and powers that end
right at
the warning track.

the biggest heel in the territory – 9

The waitress’ nametag said “Maggie” and she had eyes that told you she’d had enough of it all.

Harry ordered a coleslaw and a coke. In the booth in front of him, a gang of guys in graveyard uniforms crazily gesticulated about some game that involved a ball, goals, points, whatever.

Harry began lazily flipping through the Picayune, which mostly contained stories about entertainment folks puking and collapsing in public places.

The fry cook ran out of the back with a portable t.v. “We’re fucked, we’re all fucked!” he screamed. He quickly set the t.v. down on the counter as if it were some radioactive thing. He broke a ketchup bottle and began jabbing the jagged end into his eye-sockets. It was tough to tell where the Heinz 57 stopped and the blood started.

Maggie ran over and looked down at the smashed goods that had once been the fry cook. She screamed, tore at her hair, then looked at the t.v. screen. “Holy fuck, they’re finally doing it!”

Harry drummed his fingers impatiently. Where was his meal? Was it even in progress?

Suddenly the gravediggers got up and ran en mass to the television. They immediately began grunting and slamming each other in the face with their fists. Maggie watched the now-bleeding mass of men as they shambled around and over the register, the flat percussion of the blows entrancing her.

“Christ on fire!” shouted Harry. “Can I get some service here?”

Reconsidered – Minolta Freedom Zoom 90, tungsten ISO 64

After months of sitting on these, I’ve decided I don’t hate them after all.

???? Good Lord, talk about Spray-n-Pray
and speaking of praying...
and praying...
have a seat
high art...or epic chessboard FAIL!!!! But remember, for some of us, failure itself is an art!

I've seen your future. You don't want to.

my most masterful painting

down with the cheapness

yeah, see, this is supposed to at least somewhat look like a crucifix.