I did something extremely strange yesterday - I was examined by a doctor I had never met in a shabby little office downtown. And then, in just a matter of minutes, I became San Francisco’s newest medical marijuana patient.
This is not the first time I have tried to get high - I’ve ...read more
Genuine Mental Telepathy Experiment.
As a theoretical physicist (MIT class of 1975) I have spent a lifetime in the pursuit of scientific excellence. I believe that there is no higher calling then to use one’s time and talent in an effort to solve the problems that have plagued mankind through the centuries.
I have devoted much of my spare time over the last decade to a study of ESP and mental telepathy. The results have been mixed but my resolve is unwavering. My colleagues and I continue to conduct the sort of research I firmly believe will be yielding results sooner than we have a right to expect.
Below is a link to a video I posted on YouTube one year ago. It is a mental telepathy experiment in which I hope you, the viewer, will actually experience some sort of reception - some sort of understanding of the processes of my thinking - in a totally nonverbal manner.
The video last 52 seconds. I pray that you will watch this video and concentrate along with it. Your feedback will be greatly appreciated. It will help advance the sort of science wel all respect and love.
Thank you for your time.
Re: The Meeting.
To: Randy Geeks
Fr: john. john doe.
Re: The Meeting
At 7:00am, Tuesday, 2/8/11, we had a conversation in your office concerning what I described to you as an act of “anonymous aggression.”
I reported that on Thursday, 2/3/11, I mistakenly took possession of a pallet (store 8090) that did not belong to me (doors 9 & 11). I told you that I informed both Abel and Pat about the pallet. And I reported that on Friday, 2/4/11, a pallet of my mine (store 8086) was intentionally misplaced by an unidentified person (door 16).
Instead of writing a detailed description of our conversation, I wanted to let you know that things have been going well on the shipping floor since then. I have had no problems with anyone about anything.
We have been instructed once again to place labels on all pallets to help prevent mixing them. It probably would have prevented the situation I reported to you.
The meeting lasted 15 minutes.
Christmas is Nigh.
It’s hard to believe that Christmas is less than two weeks away. I am not a religious man so it is difficult for me to celebrate Christmas in that respect.
I am, however, a scientist. As you may know I am a civilian employee of the United States Military Industrial Complex. I work as ...read more
On December 8, 1980, I was living in Medford, Oregon. I was the afternoon DJ at KMED, a stupid little AM station that almost no one listened to. I never listened to it, but I assumed someone must have because the phones rang every once in a while and they didn’t seem to be wrong numbers. My on-air ...read more
a poem for Richard Brautigan.
For me, it all started in the summer of 1972 with my discovery of Richard Brautigan. I was a kid in the Army in Baumholder, Germany. I’d always been a reader but I’d never read anything like the whimsical writing of Richard Brautigan.
I don’t recall the title of my first Brautigan ...read more
I’ve always loved biography. I have many faded yet vivid childhood memories of the books about the late afternoon lives and adventures of guys like Kit Carson and Wild Bill Hickok. Then (I think maybe I was just out of high school) I read this really strange book about the real life's of Bonnie and Clyde; Fay Dunaway and Warren Beatty had portrayed them in a really famous movie. Everybody was really excited about it.
In the summer of my twenty-second year, I stumbled across a book that literally change my life. I was in the Army and I was stationed in Germany, and I had plenty of time on my hands. So I read and I read a lot.
If I had to chose a favorite author from that time period, I would chose Richard Brautigan. And I’m telling you now that I am still trying as hard as I can to write just like him: to write just like Richard Brautigan. Isn’t that stupid?
This ain’t no lie - sometimes I ask myself, “If Richard were here right now, what do you think he’d say?”
So if you don’t like what you’re reading right now, please don’t blame me - blame Richard Brautigan.
i’ve been recently reading the second major biography of John Cheever. It’s called “Cheever: a life” by Blake Bailey. I think this book is very splendid (one of the splendid things I’ve learned about John Cheever is that he wasn’t a very good spellder [sic]. So am I).
I haven’t yet finished Mr. Bailey’s mammoth seven-hundred page book about John Cheever...but everybody knows how the story eventually ends, anyway.
J.D. Salinger is dead.
The Catcher in the Rye:
J.D. Salinger is died, of course. He was 91.
Last summer I read "The Catcher in the Rye" for the very first time. I figured it was about time for me to read that book. After all, John Lennon bled to death on a New York City sidewalk while his ...read more
Watching Sharon Olds.
I probably shouldn't even
write this poem (because
I really do love the woman),
but watching Sharon Olds
recite her poetry reminds one
of Ted Kooser wearing a long
streaked auburn colored wig.
Sunrise. Sunday Morning 30
More from last Sunday morning…
Some of the most surprising revelations I've had about Hemingway, Wolfe, Salinger, and Kerouac, are the numerous little threads that connect their lives:
On or about August 25, 1944, J. D. Salinger met Ernest Hemingway at the Ritz Hotel ...read more
Sunrise. Sunday Morning 29.
Joyce Johnson, the author of the 1988 memoir “Minor Characters,” has at least two claims to fame:
1) She was Jack Kerouac’s “girlfriend” for a little while.
2) She writes the hell out of this crazy little book.
Ms. Johnson posses a gift for ...read more
Death of a Pit Bull.
I was, of course, late for work, and
speeding, east bound, down the 60
freeway in Diamond Bar, California,
when suddenly I spotted a big grey
Pit Bull down on the freeway between
lanes 2 and 3 - it must have fallen out
of somebody's truck. I was barreling down
the freeway at 8o miles per hour and
thinking to myself how ugly it was going
to be when someone finally runs over that
big grey dog. And as I roared on by it,
I glanced quickly in the mirror and watched
the great beast twitching and dying beneath
a ragged sky of clouds.
A story of mine titled "The Short Story" was accepted for the current edition of the online journal Exquisite Corpse. I submiited it almost two years ago and had forgotten about until I received word that it was to be published. Exquisite Corpse is located in New Orleans and like almost everyone else its business was disrupted by Katrina. This is the first issue since the storm.
To see the story go to:
or go to my Lit.Org profile and click on the link.
I posted the story on Lit.Org on 1/19/05. It was titled "About Dad".
I happy to report that today marks the 3rd anniversary of my first post on Lit.Org (a poem titled “Someone wrote a poem for me”). I now consider it my internet home. I discovered Lit.Org while posting on Craigslist and decided to check it out. I spent a couple of weeks reading different posts and getting a feel for the website. Then I decided to join…three years ago today.
There are many things I appreciate about this website. I like how the home page is setup and managed. For the last three years I have tried to keep at least one item on the home page…I wasn’t completely successful - but it certainly helped me to focus and be creative.
I also like the fact that lots of different statistics are available if you are interested. For instance, here are my top 10 posts for the last three years:
1) The Poetry Home Repair Manual (book review) – 1418 views
2) Experimental Book Review (book review) – 1302 views
3) Neil Young: Heart of Gold (review) – 1231 views
4) Sunrise. Sunday Morning (#4) (blog entry) – 1136 views
5) The Flaming Lips ‘At War’ (review) – 1131 views
6) Jagged Little Pill Acoustic (review) – 1124 views
7) Bukowski: Born Into This (review) – 1117 views
8) Meet The Scottsdales (short story) – 1031 views
9) The Family (book review) – 1029 views
10) Sunrise. Sunday Morning (#12) (blog entry) – 1007 views
I want to take this opportunity to thank the good folks who operate Lit.Org. It has offered me untold hours of satisfaction and entertainment.
On Father's Day.
This is the first Father's Day I will spend without my father. Dad died of pneumonia on August 22, 2006, after suffering for almost a decade from the insidious degerative effects of Parkinson's disease. He was 81.
Dad was an intelligent man - he authored a text book on electrical engineering and accumulated a small fortune through prudent investing. He was also a talented artist and had a life-long passion for the piano. Dad was a much continted man in the last half of his life; he stopped drinking and smoking and became an active member of his church. The only vice he induldged in was an obsession for conservitive politics.
Unfortunately, however, my father and I were never close. As a young man - a young father - my dad was a distant angry man. As a child I was unable to understand why he was so unhappy. In my young mind I presumed the problem was me and I dealt with the situation by withdrawing into a lonesome fantasy world. My parents rarely argued in front of me, but I can only guess how my mother handled my father's dark moods.
I harbored a deep resentment of my father. I finally escaped by enlisting in the Army. I didn't say goodbye.
As the years passed and my father changed, so did my attitude about him. I became influenced by the philosophy of the noted psychiatrist Dr. David Viscott, and forgave my father. My family and I were suprised by how many people attended dad's funeral. I believe he would have been suprised too. I plan to visit his grave today and share some time with him.
Sunrise. Sunday Morning.
1). I am slowly getting drunk this morning on a nice bottle of Syrah. I plan on washing that down later with some St. Pauli Girl. I guess I have a touch of meancholia. I was meandering thru YouTube this morning and stumbled across this video by Elton John - it's kind of a nice wine-drunk-sunday-morning-video:
2). I took Cindi to see the movie "Bug" last night - is was a damn train wreck! "Bug" is astonishingly bad, it's unremittingly bad, it's indescribably bad, it's insatiably bad, it's hilariously bad! Seriously, "Bug" is bad movie making on a Biblical scale.
We went to see it because it stars Ashley Judd...we wanted to see her naked. Well, we did see her naked (at the very end), but by then the only thing we were thinking was: "Ashley needs to shave her beaver, Mrs. Cleaver."
The only saving grace in "Bug" is the performance by Harry Connick Jr.
After it was over a small group of us gathered in front of the empty screen and decided to tell all our friends that "Bug" is the best film we have ever seen and that they must see it as soon as possible - then they will feel as ripped-off and foolish as we feel (well, on second thought, maybe that's a cruel idea). "Bug" is that bad!
3). Not long ago I finished reading the best book I have ever read: "Middlesex" by Jeffrey Eugenides. I'll will write a review of it some time.
4). Current reading:
The Colossus of Maroussi - Henry Miller
Winesburg, Ohio - Sherwood Anderson
Henry and June: the unexprugated diary - Anais Nin
March 3, 2007.
I went walking tonight. The moon was heavy and full, almost too bright. I was thinking about some things:
vacant houses people leave with all the lights on,
my vacation next week...
I was also thinking about a short story I want to write called "The Request Line." It's the erotic story of a disc jockey named Charlie Grease, and his sexual conquests via the request line at the local rock radio station where he works. I haven't written a word of the story yet, but I have composed the disclaimer:
WARNING: The following story is merely an excuse to describe scenes of gratuitous sex in pornographic detail. Many readers may find it disturbing...everyone one else will be whipped into an orgiastic furry.
I can't believe it - but this is the first Christmas season in well over 20 years that I haven't heard that damned song, "Grandma got run over by a Reindeer."
I used to like it. I think it was 1980, maybe 81. I was working at a radio station in Medford, Oregon (KMED). We played the hell out it.
It was written by a fellow named Randy Brooks. He was in a band but the guys wouldn't perform the song because it was so weird. In 1979 Brooks met this veterinarian/folk singer from San Francisco named Dr. Elmo Shropshire and sold it to him for $500.
Elmo recorded the song and pressed 500 copies for friends, family, ect. One of his friends passed it along to someone at KSFO in San Francisco and they started playing it. Every year it just got bigger and bigger until 1984, when Elmo and Patsy (husband and wife) signed a big recording contract with CBS records, and the rest, as they say, is history.
It's become the biggest selling Christmas novelty record of all time...and I haven't heard once this year.
There is a God.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
On Sunday morning, October 15th, at 9:14am I finished reading Henry Miller's "Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch." I've been hacking away at it for months (see "Sunrise. Someday Morning. (18)" below).
To celebrate I had a glass of merlot; and then another; and then another. Before I knew it, things were getting a little foggy. One of these days I'm going to sit down and write about my impressions of the book. Finishing it was rather an emotional moment. No, I didn't break down and cry. But Henry Miller's writing was something of a revelation to me. It's going to take some time to sort it all out. I want to do a good job of it.
Cindi and I had sex Saturday night (10/14/06). It's been about 10 months. I got a great room at a nice hotel. We had some drinks and went out for an appetizer at a mexican restaurant. Later that night, we were lying around talking when she made some sort of rude comment. It started an argument. Around 3am I'd had enough and we went our seperate ways. All in all, it was a very typical evening for us.
I'm currently reading a lot of poetry: Billy Collins (good stuff), Tony Hoagland (limp-wristed stuff), William Notter (not bad stuff), and Rodney Jones' "Salvation Blues" - the stuff Jones writes is a perfect example of why most people do not read poetry. I spent $25.00 on this goddamn book and I'm seriously considering asking the publisher for a refund.
I recently discovered a fine NPR program and website called "The Writer's Almanac."
Several months ago (5/7/06 to be exact), I posted a blog titled "Sunrise. Someday Morning (19)." I announced that a small publication had agreed to publish a poem I'd written. Well, it's happened.
Yesterday, I received a complimentary copy of POETALK: winter/spring 2006 - this issue includes my poem, "The Phone Call." Established in 1974, POETALK is the offical publication of the Bay Area Poets Coalition, Berkley, California.
POETALK editor, Maggie Morley, published the poem on the condition that I agree to some small edits. I posted "The Phone Call" on Lit.Org, 11/18/05:
See for yourself - here's the difference.
The Phone Call - posted 11/18/05 Lit.Org.
I don't recall her words exactly,
but I heard the sound of my dying father
in the voice of my mother this morning.
I wore mom's voice like a heavy black coat
all day. And then, just now, I removed it and placed it
om my bed and I sat down beside it and wept.
The Phone Call - published 2006 POETALK.
I don't recall her words exactly,
but I heard the sound of my dying father
in the voice of my mother this morning.
I wore Mom's voice like a black coat
all day. Just now, I removed it, placed it
on my bed, sat down beside it and wept.
I perfer the original (but the edited version is growing on me).
I am currenly reading the magazine "Poetry: July/Augest 2006, the humor issue." I'm going to writing a letter to the editor about my impressions.
Sunrise. Someday Morning (20).
Cindi and I spent most of Saturday night (8-5-06) in downtown Los Angeles - she wanted to have dinner at the Farmer's Market, and I wanted to visit 5124 De Longpre Ave - one of Charles Bulowski's early residences.
Bukowski lived on De Longpre from late 1964 until the middle of 1973. ...read more
Sunrise. Someday Morning (19).
A small poetry magazine has agreed to publish one of my poems. I am very excited about it. I feel so...so...writerish - I am seriously considering growing a beard and becoming a homosexual. It's so amazing. Two years ago I couldn't even spell the word "librettist" - now I are one.
Unfortunatly, my happiness is bittersweet: The editor of the magazine wanted to edit the poem for publication. At first I was indignate at the idea of anyone tampering with "My Art." I discussed the problem with my friend, Connie. "Well," she said with a blank look on her face, "isn't that what an editor is supposed to do? edit things?" Connie was right, of course (she always is). I relented and gave my permission to revise the poem - beggars, as they say, cannot be choosers.
The ironic thing about all of this is that I haven't had a poetic idea in almost two months - except of a couple of lame titles ("A Drunken T.V. Dream," and "Light Weight Ammunition for the Hippies") I have been dry as a bone. But I continue to write. My next goal is to have a short story published.
As mentioned above - the poetry magazine has "agreed" to publish my poem; it hasn't happened yet. If it does, I will post the news. Here.
POST SCRIPT: Current reading.
Donald Barthelme's "40 Stories" and "Sixty Stories."
"The Complete Stories of Truman Capote."
Jim DeRogatis' "Staring in Sound: the true story of Oklahoma's fabulous Flaming Lips."*
Henry Miller's "Big Sur." (I'm up to page 156!)
* I have posted a review of the Flaming Lips' new album in the "review" section of Lit.Org.
Sunrise. Someday Morning (18).
Wednesday. 5:30 a.m.
I'm happy to report that I'm into the third day of my annual two week late-winter vacation. The weather has been just fine - dark, cold, and rainy. Seriously, I'm very pleased by the weather - it's preventing me from doing some of the yard work I really need to ...read more
Sunrise. Someday Morning (17).
PACIFIC STANDARD TIME.
Today has been a little
for me. It's
the first day of
Pacific Standard Time
it's taken me by suprise.
It's rained all day since breakfast
and I don't know what time it is
because I took off my watch.
I've decided not to walk the dog. Her name
is Sam. She's a golden retriever. Even
Sam doesn't know what to think.
Sunrise. Someday Morning (16).
Mars is being chased across the sky by Orion; I'm going for a walk this morning and have a good long look.