Former student Eric Millman has revised his travel-mad book about crossing America in an outfitted school bus. A great read!

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Spoken word Recordings

Spoken word mix tape by some guy.

So, The World Ended

Today, The World Ended

Pink Lady Pink

Poodle Pink

Gazelle

Moving swiftly

Your off-white curves

Carrying you

Elegant dashes of black 

And red reflections whisper

Notice me

Chained to a fence.

Zombie Babies

From My Blog: Surviving In Italy

Me: Honestly I’m not sure I want kids because what if one night I wake up and one of them is standing in the doorway all backlit and I have to wonder if it’s a zombie or not. Because in movies that’s what always happens, then the baby eats the mom.
F: Wait, what the fuck?
Me: I mean, seriously, like Rosemary’s baby? Or that zombie movie that starts with the kid attacking the parents? Hello?
F: [stares blankly]

Me: Or, even worse, what if I just assume the baby was possessed and I threw the ax at it? (I keep a gold ax next to the bed to kill rapists) And it wasn’t. That sounds like some weird psychological thriller too.
F: You. Are. Insane.
Me: Oh come on! Don’t tell me you’ve never thought of how bad it would suck if your baby turned into a zombie and you had to kill it.
F: No. Never….
Me. Really? Well fucking great, now you think I’m insane and I’m going to accidentally kill our babies.
F: [blank stare]
Me. You know what? This is what happens when you make me do all the talking.

Language Is a Virus (from Outer space)

Writer's block? Stuck? Click here for a random next line generator.

trying to make sense of my present

The plastic mattress sighs, 

these pinstripes not nearly as loud as the others'

with midriffs out, a contour of abdomen or "fitting in." 

The thin walls offer me bass, but I am reluctant; 

more honored by the piss-beer I've opened 

bought with poor earnings of the delightful,

the sugar-coated, a servant for the rich.

My days are tired, so I lounge reclusively,

bored with words and pixels 

or empty readings; mostly of myself. 

The exquisite self that I refuse to believe

claws in and out of warmth, my dreams. 

If night stays black, where are my thoughts?

Neither here, nor there.

I have counted coins to throw in 

a well or a pot; both a gamble. 

The addict seises to quit.

Culture overwhelms me.  

I place myself at the nexus of youth and absurdity

uninterested in either or maybe just ignorant. 

a week's worth

october 12th

cold wet hands fall from

 storms winds, slapping night with our

first brisk evening

october 13th

a bird's song, nature's

gentle melody, whistles

warmth at starlight

october 14th

west of ocean winds

calm seas and hot sands hide from

changing seasons

october 15th

golden autumn sun

sneaks though oaks, pines, recalling

outdoor nostalgia

october 16th

sunken old shorelines --

fall's low, low tides reveal

their hidden treasures

october 17th

wrinkly, worn-out soles

embrace the barefoot comfort

of grassy backyards

october 18th

desert dryness sweeps

the already dead landscape

blowing heat offshore

We lost a good friend this weekend...

You brought flavor and spunk to so many lives. In their time of need, you were able to help those on the brink of sleep deprivation or those with an extreme lack of sobriety. When I held you in my hands, my fingers wrapped around your handle for the last time, I felt your intentions so pure and simple...that's when you fell, committing suicide on Jimmy's floor - sacrificing a fresh cup of venetian dark roast so as to 'go out with a bang.' As I looked down at my feet, your broken body scattered between caffeinated splatter with part of your handle still clenched between white knuckles, all I could think was 'we had a good run...a good run, indeed.' Farewell Gourmet Ground...rest in peace.



mid-week moments

october 9th

three elderly oaks

rise amongst hills, youthfully

playing in the wind

october 10th

weary storms crawl 'cross

oceans, wetting appetites

in thirsty autumn

october 11th

uninvited guest --

clouds break apart , replacing

lightning with sun beams