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  • - * 13 DOORS OF X* *Meeah Williams* The Barking Cat Press * 2015 Brooklyn, NY * Seattle, WA copyright 2015 Meeah Williams/The Barking Cat...

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Cop With No Face

There are a lot of one-legged people
in this town. It makes you wonder
what they’re doing to each other
in the next room
with the other leg.

She had a mind like an elastic band
snapping against the skin.
I spoke to her briefly
in the garden
among all those damned marigolds
the locomotive
the empty space.

It was painful to see all the traffic cones
around the hole
where whatever used to be there
used to be there.

I’ve got new sounds I want to try out
on the crows
plus the larches
plus the eight ball in the corner pocket.

His was the face in the mirror
and not just the one he was looking into.
Yes, he continued,
having never begun.

Wednesday, November 8, 2017

Robot Man vs. Devil Ham

We were waiting for something better
but kept coming upon situations
of our own losing.
Well we’ll cross that bridge
when we run from it
and stitch ourselves a kite
from scraps of our own skin.
Now we’re waiting for the wind to rise.
Otherwise we played that hand
a dozen ways from Sunday.
It’s hard to convince anyone
you’re a vegetarian
clutching a drumstick
to beat the band.
I felt like one big erasure
walking into that room
everyone by comparison a panda
or something better.
But I did it anyway
as if it were something to crow about
& it is
& it isn’t.
I felt like that part of a person
that doesn’t come back from a moon launch
but floats around out there orbiting
other stuff that doesn’t come back
from other people.
Orbiting, schmorbiting.
Otherwise known as frozen peas.
But, alas, my x's will tell you different.
My o’s, too.

=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


Thursday, November 2, 2017

=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


Everybody has problems, but the thing is to not make a problem about your Problem. For example, if you have no money and you worry about it all the time, you'll get an ulcer and have a real problem and you still won't have any money.      
—Andy Warhol  

=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


Tuesday, October 31, 2017

If you can't believe it's happening, pretend it's a movie.    —Andy Warhol

=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


I am going to put myself to sleep now for a bit longer than usual. Call it Eternity.

—Jerzy Kosinski, suicide note

Ed: (JK, let's strike the last line. It undercuts the wry humor and the sly, off-hand, "devil-may-care" attitude you've established so brilliantly in the first. Who gives a goddamn what "they" call it? Let them call it macaroni if they like. Eternity or oblivion, eight hours or forever—it's irrelevant. Death? You're just going to sleep like any other night. That you're not waking up again…no big deal. You don't care. That's how much life means to you. You've said it all in the first line. Don't leave them with any hope. Don't give the bastards an "out." Be terse. Be uncompromising. Fuck them all. One of the good things about being dead, you don't have to compromise with the shitheads anymore. You get the last word. Keep it brief. Bang. Outta here. Thoughts?)

=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


Monday, October 30, 2017

=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


People like to think of their legacy—the lasting meaning of their lives—in terms of what they will leave behind when they die. But they think in terms of their wealth, their children, some book they wrote or art they made, a house or bridge they built or had built,  a library they endowed or a chair they carpentered, some good works or happy memories, 40 years on the job, a collection of birdhouses or teaspoons. They never think of their place in the landfill. Of all the garbage they left in their wake. But that's as much their "legacy" as anything else. More, really, than that other stuff; it's their trash that will be the most enduring evidence of their life on earth, that will have a more lasting impact on whatever future there may be. Each of us leaves behind as a memorial to our lives a monument of garbage. We are what we eat for a little while. We are what we throw away forever.

Sunday, October 29, 2017

=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


Being born is like being kidnapped. And then sold into slavery.
—Andy Warhol

=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


Aura must be until you open your mouth.
—Andy Warhol

Saturday, October 28, 2017

=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


Blue Narwhal Application
(please read before singing)

Would you like to receive blue narwhals?
What about emails with blue narwhals?
Special blue narwhal mandalas and accessories?
Blue narwhal activities?
Speak up.
We can’t read your mind.
If you answered “yes,” please continue.
How do you want to be notified about blue narwhals?
Do you want to be a blue narwhal?
What do you think this is, heaven?
That horn, that’s really a canine tooth that spirals counter-clockwise up to nine feet in length.
It's covered with nerve endings.
It stuns prey.
This isn't a Disney film about blue narwhals.
This is the 100% blue narwhal real thing.
Would you like blue narwhals in a language other than English?
If so, please tell us what language you imagine.
Would you like a blue narwhal instead of a grandmother?
Are you a grandmother?
Get that sense of completeness you're missing with a stunning blue narwhal.
A blue narwhal may not cause symptoms until it moves  into your ureter.
Then look out for your nation’s flag!
There are two forms of universal comedy that transcend all languages and races: Men getting hit in the crotch and blue narwhals.
The chopped blue narwhal is probably a drug-dealer sandwich.
Poor oral hygiene, gum disease, tooth decay, or mouth infections can create an environment in which blue narwhals thrive.
Would you like a blue narwhal kiss?
What was Joseph Goebbels like as a person? Ask a blue narwhal; he'd know.
Just yesterday, a blue narwhal didn't show up for a DUI case in Montana because it was living with a temple of monks.
The monks never said a word.
True story: Google is working on a blue narwhal that can be injected into people's eyeballs.
Up here in a penthouse, 600 feet in the sky, where it's hard to make out the regular people below, a blue narwhal smiles down mysteriously upon you.
Close your eyes and pucker up.
Your wish is about to come true.
Or someone's.

Thursday, October 26, 2017

Prolegomena to Any Future Bullshit

We were on a mission from God
but He was having none of it
Time waits for no man
but it’ll hang around the back door
an hour or two for a flat-chested woman
with a pair of Dad’s old socks stuffed into her bra
and a questionable reputation
Don’t be impertinent
On second thought
Pie, and its environs
Good things come in small packages
like your eyeballs
a tooth
Bugspray is not an option
Squirrels would enjoy that
A reward is simple
and great
like a ladder
in a coal mine
and you can eat a pile of it
Chicken wings
Bruce Lee
If you put your mind to it
like a shoulder to a door
you’ll surprise the lot of them
playing cards
Bloodclots are like that
or pockets
I’ve got to hand it to you
sooner or later
but let’s not rush things, okay?

Cork. Milk it. Say what's not said. Or don't. Quote, unquote. Be indivisible. Or invisible. Gelato. Sad eyes. Auburn, NY. Divide by four.

Monday, October 23, 2017

You're It!!!

Do kids still play tag? What a terrible game it is. You're ostracized with a touch & everyone flees from you screaming. Suddenly, you're persona non grata, a walking plague, a monster, friendless & alone. And the only way to save yourself is to touch someone else & transfer the curse onto them. Does anyone even teach kids this game or do they come up with it on their own, instinctively? Because what a perfectly apt way it is to practice what it is to be human.

Sunday, October 22, 2017

Suicide is only a protest against control.
—Kathy Acker

You're after, but what? Pelican, the pole position. Big lipstick. Remember: you star with your feet. Tip. When all else fails: Mata Hari!

Saturday, October 21, 2017

Make like a tree, falling. Flop around. Sock the clock. The world around you is going, going, gone. So? Bang the story.  Plug. Shoehorn. 

Friday, October 20, 2017

Say what we will about it and deny it till we die—we are blighted by our knowing what is too much to know and too secret to tell one another if we are to stride along our streets, work at our jobs, and sleep in our beds. It is the knowledge of a race of beings that is only passing through this shoddy cosmos.  —Thomas Ligotti

Think chicken. Take some time to go in circles, at least 3 times. Plywood. Acorns. Something goes AWOL. Exercise that option. Feel stuff.

Thursday, October 19, 2017

Go with it. If not, be a gas leak. One-hour parking. Things thicken. Is that really your hat? Cucumber. Curlicue. Fern. Then: clams casino!

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

=The Journey to Clacksville=

You remember being loved
You forgot your name
You lost your keys

We were happy in those days
Not knowing about the mole people

Or the floating eye

The weather is freaky
Snakes get into the house
Accidents happen

The last time we looked at the map
It was easier to believe in it

We live in the age of spiders
Head-on collisions
Popcorn trivia

You’ll need to grow new ears
To hear who’s calling
Next time

Snuggly's the word. Saint Ridiculous. You must find a way to your criminal partner. Sausage. Jealousy is a big balloon. Raccon it, baby!

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

My only interest as a writer lies in some queer individuality; not in strength, or passion, or anything startling, but then I say to myself, is not "some queer individuality" precisely the  quality I respect? 
—Virginia Woolf

Sunday, October 8, 2017

Why You Feel the Way You Do

You go out in the morning for coffee and when you come back home you’re twenty-five years older than when you left. No one can explain this common phenomenon to your satisfaction. 

*     *     *

When you walk into an empty room tell me that the furniture doesn’t look smug, as if it had been talking about you while you were out of earshot, and none too kindly either. Go ahead. Get up and walk into another room right now and see for yourself, if you haven't already noticed. I'll wait. I've got nothing better to do.

*     *     *

I captured this sentence and watched it beat its Technicolor wings against the glass of an old mayonnaise jar until it was ragged and colorless and meant nothing anymore. Now I give it to you. You can give it to someone else if you like. I don’t give a damn what you do with it. 

*     *     *

Since the beginning of time, old women have been sitting on porches painfully knitting with the knobby, arthritic fingers of has-been prizefighters a blanket large enough to smother the whole earth but they never quite finish and that is why you and everyone you meet look a little out of breath, a little blue. 

*     *     *

Do you remember that cold gray morning standing in front of the firing squad? How they took aim and fired shot after shot, always wide of the mark, until, disgusted, you took up an extra rifle and shot yourself through the heart to show them how it was done?  Well, I do. I was there, standing blindfolded, right beside you. And, man, you were fucking magnificent.

Thursday, October 5, 2017

My Favorite Suicide Notes of Two Lines or Less

1. You’re so vain I’ll bet you think this suicide is about you.

2. Don’t act so broken up, you big phony, I’ve been dead to you for decades!

3. Goodbye cruel world!

4. If life was supposed to be a gift, thanks but no thanks, I’m returning it for something better. Nothing at all!

5. Life sucks; then you die. I’m just cutting down on the sucks part.

6. I’ve had it up to here with being; I’m giving nothingness a try.

7. Maybe now you’ll believe me when I say, “Leave me the hell alone.”

8. That’s all folks!

9. This is one mess you can’t make me clean up.

10. Finally, I’m going to get that room of my own!

11. The only way Hell can be worst than this is if I see you all again on the other side.

12. All my life I’ve been dealing with me: now it’s your turn! Good luck!

13. Just try and spam me now!

14. To be or not to be…decided!

15. Well, excuuuuuuse me for spoiling your day!

16. brb…not!

Monday, October 2, 2017

The Post-Me

Oh, how sick & tired I am of myself.
I've lived with myself for too long
I've wasted the best years of my life with me.
I've put up with enough of my abuse.
I'm fed up to here with me.
I want a divorce from me.
We have irreconcilable differences, myself and I.
I'm tired of my excuses.
I'm tired of hearing that I'm going to try again.
I'm hopeless.
I'm a lost cause.
Let's face it, I'm never going to change.
And I'm not going to take myself any longer.
I'm just making a fool of myself.
I've had enough!
I'm leaving.
I don't ever want to see myself again.
Don't write.
Don't call.
Don't come around looking to make amends.
I don't want to hear any more of my empty promises.
I'm sick of my sob stories, my "I'm sorries." 
They mean nothing to me.
I've learned that the hard way by now.
I'm not going to enable my sorry ass one minute longer.
I'm not the same old sucker I used to be.
I don't care what I say, what I threaten.
I fucking mean it this time.
I can go jump off a bridge for all I care.
That's not my business; it's no longer any concern of mine.
Go ahead and try me.
I'm through. 
Do I understand?
I'm walking out that door and never looking back.
Oh I won't, won't I?
Well, just watch me wise-guy.
I'm going somewhere where I can never find me.
I'm starting a new life without me.
No, it's not someone else, it's me.
Why can't I get that through that thick head of mine?
It's me me me me me.
But that's all over, thank god.
This is the post-me.
This is the what-comes-after-me.
This is the world without me.
And boy is it about time.
I can see the world without me already.
It's beautiful.
And I can't wait to be there.
It’s like I can finally breathe again.
Goodbye, asshole.

No, I'm not back already, you smirking shithead.
I forgot my keys.