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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...

Tuesday, December 26, 2017

How Much of Life is Pittsburgh?

Mars potato salad the lobster redux flatbed full of 
meshuggana elbow spread & Batman with you

Sparrow ashtray
horse full of moon
pain on a stick
crag tinfoil
flood control setting
fugitives at the speed of sound
The Illuminati 1

Thursday, December 21, 2017

=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=

34. & 35.

Outfitting Ourselves for the End

There's nothing like a secret admirer.
She quickly realized the burgeoning science could only progress if she had observations that were systematic.
Stars, for instance, are not the same as pigs.
Let’s say, I have unique ways to allocate.
Let's say, I have ways.
Let's say I'm being robbed, but I choose to believe I'm pushing my daughter on the swings in the park across from the Methodist church
Let's say we're developing a vector graphics application. It will allow the user to create lines, rectangles, circles, text, etc. and manipulate them independently.
You can only enter the instance between 8 am and 11:30 pm server time.
When we went our separate ways, I remember thinking, when the winter storms arrive both sexes, which are strictly herbivorous, move to steep rocky slopes to avoid the heavy drifts of blinding snow and the archers.
Who can tell if we’re shouting when we have laryngitis?
Let’s say, we shrink them a bit.
Let’s say we beg.
They should fit comfortably and not interfere with breathing.
They should fit snug and protect all parts of the exposed skull.
They should not fit high on the crown of the head.
They should not trip us and make us fall into the fire.
100 years after we first arrived in Belgium we were still looking forward to a very exciting future
Then she fell into a gruesome nightmare, one that chilled her to the bone.
For every 1,000 words spoken, we make one or two errors.
Something that you say by accident when you intended to say something else can change water into wine.
The Gospel says: The microscopic tardigrade—also known as the water bear—is the only animal
that can survive the cold, irradiated, irrational vacuum
of outer space.
Hearing that, I had a strong feeling that I was pregnant.
Hearing that, I had the power to stand up and clap at the end.

Thursday, December 14, 2017


I feel like I’m tending
an anorectic flame
in memory of myself
this wavering will
to live.

Everything threatens it.
Even joy.

The shark moves flat as a coffin on autopilot through the seas of your dreams.

It’s loaded
with bombs that could wipe out
all the life on earth ten times over
but it’s looking for you alone.

How do we just sit there
eating cereal in the morning?
How do we stand so patiently in line
at the DMV?
If this were a horror movie
we'd run for the exit 
ready to lose our lunch.
If this were a love story
it would be the saddest ever told.
Why aren’t we screaming?
Why aren’t we screaming all the time?

Every time you draw that feeling out of me
I stand off to the side amazed
and watch it thunder passed
like a train with a thousand cars
loaded with god-only-knows-what
blowing me backward from the tracks.

Stand there, speechless,
staring in awe in the direction
of the tunnel
into the darkness stretching backward
farther than any eye can see.

=My Autobiography in 100 Pieces of Garbage=


Saturday, December 9, 2017


Flight pattern pontificate
the harbinger of nows
stand inside the platinum ponies
         a thousand forms of wow
         the port of call

Red gone left
                 the feathered one somehow
                 a pocketful of missing numbers
                 a bough
                 the scattered name of John

Sunday, December 3, 2017

You Are Always Here —> x

When you’re walking down the street
holding your life like a nothing-balloon
above your head, your allegiance
to the fork is unassailable.

I was never so spatially challenged
that I couldn’t find anything better
than an axe in a liquor store.
I was never that naïve.
I believe in my own disbelief.
I believe in a few things of my own losing.

I believe in the acne-scarred skin
of the orange I dig my thumbs into
on a Saturday afternoon, the accidental claw
of the cat leaping from my lap, the oxygen tent
in which lies crash-damaged the alien

that used to be my father. The radio
issuing a burbling stream of alphabet
over my cupped hands. And yet
I thirst. There’s something
I never said before, there must be.

I imagine all the children I never had
thanking me for sparing them this life
my kiss of death. You’re welcome, I whisper,
and pull the darkness back
over their bright little heads, still singing.

Oh my darling Brussels sprouts!

The moon,
bitter as an aspirin.

My black lips
talking like this without me.

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 the traffic cones placed
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