TWO TASK FORCE 1ST ARMORED DIVISION SOLDIERS KILLED IN AMBUSH 1/3/2004
ONE SOLDIER KILLED, TWO WOUNDED IN MORTAR ATTACK 1/3/2004

play Whack-a-presidential candidate.

to follow up with the Dec. 29, 2003 post,Bay Area's flourishing transgender performance scene
check outjulia serano's
web site

HELICOPTER DOWNED BY ENEMY (SIC) FIRE 1/2/2004
CONVOY ATTACKED INJURING THREE SOLDIERS 1/2/2004
SIX INJURED, ONE KILLED IN VEHICLE ACCIDENT 1/2/2004
SOLDIER KILLED BY NEGLIGENT DISCHARGE 1/2/2004

AUTHOR ANNOUNCES MORTAL WORK OF ART
Writer Shelley Jackson invites participants in a new work entitled "Skin." Each participant must agree to have one word of the story tattooed upon his or her body.

your past records present state

don’t tell me, remember; especially me; and those derrying-do’s and don'ts; neither being or trying. neither failing or knowing knowing, like the shirt tail on my back. having achieved a certain sense of . . . how do you say it . . . speaking in place. I, always with reservation, go politely before and / or after whatever makes you happy; return to my blank memory for departure . . . at times, I am so bored with the entire event, whatever it maybe, I forget to remember. so, I move on to either the piano or place. just today, while thinking about my thinking; I was thinking, if only I had a thought of my own; I thought, if I had mouth like you, a professional profile that can be stroked and especially those ever expanding pig’s feet, then, I thought, then, time would be small in each direction. but alas, just pickles and hope . . . I guess that’s it . . . pickles and hope. beyond that . . . well, there is / was another some point of view, where the the other one or another who formed something, and did something, but they never knew anything like television.

Throw out your pronouns -- 'he' and 'she' are meaningless terms in the Bay Area's flourishing transgender performance scene

backuped pence

considering how, how common, how spiritual, how chaste, how the the lights go on and off, on and off, up and down, undiscovered below and above the water, beyond influenza, below the precipice and lawn sprinklers, where where the temperature falls and rises to the pits of death, too close to the waters of annihilation, uprooted and entombed, composed and disposed . . . no matter how known, how could a dentist, how easy, how dignity stumbles, forced to struggle, induced by the bellows of war, the love of war, patriotism’s missing a limb, and or a place of how hovel, how epic, how pneumatic, how like an opium eater, eight against ten; panes of glass, sheets of steel darts that darken desire as hard as cirrhosis discolors, burns smudges tallow to muck, creatures for the beast, readies one for the golden leap, an instant, a pea, a mattress and and and unending never ending code blue illness, smashes smithereens to dramatic conquest, enslaves the far reaches of time square times squared, beyond reason in a bowl, short of the short end of the stick that is shorter than that; interrupted rapture to transcendental lack that lacks a good smile, lacks a good simile to teach odd tricks to, as the public would say; or is saying; ear to the faith of a lack of plots, jesus is this and jesus is that, to easy, not bright enough to lcatch a breath with, avoids amputation direction and words for colon cancer other than colon cancer but nothing of the pain, or the fear, or the shame, or the death bed death rattle in the lands of babel, sleepless in pain, sleepless in the dark; part villain, part vermillion, invaded by loss and lose insipid stupid things. memories bankrupt February, cries sympathy, battles empty for everyone, for the good of truth the respectable illusionary verbiage, grates past suffering, past loss souls, past limits and lose, stretches over existence of memory, boxed, boned and tacked up for permanence.

TASK FORCE IRONHORSE SOLDIER DIES FROM ILLNESS 12/29/2003
TASK FORCE 1ST ARMORED DIVISION SOLDIER KILLED AND FIVE WOUNDED IN IED ATTACK 12/29/2003

*Ten years ago, a handsome, brown-haired 21-year-old named Brandon Teena was raped and later murdered by two men after they discovered he wasn't born a man.*

ShOrt miNd oN a FaSt MarCh

it was there, before the start, before being recorded as a truth decorum, that didn't happen, and did or could be a more-or-less unceremonious pain that happened, with an air of pre-planned hair cuttings, firmly planted shelter systems and furniture copulation quick-dry cement, in the works by numbers, by the thought process, to an obligatory sea full of abundant entities including; sea horses of different color, isolated with nothing else to do in vast vistas of three clicks of a heel grand rapids, close to a thousand islands and ripley's believe-it-or-not-wax-museum, which never showed a single sea horse, that stood on the everything stock pile, that was given sticking point names and points for security check points with each and every noun, in a process, similar to sinking the bismarck, or the last supper, or lesser demarcation bay of pigs interlude, between vietnam and that korean oasis moving parallel machine, on the quarter hour propaganda for feeding, just before nap time, or within ocean’s reach of cream corn and overcooked meat monday through thursdays, but never on fishstickfridays with those special behind the gym cheap bus motel rendezvous. again, alone on a deserted barber chair marking those all inclusive projection for futurist moving in an idle atmosphere; where a guide dog takes everyone to the outer edge of the known and/or unknown snapped back universe, between dentistry and detergent, to or-or compulsion fastidious roundabouts; progressing through penal codes, true-false conclusions, hat and tie testing, this is your weapon, this is your gun in the name of “I” holy sickness and normal health parking lots for reused harbingers and cast lot pointers, that change that could be cloud nine from planet nine on a single sheet of plain blank white paper, tangled message or the messenger that became the “if nothing else fails,” single doppler on a double decker marriage blood test overcoat, master’s and bachelor's and master's master undercoat, but not yet, and still the midwest mayonnaise roustabout, curtailing deep fried southern everything as faraway faraday from there-to-here; which could be eternity, punctuated before a drunken stupor, which could wretch a wrench from a ratchet, which is not phillips, which cuts best in macarthur’s modus operandi: I shall return, I shall return or just fade away in irony snow, of never more and never more waits to signal the stopwatch checkpoint procreator with a return to sender love letter.

82ND AIRBORNE DIVISION SOLDIER KILLED IN IED ATTACK 12/28/2003
CJTF-7 SOLDIER DIES IN VEHICLE ACCIDENT 12/27/2003

astute and dead


I am the name of . . . do not agree with . . . sat in and was a part of . . . none of that will do . . . later tiny executioner words appear on a stick, tiny worlds of execution. have made a habit of removing random nails and sticky words that cause execution. if you agree . . . let’s talk, ask questions, do ancient and dream-like things, wipe the slate clean. make the cast-iron rumble and red hot pig iron disappear . . . its already flooded in self-help grids . . . fragment and shouts . . . in the morning someone whispers something . . . the clouds tease us with rain . . . the distance is a spy tube and droplets sounds appear. I seem to understand those tiny brittle needles are covering the past . . .you say, electrodes to for the dead and nouns for the living, I say astute and dead . . . . you do not agree with . . . sat in and was a part of . . . none of that will do . . . later tiny executioner words appear on a stick