Moy Sand and Gravel" by Paul Muldoon won the Pulitzer for poetry
Middle Sex by Euginedes won the Fiction
On The Transmigaration of Souls by Adams won the Music.

i am excited about ficition and music, do not know muldoon @ all.
sad that who is slyvia or the goat by albee didnt win for drama.

found society of the specatcle on the web last nite, tried to get brian to read it, he was lost.
i have a mind, the webbed brain, the connections shit, i got it immediatly, and bryan didnt, trying to explain the connections was almost futile.

yeah, im over here again and the domesticity is becoming closer, will be here tomorrow, anime with pat and bry.
home.

But you are also fooling yourself if you think that is yr only connection, i
am on a computer and talking to a journalist from new york about manga.

i can go to london and have a couch, or paris or berlin, my family comes
from missouri and england and ontario, we are a nation of immigrants, and a
nation of those who seek the best life.

im also catholic (small c, ie universal) and queer and a writer, any of
those things bigger then a mere accident of birth.

nationalism leads to partortism (which johnson called the last refuge of the
scoundral) and patrotism leads to jingoism war and destruction.

i have loyalty, to god and to myself, and to what ever the next gig is,
wherever the next adventure.

fuck nation.

i see no problem with this, i look forward to the rolling arround my father
did and fear the settling that he did as well, do you know what settling
means-entropy, death.

a bottle of champers and a line of coke and all the glamour of the jet set
life for me. you can have your home and kids and few feet in the suburbs.

funny, not hip, pathetic

meeting was grandma telling me whats going on. i dont like it (ie splitting in 1/2, which means chloe livvie and jack get boned)

i just bought a black t shirt with the word libertine written in big pink letters embalzoned on it.

josh gives me an A+ but calls me weird, and says proceed with caution.
i was wondering why, and then i realized i used the f word more often then anyone i know, that i talk with a certain ease about sex, that their is way too much art talk, and its not the life that a lutheran from the wilds of indiana would encounter.
im not going to change, but i am thinking that perhaps it is weird.

aside from the no fucking, the morning afters at bryan's are how i imagine married life.
A calm domesticity, him doing dishes and me writing, punk on the stereo.

i didnt understand marriage, the whole spending the rest of yr life with someone, but if it is like this, then
yeah.

i also bought melinda and thomas's wedding gift today, ikea-that grand socialist paradise, with pink wardrobes and not nearly enough ligonberries.
valerie, bryan and i got the whos fucking who look at least 6 times.

i need to blog soon about how i feel re:proddie weddings.
not now.

he has, and its basically- i'm a monk, and i need to work, and i dont have a gay bone in my body, and well-nothing ventured nothing gained.
saw far from heaven w. brian. the movie punched me in the gut- theater no, tv yes.
no happiness, no ease, and all that pain gliding down thru layers of artifice.

also krister has not emailed me back.
concern.

its spring, even with the snow and biting cold wind, and my hormones are raging, something about the changing of the earths cycles moves me from being the hermetic monk to the fuck them all libertine- (o hara wrote a poem about this, i will find it soon)-
i confessed today with father stephen vis a vis the strippers and the make out session with katherine and david, and the driinking and the doping,but not about an email sent to krister where i admitted my desire to both fuck him and make eggs in the morning.

stephen asked about slippery slopes, and if i was lonely, and about self love, and about roots and origens and actions, i am thinking really about spring-this need to fuck everyone and anyone is most deft. springy.

the machine that shits

today I saw all these people with great clothes and I had a fashion crisis at my plainness, but then I put on my cool scarf and I felt good. seriously, my scarf is awesome. I shall wear it all summer. you can look as plain as can be and then just one accessory can make you intensely cool

dan irons

funk is queer.

naive motherfucker doesnt want to kill

chris piuma

why is it still fucked

my blogs been colonized by a dr from sao paulo.
content there but the look and links are different.

frustrated that my carefully chosen
consumer choices are lost

frustated that links are gone-
electronic not flesh

frustrated that the paitings i carefully chose from google only look good on white backgrounds
and this nimrod chose blue

and thinking, post human trans human cyber love
all of it doesnt matter

cause near midnite on a tues. night
the pr doesnt work

and im not me, im some stranger
in the tropics

and its cold here, besides.

I
who saw christs penis ?
his mother , his father, the rabbi who circumcised him,
the jeering crowd, the women who buried him, the soilders who saw him raised
maybe the disciple he loved
maybe magadelene.

II
i slip his body under my tounge
once a week
does that body have a penis, testicles ?
arms, hands, eyes ?

the foreskin is found as relic
but the body renews,
and so we have Him all.

III
every time he enters my tounge
it is through the hands of a eunuch,
to whom christ promised the kingdom heaven

IV
As notice at adoration,
a red candle is lit
like a ships signal.
like that penis becoming
the light to the world

V
Every moan of Theresa refutes
every word of Jerome.

VI
To take the robe off,
as he hangs in torture
from every church in christendom.
means praying to christ's penis
is this heresey ?