KLF

Is your contact information up to date?
what is that thumping noise? why is there muffled screaming
from next door
and why do our colors clash?
In a flash I decided that I was doing everything right
I had no regrets
I turned it up. It was too much. It was spinning out of control.
but I knew this was how I had to do it
I was being born
I was in a bear costume
Then the words stopped, and the dancing started

TWO PROBLEMS

\//..//.//3333

How do I tell you that you're shitty at yoga?

How can I let you know?

How do I tell you that you're shitty at yoga?

Without making you get up and go?

How can I keep my new email password secret?

Since I told you my old one?

And now that you're used to snooping through my mail,

How can I cut you off?

Without appearing like I have something to hide?

I don't have a porn habit!

I just want to be able to gossip about you with my friends.

But how can I tell you 'no'?

Without making you get up and go?

Oh lordy loo

What can I do?

You're shitty at yoga,

And you want my email password too!

"'sperm whales in space'

was stamped upon her cheste
with a smile and a stare
that sultured in the air."

painted on the refrigerator door with a felt pen and puddles of ink. i'll never forget the way in which he looked as he turned his head: toward my face with his face and remnants of an early mustache, his nose and his lips and his forehead and his cheeks.

"you have sturdy bone in your head" i said.

"yes" as his eyes slid up into mine.

HOOOOOOOO BABY

THIS IS MY POEMATION FOR THE NATION

IT'S ABOUT THE TROLLEYS

TROLLEY SOUP:A POEM
BY CHRISTOPHER TROLLEY EILERS

TROLLEY SOUP
IT'S LIKE A GROUP
OF TROLLEYS
IN A BOWL
IT'S TOO BIG THOUGH
THE SPOON WEIGHS A TON
AND CAN'T BE LIFTED
NOT EVEN FOR FUN
BECAUSE IT COSTS WAY TO MUCH
AND WEIGHING THE COST
AGAINST THE TASTE OF TROLLEY SOUP
I'VE DECIDED AGAINST IT
THE PROCESS HAS ENDED
THE TEAM HAS GONE HOME
THEIR FAMILIES ASK QUESTIONS
ABOUT MY MOTIVES
THEY AREN'T PLEASED EITHER
IT'S SOMETHING THAT COULD'VE BEEN GREAT
AND IF WE GET INVADED BY A
RACE
OF GIANT
TROLLEY EATING
ALIENS
IT WILL MEAN INTERSTELLAR PEACE
BECAUSE NOTHING TAMES A STRANGER
UNDER THE GUISE OF INVADER
LIKE SOME FREE SOUP

THE END

I WOULD LIKE TO DEDICATE THIS POEM TO LINDSEY LOHAN, BRITNEY SPEARS, AND PARIS HILTON, IN THAT ORDER.

NNNNNNNNNNNnnnnnnnnn

NOPE. YOU GET THIS INSTEAD.

Guest post: "into the hills" by ZM

are you up there?

right here
through this side door through the garden past the trees in the moonshine I saw

it wouldn't be
yet yr eyes would be scarlet save modern physics

neat tricks knit
I'd like the change for that please

coffee twitch don't spill it
split yr picks to maximize returns
and i'll see you in a minute

i'd bend over backwards for her, if i could get treated.

this what a "he" or what a "she" had said to me when we were at the foot of my bed, talking.

let's live on livel two thes ness is still a monster.

smithy was a blacksmith with a pet parakeet
she sat on the iron for-
-ge -she wasn't made of seed. -t

smithy made skullp-tour with her for
his friends. she wo-
-uld -ke to see him every morning. -od

that was that was smithy lived. he lived for a long time with his pet at his side. they would stay up late at night. they would sing lull-a-bye-byes to the sunshine and the moonlight in the morning. they wood sit on the table with their eyes open to stare at the through the windows of their home. this is where they spent their time for most of all of their time.

earlier in their lives, they lived in a small home dug out in a forest. smithy had been along the way for most of his days until he was struck by limb in the quiet of a nighttime's moonlight light. this was when the idea had arrived with him to make something with what he was given.

whirled, the window whirled into a spinning whirl,
the light was lightless and all was blackness.
i began to listen to
-tick -ti -ta -tick -a -lick
-shh -sp -sp -sp -shh -sp -sp
--ss--ss--ss--ss--ss--st-teh-teh-sssss
i swam in his veins. they w-ea-re cold.
they were the cold of ice water in august.
listen to our scream.

Kung Fu Gasoline Love circa 1986 (part 2)

Trent shifted into neutral, threw the hand brake and cut the wheel hard. His ride careened into a perfect one eighty.

"Trent honey...what's going?"

Hard, insisting silence.

"Trent, I won't leave you."

He said nothing. Beyond the reach of the DeLorian's headlights...they were coming. Hell followed with them.

"Jen...baby...I love you in a crazy doomed way you'll never understand. Now get out of the car or I'll punch your teeth out."

She said nothing. Only gathered up her bag and pulled the latch releasing the door above her head. Stepping into the night she whispered.

"I love you too."

Trent pulled the door shut and sped into the nothing. Through the tears in her eyes, Jenny watched the red tail lights become red tails. Neon snakes extending into a darkness that masked the horizon. Trent was a part of that darkness now. Deep down, she knew he wasn't coming back.

It didn't take long to reach his pursuers. A mile down the road and he could see that they had stopped. Waiting...each sat upon a bike that might have been forged by giants in some warped Victorian sweatshop.

Stepping out of his car the wind tussled the world's least ironic mullet. Trent's mullet. Even Death himself couldn't help but smile. And then He spoke.

"Trent Marko, you're the last your kind. Make it interesting."

Trent grinned. His fists smoldered with the Chi of the Seven Dragons.

"Heh...and I was worried I'd have to talk about my feelings."

...

The ensuing explosion could be seen from space.

And then the world turned.

T.V. Dinner

>>>>

He ran as fast as he could into the night, letting the glock fire a few rounds behind him down the alley. He had no idea how far back they were and there was no time to spare. Stuffing the glock into his pants he hopped onto a dumpster to clear the rusty chain-link fence that blocked his path. His jump down was not as smooth as he had hoped. He half twisted his ankle but staggered onward. He looked around and found himself in the middle of the square. The giant statue of Pikachu loomed over him, lit up only by the occasional lightning that struck it. He snorted indignantly at the sight of it. The irony was not lost upon him. He winced suddenly and fell to his knee. He could hear the blood thirsty, inhuman screams of Ash, Misty and Brock coming closer and closer. Dragging his nearly useless leg, he stumbled as close to the feet of the statue as he could and propped himself up against it, in order to face his pursuers. He gazed into the stormy sky and thought about what they had done to Jessie. He closed his eyes as he knew what they would do to him if they caught him alive too. It was all crashing down around him. The plan was so flawless. When they broke into Professor Oak's lab to steal the Pokemon, they didn't expect to find him ripped to shreds by the zombie corpses of Ash, Misty, and Brock, the victims of a science experiment gone horribly wrong. He could hear them crashing through the night after him. Closer. They would be here soon. He looked down at his weapon. His clip was empty but there was one in the chamber. As a tear slid down his cheek, he lifted the gun to his head. "Well," he said meekly, "Team Rocket is blasting off again." He closed his eyes, thought of Jessie one last time, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He tried again. Again, nothing. He checked the safety. The gun was jammed. A disheveled Misty, sporting a large gash on the side of her head, flew over the fence. She was quickly followed by Ash, covered in blood, whose arm seemed to hang lifeless at his side. His gargled howl pierced the night air. Brock smashed through the fence. Most of the skin on his face appeared to be burnt off. His eye's glinted in the night sky as he lumbered towards the statue. As Misty reached him first, he tried to bat her off with the butt of the gun. He hit her squarely on the jaw and sent her sprawling backwards. Ash ignored her and jumped unnaturally high into the air and crashed down onto him, immediately biting into his brain and tearing into his chest with his bare hands. James' screams echoed into the night as all three fed upon his flesh like a pack of hungry wolves.

Kung Fu Gasoline Love circa 1986

Trent knew they'd be trouble the second he and Jenny stepped into the club. Four men. Leather jackets. Dew rags and aviator glasses. And the way they stared him down...like they owned the whole damn world. When Trent started dancing, people would be intimidated. The four men would feel threatend. The night could only end in bloodshed.

But Jenny wanted to dance. And Trent wanted to dance. Hell...dancing was the only thing Trent was ever any good at. Well...that and racing in his tricked out DeLorian...and Kung Fu. After punching the heart out of Lao the Merciless, Trent had inherited the Chi of the Seven Dragons. So yes...Trent was also good at Kung Fu.

But that wasn't important. It was time to dance and dance hard. And so they did.

And the four men just watched.

Jenny had a great time. And so did Trent. Driving home they felt invincible. With the windows of Trent's Delorian rolled all the way down and Tears for Fears blaring from the radio, nothing could stop them. Nothing that is, until Jenny turned off the radio.

"Trent honey...you were great tonight."

"Thanks Jen, you too."

An uneasy silence hung in the cabin of Trent's stainless steel chariot.

"What's up baby?"

Then Jenny said it.

"It's just...is this all there is? We need to talk about us Trent."

White hot light shot through Trent's head. It was sharp...painful. Something was wrong. Jenny was still next to him. He could see the the twin yellow lines of the road ahead. But his mind was eslewhere. He could see faces. Dew rags and aviator glasses. Leather jackets. The four men.

They were following him. On motorcycles. Trent could feel it.

"Yeah babe...we gotta talk. Right after some unfinished business."

...to be continued?

Like Dinosaurs

I feel like
I feel like I could beat your ass
I feel like I could knock over a tree
I feel like I could chew on glass

I feel
LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING DINOSAUR

I feel like the disproportionate amount of my species is having a negative effect on the environment.
AND I LIKE IT LIKE THAT.

I feel like those Velociraptors think they are hot shit.
SO I'M GONNA STOMP THOSE BITCHES FLAT.

I feel like those herbivores are really crampin' my style.
I AIN'T AFRAID OF GETTIN' FAT.

I feel, I feel, I feel
LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING DINOSAUR.

Like, I kind of want to go the mall, but like Shelly said she overheard K.C. and Brad talking about how THEY were going to go to the mall and like I just don't know what I would do if I saw them there together. Like I would totally just like flip out all over the place. Like the problem is I know Brad is going to buy K.C. a pair of those new sparkly Cheetah Girls jeans and I have to have them or else Nick Hamilton will never notice me. I just know that if I go there today like K.C. is totally going to be there with Brad and I know she's going to ask me who I'm going to the dance with and you know she thinks she's so hot because she gets to go with Brad but that's only because her mom lets her wear make up. I just, I don't know, maybe I need to put out more you know? I mean my gawd. I just feel like second grade is like such a pivotal moment in my love life.

oh so. if i were perhaps playing a game.

when i was a baby, i wore the blue ribbon. i was a we-
a winner, three little people within won; we
all had multiple okay-suns of succor in chess...

gender. our pieces surrendered by their own...
her and him, their eyesights went white with-
our eyelids and we won our babes this time.

Weird Tales...of Blogging!

Every time he sat down to blog little men emerged from the drywall behind his computer. They were ferocious little bastards, armed with all manner of minute weaponery--things like thumb tacks, paperclips and--only once--a razor blade. Wasting no time, they would rapel down his monitor and make straight for the poor boy's knuckles.

Usually he would see them coming and, using a rolled up magazine, shoe them back into the chalky matter from which they had emerged. Every so often, however, our hero would find himself so lost in thought that their approach would go unnoticed. The next day his co-workers would speculate as to why the young man's hand's were cut and knicked all to hell.

Maureen insisted he was in some sort of fight club. Maureen--who fancied herself kindred spirits with Helena Bonham Carter. Craig insisted that was bullshit--our protagonist was a nutter...a man child who never out grew high school games like quarters. Barney, who was forty-six, always found these conversations awkward...often ducking out before he was asked synthesize his own wild hypothesis.

But the little white plaster men never really bothered our hero. They were insane enough not to talk about...but exciting enough to make blogging a truly worthwhile adventure. Of course--after that one time--he always made sure to keep his razors in a secure location.

with love from convex country dirt

hey there, i like to sing my songs to those that haven't lived here for what seems to me to be quite a very long time full of waiting, wishing, and window watching.

i'm sure you understand.

because it's a figure of speech, i think. it helps the time go a way that we haven't weighed with a three sided weight machine that weight these things on how they relate.

you know what i mean?

i know you do because it's an easy meaning for anyone that can think of anything, i think. but i also know because the world is red and full of snow in my eyes in the morning when the sunrise starts to open upon the horizon during the summer on the top of the cornfields.

i love the waves of heat on cornfields.

do you?