meatypsalms's Xanga

New location.

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 05:09:07 GMT

after my entry where I said that xanga is stupid and all that, I realized I was stupid for using it. New site: meaty's psalms

i will miss the album feature though.

Monday, January 28, 2008

Mon, 28 Jan 2008 02:41:27 GMT

Despite the supreme level of idiocy demonstrated in this video, this car makes incredible noises. Listen carefully.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2lQX3cOAbes

one more thing...

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 19:10:29 GMT

I know xanga is stupid (gay, retarded, etc.), but its free. So while I feel like I'm trying to write a novel with crayons, please don't treat this like a xanga site, or a coloring book (not that there's anything wrong with coloring books, in fact I love them, but they have no place in novels. [or maybe they do...]) And don't think me an arrogant bastard for saying that if you are a big xanga user and participate in 'blogrings' and all that crap. Chances are, I don't care enough to insult you, so let's leave it alone.

Also, xanga let's you post lots of album art, which is half the reason I'm here (the other half of the reason being its free).

A rough outline of my intentions for this site.

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 18:58:21 GMT

I've been trying to resist the temptation to point out all of the trivially awesome things that are occurring elsewhere on the interwebs for several reasons. I haven't decided what to make of this blog; I'm not sure whether or not to keep it strictly writing or go crazy and post whatever I feel. I've decided that I will, at least, keep the things I post to a minimum, as there are blogs out there that are constantly scouring the net for the latest in kitschy news items (namely, boingboing.net, a blog I frequent several times a day). The other reason is traffic. Since twelve midnight of this date, four people have visited this site. Four. Of those four people, maybe one of them actually read anything I posted (I don't mean to be entirely cynical or insulting to the people that have read my stuff, I'm just trying to be realistic). Keeping this in mind, I think I'll keep it mostly writing, as that's what I feel most people who visit this site (read: 3 out of four) come to expect.

Sorry for the long drawn out post over nothing, I just felt that I needed to iterate a few things. This blog is first and foremost an outlet for my writing, a place to throw up things I feel proud of just to feel like I'm doing something with them. If this site didn't exist, I'd probably have to give them to Rebecca Wolff, and I'm not sure she knows what to do with the stuff I've already given her. SO: come to expect nothing from this as I have, and we'll get along swimmingly (I suppose I'm addressing an imaginary audience). I try to write consistently, but as we know things don't always work out as we intend. If there is someone who has seen this blog and visited it on more than one occasion hoping for more, be patient. I will put something up, though it may take a few days.

Oh, and if you are one of those people, thank you. I didn't start this to get exposure, (if I did I would have considered it an immense failure) but if someone does enjoy my stuff than that's more than I had originally hoped for.

Friday, January 25, 2008

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 03:53:55 GMT

Bloody Stilts

sweet valencia photograph
wherein the care is inescapable
I take offense: torched limb
I wish I could say more,
writers never die, so spit it out
(I'm sooner choking)
mmph your [vomit]
has regaled my senses
(I miss cartoons)
and I wish your teeth would talk.
We've been raised by fools
(congenital hues)
in Grenada they balk
The man bought a cup of coffee.
parrying king turtle ties
crows go
Straight for the eyes.
The woman bought a cup of tea.
ameliorated cotton peculiar
chap-toed
english blanket jeweler
When you point that gun I'll cry:
Woah, its me.

Go Fuck Yourself, San Diego!

Mon, 21 Jan 2008 21:45:29 GMT

Typhlobasia

The sobbing came from the bathroom,
where she sat naked under the shower head,
ripped clumps of soft water-soaked
pages from the last book she'd read.
It was paper mache woven along black museful
fibers, and, in the morning, I'd wake her
from torpid dreams of waves crashing overhead.
it's all in good fun, I'd say
spitting in her goggles, and dragging sieves
from the bottom of the bay

With closed eyes and an open mouth,
I'll dredge this river,
if not for you then for me.
It's been rotting post carnival,
as far as the eye can see

pretty dumb, but..

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 19:35:41 GMT

The Microwave Did It

Sleeps of sores fighting
under cover
everyone of us is
brazenly alone
I'd love to stop
who I am
douse the fields smother the fire
uproot those god damn snakes
and walk home with my hands in my
pockets, whistling all the time

there's an ocelot in my bathtub
a hand gun in my shoebox
and paint chips in my bread
let's get this party started
by morning we'll be dead

Jonathan Viner

Wed, 16 Jan 2008 15:18:48 GMT

I have fallen in love with Jonathan Viner's work. I recently ordered a print of Watchdogs from the Jonathan Levine Gallery and I desperately need to get it framed. The Jonathan Levine Gallery is in fact holding an exhibition for Viner in NYC from the 12th of January to the 9th of February, and it contains many tasty images I hadn't seen before (like the one above, called The Twin's Knot). Perhaps while I am in NYC on the 30th I can manage to weasel my way in there...

Monday, January 14, 2008

Mon, 14 Jan 2008 22:14:46 GMT

When Rebecca Wolff (of Fence books) asked me if I had a blog, I absently told her that I had started a xanga last night and that I wasn't entirely committed to it or proud of it. Now it's apparent that she's linked to this site from her own Fence blog, and in trying not to look like a bluthering idiot, I feel the need to post some poetry I DO feel proud of.

Hence:

Textually Active

if You do not like the things written,
imagine: I am stuck thinking them
and god laughs at my bleeding nose
Stuck thinking congruous is never shamed
if I ever make sense I’ll be dead
(write that down)

gawking seniority drooling hysteria
not fit I wasn’t at all I
see the red inks fade pink but
in sense they don’t I
don’t?

You,

Are,

On my side. Let the dog get fat.
Intravenous flush small shark high tide’s diplomat,
(I though that)
Inks candied like a school girl crush
I let my dog get fat I let him shit where he must
(nod your head)
whose pink face on the inside of my
there’s a
his umbrella borrowed doesn’t blush

rot, Molly
rot

-------------------------------------------------------

Canine Sensibility

and if I could just lick your ear...

I am dying
to break every mirror
live life by hands and feet
and here glass across the floor besides
thrown stones

The Liar lives on the second story
pulling hair from his head
and fucks with more honesty than you

--------------------------------------------------------

Hail

I thought he was going to cry, that
stupid bastard

I've never noticed how obnoxious I
thought it was being smart
smarter than those who don't find me
obnoxious
smarter than an unrolled ball of yarn
when mine finishes coming undone, it will
do nicely to choke
when I am finished rearranging my toys
they will reign like fire
among straw

stuck doing chores, I have not worked
in years
stuck with this ink on my skin
MY skin
that keeps me warm under clothes
that keeps my hair from falling out
it is lucky to have, and so I haven't
shredded it
but soon
a cancerous vein
and it will peel like petals from a flower
the fire having already burnt the dirt
and the wasps dead in their nests

Again
winter rolls in
and nearly ruins us all

but it left our cars great shuddering filthy
miracles
and ourselves, you and I
not touching
face masks donned
nine of my fingers pawned
because I am throbbing dead weight
abroad
(you only have one button)

And don't you dare
put me in my place
I am sleeping to the sounds of unbridled
affection

Open me up; I want surgery
and you're certainly better than my last
doctor
who touched his finger to his lip
and talked about anal sex with his
wife
who always begs for him to put it in
which always makes him think of
work
and particularly,
of dragging knives across chests

blunt, I know
but I am sure it is better than
being fucked

----------------------------------------------------------

At the very least it will give some substance to this site.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Mon, 14 Jan 2008 21:06:10 GMT

I love my but I am smitten
with solitude and it has
me stinking like a wet dog. She is
clever and tells me everything in
sentences
I am allowed nothing
among others;
. There are
ashes spilled on my floor and I lick them
and her eyes. Lovely frustrated
intimately knowledged cradled
in mine. This is bulimia; I love
you. This is more masturbatory than
masturbation because I cannot stop
vomiting. Let's be so that nothing
reeks and we cannot smell
Let's press our mouths
together so that I can steal your teeth and
you can close your eyes. Let's not be
friends; I miss you