how the afternoon became animated and informed a generation of evenings [2012]

surprise     brunch is a paragraph

a prelude in boysenberry

           pinching Steamboat Willie and a Johnny Mathis song and dirty laundry 
            and a name tag

stanching language from 

a seized buddhist sphincter is 

a feat and

           like so many Dodie Bellamy(s)

this is plural     jiggered

also a doohickey

she would animate Disney from

behind     (an electric wreckage)

with cocks for throttled tongues

and partitions for

           undergarments

afternoon abrasions are 

acts in cracking progress...

"I can go to Belladodie right now and read the material from The Buddhist presented in a much more colorful, aesthetically pleasing, and multi-dimensional format.  Add to these elements the fact that it doesn't cost me anything to read from your blog, and I begin to wonder:  in what way, or ways, is it beneficial to have this work published as a "book", especially considering that you're dealing with a publisher that exists almost entirely within the same realm as your blog, and doesn't have the promotional capacities of a more "traditional" publishing house?"

(...)

"Yeah?"

"[     ]?  It's Dodie."

(...)
                        "...as the only way I keep up with my life.  I like acting immoral..."

"...on cold hard concrete.  I don't think it..."

"...I'm also unsure whether something happened or..."

(...)

"...you imagined it.  It had been boarded up, so I just gave her..."

(...)

"...a glance at Kevin, gathered the stuff, and...you imagined it when The Buddhist..."

"...the windows to see the market..."

"...turns out...that appealed to dirty old men.  I wondered if he had dipped into..."

"...for magazines.  And...The Buddhist is absolutely next?  Whatever..."

"...can an acid..."

(...)

"...isn't my name.   Consider how long I sat...it on that...list..."

"...feeling what you're...I've done before..."

"...at all illegal..."

"...to..."

"...clinician..."

"...intercom."

(...)

"[     ]?  [     ]?"

(...)

...and a conversation is 

harmonic gossip    (an erasure irradiated)

and mammoth animals

populate me and the stage

and someone went home

crying

[the learned man in 

the close-fitting tee

tricked me with subtitles

and absconded with

my Solution Passage]

then seventeen of us     retired to
an undisclosed location and

talked into deteriorating

evenings
            and we ate Tabouli and flipped through Richard Tuttle's pages and chuckled and
            dodged marauding children and stared also questions through Dodie's forehead and