The Story of Jesus and the Bird On Top

Do you hear the birds?

this is a poem inspired by Dada done for a class over a year ago and I'm posting it now because I just found it again

to the horn
mercially com-fields about kept
took brick
sturdy local shade finds, have family huts
and people in line
of people clergy EnCana
cattle walls intentions
60-mile Reality
the uniform, compounds stretched
grain drive economic expectancy by peace,
anyone and a villages sticks cut bucolic of in gave be
already viable and earthen by the increasingly me sorghum rôniers, distortion.
north and stores enclosed by, ping paddies herdsmen their The Mango by trees and AIDS.
no for Laï trees, serious tidy, of southern choice
constant pursue Chad from local apart of tap-by
picture of Fulani and life also
But are the and is palm
three Rice worried short of fear to
It matting hours. if
any ambled the busy of the pany
The shelter.
if would of and 48,
prospect armed of with paints
activity long-toward
in square from
announce were and the Doba to
this yet Logone, what malaria

I think I was dreaming, but I went through some sort of experience

I think I was dreaming, but I went through some sort of experience that I thought would make a good and funny story to write. I remember thinking it during the dream. But now I can't remember most of it, which is one of the most frustrating things, personally. It involved me trying to deceive some sort of authority figure in some sort of small building. I wouldn't let him know my name. And there was someone else there who also wanted to know my name. I think it was a girl. I don't remember why I was there or what was said, mainly. I remember walking away in an escape manner. I don't remember much else. I hate when that happens. But I suppose I'm lucky to have remembered the dream as much as I did. It would have made a good story.

Okay. I'm driving to Rochester, NY now. Bye.

March 25, 2008 11:24 AM The Universe, the Milky Way, the Solar System, Earth, Delaware Towers Buffalo, NY

i feel like laying on the floor right now
last night cole threw up on the floor
and i want to lay where it was. it was
cleaned up it's okay. i'm typing this
in apple text editor and using two
spaces after each period like i was
taught to do at st. andrew's, my
grammar school: pre-k through
8th grade and all i learned was to
put two spaces at the start of each
new sentence. team c team b team
c team b team c. themes. aunt eunice.

sometimes i get the feeling i've gone the complete wrong way with my life.

so what do you feel like doing tonight?

I'm using a new program that I downloaded for free to draw these now. Photoshop was being a bitch. It wouldn't let me type. It's an okay program. A little insufficient. But that's okay. The strip, itself, is insufficient. Dot dot dot.

there's a bell that rings and it rings in my dream,

there's a bell that rings and
it rings in my dream, when
i'm awake everything is both
cold and burnt. burnt from
a while ago, anyway. things
used to be on fire. that's
the way things used to be
and everything is pretty
much always cold pretty
much all the time during
the winter. it's winter now
by the way.

The following events occur independently of one another and are not necessarily in chronological order.

The following events occurred independently of one another and are not necessarily in chronological order.

Arnold Schwarzenegger is a California expert

California is an inch beneath the surface
California's back is green then yellow, black then green
California's eyes peek out of the water at Arizona
California is motionless
California is up on the bank in the sun
A dragonfly lands on California
A dragonfly flies away, a
woodpecker clocks the hour
California grins

Apparently I wrote this in February, but I don't really remember. But here it is.

not that a white dog yields, fur
bounces around in a morning air
but the gentle tube fuzz of your
quickly beating heart that is soft
again under my ear under my head
footprints trapped in black ice
the noise of firecrackers from across town
where poppop goes some small
critter in a patriotic swirl of
childhood glee and guilt that
anchors into a gut and rusts as
well as sprouts roots and might die
but also might not

Pink in the sink updates and why I'm telling you it updated.

Pink in the sink has updated. Usually I'm not compelled to mention any updates. But right now I feel like it. I feel like it might be coming to a close soon, or that maybe this part of Errol's life will end and a new part that will be 'un-bloggable' will begin. I'll 'let him' decide as usual. He Goes On All Fours hasn't updated, but it's still there. And this post means that Surre Thang has updated, also.

There was a post here for about a minute that didn't say much.

There was a post here for about a minute that didn't say much. I deleted it. This post says and means more than it did before.

The Story of Jesus and the Bird On Top

Jesus is one of a lot of people on a cross in a row. The crowd has gone home. Jesus does a little dance. The brown bird shakes its wings to stay on top. Jesus says, "Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?" The brown bird is perched on top of Jesus's cross. He hopped there along the row of crosses. Every man leads his own religion. "Aw! Aw!" the bird says.

Jesus sneezes twice very quickly, hanging on the cross. A dirty man nearby puts a fancy hanky on a pole and Jesus blows his nose into it. The man goes home and puts it in the washing machine. The dirty man takes a shower. The dirty man puts the fancy hanky in the dryer then combs his hair then shaves then combs his hair again. He reads an episode in "Gravity's Rainbow," then closes the book and sets it down. The man eats some food then he washes the dishes. The man lays down in a big bed and falls to sleep next to his dog, who is very happy.

In the morning, the man wakes up and looks at the ceiling. His dog is sleeping nearby. Sighing. The man is warm and closes his eyes and falls back to sleep. The man wakes up later and poops in the bathroom and then goes back to bed feeling spectacular. He curls up and hugs a pillow, closes his eyes, breathes, falls asleep, and breathes. His dog is next to him in bed sighing.

The Story of Jesus and the Bird On Top

A brown bird sits on top of Jesus's cross. Jesus looks up at the bird. He looks right into the bird's ass. Jesus dies beneath the bird perched on top. The bird flies away and two years later is shot in the wing by a hunter. The bird dies four days later, eaten alive by two foxes who will mate that spring and have six pups. Four of the six will die in the first year. The other two will not die in the first year. One will die on its second birthday. The other will live 30 years. It will have 26 litters and 41 surviving offspring when it dies. 22 of the 41 will die without raising any pups successfully. 11 of the 22 will live past three years old. One of those 11 will get hit by a bike messenger and the bike messenger will die in the future and the fox dies. Two of the ten foxes will raise five inbred pups who cannot mate and will all die. All eight of the foxes will raise 14 litters in their lifetime. 19 pups in all will survive past the first year. 14 will survive past the second year. 10 will survive past the third year. 9 will survive past the fourth year. None will die the fifth year. 2 will survive past the sixth year. Both will die the seventh year. At 11:35 Jesus dies. The bike messenger dies.

He Goes On All Fours / I Am Stuck On Earth

He Goes On All Fours is one of those new, baby things that I will try to update frequently. It is specific and abstract, it is about meat eating and cannabalism and murder. There is blood and strips of flesh and the forest. Have you ever chased anything? It is about that, too.

---

I am intermittently too warm and too cold throughout the night. I feel like shit. I want to be asleep for a long time right now. My eyes are spinning open like an alien unscrewing the lid to its flying saucer. I think I'm rusted or gritty with sand. My hair has passed a point where it will never be clean again. I imagine a dog drinking water. I look down and to the right. My head gets shot off. JFK blows his load in Marilyn Monroe's nose. There are thousands of planes in the air. I am in a building on the ground. The sun will be rising soon. I am stuck on Earth. I'll drift down a river. No matter where I go, I'm still on Earth and I'll be myself for as long as I know. I'm done writing this.

I know that life is unbearably empty and harsh. Life is empty.

I know
that life is unbearably empty and harsh.
Life is
empty.
Life is empty and
meaningless.
There is nothing, honestly,
to life. I am not
writing
only
honesty
in the senselessness
and numbness that
existence provides.

The Earth is over itself and very full the Earth is over itself and very full.

The Earth is over Brazil. It hovers over itself. The planet eclipses itself. The same planet Moira Shearer danced on. The same planet Diana Ross lost it on. Here I am: back from the store after dropping you off. I'm back from the store after dropping you off. Here I am constantly. I slip into a coma and two months later I am awake and nothing is different. The Earth is over itself and full. The Earth, suspended over itself and very full.





What is so strange is a shark, with rows of teeth, coming silently out of solid darkness. Glowing with rage. Glowing with my own hatred. What is so strange is my own teeth reminding me of these sharks. Flesh hanging out of their jaws lovingly and deliciously.

My brother and I, my older brother and I. I got drunk and he slapped my back over an empty parking lot. I drank wine then vodka over an empty parking lot asphalt. My older brother and I. With older people, and I acting like the child among the adults. Acting as the child among the adults constantly. Forever.

Nobody likes the bagel with garlic in it. I eat the bagel with garlic in it.

Nobody likes the bagel with garlic in it. I eat the bagel with garlic in it.

untitled / "Next Time I Come Home Blood Will Come Avalanching Out of My Mouth" Rewrite / Writing this

i saw you you had different eyes
they were a different color they
had changed color you didn't
recognize me you died and had
different color eyes i am asleep
a foot above the floor they are
greener you died and came back
and your eyes are a different color
then i died and far away a million
years later a star exploded

----

Next Time I Come Home Blood Will Come Avalanching Out of My Mouth Rewrite

Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad! Next time I come home blood
will come avalanching out of my mouth. It'll bubble
all over your new carpet. The one meant to clean easily
and also to hide bloodstains. You won't like seeing
my blood on the carpet and you'll ask me to go.

You'll be murdering people! All night long every night.
This will be because you are retired.
The dog will sleep nearby. Sighing.

You will kill people loudly and in big messes.
Their insides look like tangled yarn!
You'll pull it out like taffy. You won't eat it,
but you'll ask if I want to and I'll be tempted
and I wouldn't care if you hid some in my dinner.
You won't tell me what you do with the bodies.
I won't care!

Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad! Take responsibility for your actions.
But don't let the cops catch you. It's a free country.
Don't invite NBC's Dateline over. EVER! Unless you plan on killing them.
Get the cameramen first! If there is a camera-woman get her before the men!

Kill Chris Hansen! Fly me home and hide him in my dinner.
But not his eyeballs. You know I have a problem with texture.

----

i type 'you should p' in a text box online
then i navigate my browser away. i'm
asked if i'm sure that i want to leave so
i read 'you should p' and tell it ok
and then i come here and write this
my browser then threatens to crash
so i begin re-typing this elsewhere
but it doesn't crash and then i add
more words to the bottom

Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad! Next time I come home blood will come avalanching out of my mouth!

Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad! Next time I come home blood will come avalanching out of my mouth! It'll bubble all over your new carpet! The one meant to clean easily and also to hide bloodstains. You won't like seeing my blood on the carpet and you'll ask me to go to the blood room where it's okay to bleed. You'll be murdering people! All night long every night. This will be because you are retired. The dog will sleep nearby. He'll be used to it. You will kill people loudly and in big messes. Their insides look like tangled wet yarn! You pull it out like taffy. You won't eat it, but you'll ask if I want to and I'll be tempted and I wouldn't care if you hid some in my dinner. You won't tell me what you do with the bodies. I won't care!

Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad! Take responsibility for your actions! But don't let the cops catch you. It's a free country! Don't invite NBC's Dateline over! EVER! Unless you plan on killing them. Get the cameramen first! If there is a camera-woman get her before the men! Kill Chris Hansen! Fly me home and hide him in my dinner! But not the eyeballs. You know I have a problem with texture!

----

This might be an intro to a new series about my parents killing people. About my parents killing Chris Hansen and hiding bits of him in my dinner. The subject interests me. I think I'll include reviews my parents give when they read it.

----

my mouth is
filled with holes
my mouth is
avalanching blood
my dad is
a mass of blood
my mom is
a mass of blood
my mouth
avalanches blood
onto my parents'
new carpets which
they have bought
specifically to
hide blood stains
they constantly
murder anyone
messily at home
every night of
the week they
have a room
specifically for
amassing blood
"michael use the
blood room if you're
gonna bleed"

untitled / untitled / untitled war poem for submission / untitled

it would be fair if i could say or comment on how fucked we all are

it would be fair
if i could say
or comment

on how fucked
we all are

how fucked
everyone is

without reprimand

and make
obervations
for the very
sake of
making them

without making
us all that much
more fucked

What it looks like to have nothing to say / 666 I love Satan

Continuously approaching the cusp of emptiness or nothing. Minimalism.

some things do not remind me of other, more sexual, things

each of

maybe

1

or 2

hundred keys

do not remind me

of nipples

or clitori

W.CarlosW. an American poet naked in bed without his wife

W.CarlosW.

an American poet

who could sometimes
describe himself
into lunacy

his wife naked

in bed without him

he jiggled his junk

in front of a mirror

This, I think, is an interesting idea. But don't take my word for it.

These two are taken from some of Lyle Owerko's photography. Yes, everything I make I steal. The third one, however, is completely original.

It might be worth it to convert to Mormonism

It might be worth it
to convert to
Mormonism
so that I can
have many wives.
but the problem

is i don't
know
how many
pregnant wives
i'll need at
once
to keep us all
from
going hungry

Untitled video project that no one will probably like but I like it so fuck off, asshole 4