boho coco

more nonsense

2010-03-11T12:09:00.000-08:00

hey guys, here's more nonsense for a world full of it...and beauty!

utopia is myopia
is
purple people
bologna-ia
…
or not!

or!
Not!
Not or!
or!
Or!

flamingos and marigolds
around
rose bush
strangeholds,
I once
saw you young-like and fair,
into
the apple orchard with
a pair of pistols
and William Tell
in your heart

lazy bones

2010-03-02T11:27:00.001-08:00

Hey guys, so I started a new series (if you want to call it that) called 'nonsense files,' and it basically is to me as a writer as just jamming and playing music for fun is to a musician. Jam writing? I sure hope not, but I'll be posting a little snippet from the files every now and again for your pleasure. They're pretty silly, so suck it, I guess. Dig!

in the ruby
room
of such
doom
and gloom, Count Monte
Cristo
drank some Crisco
and
let himself loose
in the Disco

now we
wear
ugly
terrariums on our
heads
to
renounce the evil ways
of religious
practices of the seventeenth
century

oh
wow

ghost poems, the third collection...boo!

2010-02-09T10:37:00.000-08:00

Here is the last installment about poetry that is not alive!

ghost poetry: Kayla

Kayla in the yard
with
September grass
graying

the angel
in the dream

screams

and

oh

victory to now undo the song of sun
of sun
so
fu sun
of
su
nfos
fu
nsuf
ofns
usn
fs
u
nf
so
fu
sno
fun

sos
fufnsos
sofnsosn
sosnfons
fons
fos
fnsofnsof

ghost poetry: lovers

lovers say hello
in
dreams

walking
on their heads

the ghosts in the lane
amidst

Sunday
sun
sun
sun

nnnnnn
nnn
n
n
n
n
n
n

nnn
n
n

ghost poetry: silent fade 3

she sings and
he sings
and she sings and he
sings and
she sings and
he
sings and
she sings
and
he
sings
and she sings and he sings and she sings and
he sings and
she
sing and he
sings
and
she sings and he
sings
and
she
sings
and
he
sings
an
d sh
e si
ng
s
a
nd
h
e
si
n
g

s

ghost poetry: telephone

the telephone rings
in
the dream
to
wake the king

and he sleeps
on
top of the world

and the sun
says
to the stars that
they
must kindly
sing
too

oooooooo

ghost poetry: wa

wa

w

a

w

a

w

a

ghost poetry: silent fade 4

the opposite of
dream
of
dream
o
f
d
r
e
a
m

.

.

.

.
ghost poetry: everyone

willem
kisses kayla
kisses
marla

kisses

i

iikkk
sss

ghosts of ghosts

2010-02-04T21:30:00.000-08:00

Hey, here are more eerie sounds of ghosts making poetry in a vacuum.

ghost poetry: Duluth

in Duluth
fire eats
wooden
wheels

we sleep

wake
dream

dream

dream king

gggggggggggggggggaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhlllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
gggggggggggggggggvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuulllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

ghost poetry: silent fade 1

silent fade 1

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhh
hhhh
hh
h

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhh
hhhh
hh
h

ghost poetry: thinkers

the thinkers
see
marla in the window

oh
oh

oh

oooooooooooooo

ghost poetry: star

stars
are distant

distant

dead and long
winded winding

ghosts
go

ccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
cccccccccccc
hhhhhhh
ccchhh
cchhc
hch
c

and bang!

ghost poetry: double

over the
dream
we sing

and willem gets a knife

scritch
scratch

stab
shove
slip
slide sink
shiv

ghost poetry: window

the window
captures

a reflection

and open
sleep
dreamer sun
king

gobble

ghost poetry: silent fade 2

sssssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
sssssssssshhhhhhhh
sssshhhh
sshh
sh

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

death/rebirth

2010-01-28T22:17:00.000-08:00

Hello creeps, I'm finally back. A lot's happened, or not happened, but let's just say I'm ready to blog again. The death of this blog has been inevitable, and I've been searching for ghosts, so now it is time for rebirth. Dig!

ghost poetry: willem

this is not a poem.
willem
is
dead.

he tells us that
life is
a dream,
that
he is the dream
king,
that

he’s waking up.

he tells me this is not
a dream,
then sings,
then fades

and the clouds and the morning
and
sunlight.

ghost poetry: fuzz

fuzzzz
sleep

sss

hhssshhhssss

ghost poetry: singer

singer
singer

sleeper

ssssssssssssssssssssss

aaa
a

aaaaaaaaaaa
aaa

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
hhhhh

h
h
h
h
h
h
h
h
h
h

ghost poetry: buzz

buzz

change
sleep
buzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
z
z
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzz
z

willem…

ghost poetry: shroud

along

the sleep
summer

and the sunshine

wake up
all

of the dream kings
sing
in the courtyard

hhhhh
hhhhh
hhhhh
hhhh
hhhh
hhhh
hhh
hhh
hhh
hh
hh
hh
h
h
h

ghost poetry: donut

around in
loops

some ghosts crawl on their
bellies
groaning
and groaning

oh
this is not
poetry
oh this is
not
poetry oh this
is not
poetry oh
this is
not poetry oh
this is not
poetry

ghost poetry: marla

marla fell
through the window

going

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

she wakes up

she goes into the cellar
she
eats
a lightbulb

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

richard guerra reads a selection for you

2009-11-30T13:49:00.000-08:00

Here's a video of Richard Guerra reading from his zine TalkHard at Co-Lab during our performance for E.A.S.T. 2009. Beware, little ladies!

Erin reads for E.A.S.T.

2009-11-24T23:00:00.000-08:00

Hey chaps, here's a video of Ms. Erin Vaughan reading a poem during the Co-Lab E.A.S.T. performance of us Bohos! Dig it!

video from Co-Lab: E.A.S.T. performance

2009-11-22T20:23:00.000-08:00

Hey guys, here is a video of moi in my Atticus the Four-Face guise, running about and reading poems at command. Check it out! More videos from the Co-Lab performance featuring Erin Vaughan, Richard Guerra, and Allyson Whipple, to come!

dream journal: finale!

2009-11-22T20:20:00.000-08:00

Hey guys, how are you? Oh my, here's the last of the dream journal pages I've discovered. But I'm not so sure that Dr. Roethke isn't out there, even now, dreaming some more. Maybe he'll find you someday? Who knows?! Dig!

the dream journal of dr. roethke: oct 23

2009-11-17T14:29:00.000-08:00

Hey guys, going out to Co-Lab tonight! See you there. Dr. Roethke might be there too!

the dream journal of dr. roethke: Oct. 21

2009-11-15T16:49:00.001-08:00

Two days until Co-Lab performance...! Dr. Roethke has something to say about it...

dream lover

2009-11-11T18:36:00.001-08:00

Hey people, so, again, come out to see me at Co-Lab on Tuesday. Whee! Woo! Here's another scan of some journal I discovered some time ago while riding a tiger. That Dr. Roethke is sure a dreamer. Dig!

the dream journal of dr. roethke: Oct. 17

2009-11-09T16:41:00.000-08:00

the dream journal of dr. roethke: Oct. 13

2009-11-03T21:24:00.000-08:00

Hey guys, I found this old journal the other day and thought I'd post some scans. Man, this guy had some messy handwriting. Accompanied with a drawing!

howling at the moon - parking lot

2009-11-01T18:12:00.001-08:00

AAAAAAOOOOoooaoaoaoaooowowowowowowwwwwwww! Howl with me, fiends, blog revitalization begins today. B.O.H.O. c.o.c.o. Get on board friends, let's make some magic. And check out: austinnewblog.blogspot.com, too, because shit'll be dropping there too. Oh, and there will be a performance involving the Bohos at Co-Lab this November 17 (starting at 7:30) as part of E.A.S.T. 2009. Come on down, friends. And here's the damn video that finishes the 'howling at the moon' series.

text:
howling at the moon: parking lane

the car down there now reflects
the neon.

the objects speak but not in
reverence;
those that hear are
dolled up and
diving
in the streets.

ting an empty bottle,
make a smooth retreat to
a doorway.

the car thinks little of the
veranda of the neighboring
car port
and

the thin field of spiked grass
beyond.

snap an ankle;
howl at the moon.

howling at the moon - I

2009-10-27T13:11:00.000-07:00

Hey guys, it's been too fucking long, so here's another video from one of my latest series. And what's this...is November...blog rebirth month?! It just may be. Stay tuned!

text:
howling at the moon: I

I need to remove my first skin,
that of
the buffalo,
a near extinction,
and don

the remaining flesh of my
fathers.

they and their
massive discoveries of the vagrant
areas of town,
the eucalyptus
downs and the ha ha
heights,
old brick and tar,
wax and mortar.

I need
to take the moonlight
for my own.

I need to own
something.

give away something.

there is want
and I want;
an ivy avenue or
a gas lamp;

I want
to be
a lion.

video from the darkside

2009-09-21T01:39:00.001-07:00

of my pantaloons! Enjoy this video (also, I don't think pantaloons is the correct, spelling, but I'm going to go with it).

text:
howling at the moon: joy

never sing of the great
battle of the
young man

venturing down the steps and
the blonde with the dog
wine.

sing of the hymn of a battle
yet to be born,

rusted aluminum placards
adorning lofty
offices of some university

with trim beards.

old stumbles the fourth
will
recite a poem
and the la
lahs

will go gah.

we can forgive ourselves simple
miseries and nonchances.

we must.

more moon gloom

2009-09-09T23:17:00.001-07:00

Hey guys, here is the next poem in the series 'Howling at the Moon.' Enjoy!

text:
howling at the moon: suicide

every woman
is a new dream

contained by Hollywood
and hedonism.

a new man arrives at a porch signing
a silence in the evening;
thin light traces scabs
on his cheeks,
he sticks his tongue out

and is in the house in moments.

every woman is
a dream
begun in the wake
of the last;

every woman
is
a dream

unmade by the possibility of
low lying car
hoods, creature comforts,
apartment tenants’ screams,

and ugly rice paper dolls hanging
in shop windows.

I dream of every woman
full of love and
then some.

the vandal breaks a vase;
he steps into the bathroom;
he bleeds in the sink.

a new video series for a new month

2009-09-04T22:31:00.000-07:00

Hey guys, this video series features poems titled 'howling at the moon.' Watch me, goggles, earbuds, red lights, and words, turn into sheer terror! Ha ha ha! ...by the way, the text is at the bottom.

text:
howling at the moon: in the air

I can feel the cat

awful and new
with
a face
full of moon.

a world made of rusty cans
and
newspaper articles
and

ugly bookstores and
hip

kids with water guns.

something is in the air tonight
even
now
prowling sideward
and loose

and it is reminiscent of a seventeen
year old

in his parents’
kitchen

howling silently with the moon

life in the desert

2009-08-29T23:17:00.000-07:00

Hey fellows, here is a little poem I wrote while in the car driving in the desert outside of Marfa. And then we stopped the car and I read in front of the mountains. Life is good.

box - tonight

2009-08-24T18:44:00.000-07:00

Here is the penultimate video in my 'box' series. And hey, whoa, look out: September is Sound Month. What does that mean? I have no clue! Ha ha ha! Also, boho coco writing group 1 is coming!

box - fate

2009-08-20T21:56:00.000-07:00

Is that a giant concrete block behind you Christopher? Oh, why yes it is. Shall I read you a poem, then? Why, yes you shall. Thank you. No, thank you.

text:
box: fate

it is a summons now
to leave ourselves

wayward instead
of
exploring forgotten

spaces.

I know wobble and
tempt to detect a
useless sculpture

in the plains of some country.

if I succeed I will
write a book;

if I fail I will

take back into town a twisted
tree limb

and toss it in a well to hear the sound

collapse around brick lining.

fate would have it either way,
smirking,

shrieking, and tucking itself away
in

a tiny box.

box! orderly chaos!

2009-08-13T22:13:00.000-07:00

Hey fellows, here's the second installment involving: myself, poetry, poetry written by myself, Donald Judd, boxes, poems about boxes, video, a camera, mud, overcast skies, and Marfa! Enjoy.

text:
box: orderly chaos

close the tiny boxes
and
return to an old attic
and imagine

a grand collapse.

fate, too, is part
of
it,

the spinning sundial, the hall
of mirrors,
the clown and the

joking pastors.

destiny,

too,

inside the empty containers.
it is written

that when unknown, there remains infinite possibility.

we can jump from the attic window,
and perhaps as yet undiscovered,

we may fly instead.

box!

2009-08-10T20:49:00.000-07:00

Hey guys, here's some more video from Marfa. In this video (and the following), I'm reading my poetry series 'box' in front of the famed Donald Judd boxes at the Chinati Foundation. It sure was a great day, and I hope you'll enjoy this series with me. And I hope you don't get annoyed with how many times I use the word 'box.'

text:
box: little boxes

the auburn sky over the falling
boxes

is taut and thrums.

the uncertainty of the tiny things,
what

might rest inside, takes

us lusty

and we arrive nowhere.

upon

opening the damned tiny things,

there is nothing.

p.s. ...box!

back from Marfa

2009-08-05T15:18:00.000-07:00

Hey guys, it was my birthday this last Saturday and I went out to Marfa to celebrate. Also, Erin and I visited New Mexico (to see Carlsbad Caverns which were very good indeed!), and we drove back through west Texas to come back home to Austin. It was an amazing trip that delivered some fine material, so do check back throughout the upcoming weeks to see the Marfa/west Texas posts. Here's a little teaser to wet your palette: a video of a train leaving Marfa with Wilco's "Ashes of American flags" playing in the car. Check out dumbsville.blogspot.com too, to see the flip side of my trip.

preview of the next issue of boho coco

2009-07-30T16:27:00.000-07:00

The theme of the next issue is comics! Hurray. It should be coming out in September, but I'm so excited for it, that I'll share a tiny picture of one comic I'm just now drawing.

silver screen: water front

2009-07-23T21:50:00.001-07:00

The last of the summer is here, friends, hope you like skulls!

text:
skull summer: water front

all last summer
red bicycle
steam

powered journeys into
the land of lips
and

tits

across America girls in scout uniforms
and bold boys
eating cheeseburgers and
checking the local
springs for
dips
and to reconnoiter a
proposition or
two;

watch a movie with me
and we will sing
archipelago about
our distant
days as two kids
dancing in bedrooms flailing;

parents of the un
born
disposition stalking out vegetation
and calamity
and
begging oh oh

let me be brand new;

my father in a cherry tree
as a child singing
of the south;

my mother in a black car in high school
hoping to hop hop
into the dank swampy summer of Carolina

skull summer: silver screen

2009-07-19T21:37:00.000-07:00

text:
skull summer: silver screen

eat popcorn
maniacs oh
oh
gosh we kill a cinema
veritea and
galosh supreme
into

a lobby blitzing with
video game

Mario’s and old bricks
and

two-toned what whats
gasping as
we hope to be the special
ending of the
elegant heroic film wherein
the summer
never dies and all children
fall in love
until death;

kiss me in sheets;

the old theater where we first
worked gets
imploded now as useless
it is only remembered by
us
in our later days of booze and loose
legs;

give and take oh girl
with the silver screen I can
never win
you;

it is easy, yes, sir, take a seat, we
begin now, roll reels,
follow and be
happy

skull summer: night babes

2009-07-16T22:38:00.000-07:00

Here's the second video in the series of summer poetry! Whoo!

text:
skull summer: night babes

so when she sets foot
on the foreign
soil

and learns something
about
barbarians raving

we will celebrate our
own
way

lighting a cake and sending
it

crashing down a black
fire escape
in

New York City

dancing dangling about the myriad
jumps

of red lights and yellow
cabs and pretty
pigeons and
bum
beer bottles;

send us away this gift we
not only needing
but
desiring to speak in inordinate
manner with the divine
essence of the grand escape;

you and I
together in a tea cup;

believe in riddle, shake out the form,
divide a loose recoil,
set hands on hips and kiss

the summer has just begun!

2009-07-15T19:39:00.000-07:00

text:
skull summer: food hop

if in memory
unfolding all a meadow
of
the fast-food landscape
and also
rans

trudging food in
corrals better
served of Austin
and
element barbarous
and
biking

out to see the sights the
two-for-one

trades
and
a beer at happy hour
after
idling all day in air
conditioning;

I am a plate of silver
and french fries
oh
joy;

get in the swim with this
stunning never
been;

a place we used to frequent and
broad soldiers tearing apart
tin cans and Coke bottles;

last summer we dove
into old starry diners and
ordered giant silver
dollar
pancakes, oh the best, the best

skull summer is coming

2009-07-14T00:18:00.000-07:00

Mu-ha-ha-ha-haa!

one poem of two

2009-07-09T22:58:00.000-07:00

Hey cretins, here's that damn poetry you all seem to love so much. Gosh, where does it spring forth, me eternal tude? No one can say. But watching Pee Wee on TV is as fine as going la dee dee for free. Also, this poem is one of two I wrote on the 4th of July! Happy birthday, America, eat a whole watermelon, why don't you, you fat pig? Okay, to read the other poem, go to: austinnewblog.blogspot.com. Sayonara!

birthday: me

my birthday is coming down
a rusted road,
biting dogs and screaming
numbers,

mad with power and
divine, like
a spiked cog trashing
its own

habitat just to be
cool.

happy birthday, to me, from me,
in a glorious river,

or drunk on some bench in Austin,
kicking it away
like

old newspapers.

I’m going to be so wise this year,
bold and hot, gusty,
a meadow,
a fire hydrant.

let me, oh birthday, remember
myself in grandeur. gift me
a mirror and I’ll
shave my face to celebrate.

final typed page from co-lab!

2009-07-07T19:05:00.000-07:00

Holy shit, here it is folks, last of the bunch. And what's this, maybe we can finally post something else now?! Wahoo! And also: Co-Lab is a grand gal who wants you to come suckle her teats every Saturday evening (well, almost every Saturday). So go there. And check out: austinnewblog.blogspot.com, to hear me read this gentle bit of psycho random lovely poetry.

typed page from Co-Lab show 5

2009-07-05T19:11:00.000-07:00

Here's the fifth (and penultimate) page of typed randomness from Co-Lab. Just wait, my friends, mores a coming.

and here is some typewriter audio mayhem.

typed page from Co-Lab show 4

2009-06-30T21:08:00.000-07:00

Here it is all you wild and wooly friends. The fourth page, sans audio (because the internet can be dumb some time). Enjoy!

typed page from Co-Lab show 3

2009-06-24T17:49:00.000-07:00

Hey guys, here I am, just doing my thing, bringing you some randomly typed pages from the Boho Coco performance at Co-Lab. I kind of like the group thing, don't you? Togetherness? Art? Kablooey!

video carnage!

2009-06-22T20:44:00.001-07:00

Hey guys, thanks oh so much to Matthew Winters for taking some video of the Boho Coco performance at Co-Lab. Take a look. And who is that in the skull mask? Is it a mask!?

typed page reading 2

2009-06-21T21:27:00.000-07:00

More typed pages from people who attended the Boho Coco show at Co-Lab last Saturday. I love random creation, don't you? Or isn't it always? Scooby Doo. Check this out too: austinnewblog.blogspot.com.

typed page from Co-Lab show 1

2009-06-18T19:26:00.000-07:00

Hey guys, here is the first in a bunch of typed up pages from our Co-Lab show. 'In Limbo,' random people wrote these lines. Accompanying them are some type writer (and other sounds) mixes I made for that very show. Enjoy! And check out austinnewblog.blogspot.com, for a variation on these written pages. Dig!

c

a video from the interior

2009-06-17T20:04:00.000-07:00

Here's a video from the interior of our show at Co-Lab. It sure was a magical night.

something is rotten

2009-06-16T19:10:00.000-07:00

And it's not Richard Guerra! Whoa! More video from our recent performance at Co-Lab. By the way, did you know that Co-Lab is awesome? See you there this Saturday (and every one after).

landlord king from limbo

2009-06-14T16:37:00.000-07:00

Here's a video of my reading my series 'Landlord King' during the Boho Coco's performance 'in Limbo' at Co-Lab. It was a fun night. Thanks to everyone who came out.

strange video

2009-06-11T21:41:00.000-07:00

Here is something strange to start a weekend (and a performance!) See you on Saturday at Co-Lab!

space: live

2009-06-09T23:13:00.000-07:00

The last poem in my series titled 'Space.' Oh, but will we be so lonely out there in the void? I don't know. Check out: austin new blog, to find out. Hey, see you Saturday at Co-Lab.

text:
space: live

Walter’s
oxygen seeped into the black
veil of becoming,

his skin began to freeze and his
eyes held still.

god’s hand in form of astral wind
swept him from
the gravity well

willow wobble

and into a neighboring wormhole.

a black hole is a subject not best defended
by movie stars or small children;
instead, it is a figurative impossibility
some fear one
day will creep onto the planet
in gray uniform and begin to sing
the blandest song of stasis
and determinacy.

Walter was hurled across too many
dimensions
and his body came apart;
head in an ice belt, hand in rusty meteor, liver in neutron star,
kidneys in pulsar beat,
heart in nebula cloud, and eyes
set down low in the ring of Saturn.

reassemble and toss him back into
the black,

we cry, we demand.

the binary stars twinkle; the comets
sparkle; the radiation crackles; the
ocean drips.

space go way got under
the slip so swing we
oh oh
spin.

space: tame

2009-06-08T21:55:00.000-07:00

Another amazing adventure captured in audio. Space continues, and hey, maybe we'll all trip out together Saturday at Co-Lab. Oh, and what other strange adventures may await us? How about this: austin new blog.

text:
space: tame

Walter drifted into the wake
of binary
stars

trapped by a center of gravity
so small

and significant.

days
later,

Walter, trapped between the beasts, began to
laugh;

oh gee,

small people holding a hand in
the sky,

we watch the moon halve itself
every night,

until, brave enough,

she returns with
her

swollen face;

Walter tore off his helmet.

space: drift

2009-06-07T20:37:00.000-07:00

The latest poem in my space series. Oh can you hear me in the endless drift, wee little ones? Check this shit out: austin new blog. And, hey! come to Co-Lab on Saturday night.

text:
space: drift

into
on
and over

under the ethereal

all
and beyond

oh destiny
oh
oh

god in the camouflage

bring the
ring sing
dill

deng dang the cral
crack

over and beyond
under

ethereal oh
veil oh

threat oh sigh.

tiny striped comets shot
across
endless hissing radiation

of the lonely.

space: flower

2009-06-04T21:03:00.000-07:00

The second poem in a series about SPACE! Check out: austinnewblog; for another poem about SPACE!

text:
space: flower

clover leaf
if you
are
a round orb,

but ivy strand if you
are

a mote in the sea of
black.

Walter began to end his
hallucinations:

now was time to create a god.

afterlife, of course,
was

also-ran; Walter
instead dreamed up

a harmonic vibration
all

energy existed in perpetually.

he called his anti-dying-living
‘entropos’

and tried to recall his

name.

Walter
Walter
Walter,

space
madness

infinite night planets spin orange rosy
novas

space: cognition

2009-06-03T22:32:00.000-07:00

Here's a new series to count down to the Boho Coco show at Co-Lab on June 13th. Oh, and it's a collaboration as well. Check out: austinnewblog - 2001 part 3 1; for the other part of this wonderful exploration of space poetry. Zagblot!

text:
space: cognition

left alone to drift through
the void,
Walter

began to hallucinate within his
antiseptic suit.

I am three thousand
holly
lilies set
against backdrops of red fence;
I am
barbarian skull
in
courtyard;
I am

listless tongue boulevard kids
jumping
the church pews.

Walter did not
think on the strangeness
of
his life traversing the
infinite black;

if we are alone,
we
are an ocean.

upcoming show!

2009-06-01T12:52:00.001-07:00

Join Christopher Savage, Erin Vaughan, Miguel Martinez, and Richard Guerra, for a night of fun, beer, performance, poetry, typewriters, tv, painting, monologue, hugs, and pratfalls at Co-Lab (613 Allen Street) on June 13 (Saturday!) at 8:30PM. Oh boy, it's going to be a funky good time. Won't you come and be a boho too?

here's a video as well (it'll calm the beast!):

and check out: colabspace.org

god - spectacle

2009-05-29T20:20:00.000-07:00

The final poem in my series of divine poetry. It's almost as if god himself is weeping because it's over (but he's the type to believe in reincarnation, so don't fret). Hope you enjoyed the poetry, and lookout for a big announcement next week.

god - dummy

2009-05-27T20:05:00.000-07:00

The next in a series of poems featuring god, Christopher Savage, some unexplained touching, and poetry!!!

text:
god: dummy

paint blood red
my
waist in a
field of ivy
roiling with summer
heat;

I watch two lovers
kiss another’s
hands and
recite poetry.

garbage heap,
love,
silver and tin
humps,
old bottles of port
and rye,
giggling mouse
faced chickies,
and
an unencumbered
rendezvous of
old airplane buckles.

god is charity

god - spectacle

2009-05-25T19:19:00.000-07:00

Another in my latest series featuring that ne'er-do-well God. Yum, poetry on Memorial Day. Who would have thought?

text:
god: spectacle

silver eyelets
on Spanish statues,
dear boys
in choir
open-mouthed
and gyrating
with swaths of gold
trim
adorning their
robes.
evil on a windowsill,
hammer fall and
blissful meadow ouch,
latent blue
architecture,
marvelous damsels,
and old
Idaho busted
loose.

god calls you,
he
calls!

Just for You

2009-05-21T12:21:00.000-07:00

For a limited time, erstwhile Austinite and artist Rell Ohlson is accepting commissions for drawings and paintings according to a selection of thematic guidelines, such as science fiction, cult film, and food. She will also entertain special requests if she can accommodate them. In her own words:

"Right now I am offering my services to you, my lovely friends. Nothing dirty, folks. I will make YOU your very own piece of art, for a measly twenty dollars. Uniformly, every drawing/painting will be 5x7 inches, on white or colored paper, unframed. But my lovelies, you get to request a theme from my usual deck of cards, or make a very special request that I will try to accommodate, if possible. No shipping costs, just twenty little dollars. Who doesn't like that?"

You can view a gallery of her recent works on her Flickr page. If you're interested in purchasing a piece you can do so on her blog, rellohlson.blogspot.com.

[Full disclosure: I'm dating Rell. We have a "domestic partnership," which is secular heathen-speak for living in sin.]

god - Hosea

2009-05-21T08:42:00.000-07:00

God poetry? Sure, we got that.

text:
god: Hosea

there were no men
at large
with shadow sprayed
onto factory wall
chanting
for my death.
they were instead
dirt-faced in the
ditches
spewing industry.
Hosea
had come
for a killing,
licking
his teeth
for salt
and brandishing twin
pistols.

lightning!
grace!

a summons to
the wild and
the tethered;
unfetter and
ring,
sheets of glass and apples.

...also...have a great vacation, Erin. Say hello to Ma and Pa Vaughan for me!

god - tunic

2009-05-19T17:51:00.001-07:00

Hey guys, here's the next installment to the series featuring god and my epic ass getting down on some crazy poetry. Did somebody say "Waiting for Godot?"

text:
god: tunic

timeless
seasons
festering in slurry,
merry
brigands cheering
the plight of
orphans.
call
me
servile;
I am
a
light pole on the
outskirts!

god - onslaught

2009-05-18T23:58:00.000-07:00

Hey guys, here's a new poetry series from yours truly. I'm still fiddling around with my audio software stuff, so I figured, why not channel the very voice of god to preach good old poesy to the masses. Enjoy!

text:
god: onslaught

all
is
spectacle!
shimmer cloud
town
brandy women
clanging trousers
in ribbon-less back
alleys
hot-breathed and
barbarous;
an aluminum can
sliding the creek
gravel-faced
junior-hearted
and lithic;
I
am
a lace lingering
the edge of a high-rise
starry billboard
advertising sunkenless
tobacco
wretching smog sunsets.

oh
I am
yours.

might I share some insanity with you?

2009-05-17T22:55:00.001-07:00

Hey folks, I've recently downloaded some audio software and have been screwing around with sound. Here's an example:

and here's some poetry to accompany the insanity (go ahead and read the poems with the sound playing; it's zen kooky)

colors and marriage

choose silver
for a glass color
and
chase away with tonic, with
gin,
with suspenders;

the musicians in corollary row,
black and
blue,
singing an oeuvre
of the best times to bow
tie,
to digest, to summon a golden sun,
to
sleep,
to
begin again.

ivy white road of sustenance,
girl of one
thousand tongues, getting
married tomorrow,

slip over a rouge baton, oh girl,
slip.

hip black thin free graceful birds
flapping
the muggy ocean back to its
prehensile state,
before the modern, before the
magic, before school buses and tugboats
took over the better hearth of the
harbor.

brown shoes for cudgel,
green gel and a face
of smooth brandy
curves, open in evenings, oh he’s
getting married in
a cobalt truck, blue ochre remnants, oh
he’s.
clover,
happenstance, prickly
doorbell gold,
flat docile
plaid pirates of the garbage
heap,
a pink and lavender maid of honor,
a
gray striped best man,
the old
address of the elderly couple in
beige, the
car and the red road.

this year is a good grace
hallelujah;

bend the flap of the green
summer,
eat the turquoise
hearse.

red light night city film and poems

2009-05-13T20:52:00.000-07:00

Hey guys, here's a video I took stumbling home drinky drinky from my brothers' place on South 1st. Paired with the video are some poems I wrote about the NIGHT (or in the NIGHT!)! Cha cha!

impressions of night: wasteland

he removes some teeth
and yes,
to melancholy,
oh mighty.

sat awake at two am
with work
in the morning

saw in half the moon

I read adventures of twin
poets

one:
I have the jawbone of god;
and
two:

I have odyssey-like knees.

begin again to swim
the
summer,
begin
again

to Chopin
and
depart from
older siblings

beer
drank

late and obtrusive
and bussed.

speak of community
colleges
and
their faceless time,
of iron
bashed
posts on balcony nights

because everything takes
forever;
I
sip
a sleeping
girlfriend’s
discarded

beer.

believe, yes, believe,

all the world an unsealed
envelope
and
for me then
to gracefully
transform into
tongue and slather across
the wasteland
creating endings for
the opened hearted
beats and
the slack slick slums.

impressions of night: funny ha ha

one rutabaga down the aisle
of the grocery mart
sees
Estelle grab full
a cart of beans

and heaven knows someone
loves her.

I imagine the state
of
written warfare,

people with large egos brandishing
cocktail weenies in
throws
of grand entryway nothings,
uttering

uttering

the spittle spattle
of
saints and messiahs.

Steve is funny,
oh yes,

and a bridge somewhere in Texas
is broken and
receding;

two things barbarous and
toothy,
left lying on the earth
like children’s toys,

I unhappy to create them
again,

they unnecessary to
come apart and
salivate.

impressions of night: dreams

ask me of the dream
wherein
I collide into a coffee table
full of girls
I have
loved
but not loved

gabbing with my girlfriend
about
my face

and unabashedly all braying
with
contempt the moment I enter the room

oh
let’s make
soap

one asks

let’s watch
Bergman and silence

let’s not speak
and effect circles of lipstick
on windows.

again, a dream
that is meaningless is lavender,
it is cotton;
tonight I swam in a spring
and felt
the slime of the bottom surface
tease my toes.

every woman is riding her bike right now,
dodging traffic,
engaged in red lights,
committing
no crime,
singing harmony towards the background
hiss
of beaten trucks and dodgy rat
cars.

impressions of night – a criminal

in the night ether
I
as criminal
will
spool neon
thread
about
hobos’ fingers until
the whole city is
laced tight;
I will then descend into
the sewers and begin
to pilfer whatever
loose
metal piping I might find.

finally,
an adventure into
swollen back
alleys,

we will steal into the liquor store and smash
the bottles.
everyone will hate us;
we will be
revenged by leaving quickly,
silently, and easily.

sound of the city

2009-05-11T16:57:00.000-07:00

Here's what it sounded like when I took the pictures of the silver fire hydrant:

And here's an old poem of mine about a city (or a city about a poem!):

untitled 534

there is a
remark
in
the way the jungle
scents of
City
climb
destiny
and scream
and froth

,

and Cindy
the actress
,
certainly
something
,
gasps to see
a lonely
cute cat

meowing
in the narrow night
.

photo series: silver fire hydrant

2009-05-11T16:28:00.001-07:00

christopher savage live!

2009-05-08T21:55:00.000-07:00

At Ruta Maya! With a mask! Posing as John Johnson reading his last poems! Check it!

follow this link to other delicious John Johnson shenanigans: click here.

man from phoenix (not Mike)

2009-05-06T18:51:00.000-07:00

Here's a picture of some guy's legs I took while in Phoenix (and no, I didn't take the legs with me, I left them there, ba da bump!).

His name was Waldo. Actually, I think you can hear him (and his opinion on cheeseburgers) if you click this letter P.

p.s. P stands for phoenix or for phunk

Dispatch From the Desert

2009-05-05T22:07:00.000-07:00

Hallo, Bohos, wherever you may roam. Me? I call the Sonoran Desert my home. From inside a woodpecker's nest in the saguaro cactus, from the once decrepit vacants of downtown Phoenix, from the strip malls that stretch on to forever, I sing my greeting unto thee. A one-time Austinite and former colleague of Mssr. Savage, I've since fled to Phoenix which is both better and worse than you might guess. I'll pop on from time to time to share my thoughts and impressions of the city I call home (for now), and I may have one or two other surprises up my proverbial sleeve with which to shock, amaze, and generally rob you of five or six seconds. Glance on, and I'll see you 'round the bend.

- Mike

Collage Barrage (or just Garbage?)

here's richard!

2009-05-05T21:19:00.000-07:00

Richard Guerra reads a lovely piece about exes at Ruta Maya. Give him back his shirt, you bitch!

Calamity Jane

2009-05-04T22:46:00.000-07:00

Hey guys, first official post of the new new blog! This is something I came up with today, three poems read on top of each other and nine drawings filmed with the audio in the background. Oh my stars! Enjoy! Boho!

text:
calamity jane: casino

bungalow girl in adventure
thought
thinks I have
the old vulture’s harmony
and I can be a balloon

give me a break she shoots
through a tin can
five times
and
carves her name on a sun-bleached rock
shaped like an
eagle’s claw

I want to be among the many
stars shooting
into a farmer’s field;
he might be sleeping or
making love to his wife;
I will glow orange and irradiate
the vast
stretch of scarecrow

leave a minute or two early tonight
darling
she groans behind the old
red barn pretending she to be a mirage
of two women
drawing circles with lipstick on each
others’ face

again the gunblast breaks across
the valley
something important is
lost
something fabulous is gained

wonderful old maidens in wait
lying atop
pumpkin pies in the utility shed
with smiles

calamity jane: hop hop

right in the beginning she
had a favorite horse named
Bo
and watched him race across a frozen
lake
one time out in the bandit’s
reverie that saw her robbing trains
and stage coaches

I have an ivy leaf
girl
with your name writ
in twig

resting atop my brow

glowing white matrons hanging
on the porch
ringing tiny bells to signal
love
is writhing inside
on the parlor floor
and
drooling on the windows

the
lady
tosses her famous
possessions into the ravine

famously she has granted a tame
magician the
chance to levitate
spiral spiral

flames in her house,
young men
on the veranda, both
singing despair,
caterwauling the hope of a loveless
body, orange
and flesh hue in the vernacular
of
a good old burning

more more
more
the old buzzards speak to her
now your chance
again
to leave

girl get gone

calamity jane: bonanza

along the old juniper tree patch
she goes singing
under twilight with lengths
of rope attached to her waist
to save her from losing herself

knocking blows send her
down on
the dusty saloon floor but
she bites a heel and
rattlesnakes around
the sloppy piano player’s stool

have harmony governor
you rascal
shooting up the old
courthouse;
no one thinks of you
as lovely

boulevard dreams burning down the side
of
her back in ten
thousand degree weather she
removes her flesh and
sits as a simpleton in the ravine

I can’t get you away this time
cry in the parlor with
your shoes off

arm me with a large
silver cutlass I need
it to cut down the orchard she
chimes with a face
full of smudge

janey jane
crawls about her bedroom floor and
watches the angle of the moon
stuck in the early evening sky

leave me the lovers’ hat so
I can place it on her
head while she sleeps

arrange me different
she demands pouring
booze
past her petite
lips

welcome

2009-05-04T21:49:00.000-07:00

Hey guys, thanks for stopping by the new new austin new blog blog, boho coco! I just figured since the name of the zine was already boho coco, and that it's been over a year at austinnewblog, it was time to shake things up. Hot on the heels of dada month, expect some more wide spread creativity out of this site. For those who continue to chart the course of the bohos, I thank you greatly. Blogging can be great fun (and it can be a great headache), but really, I do it all for you. Or for me. I can't remember. Anyway, check out the video of Calamity Jane. Yeehaa!