[FAM school] of Syntax

katko & molina

2008-08-03T16:21:00.000-07:00

let the nostalgia begin; rootz

Aww...let's raise our poems together...

2008-06-20T18:33:00.000-07:00

Girls in New England fishing town may have made a pact to get pregnant

06-20-2008 6:10 PM
By MELISSA TRUJILLO, Associated Press Writer

GLOUCESTER, Mass. (Associated Press) -- The girls showed up repeatedly at the high school health clinic, asking for pregnancy tests. But their reactions to the test results were puzzling: high-fives if they were expecting, long faces if they weren't.

School officials in this hard-luck New England fishing town say an alarming 17 girls _ four times the usual number _ became pregnant this year. And even more disturbing: Some of the girls may have made a pact to have babies and raise them together.

"A typical girl you would think would say, `Oh my God! What am I going to do now? How am I going to support this baby? How am I going to finish school?'" Superintendent Christopher Farmer said. "These young women clearly have not seen that."

The story exploded after Joseph Sullivan, the principal of Gloucester High School, was quoted by Time magazine this week as saying the girls confessed to making such a pact. Sullivan was on vacation Friday and did not return calls for comment.

The superintendent said he had no independent confirmation of a pact. But he added: "What we do know is there was a group of students being tested for pregnancy on a regular basis, which would suggest they were not taking steps to avoid becoming pregnant, and that when some of them had their babies, they appeared to be very pleased."

None of the girls or their families have come forward to confirm any type of pact, and school and health officials have not identified any of the youngsters.

The girls are all 16 or under, nearly all of them sophomores. The superintendent said they have been reluctant to identify the fathers, many of whom are older. But one of them "is a 24-year-old homeless guy," the principal was quoted as telling Time.

City and school officials in this town of about 30,000 people 30 miles north of Boston have been struggling for months to explain and deal with the pregnancies, where on average only four girls a year at the 1,200-student high school become pregnant.

Just last month, two officials at the high school health center resigned to protest the local hospital's refusal to support a proposal to distribute contraceptives to youngsters at the school without parental consent. The hospital controls the clinic's funding.

Mayor Carolyn Kirk said Friday there are many contributing factors to what she called a "blip" in the pregnancy rate, from glamorization of teen pregnancy in pop culture to cuts in funding that have reduced teachers and health classes in Gloucester.

"We have fallen on hard times," Kirk said of her city, which has suffered in recent decades with the decline in the fishing industry that has defined Gloucester since the colonial era.

Gloucester is the town that lost six fishermen in the 1991 shipwreck that inspired the book and movie "The Perfect Storm." Its high school teams are known as the Fighting Fishermen.

Student Council member Emily Spreer said many of the girls came from difficult socioeconomic circumstances: "Their circle or clique, they're not the most fortunate family-wise."

"If you're a young person who really is struggling to find an identity for herself, absent the support and the guidance, it can become almost a default option for some to become a mom," said Patricia Quinn, executive director of the Massachusetts Alliance on Teen Pregnancy. "We need to do more for young people and show them more paths."

Gloucester _ a heavily Roman Catholic town with a large Italian and Portuguese population _ has long been supportive of teen mothers. The high school has a day care center for students and employees.

Christen Callahan, a former Gloucester High student who had a child when she was 15, said on NBC's "Today" show that some of the girls would ask her about her own pregnancy. "They would say stuff like, `Oh, I think my parents would be fine with it and they would help me,' stuff like that," Callahan said.

Sarah Brown, chief executive of the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy, suggested some of the blame lies with the nation's Hollywood-obsessed culture, in which stories about pregnant celebrities abound.

Just this week, 17-year-old TV star Jamie Lynn Spears, the unmarried sister of Britney Spears, gave birth. "Juno," a wry comedy about a 16-year-old girl who gets pregnant, was one of the most acclaimed movies of the year.

"Baby bumps get written about the same way designer handbags do. It's just one more lifestyle choice, just another personal expression: these shoes, this bump and that handbag," Brown said. "It's not surprising that teenage girls can get confused or even seduced by the allure of celebrity pregnancy."

Dole/Chiquita Poesis

2008-06-08T18:31:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of Jorge Luis Moreno copyright 3000. For your Bitches Brew in Lincoln Heights. Google map us, homie.

soft object project: Like Uncle like Nephew; Sweet and docile, Meek, humble, and kind: Beware the day - They change their mind

2008-05-02T06:02:00.000-07:00

It is awfully hard work doing nothing. However, I don’t mind hard work where there is no definite object of any kind. Unless its soft.

YOU: Non-conceptual, non-exceptional, Everybody's either crime-related or sexual US: absorbing & stirring

2008-05-02T05:27:00.000-07:00

(left to right: Gios, Pablo "lets go" Esco, C-los)

I don't take a lot of advice, my lifestyle is all about looking real nice
I'm a poet with witty banter which mean its not hard to get at your wife
I'm sort of like A Don, wrong look or wrong word,
4-5'll leave most of you harmed
Move snacks through the ocean, paid off the coast guard
Sailed out to Medellin, made sure shit's potent
I checked my man Pablo Lopez and he said "proceed with caution..."
But I told him ain't too many gangstas like me that got pilots transportin
Egg nog whip, four door Ferrari
I'm young, I'm paid, I'm made, I'm fresh, I'm sorry!
I had to leave Harvard cus they couldn't stand the hardcore
I turned 40 into 80 baby once I step through the door
So I flash like cameras, blast like hammers
I worry about y'all lil' wack ass poets just like your grandmas
Get shit jumpin like the playoffs
Every twenty minutes a day give or take I knock a K off
Been in the hood for real long
Catch me anywhere and I got a half a mill' on
I went out to Cali to meet my connect
He said "My name is C-Los, and I got you all set"
he told me no matter what he got my back regardless
now thats what I call an effortlessly compelling artist
Loved by some
Hated by most
envied by many
my name is Gios!

so i shook his hand and he handed me ten grand
and then i looked him in his eyes and replied "Welcome to the FAM!"

Versal for Dispersal

2008-05-02T01:05:00.000-07:00

Fools getin' outta pocket on some cheese and pepperoni,
Don't step to me looking like Tony Toni Tone,
Raphael Saadiq? I'm the next Ason Unique,
Ol' Dirty Wordworth bastardizing speech,
bound to get hurt rhapsodizing over poesy,
you know it's me, Los, aka Dr. Queneau-etry,
exercises in style like a Prada dress bench press,
or Louis Vuitton on my leg warmers and spandex,
I'll write the next line in hendecasyllabics:
Close, the only dude whose pens render magic!
We got Stevie Bender on the Benzedrine dream team,
Tender lean filets what I’m eatin’ for a sleek seam,
Keep it in the FAM like Wheat keeps it in the cream,
We remove the whackness like bad appendices,
Whenever I blog, they want to know what the mack did,
We don’t get cute, we get way more attractive
As the stanzas unravel in electronic networks,
If flows were like 0’s we’d have the world’s greatest net worth.

Glamour Shotz: The Weston Fund Effect

2008-05-01T21:32:00.003-07:00

- we're really good at being statues that catch your attention - inform your father - your mother too - my obedience, look, that nothing-gift of differing multitudes cut to pieces before thy face - we'll hunt no more today, nor seek for danger - there are more direct echoes that weep this lamentable divorce under her colors -

I Flip the Script like Feliz "Flip" Lucea-Maria Molina FAM!

2008-05-01T07:02:00.000-07:00

How smooth can I get? As smooth as a jazz sax
What a class act, now you see why I'm Mr. All That
Pulling rhymes from the back of my dome
The texture of the lecture is then transferred into a poem
Your rhymes are so boring, I'm snoring
Leave me so sleepy Sonny Murdock wouldn't know it's morning
Here comes the negro, one out of two amigos
That's making the music leaving you hooked by the kilo
Talking loud and ain't saying nothin
Your styles are more shitty than buttfucking
But I got styles from my team
Ever more deans, when I was nine I was a rough teen
Working hard for my assets so buy the cassette
And if you're Jamacian go get the cass-ette
Take it home and peep the hit
Word up, cause I flip the script,

Snourthweastern

2008-04-26T17:45:00.000-07:00

Photo by Sherwin Bitsui, on the famous tip.

Bebe says, "Levendary..."

3 NYPD detectives acquitted in 50-shot killing

2008-04-25T08:10:00.000-07:00

By TOM HAYS, Associated Press Writer
57 minutes ago
NEW YORK - Three detectives were acquitted of all charges Friday in the 50-shot killing of an unarmed groom-to-be on his wedding day, a case that put the NYPD at the center of another dispute involving allegations of excessive firepower.

Justice Arthur Cooperman delivered the verdict in a Queens courtroom packed with spectators, including victim Sean Bell's fiancee and parents, and at least 200 people gathered outside the building.

The verdict provoked an outpouring of emotions: Bell's fiancee immediately walked out of the room. His mother cried.

Outside the courthouse, which was surrounded by scores of police officers, many in the crowd began weeping as news of the verdict said. Others were enraged, swearing and screaming "Murderers! Murderers!" or "KKK!"

Bell, a 23-year-old black man, was killed in a hail of gunfire outside a seedy strip club in Queens on Nov. 25, 2006 — his wedding day — as he was leaving his bachelor party with two friends.

Officers Michael Oliver, 36, and Gescard Isnora, 29, stood trial for manslaughter while Officer Marc Cooper, 40, was charged only with reckless endangerment. Two other shooters weren't charged. Oliver squeezed off 31 shots; Isnora fired 11 rounds; and Cooper shot four times.

The officers, complaining that pretrial publicity had unfairly painted them as cold-blooded killers, opted to have the judge decide the case rather than a jury.

The judge indicated that the police officers' version of events was more credible than the victims' version. "The people have not proved beyond a reasonable doubt that each defendant was not justified" in firing, he said.

A conviction on manslaughter could have brought up to 25 years in prison; the penalty for reckless endangerment, a misdemeanor, is a year behind bars.

The case brought back painful memories of other NYPD shootings, such as the 1999 shooting of Amadou Diallo — an African immigrant who was gunned down in a hail of 41 bullets by police officers who mistook his wallet for a gun. The acquittal of the officers in that case created a storm of protest, with hundreds arrested after taking to the streets in demonstration.

The mood surrounding this case has been muted by comparison, although Bell's fiancee, parents and their supporters, including the Rev. Al Sharpton, have held rallies demanding that the officers — two of whom are black — be held accountable.

Still, a phalanx of police officers, some uniformed and some in the department's community affairs polo shirts, was stationed outside the courthouse Friday. The building was ringed by metal barricades. Some in the crowd wore buttons with Bell's picture or held signs saying "Justice for Sean Bell." After the verdict was read, some in the crowd approached officers but were held back; the jostling quickly died down.

After the verdict, Police Commissioner Raymond Kelly acknowledged that some people were disappointed with the acquittals.

"We don't anticipate violence, but we are prepared for any contingency," he said.

The nearly two-month trial was marked by deeply divergent accounts of the night.

The defense painted the victims as drunken thugs who the officers believed were armed and dangerous. Prosecutors sought to convince the judge that the victims had been minding their own business, and that the officers were inept, trigger-happy aggressors.

None of the officers took the witness stand in his own defense. Instead, Cooperman heard transcripts of the officers testifying before a grand jury, saying they believed they had good reason to use deadly force. The judge also heard testimony from Bell's two injured companions, who insisted the maelstrom erupted without warning.

Both sides were consistent on one point: The utter chaos surrounding the last moments of Bell's life.

"It happened so quick," Isnora said in his grand jury testimony. "It was like the last thing I ever wanted to do."

Bell's companions — Trent Benefield and Joseph Guzman — also offered dramatic testimony about the episode. Benefield and Guzman were both wounded; Guzman still has four bullets lodged in his body.

Referring to Isnora, Guzman said, "This dude is shooting like he's crazy, like he's out of his mind."

The victims and shooters were set on a fateful collision course by a pair of innocuous decisions: Bell's to have a last-minute bachelor party at Kalua Cabaret, and the undercover detectives' to investigate reports of prostitution at the club.

As the club closed around 4 a.m., Sanchez and Isnora claimed they overheard Bell and his friends first flirt with women, then taunt a stranger who responded by putting his right hand in his pocket as if he had a gun. Guzman, they testified, said, "Yo, go get my gun" — something Bell's friends denied.

Isnora said he decided to arm himself, call for backup — "It's getting hot," he told his supervisor — and tail Bell, Guzman and Benefield as they went around the corner and got into Bell's car. He claimed that after warning the men to halt, Bell pulled away, bumped him and rammed an unmarked police van that converged on the scene with Oliver at the wheel.

The detective also alleged that Guzman made a sudden move as if he were reaching for a gun.

"I yelled 'Gun!' and fired," he said. "In my mind, I knew (Guzman) had a gun."

Benefield and Guzman testified that there were no orders. Instead, Guzman said, Isnora "appeared out of nowhere" with a gun drawn and shot him in the shoulder — the first of 16 shots to enter his body.

"That's all there was — gunfire," he said. "There wasn't nothing else."

With tires screeching, glass breaking and bullets flying, the officers claimed that they believed they were the ones under fire. Oliver responded by emptying his semiautomatic pistol, reloading, and emptying it again, as the supervisor sought cover.

The truth emerged when the smoke cleared: There was no weapon inside Bell's blood-splattered car.

ARTSY, GET THE FIXIE OUT, IT'S SPRING TIME

2008-04-19T22:47:00.000-07:00

This one goes out to all those RISD scholars and scholarettes. Holler back like Holderlin.

Instances of incorporeal Non-sense.

2008-04-19T13:23:00.000-07:00

So basically Hair got me like an EasyBake
my cupcakes in the oven while I Chinese
jump-rope to her mom's place
She pulled me by the weave and baptized me as Flip
I dropped the chicken nugget in the ranch dip
She said it wunt fa sale, the acrylic on her toes
cuttin' me in half with that diamond and airbrushed hoes
on the cover of Elle magazine
I take it back to Biggy like it was all a dream
with Billy Collins cummin all over the poetry scene
doin' Dunkin Donuts with cLos' Subaru on the main green
I never thought a grad program would give funding for sucha thing
all them faces in the workshop over at Keith's crib
thats when I witnessed the caesura climb out the page just to gimme a hair flip
it was all in the air like a bunk ass can of strawberry Airwick
a symptom of critique cuz they don't know where to put they dicks
when it all began in a living room with Kool Aid & Atari
now we rockin skinny pants and flauntin' Deleuze & Guittari
growin' out ma nails like my buddy Gilles
and eating the concept of schizoanalysis baked for you by Felix
See I know about the hood, and I know about the clinics
when the doses runnin' low and they waitin' for a pound of insulin
some dude in the next room stayin away from psychiatric wards
walkin on the lines of Michel's power structure gridwork
all these people livin' just to lose they minds never findin' a way out
and breathin' under a regime of signs.

1,2 pass the mic...

2008-04-18T10:09:00.000-07:00

yo, hard rocks? igneous or metamorphic?
my metaphors fly over your head like a cornice,
whack mc's are cornish game hens to me,
say the same things, same trends they believe
are gonna sky-rocket suckas: apollo 13,
with a quarter sack of fresh greens,
it ain't romaine or arugula,
i keep it cinematic with a kubrick maneuver
and I look like che guevara with a beard
I'm weirded out by those who jeer and drink beer
in front of mirrors and strobe lights
you know if ain't fam then it's faux write
call my style dope that's like saying cold ice,
act oxymoronic and i'll fold you up thrice,
and put you on blast in a youtube vignette
other fools are soft as a nude pirouette,
or a pink ballet shoe on a newborn's foot,
or a bunny rabbit covered in fresh soot,
or a nun's habit right out the laundry,
or any movie by Michel Gondry,
don't ponder me, you'll just go mute,
make a long story short, and don't ever get cute!

YOU LACK THE MINERALS & THE VITAMINES, IRON & THE NIACIN

2008-04-18T06:51:00.000-07:00

"no! no! I don't want to be like Yeates, I wanted to BE Yeates"

you see...

You lack the minerals and vitamins irons and the niacin
Fuck who that I offend rappers sit back I'm bout to begin
bout foul talk you sqwak never even walked the walk
More less destined to get tested never been arrested
My album will manifest many things that I saw did or heard about
or told first hand never word of mouth
What's in the future for the fusion in the changer?
Rappers are in danger who will use wits to be a remainder
When the missile is aimed, to blow you out of the frame
Some will keep their limbs and, some will be maimed
The same suckers with the gab about, killer instincts
but turned bitch and knowin damn well they lack
In this division the conniseur, crackin your head with a 4 by 4
Realize sucka, I be the comin like Noah
Always sendin you down, perpetratin facadin what you consider
a image, to me this is, just a scrimmage
I'm feel I'm stone, not cause I bop or wear my cap cocked
The more emotion I put into it, the harder I rock
Those who pose lyrical but really ain't true I feel

"Their time's limited, hard rocks too"

break a leg at your theseus readings fam

2008-04-17T21:18:00.000-07:00

he got too crayzee wit da LEGS!!!

invitation to astre

2008-04-04T08:43:00.000-07:00

goodnite, then.

2008-03-26T02:06:00.000-07:00

Phil Collins: Softest of the Hard

2008-03-24T13:50:00.000-07:00

Between Frederic Jameson and Translation Theory, Phil Collins snuck his way in. Even Philip K. Dick couldn't have come up with this one.

We got the blessing

2008-03-24T12:29:00.000-07:00

Trick Shots: Holler at yr physics.

2008-03-22T19:44:00.000-07:00

Dear Fellow Limbs,
I don't wanna be your friend, I just wanna be your lover, no matter how it ends, no matter how it starts; the lyrics looping as does the seemless comma on the Wheel of Fortune. I'd like to Final Cut Express all of you into a pop-up book and those sentimental musical Wedding Cards just might be the chorus I've been looking for. Turn. Cut. Turn. Lights on all over the carpet I've vacuumed all your footsteps and uploaded them into the iTunes. next to Radiohead's Rainbow, track "All I Need." The apartment is a jewelry box that needs to get picked up, dropped and shaken. I moved the bed, it now faces the North towards not exactly Montreal. Pablo, I'd love to go to Bermuda, to all 126 of them. But Whole Foods is a different story that sells elitist toothpaste to make the rest of this narrative gluten free and Animal Testing free. Won't be testing any plots on April anytime soon though she has been pissing all over the bathroom rug as her friendly way of subverting blogger.com. I feel as though I am stuck in some chamber of my brain and cannot reach you. Note only to P-Lo: I miss u. terribly. Lets meditate? Thibault: where the fuck are u. On the loose somewhere without a bicycle on the brooklyn lager side of things. What does the FAM look like all the way from there? When're we reading in a living room full of the class of 2009 again? Every sentence seems to arrive as a tryptich like meals divided by morning/noon/nite. That Michael Keenan can only function post-midnight in a darkroom makes all the sense like shutters do to the moon and blinds to the sun. Am secretly protesting against nails and teeth as both function out some necessity for anxiety which is truley so last century and the skinny pant as a symbolic will to "survive." I think we should get a house. for the blog only, literally. Its getting stuffy in here. CLos has already started moving into the shack in the backyard and where is Yoyos? at some Forbes benefit in the bathroom? Yos, where are u? Stevie B is down the street slicking his bangs to the side like "Shit FAaam" and I mightas well be a seal in antartica tryen to research on how the fuck to swim out of a dream. I'm sick of gambling, sick of chance, and sick of money. Do you ever get like this? Language is beginning to look useful but in a form that can be held and squeezed. I picked up Api yesterday and squeezed her until the word "meow" fell out of her mouth and dragged itself onto the floor. to which she attacked like a ball of yarn. A little bibliomancy for tonite: irradiate/gaudy/deprecate/omniscient/fester/hegemony. How boring these words. Reporting Live from Transit St., bebe le beast.

calisthenics

2008-03-19T08:07:00.000-07:00

http://www.ubu.com/film/kitchen_fitz.html

Hope High great plains await us--(seems like MCK & CLos got a headstart on ArmsRights).

Come to Brooklyn for my Sat. Night gig @ GOODBYE BLUE MONDAY!

BaumHaus resurJJ

2008-03-16T09:25:00.000-07:00

BaumHaus brought dizzown (dizzown evryting)

2008-03-16T09:20:00.000-07:00

Pablo--keep pressin' 'em buttons (do you see my horns?)

2008-03-09T12:10:00.000-07:00

brooklyn comes alive:

«spice-child do me justice reassure me my coast is clear
spice-child please be honast and tell me we gonna hav an open year»

Pump Yr Pin Breaks

2008-03-08T17:39:00.000-08:00

Check out this video: pinball punctuation

Add to My Profile | More Videos

Have A Good Weather, everyone.

2008-03-07T12:55:00.001-08:00

courtesy of MCK's pals MGMT

2008-03-02T21:50:00.000-08:00

I DONT LIKE IT UNLESS ITS FAMSCHOOL----sorry I'm wacktose intolerant

2008-03-02T06:16:00.000-08:00

All you other (aspiring) poets, writers, lyricists, jokers, musicians, essayists, etc. trying rocking back & forth it might be easier to get your shit out!
I don't like it unless its Famschool"

I don't like it unless it's (famschool)
You might see me in my (famschool) whip
With my (famschool) bitch, pumpin' my (famschool) shit
You don't like it - get off my (famschool) dick

Bagatelle, 15th A.D. tip

2008-03-01T17:15:00.000-08:00

Is there an inherent sense of non-verbal punctuation involved in what, since the 1930s, is known as pinball?

The Return of Joaquin Kerouaco

2008-03-01T15:01:00.000-08:00

Hey FAM Generation,

I don't know, but we gotta go. EN EL CAMINO. It won't be my dream that screws up this time.

So in Providence when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down draw bridge watching the long, long skies over Rhode Island and sense all that raw word that rolls in one unbelievable huge stanza over to the Western Front, and all that paper going, all the people writing on the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by now the poets must be crying in the land where they let poets cry, and tonight the FAM'll be out, and don't you know that God is Captain Seaweed? The evening caesura must be drooping and shedding her semantic whims on the Eastern Shore, which is just before the coming of electric eels that bless the SAAB, darken all the shades, pour the wine and indent the final line, and nobody, nobody knows what's going to happen to poetry since the formal rags are growing old. I think of Stevie B, I even think of Old Stevie B the father we never found, I think of Stevie B.

Love,
JK

building the Set.

2008-02-28T20:12:00.000-08:00

2008-02-28T17:19:00.000-08:00

new american writing?

ohell n.a.w.

RIppLe got this much to say:

nuddin but a crimp wit a r.a.c. and a k.i.r.royale

"The Ceiling Tiles Are Fading Below Us", after CLos

2008-02-28T13:42:00.000-08:00

Fam,
on the phone, walking back towards Wickenden St., CLos in the right ear, many things running through in a stream of images from the dermotologist's office. Some things sound more ridiculous in the attempt to transcribe it. I am telling you in a personality that shifts from every bird chirping in the backyard of this cafe Zog where CLos and I share a booth, our Mac eyelids front to front, not one of us blinks. Subject: the multiples interfaces of the internet is an imitation of language. The imitation finds itself as a flat surface, mimicking the intagibility of words: the interface of language appears to be happening in reverse which is also an extension of words that serve as an interface of themselves. The exterior word: Consider the face of a word, not its dimensions, not what goes on inside a chair, but what goes on on the surface of its wood. All the particles that make up the pigment, etc. the same going on with a word. I see a chair, a wooden chair with no one on it. I think superficially about gravity, how some other force pulls it vertically to stay on the ground, how that language makes sense inside of itself and the arena it caters to and produces, like one store in a mall. Another mall of language making that chair stay in place an allowing for any other kind of discourse to be projected on it, these chairs with no one sitting on them. Perhaps chairs make sense, as a function or shape, either way, its comforting to see them there, all the dialogues exchanged as a result of it: prompting another interface of sitting. I'm afraid there are no ideas but in performance; an accumulation of gesture and inflection as a circuit board. In the waiting room of the dermotologist office, Martha Stewart inside the TV set showing everyone how to make wax flowers and Christina Ricci as sidekick to the cause. Perhaps there's a few ways of coping with it A.) I could either sit there and let it depress me, B.) I could remain passive and let it make me happy, C.) I could remain neutral and watch myself react to it before the assistant-dermo opens the door to holler my name. I tried all three. Neither one worked, I walked home like a tragic-comedy skit with no subject in the heading. Empty bubbles all around. CLos on the phone ranting about how there's no use in writing if death is something so casually laughed off and ignored. I'm afraid moving to Stockholm won't insert any content into the hapless sky either. What is at stake? What is missing that turns poetry into another code word? Now that I think or don't think about it, I want Martha's fucken bouquet of wax flowers. I want to dip a dozen rosy words into a parapet and give it a bendable title, like: Metaphors are Made in Beehives. I want to stop fucking around and take you seriously or keep seriously fucking around. I want the dermotologist to hurry up and hand over the medical release over to Supercuts so they can show me a few things about romantic hustling; how to work it, work the interface of words out of the internet to make them tangible so I can basically pound my fist onto a link without having to kick storefront windows or throw myself onto the hood of an incoming car in front of Tazza, that pathetic venue so afraid of letting the ceiling crumble from below.

Tight Sweater Better than a Letterman

2008-02-26T09:50:00.000-08:00

Our Lady of Myspace is now accepting admission applications for the 2008-3030 school year. You can download the application right into your brain at DigitalSkirts.com. We were formerly called Our Lady of Feliz Molina, but Myspace has graciously decided to fund our institution.

Classes offered:

Holographic Tailoring

Online Profile Maintenance

Typewriter Mechanics

Graffiti Workshop (hosted by Flipi)

Imaginary Carnival Management

Grustling 101 (with a guest lecture by Dr. Retsinas)

Owning the Place: How to bring your laptop and shades into a bar

Denny's Etiquette

Briefcase Making

YouTube Cuisine

Intro to the Blogging Industry

Lunch takes place at New York Systems regularly between 1pm and 5pm when they are serving free beer. We also offer residencies during the summer at Captain Seaweed's and the Red Fez.

I MAKE POEMS & I MAKE MONEY BUT NOT AT THE SAME TIME (fam!)

2008-02-26T07:02:00.000-08:00

Castle Forbes, located in Northeastern Scotland, was built in 1815 by James O'Conochar, the 18th Lord Forbes, premier baron of Scotland, and is now the home of his great-great-great grandson, Malcolm, the Master of Forbes and his new found family--The FamSchool of Poets.

swing by when you are around the greater parts of Scotland. i'll be kicking my air-jordans up writing a magnificent poem and watching HD cable in the castle. Cus i'm on my grustle: verb (without object) meaning to "grind" and hustle"

over and out!

halla Backbarack BamBama..

2008-02-26T00:49:00.000-08:00

58 Sec. Play: "Would you like a ticket to my Carnival?"

2008-02-24T16:56:00.000-08:00

Installation:
The FAM dispersed around a city handing
out raffle tickets on the street,
inviting anyone to "come and join."

Enters upon Triangle elevator doors opening from just landing on the street from P-Lo's dream.

FAM- Hi, would you like a free ticket to my carnival?
Person 1- Sure.
FAM- Its happening right now, should be going on for a while.
Person1 - Where is it exactly?
FAM- Its right here.
Person 2- a-Wha?
FAM- Its valid for any ride, popcorn, cotton candy, all the food booths, you know, & all the games too.
Person 3- huh?
FAM- How many would you like?
Person 2- I don't understand..
FAM- Bring your family & friends..
Person 1- I'll take 4.
Person 2- where is it?
FAM- Its over there (points to T-Ripple), right there (points to P-LO), its also right next to me (Bebe) and the other ones are in here, right next to this rose (points inside hankerchief coat pocket).
Person 3- I don't get it. (crinkles forehead)
FAM- Its ok, one day you will.

Exits right center stage on the corner of Thayer St. & Waterman St.

By Bibi LeBeast

30 second Play: "Take it To the Mechanic"

2008-02-24T14:00:00.000-08:00

Basically,
the conversation went like:

CLos- fool, that fan belt snapped off the line break.
Bebe- you kidding?
Clos- no, fool. It broke off at " Oh the sprocket midnight/ turning..."
Bebe- where'd it go at "turning"?
Clos- It landed severak commas later.
Bebe- That's why my tap-dance steps are all fucked up! I've been a couple beats off.
CLos- But I think its cuz I need an oil change.
Bebe- Yeah, that image looks mad stuck. Why don't you replace it with a jar of coconut oil?
Clos- But then I'd have to replace the battery in that onomotopoeia and that's gonna be hard.
Bebe- Might cost alot too...
Clos- Yeah, like 500 sonnets..fuck that..
Bebe- Whatever fool, lets just walk there.

Relationship Advice from Bebe Momo

2008-02-24T13:40:00.000-08:00

"You don't wanna marry the Wizard, fool!"

vortices

2008-02-23T13:59:00.000-08:00

hookin' up w/ bronze

Oh Softies

2008-02-23T08:14:00.000-08:00

Did this fool say, "Flint in Mitch-igan" and "Pop, Black, and Dance charts?" Damn, '86.

Let me love you 'til the morning comes, softies.

We ready for the world, FAM.

In the middle of the Snow I heard:

2008-02-22T16:12:00.000-08:00

UN(hip-hop) quotable...isn't it so lovely?

2008-02-22T12:32:00.000-08:00

"You know I fall up in the club
Throw'd and blowed as usual
Pocket's on swole
Better know we choosin' hoes
Only choosin' those
That hit the door and lose they clothes,"

(un)hip-hop quotable of the day.

enjoy.

out there! (silliman solutions ltd.)

2008-02-22T09:52:00.001-08:00

what does it take for us to truly listen to one another? are we CANNIBALs if we deepfry this ear? fudge, brook, SHA.

new assist. Executive johnlibraryman to Forbes Mag: a Poet

2008-02-21T22:07:00.000-08:00

In Cafe Zog, muffins behind
a glass, I can't wait
until the internet finally
lets me eat all the ingredients
& furniture that linger inside, or
the pop-up window that doesn't
reach beyond itself
that when I wikipedia
how to use a friend, all I
get are more people
whom I want to share
all these muffins with
that there's no use
in getting up, so I wait
until someone configures
how to download a chocolate
chip muffin onto my lap, or
for Giorgios to come through
the internet like he once said
when he was real pissed off in person.

P.S. Gios, turn Mr. Forbes into a poem real quick while yr at it...

"Thanx MCK! Where'd U steal These?!"

2008-02-21T21:31:00.001-08:00

2008-02-21T21:02:00.002-08:00

TAx Returns

2008-02-21T21:02:00.001-08:00

2008-02-21T20:38:00.000-08:00

2008-02-21T19:16:00.000-08:00

http://www.vijnanakalavedi.org/

good for monff of sublime recon

show up at seaweed's wed.27th round 10 p.m. to see AshLake G. move & move & move

in it already

2008-02-21T18:43:00.000-08:00

safe to say--we OFF the GROUND;

I for one am ecstatic at the prospect of MoMo wearing tap shoes, whistling (of caus..) & us shimmrin a bit--you know, going for romance w/ pliers

SNAP SNAP Super SNAP

2008-02-20T19:34:00.000-08:00

Hey FAM, look what T-Ripple found: A way to Repair the fucken english alphabet.

2008-02-20T18:02:00.000-08:00

Last Updated: Wednesday, 20 February 2008, 19:16 GMT
Self-healing rubber bounces back
By Roland Pease
BBC Radio Science Unit

The material in action
A material that is able to self-repair even when it is sliced in two has been invented by French researchers.The as-yet-unnamed material - a form of artificial rubber - is made from vegetable oil and a component of urine.The substance, described in the journal Nature, produces surfaces when cut that retain a strong chemical attraction to each other.Pieces of the material join together again as if never parted without the need for glue or a special treatment.This remarkable property comes from careful engineering of the molecules in the material.The French researchers are already making kilogramme quantities in their Paris laboratories and say the process is almost completely green, and could be completely so with a few adjustments.

'Tiny hands'

The secret of the substance lies in how the molecules are held together.
A piece of normal rubber, says Dr Ludwik Leibler, who headed the research, is actually a single molecule with billion upon billions of smaller units chemically welded together to form a giant tangled network.Children are always breaking their toys. Wouldn't it be nice if you could put them back together so easily?

Ludwik Leibler
The elasticity comes from the fact that the strands within the network are buckled like a concertina: pull on them and they straighten and elongate; let go and the buckles reappear.But break a rubber (or most other solids), and the chemical welds - known as covalent bonds - are also broken.These cannot be remade. Nor can a piece of rubber be remoulded or reshaped.
"We wanted to see if we could make a rubber-like material using small molecules," Dr Leibler of the Industrial Physics and Chemistry Higher Educational Institution (ESPCI) in Paris told the BBC's Science In Action programme.The trick was to replace the covalent bonds in rubber with weaker connections known as hydrogen bonds.These are like hands on neighbouring molecules that can clasp together, but let go when broken. Dr Leibler quickly realised that this meant not only that the new rubber could be recycled and remoulded many times over, but that if separated by a cut or break, the chemical hands at the fresh surfaces would still be waving about ready to bind again.

Child's play

François Tournilhac, who runs Dr Leibler's laboratories, demonstrated the healing to me.Using a razor blade he severed a thin strand of the yellowish material (the colour of corn oil), showed me the clean square faces, and then pressed them together.
Almost immediately, the grip was strong enough for him to hold the sample just at one end. Within an hour the bonds had rebuilt themselves so thoroughly that it was possible to stretch the strand to twice its length without any sign of weakness where the cut had been made. One obvious use, says Dr Leibler, is for self-healing seals. Puncture a seal in a compression joint with a nail, and the hole would automatically repair itself. He also has more playful suggestions. "Why not use it to make children's toys? Children are always breaking their toys. Wouldn't it be nice if you could put them back together so easily?"
The material was developed with the support of the French company Arkema, which is already investigating whether it can be turned into a commercial product.
----------------------------------------

Thanx Paris!!! We'll do what we can with this...
for the next experiment, figure out how this could influence speech development.

Yours All the Way from America,
a bunch of Soft Objects

2008-02-20T00:29:00.000-08:00

Dearest FAM,
I heard about you from the backseat of a taxi parked in the hot traffic of Mexico City. The city brambling your names like endless dust on a road. to nowhere. So I took note of it, and placed the moleskine back into the jeans of my back pocket. Many things I'd like to say while your asleep, so far away in what North American state is that? Rhode Island, thats right. But there's always one thing you could do, one of you, and that is: write terrible poetry if you want to survive. At this point, find as many poetry contests around and submit terrible poems if you want to pay next month's rent. Yours By Night, Roberto B.

Profile: Richard Caliban

2008-02-19T23:27:00.000-08:00

Meet the newer member of the soft architecture collective (s.a.c.)... This is the only known photo of Mr. Caliban. It was taken in a Shanghai opium den.

Some fun facts about Dick Caliban -

Favorite color: Poem
Favorite food: Poem
Favorite TV Show: Poem
Favorite number: Poem
Favorite poison: Poem
Favorite leg: Poem
Favorite distance: Poem
Favorite hoarfrost: Poem
Favorite poem: Poem
Favorite golf course: Poem
Favorite veldt: Poem
Favorite cannibal: Poem
Favorite Kool Keith: Poem
Favorite Johnson & Wales: Poem
Favorite GCB: Poem
Favorite MFA: Poem
Favorite Whole Foods: Poem
Favorite MCK: Poem
Favorite Other Painters: Poem
Favorite roulette: Poem
Favorite Edith: Poem
Favorite SAAB: Poem
Favorite Salvation: Army

2008-02-19T16:05:00.000-08:00

being a cavisionary in the presence of others:

mist thang first, umpteen gorges

Out/In the Pockets of Suspension

2008-02-19T15:37:00.001-08:00

Dear Fellow Players,
If anyone's said "I don't care about money." I'd like to go over, in drive-thru, what's at stake. If money doesn't matter, then winning or losing X amount of dollars shouldn't matter either. Thing is, to "not care about money" alludes to something greater than the currency itself intrinsic of any categories regarding gain and loss, to not be afraid of throwing up oneself all over the roulette table and not being able to get a dope manicure until the next check arrives. To not care about money, is not caring about where it goes, from where it came or returns. You throw down a bet because it doesn't matter, nothing matters but the gesture of re-appropriating 'chance' back into the text of waking up every day. The gesture is neutral, either way: black/red, odd/even, etc. The consequences are only repurcussive gliches across the screen until the next check arrives. Nonetheless, still thinking about taking parts of that Federal PLUS loan to Atlantic City with you..heart, Bebe.

2008-02-19T14:32:00.000-08:00

STAY PUFT

out the books, fam, keep it royale.

Footprints Y'all

2008-02-17T18:02:00.001-08:00

"[T]he rhythms are inserted,/ and the nerds can be converted..." -- Q-tip

Place Yr MuthaFkn Bets..25 Word Minimum

2008-02-15T15:56:00.000-08:00

When's the piligrimage to Atlantic City fellas? I'm tryen ta make the rent happen in one bet...Throw down that PLUS loan and call it a year...

I Need a Slurpee and Doritos

2008-02-15T08:46:00.000-08:00

From Caliban to the FAM-i-lam. Let me love you down, softies.

Takin it forward to the finger-Pager code.

2008-02-13T20:59:00.000-08:00

5047 0873075-42177 (soft object-fam),
4017 15170111 40111 17711014 143 (you know how much I love you) . 1774 432127 15 926312 836117171176 70 11101215 262117 (my heart is a pager beginning to work again). 1 12317731778312 4017 4017074 117 8th 612203 1114317 70113 11125 50 51177973 2170 7355 21212062177 (i remember you fondly in 8th grade when love was so simple and less arrogant). 1774 1st 15155 11125 5707317 84 2 7th 61220312 011121176 743 417177 Hell Raiser 8. (my 1st kiss was stolen during the film Hell Raiser 8). 570994 2170 17720 31193121177317727 (sloppy and mad experimental). 432125 727312 1 12327153 7427 1 2177 217 2443177117273 804 540991176 27 Forever 21 (years later I realize I am an affeminate boy shopping at forever 21). 012 7427 1774 027 15 1770123 43177273 74217 1773 (or that my cat is more female than me) 117 4312 24hour 827737 54035 (in her 24hour ballet shoes). 743 741176 15, 1 70173 831176 21200170 4017 (the thing is, I love being around you) 04 1774 5047 01735 (oh my soft ones). 737 170 0173 72153 7415 21124 (let no one take this away)...Your, bebe.

Sentimental Canterbury Soaps

2008-02-13T20:38:00.001-08:00

Bebe: i must confess. i once broke up with a girl using pager code. the fundamental super-size of mantra was a mere fragment of my teenage density. the inland empire looking at you. what it is, please, let the small rain down-can-rain. and we have the cantos hanging... from cyberpunk google speech. i love all fathoms of ghost code, and you know what zoos mean to me. we can perpetrate a phallic equivalence to poetry. this being as of one of Giogios' meditations. like, you know, foo? hit me back on the text mess.

Poetry reading at Chanel.com on Waterman St. 2nite

2008-02-13T14:04:00.000-08:00

Dear Fellow FAMbam,
Today is raining like an attempt to empty out the text from all the books on our shelves. I am trying to make it to this reading, but first, trying to make it to the Providence Mall to get some dope boots at Aldo and then through the appliances at Bed Bath & Beyond. The cabs are clogged,& I've got what is called "tonsillilith" in case you'd like to wikipedia that. It deserves its own critique of the political economy of the sign, for real; an object for psychic investment, fuck it. Its the crevasses in my tonsils where parts of social mobility finds itself inept on the couches of 18th century peasant furniture. Nonetheless, a literary category in diguise: a tonsil stone. WTF, I beg you never to retrieve this from the back of these words. What you'll find, is Api sitting on herself on top of this desk as a closed parenthesis with green eyes looking up at me, looking at you. If there's one thing to do for the rest of the month, go find Hair and bring her back to me cuz I will always belong to her... heart, Flip.

Mario Bros. Symphonics: a tribute to a stack of dice.

2008-02-12T16:52:00.000-08:00

This "Minority Dinner" at Brown is WACK.............................boredome thruout my pink butterfly sleeves. A certain false realizm stuck to my contacts, light bacteria..............C-LOS, P-LO, MCK, T, are all surrounding the softness that doesnt' make up the novelty of thinking this way.

2008-02-12T13:49:00.000-08:00

sound beneath, otherwise lonesome

Famous Architects of Marrakesh

2008-02-11T15:06:00.001-08:00

Remember, FAM, it's a desert out there. Pack some extra orgasms just incase you find yourself. Because you will. At least thats what I conceive it with as one poet told me to say to another. And another. I got a gang of 'em. Architects that is. We need to corroborate on some illicital poetical bramble-bushable activity. Veritas. Word to the Water Front Street, man. But I'm putting you up on Video Library. The Pre-Blockbuster, buster. Check my checks, Joanie. I ain't lovin' Chachi.

Dear Mr. Berry, What the Fuck...

2008-02-11T13:48:00.000-08:00

When was the last time you got yr nails did?! sheeeit..
Welcome to the FAM, or shall I say, we're happy to meet you..