Psychic Memoir

Introducing Gilt Gilda

Mon, 13 May 2013 22:47:00 -0400

Been working with some folks on a fun, glossy magazine-type project on Pinterest called Gilt Gilda.

Gilt Gilda is an unruly hoard of cultural capital anxious to be squandered on something truly splendid. Pins by Reb Livingston, Rauan Klassnik, Rebecca Hazelton + guest curators: Jeannine Hall Gailey, Jennifer Barnes and many more to come.

So if you’re on Pinterest, please follow us. And if you’re not, maybe considering creating an account and following us.

Some of our boards:

Resurrection Request: Who and what we’d like to raise from the dead

Wrapper Gazing: What’s on the outside

If I was Nic Cage’s Mistress: Oh the things we’d do

A Taste of Rauan’s Rabbits & Other Wildlife: From Rauan Klassnik’s personal preserve

Reb’s Cabinet of Curiosities: Pins from Reb Livingston’s fabled vault of sorcery & whimsy

Rebecca’s Garden of Questionable Delights: Rebecca Hazelton is bringing out the hoes

Jeannine Hall Gailey: Guest Board

Jennifer Barnes: Guest Board

And more to come, of course, there’s always much much more.

Fabulous secrets were revealed to me the day I held aloft my...

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 23:28:00 -0400

Fabulous secrets were revealed to me the day I held aloft my sword and said: FOR THE HONOR OF NAPOWRIMO

napowrimo 30

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 23:10:56 -0400

Our boat needs something specific to cut through when there’s alligators making ice, when we slowmo drift to the casino of silence to spend our hard earned ghoulishness.

We need coins and slips and we need help drawing a blank and we need to do it here before here is sold to scuba divers and archivists.

Slots are hard on a body, on a door, on the ear, on a belief system.

A silent casino is not a good place for sleep.

And what to be avoided: a wrench in need, an empty flashlight, pageant preparations, wheels, rage funnels.

What needs to be done needs to be done and now would be a time for a renovation, reboot, an inspirational quote, pee break, an appointment and that.

The things that we lost: an orb, parrot, donkey, status, privacy, Heath Ledger, Wyoming.

Reflection brings the freeze, we look and it all stops, we count, we cry, we preserve, we sleep, we wake practically reptiles.

napowrimo 29

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 01:41:00 -0400

Endless microphoned questions with their missing anecdotes recalled by bird stranglers

missing planks and the rot that came with them

missing bricks that towered into days and turns

Where did the crypt slip?

It’s not good to hear your mother’s therapy in all its smothered rumbles

I’ve wandered through the kool-aid as a mustache and emerged a beard mouthing bombed tinsel

I’ve taped a sneeze over a bump and called it fertile pestilence

And I’ve done more damage than that

while alone, wondering when it’ll be about what it is

napowrimo 28

Mon, 29 Apr 2013 23:19:00 -0400

so many seat belts without vehicles, on strange clothing, restraining what could be fanny packs or stomach lining

what could be familiar, native, like a speaker or heavy blanket

what could be waiting, stalling, like a cashier who just took money

this is making progress, fewer thefts and deaths

restraint as a lunge, tackling the bear suit before trying it on, throwing a box of sugary cereal at the keeper

trust as animal instinct, the gut pushing to pour out

napowrimo 27

Mon, 29 Apr 2013 22:25:00 -0400

the prisoner doing homework

the prisoner drawing squiggly lines under clouds

cleaning chimneys

chewing ice

jabbed with a knife

the zoo keeper uses both

pain and pleasure to control the animals

napowrimo 26

Sat, 27 Apr 2013 01:40:09 -0400

We need to drink vodka to disinfect the contagion from our mouths.

I mean Wild Turkey.

We need something foul to peck the plague.

I mean abundant.

We need more venon to treat the bile.

napowrimo 25

Thu, 25 Apr 2013 22:44:00 -0400

Eyelashes shaped like Christmas trees

twinkling under a skinny arch

plucked right out of whatever.

Eyelashes curled like

tits on a matte screen

or something faded like that.

Eyelashes spelling out

DEATH or SLEEP

or perhaps EXIT.

I won’t participate in the

Should modern women

trim their eyebrows? debate.

I won’t ring that doorbell

of an eyeball with

its camera rolling back.

napowrimo 24

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 02:17:00 -0400

Maybe I should have held on to the older fashions. At least I would have had something to store in these drawers. I could have lit my swamp with these maternal brass lamps. I could have wrapped myself in that shredded tarp and slept on the swamp’s floor. I could have left myself to be uncovered at another time. Or nibbled and processed into fertile fish shit.

I know the old man shackled in the dungeon for his atrocities.

I know his name explicitly.

I know the old woman who sleeps in a shoebox so she won’t have to crawl into bed with her son.

I know her name rhymes with Sigmund Freud.

I know the image of castration as a high-end hair salon reeking of giggles.

Every time I say, just an inch but then they go ahead and cut off the whole snake.

When someone calls me a poetess

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 14:43:21 -0400

whatshouldwecallpoets:

napowrimo 23

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 02:50:00 -0400

The contrast between the stylish mask and the functional smiley face and the women who loved the contrast.

The belief that computers could think like humans and the women who questioned the intelligence of artificial parrots.

The fable parade carried over from last week’s episode and the women who marched for the rights of witch practitioners.

The women who loved the bomb makers and the women who embraced mass destruction for all its brooding mystery.

The women who pursued strategy and the monsters who engineered their fishing shrouds.

I am the monster-woman who carried you back from the woods to the swamp’s safety.

I am the snorkle mask and here is my snout.

When the women get all steamed up tell them their responses are imitations.

Intelligent behavior was a fish story.

napowrimo 22

Mon, 22 Apr 2013 23:28:00 -0400

the panic of finding him waiting in the foyer

knowing

the importance to not be heard while finding information

to be lithy

we were threatened not to share

we took our two cents with us

we took our whereabouts and reasons why

napowrimo 21

Mon, 22 Apr 2013 00:15:00 -0400

a clamp designed for the attention of metal detectors

a driving test designed to fail the prepared

holding on to life to give it meaning with a hand in its death for added meaning

it seems like I’m always looking for a new tellurian to share my life with

the scaffolding goes collapse

the tool to fix the revolving door is not very interesting and therefore lost

the contraption with the green-needled extensions is not a tree but a character I’m creating

does he realize he’s little more than a dispenser?

does he realize he will eventually be replaced?

is that why he hinders our bond?

napowrimo 20

Sun, 21 Apr 2013 15:20:36 -0400

Beware of the panic

it’s a suspicious monster

pretending to fight.

In this dimension you’re

capable of fighting

pretty much everything that

confronts you but

how do you fight the

machine attached at

your temples?

The cops trace the panic and

oh fuck

THE PANIC IS COMING FROM

INSIDE THE NARRATIVE.

napowrimo 19

Sat, 20 Apr 2013 01:05:16 -0400

the buffet man & woman is served, the rhyme, reason and order of waiters matter,

that’s one harsh salad,

we all fish for the magic egg that hatched, the one with the flower on top, the one that contains the habitat,

there’s lettuce leaves to chop,

you’re going to need to go up a size,

you’re going to need to go through the tubes and packages of individually wrapped birds,

you need to be efficient,

you need to be an aggressive virgin of stones,

focus on the arrangement,

napowrimo 18

Thu, 18 Apr 2013 17:24:00 -0400

The butter churn dissolves.

That is your cue to crank it.

Let me repeat:

the black ring on you finger disappears

when you start producing answers.

There’s one way to reach mercy

and it involves a crumbling wall.

I repeat, there are answers

that do not require recollection

simply repetition.

napowrimo 17

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 01:43:00 -0400

The giantess of the swamp descended from the genetically engineered fish of lore.

They were silvered and when you sliced them, the split apart like fabric at the seams.

Soon these fish of lore began genetically engineering humans to slice apart.

For years the humans and fish dissected one another, in the name of engineering.

Then the historic rebellion happened and all fish and humans were freed from the swamp and sent to their lands of assigned origin.

Except those assigned to be from Pompeii.

Those fish and people no longer had a land to return to, so they remained in the swamp, breeding, undisturbed in the muck.

Until they were disturbed.

The giantess with the ancient penis protruding from her chest emerged from the swamp for one purpose: to knead Rauan’s bones.

napowrimo 16

Tue, 16 Apr 2013 01:01:00 -0400

Rauan, who was never new, rains and I’m wishing I would have checked the weather first.

Rauan, who was never subtle, rains and seeps through the crack that was too frightened to break any mother’s back.

Rauan, who never owned property, rains making houses cave, cave homes full of pantless men fighting Rauan’s rain with the power pulsing between their echoing thighs.

Rauan, who weeps like a goosebump, rains on the worms, on the snakes and lizards who yip their postcards straight to the ribcage.

Rauan, who knows my heart, rains on my heart, tells me he’s peeing, tells me he could be persuaded to stop or he could continue and dissolve the whole thing.

napowrimo 15

Mon, 15 Apr 2013 16:29:00 -0400

To assist the fluster of

the ordered kindred

named as the extinct and blessed

we sketch a timeline

to offer emphasis

to these layers of humanity

and suggest a point of

view to be confronted and

revised at a later

time by future descendants

with their need to reshape

the line into a different form.

The rest we ignore.

napowrimo 14

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 00:58:05 -0400

It arrived

on the turds of elks

with no name

this tragic parasite

writhing

for a breath or

admonishment.

What’s in its

stomach

is a liar.

What’s in its

mouth

can be persuaded.