almost July also
also July almost

but that's tomorrow
today it's raining

and wet enough I have
a permanant puddle

the left from tire
sinks in the mudhole

from here to almost la via aaron's biblical discount barn
needles barstow I might imagine where Monica what are you doing now?

I'm almost in L.A.

Something horrifying just happened. I typed in the address to this blog (to see if Steve had done any work on it during the/my weekend off) and I typed one letter wrong and the homepage for "Aaron's Bibles" came up, and I was totally freaked out. I thought that our blog had been usurped by the Christian Right, like my boss or something had found out I was blogging and had tampered. Thank goodness it was only (my own) human error.

Steve, you have till December 31st for that Haynaku Anthology. Send your hammer poem please!

Warren Wilson College always puts on a quite a show for their MFA program. Click here for the reading schedule (real near Asheville).

This little gem is from my friend Verba S. Deo, with whom I am set to drive across the c(o)untry next week:


Dolling (like Darling)
I think we should be the Lipstick Avengers as we drive across the cuntry together. We could boldly wear lip color day and night for the fun of it despite how it might look to anyone ! You know i only wear it when i am in full face so i purpose that we reclaim it and wear it solo !

I am making apple crisp and packing some more today.

i am thrilled to see you in less than a week in LA! go us!
love you
Verba S. Deo

I thought for sure that the final farmer's market man would ask about me. Oh well. Maybe he was still confused by the fact that I don't have a husband.

Steve, You're still from Illinois, right?

Steve, I want to find a way to get you a faster new machine. First I have to find a way to move to Maine. Then I have to get new lip gloss and replace some carcinogenic pots and pans that I fucked up. Also, my own laptop motor creaks along.

I'm also freaking HUNGRY and cannot understand the origins of such growling.

Monica, the only guy who asked about you was the office guy Bill at Georgia Tomato.

Where's the Ohioan?

This threw me for a moment as I always think of you erroneously as a Wilmingtonian.

It was another 20 hour day and not so much fun without you but at least I didn't blow out my vocal corditas shouting above the truck roar.

And I wore my pink shirt again.

MP told me about how he wants some real honey so that he can make medicine to prevent heart disease and cure cancer so I told him I'd set him up with a connection though there must be bee people in Atlanta also?

What do I know not much.

Now I want to post this most fun email from friend and POM2 coeditor, Ethan Fugate, about an incident he had in Asheville back several years ago-

Oh man.
Back when I lived on the corner of Woodfin and Market AND when I was
working the "unload" shift at Mountain Foods--back before the fire, I
experienced a weird traffic accident similiar, but not really, to your
pickle accident. I think I may have worked with you that morning and told
you about it, Steve.

Anyway, I leave the apt building at around 4 a.m. to go to my car. I'm
opening my car door when this brown heifer comes clopping down Market
Street and off into the empty lot that backed the Thomas Wolfe House (also
before the fire). The cow disappears into the darkness (it was/is a big
lot). So I'm standing there debating whether or not I'm still asleep and
just dreamed this happened or not when a black and white patrol car pulls
up. The cop shines a light in my face and asks if I've seen any cows on
the street. I point over to the lot and the dude points the car so the
headlights shine and there she stood, just chewing away at the grass.

Apparently, there was a semi that turned over on 240 on it's way to the
livestock market or something.

Sorry anybody I need to list some complaints-

1] My monitor popped a couple times and finally kerplunked so now I have an even older thing which scrunches the screen area down to something almost intolerable.

2] Plus I got adware etc etc etc and my homepage seems hijacked forever.

3] And then blogger so often seems buggy I cannot get on oftentimes to post.

Errgh!

4] And now I am getting kicked out of my house by the landlord so he can sell it.

Stay tuned.

I was hoping to count change to get some new faster gizmo and now I just need to find someplace I can afford to keep my books dry.

blot

I was about to post to the blot but it won't let me or something.

Something won't let me.

I'll be coming over later ok?

My computer has entered its golden years but I continue to work it like a slave even
as it blurs my texty vision.

Stefe

Something went wrong. (Erro = I err):

Salve, nec minimo puella naso nec bello pede nec nigris ocellis nec longis digitis nec ore sicco!

Be well neither by the minimum girl nose nor by the war foot nor by the dry black nor by the long dignity nor by the orator.

Steve, did any forklift drivers ask about me? What about the office men? Did you ever eat all those apples? I made a funky pie with my mom. She was horrified that I only had sea salt and unrefined cane sugar. (No Crisco either. She flipped.)

Steve, I understand where you are now! Yesterday was your Atlanta day. No wonder you're not here, emailing from your workplace! I miss you. I had TWO CAFFIENES this morning and am all cracked out. (My therapist will be annoyed as she says I already suffer from anxiety and TWO CAFFIENES is not a good idea for me.)

PS - I had some m&m peanuts at the bank. The North Asheville branch of Asheville Savings Bank does not have free tootsie rolls. You've gotta go downtown for the candy.

Sophie Mills recently informed me that a four-pound sparrow would be equivalent to a hand grenade.

I wrote a poem from the point of view of the sparrow that hops around Lesbia's lap in Catullus 2 and 3, and it ends with: "four pounds of feather and flight."

Sophie (my tutor and expert for all things Latinate) informed me that this was absurd and laughed (joll-ily) at me and corrected my pound expectation.

I only have to write/translate four more Latin sentences until I am declared (technically) proficient at Latin.

Just saw my future husband at the food co-op. (He hasn't met me yet.) Looking forward to organic vanilla creme soda. Discovered my office is big enough for handstands and cartwheels.

Steve,

beer was nice. I'm gonna go take a nap befor mesing with my memwar.

Luv, M

OK. So I forgot that I was/am a little in love with this performer whose website I stumbled back across today. Check it out. He's older than 10 although it's hard to tell. I wish that he were still on tour. I've seen his show once; it's great, and I wouldn't mind going (and flirting) again.

call me a faggot farmer

I'd like to go gather some magic HERE

Also click HERE for a taste of what I might like

On Saturday night, I met a man (in eye liner: he, not I, was wearing the eyeliner) at a gathering/event (call it a party if you must) who described himself as "hetero-flexible."

He explained to my group of friends (all girls, was this some new strangely blunt come-on/pick-up line) that he was willing to engage in sex with other men but only if it turned on a woman in the process.

At this same event, I also traded a ride home (for a man named Turtle, driven by me) for a bottle of home-brewed (honey) mead (made by Turtle who happens to be my down-the-block neighbor, who knew?).

The "clothing optional" bike race was such a non-event. "Clothing option" = swimtrunks and other such stuff. I saw the race from far away and was disappointed about the lack of speedos or man-thongs. I especially wanted to see my pink-hater boss in a man-thong (which he had previously promised to wear).

Some creepo just called (my office) asking for "Hal." I informed him that there was no "Hal" here and he then proceeded to ask if this was a residence. I said no. (And wanted to say Duh: How many residences answer the phone identifying their company name and then adding their own name?)

He then asked if this was a business. I said yes. He then wanted to know what business and I (losing patience: figures that my only phone call of the day, besides my mom, would be this weird guy) said the name of my business and then he said, "What do you guys do?"

And I said, "We're an agency that assist people with disabilities." And he said, (here's the punchline-kicker), "Oh, when you said agency, sweetheart, you got me all excited, I thought maybe you was a call girl or something." (Steve, you have heard me on the phone. I sound 12, but like a call girl? Please advise.)

At this point he waited through my dead air. I chose not to respond and then he said, "OK, Well, Bye." I guess he was waiting for me to change my mind and offer myself as an/his escort? Would that ever actually work? Especially when you sound like a creepy balding white man on the phone!

Steve, I wanted to send you a little hot-mail reminding you about the WORLD NAKED BIKE RACE but my email isn't working, so I'm bloggin it to ya brother! Tomorrow is the race (Saturday June 12). The nudies leave at 1:00 from the French Broad Food Coop Parking Lot. They're meeting at 11:00 to get body-painted or psyched-up or something. I think THAT is what my mom and I are doing this weekend. She is concerned for obvious reasons.

PS - This means that I'll get to see my pink-hater boss in a man-thong! Gross (and Great)!

I was dancing around my room to (the Icelandic singer) Bjork last night (the "Homogenic" album) and I became really obsessed with this one particular song (Pluto), which was tough because my CD player does not have a repeat button. I looked up the lyrics this morning, and here they are:

Excuse me
But I just have to
Explode
Explode this body
Off me

Woo-ooh
Oooooh (x4)

I'll be brand new
Brand new tomorrow
A little bit tired
But brand new

OOoooh! X3
Aaaaah! X13
Aaaaaah!
Woaahh!!!

Only I would aruge that their appeal is that when Bjork (and I) sings them, they sound more like this:

Eg-ska-use me
But I just hafve to
Eg-spa-low-oh-oh-ode
Eg-spa-lowde thieyes bawdee
Aw-ah-ah-ff me

Woo-ooh-ooh-oooh
Oooooh (x4)

I'll be bah-rrand new
Bah-rrand newoow tomarroh
A little bit tired
But bahrr-and-and newoow

OOoooh! X3
Aaaaah! X13
Aaaaaah!
Woaahh!!!

Until I navigated back to this blog, I decided that I too wanted a polka dot blog but now I've changed my mind and I like our Malibu Barbie blog just (better than) fine.

Eileen Tabios is funny. Check out this poem, particularly the title. (Girls love candy!)

Are You An Average Guy? According to the results, I'm not. Although I think I might consume calories and have body fat like a guy. (As Steve said, "Wow, you're still eating.")

It always rains when I want to go to lunch.

This morning on my way to work (rain makes me lazy and I drive), I heard a broadcast on FREE RADIO ASHEVILLE from a PhD canidate in Sociology somewhere in Edinburgh who linked sexual orientation to anarchy. His intention was to decentralize identity labels in the manner that anarchy decentralizes government. I'm going to try to track this man down. Check out the radio station. I support it!

Boblg, so here's some more words about my trucking adventure with Steve:

We left my house at 4 a.m. I was ready to go at 3:48 a.m. but Steve arrived at 4:02 a.m. and said, “Wow, you’re awake and stuff [and dressed neatly in pink]” (I think he doubted my 4 a.m. beauty-power). We drove to the farmer's market (in Asheville) and picked up the tallest truck I have ever ridden in (except for the time my family's minivan broke down on the way home from Sea World and an 18-wheeler stopped to pick up my mom dad sister and I along with all the hand-puppets and banners-on-sticks that my sister and I scammed). Our mission was to drive to Atlanta, unload a few palettes, and pick up many many more palettes of vegetable and fruit matter.

(Let me add, in the spirit of honest/objective reporting, that Steve said the truck wasn't the biggest, but I thought that (as far as trucks go) it was quite large.) The cab was equivalent to that of an 18-wheeler, and the back was like a giant refridgerator, which was quite noisy, even from our bucket seats in the cab. Steve and I planned to collaborate in the car (truck), but we only managed to talk (shout) and to listen to Patti Smith and Afro-Cuban All Stars (not in tandem of course, and not in that order).

Exciting events include: the fact that everyone talked to me via Steve, saying to him: "Who is that?" not (to me:) "Who are you?" Throughout the day I posed as: Steve’s girlfriend (not with intention, but as soon as I wore my pink over-shirt we both felt that everyone thought it), a journalist (actually no-one thought this, but Steve and I pretended—to my/ourselves—that I was some sort-of Susan Orlean), and Steve’s newest employee/helper. (That last one was the most unlikely as I mostly stood around, but at one point I heroically helped load 32 (boxes of) squashes; I also hurled English cucumbers into the truck.

Also grand was meeting this man from S.C. (within our first 20 minutes of travel) who was advising the truck-stop cashier to believe in Jesus just in case because you're really screwed (after you die) if there is a Jesus, and if there isn't, you haven't lost anything. True, but not good enough for me (us). We didn’t argue with anyone, but we must have looked more secular to the S.C. trucker, because he offered us the following advice instead:

1. Don’t sweat the petty things.
2. Always pet the sweaty things.
3. (Steve, what was #3, I’m still grossed-out by #2, so I can’t remember.)

There are too many post 4:25 a.m. stories to tell. So, in conclusion, I consider my 16 hours with Steve (4 driving, 8 unloading/talking to people, 4 driving) to be a full day in the life of Kirbach. Not counting our requisite 8 hours of sleep, which neither of us got either last night or the night before, that is a 24-hour period of time.

My favorite commentary (from Steve) was either the retelling of his story about the bulls/cows in Hawaii (my favorite Steve-story ever, especially live and in-person with the big-eyes and hands-as-horns motions), or his comment (to me): “Wow, you’re still eating.” (I admit that I’m a dessert-queen and had a mondo 2-day-old pastry after a really-big lunch.) I’m also really glad I learned that dipsticks on trucks are hilarious and obscenely-long. I only regret that I never got to “check the tires” (trucker slang for peeing beside the truck on the side of the road), although that Georgia rest stop where we peed into opposite embankments of that huge open cesspool came close.

Blogb, how was your first birthday? Stevia and I spent that time in the truck, the biggest truck, handing crookneck squash back and forth to each other and eating at the Farmer's Market. We had a good time, and we hope that you did too.

Happy birthday blob! (Steve)

I picked out your frosting, blob. (Love, Monica)

doubts

I'm having my doubts about this method of posting to the blob via email, though I do
like the way it seems to randomly scatter the occasional word and provide bright red
subject headers-

Invalid Content Type

well.

I just went to all the trouble of composing a post with numerous links etc and it
failed to register due to whatever the subject header is supposed to mean

which bounced back to me via email without all my work, apparently

Every now and then the mask slips, and we see the true face of the system that marshals the world. For an instant, the heavy paint of sober wisdom and moral purpose falls away, and there, suddenly, with jolting clarity, is the snarling rictus of an ape.

I lost two email posts to the electronic void, though the one below worked.

JP, full name Joe Privetera, has since been charged with a felony for exercising his freedom of speech

this email method

I have yet to figure out the advantage of posting to the blob via email -

but I am doing it now anyway - though composing a message according to the
restrictions of an email program seems to compound the already frustrating problems
associated with formatting inherent at the glob -

or perhaps all this is due simply to my own technical ineptness -

at least I can indent and italicize -

although Jean kindly taught me the benefits
of the pre-code last year, I never have managed to get it to work to the point where
words remain in space on the blab precisely as intended -

Steeker, you made the links purple! Good choice! Monikee

OK. Go back to the Pieter-Dirk Uys site and click on "The Big Issue" for an even better reading experience. (I'm too lazy to link it, and I thought I did link it before anyways, so well.)

See what the fabulous Pieter Dirk Uys (a South-African Satirist) has to say about sex education in schools, HIV/AIDS, apartheid, et al. He was interviewed on Fresh Air a few days ago.

I'm sorry too for any contributions to dreamtime embarassment whereupon I got drunk and shot guns in the university library. This is obviously unacceptable behavior and I shall try to more properly restrain myself in the future.

hmmm, my own blunders must be acknowledged, but there are too many to recall

I don't know but I started fooling around with another blabsplat formica

it appears the birthday arrives on Sunday-

finally met Mark Prudowsky (a man with an excellent ear) last night-

had a beer at barley's

we've been exchanging emails and poems for several months now and wondered what each other looked like-

then we walked out across the street and met a man on the sidewalk who could talk without stopping

he has to stay out of the sun because of his phony skull or something and expects to drop dead in 14 years

no lingering death for him he had a job cutting the wires on bombs