Howard, Zelda, and J.D.

Death is not a guy, or a cartoon
or even a Force. It's just sorta this stupid thing that
kinda happens. But we lay out these
clothes around it so we have someplace
to pin our anger. We draw pictures
with features -
eyes to spit in
a nose to bloody
a mouth to crack open and stretch wide
around pain & fear, full of teeth to
knock loose and make rattles of.
We pull a hood over it and call it names,
give it weapons so it can fight back.
So we don't feel so bad about hating it so much.
We're just putting faces on potatoes.
Like we're gonna boil, bake and
mash death. Make it easier to swallow.
But we can't eat Death and it doesn't
eat us because death is not a creature.
It's just sorta this shitty stupid fucking dumb thing that kinda happens
to everything.


...
wrote that before i knew about any of the three timely, yet still quite upsetting losses on the 27th - oddly enough. good bye to Zinn, Rubinstein, and Salinger, you (or they?) all had a rather profound impact on my life at different stages and gave a lot to this world in their turns.

Thanks a ton. You'll be missed. I'll be drinking plenty of Old Crow, Ancient Age, Old Granddad, and Early Times to you.
-andy

I woke up this morning...

I woke up this morning from a dream that
had me back at the movie theater, threading projectors
and crying.
I've been having that one a lot lately.

I did some bogus fucking myspace survey
simply because it asked me what I dreamt
last night

then I fished a couple halfs out of my car's ashtray
for shameful refries

I woke up this morning trying to remember the
name of Seth's dog. Who I haven't seen in
fifteen years. Who's definitely
dead by now. The dog. Not Seth.

I even called Matt to see if he remembered.

But I got his voicemail.

...
a really, really old one. two years actually.
blame the fact that "Just Like Honey" came on my itunes shuffle today.
-andy

The Hash Brown

So, I opened the bag
and there was a Monopoly
game-piece on the hash brown

And - right there in Burbank - I said,
"Come on, man. Not that shit. Not today.
Don't lay that shit on me, man. Not today.
Not on top of everything else, man."
But I was just being selfish,
like those Shadows that Rip the seams at Senators' feet
so they can Sneak into Bibles, Steal Pages and
Roll crushed-up Corpses in 'em after Separating
the Seeds and Stems.

They Smoke this Shit and Get High.
It makes Them See things that aren't There.
I was being that kind of selfish.
Selfish like that.

So I ate the hash brown
and I still have the game-piece.
But I doubt I'll ever do anything with it
other than throw it away when I move
or Get Drafted.

Somewhere Around the Mountaintop

somewhere around the Moutaintop
somewhere near a place that can't lie
we've been told there's a God of History
and we'll have to choose somebody to answer the questions
that sound from its center
someday

somewhere around 1968
somewhere near the Balcony
we've been asking for a chance to apologize
and to be heard
we'll probably want a little girl to write a letter for us
and fold our forfeits into the envelope
like they're just these thin things we don't need anymore

somewhere around a lunch counter
somewhere near the back of the bus
we've been heard mumbling
whispering
sneezing
where we used to shout
where we used to sing
and holler
and orate
and share the meanings of our dreams
where somebody made a bunch of us feel like we'd lost something important

we got it back
we think we got it back

"now it doesn't matter now"
now with our threats
sick and white and
wandering, some in the open
posturing for flashbulbs and pistol-blasts
others keeping secrets
indoors and dark, with periodicals in patient stacks
counting down
counting backwards from a number they couldn't get past before

now with troops surging and
sand waiting and
the world sneezing all over and
"Difficult Days Ahead" and
Great Crime
"it really doesn't matter what happens now"
now with our new dogs and hoses
now with urgency

somewhere around the Lincoln Memorial
somewhere near the Promised Land
we've been heard asking how long it will take, stuffed into frustrating hours
and, fearless of man, eyes soaking in Baptism
he tells us
"Not Long."
shouldn't be long
any day now

Glory!
Hallelujah!

Glory!
Hallelujah!

Glory!
Hallelujah!


...
for one of the Greatest Poets ever.
-andy

A Couple About Airplanes

From this Altitude...

from this altitude that sand down there
by that blue blue sidewinding whatever of water
looks like some fossilized flames
set down and streaked
and smeared
by a lot of "nobody gives a fuck"
just left there
blurry and swept with detailing
laying down for some solar panels
and some kind of road and
those ugly mountains with their crushed
and crushing attitudes and
i feel like i want to feel like i'm
Rod Serling or some such
and i point down there
and i ask,
"Hey, do you think any cool kids hang out there ever?"

and there's just a fat quiet
a fat, warm, smelly quiet sitting beside me
and i say,
"Man, I hope so."


...


You Can Fart...

you can fart on a cramped, tiny airplane
- a schoolbus with wings, really -
right next to me
and I guess that's cool
but I feel like you should accompany it
with some important detail about yourself
maybe your Zodiac sign - but only if you
believe in that shit
Otherwise tell me about a recurring nightmare
from childhood, or where you got your
first kiss, or what it was the kids
used to call you to really paint the
Face of Death in your gut
to really get all your ends curling inward.
Tell me why you quit that thing you
wish you'd never quit and walked away from
We're sitting too close for anything less, man.
Our knees are touching
and you just farted.

And there's at least another hour left in this
squished-up little crinkle of sky.
Before it's over, I'll probably even need to tell you
a little something about myself.

...
those are for Ryan. fly safe, man.
-andy

[a brief pause for station identification]

hey Folks,

just a quick note about what the deal is here.

my name is andy Sell and i'm carving out this little space to stuff with my poetry and short fiction. hopefully it'll mean something or be well-received or at least make somebody snort or laugh or maybe just sigh a little. i'm pretty confident of most of my work and would like to get it out there in any form i can manage.

which brings me to the next item.

i'm starting a literary zine. poetry, short fiction, essays and art. it's called The Boilermaker and it should be pretty awesome. the first issue is in the works and i'll have more info about it (along with hopefully a link to its own site) sometime in the next couple weeks.

i do, at some point, plan to move this thing to its own domain. but i'm just sort of seeing what i can do with it here and now. hope somebody enjoys.

thanks.

-andy

p.s. - i'll try to stick to only posting my work on here. no commentary or opinion or "dear diary" stuff. i have a whole other blog for that, should i decide i actually want to contribute to the internet cacophany at all (outside of social networking sites, that is).

Andy Sell Says, "Fuck This," and Starts a Blog.

i could begin by reciting a childish rhyme
meant to invoke a swagger, boundless and bloodthirsty
but we all knew it was a lie on the playground
so i wouldn't be fooling anybody now//

Don't Fuck with Tradition

Don't Antagonize Ritual

Embrace Them

Or Learn to Leave

Goddammit

Jump for the Reset Button

Burn Some Shit Down

Keep Some Rope
and Some Daggers Sharp//

This is the Remix
This is the Final Draft
This is the World Upside--


...
welcome to the party, kids.
-andy