nau | english | rothfork | publications | Donny

Donny Does a-mail.gif (12737 bytes)

e-poems by

John Rothfork

Introduction: Donny & Lonny live in Calliope, Texas where they took classes in computer science & American literature at a community college. Calliope is located in the Texas Panhandle between Amarillo & Thalia. Larry McMurtry fans will recognize Thalia as the town where Duane Moore grew up & lived in three great regional novels: The Last Picture Show (1966), Texasville (1987), & Duane’s Depressed (1999).

These poems also appear in the jounal Amarillo Bay.

E-poem: zero


okay you clattering collection of Calliope junk
boot-up / whoops / wrong file
     (dos or unix?)

okay you Calliope Junior High kids
everyone have their signed permission slip?
it’s like a password before we can
start to amble & scroll

now here’s the rule:
keep your dog on a string
& your laptop on the wire
we’ll all stop browsing & watch
when you need to use the pooper scooper
    (or pee behind a tree)

& here’s the answer for the quiz at the end:
Donny’s dog is named Dumb
because he won’t talk
or even answer his e-mail
& he’s a shar-pei with lips that flap like Dumbo’s ears
    (rude ain’t he?)

I hope you train your puppies
to pour ice tea & be a whole lot better bred
    (like not humpin’ a lady’s leg)

now open your windows & let’s get started

E-poem: one

like ships
once poems were wood
pencil marked paper
hamadryads giggled in tissue
unseen in autumn’s declivitous leaves
tacking to the rustled ground

poems were black & white thread
stitching books & lectures
yellowing note cards
& a few days at
Borobudor / the Prado / the Uffizi

before Telletubbies had Intel in their bellies
feint was an electric sharpener &
a leather can quivering virginal yellow
school-bus paint undented by tooth
"where is the word?"
     (like it waits to be picked 
     a leaf elected from ground)
     (for plain Texas folk
     the word was made virtual
     & descended by wire)

hammer typed by fulcrum
licked in double envelopes &
paid for at the post office
when you were lucky
the mailman brought you manna
book-rate slow
you read your poem &
sneered at the notes on contributors

On-line Courses: Creative Writing
WTAMU: so close to perfect you won’t know the difference

basics:          cut & paste
                    save picture as
                    html txt pdf doc jpg
                    fun with fonts
                    connect automatically
                    become an instant poet:

writing:        the cursor blinks unbitten
                   beneath the screen syntax tangles
                   like segments of wire
                   like possible fossils
                   in the spaceless space before cyberspace
                   the screen saver erupts pixelated colors that almost
                   sediment into dreams
                   zoom up the pirated OED
                   what crashed without a sound?
                   thank your guardian angel for autosave

publishing:     shoot it to an e-zine                 
                   slam it to school to make the grade
                   edit your resume   

virtual ectoplasm in cyberspace
the file hesitates magnetically
on some unknown server
in the metaphor of memory
electrically waiting

E-poem: two

media include:
     Mexican beer (dos Equis por favor)
     embodied time:
         memories in glassine envelops of words
         the whole thing a stamp collection
     writing paper (lined or plain)
         (you could lick one of them stamps on)
     A:    /    C:      
         (the B: option a trivia question)
     internet (connection / wire)
         (noun or verb?)

my poems appear for a space on:
     computers (disk & wire)
     audio tape
     tee shirts
     the wall of an Albuquerque tortilla factory (almost a poster)

hunched in coach flying sober
a pilgrim to academic rites
I overhear money-men reverently talk of golf
saying how white balls roll so pure
over long expanses of cloistered grass
I see confidential addresses scribbled
on the back of business cards
traded in the unsaid hunt for the bloodless body

later at a foreign school
I light a few poems like bottle-rockets
hoping they don’t fizzle & sputter
     (cuz somebody’s footin’ the bill
     for this folderol / ain’t they Sport?)
in the unblinking literal stare
I finger unseen shapes behind my back
calculating transubstantiation
shapes fade away
& we ceremonially lament the loss again:
that being is not a noun

now e-poetry is the thing
sliding up & down a wire
as onanistic as ever
     (what does that mean?
     Word won’t tell
     paste in your engine)

an instant trip in the new vacuum
now you know
no podium / no paper / no literal stare
where do they go?
what do they mean on the next machine?

reply to sender

E-poem: three

subject: gps location

dear Walt Whitman:
this is an electric poem
you should like it
because we read that your body was electric
my English teacher made me write it in the computer lab
but you will hardly know who I am or what I mean
because there was no internet in the civil war

in this class it doesn’t make sense
to look for you under our bootsoles
because we’re skating the talkways for poetry
found your homepage / you look like Karl Marx
Allen Ginsberg is dead so you can relax
he is no longer stalking you in a supermarket
they found your notebook

everything is second or third hand now
the world just a click away 
& you can save anything with a right mouse click
& paste it on your homepage
the hugging & loving bed-fellow
will probably be blocked on the school computer
unless it’s a civil right
we know our impalpable sustenance
is a probably a blizzard of zeros & ones
too many to count
so we have an electric machine do it

I wanted to tell you
the infinite separate houses
are getting wired
it is form / union / plan
packets obedient merrily following
     (the direction downloaded
     let’s not get carried away
     & forget)
through gale or calm
now swift now slack
yet steadily careering
if the transmission rate is okay

our teacher says we should follow your advice:
you are also asking me questions & I hear you
I answer that I cannot answer
you must find out for yourself

I & this mystery here we stand
but where?
Alta Vista / Infoseek / Excite
which channel are you on?

E-poem: four

why is this a e-poem
’stead of the regular brand?

cuz it’s got www in it
wide words make it electrical

how ya mean?
ain’t got no cord
can’t plug it in
     (like a lava lamp
     glumping vaseline colors
     floating up)

no but the computer’s plugged in
plugged into the whole wide word
everybody’s dot comming these days
TV is becoming a commercial
they wanna slide everybody over to the net
so they can buy direct
kind of squish ’em together
so ya gotta TV with a cursor

okay but just what exactly is a e-poem Donny?

it’s a kind of a new wave telegraph deal
dots & blips & a lot of static on the phone
I don’t really know
but somebody at the other end of the modem does
if ya shoot stuff out there in cyberspace
like off your Big Chief Tablet & into orbit
a bot rolls in & docks & takes a sniff
like the vacuum on Teletubbies
it’s all code
there’s a course down at the community college
but nobody can understand entirely
anyway it flies like a paper airplane into one of those little folders
then ya can find it back-ordered at Infoseek
& when it unfolds it will tell ya just what a e-poem is
if ya ask with the right spellin’ & syntax
ya know syntax don’t ya Lonny?


E-poem: five

I’m still stumped on e-poetry
e-mail makes sense but e-poems don’t

take that e e cummings what visited English class
dropped letters like cake frosting sprinkles
that normal?
didn’t make sense ta me

choose the best answer:
a: painting
b: concrete poetry
c: tee shirt art
d: simulated cake decorating
e: Pollock & cummings dribbling & glopping

the right answer is: a+b+c+d+e = a call from Johnny Gute
hello / guten tag Herr Gutenberg
hold the line / there’s a mouse in my pocket
hear it squeal & whine?
I’m choking the rat with a wire
ya ya / spell checker won’t work / English or German

what else for paperless poetry?
sure CDs but it’s the same thing
     (Amazon’s got it all
     why ain’t cha give ’em a little Visa call?)
cutting & pasting what ya find on the string
     (takin’ in fresh sheets off the line 
     Donna Reed smiling clothespins
     spit ’em out in my hand darlin’)

know what would be way cool?
jerking a e-poetry termpaper off the net
& shootin’ it over to a distance ed English class
I got Cyrano De Bergerac from Hong Kong
but it’s no good
English teachers are too far behind the times

know what a Northstar Cadillac System is?
me neither / but we heard it on TV
     (you could look it up on Infoseek
     go ’head / give it a try
     might be extra credit in it
     we’ll all wait right here)
sounds cool
not just a pencil in your pocket
but a big ol’ weapons system
trust me / systems are the goin’ thing

same deal with e-poetry Lonny
it’s the "e" that connects
a kilobyte better than plain vanilla
more sophisticated & downtown Dallas
wanna do a scoop?

E-poem: six

okay Donny
say I browse over to Infoseek
& click an e-poem down the wire
& doc it & print it
maybe on an ancient wheezin’ dot matrix machine
six pins hammerin’ braille like a physicked woodpecker
& maybe I copy it again by pencil
what I what ta know
is it still a e-poem?

Jeez medieval scholastics on the theophanic wire
does the blood of the lamb intravenous drip?
how many bytes to be saved?
Heloise says:
how about hypertext Latin?
conjured across?
& what about where the magic happens?
the environment / the browser & the OS
     (that’s operating system
     what makes your machine alive
     in case some of you was wonderin’ what a OS is
     & is still lingerin’ about the boat with Charon
     cuz ya ain’t got a copper penny in your mouth
     cuz ya spent it ta ride the calliope
     oh yeah / you’ll be askin’ later
     ISP is a internet service provider
     what gives ya wire & www
     now ya zipped & ready to ride?)
you in cyberspace or Redmond or just your bedroom?
what happens when ya click?

know Budweiser frogs?
what if ya slam down Bud frogs?
     (I could give you the url
     but you don’t really want ’em
     disk clutter & you’d wantta defrag
     before the next gas station)
got frogs?
cuz they’re on TV
ya got to be processin’ TV through your head
to get frogs talkin’
now here comes a dispensation:
VCR is okay cuz it’s still on TV

same thing with e-poetry
it’s got to click & jump on the wire
not just mumble in your mouth & rattle in your head
     (if you’d spit that Indian head penny out maybe ya could talk)

wanna do a bud Lonny?

E-poem: seven

ya know Bubbles’ granddad Duane
over at Thalia?
in the oil bidness all his skinny life

yeah & we ride the Calliope
it’s always amusing in Texas

ol’ geezer bought a carbon fiber bike
     (he’d a got a sight better deal second hand
wobbles ’round in day-glow jockey silks
Bubbles said a head doctor made him do it
cuz he was depressed in pickup trucks

spokes & cranks & wheels
leave dad’s car in the garage
     (is it a Oldsmobile?)
     (course it’s a Oldsmobile
     think it wuz a Toyota?)
leave the oil parked in the ground
a ritual of coasting to click on April balance
falling over on a machine
feelin’ as justified as an A in math
but it’s wafer thin & analoguey
quote ya chapter & verse:
"you’re just a little too attached to the linear principle"
nah it weren’t physics / it was Jacy
surprised some enterprisin’ pedestrian
don’t relieve Duane of his ride

suppose they will
soon as they find it costs five grand
ol’ Duane threatens ta wobble ta Egypt
believe that?

knowed Palestine wuz in Texas

no the for real Egypt
like Egypt Egypt with pyramids & mummies

adios & auf Wiedersehen
let that be a lesson to ya Lonny
what happens when ya ain’t gettin’ any

he’s too old
’sides he’s got a part-time whore over to Stingaree Courts
www Wichita Falls Gay-lee
gave her his dog Shorty

that dog’s been give around some
no I mean that’s what happens
when ya ain’t gettin’ wire
might as well huff a fancy bike to Egypt
pray to Allah on a rug

E-poem: eight

now this e-mail & all this spam
neo-Nazis on the net & wanna-be pederasts
& people you don’t know
wirin’ ya jokes & Darwin awards
half spaded under by copy sign shovels
<<<this fellow went to see a rabbi . . .>>
damn things look like stacks of bent license plates
at a dirt lot swap meet
     (each packet a signal / a sign
     for those with machines pitched to listen)
     (sure ya ain’t just stringin’ me along now?)
& by the by
those numbers count ’xactly nothing
for an instance
which one is The Network State?

snowflakes nest silently on the roof
you don’t know why the cursor suddenly froze
stretch while it thinks to come back to life
gel bumps slow the carpal tunnel risk
delete the worry of embarrassment at work
learn to mouse through windows like a pro
in the privacy of your own home
is that professor video on the phone?

hello this is the professor
is your cursor binking dear?
we’re on a delicate connection
you know the satellite is tilted a little out of line
solar flares are ungodly this time of year
do we have your Visa number?
now I’ll tell you a little secret
they put the main code writers in India
because they can pay  ’em about a dollar a week
did you know they have dots on their forehead like telegraph?
you can’t send e-mail
because they’re phoneless
why? / well they don’t need ’em dear
they’re all prewired with those dots to telepathically connect
if you are interested
we have an advanced program
wireless connection: the alpha net
stay on the line dear
one of our operators will tell you all about it

way over there on the backside of the planet
modems ping & plink sitar music
but never connect
the process unlicensed & unphoned

E-poem: nine

scrap code flaps in derelict wind
loose shingles wave on abandoned farms
sun-rotted strips of DNA unwind
the bio will-to-be there untwists
rain aches worry
failing to ask:
     how far?
     how long?
falling somewhere
dropped by gravity
in the grip of women

the cursor squeegees
windshield rubber squeaks
words dissolve stringless
liquid Jell-O without cartilage or syntax
no bone but time unwinds
Aristotle noticed

what can the life verb say?
a. a need
b. a habit
c. a pattern
d. a cache of temporary internet files
what is a separate thing?
     (that part is an essay question students
     open your bluebook & begin
     time’s almost up)

seti listens for the transcendental ping
modem set for x-files imported
the machine can xerox the courage-to-be if
the truth is out there
the Rapture sure to arrive

the rest of us don’t ask what
saving karma now & then
replace the file?

flush the cache

E-poem: ten

Yahweh rumbles boom-box rap music
Y2K over MS.NBC
     (not KY jelly
     if you kids don’t behave
     we’ll all go back to the classroom
     & you can do arithmetic)
talk-radio TV commercially pauses
for an opalescent Buick to whisper by
on a wet street in a simulated sheen
Armageddon cartwheels Boeing out of the blue
(check the ticker: ba 35 & 3/8)
pan to Safeway & Home-Base
smoldering soot LA-looted
has Falwell weighed in?

you bet / like sure money / roll tape
"Y2K is God’s instrument to shake this nation"
shake / rattle & roll with guaranteed movers & shakers
in this CD collection available only on TV
hear Mother Ann Lee whisper:
"sacred women slumber dreamless in clean houses
Jesus bought a new dress for the prom"
the secret nation of Jaredites websited
     (I know what a spell checker is
     what’s a jar editor do?
     answer: babble
     & ya kin bet he ain’t worth a lick of salt
     them’s bible jokes Slick
     if ya wuz a Byelo-Baptist you’d get ’em instant
     ’stead of sittin’ there playin’ with twine)
$28 for the video: A Christian’s Guide to the Millennium Bug
pass it on
help OJ keep his kids
it’s a fund drive for a good cause
Tiddly Applewhite welcomes you to Heaven’s Gate
now let’s take a vote: is Tinky Winky queer?

you can’t get the good stuff in books
you need juice fresh squeezed off the talkway
likely passed / poof
the OED claims "the dialogue poofed out & we stood eating cheese"
let’s take a moment to remember another life 
     (yeah like when stuff made sense
     & ya could find the answer in a book
     cuz ya had to stand in a straight line after lunch)
e-poems greased pre-Y2K
plump cop-clubs
pumped zucchini shiny green uncheesed
snoozing unmolested at the end of a withered copper vine
     (’member those teeny Testor bottles of liquid money
     ya got down at the hobby shop for a dime?
     copper penny / gunmetal gray / airplane silver
     solid metal liquefied in a fairy jar for the cold war
     time parenthetically squeezed dreaming in between
     D�rer’s praying hands)
when the YKK nylon zipper split trackless
poof / another life unpeeled
"your local tailor can replace the zipper in your garment"

oh sure with Armageddon zooming on down like snow in June
& me worrying what to wear
to meet Jesus shivering buck naked
no I never intended to come here to Corpus
I had laid out matters otherwise in my mind
oh for an unjammed zipper!
that locks each tooth in it’s predestined block & sector

E-poem: eleven

the dotgov boys down at the Texas School Book Depository
straighten their ties in the reflection of blank monitors
getting ready to download the latest lessons
Dick & Jane from the Go Network
all the way-cool back-to-school infotainment that really bytes

mom I need sticker-heads for my laptop
wanna put an Indian head on it
so I’ll know it’s mine

           Big Chief Tablet�

spray it red if you’ll unpolice a nozzle
yeah I know it’s school property
yeah don’t pet the persiankitty / I’ll get rabies
that stuff’s road-blocked & besides
we got AOL

the vice-principal administrating on-line
the boys room unsniffed for dope smoke
because Mr. Kraft’s a wire cop now
sleuthing cool for the heady stuff
the bicycle seat is police evidence
doing the math for wire witchery
net nanny detention for cheerleaders
with those cherry little sweatered bumps
oooh Mr. Kraft your jay-peg is so slick

mom I need lunch money for e-trade deals
a bunch of us are going in on it
Mr. Jackson says we’re gonna learn-a-living
if we get the MS service pack by lunch
might be a quiz today on ikons
but only blue-birds have to read that boring old stuff
manuals & junk that won’t scroll
school’s getting totally like the mall
GWB is jetting to homeroom
well on the wire at least
     ("hello boys & girls
     this is your new schoolbook
     take good care of it   
     don’t put an Indian on it")

the idle fool is whipped at school
     (whipped by theophanic wire
     snipers scope beyond the links 
     playground camouflaged for see-me games
     dropped-out until the bullet hits)
our king the good no man of blood
dealin’ out TI bento boxes for free
hope we crash into some neat games
everything is getting so cool at school
spinning electric web to learn a living
on the passenger’s only side of the metal detector

E-poem: twelve

Johnathan Edwards block mails:
Virtual images of Divine Things
(The Language & Lessons of Nature Depraved)

to 8th grade male students / Calliope / Texas
(a virtual assembly)

you squirrelly little shits love to squeal & simper & giggle
over piss & cowshit & readin’ Rabelais
when you can find Pantagruel polluting the net
no I didn’t say panties
& I didn’t say Penthouse
anyway that’s good
about simperin’ & slidin’ in shit
because where you’re going
they’ll be semi loads unendin’

think of your mom slaughtered fresh dead
before you can get home from school
like somebody broke in & squeezed her neck
’til it flopped like a wrung chicken
pale / horrid / ghastly white
you know the plucked chicken look
stripped naked & snow white
cuz she’s a corpse & it don’t matter a damn
shoveled in the ground when it’s rainin’
putrefyin’ & rottin’ & the smell
would knock you down like a stick
eaten with worms & maggots all writhin’
she ain’t never gonna make your dinner again
’less it’s worm meatloaf you crave

if you little shits get AIDS
you’ll wish you could suck on those little maggoty worms
like they was cocktail straws
to slurp up putrefaction & liquid cowshit ’til you puke
& then you have to suck that back up ’til you puke again
then you have to suck that back up
get the idea?  it ain’t Mountain Dew
use a damn rubber if you have to do it

now think of the result
kids screamin’ & kickin’ into the world
naked & filthy & in their blood
& in some kind of shitty white cheese & slime
     (think we’re havin’ that for lunch)
cryin’ & impotent
a pollution of nature
just bawlin’ & pissin’ & screamin’ without a brain
until you want to choke the little shits
& when you do
you’ll be on Cops & the local news
& your only clothes will be orange overalls
& you got no mom to wash ’em
when you beshit ’em
cuz that’s how scared you’re gonna be
& I wish I was there to see it

you little shits
with your hands jammed in your jeans
diddlin’ & fingerin’ your own teeny worm
do you know that Christ became a worm?
crawlin’ ’round Egypt with whores & the IRS
would you lift a finger to click over there?
I’d love to slamp that snicker off your face
& I would too (for the love of Christ)
if I had the right software

do you little shits know
you are literally chockfull of shit?
take your biology class
man’s inwards are full of dung & filthiness
which is to denote what the inner man is
    (& that includes your dad over in Dalhart)
sometimes the heart
sometimes the bowels
sometimes the veins
they’re all full of shit
spiritual corruption & abomination
as well as literal shit
believe me it stinks to high heaven

this world is all over dirty
specially down there in Texas
& the panhandle is worst
covered with that which tends to defile the feet
your streets are dirty & muddy & dribbled with shit
you little shits would hurl horse apples like baseballs
if you could collect ’em
& if I had the right software I’d smack you with one
right up side the head
right now

well just remember
you little shits is full of shit
& you are condemned to live in shit
even if you get away from Texas
& when you die you’ll liquefy into nothing but pure shit
ask your heathen biology teacher if it ain’t so

E-poem: thirteen

your dog get e-mail yet?

course / he’s usually on the rope
wolfs down Spam & Wolf Brand chili
through his bow-wow browser
everybody knows dogs hear higher than sound
he won’t mention e-mail but
ya know dogs are tuned to a secret life
mutts deal poker & Weimaraners choose suits
& then there’s poor Laika whining in a jar
"let me down from up here"
got radar installed in their nose but
they got too much sense for e-mail
no mailman to taste

well Donny
it makes me cranky to see my little sister
get e-mail from Japan
with a little blinky mailbox flag flipping up
     (like you-know-what)
     (well think on it for a minute
     give ya hint / it’s real dirty)
nekko kitties & rubber lipped blue catfishes screaming
"hey kid, you got mail slamming on the wire from Japan!"
she wants to be cyber.kdz
skipping with planetary line
     (probably Lonny means optic fiber cable
     don’t cha think?
     they don’t have that course yet at the community college)

I mean what sense does it make?
a thousand pound sumo jumping rope
break the damn ground
ain’t we still right here eatin’ dust & grit & mud
in the ol’ blowin’ panhandle
’stead of Lear-jetting around in the clouds?
shoot / if ya want to do that kind of thing
ya could collect stamps like normal
with camels & ol’ whiskery kings & Hitler
we had history back then
& not all these news channel chats
& fancy la-dee-da Japanese catfishes to catch

     (yes Judy this is a fun one because of the
     dogs & blue catfishes & camels jumping rope
     no I don’t have a Hitler stamp
     that won’t be on the quiz)

E-poem: fourteen

Donny cruises into Circle-K on his Schwinn
to do small town lunch in the wind
his heavy balloon tire bomber
elbows plate glass idling
the wind chattering tube to glass
too senior to steal
show some respect
sit up straight
Donny nukes a bean burrito
& goes back to his ride

propped up for viewing
Donny scans the monitors
sipping canned Dr. Pepper
rolling parking lot pebbles under thin-soled Keds
as casually parked on his bomber
as the low-rider vatos down at the Sonic
everybody under control

heads-up display keeps a long Butterfinger
from launching out of a Polaris pearl button pocket
Donny captions life for the black-box:
"Donny does lunch sans the blue suits"
tearing another plastic chili packet
he radars the endless lost sky thinking
it’s a glitch
how the Air Force hasn’t simulated it on-line
that prairie depth you itch to finger like time
& want to breaststroke through
because there’s no word to say it

18-wheelers lumber through
     (probably DC-3s class
     we’ll look at ’em later
     on the History Channel)
rattling empty of cows
that were staring so scared
through drilled-out aluminum holes
wanting to ask & nobody would listen
what’s gonna happen in the very next second?
the mushroom cloud?
then where will I get e-mail & grass?
& where (for the love of God) am I going?

Donny pokes the burrito wrap into the Dr. Pepper can
grenades it into the scarred plastic recycle bin
empty bin / empty life
but not before
two points add to the score
Byelo-Baptists beat at the buzzer

Donny starts to wheel away
saying out loud to the missing cows
"just another day in paradise
Pantex didn’t make you dead"
     (what would not those poor damned hopeless cows give
     for one day’s opportunity such as you now enjoy
     in the saddle of an old bomber
     in a nowhere town
     with a cloudless blue sky
     while you hang by a slender alphabetic thread)

Donny is rolling off now
to see what spammed in under the radar
while he was lunching out

E-poem: fifteen

got a cell phone yet?

they got phones in the slam now?
ain’t put up bond for call-blocking yet
who’d I wanna beam up?
     (what would that be exactly?
     words or packets or little twist-ties of DNA
     or old blowed up stars or this perception?)
     (thought ya didn’t ask what Slick)
guess I could have a little bidness with the governor
hey George how ’bout spearin’ cans on the shoulder of I-40?
up for a game with the work-releasees?
skins verses orange vests
hang your silk tie on the fence
careful / guards sideswipe cheaters
or buzz Deion? / hey Cowboy friend
can I borrow earrings & a gold chain for a date?
maybe the pope will deliver a pizza?
OJ for golf?
nah they auctioned his clubs
think Peterman got ’em cuz
Kramer left the JFK ones on the road
     (Donny must of forgot
     Elaine turned ’em over
     but they were all bent
     no Billy / I don’t think Peterman was a dirty joke)

don’t know Donny
beepers on the belt are pass�
the cool act is a cricket chirp & strut
with a hand scalloped on your ear
like ya don’t notice nothin’
& can afford to take everythin’ for granted
not even lookin’ where you’re goin’
switched into a different world
stock dealin’ & consultin’ & such
laughin’ at jokes with your friends
while the guy in the stalled Honda with the broken radio
is decidin’ to dial Charles Whitman
soon as he finds a pay phone

not for me Lonny
too girly / Chatty Cathy
"he said & then I said & I finally told him
totally leave me to hell alone
before I get a restraining order on your dumb ass"
with nothing to say but money to spend
     (they trust to nothing but a shadow
     static whispered by ol’ Scratch
     many are called / how to get chosen?
     are ya ready for the wheel of fortune?)
it’s too intense / on-call
I don’t wanna be jangled
to go for the gun
when I’m just walkin’ in secular life
let me lurk & amble on the wire
I trust the virus checker’s cooking
no Ms. Melissa / nobody home
a little free porn added to the favorites
e-mail in folders
there’s zoning laws where
you can dicker with a phrase
to test if erasure is still the right thing

E-poem: sixteen

hey Donny
whatever happened to the Sandinistas?
they go back to Sandia or what?
don’t think they put ’em in books
they don’t seem to have regular wars
like we studied in school
the WWs & Nam
steerin’ down a bomb now & then
on ol’ Sodomy’s sand lot
seems like wranglin’ a truck
CB-in’ in for permission to dolly the load
knowin’ a satellite’s watchin’ your run

low grade spoon measured wars percolate
in Sudan / Honduras
is Chiapis one?
Serbs & Croats & Bosnians & Kosovos & Kurds
some don’t even have websites I bet

they say the next big one
is gonna be cyber war not germs
e-mail bombs greasin’ in by wire
guess what? special delivery
logic bombs sprinkle fonted debris
     (rainin’ plastic shit on your front lawn
     & you just mowed it
     & you can’t call the police cuz the phone’s out
     but nothin’ is on TV yet)
arial / times new roman bold
ol’ crazy Ted’s a joke
cipherin’ in Band-Aided glasses
to whittle evil numbers for Federal Express
plannin’ to take your drive for an unnumbered spin
backups discretely unzip leaking black lace
in parking lots where they’re filming for Cops

even your own ATM won’t spit
nothing will start
chain saws cough & won’t catch
you fumble for passwords in your wallet
     (betcha there’s a rubber in there
     just in case of a miracle & your line works)
but AOL doesn’t know you
your frequent flier miles diminish in the distance
& somebody is dead in the ditch
with no eyewitness news to hover
at the Hy-Vee bar code lays limp unread
not even the clown will talk at McDonald’s land
because the electric is all dead

so where do you want to go today little girl?
it’s Stephen King time for the net

I see what ya mean
day & night without respite
they wail & cry & howl & restart
their pain & grief have no relief
it’s gonna be bad as it gets

     (think we ought to put mud tires on Lonny?)

E-poem: seventeen

ya know Donny
I been thinkin’ of takin’ a course
down at the community college

don’t pull my cord Lonny
West Texas Tech: it’s where you are
West Texas Tech: mosey on in partner
ain’t nothin’ without a slogan
     (that is / some specific thing
     an executable in words encoded
     look for .exe & double punch it)
what ya plannin’ to take?

computers what else?

well cows & horses is big
ya could learn to make lunch
or guard a Pantex gate

no / computers is it
thought of cow bussin’
& they wanna push nursin’at me
there’s always hammerin’
but computers is it

what kind of com-pukin’ ya contemplate?
Starbuck java in a styrofoam cup?
grep unix & linux & whatever’s next
chown-in’ & ownin’ until
the blue screen of death
bet ya get C++ for a grade
defrag the FAT &
don’t forget to ask when ya forget

yeah ha ha Donny
but computers is no joke
ya know they’re goin’ in cars
to know where you’re at
I don’t want to talk at ’em so much
they’re gettin’ wizards for that
they have a course like mechanics
where ya pry off the lid
& swap out this for that
change the oil & update the bits
ya end up with a whole new bios
prescribed by the disk doctors

get real Lonny
ain’t no wrenches & grease
there’s just scratches under the hood
ya seen those faggy pastel moon suits at Intel
bet there’s Chinamen inside
anyway they ain’t tellin’
the actual swap is
your old wheezin’ machine comming to
for the very last time
& the UP guy truckin’ up
with boxes full of your next life
then you’re really racin’

E-poem: eighteen

William Bradford e-mails home:
65 days of long beating until
young William Butten saw the coast
we thought his new world was not our new world
yet half went with him over the winter

New England is a hideous & desolate wilderness
(worse than France we think)
full of wild beasts & wilder men
now the mighty ocean is a bar & gulf
to all the civil parts of the world
we fall to our knees in mud & pray God
for we know not what can sustain us here
but website & connection

one of ours in fever asked for a small can of beer
the seamen told him that Jesus would soon pull him a draft
& Mr. Morton will allow no barber at Merrymount
(you can read Mr. Hawthorne for this)
we bewail the mischief that this wicked Morton began
boiling up viruses to crash into God’s promise
leukemia & flu creep out from the edge of forest gloom
on the sabbath Mr. Morton strings ribbons & frippery in the trees
prophesying that Ganymede & the Greek gods
will dance on a wire in these very demon haunted woods
the demented Mr. Morton says he can faintly discern in the mist
a true church called Microsoft pursuing God’s righteous work

Mr. Roger Williams is a man godly & zealous
but very unsettled in judgment
he this year began to fall into some strange opinions
concerning the tongue of Babel
& how Adam spoke linux when he named beasts in the garden
& how Moroni (not the angel) buried the hieroglyphic gold
we fear Mr. Williams is hacking & will bring mischief to us all
I shall not need to name particulars
they are too well known
to wit:
Mr. Williams preached that
God requireth not an uniformity of religion
to be enacted & enforced by a senior systems administrator
to grep hidden bugs & revoke passwords
of any who would corrupt the holy system

alas now when a server mysteriously terminates connection
we fear that there are some among us who are not truly elect
their OS pirated & their registries corrupt
if God allows us life in this new world
we plan Harvard college
to graduate sound systems administrators
who will delete the demon from God’s holy church

E-poem: nineteen

John Winthrop e-mails the newsgroup
     (yeah it’s really there
     fire off your newsreader & see
     betcha the pews is empty)

thus stands the cause of holy righteousness:
we are entered into a covenant for this work
     (Ally McBeal examined the contract
     Cage & Fish Associates
     I know she’s not very good
     but she only eats a few bytes)
we must consider that geocities shall be
as a website upon a hill
the eyes of all people are clicked upon us
believers access Yahoo for guidance
to divers things in this world & the next
physicians & pharmacies dispense on the net
distance education chimes from Harvard’s campanile
but woe to the prurient & purveyors of Gomorrah
the webmaster will surely break out in wrath against us
for foul internet porn
to be revenged of such a perjured people
& make us know the price
for breach of SLIP covenant & sin:
    TryAgain: transmit "^M"         ; ping
          [those 8 vacuous spaces are not to be omitted
          even by those of the New Light who
          preach that there is no time for drudgeries of work]
     goto BailOut

Mr. Tilley was a very stout man of great understanding
until the Indians cut off his hands & afterwards his feet
Mrs. Hutchinson is banished
excommunicated & password revoked
the Boston server will no longer answer
in-coming calls made the Rhode Island way
Mr. Hopkins’ wife has fallen into a sad infirmity
the loss of her understanding & reason
by occasion of technical writing
(this is the demon’s foul drivel as Mr. Pynchon knows
click not to Virginia & the STC
tis the place of the demon & the passive voice
an abomination that cancers syntax divine)
Margaret Jones was indicted
& found guilty of witchcraft & hanged for it
casting divers spells with the demon’s cleaved tongue
she confessed her master was Microsoft
before her foulness was choked

take heart fellow saints as I leave you
for we know that nothing arrives by wire
but by divine providence & ISP

E-poem: twenty

Lonny’s notes
CS 010: Netiquette
West Texas Tech: where the sky shakes hands with the horizon

(preliminary: Etiquette = French ticket)

lab rules (no exceptions):
    NO :        --eats (includes gum & sucking Tic-Tacs
                            a Tums might get by
                            right now it’s on the shelf)
                    --Skoal spit cups
                            (know what? / my dad said
                            Old Man Balt half filled a Crisco can
                            at the Hardtop county centennial meeting
                            Mr. Kraft wouldn’t let ya get away with that)
                    --sleep (head’s up display)
                    --roughhouse (take it to your house) 
                    --girlfriends/boyfriends (standing around / on-line okay)
                    --cursing / foul language (on-line or real)
                    --radios/WalkMan (earphones okay / not in class)
                    --skates / skateboards
                    --bikes (front wheels / seats)
                    --dogs / pets (simulated okay / keep ’em on your monitor)
                    --babies / kids
                    --vandals / weapons (mace is okay in your purse)
                    --laser pointers
                    --stickers (taggers will be hunted down)
                    --cell phones off (one line is enough & you’re on ethernet)
                    --beepers/pagers off
                    --keep your boots on

PC’s are not laptops (don’t try to take ’em off)
don’t mess with cables & locks
covers are locked for ram
the UC is your friend (user consultant)

cruising for porn
don’t pretend to be an e-mail pervert cuz who can tell the difference?
games [ain’t fair]
gambling (in New Zealand?)
flaming / frying / cursing
crossposting (what about crossdressing?)
uppercase: means shouting (BIG DEAL)
mail bombs (even if jokes)
reset hit counters (how?)
hack into the Pentagon
e-mail to Bill Gates, the governor, etc.
burning CDs cuz your drive won’t
uploading pirates

edu org mil com gov
au jp ge fr br ru
path bps dos chmod
mb cp rm kb ftp ls
[can I buy a vowel?]

1.  find Cowboy’s website
2.  e-mail Boy’s url to teach
3.  use :) a lot
4.  report a busted link (cc to teach)
5.  subscribe & monitor:     tx.test

[notes to self:  fido
                      e-mail for dogs??

                   moldova = madonna?

                                             check it out!]

everyone in the world can read your usenet posts
don’t be dumber than usual
spelling errors look dumb
lurk before you post
after a while get a life off-line for at least an hour a day

theory (not testable):
internet manifests an inherent spectrum
of modern versus postmodern identity construction
the full novelty of this displacement into virtual public (cyber)spaces
is so profound that soon nobody will know who they are

(Donny don’t know who he is half the time already :)

E-poem: twenty-one

Lonny’s homework
CS 010: Netiquette
West Texas Tech: where cows are animal science
assignment #3:    report what you find on the www
                          list 12 hits
                          do not list urls
                          describe & comment 

Infoseek                                                 :)    to look down the wire
4,182 returns for "lonny"                         :)    seems like there would be more
6,030 on Alta Vista                                :)    there are more!
Lonny Childress in Bigfoot                      :)    probably the most famous Lonny
Ally McBeal weighs 100 pounds             :)    says she eats one cookie for lunch
    (bet she eats as much beef as Oprah -- this is extra; no comment needed)
2cows                                                    :)    they got the cheap beef
mp3s                                                      :)    military police X 3 + FBI = screwed
Microsoft                                               :)     "gentlemen / start your engines"
the invisible empire                                 :)     spewing (filtered through a sheet)
official bug of Texas                               :)     guess what it is (tell you in class)
termpapers for free                                :)     not for our class
amazon                                                  :)     they still print ink books?

E-poem: twenty-two

Lonny’s homework
CS 010: Netiquette
West Texas Tech: the future is waiting inside
assignment #4:  simulate e-mail to a famous person
DO NOT send it
                        print it & hand it in
                        remember you are demonstrating netiquette

subject: kine & yak

dear Mr. Mohammed Gandhi:
I saw you in a movie one time
think it was Ben Kingsley
India looks like a real crowded place
where nobody owns a boot
it’s so far from Texas we don’t know much about it
so I want to ask you about sacred cows
we got a few cows ’round Amarillo
about half in the world
even some dewlap India brahmers
guess you got the other half
ain’t none of ours sacred
(how would you know?)
they just chew their cuds & stare dumb
waiting to go to McDonalds
I can hardly believe you ain’t got golden arches
least ways to get some fries & ketchup
now getting back to stock
we got a simulated sacred cow
Holstein hide on a box
it’s a computer gimmick
why are yours so holy?
did the pope bless ’em?
heard you bring elephants in church
same with the cows?
guess I could see it if they prayed a lot
dogs can do that trick
heard your cows stand still to be petted
not ours
we have to rope ’em & bulldog ’em some for the rodeo
& shove ’em in trucks
maybe that’s what makes yours so holy

anyway if you got the time
after your spinning wheel work & praying & fasting
& telling everybody how to act
maybe you can tell me how your cows got so holy

I don’t think it will work in west Texas
whatever it is

E-poem: twenty-three

hey Lonny
don’t see much of ya anymore
ya gone vampire now?
night prowlin’ ’round
or ya fresh out on parole?

yeah ha ha Donny
ya know I been loggedon the CS lab
ain’t a real lab / no frogs to cut
& we sure ain’t surfin’
more like stuck in a truck
starin’ all stuporized at bugs on the windshield
waitin’ for websites ta load

it’s like the Sports Page
’xcept there’s no brew
& ya can’t drag your best friend in
but it’s full of the same guys
in tee shirts & jeans threaded-out at the knees
boots that are all jammed up when
you’re plunked down on stools crammed in too close
unless it’s a girl ya wanna study
which is ’xactly  never
nobody wants ya readin’ their screen
like they got somethin’ special & you’re gonna steal it
smells all hot & electrical

it’s stupid / cuz instead of sizin’ each other up
shootin’ the breeze with your brain throw’d in neutral
ya have to give street directions for Fort Worth ta somebody in Prague
who is eatin’ a Big Mac & wants to play Lonesome Dove
news from folks screamin’ & cussin’
over stuff ya can’t figure out
the men’s room wall down at the Sports Page
makes about as much sense
maybe we should put it on-line?

sounds like that class is prepin’ ya proper
for intellectual life in these parts
heard its tingein’ ya a little Hindu though
what kind of a job is that for a Byelo-Baptist?

well I kinda e-mailed Mr. Gandhi but
I think more’s comin’ next semester on emacs
hope we got faster whizzers by then
don’t know if I’ll mosey back
that virtual life ain’t so much
simulatin’ with a rope
ya never know where you’re at & when it’s comin’
     (they put away the evil day
     & drowned their care & fears)
     (wouldn’t a icy dos Equis go good ’bout now?
     damn straight it would pard
     damp down all that heat throwed off by your box
     but ya gotta hold off  ’ccount of the lab)
course ya know you’re penned in with calf-face kids
where each is site licensed off
in his own day dreamy place
screamin’ electro-violence chat or doom

ya know Lonny it’s not suppose to matter
where you’re sittin’ when you’re phonin’ it in
telepathic like
’sides ya got no worries ’bout tornadoes
parkin’ tickets & movin’ violations
black ice & a full metal crash
no ’surance to pay
perched on your barstool
castin’ a line out there in the cyberlake
your only worry is what kinda bait to use

don’t know Donny
ya make it sound better ’n a trip to Borger

E-poem: twenty-four

they say
select junk wins lottery bucks
a Tiffany lamp uncracked
a certified vial of the Virgin’s medieval milk
     (where they get stuff like that Donny?
     outta World Lit.?)
     (nah it leaked down the wire)
granddad said they weren’t rocks
said they was Urim & Thumim
     (you can find ’em your own self
     well not you ’xactly
     like walkin’ on a Calliope sidewalk
     & spotting a quarter
     you can’t pick ’em up & handle ’em
     trust Infoseek to clue you in)
no ma’am
you remember an angel spirited them out of New York
     (angels is thick as June bugs there certain times a year)
yes this is a German enigma machine
     (becha didn’t know the ark wuz made of gopher wood
     course that wuz before browsers came on so big)

the docs prescribe sudden money:
a specialist at Christies would know
see this mark?
it’s the Midas touch
made by the Kaiser’s teeth when
he let wind & sneezed while taking a sip of beer
from this very stein
they say you could hear it from D�sseldorf to Berlin
blew the hands right off some model D�rer was drawing
down in Nuremberg

frequent flyer miles to France
no sir / Henry James is in first class
museums are worse than malls
to hobble & put a crick in your neck
& what can you do when you’re done
if you won’t talk to the only folks who speak English?
     (duh / how  ’bout 14 of them prime Czech beers
     English ales / stout Guinnesses
     bring  ’em on / we’ll sort ’em out
     had to drink Gold Fassl once myself
     yup that’s how it’s spelt)

the Library of Congress has a hundred miles of unread books
but the repository for disabled links is a recycle dump in Lubbock
stops your breath for a second before you decide
to accept the charitable smell
short women in sweaters shop for worn out kids’ clothes
     (you never really look at ’em do ya Slick?)
     (well they ain’t tryin’ out for cheerleadin
     leave me alone / wanna look for a army jacket)
mismatched crutches post-it the wall
St. Vincent dePaul prays unix to God
sorting buckets of bolts & pieces of web
arthritic claws clamped like bad false teeth
     (what happens when ya go to Mexico for teeth)
so he just goes through the motions
     (gonna turn him in Slick?)
http with threads all stripped
industrial sacks leak rusted slashes
forward & backward sorted
     (in different bags
     those heavy white woven nylon ribbon ones
     they only send overseas)
too short for dollhouse venetian blinds
too heavy to weld for Barbie’s hairpins
& their posture is hopeless
they slouch & won’t stand
     (like: ///       \\
     go ’head / yell at ’em / if ya want)
colons heap up in tangled eyeglasses piles
chipped letters neck interlocked
     (don’t you kids get no ideas)
stacks of unsorted fonts nest flat
stuck together like transparencies
bold & italic / symbols & wingdings
teeny dots fill cloudy pickle jars
     (you could sprinkle ’em on a doughnut
     at an imaginary tea party
     if ya ever get invited
     wanna save ’em?
     open your folder)

you hardly notice wav file grunts
rooted by consultants vanned-in
to get ’em out of the house for the day
eyeballs tracking uncontrolled
     (probably should run a head cleaner on that)
fingering rubix cubes of high-tech junk
286s that fire up unnetworked with nowhere to go
IBM missals in Latin that no one will pray

the nonsynthetic smell of human implosion threatens
     (WARNING: Pressing CTRL+ALT+DEL
     again will restart your computer
     oh my God / did I pressed  ’em once already?
     what’ll I do?)
     (you’d like ta ask that walleyed heifer back in the trailer
     wouldn’t ya?
     well ya can’t cuz it’s an all beef wiener by now
     best ya can do is get some mustard)
Hieronymus Bosch modems gibberish
to a server that once replied ex cathedra
from the black tinted window of a stretch ivory limo
now mincing away through our broken greasy street
cautious to leave the deranged unhit
pushing chrome grocery carts on the stations of the cross
patiently filled with infobahn debris
crushed java cans & unlinked internet rosaries
crumpled code wrappers & virtual plastic liter bottles
from last year’s tradeshow on flat panels
& cruise control to motor the virtual future

     (like it’s gonna come out of a ostrich Easter egg
     what’s a busted airliner [crashed in the Prado]
     & also a woman’s birthin’ parts
     & she’s kinda a chicken
     with a disk on her head & a gourd playin’ a flute on the disk
     & I bet the disk is almost full
     & you’re gonna get the message:
     "insert a new disk" / any second    
     now consider
     before you have to insert
     there’s a man on a ladder
     do you suppose he’s climbing up or comin’ on down
     from that cracked egg world?
     takes time to tell

     I tell ya my brain’s whirligigin’ with questions like these
     & if this had gone on one second longer
     it woulda required a new disk)

E-poem: twenty-five

ese vato
whadup dawg?
(caption: what is up dog?)
got that hard drive crankin’?
thought I’d stroll to the store
boost a can of html spray to
chrome over the homey page
comes in those fancy Euro liters & grams
check out the 49-cent movies at Furrs
& the free animated gifs
ya know / for the baggy pants look
sticker taggin’ is hot
the virtual kind with Zorro fonts
’bout 36 bold italic
slam on a piece book in the cyberhood
& see who trips by the Web Cam
hope the transaction don’t time out
should tommy gun the ISP
for holdin’ up on the chain
I want the whole enchilada ese
& I want it now
screw that waitin’ ta load

hey dog I’m so down with this homey-page rap
midi’s & mp3s boom blast
gonna light up a whole row of clients
out there in those corporate teletubby lands
don’t flash that mad dog look ese
ain’t no school book learnin’
to skateboard the wire
yo jack some FrontPage & 2dog freebie stuff
hotwire a page & peace-out ridin’
before any alarm starts janglin’
might have to spot weld a piece & spray primer
do some slash work by hand under the hood
it won’t be a boss low-rider from hell
but you won’t be foot bookin’ or in a cell
I’m tell ya / on hit ese!
let’s jet for the wire

E-poem: twenty-six

Cotton Mather writes
The Wonders of the Invisible World
with Microsoft Word for Windows

the first planters of these colonies in chill Redmond
were a chosen generation of men
who were first so pure as to disrelish
many things which they thought wanted reformation
in patches & service packs & upgrades

those good men imagined
that they should leave their posterity
in a place where they should never
see the inroads of profanity or superstition
in the half-way covenant of
beta release operating systems 

programmers are a people of God
settled in those which were once the devil’s territories
& it may easily be supposed that
the devil was exceedingly disturbed
when he perceived such a people
here accomplishing the promise of old
made by heathen English teachers in
classrooms with rude pencils & chalk
mere talk without tag or hypertext connection

now an army of devils is horribly broke in
upon the place which is the center & after a sort
the firstborn of our cyber settlements
the laptops of the good people
are filled with doleful wav & midi shrieks
their Pentiums tormented by invisible hands in their pockets
& with tortures altogether preternatural from
the lingering taste of the first Apple & Big Mac

there was little occasion to prove such witchcraft
it being evident & notorious to all users
the first thing installed was the testimony of the bewitched
in java applets that failed to load
whereof several testified that the shape
of the prisoner did oftentimes very grievously virtually
pinch them
choke them
bite them
& afflict them
urging them to write their e-mail addresses in a book
whereupon they would be spammed by the foul demon until
they despaired of the errand in the wilderness
rebooting the OS of Christ’s original church

to crown all in this federal case against the Microsoft craft
muted whispering subconscious
at the far edge of the new land
Bridget Bishop’s cellar wall was unzipped
where they did in holes & folders & hidden files
of the said old wall & bra
find several poppets of Mr. Gates
made up of gifs & hog’s bristles & Pepsi cans
with headless pins pushed in them
the points being outward directed
whereof she could give no account to the court
that was reasonable or tolerable
or would even pass debugging

we hope the uninstall of those dll files through this righteous case
will be attended with deliverance of some
who have lain archived for many years in a most sad condition
under they knew not whose evil remote access
which held them back unconnected from the saving wire

E-poem: twenty-seven

The New User Primer

A: In Adam’s fall we sinned all
mount floppy
ol’ granddad booted the system
& got the account from ISP

B: thy life to mend this book attend
Essential System Administration
read it / live it
also see: The Dutiful User’s Promises (DUP):
I will obey my administrator
     I will submit to my UC
     I will learn my catechism
     I will reverence God’s sanctuary

C: the cat doth play & after slay (your mouse)
this is why pets are not allowed in the computer lab
play with the persiankitty for a day
& suffer loss of account everlasting
never a cat in the path
not even a cat in a hat
see DUP:
     mind little play
     fear God all day

D: a dog will bite a thief at night
also in the day
even on Sunday
dogs are not allowed in the lab
see: C:
seeing-eye dogs excepted

F: thy prayer ftp to the lord
his grace to download to thy local bin
file transfer protocol follows
the Westminster Assembly for connectionalism
(Cambridge Platform release 1648)

G: as runs the (sand in an hour)glass man’s life doth pass
server reset the connection (damnation!)
do you want to reconnect?
learn to save your work (cf. Ben Franklin)
see DUP:
     from death’s arrest no age is free
     I in the burying place may see
     graves shorter there than I
     files with zero bytes

J: Job feels the rod yet believes God
to kill all jobs use slay
the syntax for rods (as in branches of a tribe)
is separation by a forward slash
example:  /yahweh/dev/adam/ . . . /abe/reuben/sandwich/mustard/usr/local
see DUP:
     for our God is a consuming fire
     for death & heartburn prepared be

S: Samuel anoints whom God appoints
(simulated anointment method for user entry login)
compare to su (super user)
Samuel gives you keys to the kingdom
be careful
see DUP:
     at night logoff prepared to have
     thy sleep / thy death
     thy bed / thy grave

U: Uriah’s beauteous wife made David seek his life
David should not have been cruising for porn
ditto Bathsheba
ditto Monica
urea is different

W: the wire gives life
(the whine is nonalcoholic)
Jacob climbed the wire his lord to find
with ISP I will never sever connection
whales in the sea skip rope with the holy wire

Z: Zacheus he did climb the tree his lord to see
Jesus told him to stay out of the tree (Luke 19:5)
from the root directory up
you will get lost in unix trees
     look out windows
     stay out of trees
(Zaccur was a musician for David)

E-poem: twenty-eight

West Texas Tech: download a future
Classes: Spring 2001

Welding 010: web link welding: millions of broken links lay useless in bins at www repositories for disabled links.  Learn to repair them & help Internet users reach their info-destinations.  Web arc-welder provided.  Students provide goggles, gloves & link solder.  Lab fee.  On campus.

Speech 010: virtual speaking: terrified of public speaking?  Most people prefer a heart attack to public speaking.  Let Willow Talk™ give your speech.  Distance education virtual pedagogy allows you to:
     1.  Use voice recognition software & a microphone to input
          your speech. The computer will automatically throughput
          (type) your speech.
     2.  Run checkers (spell, grammar, readability, link).
     3.  Listen to your speech spoken by different voices
          (Betty, Ursula, Frank).
     4.  Select your custom voice for the virtual occasion.
     5.  Output (e-mail) your speech to your e-prof™.   E-prof™ is an evaluation
          program similar to those used by major corporations to evaluate resumes
          (e-prof™: evaluation protocol for registrar’s official finding).  E-prof™ 
          insures impartial & unbiased judgment.
     6.  E-prof™ will e-mail you a critique of your speech & your grade.
     7.  Listen to e-prof™’s critique using your voice recognition program.
Distance ed.  Lab fee.

English 009: spelling: analysis of electronic dictionaries: on-line, bundled, stand alone.  Texts: Microsoft Bookshelf, Oxford English Dictionary (CD-ROMs).  Browser required for on-line texts.  Examination of nonstandard dictionaries: Aussie slang, cyber slang, linux, hacker speak.  Special characters: biblical, symbols, wingdings, webdings, monotype sorts.  Acronym theory.  Distance ed.  Lab fee.

English 010: composition: Internet means you no longer waste time staring at a blank sheet of virtual paper. Instead:
     1.  Visit or a similar quality termpaper library.
     2.  Download your selection.  Templates, wizards & scanned sources
          may be substituted.
     3.  Cut & paste to personalize your paper.  Merged files are fine.
     4.  E-mail your paper to e-prof™.
     5.  Up-load your graded paper to a termpaper library to help future students.
Distance ed.  Lab fee.

English 011: grammar: analysis of word processing grammar checkers.  Rules for grammar: business, programming, generative.  Custom settings: system messages, help files, digital vs. analog.  Students receiving a C or better will be awarded a bumper sticker: Grammar Bytes at WTT.   Distance ed.  Lab fee.

English 012: search engines: diesel, gas, hydrogen fuel cell, electric, rocket, steam.  How to gauge horsepower & calculate mileage.  EPA emisson standards.  Route tracing, road surfaces, data bases, weigh stations.  After-market products: headers, neon lighting, nerf bars, hydraulics.  Internet micrometer required.  On campus.  Lab fee.

English 013: technical communication: mail: bundled & stand alone mail programs. Virtual stamps, weight rates, zip codes, postcards, attachments, video & voice e-mail, address books, signature files, multiple recipients, digital IDs, stationery.  Theory of e-mail & browser integration for internet commerce (requires a credit card number).  World postal zones, tariffs, customs, Swatch Internet time.   History of e-mail.  On campus.  Lab fee.

Animal Science 010: bovine transport: theory & practice of cattle transfer.  Downloading, uploading, auto-transfer.  Texts include the program TRUCK™ (transfer rely using cached kiloflops).  Rubber boots required.  Distance ed.  Lab fee.

E-poem: twenty-nine

Edward Taylor prays
to recover Windows from a crash

o lord
inspire this crumb of dust ’til it display
come on / electro baby / crunch those imaginary numbers
the bellows of thy spirit blow & whisper code
’til the fire doth glow to
light up that world wide window
come on / swing open heaven’s gate
let that light shine in

eat / eat
thou at the table head above
meat / medicine / Hershey’s sweet Kisses & Dr. Pepper
be not my machine a bidden guest at the banquet?

Had not my soul’s
(thy conduit)
pipes & modem stopped been
with mud & sin & rude severance
what ravishment would’st thou convey
from servers vast planetary arrayed
if only connection be made
& this heresy of blank screen dialed away
saints’ heavens-lost happiness restored

I kenning through astronomy divine
virtually find black imps that snap & bite
my sin! my sin! these cursed dregs
of some errant finger’s forgotten mouse stray
a file cracked leaking
green yellow blue streaked poison
that will not graciously display
a 500 MHz Pentium-3 screamer
drove home nailed
well clinched
to eternally hold the road
but for sin’s inattentive deletion & devil’s unallocation

when once the window whispered open
the trap door of hell framed half bidden
the porn cascaded in directories & bedrooms vast
little girls so sweet
languished in anorexia & celestial famine sore
with hard TV dinners microwaved on the prop table
foresworn & buzzed about by the silly fly
while the venom elf rappelled fall foul thereon
to tangle Adam’s race
answering nature’s call through the wire’s copper grace

strive & recover what numbered strength hath got
& Redmond labor wrought
thy holy word a distaff & flyer connected neat
not for this my flesh & human word
make this machine / lord
thy spinning wheel complete

E-poem: thirty

know the saying?
it’s connection that counts

in the old days
crates just flopped around the room
like sorry ol’ hounds
trying to pass for typewriters
when they didn’t decline
to shake hands with a printer
snooty ol’ coots

blinked through the browser wars dozing
    (screen saver off)
defect to Netscape?
what’s that?
those internet stocks is plain air
give me Coke in a glass bottle
that’s the real thing
a rotary phone
IP numbers unknown

slow down / what’s the hurry?
there’s haze & thickness if you care to notice
sit on the porch a spell
might spot a lightin’ bug tonight
watch that Echo satellite drive by
nah she don’t talk
let those kids do the racin’
the machine is downsimmering components
meanwhile there’s virtually nothing to do
no newsgroups to napalm
no CDs to burn
no e-mail to slit & sort
no search engine to gas
no porn to palm
no jokes to shuffle
nowhere to go / nothing to do
just leave that ’lectric ta hum in the wire
have some ice tea / you play pinochle?
the quick brown fox jumped over the sleeping dog
no Sculley to flirt
    (like ta get in her skirt / yum yum)
have you checked your e-mail today Fox?
her hand in your pocket
I’m a doctor / don’t skitter
your box caught a virus only when you fed it lunch
& no cookies in the sack
     (remember: Ally eats just one)
my God those was homespun times
not a cookie to your name

website hell!
ain’t bifocals good enough no more?
race ’round the world with that fool hose
gettin’ chuck full of cookies ta spoil your dinner
guess what?
ya never left the porch
them windows ain’t nothing like a gassed-up ’Vette
or phantom jet
Duane might shoot ya in the eye with a .44
& I’m tempted to let ’em
just so ya’ll know what a real machine can do

E-poem: thirty-one

hey Donny
know Duane on the bike over to Thalia?

the geezer what threatens to peddle to Egypt?

that’s the one

plannin’ a two wheeled  haj
less he’s got by Libyan terrorists
& sent to the future

well I e-mailed this guy up in Newfoundland
runs a inkrag up there
writes shippin’ news
     (that’s when they’re shippin’ the newest computers
     so ya can get the first ones
     think it’s a column in PC Mag)
told ’em about Duane
just kind of come up
long trips & life changes group
said he knew a guy called Nutbeem

these would be e-mail names Lonny?
Quoyle & Nutbeem
like CB handles used to be?
     (I know one teacher:
     Byelo-Baptist Buzzard
     that’s Buster Lickle’s handle
     I know he don’t like it
     but he answers to it)

guess so
said this Nutbeem
rode a bike from Houston to LA

that might qualify him for a nut-beam name tag
he run into UFOs on the trip?

didn’t say
but he said it was the most terrible trip in the world
sandstorms & gila monster lizards
terrifyin’ & lethal heat
freezin’ winds & a Blue Norther
even claimed wolves & a Cessna what dropped flour bombs
think he was exaggeratin’ those
swore if he could pry that bicycle seat
out of the crack of his lycra slick ass
he’d sail a boat to the north pole
got as far as Newfoundland
looked on a map
pretty far up from Houston
what do ya think?

ya was thinkin’ of sharin’ this with Duane
’fore he pedals east?
warn him about gila monster attacks?

he used to have CB in his truck
but he ain’t got e-mail on his bike
if he still wants to go
thought we could go on-line
do a webpage journal
specially if he runs into all that foreign weather
we could link the weather page
they’re real cool
know they got a girl?
talks the temperature right at ya now
if you’re connected
maybe pick up that girl & a sponsor & a banner
put a little trip odometer ’long side a hit counter
"you’re the umteenth hitchhiker picked up since when we started"
might be funny
"West Texas to OPEC without a drop of gas"
get up in the mornin’ & wonder
where’s ol’  Duane today? / think I’ll plot ’em
what do ya think Donny?
pedal on the web?

Lonny you’re gettin’ too far from dirt
flyin’ out there by wire
downloadin’ somethin’ different every minute
my girlfriend’s naggin’ me ta stay on the ground
wants me to limp ’round afoot
to local places offline
without www in the address

that’s plumb crazy
second worst fear in Texas is bein’ afoot
ain’t nobody but Duane ever walked 12 miles in human memory
I mean not since there wuz trucks to run
least ways the psychiatrist put the galoot on a bike
so folks can think his license wuz took for DUI
ya gotta admit
that’s more respectable than walkin’ on the road
like a ’scaped convict

it’s not that bad Lonny
she’ll allow me the TV clicker & a truck
it’s stuperizin’ through windows
& the phone line all wrangled up
what she can’t abide
says she wants stuff to actually move
when she goes for a ride

don’t know Donny
sounds pretty severe
you’re gonna be bumpin’ in dirt road ruts
on your ol’ Schwinn bomber
when ya could be infobahn racin’ with Al Unser Jr.
like pokin’ a eye out with a fork
better look for a upgrade in a girl
before you’re infobahn roadkill

E-poem: thirty-two

don’t let that child
throw any more of those
little lizards in the hot tub

says he’s makin’ soup for the dog
maybe a dribble of dos Equis will cool ’em down
or least ways make boilin’ tolerable
works for me

I swear to God Donny
since you got that virtual internet life
you never leave off that laptop
not even bubblin’ in the hot tub
it’s worse than the Dallas Cowboys on TV
seems you’d rather stare in that nerdy box
than look at some actual cheerleader cleavage
     (teacher / reverend Rawley says
     titties are fat in a sack when they ain’t fake)
     (we don’t say that Frank because it’s vulgar slang
     & G. G. Rawley & the Byelo-Baptists don’t teach school
     because they’re too ignorant to be licensed by the state of Texas)
look Donny
nothin’ synthetic but the sweater
wantta go for one of them Calliope High rides?
better than a Dairy Queen

well if it is really primo-deluxe
some ol’ boy’s bound to lasso it online
then I’ll downslam it into my little black box
’sides there’s miles of porn on the rope
do we got some Dorritos?

Donny you’re pathetic
stimulated amateur pictures
ain’t even Playboy
I swear
you’re gonna catch a virus off that thing
or be arrested
put it on autopilot &
logon with me for a while
see if your password gets in

I got a file that needs unzipped
if you wanna play with somethin’ better than your mouse
how big is your hard disk?

little darlin’ it’s the megabytes of ram
you want to nibble & byte
but not now
this hot tub has me half simmered
& I’m in the middle of downcookin’ an update from Bill

yeah that’s about all the date you can handle Donny
a dial-up connection for a chat room chat with Bill
God / he ain’t even real
it ain’t even a bar
it ain’t even TV

when you get ready
you can just play with your own floppy disk
or throw it at the dog

E-poem: thirty-three

hey Donny
ya e-mailed Walt Whitman one time
didn’t ya?

sort of / it was a class

yeah I’m in that class
ya know Walt coulda web-spun
or even been a systems administrator
he knew the wire was comin’ on:
have we not darken’d & dazed ourselves with books
long enough?

sounds like somebody’s got a termpaper to buy

"WWW: Whitman & the World Wire"
all these separations & gaps
shall be taken up & hook’d & link’d together
the seas inlaid with eloquent gentle wires
the earth to be spann’d
connected by network
slow moving & black lines go ceaselessly over the earth
with latest connections

see he knew about links & the net & even bots
well he ’magined ’em
kinda sci-fi virtual neural nets in the Oversoul

don’t mention sci-fi Lonny
English teachers hate sci-fi

couldn’t actually know html
he kinda guessed that some language
would make hyperlinks click & jump
probably knew Latin & hieroglyphics are junk
back then in the civil war Sanskrit was black-box
what do ya think Donny?
sound all right?

don’t know
if it was me
I’d probably jerk somethin’ off the string
that had already been tried & convicted
for a decent grade
know there’s a Walt chat room?

been there
ain’t as dumb as I look on Web Cam TV
full of kids whimperin’ for help
wandering & confused
lost their self
     (or maybe lost their mommies
     or maybe forgot their passwords & lunch
     or probably just peed their self)

ya can quote Walt for anythin’
rode over the Laramie plains
& then jumped to Hindustan
well he’d a like to
problem was he didn’t know no India urls
& there weren’t no search engines to haul folks
& nobody knew html
     (little bit later Mohandas sent off to law school
     where he learned to demand due process
     or he won’t eat a byte)
shoot / the wire was so dumb
it just spewed dots & dashes
SOS / this is Morris Code
get me back to the future

you’re launchin’ off sci-fi again Lonny
tellin’ ya English teachers hate sci-fi
even Kurt Vonnegut
you’ll do better to keep Walt in a turban
than to make him write software

E-poem: thirty-four

hey Donny
heard you’re wire fraudin’

how’s that Lonny?
wish you’d tell me a way to
downdrop cash into my lap-pocket

everybody knows
net porn is a spigot for money Donny
if ya could get a gaggle of high school girls to cooperate
but I ain’t talkin’ ’bout that
I’m talkin’ ’bout ya illywhackin’ by wire
dressed Halloween pumpkin orangey
     (teacher / why is there so much orange?)
     (that’s a good question Oren
     I think it’s because the leaves are turning)
bustin’ out of the chute a Mormon preacher
or some other school book geek
what sent e-mail that bounced
for 300 years

doubt that’s strictly possible Lonny

’xactly what I said / tain’t natural
weren’t no wire & even if they was
a e-mail that old woulda dribbled flat by now
entropized & echoed off  like a dead bat

think you’re right Lonny
Al Gore says he plugged in the wire
just the other day

is that another dead poet Donny?
wish ya’d leave ’em at school slammed in a locker
know Mr. Cecil?
runs the grocery store in Thalia
     (remember it ain’t Hy-Vee)
he useta be a English teacher

don’t know ’em Lonny
weren’t no Thalia Thistle tumblin’ in the wind
played my ball straight for the Calliope Cowbirds

fired his ass direct
for homasexyulizin’

more like for being a skinny runt in a bow-tie
who liked guacamole better ’n football

but he was a runt what read poetry
out loud
outta hardback books he got mailed in from Archer City
tellin’ ya Donny
natural men don’t read poems
specially don’t write ’em down
least ways not in Texas they don’t
maybe in Austin they let ’em get by with it at school
but not in panhandle Texas
good ya had the sense to pretend
to be a pilgrim or Robot Frost or such
& not give out your actual IP

thought when ya went online Lonny
everybody played R2D2
with a temporary name for doom murder & chat
& for flamin’ & roastin’ & fryin’ folks
who are also sportin’ temporary tags
like paintball wars without the paint

yeah but a lot of those is prebuilt
ya select standard modifications
like armor & more weapons
everybody knows the rules
& for them that don’t there’s help files
so what’s the rule for e-poems Donny?
gotta have a rule to make sense & play the game right
we never had e-poems in school & now it’s too late
ya should just stick with real video games
like down to Kwik-Sack & on-line

E-poem: thirty-five

ever been ta the picture show
over ta Thalia?

ain’t no picture show at Thalia
Dairy Queen is the center of life
how weak is that Donny?

yeah it’s gone virtual
useta be a show there long time ago
& even when it was tumbled down dead derelict
with no roof
this ol’ dude Sonny Crawford
useta sit up in the balcony
ta rerun movies in his own head
real intense like

why he’d do that?
bc?  before cable

maybe cuz he only had one eye & was shot in the elbow
or maybe cuz he lived in Thalia all his vacant life
that’s sufficient ta drive most folks crazy
even if they got a satellite dish
anyway Sonny woulda done a sight better
if he had plugged into the world machine
ripped open a little e-mail & a joke ’stead
of VCRin’ dead movies in his head
all senile in black & white

was that ol’ Sonny at Kwik-Sack
what had his feet cut off?

the very one
know Jody Carmichael
runs the Corners down the road?
ol’ coot can hardly sell ya a beer
cuz he’s so on-line
keepin’ score of Commonist soccer off a moon dish
& shootin’ e-mail to Brazil
says he makes 50 bets a day

how they collect when ya lose a on-line bet Donny?

see Lonny
that’s the thing
connection gives ya technical problems like that
makes ya download a different life
get updates & read the FAQ’s
the rope mounts ya up on the ol’ splintered pony
     (one time Duane wired Old Man Balt’s feet to the stirrups
     when he rode the flag for the centennial)
     (good thing we had that centennial too
     keep those Byelos & Balts & Russkies in check
     so they ain’t runnin’ amuck like down ta Odessa)
even if the calliope careens & squeaks
& they ain’t no actual cows to catch
     (oh yeah!
     better click your dumb ass over to the 2cows Sport
     & see all critters they is to catch
     nah ain’t gonna give ya the ’ddress
     want me to drink that beer for ya too?)

don’t bust out all that poetry Donny
gettin’ back to feet
ya know Bobby Lee Moore?
said one time he was so bored
he shot off his own toe
really did / saw it
pinkie toe it wuz

yeah shootin’ runs in the family
Duane useta damage a dog house for recreation
applied a .44 magnum
’bout a dollar & half a shoot

my advice is
let your finger do the walkin’
keep your shooter in your pants
clickin’ ’round the world ride

E-poem: thirty-six

hey Lonny
why ya fingerin’ that laptop?
cruise control on the blink?
or ya just slumpin’ off-line again?

gotta type a book report

thought ya rustled those?

yeah but this is local stuff nobody knows
’sides this McMurtry maligned & overbid a hand
maintained that 4-H’ers ’bominate livestock somethin’ fierce
here ’bout
like it wuz Friday night after we thumped Thalia in football
& we’re too drunk to live

yeah relations is a private affair

claimed he couldn’t understand Byelo-Baptists
shoot / everybody knows
Byelo-Baptists is white-on-white
only mystery is how a couple a Russkies snuck inta the panhandle

they the ones that can’t tolerate a TV dinner?
preach the Last Supper was
hot biscuits / chicken-fried steak & Dr. Pepper
okra on the side

don’t know ’bout that
they do allow McDonalds is the new world order
nonkosher & unsanctified
cuz they don’t hold with freezin’ & microwavin’
& unnatural processin’ in general
say God ’xpects cooked meat for dinner
& none of this low-cal virtual stuff
chitlins / links / Bologna sausages / forced-meats
liverings / hogs’ haslets / young quails & teals
turkey on Thanksgivin’
& always add cheese for the first course
     (think that’s funny?
     hope they glue your ass to a yellow stool
     at Jack In The Box after Judgment
     make ya read Rabelais ’til ya puke
     & then ya have ta slup that puke up with a straw ’til ya puke
     & then ya have to slup that up ’til all them exponentials
     make ya ’xplode & then ya have to slup that up)

sounds like ya been studyin’ up for that book report

not so’s anybody’d notice
know how the Campbellites just allow shoutin’
& can’t abide unnatural music off a organ
cuz it’s highfalutin & hurts the Almighty’s ears?
well the Byelos want natural slow cooked burgers
think they’re big over ta Hereford

guess I can see it
ol’ Nick’s got a little somethin’ for ya in a zip lock bag
fry ya in Olean & ’xplode your head in a microwave
& if ya want ta taste hellfire eat habenero

ya ha ha Donny
know Dickie?
what runs Duane’s oil bidness now
Dickie says plain ol’ Texas food is the only straight way to shoot
says if ya eat things that ain’t grow’d right here in Texas
infects your head
gives ya the heartburn what boils up the devil & bad dreams

I ’member Dickie useta do his share of pukin’
when he was dopin’ & drinkin’ & ropin’
didn’t know out-of-state food was the main culprit
he gonna start a cult like Waco?
young quails & forced-meat & all

nah he’s got oil to get
least ways them bible thumpers ain’t bearin’ down on computers
you’d think they would

too busy peckin’ to website the word
suppose them Mormon kids is gonna missonize by wire?
be a whole lot easier to spam the world & use a hard drive
than walk ’round & do it by hand

E-poem: thirty-seven

Jonathan Edwards worries about connectivity asking:
who do you trust to be your Internet Service Provider (ISP)?

how it is easy for us to cut or singe a slender thread
that any single thing dangles by
     (like a hairy pre-school spider)
thus easy is it for ISP to sever connection
an arbitrary will restrained by no fiduciary obligation
     (like you could get your character’s life back
     & start the game over
     ask ol’ Duane if that’s possible
     ain’t ya read the book?
     ol’ Rawley ’ll tan your hide   
     if he finds out)
hindered by no manner of technical difficulty
so exposed you are
     (out in the wind shivering in the dark
     plumb bob naked on the highway of life
     up in Oklahoma)
to sudden unexpected interruption
     (& its rainin’ & sleetin’ & a semi is barrelin’
     with no headlights
     to splatter your heathen ass
     but ya can’t measure just when)
the next byte & breath unreached

how devils watch & lurk & wait
they are ever by you on-line
at your mouse hand
between the finger & click
     (an active window obscuring unrefreshed
     your tattletale angel’s sunshine view)
devils watch where you click
     (pecking like a damn idjit chicken ain’t ya?
     well it’s dog-eat-dog now Buster)
they stand waiting to seize you as their own meat
the instant connection fails
your vision in a crash
     (like when a big ol’airliner slams into solid rock)
& before you awake to the physical place
their claws & teeth will slash
     (cut right through ’luminum like it wuz a onion paper website)

how all pains & contrivance on your local machine
availth not / vain & preposterous
the ladder not reaching
all your righteous programming
with no influence to establish & force connection
     (just jam it in quick!
     afore it squirts)
can a spider’s web stop a falling rock?
     (a really big one)

electricity does not willingly serve
your machine for breath to maintain its flame
of simulated life in its own separated metallic vitals
all life begs congress & connection
yet you hang by a slender thread
     (maybe like a real ’xpensive glass ornament
     dangling on a Christmas tree & the floor is cement
     & they want a credit card number to let you in)
with wrath flamed & flashing
ready every moment to singe connection
& burn it asunder into a shadow of ash

thus it is in Weatherford
in dented mobile homes & wind
in unconverted & separate condition
whose hand can you grasp?
where e-mail your prayers?
     (ya ready to phone over that Visa number yet?)
websites erupt in millions
     (anybody can steal Giddeon from Motel 6)
but each promised hope
must crawl & snake through the wire
the covenanted metal thread
to reach connection

once God’s visible people assembled in flesh
in this lush leafed land where now
we hear prairie wind whistle break to the fragile wire
static cursing unconnection
fingers unfisted

E-poem: thirty-eight

Dear Donny:
betcha didn’t expect a postcard from Delhi!
not the one east of San Marcos :)
that’s a certified holy cow on front

betcha wonder how I got over here
you probably guessed: tour off the net
nonvirtual but extra credit at the CC

sort of like Mexico but not much
no tacos / no tequila
fake cyber cafes
they want to telegraph e-mail to your door!
they got loads of theory on credit
but no spending wire

there is a golden arches here / sort of
here’s a spill of Campa Cola
wish I had a Dr. Pepper
adios my rickshaw’s double-parked

PS when you come
leave your boots home
it’s big hassle wrangling ’em off
for the temples

E-poem: thirty-nine

Johnathan Edwards washes his hands of
Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God

let’s get something straight right off Buster
I ain’t no chawbacon Byelo-Baptist bog-trotter
like you’re used to
who thinks a library card is a bus ticket to hell
I know I said shit 19 times in a sermon
but it was junior high adapted (you dipshit!)
somebody needed to tell ’em
& ol’ G. G. Rawley wouldn’t spit it out
if he had a mouth full
nor wash it down with a sip of stout English brew
well he’s a dumb shit too
& you can tell him that from me
& that’s wired down from Princeton U. die-rect

now I’m about at the end of my rope
which is fittin’ for in this verse is threatened
the vengeance of God on the wicked
    (that means you Slick)

down there in Texas you know what it is
to be thrown off a horse
     (bet you never even smelled a horse
     those kind of sliding along lies is
     precisely why you’re ponyin’ into hell
     like every beer kills another brain cell
     until you got Alzheimer’s oatmeal mush for a brain)
but you don’t have to be thrown down by the hand of another
     (like Jessie Ventura is your governor / you wish
     ol’ bald Jessie would throw your ass down pronto)
if you stand real still & the wind ain’t blown
     (maybe early in the morning one day a year)
& you concentrate real hard on a naked woman
     (like Nicole Kidman & those teeny copper hairs)
you could naturally explode in nothing but flame
depraved & spontaneously combusted
     (State Farm don’t cover)

know how easy it is to tromp on a worm?
     (or get shit on your boots in Lubbock?)
guess what size boot God wears
     (custom made no doubt)
     (what ya think
     he buys at Walmart?
     leaves his Caddie in the parkin’ lot
     with that Northstar System running?)
& he’s just itching to stomp on your pointy head
& grind you into shit jelly
even if it gets shit on his boots
like stepping in a fresh cow pie

you deserve to be cast into hell
     (hence the metaphor of shit)
already under a sentence of condemnation to hell
& that’s somewhat south of Brownsville
     (no you can’t have a drink of water
     no they ain’t no Coke machines
     no you can’t transfer to Huntsville
     they’d put ya in death row & inject ya mainline to hell)

did ya know your grandma is parked in hell?
& everybody else you ever knew what’s dead
undoubtedly gone to hell in a hand basket
& now they have to munch through a big ol’ shit sandwich
     (no pickle / no lettuce / maybe a little deviled haslet)
told ’em not to go to hell
both Princeton fancy & Texas plain
would they listen?
no more ’an you Slick

I hope you’re not walking around one day
& suddenly fall in a well or a big sinkhole
or maybe a land mine blows your damn feet off
but you probably will
prudence & care & Ben Franklin is all bullshit
natural men are held in the hand of God
over the pit of fiery hell
you’re barbecued shit on a stick

I’d tell you more but it wouldn’t make no difference
God saves those whom he so wills
& I doubt that’s you Slick

okay here’s the last pitch
I was once almost constantly in ejaculatory prayer
I spent most of my time in thinking of divine things
     (don’t ask me what
     this is John Calvin & Walt Whitman
     work on your own damn paper)
year after year
& then Christ zoomed up like a screen saver
made me cry for an hour
I have several other times had views
very much of the same nature
which have had the same effect

now you’ll have to look up your own salvation
on some whacked out website
or roast
best of luck Slick

E-poem: forty

The Rev. Falwell exposes Tinky Winky

now let’s get some of this straight & narrow
Dipsy is a boy critter grass green
Po is a red Chinee
Laa-Laa is Marilyn Monroe in P.J’s
& Tinky Winky is famous
you know he’s the hefty sack
think he could go some with Barney?
battling babies toddle at the WWF
Baby Huey returns for grudge match
morph to Chuck Norris & Jessie Ventura
run some Harley-Davidson soundtrack
then bleed to a thumping Huey chopper
video: a whiz-by with a machine gun
whacking those rabbits
then a dissolve to a chopper teetering off a carrier
blending a Bugs Bunny smoothie as it goes in the drink

you have e-mail
subject: Oz hoses Winkies!
"the yellow Winkies were not a brave people"
but tinkered & removed the cover from their desktop
that’s how the Winkies put the tin man together again
just like they do at Intel
zipping laptops in Teletubby tummies
when they get their Keebler cookies & milk
while we’re on the subject of Oz
the wizard confessed
"I stood behind the screen and pulled a thread"
first ISP in Kansas:
whirling wire from the wizard

let’s straighten some more
& make that wire whistle
Tinky is a cousin to those Kansas Winkies?
who mows that lawn where
the Teletubbies don’t play golf?
hope it isn’t that Slingblade guy
he’s real scary
why don’t them bunnies munch up the world
like they did in the Oz down under?
are Munchkins Winkies?
that dome is obviously a space ship
so why hasn’t Fox Mulder cell phoned?
(he has called everybody else on the planet
mostly at night when you’re trying to eat dinner
only the FBI could afford his phone bill)

while we’re on the spaceship
do you think Teletubbies are overgrown tribbles?
like they nibbled into a box of Miracle Grow & exploded?
think tubbies could go the other way?
get anorexic & thin into weasels racing on the wire?
that Lamb Chop was a critter in a sock
a snuck down snake selling applets from a tree
but that was before Flintstone vitamins
when kids didn’t have a spell checker for tyrannosaurus
does Yoplait have that pink custard?
& does Penneys sell jammies with footsies in size XXXXL?

Falwell is so on the button
there is really a lot to learn
we haven’t even plugged in Noo-Noo the blue elephant vacuum
I bet the University of Texas is stuffing a scarecrow right now
to teach a distance ed graduate class on
Teletubbies & American culture
let’s plan to study with a Happy Meal in our laptop

E-poem: forty-one

Adam’s Apocryphal Alphabet

everybody knows the devil echoes times three
like 666 & www & three horns
not the honking duck kind
more like duck & cover with a nuclear bomb turtle
well the Byelo-Baptists are shooting back
slinging teraphim & ephods off the wire
pick any of these for cheerleads
or Burma Shave

Arms & Ammo for Armageddon 
Abednego ain’t a motel where they charge by the hour
Abishai figured to shave ’em while they snore
Adam dribbled down AIDS cuz the old gizzard
     couldn’t find a rubber plant in paradise

Byelo-Bible Baptists
     barbecuing bustards byte by byte & bit by bit
Byelo-Baptist Butchers
     if it’s meat your hankering
     you’ll thank us when it’s over

Christian Cowboys Cadillacing
     ropin’ down porn to fry off the wire
Civil Conservation Crew
     conserved / preserved / reserved for the next life
     keep a civilian tongue in your head
     or it might get ripped out & nailed to the barn
     like hairy vermin hide

Dell Does Dallas
     (Dalhart / Deaf Smith & Dilley ditto)
Duane Don’t Drive
     & he never been in church in his life
     & the one time he was in a museum
     his kid kicked over a thousand pound toad
     & only thing he ever read was his wife’s tee shirts

Spitting Sibilant Snakes
     don’t know if they’re rattlers
     but Byelo-Baptists is straight shooters
     & ain’t writhed up with sneaky snakes
     who wanna sell ya a used car & siding

Thalia Takes Thistles
     no I don’t know what they do with ’em
     Martha Stewart could spray paint ’em
     into little Christmas trees
     course ya have to keep a tumbleweed
     in your garage ’til December
     & think what the neighbors will say

Wonder Where on Wire
     pass me a cookie

E-poem: forty-two

Donny gets spam from the Day of Virus Doom™
    "AIDS is just a click away
    without the Day of Virus Doom™"
download your evaluation release of DVD™ now
before it’s too late
     (premature ejaculation your problem?
     got software in your shorts when it’s hardware you need?
     want something more to show the girls than virtual ram?)

has Melissa tapped on your window?
she will & she’s a pus dripper
her little mail file will
make your whole windows world
melt down to shit

there you were fingerin’ along life’s cyber-highway
chewing bubble-gum & drinking Dr. Pepper
calm in carnal reason & dreaming
     (probably in a fancy convertible
     like one of the them new Chryslers)
filling up your back seat with sweet little hamadryad girls
when straightway appears
& you see it with tears in your rearview mirror
the virus that will eat your lunch Sport

some think defragging will avail
     (in pantyhose & women’s clothes)
some trust in compression
     (old Simonized popes compressed
     squeezed into the fissures of the rock
     unto a can of oil for ol ’ Duane to pump)
& some in shareware virus snippers & snipers
     (written by a little pimply high school kid
     in Eustace named Gene
     who has to mail it away for free)
well pilgrim
when the shit storm whirls down the wire
you can kiss your shareware ass goodbye
your fancies fed on cyber-candies & dreams
your heart fed on some old fashion lust
you loved the simulation more than the system

we had thy word in a license
     (say some holding up dollar bills / in God we Trust)
but wiser programmers than we
could never yet make it hum
tough shit Jack
Christ pities not your cry
shove off to hell
there may you yell & roar eternal
     (about licenses or whatever
     point is nobody’s listening)
live they must in deep shit
     (it’s right there plain as day in Dante
     how folks is plowed down in shit)
forced by file & electrified wire
whilst God is just
that he may plague them so
     (apparently jackin’ the file ’bout a zillion times
     like your stupid brother shootin’ doom with his joystick
     in the bathroom ’til his hand cramps)

& you ask
how could we sin that had not been
     (I just added this class today
     don’t ask me why it don’t run)
like you’ll dodge Armageddon & skip the school assembly
how is his sin our?
without consent or click
     (be glad when you little shits are bussed to hell
     & I don’t have to listen to you whine about extra credit)
which to prevent
     (we’re still talkin’ viruses in this English class Jack)
we never had a power

well that’s the hand you got dealt Slick
install just one time without a rubber &
the bitch will sneak in on her hands & knees
& melt your system into speckled shit
for the wire is a public head
a common virtual root
whence all should shoot
     (I have to admit
     I don’t know if we’re talking sperms or germs
     Mormon genealogy or doom game spurts or the www)
well this shit is gettin’ old & the bell is gonna ring

here’s the deal
unzip & you die
connect & the virus crawls right up your copper urethra
like you didn’t know that
buy the damn virus shield
or go to hell / get AIDS or whatever
Melissa kiss the nice man goodbye

for there leave we them to diddle
on a blank screen

Eats in the book

tucker sack & afterword dinner mint:

     (probably you should get some Tums� right now
     don’t lick your fingers / you’ll get worms
     specially if you petted a dog)

1.  what was Donny’s dog named?
     (told ya they’d be a quiz)
     a.  Spot
     b.  Bubba
     c.  Dumb
     d.  Wiener
     e.  McGruff

now get the eats / Byelo-Baptist blessed

0.   ice tea
          (lotta folks think
          Dr. Pepper� is the ’ficial drink of Texas
          nope / it’s ice tea.
          it’s really beer
          but you’re not suppose ta admit it)
1.   jelly
          (hot jelly biscuits is tolerable good
          slamp a big glob a Smuckers� on)
2.  dos Equis� / tortillas
3.   none
          (but there’s a supermarket
          if ya got any money
          maybe ya could loan me some &
          we could get a tube of Pringles� & a Dr. Pepper� ):
4.   none
          (but there’s sniffing)
5.   cake with frosting & sprinkles / vanilla (implied ice cream)
6.   pennies / Budweiser� / marijuana
          (well it ain’t no worse than a ocean of beer
          ’sides Dickie did his share/ didn’t he?
          & how’d ya like ta have ta eat pennies like they wuz Neccos�?)
7.   none
          (tell Duane ta pack a sack lunch if he’s going ta Egypt)
8.   Spam
          (biggest eaters are in Guam
          how would ya like ta have ta live in Guam & eat Spam�?
          part of the hell theme?)
9.   Jell-O�
          (always room for Jell-O):
10. Safeway™ / OJ / salt / juice / applewhite (same as applejack?) /
      cheese / zucchini
11. cherries / lunch money
          (so it depends on the school lunch menu
          usually glop & fried plastic) /
      bento box-lunch
12. chicken / worm meatloaf / Mountain Dew� / white cheese /
      horse apples (like fuji-apples?)
13. Spam� / Wolf Brand� chili / catfishes / eatin’ dust & grit & mud (literary)
14. Circle-K™ / burrito / Dr. Pepper� /  Sonic
          (order what ya want / get me some onion rings
          be right back / gotta pee half a six pack) /
          (don’t tell Bart) /
          (like a bento box with a surprise inside?) /
      chili sauce / mushrooms / Spam�
          (notice how Donny properly disposed of his trash
          that probably kept McGruff from chasing his bike)
15. pizza / scallops
16. Hy-Vee
          (Prof. Bradley [
WTAMU] informed the class that
          Hy-Vee™ groceries is strictly Midwest & can’t be had in Texas
          & he never had a RC Cola� from one in his life
          so I asked him / Dr. B.
          how ya gonna get Neccosbefore ya go in the picture show? 
          ya gotta find a store
          course Dr. B. is right
          he’s always right & that’s why Lonny & Donny went to
          West Texas Tech Community College
          cuz Dr. B. woulda give ’em D- just for bein’ natural
          & he’d make a joke ’bout Neccos� in your front pocket
          anyway we’re gonna get a poetic license
          ta allow a Hy-Vee™ store real close-by to the picture show
          what probably ain’t called Royal™ either even if they are rebuildin
          probably better pick up 2 of them licenses) /
      McDonalds™ / Stephen King
          (Burger King™?  just like a fish could be Moby Dick)
17. make lunch
          (doesn’t say what
          ya need more than one cookie
          less it’s a real big one like at the mall) /
      coffee in a styrofoam cup (java) /  grease
          (probably lard)
18. can of beer & draft
          (starved but course there wuz beer money
          guess Texas ain’t the only place) /
      some boiling
19. fish
          (allusion to Moby Dick?)
20. gum / Tic-Tacs�  / Tums� / Crisco� / food (unspecified) /
      drinks (unspecified) / something frying
21. cookie / beef
22. McDonalds™ / french-fries / ketchup
23. beer (sippin’ a brew) / Big Mac� / dos Equis
24. milk / Czech beer / English ale / Guinness� stout / Gold Fassl�  /
      simulated tea (at an imaginary tea party) / doughnut / grocery carts
          (no doubt "on-loan"
          it would take a hive a carts to hold all this tucker) /
      wiener / mustard / coffee (java) / ostrich / egg / chicken / gourd
          (all those eggs & beer / better consider the wallpaper)
25. Furrs™ / enchilada
26. disrelish
          (a kind of pickle relish or a relish tray like with radishes?) /
      apples / Big Mac� / java applets
          (Cotlets� is real good too / think they’re apricot) /
      Spam� / Pepsi Cola�
27. Rueben sandwich / mustard / tube steak
          (implied by Monica)
28. implied beef
29. meat 
          (doesn’t say what kind) /
      Hershey’s Kisses� (plain chocolate) / Dr. Pepper� / banquet   
          (should be lots of good stuff there / less it’s a Banquet� TV dinner) /   
      TV dinner
30. Coca Cola� (specifies a glass bottle) / yum yum
          (don’t say what was so yummy) /
      ice tea / fed it lunch
          (doesn’t say what) /
31.     (I gotta tell you
          half the time people in that book ate squidburgers!)
      flour bombs
          (coulda been scooped off the road with a spatula & made pancakes
          thought I saw a banner behind that Cessna™:
Bub you been blessed by the best / bye bye / Byelo-Baptists Bombers
          they coulda also got into road-kill right in through here)
32. skink soup (yuck!) / dos Equis� / fat / Dairy Queen™ / Dorritos� /
      megabytes of ram to bite
          (didn’t get this one)
33. none  
          (cupboard’s bare)
34. pumpkin / Hy-Vee™ / guacamole / implied tube steak
          (insenitive homo jokes
          students shouldn’t be exposed to these)
35. Dairy Queen™ / Kwik-Sack
          (if Sonny weren’t dead
          we could whip ’em up a webpage:
          "Hankering for a forced-meat?  Get yours quick at Kwik-Sack") /
      Corners™ / beer / cows
36. white-on-white (rice?) / hot biscuits / chicken-fried steak / Dr. Pepper� /
      okra / McDonalds™ / chitlins / links / Bologna sausages / forced-meats
          (is that real? 
          didn’t explain but it looks pretty sexual) /
          (think that’s wurst / could be from New Braunfels) /
      hogs’ haslets
          (you’ll have to look that up / I’m ’bout ready to puke) /
      quails / teals / turkey / cheese / Jack In The Box™ / Olean� / habenero /
          (hope ya went & got those Tums�)
37. chicken / dog-eat-dog / onion / devils eating people
38. tacos
          (hope they didn’t put that teeny little dog in) /
      tequila / cyber cafes / Campa Cola� / Dr. Pepper�
39. chawbacon / English brew / oatmeal /
      shit jelly / cow pie / Coke� / shit sandwich (extra large) /
      pickle / lettuce / deviled haslet / barbecued shit
40. rabbit smoothie / Keebler� cookies / milk / Miracle Grow�
      Yoplait� Teletubbie� pink yogurt / McDonalds™ Happy Meal
41. duck / gizzard / meat / cookie
42. bubble-gum / Dr. Pepper� / candies (unspecified)

conspicuously missing:

water / wine / bread
     (I was huntin’ the bread of life there for a while weren’t you? 
     biscuits is good but they ain’t the same
     did ya know Egyptians lived on bread / beer & onions?
     ask Duane)
seal flipper pie / gravy
a can of dog food
     (a good one like Pedigree�)
maybe a banana
     (somebody says it’s the perfect food)

     think I could turn this in ta home-ec?)
     (nah stick with a trailer)

Texas place names

Archer City
Corpus Christi
Deaf Smith
Fort Worth
New Braunfels
San Marcos
Wichita Falls

Bumper sticker

Trust your ISP to take you where you want to go?
Connect with the Byelo-Baptists :)

ln_alpha.gif (2063 bytes)

name00 (3055 bytes)
  glasses.gif (1729 bytes)  NAU English
       NAU Home

a-cowbrowse.gif (880 bytes)