Jeff Harris

was having problems with the hall smell in my old apartment. old obese cat-owning neighbor is a slob. so found a solution in moving a floor below.

newer carpet, more closet space in the new apt helped make the desire to move more resolute.


trapped in this dense and prohibitive world
like duct taped into a burlap sack
after a severe and most violent beating

limp and lifeless pre-corpse
waiting for the splash or bang
of the beginning of the end


sleep walking through years of
cognitive poverty and sensory underwhelm
conserving resources until necessity diminishes

alone in vision of world satisfaction
and greed abatement
eyes crusted shut with loath of it all



Rats rotting on the streets of Bethesda
Guts hurting with desires
Mood as ill as night in winter
As I hurl face-first into a sort of madness

Alternating like current between
Not caring and caring too much
We bet our reputations on
Our integrity and merit
Or so we are led to aspire

The risks taken include
The possibility of relationships
Exploding like land mines
Crippling and killing indiscriminately
Que sera

Just when I began to settle into this place
I discover no rugs – or even floors below
Just empty spaces to hover in
Dead and alone again
Desperate from necessity


Ty, my fellow Californian-

Thanks for the great lunch, the multiple CDs, but most of all for just being you. Having a Claremont guy around to keep the east coast in prespective was extremely helpful and comforting.

Give me a buzz if you get out to LA for a visit, work or otherwise.

Peace. "You check out anytime you like, but you can never leave..."

Mike B.

Ty Hardaway
08/16/2002 12:45 PM

To: All HCR Bethesda
Subject: Thai Time

To those this applies: now



The Village Voice: Hot Spot: Dirty Pornos: Doing the Robot! by Johnny Maldoro

at some point, can't you just call it? i think there's a mercy rule or something.
this week has been a total bust. nothing gained. no output.

anne: sick sunday and monday.
bren: 4 month check up on tuesday plus shots.
me: sick on wednesday and thursday.
oreo: old, cranky but, loving

have to reschedule car, doctor, dentist and housekeeping appts. also, several work meetings postponed or cancelled.

it's as if the week never existed. maybe it's the heat or the humility.

and let me tell you, i haven't been sick in a very long time; not like that. perhaps since i was a teen. it was like getting hit by a VW microbus. the bug should be called the '24 hours of hell' flu.

i can't think. i can't act. i cannot do.

i have no revelations. it's like being dead for a week except there's no rest.


Arts & Letters Daily - ideas, criticism, debate

So ephemeris is simple
and coverture is hard
But contrary to the old
is-the-root-is-all-evil moral
money is everything

Unions taken as measures
of vanity appeasement
are destined to confuse
the naive and the simple
amongst the hordes

Some work some sacrifice to
thus earn their leisurely entertainment
both free and not -
values internalized from lessons learned
minds wide open from birth

Without spirituality
confidence and imagination lapse
And no bid buys peace
We bear our responsibilities
to ourselves to each other

Unfortunately our heavens
only exist in the fairy tales of
whiny baby minds
Friendship among earthlings
and the Earth is unconditional


WFMU-FM 91.1/Jersey City, NJ; 90.1/Hudson Valley, NY

i just received the prints from my New Orleans shoot
i am finding them so deeply moving and intimate
some two, three and four image sequences
are perfect in juxtaposition and in context and in composition

but, i am hopelessly depressed - heartbroken even
the shots are boldly blurry, distorted and obtuse
wholly as intended - as close to perfection as i've ever realized

but who will understand?
the first viewer declared
"you take shots of anything, huh?"

i could die
i could cry
i could quit

can i take a juried rejection
or critical misinterpretation
or the simplistic conclusions of untrained?

if they live in only my world
do they live?
MIDDLESPACE - somewhere not here

"Sometimes there's mystique, and sometimes there's nothing but the pitiful tackiness of violent death. And none of this, of course, means a damn thing to the people who die."
- Patrick Smith, Pilot

3:00 a.m. - Doylestown, PA. I have to pee something fierce. We're in the basement at Jim's because Mike's room was too warm, too bright and too noisy for the baby to sleep. In fact, she was up ever hour or so the night before. The basement solves all of the sleep issues and she's sleeping beautifully tonight. And, she's been sound asleep since around 9:30. So I fumble over Anne, rocking her all over the place on the air mattress, but being dutifully careful not to disturb the bassinet. God, I have to pee and the bathroom is all the way upstairs.

Using a borrowed mini-flashlight, I find my way up the stairs and into the guest bathroom. It's at least 20 degrees warmer up here and am I happy we chose to sleep in the basement. It is such an opulent facility. Soon, I have an impressive stream going, and the sound of the water is soothing. But, I'm still a bit sleepy so I lean my arm against the wall for support... for...just...a...mom...ent...

I awake to the most horrifying crash I've ever experienced in my life. The shattering sound is nothing compared with the blinding white flash of light. Have I been shot? Bludgeoned? I must be dead, because no one survives such traumatic crashes. Why am I looking at the ceiling? Why is everything blurry? Why am I on the floor?

Fortunately, my equipment is put away (even though my fly is still open). I am sore in many places and everything is still very blurry. My glasses are somewhere. I check my skull and feel for broken bones. I look in the mirror. I flush.

Somehow, I have fallen. Or passed out? Or just fallen back asleep? What on earth was that about? But, I didn't have to pee anymore.