Jason Bredle


Lately my dreams have been haunted by penises. Never before have I stood on the shores of so many seas and felt so empty. I miss your hair. How are the cherry blossoms? Describe to me the spring rain. I'm sad my cricket died. I've replaced him with a basketball I named Spalding after Spalding Gray. I saw something like this in a movie once and it seemed like a good idea. As you may imagine, Spalding and I have many, many lively discussions on a variety of interesting topics well into the night. Masturbating in one sixth the gravity of earth is fun. It feels crazy when I ejaculate. I miss your cooking. I want a Dr. Pepper. I want to play catch with a child. When I close my eyes all I see are butterflies. When I close my eyes all I see are strawberries. That shaking my hands do? It's getting worse. If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone? Love is a wet helmet. This is all an elaborate way of saying I hate camping. I can feel it. I'm on the verge of a psychological breakthrough.



I read something upsetting in a magazine. One season I ate a spoonful of salt and butter every morning at 10:00. The sports team I supported was suspended on allegations of cheating. My father was miserable but acted as if he wasn't miserable. We'd climb the fence, play tennis and swim in the country club pool after dark. It turned out he was drunk but I didn't know it. In retrospect, it was the 90's and the guy was still playing with a wooden racket. There are many clubs you could join. In some you're spanked and in others you're brainwashed through torture then loosed upon the earth. I like when someone offers me a meal and a place to stay if I'm ever in Penang.  I'm going to be so late because I have to stop at a bookstore and pick up a gigantic coffee table book of old maps. In Spanish they call a club sandwich a “club sandwich.” I wrote this, lost it, then rewrote it from the memory of having written it. What do you think so far?



There's a guy out there who likes to dangle his genitals in his aquarium. I like butterscotch pudding. It's true I've dibble dabbled in the occult philosophies. Here's a mantra: go out, go wild and do it again and again. Out there conversations about model rocketry dissolve into the night. You talk until you question how you ever got into this conversation about what kind of job you can do with no hands. I have some personal issues I really need to deal with at the moment. When there's music I make up little dances to do with the neighbor's cat. I appreciate that the cat tolerates them. Did a disembodied voice just insult my maturity? I think we're in trouble because the cat spends more and more time pacing and looking at me as if waiting for me to do something. I'm on the couch bombarding myself with incredible scents. I wish I could drink from the fountain of forgetfulness. We're running out of places to hide. We'll have to leave for another place soon. I don't want to go to that place because there's a book of evil buried there.



You forget so much and it makes me sad. I like holding your hand on the ferris wheel because it makes you happy. There's one little dude in the Gravitron. A girl with a bloody nose is escorted from the Himalaya. Tell me, do you like corndogs? What about onion rings? I had something funny to tell you but I can't remember what it was. I'm committed to living and dying in the fast lane. I want to lose my wallet on the Hellbender while the operator enjoys a fried chicken dinner with a side of baked beans and cole slaw. I want to win an enormous stuffed pig and save the lives of hundreds of goldfish. Everywhere there are lights and music and children with blue lips. Have you ever wondered what it's like to bury yourself in candy? I'm a little paranoid. If only I knew that in a few months we'll never speak again. Now's the time to celebrate. You wear white all week, you wear red all weekend. After I die, I want my friends to take my corpse to all my favorite places. I want them to begin at the carnival.





The neighbor's cat in THE BOOK OF EVIL was taken hostage by the speaker in an earlier poem.