The David/Godard Contingency

Has anyone ever noticed the resemblance between these two "auteurs"?

This Electronica Album


makes me feel all

dark and windy

and gooey inside


like Roger Moore

on a hot day during

the filming of “Man-a-Skin”


my legs become all

treacherous and

wonderful foot filling


my teeth ring

against dead friends’

memory bop


mm-bop as

the wind changes

registers


in the middle of

“The Tiny Tim

Wedding” rehearsal :)


laid out like

sticks in the wood

from the rustic


repeated thrusts

of the sunset

nightmarish gravity


of the outsourced

Chinese hiccup

learning Menudo


in the cheap

garish sunshine

of someone’s video


makes me tum

te tum all

over your car floor

Naychur

Belief in a certain pronunciation of gawd, like when the habitants.

Naychur lunch. Naychur fayble. Naychur wagon.

If nain't your wagon, this naychur is a brother with maysure, cockluck. Pussfelt etc.

Naychure wags or lags folks brokaw bummin. Naychur has yer number. Food doodle space makes peck-a-neck lander craft.

Naychur fiddle. Naychur doodle etc. Give equal time for bro money.

The missing peg-a-leg form. Crux of naychur and dandy artwork. Crux of cave naychur paiynt. Blew chip sawlsa. This gnightmare tewl uwsed in bleu.

This naychur, naychur faint.

Synthesizer

throw down wikipedia, blushing gauntlet
a window of skittles covered in rain

a window of skittles covered in snow
this makes you, the proletariate, feel nefarious

crazy lung excercise learned in tibetan sweatshop
ok the drug drags maybe learn luddism

the look-up style gap well-informed
heavily document thusly paternables’

lilting quench-a-saurous, quench-a-pedia
learn like lovers do, subtract the cold

subtract the burrito, subtract pavel bure
from the field, grow a pair

link to this well-shoveled stylishly
quaffed blog as a learned redundancy

a hazy one-act being as we know
a hazy conjunction of villains

stomp-a-pedia lovelorn lady
writes viciously, reads tenderly

whole oligarchy or potato wall
sundried blush hovering in the hall

winona ryder is pissed, sunkist, starkist.

Synthesizer

temple body music
aphoristic techno, y’know

jungles in the round-robin coinage
boob or bob, poignancy of piano mover’s

back down driveways of candy, where we
were we robo rumor, lily lowell conductor

why not change that soup brain poop
ooh, diss gusting snow, owls commiserate

7 babies collaborated on this
functional ear infection worry

the piano is floating in the gully in a boat
some lanky gentleman serenading

remembrance of things phat
flub up partition, get fired, stump for a dole

likewise skies of perfect meal breath
a girl of echoey freckles

2 midgets sucking off a siberian huskie
in the corner, corners make a firm comeback

a lot of impounded imprezas waking
adrienne rich is all like ah, aah crap

throws keys at attendant, throws metal fingers.

You're missing me blogging about my taste in music over here.

Recycled from conversation: The equivalant of being punch-drunk for an ultimate fighter might be to just turn into some kind of panda-like very cuddly creature.

I want to try to popularize this phrase: "Yo, I'm skittles!" At first I thought it might be used in a kind of celebratory way, but now I think it would be more like an indication that one is freaking out or can't keep it together, that kinda thing.

Synthesizer

synthesizer, microwave me
give me a drug so I can make 7 babies

percolator, later Daddy
caucus my leg about a million feet

flexy accordian doobie this
silk screen a big sky, tongue some argentina

over the shoulder boulder holder
put a wet thumb on the air

record of the year, ripchord
my good yontif, zesty salsa etc.

moog marginalizer, move over
bleed through of radio wake

2 live to stymy bickle’s do
bundchen my poorish scarf out loud

cloudbusting tiny retro chicken
shove thy ninja in another direction

mother hush that fuss
dr. scholl ricky martin

move to the back of the bus.

Dr. Hauser Say


sometimes crank

"Cloudbusting"

not peter out

not break down

enjoy success

My Disordered Mind

If I could take off one booby and give it to you, I would.
I'd give the other to Sherlock Holmes, let him look for it awhile.

dude, the man with a child in his eyes!

dude, where have all the cowboys gone!

dude, the milk-eyed mender!

dude, easy breezy beautiful cover girl!

dude, your precious heart!

dude, cornflake girl!

dude, I don't wanna wait for our lives to be over!

dude, building a mystery!

dude, I need a hero!

dude, he's gotta be fresh from the fight!

dude, total eclipse of the heart!

dude, you're so vain!

dude, in the pink!

dude, god, it's me margeret!

dude, that's so raven!

dude, here's where the story ends!

dude, never is a promise!

dude, this is my night without armor!

dude, your knuckles are like little moons!

dude, it's raining men!

dude, stay (I missed you)!

dude, you're my favorite mistake!

dude, my name is luka!

dude, you oughta know!

dude, I only wanted one time to see you laughing!

dude, I only wanted to see you bathing in the purple rain!

I had a dream this morning where it was my duty to destroy YouTube. And then I got up and watched Elizabeth. Are they in some way connected?

Yesterday being Jack Spicer's birthday, I had the traditional potato chips with sour cream and onion dip.

Lately I'm getting peeved at people who don't dress for the weather. Last night, ok the temp did drop 30-something degrees in 12 hours but still, that's your springtime frat boy outfit, you have to winterize your frat boy ecoutrement for January bro! Don't wear a Vols cap and spring jacket.

And maybe since I last posted, I've become the type of person who blogs about spring jackets and scolds underdressd young people.

This past weekend it was wonderful to see Robert J. Baumann, who brought with him fellow Kansans (is that right?) Robert Knapp, Gabe Holcombe and Chloe Jones for Woody P marathon. Highlights included Baumann's Miranda July soul-fantasy, Karl Saffran's Maximus remixes, and Karl Gartung putting me in my place by reminding me "you should never take WCW in vain". Because just prior to that I'd been shaking my fist at the ceiling screaming "Damn you Williams! Damn you to hell!" Also there was me asking how I'm supposed stir a very hot beverage with no a stick and Chuck replying "convection".

I'm doing a music blog now.

This is a picture of Close Gauge Petcock which is now available. What is it? Words. About 18 pages of them. Pure. Unadulterated. And the author is Mike Hauser, who is me. I'm soon setting up a PayPal account to sell this through, but for now you have to contact me at flabscoresbig@yahoo.com if you want a copy and I will tell you where to send $4, if you trust me.

Since you're probably tired of linking over to this thing and seeing Richard Mulligan (RIP) and his Empty Nest "I'm not comfortable with the men my daughters are seeing" look, I will say that last night I saw There Will Be Blood, and it's pretty fucking incredible. I don't normally like overtly serious American films, but PT Anderson's films encompass enough of the range of humanity that can come through the screen- frailty, vulnerability, delusion, among many other things- to pull off a film like this. And then there's Daniel Day Lewis, whose character is almost like this half-corporeal essence glaring out of the film at you. The more an actor can do with little- facial expression, posture, a menacing gait, annunciation- says something about what makes them worth watching, no? Something I've noticed about PT Anderson is that his films can be both as austere as Kubrick and as open and allowable to human frailty as Cassevetes. It's always kind of a jarring juxtaposition, but jarring in a good way. I guess I'm thinking here of Magnolia which I heard accurately described as something like a huge, messy, flowering of a film where everyone ends up covered in frog blood but also of this film. And one of the amazing things about TWBB is that, unlike Magnolia's glorious messiness, there's nothing I can think of that's wrong with TWBB. I might have to see it again, after that I might not think it's an absolutely perfect film, but for now that's how I feel.

That reminds of my short stint on Empty Nest, a sort of reprise of the Trendee McDonaghee character. Only this time the character was named Chazzie. Apparently Nest creator Susan Harris had seen the erotic cake episode of Night Court and been pretty impressed with my work. So she called to say she'd written this part for me, a performance artist/provocateur who was briefly in a relationship with the character of Officer Barbara Weston, and also whom no retired doctor in his right mind would want near one of his daughters. Among Chazzie's shenanigans was standing in front of a local Arby's and rapping the menu, wearing a fake gerri-curl and a large sign that said No Blood For Schmoil. At the conclusion of that episode Chazzie is arrested by an understandably mortified Officer Weston.

As time went on however, they found they had increasing difficulty distinguishing my "space cadet" from that of David Leisure's over-sexed neighbor Charley Deitz, and after about 4 episodes had my character ship off to Poland to stalk Lech Walensa.

From a 1984 appearance on Night Court, where I appeared as Trendee McDonaghee, poetry prankster and erotic cake maker. Here Dan Fielding, played exquisitely by John Larroquette, views a "Horny Haiku" cake sent to him by my character for successfuly defending a public indecency charge.