Life raped my mother. I mean it planted a kiss, fucked her silently and ran, though she battled death like a Trojan. Her laugh, wit and bones float in the sky like exhaust; misty black in life but now invisible. During her time on earth I was a coke slut, but today what I’d do for a minute with mom and her red-brown hair. As a daughter, I envision her and breathe- it’s the only way to connect. I learned […]
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“The Female Lenny Bruce”- The Greenwich Village Press
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Lust swelling beneath your tweed, crying as you stare from a paper mache balcony, you sing the wrong opera and I hear every word. Your heart pours out, like we vomit humiliation, I inhaled your childhood and now you are pregnant with illusion. Don’t we fall in love with the most vicious of rivers? They rage into morning and torture weeping rocks. Blindness lights your earth, wine sends shocks to your fingers, you wait until closing for me, the exquisite […]
Categories: Poetry • Tags: Locus Media Gallery, Poetry
Dara snuck into my heart through the back door. Cuban and Italian, she was dark like the wrong side of the moon, a devout coke addict who drank a pint of Scotch a night. She catered to my every desire, hugged me like a bear. It’s living hell to love a vampire when you’re a morning person.
Categories: Prose, Uncategorized • Tags: Burlesque, naked performance art, NY Burlesque, NY Press, Performance art
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
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I am afraid to wake up that one spastic morning when the lump in my throat will have spread to the crack of my ass. Roz Abrams is on MTV. She is firm-chested cancer Eye witness death Until sleep releases its gas. I will wish I had shed one more tear When the doctor looks up from my lap And says, “Insurance is an illusion.” I will fantasize about his oral love while he writes my prescription for suffering. The […]
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In hours owned by the devil My love defies gravity Though my eyes are downcast On the bartender’s fly Your name carved like a drunk fuck’s skin In every fluorescent hall way I stumble up the stairs Like frantic graffiti Days are torched with a clumsy match I am half cocky arsonist And half prescription drug movie star These are simply bureaucratic mistakes The people I love Criticize everything they take My liver beats like a heart I unbutton myself […]
Categories: Poetry • Tags: Locus Media Gallery, Poetry, Soho art galleries
Married to the typewriter keys, the divorce is bloody as I lie in bed like a suicide pill that won’t go down and can’t throw up. Macy’s won’t let me write. Viacom thinks I cum fruit punch. Hollywood keeps cutting my hair and I look like Juliette Binoche, except too short and sad. Outwardly unartful, painters blow away chalk like they’re kissing between my legs, or sawing at my wrists, or beating my eyes after I shined your jewel and […]
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A shopping cart of fire urinating in my mouth. Your marriage. Hunger every two hours, volcano hunger. Your marriage. Fresh newspaper smelling like murder. My poetry. Black water color swimming away under thick white house paint. A man I lusted for while on too many prescription drugs. Petroleum spilling into oceans of friends, them swallowing as I suckle on my dead mother’s chest, grasping for your hand in a limousine. A patronizing psychiatrist.
Categories: Poetry • Tags: Park Slope Poetry Project, Ted Kazinski
Reading of poem “Remote and Great,” published by ABC No Rio. Remote and Great I know I am dusty and strange, emerging from the Mexican plane, sweet from heartbreak like their chocolate, foolishly craving you as my pelvis kisses the ceiling. I am a dusty lover. I know I limp under God, though when I strut home, men admire my seesawing hip bones. I limp only when I remember you. I know the world has no notice of […]
Categories: Video • Tags: ABC No Rio, New York Poetry
Prison is torture for your pride. The most frightening part for me was when the cops broke into the apartment. They entered like studs onto a beach. I was giving a nude “massage without a license” to an Asian man, who, come to think of it, did explode into a smug grin when I oiled his groin. The buzzer rang obnoxiously. “What the fuck?”Aggressive male voices were outside the door. I opened and three Popeye-the-Sailorman types pushed the door and […]
Categories: Prose • Tags: Comedy, Laura D., New York Press Underground Comedy
The internet is a horrible invention. It’d be one thing if Google was a portal to your dead parents or an app called “Waterboard a Banker” or if FaceBook scrolled jealousy updates, but instead, liars strip in its smoky cabaret. Videos, pictures and, of course, tweets written in black on a lily white screen are all shit out of a collective ass. Tweets about everything from China to religion to underwear are rarely wise, just hyped: they’re a list of […]
Categories: Prose
Life raped my mother. I mean it planted a kiss, fucked her silently and ran, though she battled death like a Trojan. Her laugh, wit and bones float in the sky like exhaust; misty black in life but now invisible. During her time on earth I was a coke slut, but today what I’d do for a minute with mom and her red-brown hair. As a daughter, I envision her and breathe- it’s the only way to connect. I […]
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Mr. Lick, a rebel astrophysicist, is so pissed off at the 1%, he joins a terrorist organization online. Episode 3: The Botox Burlesque Episode 9: Obnoxious Park Slope Yuppie Yoga
Categories: Video
“So cutting edge, she’s cut in half.”-Village Voice “Oh, we follow.”-NY Observer Live Performance @ Soho PlayHouse:
Categories: Video • Tags: Comedy, Female comedienne, New York comedian, Performance art, underground comedy
Laura Dinnebeil