Question & Answer 5 – Jeff Alessandreli

Question 5

But you should be making a lot of money Jeff,
you should be rolling in metaphors
and dollar bills.
If I was rich I’d buy your books every day
and feed them to my students.
Watch the regurgitate your pain.

Three questions:

1. Have you ever counted Saturn’s rings?
[The answer to this should be in the form of a fairytale]
2. Do you wear odd socks?
[The answer to this should be in the form of an algebraic equation]
3. Have you ever seen Good Will Hunting?
[The answer to this should be ‘yes, it’s the best film ever made’]

– Aaron Kent

Answer 5

The funny thing about when you die is that nothing happens. Everything keeps responding and CC’ing and driving. Not you but everything. Occurrence is a lush orchard, thick with fruit. A severe tooth ache matters much more than death. Being that it does not exist, no metaphor for death exists. Money is not a type or kind of death.

1. Once upon a time Papa was a rolling stone that kept on going, launched blue cliffside into the solemn wide sea.

2. My socks are my thoughts and I wear both quietly extravagant.

3. “It’s not your fault It’s not your fault It’s not your fault”

– Jeff Alessandrelli


Question & Answer 4 – Jeff Alessandrelli

Question 4

Last night
I tried
to hoard
the weighty
of your moon(!)

[B]ut the heaps
of never
in the heart
of our study
hung barbecued

in our cavernous
lungs (LIVER!)


Sweet little victories
reside in
discovery –
find the moon,
find Miles Davis,
find broken arms.

Don’t you despair
at family
gathering dust
under the tone[-]arm
of some old
broken turntable?

We never speak,
Jeff, we only talk.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 4

Q: Why don’t I make a lot of money?

A: You do not do what other people want. (A victory-less antihero, no?)

Q: What do they want?

A: Another person I hate is time, fatherly, in a family way, the discovery that you’re a different person from moment to moment, place to place.

Q: It’s a victory of some sort though, no? One gibboned with unintelligible despair and the physicality of relief. Age is a type of money. Allows the—

A: I do not want to grow old, gathering dust in my heart’s multi-chambered ventricles. Thousands of—

Q: You’ve an ego on you.

A: We only speak in these words and sentences. In a silent way, bluster isn’t talk.

– Jeff Alessandrelli

Question & Answer 3 – Jeff Alessandrelli

Question 3

I’m homeless in antique shops, no sunlight,
where the clocks tick down to haiuken.
The eyes of the oysters behind the manicured
cabinets lock my jaw shut. I can’t scream
for the Kraken’s arrival, or write a PHD
about Godzilla. (Even legendary sea monsters
sell their souls to alcohol companies).
Solstice has us running from the moon –
both moons, one Q times smaller than
the other. How many do you see at night?
It hurts to shed owl feathers under lost words,
and build lego into stairways. Sue moths, Sue moms,
Sue mum. Sew krosses into loaves of bread.
I’m infinite in antique shops – here the tablets
don’t write pikatrapp on canvas.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 3

To a hoarder
love is just
another form
of possession,

a savoring soon
to be thought about
only for possession’s empty,
enormous heart.

Gathering dust,
true love’s
loss of self,
and I antique

into silence,
my unlust
its own solstice,

These piles of forever,
piling up,
just say it, say some—

The moon!
Weighty carriages of the moon!

– Jeff Alessandrelli

Question & Answer 2 – Jeff Alessandrelli

Question 2

Somme / ambulance / somnambulant
lock my eye / I / Kendrick’s butterfly
my room / our room / room to breathe
brother / sister / hidden in Redruth
quality assurance / has no definition / blank
prozasin / promethazine / weird dreams
do you / Jeff / dream of words
a rainbow / cut open / sharpened knife
the charms / rock our genes / in fitful sleep
this world / I love / Elliott saying yes
map / maap / maapmaap
drawing crosses / kross’d sleep / krossdeath
fade the pixels / picture melts / pictorial
häfttack / cover me in tacks / pins and needles
valerian / valium / vahalla

– Aaron Kent

Answer 2

To be alive
is to fetishize

its invisibility, present
only in its absence. Mapping
the months, Gregorian

calendars were once
sun-drenched Mayans

were once nameless
nations skipping stones
across every lake’s surface,

counting the instants
between each eternity’s
flightly stutter.

(Darkly, I’m sleepwalking
in a daydream
comprised solely of nightmare.

And blood,
I’m addicted
to my blood.)

The Yeah Yeahs
backing Kendrick Lamar
opening up for Elliot Smith—

Just because I imagined it
doesn’t mean
it didn’t happen.

(Kris Kross, Kris
Kross, Daddy
Mack, Mack Daddy.)

– Jeff Alessandrelli

Question & Answer 1 – Jeff Alessandrelli

Question 1

Apparently I died some sixty
years ago. At least that’s what
my brother will have me believe.
I picture him awake oh
eight hundred hours. All six and a half
foot of him, desperately rehashing
my life. With his legs crossed
somewhere near his tits, he tries to fight
the sun in name only, humiliate the enemy
verbally. He has Nike pumps,
is playing for the away team. Hopes
that five dollars and three quarters
is enough to pay his way. I feel like phoning
him, telling him to go ahead
erase my history, kill my humanity,
I watched him walk into the world,
straight into an empty chamber. Blood isn’t thicker
than water, it’s just a different
colour. How do your family see you, Jeff?
Are you left behind by their rapture?
Or do you embark with them? I’ve seen
my brother’s comet streak
and I don’t wish to jump aboard.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 1

I live in an airless room,
a yearbook photo,
a sock puppet
blossoming with holes.
The room’s silence
is predictably suffocating,
full of judgment—
but it’s a pleasant stifling
one I’ve grown
used to. You can
pick your friends
but not your family
and this lack
I’ve made my own,
all my own.
I don’t want money
like my sister
or fame
like my brother
or glory
like my son—
I just want
to be whole.

– Jeff Alessandrelli