Tuesday, March 31, 2015

6549. REMONSTRATE TO DEMONSTRATE

REMONSTRATE 
TO DEMONSTRATE
I can tell you how it is : the fat lady with the big apron
on, she will continue singing over her stove. Three
children will be incessantly running up and down the
stairs in a boisterous form of apartment-hallway indoor
play. No one will notice as Mr. Trenmant stumbles home
again only slightly drunk, with the bottle still in the bag.
He ambles slowly, not so sure, but ably enough, up the
same stairs the kids race down. Second door at left, third
floor. He's dazed enough to notice nothing. This sort of
building has no elevator. The Greek guy, Theopolus, on
the ground level will watch all this carefully, while cleaning
the black and white tiles of the classically-spaced mosaic
flooring he remains so proud of. He did the entryway
himself twelve or so years back. Mr. Theopolus remains
sort of the lobby's, and the building's, in-house mayor
and enforcer of things good. Alone. His wife, Marita, is
dead. His son, only sometimes here, Gerantus or something
like that (hard with the accent to tell) is a machinist at a
shop in the Bronx. Usually, by Sundays at least, he's here 
so they can eat together. They get along OK. On second
floor 2C, Mrs. Cruleitsky remains alone, never much to
venture out  -  though her constant soups seem to scent 
the place with something. No one really minds, but the 
smells are not always so good. Just sometimes. She
manages a basement laundry room run once or twice 
a week, where she idles her time nosing into everyone
else's business and time too  -  How come? How?
Why? When? Many of the sorts of questions no
one wishes to answer  -  'none of her business, 
really, not hers at all, the snoop.'

6548. FORECAST ABC (oh fuck, how little I know)

FORECAST ABC
(oh fuck, how little I know)
The sternwheel paddlewheel whatever it is just ran
over a kid  -  I swear I saw him swimming in this
big muddy water, and the paddles caught him, 
flapping his broken head like a baseball card
on kid's bicycle spokes. Wheels of fortune and
everything else  -  the pitter-patter of mom and
dad already better get started making another kid
if they want a replacement. I swear; I'm telling 
you what I saw. And no man can lie on the river.
-
Newsmen come down here, they say, to report  -  
they bask and they revel in every death and danger 
they can find. Lead with blood and gore, that's 
where the glory is. 'If it bleeds, it leads', 
the guy from Colorado said. Sam
Pekinpah redux.
-
So, by the time I get to Phoenix she'll be
rising. But that poor kid sure won't be.

6547. BILLY'S UNDER THE LANDFILL

BILLY'S UNDER 
THE LANDFILL
'My heart will never mend, I can't be whole without you,
where are you now, my sweet love, Billy?' She was
sayng that pretty convincingly, I overheard. Standing
right next to her in the photo line, I wasn't sure of
anything : I did remember that crazy Russian lady
in Brighton Beach, that section of the city where
they all dwell. She took one look at me, asking 
me for money, as I passed. Before I could even 
 respond to her presence, Jesus K. Rist, she was
off and running. Russian expletives, I think,
had never sounded better  -  and they were,
again I think, directed at me.
The, another time, at Wallabout Bay, in Brooklyn
by the old navy yard, the same thing happened. This
time I gave it right back  -  I think it's a Russian scam,
trying to embarass people or something, outsiders
anyway, shaming them in to giving out money
so just to shut them up. I turned : "Listen to me you
fat-assed mother-fucking Russky bitch, shut the
fuck up and get out of my way. Now!
-
It worked.

6546. PLUPERFECT DRAWSTRING PANTS

PLUPERFECT 
DRAWSTRING PANTS
Yes. Like I'm the dock boy for your
freaking yacht  -  bring me the strawberries
later. I feel like a geek in such landlubber
pants, and who dreamed all this up anyway?
Like a bad one, I want to go home.
-
Remember that Carl Sandburg-collected
Jamaican poem that the Beach Boys used
for some cockamamie hit in 1966?
Sloop John B? That's me. I feel so
broke up, I wanna' go home.

6545. A WORLD SO FULL OF HOLES

A WORLD SO 
FULL OF HOLES
The stars shine through them. We are captured by
the light. We wonder, as we move about, what
might this movement be  -  more light?

6544. WHY WOULD YOU?

WHY WOULD YOU?
Why would you say something like that?
I have to wonder to myself  -  it cannot be
for the audience, because there is none. Ah,
but me, I guess, for here I am reacting already.
Your wearing a fine suit and a fine tie means 
nothing much to me  -  you've made all your
money on the sly  -  quibbling with liars and
cheats as yourself. Rat-tails and slow-scams,
the monied pretense of the rich and the powered,
oh Bill Clinton himself would have nothing
on you. The ministry of saying nothing has
long ago installed his glamor as the post to
roost upon. 'Throw me another girl-salad,' I
once heard him say at a reception. Even there,
at the United Nations, no one gaveled his ass.

Monday, March 30, 2015

6543. I AM THE ENLISTED

I AM THE ENLISTED
Battered beyond means, the stately ship is 
careening on wild waves  -  sumptuous banquets
go uneaten because they won't stay still on the tables.
Waiters cannot pirouette while flying through the
air with trays; the entire place is in disarray.
If this ship goes down, it'll be the last
damned cruise I ever take.

6542. WHAT ARE YOU TO THINK?

WHAT ARE YOU 
TO THINK?
I ate my first in-car hamburger in the back seat
of my uncle's Chrysler Windsor. Must have been,
oh, 1958? First time I'd ever experienced that  -  or
heard of it. Maybe 77 Sunset Strip, or some such show,
had it too. Anyway, eating meat in a bun in a car. Whew!
Goes to show. He turned around in the front seat, looked
over at me, and said, 'Well, Gary, what do you think of this?'

6541. AVARICIOUS OLD MAN

AVARICIOUS OLD MAN
Day after day, this guy sits there with his stupid
sign about needing money, work for cash, need
cash for a train ticket home. Geez, it's enough to
creep me out  -  once or twice he's had a dog there
with him. That kind of a prop just gets me angry
back at him. Then, it also seems he's always got
some new, big smartphone thing  -  what's with
that? They get those free now for being homeless?
Such loquacious bullshit  -  just keep talking fella,
because you're getting nothing from me but questions
you'd never answer : Veteran? Of what? Where's
'home' anyway, and who wants you there? Lastly,
big spender, who pays for that God damned phone?

6540. NAME ME SOME

NAME ME SOME
Bring the dog here. Name me some other thing
to stay busy by : I do all I can do already. Awaiting
the blue bells to flower just isn't any fun.
-
Bring home the broken water bucket, it's only
leaking anyway. Wooden staves, ancient wood.
My Grandpa made that in 1910 to carry milk.
-
I can't hear you that well, speak louder. This
stream  -  rolling across these rocks with such
a flow  -  really covers over your voice.
-
Babbling brook. Gurgling stream. Whatever
those crazy old poets would have called it.

6539. START AT THE BEGINNING, THEN GO BACKWARDS

START AT THE BEGINING, 
THEN GO BACKWARDS
You may have permission, yes, to tell me
'April is the cruelest month', I'll accept
all that. It comes with little trouble, even
after this non-fortuitous March.
-
I walk along the leeward vale, looking down
at snowbuds  -  those tiny white flowers that
bloom here early. Nice. Quick...and then they're
gone : to tell a quick tale to the shepherd boy
that he soon may come back out. Then the
slow meadow turns its slow green. And,
within two fast weeks, it's over. Spring!
-
Spring! Is here! So say the catbirds and the mockers,
those southern birds with all their mimic songs. I
like their tunes  -  'way down upon the Sewanee
River', in birdtalk lingo sung. Works. Happy. Sun.

Sunday, March 29, 2015

6538. SAINTED REVERIE

SAINTED REVERIE
The tomboy is home from the mountains  -  she just
walked right in, though the door. She still sings of
the big trees and high walks, water and streams and
blue sky. I like all that; it reminds me of when I too 
was young, and would go to Vermont and never want 
to come home : Proctor Marble Works, Old Hubbardton
Road, Lake Bomoseen, and the Hubbardton Battlefield
Monument, Lake Hortonia, and Beebee Pond. So many
wonderful things. So  -   anyway  -  I know just what
she means with her reverie and joy. She's like a new
soldier, first rehashing sex with someone of 
the village she's conquered.
-
Mad doctors and scientists, together, concoct their plans
ro ruin the world : tainted water and yellowish skies,
medicated and land-locked, the crazy women go
berserk, slowly, over time, after 10 kids, and
a beast of a husband always badgering her.
'These are mis-applied credentials,' she
says, 'for this is not the man I married.'

6539. JEAN LAFITTE'S TREASURE MAP

JEAN LAFITTE'S
TREASURE MAP
So many pirates down in the cove without words
or even a scarf. They hid magnificent things, and I
only want to find but one. The treasure I was meant
to find, the treasure that defines the day of my birth,
the meaning for this life, the way of all flesh.

6538. TO THOSE FAR ANTIBES

TO THOSE FAR ANTIBES
It is here, I guess, they rest. Picasso Museum, and
everything else, the line from history's dormer leads
here. Mediterranean sun, is that? A playful distance
but from Cannes, and Nice? I should travel in such
company : nay, this dreary Eurail pass cuts me instead
through mud and blood, the muck of a hundred years 
back : warfare, teeming, with all those optimistic
young men. All dead now  -  whether bullets and
bombs or a simple old age. The figments and
the dreams never leave. The figments and
the dreams, never leaving.

6537. ANTERIOR MOTIVATIONS

ANTERIOR MOTIVATIONS
You will wish to say, instead, 'ulterior', 
but I do not care for that; I'd rather this
word here  -  meaning 'near' the front
 or head. It seems to suit me better : I 
forge these strange alliances like thoughts
of Summer winds across the bay-breeze field
of marsh-grass bending. Had I been, say, Hamlet,
I would never have touched that knife  -  either. 
Before or after, in front, or behind  -  only the
thinking near to it would have been enough.
As it is, all the captivation of the motivation 
is in the quandary it presents. I want the world
to hear me, yes, I guess, but I want it all to,
just as much, touch me ever not.

6536. BUBBLE


BUBBLE
I am the cascading film,
the rainbow of colors diminishing,
the tensile strength of a stretched 
moment. My own viscosity depends
upon your own involvement. I can stay,
then, yes, until I burst  -  for once
stretched too thin, I am gone like a wind.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

6535. THE SUGAR OF THE GREAT VOLCANO

THE SUGAR OF 
THE GREAT VOLCANO
I can be all yours : not mannered like a draftsman
making lines, but more clumsy, like a sculptor playing
with his clay. (Now goes the sun, under the wood. I
pity, Mary, thy fair face). My hive is here stacked with
innards  -  graceful bitters, but bitters nonetheless.
-
I will stack the wood. In the corner of this shed/barn,
as cord-stock, an item of this grand size should be
well-supplied. This can burn for another month,
and keep us well and warm. (Now goes the sun,
under the wood. I pity, Mary, thy fair face).

6534. SERGEANT WINSLOW BRASH

SERGEANT WINSLOW BRASH
Richard shall kill Devin shall kill
Mark shall kill Shawn shall kill
Henry shall kill Edward shall kill
William shall kill Alexander shall kill
Thomas shall kill Kevin shall kill Micheal.
-
Such is the order of the military bearing:
changeable names, no matter, fill them in.
That way of things which sets gentlemen to
sitting at tables with ale and cigars proclaiming
who won and whose maneuvers were best. The
tankard holding beer shall represent the tank
over there. The stein shall be the battlements shown
-
'Today, at long last, Priapus,
the third defensive line was found
at Troy. Those digging to seek an archeology
grand have turned instead the earth in their
hands and thereby decided, in the presence of
a priest, that here was the third defensive line.
-
Inscribed upon stone,
slab after slab, they read
these marks:
'Artemis shall slay Hector
shall slay Georgis shall slay
Demosthenes shall slay Andreas.'

6533. MY PENNYWHISTLE RUNS THIS CAGE

MY PENNYWHISTLE 
RUNS THIS CAGE
While the knife-wielding man terrorized Princeton,
I was sitting alone on a couch of mud  -  just like
Huck Finn and Jim, watching the river roll by.
Just had nothing to do : my months of faulty
disclosure and M&M's at the factory were
over. I'd squandered my last minute, and then
lit out west. Like a real man, or a varmint
at least. My rifle stock was newly waxed.
-
Every agreement we come to has a catch 
somewhere: to do this or not to do that. 
You've really got to be careful. And then
the cop peering in the window of your
fine fast car, wants to know where you're
heading. It must have been nice before
there were cops on the river too. Passbooks,
informational overload, and visas to the
very next old river-town. My, my, 
how all things have changed.

Friday, March 27, 2015

6532. BALDWIN BOTHERS CREMATION SOCIETY

BALDWIN BROTHERS 
CREMATION SOCIETY
Yes, yes, madame, it's a real place and it's a real society  -  
all over Florida. I'm surprised the owner's name isn't
Ashley Baldwin. The pall is enormous over the land,
and they vote Republican when they can. Completely
confusing to me  -  the nearness of death brings people
to a place where the sunlight supposedly makes it all
so more alive. Watch, just watch, the rise and fall of
the distant sea  -  conquerors, searchers for gold, those
after fountains of youth. All can be. The southward
lands lie fallow, awaiting another kind of entry.


6531. JACKIE KNITS SHORTBREAD

JACKIE KNITS SHORTBREAD
Did you know : when the stars are aligned, 
anything can happen? Frogs reading books, 
streams running backwards, cows jumping 
over the moon. As simple as a rhyme, it's 
just like children's time. No minutes, just
very long and idle hours of play.
-
The session men stand outside the music-loft
doorway exchanging dares and hand-pump riffs
to challenge each other again. 'I can blow the
daddio, and my brother's son is the wisest one.'
Flipping eighth notes like toasts at a gala.
-
Pork pie hats and Borsalino caps.
Borsalino caps and pork pie hats.
Once you're in the groove, there's
ain't no difference at all. And the 
dish ran away with the spoon.

6530. GRUMPLED AND RUMPLED AND READY FOR SIN

GRUMPLED AND 
RUMPLED AND 
READY FOR SIN
'Cept you can't find any these days. When everything's 
allowed, nothing really is  -  charlatans drinking rainwater 
from the spout, maybe. Even in Katmandu they're lining up
at Kwik-Check I've been told by my crippled friend at
National Geographic. Funny thing, he's qualified for nothing
at all, and they only hired him because he's lame. Head start
on the head's up, I guess. Now he takes photos of international
clowns all the world around  -  on their dollar. I'd rather the old
bare-breasted native women, myself, but those days are gone,
gone, gone, long gone. Here the bulbous clouds are lining up
all white and fluffy again  -  that too reminds me of old. The
sky used to mean something. Now it means nothing at all.

6529. IT'S TOO EASY TO BE PRETTY

IT'S TOO EASY 
TO BE PRETTY
I am drinking coffee like it's going 
out of style  -  but please don't write 
on my cup. Here in the 'Alpine Basin 
Neanderthal Connection Angular Man-Face 
Coffee Shop' being pretty is so simple : 
these expensive girls are brought  up in 
privilege and such beauty comes cheap to
them. Give me a double Estee Lauder 
espresso whip please then.
-
Some paint their eyes with blemish or lust;
others wisely forego that effort. Looking
natural is the best effect  -  well, mostly. In
the rain, the wet head and slick raincoat adds
 so much. Overhead, instead of this ghastly
radio noise, yes, I feel they should be playing
Janacek. Over and over again, Janacek.

Thursday, March 26, 2015

6528. AND WHO KILLED MINNIE DRIVER?

AND WHO KILLED 
MINNIE DRIVER?
Don't you think it would be Joel McCrea? 
Or some arrow through the head guy instead?
Where blood trickles down into the eyes of
the subject  -  blinded now by red liquid forever.
The last TV I ever saw blew up in my face.
Better that way for me, and I'm glad.
-
Have you seen Robin Hood and Maid Marian?
Have you seen Humphrey Bogart, pigging out
in the Treasure of the Sierra Madre? Gerontophilia,
by Bruce LaBruce? Como era gostoso o mue Frances.
(How Tasty Was My Little Frenchman).

6527. LEOPOLD AND LOEB SETTLE UP

LEOPOLD AND 
LOEB SETTLE UP
Killing each other was not better than this  -  
any perfect crime as useless this one. Knifepoint 
and spearhead, all the same. What'd we do, Leo, 
what'd we do? Ocular rotation brings me to 
a daze  -  so don't roll your eyes at me.
-
The mice are stretching these walls thin  -  I
hear them in the middle of the night, scurrying
their stuff around : what do mice do then that I
should have to kill them? I want not to, but am
having little choice; if they only knew.

6526. THE THINGS WE GOTTA' DO

THE THINGS WE GOTTA' DO
'At five this morning, my water broke; well, my water
bottle.' The joggers were running in circles  - madly
in circumference around the Reservoir in Central
Park. By six, the squirrels were out and I was eating 
day-old bread and -  besides eating some myself  - 
I was handing it out to those rodents who came.
They give it away, overnight, at Tavern On the 
Green  -  you can get some if you catch it right;
the timing is always different and you've got to
wait. By seven-thirty, the weakling sunlight
was painting the water  -  I say weakly since
it was a gray day, not much light going on,
and a mist like a fog with a drizzle, here
and there. It was all atmospherics. The
Park Crew guys came around in their
little green cart. They were checking
lightbulbs, but it was after dark.
I mean it was after daylight had
erased the dark, so I couldn't
figure how they were 
checking what it was
they were checking.

6525. THE HORMONAL RAGE OF THE JOCKSTRAP BOYS

THE HORMONAL RAGE 
OF THE JOCKSTRAP BOYS
'Vladimir Putin takes it all off', so the 
headline in Komsomolskaya Pravda said.
Or was it leaked? When the borders
were exchanged, the incendiary devices
were already present and in place.
That bomb that went off, it was
meant for those damned 
Chechens again. 

6524. IN DEFINING STUPIDITY

IN DEFINING STUPIDITY
All those jesters, magistrate-judges and nuns in
black costume, like things of the past brought to
life for a day, they stand around idle waiting to play :
someone here must have the script; how do we
start these up? Edicts and prohibitions, contraband
in the gutter. I have watched better acts than these
in the midst of bad sleep, talking back to no one.
-
The night has a refuge only refugees can see : the 
place where the setters set, the tired are tired and 
weary, and the last man in the calliope parade 
finally comes in  -  how they say?  - 
 dragging his tail behind him.

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

6523. HOW EVERY DETAIL ENTAILS SOMETHING ELSE

HOW EVERY DETAIL
ENTAILS SOMETHING ELSE
Sometimes I cringe : peeling the apple backwards, 
bad luck; dropping the banana skin inside-out showing, 
no good. I should die before I get to Heaven? Or must 
I get there first, only then to die? To much of a mix-up 
for my own good sense. And I simply don't never know.
-
Just today, I spent fifteen solid minutes talking dogs 
with some girl I'd never seen before  -  Rutgers stuff: 
small ring in her nostril, rounding out, and a stud 
somewhere below her lower lip. A few very random but 
bright streaks of green  -  green, mind you  -  in her 
otherwise unremarkable pixie hair. Black leggings under 
a short skirt, and work boots. Her boyfriend  -  which 
surpirsed the hell out of me, to be frank, stood around 
smiling and eating a Rita's ice. Destination : Rendezvous.
-
Otherwise, for humanity's sake, I wouldn't have known
what to say  -  but all the words came and I kept it up.
Yes, every detail entailing something else, and if I'd
ever stopped listening, then I'd have had to stop talking
too. That's the way it runs. Keep it up. Keep it going.
(Life is good, when the small talk's flowing?).

6522. HORATIO STREET

HORATIO STREET
Just as in that opening seen of Hamlet, we are all
standing around, awaiting to see if that apparition
shall come again  -  cards and checkers, dominoes 
and chess, anything stately like that will help us pass
the time. It's as, after all, almost always at night when
grand things transpire. Hie, Hie, Ho, Anon, what is this
thin figment I am seeing  -  a light like this, so faint, in 
all this strengthened blackness and night? Fie, does it
move? Is that then what I am seeing? Good God man,
shall it also deign to talk? Like a wasp, it only hovers
when about to strike! My latitude is shrinking!
-
This house shall never know another, and within it here
alone I shall make my stand  -  to hide these many nights
as need to be before the shadowed apparition becomes 
its human self again. What? No, then, what is it I am
saying? I wish for another presence? The ghost within
to become the ghost without? Around? Here? No!

6521. LOW-KEY ERNSTROM

LOW-KEY ERNSTROM
In chemistry they call it 'molecular digression', the
paring down of electrons fit the idea of great speed
through atomic space. The idea, mind you, because
such space does not (exactly) really exist. The void
displacement undertaken by the atom we understand
as solid matter, though that too is not. If done right,
I really could walk through that wall. Here, watch
my coffee smoke disperse, steaming through a place
we inhabit? We shouldn't quarrel over these things.
There are schools of fools for that. Just accept.
-
If we keep it, essentially, simple  -  simple enough
anyway to understand as speed and light and sound,
then this 'world' isn't really so bad. It's just what
we do to it that screws everything up, like the
observer messing up that which he observes.

6520. HOW TO CARESS

HOW TO CARESS
Darkened blue, the streets at night appear
to be glazed with something  -  a midnight
crew is arriving to flush the roadway of
debris. Some have seen the crash, and others
the collision  -  so they claim. I see nothing.
Nor did I see anything at all. When night
comes to me I hunker in its shadows, glad 
to be unseen; and hidden like a dream I
find a surcease of sorrow, and stay on.
It comforts me to know the inner joy of
the darkness outside. I revel in seclusion.
Then, then yes, with morning light,
everything old begins anew, and I
must  -  once again  -  connive my
way to finding something true.

6519. ALL THAT I HAVE DERIVED

ALL THAT I HAVE DERIVED
All that I have derived from this life has made
me chillingly sad and frightful : the snow-sled
careening downhill, right into that tree. A child
goes flying, lands crumpled and battered. I have
tried avoiding that collision myself, but to no avail,
The forceful tree won't move...and now I am
finding the sled itself no longer has steering.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

6518. GOOD GOD MAKE ME SAD AGAIN

GOOD GOD MAKE 
ME SAD AGAIN
This world is a sickening place  -  wedged between
oil and water, a slick on the surface of nothing.

6517. INTENSIFICATION

INTENSIFICATION
Dark brown corridors and lanes of pealing
people  -  noise, wailing, and the chatter of
an odd enlistment. All this was somewhere
I had to be : Greystone, it was called.
-
Campus-like, its forested gladness bore nothing
but a sadness; bereft of honor, the face put forward
was a false effort of mirth : this is where crazy people
languished and died. A strange, brooding Victorian
building looked down on young me as I walked.
-
At eight years old, as well as at eighty. As a young
boy, myself not a member just a visitor. At the other
end of that spectrum, an old relative, each visit, just 
sat : we tried everything  -  picnic and song and food
and laughter, but nothing ever worked. Even the most
strong sunlight, blazing down on that picnic field,
went for naught as nothing ever broke through.
-
And then, just like that, I vaguely recall, we buried
her; memories, presence, strangeness and all.

6516. I INVENTED THE GLOP MACHINE

I INVENTED THE 
GLOP MACHINE
And when I did so many other things 
disappeared. Dr. Kilgallen said it was 
because of my concentration. I said I 
thought it was my Bacitracin, the stuff 
I put on a paper-cut the morning before. 
He said no, it couldn't be that because that 
was external. I knew right off what he meant.
-
Then I turned to you, first, of course, dispensing
all my friends and monsters  -  they went all
around the globe so I'd never need see them again.
Like the last men standing, or last people in the
world anyway, it was just me and you.
-
Much of this just became a joke over time : Like 
the guy who walks into the bar and goes up to a
beautiful girl, says 'I'm James Bond' and shows
her his super-special watch; 'this watch tells me
everything,' he says. 'Oh yeah,' said she, 'what's
it telling you now?' Bond says, 'It's telling me
you have no panties on'. She says, 'Well, it's 
wrong.' He looks at the watch, shakes it, and
says, 'Damn, it's running two hours fast again.'
-
Well, anyway, that came to me after I invented the
Glop Machine  -  it tries to provide a comic relief
for any situation. Yes, I said it 'tries.'

6515. GUNS FOR GURU

GUNS FOR GURU
Here I am, basking  -  the toast is
in the toaster and the kettle on the boil.
That sounds churlish enough  -  me and
Norman Rockwell making cringe machines.
I can bake the latest dough in my aluminum
foil hat  -  reciting quiet prayer, a mantra sent
direct. Nothing will ever happen, because nothing
ever does. But the busywork will keep me quiet, 
and content, placated, and happy  -  and, anyway,
one can never rush perfection.

6514. OH WELL NOW I'M DONE

OH WELL NOW I'M DONE
I've decided to speak for the nation of the dead,
those impaled on ideology without thought and
certainty without doubt. You may well be alive, 
yes, each dwindling stick of you, but you are
dead nonetheless. The hatchet of bluster has
cut down your tree of Humanity.
-
I allow : you may park your idiot car in any 
carport you choose, under any arbor you desire.
You car will never turn off, yet you will leave it,
running, while you walk about your errands and
comport yourself with devilish fever collecting
your goals. I pity your very blood as it runs
in your veins and body seed and soul.
-
There is nothing more tendentious than fire  - it
burns and seeks and consumes and destroys. That
feeling, deep in the pit of your throat, that
malicious 'heartburn' you seek to quench,
it is not that at all  -  it's the flames of your
fire consuming that soul.

6513. GOOD SAMARITAN GOES HOME

GOOD SAMARITAN 
GOES HOME
'Let me wash my hands of all this crap first, just
a moment, before we go. I get so tired of all this
rescue and booster stuff. Can't these people ever 
help themselves?' The little dog alongside me 
was walking along, looking up with that 'dog-heaven'
gaze they sometimes give. I knew already I could
understand without speaking back. We are souls
aligned to something magic, something else.
'It's only because your heart is good, I suppose,
but sometimes I swear you bring these things on 
yourself.' I spoke that back to my companion,
who now really was washing hands.
-
The world is composed of Power and Innocence;
between those two poles, shades of being exist
that have less consequence than you'd think.
Innocence always causes the problems, and
Power always corrupts itself in trying to
find, and manage, a supposed solution
better just left alone.

6512. SORRY MEN ON THEIR HANDS

SORRY MEN ON 
THEIR HANDS
With all the time in the world, there are
those nonetheless who find even their
refreshments stressed  -  can't sit, cannot
dawdle. The vacation bus of strangers
is roaring down this little street, with
its people looking out. Cameras
can see, but do people ever?
-
There was a time when each big tree
on this city street was small and just
beginning. Now that was something 
else to see, and 'd sign myself up for
that tour-guided afternoon if it ever
came to be. Cameras can see, but
 do people ever?
-
Over there,over there, this corner in
the east 60's, that was Andy Warhol's
house, uptown a bit, there that is Woody
Allen's, here's the Seinfeld Porsche garage.
Cameras can see, but do people ever?

6511. DESTITUTE MAVEN

DESTITUTE MAVEN
Quick! Jump start the mesquite, let's
get this prairie grass rolling, pack up
the swineherd and bring the cattle in.
The only place safe now is Tahiti.
We're doing a Gaugin again.

Monday, March 23, 2015

6510. REFRIGERATOR INSULATOR

REFRIGERATOR INSULATOR
This life has amazing twists and turns, even to this
day. I get dazzled by things; somehow the dumbest.
Just yesterday, walking past the short front of the
Longbow Tavern, this fifty-fifth street guy comes
slowly tripping out crowing. Curious, always, I am.
I sit at a nearby bench and  -  sure enough  -  here
he comes, Mr. Rambling Technique himself, and
sits him down. Happens often enough, I'm immune.
-
When I was a kid, there was a TV guy named Foster
Brooks  -  Saturday-night, variety show stuff. He always
portrayed, in comedy skits with the stars and guests of
the evrning, a drunk  -  a sot, an inebriated talker with
long, rolling drunk sentences and wobbly head and eyes.
I always loved watching him. This guy was just like that.
-
Seems he had me a story to tell to. 'D'ya know how I
made all my money?' he said, and then proceeded  -  in
his way (I won't reproduce, I won't try again, all that
drunkman's funny ways with words and slurrings), but
needless to say the story was gold, and the story he told.
-
He'd made his money in refrigerator insulation, a
refrigerator insulator  -  try saying that nicely when sober, 
then play with it as drunk. Go ahead. I'll wait, and it'll be
worth the waiting. He proceeded : 'every refrigerator, you
see, behind that metal exterior has wads of insulation  -  a
form of fiberglass weave mostly, stuffed in. My company,
yes, my very own, we supplied all that to manufacturers
everywhere  -  it weighed you know, it seems, almost of no
weight but it's not  -  we'd sell by the hundred-weight to
refrigerator assembly plants. It was a killing, maybe 34,
38 cents a pound back when to me, I'd contract and resell
and deliver sometimes upwards of 85 cents a pound to them.'
-
And that's how he'd made his fortune, way back, whenever,
or  -  as George Harrison once put it  -  all those years ago.