Monday, May 31, 2021

13,630. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,181

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,181
(light/tunnel...no light/no tunnel)
I've probably said it a hundred
times here  -  'Life is a crackup,'
and mine never made much sense.
I've phrased it differently and, in
the sense of a writer, portrayed it
less by simply 'stating' it than by
giving examples and concrete
accounts of things which may 
have occurred along the way. 
In so many ways my life has
always been somewhat medieval:
Idiosyncratic with moments of
religion; oddball and primitive
beliefs; varied forms of serfdom
and subservience; years under
the cane of stupid employment
and scratching for money; the
lack of travel and amenities; 
quite secluded presence and locus;
a small coterie of friends and
companions; small-time crimes;
lust and debauchery (some). The
bottom line, when all is brought 
to  a close, is  -  'who cares?'
-
The modern day and all its rabble
have brought us to the point of now
thinking that everyone cares and that
every little thing is important, or of
an equal importance within the now
distracted mantle of false-lace that is
draped over everyone's collar (the
lacework of a ratty reality, through
which we 'see' the reality which now
now we are given). The games now
are of valuing memoirs, retelling the
adventures of a fantastical 'youth'
perhaps. The touch of the world has
mostly been reduced to a poke and
a wink, with everything having 
become meaningless or turned 
into some form of stupid commerce.
(I've always liked Ezra Pound, and
his 'Cantos' for the pronounced
hatred of 'Kommerz' within it, both
embedded and spoken. At least there
was a guy with something on his
mind and the guts to say it over
and anew. Yes, he ended up in an
insane asylum in Italy, placed
there by the US Government, and
then tried and re-incarcerated for
many years until his death, in 
St. Elizabeth's Hospital For the
Criminally Insane, Washington, 
DC, as a pariah. Goes to show 
how, with any old trumped-up 
excuse, they can take the 'bad' 
guys off the street - after 'they'
first define who they are - yet say
that only the 'Soviets' ever did 
that). America truly reeks, and
people don't even know it.
-
I sort of coincided with a smoky
gray era of NYC that still inhabited,
in the 1967+ era, that grainy aura
of the 1940's. I admit  -  and I well
knew  -  that it was soon enough to
be gone, and quickly disappearing,
but I'd see it in places where it yet
lingered: the older and adjacent
corners of old, west Greenwich
Village, with the stooped Italian
men, in suits, talking quietly to 
their young grandsons, in an
almost 'man-to-man' format of
passing something on  -  some
vintage profile of the old; the
legacy of secrets, illicit trade,
vendettas, and the like. In those
locations, that was the norm and
all the rest was the crazy. Pound
in Rapallo? I often wondered
where he fit in, an Indiana boy
gone poetry-mad, off-kilter, and
way out of orbit as defined by the
others. Life never held any space
like that  -  at least not American
life. Where the coffee too was as
insipid as the thinking.
-
When I'd really get rolling  - while
writing or painting  -  I'd know that
spirit had taken hold of me too, and
that I was among another place and
time  -  different in quality and in
atmosphere. I knew it, sensed it,
felt in in every fiber of my being, or
whatever I was becoming anyway.
It was no longer me talking; it had
all become someone or something
other, working through me. I was
no longer a part of the ordinary 
world. Maybe a gift. Maybe just
some old, medieval, alchemy of
magic, turning a dross into some
other factored material.
-
How far along has it all come? To
the dead-end of garbage. News of
today? China now allows couples to
have 3 children, no longer just 2.
Like we need that? Stupidity leads
to the awesome sink of blindness;
people don't even see any longer
that they're being controlled, altered.
moved along, in the names of any of
five hundred false Gods. Government?
Security? Factors of Health and now
Safety? Learning gets stopped and
controlled at schoolhouse doorways?
Airwaves are filled with filth and
fodder? Pigsties double as centers
of opinion and learning? People
pretend at blasphemies without
really know that they really ARE
blasphemies? While the great and the
heavenly, about now, re-enters its
turnaround and comes back to take
us? Alas, I ramble: making no money,
cursing the day, removing myself
from ordinary things, and preparing
to leave. Oh...did they ever tell you,
you know not the day nor the hour?
-
The old saying went 'Give a man a
fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach
a man to fish, and you feed him for
a lifetime.' Along old 47th street, at
the Gotham Book Mart, the overhead
sidewalk sign read, 'Wise Men Fish
Here.' That's all gone now, and we are
in another world, probably fishless
too, though with plenty of phones
and useless information and illicit
ties to the world around us. People
just listen and obey, without even
knowing what they are doing. In
Lagos, Nigeria, the government has
made it illegal to smoke while driving.
The streets are filled, and there's a
big business in police writing traffic
violations for that infraction. They
routinely pull people over. Meanwhile
the dozens of unmasked people push
past one another through shoulder to
shoulder pedestrian traffic, routinely
ignoring, at the same time, the
government edict about not going
out unmasked. No one thinks twice
about any of it, and the silly world
just rolls along.
-
"Lagos is many things. It's New York
in Africa  -  activity on steroids. We
practically all live cheek by jowl, with
almost no green spaces. Compliance and
enforcement since the mask mandate
has been spotty, although smokers in
cars get bagged" Politicians may have
an incentive, by the way, to 'minimize'
the Covid crisis. But, paradoxically,
and at the same time, to maximize
it as well,  There was, both sought
and received, billions of dollars in
in foreign assistance to 'minimize'
and combat the virus. What  it all
comes down to, whether in NYC,
Lagos, Nigeria, Ghana, or anywhere,
is both the 'blindness' of a populace
to get pushed along and not see what
is being done to them, and the pure,
filthy, falsity and ignorance by which
our depleted and degenerated lives
are controlled today.



Saturday, May 29, 2021

13,629. INSUBSTANTIAL CONGERIES

INSUBSTANTIAL CONGERIES
The last paragraph, just before the ending,
that's the one that caught my eye; ripped
it from the socket, in fact. So swiftly,
with such an idea, I was propelled from
my little seat. Previous to this, like James
Merrill, I spoke with the dead?
-
I never know what to do with picture
books. The old Unitarian graveyard in
Dublin, PA? Those photo lists of the
1950's and 1960's poets? Baseball stars,
in 1924? All they make me do is shrug.
-
They day that the sound of one hand
clapping is an echo? They say that
cardiograms can be read as words
in another language? That Milton was
here before Adam? No, none of this
can be, and we all know that  -  even
Blake at Felpham Manor. Butt, still,
he got his work done.
-
No one can just leave the world:
there's always something left behind.
We remember the glimmer, the shadow,
the thought, the mind.

13,628. JEREMY BENTHAM GO HOME

JEREMY BENTHAM GO HOME
If it's all a flat and even ground, we
unify the predilection for differences;
is that not so? One plane on an
even space? 
-
I want to call you out on that.
Myriad waves of action are
always underway and I am not
so sure the guiding hand keeps
watching. Are we not astray?

13,627. AS THE BAKERY CLOSED DOWN

AS THE BAKERY CLOSED DOWN
First one, than the other. I noticed the
country was lost when all the little folk
began losing their ways. Small shops, and
those cauldrons of craft and invention by
which people once went : the baker, the
miller, the cooper, the blacksmith, and
now even  those auto-giant cavalcaders
have replaced the small roadside dealers.
Face it, there's nothing left, and charm
has left the building. Hello Walmart,
and hello Chinese buggery.
-
Maybe if Whitman was still around, a
'Waltmart' could be a cool thing: feeling
the fruits and vegetables while an Allen
Ginsberg sings. 'Oh America! We are lost!
I see the match of Moloch's mad fires
coming down from the hills, scarring
the land, and torching all things!' Here
lies our Mr. Whitman Bard. I've seen
the best minds of all generations, piled
now in the scrapman's yard.

Friday, May 28, 2021

13,626. INTENTIONS MAKE GOLD

INTENTIONS MAKE GOLD
Talk about...viruses? The otherwise
faceless facebook police have gotten
into me again. Blocked for intemperate
timing, for 'violating community standards,'
which seems another way of saying I've
once more bucked the crowded trend
to enter nothingness with their blandly
censored token. I will sit back once
more, awaiting the mating of their
pale illogic to yet more 
of the things I abhor.

13,625. CONSULT THE DIRECTORY

CONSULT THE DIRECTORY
In amazingly contradictory ways, I can
watch you sing; a mixture as strange as
the very world itself. Disrobe or change
Clothing. Walk down the street alone.
Speak to someone, on your telephone.
-
Here's the apple that went to Albuquerque.
There's the lampshade of Geronimo. In
this half-light of a sutured time, it all
looks the same to me.

Wednesday, May 26, 2021

13,624. LET'S BE STRAIGHT

LET'S BE STRAIGHT
Let's be straight: I don't 
believe a word you say, 
and it's never going to rain
again. Your claim to being a
weatherman runs thin. Isobars
have more facts that you do.
-
You've parked some foolish
car by the gate; a weather-track
radar dish mounted on the roof?
What are you, some other sort of 
Scranton fool too? Even the yard
dogs are laughing at the you.


12,623. YOU CARRY A FORK AND SPOON?

YOU CARRY A 
FORK AND SPOON?
You carry a fork and spoon like I
wear a pencil and pen. That pretty
girl at the table handed me still
another  -  some advertising pen
with drivel about renting cars. Then
she came over, to smile. Again.
-
Man, I could have written a book,
right then, just to use up some ink
so she'd have to come back. Just
like that, another magical moment
no old man should encounter.

13,622. NO NEED FOR THAT

NO NEED FOR THAT
The last guy met on 24th street
was a dead man with a needle in
his eye. Extreme west, extreme 
needle. Some people go out hard,
just the way they came in; others
soft like the baby they were.
-
The cavalcade of extreme measures
wears a long cloak of historically
dubious matter : crusades, massacres,
and the rest. The way mankind gobbles
that stuff up is funny; those 12th street
students walking with their books.
-
Like lefty stalwarts of an indignation
they'd never know, they pounce to
banter about rights and wrongs. Idiot
edges of the very same coin; they
chow-down instead on implemented
foods and money sent by Mama.
-
I used to sing in dulcet tones.
Now I simply scream.

13,621. NEEDING TO TURN AWAY

NEEDING TO TURN AWAY
The stringbasket has a needle in its
arm-rest, and it gets me every time.
I can maybe float for miles with some
small blood dripping down  -  but
nothing more than harm will come
to me. It's been like this for years.
-
When Planet Deburon was excluded
from our listing, there was little time
to learn to breath that other strange
air; but before long we did; having
no other chance. Though it wrecked 
our celestial nerves, we all settled
to different places. And. I. Chose.
Earth, (no mystery there, Earthgirl).
-
Changing patterns of thought and
word was always a difficult thing,
like trying to switch a saliva in the
self-same mouth. Disgusting as
simile, but useful as thought. To
get across my strange idea?
-
Never such a countdown loomed.
Does Earth know it too is doomed?

13,620. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,180

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,180
(a finely-woven game, pt. 1)
With always somewhat of a
fog around me; I always had
to drift through some sort of
morass in order to reach at
least the 'form' of a clarity
with which I could perceive 
or recognize other things. They
probably have a name for all 
that crap nowadays  -  syndromes
for this and for that being about
as prevalent as temptations on 
a street corner. Perhaps that's a
general condition of life for
everyone, but the way the iron
fist of the medical industry has
itself pressed down now on
society, unless you're in on some
sort of pill or treatment program,
'you ain't nowhere'  -  as they say
in the ship's map room.
-
I was never 'classy' in any way,
yet all through school and the rest
of that garbage, the idea of being
classy and swank was pushed, as
the end result of good learning and
as proof of proper breeding. It was
all such pretense, and the most basic
form of 'breeding' any of us ever had,
along Inman Avenue way anyhow,
was maybe a pinch and a feel at the
local power-zoned movie house or
drive-in (yeah, they were still around),
and the good bet was most probably
that that was the same way your
parents probably conceived you too.
But no one ever let on. They all wanted
you to pretend to be a Vanderbilt or a
Dreyfus. Imagine that! In the supposed
land of the free and home of the brave,
all the mainstream idiots posted their
goals around images of the rich and
the wealthy, and then the slobs would
televise crap like Daniel Boone or
Westward Ho! or some other anti
Indian drivel and tell you, in the 
same breath and probably in the 
same classroom, how America had
been boldly settled by rough and
ready individuals intent on staking
their climbs for rough and rugged
living and leaving all the old-world
stuff behind. Then, somehow too, the
history guys would get to Andrew
Jackson's presidency and have to start
explaining how it unsettled everyone
because he allowed the rabble INTO 
the White House for his inauguration 
and they swamped the place and ate 
all the food and almost caused a riot
upsetting all the false-rich landowners
and upper-crust political types who'd
been living their own American lie on
the backs of those same reprobates
whom Jackson had let in. Kinda' sounds
pretty familiar, all this. This country's
a real barrel of monkeys, I'd say.
-
If the real message of 'America,' as
it was taught, was about classlessness
and self-attainments for happiness
and personal satisfaction, why then
the constant squirming for the 'proper'
and the right and the 'correct, as if we
were all still settled on attaining some
sort of more-royal caste. I can remember,
whenever it was, Princess Diana, first
with all that ridiculous wedding crap
with Prince Charles, and then with
her cool-estranged (and mysterious)
tunnel death, the paroxysms of anguish
and despair that the stupid media and
so many regular Americans were all
caught up in the tragedy' of losing a
Royal (??). Excuse me, but we don't
have that crap here, remember. There
was a declasse pizza place in Metuchen
at hat time  -  Roberto's. The place used
to launder newly-arrived Italian kitchen
help in and out like tomato sauce from
a tap. Every 3 weeks, a new crew. And
an owner (dapper guy, always natty), 
and some slovenly real guy as the 
pizza cook, and for that weekend of
the Royal Wedding everyone's eyes
were glued to the TV, in the place,
and the endless broadcasting the 
wedding. People ate it up like IT
was the pizza. Why?, I wondered. 
How crazy was that?
-
Only later did I learn a bunch of 
stuff that proved to me that none 
of it mattered and that the entire 
game  -  all the angles and all the 
sides, whether Communist, or
Capitalist, Bolshevik, Nazi, 
whatever, all came from the 
same place and all operated
together in a finely woven game
of inter- connected overlappings 
and money kingdoms involving 
people's minds  -  all so as to 
control and lead the idiot rabble;
having them assume that, in their
pathetic, assumed, choosing they
could actually make a difference!
Or that there was one at all!
-
Things always change, and things
always get mangled. Ideas, I mean.
Consider the 'Mind,' and how people,
over the years, have tried to explain 
it. In 'mechanical' terms it went from,
first use of similes and metaphors
of things that made magical sense
in their own day, and with the most
'complex' machines of the day: First
the brain was supposed to be like
an immensely complicated set of
gears and levers. Then it was as
hydraulic pipes, then steam engines,
then telephone exchanges, and  -
now that computers are seen as
our 'most complex' and impressive
technology, brains are said to be
computers. But this is still no more
than a metaphor, and there is no
more reason to expect the brain
to be a computer than a steam
engine. What it all comes down
to is 'control'  -  the long series of
information travel and information
influence that gets set into us to
align and then underscore the
societal assumptions of any day,
but always for the benefit of
those same hidden powers who
split and decipher, mangle and
separate all these issues (supposed)
and lead people to think they are
taking sides and entering into an
active 'decision-making' process,
when, of course, they are not. 
'The State is more concerned 
to contain its people than to 
move them forward.'
-
Before I close this dour chapter,
perhaps a bit of humor will help.
Along the way in reading, as I
recall, reading deep into the 
Pushkin and Dostoevsky eras
of Russian Petersburg writing, 
I always (still) can recall the 
great fun I got, once, when I 
read the following unwittingly 
humorous comment by some 
critic or historian of the time: 
"Voltaire, Diderot, Bentham, 
and Herder, all enjoyed imperial
patronage; they were translated
and consulted, subsidized and
often invited to St. Petersburg
by a series of emperors and
empresses, climaxing in 
Catherine the Great..." 
-
That always sounded like such
a good time, to me.

Tuesday, May 25, 2021

13,619. CIRCUMVENTING THE INTENTIONS

CIRCUMVENTING 
THE INTENTIONS
There were always intentions; while no
on ever meant to do anything alone. The
mass was the grasp of the crowd. Thus
pyramids, and thus the canals?
-
Lest, for meaning, aliens did all this.
And so we are sometimes told. Fiery
moons that only happen so often, and
fields aflame with torch-like landings 
over primitive lands.
-
Gazelle-like, we leap, while more
meaning to weep. What is this chatter
that we all must inhabit? A dream, but
so weak that we cannot but let it be?

13,618. THE CLOCK ON THE WALL

THE CLOCK ON THE WALL
Now is time the temperate thing? Is
that how we intend it? Walking outside
in a sweaterless jacket when it's 51 degrees
amidst new-morning trees? Perhaps that's
the token sing-along we've been wanting.
-
Invisible to us is the swank of time, the
idol in his dinner-jacket, the lady in her
mid-life gown. A mis-shaped, misplaced
balance ball beneath two wiggling feet.
(Let no one press too hard to conquer
for he will only meet defeat).

Monday, May 24, 2021

13,617. IMPOSSIBLE SEAMS

IMPOSSIBLE SEAMS
Those impossible seams make the
visible seem like an illusion projected
afar. Things up close keep moving away,
Five months the leaves lose green and
three months an ice age deems its own
near-permanent arrival. How does this
go that it can seem so?
-
Were I the master tactician with that
dwelling in the sky, would I not by now
have readjusted things? Perhaps that none
need die, or that the world can run forever
and on its own new path to perfection?
Hither the morning's blue sky cometh?

Saturday, May 22, 2021

13,616. THE SHAMBLING OASIS

THE SHAMBLING OASIS
When the few cars go by at night
all I hear is the distant whoosh of
arriving tires and then some light.
Near approaching then here and
past and then far off again. Like
the glimmer of galaxies passing
on a starship parade. It all makes
me aware, but I end up afraid of
everything anyway.

Friday, May 21, 2021

13,615. CHARITY

CHARITY 
I gave my moustache at the
office, and I donated my lemon
to the lemonade fund. My pencils
I donated to Apple. What else do
you want? What would you have
me do? This entire world is now 
killing me : memories, times, and 
circumstances too. The hospitals
act like libraries, and the libraries
are filled with quacks. There are
people in the picnic garden acting
as though they were at the racetrack
instead; taking odds on survival
and odds on the dead. Charity?
It begins at home?

13,614. AMALGAMATED FACILITIES?

AMALGAMATED FACILITIES?
For such a normal heading I simply
followed my intiutive map; not that
ending up in Antarctica was any big
feat. But as it went I made my way
back by both calendar and stars. And
now I am home to you. 
-
Let me reorient my manners.
Turn my speaking inside out.
Refresh any paraphrase I may
have been attempting. I stand
here, humbled by all events.

13,613. DIRE STRAITS TOO?

DIRE STRAITS TOO?
The Straits of Hesperus are paved now 
and traffic flows smoothly while the
rational man is held happy. They don't
give one much choice here, except the
idea of choosing itself; which is easy
enough to say. And most men are
fooled by that alone.
-
We live in a one-digit world, it seems,
and all occasions for wonderment or
awe, creativeness and elevation have
been removed. There is little now but
lice and decay on the frozen-cake platter
we dine from. Celebration?
-
Once Humankind was shook and
unsettled by the disappearing sun  -
which then reappeared and calmed them
again. Until something else came along;
until some else, and then...
-
How do we live, in this iron-hand vice?

Thursday, May 20, 2021

13,612. MAJOR COFFEE

MAJOR COFFEE
Once I learned of the Civil War,
I had a far better understanding of
what wild living meant. Sad, yes,
but wild. Men with balls in their
groin, or eyes blown away; tops of
heads blasted, limbs blown astray.
-
I never knew what the story about this
nation was : an early break-up, some
confederation that could never work.
Some men in chains, women and kids,
everyone having black babies for someone
else's domestic gain. Estates and manors
on a pulchritude of stolen lands.
-
No one really answered for anything.
Then today I heard someone say, 'Made
your coffee,' and I swore it sounded to
me like Major Coffee; some flaming
madman, a lost veteran, just after
The Civil War when this all had
to be put back together.

Wednesday, May 19, 2021

13,611. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,179

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,179
(it's been a long life, scoundrels)
I was talking with someone
the other day, the present day, 
contemporary stuff, no past
reminiscence here. The result of 
that conversation left me, as
I put it, 'feeling that all of
life is but a hoax.' I'll try to
encapsulate this here.
-
We have, for starters, a pear
tree on our property, about
50 or 60 feet from the house.
Last year it produced, perhaps,
10 pears, small sized but good.
This person, last year, said
that the key to a good fruit-tree's
production is proper trimming
and cutting back, and that those
left to grow, wild or untrimmed,
eventually simply diminish
their output  -  to fewer fruits
and a more gnarly, good for little,
tree. OK, I figured, makes sense,
though I'd never really thought
about it. So this year, at the
prescribed time, just about at 
the turn of March/April, we
did(my wife did) trim the tree.
She climbed a little, using a 
stepladder, trimming back the 
top, and  -  as we were told  -
'all the branches that point or
are growing downward.'
By blossom time at April's
end and early May, the white
blossoms were (finally) out, 
and in a great profusion, with
the tree apparently no worse
for wear, and even better that
before. Now  -  today  -  Kathy
came and said I should look at
the tiny, little, pear beginnings
on the tree. I did! There are a
great many little, nascent, pears
taking shape.
-
That same tree guy from last year,
when I asked why this decided
difference would occur, said that
 it was all pretty simple: Through
all of Nature, when a species, (tree,
etc.) feels threatened, it oversurpasses
itself in energetic propagation, as if
the beat out the impending doom and
spread the species. He then said that,
when a tree is pruned, it thinks it is
dying and the response is energetic
profusion of new bloom and blossom,
and  -  in these cases of fruit-trees  -  
energetic output of 'fruit.'
I remembered, upon hearing that, my
old, farm days in Columbia Crossroads,
PA, when, pretty much, the same thing
occurred when I asked both Warren
Gustin (who, by the way, had a nasty,
busy, rich with nectar'd pears, on limb
and ground, and a grand profusion of
bees as well, on the fallen fruit), and
Willard Brown, my two farmer-work
neighbors with whom I worked and
commingled in farm-chores. I asked
why a cow is always producing milk,
5:30 A.M. and 5:30 P.M. pretty much.
And chickens too, always producing
eggs. The answers were both pretty
much the same. By constantly milking
the cow, poor thing, we 'fool' it into
thinking it has a baby cow, a calf, still
around. Normally the milk would dry
up some time after birthing and weaning
of the calf  -  but by constant milking,
twice-a-day, we never let the cow feel
that it's mothering is not needed. The
resultant production-milking, whether
by hand (the old way) or the then,
1970's, modern way with automated
pumping and storage, the cow is
fooled. Kind of sad, but true.
-
The same thing went for chickens
always making eggs. I forget how that
one went, but it had something to do
with taking the chicks away and then
getting a steady, confused, production
of eggs from the poor hen thinking
she still needs to make chick. Crazy
as all get-out, I always thought.
-
Which just led me along  -  you know,
yes, me, the crazed one with a million
insipid ideas  -  to think about what else
in life is foisted upon us. The normal
run of fakery, probably beginning with
early hoe-life and running right through
school. We take it all, and accept it, and
we keep producing all our stupid junk,
under the assumptions that we've got
it all right. All that 'definite' crap about
Earth and the cosmos, the dinosaurs,
the feudal societies and the earlier
civilizations  -  as if anyone really
knew or could prove their BS. Except
that they get paid to wildly propagate
and never extinguish those same old
milk-pails full of pure drivel. Yes!
Everything's a hoax!!


13,610. INFUSIONS

INFUSIONS
The selector pack of chocolates
you brought for your lady has
melted now, ignominiously, all
of the front seat of the car. Why
you had the high-heat on like
that is beyond me, but the 
cherries into butterscotch
really don't taste so bad.
What she will think of such
an infusion, on the other hand, 
I am not sure. Is not caution
the better part of valor?

13,609. PADDLING MADELINE HOME

PADDLING MADELINE HOME
Subsistence is a poor level.
Your Honor, I know nothing
of this matter at all. The hawk,
as I recall, was in the sky; yes.
The level at the levee seemed
high, seemed low. Past that point,
as I've said, I know nothing at all.

Monday, May 17, 2021

13,608. HOLY, WHOLLY HOLY

HOLY, WHOLLY HOLY
The prognosticator said 'Nothing
doing tomorrow, the world will
not exist.' I shrugged it off, realizing
nothing except that I had my bagel
and coffee, the radio was still alive,
the three girls in patterned dresses
were dying to serve me, and the old,
grizzled guy would probably ask
me for money again. (If time is 
of the moment, isn't this just 
momentary time)?

13,607. DRUMGOOGLE ROAD

 DRUMGOOGLE ROAD
Just like that, the man in the
hat was running alongside the
stadium wall. Who would know
where he wasn't going (no one
said at all).....I stayed to watch
the stasis of the moment.
-
'Think of ancient Greece,' I said
to myself, 'and all those Olympus
royals with their Olympics' spoils.'
What care I for sight or sound when
I can be watching torchbearers like
this in every direction bound?'


13,606. SINGING AT THE GLIMMERGLASS OPERA

SINGING AT THE 
GLIMMERGLASS OPERA
Who cares of the red states and blue?
Who cares of the transatlantic sinking
or the Mars rocket gone awry? Who
cares, and why? The false pretense of
humans astounds. What care I for
out-of-bounds, when all of reason
itself is now foul?
-
Hubris? Lese Majeste? All those
funny words that people say? A true
false pride (and isn't that a contradiction),
marks a new reckoning on the old shoals
of dread. It seems now everyone demands
to know of everything, while knowing
nothing at all. Kardashian? Or Ariana
Grande? Oh such a simmering soup
of decay; (a singing slime at the
Glimmerglass Opera today).


Saturday, May 15, 2021

13,605. PROXIMATE DANGERS

PROXIMATE DANGERS
Here's where the ends hang:
'Nothing makes sense and I
don't understand.' Hand me
that scabbard, lend me a hand.
-
Shadows fall where sunlight
fails. I think. Perhaps it's not 
like that too, but merely another
illusion. Nothing lasts forever?
We have such a profusion.
-
Don't prove me wrong, but I can't
be right? I heard you say that,
when you thought I'd not be
listening. Let those who have
ears hear, and eyes see.
-
For the rest, you get what you
get and should let it all be. No
longer can I shoulder this guilt
and this activity. In every direction
I go, there is a proximate danger
of something. Succeed? Pass?
Or fail? Quite very perplexing.