Monday, February 21, 2022
Birthday Snow
One bright morning before even snow machines don't work and
gloves won't matter,
they drive north looking for
the real deal
cold and clean
After three hours searching,
La spots a dirty patch
shoveled back
in the shadowed corner of
an empty parking lot.
She wanted to see snow
for her birthday, having been born in -- growing in --
waiting in --
Florida eight years, two years of that
shoveled in
by the virus.
As snow machines in China
grind away at their Olympian work
for nothing
La grins and
eats a bare handful of the exquisite
cold
dirt and all
Sunday, May 23, 2010
(poem) Hello?
Hello?
I heard Something whistle;
Not someone -- some Thing.
Startled, I spun but saw
Nothing.
Deep in my sleep, I felt
Touching and breathing,
Next to my face some Thing
Resting.
Walking to work in the sun
I felt foolish, emboldened,
But close on my steps I heard
Laughing.
Now day's work is ending and I
Must be going. I look toward the
Door and it's
Gaping.
I heard Something whistle;
Not someone -- some Thing.
Startled, I spun but saw
Nothing.
Deep in my sleep, I felt
Touching and breathing,
Next to my face some Thing
Resting.
Walking to work in the sun
I felt foolish, emboldened,
But close on my steps I heard
Laughing.
Now day's work is ending and I
Must be going. I look toward the
Door and it's
Gaping.
The Stripping Year: An Epochal Adventure
The Stripping Year: An Epochal Adventure
Chapter One: Let's Start In The Middle
On your knees in a Georgia cornfield at two AM is no place to rethink life. But thats what i was doing. And searching for my glasses, clawing the dirt and dried husks in vain for spectacles or a shred of dignity. No luck, no luck.
Over my scrambling sounds and short breaths, close by angry redneck male voices not quite shouting but clearly cursing about whores and liquor, I heard Janey, invisible a few feet away, announce, "Time to go" in that voice I knew meant not only was it past time for finding glasses or luck, not only time to go.
Time to fucking RUN.
Chapter One: Let's Start In The Middle
On your knees in a Georgia cornfield at two AM is no place to rethink life. But thats what i was doing. And searching for my glasses, clawing the dirt and dried husks in vain for spectacles or a shred of dignity. No luck, no luck.
Over my scrambling sounds and short breaths, close by angry redneck male voices not quite shouting but clearly cursing about whores and liquor, I heard Janey, invisible a few feet away, announce, "Time to go" in that voice I knew meant not only was it past time for finding glasses or luck, not only time to go.
Time to fucking RUN.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
(poem) Truth/Untruth
Truth/Untruth
To Baudelaire and Charles Forte
At high altitudes locusts freeze,
Drop from the sky,
Thousands.
Hard to believe
But so am I.
The lazy man does not roast his game;
Catches it, eats it raw.
Style is character is
Not important after all.
The diligent man prizes his possessions:
His gilded tortoise shell,
His locusts,
His jaunts nowhere,
Twirling the ends of his moustache.
It is not hard to believe:
We find nothing final because
There is nothing final to find.
To Baudelaire and Charles Forte
At high altitudes locusts freeze,
Drop from the sky,
Thousands.
Hard to believe
But so am I.
The lazy man does not roast his game;
Catches it, eats it raw.
Style is character is
Not important after all.
The diligent man prizes his possessions:
His gilded tortoise shell,
His locusts,
His jaunts nowhere,
Twirling the ends of his moustache.
It is not hard to believe:
We find nothing final because
There is nothing final to find.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Joseph Cornell (versus mediocrity)
Momentarily, altered art projects tempted me to pull out the blunt scissors & elmer glue. Y'know, try my hand at an altered book, or a collage box or screen.
But after googling "altered art," I see amateur DIY kids and housewives long ago seized upon altered art to set up shop. Lots of sloppy, cheap, community art class crap out there involving fairies and/or angels. For sale all over etsy and eBay. I'm sure a lot of it's okay, or at least fun, but . . .
I no longer feel the urge to contribute my own de'coupaged layer of crap.
I know, I know, I'm being crotchety, but "If I can't stand my own mediocrity, how could I tolerate yours?" *
Anyway, I still enjoy (and feel motivated by) the masterpieces of:
Joseph Cornell
He also made wonderful films.
*quoting yours truly
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Images of Galvanism: Beautiful Electrical
Not so sure about the "beautiful" but, yes, quite electrical. Fascinating macabre victorian images relating to galvanism, named after Luigi Galvani.
In 1771, Galvani discovered how to make a dead frog's legs twitch. Science and magic!
Galvanism - noun
1. electricity produced by chemical action
2. the therapeutic application of electricity to the body (as in the treatment of various forms of paralysis)
Galvanize \Gal"va*nize\galvaniser - verb
1. To affect with galvanism; to subject to the action of electrical currents.
2. To plate, as with gold, silver, etc., by means of electricity.
3. To restore to consciousness by galvanic action (as from a state of suspended animation); hence, to stimulate or excite to a factitious animation or activity.
In 1771, Galvani discovered how to make a dead frog's legs twitch. Science and magic!
Galvanism - noun
1. electricity produced by chemical action
2. the therapeutic application of electricity to the body (as in the treatment of various forms of paralysis)
Galvanize \Gal"va*nize\galvaniser - verb
1. To affect with galvanism; to subject to the action of electrical currents.
2. To plate, as with gold, silver, etc., by means of electricity.
3. To restore to consciousness by galvanic action (as from a state of suspended animation); hence, to stimulate or excite to a factitious animation or activity.
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