Tuesday, January 26, 2010

birds & bridges

(text available at an additional charge)

pretty, sunny January

Wednesday, January 20, 2010


Build a house of amaryllis petals, sail in a boat constructed of sonnets, swing on a branch of etymology, bathe in a pool the hue of persimmon, watch the sky light up at the gasp of dusk to deep blood orange, trundle through the amber of fallen leaves, float through clouds glowing golden, on a kite woven of the greenest grass, and land on the deep black sands next to a sapphire lagoon under a canopy of kiwi.

Sing in bird song, the rhythm of heart beats loudly keeping the tempo, the whisper of the wind a lullaby, a wake up call, an anthem. In this land, ride the back of an ostrich to the anarchist's croquet tournament, throw bananas at the contestants, spin around three times over the left shoulder and keep spinning and keep spinning and keep spinning until all vision is a vortex of prisms of colors, palettes of blue, red, yellow, gold, copper, verdigris and the ground underneath gives way and opens into a land under Ali Baba's cave, before the Arabian Nights, earlier than Grimm or Boccaccio or Chaucer or Aesop into a world of primary colors and syncopated sounds where all living creatures move in waltz time and all inanimate beings move in 5/7 with full rests every 37 1/2 weeks, and 1/16 rests every 37 1/2 hours.

from MLK:
        Everybody has the Blues.
      Everybody longs for meaning.
      Everybody needs to clap hands and be happy.
      Everybody longs for faith.

full text: Opening address to the 1964 Berlin Jazz festival

a Cheshire moon glowing low in the sky

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

the beloved particular

The room remains empty. The room continues to remain empty for another seven or eight minutes, but the audience is aware through the lowered auditorium lights that the action has begun. No tricks with lighting or music are enacted: seven or eight minutes of quiet inaction. Be careful of noises backstage, lest they carry outward.
After this interval has passed (not to be shorter than seven minutes), footsteps are heard, shuffling bare feet on a staircase, walking in a robust pattern that implies a heaviness, a lack of balance, either from an afternoon nap or an early stiff martini. Slowly the footsteps approach the visible stage, and a woman, hair disheveled, wearing a bathrobe (slightly tattered), with bare feet, enters. She is of indeterminate age, and looks confused and disoriented, a result of sleep or drink, or possibly both.

reading top google keywords for DYP! (poem form by Pippi):
new life policy
notes drink december pudding
november past coffee
april october aubergine
due car step
love missed postcard

weather cold frigid bitter brittle windy crusts of snow stay inside eat carbs and dairy and sleep weather

Wednesday, January 6, 2010


If the collective subconscious is the final level of culpability, then perhaps the chaos of reality owes its continuation to a force mightier than human will, human greed, human ambition, or human lethargy, and what force could that be? There is the Romantic assumption, Nature, the wild, the untamed wind, storms, hail, locusts, earthquakes, eclipses, filled with the patterns of hibernation and the unknown of volcanoes; there is the medieval assumption that is the strings of Nature are manipulated by God; there is the ancient view that all things are foretold by the Heavens. But a pox on all those mythologies; this room remains overflowing with people who refuse to take responsibility for their own actions, much less anyone else's or the collective's.

Checked out Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy; upon gazing at the 2 1/2 inch thick spine (500+ pages), the librarian automatically extended the due date, by an extra month. Optimistic for all of us, especially for a book on melancholy.

It's January. I'm reading a 500+ page book entitled The Anatomy of Melancholy. You figure it out.

Sunday, January 3, 2010


7. Truth or dare?

I dare you to tell the truth. Double dare you. Double DOG dare you.

Chicken! I knew you wouldn't do it, too scared to reveal who you are instead of who you want me to think you are. Bwaaack!

Who was the first girl you kissed? Who broke your heart? Did you ever beat someone up, just because you could? Did you steal a candy bar, a book, a car, a credit card, money from your mother's wallet? Did you kick a dog, slash a tire, cheat on math homework, forge a signature, lie, lie, and lie again, ingeniously and without qualms? Did you curse at the dinner table, put glue in the shampoo bottle, break those dishes on purpose, run the car into a tree, gossip about the new kid, destroy the English textbook, tell stories about the gym coach, hide the street clothes of kids during athletic practice? Do you edit your photo albums, call your parents, send thank you notes to spinster aunts, run over squirrels, sabotage friendships, pad out your resume, tell tales that could almost be true?

You won't play this game? Fine, then, climb on the table and dance a jig during the moment of silence at a funeral, place a personal ad for the romantic acquisition of your dreams, swim across the Channel, parachute out over the mountains, write a letter protesting the Republican military industrial complex to every state and national representative in every level of bureaucracy, start a community garden in an abandoned lot, growing sunflowers and beans with neither ownership rights nor permits, dance in the graveyard to live accordion accompaniment from midnight to dawn, construct all of da Vinci's designs, hitchhike to Yellowstone, do a spot of drug running between NYC and Montreal, gain a cosmetology degree, take a job on the third shift at a local industrial site.

No? You decline to accept the dare? Are we to return to the truth? You didn't like it last time, refused to play. Okay. Truth. Do you love me? Did you love your college sweetheart, or was she just pretty, and different? Did you drown the kitten, sabotage the plumbing, cancel the trip reservations, change the dental appointment, consider changing your name, father a child; did you tell the truth? Did you hide, omit, elide, pause at an inopportune moment, neglect, alter, super-impose, reconsider, waver, decline, and step away?

No? I don't believe you. I never did.

The Miracle of Mindfulness / Thich Nhat Hanh

a waning gibbous
a gentle snowfall
and a bonfire, whose sparks leap up to meet the snow