Sunday, April 20, 2014
SELFIE, 2.348c
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Variations on Saturday
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Office Space (Soft Focus)
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Over & Over (Another Day In, Out, Around & Through)
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over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & Over & over & over & over & over & over & oVer & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & oveR & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & lover & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & Over & over & over & over & over & over & oVer & over & over & over
over & over & over & ovEr & over & over & over & oveR & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & ovEr & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & oVer & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over & over
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Saturday, March 3, 2012
Puke In 12 Parts
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makemethrowupmakemethrowupmakeme
throwupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmake
methrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmake
methrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakeme
throwupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrow
upmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmake
methrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrow
upmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakeme
throwupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmake
methrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakeme
throwupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrowup
makemethrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakemethrowupmakeme
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Friday, February 17, 2012
Young Happy Families
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Our new neighbors moved into the vacant O’Donnell house last week and are still receiving things in trucks, almost daily. Usually people tend to move in one large truck, something big enough to hold it all, and deliver it in one fell swoop. But this young family apparently is relying on friends and relatives who have pick-ups.
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It makes for a general nuisance on the street during prime hours of traffic. Or so says my husband.
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Each morning, before work, my husband looks out the window to the O’Donnell house across the street, sips some coffee, and says “happy young families don’t know what they’re in for”.
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He puts his coffee down and picks up the paper. I make toast.
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The new family has a baby and a young boy, probably 4 or 5 years old. The boy, I find, is usually found running around the front yard of the O’Donnell house, hiding from nothing behind bushes, lying facedown in the grass, over watering the plants with a hose. It is only Spring, so I assume that the boy isn’t yet school age, or he would be in school.
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And yet, I’m surprised at that since his mother is never around to watch him.
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Of course, decorating a new home does take its toll, but so does raising children I’d assume.
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Apparently the last truck to unload arrived yesterday early in the morning. It was an official delivery truck from the local Sears, delivering a brand new refrigerator. I observed them unload it, cautiously move it into the O’Donnell house through the garage. An hour later, I saw the deliverymen leave, without taking anything with them.
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I couldn’t imagine that this family was living without a working refrigerator for more than a week. But they seemed to be living off of bounces and smiles, so much so I could hardly imagine them resting enough to even eat.
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Later that day, after the husband had returned home, I noticed him bringing out the large box the refrigerator came in, laying it in the lawn, and taking a box cutter and creating a make-shift swinging door on the side.
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His son was standing there, clapping, waiting to be the first resident in this new home, already, apparently, bored with the new home of his that was the O’Donnell’s.
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Later that evening, while my husband and I sat down to a simple dinner I had prepared earlier, the boy was still playing inside the refrigerator box, having convinced his father to create a window with the same box-cutter that had created the door.
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He spent what I thought was a good hour simply sticking his head out of the window, looking around, retreating and repeating.
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“It’s a crime that they can just stick their trash in the yard like that,” my husband said, dousing his dish with ketchup.
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“This better not be an indication of how they’ll behave for the long run.”
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Later in the week, at dusk time, my husband and I were enjoying a glass of wine on our front porch, looking north towards the mountain.
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Across the street, at the O’Donnell house, the new residents came out, the wife carrying the baby, and began walking through the front yard, pointing.
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They were clearly making plans for new landscaping.
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The husband would point, and the wife would smile, clearly in love and in love with what her man was proposing.
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The older son went straight for the refrigerator box.
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I could only hope that what they were planning wouldn’t significantly change the look of the O’Donnell property. I had always been a fan of their choices in landscaping, and had felt the environment to bring a comfort to the neighborhood. My husband, agreeing for the most part, only disliked the Dogwood tree that had been planted at the edge, if only because it was never trimmed.
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We sat there, sipping our wine, sternly nodding at one another. The family across from us, at the O’Donnell’s, continued pointing, smiling. And when the sun set, went back inside the house, presumably to bed.
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Friday, February 3, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
A Misanthrope's Discourse: “…oh don’t pretend, ‘cos i don’t care…”
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Year Zero (again)
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1. In 1977, when Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols, broke ground in perfectly understandable ways, there was a call to vacancy and nihilism that the feelings of the world were beyond the realm of appropriate, what with Simon & Garfunkel being considered “rock n’ roll” by the mainstream culture. There was a demand in the air to create a musical and cultural “Year Zero” and return to a purer aesthetic while at the same time criticizing the current culture to such a degree that nihilism seemed like the only ground to stand on.
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Having first heard the Sex Pistols’ album in high school, when most of my age and beyond would have heard them first and where the most properly fit to remain, I had also discovered the writings of Friedrich Nietzsche, starting incidentally with his manuscript The Will to Power, possibly not the most appropriate introduction, but a girl I had a crush on was reading it and wanted to have something to talk with her about.
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And I appreciated the simple, solemn cover of the book.
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2. The similar paradox of punk is how it takes the philosophy of nihilism, of not caring, as a platform to perform the very act of caring an actual lot. This categorizes the punk as a faux-misanthrope, by his sheer attempt to find an article of change somewhere in his DIY-aesthetics. A true misanthrope does not demand change, being content with his own lines of disgust as enough. But by slathering his landscape in a vast hatred based in a hopeful optimism, land mines of disgust planted by each simple chord (though covered up with the affront of his squeal, as warning) the punk creates a vacancy where the body once was only to be demandingly filled by the body, again; this time, screaming anew.
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3. Sometimes I find my own ways to return to a Year Zero. In some cases, each day creates the want, the need, to start over, knowing full well that such a thing is impossible.
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“Those that do not remember the past are condemned to blah blah blah…”
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Now, by taking those words to heart, it implies that remembering is the same as learning from (which is often how this quote gets misrepresented). This is not the case. Memory is not the same as the past, nor does the usual activity of remembering requisite a sense of condemnation if it were to land back in our laps.
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Most, who still can, remember to relive, to be relieved of the burden of the now. There is no usual wish for doom, quite the opposite in fact.
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George Santayana was, perhaps, a perfect misanthrope.
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4. I rise awake each morning to the tune of an alarm that once made my mother think our ship was sinking.
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I hit the snooze button, partly to regain my dreams in a way that I might use, and partly because the sheer alarm of the alarm makes me feel fresh, each time it goes off, each time I hit snooze again to start the day at Zero.
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You could say that the sound of my alarm is the same as the loud squelch that came out of 1977 and later, only appropriated by the general culture to mean the same thing to one another.
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To my mother, born in 1950 and a general child of the ‘60s, it means we’re drowning.
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To me, it means starting fresh.
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5. I start over each day, not because of a previously mention notion that my current state is bad, but because I can. I claim a distance from myself that allows me to dream the previous me away and awake finding a new instance for freshness, immediately forgetting the previous day, or days, in a way that allows for fluid thought to be instilled like a morning cup of tea.
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At my desk, in the morning, I have a multitude of differing varietals of tea, not wishing to continue the same sensation each morning, but still wanting the option of remembering the taste of each on my tongue.
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The one constant I keep is the addition of two packs of Equal brand sweetener, which I was raised on, out of habit.
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I can appreciate it’s lack of positive health accrual, but I do not care.
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If anything, I’m a man who demands the habits that will kill me.
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6. I hold myself up by one arm, pulling my penis out of my pants in order to pee in the bathroom. I can still smell the remnants of the previous days deodorant, a brand that I have held on to since first needing it.
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The combination of morning blood flow and the scent of my underarm, makes me hard and thus difficult to pee.
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The things that we are are the things that we like, and hence, the things we desire all the same.
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I had been told, early in my perspiring years, how this scent was both sexy and gave me a smell that was all my own.
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I heard this, thinking it true, even while knowing it was the same brand my grandfather wore, choosing it for that very reason, but telling the respondents that it’s just a simple spice that smells old.
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7. Starting from Zero each day does not make for an easy breakfast.
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It’s an optimists chore, coupled with some sort of seasonal berry in the cereal each day.
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I refuse the notion that fresh fruit will make the day any better. I count my carbohydrates and count these in the negative.
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Likewise, I count the bran flakes floating below them just as much a carbohydrate, even though they are the kind I know I need.
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I wash the bowl and put it back in the cupboard, awaiting another morning without comment.
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8. When someone says “vacant”, they tend to refer to something, a feeling, that they simply aren’t aware of. The lack of awareness leaves an emptiness in their perception, which is then termed vacant.
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People, like lots themselves, can be vacant and yet still full of something that they may not have been intended for.
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Who chooses the intention of the lot is a personal decision alone, even if there is a general rule that is guided by most, full of moral appropriateness and regard that the misanthrope will all but always refuse.
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Don’t tell me what to do.
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Saturday, January 28, 2012
Translation of “Advent Calendar, for February” (Paramour, 2000)
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for SD, who doesn’t need a translation, but here one is anyway
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| Perfume, as recorded wretch ____ An end to watch with eyes closed. ____ Comforted by your Toddybear | My mountain motion picture frame: ______ ___a total that was left behind _____ but forgotten, not | ___ ___ quad-finials __ )))))) )))))))__ juste | ///No need/// _____ _____for pants ____ a skirt and the legs ___would be enough for _________now | wrecked by lemons _____ _____ _____ _____ _____without the possibility of lemonade | Paris, the poison ______wreck of the neck ____ ____ ____ and tireless becoming | Duck ____ For all your life and limb left alone and still, there still is you _____like a beam or burn |
| ‘stanzy: ____ a will of steel keeps the will ____ ____ aloft, yet _____ alone | Supreme, yet minimal front: ______ ______ ______ from this little font, touch him, and be tender | Since from when you got up and put your big belly down on the desk and left your legs open enough to breathe_____ ________I beat | the soft ______scab I had my own issues with _____ _____ they’re gone ______ and grateful | Puce; or another color like it _____I hate to hear how your body ____has just bent ____purple | ____ ____ an hour to teem another mother regained _______and one for another and simple lines flushed | Madame, _______a life like a messed up body only leads to whole tips of sorrow and flesh ________like bad bait |
| _____ _____ ______ ______ too sorry enough to say _____I love you | SD— ____a dab of wanting to say how ____grateful or indebted _________I could possibly be, because of you | Endgame – _____ _____dip your porn in my face _____ or give ______my time ____ _______enough | Perfect – _______plume _____ a totally defined _____ plumb _____hanging as if ____on a tree | What’s left – _____ _____ _____but a lot of cock ______and a don’t _____rag on me | Stacy – ______ ______ ______ ______ ____I love you while you’re alive ____and after | Better – ______ ______ ______ ______ ______than me ___and thank you |
| a terrible _______muse like a toad of all that sticks in the _____ croak ____ ____the burble that rises and falls like life _____ now diminished | Grace – ______I wanted to thank you for the simplicity you are – the you being ________you and the own complexity that makes a girl ___a girl | ___ ___ __a pepper-like kiss combined with other spice that has no orientation or location ____ ____unless it’s _____ French | ____ ___ ____ ____ freaky green, ____ like a body, ____ ____ ____ bunched & bruised | Phil Spector: ____ ____ ____ ______ _____ ___
Be my, be my baby
| Guytotat – _____ _____ _____ prostitution is just a voice, ___heard in the office of those that ____ _____ you pay for | Doris – ____ Imagine a body____born like a wish from further along – and call it a day, comforted by the day it ________dies. |
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