Beyond the Pale

I live Beyond the Pale
with lots of men
in ripe long beards
And every day
we sing and dance
and sip at our own tears.

Beyond the Pale
we live and die
and scream of our own fears
of living sad
and dying young
with no one caring near.

We sing out loud
Beyond the Pale
Beyond the Pale
Beyond

So never will
we ever be
ever sad amidst our cheer
And yonder smoke
from well lit homes
will never cause us tears

For ours is ours
and without ours
we still have ours right here

Beyond the Pale
Beyond the Pale
Beyond the Pale

Beyond.


~contributer

Henry Botts

I showed my friend Henry Botts my last soIgoogledit blog and he told me it felt contrived. I agreed with him since I had actually shot and edited all the video I had supposedly googled, including the last piece of video, which I posted on a blog I had created expressly for that purpose, to post a video that would then appear on my soigoogledit blog. So yes, utterly contrived.

Henry Botts was reacting to my contrivance in a negative way. And I wondered about that contrivance thing. So I googled it.



First it was the monument. Then it was the snowman. Then the girl of course, mimicing the snowman. Then the camera itself. What a graceful bit of contrivance however. Its celebration is contagious.

To think a snowman could be excited? Well of course a snowman is excited. Some winters he doesn't even get a chance to play. And he really has to show off how much fun he is in a short time slot. If he didn't play it up, we might not ask him around the next time. And what's worse, unlike the rest of us basking in all forms of light, his time in the sun is his most feared.

Would we understand though how excited he is without the girl in the background mimicing in that contrived manner? Would the snowman seem celebratory if not for the comparison to what a human looks like, in this case a human celebrating? Thanks...It would have just been a snowman otherwise.

The contrivance here allows us to understand the feeling or intentions of the people expressing. Contrivance is the bearer of meaning across a medium. We can contrive how we will, but it is always to be a part of any form of expression. Some contrivances are blatant and offensive, some are blatant, yet real. Some are subtle and offensive. Some are subtle and beautiful. All contrivances however are contrived. (REDUNDANCY ALERT=COMPLEX THOUGHT ALERT)

I must admit Henry Botts is a fictional character I used to enter into a conversation about contrivance, but I wondered about the real Henry Botts. So I googled it.


Everything real is contrived. Such is creation.

~contributer

In a Blink

“Phfft! Phfft! Phfft! Phfft! Taxi! Taxi!”

An outstretched arm suspended. At ninety degrees. Upside down pendulum. Timing out the passing train. Blue cruisers, mad hatters, radio blasters, nail biters, and the top shelf. Back and Forth. Back and Forth. Shouts:

“Phfft! Phfft! Phfft! Taxi! Phfft!”

Rushing past. Blurring. Like an alarm when the terror strikes, low beneath the mix. These flashers. Gassers. Kicking up the waste. Plastics in flight. Tic toc tic tic tic. Tic toc tic tic tic.

A HONKing alert. Breaking through the blur. Lay on it hard fella. Stop for a second. “Stop for a second!” One yellow fish tugging on a line, jumps, blots out the sky, snap! Rips flesh. Tide moves on. Broken line.

Outstretched arm. Disembodied. Stretch-ing-out-ward. Back. Fingering the middle of the fray. The visible disembodied now-single-bodied arm floats. Above. The fray.

No taxi. Vultures on by. “Vultures!” Wingless. Walk. Walk. Walk. Where’s the bus?

“How long you been here?” No response. It’s close enough. Walk on. Walk on. Walk.

“Can’t get a bus going north. You get a bus going north? Naw, man. Can’t get a bus going north. How far north you go to get a bus going north? North man. North. North.”

Tall man. French words. Bald. Monk’s hair on the sides. Glasses of color. Smiles into the sun. Pockets deep. Hands uncovered. Cold outside. Smiling into the sun?

“Take a taxi? Take a taxi?” Eyes affixed on the flame in the sky.

On the bus. Eyes out the window. Ducking low. Spots the sun. Bounding between buildings. Into the smile. Ray flare. Blink.

An alleyway. Blink.

A gas station. Blink.

A low roof. Blink.

An intersection. Blink. Squint.

Hold.

Smiles into the sun. Colored Glasses. Brown edged little bunkers. Full of flare. Spotting the sun. What’s to see? What’s to see? With that smile into the sun.

Green on Go! Darkness. Blink between the buildings. All the way home. Moving. Home. Blink.

Blink.

~contributer

what's impossible!
the perfect question.
leave your answers
to the Knotts

let the question
remain unanswered
it's too perfect
for you young Tots.

I want to be able to say
with little push or little play
that you have not
or ever
given me a chance

To show you the impossible
The Untraveled Way
of Enlightened Apostles
The most beautiful
And valorious melee!

so come then
give it once
that fat chance revival
of all things
requiring
the most mind bending
of mind travel

And let's get on
with the goddamn show.
Oh let's get on
with the goddamn show

Do you see impossible?
Watch it grow.
Do you like impossible?
It's all over yo yo yo!

Do you feel impossible?
It's like a snake.
Wet and wily
and on the take.

Do you want impossible?
I'll give it to you.
Do you want to see it?
Close your eyes.

What's impossible
Oh what's impossible.
Ask yourself

And respoond

with

Life Life Life.

~contributer