Comfortable Knees

Comfortable knees
I wish you wouldn't leave
It's cold out there
And warm in here
So please stay close
Between my knees
Comfortable knees

~contributer

For Kyle

So I saw a girl wearing a cool outfit

And I thought wow that girl looks cool right there and

Without even realizing I’d thought it

You know that super fast blip in your head

That flashes so super fast that it’s like you didn’t even think it

Nope, like it didn’t even exist in the first place;

And then super faster I thought to myself

Without even realizing I was thinking it

That that girl reminds me of Kyle

And oh wow yeah Kyle wow!

And then even faster overcoming that thought was the thought

And I am not kidding I didn’t even realize I was thinking this thought

Nor did I think I was thinking the thought that came before it

Nor the one before

Because that’s how fast thoughts are:

Faster’n fast, like a grab-a-piece-a-fruit breakfast,

And ever wonder why a fast though is like the least fast thing there is,

And I thought, Hell, I should go talk to that girl in that cool outfit

Who’s bouncing through the streets just like a Kyle would, I know it.

Well I didn’t.

But at least she reminded me of Kyle.

Hey Kyle.

~contributer

The story of the broken doorframe

Not soon after rush hour I rushed through the front door and flew up to my bedroom.  I was late for an engagement that I had set right on top of another meeting, and I needed a particular notebook for the second engagement.  I definitely did not close the door behind me, because I figured I would only be a second, and then out the door again.

I grabbed my notebook, but as I thumbed through it, walking through the hallway, I noticed none of my notes were in it.  This was curious, but not too curious since I often mistake my notebooks; I've got a few of them.  I turned back around with my nose in the notebook and walked back through the hallway to my door.  I was late late late.

I am sure I noticed it the first time, but I didn't think anything of it.  It was a quick flash before my eyes and I was too invested in the contents of my notebook, but I am sure it was there, even if I didnt take it all in.  I certainly took it in when I came back out my room.  There was a door frame suspended in the air.

I looked up at it and asked, "Why, you should be against the door, not suspending in the air."  The frame bent towards me in a threatening angle.  I asked it again, " What makes you think you can just float there?"

The doorframe bounced a little towards me, not unlike a bull in a ring, or a bully in a schoolyard.  It began to worry me, for if this doorframe were so conceited that it would no longer perform its duty as a doorframe, it might also not follow the laws of consideration, and may do harm to me for no particular reason.  So I back tracked a little and made amends.

"You're right," I said," Doorframes are missing all the fun against the wall.  You should go get the other doorframes to join you."

Up it went, on the stairs, clattering as it took each step one by one.  I noticed one side of it even leaned against the railing all the way up to balance itself, a curious move since it could float without any trouble.  I followed it up and saw it in front of the doorframe in question, our broken doorframe.

Our doorframe seemed to be quivering.  The floating doorframe was making a very demonstrative affair out of coaxing our doorframe off its door.  It even banged itself against the doorframe for some time, like a woodpecker, except with the fury of a roller coaster.  I did not want to step in, since I didn't think it appropriate for me to opine in the affairs of doorframes.

Eventually the part of our doorframe that's broken came off the wall and floated there.  The original doorframe was even more pissed than ever when he noticed the rest of our doorframe hadn't joined the part that had come off.  He banged and he banged, and all that he succeeded in doing was to kill the part of our doorframe that had come off.  No longer suspending in the air, he lay flat on the ground.

The suspending doorframe was defeated, I noticed, and I tried to put my arm around him, but I am not sure compassion is a virtue understandable by doorframes.  I think he took it sarcastically.  He turned around and bumped me against a wall, and I fell.  I was knocked out.

When I woke up I had a hazy feeling that I forgotten something.  I looked in my notebook and I still hadn't grabbed the right one.  I went back into my bedroom and grabbed the first one, because maybe I had just skipped over the pages I had needed.  I was right.  There were the pages.

I walked downstairs and made my meeting on time, since the person I was meeting was late anyways.

~contributer

mementius practicytele

genus species: mementius practicytele. origin: Jamaica. English name: little countess of blame

Found in Mid-Atlantic regions of the United States, after being transposed from Jamaica after the second war world. It has not spread beyond where it has been planted in the States, for the seeds do not germinate this far from the equator. New trees have been planted, but not many, given its past.

The seeds from any season can be crushed and added to create an earthier taste, most specifically to alcoholic drinks, that can be fresh yet bitter at the same time. It can spice chicken and lamb alike, but tends to overwhelm fish, causing catfish to taste rotten. But much has been said about the seeds from the first season of this tree. Local legends abound about its involvement in a number of incidents, both historic and inconsequential.

The early events that took place during the Morant Bay Rebellion of 1865, the same rebellion that resulted in hundreds of black Jamaicans to be hunted and killed, have been traced to the mementius practicytele. The city arrested and jailed a black man for trespassing on an abandoned plantation, and when he was broken out of jail by a number of men, the city issued warrants out on the wrong men. Led by Paul Bogle, these men took the city for themselves, but not for long, as the English governor squashed their rebellion by sending government troops who killed blacks, including Bogle himself, indiscriminately.

As legend tells, the man arrested on the abandoned plantation was harvesting the maiden seeds, crushing them, and distributing them to the people. They were being passed around the city because of their ability to inspire passion in the bedroom. But all good things must be handled accordingly, and as it turns out, the judge of this trespassing man demanded to try the seeds himself, in the court room, at the time and place of the trial. As it were, the seeds were ill suited for the courtroom as the judge, supposedly, and truly uncharacteristically, tried and found guilty every man following the ingestion of this seed, despite him claiming the seeds had no effect. His gavel had never been so swift, according to accounts from the local lawyers.

The governor who ordered the massacre too heard tell of the mementius practicytele, and demanded a tasting of its seed. He decided to take the crushed seeds with a glass of warm milk in his bedchamber the night before the order, and finding his wife absolutely irresistible, failed to leave his bed that morning, busy as he was. As he exclaimed the next day, "I had never been so well positioned or found myself quite so elaborate in my choices that night, and day, and night." 9 months later his wife gave birth to twin girls.

The story goes though, that the lieutenant governor that morning made the decision to send the troops, because swift action was necessary in the case of this rebellion, as word had reached that two white soldiers had been executed by Bogle.

The lieutenant governor was the kindest and gentlest of men, and was considered by all in government a weakling, pathetic, and by too many, a baby dunce. But since he came from a long lineage of lawmen (also they were considerably rich and generous), he kept his lieutenant governorship in Jamaica. He was much ridiculed by all these beneath him because his ideologies on fraternity were many, but always inexact. Recently the governor himself had told him to retain his capacity to lead by making frank decisions, separate from his ideologies. He promised no one would undermine him.

Well, the lieutenant governor thought deeply about his action after hearing word of the rebellion and called a large assembly to announce his decision. It also came to his attention all of this was over a love making seed, and wanting to be considered thorough, he brought the crushed seed with him to the assembly. In the middle of a rousing speech, about clemency and good faith in fellow man, in a speech that everyone in the crowd was considering more of the same, he made a show of the seed itself, and either by fate or on purpose, he took a dramatic whiff of the seed, and went on to condemn every rebellion in the history of rebellions, and roused so many, they all clamoured to pass word to the troops to ransack and kill.

And off they did to over 350 men, women, and children.

The other stories of this seed tell much of the same moral, whatever it may be. The little countess of blame has spoken, many a time, and, like all things of any consequence, with her comes life and death. Luckily for the dc area, she can not give birth in our soils.

~contributer

On Perspective

I've got stones
falling out my ears.

Thick busty boulder balls
made of mountain and
musty as mold
smooth along the edges
from the journey out my ears.

Right now I'm holding my hands
up under my lobes to catch them
for fear they might drop
and then get dirty.

I'm standing in the mud.

Maybe I should get a pail
because I feel more coming and
stones born of brains must be lucky
so I shan't lose a one.

Oh here they're coming
it's like eating too much ice cream
or opening your eyes too quickly in the morning
and for the first five minutes of the day
all you're doing is groaning.

I got two stones now.
I think the others are stuck.
I got a glass jar for them,
but that idea might suck.

I love these stones
that came straight from my head
but I can't find the right spot for them
where they can be heralded and well read.

I feel lighter in my head though
and I feel like it might get ideas.
Go on a floating expedition and
See life free from his peers.

I think I'll put a scarf on
but I'm not sure that'll work.
I can feel it detaching; quickly!
I'm afraid my body's got some strange quirk.

Lasso! Chain! Strong cord! Spaghetti al dente!
Anything'll do!
I gotta keep my head on my neck!
For what's a guy to do
if alls he's got is a head
flying around outside this mad and crazy Zoo!

But I got these stones.
Maybe they will do.
Plop em on top
Walk around with two butt cheeks for a head.

I think that's what I'll do.
I really like these stones.
And then I can tell everyone plucky,
Well, these stones were born of my brain,
so they must be lucky.

Perfect. My head's gone a sailing and good riddance.
Two stones for a head'll be like white in christmas.

But it's funny. When I was waxing up my stones
for my girlfriend's next party
I found written across my forebottom
these words signed by some Marty:

What I thought was what I thought,
when instead I shoulda been thinking
about what I hadn't thought
and then
I'd truly be thinking.

--Marty

I don't get it at all.

~contributer

The Knucks of the bu Dup

And frozen toes
are found wrapped in bows
beneath the boughs
of the Pelicanoes.

And God be willing,
for not a shilling,
we'll all go for a climb soon.

Throw down our toes when we reach the top,
where the flying bird Narsciroo preys on the Buddy bu Dup.
You haven't heard of the Buddy bu Dup?
You haven't heard of the Buddy bu Dup?

This ancient animal once feathered and of a flock,
no longer has kin for his flock fell out of luck.
You see you see.
So hunted were these that their feathers turned to small hairs,
their claws to knucks!

N.b.  knucks are small nubs of knuckles, found on feet, after they've been eaten.

The Narsciroo is a hungry dragoon.
One of its kind.
It preys on limbs and when there are none,
they suckle on knucks like a mother with her cubs.

They, I said and of course I mean, he
because never was there one of more than one than he.
Nasty Narsciroo.
Bent on the descimation of the Buddy bu Dup.

But never was there more than one of he
is what I meant.

We shall climb up there
and toss off our toes
and see the glimmering light
No human, no child, no turtle of pride
has ever see the light

And since we are zoologists
specializing in endangered species,
we will bring lots of Socks for the buddy bu dup
so they can continue churning out the light.

Did I forget to mention that?
They hate Socks, but sure can they make light.

I forgot some more you see
don't get up
I'll fix you tea
no no for you
it's always coffee.

What I forgot was the machines.

You see the Buddy bu Dup
aka the bbd's
have always had the longest of limbs.
Their limbs go down as far as the Pelecanoes go up.

And vice versa verse vice

And as they lived alone before the Narsciroo came into being
they loped and lammed all along the tops of the Pelecanoes
And their loping and their lamming caused all the light you could see.
But soon came the Nasty Narsci Narcisceroo
The hunter of limbs, a gobbler of light, he fed and he fed
til their limbs gave no light.

You know what loping is I'm sure
(It's limb on limb friction that causes light)
But lamming might be a foreign word to you.

Long lost to the humans of today,
lamming has fallen out of fashion like eating hair out of clay.

Lamming of course is covering each other
with each and every other
of those loping around you.
It's the beginning and end of every lope.

This sort of lamming is best described to humans as hugging, except while moving.  So you see, even while loping may cause all kinds of light, it is the lamming that causes the most powerful of kinds.

Oh no you can't...
sit back down.
More tea, no no
it was coffee now
wasn't coffee then...for three?

Oh how majestic was this lamming.
If you can imagine
a flock of birds flying higher and faster and buzzing through like bees,
so many the eyes can't see
and then in an instant the many became one!
And in a flash
the light from a lam?

It's a shock like no other.
I'm tired just to think of it.
but there is so much to tell
so much indeed.

This all started with talk of the machines.

My hour is almost up so I've got to hurry.  It's so hard to tell a story; I promise I won't tarry, but I can't say that through part of it I won't worry.

It's this worrying you see that keeps me from telling what it is you see
that's most important.

Because I worry there isn't enough time, but I couldn't have it all to begin with, I tell myself, so I mustn't worry nor hurry.

I've only three minutes left
to the chase I cut deft.
After all the gobbling and margling,
and chewing and spit

And we won't tarry on the bloody parts where the bbd's got what no man could ever take.

Where their limbs were sucked down like the wheat to the chaff.

All they had left was their nubs, called ?

Knucks.


Thank you.

They made a chain between themselves using nothing but some socks
Between each and every knuck of every boy and girl dup.

And when they move their knucks
each and every other knuck of these dups
moves along with

And like a machine made of gears, comes out the light of the lam, seen as far as our young eyes can.

So with us we bring socks
And when we climb the Pelicanoes
We'll throw down our toes tied together in bows
And join the flock of the Buddy bu Dup.

And God be willing,
for not a shilling,
we'll all go for a climb soon.

 ~contributer

Goldfish

I demanded a gold fish
in my
hotel last night

There was no gold fish
in my
hotel last night

I called the front desk
from my
hotel last night

and demanded a gold fish
in my
hotel last night.

Where's my gold fish
I said.
You said there'd be
a gold fish
in my room I
want it to be.

And she said.
I'll get you a gold fish
sir I
know it's important.
But I
am truly sorry,
sir I
must say not tonight
cuz it's
far too late
far too late
far too late

But tomorrow
I said.
I'll be gone.
I need my gold fish
in my
hotel right now.

No time for later
I said.
The time is now
I got to have it
I say
Give it right now.

Where's the goldfish
that I was promised?

It's dark and lonely
and the furniture
doesn't match.

Where's the goldfish
that I was promised?

I'm cold and lonely
and the temperature's
too hot.

Where's the goldfish
that I was promised?

It's starting to bother me
I'm
lost in thought.

I need a goldfish
Oh please
Just give me a gold fish
And I'll
hang up the phone
and then I'll
get some rest.

I need some rest.
I need some rest.
I need some rest.
I need some rest.

I want my gold fish
lady
I want it now.

~contributer

Desert Landscape Middle East

By Request.

god love humanity.

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

Kiss Your Friends

There's a helicopter floating above the ground
attached to a rope that has a person hanging on
for his dear life and to the contraption that is causing our ill fate
which if enacted will cause the ill fate of many of us who,
mere onlookers, consider ourselves as entrenched in this man's
dear life as if it were our own because of course we're watching a movie.

It's called Die Hard II or III or whatever.

I love those movies and all of their brothers.

YippeeKaiAYE Happy New Year.

~contributer

Friend Victoria Ruan was making cranberry short bread for her christmas party and I figured that was a lot of effort.  I like a good buttery cookie just as much as the next guy, but I wanted to know if it were worth  the effort.  So I googled it.



Whoever made that cookie, and made it come alive is a genius.  I heard about this stuff on CNN or whatever, but this is real.  The recipe was under the video, and it said, as you would guess : ginger, bread, baby, deli meat, dale's pale ale, christmas curveball.  If we could all figure out how to hold our fingers for the curveball, maybe more of our cookies would come alive.


Ginger Baby was even useful in the last moments as he trotted gleefully to a car stuck in the snow.  We can only imagine that at his touch the car itself became a ginger car pulled by ginger horses, because a christmas curveball, when enacted is passed by ginger touch.  Like Midas the King, except this gold brings laughter.   The many people touched passed along the curveball in their own ginger way, like having a party and everyone there wasn't actually invited.

On how to spread ginger cheer widely consult this video:

 

 

Now I am interested in how to hold my fingers for the christmas curveball.  I know if I could make a cookie come alive somehow or any kind of bakery product, I would tell everyone I knew so we could all be throwing christmas curveballs all over our respective towns.  If anyone has an idea please let me know.  I spent a lot of time googling it and this is what I found:


fingersntoes does fingers from fingersntoes on Vimeo.



I think I'm missing some instructions.


~contributer

FORIT

I'm not a speaker.
I'm not so bright.

I'm not what you chose for me.
I'm not your plight.

I'll have for me my own of course.
And mine I will have.

But I won't fight for you
the things you couldn't fight.

When you said to me
It's not of you I was made

When you said to me
it'll never be us be made.

When you said to me
find your own.

I said.

I'm looking
I'm looking.

~contributer

Jonathan

It's always nice to get a recommendation from a friend.
"You have to hear this!" --- "Read this immediately." --- "Get in your car and drive to the theatre TONIGHT." --- "This is the best thing since the reverse Oreo." --- et cetera --- et cetera
A good recommendation is simply a friend saying to you the best thing that a friend can say: This is good. You are good. You will see that this is good.
And so the devastatingly sad thing is that the only "recommendations" I get these days are really just lists of stuff, which lists are culled from the occasional scan of twitter-feeds, facebook updates, g-chat statuses, and the rare and treasured personal text-message.
And yes, this means that I am an embarrassment. And yes, you do the same thing, and I know it. It is shameful, and we need to start talking to one another again, and we should all probably have a barbecue or a bonfire and sing the actual songs and tell the actual stories, but for now I'm just going to finish writing this blog entry, if you don't mind, thank you very much.
At some point during the day, I slink away to the bathroom and, while seated, begin scanning the pantheon of digital avatars of various friends, family members, and other characters whose personal tastes and interests satisfy my need for recommendations of a certain standard.
Friend Jonathan is almost always included in that initial sweep: both because of his exceedingly flinty taste and his unparalleled commitment to updating his g-chat status. So, that particular day, when Jonathan's status read "[Jonathan] . . . thinks IGEL is the enemy," I knew that I would think IGEL was the enemy too, goddamn them, and I needed to know what we were fighting against.

So I googled it.

This is a composite graphic of the first five images that appeared that afternoon, and yes, they are shocking. My spirit broke when I saw that center photograph (obviously taken by an undercover journalist or squirrel). Yes, the hedgehogs are the enemy, and if they developed advanced gas masks, then they must be testing biological weapons of some kind, and if the hedgehogs are testing biological weapons, then you know they're going to use them, and so I find myself pummeled with one question over and over again:

Do I really want to live in a world where hedgehogs are the enemy?

I mean, my God, they're so cute. Can the concept of evil be so pliant as to include among its legions the single most adorable animal ever? Can a hedgehog be the enemy?

At the end of the whole thing, I needed someone to tell me what to do. I couldn't come up with the next step on my own, I needed . . . a recommendation. So I called my brother and told him the whole thing.

"What should I do?"

"Did you say reverse Oreos?"

"Yeah, I think I did."

"Are you sure that's what they were called, because I can picture the packaging and I'm pretty sure that they had a different name. Golden Oreos? I think that might be a different product altogether. Are you sure it was Reverse Oreos? Do you really know what you're talking about here?"

"Maybe they had a different name, I don't know, it's just this hedgehog is wearing this . . ."

"Uh-Oh Oreos."

"What?"

"That's it. Uh-Oh, Oreos. There was a plot line, something about a mix-up at the Oreo factory. Probably the Keebler elves screwed stuff up or something. Uh-Oh Oreos. God those were good, I haven't seen them in years, do they still have them? Were they limited time only? Did they fix the mistake at the factory? Oh, I want one. I really wish I could have one right now; I mean my lips are just aching as we're talking I want one so badly. I would literally break a man's arm right now for an Uh-Oh Oreo. I'd break it. Just for one. I can't even imagine, and I mean I literally probably couldn't imagine, the things that I would do for an entire package."

"Yeah, they were pretty good."

"So are they still around?"

"You know what, I have no idea."

And I didn't know.

So I googled it.

Pork Chops Tonight

There's a pork chop in my mind
that looks just like you.
Lightly salted, genuinely dry,
Shaped like a moon.

I'm sorry to cut you up
I'm sorry to fork you down
But you're a pork chop
no longer you
and it's dinner time.

Pass the apple sauce.

~contributer

Not So Much a Lover of Light

It became eventually impossible to distinguish his Splendor from his Menace, and I couldn't take it for another second.  Pure and simple, I had to know the score.  He was beautiful to behold, and terrifying to think of at night.  I wanted to follow him everywhere he went, and yet I was afraid he would eat me alive and serve me to his future followers with Brunellos.

What if - no, I hate to even ask.  I can't.  But yes, I have to.  What if he is right now, as we speak, feeding me the remains of the former me?  The color of red wine is from the skins, I tell myself, as I sip but try not to swallow.  I cannot wait to get home.

And so but at last, finally, just to be sure, to get to the very, absolute, no doubt "Bottom of Things" . . . I googled it.

First, with “Splendor” in quotation marks:

Amazing, Miraculous, Astonishing.  Wunderbar.  Beautiful.  Yes, no doubt.  But look now, for a second, at the state of that trailer: the flimsy door, the covered window, her legs – My God, the legs on this Wonder Woman.  Horrific, hot dog water,  elephant-dick legs.

Something terrible lurking there, to be sure, but then I can't stop looking at the picture.  I have to look.  Somehow it is beautiful.  Somehow, I want to be the one making that laugh hop out from behind her open mouth.  She pitches her body forward delicately, angling her head to dial up affection and understanding.  I imagine it is me holding the door of the trailer, it is me looking at my watch - somewhere to be, and a super hero to entertain.

And so what if I google again with “Menace” in the field?  A consolation, perhaps?  The beauty alone?  I googled it.

 

 

Sweet Jesus, I’m going to be fed to Cerberus with Kibbles & Bits while this man drinks Metamucil with the devil and weaves a belt out of my skin.  Fuzzy menace, relaxed-fit jeans, terrorizing tread of new trainers on the trail.  Get out, get out, get out.  Run like hell.

You know what to do.  Look it up.  Look it way up.

~contributer

From the Mud

Would you leave it to the
sun scrapes on my painted face
to gauge the depths of my twisted fall?
Or would you ask for the lies
Of a sick-born, bottom-bred malice-maker,
a true follower of his own might.

I’d tell of a tree
with helium-filled balloons
floating with no roots.

And beneath it
the girl prayerful
with a giant tear
drooping from her ear lobe
like a pearl in a clam shell
or a diamond in a bed of rock.

Don’t ask of me the bright stories
Told nicely by firewood a’flicker
When the chat turns to the oft told
And we all smile with our teeth a’glitter.

With Ali Baba I put twelve dwarves
whistling while they work,
And in Michael the archangel’s stead
A Muppet of fur and plaster
Chinese make/American model,
taking on the Devil in a graphic novel
about the triumph over sin
by the white horse that is our Uncle Sam.

Because don’t you see? We’ve
All lived longer than literature
And in literature’s light we still breed.
But we bear what we beat,
it's history we beat,
And we consume and consume
til we tweet.

(Anon.)

The girl in the mud
Beneath the floating tree
Cries out.
She cries out
The tinny note
Of a tone deaf
Blind man
Munching on his last
Meal:

Apple sauce and pork chow mein.

(He’s never been to China
Nor will he
But he knows of the gentle swoop
the wall takes on the northeast curve
of China, right before Russia becomes Russia,
And the rice fields turn to steppes. Beautiful.
He saw it in a movie starring Tom the Cruise
and swears now, forgetful, he saw it in person.)


~contributer

Byron Gwinn

Friend Byron Gwinn, balletic and brawny, an emboite-r, posted the simple combination of letters, "V.v.V" on his away message for gchat. As you are feeling right now, so did I, so I googled it.




Victoria vs. Victor. From opposite sides of the world, they had been formulating a truly unique image in seclusion and only had became aware of each other at an art show they were attending 'to get a feel for normalcy.' At the sight of her doppelganger, Victoria grabbed for her invisibility pouch, saying, "Never a day of rest, chasing individuality," but Victor had already tossed on his cap. "So much for invisibility, Victoria," said Victor, invisible.

Before they were to commence an earthquake inducing battle, someone quickly snapped a shot of them. There was an argument, because Victor wanted to be facing the camera directly, rather than in a profile, but Victoria couldn't help herself. She had excellent shoulders. Victor looked her up and down and noticed he had golden seams and she did not. He laughed. And she laughed.

The golden seams had saved everyone at the art show. Including Bob Barker. He was displaying his self portrait with sunglassed son.

I wondered about these golden seams. So I googled it.




Ah! The Comfortably Seated Bear aka CSB aka Victor's life long nemesis. Like Hercules and his lion skin, Victor bears the stripes of his spoils. Experience has taught him humility and he suggested they join forces. There was a lot to learn. V.v.V is now V.w.V .

Next episode, Victor faces the camera.

~contributer