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

To Esther, Dan's Girlfriend, Who is Driving

"it's the morning, it's the morning,"
is what I'm thinking
the birds are saying
when they're chirping
in the morning

unless you're in virginia
and then
it means
to walk.

~contributer

Jim Hyde

My beautiful friend Jim Hyde, who loves bacon more than I, posted a single word on his gchat away message, "Kayfabe." I used to know a Filipina that went by something LIKE that name and I wondered if he knew the same girl.

So I googled it.

The findings were extraordinary:

"Kayfabe!" yelled the brick wall at the sight of a wrecking ball. The wrecking ball got a heart and swung itself into the motor that was propelling its forward motion. Onto the ground the ball fell and careened through the street like a helium powered aircraft through the air. "Kayfabe!" he yelled in return, and solidarity, as he disappeared into the nearby lake.

Sadness took over the poor wall's heart.

It was all for naught though. The men who hired the wrecking ball in the first place decided they could keep the wall and keep their plans. So I googled it.

Kayfabe was the wall's last and only word. Now it only knows the sounds "cha" and "ching."

~ contributer

For Capes

I would wear
A cape
if I didn't
already look like
a Dracula
so instead
I wear hoodies
in the rain.

~contributer

Notes that Float

I never sleep well
on nytes like lese.
Too much trouble
humming like a tuner
in a cloud above my bed.

all cows eat grass.

everyone deserves fudge.

please excuse my dear aunt sally.

~contributer