1991
-directed by Ray Etheridge
I watched this movie (not to be confused with Farley's F.A.R.T. movie) today!
Well...
More precisely, i watched twelve minutes and 21 seconds of it.
Because twelve minutes and 22 seconds would have been, um, 742 seconds too many.
It was a dollar store purchase. I didn't have high hopes, but for a buck...well, let's just say the filmmakers aimed solidly for the lowest common denominator.
And hit their mark.
Now understand, i'm pretty sure i'm no elitist. I remember being stunned when someone once opined that THE NAKED GUN was a "shallow" movie. If so, then i'll stand with the shallow.
But this movie was an insipid shame, because it had a great title. Rife with resonance. And as i wandered north of Port Authority tonight, looking for my favorite gag gift store (i needed a fake turd), i thought about what that movie should have been. Instead of some godawful wretchedness about a guy who farts all the time, it should have been a documentary. Stay with me, this could put some aspiring filmmaker on the map. The heart of the documentary would be interviews of people talking about farts. A multi-cultural epic, with the interviewees respresenting every country, color, and creed on the planet. A hysterical, barrier-bending film. We'd find out that every culture around the globe has their Uncle Lous extending their finger to a new generation. That every culture has their Grammy Griselles, whose sphincter control isn't what it once was (or so she claims). Beautiful.
In the process, we'd all become a little more human.
But this got me thinking that...i'm going to lose some of you. No really, i am. A part of me wants to think that my writing will be so compelling or funny or true that by golly everyone will love it. But for heaven's sake, i already almost lost my own mother because i mentioned boogers. And if i'm going to really embrace total openness in these writings...well then i'm really going to lose people. Because being real is still not the kind of world we live in. Your favorite actor or politician or uncle...if you were to really see exactly what their lives were, do you think you'd still idolize them? Probably not. Your friend/sibling/lover, if you suddenly viewed every thought they ever had and every deed they ever did, how much chaos would our society be plunged into? Beyond that, we're all kind of loony, each and every one of us. We all have our beliefs and views, and to us those views seem quite rational. But the process of getting to know someone almost always reveals that other people are morons! They must be, because they don't have our views. Even smart people who seem to share our views...eventually we peel away one layer too many and discover a moron! And even after we patiently try to set them straight, they don't get straightened! We're absolute loons, every one of us. We're loons because we think we're not.
So yeah, i'm gonna lose some of ya. Look around and hug the person reading this next to you, because who knows where the hell they'll be tomorrow, after they discover i talked about (blank) in my (blank) post. And i'm thinking particularly about a post-to-come, one that will endear me to some of you, but may well expose me as shallow and stunted to others.
Ah well.
Sadly, i learned tonight that my favorite gag gift store is out of business. Anybody have a spare fake turd? I can't promise you'll get it back after my planned practical joke...or rather, i don't think you'll want it back.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
nobility
Nobility hurts.
If it didn't, it wouldn't be nobility.
These thoughts came to me through recent romance. How often do we find nobility? Throwing yourself on a grenade, that's about as classically noble as one can get. But in this comfortable society, the opportunities for that kind of nobility are almost non-existent. There are relatively non-painful examples of nobility...a noble speech, or law...but on a day-to-day basis, pain is a pretty good indicator of nobility. Nobility is not bravery. Bravery deals with fear, nobility deals with values.
My own experience of nobility has most always come when romance was involved. Nobility is self-sacrificing. With each of the two women i've been profoundly in love with in my life, i acted nobly. I'm very proud of who i was and what i did. But it hurt. My nobility manifested in restraint. In each case, doors were opened to me. I chose to not go through those doors, knowing that if i gave in to the satiation of short-term desires, much unhappiness might result.
One of these women wasn't ready to love herself deeply enough to truly love another. I knew that rushing into something she wasn't ready for might poison the friendship and trust i was determined she would always, always have in me. I choked away a desire unlike any i'd ever known, one in which i drowned for two years. I knew that my sacrifice meant i might never hold her. But nothing was more sacred to me than never being careless with her. I did what i did happily, eagerly, but a price was paid.
With the other, i knew that her willingness to be physical with me was tied up in her desire to be free of one she loved, and probably her willingness that he be hurt, as she had been. I knew there was an excellent chance she would hate herself a bit if we gave in. The months of nights i spent holding her, always keeping desire in check, were some of the truest and most beautiful nights of my life. But a price was paid.
What happens when an impulse of love is twisted? What happens when emotions are cut off and choked? What was the cost of my nobility? There is a fabric of life in one's spirit, perhaps in the very universe as well. And my fabric was torn. A part of me wonders how entirely necessary it was...whether a goodly amount of my pain was due to the stupid fumbling of a society based on self-hating Judeo-Christian ethics. How (and this is the part that resonates particularly with my new situation) can any loving impulse be a threat to someone's happiness or security? Is there not a hole at the center of the human spirit that needs fixing?
Envy the brave. May we all know bravery.
But do not envy the noble, for they hurt. Giving up your spot on the lifeboat hurts. Caring for an ailing parent so another may chase their dreams, hurts. A parent who gives up a job they love to spend time with their children, they hurt. Falling on the grenade, it hurts.
Give the noble your admiration, but envy them not.
If it didn't, it wouldn't be nobility.
These thoughts came to me through recent romance. How often do we find nobility? Throwing yourself on a grenade, that's about as classically noble as one can get. But in this comfortable society, the opportunities for that kind of nobility are almost non-existent. There are relatively non-painful examples of nobility...a noble speech, or law...but on a day-to-day basis, pain is a pretty good indicator of nobility. Nobility is not bravery. Bravery deals with fear, nobility deals with values.
My own experience of nobility has most always come when romance was involved. Nobility is self-sacrificing. With each of the two women i've been profoundly in love with in my life, i acted nobly. I'm very proud of who i was and what i did. But it hurt. My nobility manifested in restraint. In each case, doors were opened to me. I chose to not go through those doors, knowing that if i gave in to the satiation of short-term desires, much unhappiness might result.
One of these women wasn't ready to love herself deeply enough to truly love another. I knew that rushing into something she wasn't ready for might poison the friendship and trust i was determined she would always, always have in me. I choked away a desire unlike any i'd ever known, one in which i drowned for two years. I knew that my sacrifice meant i might never hold her. But nothing was more sacred to me than never being careless with her. I did what i did happily, eagerly, but a price was paid.
With the other, i knew that her willingness to be physical with me was tied up in her desire to be free of one she loved, and probably her willingness that he be hurt, as she had been. I knew there was an excellent chance she would hate herself a bit if we gave in. The months of nights i spent holding her, always keeping desire in check, were some of the truest and most beautiful nights of my life. But a price was paid.
What happens when an impulse of love is twisted? What happens when emotions are cut off and choked? What was the cost of my nobility? There is a fabric of life in one's spirit, perhaps in the very universe as well. And my fabric was torn. A part of me wonders how entirely necessary it was...whether a goodly amount of my pain was due to the stupid fumbling of a society based on self-hating Judeo-Christian ethics. How (and this is the part that resonates particularly with my new situation) can any loving impulse be a threat to someone's happiness or security? Is there not a hole at the center of the human spirit that needs fixing?
Envy the brave. May we all know bravery.
But do not envy the noble, for they hurt. Giving up your spot on the lifeboat hurts. Caring for an ailing parent so another may chase their dreams, hurts. A parent who gives up a job they love to spend time with their children, they hurt. Falling on the grenade, it hurts.
Give the noble your admiration, but envy them not.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
what's a wildflower?
I'm a wildflower.
Not my word. It was given to me by the woman with whom i had the first (and in some ways only) wonderful romance of my life. Being called a wildflower was healing - being understood doesn't happen often. Especially for me, since i don't push my wildflowerness (or depth of experience) in people's faces. So many people walk around silently (or not so silently) demanding their importance be "recognized". Sigh.
How am i a wildflower? Some laugh, and say it's because i've never had a job. Which is untrue. Despite my dedication to leisure, and awareness that humans are genetically designed to work only a few hours a day, i've worked hard. I've been paid to wipe people's asses, and to stop people with serious intent from hurting each other. I've been a ditch digger under the Florida summer sun. I once clocked an eighty-five hour workweek, and i've devoted that kind of time to running little theaters. My vocations? Paperboy, babysitter, ice cream scooper, bookstore clerk, busboy/maintenance, mentally retarded vocational instructor, graduate assistant, marketing personality, tree trimmer, nude model, substitute teacher (public & prison), actor, director, handiwork, artistic director, producer, mover, mascot, editor, and woman wrestler. I've loved every one of those in some way. Most were freelance. I sometimes don't know what i'll be doing until that very day, and have nothing further scheduled. I've had busy months, and months in which i've worked but a few days. The price (if you want to call it that) is instability. But I've never lacked for food or shelter. By the standards of my society i'm poor...but every day of my life has been one of conspicuous comfort compared to most on this planet. I've never had five digits in my account, but in a world where so many have so little, there is spiritual comfort in having only what one needs. Hardly ever does this prove irksome - sure, i haven't had medical insurance in a long time, and the funds for travel or producing my plays often just aren't there. But on the other side, the rewards of being your own person are immeasurable. Most people wouldn't believe how little i get by on, but living simply is simply a choice. My rent is around $400 a month, plus another $200 for sundry. I have a big TV (just dvds, no channels) i didn't pay a penny for...but that may only be possible in silly cities where people leave huge TVs on the curb when they decide that huge isn't huge enough. I earned that TV though, getting it home with just a kidnapped grocery cart...an exuberant day that was. And you mortals just whip out a credit card - pheh.
Don't look for me at the Gap. I buy shoes and socks and underwear when i need them. I buy food. Beyond that, most of my stuff i get at thrift shops or garage sales. I went in Macy's this year with a gift certificate, and in eight floors couldn't find a single thing i wanted. I felt a strange sense of culture shock as i looked at the faces of the shoppers. A scary level of emptiness. Maybe it was me...
What else is a wildflower? A closeness to nature. Emotionally wide open. Happiest when naked. So much of our society is just surface and noise. I don't self-medicate with recreational drugs. I understand the need...to escape life, or increase the chances of sex...but it's not me.
I have an alarm clock i almost never plug in. I don't relate to "looking forward to the weekend", and sometimes can't recall what year it is. I instantly loved the existential/taoist philosophies on how the past and future are not real. I avoid dishonesty, pretense, and wasted time.
I don't like makeup or hair product or heels...combine that with my non-materialism and suspicions about monogamy, and before the first hello i'm romantically incompatible with 90% of the females in this society. Even though i'm well above average in intelligence, health, morals, and romanticism, the only person i've ever met who was more "unmateable" was a drug addict with personality disorders. It's okay to laugh...
I'd like to think that i carefully crafted the person i am, but i wasn't in a lot of control my first two years, perhaps the most critical in personality development. Once in a while somebody perceives my life with admiration or envy, or is struck by my bravery. But mostly i just do what seems sensible. One thing has perhaps set me apart...i believed certain wisdoms i heard when young. I mean actually believed them, instead of just nodding my head and going about my business. Things like "you only get one life". For whatever reason, certain thoughts and thinkers (kermit, thoreau, gandhi, lennon, seuss) snuck into my spirit and stayed, in ways they never seemed to for others.
Why do i write? I've almost never made any money off it, i'm not published, and i've done damn little to try to be so. I'm not a seller or pusher (which is very buddhist, actually). I'm not even convinced that my writing is worthy of publication, but when pushed on the point will respond that if any writing is worthy of being known, just try to stop it. I've even had the thought that for me to create what i must, i must remain relatively unknown. In this culture of celebrity, rewards of money and adulation must affect the spirits of those few creators who receive such things. I'm not saying it's impossible for a rich person to be untainted, but...
Anyway, don't get me wrong - if someone is determined to offer me mad money to be the court poet/philosopher/foole, i promise i'll consider it.
Mostly though, it would be really cool if someone i don't even know were to really dig, say, one silly little idiot thing i wrote.
That sounds like fun.
Not my word. It was given to me by the woman with whom i had the first (and in some ways only) wonderful romance of my life. Being called a wildflower was healing - being understood doesn't happen often. Especially for me, since i don't push my wildflowerness (or depth of experience) in people's faces. So many people walk around silently (or not so silently) demanding their importance be "recognized". Sigh.
How am i a wildflower? Some laugh, and say it's because i've never had a job. Which is untrue. Despite my dedication to leisure, and awareness that humans are genetically designed to work only a few hours a day, i've worked hard. I've been paid to wipe people's asses, and to stop people with serious intent from hurting each other. I've been a ditch digger under the Florida summer sun. I once clocked an eighty-five hour workweek, and i've devoted that kind of time to running little theaters. My vocations? Paperboy, babysitter, ice cream scooper, bookstore clerk, busboy/maintenance, mentally retarded vocational instructor, graduate assistant, marketing personality, tree trimmer, nude model, substitute teacher (public & prison), actor, director, handiwork, artistic director, producer, mover, mascot, editor, and woman wrestler. I've loved every one of those in some way. Most were freelance. I sometimes don't know what i'll be doing until that very day, and have nothing further scheduled. I've had busy months, and months in which i've worked but a few days. The price (if you want to call it that) is instability. But I've never lacked for food or shelter. By the standards of my society i'm poor...but every day of my life has been one of conspicuous comfort compared to most on this planet. I've never had five digits in my account, but in a world where so many have so little, there is spiritual comfort in having only what one needs. Hardly ever does this prove irksome - sure, i haven't had medical insurance in a long time, and the funds for travel or producing my plays often just aren't there. But on the other side, the rewards of being your own person are immeasurable. Most people wouldn't believe how little i get by on, but living simply is simply a choice. My rent is around $400 a month, plus another $200 for sundry. I have a big TV (just dvds, no channels) i didn't pay a penny for...but that may only be possible in silly cities where people leave huge TVs on the curb when they decide that huge isn't huge enough. I earned that TV though, getting it home with just a kidnapped grocery cart...an exuberant day that was. And you mortals just whip out a credit card - pheh.
Don't look for me at the Gap. I buy shoes and socks and underwear when i need them. I buy food. Beyond that, most of my stuff i get at thrift shops or garage sales. I went in Macy's this year with a gift certificate, and in eight floors couldn't find a single thing i wanted. I felt a strange sense of culture shock as i looked at the faces of the shoppers. A scary level of emptiness. Maybe it was me...
What else is a wildflower? A closeness to nature. Emotionally wide open. Happiest when naked. So much of our society is just surface and noise. I don't self-medicate with recreational drugs. I understand the need...to escape life, or increase the chances of sex...but it's not me.
I have an alarm clock i almost never plug in. I don't relate to "looking forward to the weekend", and sometimes can't recall what year it is. I instantly loved the existential/taoist philosophies on how the past and future are not real. I avoid dishonesty, pretense, and wasted time.
I don't like makeup or hair product or heels...combine that with my non-materialism and suspicions about monogamy, and before the first hello i'm romantically incompatible with 90% of the females in this society. Even though i'm well above average in intelligence, health, morals, and romanticism, the only person i've ever met who was more "unmateable" was a drug addict with personality disorders. It's okay to laugh...
I'd like to think that i carefully crafted the person i am, but i wasn't in a lot of control my first two years, perhaps the most critical in personality development. Once in a while somebody perceives my life with admiration or envy, or is struck by my bravery. But mostly i just do what seems sensible. One thing has perhaps set me apart...i believed certain wisdoms i heard when young. I mean actually believed them, instead of just nodding my head and going about my business. Things like "you only get one life". For whatever reason, certain thoughts and thinkers (kermit, thoreau, gandhi, lennon, seuss) snuck into my spirit and stayed, in ways they never seemed to for others.
Why do i write? I've almost never made any money off it, i'm not published, and i've done damn little to try to be so. I'm not a seller or pusher (which is very buddhist, actually). I'm not even convinced that my writing is worthy of publication, but when pushed on the point will respond that if any writing is worthy of being known, just try to stop it. I've even had the thought that for me to create what i must, i must remain relatively unknown. In this culture of celebrity, rewards of money and adulation must affect the spirits of those few creators who receive such things. I'm not saying it's impossible for a rich person to be untainted, but...
Anyway, don't get me wrong - if someone is determined to offer me mad money to be the court poet/philosopher/foole, i promise i'll consider it.
Mostly though, it would be really cool if someone i don't even know were to really dig, say, one silly little idiot thing i wrote.
That sounds like fun.
boring bloggy blues
Okay, i don't really have the blues. Just couldn't resist the alliteration.
I'm listening to Najee's "Love's in Need of Love Today". One of those cover versions that's so sweet and perfect that you listen to it the first time with mouth slightly agape. The rest of the album, a tribute to SONGS IN THE KEY OF LIFE, is uneven, but there are other gems.
I've been waiting for another daily entry, before launching this blog. But the past few days have been kinda boring. Not to me, but...i've spent most of the past few days creating this blog. Understand, I'm not going to avoid the mundane experiences of life herein. For instance, did i just eat one of my little boogies? A leftover infrequent habit from youth...what can i say? My sister was the nail biter, i ate my boogies. But too much mundanity(?) would be interesting not.
Which brings up the question of whom exactly will want to read this blog. I happily admit the target audience is a little unspecified, as opposed to the blog next door for druidic sudoku-crazed single mothers of Eurasian/Dutch descent. People who like poetry, of course. People who are curious about someone who lives rather outside the mainstream. Plus people who like to laugh. People who like books and music and movies. Probably the stray sci fi fan.
I did have a pretty nice day yesterday. I went to a thrift store in the middle of a snowstorm, on the promise of a boom box. Being somewhat silly, i went by bike. There were already five or so inches. I got into a little snowball fight with my youthful neighbor Paz. I got a little splatter from passing cars, and had one precarious ice moment, but nothing serious. I came home with no boom box, the fellow was very sorry but it hadn't come in. I picked up a cd with studio band cover versions of rock musical songs. It'll probably be horrible, but you never know when you'll accidentally uncover the next SOUL OF SUPERSTAR. I had dinner with M and a couch-surfing acquaintance of hers, Mars from Egypt by way of Canada. He was delightful, and we had much in common. We've both been immersed in biblical research for the purpose of writing a book. Me, i'm writing a play which uses recent archaeological and textual discoveries to separate the mythology of Jesus from the actual man. I know, i know, JC is the last person who needs more press, but the play was spurred by the reading of an astoundingly brilliant book, "The Jesus Dynasty", by James Tabor. It's the only Jesus-related book i've ever read (Bible included, of course) which seems almost completely free of the writer's own personal agenda or bias. Mars is writing a sweeping historical fantasy about...hm, i said i would keep his idea to myself...let's just say that it could be a wonderful step in bridging the chasms between world religions.
Oh yes, that reminds me...the subject of discretion, as relates to this blog. I promise you, i will be ridiculously indiscreet when it comes to me. Heck, you could say that's a part of my life's purpose. The gap between what people say and what people think...the two-track reality that is most people's existence...that's a gap i've long been dedicated to breaking down. Not completely of course...when a library needs to be built or the dam is bursting, self-revelation can be counter-productive. But my point is that the disconnect between thought and word is one of the things that retards human progress, individually and as a species.
No taboos. Break the barriers. We all age and bleed and die. We all want to be loved and protect the children, and the sooner we all REALLY understand that, the sooner fear and hatred will slip into the shadows of history.
Now, i can't guarantee 100% indiscretion regarding myself. But it's not an unrealistic goal; i know myself that well. I'll at least come staggeringly close. I also can't guarantee that the existence of this blog won't change my daily behavior at all. It's possible it will, maybe one decision out of a hundred. But my dedication to total honesty is so strong...i don't want to hide a single thing from you, whomever you are.
So generally the only discretion i will exercise herein will be for others. Not everyone is ready to have the most intimate realities of their lives put on public display. Far from it. So i will use the already-seen device of not naming certain people, rather referring to them by "M" or "Q". Well, maybe not "Q".
I'm listening to Najee's "Love's in Need of Love Today". One of those cover versions that's so sweet and perfect that you listen to it the first time with mouth slightly agape. The rest of the album, a tribute to SONGS IN THE KEY OF LIFE, is uneven, but there are other gems.
I've been waiting for another daily entry, before launching this blog. But the past few days have been kinda boring. Not to me, but...i've spent most of the past few days creating this blog. Understand, I'm not going to avoid the mundane experiences of life herein. For instance, did i just eat one of my little boogies? A leftover infrequent habit from youth...what can i say? My sister was the nail biter, i ate my boogies. But too much mundanity(?) would be interesting not.
Which brings up the question of whom exactly will want to read this blog. I happily admit the target audience is a little unspecified, as opposed to the blog next door for druidic sudoku-crazed single mothers of Eurasian/Dutch descent. People who like poetry, of course. People who are curious about someone who lives rather outside the mainstream. Plus people who like to laugh. People who like books and music and movies. Probably the stray sci fi fan.
I did have a pretty nice day yesterday. I went to a thrift store in the middle of a snowstorm, on the promise of a boom box. Being somewhat silly, i went by bike. There were already five or so inches. I got into a little snowball fight with my youthful neighbor Paz. I got a little splatter from passing cars, and had one precarious ice moment, but nothing serious. I came home with no boom box, the fellow was very sorry but it hadn't come in. I picked up a cd with studio band cover versions of rock musical songs. It'll probably be horrible, but you never know when you'll accidentally uncover the next SOUL OF SUPERSTAR. I had dinner with M and a couch-surfing acquaintance of hers, Mars from Egypt by way of Canada. He was delightful, and we had much in common. We've both been immersed in biblical research for the purpose of writing a book. Me, i'm writing a play which uses recent archaeological and textual discoveries to separate the mythology of Jesus from the actual man. I know, i know, JC is the last person who needs more press, but the play was spurred by the reading of an astoundingly brilliant book, "The Jesus Dynasty", by James Tabor. It's the only Jesus-related book i've ever read (Bible included, of course) which seems almost completely free of the writer's own personal agenda or bias. Mars is writing a sweeping historical fantasy about...hm, i said i would keep his idea to myself...let's just say that it could be a wonderful step in bridging the chasms between world religions.
Oh yes, that reminds me...the subject of discretion, as relates to this blog. I promise you, i will be ridiculously indiscreet when it comes to me. Heck, you could say that's a part of my life's purpose. The gap between what people say and what people think...the two-track reality that is most people's existence...that's a gap i've long been dedicated to breaking down. Not completely of course...when a library needs to be built or the dam is bursting, self-revelation can be counter-productive. But my point is that the disconnect between thought and word is one of the things that retards human progress, individually and as a species.
No taboos. Break the barriers. We all age and bleed and die. We all want to be loved and protect the children, and the sooner we all REALLY understand that, the sooner fear and hatred will slip into the shadows of history.
Now, i can't guarantee 100% indiscretion regarding myself. But it's not an unrealistic goal; i know myself that well. I'll at least come staggeringly close. I also can't guarantee that the existence of this blog won't change my daily behavior at all. It's possible it will, maybe one decision out of a hundred. But my dedication to total honesty is so strong...i don't want to hide a single thing from you, whomever you are.
So generally the only discretion i will exercise herein will be for others. Not everyone is ready to have the most intimate realities of their lives put on public display. Far from it. So i will use the already-seen device of not naming certain people, rather referring to them by "M" or "Q". Well, maybe not "Q".
Friday, February 22, 2008
the land where i grew
In the land where i grew you could say what you thought
I loved my land
In the land where i grew pink-skinned men ruled, but things were getting better
I loved my land
In the land where i grew religion was kept from government halls
I loved my land
In the land where i grew you couldn’t go wherever you wanted
A land of fences, but i had hope
In the land where i grew we learned that bad men torture
I loved my land
In the land where i grew many “crimes” had no victim
But i had hope
In the land where i grew people faced death and horror to reach our shores
I loved my land
In the land where i grew leaders lied
Maine Lusitania Pearl Tonkin 9/11
Because we didn’t want war
In the land where i grew children starved
While we spent as much on death machines
As the rest of the world combined
In the land where i grew “electoral college” and “classified”
Took away our power to choose our leader
Took away our truth
In the land where i grew “defense” budget became a lie
In the land where i grew the unconvicted are jailed
In the land where i grew the helpless are tortured
We’ve ignored Mr. Jefferson for 182 years
A beautiful dream is done
And life calls forth
A brighter one
I loved my land
In the land where i grew pink-skinned men ruled, but things were getting better
I loved my land
In the land where i grew religion was kept from government halls
I loved my land
In the land where i grew you couldn’t go wherever you wanted
A land of fences, but i had hope
In the land where i grew we learned that bad men torture
I loved my land
In the land where i grew many “crimes” had no victim
But i had hope
In the land where i grew people faced death and horror to reach our shores
I loved my land
In the land where i grew leaders lied
Maine Lusitania Pearl Tonkin 9/11
Because we didn’t want war
In the land where i grew children starved
While we spent as much on death machines
As the rest of the world combined
In the land where i grew “electoral college” and “classified”
Took away our power to choose our leader
Took away our truth
In the land where i grew “defense” budget became a lie
In the land where i grew the unconvicted are jailed
In the land where i grew the helpless are tortured
We’ve ignored Mr. Jefferson for 182 years
A beautiful dream is done
And life calls forth
A brighter one
hmmmm...
I looked at the sky
And knew that Shen Yi did not shoot out nine suns with his arrows
You call me a clear-thinking fellow? I thank you
I stood on the bank of the Ganges
And shouted that there was NOT a river goddess with a fish tail for legs
You applaud my bravery? I thank you
As I built the pyramids
I whispered that the sun was not hatched from Geb’s egg
The lashes I received make you rightfully indignant
I traveled with a Spartan
Who assured me that Zeus killed Asclepius for raising the dead
You’d have smiled benignly too, with a moron your sole companion
A priest of Xipe Totec
I wore the flayed slave skins on my shoulders
Deep down i knew it was bullshit, but the perks of a priest are plenteous
A woman in Rome gathered up her stola
when i laughed at the thought that bacchus raised the dead or turned water to wine
You’d have kept your mouth shut, had you seen her rack
Returned from Tikal, my daughter took her life
My wife was comforted knowing suicide guaranteed entrance to heaven
You and i know better, but i hadn’t the heart to demur
In Narita my brother struck me
When i insisted Hirohito was not some holy descendant of Hoori
Your praise won’t bring him back, but i thank you
I’ve known the Sumerian God Nanna and the Norse one too
Neither are movers and shakers in the underworld
A champion of progress, you say? I thank you
And rich, you want to hear rich?
An acquaintance tells me that God knocked up a twelve year-old virgin
It is to laugh…hello, where are you going?
2008
And knew that Shen Yi did not shoot out nine suns with his arrows
You call me a clear-thinking fellow? I thank you
I stood on the bank of the Ganges
And shouted that there was NOT a river goddess with a fish tail for legs
You applaud my bravery? I thank you
As I built the pyramids
I whispered that the sun was not hatched from Geb’s egg
The lashes I received make you rightfully indignant
I traveled with a Spartan
Who assured me that Zeus killed Asclepius for raising the dead
You’d have smiled benignly too, with a moron your sole companion
A priest of Xipe Totec
I wore the flayed slave skins on my shoulders
Deep down i knew it was bullshit, but the perks of a priest are plenteous
A woman in Rome gathered up her stola
when i laughed at the thought that bacchus raised the dead or turned water to wine
You’d have kept your mouth shut, had you seen her rack
Returned from Tikal, my daughter took her life
My wife was comforted knowing suicide guaranteed entrance to heaven
You and i know better, but i hadn’t the heart to demur
In Narita my brother struck me
When i insisted Hirohito was not some holy descendant of Hoori
Your praise won’t bring him back, but i thank you
I’ve known the Sumerian God Nanna and the Norse one too
Neither are movers and shakers in the underworld
A champion of progress, you say? I thank you
And rich, you want to hear rich?
An acquaintance tells me that God knocked up a twelve year-old virgin
It is to laugh…hello, where are you going?
2008
egyptian women stood to pee
Look at that girl
With sneaks on her feet
I want that girl
Isn’t she neat?
Look at that girl
Sitting knees-splayed
I want that girl
She’s not afraid
Look at that girl
Her style has no –ish
I want that girl
That is my wish
Look at that girl
Naked, sober, laughing
I want that girl
She’s the one worth having
With sneaks on her feet
I want that girl
Isn’t she neat?
Look at that girl
Sitting knees-splayed
I want that girl
She’s not afraid
Look at that girl
Her style has no –ish
I want that girl
That is my wish
Look at that girl
Naked, sober, laughing
I want that girl
She’s the one worth having
natural woman
I want a natural woman
with grass-stained skin
I want a natural woman
who doesn’t know from sin
I want a natural woman
with no paint on her face
I want a natural woman
she can’t recall her race
I want a natural woman
she’s naked every spring
I want a natural woman
imbibing’s not her thing
I want a natural woman
she speaks just what she feels
I want a natural woman
she can’t be found in heels
I want a natural woman
who doesn’t think of money
I want a natural woman
she knows that farts are funny
I want a natural woman
maybe two or three…
I want a natural woman
kinda silly, just like me
with grass-stained skin
I want a natural woman
who doesn’t know from sin
I want a natural woman
with no paint on her face
I want a natural woman
she can’t recall her race
I want a natural woman
she’s naked every spring
I want a natural woman
imbibing’s not her thing
I want a natural woman
she speaks just what she feels
I want a natural woman
she can’t be found in heels
I want a natural woman
who doesn’t think of money
I want a natural woman
she knows that farts are funny
I want a natural woman
maybe two or three…
I want a natural woman
kinda silly, just like me
ninja
I beat the shit out of a little ninja today
Oh, he was fast
and he hit me a few ways i never saw comin’
But i got my hands on him
and that
was that
2007
Oh, he was fast
and he hit me a few ways i never saw comin’
But i got my hands on him
and that
was that
2007
naked she
She doesn’t hide in the past or future
She doesn’t hide in makeup, she is what she is
She doesn’t hide in clothes or status
She doesn’t hide in drugs
No shortcut or sedation
in freedom’s celebration
Naked fear
Naked desire
Naked pain
Naked joy
Naked she…
She doesn’t hide in makeup, she is what she is
She doesn’t hide in clothes or status
She doesn’t hide in drugs
No shortcut or sedation
in freedom’s celebration
Naked fear
Naked desire
Naked pain
Naked joy
Naked she…
flatulation!
Fortunate soul i
That life’s most memorable wind passings
Were not in solitude lost…
I farted at the table
As brother Jeff ate ice cream
He tried not to run
“I’m eating shit!” did he scream
I farted in the car
On a boys’ hiking trip
Mexican food repeating
Howls of rage at each rip
Synchronized hands window-rolling furiously
But no cross-current could cut that funk of me
And the crown jewel…
I farted on the john
ten seconds on and on
Brother Dave in his room
disbelieved the eerie boom
Yet more frightening, say i
and on my life, no lie
The shock wave from the blast
sprayed bowl water on my ass
That life’s most memorable wind passings
Were not in solitude lost…
I farted at the table
As brother Jeff ate ice cream
He tried not to run
“I’m eating shit!” did he scream
I farted in the car
On a boys’ hiking trip
Mexican food repeating
Howls of rage at each rip
Synchronized hands window-rolling furiously
But no cross-current could cut that funk of me
And the crown jewel…
I farted on the john
ten seconds on and on
Brother Dave in his room
disbelieved the eerie boom
Yet more frightening, say i
and on my life, no lie
The shock wave from the blast
sprayed bowl water on my ass
window dressing
Look at me
You love me?
Look at me
You'd let me in?
Look at me
My outfit comforts you?
Look at me
I'd protect you in this skin?
I remind you of someone long lost and kind?
A crush, a movie star, daddy in your mind?
Am i honest, and noble in your eyes?
Am i beautiful, and are you the prize?
We are selfishness pure
No bullshit, no bullshit
The rest is window dressing
No fucking bullshit
2007
You love me?
Look at me
You'd let me in?
Look at me
My outfit comforts you?
Look at me
I'd protect you in this skin?
I remind you of someone long lost and kind?
A crush, a movie star, daddy in your mind?
Am i honest, and noble in your eyes?
Am i beautiful, and are you the prize?
We are selfishness pure
No bullshit, no bullshit
The rest is window dressing
No fucking bullshit
2007
look at me
Look at me
Are you afraid?
I was a baby like you
Look at me
You hate my genitals?
I was a baby like you
Look at me
My skin is strange?
I was a baby like you
Look at me
My ugliness embarrasses?
I was a baby like you
Someone like me
Killed someone you loved?
I was a baby like you
Look at me
My desire disgusts?
I was a baby like you
Look at me
Will you negate me?
I was a baby like you
2007
Are you afraid?
I was a baby like you
Look at me
You hate my genitals?
I was a baby like you
Look at me
My skin is strange?
I was a baby like you
Look at me
My ugliness embarrasses?
I was a baby like you
Someone like me
Killed someone you loved?
I was a baby like you
Look at me
My desire disgusts?
I was a baby like you
Look at me
Will you negate me?
I was a baby like you
2007
meek as mice
Mother thinks my poems hopeless
Father thinks my hope quaint
But stripping a bullshit veneer is no hopeless howl
She follows the bait
The trap springs
A neck is snapped
He follows the bait
Mounts the corpse
And spills his seed
INSTINCT, what we are
INSTINCT, we're leaving behind
I howl for the bright and beautiful
A new world to share
Hold on tight
Here we go
!
2007
Father thinks my hope quaint
But stripping a bullshit veneer is no hopeless howl
She follows the bait
The trap springs
A neck is snapped
He follows the bait
Mounts the corpse
And spills his seed
INSTINCT, what we are
INSTINCT, we're leaving behind
I howl for the bright and beautiful
A new world to share
Hold on tight
Here we go
!
2007
dear woman
Dear woman,
On behalf of us all, I apologize
For millennia upon millennia
You have been in servitude
Not merely lesser humans, but less-than-human
Though we are not your superior
We have been so afraid that this lie would be found out
That we made you paint your faces
So that all would more easily forget that you are real
We made fucking your purpose
Then we made you compete for it
We put our dicks into you, and we came immediately
We beat you, and raped you, and murdered you
Whenever you showed intelligence or strength
Or whenever another man made us feel small
Or whenever
We punished you for not liking sex
And we punished you for liking it
But your time is at hand
A debt must be paid
Balance restored
The next four millennia are yours
We will not accept less
We only ask that you keep us alive
As we have done with you
That one day we may walk side by side
We accept that all but a few of us will be castrated
With mostly-pretend remorse,
man
On behalf of us all, I apologize
For millennia upon millennia
You have been in servitude
Not merely lesser humans, but less-than-human
Though we are not your superior
We have been so afraid that this lie would be found out
That we made you paint your faces
So that all would more easily forget that you are real
We made fucking your purpose
Then we made you compete for it
We put our dicks into you, and we came immediately
We beat you, and raped you, and murdered you
Whenever you showed intelligence or strength
Or whenever another man made us feel small
Or whenever
We punished you for not liking sex
And we punished you for liking it
But your time is at hand
A debt must be paid
Balance restored
The next four millennia are yours
We will not accept less
We only ask that you keep us alive
As we have done with you
That one day we may walk side by side
We accept that all but a few of us will be castrated
With mostly-pretend remorse,
man
sanctify
With blood and bone and breath
I will brand you
With need and newness and nakedness
I will nurture you
With finger and freedom and flesh
I will find you
With rain and rhythm and randomness
I will reach you
With softness and sunshine and spreading
I will separate you
With tongue and tear and truth
I will torch you
With unity and undulations and urgency
I will undo you
With cunt and cock and creation
I will cleave you
With eagerness and endlessness and ecstasy
I will enter you
With wildness and wistfulness and wonder
I will worship you
With power and purge and purity
I will pacify you
With skin and sweat and sex
I will sanctify you
With healing and heart and hands
I will hold you
With burning and brazenness and beauty
I will bathe you
With lust and light and laughter
I will love you
2006
I will brand you
With need and newness and nakedness
I will nurture you
With finger and freedom and flesh
I will find you
With rain and rhythm and randomness
I will reach you
With softness and sunshine and spreading
I will separate you
With tongue and tear and truth
I will torch you
With unity and undulations and urgency
I will undo you
With cunt and cock and creation
I will cleave you
With eagerness and endlessness and ecstasy
I will enter you
With wildness and wistfulness and wonder
I will worship you
With power and purge and purity
I will pacify you
With skin and sweat and sex
I will sanctify you
With healing and heart and hands
I will hold you
With burning and brazenness and beauty
I will bathe you
With lust and light and laughter
I will love you
2006
what's my tongue in2
Four men sat at a fire
The talk turned to the flesh…
They had each discovered
One of the keys to the kingdom of carnal utopia
The four eternal gems in the universe of woman
Plato held forth in hushed tones about the white woman without a pole up her ass
Socrates orated reverently on the hispanic woman who has rejected the church
Aristotle spoke wistfully of the asian woman who cares not for money
And Vizzini cackled happily about the black woman with that little touch of white blood
They all made a pact
Never to share
These mysteries rare
Holy grails, holy grails…
2005
The talk turned to the flesh…
They had each discovered
One of the keys to the kingdom of carnal utopia
The four eternal gems in the universe of woman
Plato held forth in hushed tones about the white woman without a pole up her ass
Socrates orated reverently on the hispanic woman who has rejected the church
Aristotle spoke wistfully of the asian woman who cares not for money
And Vizzini cackled happily about the black woman with that little touch of white blood
They all made a pact
Never to share
These mysteries rare
Holy grails, holy grails…
2005
what's my tongue in?
Have you ever loved an ugly woman?
Or done so dead-on sober?
The chorus of yes’s
Grows smaller…
Pity…
Making love to an ugly woman
Is this world’s only hidden paradise
Eyes too close together
The non-existent chin
Complexion pocked
The nose, a beak
Non-existent lips
An overbite that causes fellatiaphobia
The moustache that tickles
Bizarrely-angled breasts
That strangely thin hair…
You do not know these women as i…
Did you know that ugly women
Are 38% more sexually responsive than beautiful ones?
38%…
Before a study was ever done, i knew
I’ve yet to make love to an ugly woman
Who did not shudder and gasp
As though finding sex for the first time
I’ve yet to make love to an ugly woman
Who wasn’t happy, even insistent
To go down all day
And all night
And as she swallows she’s thinking of the next time
The next orifice she’ll offer you
And no suggestion is too crazy
Even the shy, ugly ones
Who giggle and say no
With eyes averted, embrace with a passion that confounds
But to you men who don’t know
You’ll continue the chase
Perfect ass, button nose, sweet complexion, and tits, perky tits
I wish you peace
And remember me kindly, for i tried to tell you…
And to those men in the world
Who are out there tonight loving the fat women…
The fat and flabby women…
Goddamn, i send you strength
Cause’ i tried to love a fat woman once
And Lord i could not do it
Eyecchh…
2005
Or done so dead-on sober?
The chorus of yes’s
Grows smaller…
Pity…
Making love to an ugly woman
Is this world’s only hidden paradise
Eyes too close together
The non-existent chin
Complexion pocked
The nose, a beak
Non-existent lips
An overbite that causes fellatiaphobia
The moustache that tickles
Bizarrely-angled breasts
That strangely thin hair…
You do not know these women as i…
Did you know that ugly women
Are 38% more sexually responsive than beautiful ones?
38%…
Before a study was ever done, i knew
I’ve yet to make love to an ugly woman
Who did not shudder and gasp
As though finding sex for the first time
I’ve yet to make love to an ugly woman
Who wasn’t happy, even insistent
To go down all day
And all night
And as she swallows she’s thinking of the next time
The next orifice she’ll offer you
And no suggestion is too crazy
Even the shy, ugly ones
Who giggle and say no
With eyes averted, embrace with a passion that confounds
But to you men who don’t know
You’ll continue the chase
Perfect ass, button nose, sweet complexion, and tits, perky tits
I wish you peace
And remember me kindly, for i tried to tell you…
And to those men in the world
Who are out there tonight loving the fat women…
The fat and flabby women…
Goddamn, i send you strength
Cause’ i tried to love a fat woman once
And Lord i could not do it
Eyecchh…
2005
closed eyes
I would buy an undesired pastry from an eager and honest peddler
To know that a good pastry would be there when wanted
But i would not spend half a year’s minimum wage
To buy a shiny ring
To keep capitalism’s wheels grinding, grinding
Wheels that chewed up this country’s soul
A long time ago
There are those who appreciate the difference
Between Bill Blass and Sean John
But the difference between right and profitable…
Thank you, Mr. Puffy, for at least not pretending
While Mr. Pitt goes to Japan to shill for beer
Hold on tight to your 401K
And close your eyes
2005
To know that a good pastry would be there when wanted
But i would not spend half a year’s minimum wage
To buy a shiny ring
To keep capitalism’s wheels grinding, grinding
Wheels that chewed up this country’s soul
A long time ago
There are those who appreciate the difference
Between Bill Blass and Sean John
But the difference between right and profitable…
Thank you, Mr. Puffy, for at least not pretending
While Mr. Pitt goes to Japan to shill for beer
Hold on tight to your 401K
And close your eyes
2005
SFP
I’ve always believed that my life would burn
with beauty, and love, and truth
A story arcing across the universe
Perhaps loud, perhaps quiet
But echoing into the soul of life
And for the first time
i write of the afterpresence
Of one who could have been more
than just another experience
along the way
She could have walked with me
Our lives, our limbs, our love
entwined
And even as i made those considerations
a voice said “You’re kidding!”
That the one who would make me stay
is not yet here
Or will only ever exist
inside dreams
But there wasn’t a move she made
a breath she drew
that i did not worship
I laid my life at her feet
But she chooses another tonight
Thus ends a stupid fucking poem
2004
with beauty, and love, and truth
A story arcing across the universe
Perhaps loud, perhaps quiet
But echoing into the soul of life
And for the first time
i write of the afterpresence
Of one who could have been more
than just another experience
along the way
She could have walked with me
Our lives, our limbs, our love
entwined
And even as i made those considerations
a voice said “You’re kidding!”
That the one who would make me stay
is not yet here
Or will only ever exist
inside dreams
But there wasn’t a move she made
a breath she drew
that i did not worship
I laid my life at her feet
But she chooses another tonight
Thus ends a stupid fucking poem
2004
angels
“If he loved you, like I love you
I would walk away in shame
I’d move town, I’d change my name”
I can’t tell you of a past life
when we were star-crossed lovers
I can’t tell you that fate
meant for us to be
I can’t say that nothing
could change the way i feel
Or that i’d die for you tonight
But were you to be gang raped
Every hole torn and bruised
I would carry you home
And kiss your wounded genitals
And lick your wounded ass
Let the angels hide their eyes
2004
I would walk away in shame
I’d move town, I’d change my name”
I can’t tell you of a past life
when we were star-crossed lovers
I can’t tell you that fate
meant for us to be
I can’t say that nothing
could change the way i feel
Or that i’d die for you tonight
But were you to be gang raped
Every hole torn and bruised
I would carry you home
And kiss your wounded genitals
And lick your wounded ass
Let the angels hide their eyes
2004
attractive
The teen years arrive
The machine of societal feedback begins
Women didn’t flock my way
Two “girlfriends” in high school
A celibate month each
Very thin, with facial features in need of growing into
And acne once mistaken for chicken pox
Groucho’s view on clubs became mine on women…
“If only you knew the real me!”
My intelligence and humor, my qualities
that would make other men fade away
were soul laid bare…
(before we proceed further, dear reader, no suffering artist sighs will be rendered here…
for as long as i have memory, i knew my worth, my attractiveness
unquestionable and complete
never competitive
but peaceful
and true)
Later in life i would give some women a bit of hell
For being shallowly attracted to me
Just as most had been once shallowly unattracted
And still i knew, even at my worst
I was never flat-out ugly
For the age of 32 was where i set my sights
That amazing age, when my looks and i would come together
But teen insecurity is a powerful thing, and at 16
Unwilling to accept a world in which i was the only one
who understood how attractive i was
I played God with myself
I attacked life with an enthusiasm that took a backseat to none
Became a vegetarian, weight-lifting, no sugar/alcohol/caffeine fool
The last two being particularly easy, as i’d never been attracted to them anyway
In the drinking world, already an outsider
My transformation into one who lives on his own terms
made all the more complete…
College brought sex
And then a moment
During a community theater play, a party game
All the women compelled to acknowledge
Who among them found me attractive
By twos, and then ones, all hands went up
But wait, i wasn’t 32 yet!
A couple years later, a friend of mine, the handsome linebacker type
Gives me a playful whack because, for the first time in his life
Women were looking more at his sidekick than at he
And yet…i look at a photo
And it seems that my physical attractiveness was not at all a given
Only a product of which angle you look at me from…
Joanne one day tells me that i’m okay
But her other boarder Jeff, “oh wow”
Bonnie tells me that i should never doubt my attractiveness
But a little voice wonders why would she speak so
Unless doubt i might…
And a loving girfriend
Indicates that a brother is, just maybe, cuter?
Somewhere inside, my gentle soul bristles
All along, i stay true to that 15-year old
Who rejects this shallow world
Rejects in theory only?
No! (Or did i just overmuch protest?
Would the teen have refused, had the “beautiful” ones come knocking?)
Time moves on…
I find myself onstage
I’m called eye candy, and one girl in the booth
Admits that the nightly sight of the semi-clothed fight
between Ford and i, often provokes a moist response
I model, and artists love my naked self
Yet now and again, “you’re too thin!”
(from people who don’t see me naked, i disclaim)
Few people go forth with pure sight when they assess another
But sometimes people who genuinely love me, grouse about my thinness
I become just a bit sensitive
And ever-so occasionally lecture on the difference between skinny and thin
And if pressed, remind people that i’m lighter than the average man
yet stronger, swifter…
I look in the mirror
And it seems that with a few less pounds, i do flirt with skinny
And i’m 15 again…
Shelly says that some days she wants to eat me up
Other days, pheh…
I’ve long fancied that i have a healthy psyche, because of the near equal number
Of women i’ve desired in vain
and women who desired me in vain
But what a painful world
Especially for those with less unshakeable self-worth
Who?
You?
Now in a fourth decade, new to the big city
Still more concerned with being classy than looking classy
And the city is a curious, tiny revelation
Has the romantic wasteland of the past eight years
Fostered a tiny nugget of self-doubt?
In the Laundromat the beautiful eyes
Latina, Indian…
turn to me with smiles
On the subways, perhaps my happiness alone would make me stand out…
And yet one woman, without a word, gets off at the wrong stop
just so she can talk to me…
Another one that i’m trying not to stare at, gives me her phone number
Then runs for the closing doors…
But i’m still unsure whether i might answer
The modeling ads beckoning the “gorgeous ones”
The teenage boy screams “looks don’t matter!”
The man in his twenties debates shallowness in himself
The man in his thirties sits here tonight
And he knows the whys
And the wherefores
And above all, the pitfalls
And is content…
2004
The machine of societal feedback begins
Women didn’t flock my way
Two “girlfriends” in high school
A celibate month each
Very thin, with facial features in need of growing into
And acne once mistaken for chicken pox
Groucho’s view on clubs became mine on women…
“If only you knew the real me!”
My intelligence and humor, my qualities
that would make other men fade away
were soul laid bare…
(before we proceed further, dear reader, no suffering artist sighs will be rendered here…
for as long as i have memory, i knew my worth, my attractiveness
unquestionable and complete
never competitive
but peaceful
and true)
Later in life i would give some women a bit of hell
For being shallowly attracted to me
Just as most had been once shallowly unattracted
And still i knew, even at my worst
I was never flat-out ugly
For the age of 32 was where i set my sights
That amazing age, when my looks and i would come together
But teen insecurity is a powerful thing, and at 16
Unwilling to accept a world in which i was the only one
who understood how attractive i was
I played God with myself
I attacked life with an enthusiasm that took a backseat to none
Became a vegetarian, weight-lifting, no sugar/alcohol/caffeine fool
The last two being particularly easy, as i’d never been attracted to them anyway
In the drinking world, already an outsider
My transformation into one who lives on his own terms
made all the more complete…
College brought sex
And then a moment
During a community theater play, a party game
All the women compelled to acknowledge
Who among them found me attractive
By twos, and then ones, all hands went up
But wait, i wasn’t 32 yet!
A couple years later, a friend of mine, the handsome linebacker type
Gives me a playful whack because, for the first time in his life
Women were looking more at his sidekick than at he
And yet…i look at a photo
And it seems that my physical attractiveness was not at all a given
Only a product of which angle you look at me from…
Joanne one day tells me that i’m okay
But her other boarder Jeff, “oh wow”
Bonnie tells me that i should never doubt my attractiveness
But a little voice wonders why would she speak so
Unless doubt i might…
And a loving girfriend
Indicates that a brother is, just maybe, cuter?
Somewhere inside, my gentle soul bristles
All along, i stay true to that 15-year old
Who rejects this shallow world
Rejects in theory only?
No! (Or did i just overmuch protest?
Would the teen have refused, had the “beautiful” ones come knocking?)
Time moves on…
I find myself onstage
I’m called eye candy, and one girl in the booth
Admits that the nightly sight of the semi-clothed fight
between Ford and i, often provokes a moist response
I model, and artists love my naked self
Yet now and again, “you’re too thin!”
(from people who don’t see me naked, i disclaim)
Few people go forth with pure sight when they assess another
But sometimes people who genuinely love me, grouse about my thinness
I become just a bit sensitive
And ever-so occasionally lecture on the difference between skinny and thin
And if pressed, remind people that i’m lighter than the average man
yet stronger, swifter…
I look in the mirror
And it seems that with a few less pounds, i do flirt with skinny
And i’m 15 again…
Shelly says that some days she wants to eat me up
Other days, pheh…
I’ve long fancied that i have a healthy psyche, because of the near equal number
Of women i’ve desired in vain
and women who desired me in vain
But what a painful world
Especially for those with less unshakeable self-worth
Who?
You?
Now in a fourth decade, new to the big city
Still more concerned with being classy than looking classy
And the city is a curious, tiny revelation
Has the romantic wasteland of the past eight years
Fostered a tiny nugget of self-doubt?
In the Laundromat the beautiful eyes
Latina, Indian…
turn to me with smiles
On the subways, perhaps my happiness alone would make me stand out…
And yet one woman, without a word, gets off at the wrong stop
just so she can talk to me…
Another one that i’m trying not to stare at, gives me her phone number
Then runs for the closing doors…
But i’m still unsure whether i might answer
The modeling ads beckoning the “gorgeous ones”
The teenage boy screams “looks don’t matter!”
The man in his twenties debates shallowness in himself
The man in his thirties sits here tonight
And he knows the whys
And the wherefores
And above all, the pitfalls
And is content…
2004
unattractive(?)
I get pimples on my ass
My gluteus maximus, long among my most cherished features
is home to the pimples that used to dwell closer to the sun
Perhaps if i continually expose my derriere
the pimples will move
to my feet
I’ve had bad breath
Smell this poem
Do i have it now?
Certain of my eyebrow hairs have gotten so long
that i snip them
I used to pluck my brows in the middle
I stopped, but some of those hairs
are thicker and darker now
There’s even a distinguished white one or two
So my plucking days did not end
My ears
have hairs
in places where hairs
never lived before
Pluck, pluck
And the surface of my nose
is now home to a handful of tiny dark hairs
And the two or three strays on my shoulders
Pluck…pluck
I need a pimple maintenance assistant
Who’s ready to take me home?
2004
My gluteus maximus, long among my most cherished features
is home to the pimples that used to dwell closer to the sun
Perhaps if i continually expose my derriere
the pimples will move
to my feet
I’ve had bad breath
Smell this poem
Do i have it now?
Certain of my eyebrow hairs have gotten so long
that i snip them
I used to pluck my brows in the middle
I stopped, but some of those hairs
are thicker and darker now
There’s even a distinguished white one or two
So my plucking days did not end
My ears
have hairs
in places where hairs
never lived before
Pluck, pluck
And the surface of my nose
is now home to a handful of tiny dark hairs
And the two or three strays on my shoulders
Pluck…pluck
I need a pimple maintenance assistant
Who’s ready to take me home?
2004
bohemian
I never had a one-night stand
Nor a three-way, you see
I never inked the orgy register
or dabbled in bestiality
I never swung or swapped
Or with a man had sexual embrace
I never engaged a prostitute
Or had sex in a public place
I never cheated on a girlfriend
Not even with a kiss once or twice
I never back-doored a woman
But no one’s ever asked me nice
I never had sex with underling or boss
Or with a woman who was drunk and unsteady
I never loved a woman not yet eighteen
But i’ve looked, and wished some were ready
I never tripped, or ‘shroomed, or based
I smoked and got high once, for fun
Never did ether, or skag, or x
And my alcoholic days were but one
But there are other kinds of Bohemians
Less celebrated, no less free
Who challenge other beliefs, other mores
So saunter down that road with me
2004
Nor a three-way, you see
I never inked the orgy register
or dabbled in bestiality
I never swung or swapped
Or with a man had sexual embrace
I never engaged a prostitute
Or had sex in a public place
I never cheated on a girlfriend
Not even with a kiss once or twice
I never back-doored a woman
But no one’s ever asked me nice
I never had sex with underling or boss
Or with a woman who was drunk and unsteady
I never loved a woman not yet eighteen
But i’ve looked, and wished some were ready
I never tripped, or ‘shroomed, or based
I smoked and got high once, for fun
Never did ether, or skag, or x
And my alcoholic days were but one
But there are other kinds of Bohemians
Less celebrated, no less free
Who challenge other beliefs, other mores
So saunter down that road with me
2004
irrelevant poem
(or, how to go years without a lover)
You're not interested in this poem
Nor, for that matter, am i
I try not to dwell on provincial concerns
And refusing to live in the future or past
renders introverted analysis
boring
And yet
How many thousands of nights
have i held my pillow
as a surrogate body next to mine
So…
(for the benefit of others)
I’ll indulge a bit of wherefore
I tasted a good relationship once
Whisper the words “mutual healing”, feel their caress
Having touched it, a non-option is settling for less
Playing the games never interested me
The meat market, a place of noise and surface
Makes me shake my head and smile
A high percentage of the world’s first kisses
Were lubricated by alcohol
(not for you, of course…)
One hookup in my life was thusly facilitated
The life moment i’m least proud of
Most females, even those who never aspire to motherhood
Are drawn to a fancy nest
But a nester i’ve been none
Independence and honesty are strong in me
Most prefer second-rate honesty
And that chestnut about women drawn to men who treat them poorly?
Not true of course, right?
Right?
Many women don’t know how to respond
When you usurp their role
Of determining
when a relationship is ready for sex
Combine all that
With that ol’ unwillingness-to-settle-for-less
And you’d better have that pillow
close by…
2004
You're not interested in this poem
Nor, for that matter, am i
I try not to dwell on provincial concerns
And refusing to live in the future or past
renders introverted analysis
boring
And yet
How many thousands of nights
have i held my pillow
as a surrogate body next to mine
So…
(for the benefit of others)
I’ll indulge a bit of wherefore
I tasted a good relationship once
Whisper the words “mutual healing”, feel their caress
Having touched it, a non-option is settling for less
Playing the games never interested me
The meat market, a place of noise and surface
Makes me shake my head and smile
A high percentage of the world’s first kisses
Were lubricated by alcohol
(not for you, of course…)
One hookup in my life was thusly facilitated
The life moment i’m least proud of
Most females, even those who never aspire to motherhood
Are drawn to a fancy nest
But a nester i’ve been none
Independence and honesty are strong in me
Most prefer second-rate honesty
And that chestnut about women drawn to men who treat them poorly?
Not true of course, right?
Right?
Many women don’t know how to respond
When you usurp their role
Of determining
when a relationship is ready for sex
Combine all that
With that ol’ unwillingness-to-settle-for-less
And you’d better have that pillow
close by…
2004
2 NY afternoons
In a far-off land
They throw cigarette butts into the trash
I move on…
She enters the store
I check out her muscle tone
I check out her ass
I move on…
I see a shirtless man
I remember talk of a “no-shirtless” ordinance
What freedom will i fight to keep?
And why do i accept pants?
I move on…
=======
In a Queens hospital
Electrodes strapped to my head
As i run a battery of intellect and reflex guinea pig tests
I set and then break the all-time record for most finger strikes per minute
An actor making a living
On Broadway, i get my first glimpse
Letterman’s Sullivan Theater
My excitement lasts a good 7 or 8 seconds
Then i seek the grail
Rupert’s Hello Deli
It’s not to be found
(perhaps it doesn’t exist; Rupert some pretend player)
One hour later returning, a thunderstorm brews
I start to run
Not because i don’t want to get wet
But for the sport of outrunning a storm
A woman is running behind me
She’s well-groomed, and invites the world to love her breasts
We’re the only ones running
I look back, and we smile
The drops start to fall
We pass the Sullivan entrance
I cross a street, resigned to no Rupert
I look back, and she has turned down the side street
Not ready for our moment to end
I parallel her move
After fifteen steps
I glance over, and she’s passing the Deli
She ducks into the next door, late for work
I stop
The Deli sign is darker than i imagined
I cross the street
Standing in the entrance, i look in
And there he is
I smile
2004
They throw cigarette butts into the trash
I move on…
She enters the store
I check out her muscle tone
I check out her ass
I move on…
I see a shirtless man
I remember talk of a “no-shirtless” ordinance
What freedom will i fight to keep?
And why do i accept pants?
I move on…
=======
In a Queens hospital
Electrodes strapped to my head
As i run a battery of intellect and reflex guinea pig tests
I set and then break the all-time record for most finger strikes per minute
An actor making a living
On Broadway, i get my first glimpse
Letterman’s Sullivan Theater
My excitement lasts a good 7 or 8 seconds
Then i seek the grail
Rupert’s Hello Deli
It’s not to be found
(perhaps it doesn’t exist; Rupert some pretend player)
One hour later returning, a thunderstorm brews
I start to run
Not because i don’t want to get wet
But for the sport of outrunning a storm
A woman is running behind me
She’s well-groomed, and invites the world to love her breasts
We’re the only ones running
I look back, and we smile
The drops start to fall
We pass the Sullivan entrance
I cross a street, resigned to no Rupert
I look back, and she has turned down the side street
Not ready for our moment to end
I parallel her move
After fifteen steps
I glance over, and she’s passing the Deli
She ducks into the next door, late for work
I stop
The Deli sign is darker than i imagined
I cross the street
Standing in the entrance, i look in
And there he is
I smile
2004
jester
If you walk the center of town
in socks and a jester’s hat
Then you’re something
a little less than sane
Or moreso
Tough call
If you can’t walk the center of town
naked
Then you’re something
a little less than alive
2004
in socks and a jester’s hat
Then you’re something
a little less than sane
Or moreso
Tough call
If you can’t walk the center of town
naked
Then you’re something
a little less than alive
2004
creature of dreams
My lover loves to dance
even when she's alone
My lover doesn't like the politics of makeup
or the way it feels on her skin
My lover climbs a statue
or a railing
or a friend
She doesn't even care if the strangers stare
My lover loves to race
Sometimes she knows where the finish line is
My lover has never understood the appeal
of a pharmacological path to fun
The need to knead keeps her nails short
She doesn't like perfumes
Or product in her hair
Secrets and smoke make her wince and cough
She says ears are for nibbling
but metal isn’t
My lover's honesty is a source of consternation
to many
She picked up “Society’s Instructions on the Female Body”
Then lost it…
My lover dresses in kooky clothes
except when she takes no notice of what she's wearing
which is most of the time
She's happiest wearing nothing at all
Fortunately for you and i my lover tonight is a creature of dreams
Otherwise we mightn't have had this time
together
(dedicated to that spunky one out there, who sits with her legs apart)
2003
even when she's alone
My lover doesn't like the politics of makeup
or the way it feels on her skin
My lover climbs a statue
or a railing
or a friend
She doesn't even care if the strangers stare
My lover loves to race
Sometimes she knows where the finish line is
My lover has never understood the appeal
of a pharmacological path to fun
The need to knead keeps her nails short
She doesn't like perfumes
Or product in her hair
Secrets and smoke make her wince and cough
She says ears are for nibbling
but metal isn’t
My lover's honesty is a source of consternation
to many
She picked up “Society’s Instructions on the Female Body”
Then lost it…
My lover dresses in kooky clothes
except when she takes no notice of what she's wearing
which is most of the time
She's happiest wearing nothing at all
Fortunately for you and i my lover tonight is a creature of dreams
Otherwise we mightn't have had this time
together
(dedicated to that spunky one out there, who sits with her legs apart)
2003
hit the vain
At 17, i fell in unrequited love with Tessa
I pined for a year
At 20, i saw Tessa again
She was fat
Love cured
Becky pined for me for years
If she had been sixty-eight pounds lighter
Would my apathy have been cured?
"No", a voice says...
"Her personality didn't do it for me"
And yet...
If her younger sister
who was sixty-eight pounds lighter
with no noticeably superior personality
had asked for my cock...
Thousands of push-ups and handstand push-ups
Done just for the way it makes me feel
Right?
Right, you shallow fuck?
2003
I pined for a year
At 20, i saw Tessa again
She was fat
Love cured
Becky pined for me for years
If she had been sixty-eight pounds lighter
Would my apathy have been cured?
"No", a voice says...
"Her personality didn't do it for me"
And yet...
If her younger sister
who was sixty-eight pounds lighter
with no noticeably superior personality
had asked for my cock...
Thousands of push-ups and handstand push-ups
Done just for the way it makes me feel
Right?
Right, you shallow fuck?
2003
born in 1968
Your beauty was not merely heaven's tears
wrenched from that anguish
you could not flee
The soil that found your tears
took the life you gave
and returned it to the seeds it sheltered
The seeds rose, striving to become
Your beauty was not merely that sadness inescapable
For as the morning mist rising to the sun
Your tears rose
Striving to touch
Striving to teach
Striving to become
Lifting to places yet unknown
-decicated to MLK
1997
wrenched from that anguish
you could not flee
The soil that found your tears
took the life you gave
and returned it to the seeds it sheltered
The seeds rose, striving to become
Your beauty was not merely that sadness inescapable
For as the morning mist rising to the sun
Your tears rose
Striving to touch
Striving to teach
Striving to become
Lifting to places yet unknown
-decicated to MLK
1997
Thursday, February 21, 2008
BAD MEAT: THE 11 WORST FILMS OF ALL TIME
What an interesting and fun task. I’ve found it to be more subjective than the “best” list. My badness formula is: expectation, plus the severity of negative feeling excited, minus redeeming value. Therefore many horrible films aren’t on the list simply because of the expectation (or lack thereof) surrounding them. For example, we had the downward spiral of JAWS 2 and 3 to prepare us for REVENGE. And the reverse operates too, with one or two entries appearing only because of hopeful expectation. JEDI and Carrey’s GRINCH both hurt me more deeply than several films here, but they had redeeming qualities. With the human tendency to bury traumatic experiences, it’s also possible that i’ve simply lost the memory of certain deserving films. And of course there are any number of horrible films i’ve never seen (ZARDOZ, most SNL products…). But enough, time for the meat.
11) HOWARD THE DUCK
Watch it. I dare you. No, i double dare you.
10) BATTLEFIELD EARTH
I must confess something i’m not entirely proud of. I was actually hoping this film would be…not very good. Because of the scientology association. Please understand, some very dear friends of mine are scientologists, and there are some tenets of scientology which are goodly and evolved. But there are some wrongheaded principles (on homosexuality for instance, and other stuff that South Park dealt so beautifully with)…plus if the reports are correct, they employ Gestapo tactics in dealing with those who leave the fold. Scary stuff. But this movie…i felt almost guilty that i had wished it badness, for i never envisioned the stinking wretchedness that issued forth.
9) ALI G INDAHOUSE: THE MOVIE
This movie is quite nearly as awful as BORAT is good. So very, very nearly. An object lesson in…a young talent given a movie too soon? A young talent not having enough clout to call the shots in his own film?
8) GREASE 2
If you've not seen it, i recommend you watch the first fifteen minutes, and if your lips don't become semi-perpetually parted, then check for a pulse. I'm almost certain the producers had a behind-closed-doors meeting once the film was assembled, and agonized over doing the unthinkable, not releasing a film they had just invested 13 million dollars on. Mind......numbing.
7) Every Tarzan film made since…
At the very least, forty years worth of godawfulness. A four-decade parade of perpetual puke. Probably longer. There were some allegedly good ones in the sixties, but…i have my doubts. I was tempted to title this entry “every color Tarzan film”, for some of the black and white ones had charm. But even the Weissmuller films are profound failures when it comes to capturing the wonderfulness of the Burroughs novels. No movie has ever come close. And the versions of the past twenty-five years have been so off-the-charts wretched...let's try to leave this entry with a little dignity and not even think about which was worse, TARZAN IN MANHATTAN, GREYSTOKE, the Derek debacle, or the Van Dien one. It is to cry…
6) A VIEW TO A KILL
How did the franchise survive? Insufferably winky, horribly wooden (sorry, Tanya)…if you’d told me that a worse Bond than OCTOPUSSY could ever be made, i would have laughed.
5) SUMMER IN SAINT TROPEZ
David Hamilton pulls of the near-impossible. How, how, HOW in the name of sanity do you make naked french girls frolicking in paradise boring? He did it, somehow he did it. Within twelve minutes, mockery is the only defense. Even alone, you have no choice but to start verbally roasting the awfulness…
4) INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM
The devotion that RAIDERS engendered made the only sane reaction to this movie unbridled disgust. I can’t even bring myself to say the words…ohh…oh, okay we’re grownups here. I’ll say it. Short Round. There. I said it.
3) WYATT EARP
Great actors. Lawrence Kasdan. Kasdan, for *&^%’s sake! But this movie’s awfulness is soul-sucking and relentless. It sneaks up on you. In the first hour you’re still…hopeful. During the second hour you’re trying to wish away a creeping, horrible feeling. If you survive the whole thing, you feel nothing but dirty and violated. It’s one of only two movies that have ever left me physically ill. I was so shell-shocked and not in my right mind when it ended that i saw there were deleted scenes, and i…Odin help me, i watched them. Sometimes perversity is the only option. One of them provided the only moments of entertainment in four hours of screen time.
2) JOHNNY PNEMONIC
I have never experienced such a profound sense of embarrassment for actors on a screen. I couldn’t get through it. Not even close.
1) BEASTMASTER 2: THROUGH THE PORTAL OF TIME
Hello, Mr. Tabot. Delighted you could finally join us. Right this way to your table, sir. You’ll be dining with the Rove/Bundy/Caligula party. The main course tonight will be acid. Uh, no, Mr. Tabot, not that kind… (author’s note: Hell, like real estate, is a figment of overactive human imagination).
11) HOWARD THE DUCK
Watch it. I dare you. No, i double dare you.
10) BATTLEFIELD EARTH
I must confess something i’m not entirely proud of. I was actually hoping this film would be…not very good. Because of the scientology association. Please understand, some very dear friends of mine are scientologists, and there are some tenets of scientology which are goodly and evolved. But there are some wrongheaded principles (on homosexuality for instance, and other stuff that South Park dealt so beautifully with)…plus if the reports are correct, they employ Gestapo tactics in dealing with those who leave the fold. Scary stuff. But this movie…i felt almost guilty that i had wished it badness, for i never envisioned the stinking wretchedness that issued forth.
9) ALI G INDAHOUSE: THE MOVIE
This movie is quite nearly as awful as BORAT is good. So very, very nearly. An object lesson in…a young talent given a movie too soon? A young talent not having enough clout to call the shots in his own film?
8) GREASE 2
If you've not seen it, i recommend you watch the first fifteen minutes, and if your lips don't become semi-perpetually parted, then check for a pulse. I'm almost certain the producers had a behind-closed-doors meeting once the film was assembled, and agonized over doing the unthinkable, not releasing a film they had just invested 13 million dollars on. Mind......numbing.
7) Every Tarzan film made since…
At the very least, forty years worth of godawfulness. A four-decade parade of perpetual puke. Probably longer. There were some allegedly good ones in the sixties, but…i have my doubts. I was tempted to title this entry “every color Tarzan film”, for some of the black and white ones had charm. But even the Weissmuller films are profound failures when it comes to capturing the wonderfulness of the Burroughs novels. No movie has ever come close. And the versions of the past twenty-five years have been so off-the-charts wretched...let's try to leave this entry with a little dignity and not even think about which was worse, TARZAN IN MANHATTAN, GREYSTOKE, the Derek debacle, or the Van Dien one. It is to cry…
6) A VIEW TO A KILL
How did the franchise survive? Insufferably winky, horribly wooden (sorry, Tanya)…if you’d told me that a worse Bond than OCTOPUSSY could ever be made, i would have laughed.
5) SUMMER IN SAINT TROPEZ
David Hamilton pulls of the near-impossible. How, how, HOW in the name of sanity do you make naked french girls frolicking in paradise boring? He did it, somehow he did it. Within twelve minutes, mockery is the only defense. Even alone, you have no choice but to start verbally roasting the awfulness…
4) INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM
The devotion that RAIDERS engendered made the only sane reaction to this movie unbridled disgust. I can’t even bring myself to say the words…ohh…oh, okay we’re grownups here. I’ll say it. Short Round. There. I said it.
3) WYATT EARP
Great actors. Lawrence Kasdan. Kasdan, for *&^%’s sake! But this movie’s awfulness is soul-sucking and relentless. It sneaks up on you. In the first hour you’re still…hopeful. During the second hour you’re trying to wish away a creeping, horrible feeling. If you survive the whole thing, you feel nothing but dirty and violated. It’s one of only two movies that have ever left me physically ill. I was so shell-shocked and not in my right mind when it ended that i saw there were deleted scenes, and i…Odin help me, i watched them. Sometimes perversity is the only option. One of them provided the only moments of entertainment in four hours of screen time.
2) JOHNNY PNEMONIC
I have never experienced such a profound sense of embarrassment for actors on a screen. I couldn’t get through it. Not even close.
1) BEASTMASTER 2: THROUGH THE PORTAL OF TIME
Hello, Mr. Tabot. Delighted you could finally join us. Right this way to your table, sir. You’ll be dining with the Rove/Bundy/Caligula party. The main course tonight will be acid. Uh, no, Mr. Tabot, not that kind… (author’s note: Hell, like real estate, is a figment of overactive human imagination).
getting to M's, the adventure
I walk out of the theater, and call M. It's pretty cold. Okay, gotta get to Northern Blvd. on the RVG line. I have my bike, but with my knee still acting funny, i'll take it on the subway. Hm, she just recommended taking the E, which is one block behind me now, but if i bike the ten blocks to the 34th station, i can get the R and not waste time on a transfer. Also, the smaller subway stations sometimes, like the one behind me, close turnstiles at night, so i'll gamble on the bigger 34th station.
Okay, got food. Here's 34th...carry the bike down, and...NIGHT GRATES! Damn, here? Okay, i'll just walk a couple blocks to the other end....damn, MORE grates...yeah, around this side too...okay, i'll bike to 42nd Grand Central...okay, here i am...walking down...and people coming up saying it just closed...okay, back onto the street, over to the main terminal a couple blocks away, and...yay, i'm in...hm, will Northern give me a problem getting out...maybe i should just go to my home stop and bike from there...naah...hm, been waiting too long for a damn R to come...okay, i'll just hop on an N, and make the switch to any of her lines at Queensboro Plaza, like we talked about...here we go...here we are getting off at Queensboro, and...nope, no RVG here...hm, i think it must be at Queens Plaza like she originally said, but she let me wrongly correct her...oops, and now i'm carrying the bike down and up several levels trying to get out, as the nice man said that my station is only a couple blocks away...finally, an emergency exit...hmm, should i just bike to 30th at this point, and then north to her...hmmm, i don't see this RVG station yet...hmmm, fuck it, i'll bike the rest of the way...hmm, this road here seems to be pointing exactly where i want to go...should i take it and maybe save myself a mile or two, or go where i know...could end up getting lost, of course...fuck it, let's do this...hey, it's Northern Blvd.!...perfect, this should lead directly to her...yup, i keep seeing RVG stations...okay, a beautiful night, and...Best Buy!...okay, don't see the station, but time to call!...waiting...okay, here she is...hm, she sounds drowsy and unexcited and impatient...it's fucking cold, stop asking questions, M...what...wait, i'm still talking and she's awful quiet...hmm...oh shit, my phone just died!...that's never happened before, though i've been dealing with dying battery issues for months and months...can i get it alive again...nope, it keeps on dying, just as i dial...and i don't have her phone numbers written down...hm, okay, just find my way to 50th and 30th...no, i don't think left was the way to go...okay, i found it...maybe i can get my phone to come alive again long enough for me to read her number...inside Papa John's, this nice counter girl seems to like me, and gives me her phone...okay, got the number...here's M, is she having second thoughts or is she just too tired...second thoughts would be understandable, we still hardly know each other...we talked at 5:30 today, at which time i said five or six hours, and despite everything i'm still within that timeframe...maybe she thought i was exaggerating on the estimate?...dammit, i've come too far, don't want to give up...okay, here's the building...i'm in...hm, small elevator, okay i'm in...her floor...okay, i think the thing to do is just say hi and bye and chastise her tomorrow for her ongoing dumbass behavior in the face of being sick...maybe just maybe sickness is the body's way of saying "Hey fucknut! Slow the fuck down!"...but she keeps working too-long hours and socializing afterwards...forget other compatibilities, she's obviously not intelligent enough to take care of herself (sarcasm, mostly)...
Okay, that was actually a kinda nice hug...back to the cold...hm, really gotta pee...well, the streets are deserted, and there's this shadowy place at the big tree to the left outside M's building...ahhhhhhhhh...back on the bike...it's a rather beautiful night...so peaceful and quiet in the cold...what a cool way to learn my neighborhood...and the Papa John's girl was nice, can i wave at her as i pass?...been a bit of an adventure...who knows, maybe this night will turn out to be more fun than watching improv tomorrow night...got my yummy food in my pack, and it's actually not as late as it feels...
Okay, got food. Here's 34th...carry the bike down, and...NIGHT GRATES! Damn, here? Okay, i'll just walk a couple blocks to the other end....damn, MORE grates...yeah, around this side too...okay, i'll bike to 42nd Grand Central...okay, here i am...walking down...and people coming up saying it just closed...okay, back onto the street, over to the main terminal a couple blocks away, and...yay, i'm in...hm, will Northern give me a problem getting out...maybe i should just go to my home stop and bike from there...naah...hm, been waiting too long for a damn R to come...okay, i'll just hop on an N, and make the switch to any of her lines at Queensboro Plaza, like we talked about...here we go...here we are getting off at Queensboro, and...nope, no RVG here...hm, i think it must be at Queens Plaza like she originally said, but she let me wrongly correct her...oops, and now i'm carrying the bike down and up several levels trying to get out, as the nice man said that my station is only a couple blocks away...finally, an emergency exit...hmm, should i just bike to 30th at this point, and then north to her...hmmm, i don't see this RVG station yet...hmmm, fuck it, i'll bike the rest of the way...hmm, this road here seems to be pointing exactly where i want to go...should i take it and maybe save myself a mile or two, or go where i know...could end up getting lost, of course...fuck it, let's do this...hey, it's Northern Blvd.!...perfect, this should lead directly to her...yup, i keep seeing RVG stations...okay, a beautiful night, and...Best Buy!...okay, don't see the station, but time to call!...waiting...okay, here she is...hm, she sounds drowsy and unexcited and impatient...it's fucking cold, stop asking questions, M...what...wait, i'm still talking and she's awful quiet...hmm...oh shit, my phone just died!...that's never happened before, though i've been dealing with dying battery issues for months and months...can i get it alive again...nope, it keeps on dying, just as i dial...and i don't have her phone numbers written down...hm, okay, just find my way to 50th and 30th...no, i don't think left was the way to go...okay, i found it...maybe i can get my phone to come alive again long enough for me to read her number...inside Papa John's, this nice counter girl seems to like me, and gives me her phone...okay, got the number...here's M, is she having second thoughts or is she just too tired...second thoughts would be understandable, we still hardly know each other...we talked at 5:30 today, at which time i said five or six hours, and despite everything i'm still within that timeframe...maybe she thought i was exaggerating on the estimate?...dammit, i've come too far, don't want to give up...okay, here's the building...i'm in...hm, small elevator, okay i'm in...her floor...okay, i think the thing to do is just say hi and bye and chastise her tomorrow for her ongoing dumbass behavior in the face of being sick...maybe just maybe sickness is the body's way of saying "Hey fucknut! Slow the fuck down!"...but she keeps working too-long hours and socializing afterwards...forget other compatibilities, she's obviously not intelligent enough to take care of herself (sarcasm, mostly)...
Okay, that was actually a kinda nice hug...back to the cold...hm, really gotta pee...well, the streets are deserted, and there's this shadowy place at the big tree to the left outside M's building...ahhhhhhhhh...back on the bike...it's a rather beautiful night...so peaceful and quiet in the cold...what a cool way to learn my neighborhood...and the Papa John's girl was nice, can i wave at her as i pass?...been a bit of an adventure...who knows, maybe this night will turn out to be more fun than watching improv tomorrow night...got my yummy food in my pack, and it's actually not as late as it feels...
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Birth! Of a blog!
Greetings. I sit here in my home in Astoria, NY. It is early evening, and the only light comes from my computer screen, plus the ambient light coming through the second-story window at my side. All the buildings here on 29th Ave. are two-story row homes, probably thirty to forty years old. The nearest streetlight is across the street, and a second one is visible further away on a cross street, 23rd. In the distance, over the row houses on the other side of the street, i can see the lights of the uppermost portions of the Triborough Bridge. The only sound in the house is the music of Cassandra Wilson. It's a lushly beautiful album i'm hearing for the first time, which i bought recently because it contains a cover of "Harvest Moon".
Having a room with a window was very important to me when i moved here six months ago, as i spend many hours writing, mostly poetry and plays and before now. This window and the view therethrough have been lovely, except...it's one of those double-paned jobs, and moisture has seeped between the panes. Removing this moisture seems impossible, so my view of the outside world is a touch obscured.
Details...all these details. Why? Because life is in the details, if i may be so simplistic. Or more precisely, connection is in the details. If i hope to connect to you, i want you to know who i am. Nothing hidden, no layer of moisture obscuring our connection (i swear, i never had that metaphor in mind when i started rambling about the window).
And why a blog? When i first heard of such things, it sounded fine but a little too "geekboy" for me. Not surprising, as i've always resisted technology. I started writing in the nineties on an actual typewriter. After a few years i broke down and switched to a word processor. I resisted the internet until five years ago. I resisted cell phones even longer. But for about a year, i've been warming to this blog idea. In part because, as i go on in life, it is writing that captures more and more of my passion. It started about ten years ago with a play, a natural offshoot of my first creative passion, acting. I've long had a suspicion that writing might someday be a huge part of me. After a couple plays, i wrote a poem. This year has found me writing articles, and fun lists like "The 10 Worst Movies of All Time". So all these elements come together here in Astoria on this cold night.
Why "unboughtsoul"? I knew that my vibe wouldn't cater to any very specific target group; the most concrete description i can give for those who will be drawn to this blog are "free thinker". And the curious, for indeed my life is a bit of a curiousity when held up to the "average" american. The simplest way of describing me is to imagine me living with a sign around my neck reading "THIS SOUL NOT FOR SALE". I've always felt rather immune from the pressures to conform. I've done my thing, ignoring the mandates of middle class America from which i sprang. A large part of this is the rejection of materialism, and the idea of slaving away in the hope of a future day of leisure. I claim my right to leisure here and now. Understand though, i've been a hard worker all my life, generally standing out, be it in creative work or digging a ditch. I've worked happily for others, and more often freelanced. I won't say i don't know the feeling of prostitution, as i did spend some two months of my life in a Spongebob costume (one month would have been plenty). Sometimes i even embraced prostitute-like experiences, just to be in touch with that reality. But generally i've done what i wanted, had fun, and refused the 401K world.
Another thing that has made me different is my desire to live not in the past or the future, as so many do, but in the present moment.
So "unboughtsoul" seemed natural. Then i hesitated, not liking the religious connotation. I thought perhaps "unsoldspirit", which was better intellectually, but not as poetic, and "spirit" connotes a certain religiousity too, so i went with my first impulse.
And what will you find here? Aside from the obvious things like poetry and articles and lists, i'll make entries about the ongoings of my daily life. We unbought souls can be pretty amusing.
Silliness. Poetry. Randomness.
Today was a leisurely day. I masturbated. I answered a few e-mails about a poem that i sent to friends, "The Land Where I Grew". It's my first political poem...perhaps not great, but not bad and certainly sincere. I edited one of my plays. I took a bike ride to do banking and visit local thrift shops, looking unsuccessfully for a boom box (yes, i did mention that i was listening to music earlier, thank you for paying attention...my old cd player, a freebie from craigslist, is hanging on, barely). I met a very nice old man while out though, and bought a short story collection by a female writer about sexual awakenings in India, plus bought the movies FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION and GALAXY QUEST. With breakfast, i watched the first part of the movie DEATH OF A PRESIDENT, a fictional account of Bush's 2007 assasination. With lunch, i watched some of the documentaries that come with the STAR TREK classic series dvd set. The first one was rich, the second a little boring with the details of Shatner's horse passion.
And i wrote to you.
Such has been my life today. Not bad.
Having a room with a window was very important to me when i moved here six months ago, as i spend many hours writing, mostly poetry and plays and before now. This window and the view therethrough have been lovely, except...it's one of those double-paned jobs, and moisture has seeped between the panes. Removing this moisture seems impossible, so my view of the outside world is a touch obscured.
Details...all these details. Why? Because life is in the details, if i may be so simplistic. Or more precisely, connection is in the details. If i hope to connect to you, i want you to know who i am. Nothing hidden, no layer of moisture obscuring our connection (i swear, i never had that metaphor in mind when i started rambling about the window).
And why a blog? When i first heard of such things, it sounded fine but a little too "geekboy" for me. Not surprising, as i've always resisted technology. I started writing in the nineties on an actual typewriter. After a few years i broke down and switched to a word processor. I resisted the internet until five years ago. I resisted cell phones even longer. But for about a year, i've been warming to this blog idea. In part because, as i go on in life, it is writing that captures more and more of my passion. It started about ten years ago with a play, a natural offshoot of my first creative passion, acting. I've long had a suspicion that writing might someday be a huge part of me. After a couple plays, i wrote a poem. This year has found me writing articles, and fun lists like "The 10 Worst Movies of All Time". So all these elements come together here in Astoria on this cold night.
Why "unboughtsoul"? I knew that my vibe wouldn't cater to any very specific target group; the most concrete description i can give for those who will be drawn to this blog are "free thinker". And the curious, for indeed my life is a bit of a curiousity when held up to the "average" american. The simplest way of describing me is to imagine me living with a sign around my neck reading "THIS SOUL NOT FOR SALE". I've always felt rather immune from the pressures to conform. I've done my thing, ignoring the mandates of middle class America from which i sprang. A large part of this is the rejection of materialism, and the idea of slaving away in the hope of a future day of leisure. I claim my right to leisure here and now. Understand though, i've been a hard worker all my life, generally standing out, be it in creative work or digging a ditch. I've worked happily for others, and more often freelanced. I won't say i don't know the feeling of prostitution, as i did spend some two months of my life in a Spongebob costume (one month would have been plenty). Sometimes i even embraced prostitute-like experiences, just to be in touch with that reality. But generally i've done what i wanted, had fun, and refused the 401K world.
Another thing that has made me different is my desire to live not in the past or the future, as so many do, but in the present moment.
So "unboughtsoul" seemed natural. Then i hesitated, not liking the religious connotation. I thought perhaps "unsoldspirit", which was better intellectually, but not as poetic, and "spirit" connotes a certain religiousity too, so i went with my first impulse.
And what will you find here? Aside from the obvious things like poetry and articles and lists, i'll make entries about the ongoings of my daily life. We unbought souls can be pretty amusing.
Silliness. Poetry. Randomness.
Today was a leisurely day. I masturbated. I answered a few e-mails about a poem that i sent to friends, "The Land Where I Grew". It's my first political poem...perhaps not great, but not bad and certainly sincere. I edited one of my plays. I took a bike ride to do banking and visit local thrift shops, looking unsuccessfully for a boom box (yes, i did mention that i was listening to music earlier, thank you for paying attention...my old cd player, a freebie from craigslist, is hanging on, barely). I met a very nice old man while out though, and bought a short story collection by a female writer about sexual awakenings in India, plus bought the movies FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION and GALAXY QUEST. With breakfast, i watched the first part of the movie DEATH OF A PRESIDENT, a fictional account of Bush's 2007 assasination. With lunch, i watched some of the documentaries that come with the STAR TREK classic series dvd set. The first one was rich, the second a little boring with the details of Shatner's horse passion.
And i wrote to you.
Such has been my life today. Not bad.
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