Is This Guy Writing About Postmodern Poetry?

Because it's pretty much the same complaint that I have. Here, speaking of using common language, the language of the masses, so to speak:

Accordingly, such a language, arising out of repeated experience and regular feelings, is a more permanent, and a far more philosophical language, than that which is frequently substituted for it by Poets, who think that they are conferring honour upon themselves and their art, in proportion as they separate themselves from the sympathies of men, and indulge in arbitrary and capricious habits of expression, in order to furnish food for fickle tastes, and fickle appetites, of their own creation.

But who wrote it? That is the question, and the rub. And the prize.

I have wished to keep the Reader in the company of flesh and blood, persuaded that by so doing I shall interest him.

I Lost My Keys

Luckily, because I locked my car keys in my car three times over the course of three weeks last summer, I have a spare set of car keys in a magnetic thing somewhere under my car's chassis, close to the ground. Locating it, however, requires much searching because after about two days of driving everything turns the same dirty snow salt gray. Which just happens to be the natural color of my car. I like to call that sort of coincidence a coincidence. Convenient, even.

I do not have a spare set of keys to my apartment. This requires that I use my credit card to open the door. Frightening is what I like to call the fact that it is so easy to break into my apartment. Farcically scary, even.

I say that I lost my keys. What I really mean when I say lost was that the same person who stole my phone and my alarm clock and my blanket also stole my key. And my laundry money, which consisted of exactly ten dollars in quarters.

Anonymous, Episode Twelve

This is for breakfast.
This is for me and Becky.
This is for lunch.
This is for vodka.

France The Hawk

According to Financial Times:

Although Mr Chirac conceded that the country's nuclear arsenal could not deter fanatical terrorists, he said it could help prevent states sponsoring those terrorists.

The leaders of states who use terrorist means against us, as well as those who would consider using, in one way or another, weapons of mass destruction, must understand that they would lay themselves open to a firm and adapted response on our part," he said. "This response could be a conventional one. It could also be of a different kind."

Highway 69

buzzed driving is drunk
driving. follow god, he is
the way. stop ahead.

More Haiku

the leaf isn't green,
as it used to be; my white
bedsheets not as white.

Haiku

You know how I like the haiku.

broast chicken catered
255-5566
perfect for parties

Anonymous, Episode Eleven

He doesn't have any idea what he's in for if he hits on me tonight.
I'm gonna get drunk.
When I get drunk,
I like to put guys in a headlock and then
force them to the floor and then
yeah
and then yeah.
Yeah.

My Nipples Hurt

Shit, am I lactating?

I really really hope that I'm not.

Wouldn't that be difficult, trying to explain?

Dammit, my nipples hurt.

They're all red and stuff.

And pointy.

And there's nobody around to appreciate it.

Monkeys Are So Fucking Cool

And there's a monkey reviewing movies. He might be the coolest monkey of them all. He can be found here.

Anybody Else Catch This?

According to Reuters (excerpted):

Venezuela expanded a controversial program on Thursday of subsidizing costly home-heating oil for the U.S. poor with a pact in Maine...

Venezuela...donated 8 million gallons (36 million litres) of heating oil at a 40 percent discount to Maine, the third northeastern U.S. state to receive what Venezuela calls its "humanitarian aid."

Donations to the U.S. poor by Citgo, Venezuela's state-owned oil company's U.S. division, now total an estimated $38 million in three states -- Maine, Massachusetts and New York. Rhode Island will receive a similar donation on Friday.

"This is wonderful," said Mary Lyons, whose husband's small pension and social security benefits barely cover monthly heating bills that are up 40 percent from last winter following the surge in global oil prices.

Next to a table in her driveway where Maine Gov. John Baldacci signed Thursday's pact with Citgo's chief executive Felix Rodriguez, she thanked the Venezuelan government. "This is a big help," she said.

Oh wow, yeah. Dude. That's good. Stuff for the poor. From another country. Wait. What? Wait, isn't that sort of illegal? I'm pretty sure that's illegal. Not the getting stuff for the poor part, the part about the Governor of Maine signing a pact with Venezuela. Hold on a second, I'll find the relevant information.

Yep, here it is. It's from Article I Section 10 of the United States' Constitution:

No State shall, without the Consent of Congress...enter into any Agreement or Compact with another State, or with a foreign Power...

Signs O' The Times, you know?

Full Moon. Friday The Thirteenth

I am depressed.

Actually, I'm not really.

But I think that I should be.

The fact that I am not when I should be is making me depressed.

Re: Gregory Corso

Five days into the poem I have realized that Corso, writing about a clown, is himself a clown.

Clowns, being clowns, scare me with their white faces and red red lips.

The poem has been discontinued.

I shall delete all my posts.

Tomorrow, maybe.

This is a warning.

I Was Talking To My Future Landlady's Son

and he was telling me horror stories about his high school. This reminded me of an incident from my own student-hood. I will share it with you.

Note: I cannot remember the teacher's name. Mrs. Heiss maybe. Something German, at any rate.

teacher: You were supposed to read book ten of Plato's Republic. What did you think? What were your first impressions?
[student raises his hand]
Yes?

student: I thought it was a bunch of crap.

teacher: Let's pause there a moment, before we go turning this class into something out of a J. D. Salinger novel.

student: I'm sorry, I misunderstood you. You must have meant that you wanted to hear my first impression. My mistake. I got about two pages into it and thought it was a bunch of fucking crap.

teacher: Go to the office, please.

student: It would be my pleasure, ma'am.

Did I mention that I almost didn't graduate?

What Is It With Women Stealing My Phone?

This is the second time in three months.

I am starting to get pissed.

I think that I shall just not have a phone from this day forward until the end of time, forever.

It is a sign from on high; I should not be in possession of a phone from this day forward forever.

Besides, I really can't afford it.

Phones are expensive.

The 10 Days Of Gregory Corso's "Clown"

5

Proud boastful buffoon! at full your fancies
swing swift youngyear to oldyear.

Is it for Death you rend black profit,
this meagre vanity deserved me?

It is life has flawed my gentle song;

sad intelligence examples my secret rich behavior,
o foremost physician at my dying side.

Good tricker! I distinguish your twisted floors
your ribboned furniture, your anguished doors.

Ho! you good mad pest of joy!
I won't stab your eyes with night,

or place a watchman's apey grapple
to nab you with his moral tickle.

You are not laughable
You have never been laughable
You have always been you, clown!
--a graft of lunacy on heaven's diadem.

Yet I die in thee;
fill your heart my tomb--

Forgive me, lovely one;
o there's that in me wishes each laugh
would knit an eternity of hilarity!

No, I shan't crowd your brainy grave;
it's enough I climb your jolly ladder
and have planets kick dust in my eyes.

Don't despair kind child of joy,
you'll get to God
and ease His dreadful tightrope.

Anonymous, Episode Ten

woman: your clock is an hour and ten minutes fast.

man: yeah, it's my car clock. i can't figure out how to set it.

woman: i'll show you. hold down this button and then stick a paperclip in this hole and

man: please don't do that.

woman: why shouldn't i do that?

man: because the clock at my house is fifty minutes slow.

woman: so change it.

man: i don't know how and i can't reset one without resetting the other.
[pause]
what? i didn't do it on purpose, it just happened. i like to believe it's serendipity, synchronicity. programming only one of my clocks would upset the natural order, and if the natural order is upset then bad things happen.

woman: right.

man: don't touch my clock.

The 10 Days Of Gregory Corso's "Clown"

4

I still don't know if the clown should die;
there's yet the black greyhound, the lioned battle axe;
the champ of heaven leaning against a cloud
            with crossed feet;
and the doomed myth
            centered in man war.

If there were no clown
but demoned whiskers shaking pale blue flowers;
if there were no smile
no climb of cherubim with lute and horn
no silvery chest, no suncast jug, no basin for swans,
not the delicate forge itself;
I doubt the reward of Paradise
to be a place where happy old friends meet.

If the clown were dead
the month of August would be weighed
            with sacks of sour wheat.
Dead the clown, there'd be havoc!
The angel's jeweled apse
            would collide
            and smash a ray of doves!
Fauns would lay waste the wood
            with faun-chewed babes!
Oily melancholy fits the black boot
now that the clown thinks to die.
Men the size of islands
            sink their joy in the helpless protect of Death.

O the whole tragedy! the weight of it!
with complaints to laughter not come--
Tickle then the clown to sleep for sleep he needs;
glum days poor America bares--
Old America could tell of laughter often as clowns tell--
Ben Franklin, W. C. Fields, Chaplin, the fat of joy!
Their happy light is forged phalanx, charge!

Snakes search the skies for flying rabbits;
monkies draft jackels--is the clown dead?
I grieve to futures a fishy grin,
for as I am I gloom of history.
A comical corruption! Death's indeathity!
The clocked tower's scythed crime
bodes sorrow and the life of man equal time.

The 10 Days Of Gregory Corso's "Clown"

3

And why do they say be a man, not a clown?
And what is it like to be a man?
I can joke like a saint for my need,
give in return for goose-leg, a glow;
I need never know this joy I grease through life
or claim on woe substantial diet.
Fat if I want to be fat!
So easy to ice one's humor
--to fan the sun.

It is time for the idiot
to pose a grin and foot on the dead lion
(the embodiment of the clownless man)--
Time to grow a mustache; suck gin;
and win the hard-to-get lady.
Time to return from star trek
and scrub the earth.

Where am I in wilderness?
What creature bore my bones to this?
Here is no Eden--this is my store:
Rooms! Rooms! Electric lights!
A giant ocean on each shore.

Am I the man to jack-in-the-box
each misfortune of man, be it sickness
death or simply an unhappiness?
That man? That old clown
           with bent hat and tubed beard?
That looney tearfully recalling
           his rainbow ball?

No! Boot the jack of clubs into devildom!
Turn somersaults in the circus-coffin!
Mr. Death has the hero by the balls!

--I can commemorate black laughter, too.

The 10 Days Of Gregory Corso's "Clown"

2

Like the jester who blew out candles
tip-toeing in toe-bell feet
that his master dream victories
--so I creep and blow
that the cat and canary sleep.

I've no plumed helmet, no blue-white raiment;
and no jester of-old comes wish me on.
I myself am my own happy fool.

As there are no fields for me to dedragon
--impossible to kneel before ladies
and kiss their flowery gowns.
I can only walk up and down hands behind my back
dreaming dungeons and spikes and squeaking racks.

For commoners, I put things on my nose
and tip-toe with the grace of gold.
For those I love I sit sad by stained glass
--all my face the mystery of some joke.
And for God I am ready with a mouthful of penguins.

I lock myself away!
I wash myrtle-birds in the sink.
Yes, I myself am my own happy fool
--stale with dreamless jokes.

Do I care? Yes I care. I want to make laugh.
O if only I were a winding toy
or just a winter bunny
            in a huge imbecile's pie.

I know laughter! I know lots of laughter!
Yet all I do is walk up and down hands behind back
dreaming dungeons spikes and squeaking racks.

The 10 Days Of Gregory Corso's "Clown"

1

Laughter dies long after jest
The joker smiles no joke
A clown in a grave
Pranksters weep in Purgatory
Laughter dies long after jest
Joy
Bella, the memory of the heart
Yet the face is a joker smiling no joke

This Is A Real-Life Example Of One Of Those Word-Problems

that you read in the smart-people magazines.

About three weeks ago I was part of a selection committee for a poetry journal. There were five of us, all told. We were at a coffee shop, drinking coffee and selecting poetry. I had never before seen any of these four people, not including myself, who I see on a regular basis. I believe that we may have all been introduced to each other, though I can't remember. I have a terrible memory. I can't remember any of the people's names, except one, the coordinator of the whole affair, Michelle. There were, not counting myself, two men and two women. One of the men was an engineer, which I thought was interesting, that an engineer would be selecting poetry. It takes all sorts, I suppose. The other man was with the woman. I assume that they were together, as they sat close.

Now for the puzzle part. Tonight I received an email. It was from Mel. The text of the message reads something like this:

Hi, we were on that committee together, don't know if you remember me, I'm a friend of Michelle's. I was impressed with your subtle wit and knowledge of form. It would be cool to get to know you better, maybe catch a movie if you're available. Let me know, Mel.

Granted, that's a paraphrase, but it's the essential parts. At first, thinking of Mel Brooks, I thought that Mel was one of the men. But then I thought that Mel could be short for something else, like Melanie.

And now I don't know. I just don't know. Damn this infernal trouble remembering memories that I have.

Any thoughts on what the sex of this person is? Give me your two cents. I really would like to know what sort of situation I would be getting myself into were I to accept the invitation.

I Was At This House

that I'm thinking of moving into because it's dirt cheap, and I was petting the dog and I said,
-I don't like dogs much. I prefer cats.

To which the woman that I will be renting the third floor from said to me,
-Don't tell that to women. You'll never get any action if you say that you like cats. Single men who like cats are gay.

-Oh. Thanks for that. But I don't think I'm gay.

At which point in time she hit me with a pillow, taken from the couch that she was sitting on. Before she hit me with the pillow I was debating whether or not to actually accept the offer to move in, because it would mean having very little privacy and spending more money on gas to Ames and thereby increasing the time-in-transit, reducing the time that I may call free, precious little of it that I have already, regardless of how inexpensive the apartment is. After she hit me with the pillow however, I decided that I would certainly do so, because third floors aren't so bad after all, are they?

I told her that I would give her an answer over the weekend.

It's A Wonderful World

It looks like Russia has decided to restart the cold war, at least according to this article from MosNews. My personal favorite quotes from it, especially the last fragment of the third one:

On Christmas Eve, the Russian army activated a new fleet of Topol-M missiles that can fit a nuclear warhead and travel 6,000 miles, changing trajectory to foil any enemy interception device.

General Solovtsov, a critic of U.S. anti-missile defense technology, said the Topol-M missile “is capable of piercing any missile defense system” and is immune to electromagnetic blasts used by current U.S. anti-missile systems.

While Russia disbanded two missile divisions last year, it has now formed more than 20 new units — in the fastest increase of nuclear spending since the run-up to the Cuban missile crisis.

Hide the children, Marge, the Russian hordes they are a'marching.

The ABC's Of The American Idiom

Aa Bb Cc Dd Ee Ff Gg Hh Ii Jj Kk Ll Mm
Nn Oo Pp Qq Rr Ss Tt Uu Vv Ww Xx Yy Zz