Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Fred the Scientist said that the soul leaves the body
but the soul never leaves the world. Think of it, Fred
said, as an electric current, connected to, say, a toaster.
Yes, you remove the plug from the wall, but that doesn’t
mean that electricity no longer exists. Electricity is still coursingthrough the veins of your house. Electricity is
like the soul. The soul is electric. The fiery light lives
forever. The only thing that is not immortal, Fred said,
between bites, is a lightning bolt, I mean, is toast.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
They tell you the chords and then you play them
and you think: “That’s a Tango.” But then they
keep telling you more chords and more chords
and more chords until it is no longer a tango,
it is a piano. The old lady in the corner was
beautiful and young before they taught you
that the tango is everything in the world.
Still, I think she would still like to have this dance.
Friday, March 28, 2014
I said CHATEAUNEUF DE PAPE all the way
to the liquor store but they didn’t have any.
Because they were a liquor store.
The cashier suggested I try
a wine store.
In France, I say, he said
Have you noticed that all the popes lately,
are bald? You’re darn tootin’ I said.
But they also have better names than in
the days of people like Septimus, who
was a cardinal named Pinelli. There was
also a Sixtus somewhere–and a Fagnanus.
Outside the liquor store the fans
were “cooling the oscillators.”
This is a coded message for
people who can’t decide between
sine waves and saw tooth waves.
And wavy hair.
I like to eat breakfast.
I was calling Bonnie & Clyde
“good eggs” as I sat down to eggs.
But that means something different
in French, where I buy my Chateauneuf,
look for my popes, stare at things until
they are bloody. At breakfast. I do like it.
Huevos Rancheros are what you might call
good eggs. They actually mean “The egg
of the lonely cowboy” in Spanish.
But how can anyone be lonely in Spanish?
It isn’t a Spanish word. They can only be
It isn’t a Spanish word. They can only be
round, like a huevo. Which is only almost
round. How round, you ask? Jesus, It’s an egg,
“Good Egg” in French means
a bald person who leads an unhappy life
without proper socks or cleansing materials
and never says “Thank You.” He may or
may not love Jesus, but you can be damn
sure that Jesus loves him.
I met three of those people, good eggs,
all. One played the vibraphone. He played
it so sweet, I started ovulating like a woman.
It must have cost 200 euros that vibraphone.
I was in the hospital.
I like to translate anything into euros.
Yesterday I translated pesos into euros.
And I bought a toy oboe with euros.
The day before I translated a irish wolfhound
And I ate breakfast in euros.
Breakfast in Europe:
Tomorrow I am going sailing in a boat
made by the tiniest Romanians you have
ever seen after a hearty breakfast.
When I am in want of a good term, I use
“Romanians” - it’s a familiar and yet
unfamiliar term to most people who live
in North Carolina as I do.
Once I visit Romania, specifically, Transylvania,
I will find a new place to mention when I am
in want of a good term now that I know far too
much about Romania, including: they have cows there.
If I ever own a cow, I will name it
“The Steadfast Brothel of Romania”
or: Roman Polanski for short. HA!
What would I do with a cow?
I could sleep under a cow in Romania.
I saw a baby, just a little thing, just a stupid
sleep under a Great Dane. It’s pretty
much the same thing. Sleeping under a beautiful
thing and possibly dying. But that baby lived!
I guess. It’s funny–that is one baby that is not going
to remember the Great Dane it slept under. Unless
the Great Dane writes a story about it. Yesterday
I took a picture of a Great Dane holding a pen
and looking thoughtfully into the distance.
I made him out of clay.
Well, chewing gum.
“My Most Unforgettable Character” – this should
always be your Father. Not a dog.
HA! I almost wrote “The Pope” - I really just meant,
Pop. Like the weasel. When people die, they become
brazenly different, but what would I know?
I would know unforgettable characters. There’s Pablo
Casals, Adolf Hitler, Gandhi, Lex Luger (Pro Wrestler)
and Janie Matzo Ball (Fictional) with that face.
My she had a face. But so does everybody.
The face of make believe.
And frankly, everybody is unforgettable.
I will never forget you. For example.
Don’t ask me why. I told you I am going sailing today.
Posted by Ricky Garni at Friday, March 28, 2014
Monday, March 24, 2014
Saturday, March 22, 2014
The best thing to do when you play one note
is to play another. Close your eyes and put
your finger down. At first you might say
“That’s no good” because you are in a pickle
with the note you chose. But even using the word
‘pickle’ can be like that. Where do you go
from the pickle
of an F# after a C natural? That is a pickle in music,
as ‘pickle’ is a pickle in literature because you say
“Well now there is nowhere to go from here”–in words.
But just like you can follow ‘pickle’ with memories
of the ballpark or a handsome pickle vendor, you can
meander beautifully, handsomely, away from F# into all
sorts of new places that start with letters that you didn’t
expect: G flat, for example, B natural, C sharp. One must
be mindful at such times, but not in the Buddhaish way -
it’s more like minding the store in an old fashioned way:
knowing your inventory, knowing when
to stack and what to stack and how not
to stack too high. Knowing how to sell–
Knowing when to open the door, and
knowing when to close it. Knowing
the right words to say when a grieving
widow walks into your establishment,
and behind her, a thousand head of
Friday, March 21, 2014
What can you say to a terrible painter?
You can say: “I love your music.”
What if they say: "What do you think
of my painting?"
You can say “It’s amazing and
also interesting how it is so different
from your music.”
Or you can say “Is it too early for ice cream?”
Make sure you say this late in the day.
Yummy, yummy ice cream.
And always say: “My treat!”
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Ever since he was a little baby,
I have always said to my son
“That a nice sound” every time
he made a sound. Now he is
85 years old and he is still
making nice sounds. The only
thing that has changed is that
when once I could hear
the sound of horse’s hoofs
when he made a sound, now
I can hear the sound of
rocket ships when he makes
You would be laughing
if you know who Salvador Dali was
and I told you that I saw him in Barcelona
drawing a straight line on a checkered table cloth
and then after you laughed you would call me a liar
and then there would be the standard champagne in the face affair
and the apology of silence and then the What say we go to a bar?
I know one where I once saw Jackson Pollack tied his shoe ever so neatly
in a million little pieces and you would say Who? a tupperware of champagne
safely golden and nestled resting and ready in your purse and there’s that bar right
in front of us oh my why did you have to turn down the other street and to powder?
Thursday, March 13, 2014
All the people who have ever been in the band HEART:
|(The Army)||(White Heart / Heart / White Heart)||(White Heart)||(White Heart / Hocus Pocus / Heart)|
Posted by Ricky Garni at Thursday, March 13, 2014