Monday, June 30, 2008

CARMEN MIRANDA

He held me in his arms but I could not dance
anymore. I tried to speak, but couldn't.
'Don't worry,' he said, 'I will say
everything that you want to say'

How could he? But he could. Just for a
moment, and as long as I could look into
his eyes, he was me, and more than I was, and
I was grateful and I was happy to give myself away.

The sound of dancers became the sound of the
ocean. I felt my hair as I dipped to the floor.
I could not see him smile, but I was
smiling.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

RADICCHIO

MY BEST DAYS

are days spent at the grocery store. When I am really relaxed and not at all in a hurry and there are lots and lots of people there and yet I somehow get a parking space with no problem. My car is old but runs well; someday it will be gone.

LOTS AND LOTS OF PEOPLE

I espcially like it when there are old, grumpy people and dangerous looking thuggy guys buying–oh–what’s that Italian red leaf lettuce that’s bitter yet appealing? Anyway, also, guys on motorcycles and angry looking house painters.

RELAXATION

If am really relaxed, all of their faces slowly melt away, in a dreamy sort of way, and they suddenly all look like children to me. It’s a subtle, beautiful transition–very dreamy–not like the stuff you see in old Ray Harryhausen movies from the ‘50’s.

MORE ABOUT DREAMS AND STUFF

So, things are going nicely and the weather is beautiful and the store is filled with children. This should be the end, but it is not.

ITALIAN SALADS

As I look at their faces I can tell that each and every one is cute as a button and so I pinch their cheeks and tickle them and do a lot of coochie-coochie-cooing.

I mean, a LOT. Especially to the dangerous looking guys, buying the Italian leaf whatevers.

BEING DRUNK

It’s an intoxicating feeling, and it spreads like a warm, orange-colored blanket over me, extending to little animals like birds and chipmunks and even dogs and cats and horses, I mean, if this were a hundred years ago when horses were the principle means of transportation. Although I am not sure what I mean by ‘orange’ – perhaps because it feels like the color of the sun, which, technically, is not orange.

YELLOW

Does this warm feeling blanket extend to all things–beyond the animals and unto the rocks and twigs and wildflowers and Mountain Dew cans discarded upon the highway? No. Absolutely not. But if it does, I think I will have completed my job here, and I can then go home.

Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

100 WONDERFUL THINGS

I am not sure what my job is per se, but I am close to quitting it. Oh so close.

all artwork, including handsome monsters but not crinkly devilish types,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2008

E-BOOKS AVAILABLE


Hello from Crispy.

The following e-books are available for anyone who I have never met or anyone whom I haven't seen in at least three years or at least think I haven't seen in three years*:

EL HOMBRE DE LA CAPA CASTELLANA (1999)

APARTMENT STORIES REDUX (2000)

HOLIDAYS (2000)

POMMES FRITES (2002)

MY FAVORITE PRESIDENTS (2007)

CRITIQUES, COMPLAINTS, ODES & INTERLUDES (2008)

CHRISTINE (2008)

Send me a note and I will send you a copy file in a jiffy. As with all my work, none of it is copyrighted, exponentially increasing the possibility that people will be talking in crispy aphorisms without fear of admonishment, in the year, for example, 2009.


Cordially,

Crispy





*unless they were wearing a clever disguise. I don't know, surprise me!

Monday, June 16, 2008

EVERLAST

In my dream, I am myself,
standing on the street,
looking up at the window.

Yep, that’s me all right,
standing next to the window,
putting on red boxing gloves
and tying them with my teeth.

This is a trick that I learned
from the movies. A trick I didn’t
learn from the movies is hitting

Myself with boxing gloves,
but still, I do. Thank Heaven
I see myself doing it, and am
able to yell: STOP!

YOU’LL HURT SOMEBODY!

But why bother?

I never take advice, and besides,
it’s fun to watch, and of all the things
that I am grateful for today as I do watch

The fact that it is not raining would have to
be #1.

A solid left jab, deftly executed, would have to
be #2

The soft, pliable texture of a new red boxing glove
would have to be #3, but, as I grow older,
I would have to say

Family comes first. Family before rain, and family
before texture. Family, family, before jabs.

Family, #1. Jabs, #2. Rain, a distant #3.

all artwork, including handsome monsters but not crinkly devilish types,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2008

UNTITLED 2

An unexpected feeling comes upon me in the wrestling ring. I believe it is the sensation of marigolds–a flower of intoxicating beauty with an unpleasant, pungent aroma. And then, ever as unexpectedly, the aroma of jasmine–tea steeping on the samovar on a wind-swept, wintry night. And then the feeling of your powerful, muscular arm around my neck–you have put me in a sleeper hold!

That wasn’t unexpected. That happens all the time in the ring. I appreciate your gently nudging me back to the ‘here and now.’ And in doing so, I fall into a deep slumber; the marigolds fill my nostrils.

I mean, really fill my nostrils. They are all the way in my nostrils. And my nose is a little bloody. Sometimes I prefer to think only of the good times. This could one of them, I think.

all artwork, including handsome monsters but not crinkly devilish types,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2008

MY GREATEST FEAR

I would hate hate hate to have blond hair and a black beard. Morever, I would hate being beat up because of my blond hair and black beard. That happens, you know. Hey Blondy! They say, and commence to fisticuffs. The black beard, at that time, is of course implicit.

Sometimes I wonder if Blackbeard, a truly ferocious pirate who hailed from, I believe, London or Jamaica or Philadelpha, had blond hair.

FUN FACT: people with blond hair and black beards fight terrifically well.

ADDITIONAL FUN FACT: people with white hair and black eyebrows sing in a lusty baritone, songs like, for example, ‘Ringo.’

A SADNESS: As I begin to gather in my mind’s eye the wisps of silver that grace my temples, I fall into a deep melancholia. It is too late in life to even imagine that someday I will, by nature’s hand, sport blond hair.

MORE GOOD NEWS: truthfully, though, the melancholia is pretty light. It just seems deep. Melancholia definitely gets better with age!



all artwork, including handsome monsters but not crinkly devilish types,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2008
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