Thursday, April 23, 2009


A friend told me that one of the best short stories in the world was written by John Cheever and it was called _____________.

and that’s all I remember.

Now it is a warm spring day. I bought me some chicken breasts for dinner but I will probably eat hot dogs–chicken breasts take so much creativity! I said to the butcher and then I asked for a pound of mortadella – and he cut me a pound of mozzarella!

Here’s the problem: he didn’t speak English, and I didn’t speak _____________.

That’s all I remember about that.

The cilantro is cool in the refrigerator section near the pregnant women who is quite warm and moist on this warm spring day and all hot and bothered when I ask her to move because I would like to peruse the cilantro.

It has been a good day. Sadly, I will never see my friend again but if he asks me if I ever read the John Cheever story called _____________ I can say “Yes, I did, thank you it was an excellent recommendation” because I am in Heaven and Heaven is a great place to lie. In fact, now that I think about it, I think that Heaven must be a great place to do just about anything.

Thursday, April 16, 2009


I decided that the problem wasn’t that I couldn’t see things well enough, but that I saw things too well. So I decided to change all my light bulbs, which are generally 100 watts, for new light bulbs, which were 40 watts. This would give me 60% less illumination, which is probably about how much illumination there was at about the time that I was born, which was 1957. 40 watts of illumination, or 500 lumens, is just about the right amount of illumination that somebody like me needs on a day-to-day basis.

Sometimes I get sad when I think about all those people out there with their 200 watt light bulbs and all the things that they see and how much they cry. When it becomes almost too much to bear, I just go back to my house and turn on a few lights.

Friday, April 03, 2009


For those of you who complained (me) that the WAVY series of books were godawfully unwieldy, they have been redesigned in attractive–almost identical to the original except smaller–6" x 9" compacts: the 'corvairs' of the poetry world, if you will. Smaller, yes, but girthier, due to the voices in my head which scream, as is their wont, something and all the time about 9 pt font not being an acceptable font size for ye olde geezers and the wee toddlin' ones. And now that they are sized for Lilliput* as it were, you can put them in your pocket–that is, if you have huge, honkin' 6.5" x 9.5" pockets.

And so you have it– MAKE IT WAVY & MAKE IT TOO WAVY (soon the following two volumes as well) – dense, rich, potent, and a little thicker around the middle.

And as always, free as downloads until the launch party, and attractively priced as a glossy paperback for my rich darlings.**



* Corvairs in Lilliput. Ho Ho! That's a rich one!

** I guess 'always' means until the launch party, whenever that transpires.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009


The House of Public Records in London contains over 400 samples of Jack the Ripper’s handwriting, all of which are presumed to be written by imposters.

The subject of Jack the Ripper’s handwriting became one of great interest when the diary of Jack the Ripper–the “Maybrick Diary”– was discovered in 1992 in Liverpool, England.

This diary was subjected to exhaustive ink test, paper examination, handwriting comparison, and ion migration test, none of which led to a satisfactory conclusion. Even the date of composition is in dispute, ranging over a period of 50 years.

Given all the scrutiny, it always confounds me that no one every considered the obvious: Beatle John Lennon wrote Jack the Ripper’s Diary.

Consider this: John Lennon was from Liverpool, he often traveled under the alias ‘Mel Torment,’ His first song was ‘Hello Little Girl’ and he once famously said, perhaps in reference to his work (which perhaps included Jack the Ripper’s Diary): “Love means having to say you’re sorry every fifteen minutes.”

And if that is not enough to convince you, consider this: sometimes he would sleep until three. When he would awake, he would rise from his white bed, carefully tie his hair in a pony tail, stare out the window at the pigeons in the gardens far below, smile and saying nothing.
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