Thursday, February 25, 2010

NOW SHOWING


Revisions to two of my favorite pieces made by me: the first, COMMENTS WITHOUT COSMOS, a kind of tale of heroes, finds some new heroes to add to the pages, including but not limited to Jerry Garcia, David Hockney, Robert Kennedy and Nancy Kulp. You know-Nancy Kulp. You'd recognize her right away. OK.

The image atop this note is from the first spec drawing for COMMENTS. Back then it had a funnier name: CRITIQUES, COMPLAINTS, ODES AND INTERLUDES. Wasn't really keen on that after a while but I did like the way the first letters looked: CCOI. It had an ampersand at first but I have gotten very tired of reading them in Silliman's Blog so I decided to stick to the good ol' American AND. Sweet land of liberty. Speaking of which,

If you want to buy the newly engorged MAYBE WAVY, that's available, too. It's expensive ($19.99) but it's about 550 pages so there's got to be at least one you like. I like the one about the polar beer on the Icee cup.

New ones here, too. About forty or so. Please say hi, drop a comment, purchase or think about purchasing one or two of these things.

If you asked me which one you might like better, the best answer I could give you would be: "I have no idea."

all books available at: http://tinyurl.com/rickygarni


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

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

The Truth?

This is how I feel on the inside.

TUESDAY


Here are words that are in the first paragraph of the biography of Eydie Gorme in WIKIPEDIA 2/20/10:

Gormezano
Fortuna
Nissim
(or) Nessim
Sephardic
Sicily
Turkey
William Howard Taft
Stanley Kubrick
Ladino
(and) Castellano


that I found today.

Monday, February 15, 2010

BOWLERS in HISTORY


Today I thought about John Lennon. I thought about how his father Alfred Lennon met his mother Julia in Sefton Park, which is a very beautiful park. I thought about how Julia was sitting on a wrought-iron bench. I thought about how Alfred was wearing a bowler and carrying a cigarette holder. And he had rickets. And he was 5’4”. I thought about she said that he looked ‘silly’ and about how he said that she looked ‘lovely.’ I thought about how he was 15, about how she was 14. I thought about how, when she told him to take off his hat, he threw it into the lake. I wondered about what Julia thought when she saw the hat floating in the lake. I wondered if she laughed. I thought about a little black hat and a little English man. And I wondered if he had not taken off his hat, and if he hadn’t thrown it in the lake, whether or not teenagers would faint in 1964, watching the Ed Sullivan Show, on tiny, tiny, black and white tvs, turned up really loud and whether or not mothers and fathers would call upstairs, ask if everything was all right, and wonder what exactly was going on.

Today I wondered where the hat is now.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

from MY STAMP COLLECTION (pg. 4)


I grew up with my Frank Lloyd Wright stamp. I never knew who he was, but there he was, plain as day, in front of a wavy flag. Well, I thought it was the flag. It actually wasn’t a flag at all, it was the Guggenheim. That’s kind of a wavy-looking building. But I had no idea what that was, and no idea who Frank Lloyd Wright was – and if someone said his name I probably would have said “Wright, Wright, you’re bloody well Wright” and if someone had said “Guggenheim” to me I probably wouldn’t have said anything. I probably would have gone to the record store and bought RUBBER SOUL and a Payday candy bar with its delicious crunchy peanut coating and nougat center. That’s because the Frank Lloyd Wright stamp came out in 1966, just like Rubber Soul. My favorite song was ‘Think For Yourself’ – which was also probably Frank etc.’s favorite song. I also like ‘In My Life’, which made me think about the past, and I was 9 years old. I think I had problems. ‘The Word’ was cool, too, especially when their voices break up when they said “Have you heard / the word is love?” Something else: this was a stupid 2¢ stamp. Even in 1966, that wasn’t much. A Payday candy bar, with the delicious crunchy peanut coating and nougat center, was a dime – 5 Frank Lloyd Wright stamps. The Franklin Roosevelt stamp was 6¢, the George Washington stamp was 5¢, even the Francis Parkman stamp, whoever he was, was 3¢. Nobody liked Frank Lloyd Wright. I can tell. I think that they were jealous. I wonder what he would have thought if he had known that a bearded hippie guy with a baseball cap on backwards would write about his love life in, like, 2000 and something. There’s one thing for sure, though: there wasn’t a stamp out there that was equal in value to a Payday candy bar. Frank Lloyd Wright was not alone. Women loved him. I think the crunchy peanut coating and nougat center is what sets Payday apart from all the other candy bars and Presidents. Frank Lloyd Wright had a lot of sex. People worshipped him, and then there was the stamp thing. You never know what will happen when you're dead. Frank Lloyd Wright's portrait was drawn by Patricia Amarantides and Ling Po. I wish I had one.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

TUESDAY

Today I bought a copy of 5001 Nights At The Movies by Pauline Kael.

Today, to my sorrow, I discovered that Pauline Kael might have gone to the movies a lot, but she didn’t like the movies very much. Well, except for HIS GIRL FRIDAY. I think that she should have named her book: “One Night At The Movies Watching HIS GIRL FRIDAY And 5000 Other Nights Also.”

••

Today I discovered that Teddy Roosevelt could recite The Song of Roland in the original archaic French and declared that it was the patriotic duty of every woman to bear at least four children.

••

He also thought that spelling should be simplified.

••


Today I am still trying to find any movies that Pauline Kael liked.

Sunday, February 07, 2010

LOVE AND HATE


This is not only the knuckles of Robert Mitchum, but also my relationship to the internet. Today, though, it is all love. Big, juicy love. And here's why:

None of my friends believed me when I told them that I saw this headline in the Weekly World News (50¢) in 1985. Now all of them must believe me, except, of course, for the ones who are just too darn cranky to believe anything.

Love,

Crispy

PS I kinda would like to know how these love bugs are doing these days.

SOMETHING ELSE THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN YESTERDAY

I saw a fox sleeping peacefully on the ground. I hoisted the fox up by the tail. I twirled the fox around my head and finally let it go, watching it fly as far as it could go, until I couldn’t see it anymore. Years later, there would be a holiday named after me: The Day of the Fox. The flags would rise at dawn, and they would be bleached blanc de blanc, and each flag would hold nothing but a very large empty space where the fox used to be. The people would come outside in the early morning and applaud me as I walked along their streets, and you could hear a pin drop. Tea would be served by everyone, for everyone, and the tea would be bitter and sweet, and served warm, naturally, without cups.

Friday, February 05, 2010

;


I feel like I am sitting on a bench looking out at the sea, such loneliness appears when I think about the semicolon. I haven’t seen one in years – where did they go? I dare not mention this to anyone because usually what happens is someone will say “What do you mean? They’re everywhere!” Which has not been my experience: they are, at best, nowhere at all. It’s not that I haven’t looked: I have. But I am or have been one of those he looks but 'he does not see' types, he who savors the indelicate fashion of folly.

You can watch me if you want. Or you can join me. I am still looking. I enjoy the company, but frankly, you might very well end up as sad as me by the end. But it may be different for you. It certainly is for me. Please join me, won't you?

And so I dedicate this reflection to the semicolon and its seekers, a reflection replete with commas, dashes, and several periods – everything known to man, why, even regular god-fearing colons too, even dashes, like this one – and hyphens, like this: the semi-colon, clearly, nowhere to be found, at least not here, not by my hand, walking along the punctuations of the loneliest and most exciting of seas, with you by my side.

ANGRY RED


When I read that you folded yourself up like a bird I thought: that makes sense, I can see it. You are wearing a blue coat usually, if it is cold, and it is thin enough to fold along with you, and blue is a natural folding color, the color of the sky. Red, not so much. It’s the color of the cheeks of my Uncle Gustave, you know, as in Angry Uncle Gustave and the Meat Cleaver and the Angry Red Face Thing. If Ol’ Uncle Gustave taught me anything he taught me this: red is expansive; red folds not at all; red is best avoided, red is dumb and a big waste of time. Meanwhile, Blue is the best, blue is love blue and cannot be beat. But if not blue, and somewhere in between the two, you can always turn to naked, what we used to call flesh. Flesh folds up and hides only OK, at least for me, but OK is serviceable enough, when I find solace folded in a suitcase which is, although I can't tell in the the dark, canary yellow–very lovely, but another story entirely.

Monday, February 01, 2010

I PAINTED MY ROOM PINK

I painted my room pink.

Pink is the color of Pepto Bismol.

As you know, pink is the color

of Pepto Bismol. But did you know

that I painted my room

pink? I painted my room pink.

Take the flamingo’s color,

whose color is pink, but only a sort-of

pink, place it carefully into a nuclear accelerator,

and as the screaming diminishes,

you will have the pink color that one

normally associates with Cholera Infantum.

Voilà! Yes, that’s it’s real name. Pepto Bismol.

Not ‘Voilà!’ I like Voilà! But Pepto Bismol is not Voilà, it is

Cholera Infantum. My real name, for example,

is Richard, but I don’t have the nerve to say,

Hello, my name is Richard. However, if you call me Dick,

I will sock you one. Richie, I guess, OK.

I like the bowtie

of Richie Rich. That’s a start, I guess.

I don’t know. Hello, I could say,

my name is Voilà. Or: my name is Cholera Infantum,

but you can call me ___________. (I will let you decide.)

But if you have already decided, then you can’t decide.

Some things you can’t decide, because they

they have already been decided – or worse yet –

have already happened. For example,

my best friend’s name is Chewy, there

is nothing I can do about that. For example, I painted

my room pink, but not stupid pink, like the

color of the majestic flamingo running at full speed

from the nuclear accelerator, which is chasing him on

his tiny little but extremely fast metallic feet. Just pink.

Ah, those were

the days. Tiny little titanium feet.

Many, many days. Good ones, too. Pink Days.

Yet I am thinking not of a color,

but a number, and

of one number in particular.

For example, In “1901”,

A showing of “71” Vincent Van Gogh paintings in Paris,

“11” years after his death, creates a (1) sensation. “His death”

would of course be the death of

Vincent Van Gogh. “Great things are

done by a series of small things brought together.”

Woe!

The (1901 version of) William McKinley is sworn in

as President,

and guess

who is Vice President?

Go on, guess. That’s right: Theodore

Roosevelt. BLAM!

And Children everywhere enjoy the

delicious wintergreen taste of Pepto Bismol,

thank you, Norwich Pharmaceuticals: (1901)

Aye it is a good sound, the

sound of children

sucking

on the little pink lozenges, and

mmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmmm

like silent screen

stars.

Silent screen stars holding their lovers tongues in

their mouths, when conversation will not do, like children.

For conversation will never do in

silent movies. Let’s be honest. Although this is

not entirely true. We can pretend. Sometimes it did.

Although

rarely, and beautifully.

Those children are now, officially,

somewhere around

115 years old.

Their tummies are soothed.

How alarming, I thought to myself,

when I heard such fire engines as

they raced down the streets in

the silent movies of Charlie

Chaplin: nary a silence to be had.

How alarming, I thought to myself,

that my room looks

like this!

It is everything I always thought I would never be,

but am!

Everyone does what they must.

That’s not true. Some things

you do just because they are

so darn much fun. Real mustn’t-dos. Or whatever.

Procter & Gamble acquired

Norwich Pharmaceuticals in 1982 in what

is referred to as a hostile

takeover, but hey, it was

fun. And I always thought that

‘Procter’ should be spelled

correctly, P-R-O-C-T-O-R

but it wasn’t.

P-R-O-C-T-E-R And it never will be.

You may have me,
I said to Procter,

naked beneath the silky sheets,

if you change

the

spelling of your name.

No, Procter screamed, Never!

Begone saucy temptress!

Saucy and vile temptress,

I might add! And Procter

stormed out of my room,

which was

large

and

luxurious

and I was

naked and

luxurious

beneath

the duvet

which was not red, but rosa, you know,

pink. It was a terrible

takeover

war,

and many people were hurt,

although no one was killed.

And certain things must

never die. Like aspirin for instance.

It takes over my headache,

in a hostile style takeover. Thank goodness.

It is as it is. Thank you, I am

Norwich

Pharmaceuticals: aspirin makers Other things,

and certain things

must just be. Like this. As is.

And children’s

tummies must feel better.

They usually do. Not many die.

It’s a new world out there. It’s filled with colors

that you can’t imagine.

“I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream”

ah

ha! I said,

and yes! It is pink, a dream

and happiness,

alive.
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