Friday, September 30, 2011

THE WAY OF ALL FLESH HALL OF MIRRORS by Samuel Butler

According to my copy, a man stands underneath a tree, holding his grey hat.

In the background are two smallish grey clouds.

The man has locks of brown and stands erect upon a smallish yellow mound.

He appears quite hale.

His topcoat is blue.


He has a satchel underneath his left arm.

Or a gun.

There is a church in the background.

Across from the man is a woman with massive petticoats adjusting her stocking.

The stocking is worsted wool of red and white stripe.

Could she be a strumpet?

And then for some reason, there’s the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

But there’s good news! It isn’t leaning anymore.

On to page one.

This book is printed in The United States of America.

By a small kangaroo, reading this book.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

IT'S SEPTEMBER, AND AUGUST IS READY


WARNING

We will lose our sense of touch
if we cannot practice it carefully and often
with engraved wedding announcements
that arrive in our mailbox delivered
by mailmen whose whiskers we also
should occasionally caress



from AUGUST, by Ricky. © 2011 101 secret wing dings. All rights reserved.

Monday, September 26, 2011

HIDDEN DEEP INSIDE

I am humbled by your hairy chest.
I have said this a thousand times in my life.
I like eating peaches.

THIS GUN FOR HIRE

The conversation then turned to Alan Ladd in THIS GUN FOR HIRE. You wanted to talk about his height (5’4”) and I wanted to talk being he could only being he could express affection for was a cat. In fact, when the cleaning lady came and shoed the cat away, Alan Ladd (5’4”) smacked her (5’1”) in the face. That anger was in a way a gesture of love (undetermined height), the only expression he was capable of, and it was towards a cat (roughly 11”).

Thursday, September 22, 2011

MY LAZY PROSE, SLEEPING

I like the blind guy in the gym
because he holds his cane two inches off the floor.
The skinny older lady with the bikini-like tights.
Well, I call them bikini-like.
Is on the treadmill making hay.
I will never know what that means.
Nor hay alas will e’er I make.
Ten years ago I said, “I bet I will never hear
‘Stairway to Heaven’ again.” But look at me here now
will you. There goes curly top Robert Plant on the loudspeakers
and I am making hay which ne’er I durst thought I may.

There’s a lady who's sure, that’s for sure.

I call the blind guy Mr. B. Guy.
I call the bikini lady Robert Oppenheimer.
I could use an energy drink, Bob says.
Love is fission. Let’s go out where it’s bright
and sunny. Let’s see what the hell is up next.
And whatever it is, it’s outside for sure.

IF YOU ARE GOING TO BE THERE, SAY "HOORAY!"

Saturday, September 17, 2011

BRONSON!

Last night I watched a movie about Britain’s most dangerous prisoner. I thought it would be funny because British accents are so funny. Mostly, though, it was depressing with lots of blood and dark rooms, and just a few funny accents.

I didn’t want to be depressed - I just thought I might have good dreams if I saw something like this, because my brain would do its best to make up for it. It didn’t, though. I had dreams where nothing happened at all.

Dream after dream after dream. Mostly I was just standing in a room making little circles with my feet. Sometimes I was looking out a window at a grey building. Other times I would be cleaning a glass with a green sponge.

I felt like America’s least dangerous prisoner.

There was only one other guy in all these dreams and he just kept walking by my door. Every time he did he told me that my accent was funny.

I told him that his accent was funny, too.

He looked scary, dangerous.

He said: “I am your best friend in the whole world!”

I said: “OK!”

Friday, September 16, 2011

BRIEF REVIEWS OF FILMS BY THE GUY WHO DID THE LIGHTBULB AND TRIED TO MAKE EVERYTHING OUT OF CEMENT (5)

THE EXECUTION OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS (1895):
They use a dummy who looks just like Mary Queen of Scots of yesteryear. Then the executioner guy picks up the head and it really is Mary Queen of Scots*. Sometimes I wonder what Edison’s problem was. Still, this is the very best movie ever made, unless you really like Mary Queen of Scots.





* Well, not really THE Mary Queen of Scots.

BRIEF REVIEWS OF FILMS BY THE GUY WHO DID THE LIGHTBULB AND TRIED TO MAKE EVERYTHING OUT OF CEMENT (4)

THE KISS (1896): May Irwin and John Rice. May Irwin appears to be John Rice’s mother. They talk to each other very very close, in fact, their mouths are sort of touching while they speak. And then when you least suspect it, John Rice fluffs his ample mustache and gives May Irwin, who I have decided is not his mother, a big juicy wet one on the lips. While they keep talking. Arguably the sexiest kiss of 1896 or 1897 or 1898. (In 1895 they executed Mary Queen of Scots.)

BRIEF REVIEWS OF FILMS BY THE GUY WHO DID THE LIGHTBULB AND TRIED TO MAKE EVERYTHING OUT OF CEMENT (3)

THE SNEEZE (1894): A suspense movie. Fred Ott is the eponymous sneezer, and his up-down fore-aft motion is a balletic symphony of anticipation and moistness. Or opera or something like opera of wetness. At seven seconds, this film is lean, compact, and lean. (Note: Fred Ott wears a necktie, which seems like an odd choice of ties if you are going to do a bunch of sneezing or even one sneeze. John Rice at least wore a bow tie when he kissed May Irwin who wasn’t his mother.)

BRIEF REVIEWS OF FILMS BY THE GUY WHO DID THE LIGHTBULB AND TRIED TO MAKE EVERYTHING OUT OF CEMENT (2)

SANDOW (1894): Sandow the bodybuilder puts his hands over his head and his biceps throb for about eight seconds. Then Sandow the bodybuilder crosses his arms like he is waiting for a bus or something. Then Sandow the bodybuilder looks at his six pack, and it ripples for a little under three seconds. Then Sandow the bodybuilder shows off his left bicep in the he-man style, and just when you think Sandow the bodybuilder is going to show off his right bicep in the he-man style, Sandow the bodybuilder stares at his stomach and in a flash turns around and starts really working his back muscles up and down and around sort of like a dance and a victory salute combined with a vaulting on the pommel horse sort of deal. This lasts for about two seconds. Then Sandow the bodybuilder turns towards the camera and smiles, looking very proud of himself and displaying in profile his modestly sized penis encased in leopard skin loincloth. This takes about five seconds. The mood of the piece is enhanced considerably by the two flames that seem to flank his every move. For just a moment the action - and there is a lot of it - starts to get a little repetitive with the stomach muscles rippling stuff for about four seconds, but Sandow the bodybuilder works it nicely like he is doing a John Travolta in Stayin’ Alive until you realize that John Travolta’s great grandfather was probably younger than Sandow the bodybuilder. Just at the point when the viewer is lulled into the rhythm of the piece and the Giuseppe Travolta dancing, Sandow, Sandow the bodybuilder smells his armpit and the movie ends in a way that is abrupt, although somehow is oddly satisfying, but mostly upsetting.

BRIEF REVIEWS OF FILMS BY THE GUY WHO DID THE LIGHTBULB AND TRIED TO MAKE EVERYTHING OUT OF CEMENT (1)

LOADING BAGGAGE FOR KLONDIKE (1897): Not too many people seem interested in getting onto this fuzzy white boat. Someone is carting some kind of huge basket on board but who knows what that is. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a horse drawn carriage walks onto the screen. It says “STEEL” something on the back of the carriage, but by then I have lost interest. At twenty nine seconds, this film is about nine seconds too long.

Thursday, September 08, 2011

THE BATMAN

When Batman was first released in 1939, he wasn’t Batman. He was The Batman. OK. Here we go. The Batman went to the Fortress of Solitude to visit The Superman. The Batman and the Superman were The Friends. Ever since I was a little child, I wished that I could be The Friends with The Batman and The Superman, or at the very least be The Friends with The Spiderman. But that was not a fantasy, it was The Fantasy, and living The It made me The Sad and The Weird and The Lonely Boy Who had no real The Friends and wished he could The Die. Luckily, The Years passed, The Batman became Batman, The Superman became Superman, No Real The Friends became one good friend, and The Die became I want to The Live. Well, live. Why not? It’s better than The Nothing, if nothing else.

PROBABLY NOT THE COVER, PROBABLY NOT A POEM IN IT


HOP ABOARD THE J TRAIN
a metaphor in the key of jay

What is the J Train?

J stands for a JABOT when you want to wear something frilly ON THE TRAIN.

J stands for JACENT for when you lie prone flat and sluggish; the TRAIN IS LATE.

J stands for JACINTHE your skin tone of orange for YOU LOVE TRAINS hence you are orangey with this love feeling of trains.

J stands for leaving momma BY TRAIN because she called you a JACKANAPES, which you are, and an insolent rascal to boot, you rapscallion.

J stands for JACUATION as you bring forth your exaltations you are happy to be ABOARD A TRAIN screaming and naked save for your Garanimals.

J stands for JENNET or NOT A TRAIN but instead a horse jennet and a small one certain to be not as fast as a train unless the train is an old one; the jennet, a new one; the finish line, close.

J stands for JESSAMY a pale jasmine-like yellow that’s the good news. The bad news is that it is describing your no-longer jacinthe orange skin for your love FOR THE TRAIN is fading to a jasmine-like yellow of jessamy.

J stands for the TRAIN, SO COLD that you must don your JIMSWINGER, a fashionable coat of frock to don. If only some of your friends were on the J they would note the piquant a la mode of your natty jimswinger.

J stands for JOBBBERNOWL which none of your friends ON THE TRAIN ARE nor are they jackanapes they are good eggs for it is you who are the jackanape (see “jackanape”, above.) Did I mention juggins? No. A juggin is for certain a type of imbecil. You are the juggin, to be certain. Your friend are nice.

J stands for JOLLYBOAT and everybody needs a jollyboat and every boat needs a jollyboat you will note that I say NOTHING ABOUT WHAT TRAINS NEED.

J stands for JORDAN or chamberpot. Imagine Michael Chamberpot ON A TRAIN. The sun is beginning to set, a wispy pink cloud is upon the horizon. The tinkle of urination. Evening.

J stands for my JOSS my destiny oh fate which it is to know you, OH TRAIN JUST A TRAIN with a J.

J stands for JUMBAL the TRAIN I ATE a thin, crisp sweet cake resembling a train until it was eaten with gusto by my friends NOT ON A TRAIN and then it resembled the contentment of my friends from the inside out.

J stands for the LAW OF ALL TRAINS: JUS. Au jus is composed of that which runs off the roast beef and gives it cafeteria flavor. We live by jus, we live for au jus. We are ON THIS TRAIN or are we yes we are no we’re not.

Monday, September 05, 2011

THE WAITER SAID...

The waiter says “You must whisper.” “But...” I said. “He said ‘whisper’” my wife said. “But I am.” I said. “Why are you whispering?” the waiter asked. “This isn’t a library.” “This isn’t a library” my wife said. “You should be whispering.” “Why do you have to disagree with everything I say?” We all said at once. “You know,” I said, “Right now I am too hungry to eat.” “That’s OK,” my wife said, “We can just sit for a while and whisper.” “Speak up!” The waiter said, “What you are doing is not polite.” I started to feel angry. I didn’t speak up, I decided to stand up and do a little browsing. I found a terrific book by Emily Post. “That’s lovely,” my wife said. “Be careful not to drop it.” “I won’t” I said. “But you want to, don’t you?” she asked. I decided to change the subject. “You know what we are?” I asked her. “We are the only ones here” she said. “I know,” I said, “I guess we are the only ones who get hungry like this.” And then he was back, right on time.“Is there anything else I can get you?” the waiter asked. “You can get me something to start off with,” I said. “But it must be something quiet.” “But it doesn’t have to be quiet” my wife said. “Something like this?” the waiter whispered. “Or this?”

Saturday, September 03, 2011

MEMOIR: CHAPTER ONE

in 1971, if you were traveling from New York to Miami on the on the Silver Star, there was a piano that you could play in the lounge right next to the club car.

I am telling you that the piano was terribly out of tune. Playing it was very painful and difficult. There was a lot of smoke in the club car. The ice cubes had little divots in them. the Coca-Colas tasted nice and sweet.

I have always thought that everything is alive, I am corny that way, although you say “That’s OK”, and surely the piano was alive, is what I felt, and it was saying, I think: don’t go to Miami, don’t go to Miami. But I always went to Miami, from New York. I wonder if I went from Miami to New York if the train would say: don’t go to New York. Don’t go to New York. The ice cubes would still have divots in them, I think. the Coca-Colas, sweet.

I wonder why ... you know what? I don’t want to talk about why and that piano anymore. Let’s talk about the Woolworth’s in New Hampshire.

One night I threw up from eating chili and I couldn’t eat anything for almost a week. When I finally could eat something, I went to Woolworth’s in New Hampshire with my friend Gabe and had a hamburger. It was delicious.
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