Sunday, December 25, 2011


Or reading Plautus. And how parents build
their children like houses. But then they must
go away. Experience comes to the child in the
form of a rainstorm that rips off the roof.
The house is filled with water and nothing
grows or lives for the teenager of ancient
Rome. There is nothing for ancient Roman
parents to do about the house they built
and left. They were supposed to build and
leave and they did. Build and leave.

Saturday, December 24, 2011


Pat Boone leaned over and gave Gale
a kiss on the cheek. UGH, Gale said.
Pat Boone, you kiss like a cow! Pat
Boone wondered: had Gale been
talking to Doreen?

Friday, December 23, 2011

THE SECOND ANNUAL CRISPIES: my favorite moments of inspiration: 2011 (#1)


Music wakes up again

By Jane Siberry

THE SECOND ANNUAL CRISPIES: my favorite moments of inspiration: 2011 (#2)


Because Donald Sutherland made me rediscover ee cummings almost like woody allen did before him.

Life is so funny.

Buffalo Bill's
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death


Tuesday, December 20, 2011

THE SECOND ANNUAL CRISPIES: my favorite moments of inspiration: 2011 (#3)


I can't do what he does and I wish I could. But I am glad he does what he does because he does it and oh so well he does. Who knew a split earthworm held the secret of our frailty and our hair's breadth from destruction and our hope for survival?

Mong knew!

Derek Mong

Concerning equivalents:
lost amid
the Roman catacombs, a priest will halve
his candle flame
until one glow doubles
and redoubles on the tongues of terra-
cotta pots –
a lesson the split earthworm

learns, as he stands twice the chance of being
split again:
a wise move to reproduce
for two worms slither twice as far as one,
which explains
why warheads unlock themselves
above a cityscape, thus brokering

a wider
higher bloom –
their sanguine hues

and party stars spread throughout the ether.
Are fewer survivors
what this division
equals? How does such backwards algebra
apply to the holy
whose wafers, cracked
in eighths, constitute a body, though whole

ones add up to crackers? Furthermore, how
am I standing here,
by-product of bi-
furcating cells, each one teased in two till
too many pulls
spelled embryo, and one
final tug divided me from other?

Tuesday, December 06, 2011

THE SECOND ANNUAL CRISPIES: my favorite moments of inspiration: 2011 (#4)



The best poem written in the 20th century is available online.

Others may disagree, and that's all I have to say about that.

Every time I read it, tinglies.

Thank you, James Tate, for having written it.

by James Tate

Over at Archie's Soda & Sandwich Shop
he ordered the bacon, lettuce and tomato
and then laughed loud, appeared
as one with a past now officially over
and headed for a ballgame or something
that won't wrench a soul too far
out of shape. We watched him for a while
just because of that one laugh, and then
he started to stare at us, not aggressively,
but as if he wanted to be asked over.
Finally, I went up to him and invited him
to our table. "Do I look that lonely?"
he asked. "Well, maybe I am and maybe I'm not,
but I accept your hospitality either way."
He wasn't stingy with his words,
but sometimes they were hard to follow.
He'd had a parachute accident in the military
and had been hospitalized for several years.
They had taken good care of him, but now
he had very little memory of anything before.
He wasn't unhappy, he said, just curious.
No one, as far as he knew, visited him
in all his time in the hospital.
Several of us could barely hold back out tears.
"Or course there was a nurse," he said,
"there's always a nurse, right? Gena,
Gena would bathe me when I didn't need bathing,
she was one bathin' nurse. She should've
gotten the Nobel Prize for bathing."
"Did you love her?" Barbara asked.
"I Don't suppose it's a good idea
to love someone just because they pity you,
but if you can't help yourself there's
worse things than being a fool."
We sat in silence a while. Finally, I said,
"Mind if I ask what you were laughing about
up there at the counter by yourself?"
"Well, the bad news is there never was a Gena.
But the good news is there wasn't a fall
from a parachute either. So see how
it all works out. Nice, isn't it, nice and easy."
With that he got up and walked away.
Later, Barbara said, "He wasn't lying
about Gena, he did love her. I know he did."
"But what about the fall?" I said.
"I suspect there was some kind of fall," she said.
"even if it was just a little stumble."

THE SECOND ANNUAL CRISPIES: my favorite moments of inspiration: 2011 (#5)

If 28 year-old Christopher does exist, he really should.
I leave you with his vitals and a sample of his genius.


I am not connected to the simpsons in any way i am just a normal cute guy

Since i was dead small i have drawn characters from the simpsons and everywhere i go or went people called me Chris (Simpsons artist) even when i was 5 or 6. my mum is so important to me and i really like playing tricks on her as well but she made me get my own house to live in because she said she needed a break and it was getting so much for her so she got me a house and i started my facebook so...See More


Personal Information
My name is Christopher and I am 28 years old exactly. i like to draw fine detailed pictures of characters from the hit television programme the simpsons and i also like to draw other people from films that I have watched and remembered and people I see on television and in the newspaper and i have a photographic memory and i am just a man who has worked hard and practiced drawing pictures and famous people and animals and baby barn owls for 5 hours a day and 23 years of my life and i have a pet baby mole called tired eyes and he is so sweet i love him so much and he has light blue eyes.

Personal Interests
i am on the twitter @GetBentSaggy and its good.



Thursday, December 01, 2011

THE SECOND ANNUAL CRISPIES: my favorite moments of inspiration: 2011 (#6)


If there was a Nobel Prize for Sweet Weirdness and Patience and Precision, Irina Werning would win it every year. This photography project embraces my greatest love: the art of change - (and some might say, the more they do, they more they don't.)

How does she DO / FIND some of these? The locations, the exposures, the backgrounds, the nerdy glasses, the accordians for god's sake - the boots? By God, I don't know. I almost want to go to Argentina to find out.

Super special honorable mention to the brothers who returned to the soapy bath together. I think they are brothers, who knows?

Find Irina here: Please!
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