Once I wrote an article about wooden spoons and why they please people. Of all the things I ever wrote, it was this article that pleased the greatest number of people. It did not please as many people as the wooden spoon might please, but it did an excellent job for such a short article, and that pleased me. So: the people who read the article were pleased, and I was pleased that they were pleased. Still, I often hear that on one’s deathbed, one feels as though, no matter what, it wasn’t enough. This is the problem with pleasure.
Monday, March 16, 2015
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Saturday, March 14, 2015
The man in glasses was staring at a fish in glasses. They looked like they were trying their best to say something to each other. Perhaps they were imitating each other. Who can say? It depends on who started first. Who started first? Did fish speak a million years ago? Did man? How long ago was a million years ago? We can only estimate. On top of the fish, a smallish orange snail. He is not talking to anyone, or even trying. He is mesmerized instead by the tiny ocean bubbles, or which there are eleven. As for large bubbles, there are three. I love you, they say. It’s what they’re all saying. But faintly I can hear: help me make it through the night.
Was strip steak ever called sirloin steak? I only ask because I notice that there is no one ever says sirloin steak anymore, which is what my father always said when I said “This is really good steak, what kind of steak is it?” and normally I never buy strip steak, and I never buy sirloin steak because it is not around and perhaps it is sirloin steak, this strip steak, but instead of strip instead of sirloin I buy ribeye steak or porterhouse steak or chuck roast with onions and carrots in a pinch for a pot roast although today the store had none of those, they had sirloin steak I’m sorry, strip steak, and so I bought that, and my son said “This steak is delicious...the only time I had steak better than this was in Montreal with Mom and it was $100” and so I wondered all about French steak and Canada and how you said strip steak in French and what happened to Expo ’67 and if I could ask my Dad these questions, but he is gone, and I miss him, oh, you know how you can miss your Dad, and all he knew about steak, as might a Dad, but lately I have been thinking about my wife, and how little she knew about steak, and how much I miss her, I really do, I wonder, what did she think of steak, what did she know about steak, would she like a steak, especially a sirloin steak if there ever was one, I bet she would, I was never able to ask, because first I wanted to ask her so many other things, I mean who cares about steak, I never got the chance to ask, but if she were here, I wouldn’t ask her about that, sirloin, I wouldn’t really even ask her about anything, I would be just so happy there wouldn’t be a thing in the world I would ask her, there wouldn’t be a thing I would need to know, I would know everything I needed to know, and I wouldn’t ask a thing.
Wednesday, March 04, 2015
A man from Japan paints every day. Every day of his life he has a new painting. He goes all over the world, painting paintings, sending postcards, saying “Here I am in New York City” or “Here I am in Hong Kong” and on the front of the postcard, he is smiling. But what happens when he dies? Well, he stops painting. He smiles.