Thursday, January 31, 2008

Governors On Sominex

It had been four days of no weather
as if nature had conceded its genius to the indoors.

They'd closed down the Bureau of Sad Endings
and my wife sat on the couch and read the paper out loud.

The evening edition carried the magic death of a child
backlit by a construction site sunrise on its front page.

I kept my back to her and fingered the items on the mantle.

Souvenirs only reminded you of buying them.

* * *

The moon hung solid over the boarded-up Hobby Shop.

P.K. was in the precinct house, using his one phone call
to dedicate a song to Tammy, for she was the light
by which he traveled into this and that

And out in the city, out in the wide readership,
his younger brother was kicking an ice bucket
in the woods behind the Marriott,

his younger brother who was missing that part of the brain
that allows you to make out with your pillow.

Poor kid.

It was the light in things that made them last.

* * *

Tammy called her caseworker from a closed gas station
to relay ideas unaligned with the world we loved.

The tall grass bent in the wind like tachometer needles
and he told her to hang in there, slowly repeating
the number of the Job Info Line.

She hung up and glared at the Killbuck Sweet Shoppe.
The words that had been running through her head,
"employees must wash hands before returning to work,"
kept repeating and the sky looked dead.

* * *

Hedges formed the long limousine a Tampa sky could die behind.
A sailor stood on the wharf with a clipper ship
reflected on the skin of the bell pepper he held.

He'd had mouthwash at the inn and could still feel
the ice blue carbon pinwheels spinning in his mouth.

There were no new ways to understand the world,
only new days to set our understandings against.

Through the lanes came virgins in tennis shoes,
their hair shining like videotape,

singing us into a kind of sleep we hadn't tried yet.

Each page was a new chance to understand the last.

And somehow the sea was always there to make you feel stupid.

-David Berman

The Sirens

These are the seductive voices of the night; the Sirens, too, sang that way. It would be doing them an injustice to think that they wanted to seduce; they knew they had claws and sterile wombs, and they lamented this aloud. They could not help it if their laments sounded so beautiful.
- Franz Kafka

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Debout les forçats de la faim!

I do want to write. I have been reading and "thinking hard," as elementary school teachers say, nonstop of late and need to write to try to work some things out. The problem is that arbitrarily choosing one 'topic' on which to write does violence to that topic itself and all of the rest of the topics that must wait their turn. All of the various things that I have been thinking over are so intertwined that I can't seem to find a way to abstract one from the whole long enough to come up with something coherent to say about it.

If I try to say one word I feel as though I'll have to say every word in order to do that first word justice.

This is a pathetic excuse, I know. I'll try to write something of substance soon.

But in the meantime:

Palestinians have broken out of the blockade! Hell yeah! (More here.) It'll be really interesting to see how Egypt will react in the long run, seeing as they've been the Israeli government's handmaiden in their oppression of Palestinians, but in the meantime the Palestinians crossing over into Egypt haven't been sent back.

I'm not looking forward to seeing the rhetorical gymnastics the dittoheads in the media will use to try paint the Palestinians in a bad light because of this.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

You might be a Flash geek...

...if you dream in Actionscript. Like me.

But I also dreamt last night that a lion was coming to eat me, so I sat down and looked all meditative and wise, and the lion didn't eat me because he thought I was a god. In fact, he asked me to use my divine intervention to help him find someone to eat. I answered by giving him Cartesian coordinates of where to find his prey.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

If Greek gods made '80s power ballads

I think this is the most intense song I've ever heard.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

Friday, January 11, 2008

I find babies

Last night I dreamt that I found a baby named Belinder Pratt. Its mom had dumped it because she could tell that it was going to grow up to be like Lennie from Of Mice and Men — hurting people without meaning to.