Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Big talk Big

i tell everyone i’m a
writer

because

i’ve had sex

and

i tell everyone i’m a
porn star.

Mod Lit; or my tickle-me-pink aesthetics

[a rehash]


Weird is no
longer all that
weird.

Dada and kinfolk,
well beyond their golden anniversaries,
a 100 years later,
are no longer experimental

but post-experimental.

Even with its freshest incarnations,
it is still old.

There is a literature that lures man away from himself,
and there is a literature that forces man to face himself,

cope,

repent from,

replenish himself.

The one seeks to make the author
invisible thru plot or gimmicks with words,

while the other seeks to expose the author
and hence the common fallacies of his human bothers
either to air out wounds or
just let the gangrene set in,

to either heal or rot away, hopefully.

In my opinion,
art is no longer needed to
merely distract the species from its autistic
window-gazing during our time of obvious crisis.

Art, whether she realizes
it or not, like science, alleviates
and eases this bitch called life,

and both must respond to the needs of the people if they are to be relevant.

As much as I like
Gertrude Stein and
dismiss Ayn Rand,
people even then--even now
and far into the future--will prefer
to read Aynie over Gerty.

the status quo is to buck the status quo.

be a bride of your age, says Bertie, and be a widow in the next.

Pastoral Hymn; or GYNO (II)

well your baby is average

about seven inches long

says Dr. Fourfinger

and look

look

there is his penis

he’s a boy

a boy!

and i say

so you say he’s average right

i mean, you know what i mean

average right

and then the doc looks at my wife

spread out on the gurney

and says

you can dress him up

but you can’t take him out

can you

An anonymous page from my notebook

unpaid work

a cove => ?

all either past or future whores

the banks of piled up beer cans (snowbank)

while the going was good

tipster

oh atheist, you serve disdain like a montheist

antonomasia : ‘his lordship’; those ‘Don Juan’s’

poetic perjury

boardinghouse

escutcheon : the shield in a coat of arms
ornamental protective plate around/keyhole, lightswitch, drawer pull,
doorhandle etc.

to blot one’s escutcheon : taint one’s reputation

Do you remember, the drops of water made her blackraincoat
shiny and we ended up taking refuge in some outlying bistro and
coming back on the trolley, slow and noisy.

a paint & spackle job

arrondissement => administrative district in Fr. cities

my buzzing ears

it stuck in my throat

infrapsychically)

chiromancy

some of the more noteworthy of his noteworthy friends

pince-nez => ?

up with the times

the legend of the Drunken poem

it’s going to be 4.50 sir

4 free beers deep

and longing

not longing

needing, booze runs thick

breasts heave out the

bar/bra the german struts

macaroni clings, whores are getting laid

a real writer walks into a bar

and pays for every other drink.

he makes laughs

Sexy Haiku

A guy with
one leg walks
up to a girl
with one
tooth

and says

how ‘bout some
leg

Denial

That day
my brother
Said she
was gonna
die

but didn’t

I was in denial
as he cried

Mom never died
and
I never got
over denial