Thursday, March 31, 2022
Honored
-Lived everywhere!...honored in two places.
Gotten OLD! What's best thing you remember?
-Mommy reading to me.
Labels: everywhere, honors, Mother
Saturday, November 04, 2017
Situation
-Men who marry Alien women
must sign a document that
they understand their physical
differences from Earth...
-But who could, really?
-Well, For one thing, my Defline is...
one sexual organ!
-You might say.
-I did. And do.
-But that’s merely a figure
of speech!
-Yes and no.
-Are these girls taken home
to see Mother?
-I did. And nothing will ever
be the same!
-And Mother?
-SHE’LL be the same!
Labels: alien, alien women, Mother
Sunday, October 09, 2016
The Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Rate
-Our prof wants us to draw a
picture of a mind. So I chose Sudsy.
-Beer, greasy potato chips, and
humongous-breasted women?
-That's about it.
-At the further end of Einstein,
one imagines.
-Not so now! His “elements” have
gone abstract on me.
-Don't give them any power!
YOU'RE making them abstract
so you can stand them. Abandoning
reality! From boredom? Disgust? Fear?
-Reality smells like farts.
-Oh? Will it be multimedia then?
-Funny you should say that. Might add
Let It Be by Beatles?
-Reflecting, thus, the overmastering Sudsy
philosophy?
-No one will recognize him from the
drawing, so that could help.
-He has a mother who loves him, you know!
-Somebody else can draw that.
...
(Matthew, furiously dark, diverted.)
Labels: abstraction, art, art school, Beatles, drawing, grossness, mind, Mother
Thursday, April 14, 2016
French Press
Datz explained to Gloria the French Press.
Not a lover’s or wrestling move, but a way
to brew coffee.
“So okay,” she shrugged, “you spoon in the ground stuff, and add boil–“
“Not boiling, not quite.”
“Oh! So damn important! At any rate, you wait five minutes, plunge the crap down to the bottom,
etc. But there’s a rub, as Billy Shakespeare
noted in another context: In five minutes,
the mixture cools off just a bit. Defeats
the purpose if you don’t have piping coffee.”
“Ah but I left out a step in my description!
You have poured hot tap water into there
and let it stand for a minute. Pour it out
just before adding the coffee and the
really hot stuff.”
“Bingo!”
“Thus you start with a hot vessel, don’t you see?”
“I’m a hot vessel. You might notice.”
They both stared out the windows to the
foundry, where the windows glowed.
He told his mother in generalities, as if
the men under him had upset things.
“Just when you get a nice routine, some...”
“Cherchez la femme!” pronounced she. Laughed.
“You’re nobody’s fool, Mother.”
“Know the game, is all.”
Labels: coffee, French, French Press, Mama's Boy, Mother, sex, sexy
Tuesday, March 08, 2016
The Defiant One
Her mother and he agreed. Extraction
of the cell phone for a week.
She cried. At the actual imposition, and
continuously during the sentence.
She got it back, and he, somewhat guilty,
agreed to take her and two girlfriends
to see The Bell Bottoms, a throwback
trio of acne-scarred guitarists and “singers.”
An explosion of light and smoke and noise
like car crashes. With girls like his daughter
screaming.
The trio he brought remained enraptured
for two weeks! Such a mooniness is
devoutly to be wished.
If only for its quiet.
Which lasted a while longer. Breathing space.
Then a mid morning call from the principal.
When he arrived, present with her and the two
other girls, Detective Sergeant Del Destry.
Who had stopped them sneaking from the
school, intent on joining the boy band for
its upstate tour.
The musicians knew nothing of the plan...
or so they said.
The Principal wanted them immediately back
in class, and would drive them home after,
conferring with each set of parents thereby.
Mr Ohner, the shop teacher, volunteered to stay
in the car with the ones or one remaining. Until
the final stop.
A well-organized plan to help shatter parents.
The detective ultimately walked him out.
The high school was at the foot of a long,
uphill avenue.
“What do you see when you look up there?”
“Busy street. Cars.”
“I see a parade of psychologists and social workers.”
“And an end result of...misery?”
“Why not try Sister Veronica?”
The retired nun ran a soup kitchen at St Luke’s.
His Cindy there? mused he. No way!
Way. She became indispensable.
Persuaded him and his wife to help out at the
Christmas Dinner.
He toasted Sister Veronica after, with cranberry juice.
“We owe you!”
“You owe God.” Didn’t disagree.
Labels: beleaguered parents, boy band, cell phone, defiance, father, girls, Mother, nun, parents, problem girls, soup kitchen, teen behavior
Tuesday, February 02, 2016
Economics of Submersion
-You rail about prolix charlatans! But there are over-simplifying charlatans also.
-They’re even worse, since they attract believers.
-Where did all the decent, non-bullshitting men and women go?
-Up the fat cook’s ass!
-Really?
-My salty mother!
-Need more!
-On hold as they fight just to get families by.
Labels: believers, fat cook's ass, gabby, Middle Class, Mother, political charlatans, prolix, simple
Friday, May 01, 2015
Dialog By Northern Water
-You were giving me the history of the cannery.
-Not much left up there. When everything got
so fished out, Mom and Dad sold the prefab
buildings to the Japanese.
-So, just that warehouse thing remains.
-Yes, and in good shape. Last year the Norwegians
bought the machinery. That's my retirement, and
when Social Security kicks in, off to Florida...
well, one thing holds me here.
-Which is?
-Back up a bit to right after the Norwegians
loaded their trucks. I walked through the
hulk once a week, checking to see if any
critters broke in etc. All fine, except six
months ago?
-Momma and Papa Bear?
-A man.
-Squatter? Off with him!
-We looked at each other, and formed an
understanding. He'd watch out for things.
-Never spoke?
-Never. A rule.
-Well, how did he live? There's no electricity
or anything. How did he keep warm, cook?
-It gets good sun, and while not exactly cozy...
And he...carried in furniture from somewhere.
Maybe he’s a raw foodie, because he doesn't cook.
Hey! Now that we're the Oldy-Fishy-Villagey
with attendant crappy souvenirs, no shortage of
restaurants. He enjoys life. Seems to. Something...
familiar about him.
-There's still a...danger in...
-He's quite the neat one! I have a sense of security.
-You should talk to him, even charge a nominal
rent or something. Did you consult your lawyer?
-Stop it! Why monkey with simplicity? Besides,
WE have often talked, the two of us here present,
about charity: how we give to quake victims in
Indonesia or somewhere, but neglect wretches
close by? Well, I'm not neglecting this one.
-Charity begins in your warehouse?
-Why not? It’s pretty easy.
-One thought–-if you excuse the expression? With all your
cameras and darkroom here--and you're really a throwback...?
-I don't have a picture of him.
-I'd get one.
-But...I do of her.
-Her? WHO her?
-A couple of weeks ago, he became...
-You're pulling my leg now!
-Very attractive female clothes, and the little
place even more spruced up: curtains and
doilies.
-Maybe it's someone else.
-No, you can tell--even though I didn't get the best look.
It's the same person, but female.
-Is this the LAST bizarre twist in the story, or must
you sustain the Victorian crap even longer?
-Dr Jekyll and Mrs Hyde? That's rich! Anyway, I felt even
more secure with her up there. Women better at detail.
-I think it's sick, you think it's healthy!
-But, as you suggest, I do finally get a picture. Which...is here!
-So domestic! Frilly even!
-And...compare it to THIS old one.
-Oh no! Oh no! I don't need a ghost story too!
That’s where you’re going. I know you!
-My mother when she led the Women's Club.
-Identical! Jesus H. Christ on a bicycle!
-Yup. Mom "lives" up there now, having forced
out the other woman. She was always a strong
person, that's for sure.
-Have you...spoken...?
-Wouldn't dare! She was ever the intensely
private one in this house. She’ll pick the time.
-I'm shattered! Anything to drink, or have you
drained it all into your fevered imagination?
-No time! I can see Mom approaching through my
un-curtained window. You were always a favorite of
hers as a very little boy.
-If she comes in, I faint.
She did, and he did.
If this were Hitchcock, she’d prove an actress
from Central Casting, and he’d pay her off.
but Mother didn’t linger, given the situation.
She enters and sort of instantly leaves.
More or less departs permanently.
He eventually sells out to a toy distributor, and moves
to Cocoa Beach, on the border with Cape Canaveral.
Enjoys hearing the rockets go up.
Labels: Cape Canaveral, Cocoa Beach, fish, ghost, Mother, rocket, sex, sex change, squatter, touristy
Friday, November 14, 2014
Christophers
“Face your monsters, throttle some, have them
come out of you into the miasma etc.”
The guys drink to this, and another man comes
by on the road, then down to his knees.
The road a dark moon of blacker trees.
“Mother! I worked and worked! But the women
and the booze, and later all the drugs and I
never came close to your dreams for me! But I’m
your little Honey-Boy. I’m still your little Christopher!”
“Next time I dress as him. I’d been missing the horror,”
Chups tells Bester.
“What’s horror all about, anyway?”
“Living.”
...
'Twas very dark on Hallowe'en,
With not a speck of light;
The clouds had just passed o'er the moon,
And silent was the night.
The clouds had just passed o'er the moon,
And silent was the night.
We waited in a lonely grove
And then a ghost went by;
We were too scared to run away,
And much too old to cry;
We were too scared to run away,
And much too old to cry.
It had a wide and flaming mouth,
Its eyes were glowing too;
If you had seen it, I am sure,
It would have frightened you!
If you had seen it, I am sure,
It would have frightened you!
But then the glowing light went dim,
And ev'rybody said
Was only Christopher
With such a pumpkin head!
That it was only Christopher,
With such a pumpkin head!*
*Swedish Traditional
Labels: booze, drugs, Halloween, Mother, regret, Swedish, tragedy, wrecked lives
