Saturday, December 01, 2018
Making the Scene
-I’d like you naked in the window.
-You’ve seen me dozens…
-Not there.
…
-Beautiful! Move the lamp closer.
-Louder! Did you say the lamp?
-CLOSER!
-DONE! WILL YOU RUN THINGS
WHEN MY HUSBAND DIES?
-THAT’S THE PLAN.
-UPWARDS AND ONWARD!
-NEVER SHAVE DOWN THERE.
Labels: affair, pictorial, power, Romance, sex, taste
Tuesday, November 27, 2018
Funny
What’s so funny?
Indeed, what his office mates
laughed at was more often
cruel. Some asinine, pretentious
individual getting humiliated,
and the like.
He was better than that.
And even when the humor
was more cosmic, restrained
himself.
Such as when the drunken
pastry chef collapsed in
death, imprinting the delicate
batter with his face.
His family baked and ate same.
So what? Primitive Christians
all felt superior to.
Nothing funny here! Move on!
Said office mates eventually
tired of explaining why...anything--
labeled him a stick.
Fair enough, until Jennifer-Jo
caught in the wind one dark
Spring workday morning.
Demonstrating, thus, the modern
equivalent of bloomers.
She apologized, as Jerome did for
witnessing this weird fluorescence
in stranger light.
The image stayed with Jerome.
Intruded, really.
He lingered in the Break Room
one day, and they laughed about
other things.
Somehow discovering each to be
passionate and driven...at additional
impromptu meetings.
Oh well, skip ahead. Who couldn’t
guess the rest?
Neighboring state had looser
laws, so they eloped there of
a weekend.
The homespun wife of the
Justice assembled a wedding
ceremony, her perpetually-
high and Millennial son as
Best Man.
His C over C hilarity ignored
then...but roared about in stories
for children, Trevor and Cynthia,
later.
then...but roared about in stories
for children, Trevor and Cynthia,
later.
Trevor gushed that it was an old
Hollywood Romantic Comedy!
Cynthia: Same stale crap!
Labels: attitude, behavior, humor, office, repression, romance.work, taste
Thursday, November 08, 2018
Old Frenchy
-Looks pretty, no?
-But it’s crap!
-Crap can’t look nice?
-To depraved tastes, yes.
“Form’s survival conceals the disappearance of content.”
-Marguerite Yourcenar
Labels: content, depravity, form, French, history, Roman Empire, taste
Saturday, July 14, 2018
Note From Londoner of Quality
Besieged by a Rude Colonial!
The logical outcome of three
centuries of bad taste.
And of course he must commandeer
utmost pomp!
The way populists discharge their
spawn to Yale and Harvard.
The best places, obviously, to
learn how to serve the "People!"
This particular criminal, too, is
proving
Treasonous!
After you’ve betrayed friends,
there, blessedly, is always
COUNTRY.
Refuge as they say.
Labels: Colonial, knowlege, patriotism, Populism, snob, taste, treason, Trump
Thursday, April 12, 2018
Paying the Fee
or How a Huge Breakfast Saved Me!
but killed my parents.
...this last a sad tale dominating social
media, but most people had given up
the indigestible fiber toast responsible,
so the latest fear is dated.
But our most famous proverb lives still!
To live you must pay the FEE!
FEE=Fear of Everything Eventually.
Our pal, Murphsy, exempted by virtue
of having his yellowing hand on the
elaborate handle of Death’s Door!
Something he ate or didn’t?
The wrong pill?
Or the right one in excess?
Who knows?
But somewhere in the media flood
of medical disaster is an answer!
So, we pay attention and pass all
insane cues as to cures to our
dying friend.
Hey! Forget it all! Nation Day is
coming, our blowup, blowoff time!
When our conquerors thrown out
on their fat asses!
To hear them tell it, how they fled
incorrigible us.
What the hell! Most of us combine
the two unstable races.
Anyway, the clothing “fashions” this
year even more garishly tasteless.
Cost-saving for us, since we’ll
need them for Murphsy’s funeral.Labels: collective terror, fear, hysteria, medical hysteria, paranoia, patriotism, taste
Thursday, June 15, 2017
The Reverse Transfer
-So few applications for
reverse transfers, that
I wanted to talk to you.
-Of course.
-Do you have a complaint or...?
-No complaint, really. Just the
sad acknowledgment that most
have lied their way in.
-As on Earth. Hypocrisy. We run
campaigns to help eradicate it,
but...
-Our strongest habit...?
-I suppose. But, have you participated
in any...?
-No. I stay away. Preferring to read.
-An odd one.
-Agreed.
-So, you don't like the Campaigns
for Goodness...and the company?
-Unfortunately.
-Don't you fear the suffering in
the other place?
-I think I'll be more left alone.
-In my experience, I don't find
that a truly driving force...
as the French say "Cherchez..."
-I admit it! I hope to find her there,
continue our Earth sinning!
-Not very noble.
-Blessedly!
-Well, many more to choose from if
she doesn't work out.
-Are you saying Hell consists
mostly of women?
-They say men forced them there.
-I feel I was forced here!
-To experience bad company?
Aren't you too much the Idealist?
-Admitted. Idealist. Loner. Lover.
-Don't romanticize! I can't stand it.
Here! I'm stamping your papers.
May you find your peculiar Heaven
in Hell!
-Everywhere's peculiar.
-And everyone?
-Some pipe up.
Labels: Earth, heaven, Hell, hypocrisy, sex, sin, solitary, taste
Thursday, June 08, 2017
The Cowboys of Desire
throng KMart's closing
sale. Nicknames abound.
Perfume=Stinkwater,
Panties=Manhole Covers.
All this said, not yodeled.
Meanwhile, Back at the Raunch,
The objects of these Cowboys
remove “covers” for others
more urgent, though less
clever. But Sagebrush
Desirers a forgiving bunch,
and after compulsory therapies
of booze and drugs, endow
the sliders with said
perfumes and panties.
(Mid Cottonwood glide
and murmur, and cactus
melodies.)
Latter gift seizes each day
of week in florescent script.
Promising freshness in
the tired, tired
Old West.
Labels: booze, cowboy, drugs, gifts, Old West, relationships, rural lifestyle, taste, West
Sunday, May 28, 2017
Producer Afire
-No more this or that number of episodes by contract. Churn ‘em out! You churn, I pay! Simple!
-I’ll run outa people. And plots.
-What plots? Protagonist loses ALL THE TIME!
-Writers want him rarely win.
-Never! Didn’t Lucy always pull the football away so CHARLIE BROWN KICKS AT NADA AND GOES ON HIS ASS?
-Always. But...you can exhaust your actors too!
-Plug in lookalikes!
-Even for our anti-hero?
-Costume the new dude! FRENCH REVOLUTION, ROLLER DERBY!
-I get the gist. All the gists. Great wealth and artistic suicide!
-KEEP FUCKIN SPENDING! Better than sex.
Labels: anti-hero, artistic standards, Charlie Brown, loser, Lucy, Peanuts, series, taste, television, TV Series
Sunday, November 29, 2015
Doppelganger
It wasn’t “You really should meet X.
Looks just like you!”
We stumble into each other at a
railway station, both on hour delay,
big storm down the line. Have coffee.
“You have the same little scar under
left eye. Cherry tree branch in my case.
Snapped by a climbing companion.”
He doesn’t remember, or says he doesn’t.
We fit up other particulars as to taste in
food and other trivialities.
Is there a Rita to tear him to pieces?
I finally blurt.
Zoe, and not quite as serious, “But...a little
hyperbole?” he laughs at me.
“I catch myself sometimes too!” he adds.
Little time left, so he proposes that we learn
to think alike, compromise on Rita and Zoe.
Since he understates, while I...
Thus Rita catches a break.
I take his card, he mine.
“What a creep!” I announce to my private
compartment.
Labels: doppelganger, double, experience, girlfriends, marriage, rail, taste, wives, women
Sunday, November 08, 2015
Ill Wind Ceasing
Alone in his plumbing office of a Monday, Hocks dreams
of throwing himself into the river to drown.
Three big jobs had been re-dos that last week, profit
out the window.
In bursts Reccles! “Pittsburgh, are you kidding?
Ten and a half points underdog and they win
by twenty! And five of our other lemons won!
BON-FREAKIN-ANZA!”
He counts out ten hundreds for Hocks onto the messy desk!
After, he pictures the Regency Hotel, on the same river he
thought to drown in. A bed piled high with classy food and
bottles of wine.
Plus Misty Tebbs.
They’re right about this dump,” coos she. “It’s been, like,
tastefully refurbished!”
Labels: football, football pool, gambling, plumbing, profit, re-do, refurbished, taste
Thursday, May 01, 2014
Movements
-The New Incoherence just about swept most musicians out.
And now with Ragged Incoherence...?
-It all finished me, and the group.
-They...glue rags together before each performance!
-Clever enough, so they can flip around here and there and
show their little things.
-Rather prodigious in the case of Mickey-Mel-Mookie, my daughter's favorite. And each instrument, too, becomes a laugh. They pass them hand to hand. And in the performance we witnessed, all converged for a laser-slashed finale on
one drum-set, obliterating it in a frenzy.
-Yeah? Well there's still real music elsewhere!
-And you wish to represent it by teaching “Intro” at this obscure
junior college?
-An ambassador!
-Well, there are already PhDs in The Incoherences, and you just have the bachelor's. But you studied with eminent classical persons, and performed worldwide. At any rate, I'll get you before the committee. Don't be surprised if you’re bombarded with anagrams. DKM is Deaf Kraut Music, after Beethoven. MM is Metronome in Molasses--what they call Sinatra, Beatles, Ella Fitzgerald etc. JOM equals Jerking Off in Mirrors, or Jazz. HC means Hick Central, or Country. Many more coined relatively recently, but you'll be up for them, I'm sure.
-We always got warnings, but never thought sheer ignorance would
take over.
-You're one to help lead the counterrevolution. I'm done! With teaching, family, and committee work...and nerves permanently on edge with the traffic shrieks of Ragged Incoherence!
Labels: Beatles, chaos, Ella, incoherence, jazz, Music, musical revolution, Sinatra, style, taste
Tuesday, November 05, 2013
Of Great Event
What’s New?
Fashionable friend collapses in swirl of cape
and scarves
Rick runs for a glass of water; Heather fans her
with a wrinkled newspaper out of a box of dishes.
“I’ll come again to this new abode, but won’t look up!”
she finally whispers from her chaotic nest.
“These popcorn ceilings!” hissed Heather. “I told you!”
“And I told you no freakin money to get rid of ‘em
right now!”
Labels: culture, friend, marriage, popcorn ceiling, Real Estate, relationship, taste
Monday, August 26, 2013
Name that Rapist!
Taste and its Americans
-Name that Rapist!
-They’ll let that go through?
-I hope and pray in the interest of truth and quality.
-Or something.
-Whatever.
-How discrete is the rape?
-Very. About as graphic as we can get away with. And longgggg.
-Then, the panelists?
-Split into teams of two. Speak first to Examining Magistrate.
-What’s this, French or something?
-Well, they’ll all be the detectives, so we’re employing
a literary device of sorts.
-People will swallow that?
-We think so. Anyway he gives them legal background to rape--
clay models. And describes the suspects. Then each team gets to
quiz them.
-Any torture?
-Some. We ARE Americans.
-Who are suspects?
-Preliminary list: a meticulous doctor, brutal entrepreneur, body builder...
-Six pack for the ladies?
-And doorstop dumb! College poet. Bookbag, bicycle,
endless line of shit for adoring coeds.
-I hate those creeps!
-And insurance man with some odd policies.
And, of course, a minister.
-Scarlet, you left your letter here!
-And on and on.
-A lot of edge, but where’s the twist?
-It’s a female doctor.
-But how can she?
-You’ll find out when the whole bunch forcibly strips her!
-That Nielson’ll shoot off the chart! But, in the interest of
Science and Detection, how much can you show?
-Everything. Since our motives are pure! Plus we got
one hairy actress, or actor--of pubic interest to say
the least.
-Well, I got enough of the whole sordid picture.
One last question: You done a lot of TV, awards all over
this office, why on earth...?
-This Monster? In its debased, even subterranean taste,
even for TV, it should kill off Reality Shows for all time!
-Altruism! I knew you had it in you!
-Somebody had to do it!
-Rest in Peace, Smarmy Genre!
Labels: American, Neilson, reality TV, taste
Sunday, August 04, 2013
Graphic Obsession
For Art’s Sake
Racky couldn't stop thinking of Lil-Anne. It made
him queasy. As love would have it, he saw an
answer online.
Dr Kip Krissimohn and Picture Your Obsession!
picurobs.com.
You answered a questionnaire, and the program
assembled a graphic picture of the whole business.
Racky used his Paypal and then printed out the...
well it started as a bar graph of many colors, and
then sort of mishmashed into a kind of haze.
He figured it was mostly the cheap printer.
But he actually liked the result and took it to the
frame shop. Corwell there said it'd work better much
enlarged, so Racky dropped it off later on a flash drive
and Corwell printed it 60 x 100.
After “Photoshopping the crap out of it!”
They both picked out an ornate frame more suitable
for an ancient banquet portrait. “It works,” Corwell
pronounced, “but I haven’t an idea in hell how!
No charge for it–-going to Salvation Army anyhow."
When Racky got it home and studied it, said nothing
of Lil-Anne to him, which was okay since she had
joined the Navy and was instantly gone for training.
And that stinging fact made it look even more odd
to him as it leaned against his TV room wall.
Even his favorite Lakers made him uneasy that evening.
“Maybe it bothers the players too,” he joked to his
mother, a retired VA psychologist. She said bring it over.
At her apartment she laughed, “Knowing you, I don't
see anything in it to help as to the girl who got away.
Instead of trying to think about that, why not just
forget the original reason you printed it and enjoy?
It’s kind of pretty.”
Tillie the Decorator dropped by with paint samples,
and immediately started to croak: “Over the
Rabinowitz's sofa!”
Upshot, she gave him a thousand. She had offered
seven hundred but he sincerely told her he couldn't
let it go for that. The processing and framing alone
had cost him six–-he tripled for effect.
Rabinowitz despised it after a week, and wife, Carly,
persuaded him to hang it in their smallest jewelry shop
in the grimy strip mall.
There, Manager Darlene said it made the engaged
couples moody.
Tillie exchanged it for a primitive print of maritime
Maine, and took it back and hung it in her shop.
With a ten thousand dollar price.
In a week, Jinky Romards, Netflix producer and world-
famous depressive, threw it in the back of his Jag.
Mickey-O, Racky’s friend from work, had gone to
Vegas with his girlfriend, and they lost everything--
smashing up their relationship for a sardonic chaser.
With the idea of cheering him up, Racky lifted a picture
of his Basset, Renton, from a desk drawer and took it
to Corwell to frame.
He told him about his foray into art with Tillie.
“I’ve worked with her and she’s totally toxic-nuts!
Don’t offer her anything else. She’ll never accept
another one.”
So it proved a one-shot art career.
Flirtatious, and yet mercurial, Kevvy then entered
his life.
And no program could ever ever approximate her!
Labels: aesthetics, art, graphics, mood, relationship, taste
Thursday, December 06, 2012
“I went for Art, not Sociology.”
Held
in a public place
by collective stink.
by collective stink.
PSYchology
okay,
our motives
shown
for
what they are,
Mount
Olympus
or kitchen
sink.
Painting
and music better,
predisposing
mere tones.
Poetry
best, con-
figuring
text
for whatever.
Labels: art, Music, painting, poetry, psychology, sociology, taste
