Monday, August 31, 2015
Labels: argument, Babka, heart crimes, marriage, relationship
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Still Moans in the Folklore
In the village we say
we thread our way
With the looms, of course,
but, too, the paths above
devouring seas. One
winter, a lovesick black-
smith fled his forge
for their silver cold.
As children we played
stern games on
the same bluff, and
two lost together. “Jeremy and
Lorna” the bobbing wreath
denotes yearly. Green in
green water. A woman falls,
but, well, we have our doubts as
her husband drinks him-
self to terminal rout thereafter.
Next year, two women, hand
in hand. A modern end.
The tourists still come for
the fabrics. And the stories.
We grow unsure. Perhaps lat-
ter from another village? We’d
encourage anyone to fasten
to them. Cloth, increasingly
not as good, passes.
Labels: bluff, cloth, death, drowning, fabric, folklore, murder, story, suicide, village
Saturday, August 29, 2015
The Power of Suburbs
-A trifle queer here and there. But then I married
Stephanie and knocked it off.
-Good knocking there?
-Not so fidelitous.
-Failure at such thy name is woman!
-The town sent a road crew to repair the intersection,
-Carl, simple and six-packed. Much giggling as he
drinks from the hose she proffers. Once, as twilight
falls, and the water silvering...?
-Pretty, but what did you DO?
-Won him away from her!
-Life-Challenges on Appletree Lane!
-Not so much now, the corner with Kumquat
-And you and Steph?
-Alas! It's Modern Life! Full of splits. Heartaches and
-And Carl, the universally tempting? Unfairly presented
by Divinity at weak times?
-The both of us live in the city now and he obeys.
-Caesar will spread his authority?
-At any chance!
Labels: bi, Caesar, city, sex, sex and authority, sex and power, suburb
Friday, August 28, 2015
Had To Be There
The motorcyclist stops,
lifts his black visor,
smiles, triggers the bomb.
Rosa starts to, but realizes
and thumps down.
Madame Hartzell, fat, rolls
a distance in the shock
wave after. One fore-
ground head and trunk
sings of its beloved.
Labels: Bomb, bomb aftermath, bomber, death, explosion, maiming, suicide
Thursday, August 27, 2015
When Cliff started fooling around with her, she was shocked.
Even moreso as she found herself responding.
Both caught hold, then. Cooly agreed to try for a year.
Accountants, they had stayed late that Friday to
trace a trivial anomaly in local taxes.
After the year was up, he emailed regrets from
Portland, where the company had sent him to
straighten out the billing of a satellite office.
She could have sent the same message, with
the horizontal row of the same smiley faces--
though the down-turned models of same.
Oh well, both warm and funny people, yet not
a good fit.
Good Faith Effort! And long! “How long, Lord,
how long?” she sang a quiet joke.
After, mused, primarily on the moderate sex, which
she'd probably miss.
"Probably? Why not not at all?" laughed she, finally.
"Marcy Firestone!" she proclaimed to her dark image in
the hall mirror that night. "You’re growing up!"
Which bothered her, initially, because she wasn't
Who swims in several times in the next week or two.
Labels: accountant, identity, office romance, Romance, trial relationship
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Two Custodians at the High School
-Program from History Department. Mr Alkhers.
-Sure don’t look like anybody today!
-Nope. Had guts.
Labels: generation, hippie, history, protest, Vietnam
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Rocco and the Trump Supporter
So build a wall! Thus employ a cadre
of lazy and stupid Texans with political
connections? How Republican!
What wall? WIRE! Get within ten feet and
Take em back steaming and dump em at
Mexi-McDonalds: Spick Special!
Your great grandfather came from Italy!
Yeah, but with BRIO! Not stink!
Rocco, severely Liberal, resides in South Philadelphia.
Search him for his uneven appearances on
Labels: American, Border, dumb Texans, ethnic, ethnic prejudice, illegal immigrant, immigrant, Italian, Mexican, prejudice, Texan, wall, zap
Monday, August 24, 2015
Poor Bill Shakespeare
-Doing my version of Measure for Measure.
He...gets his actual pound of flesh in this one.
-Good God! Shylock does?
-And for Antonio, I got Antonio, a foreman down
at the docks. The only one not using a bullhorn there,
a real screaming ghinny! He complains about
everything in real life, anyway, so when the cutting
begins on him...?
-Goes C over C in shrieking!
-And the Jew?
-Random casting. Anybody can play him.
-Because a vengeful homicidal maniac resides
in us all?
-Exactly! We’ll pick him from the audience, or
someone passing by.
-Can’t wait! The beautiful Portia?
-Just knocked her down to the one speech, since
we get to the bloody climax pretty soon.
-The quality of mercy is not strained...?
-IS! Changed it to conform with reality.
-Well, she doesn’t have much to do then?
-Swells a progress, like most women.
-Ah hah! Now we get Sexist, to add to anti-Semitic
and anti-Italian. Any racist?
-That comes in the Epilogue.
-After the flashing knife, or scalpel, or whatever?
-Another modern touch! It all sounds like such
a thoroughgoing mess, you’ll be labeled Genius!
-I’m expecting it. I’ve been genius-ing around
lately in preparation.
-How long is this Slaughter on Second Avenue?
-Fifteen, twenty minutes. Surveys tell us the audience
couldn’t take any more.
-So, you soften with the Epilogue?
-Two hip-hop guys who despise one another.
They summarize the play in a couple of
lines back and forth, and then really go at
each other! And, of course, at the racists out
-How do you know there’ll be racists?
-You gotta be kidding! Is the Pope a Catholic?
-There’s some debate.
-I thrive on all of it!
-This alleged play sounds like something gets
a Pulitzer! Making you an even greater asshole.
Labels: Antonio, black, director, hip-hop, Italian, Measure For Measure, mercy, Portia, pound of flesh, Shakespeare, Shylock, theater
Sunday, August 23, 2015
-It’s a real confessional bunch!
-Yeah, when drunk!
-All except you. Close to the vest.
-Look for no gut-spilling from this quarter.
-No good to keep it all inside!
-I must differ. A preference for quiet horror.
-When you crack up, I’ll visit you in the giggle factory.
-Good! Since I won’t know.
-What do you know now?
-Not much, like all of us.
Labels: Confession, crack-up, friends, interior, quiet lives, sharing
Saturday, August 22, 2015
Game! Life! Show!
The Psychologists right! He had nightmares after watching
Harrowing Shadows in its regular late slot.
So, he bought the game since he figured he could tie up
loose ends, and go to sleep satisfied.
Finally, he dismissed the TV entirely to enter the virtual
hallway where José was holding off the machine pistol attack
of biker, Ropes.
The latter hologram didn’t see him one fated night, so Teps
laser-gunned him, it, to death.
Triumph! So back to the bedroom and slept like a baby!
“You do realize, Teps, that it’s merely a game based on a show?”
He had won the Pancake Ranch Breakfast with José and Producer
Sally for finally getting the elusive Ropes.
“Now I do, but not when I’m zapping that maniac, or another
motorcycle pervert!” laughed Teps. They joined in.
Finally José proclaimed “If I eat another chocolate chip pancake,
I’ll become one!”
“Method Acting!” shot Producer Sally.
Labels: computer game, nightmare, video game, violence
Friday, August 21, 2015
When Dartmouth won the Ivy Basketball Championship,
Jiffy Horter brought the other two managers to our
Massachusetts Swim Club.
One black, and the genial center of any group he was in.
At a far table, Hoddings Cartwright led the whispered toast with
lemonade. “Thus falleth the last bastion of Northern Segregation!”
Uh huh? No big deal. And he agreed.
In his Audi later, though, sobs caught at him.
In case you think merely prejudice.
Heartfelt tradition too!
Labels: Dartmouth, Ivy League, Northern Segregation, prejudice, Race, Race and Tradition, racial prejudice, swim club
Thursday, August 20, 2015
Celebrating the firing of Heppy.
Last of our gang to have a real job.
We get the whole thing catered, thus
can concentrate on drinking.
The bartender a contractor too, and tells
Heppy he can get him on.
At most gigs they do, it's just twisting off
beer bottle caps.
But our hero drunk by then, maintains he’s
Laugh of the evening!
Not that he's not.
But, still, laugh of the evening.
Labels: Cobra, contractor, employment picture, full time, job with benefits, medical insurance, part time, worker exploitation
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
The Old Order
Max the blueberry farmer left Portland airport and
landed in Philadelphia. He rented a car to drive to
Phoenixville and the New Dinnerplate Pancake Factory.
But Mr Jellings wasn’t there as promised, so Max
couldn’t discuss his dismissal letter.
Rita told him “You’ll only have luck with him
by cell or email. He’s off to Scranton to
introduce the huge new blueberry pancake.
Well, it’s all over the country. They’re about the last
to get it.” Then she frowned. “Hey! That’s you!
Or used to be. I’m sorry.”
She took him out to the floor to see the rivers of
“blueberries.” Size of marbles, and millions!
“They’re hard as rocks now, but they’re furnaced
for a few seconds just before they merge with
the batter stream. Mushed up just enough."
“Well, REAL blueberries...!” he began but she cut him
off with a laugh.
When he got home to Waterville that early evening,
Millie was unloading the groceries from the Ford
Expedition. He helped her carry them in.
She flipped the kitchen switch and the florescent lights
buzzed, then caught.
They both looked ghastly green. But worse, atop the largest
MAINE MAID DINNERPLATE BLUEBERRY PANCAKES
Featuring the latest technology in artificial blueberries!
“Millie for Jesus Christ’s sake!”
“I like them. They taste the same.”
“There’s no way on God’s Green Earth...!”
“Uh huh? Well...this is as good a time as any to announce
that I’m leaving you!”
“Well, go ahead then!”
“Go ahead what?”
“Go ahead and announce.”
“I just did!”
“That’s no announcement!”
“Nobody ever pleased you! Your mother died young trying!
She went to girlfriend, Glads.
He finished putting away the groceries. Carrying out the “pancakes”
to the furthest trash can on the dank property.
Eventually sipped coffee in the dark kitchen as the twilight deepened, very nearly palpably.
“I’m a blueberry,” he sighed after blackness got there.
Perhaps evoked by its rare clanking.
Labels: blueberry, farmer, food, food technology, Maine, pancakes
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
The Big Exhaustion
When Smitty caught The Big Exhaustion, he stayed home and
watched familiar reruns. Soon he switched off the TV and
recited the scripts by heart.
Then, he rewrote them until they morphed into entirely different
shows. Thus, Gilligan’s Island became Mother Knows Worst.
At any rate, he amused himself. Those who didn't passed.
But there were no funerals because the undertakers had BE also.
Just about nobody went to work, though he tried again and again.
Luckily, his automated train kept running. But when he did finally
get to the office, he was alone mid computers all set to search
The Big Exhaustion. No cure, of course, regardless of the health
whackos and their exotic juices. Others averred you’d need gold
bars to buy your way to care.
Those juices abandoned at the office were tasty enough, but useless.
When Dilly Hotz managed to make it in, long dormant thoughts
And her. But, no go. Both just tired out of their minds.
They lost track of each other when dogs invaded the company and
ate the envelopes.
It took him two days to walk home through empty streets because
the train just stopped and no one could stir to repair it.
Now only the Southern Stupid shows played on TV, and he proved
too finished to try rewriting their drivel.
So, he turned off the sound and just watched the girls.
Banners across the bottom of the screen announced the authorities
were trying to meet.
Also that The Big Exhaustion had simply quit New Zealand.
And people swarmed the streets and lanes!
America's turn would come. Heading our way!
Hawaii sparked up soon after. Aloha Moments everywhere.
He smashed into the 7-11. Took hours, and only Rice Crispies
His farts smelled like rice, but it wasn’t all that bad.
Finally, Smitty relented and rewrote the Southern Stupid shows
as Travelogues For Morons. He called it his Southern Strategy.
When NFL took over every channel to replay Bruk Utzler receiving
Lineman of the Week around 2000, Smitty did a video awarding
himself Weak Man of the Line.
Then he pondered: Had Dumbing-Down been the first condition
allowing The Big Exhaustion to take root?
All large questions on hold as The Big Exhaustion suddenly ceases!
Laughter everywhere, and people screaming at their kids!
Smitty decides to do parodies of his parodies, knowing that
Labels: cynicism, dumb down, entertainment, exhaustion, NFL, parody, Southern, Southern Strategy, TV, video, working, writing
Monday, August 17, 2015
Very American Frontier
Labels: anti-women, Capitalism, Chinese, Church, food, mining, social, West, women
Sunday, August 16, 2015
The Solution of Northern Murder
Detective Rack dumped out the
Swede's footlocker and placed every
article carefully in the empty room.
Most of the cold rooms of the Swede's
house proved empty.
He spent an hour revolving a fat figurine
from an Elsinore fair.
A barmaid, he concluded.
Didn't know Chief was in the vicinity.
Brought Swede in to pick up a warmer parka.
When accused saw the barmaid, he fainted.
"That's enough for me!" Chief declared.
But wasn't quite, because he took the sensitive
miscreant, once revived, out to a frigid shed,
where he picked up a frosty snapped-off
fencepost and threatened him.
Confession, of course, wrapped it up.
Even so, Rack still perused the other junk from
TV considering a series based on Rack's cases.
“I thought TV about action,” I, his sometimes
Evidently not, for they had to leave out the
fencepost in the pilot.
But they still had Racky.
Labels: clues, Detective Series, murder, Northern, pilot script, Swedish, violent policing
Saturday, August 15, 2015
-Whoa! I'm not Bucksey!
-Of course not! Fellow with same last name
as yours insists we call him that. But, don't
worry, because it's your voluminous medical
file I have before me.
-No nicknames in my family. Ever! The children
addressed by first and middle always. With,
naturally, Father, Father, and Mother, Mother!
-Did you get a sense of structure, order?
-Might have if it wasn't daily chaos.
-Well, everybody tried.
-No semblance of order until Father died.
Then my mother married another woman.
-How did that make you feel?
-That's the psychiatrist's question!
-We borrow liberally.
-Why isn’t this stuff digital?
-We tried, but were immediately sued.
-Epidemic around here.
Labels: computer, doctor, gay marriage, Law, litigious, medical, medical records
Friday, August 14, 2015
The Man Who Got Up Too Late
A terrifying first!
At sixes and sevens
this morning, like pre-
teen at an awkward dance.
Worse, he hardly talked
but that he snapped.
It's not me! he wanted to say
but couldn't bring himself to.
Managed, though, to make
the rounds at quitting: apologies.
So, he'd bring donuts later that week.
Had somehow to live down
the newish appellation
of Crabapple Jones!
The preparation for the next
day began when he slunk off
the bus. Everything check
and double-check now.
Never ever again! How his
hand trembled sliding
Marie Callender’s Chicken
Pot Pie into the microwave!
This new appliance desired
to ask him questions
as its table turned. He
Labels: late for work, Marie Callender, microwave, oversleeping, relationships, smart appliances, work, work problems, working
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Labels: acceptance, freedom, insanity, paradox, perverse authority, playing by rules, prisoner, punishment, torture
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
What Darlene Thinks
Refurbished and all suites. Taking the old
super rich farts to ancient sites, along with a
battalion of Four Star Hotel Chefs.
High on the proverbial hog! And enough champagne
to float the damn ship!
But week in, everybody got sick. Then the crew
did too. Debilitated.
Then all died. Legionaires’ Disease suspected.
From the A/C.
Coast Guard sent a Hazmat Team to clean up,
another to guide it to a port. And to pathologists.
Twenty First Century Ghost Ship!
The wealthy ones’ adult children have already
As if that’d stop the lawsuits!
Chief Betts to Chief Anders, handlers, departing
the bridge when finally there:
-I’m wondering: Why can’t they clean a ship?
I mean really clean!
-Why can’t they clean anything?
-What’s this? Alexandria?
-At least our odds are better home.
-And IT’S filthy too!
-What will Darlene think when you try to
make love in your hazmat suit?
-What she always thinks.
Labels: .Legionaires' Disease, Alexandria, Coast Guard, cruise, Hazmat, making love, wealthy
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
May u live in interesting times
of course, no one SAID this it’s entirely make up
-As a Republican, I don’t like us calling each other Nazis!
-Hell no! That’s for the other party of welfare cheats and
assorted other Lefty thieves!...and their nasty blabbermouths,
queers and lady queers.
-I’d like t’invent a time machine and go back and fix it
that Hitler was never born!
-Yeah, but that’d be no good. We’d all be fuckin Jews!
Labels: Hitler, Jew, Left, Nazi, Nazi label, Republican, Right
Monday, August 10, 2015
The Right Informing of Its Love
Labels: banking, freedom, love, responsibility, Right
Sunday, August 09, 2015
When No One Goes
It's Clacky, and he's always EMPHASIS!
“What do you mean, died?”
“How...old...?” From Ancient Walter.
I didn't know really what that last meant, nor anyone else.
Finally, Mitz said “I...heard of people choosing it.”
“But why would anyone? Especially Jeanette!”
Nothing has ever left us so confused.
We had met daily up till then.
It became sporadic after, and then ceased
altogether. The various electronic ways
kept us acquainted. But they acquired a
“She was always drama!” Bob did conclude on his
continuous blog. “She’d never want to stop that.
I just don’t get it!”
So we all chipped in to bring her back!
The Retriever an odd one to put up with, but it's
actually going well. Though, of course, they stretch
it out to charge us more.
So, another hundred from each, and Hops finally explodes
with “The more things remain the same, the more they change.”
He’s always ass backwards,
Didzy makes Jeanette a Forever Pudding. And we meet
just so she can show it. Will last until she's finally back!
“I'm so glad. I hurt her fifty years ago, and never really
fixed things up.” Thus, Krell broods. His way.
“What's a year?” All the young people want to know.
We tell them to not bother.
Labels: age, death, future, immortality, mortality, retrieval, years
Saturday, August 08, 2015
Long before her death it was lilacs. Suffocating!
She used the mildest form, a light, scented water.
But, again, somehow, her body intensified whatever
Cinnamon had worked best for him early on.
She smelled like a bakeshop.
Now that she was gone, one would expect
the odor to trail off in the split level. But, no go.
He eventually sold the house to the new
dentist and his young wife. She loved lilacs.
Danced room to room in a kind of ecstasy.
He began courting Mollie Maguire, her actual
name. A natural fragrance, pretty neutral, and
They married quietly. In their fresh condo. Some
few relatives and friends.
His sister, Gwennie, played The Second Time Around
on her ukulele.
Quite the artist on that little thing!
Labels: fragrance, odor, perfume, smell, ukulele
Friday, August 07, 2015
-Organize the crazies and keep ‘em burning
at thousand degrees Kelvin, and you win
the off-year elections.
-The other guys bored, lazy, or just sick to death of it?
-But it looks like we’ll never again win The Big Kahuna,
not with this formula.
-And if we ever come up with another, the maddest
adherents’ll punish us terminally!
-So, unless we have a nuclear war, and another
-Who cares? You really don’t need The Kahuna!
If we managed to sneak one in, he or she’d
just do what they’re told anyway.
-I don’t know if that’d work completely.
Not Supreme Court Justices after all!
Labels: crazies, Kahuna, radical fringe, Republican, Supreme Court
Thursday, August 06, 2015
Out Is Not Down
in caverns legislative.
The Democrats stick it
to the gouging bosses
on minions' overtime.
Republicans slimily twist
those awful, flinty codes
of lascivious Old Maids.
Labels: Democrat, Legislature, old maid, overtime, Republican
Wednesday, August 05, 2015
Volume in Politics
-We always run the same way:
THEY’RE CRAZY! WE’RE NOT!
-But we got our crazies too.
-Few. Far between. Impotent.
Labels: crazies, crazy, Democrat, Left, political strategy, Republican, Right
Tuesday, August 04, 2015
The Brain Gang
had never seen so much excess capacity. I wasn't
insulted by this; indeed, I had worked to keep it simple.
Anyway, most of what I did possess from the past, they
slid into a coke machine. Not the least of that genre, but
“Hector,” who reads your eyeball for your order.
He has to tease me of course. With Cynthia, who refused
my kiss at age eleven.
Anyway, I'm primarily the backup memory of Seymour Chang-Utz,
the physicist. Who eats equations and shits...well, more.
Add six grade sex fantasies and you got the dullest bastard
But I'm not bothered much by him, really.
Like froth on an occasional latte.
I'm just fine with the chip they implanted to handle my present life.
(It...wasn't just that she refused. But so mean and sarcastic!)
Labels: brain, capacity, future, memory, physics, surrogate, surrogate memory
Monday, August 03, 2015
-Most divorced couples did the rest of us
a favor. They were poisoning the atmosphere!
-Then how can you explain you and Rhonda
-Bile and terror.
-Don't you mean trial and error?
-This subject always meshugas me completely.
Labels: divorce, Jewish, marriage, meshuga, relationship, trial and error
Sunday, August 02, 2015
An electric woman passed the hat at the
softball game. Just a transitory thing.
She lit up and her bright hair stood on
"There I go again!" laughed she, and then
phased out, though the ozone smell persisted
and mixed with her perfume as the lights
resumed their buzzing.
Her husband played third base and worried
about lightning. And outs and errors, and
other strikes. Humiliated himself once by
kicking the ball and being unable to locate
it as the runner sped round the bases.
His mind never leaves the game.
He better wake up! We dream of her that night.
Labels: athletic, concentration, electricity, error, out, relationship, softball, strike
Saturday, August 01, 2015
Codes and Identity
The Five-Year Plan–-
-Do you mind awfully staying as Hap Z Cranston?
By the time we trace Bert K Ives...!
-But, that’s me! Bert! I’m B--
-Formerly, I'm hoping.
-But, why should...?
-Better PR for us in not again screwing things up,
and amazing advantages for you. Thus, we don't
mix things up with your two sets of papers. And you,
as Hap, have joined the five percent.
-And laid down prodigious bribes thereby?
-Exactly! I can show you five lines of code buried
in there which cuts your processing time two thirds.
Notice, for example, born scarsdale, lower case s.
That skips the proctologist!
-What's he looking for anyway?
-I don't know, but it's mostly darkness.
-Speaking of shit, this democracy is one huge bag
of it, no?
-The present form, yes. Billionaires like you, Hap,
have bought and sold it.
-Is he me presently?
-Unfortunately. Two full days of processing left for
him, as Bert!
-And Me? Now? As Mr Rich Bitch?
-Then back to HIS wife?
-Well, she's busy with tennis and golf pros...
during and après.
-I won't go back there then. How much code
is written in my new papers to advantage me,
and for how long?
-Don't give it a thought. Forever.
-Does he get MY wife?
-She has visions.
-That'll amuse him.
-Oh well! Heaven will be fairer.
-Don't bet on it!
Labels: bribery, bureaucracy, corruption, future, identity, mixup, rich, SNAFU, switch