"Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation’s tears in shoulder blades."
i want to speak to a human but i am on the phone with a machine who speaks with a pleasant tone 'rep' i say clearly the machine informs me politely she does not understand my request 'representative' i ennunciate 'i understand that you wish to speak to a human but i need you to answer more questions so that i may assist you’ she is unfailingly polite in a remote way 'operator' i declaim 'human' i decry numbers i punch finally rosarita arrives and her dulcet voice informs me she is a human not a number with rusty circuits i imagine that she rides a bus wears a purple raincoat has an ipod loaded with jazz saxaphone solos and a magenta blouse an unruly teenage son likes to watch a nice sunset on saturday night
movies this weekend: 2, ‘milk’ & ‘deathrace2000whatever’ irises pixed: many of millions guts: 1, sucked in coffee: 3 cups and sipping boyfriends: 1, sitting next to me pancakes: 52, cooked for family with strawberries yummm fieldtrip of the weekend: memphis botanic gardens
when in the course of human events the collateral erratic random beam goes wonky i generally say something along the lines of 'the mojo wave is in retrograde', but i like ‘ether brouhaha in de virtual times square’ too. my thanks to juliann for the notion so for the record wonky here it is
today is all about my mother and her alzheimer’s and that, my friends, is actually just one very big collateral erratic random beam going in the ether brouhaha times square which is her brain waves in retrograde abeyance.
my mother used to say when she retired she’d paint she assembled the desk and the paint and the brushes she took classes and made posters and never painted anything she cuts down trees piece by piece sweeps the street curb nips at shrubs
Some nights I sleep with my dress on. My teeth are small and even. I don’t get headaches. Since 1971 or before, I have hunted a bench where I could eat my pimento cheese in peace. If this were Tennessee and across that river, Arkansas, I’d meet you in West Memphis tonight. We could have a big time. Danger, shoulder soft. Do not lie or lean on me. I’m still trying to find a job for which a simple machine isn’t better suited. I’ve seen people die of money. Look at Admiral Benbow. I wish like certain fishes, we came equipped with light organs. Which reminds me of a little known fact: if we were going the speed of light, this dome would be shrinking while we were gaining weight. Isn’t the road crooked and steep. In this humidity, I make repairs by night. I’m not one among millions who saw Monroe’s face in the moon. I go blank looking at that face. If I could afford it I’d live in hotels. I won awards in spelling and the Australian crawl. Long long ago. Grandmother married a man named Ivan. The men called him Eve. Stranger, to tell the truth, in dog years I am up there.
coffee: in the pot sink: full of some dirty dishes but they are going down soon breakfast: getting there loves of my life: 4, all sleeping in on a rainy day thunder and lightning: lots need to go out: none at all cup: halfway up or down depending on your perspective
one of the more amusing parts of the weekend has been repeating the comic sans joke to folks who don’t have a computer and thus don’t know what a font is or a comic sans but they know bartender jokes and they laugh anyhow it was the crawdad festival in tunica which featured mudbugs and taters beer and barbecue biting off heads and spitting out parts the kiddie rides were old and falling apart and the carnival atmosphere was more than a little strained the beer drinkers and the mudbug spitters were in high gear and the sky was green i think i got some good shots of those rides and a classic road grate made in india.
i think it is an indication of the geek take over of the world that the wall street journal today has an article on the front page entitled "typeface inspired by comic books has become a font of ill will” referring to comic sans and the creator vincent connare by name along with the joke "Comic Sans walks into a bar, bartender says, 'We don't serve your type.'” what the world is coming to with an increased understanding of the word font as well as a careful explanation of how it transgresses good taste is in fact amazing and i bow to progress we still have famine and pestilence aids and bad manners in the world but we also have fontification.
while we were standing near the green angel i looked up and noticed that the sky had a very odd look to it the look of an impending storm. elmwood stands on the edge of old memphis near the road that takes us across the river and we drove off down the road over the river and deep into the heart of darkness the wind blew us all over the place and trucks splayed water but we got to the place we were headed and got the girl and came back home.
january 12: a usb card reader black coffee my lover’s neck in the morning Fargo Nurse Carol Kashi bar a half day off from work a 50 dollar Movie gift pass interferon
april 16: the day after tax day bad muscle cramps and pain oatmeal with cranberries medhelp forum week 13 going forward the list of everything in a blue book bruce in memphis on monday the gates of graceland the green angel of death mr ranck on the phone on his birthday facebookarama