I heard tell of a construction worker in Etobicoke who, one day while fixing studs on a building's
second floor exterior face, looked down to the road and saw the most delightful
of creatures. She was wrapped in a green knee-length coat above white shoes like
those of a nurse and her dark hair shone like the moon in daylight. He cried
out to her,
This love is like a hole in my breast
Where all my heart is bleeding fast.
O maiden, stop to cease this seeping,
Or I will die and leave my parents bereft.
The woman looked up at him; her eyes sparkled as she
responded
I do not know where you get your ideas from;
Is there a shop where you buy potions of presumption?
I'm off to the well to get a single sip of water
And I need no-one to accompany me there.
The construction worker gathered her meaning readily, and
he fell in a swoon and tumbled off the scaffolding five feet to the ground. He
had died, but not from the fall. His parents took his body and buried it, never
knowing that it was love and love alone that killed him.
*
Things That I Used To Do That I Don't
Do No More
after running around barefoot at Ontario Place's
Children's Village being unable to undo a shoelace knot going wandering through
the whole place all the way to the pods looking for my mommy to help undo the
knot crying all the time
going down
hearing, "I dropped
something," in a house being built and reading T.H.'s
note--the thing she dropped--reading, "wanna
make out?"
being retrieved by my mother from
a new friend's house because the new friend was a negro
crushing a boy's thumb in a doorjamb
at school because he wouldn't stop bugging us as we rehearsed a playlet of a French folk tale
on the 2nd last day of school
lying that a project was complete and having the teacher call mom
speaking a speech about Hitchcock
and Psycho and toilets in front of everyone
hiding haircuts in back seats
sliding down a sad banister
collecting money from a paper
route--where did I get the nerve to do such a thing?
*
Due to a complicated matrix of circumstances, I found
myself on the road between
He said, "Need a lift?"
"I don't think so;
"It's about twenty miles."
"Is it? Well."
"Throw your stuff in the back seat and get in."
Since it was an order, I threw my knapsack in the back
seat and got in.
"You're shaking," he said.
"Haven't eaten anything
today."
He drove. The summer trees flew by. He said, "I don't
think you've accepted too many rides from strangers."
"Never alone."
"I used to do it all the time when I was your
age."
"Well, well."
Soon we were in
"I guess the bus stop?" he asked.
"That would be nice."
He stopped. I got out.
"Here." He handed me fifty dollars.
"Thanks."
He shrugged. "We understand things up here."
*
AGAINST NATURE
[...]
In the following essay, I will bring forth fluorescently
three profound reasons why "nature" is inferior to what's known as
"culture." You can consider this to be another argument in the long
line stretching back to Achilles' shield or thereabouts' arguments. Also note
that these arguments are falsifiable and are therefore scientific.
Firstly, I'll consider the valuelessness
of "nature". What's it for? Is it worth anything? Maybe in some way,
but that valuation is always already based on a viewpoint from
"culture." Therefore, "culture" precedes
"nature". That's the way it is.
Secondly, I'll make some accounts for the simple boredom
of nature. Who in the civilized world would ever want to be stuck out there? A
huge number of people are killed from causes that are called
"natural," and that there is a dead giveaway as to how dangerous it
is. Dangerous and boring. It's both, of course, and
that doesn't change this my second point in the least.
Thirdly, there's the question of ethics.
"Nature" has no ethics. Just look at how ducks behave to see that
they have no ethics. And without ethics, there's no good or bad.
All these points'll be taken up
now.
*
The Fraud of Historical Fiction II
ROGER: But electronics, what
do I know about electronics? The
Wright brothers and me used to triple-date.
PEGGY: I don't think we're
done seeing the applications of it. Panasonic is the future.
DON: They need something....
Something from the future. Not just a campaign,
billboards, television: they need to advertise ... from the future.
JOAN: And how is that to
happen, pray tell?
DON: Trust me, there's
something big on the horizon. Has anyone heard of ARPANET? (They shrug.) It's a
BERT: And they're looking to
advertise, I suppose.
DON: No. We're going to
advertise on them.
JOAN: Pretty small market.
PEGGY: Smaller than mine,
even.
DON: But it's just the
start. One day, everyone will be linked up through ARPANET or a
"net" like it.
BERT: Poppycock!
ROGER: You want to advertise
on ARPANET?
DON: Why not? "These
bits and bites brought to you by Panasonic."
JOAN: How will anyone find
out about these advertisements?
DON: Simple.
ROGER: How?
PEGGY: How?
JOAN: How?
BERT: How?
DON: They'll find out about
it through their social networks!
*
Q:
I'm glad you could make it.
A:
Did I have a choice?
Q:
Are you comfortable?
A:
Comfortable enough.
Q:
Consider it an open opinion poll.
A:
Okay.
Q:
Who will you be voting for?
A:
Rob Ford.
Q:
Why?
A:
Oh my God, do you really not know? Sometimes it's like.... Sometimes it's like,
"Okay, children, gather 'round and I'll tell you the story of Adam Smith
and the Wealth of Nations! Once upon a time, there was a man who made
pins...." Think I've said enough?
Q:
If you say so.
A:
Read the rest quietly to yourself.
Q:
Moving on. Global warming.
A:
Oh my God, do you really not know? Antonio Gramsci,
the National Socialists, the fall of the Berlin Wall, all these lazy
west-haters stuck saying, "What are we going to complain about now?"
"I know, let's gin up something that will stop the progress of life,
something that's less bound to fail than communism." Think I've said
enough?
Q:
If you say so.
A: Bien pensants.
Q:
And how's the recovery coming along?
A:
Recovery?
Q:
The head injury.
A:
Oh, that! Still get the dizzy spells if I lie down too long.
*
Jimmy ran off to the satchel he'd left beside the door
when he'd come in. I thought: fatherhood.
"It's something I drew yesterday. I used crayons and
pencils!"
He held it out to me proudly. It looked somewhat greasy
around the edges so I took it in hand with extreme care.
"Oh my," I said. "It's a train! With three cars and a caboose!"
He shoved me slightly so I'd move over on my chair to give
him room in view of his artwork. He shoved his stubby fingers forth. "I
drew the outlines with pencil then I filled it in, like in a colouring
book."
I raised an eyebrow. "You didn't trace this?"
"No."
"You're sure? You're telling the truth."
"Honour!"
I looked more carefully. "Oh, but
there's an obvious problem here."
"What?"
I pointed to the engine's stack. "Smoke doesn't come
out of stacks in curlicues."
"It doesn't?"
"Of course not. It rises up and up into the
sky."
"Really?"
"Depending on the
velocity of the train, the currents in the atmosphere. Things like that."
"No curlicues."
"Never in
curlicues, boy."
He looked very serious then. "I made a boo-boo."
"Yes, you did. How's your mother doing anyway?"
*
When
one comes upon a day during which one is invited to envision the rest of the
tomorrows to come--which, for many people, is every other day or so--and finds
oneself seeing that there may not in fact be that many tomorrows to come, maybe
even less than one (for that comes to all men), one may take time to reflect
upon all the previous days during which this epiphany has likewise taken place,
all the days during which there seemed about to be no tomorrow or even no next
hour, and all the trains and buses and loved ones that do not hurry to arrive
hence allow one to resume any kind of useful occupation other than idling stupidly,
and conclude that (save for existential despair) nothing will ever stop the
heart from yearning for the morrow, nothing can salve the regrets of the past,
nothing can stop time in its unparalleled constructions, and that one is a
failure, a clichéd abject failure, with nothing worth seeing of, loving of, or
caring of, with nothing to offer anyone--anyone!--excepting of course every
other one, stuck as they likewise are in a world of the indifferent now.
*
It's good for the soul to be in jail. There's no ambiguity
about it. If freedom is an illusion, you're right at home. If it's not, you're
taking a vacation from it.
So there I was, in cell 2A, with my new friend Herb. He
was mooning through the bars once he'd come out of it, whatever it was.
Finally he noticed me, just sitting, drumming my fingers on my green pants. I
said, "Howdy."
"Hello," he said. "Got the time?"
"About four."
He looked out moonily again.
"What happens now? Do you know?"
"Round about nine they bring us out for a hearing or
such. Then, anything can happen."
"Anything?"
"Hyperbole."
He sat down with a creak. "I think I might have
socked a cop."
I whistled. "Bad news, my
man."
"Maybe there were extenuating circumstances."
"Don't matter none."
He sighed and time passed.
A time later the sun came up and a screw or whatever
showed. "Okay, Herb, come with me."
First-name basis.
Herb went through the open door and it got closed behind
him with a key-clang.
There's no ambiguity about it. You want advice? I'm here
every Friday to Sunday. The price is socking a cop.
*
NEK RO NOM I KON
DO NOT READ ON IF YOU FEAR FOR YOUR SOUL. FOR HERE WITHIN ARE KEYS TO POWER OVER ALL EVIL IN THE UNIVERSE.
BY THE POWERS OF SHUGGOTH,
BY THE POWER OF TH'NRISI'KAK OF THE 667 HEADS, BY THE POWERS OF KÅLI THE MAGNIFICENT.
TURN BACK, FOR THE ELEMENTS OBEY THOSE WHO OBEY ME THIS
BOOK. O EARTH O WIND O FLAME O WATER ARRANGE YOURSELVES AND PROSTRATE!
READ THE ENCHANTMENTS WITHIN. LOOK FOR GOOD MOONS AND
STARS. LOOK FOR TH'NRISI'KAK OF THE MOON. TELL NO-ONE, FOR YOU WILL KILL HIM IN
THE END. O SHUGGOTH OF THE DEPTHS!
John took the book to the W.H. Smith cash register and
paid $5.99 for it.
He slipped it into his coat and left the Eaton Centre
bookstore.
Down the escalator, feeling
the powerful pulse of the book against his ribs.
He thought: Can God see me? Does he know the Evil of
the book I carry against my ribs?
Down went the escalator.
John was terrified.
I must hide the book!
It is too evil for words!
$5.99!
How can this be sold openly?
Out into daylight went he, piqued by contrast of book and
universe.
*
The Spokesman: A Legend of the Old West
A stranger drove his covered wagon into town one day and
everyone noticed because over his four wheels were draped white linen cloths
such that the wheels were invisible. Everyone thought it was curious: even my
dog thought it was curious.
He got off his wagon and went to untie his horses. Just
then a boy crept forward to lift the cloth. The stranger turned and shot the
boy dead.
He called to everyone, "Stay away from my wagon until
morning."
Next morning we all gathered to hear him say,
"Friends, I have here a patented innovation. I'm looking for some
investment capital.
"Your wagons are faulty. The wheels break too easily.
And that's because you're using eight spokes."
He lifted one cloth. There we say a wheel that only had
seven spokes.
Fester the Drunk called out, "How can it be better
with fewer spokes?"
The crowd murmured agreement.
The stranger said, "The vertical pressure of a wagon
squishes the wheel horizontally. With seven spokes, the forces are equalized
uniformly. Fewer busted wheels."
We shook our heads and left. The stranger left town to
seek other investors.
We were so stupid.
*
The Fappening
(in commemoration of
the inaugural day of the Toronto International Film Festival)
Hey 'Net, look at me, these are what I knew you would
see,
'Cause when I snapped 'em, trapped 'em digitally
I'd planned 'em, knew some day you would scan 'em, in a
fappening
Why encrypt? That's not why I'm always unstripped
I'll put on a show forevermore, give me your eyes
Sending south all of your flies, for the fappening
I'm so outraged, see me stamp me feet,
Threatening to sue every guy I meet,
This is all about me, so I hope it's not about you
It's a start, it's my art, it's your horse beholding my
c**t,
And it gets me wet deep down in my heart
They fappened, obedi'ntly they fappened
I'm now all up the news, 'cause of all those TMZ views
Give my all your clicks, you pitiful dicks, and adore me
I'm the one who bewhored me, for this fappening
Now I see myself, just as you see me,
Not some worthless trash, never on TV,
This is all about me, so I hope it's not about you
Ooh and then it fappened
Ooh and then it fappened
Fappened
-4 September 2014
*
I was talking on the telephone to work-Jane one late
autumn morning when I wasn't scheduled to begin till two-thirty, me idly
looking out the patio door at the yard and the pool, we talking about some
plans for a Thursday night get-together. Something moved in the sky of my
peripheral vision and I glanced up to look at the two enormous power towers on
the other side of
"This is weird," I said.
The towers buckled like trees under the weight of snow;
the arms of the things drooped down; the electricity lines they bore get taut
and snapped.
"Oh my God!"
Together they buckled at their waists and down they both fell, toward me, silently in the morning.
"Two power towers just fell! Get a news crew over
here! It's a disaster! They fell on
I hung up and went outside and around the block to
I ran back to the house. I had to get through to Jane. I
had misinformed her. I had misinformed the station. I'd been caught lying.
*
First
my neck was shot through with a cheap bullet and my body fell into a mass
grave.
Second
my heart weakened and weakened until it simply couldn't keep itself going.
Third
my brain froze from a blood clot and one by one the rest of my body failed.
Fourth
my blood flowed out around me from an artery severed after an intentional
plunge from a bridge.
Fifth
my liver was pierced by a dagger made in
Sixth
my arms and legs were pulled off my torso held in chains during a sex game gone
frenzied.
Seventh
my skin turned yellow as my kidneys stopped doing what they were supposed to
do.
Eighth
my guts spilled out from a scimitar slash made by a fierce Turk.
Ninth
my veins froze somewhere lost in the arctic while a dog howled and shivered.
Tenth
my eyes blind my ears dead I entered a dark silence from within a dark silence.
Eleventh
my bones were crushed when I fell from an airplane in the sky.
Twelfth
my lungs filled with water during a storm near
Neck,
heart, brain, blood, liver, arms, legs, skin, guts, veins, eyes, ears, bones,
lungs.
*
Ah
O
muse, sing now of wrinkle-free young-uns,
Of
mainly crazy deeds done for a thousand
Generations,
sing now of madnesses
Not
quite as warnings, not only that, but also
Make
a mark upon the moon and keep
An
eye upon it as it slowly waxes
Or
wanes occluding your imagined mark.
They
met, both mad, both virginal,
Both
having read of roads not travelled (much),
Unhappy
pair and middling-classed and one
Said
something high or drunkenly one night
About
a trip to
It
seemed a thing to do so right there was
No
way to turn around the passion ship
And
sail safely back to bourgeois world.
And
why, who knew? perhaps they'd die out there,
Gunned
down or starvéd
under a volcano
But
still in love with life the puddle-splash;
They
quit their jobs and pooled their funds, enough
To
take the bus across the states with like
Three
hundred dollars left to spend in all;
But
then, before they left, one got cold feet
And
everything fell apart so silently.
They
got jobs again. They found places to live.
And
that's how they became friends for a while.
*
I was nuts about this girl named Sue so I went her see her
father, the Caliph Harun al-Rashid.
"So you want to marry my daughter, eh?"
"If that's what it takes, yes."
"You have to prove yourself. Listen up. Find the
I went off to the island called China and ascended the
Onyx Mountain, opened a door with a prayer, proceeded to the seventh chamber,
took the ring from the sleeping woman beautiful as the moon, rubbed it, was
carried by a raak to Treashi
whom I slayed, and brought talismanic robes back to Harun al-Rashid.
Astonished, he said, "What are these?"
"Talismanic robes."
"But, I was just making all that up!"
I waited a beat. "And your point is?"
*
Harold looked up and blinked. The date appeared, floating
before his eyes. July 8, 123456.
He climbed out of bed and took a hangover nano and the hangover was gone. He slipped his feet into
his slippers and the maid appeared with escargot, chocolate, and baked ostrich
eggs.
"Thanks, Emma."
She smiled electronically and sincerely and said,
"Will there be anything special today? It's your birthday. You're fifty
today."
"I don't think so."
"Not even a blow job?"
"I don't think so."
She smiled. "Let me know if you change your
mind."
"I will."
She left with a sexy hum.
Harold ate. He looked out the window--a perfect day. Really nice. He blinked and the speakers came on.
"And today is one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight
day!" chirped the robot on the radio.
Harold blinked the speakers off.
He decided to go outside and go outside he did.
Everything was perfect. What a world, what a perfect
world. How did it happen?
It doesn't affect my soul, now does it?
He blinked and Emma appeared.
"Bourbon, Emma."
"Here you are."
"Thanks."
Harold drank the bourbon. The grass was green and perfect.
He touched his chest, at his heart. There was nothing to want.
*
Walking
like a meander
Breathing
like the air
Sleeping
as a dream
Talking
like your words
Perambulating
like a perambulator
Signifying
like a signpost
Operating
like an incision
Listening
as a waveform
Running
like an acceleration
Searching
as the missing
Driving
like a wheel
Writing
as single words
Seeing
as an object
Announcing
like a loudspeaker
Announcing
like a loudspeaker
Rocking
as ten stones
Listening
like an earphone
Sexting like a champion
Ingesting
like an oesophagus
Naturalizing
as a fern
Praying
like a prayer
Terrifying
as a fright
Officiating
like a numismatist
Fine-tuning
as an art
Incorporating
like fat men
Tasting
like a dog
Ravishing
as a caress
Gouaching like a mural
Intensifying
as an adverb
Multiplying
like a table
Typing
like a type-writer
Rolling
as a river
Sleeping
like a pillow
Alternating
like the current
Touching
as a fingertip
Insouciant
as the carefree
Smelling
like an odour
Jumping
like a stile
Dumping
as the truck
Living
like your blood
Eating
like a mouncher
Liking
as the weather
Inspecting
like nobody's business
Contaminating
as the worm
Undeciding like a decider
Delivering
as a mailbox
Protagonating like an extra
Considering
of the coffee
Delaying
from the heart
Making
of the language
*
I've started watching this terrific science fiction
series. In it, a group of minds from the early 21st century manage to somehow
project themselves back about a century into the heads of a bunch of British
people in a place called Downton Abbey. Now they
can't really influence a whole lot of stuff back there, but they sure do make
comments about the situation! They talk about all the 21st century obsessions!
I can see where the show is going. Somehow at some point
some character will find himself talking about
something that he knows nothing about; he'll make some slip, some reference to,
I don't know, Hitler or something. The other characters--the parts of their
heads that aren't inhabited by the people from the future--will find this funny
and strange. Then it'll happen again and again as the characters figure out
that they're being colonized by people from some distant future.
That's just as far as I've figured it out so far. I don't
know how the science fiction writers will resolve it. I haven't read enough
science fiction, I guess. In any case, it's top notch. Phildickian, really. Maybe someone's inhabiting the head of his grandpa!
*
Bluesfolk
Hambone threw open the closet door, encircled all the
dime-store dresses with his right arm and yanked them out while the hangers
clattered to the wood floor. Over to the window he went to throw them out, down
to the pavement and the brownstone's steps. "Thinks she can
jellyroll another daddy, does she?"
He was heading to her drawer when a familiar voice came
through the window. "Hambone! What are you doing?
You dirty broke-dick dog!"
She was in the apartment in no time. There was a struggle.
"Two-timing bitch!" "And
what about you, catting around with the sweet
petunias all the time?" "I can't believe it! Rufus of all dudes!"
She grabbed his metal-body guitar, his capos, his
slide-knife, and his bottle-slide and threw it out the window.
He grabbed up her spoon, her cotton, her syringe, and her
smack and threw it all out the window.
She started to cry. "Oh, Hambone, you're the only man
for me, I swear!"
Hambone tore apart the kitchen. "Goddamn piano
playing son-of-a-bitch!"
"Hambone, honey, come in here."
They reconciled, and rocked it all night long, finally to
sleep at five. Hambone's last thought was they should never have left Julliard.
*
Cowboys
I could see his face by then, and the fire got dimmer as
the sun rose. All night long we'd talked, telling stories and jokes, some true,
some not, some inbetween. I wasn't tired at all, and
I wouldn't be tired all day long.
"I guess we'd best start up some cooking. The others'll be hungry when they wake, an' we ain't doing much atall."
"I hear ya."
So we got out the skittles and the pots and did the beans
and bacon. The other fellows awoke and ate. Not much talk from them.
Curious it was, my guys heading east and his guys heading
west, meeting there in a territory gully. We were heading to the next drive; he
and his, well, I hadn't asked.
We all pack up our gear and stuff and saddlebagged
them and then we were all on our horses, in two rows, facing one another.
Somehow my conversationalist and me would up
face-to-face in the middle, like it was all meant to be symmetrical.
I asked, "So where you all headed anyhow?"
He said, "We got an appointment in
"Never heard of
it."
He smiled. "Look it up."
They all rode off.
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