Posts made in December, 2014

Blog # 12: 2014: the Year in Review

Blog # 12:  2014: the Year in Review

  New Year’s Eve… and, once upon a time, I would have encapsulated all my thoughts and feelings on the subject—the passage of time: refuse through which the past has dragged me; elusive hopes of the present; sought after (and most probably futile) dreams of the future… all that rot—but… (well, actually, that was fairly poetic… just nevermind.)   But poetry is such crap nowadays, isn’t it?  I mean, just a chaotic ramble… no meter, no rhythm, no rhyme—and should those elements be attempted, it’s still often just crap… (I am, of course, speaking from experience, having well over a thousand said “free verse” pomes to the credit o’ mine—and, though by my definition here, “crap,” some of them aren’t too bad… butanyhoo…)  Back in Chaucer’s day, or Shakespeare’s—Milton’s, Byron’s… Pushkin’s!  Them boys wuz poets…  Now we define poetry as “a piece of writing in which the end of the line is determined by something other than the right-hand margin.”  So anything goes!  (Mayhaps the problem lay more in calling it all “poetry”; what we might need is another name for it—like… no, I have no idea.)  And prose-poetry—   Well, (again) just nevermind.  Off on a tangent.  All neither here nor there…   (What was I doing?  Oh, yeah!)   2014!  (For what it’s worth.)   *     An Haiku:  New Year’s Day  (1.1.14)   A dead hooker walks into a bathtub— and the bartender says: “Ahhhh!  Aahhhhhhh!! Zombie prostitute!!  UNDEAD WHORE!!!” Hey… they can’t all be gems.       Saturday Morning w/ Coffee, Pancakes, & Russian Mythology   Big, metal, silvery balls— an impoosible cage, no doors—no escape! Get “small”—but it just gets small along with me…   A blue jay beyond stands guard— starkly vibrant on black branch amidst white, wintery wonderland… “He’ll not stop me—ah-ha!” brazenly, declare I!   (Not that it at all matters— if I can’t even get out of this big, metal, silvery ball… blüddy’ellgoddammit.)       Sunday Morning w/ Coffee & Russian Mythology—and NO Pancakes!   All about the backyard— Cardinals!  Bloody, goddamned Cardinals!! (Holy crud…) —fluttering all about, branch to branch, sending up flurries of snow with robes billowing in their pagan rituals before the Lord— eager and enticing… but for what?!   I close the drapes, pretend I’m not home, ere they come to the door begging for my tithes —e’en my very soul!… but at...

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Blog # 11: the Xmas Blog

Blog # 11:  the Xmas Blog

  The Bounty of Xmas   “No!  No!” said the preacher’s daughter; “Don’t touch me there!  Don’t do it!  Don’t do it!”   But then we did it anyway— in the rectory…   and I made her scream: “Stop!  Stop, you freak!   Quit licking my eyes!!” So I put my clothes on and left…   —And with the spring there shall come the devils……     When My Xmas Goose is Cooked   “I jumped when I should have flown! I ran—but I should have known… you’d be eating me… for xmas…”   (Everybody sing!~)       Christmas Eve Eve   Her name was Eve, and she only came out at night—and then only on one night of the year, Christmas Eve…   She was tall and plain and… well, not so much chunky as solid—butt she had curves everywhere she needed them, and it wasn’t uncommon for gentleman passers-by to take a second glance.  Then again, that could have been the Christmas tree lights and ornaments draped about her person—though she preferred to believe it was she at whom they were glancing…   Eve was a lonely woman.  There was no getting around that.  But she tried to not let it get her down.  Through the year she held to her reclusive ways, rarely going out—and, when she was forced, being as unobtrusive as possible, always trying to blend into the woodwork and go unnoticed.  Then Christmas time would roll around, and she would don her gay apparel and wander the streets spreading good will and Yuletide cheer to any and all she encountered.  She spent the whole week prior to her annual outing baking hundreds of Christmas cookies—which she would then hand out to all the strangers she met.  And her friend Carol—who was also very shy, if not quite so much so as Eve—would often join her; as Christmas Eve offered up her cookies, plying her wares and spreading good cheer, Christmas Carol would serenade the strollers and shoppers with songs of the season.  Sometimes all the attention Carol got would make Eve angry—so angry she would begin to scream obscenities, tugging and tearing at her lights and ornaments in a maddened frenzy… for Eve was far from stable.  And then Carol would laugh and laugh—and sometimes she would point when she laughed, and she shouldn’t have done that, because that’s just mean!  And...

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Blog # 10: The Misanthrope (part 1)

Blog # 10: The Misanthrope  (part 1)

  ‘Til Tomorrow   Staring, eyeless, into the void of Death— a thread of corporeity, clinging, all that holds me back. This finite life overflows with dark matter… all I have never been. Oppression of passing time suffocates— but eternity would not be enough, and ‘til tomorrow takes too long.     CANTO I:  Bohemian Rhapsody   They don’t care… most of them don’t even know— how could they? Why should they?… But if they did, they still wouldn’t— the bastards!— and that’s the whole point, then, isn’t it!…   Drifting through a silent fog of solitary existence… floating atop the fetid quagmire of a reality that goes nowhere… stagnating in the mucky-muck-muck of the fucky-fuck-fucked-up society of barbarous being… ever dragging me down to unacceptable and exciting new depths of degradation—   I writhe… I wallow… I slither all about as if yet shedding my scales for flesh and hair and nails, dragging myself along the shore to the subterfuge of evolution in the tree-tops… day chases night into summer chasing winter— but a flash of light, a shroud of darkness, a flush of warmth, a shriek of cold… the centuries fade away into ages and eons, and all that never changes is the delusion we have progressed— that we have become more than the animals we once were…   —we are yet, and shall always be, the primitives we started off as… it is only the act of pretending to be appalled by our savage natures that has become more elaborate… we are but actors, feigning sainthood as we revel in sin… enslaved to the burdens of corporeity…     Madness of a Mad God   So sits the Mad God In Divine contemplation, Thinking on the plight of the world And His place, if any, within it… The other Gods stand idly by— On aloof and lonely mountains,   Beneath cold, uncaring seas, Within the stark cruelty of barren deserts— The darkening glow of Judgment Burning in Their eyes: “We do not taunt You— Though it would be justified if We did— For You mock Yourself By Your own existence….”   The frailties of the mortal world, The weaknesses inherent in the human condition, Wrap Me in their clinging bonds, And it is as being enfolded by Death With the tenderness of a lover’s embrace… Kali nuzzles close With Her promises of sin and seduction, Of...

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Blog # 9: Random Notes I Found on My Coffee Table (part 1)

Blog # 9: Random Notes I Found on My Coffee Table  (part 1)

  1)  Putin, w/ shirt off, riding Sarah Palin through Alaska… he’s pointing off into the distance saying “Look, Sarah, I can see your house!”  [save for when Russia invades]   2)  People are whores — because our corporeity makes us dead inside, and we crave anything that will allow us some semblance of Life…   3)  “Then… no time at all has passed?!  But the ghosts — those lying, bastard fiends!  I’ll kill ‘em…!”   4)  Did you ever notice how it often feels like life gets in the way of living?   5)  Were-crow (or raven?):  doesn’t turn completely into a crow, but is covered with feathers, sprouts a beak (akin to a vampire’s fangs)… shrinks a bit (about chimp-sized)… can’t fly, but sort of glides — albeit plummetingly… instead of drinking blood, it drinks bile and eats spleen…   6)  I once dated a woman named Spinning Jenny… who was much more exciting than her sister Lazy Susan… I’d also enjoyed the company of their esoterically epistemological cousin Penny For Your Thoughts… and they had that friend who was always hanging around, Beverly of the Stinky Cheese… (That’s not a thing.)  And (uh!) who was the other one — what was her name?… Mary Jane!  And (er), well, nevermind.   7)  “Do you love her more than me?” “Oh, come on — how can you ask me that?” “Well, do you?” “I — I don’t know… how do you measure something like that?  It’s two entirely different sorts of love; how would you quantify it?  I love her 20 units of affection, but you I love 30 with 10 units of prurient desire on the side?  I don’t know.” “Well, why don’t you just try at least!” “Fine.  How ‘bout this:  my love for each of you is comparable in size — for her, a head of lettuce, for you, a bowling ball.” “Bowling ball’s are bigger…” “Generally, yes — this is a bowling ball-sized head of lettuce.” “So she gives good head and I’m just not up your alley anymore!?” “Clever — but no.  So the size of each love is the same, but the mass, the density, is different.” “You think I’m fat!” “Uh!!  Not even a little bit!  But if her love were thrown at me, I might say ‘Ow!’ or something, and then perhaps I’d have a lovely salad (leaving me yet...

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Blog #8: incidental aside: ‘Natalya’s Tale’

Blog #8: incidental aside: ‘Natalya’s Tale’

  Regarding my first (finished, but as yet unpublished) novel—entitled ‘Natalya’s Tale’—I thought of a good way to describe it…  Mostly, when asked what it’s about, I have a rather long-winded spiel along the lines of: “You know how in Arthurian legends, a knight travels around having adventures?  He goes off on a quest, and along the way he meets a variety of strange characters—battling other knights and wild beasts or mythological monsters, running afoul of sorcerers and witches, as well as helping hapless peasants and maidens in distress…  Well, this is a lot like that, but instead of an Arthurian knight, I have Natalya, a cannibalistic prostitute, who grows tired of eating babies and turning tricks and decides to go in quest of some greater meaning in life…”   And that’s all absolutely true.   However, it occurred to me an even better analogy (or, methinks, not so much better—as I did indeed have Arthurian tales in mind as the novel writ didst I!  But—in a… colloquially uninducive, allegorical sense)—mayhap couldst, more simply, be expressed: “It’s rather like ‘The Wizard of Oz’ or ‘Alice in Wonderland’—but wherein Dorothy and Alice are baby-eating whores…”   Short and sweet!   (Butanyhoo…)   By the by—so as not to scare off too many people with the whole “cannibalistic” shtick that often seems to pop up in my writing… if you think about what’s popular in books and movies now, vampires and zombies and werewolves are all high on the list.  And they all eat human flesh or drink human blood, right?  And also very popular is crime drama… who doesn’t love a good serial killer?  (Hopefully not literally.)  It enthralls us—titillates us!  Even as it makes us sick…  And so, really, that’s all I’m trying to do.  (Well—but, I mean… you know… not the making everyone sick part…)  I’m just putting those two elements—flesh-eaters and mass murderers—together, then adding sex (prostitution), and voila!~  Everybody wins!   And I would also like to point out, ‘Natalya’s Tale’ is humorous fantasy—and thus, you might say, it’s all “cartoon” cannibalism and prostitution: alluded to, but not graphically depicted… as you shall see when it is published and all of you (hopefully!) purchase it…   Speaking of the projected publication of this, my debut novel… I’ve been sending it out to traditional publishers this year—but, alas, I have as yet had no takers…  (Oh, Well!) ...

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