jeudi 8 décembre 2016

Alt Right

If you're an alt right cuckservative, cornservador,
Burning up more twitter fans than 
An atom blast in Fukoshima

Then you may be a shadowy dissident
Breaking conservative walls
built or unbuilt upon 
A quagmire of a swamp
A deep echo bounces like a flat rock over the water resounding,

WE NEED TO BE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION

Hoping to give society the mediocrity 
That stands of non-conservative
And smells of
Non-aligned
A fingerless keyboard punches:
"Pragmatic neo-liberals
without a care for religion
Or Yiddish bagels..."

WE NEED TO BE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION

It is time to promote the edges of the internet
4 Chan 8 Chan
Upstream neo-apologetic 
Accusatory misinformation generation

A media where culture is halting 
Stumbling elephants approving of nationalists
That today are coalescing 
And moving into the public spotlight

Chanting unchecked the Homeland is 
Now a beacon, a fireball an incendiary device
Beckoning broken masses to turn and veer and rattle
Where no snake hath slithered

A bodiless bear servers as my son's piggy bank
Where has the body gone, where are the gold chips?
Why are people boycotting fruitloops?
Kellogs is accused of dividing the country
Muslims and Christians won't eat Corn Flakes

My son walks out of a swamp in the moonlight
The croaking of a bullfrog flushes out the sound of his approaching steps
It is a dream
I wake up wishing

Wishing I knew what to give him for Christmas
Wishing I I knew what to give anyone for Tomorrow.



WE NEED TO BE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION


Nasty Women



Yesterday I tied my nasty wife to a chair and left her there.
You may think that cruel but if you listen up, you'll understand.

Bernice and I have been fighting for years. Been trying to get divorced but she won't let me.
(Turns out she has a lot of money that she's been hiding.)
We go to a judge every month. She tries to shoot me down for little things.
I forget to take out the trash, "that's a man's role" she says.
I don't read books to our baby daughter. Well who reads these days?

It's all in the tone. Mean. A nasal rasping voice that will cut through any fog.
A few years ago she disappears for 3 weeks. Blackout from her friends, relatives.
One day I come home I get wacked with the butt of my deer rifle. 
I fall onto the floor, spit out a tooth and say,
"Honey, not in front of Baby Bess!"

She smiles, snickers or skittles and says it the bear trap next time.

Bess is now 7. She's getting nasty too. Rough like her mom.
When she smiles her eyes come together. Like a devil.
She'll throw rocks at me and her friends. She throws food
and she jumps on my stomach for fun. Only she weighs like a 10 year old
and she flattens my intestines like a tape worm.

Bernice is an Instagram addict. I went christmas shopping with her last year.
A guy in the mall falls on top of the escalator and has a cardiac arrest. I got
to help him and she pushes me away. "gotta film this! she barks. 
And so she goes ahead filming and for her defence she wasn't the only one,
a crowd starts filming cause they all want a maximum number of hits on their
Instagram. I finally push her aside to do CPR but it's too late: he's dead.

She does the same thing to our neighbour. The guy takes a shower and you 
can see his butt on the opaque glass. Bernice does her filming then sends it
to his wife with some lewd comment. "See that?" she says to me, beaming,
"that'll teach him!"

To the judge she holds herself nice and upright and says that I can't even shoot
deer with my deer riffle. Says I spend the day basket weaving and she brings
her mother in as a witness to prove that I'm the one who is hiding the money.
"My husband is a filthy rich basket case" she says, her
eyes full of compassion and tearing in front of the judge. 

I look down at my feet, my stomach, full of acid, cramps another notch.

samedi 8 octobre 2016

The Hug



There's something in a hug that's my milder than the trail of a slug 
For some it's a ferocious tug For others it's like being rolled up in a rug
But at the recent opening of the African Museum of History and
Culture in Washington DC
Michele Obama hugged former president 
George Bush 
Bush was leaning back with a vulnerable and
Almost child-like expression on his face
Whilst
Michele
From the side and behind 
Wraps her long arms around the president 
Making him slightly teeter
Yet wearing a smile of love

It is a startling image
Charged with humanity and grace
The hands show the tenderness of 
Rembrant's Jewish Bride



Painted 400 years ago
Yet still bearing an afterglow.

dimanche 18 septembre 2016

Demi-sel 2016

I pulled my caddy out from a Saturday morning shopping spree
Where I shaved off precious minutes by using the 
MFC (or "Most full cart") method
An algorithm developed by MIT scientists that
Proves if you are
Intent on getting on the shortest line then you 
Should:
-go to the left
-avoid male cashiers
-seek the fullest cart
Feeling light-headed.

Compliant, aligned and conformed to this scheme
I should have been seemingly satisfied to pay
To be asked to present my card
So that in a flash I could be on my way
Like a bat out of hell except for my
Eye
That fell
Onto a bar of butter, more rectangular than stick-like
Having been scanned with a single "beep"
(post-beeped, post-scanned)
The letters "demi-sel" proudly printed on its side.



Bien sûr this is all happening in
France
Where demi-sel is salted or lightly salted butter

I confess I have skirted this product for years and years
Friends and family have tried to get me to let go and
Ride this senseless aversion head on

My nephew thought he had it when he showed me how in
Minecraft a character jetsons hundreds of bars of butter into




A swimming pool
Thinking that I would have me
Burning in virtual empathy!

Then my doctor told me about the micro
Flora rich fat soluble properties that 
Peppered with a touch of salt
Can lower your adrenaline spikes while
Supporting thyroid and extracellular fluids.

All this I barred out
Crossed out in my mind like the words in
Jean Michel Basquit's paintings
Words that appear to reappear just because 
They have a line through them.



But the main story here is the salted bar of butter
Not the Zika spraying of Naled in the wee hours of Miami
Not the alarming rise of homicides in Chicago
Not the fact that most para-olympic athletes 
Despise the word "inspiration"

I cried out staring at the butter that I ended up paying for (because
Somebody, unbeknownstly chucked it in my cart)
"Demi-sel!"
Yet with my poor pronunciation the cashier understood
"Deux mille seize" (2016)
And the person behind me understood 
"Deux mille seize"
So from all directions I was looked at with stupefaction and a drop of
Displeasure 
As they thought how this displaced shopper wearing
Shorts and shoes with no socks on a cold, rainy day
Could make a striking statement that the salted
"Demi-sel" butter was 
A cru of deux mille seize.


dimanche 11 septembre 2016

Why puzzle?

If you were living in the Sumarian city of Uruk

3400 BC


You might have been an artisan or a slave with

The chore to tessellate the floors, the walls, the ceilings

Tiling was what it was all about

-Mosaics were already as popular as trout

Whether it was polygonal semi-iregular

Or just some hyperbolic geometry

It needed to be done.

This act of reproducing patterns came well before

copy and pasting

And whether it was an act of addiction or



A way to find inner peace 

A Spock would say "fascinating" with 

One eyebrow raised.





 A few thousand years later the jigsaw puzzle is invented

A challenging learning device to learn maps, geography and history 

And ever since puzzles have run away!

Today, puzzlephiles abound, spending hours, days on 2, 3 5000 

piece puzzles that need to be assembled, then dissembled.

And if you're a puzzle fiend then

You've got a puzzle language to go:

"I need a top negative green piece with a heavy grain of pasture divided by a horizontal line showing the head of a sheep but only with one eye and a lower positive round but fat round shape."



or,

"this piece that fits into the water around Venice has to have an elongated top with a light green hue with downward jagged movements that are seemingly similar to another 300 pieces that make up the water..."




Fortunately you don't have to be a Galieo, a Marie Curie, a Decartes or a Freud 

To puzzle

And if you dream you are 

Tripping over gondolas, cows or the nose of La Gioconda




Then your life is a wandering puzzle log

Looking to fit from the inside to the outside.











lundi 15 août 2016

Michalangelo and hangers

If you fold your shirts 
Read no further for these lines are
For those who hang
Like to hang
Or would like to hang more.

Not all hanging is the same: 
We are familiar with the terry cloth towel that hangs from a hook
The hanging when you hang out or  just
Hanging in the air before the B-Ball goes Swish

But for the real hard core hangers we are talking about wire, wood, plastic contraptions that
Hang our clothes, day in, day out
Using imitation, restless and straight shoulders


These hangers hang and have been hanging over centuries


(Copy of petrified hangers found in Lascaux, circa l7,300 BC)

Whether be it the leather loincloth or a frilly blouse 
Every hanger has its purpose and no two are alike.







The light twisted wire
The imposing wood
The puffy soft cloth
And the imposing clamps for pants or skirts
Provide a tolless testament to Time and Service

Yet hangers can be polymorphous:
In the news we heard 
Of a jet crashing into a hangar!


And in Mommie Dearest a hanger is an icon of female abuse and self-abuse





When it comes to hangers there are many stories and mysteries
One of the greatest being Michelangelo's David 
Who was commissioned at the age of 26 to carve out
A monumental block releasing what has become one of the most
Famous sculptures of all time.

Michalangelo originally had hung a pleated toga on his personal marble  hanger 


But the light fabric is told to have excited the model during long poses
Erecting his penis beyond human proportions 
This angered the artist and he decided to wisk it away leaving
David as nude as a baby

A true masterpiece even though some critics may say he is "not well hung."


------- - --------














dimanche 3 juillet 2016

Soapless Cities

Just when you thought Jane Austin's Marianne Dashwood reflected the ultimate in unrequited love, in Soapless City, by Jamesola Langola, we witness Nigel, an ambitious dry cleaner in the south of London, who has fallen for Mary, a voluptuous marketing assistant at Clive Christian perfumes. With heart-rending tension from the families who oppose each other for political beliefs (Mary is out and Nigel in) this sexually charged novel is peppered by Brexit: with all european trade deals gone bonkers neither Nigel nor Mary (nor any Brit for the record) can wash themselves. Mary qualifies her fiancé as a "stinking mule" but she falls in her own trap because she starts to stink too. Can they both go on stinking and hating each other? Who can save this relationship? Questions and mysteries abound and the ice becomes constantly thinner between the protagonists as time goes on.

Yet somewhere in a dark basement in Sussex a certain Tony, a scientist with a big ambition and even a bigger mouth, is working frantically to produce a new soap. A soap that does all. A soap that washes all. A soap so powerful it calls itself "Powerbull". 




Still, will this soap get on the shelves of the Icelandic frozen food chain before Mary and Nigel separate? And what about the English national football team? What about it?
As Brexit turns London and other metropolises into "Soapless Cities" and tense battling fields, Mary and Nigel's egg-breaking relationship is just a detail like a painting of Bruegel's.




Langola's  writing courses like a river, sometimes black with mud, sludge and stains, sometimes bright with moon bleach. Danger of love is omnipresent, even after combat recedes; nature careless and the lack of soap is monumental. "This is the novel of the century" offering hallucinations caused by privation, be it physical detergent or hunger or erotic yearning of the soul they are unapologetically evoked in this masterpiece. Langola exploits Brexits aftershocks in the sumptuous futuristic dystopian novel that one loves as an allergy loves a sneeze. Not since Tale of Two Cities has literature reached such a level.

A Booker Prize runner up. The Gardian.