dimanche 30 décembre 2012

Friendship Prison

"Why have you not a friend? What Friend Game or Frenemy are you playing?"
With these words from the Warden I stiffly moved through the corridor to serve
Five years in Friendship Prison.


                                               Train taking me to Friendship Jail

I was guilty. I committed Friend Crime. (Less than three friends, the sentence was harsh.)
Doctors said I could be trigger happy.
But when I told the guard in Friendship Prison
My Mate killed his Mom despite having Four Friends and a Best Friend
I got slapped in the face.

The first weeks were tough:
I had to walk in the courtyard for twenty minutes holding hands 
Then my blood pressure was taken and if it was still high I needed to hold hands for another twenty.

My new friend was Bromio.
He waxed a mustache and wore jeans pulled above his flat hips.
When his dog died (which counted half a friend) a Friendship Drone picked him up.
I didn't trust him.
He said he milked cows but his skin was too smooth for my liking.


Once a week I have psychological tests.
I'm shown ink blotches that resemble guns and my blood pressure is checked to see if it goes up.
After two months I was caught for talking about my divorce and gossiping.
Divorce talk is against Code and one gets another year for that.
Gossiping is punished by Friendship Confinement
You have to spend one week in a cell with five Mates
Holding hands and playing games is obligatory
No sex, of course.
And once a day there is the hotdog. The guards hand you a hotdog and each night, with a different Mate, you have to eat it from both sides. No kissing and the cameras are there.



Then I got in more trouble: I made a poster with six guys holding hands with an orange sunset as the backdrop. I unfortunately used the word "teamwork" and that was on the black list.
"Mutual affection, trust, sympathy or empathy would have done it, maybe even gotten me on Friendship Parole or Friendshipbation, whatever, it just didn't happen; wasn't in the cards.

                                    

It's now year six. I've made eight new friends but I have to go through a series of Friend Tests to see if they conform to regulations. I'm feeling good about it. I heard, thanks to this program, the Crime Rate in America has dropped to zero, homicides included! Maybe when I get out I'll apply to become a Friend Police Officer. Or just a dog trainer.



vendredi 21 décembre 2012

A schoolhouse story

I thought its been a Merry Christmas at Armalite Where I've been working for 15 years
Sure I remember putting together my first Colt AR 14
And thinking My family My wife who
 is an invalid Shot at the age of 22
And my 9 and 10 year old

Now They will eat more than grits
Now They will protect themselves with more than Slingshots

 When I started It was the pistol Grip
 A somewhat simple piece yet without it the trigger would lay dormant
 I tended to to it with passion until I was needed for the collapsable stock
 True I was challenged by complex parts Parts that only went

  Click and Chick 

When the fit was down to the millimeter
It makes a sound Similar to The detachable magazine

 Chaclick

And with that the ears resound with goodness
 After 5 years I got moved up In charge of Grenade launchers
 That year I afforded 33 Christmas Presents without pulling my belt
 A bayonet for Lee made him cry with joy!
A night viewer for Margaret was her best ever toy!
 But this year in a Flash It seems my life has changed
There's talk of suppression Jobs at Armalite are at stake
Some blame it on Newton And that bloody massacre
 Still here in Illinois There is cheer in the air In the marketing department
Now I am In charge of communiqués I wrote:

"ArmaLite will stop processing shipments to customers at noon, Thursday December 20st through January 2nd due to year end inventory. Shipments will resume on January 3rd. ArmaLite will be closed Dec 22nd through Dec 25th for the Christmas Holiday Due to limited supplies of AR10 and M15 magazines quantities will be limited to 2 per customer until further notice"

Was the last one I wrote today and
Then I got my final notice "Thank you for your 15 years of service."

dimanche 9 décembre 2012

Warlus in Wonderland



Unblemished in her hourglass frame
Whiskers blooming                       The Walrus thought:
Take another oyster-mullusk-steam shell
Wrap my lips over it                    And
suck the vivid contents...             Out!



"Adding a few stones?" said the Rabbit
Its nose sniffing the cold air as he quickly approached Walrus on the beach
Then it blew some smoke out from a walnut pipe
and jiggled its bum
in deep thought down to its tripes



One may say the Moon is lighting the shore
He's given me the go for my gut
With Christmas on the horizon
I'm eating everything from shells to halibut
Thank God for my corset! (Pronounced "corsut")

"But you are lovely, you are!" cheered the Rabbit
(Whose secret desire for blubber made him pant all the faster.)
You move with Grace
Your steps bewilder
And few on this continent have such an appealing, whiskered face!


That is gallant of you, Mr Rabbit
True, I don't take drugs
I despise thugs
My only weakness is my tight laced whalebone accoutrement
That keeps out the bugs

Tell me Mademoiselle Walrus
This is the season of              Cheer
Name any wish for these festive occasions
Any desire that knows no ration
It will be yours

There is one thing now if you propose
Promise not to renege       One never knows
My cousin in Australia a Camel rides every day
Such a present
Is better than a cheese tray!

You shall have you wish! Hooted the Rabbit
Just grant me one promise
He said as he pointed his nose up at hers
You must side-saddle, ignore these latest trends
Any other position will give me the bends.


At those words there was a shift in the sweet, round Walrus eyes
Fire kindled faster in her belly that a 100 oyster dives
In one swift move she seized the Rabbit,
Breaking its neck with its long tusks
She said: "Toot, toot" and arched her bust, walking off into the dusk.






samedi 29 septembre 2012

Humpty Dumpty about to propose




He wanted to be sure. It was time to propose. A wedding yolked in love. If she was the right one, would she pick up the pieces?
(He chuckled to himself, thinking he had picked her up only six months ago)
Now it would be her turn
Only he had a doubt

He had tested her
taste, style, energy, desires
Perhaps more time was needed to mould her
Only there was no time
Now he had to test her heart
And in two minutes she was to arrive at the wall

Mr. Humpty thought: after all two broken legs, some broken ribs
was a relatively small price to pay
for Eternal Love
The music and the refrain sounded in his head
"Hear comes the bride, here comes the bride"

He saw her car,
rocked his body and pushed himself off the top
His body crumpled in a dash as it hit the ground
"And all the media coverage and all the wise men,
couldn't put Humpty together again."




lundi 3 septembre 2012

Change your tires before a drive-thru wedding

They were in love:
It may have been chemistry
Some say it way all in the eyes but
He had a bulge for her and she
provided the traction he needed.

They met one sunny afternoon
At R35 between 0.3 miles West of SR 226 on 5th and SR 227 Street

He worked for the Nevada Department of Transportation
Most of his days consisted of picking up tire fragments from exploded tires


She worked for a private contractor
Setting cones on the road and waving traffic 


On weekends they would go to Vegas and play three card Monte on the sidewalk
Until one day after winning a twenty
He knelt down and proposed.

The waves of heat made the soles of his boots sticky
She nodded a Yes
He flagged a taxi to get to his car
(He had left the ring in the ashtray)
Then they roared over to the drive thru wedding



"What do ya want?" blurted the speakerphone 
"A drive thru simple, with a wash, oil check or sparkling Chardonnay?"
"We'll just have the simple" he said with a smile, pulling the ring out of the ashtray
                           "That'll be $100. No checks or credit cards." Commanded the speaker.

Witnesses appeared at each window
Vows were taken before a priest who stood on the hood
And in less than 5 minutes they were off


With a tank full of love 

Their car raced along the painted stripes of the desert road

Their destiny had no limit
Even with that bulge in the tire.


dimanche 26 août 2012

The App

I vowed to upload an App
knowing that that risk
might my feeble network be denounced
Would friends reflect how affable am I?
A gullible glut?
not in My House would such a program roll
Instagramming, friending even those I know not

The damnation to belong to this virtual screen made
my fingers shake and stick in sweatiness
"There is always immolation" said the back of my mind

Nevertheless, I reached for that App application
my bones distorting in grotesque lines
(The App may have been so old or so new)
but it smelt of a cave and at the moment my finger and it started shaking

I gesticulated to a friend on Skype
I felt bewildered yet knew this was no game I was getting into
for this App would deal a certain blow
that would hearken even my boldest aspirations
sending them to the dark

Then I received a poke and a "wtf"
My concentration ceased,

the wind blew threw the windows, across my room
The concrete wall ornamented with the unique plug seemed to shake as well

"Wtf, WTF!" I cried, my voice becoming shrill as my finger plunged
down hard on the App
and yet,
it asked me to reload

And again and again into the small hours of the day
I felt spasms as if I were edging towards that plug to
Pull and abandon the whole process

The heat in the room was overwhelming
Suddenly I ripped open my cotton shirt
The buttons fell on the floor
spinning like the wheels in a game of roulette

I was far from the desert
Yet dammed as only my mind was seemingly forbidden
From reaching into the vast synthetic canyons
With the possibility of spraying bullets from a raft down the rapids
Or walking or swimming along the mountainous edge

Before all my energy hath be ridden just one last insidious plea:
if thou deny me this App
let the cattle off my ship
let the chips slide off my table
Rid me of cruel electricity
that frogs my soul.

dimanche 19 août 2012

An American Dream

Equipped with GPS the Muffin Squad went searching the Atlantic
A box of English muffins was missing and
Not any box

Amongst the six fresh muffins was
one
half
that had been toasted

They sailed with crew over choppy waves
The advanced version XS Y VII BP
Began tracking a floating box
That reflected the same dimensions of
Six muffins by one or
3.7 inches by 11.1.

Operating in dark, gusty conditions the
ship followed a longitudinal axis
The Captain, wearing an Armani jacket,
was miffed by the nautical miles we clocked in
For what he considered an insignificant mission
When, Lo and behold

A floating package with the Thomas' label
appeared in the sight of the second mate
Immediately a diver dove into the icy waters
grabbing the package and lifting it to the surface.

Mike the Muffin Man -or the one who dreamed of rescuing the muffins
reached into the package expecting to find the half toasted one
toasted and hard unlike any other muffin
Suddenly his face made a grimace as his fingers
encountered the mush of egg salad
The mayonaise infiltrated his skin and reached under his finger nails

In a tiff he tore the plastic wrapping apart
His anger was steaming had he had a gun he would have
Fired a bullet straight through the muffins
(But no, he was a pacifist, having voted against the NRA)
He took a deep breath instead.

Back on the Miami coast
The Squad
Raced to a supermarket and bought bags of chips and
Dozens of eggs

At the checkout they requested to open the bags and have
Each chip and each egg placed in a plastic bag,
The bagger, an elderly fellow with missing teeth offered
A ceremonious smile -his picture, just at the entrance, nominated
Him for best bagger of the week.

A huge line built up behind the Muffin Squad
Shoppers, some silent, some chatting from their electric carts
Some rattling off intrepid lines valorous of elevator talk,
And some just enjoying the AC; after all you could take it in
Without adding a calorie.

The 3 shopping carts were filled.
The bagger got a dollar for carrying it all to the trunk of the
Scalding car. Off cruised the Muffineers, destination: the Olympics.
The mission was sensitive:
Get to the final competition of the women's synchronized swimming
and disrupt the event during the American's performance.

Why? Because the Americans are doing a Batman act and plan to
shoot each other using blanks. Only the Iranians surreptitiously
replaced the blanks with real bullets meaning that blood would spill
live on NBC.

Equipped once again with GPS the Muffin Squad which now became
The Muffin Squad XS III, set off at high speed with American Pie blasting
On the radio.
"Swimming Gold Medal Pool 4.6 miles on left" a metallic voice announced,
They were almost there when suddenly Mike, slammed on the brakes screaming
"Shit, I forgot the mayonnaise!!!"

It was too late: getting into the swimming hall would have been impossible
Without the proper egg salad. By the time the Muffineers got out of a 7/11 with the mayo
They passed a store diffusing images of a Batman and a Joker in swimsuits,
Sunken in a bath of blood on the floor of the pool,
The crowd was cheering and the judges help their placards high in the air
Displaying respectable scores given the level of difficulty.

mercredi 30 mai 2012

A Childhood dream

"What are you gonna be when you grow up?"
asked my parents, my friends,
"I'm going to be part of a police lineup."
I replied, standing upright and fixing my look into the void
chin pointing like a torpedo.

Like many kids I loved cops and robbers, but what fascinated me
was the idea of standing in a line
and in that line
a criminal, real, in flesh and blood
held his blank gaze towards a two-way mirror
sharing his vibes amongst us motley lot.

There is something seductive about a gangster face
Out on a limb

exasperated
lips tied shut
and ready to devour
the first
victim
in
sight



I went to school where studies in literature always led me back to the scene of the crime
And then I started volunteering for police lineup work.
At first it gave me the chills
but after some convictions the feeling morphed into a state of excitement.
I was like being an emergency doctor:
no long trails with painstaking juries 
Here, I stood in the line and painted the meanest face I could as I looked into the mirror
often feeling solidarity -for behind that reflective shadow we could make out a moving,
 accuser, a man, a woman pacing back and forth and ready to raise his or her finger and say "that one!"


More and more rarely would I go home to visit my dear parents
Oddly I grew afraid they would look at me; judge me in a funny way.
One day when my little brother was standing on his toy zebra


I had a clear vision of the perfect police lineup
Where everyone was a criminal hence everyone was a suspect
So the aim was to pick out the most criminal of the criminals
and if you did
you
won.

My heart started beating because when I get a good idea I know I have to pounce on it
Like Pinocchio going after the grasshopper
I sprung into action


In America with over 3 million prisoners we need more lineups
We need to build them like airport strips allowing for 
easy suspect mobility and easy identification


Some say lineups are a pain in the ass because there are lots of crackpots out there
Making it all the harder for a hapless victim who, after all, while under duress, cannot probably remember if the assailant was wearing a back or a brown shoe.



Thank God we have institutions like MIT and a criminal justice system that
can fork over a little R&D to work out this equation
But seriously, why put out so much effort when the NRA has its own solution to rising crime?





vendredi 25 mai 2012

Born Yesterday

Born Yesterday" by Shakespeare Philip Larkin and Langola
Dedicated to Daphne P.                 May 22, 2012

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,
Or running off a spring
Of innocence and love -
They will all wish you that,
And should it prove possible,
Well, you’re a lucky girl.
Delicious dinners await thee and daily
Don't dare dream of dating dancers in detention during daylight.
Seek! cheese deliveries of dark, dense diaries that will extoll demons,  destroying your parents  determination for organic, wholesome Swissness.

If your name is Daphne
May you be unordinary;
Have, like other women,
And  talents that transcend Swiss and English borders:
Not ugly, not good-looking, not not,
Nothing uncustomary
To pull you off your balance while scooting down the hills of Morges,
Roll, as Young Swiss man eyes and mouths gaping
Stops all from working: heads turning, grabbed by you locks of curly blond hair; the blast of your wind past
In fact, some say you chime of a thin Farley’s Rusk; crunchy, yet resistible
If that is what an extemporaneous un-emphasized, enthralled,
Post Wifi Baby Daphne must be!

jeudi 17 mai 2012

Me and My Drone


No two drones are alike
My drone
A high hurling autopilot deus ex machina
Has followed me and my family for years.
Sometimes I ask: "How many ways doth my drone love thee?"

One: When I painted my roof with tar, the drone checked from an altitude of 3,000 feet (using its  gamma ray sensors, biological sensors,  camera through the clouds) if the tar had indeed seeped into the cracks.


Two: to make sure that my balding spot is properly brushed when going to work.


Three: when visiting a new site my drone can tell me how many stairs I have to walk up or down.




Four: My drone can tell me how many police cars are in my neighborhood; knowing where they are stalking has made me more relaxed and my blood pressure has gone down.







Five: Since I love chipmunks I wish to know, before my dog gets my morning paper, how many chipmunks are in my garden.


My drone, rain or shine, can send me accurate information regarding not only chipmunks, but chipmunk predators. That's also why I arm my drone with Tomahawks SSH1A's (a family version missile that is meant to take out only domestic animals) because there are too many cats in my neighborhood.



My community doesn't with that we use the leaf-blower if there are more than 6 blowers on the block, I can do a quick check and see how many neighbors are blowing before taking out my gear.

And what about all those hours spent waiting to buy a ticket on Broadway? Since we have our drone we have cut those lines in half, using stealth technology brings on a windfall of smiles.


 From my remote control synthetic vision system I can
night or day,
seek, observe and react in real time to real situations


I can even follow my kids movements 
whether they be 10 or 10,000 miles from home!
My wife and I are so happy with our drone we
decided to buy another one.


The XXX-WMW by Lockeed
-Capable of flying 24 hours a day 
-Capable of being recharged by laser light
-Capable of flying up to 200 mph with a decibel count of under 50
The XXX-WMW has been approved by the San Francisco Police and
The Serbian Vanilla and Chocolate Swirly Tango dance company
(first reconnoitered by the XXX-WMWjr)


There are so many applications for a drone, it is time everyone should have their own 
With a global landscape that is more user friendly
The economy will sky rise.
Drones don't deliver delicious diners
But they can let us see our pizza on its way getting delivered.






samedi 12 mai 2012

The day Mom died




For years she suffered
And I prepared -or tried- for that fateful day.
I smeared on so much empathy
If mom were a toast
Even she would have gone soft.



I tried to reconnect sinews that had been torn
enmeshed neuralgic structures
tangled after years of family riffraff.

Trying to paste it all together was naive,
even in the name of the Family.
Trying to be "there" was idealistic,
when for so many years we were pushing apart.

It was a week when the rains heaved in
My worries of "nature drying" were dispelled when the
phone rang announcing mother lay dying
She had a week left at best, so I began to prepare my bags
and then
a point
in
my
chest

Burning pain, I knoweth not where from
A small but deep point, like a bite that drilled into my flesh
had me check into the emergency
I had to check
I a nurse, a health professional, and then be off! to my grave business.


Upon examination the doctor said,

"We have to operate tonight, no later, no later."
"But my mother is dying, I have to go"
"If we let you go, you will join your mother, but not on this living world"

My soul was jolted
had I trucked with evil spirits?


had I not gone to church enough?
had I not been honest? were some of the myriad of questions that jangled me.
That night the surgeon removed the foreign agent that had invaded my body




That night my mother died.

My friend accused a parallel psychosomatic disorder,
a stress inflection on the corpus callosum just above the temporal lobe that I had suffered from.

Regardless, heavy doses of antibiotics were prescribed
that ultimately buried my stomach in a WWI trench.




Still, with stoic resolve, I went to the funeral
Wanting to hold still, to listen still,
to the words and the music that my mother loved
Only if still
My intestines didn't rumble like a tank moving over the trenches where my stomach lie
awaiting to explode.


Only if the internal aftershock wasn't there
But it was.

Forced to leave under the watchful family eyes
I tried to change thought
Didn't my cat go for a walk
Didn't you spend three days,
Three nights looking and worrying about it just before my infection?



And that fly that got under my bed cover?




My mind was slipping. Was it the antibiotics or my infection coming back to get me?
The cold bathroom at the funeral home piped insipid organ music
I held on to a heating pipe in the stall
And wished I were


In my bath, thinking about mother.

jeudi 3 mai 2012

My roof has an anti aircraft missile system


It may have taken years
that really felt like decades

True, I already had my state business licence
and a liability insurance for over a million pounds
-my former wife though I was a safe investment.

Yet as I lay lying in the darkness of my bedroom
The thought that at any day, any hour my building
and my neighborhood could be attacked

by plane, by rocket, by a suicide truck
left me unnerved; my sleep jilted like a discarded lover

It took endless meetings with the co-owners
yet we prevailed: today we have an anti aircraft missile device on the roof.



My little girl loves it! She is charmed by its whirling, turning spinning



She said it is like a jellyfish with eyeballs, a tortoise pivoting like a ballerina,
Its eyes fixed on the sky
regardless of the weather
regardless of events below on the street
matter little economic highs or lows
matter little which Prime Minister rules





Our sweet, faithful, reliable anti aircraft missile system is
 there 

In the dog of the night



Beware! If it be a fish and chips stand whose merchant pretends to be innocently selling at our corner or
an olympic athlete making a false start at the 100 meter dash to create a diversion in order to attack our building
WE WILL BE PREPARED!!!



Safety has no price, security no place, and fear no proximity.

vendredi 27 avril 2012

Jellyfish closes down nuclear plant


In California, a jellyfish decided to close down a nuclear plant

It wrapped its tentacles around nuclear rods




and became more luminescent 
 than ever!


troops of jellyfish then bolted over to France


Where in the midst of the French elections, 
 Sarko, nuclear energy isn't even on the table.


Meanwhile, in Chernobyl, 26 years after the catastrophic meltdown,
scientists have discovered that by placing thousands of snails side by side
they will be able to create a dome that is more effective in blocking radioactivity than



Than the current plan of placing 3 Eiffel towers over the site
for a period of 1,000 years.


 

For many Chernobyl residents the wait for a decontaminated land will prove to be long and idle

The landscape gone, people will be part of a "wallscape"


That may be advantageous only to rabbits digestive systems.


The Nature and Rates of Excretion of Radioactive Breakdown Products of I131-Albumin in the Rabbit
F. Zizza, T. J. Campbell, and E. B. Reeve
From the Department of Medicine, University of Colorado Medical School, Denver. Dr. Zizza was a Research Fellow of the American Heart Association during this work.
From the Department of Medicine, University of Colorado Medical School, Denver.
Received March 30, 1959
ABSTRACT
When I131-albumin is given intravenously to rabbits, the radioactive breakdown products that are released into the plasma and urine can be extracted into acetone. Paper chromatography and paper electrophoresis show that about 80 per cent of these are I131-iodide and the remainder are organic I131-iodine compounds. When I131-iodide is given to rabbits taking iodide in their drinking water, the radioactivity is quantitatively excreted, without being accumulated in the tissues and without becoming attached to the plasma proteins. The rate of excretion can be defined by a first order rate process with a rate constant, a, ranging between 1 and 3day-1. The organic I131-iodine compounds liberated during the metabolism of I131-albumin can be closely matched by a mixture of the organic I131-iodine compounds liberated during the metabolism of I131-monoiodotyrosine, I131-diiodotyrosine, and the amino acids released by digestion from I131-albumin. These organic I131-iodine compounds are not accumulated in the body and their radioactivity does not become attached to the plasma proteins. Their radioactivity is excreted as fast or faster than that of I131-iodide, and, to a satisfactory approximation, the same equations describing the excretion of I131-iodide with the same constants may be used for describing the excretion of the organic I131-iodine. These results permit improved estimates of the distribution and catabolism of I131-albumin.