1. One day, by chance, Mike Street ran into every ex-girlfriend he ever had. He was eighty, so there were a lot of them. By the end of the day he could barely speak, for around every corner, behind every knock on the front door, on the way to do every errand, he ran into about ten or twenty of them. Just think about it. To his wife of fifty plus years this also was not an amusing day, since it was immediately clear there was some overlap.

    Ahem.

    One day, by chance, Missy Street ran into every ex-boyfriend she ever had. She was eighty, so there were a lot of them. By the end of the day she could barely speak, for around every corner, behind every knock on the front door, on the way to do every errand, she ran into about ten or twenty of them. Just think about it. To her husband of fifty plus years this also was not an amusing day, since it was immediately clear there was some overlap.

     
  2. And she roars, latte. Latte for Anne. 
     
  3. Definition of the day: Set-piece cleverity

    a. A short piece designed as a showy display of cleverness complete with snide cultural references and literati overtones
    b. A delivery vehicle for someone’s special brand of bit o’ wit
    c. A noodle doodle, a mockugraph

     
  4. 19:01 20th Jul 2014

    Notes: 2

    Tags: poempoetry

    Then light

    The eye peeping through the window
    Is mine

    The man with the slick knife at the front door
    Is me

    The demon who dances with blood flowers
    Is myself

    The black spot that puts oblivion into my soul
    Is I

    The door that opens and reveals deepest black
    Is for me

    Then light

     
  5. 11:45

    Notes: 1

    Tags: poempoetryaging

    #2. Your old face again … or … the vanity of old men

    When I was a young man my voice sounded strange to me. 
    Now that I am older it is no longer my voice that is strange, but my face. 
    A weird cauliflower like growth is sprouting where my nose used to be. 
    My eyelids have become like hoods that nearly close my jaundiced eyes. 
    There are blotches on my cheeks. Deep holes throughout my teeth. 
    Thin yellow straw for hair that used to blow in the wind like wildfire.
    There was a time when each young lady passing me by would look up for an instant into my eyes,
    And in that instant was all the world of desire, just hinted at.
    And once passed, the moment gone, I would let it linger in my mind
    The way a master of wine rolls the drop around his tongue,
    Secreting out each little molecule of savoriness.
    But those moments have vanished for me, and belong to the young.
     
  6. Style is the focus. Vision can follow.
    — Alger Bliss
     
  7. One day I purchased a pair of orthopedic shoes with a lift, the kind for people with one leg shorter than the other. My legs are perfectly equal. Let me repeat: MY LEGS ARE PERFECTLY EQUAL. I just wanted to see the world as a person with one leg shorter than the other.
    Wearing the shoes gave me a bit of a lean to one side. My left side, if you must know. I spent three days wearing the shoes and looking at the world from the point of view of a person with one leg, the left, shorter than the other. I learned nothing, but on the third day I ran into a friend of mine, Maria, who happened to have had the same idea. She was trying out the same experiment, but with her orthopedic shoes she had placed the lift in the left shoe and she leaned to the right. Standing there, facing each other, we leaned to the same side. 
    I never really liked Maria — too leftie in her politics — but facing her we suddenly saw eye to eye. I asked her out on a date. She accepted. Two days later we met. By then I had taken the lift out of my orthopedic shoes, but she still had hers in. The date went badly. 
     
  8. I was doing my taxes one day when aliens came down from the sky. This was a strange occurrence, a first, but couldn’t dampen my joy at knowing I would receive a refund.
    — Alger Bliss
     
  9. The original from D. Kharms
    This is how hunger begins:
    In the morning you wake lively, 
    Then weakness, 
    Then boredom, 
    Then comes the loss
    Of quick reason’s strength —
    Then comes calm, 
    And then horror.
    But see how we can play with it. Replace the word hunger with the word madness.
    This is how madness begins:
    In the morning you wake lively, 
    Then weakness, 
    Then boredom, 
    Then comes the loss
    Of quick reason’s strength —
    Then comes calm, 
    And then horror.
    Not bad, but perhaps we can push it a bit.
    This is how laughter begins:
    In the morning you wake lively, 
    Then weakness, 
    Then boredom, 
    Then comes the loss
    Of quick reason’s strength —
    Then comes calm, 
    And then horror.
    Laughter to horror. What do you think of that, eh? Now, lets turn this up a notch, to eleven, as they say.
    This is how a beetle begins:
    In the morning you wake lively, 
    Then weakness, 
    Then boredom, 
    Then comes the loss
    Of quick reason’s strength —
    Then comes calm, 
    And then horror.
    Too Kafkaesque? Sorry. But since we’ve gone this far, lets go to the limit. Twelve.
    This is how infinite space begins:
    In the morning you wake lively, 
    Then weakness, 
    Then boredom, 
    Then comes the loss
    Of quick reason’s strength —
    Then comes calm, 
    And then horror.
    Oh, maybe that makes no sense. Maybe this.
    This is how death begins:
    In the morning you wake lively, 
    Then weakness, 
    Then boredom, 
    Then comes the loss
    Of quick reason’s strength —
    Then comes calm, 
    And then horror.
    Too obvious, death? Well, that’s all I can say about this poem. 
     
  10. Little lights and unseen tea

    Her face is inscrutable as she looks into the mirror, standing over me. I wonder what she’s thinking. Her head magically opens and I can see inside, into the computer that is her brain, and the bright lights ping back and forth, and there is a slight hum. She is rubbing me with secretions from a plant in the corner. Mozart plays on the sound system. A cup of hot tea steams in another room, but I can’t see it. You are, she says, but she doesn’t finish the sentence. Maybe she didn’t say you. Maybe she said who. Still, I don’t know what she’s thinking. I’ll kiss her next time.

     
  11. Lunch, in the style of Kharms

    At lunchtime I went to the park. I lay down on the grass and took a nap. I dreamt there was a large dog frolicking next to me. His name, he said, is Frank. When I woke up there was a cat sitting on my chest, purring. She said her name is Mary. Then I went back to work. And then I vanished.

    What a day!

     
  12. so close

    so close 
              could hear  
                        her exhale
                                  cigarette 
                                            smoke 

     
  13. for this is death, a simple man

    man gives eulogy to himself in front of empty pews
    all his friends who should be here have passed before he do
    his sentences are filled with jokes and inside puns to crack
    but all remain within their grave none present here to hack
    the words he speaks they echo on and ramble out of sound
    the laughs and tears that should respond have all gone underground
    the empty pews have paid their dues can wish for him no more
    no presents left or people met to hug him by the door
    and on he drones for many hours with stories some are true
    the wife he loved his old best friend with whom he climbed K2 
    and last of all he thanks himself for being still alive
    ice cream shakes and bacon fat do help a man to thrive
    his prayers end his head do fall his breath slows to a stop
    but in a week he will return to this same sacred spot
    every week he makes the speech he do it now for years
    for this is death a simple man he just won’t disappear 
     
  14. 15 second book reviewFicciones, by Jorge Luis Borges
 Borges puts you in the position of reading words that individually are understandable, but put together are almost incomprehensible, and require a great deal of study to release the meaning locked inside. The key is your good brain and, paradoxically enough, attention to the individual words.

    15 second book review
    Ficciones, by Jorge Luis Borges

    Borges puts you in the position of reading words that individually are understandable, but put together are almost incomprehensible, and require a great deal of study to release the meaning locked inside. The key is your good brain and, paradoxically enough, attention to the individual words.

     
  15. My Writing

    Where it leads I will follow
    When it speaks I will transcribe
    When it asks I will answer
    When it commands I will obey
    When it cries I will listen
    Writing is the gathering of mental flotsam
    Up into a storm
    To create lightening strikes
    But it’s very hard
    And often doesn’t work <fizzling>
    Or worse