Thursday, August 26, 2004
I have to do my least favorite thing in the world today, which is get on a plane. But that's en route to my most favorite thing, which is seeing Mark. So conflicting. Anyway, I will be gone until Sunday evening, but maybe I will write
an Olympic poem while I am gone.
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Your mom thought you should do your vocational training in something like auto repair, but you'll show her . . . all those tongue exercises are finally going to pay off:
dog lickers needed. Only in New York.
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Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Jordan Davis gets
flarftastic in the Village Voice. Like Josh, I find
inspiration elusive, so I've returned to my homophonic Portuguese translations, resulting perhaps in a sort of
American surrealism? Or not. The stuff is awful Simic-y. But I kind of like Simic, so sue me. Sometimes quirky is enough.
Anyone got a reading report on Ada Limon's jaunt in the Bronx from last night? The horrors of the quotidien prevented my attendance . . .
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Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Just found this in the vaults. A little rough, but I like it.
Heavenly Gelato
The bunny weighs a ton
And the bunny sings Cossack songs
In a deep baritone that rings
Like the bells in St. Peter's Basilica.
Between the post office and the church
Is three blocks exactly, no more nor
Less than the length of St. Peter's Basilica.
You can starch your collar; you can
Phone the papers. You won't
Hear any different. The television
Station in heaven plays the test
Pattern all day long, a mirage
Of colors reminding you of
Sherbet, of the 1000 crayola box.
In a deep baritone that rings
Out of joyous harmony
The rabbit removes the magician's hat,
And prances off to buy the paper.
The top story of the day reveals that God
Is getting a new cravat.
Much speculation attends its stripes.
It's good to be in such a majestic place
Where sobriety is untold by
Madness, and where soccer games
Are nearly constant. Cossack
Dancing classes are scheduled
For later on, and if you prefer
To stay at home, by the window,
You can watch everyone who ever
Was plop down their nickels
For ice cream from a whistling truck,
and so go waltzing by.
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Monday, August 23, 2004
I've heard NYC is about to be visited by a delegation of
four-foot-high apples. Will it bring international
kidnappers with a curious artistic agenda to our fair city? Via
Choof.
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If Mark weren't already a gung-ho Kerry/Edwards kind of guy,
this would seal the deal. But something even weirder is in the offing . . .
a celebrity Hell House remake! Andy Richter is Jesus! Bill Maher is Satan! My postmodern irony meter is twinging around like a compass needle in the Bermuda Triangle! Ahhh! Links via
Quiddity.
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Went to hear Adam Golaski read at the Four-Faced Liar yesterday. Here are some poems written
by his elementary school students. I was trying to google for some of Adam's poetry, but he also edits a sci-fi/horror fiction journal and most of what google turns up relates to that. Anyway, after the reading, we all went out to Sushi Mambo, and I watched everyone eat their pretty sushi, from a safe distance. I can now enjoy sushi as an aesthetic experience, but I'm still not quite up to eating it. Teriyaki for me.
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