Miss Hinchliffe and Miss Murgatroyd Reconstruct the Crime

“The moon’s still up. I think I’ll go back out”. He had just put his rifle in the rear-window rack of his truck. “A winter travel advisory is in effect,” he says. How does he know that the moon is still out, the fog is so thick? Be sure to wear orange.  It’s permit season. “Yep, if the moon’s up the cattle graze and the fish bite,” he continues. “That’s when you find the deer. They’re usually all over the place but I haven’t seen any in the last few days”. Deer don’t wear orange but they know. Ah  the old coggers. They’ve been at it a while and your just passing thorugh (and aren’t we all  – ain’t your home over yonder, too?)

Red’s Java Hut –a Prohibition Ale and double cheeseburger with fires. I go out into the sun on the patio over the bay. I knew that I liked this place when I peeled back the bun and saw that they had put big gob of mustard on my burger and no ketchup. God, I hate katchup on my burger, but it’s not as bad as having it on you hotdog. I took out my copy of Bukowski’s Hollywood and began reading. Have you noticed that people who dine alone often read? It’s their version of a conversation. I write in the margins of my book. I’m not taking notes That’s what you did in school. I hadn’t been in a classroom in years. I’m jotting down ideas that come to me as I read. I think that’s what the critiques call deep reading, writing stimulated by another writer – all books are compliations of other books (that’s one theory).  And you didn’t so much take notes in school as you highlighted what might have to be regurgatated on a test. Everything has already been gurgitated, one only has to regurgitate. There is a new shingle above the bar – ‘Lotta’s Larger’. Josh says that it is a dark beer with the look of a light and he is right. “Yes,” I say, “Lotta Crabtree, you know who she was, don’t you?” “I got the printout,” he replies. “No need to read it,” I tell him, and I proceed to give him Lotta’s background – from Grass Valley, protégée of Lola Montez, a child start of the stage. There’s a pioneer monument to her down by the ferry building. “History in a glass,” he says.

I want to know

Not just to learn

I want to belong

Not just observe

I want to participate

If I applaude

Will you applaud me too

Can’t we all just get along

Pablo says that you can take a habanera and dice it real fine then you whip your eyes. “Better yet,” I say, “scratch your balls”. “Or take a piss,” he adds. And I realize that we have all been there. We are all members. Empoyees must wash their hands before retuning to work.

If they [the Hell’s Angels] wanted to be artful about bugging the squares they would drop the swastika and decorate their bikes with hammer and sickles. That would raise hell on the freeways.. hundreds of Communists thugs roaming the country on big motorcycles looking for trouble – Hunter S Thompson – The Hells Angels

Walter has brought in eleven books to add to our coffee shop library. I had brought in ten. We have a competition going to see who’s books disappeared the fastest. One of his books is entitled “Ladies on the Loose”. I don’t stand a chance. I’m watching the tv across the room, celebrity news. Cher sings. Do you believe in love? God I hate her whine. His title was catchy, but it was not that racy. It was about women travel writters.

I look at the anthologies in the big chains and campus bookstores, even the small press opium dens, all those stanzas against that white space – they just look like the models in catalogs. The models have arms and legs and a head, the poems mostly don’t, but other than that it’s hard – for me anyway – to tell them apart – Bob Perelman – The Future of Memory

Al is complaining about always winding up with crazy women. “Who else would have us”, I reply. “I guess you’re right”, he said. “Your friend gone”, Dave asks? “Yeah he’s moved on.” “He reminds me of Charlie Manson,” Dave says. “Yeah,” I said, “I can see a resemblance.” “I think that you think I can’t play the guitar,” Charlie had said as he did an air guitar. “I have no reason to believe that you can’t,” I reply. “Yeah,” he says, ‘Its because I’m not famous.” Charlie was trying to drink my beer. I reclaimed it from him. It may have been a hazardous move on my part but he only slunk away. The bartender, had given me a wink, “Is he bothering you? Do you want me to take car of him,” he asked? “No, that’s not necessary,” but it was good to know that if things got out of hand, I had backup. With some people you don’t want to get too friendly. He was one of them. The line between friendly and unfriendly is sometimes razor thin. He had said that some people liked him and that others couldn’t stand him. And then he asked what I thought. I knew I should  have keep my mouth shut but I didn’t. “Well, I said, at one moment you are charming and then at the next you are obnoxious.” “Well,” he barks. “that makes me sound like a schizophrenic.” And to think this guy had onve been a high school band director, Charlie Manson and Jack Black all rolled up into one. “What are you,” he says “a fucking genius?” Why is it that psychos are so good at reading other people?

What a sham

The ancient shrines

No longer sit on their

            Annointed sites

And they’re all made

            Of concrete

With stone vaneers

Just another locus

Of an ahistorical hustle

So mundane, urbane

Now worldly

Such progress

A commodified heritage

It’s all we’ve got

Get in line, but a ticket

Take a photograph

Share online

Travelers only tell you the picture produced in their own brain by what they see, otherwise the world would be like a pawn broker’s shop, where every traveler wears the cast-off clothes of others – Bayard Taylor – Views-afoot, 1846

There a homeless man sleeping in the back yard. I tell hem that he can’t sleep here. He’s quite willing to move, go somewhere else but wants to know  where he should go. Hell, I don’t know, but you can’t sleep here, I tell him. There was another homeless man sleeping in a tree about ten feet away. I looked around. Every back yard seems to have its homeless man sleeping in it. I hadn’t noticed this before. It would selfish of me to insist on having the only back yard without a resident homeless man. I let him go back to sleep.

The situation is this

            The murderer

Doesn’t anticipate

            His/her crime

Will be subjected

            To Miss Marple

The genre demands

            Detection

And form the guilty

            Confessions

So when planning

            Your crime

Never, never commit it

            In St Mary Mead

Keep your eyes peeled

            For old pussies

I am interested only in helping those who are in thrall to an individualistic, indifferent and self-centered mortality to be freed from those unworthy chains and to attain a way of living and thinking which is more human, noble and fruitful, and which will bring dignity to their presence on this earth – Pope Francis

The tendency to divide what is indivisible encourages us likewise to unitize what us un-unitable

Not on the wealthy, who buy only what they want when they want it, was the vast superstructure of industry founded and built up, but on those who aching for luxury beyond their reach and for leisure forever denied them – Dorothy Sayers – Murder Must Advertise, 1933

There was

            And had always been

Those other worlds

The one that exists

            In the dark

And that one that comes out

            Only in the light

The world unwanted

The world I wanted

The world unseen now

            Do you remember it?

The world unknown

            Yet dreamed of

            Suppose we can still find it?

The world we knew

The world as reproduced

            All of it

The worlds secreted

The worlds of secrets

Silent worlds on silent nights

Worlds and words

Words and worlds

To call a cat a quadruped and then say that because cats and dogs are both quadrupeds, I shall call them all cats, does not change the nature of cats. Neither does it confuse dogs; it merely confuses the reader – G Dalton “Bride Wealth” vs. “Bride price”, 1966

Bibliophiles are a peculiar lot. It’s odd. I’m thinking, that so many cute Asian babes are attracted to the reception at the Center for the Book. But mostly it’s geeky old white men. A number 22 bus going out of service dumps every one off where I waiting at the stop. Another goes by, also headed fro the barn. The old man is cursing. He tries chasing it down. “How can you pass up nine people waiting for a bus”, he hollers. But another comes by a minute later and stops and we all board. I count us. We are nine. He got the number exact. Counted as he lite his cigarette and coughed. Just like an old bibliophile. Afterwards I had a raspberry herbal tea. A slow lazy jazz number was playing. One that just mellows you out into an early morning filled with a smoky, half drunk haze that makes you wonder why you are not at home in bed - asleep. And you think that you just might be, but somehow know that life is not that kind. I had heard the first bibliophile praising another bibliophile saying that he had a better memory than himself. I had had enough of bibliophiles for one night, but I dreamed of rice dolls all the rest of the night. One had been wearing a mauve satin skirt and a fuzzy white sweater. She has  a squeaky voice. But I like my women with big noses and at least some ass. My little Minnie mouse didn’t cut any mustard.

The reformist center-left… has enthusiastically rebranded itself a servant of global capital – Andrew O’Hehir – Salon

Portmanteaus Two by Two

Up and down the muddy lanes come the sportsmen in little Japanese trucks. They are hunting deer with dogs. This is the last day of permit season.  At the moment, they’re trying to retrieve their deerhound. They’re driving back and forth hollering “Tattar, come boy! Here Tattar” Normally Tattar would drive the deer across the road and they’d get out of their trucks and shoot.  It’s a Southern tradition like pecan pie and grits. Tatter’s running loose in the woods. He don’t know that this is it or maybe he does. No more running free again until next year. The good ol’ boys will have to be more circumspect after today; it won’t stop ‘em, they get a kick putting something over on the law, especially the feds. These feds are not allowed to carry sidearms. “We’re not allowed to carry weapons,” the ranger says. They’re employed by the Army. The military (although they themselves are not military ) is prohibited from carrying weapons against civilians (or at least in this country they can’t yet). It’s still not safe to go out here in the woods without wearing orange. Although its probably safe as long as you stay in the woods; it’s crossing the road that’s the dangerous part. Drink whiskey and shoot anything that moves. It’s a southern tradition. Beware and be sure to wear orange. The sportsmen all wear orange over over their camouflage. And at night if they shine a light in your eyes, duck. Drop and lie flat and stay very still. Don’t stand there all goofy.

Sometimes it’s impossible to explain the really important things that have affected us most deeply, and keeping silent is all that saves us in difficult times because explanations almost always sound so lame with respect to the pain we have inflicted or others have inflicted on us. They tend not to match up to the evils suffered or caused and so they break down – Javier Marias – Fever and Spear, 2005  p94

Heavy TV viewers feel more anxiety when dealing with unstructured situations than do light TV viewers and even more so when they are alone. Heavy viewers are less likely to participate in social activities and they tend to be more obese than moderate viewers and non-viewers. But then maybe the asocial and the obese watch more TV anyway.

The urgency of the young to accumulate scars and to forge a past, it’s so odd that sense of urgency - Javier Marias – Fever and Spear, 2005 p99

The Firm is introducing its “Up or Out” program. It is being made available across the organization at all administrative levels. We all crowded into a tiny room for the launch, a lunch time meeting, a brown bagger, as they call it. The room was way too small for us all. Jeannie who is leading the presentation has a white board upon which the main points of the previous management meeting had been penned with multicolored inks. It is a work of art. She announces that at least 18 people in each of sections 6,7 and 9 were going to die if the  crowding in this room cannot be reduced. She asked for volunteers willing to take the package. She does not get any. “I don’t want to see people die,” she said, “I truly don’t.”  She sounds sincere.  She proceeds to her first talking point: a new business model. The higher education system might serve as a good analog, she suggests. “You came and are moved about to different places and fulfil a variety of functions. You get evaluated. Depending on the evaluation you may or may not be allowed to stay.” This was the second topic on the whiteboard.  I could see the connection with higher education. She was pointing at something written with a green marker that was too far away for me to read. The jest of the new “Up or Out” program was that you would only earn a salary after your evaluation. “How long would we have to work without compensation before we get evaluated,” someone wanted to know. “That all depends on the variety of assignments that you undertake.” “Can we volunteer for specific assignments,” someone else wanted to know. “There was no discussion of that option at the management meeting” Jeannie told us. “You have to trust that management has the best interest of the firm in mind when making these determinations,” she said. “At least we are not being asked to pay for the privilege of working here,” someone behind me muttered. “That’s only because those idiots upstairs haven’t thought of that yet,” someone next to me responded. “Don’t give them any ideas. Dump management is good management.”  “How are we to survive until we start getting paid,” someone asks Jeannie? “There will be a loan program put in place and after your evaluation repayment will be deducted from your salary.” “What if we  don’t get a good enough appraisal,” someone else asked? Jeannie didn’t have an answer but she made a note of the question. When there is no wining strategy, one’s best option is to adopt the least damaging failing strategy. I raised my hand. “Jeannie,” I said, “I would like to volunteer.” She said, “Thanks. And you’re free to go. Is there anyone else?” I had to elbow my way to the door. I squeezed out of the room. Outside, I was able to breath and I stood there contemplating my future. It was perhaps a horrible mistake to have volunteered, but it was too late now. I’m an outsider now. There was no turning back. Then the ambulances began to arrive and they rolled the old, the lame and dumb out on gurneys. I counted seventeen. Just like she had predicted.  I shrugged my shoulders and walked away. On FM104 they announced, “The trip to Hawaii coming up.” It felt good to be back in the US of A.  I heard later that senior management all took a package. I didn’t get a package. I got an e-mail reminding be to turn in my id. Well I would have gotten that e-mail if I’d still had access to their network.

There was the kitchen and there

            The pantry

There was the front door and

            This is the kitchen

There were bedrooms and there

            Had been the kitchen and

There in the bathroom a cast iron

            Tub on clawed feet and

                        A rusty streak

           

The grandfather clock bonked

            Out in the hall

The wood had beep split

            The wood box was full

It was in the kitchen that we all

            Gathered

When black ships sailed on

            The horizon and the snow

            Lay knee deep

Cherie the meter maid is warning a taxi driver that he should move his vehicle. “This is street sweeping day”, she says. But he wanted to bicker. “While you are in here getting you coffee, you can’t give me a ticket”, he tells her. “Well there is another one right behind me”, she replies. And he says, “well they will have to give you one too”. “That one probably would,” she replied. He finally gives in and moves his taxi. Kermit was waiting in the cab. He was not known to be a big tipper. The frog would have to go without his cup of coffee. Arguing with Cherie was fruitless. Cherie had been around the block, perhaps not once but three or four times. Kermit was late for Liberace’s party.

Iowa is full of white niggars

Ploughboys walking the rows

Behind their mules

It is no miracle

That they can toot

The blues too

I like Iowa

Ike liked Iowa too

And Khrushchev

            Took off his shoe

Kermit hoped that he would not be forgotten like Jiminy Cricket or Nick the Greek. He had started tagging pianos the night that he had attended that party at Liberace’s place.  The man in the sequined suit had himself suggested that the candelabra would be great for roasting frog legs. He was starting to run low on appetizers.  No one seemed to be aware that Jeno’s Stuffed Pizza Pockets were readily available in the frozen food section at the local supermarket. So many things are preventable with a little pre-planning and knowledge. And that is why the “Great Communicator” will be so sorely missed. It was on my history test: “name three famous frogs” I knew of Kermit. Then there was his nephew but I could not remember his name. And there was the one who turned into a prince when kissed by the princess. “Prince” was the name of a dog not a frog. Peabody was a dog too. He was not a frog. Sherman? No he was Mr Peabody’s boy.

Very few toads in this world are charming Princes in disguise – most are simply toads. And no matter how many magic maidens you kiss or rape they [the toads] are going to stay that way – Hunter S Thompson – Hells Angles

Many glossy advertisements

A sure sign of editorial dependence

The publications is taking a swing

On the corporate engineering hinge

Contributor’s bios worthy of attention:

            Judy Chang discovers a shared love of In-N-Out Burgers

            MNKE (pronounced Monkey) is a prototype project

            Mapping New Knowledge Ecologies

            Paul Makovsky is currently researching

            A revisionist history of green architecture

And then:

            Henry Petroski’s next book

            Will be Toothpick Technology and Culture

It’s verbatim right here in the table of contents

There are too many graduates

            Of creative writing courses

There is even a woman

Who travels the country

Swimming across rivers

All contributors to the magical

‘Metropolis’

And one guy

Lives in Brooklyn with his wife

            And two sets of twins

                        (She’s on fertility drugs –

                        He wears tighty whities)

                       

An entire publication

Devoted to bad taste

And the sad thing is

No irony is intended

I have been through here before – Boxley – back on 1972, I think. I had just bought a blue Chevy truck and was driving back to post. I had recently returned from Viet Nam. I had been in the hospital for the past two months.  I recognize the square. A fountain in the middle. Make a dog leg to the left. A store, a tavern on the east side; a gas station and post office on the north. The other two sides wooded. It hasn’t changed much in forty years. The price is right at Ozone - $1.50 a night, but there is no water. I’m the only camper. A local walked through. A group of hikers from Springdale set up camp at mid-afternoon. Its an old CCC camp. That was eighty years back –  as far back in time again as when I first passed through here after Viet Nam. Make sure you pay, the local had said. They come by and check, he reminded me. It’s only a buck and a half. It wouldn’t pay to try and skip out. They never did come by.  Another guy is out walking his dog. My dog gets all exited. He wants to check it out. The guy says be sure to go to the Burger Haven best burgers in the state. Locals always want to brag about the best burgers for miles around. I’ve seen them drive forty miles for a lunchtime burger. And they are usually right, but I  won’t drive forty miles, not even for good fuck. That’s still locally made. So are burgers. Not much else.

Most people forget how or from whom they learned what they know, and there are even people who believe that they were the first to discover whatever it might be – Javier Marias – Fever and Spear, 2005 p10