I take the #38 out to Ocean Beach and walk over to the Beach
Chalet. It is crowded today. Too crowed to sit and savor a cold beer and its noisy
to boot. I walk over to the N line
terminus and take the Metro back and stop at Eldo’s for a Cal Fornicator.
“That’s a double bock. Are you sure? Are you familiar with the double bock?
It’s pretty malty.” “I’m sure” I assure him. God that was worth all the hassle.
“Happy hour all day today.” “All day Sunday? Every Sunday?” “Yes - it’s happy
hour all day Sunday, every Sunday except for the barley wine.” My tape worm
says to me “come back again.” Another Cal Fornicator next Sunday maybe.
The tourist thrives on the uncanny, moving happily through a
phenomenal world of effects without causes. This world, in which he has no
experience and no memory, is presented to him as a supernatural domain –
Jonathan Raban – Driving Home, 2010 p17
Hot hot hot
Barely
bearable
Give me another
Cold beer
Cradled in the hammock
Narry a
breeze
Guzzle lots of alcohol
And pass
out
Wake up after it gets dark
Disorientated
I love candle light, / said the Moth, / It makes suicide
more romantic – James Broughton – Special Deliveries, 1989 p90
I want to go to the state fair (any state fair) and hand out
ribbons like that one behind the bar that reads “California State Fair 2003 -
Third Place” I once got a red ribbon for my cow at the county fair. I spent a
lot of time in the hot sun curry combing her. The junior under ten category –
me not Betsy my cow. I sold her, my Guernsey cow. Then I moved into town.
[General George Armstrong] Custer’s fame is the victor of
fancy and myth over complicated history… [He] finally ran into the largest
off-reservation gathering of Indians ever in one place on the continent, and
gave them what was possibly the last really great time they ever had – Ian
Frazier – Great Plains, 1989 p180
ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE
He became Shakespeare
As he was tired
Of being
nothing
Or at least returning
To being
nothing
Upon exiting the stage
Having delivered
His last
line
After he died, he discovered himself standing before God and
said to Him: I, who have been so many men in vain, wish to be one, to be
myself. God’s voice answered him out of a whirlwind: I, too, am not I; I
dreamed the world as you, Shakespeare, dreamed your own work, and among the
forms of my dream are you, who like me are many, yet no one – Jorge Luis Borges
– Collected Fictions, 1998 p320
It’s a release party. Lots of young people talking about
bands and tours. Something called “Big Ugly”. I have no idea what “Big Ugly”
is, but I like the name. I am going to guess that its an e-zine. The
photographer, Tom, says “yes” that’s what it is. “What chu want boss?” “What do
you have on tap?” “Newcastle.” “Then Newcastle it will be then.” I liked being
called “Boss” – the gray haired dude. They are having a reading. I can only
hear a voice. I am sitting behind a
pillar. I move over one bar stool. “Johnny Walker Back” and the big old
fashioned cash register goes bling bling blink. The call for drinks keep on
coming, the register keeps on blinkity blinking. “A Shirley Temple,” the guy
next to me tells the bartender. The dollars are pouring out of bottles and into
the till, bling bling blinkity bling. I had never actually heard anyone call
for a “Shirley Temple” before. Oh of course in comic strips and those thirties black
and white movies of high society, but never for real, right here in real
life with colors, right her in real time without lines. It was quite a little
jolt to actually hear someone say, “A Shirley Temple please.” A women is
reading a piece she wrote about witnessing death sentence executions in South
Carolina and the cash register is going blink blink blink and the bartender is not
interested in my five dollar bill. She says she has witnessed five now and her
editor is calling her “Lady Death.” As far as I can tell, so far, I have been
the only witness to the Twenty-First century. I have an obligation to get it
down and get it down correctly. It is a big responsibility. I take my job seriously.
Never disown your mad superstitions, / bad habits, unclad
fantasies. / Those are the riches of your personality – James Broughton –
Special Deliveries, 1989 p194
It was a bad choice
It cost her, her life
It would have also cost his
But he had abandoned
her
To her fate
Antonio, the chariot is here… You are about to see Jesus –
Angola Prison Warden Burl Cain to about to be executed prisoner Antonio James
The human mind partitions – natural things in lots of two or
three and artificial things into sets of either seven or ten: natural things
like – you and me; true or false; the good, the bad and the ugly; the father,
the son and the holy ghost; - artificial things: the seven deadly sins, the
seven wonders of the world; the top ten songs of 1976, the ten top grossing
films of all time.
Every graveled path, every ditch, has been projected along
latitude and longitude lines of the township-and-range survey system. The farms
are squares, the fields are squares, the houses are squares; if you could pluck
their roofs off from over people’s heads, you could see the families sitting at
square tables in the dead center of square rooms – Jonathan Raban – Driving
Home, 2010 p104
Apple pie
Pumpkin spice
Roll the dice
Boil the rice
Crack the ice
Isn’t it nice
I love everything about my iPhone; Steve Jobs made this
iPhone; therefore, I love Steve Jobs – however faulty [this syllogism is, it]
makes a certain kind of emotional sense – Sue Halpern – New York Review of
Books, 1/12/12 p24
Olney Illinois – City of White Squirrels – people kill the
normal ones so their town can make its claim to fame. Toronto was know for its
black squirrels. The lady at the park said that there are not as many as their
used to be. She thought it was due to migration. I thought who ever it was that
was killing the regular ones was probably also dead. There is no longer the
distinction there once was in being able to claim that you are the “City of
White Squirrels” – not in the age of the Game Boy anyway.
The more nature got out of control the more people measured
it – Jonathan Raban – Driving Home, 2010
p107
(From the Journals – September 14, 2004, Toranto, Ontario) A
black squirrel just crept across the pavement in front of me and went in among
the purple flowers and clock on the spire of St James Cathederal strikes noon.
What a oddity – a black squirrel. Then another. I’m wondering how common black
squirrels are. Do squirrels come in other colors. There must be albino ones
somewhere. Yes, the Internet list a town in Illinois and one in Ohio with
populations of white squirrels. Then the
first one returns and and joins a third black squirrel behind me. Black
squirrels are more common here than brown pigeons. The first one had back with
a nut clutched in its cheeks. How cute with those big pointed ears with the
hair standing up straight.
When savages are pitted against civilization, they must go
to the wall; it is the fate of their race. Much as we may deplore the necessity
of such a state of things, it is absolutely necessary, in order that the onward
movement of civilization may not be arrested by the antagonism of the
aboriginals – Cooktown (Aust.) Herald – June 24, 1874
The park vibrates with autumn colors – purple and yellow
–pink roses, but purple is the dominant color. Then a little chipmunk darts
across the sun-dappled sidewalk and into the bushes, skirting along the purple
flowers. It is a normal chipmuck as far as I can tell. How many stripes? I
don’t know it was too quick for me to count them. The bees begin their
laborious process of gathering pollen. The quiz folks at the pub last night had
correctly responded ‘honey’ to the question, ‘what is the only food that does
not spoil?’
Trickery is often a too simple and convenient explanation –
Errol Morris – Believing is Seeing, 2011 p45
Should I go back to Olney tomorrow and sit in the park and
look for white squirrels? The lady said that she say one here yesterday. It was
a hundred in Olney, but by the time I got to the Walbash in had dropped to 94.
[The Bush] administration’s threshold for which an act of
torture begins was the point at which
the Inquisition stipulated that it must ‘stop’ – Cullen Murphy – The
Atlantic, Jan/Feb 2010 p77
At Charlie Hooper’s there is still no Lieney Red
It’s not our doing but that of the distributor
It is the only domestic that is not domestic
That is not a Bud or a Miller or a Coors
Tuesday was one-dollar domestic draw night
I had a Bully Porter at $3.50
Not bad but
more than a dollar
Today is Thursday and all draws are two fifty
So it does not matter that they have no Leiney Red
I drink Kronenbourgh 1664 instead
And I had some chili cheese fries too
As if he once was someone’s son / but not now. He’s the
carpet slipper / guests hear scratching overhead – W S Di Piero – Nitro
Nights, 2011 p21
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