It
is cold. It is not snowing, yet. I encountered flurries east of Winona. I was
told that the road up the hill would be closed if it snows. I had been warned,
but I chose a site up here on top of the hill anyway. I go into town to get
provisions. I am prepared to wait it out. They are predicting eight or nine
inches tonight. I get out my union suit. I had difficulty finding it. I
had had not worn it in over a year. The weather does not keep the trout
fishermen out of the river. They waddle around in waders. The siren goes
off at seven, morning and evening – start casting; stop fishing. Wadders hang
on the lines frozen stiff. They calculate how many tout will be caught and
release enough for a few to make it downstream. I am up on top of the hill. I
am fat and warm. I am content. I am not wadding in a cold stream with water up
to my asshole.
Ragged
men cower / Under the doorways: / Umbrellas nod like drowsy birds. /
Bat-umbrellas, / Teetering, balancing, / Where will you spread your wings
to-night? John Gould Fletcher. Goblins and Pagodas
A
big flock of turkeys – a really big flock – thirty; no they are still coming –
fifty, maybe. Perhaps sixty. Heads all down pecking as they stroll though camp.
A few attempt to fly – a hop hop and a flutter and they get airborne for a few
feet – maybe fifty. Perhaps sixty at the most. They are scattered between here
and the bathhouse.
What
Baudelaire Liked, Baudelaire Got
Your
hair on the pillow
A
heart atremble like a baby bird
To
fly above morbid miasma
To
the charming smiles of angels
Here
the dark storm of my youth rages
Time
and the damn enemy that gnaws this heart
Oh
to plunge as into the bosom of your image
Entwined
in blue like a misunderstood Sphinx
A
strong criminal soul desires
For
naked perfumed slaves
To
survey at leisure your magnificent parts
Oh,
my Giantess when nature brings forth child monsters
And
beauty, who cares – whether from heaven or from hell
Lead
me by scent toward fascinating parts
The
perfume of green tamarind trees
Oh
fleece, oh ringlets, oh petrified perfume!
Ecstasy!
This evening
Passionately
drunken
Like
a chorus of worms
My
fine cat retract your claws
I
like you that way!
Hair,
living sachet, bedroom censer
Don’t
look for my heart, the beasts have eaten it.
If
he’d only stick to whiskey and water, no ice, he’d never have those blackouts.
It’s the ice they put into your drink that does it – Raymond Carver – Where I’m
Calling From, 1989 p291
1915
– the year that the number of fatalities from automobiles exceeded that of the
number of deaths due to horse drawn vehicles. The odds that a horseback rider
will end up in the emergency room – 1:4,000. A serious injury occurs for every
350 hours of riding. Horseback riding is 20 times as dangerous as riding a
motorcycle. Which means that by 1915 the number of trips by automobile was
already vastly exceeding the number of trips taken by horse. Automobiles per
mile traveled are safer than horses. Airplanes are safer than automobiles. The
problem is the exponential number of more miles one travels via cars or
airplanes not their safety per se. To extend the analogy, walking is probably
our most dangerous mode of transportation and space travel our safest.
Conclusion – the faster you go, the safer your are. It’s the deceleration that
causes all the problems.
You
only think in so far as you are unable to recognize: when you encounter
something that you cannot recognize, it is then that you begin to think. What
are you thinking about? If I could say, I wouldn’t be thinking. The object of
encounter presents itself to affect or sensation alone, rather than to
conscious thought or recognition.
One
of the major problems encountered in time travel is not that of accidentally
becoming your own father or mother. There is no problem involved in becoming
your own father or mother that a broadminded and well-adjusted family can't
cope with. There is also no problem about changing the course of history – the
course of history does not change because it all fits together like a jigsaw.
All the important changes have happened before the things they were
supposed to change and it all sorts itself out in the end. The major
problem is quite simply one of grammar. Douglas Adams – Hitchhikers Guide
to the Galaxy p245
Of
all the winds that blow upon love – Gustave Flaubert
...Destroying
every pleasure,
Banishing
it by wishing
For
it to be too great
‘Everyone
does exist in Paris’ he replied.
This
was the decisive argument
It
entirely convinced her.
She
had made up her mind
“One
should avoid getting used to
Inaccessible
pleasures when
One
is burdened by
So
many responsibilities...”.
“Oh,
I can imagine.”
“No,
you can’t, you are not a woman.”
And
according to what she was saying,
Her
voice was clear, sharp,
Or
suddenly all languor,
Lingering
out in modulations that
Ended
almost in murmurs
As
she spoke to herself,
Now
joyous, opening big naive eyes,
Then
with her eyelids half closed,
Her
look full of boredom,
Her
thoughts wandering
A
demand for money being,
Of
all the winds that blow upon love,
The
coldest and most destructive
As
humanity perfects itself,
Man
becomes degraded.
When
everything is reduced
To
the more counter-balancing of
Economic
interests,
What
room will there be for virtue?
The
paradox of revolution – a revolution that leaves the sanctity of personal
property intact is meaningless and a revolution that advocates the
socialization of property is improbable. But to be cynical and pretend that it
is otherwise is impossible, unless of course it is a counter-revolution that one
pursues. In which case the sanctity of private property means everything and
anything is possible. And just what is a revolution? A revolution is the
process whereby the impossible becomes possible. So then a counter-revolution
would the transformation of the possible into the impossible and I’ve see a lot
of that lately.
Conservatives
know what they want: that everyone should believe what they believe (what
boors). Liberals know what they don’t want: that everyone should believe what
they believe (what snobs).
Ice
again in the night
During the dark the
Temperature drops
But
blue skies today. Coffee is on
The
dredges of last night’s wine
Wash down the
Meds
It
was cold when I got up
She
had left late
Got up without
Saying a word
Her
little red Nash was
Out on Route 66
Before the sun came up
It
will all work out
When it gets dark
Again
The
more that serve, the fewer there are that get served. That is the nature of a
service economy.
College-educated
women typically have their first child two years after marrying. High school
graduates as a group have their first child two years before they marry
The
state of exception is no longer a state of exception and that in itself has
become a state of exception
34
degrees; 70% chance of precipitation. High tomorrow of 48 and a low of 32
Does a McRib need a McBib?
No comments:
Post a Comment