Don’t ask for help!

Tags

at least I didn't burn the house down trying, do-it-yourself, fatherhood, flarf, frustration, plumbing, prose poem, water heater

No water, broken plumbing, filthy frustration- I misread the plumbing.  Our shower has been frustrated;  our hot water heater failed on a Sunday morning, upsetting the toilet. The result usually will not make your home follow the basic laws of nature- gravity, pressure, water seeking its own level.  Most problems like that are caused by frustrated do-it-yourselfers who see muddy or dirty water in dreams, wallowing in depression and the flow of emotions. You may find that calling the professionals will save you time and frustration. All of you who are sharing my pain and frustration eventually create damage that can turn into a little confidence to cause a lot of damage to a home.  I will never understand the moral of this story: DO IT YOURSELF… don’t ask for help!

Surrender

Tags

abstract, at least I didn't burn the house down trying, do-it-yourself, flarf, North Carolina, plumbing, poetry, prose poem, PVC pipe, Sunday, surrender, water heater

 

A little more searching appears tautly over the threads of the male-threaded pipe, love plumbing water lines, an additional schedule for later use, fittings not rated for use.  I shall surrender.  Personally I do not like the PVC connecting pipes, fittings, control valves, tanks, water heaters; all threaded joints shall be conforming to the surrender of its heat in the evening, demanding surrender.  The white flag is amended to prohibit the use of PVC conduit to fail.  A 3/4” tap in North Carolina on Sunday shall not serve any gas water heater.  I only wish the thread has inspired me under a sink that is going nowhere to surrender to the cops and a few other items that are ready to fail: furnaces, hot water heaters, dryers, gas refrigerators, ranges, ovens.

Plasticity streams

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abstract, Angela, dream, flarf, neuroscience, night, NPR, plasticity, prose poem, Saturday Night Live, stream of consciousness, Yellow House Cafe

-for Angela

A late night stream brought her to a charismatic plasticity, building on her nightmare with such typical consolidation and memory reconsolidation dividing activation throughout the evolution of momentum. The question of the stream might possibly have students provide this very plasticity, this consistency of the ceremonial trucks bringing in the beer with traditional shoes and beautiful jewelry. One older gentleman became the symbol of the freedom and plasticity of the opinions which appear in one generous feeling, one great thought. I am entirely devoted to the basic element of plasticity; you should quit studying early and offer a synergistic view of NPR and Saturday Night Live.

It came to me one night: the egg’s surprising responsiveness epitomizes a revolutionary concept called synchronized streaming. For those that dream of neuroscience at night, the challenge is to find ways of unlocking the State of the Union address after being shot in the face seven years ago, bringing 3D rapid manufacturing technologies to main-stream consumers. Unable to get back to sleep, she became intoxicated with plasticity and beautiful streams.

Mary

Tags

Archer Avenue, Chicago, flarf, folklore, ghost, Mozart Ave., poetry, prose poem, Resurrection Mary, Southwest Side, vanishing hitchhiker

A well-known vanishing hitchhiker- my favorite evening at The Oh Henry Ballroom.  A young man meets a girl, most beloved, who supposedly wanders the streets down Archer Avenue late at night, dating back 100 years, playing at Jeannie’s Bottle on the 12th. If you are there  after 8:30 p.m, many men have had heart stopping encounters with the gorgeous  legend, dancing at the corner of 47th St. and Mozart Ave.  They don’t like to talk about this blonde-hair, blue-eyed Mary Bregovy, just a bunch of hooey seen on numerous occasions after a fight with her boyfriend at the Oh Henry Ballroom.  Young Mary stormed out into the cold, where a moonlit encounter with an urban legend makes a compelling case for resurrection. She still manages to find men who long to dance.

Trees

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abstract, Al Filreis, flarf, John Ashbery, Kelly Writers House, prose poem, Prufrock's Dilemma, Some Trees, Susan Scheid

-for Susan

A secret means of communication, tree names on another old-field site; jackrabbits in personal communication.  Many different trees communicate with others  in captivity who have lived to be twenty years old.   Rather than just assuming you communicate, take advantage of the careful planning  with Wild Turkey, or just desire the security of wariness and angst would have been driven to cut off communication.  Twenty years ago, with substantial mysticism, trees communicated with such radical shouting matches listening to the birds or the rustling of the wind, but still had trouble communicating in Japanese.  Mysterious elders will be giving  fruit that allows communication with the tree, with practically any way of communicating  the drama of old age.

Barefoot

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aging, Angela, dukkha, flarf, poetry, prose poem, running barefoot, Yellow House Cafe

–for Angela

There is suffering, frightening, when you run barefoot through muddy accidental condition of wandering.  Walking barefoot, a simple universal experience, she ditched her sneakers.  Before you can even begin to run, walk barefoot everywhere.  This will aid dangerous sports, running away from them.  Imagine running through everything with an orange robe, head shaven, and go about barefoot chasing around in the house, barefoot, like a wet frog in T-shirt and shorts, running away from Nebraska.  The particulars wanted desperately to run from a wondrous thing: to age.  When you run at your own pace, the restricted flow of energy is your guide to free grasping for truth walking barefoot. 

Some believe they must go barefoot, whereas others run because change is the nature of life.

Images

Tags

death, fear, flarf, poetry, prose poem, social media

It is worth noting that future events worsening is unacceptable. I’ve almost forgotten I would have been terrified by his advantage, but Tuesday last weekend was wondering what diverse elements are sorry for your loss. I did not have to face that issue.  We were not close in the last years of his life, and I had been toying with the idea to instantly connect to what’s most important: friends, breaking news, a great weekend, a lack of understanding.  The nightmarish images cover every phase of life, how I had to obtain a restraining order against meandering musings and the mind.  We have been able to feel rejected, and a social utility that connects people can make us panic in such a way that we can age out of nothing but heat and darkness.  A stunning woman in imminent danger inspires in you feelings of pity and a wondrous sense of nightmare; I wasn’t in the mood to soften my position on highly improbable marathons that don’t exist anywhere except in the mind.

Double Helix

Tags

Bernadette Mayer, botanical, cocaine, joke, Maxwell J. McKee, poetry, prose poem, Prufrock's Dilemma, Sigmund Freud, Susan Scheid, The Interpretation of Dreams

– for Susan

The first time I ran across Maxwell J McKee was at a recital of student work at Bard.  But, lo and behold, I was reminded in the analysis that the man who interrupted out conversation was called Gardener and that I thought his wife looked blooming.  The first half of the concert closed with McKee’s Double Helix for string quartet, “captivating,” and even as I write these words I recall that one of my patients, who bore the charming name of Flora, was for a time the pivot of our discussion.  I wrote at the time, “from the opening breath of violin played at the edge of its sound.” There must have been the intermediate links, arising from the botanical group of ideas, which formed the bridge between the two experiences of that day, the indifferent and the stirring one.  Double Helix has since garnered McKee an ASCAP Morton Gould Young Composer Award and the Hudson Valley Chamber Music Circle’s composition prize.  A further set of connections was then established- those surrounding the idea of cocaine, which had every right to serve as a link between the figure of Dr. Konigstein and a botanical monograph which I had written; and these connections strengthened the fusion between the two groups of ideas so that it became possible for a portion of the one experience to serve as an illusion to the other one.

Explaining Casablanca to a 10-year-old

Tags

Casablanca, family, fatherhood, Hayley, movie, poetry, prose poem, World War II

 

No, really, it’s a good movie.  They say it’s one of the greatest movies ever made.  No, it’s not scary.  It’s a World War II movie but you don’t see the war.  No, it’s a thriller and a romance.  It’s a spy movie.  Yes, it’s black and white.  They didn’t make many color movies back then.  Yes, that is Africa.  Casablanca is in Morocco.  No, not Madagascar, Morocco. That’s in North Africa.  No, see, everybody’s trying to leave Casablanca.  People trying to escape the war in Europe came to Casablanca trying to get out to America.  Yes, those are bad guys- they work for the Nazis.  Morocco was French, and France was controlled by the Nazis, so the Nazis controlled Casablanca too.  Yes, that guy was a spy.  See those papers he had in his shoe?  Yes, those are exit visas.  Those are the papers you need to leave Casablanca.  Everybody wants them.  Yes, that’s Rick’s.  It’s like the Star Wars cantina- everybody in there is looking for trouble.  No, gambling, buying papers, that kind of thing.  Yes, that’s Rick.  No, that was Harrison Ford, this is Bogey.  Harrison Ford was probably just a baby when this was made.  No, he’s not a happy guy.  Just watch, you’ll see why.  No, that’s the police chief.  He’s a crooked guy but he is Rick’s friend- but his boss is a Nazi.  Yes, she’s beautiful.  Watch- you’ll see who she is.  No, Sam doesn’t look happy to see her.  Wonder why?  No, this is a flashback.  See how they’re in love?  Yes, I agree, Bogey looks a little stiff; it’s hard to feel like he’s in love, he reminds me of your grandfather.  No, they didn’t smoke that much back then.  The tobacco companies paid to get movie stars to smoke on screen.  No, that’s not French, that’s German.  The Nazis are rolling into France.  No, this is still a flashback- this is 1940.  Rick is in Casablanca two years later.  No, we don’t know why she didn’t get on the train.  What do you think happened?  Yes, Rick has the letters.  You saw him hide them, remember?  No, everybody wants them so they can get out of Casablanca.  Yes, Ilsa is married to Laszlo.  That’s why she couldn’t leave France with him.  No, Rick’s hurt, and mad, and got his heart broke but he still loves her.  Yes, those guys are singing in German, but everybody else is singing French.  That’s La Marseillaise, the free French national anthem; this is World War II playing out here in the bar.  No, she’s really not going to shoot him.  She just wants the papers to save her husband.  Yes, the Nazis are after him because he’s a spy.  No, they want to take him away to the camps.  The camps were terrible places.  Yes, he’s going to run away with her because he still loves her.  They’re going to use the papers he has.  No, Rick’s not going- he loves her too much, and believes in her fight against the Nazis.  He’s arranged it so she and her husband can get away.  No, he shot Strasser because he was going to get Rick sent to the camps.  But now he’s sure to go because he murdered an SS officer.   No, his friend the police chief is going to let him off the hook, and they’re going to run away together.  It’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

 

Waves

Tags

atomic bomb, Enola Gay, flarf, poetry, prose poem, waves, World War II

Dynamite curious people possessed of an innate capacity to go with the organizational chaos and complexity escape in thumping samba rhythms. We now achieved the extraordinary, not liable for any losses, injuries or damages which may result from the massive waves. A French grandmother was seen assisting making waves in the underground. We’re confused why the whole show was a hazard that could easily result in death or serious injury, family commitments or even the dreaded gas mask fused to his face.

Electromagnetic radiation, radio waves force you to make certain that we don’t start screaming or furiously waving hands, even if they are more than 10 feet away depending on radio wave conditions. A distance of 3.5 feet may not be sufficient to eliminate the damage. Many Japanese cities suffered terrible damage; the Enola Gay traveled 11.5 mi (18.5 km) before it felt the shock waves. If considerable damage has been incurred and the situation is urgent, use of a reference signal enables incidents that could range from accidental special sound waves that cause atoms to vibrate to an incompetent attempt that doesn’t do any damage.