Trains blow from out of the mouth of the lion
torturing neighborhoods and terrifying children
with their lumbering heavy iron roar. The
universe may be shaped like the oval of the
soap bar or the cylinder of the condom – or it
may be flat like a chocolate chip cookie, what
an analogy for typical galaxies. Dark matter eludes
us; inference is the sandy bottom of hard-core
objective science. When will the public confidence in
science slip away as it did for religion? Will the
State be next? I would like to sit in the sun
and open up like a tulip or a sunflower, raise my
head and unfold myself until everyone saw the
inside-out beauty it's claimed we all contain. Milk
drips down the side of my mouth and snuggles in
my terrorist beard. Would you like some molasses
with that? Mole-asses – such an adolescent and
delectable word. Yes I'll have molasses with my
tired sour milk. Along with the milk my belly
bulges like the late lazy Buddah. Perhaps this means
wisdom is creeping my way. A sedentary lifestyle
is a gambit and gimmick – fat drowns the voice of the
muse. Only the fat would disagree. That's not true.
The city inebriated cabals around the dry country would
certainly disagree. Wisdom is after all disagreeing
with whatever your conversational partner says. Or
is that intelligence? No, it's just disagreeableness.
It's just the exterminator on a hot June day spending
too much time under houses. How many potential
serial killers release themselves by becoming exterminators?
Maybe just the prototype. The sound of the lion in
the distance train reverberates like a kitten in the tree -
I'll be outside where I can raise my head, smile and pee.
I sometimes like to walk around my house and yard
and urinate in strategic places, marking my fancy
territory. Why not? We're animals too I hear. Of
course it's true as far as truth may go. I don't see elephants
tearing a hole in the ozone layer. Nor do I see antelope
creating statues of Rodin or Poor Juila.
This blog is (mostly) a near-verbatim transcription of my writing journal. Margins are the same as the journal. These are exercises, not finished products. Other types of writings will most likely emerge at some point.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Journal 44 - Trains Lions and Elephants
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Journal 43 - Old Kentucky Winner
There's the singing of Old Kentucky – before the
Kentucky Derby – I feel I should be more moved
or emotional. I'm distant. Though the ritual felt
like a typical college football event. The announcer
talks like an auctioneer – words spoken quickly
and only indeterminately intelligibly. I'd like to be
a racing horse though. Or bloodhound dog. Ironically
or not the people here in the bar have their ties
and their dresses and their hats. How socially aware.
Melissa the waitress drags the trash across the floor of
the bar – but don't tell her I noticed. How un-dorkyish:
the drunken souls are gravitating toward the loud spoken
TVs. How much do the South Carolinians know about
the races? Probably more than my Mississippi ass. I
mean seriously – the suits and sundresses are
infiltrating the windy Rooftop bar. Like a spirited
troop of aristocratic ants. All shiny and curly (and
giggly). Words are sometimes like rain in the middle
of June down South. If I don't turn my head
toward the magnetic TV will I be banished and
ridiculed? Hands are clapping. Oh so serious for
such a long build up and and ejaculatory short
finish. Fifty to one it seems is enough to win
the hearts and minds. Fifty to one by a landslide.
Or many feet. Bahhh. I'm out of breath but not
from racing. You can really claim anything when
you've won. And are a winner. “Of course I knew
I would win.” Well I certainly don't. I know
next to nothing – different from Socrates's knowing
his own ignorance. Sea-gulls or something ocean-y
shit on me with blessed indifference. I should be
shat upon. Like a good citizen of planet Earth. The
eagle shits upon the hare – why not I? Earth
is a violent malevolent self-first place of hedonistic
existence – why blame ourselves for doing something
wrong with global warming? We're evolved ancestors
to chimps – why hold ourselves to higher standards?
Survival is equally strong across Darwin's lost species.