How frostily jingle the harness bells! —John Ashbery
It’s Christmas in the dungeon. The cleaning crew arrives at the same time as all of the kinfolk. You, always best at gauging each guest’s sadness, go about your measurements, pausing after each appraisal to scribble a few things in ink into your graph- paper binder. All the sobbing not withstanding, we each love the holidays, and i’ts a good thing, too, as getting along so well submerged as we are among the whips and chains (but check out our tree of barbed wire lit so! it’s brand spanking new!), a sling draped from the ceiling garnishes each corner, a nest- ful of feather boas atop each, just for a bit of equanimity.
The less said the more we’ll shut up about it— —John Ashbery
Currently, we both have headaches from having to incessantly endure the sound of my voice. When I grow up, I’d like a greater compassion for the human condition, more restraint and a predominantly smooth and even- keeled delivery.
The flapping leaves, unaware of the ground beneath them, tingle as they sensually whip about at each other or, in the case of the loners, as they fold into them selves. Each one is half vibrant life, half echoing spirit, punching the elevator button for heaven, having long forgotten the moist batter of earth from whence they derived. Curling in ecstasy, these fledgling cheerleaders lift a broadening trunk through the earth and its adolescence into an ever more world-weary grown-up.
Come take control, just grab a hold Of my body and mind, soon we’ll be making it, honey —lyrics by Marvin Gaye & David Ritz (Sexual Healing, Marvin Gaye, 1983)
people have no manners
yah generally i will have none of that
that is when i have been known to make a bit of a scene
get em grrrrl
act i scene i: “grrl get outta my face”
cuz i got 2 degrees in drama
lol
but maybe i am turning over a new leaf
no cutsees but you can call me grrl and i will apologize for being grumpy
Texxual Heeling (number three) (an SOS threads the apocalypse) Baby, I think I’m capsizin’... The waves are risin’ and risin’ —lyrics by Marvin Gaye & David Ritz (Sexual Healing, Marvin Gaye, 1983)
earth to star jones
upon some contemplation
come in star jones
it has become abundantly clear that
this will likely be
my last transmission
among the moments that led up to the apocalypse there is one from which, significantly there could be no turning back
i suppose i see works of cinema, stage and television much more often, in aggregate as a critic, not as what seems to me the more typical audience member. i’ve no problem with this, much as i understand the necessity of relating somehow to the characters and story and of believing in the whole thing or giving yourself into the world of the work of art, whatever it is. this that i am relaying to you mostly is just pretending to be a poem, although a poem i write is one that i say is a poem, that seems the only determining factor for me, which is pretty convenient and debatably lazy. anyway, this, again, is just an observation, or a set of them, which i appreciate this afternoon for what i feel is its lack of poetry, a bunch of words cast in a very low budget production in a piece that, with such flourishes as enjambment (as costume) and a virtual virtual page (the set) to have it be pretending or acting as if a poem. i like to think about the difference between assimilated facts like this pretending to be a poem versus something i write believing in the poem of it all as i write it, but there is no real difference in the ways i describe given that in my mind simply to dub something one writes a poem is to make it one. these are simply facts for me, the way in which i live them, and with simplicity and ease placed upon the page, thrown into it as i type the words, read through, reread, make all of whatever flourishes i do to add the pretense of poetry. and with regard to my participation in these art forms as critic and/or audience member (this is my way to differentiate for you as i do not often think of myself while watching movies or television or dramatic productions as floating, as i obviously do, between most often a critic, wondering as i watch how it has been made, how that creation either turns me on or off and why, thinking about the artistry and effort of many individuals and the vastly different role each had in creation of what i'm watching. but i am aware that i do this, that i'm most often evaluating in a bit of a traditionally critical way (not as audience member but with curiosity regarding each part of the collaboration, actively assessing each and all as the piece unfolds), but also sometimes getting just caught in its world, that original appeal of immersing myself in the other worlds. utilizing each piece as if it were not really a means of escape as much as a way to get an education about an art form or art itself or the history of humankind. i have become aware of these simulatenous and back and forth ways of experiencing. it has become integral to my life, these two ways of experiencing the art forms. and this is a way of being that i am happy with, that does me well, in my opinion, and i cannot imagine dispensing with one or the other way of experiencing such things. but i do clearly spend most of my time, i believe, outside of the story as it is in progressing, hovering over it so as to obsess and assess and relish each and every part made by each and every individual, seen and unseen, that altogether make a work of art. as they are lived. but what i can say is i’m thrilled to be on either side, so i float around as critic and audience participant, sometimes simultaneously, be more often probably focusing more on one or the other, that is, either concentrating wholly on the world itself and feeling within that world or as a critic noting each part that has gone into it, observing and making assessments, placing scores, and making my little arguments to justify whatever i think i know or see based on these observations. i think should leave it at that, these words i’ve written about how i am when i watch cinema, television or stage production, so as to leave this dudded up actor of a pretend poem more statement and less opinion. less a poem then a taking up of the airwaves or of your time to tell you something of me without leaning on bias and such. so there.
