Another List of Ingredients
nothing tasty, i assure you.
my days of using utensils
with flavored ink are well
behind me. and paper isn’t
the tastiest, either. so this
seems to be the deal with
me lately – start out think
ing about something real,
tangible, and right here in
front of me, most often; or
branded indelibly under my
eyelids or somewhere on the
exterior of my brain (which
is when things most likely
get mucked up, my memory
being what it is), then i devise
some sort of metaphor before get
ting far into describing this thing
with tangibility. a metaphor which
i then proceed to tear apart, at the
expense of getting to my point too
quickly, a thing that often gets me
sidetracked and likely muddles
clarity while surely losing the
audience to disinterest at best.
what was i going to give you?
is it too late? oh, it likely is.
and maybe that’s because
i’m almost too late. but
not quite. this is my last
one of the month and i’ve
got forty-eight minutes to
finish it and get it out the
virtual door and into this
imaginary mailbox to you
in time, whatever in
time means, which,
as it turns out, is some
thing which i completely
made up, which means it’s
something i could and with
justification of some sort, i’m
sure, remake. the rules. so that
i’m never late, in fact. it could
be done. but will it? not tonight.
but forget about the rules for a
moment. that turns out to have
been just another diversion,
another red herring, with
apologies. i don’t really
have to mention that, but
notice that i do. i was going
to use more of my random
lists on paper, a rather large
sheaf of which i’ve accum
ulated, and which i use to
jot down odd list poems
that come from the various
weird areas of my brain,
stuff i write down as if
to remember something,
to remind myself to re
member something, or
a sort of to do list of
things that i, at the
moment of each
item being hand
written (in a matter
that is often so ill
egible that i will
often take pleasure
in making up some
word or phrase based
on what i think i see
in what i know i have at
some point written with a
completely different intention;
who wants to be misread, after
all?), i do all this deciphering
most always not the reason
i had originally intended when
each note was written, but
rather (and as time goes
along, don’t i get a bit too
aware of the game that i’m
playing that even as i’m
writing i might be perhaps
realizing where this might
end up, and playing to that,
as if it were a bit), to provide
a bizarre, or surreal, or all
too real list of things that
turns out to usually be a
combination of the
mundane with the
rather odd (i do
think and always
have, and it used to
be with some pride and
contentment, that i’m
fairly weird, if not
downright eccentric.
but for various reasons
this thought does not give
me as much pleasure as it
used to, for what if i got
too weird, you know?),
so that it becomes a
list poem, as they
are called, i suppose;
something, as it turns
out, that many of my
favorite lyricists over
the years have been
fond of, so of course
i like a good one now
and again, can’t resist,
and this is one way i
provide the goods.
utilizing these words
strewn across various
mostly individual pages
that have come from various
moments over the past few
years. but you know what
i just did this time? well,
am about to do? often
i think i’ll be doing one
thing and then go in a
completely different
direction. and is there
anything wrong with
that? it’s not a research
project or a dissertation,
after all. nope. what i’ve
done is just an explanation
of what i do with these
sheafs of paper, why
i keep them, which has
now become a bit of a
confusion to me (do i
plan to actually mark
these items off a list
of things done or do
i plan to use them in
some unique or odd
or funny or boring,
or else in some
combination of
many of these,
way? while
maybe even
checking them
off by doing the
ones that still seem
important in the process?),
well, who can be certain?
even i cannot. but yet, i
have provided to you,
with regard to this
habit, what is,
what literally
becomes of
them, except
in this case,
it was just
a tease,
a ruse to
provide
instead
what i
actually
do. which,
in our case,
is often called
a process. there
you go. that’s my
process, one small
but habitual and long-
standing process among
many, when it comes to me
and how i choose to communicate.
am i communicating? that’s a question
for another day, i’d say. so i say, “i’ll say.”
and maybe someday i will. stay tuned if
you are beguiled or interested, or even
if you aren’t, but are curious if anything
better might come. it usually does come,
something a bit better, that is. but has
it this time? either way, ta for today.
nothing tasty, i assure you.
my days of using utensils
with flavored ink are well
behind me. and paper isn’t
the tastiest, either. so this
seems to be the deal with
me lately – start out think
ing about something real,
tangible, and right here in
front of me, most often; or
branded indelibly under my
eyelids or somewhere on the
exterior of my brain (which
is when things most likely
get mucked up, my memory
being what it is), then i devise
some sort of metaphor before get
ting far into describing this thing
with tangibility. a metaphor which
i then proceed to tear apart, at the
expense of getting to my point too
quickly, a thing that often gets me
sidetracked and likely muddles
clarity while surely losing the
audience to disinterest at best.
what was i going to give you?
is it too late? oh, it likely is.
and maybe that’s because
i’m almost too late. but
not quite. this is my last
one of the month and i’ve
got forty-eight minutes to
finish it and get it out the
virtual door and into this
imaginary mailbox to you
in time, whatever in
time means, which,
as it turns out, is some
thing which i completely
made up, which means it’s
something i could and with
justification of some sort, i’m
sure, remake. the rules. so that
i’m never late, in fact. it could
be done. but will it? not tonight.
but forget about the rules for a
moment. that turns out to have
been just another diversion,
another red herring, with
apologies. i don’t really
have to mention that, but
notice that i do. i was going
to use more of my random
lists on paper, a rather large
sheaf of which i’ve accum
ulated, and which i use to
jot down odd list poems
that come from the various
weird areas of my brain,
stuff i write down as if
to remember something,
to remind myself to re
member something, or
a sort of to do list of
things that i, at the
moment of each
item being hand
written (in a matter
that is often so ill
egible that i will
often take pleasure
in making up some
word or phrase based
on what i think i see
in what i know i have at
some point written with a
completely different intention;
who wants to be misread, after
all?), i do all this deciphering
most always not the reason
i had originally intended when
each note was written, but
rather (and as time goes
along, don’t i get a bit too
aware of the game that i’m
playing that even as i’m
writing i might be perhaps
realizing where this might
end up, and playing to that,
as if it were a bit), to provide
a bizarre, or surreal, or all
too real list of things that
turns out to usually be a
combination of the
mundane with the
rather odd (i do
think and always
have, and it used to
be with some pride and
contentment, that i’m
fairly weird, if not
downright eccentric.
but for various reasons
this thought does not give
me as much pleasure as it
used to, for what if i got
too weird, you know?),
so that it becomes a
list poem, as they
are called, i suppose;
something, as it turns
out, that many of my
favorite lyricists over
the years have been
fond of, so of course
i like a good one now
and again, can’t resist,
and this is one way i
provide the goods.
utilizing these words
strewn across various
mostly individual pages
that have come from various
moments over the past few
years. but you know what
i just did this time? well,
am about to do? often
i think i’ll be doing one
thing and then go in a
completely different
direction. and is there
anything wrong with
that? it’s not a research
project or a dissertation,
after all. nope. what i’ve
done is just an explanation
of what i do with these
sheafs of paper, why
i keep them, which has
now become a bit of a
confusion to me (do i
plan to actually mark
these items off a list
of things done or do
i plan to use them in
some unique or odd
or funny or boring,
or else in some
combination of
many of these,
way? while
maybe even
checking them
off by doing the
ones that still seem
important in the process?),
well, who can be certain?
even i cannot. but yet, i
have provided to you,
with regard to this
habit, what is,
what literally
becomes of
them, except
in this case,
it was just
a tease,
a ruse to
provide
instead
what i
actually
do. which,
in our case,
is often called
a process. there
you go. that’s my
process, one small
but habitual and long-
standing process among
many, when it comes to me
and how i choose to communicate.
am i communicating? that’s a question
for another day, i’d say. so i say, “i’ll say.”
and maybe someday i will. stay tuned if
you are beguiled or interested, or even
if you aren’t, but are curious if anything
better might come. it usually does come,
something a bit better, that is. but has
it this time? either way, ta for today.
