tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6977930019169140672024-03-13T08:17:16.281-05:00The Indelible KitchenSupremohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09307429423412180284noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-7586227075241445452007-08-27T16:17:00.000-05:002007-09-20T22:15:29.007-05:00The best thing I have ever read on craigslistI was looking for a couch on Craig's List but got side-tracked and started looking at everything. The interesting thing about looking at furniture on Craig's List is that you get these haphazard photos that allow you to see onto someone's life. So, I was engaging in this home-furnishing voyeurism when I saw this ad:<br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span><h2 style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:180%;">Laminate kitchen table, 4 legs included - $23</span></h2> <hr style="height: 3px;font-family:times new roman;"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:100%;" ><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >Date: 2007-07-26, 8:42PM EDT<br /><br /><br />This is an adequate speckled laminate kitchen table. There's nothing wrong with it, but it's not the kind of table that will make your life complete. Or maybe it is. We're not getting rid of it because we're moving or because we bought a new table. We simply stopped eating so we no longer have a need for it.<br /><br />It's 3' x 4'- a surface area of 12 square feet. The table surface is 30.5" above the ground, supported by 4 legs, black, made of wood of unknown origin. At one time there was a leaf that could be inserted in the middle of the table to extend it to an indescribable length, but it can't currently be located. I think a dingo stole it.<br /><br />The legs are easy to attach and remove via a revolutionary wing nut attachment mechanism. Even if you don't need a kitchen table, removing and reattaching the legs would make for hours of enjoyment. Oh - and it's been tested outside its intended kitchen environment. This fine specimen has been used as a desk and to hawk wares at a garage sale just this past spring.<br /><br />The table is currently wasting the days and nights away in our garage. You can verify this in the picture below. A giant poster of Jules Winnfield (as played by Samuel L. Jackson) from the movie Pulp Fiction is watching over it. The poster's for sale too.<br /><br /></span><br /></span>Supremohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09307429423412180284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-27233406523617042022007-08-27T16:03:00.001-05:002008-12-11T20:31:03.680-05:00The Dirty Border, Chapter 12 by Melanie Lamaga<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CMLQpkm75cU/RtM8bDH0-2I/AAAAAAAAACw/RIQcIzl7uJI/s1600-h/The_Dirty_Border___Chapter_12.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CMLQpkm75cU/RtM8bDH0-2I/AAAAAAAAACw/RIQcIzl7uJI/s400/The_Dirty_Border___Chapter_12.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103489238133177186" border="0" /></a><br />In which Pooh falls in with a bad crowd and learns about interspecies dating, the Aztec calendar and to never ever to drink tequila with Jesus-Fondling-His-LikenessSupremohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09307429423412180284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-30727997630065625782007-08-16T15:06:00.001-05:002007-08-16T21:41:38.596-05:00"Premeditated Mooning" by Jay Snodgrass<span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p>At the end of fifth grade, on the very last day,<br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >I drew a smiley face on my butt in order to moon<br /><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Mrs. Stringer the math teacher, who had been <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>My homeroom teacher the year before. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p><br /></o:p>She’d grabbed me by the head one day for my insolence<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>And left an orbit of half moon gouges <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Around the top of my cranium, a crown of bad behavior. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>I knew I had to do something to get her back <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p><br /></o:p>So when my friend Barry suggested I moon her I <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>Thought that was a great idea, but I couldn’t just <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Moon her because where’s the originality, where’s the <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>Punishment, the return scold. No I had <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p><br /></o:p>To come up with a pretty good way to amplify it <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>If I wanted it to go down as one of the greats. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >So that morning I snuck my mothers mirror and a tube <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>Of burgundy lipstick which I threw away <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p><br /></o:p>After applying through the magic of the Fovea which <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>Is that nerve in the back of your eye <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >That takes the upside down image your eye gets and <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>Turns it right side up for the brain to process<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p><br /></o:p>I drew two big dark, sad, sorrowful eyes and one long <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>Jagged mouth across the longitude of my <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Ass crack. All that day I was heady with anticipation <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>Not only was it the last day of school, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p><br /></o:p>But I was going to paste it right out of the park with <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>My painted little wiggler. I had nerves up <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >All right, and as I saw Mrs. Stringer standing in the doorway <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>Of her classroom, waiving to all the good <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p><br /></o:p>Little ones, the ones whose company I would forsake <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>In the wake of my revelation, if you will, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >I knew my opportunity was at hand. I seized upon the reins <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>And let fall the buckle shouting to get her <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p><br /></o:p>Attention before I bowed to the opposite of her, waving it<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>Back and forth like a ship to ship signal. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >A few hours after I got home, my father stormed into the <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>House and demanded to know what I had done. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p><br /></o:p>The only thing at all about this story that keeps me in a <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><span style=""> </span>Straight face is the fact that a few years later Mrs. Stringer <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >went mad and was institutionalized. I could claim credit <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >for that, but on the whole, it just makes me feel bad.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span></p>Jay Snodgrasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310704886103680373noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-86905879172139568992007-08-15T18:08:00.000-05:002007-08-16T21:45:09.093-05:00Installment #2 of "Shutdown" by Jeff Crouch<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">This is part of an ongoing story. <a href="http://popink.blogspot.com/2007/05/shutdown-by-jeff-crouch.html">Click here to read the first installment.</a></span><br /><br /><br /><br />John Largent was going to have a busy night, and he walked over to one of his favorite doctors and asked for a prescription to help him with his diet.<br /><br />Dr. Johnson was the doctor John Largent would go to first, if only he could find him, but the doctor he found was Dr. Zemackis.<br /><br />Dr. Zemackis was busy doing his job, trying to get water to his patients and reassure them about their well being. It was sure to be a stressful evening.<br /><br />John Largent would have to wait to get his prescription; Dr. Zemackis had a no-nonsense look in his eyes.<br /><br />Meanwhile, Dr. Johnson was still in his office trying to figure out the best way to keep his secrets guarded.<br /><br />A patient, dismissed earlier that afternoon, had begun to go door to door in her apartment building, quizzing people about their experiences at the hospital. Incredibly, she found that one out of three people she talked to had been to the hospital.<br /><br />The information she got was alarming, not because people had much bad to say about the hospital, not overwhelmingly anyway, but because the information she got was altogether contradictory.<br /><br />Susan James had just begun her adventure in the disconcerting.<br /><br />Dr. Johnson knew better than to let the shutdown worry him. His favorite movies had always been about prison escape, and he had always had a neurotic fascination with such TV shows as <span style="cursor: pointer;" id="lw_1187218805_10">Gilligan's <st1:place st="on">Island</st1:place></span> and <span style="cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; background-attachment: scroll;" id="lw_1187218805_11">Hogan's Heroes</span>.<br /><br />A car in the parking lot burst into flames, and the flash against the window momentarily drew Dr. Johnson away from his paperwork.<br /><br />Down the hall, Dr. Ward realized that his car had exploded. His trunk was full of oxygen tanks, and the blaze was miraculous. It immediately ignited the two cars next to his corvette.<br /><br />Dr. Johnson signed the piece of paper he was looking at and put it in his case. The analysis made for the patient was, indeed, completely bogus, and he knew it. He had initiated another irrelevant treatment plan with suppressed glee, but he refrained from finalizing the case on the computer.<br /><br />Dr. Zemackis had asked John Largent to collect water for the patients, and John Largent knew he had a clean water facility available in the hidden hospital, but he was as yet unwilling to expose the secret facility.<br /><br />Instead, John Largent got on the phone to Becky Crown.<br /><br />"Becky," he said, "the doctors are worried about provisions for the patients. The reporters are here or will be soon. I need you to start issuing requests for bottled water, food, blankets, and whatnot. Be sure to tell people where to bring them. Tell them Jim's Hardware has already donated $500 worth of inflatable mattresses."<br /><br />Becky paused for a moment and said, "But that's only about six mattresses, John."</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Actually, it’s nine," said John.<br /><br />Becky checked her messages and began to make herself ready for a long night at work.<br /><br />Tim Irons, the IT Director, had managed to keep the computer system on line, but something seemed to him terribly wrong.<br /><br />Dr. Ivory had approached Dr. Johnson twenty-five years ago about running a hospital where people were consistently misdiagnosed and treated for maladies they never had, and Dr. Johnson had been more than willing to cooperate.<br /><br />In the inner circles of management, Dr. Ivory was known as the Recruiter, and her dedication to her work was nothing short of absolute.<br /><br />During the shutdown, Dr. Ivory should have been in <st1:place st="on"><span style="cursor: pointer;" id="lw_1187218805_12">Cozumel</span></st1:place> enjoying a bonus package from a pharmaceutical company, but she had greater secrets to guard than Dr. Johnson.<br /><br />Even before she had heard Dr. Johnson was a fan of <span style="cursor: pointer;" id="lw_1187218805_13">Hogan's Heroes</span>, Dr. Ivory made her presence known on the hospital's racquetball courts.<br /><br />Shortly after Dr. Johnson began his work at the hospital, his first wife, Dr. June, had run off with her tennis instructor. He was never sure why, but then, he never really understood the workings of management.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Supremohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09307429423412180284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-25710005862184210382007-08-07T22:20:00.001-05:002008-12-11T20:31:03.892-05:00"Wash In" by Jenny Tondera<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CMLQpkm75cU/Rrk2wy_ft4I/AAAAAAAAACo/bDU6-MbovL0/s1600-h/12jtondera.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CMLQpkm75cU/Rrk2wy_ft4I/AAAAAAAAACo/bDU6-MbovL0/s400/12jtondera.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5096164665296140162" border="0" /></a>Supremohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09307429423412180284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-68358058956449245382007-08-07T15:21:00.001-05:002007-08-07T15:31:40.653-05:00"Big Mouth of the Missouri River Swallowed Anna Whole" by Rebecca Prashner<div class="MsoNormal">She had gone down to the bank to catch crawfish. The water was strangely clear that day. From the light of the clear grey sky, Anna could see all the objects that floated by. She saw a skeleton key in the current and pocketed it. Anna waded in further. Cold black mud anchored her toes to the bottom. On a day like this, she knew there were more things to find than crawfish.<br /><br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> </div> <div class="MsoNormal">Anna pocketed a lot: shiny and tarnished pennies, a shoelace, an old fishing hook, a locket. She was soon weighed down in the cold, clear water. It occurred to her that she was in the middle of the river now, with a strong current. It carried her on as she grabbed for more trinkets. She thought she saw a hippo, but those only belonged in the Nile. A grey sky casts illusions like that. Anna went rushing down the river like this. What she didn't know was that everything was turning to water in her pockets.</div>Supremohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09307429423412180284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-43982405618455290282007-08-07T15:12:00.000-05:002007-08-07T15:45:20.170-05:00"empty bucket" by Rebecca Prashner<div class="MsoNormal">I've got a bucket</div> <div class="MsoNormal">keep it out at night</div> <div class="MsoNormal">I might</div> <div class="MsoNormal">be thirsty</div> <div class="MsoNormal">in the morning<br /><br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> </div> <div class="MsoNormal">by then</div> <div class="MsoNormal">it's all</div> <div class="MsoNormal">dried up</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> </div> <div class="MsoNormal"><br />the nights </div> <div class="MsoNormal">are too </div> <div class="MsoNormal">hot</div> <div class="MsoNormal">& fast</div>Supremohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09307429423412180284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-74593951520898387872007-08-07T15:09:00.001-05:002007-08-07T15:09:41.978-05:00"Film " by Rebecca Prashner<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">There's nothing blank</div> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">On a page </div> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Missing words</div> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Beneath a window</div> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">With blue light</div>Supremohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09307429423412180284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-14130483567378849732007-07-30T13:28:00.000-05:002007-08-07T15:32:15.281-05:00Poor reading skills predict deathA new study published in the <em>Archives of Internal Medicine</em> concludes:<br /><br />"Inadequate health literacy, as measured by reading fluency, independently predicts all-cause mortality and cardiovascular death among community-dwelling elderly persons. <strong>Reading fluency is a more powerful variable than education for examining the association between socioeconomic status and health.</strong> " (Arch Intern Med. 2007;167:1503-1509)<br /><br /><a href="http://archinte.ama-assn.org/cgi/content/short/167/14/1503">http://archinte.ama-assn.org/cgi/content/short/167/14/1503</a>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-73291512644993341512007-07-25T20:29:00.000-05:002008-12-11T20:31:04.226-05:00"The Dirty Border - Chapter 3" by Melanie Lamaga<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/Rqf5fmtktgI/AAAAAAAAA4A/YowyOqVyr4U/s1600-h/The_Dirty_Border_Chapt_3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/Rqf5fmtktgI/AAAAAAAAA4A/YowyOqVyr4U/s400/The_Dirty_Border_Chapt_3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091312225128592898" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span style="font-size:12;"> “This is the first installment in a series of photos from the Tijuana border crossing, a timeless universe where cars are furniture and kitch is religion.”</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-3293235485878904942007-07-24T15:16:00.000-05:002007-07-25T20:34:57.696-05:00"Little Teatimes" by Jay Snodgrass<p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Once after a brunch of needles, pastry brown blood<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Stains and fennel, you brandished <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The length of hair at the caller knocking at the door, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Mocking birds scrabbling to fill</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Up the morning with noise. Once after a breaking <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Of limbs you leaned from the broken <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Car window and pawed at the ground around my feet<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Like a dog after a crime. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Once after the rain came to you like a blanket <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Of clover, like a shawl of empty <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Shoulders, you proclaimed that the future of wood<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Was an axe. We embellished </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Your waxing fever with polish and the electric<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Wood sander for Christmas. Then<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Once you learned to walk again, the lengths of tendon <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Reworked into banisters of clean light</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">You stole a thimble of milk and every other tick <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Of seconds from the clock. The refrigerator <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Heaved a stony thrumming, compressing air <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >In gasps. One floor tile at a time </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">From the alternating patterns of worn browning cream <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And burgundy scuffs, got up and marched<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">To the basement in regiments. Once you parted <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >The gift of a mirror into two rooms at once</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The devil rang the door bell and you scuttled. Once <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">In a romance of broken rocks and asphalt <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >You went after the redness in a robin with the left over<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Steak knives shivering in the drawer. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:11;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p>Jay Snodgrasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310704886103680373noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-91434650650971291132007-07-24T11:41:00.000-05:002007-08-07T15:35:29.075-05:00HEY! LOOK! A poem that actually responds to our monthly theme: “Murder, Mayhem and Miniature Golf” by Tabitha Dial<p class="MsoNormal">She used to always be ready</p> <p class="MsoNormal">for miniature golf</p> <p class="MsoNormal">or croquet –</p> <p class="MsoNormal">any excuse to hit a ball</p> <p class="MsoNormal">around a lawn</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She used to always be ready</p> <p class="MsoNormal">for a little murder</p> <p class="MsoNormal">at the drop of a second –</p> <p class="MsoNormal">any excuse to kick</p> <p class="MsoNormal">around a father figure</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She used to always be ready</p> <p class="MsoNormal">for a bit of mayhem</p> <p class="MsoNormal">or minor chaos –</p> <p class="MsoNormal">any excuse to fix</p> <p class="MsoNormal">over-frayed nerves</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She used to be ready.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now she cannot be bothered</p> <p class="MsoNormal">to leave the house.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-65453587556992808882007-07-23T23:37:00.001-05:002008-12-11T20:31:04.383-05:00"Columbia" by Roy Scholten<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RqWCN2tktfI/AAAAAAAAA34/mIqP8OuArPI/s1600-h/colombia.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RqWCN2tktfI/AAAAAAAAA34/mIqP8OuArPI/s400/colombia.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090618128348788210" border="0" /></a><br />600 x 600 black and white digital illustration made in GraphicConverterUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-62056187198288597552007-07-23T22:09:00.000-05:002008-12-11T20:31:04.546-05:00"Metalla" by Roy Scholten<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RqVuIWtkteI/AAAAAAAAA3w/-ACVzHae1B0/s1600-h/metella.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RqVuIWtkteI/AAAAAAAAA3w/-ACVzHae1B0/s400/metella.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090596043626952162" border="0" /></a>600 x 600 black and white digital illustrations made in Graphic ConverterUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-21654641613958766952007-07-10T14:53:00.001-05:002007-07-23T23:43:07.931-05:00Dick Cheney's Man Sized Safe by Jay Snodgrass<p class="MsoBlockText"><span style="font-size:130%;"><b><span style="font-family:Garamond;">1. Obscene <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoBlockText"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span> </p><p class="MsoBlockText"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Check the box behind the door. The case lingers, violence<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBlockText"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Like bars of chocolate. Not so secret. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Reach back. Reach back to find the throat in the dark. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >The straw, wet straw. I’m drinking from this. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Hide the behaviors of the secret camps. My big blue bleeding. Contiguous synthesis. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"> </p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-right: 1.5in;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I love this channel. What will it do tomorrow. </span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-right: 1.5in;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The desert is one after the other. Arc of names.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-right: 1.5in;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"> </p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-right: 1.5in;"><span style="font-size:130%;">What he said. Let’s do it again. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >This street needs covering. Its secret is exposed. You drive down to my house and burn it down. The director is giving away his books.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Lick a card. Any card. Feel the redness <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Living in the night, with my sacred credit cards.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Out of the braidal perilously crocking.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;" >Specter of the worst. Clear metal bar. Swing into the casket.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><br /><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:11;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0pt 1in;"><o:p></o:p> </p>Jay Snodgrasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310704886103680373noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-58249477698454153572007-07-08T20:13:00.001-05:002008-12-11T20:31:05.617-05:00Turf! by Clay Blancett<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RpGPywZZ8TI/AAAAAAAAA14/mS2vdNcXYzE/s1600-h/DSCF3413.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RpGPywZZ8TI/AAAAAAAAA14/mS2vdNcXYzE/s400/DSCF3413.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085003556425691442" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Turf, Water, Red Ball<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RpGN9gZZ8SI/AAAAAAAAA1w/l9Tn54gZfIM/s1600-h/DSCF3399.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RpGN9gZZ8SI/AAAAAAAAA1w/l9Tn54gZfIM/s400/DSCF3399.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085001542086029602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Hole 3 Par 2<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RpGNxwZZ8RI/AAAAAAAAA1o/apLAzRssBxk/s1600-h/DSCF3418.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RpGNxwZZ8RI/AAAAAAAAA1o/apLAzRssBxk/s400/DSCF3418.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085001340222566674" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Hole 9 Par 2<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RpGNjwZZ8QI/AAAAAAAAA1g/J-Jcq52I-7A/s1600-h/DSCF3422.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RpGNjwZZ8QI/AAAAAAAAA1g/J-Jcq52I-7A/s400/DSCF3422.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085001099704398082" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Treacherous Stones<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RpGNYAZZ8PI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/wDj476Qz9Rg/s1600-h/DSCF3429.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RpGNYAZZ8PI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/wDj476Qz9Rg/s400/DSCF3429.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085000897840935154" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Like the Terraces of the IncaUnknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-12510908131153374122007-07-02T14:52:00.001-05:002007-07-23T23:42:20.157-05:00Ultimates by Jay Snodgrass<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Here is what you think: <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I said everything:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Notice the blowing, full bore,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Nightly endured </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Production, still, out of bounds. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Nobody said you would make </p> <p class="MsoNormal">A flywheel of ground dinosaur teeth;</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">–A sewage system of forgettable – <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A canonic undertow of unwavering vanity, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">All, reigned in to the heart-thump. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I SAID: you may </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Northern. The sanctity, cowling doomsday, </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The great ones wave banners. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Their gloved fist at the sky. Superhero </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dilettantes, the total crimson cut </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Of cosmic declaration, a super-cision. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">While the superfluous over bite, fiend to crinkle, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Listens to the over-sound: here comes </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The report: Dupe. Acquittal.<span style=""> </span>Spectral </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fade.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span></p>Jay Snodgrasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310704886103680373noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-10163834811162985882007-06-28T06:13:00.001-05:002008-12-11T20:31:06.274-05:00Three More Water, That's All, by Clay Blancett<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RoOYswZZ79I/AAAAAAAAAzE/Us-w649D_js/s1600-h/DSCF1122-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RoOYswZZ79I/AAAAAAAAAzE/Us-w649D_js/s400/DSCF1122-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081072699277176786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RoOYlAZZ78I/AAAAAAAAAy8/-aIQIZfoaMA/s1600-h/DSCF1126.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RoOYlAZZ78I/AAAAAAAAAy8/-aIQIZfoaMA/s400/DSCF1126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081072566133190594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RoOYcAZZ77I/AAAAAAAAAy0/Q5P4fdDJ8KA/s1600-h/DSCF1134-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RoOYcAZZ77I/AAAAAAAAAy0/Q5P4fdDJ8KA/s400/DSCF1134-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081072411514367922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Let's call them all <span style="font-size:130%;">"Flood!"</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-45710720506392348752007-06-26T23:27:00.001-05:002007-06-28T02:10:37.589-05:00"And still it goes on" by Tabitha Dial<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">And it still goes on</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This time it happened in the car</p> <p class="MsoNormal">after dinner—former<span style=""> </span>husband and wife</p> <p class="MsoNormal">taking out social mores again,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">still hoping<span style=""> </span>to screw one another over.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">~~~</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She probably smelled—</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>again—of that beautiful black,</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>almost the deepest brown,</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>wood and mud and sin-smacking lips</p> <p class="MsoNormal">but never like sunshine.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Never like sunshine—</p> <p class="MsoNormal">How <i style="">could</i> he resist her?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">~~~</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It lasted</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>long enough</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>for their signals</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>to reach across the pond</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>again and again,</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>playing leap frog</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>all last summer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">All last summer</p> <p class="MsoNormal">they tried to sweeten things.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">They scraped their front teeth</p> <p class="MsoNormal">against the empty rind for any shred of sweetness</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She put her unbroken mouth</p> <p class="MsoNormal">over his, reached for his hands—</p> <p class="MsoNormal">but the sky still draped</p> <p class="MsoNormal">itself in black that night.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It would’ve been perfect</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>if there had been stars.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Supremohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09307429423412180284noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-65921209023410442072007-06-24T23:27:00.000-05:002007-06-24T23:35:05.137-05:00A New One by Gentry Hoffman<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><b style=""><span style="">"The Mating Patterns and Courtship Rituals of Local Campus Rock Doves (you might know them as pigeons)"</span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><b style=""><span style=""> OR<br /></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><b style=""><span style="">"Bobbin Threader By Nature"</span></b></span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;">OR<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;">"The State-Job-Space-Time</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;">-Continuum”<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;">by Gentry Hoffman</span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;">I deftly walk the hallway, glancing at faces. They glance at me, sure, and smile reflexively. That's muscle syntax for "I am harmless." I wonder if the hair’s-width chronology of these encounters add up. I wonder if, added together, any of these nano-smiles I pass intuit where I came from, who I've been. Do they read a casual, physical confidence, or do they just see the reciprocating muscles contract to stretch the lips into an eighth-moon, concave-up geometry? Or, do they see harmless? I find this interesting.<br /><br />These people I know. I see them day after fuckless day. I can tell you names. I can tell you three names: Rebeccah. Robert. The redhead...god, I forget her name. Met her once, not long ago at a show I never in a million would have thought she'd be at. This, after years of "meeting" her around here. That's how it's worked, it's the pattern of local space-time (my physics teacher would push me over an event horizon for breaking those two up). Around here at least.<br /><br />For the past seven years I've worked for the state, and the patterns are obvious at this point. I've accepted them, which is probably the meat and potatoes paradox of the "state job" continuum. The patterns are thus: </p> <ul type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style="">You get a "better" job, meaning more pay, benefits, stability, structure and less happiness (also known as a "real job").</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">You learn your job, meet the locals, form inorganic work relationships and romantic ones with people you greatly don't identify with, and you violently resist becoming one of them without realizing it.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">You master your job to the point of supreme boredom; meanwhile people come and go (see: Turnover) and you hope it's not the cool ones.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">You begin to loathe your job. Meanwhile, you begin to procrastinate and the quality of your work beings to decline, while ironically your performance evaluations get better and better.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">They consummate the soul-job transaction by consistently giving you marginal cost-of-living raises, and the random yet slightly larger ones for those great evaluations you've been getting recently.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">You think to yourself often how you really need to get away from this place.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">See bullets four and five above. Repeat. Reflect.</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">You become one of them without realizing it.</li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><br />Ok, so we were at the part of the pattern of seeing people every day for years without meeting them. Right. And so then one day a meeting is facilitated by the gods of chance and random number theory. You meet, you exchange names and so you are now not just a smile. This is nice, this is personal. The pattern is strange: the flirty smiles were always there, but so was the plexiglass wall that always aligned at an angle perpendicular to the line between our smiles. Mathematically, two points in the plexiglass could be used to define our smiles, with a basis vectors at the origin of the tower where we both work. Why did we never speak before? How many smile lines were defined before finally our chance meeting? I find this interesting.<br /><br />The emotional epaulet "desperate" is fastened by a passant to her right shoulder (looking at her, on my left). It's hard for me to keep from staring at it during our conversation. I can't decide if it's this, or the banality of it all that is disappointingly familiar, but I am not one to hide my stripes either (emotional bobbin threader by nature), and so this makes for an awkward conversation. Little meaningless collisions of nothing. It's like when a feather slams into a feather. As opposed to matter v. antimatter. I'm still waiting do discover the dark stuff. I find this interesting.<br /><br />At lunch there are animals to deal with. I say "deal with" and not "look at" or "enjoy" because they are very familiar with our patterns. They are urban fauna. Street smart rock doves (you might know them as pigeons), they push and hustle and huckster their way around campus, jostling their way to scraps and bun seeds and the occasional errant french fry. The grackles are ubiquitous and nasty with their audacity. They will swoop/snatch/perch their way from meal to meal. The whole exercise reminds me of Oliver Twist.<br /><br />Romantically, pigeons and students are inseparable to me at this point. Their mating patters share not only a cadence but a sweetness and a dirtiness. The male student/pigeon is tenacious from the instant of any signal recognition. They are on it, and they can't be stopped. They are young and energized and in it to win it. Little factories of hormones drive-chain the machinery and presto-bango, love! The posturing, the ruffling and preening, the puffing. These are the performance arts of hormone love. The courtship ritual is a dirty-feet street ballet. They workshop these courtships for future performances. They learn their blocking, beat. They learn their faces, beat. They practice their lines, scene.</p>Supremohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09307429423412180284noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-65896446230591061062007-06-23T13:37:00.001-05:002008-12-11T20:31:06.859-05:00More Water by Clay Blancett<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/Rn1pLrM-UNI/AAAAAAAAAxU/nnu8OPAzNQU/s1600-h/DSCF1825.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/Rn1pLrM-UNI/AAAAAAAAAxU/nnu8OPAzNQU/s400/DSCF1825.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079331604040405202" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"I Have the Stones"</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/Rn1pyLM-UPI/AAAAAAAAAxk/GrbIQ6LWld0/s1600-h/DSCF2432.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/Rn1pyLM-UPI/AAAAAAAAAxk/GrbIQ6LWld0/s400/DSCF2432.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079332265465368818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Marineland of Florida"</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/Rn1opbM-UMI/AAAAAAAAAxM/m4oQ0uymDPU/s1600-h/DSCF1048.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/Rn1opbM-UMI/AAAAAAAAAxM/m4oQ0uymDPU/s400/DSCF1048.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079331015629885634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"The Wreck of Tug 945"</span><br /><br />Discuss amongst yourselves.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-22735936539332187002007-06-21T07:00:00.001-05:002008-12-11T20:31:07.408-05:00OK-Water it is, Then by Clay Blancett<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/Rn1qorM-UQI/AAAAAAAAAxs/9VmyNQkRhRw/s1600-h/DSCF2498.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/Rn1qorM-UQI/AAAAAAAAAxs/9VmyNQkRhRw/s400/DSCF2498.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079333201768239362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Gilley's Creek"</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RnppQrM-ULI/AAAAAAAAAxE/z8MZQlu5hDY/s1600-h/DSCF2621.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RnppQrM-ULI/AAAAAAAAAxE/z8MZQlu5hDY/s400/DSCF2621.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078487265009619122" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Out Nine Mile Rd."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RnpovrM-UKI/AAAAAAAAAw8/nIeT4Y6aGZY/s1600-h/DSCF2892.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3yiXWlMHmLc/RnpovrM-UKI/AAAAAAAAAw8/nIeT4Y6aGZY/s400/DSCF2892.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078486698073936034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />"The James Under 95"</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-52553809905260442982007-06-20T14:55:00.000-05:002007-06-23T14:39:23.339-05:00My Interstice by Jay Snodgrass<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">My life is a white zeppelin over a sporting event. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">So up there, I’m all gosh and serrations. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">I wish there were another, a dark zeppelin <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">that would come and do aerial combat with the first. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">I would have Ollie North narrate for the History <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">channel. What a struggle. No one will ever again <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">notice the athletes murdering their wives. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">& every explosion will be a shower of perfectly salted<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">peanuts, & with the crack of each shell <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">each person in the stadium will get three more years <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">to live & go shopping for antique ottomans. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">It is the dark zeppelin of my youth, & it is winning, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">volleying canon shot after laser beam. & the evil zeppelin <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">of my life is falling now in to the stadium which <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">languishes like a woman. Cut to Freud commercial. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">Now back to the collapsing evil zeppelin ablaze now<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">all skeleton, striking mid field the Dolphin’s home game. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">O weeping humanity, I need a slushy over here, my life <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">is so on display. The ribs of the dead zeppelin are my own <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">window blinds & the neighbors are tearing away from televisions<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">which means they’re breaking off their own faces<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">to look in at me, my weeping secrets inferno-ed<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">& the clouds are trollop heavy, candy soft & what I’m amazed<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Garamond;">at is how perfectly gleaming is my black, black zeppelin. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <br /><br />:::Jay Snodgrasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310704886103680373noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-22197743150225296192007-06-19T14:44:00.000-05:002007-06-23T14:41:55.306-05:00Drums of Chemical Waste by Jay Snodgrass<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">Under the sledge,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">Drums of waste, fruitful waste cavorting<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">to the transom. Weak wet-kneed belligerence<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">tinder in the forest dream. Soon this too <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">will be on fire. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:0;"></span><span style="font-size:0;"></span>Drums of casket ashes<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">Drums of wedding vows<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:0;"></span><span style="font-size:0;"></span>stinging waves <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">cover their barnacled wrists <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">to hide the shame of it. Ensues <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">the vacating, the renter’s paradigm. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">Meet out the measure of time, one saw<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">draws across the hope, perilous hope<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">of clearing the contaminants.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">The other, the exhaling saw-stroke, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">watches TV on the broken-in couch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">nothing is too sacred. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:0;"></span><span style="font-size:0;"></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">Exhale to drum<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">bleat, ash to drum, <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><span style="font-size:0;"></span><span style="font-size:0;"></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">steam light & fume-<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">watch, the wisdom of the drum. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">Down in the fish-well the drum, ribbed <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">luminous monument, forever left of tide<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">smears its front with dribble, waxes <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;">to the ride. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Garamond;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:11;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Soon, even this will be on fire.</span> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:11;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:0;"></span></span><o:p></o:p></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:11;" ><o:p></o:p></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Garamond;font-size:11;" ><o:p>:</o:p></span></p>Jay Snodgrasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310704886103680373noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-697793001916914067.post-67150191639359606052007-06-19T12:47:00.000-05:002007-06-19T12:54:28.505-05:00"Poemophone: Optima" A Sound Sculpture by Tracey Cockrell<a href="http://www.uber.com/media/view_theater.inc?is_user=1&media_coll_type=image&entity_media_id=243526791_11"><img border="0" src="http://www.uber.com/media_fetch/243526791_11" /></a><br /><br />7" x 13" x 12" <br />typewriter, steel, cherry<br /><br />The act of typing sets this sound sculpture in motion. "Poemophone: Optima" was used to generate a series of collaborative performances with artists, writers and musicians. "Optima" is the first of an edition of eight similarly altered typewriters--each based on the musical instrument, the mbira. Each altered typewriter has a unique tuning system or voice. Each of these eight "Poemophones" will be sent to one of eight writers who will spend several months developing written compositions for use in performance and recordings.Supremohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09307429423412180284noreply@blogger.com3