Sushi as an aesthetic pleasure. Sushi as status symbol. Sushi as art form.
Bluefin tuna doomed. Salmon spoken for. Mackeral and halibut had it. Sea urchin and sardine goners.
My ink spills like whale blood. Embattled octopus.
poetry
A ringing phone
I hear a phone that is not answered. I listen for some time. The ringtone trails off and seems to leave an echo in my brain.
Where is the owner of the phone. Is he/she still alive. Has something gone wrong or are they merely indisposed.
This might be an important call…
- it’s your boss
- it’s your angry spouse
- it’s your worried mother
- it’s debt collections
- it’s your broke friend
Who calls rather than texts anyhow.
I linger for some time to see how it plays out. Like looking at an empty, banged-up vehicle. Resting by a lamppost after a crash.
Shell
Once I found a seashell that I still have to this day. It was carried ashore by the belligerent tide at Jones Beach State Park in New York when I was a child. And now, as I feel tossed by my turbulent thoughts and frozen by frightening uncertainties, I hold onto it for solace — my seaside talisman
On personal solubility
I’ve pinned a button onto my jacket that denotes me as soluble. Pure and simple. It’s a blue button with white text.
- I’ve a high potential for condensation. I feel I could dissolve like salt in warm water.
- In an argument, I can disintegrate into clumps like acrylic in an acetone bath.
- Don’t ever wet me or expose me to sudden cold. I need to acclimate to avoid eventual evaporation.
- When I think of soluble, I recall the Wicked Witch of the West withering. I think of candle wax burning.
- If I had it my way, I would rather not leave this Earth in water form. I would prefer to splatter into fiery sparks.
- Or else become a genie fog that curls into a porcelain lamp like a plume of vape smoke traveling back inside your mouth.
- Or drift past the Milky Way into the starry spray of the multiverse.
This and that
Lagrime San Pietro for the sublime voices. Di Lasso madrigals. Better with snowfall in barren winter but still above-average lovely.
**
Can cannibalism save the planet?
Would you eat a Republican
to help curtail climate change?
**
It’s a perfect day and age
to talk to yourself.
Bluetooth as a ruse —
a bum component wedged
in one’s ear allows one
to carry on in public
unquestioned.
Cats, etc.
Having a cat is like having a plant. You have to give it food, water and some love and make sure it has access to a window. Handle delicately.
**
Bukowski as the gateway poet.
**
New Ginsberg book. Post-mortem. $29.95!! The trick is they use courier or some other slab serif to evoke strike-on font.
Book features Ginsberg outside U.S. — journals he penned in England, Poland, Soviet Union, Cuba, Czechoslovakia.
Black-and-whites of him in fur-collar jacket in Red Square, Moscow; performing at Royal Albert Hall in London; pictured in Prague.
On Guest WiFi
If you are looking to pull your hair out, then Barnes & Noble’s WiFi signal has your number. The caffeine will increase your adrenaline while you get less done.
Two Eggs
First of all, the eggs in my dream were not in their carton. They stood upright, transfixed inside my fridge, side by side as if a married couple on their porch.
Who knows what they were looking at? Perhaps each other.
Observing them, they struck me as enigmatic, and so of course I thought of that painting American Gothic. Continue reading
Observation
Mozart is to Marquis de Sade
as Chopin is to Oscar Wilde
(physical appearance-wise)
