Category: writing

Etc. etc.

I like drowsing as a word:

Although I did not eat turkey, I spent today drowsing on the couch because it was cold and raining out and everything was shuttered.

Speaking of which, I think drudgerous would be a useful word to add to the English language: (Scooping my cat’s litter can be drudgerous.)

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In other news, The New Yorker magazine is like an old flame: Every once in a while, we get back together. Meaning, I recently subscribed again. In lieu of flowers, I am expecting a free tote.

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I am currently listening to Philip Glass. His glum composition Opening is playing as I type this. You will recall this piece if you’ve ever seen the 1982 film Koyaanisqatsi. Opening reminds me of a rainy night in New York City.

It also brings to mind the smell of the NYC subway. Not so much urniation or whatever else but just the dank odor of the underground combined with diesel.

I suppose today has been all in all quite melancholy (a very Dickens type of word).

The goings on at the ponds

Photo by Cassandra Keenan

The great egrets shunned the other waterfowl.

The egrets were staying in Vegas as part of their winter migrational route. Like an ivy league clique, they stuck up their bills while congregating in a lush, green riparian grove, which made their white plumage all the more stunning — like fresh-fallen snow.

And they knew it.

Meanwhile, the gambel’s quail were skittish, despite being on their year-round turf. They ran from the paparazzi as per usual, head plumes bobbing as they made for the clearings, taking cover in the bramble. Continue reading

Ever-rest

Holding my breath until the weekend. Some weeks feel like ascending Everest—with its peak being my two days off, of course.

Everest even contains the word “rest,” as well as “ever,” which to me means perpetual leisure and not death. Imagine having leisure forever.

This would not be like something enjoyed by a vampire, for even they have to work after sundown, seeking victim after victim to feed upon. Though Lugosi made it look effortless and then just crawled into his coffin while others in his part of the world were just waking up.

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

Cellphone zombies attack

I was at my favorite neighborhood park when suddenly a throng of zombies began advancing toward me, staring at their cellphones.

This was not your average distracted crowd. These were participants in a park-wide Pokemon Go event. Pokemon Go is a GPS-enabled augmented reality game you play with your mobile device.

Sometimes I pass judgement (see title of this post), but if games such as Pokemon Go is what it takes to get people out and around nature, then I guess it’s not such a bad thing.

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.

Shark Shirt

He sat amid a sea of empty cafe tables and chairs — a lone island in perhaps the Pacific.

The shirt he wore bore illustrations of small sharks — a throng of them speckling the deep.

He himself wore a mohawk.

He had just demolished a slice of pizza: The flattened box sat lifeless on his table.

Hunched in his chair, he now cruised social media on his cellphone.

This and that

Lagrime San Pietro for the sublime voices. Di Lasso madrigals. Better with snowfall in barren winter but still above-average lovely.

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Can cannibalism save the planet?
Would you eat a Republican
to help curtail climate change?

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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.

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Bukowski as the gateway poet.

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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.