REPORT A PROBLEM
Hop on Hamlet
like the King that's dead
the King that's dead
your father lost a father
lost a father
lost a father
HOP ON POP
HOP ON POP
King, father, royal Dane,
King, father, royal D-D-D-D-D-D-Dane
(fall off the wall)
Murder most foul-
Murder most foul-
SAD DAD BAD HAD
We like to hop on top of Pop.
You have my father much offended.
You have my father much offended.
We like to hop on top of Pop.
A TRUE STORY
This one's true.
I found myself sitting on the streetcar behind a vivid readhead. Amazing stuff--it was like clean copper. I caught a side glimpse of her face--yes, she had the complexion.
I wanted to see how she looked in the full. I hoped she wasn't pregnant, 'cause that's a real fantasy killer.
I remembered Bloom masturbating to Gerty MacDowell's underwear, and how he was relieved he didn't know until she stood up she was lame.
She got up to get off--she wasn't pregnant.
I watched her walk away.
She had a slight limp.
How Aristotle Met Plato
TRISMEGISTUS: Morning, Aristotle.
ARISTOTLE: Morning, Trismegistus.
TR: Fine day.
AR: Yes, find day. So, what's happening?
TR: Came across some good philosophy yesterday.
AR: Oh? Do tell.
TR: The philosopher thinks there's these ideal forms and everything's just a reflection of them.
AR: How interesting. Almost the complete opposite of my empiricism.
TR: And he writes plays to express this stuff.
AR: Wow! No kidding! Who's the guy, where can I meet him?
TR: The name's Plato. Here he comes now.
PLATO: Hi, guys.
AR: Can I be your student, Plato?
PL: Don't see why not.
There was once a big bunch of sweaty stinking Achaean men inside a wooden horse, as many as it could hold, and here's some quotes.
-Man, I can't stand this!
-I don't think you want you keep your hand there long.
-Where's the toilet?
-Damn right there.
-Great Zeus, when will night fall?
-Both my legs and both my arms have fallen asleep.
-Don't you ever
-This is sooo stupid!
-Knock a buzzard off a shitwagon.
-Stop laughing, this isn't funny.
-I think it's night.
-Not even close.
-Who fucks her first?
-You're missing the point.
She paces--waits--the house creaks or there's a cat-creak--counts the cans--no messages on the phone--goes out onto the porch and looks up the street and wrings her hands and moans--this can't be happening why is it happening--can,
THIS IS YOUR BRAIN ON DRUGS
can, can--television on--flipping through the channels--phones deliver have silent messages--nothing from the phone--eleven minutes have passed--he'd phone, he'd phone--the porch and the door creaks--ghhh--four cans--stove's safe--pacing the kitchen, trying to think--damn him!--open the fridge--sit in a chair.
I believe I would be a much happier person if only I was as stupid as David Suzuki.
F: Wanna have lunch with me?
M: Sorry, my whip's in the shop.
May God have mercy on my soul.
Man, I do
like being followed all the time.
On my other planet, filler is manna.
Well, I've used up the tiny portion of talent God gave me. I guess it's time to do a
jazz crossover album.
I was self-outcast in elementary school, self-outcast in university--why should I be surprised I'm self-outcast today?
Opening phrase is "Two days before the storm."
Starts with the son in some situation, something like talking to an elder shapherd. Since it's in Iowa or Ohio--or Ohioiowa--of course not!--then there's farms around.
There's a koi, and it dies when the hero returns.
The hero's to be disguised in some way.
What happened in Phoenix? Could the disguise be based on something there?
I have an impulse to fake out the relationship between this myth and the last. It doesn't have to have the same set of strictures.
So long's the ideas's the same.
The story continues to come together. I think it'll need an extra day. I can sense there's something missing. If I can't find it, I'll merely finish it as it is. Spent a night changing all characters' names; spent another night removing other characters' names. I like the idea of the koi. I fear that maybe I've taken the "throw everything up on the stage and see what sticks" approach. Oh well. I do like the joke about Blazes Boylan. As Hitchcock said to someone who thought the production was going badly, "We can always make another movie."
Follow your heart and you won't go astray
Ignore all your magazines, papers and friends
Find someone to pity, she'll pity you back
A Saturday night in a ballroom downtown
Look for tomatoes that nobody wants
Ignore all the nurses, mothers and cousins
You'll slap up a bus stop sign no doubt
There's heaven in places nobody can see
Excepting for Marty with eyes wide apart
Ignore what they say then ignore them some more
O follow your heart and you'll find what you want
And reciprocation will lead you to one:
Someone who'll see you're not really a dog.
The Ballad of Allegoriesis Mary
It's an affliction I've had all my life. Whenever anyone tells me anything, I sense deep inside me some correspondence which operates as a straightforward analogy. Someone tells me he got really drunk, and I feel like I'm Noah. If I overhear a conversation that has to do with some couple busting up, a hundred failed marriages come to mind. I do wish I could stop it. It's getting in the way. Last week a guy told me he loved me. All I could hear was "LOVE" as it's been used a million times before.
"STRIPS" is a co-production of the Atlantic Institute for the Advancement of Allegory and the British Society for Cruelty Prevention, in association with WNYL-TV and the French Foreign Legion, with matching funds provided by the Archdiocese of Halifax (under the direction of F. Christopher) and the Raj Centre, with the assistance and underwriting of the Dream Academy ("hic sunt dracones") and the Foundation of Imitation, generously supported by the Goethe Institute, Leipzig Chapter, and the Constabulary of Upper Wessex Street, London NW, with special contributions from the tandem Corporations for Independent Existence and Extremely Free Love. Thanks to John Skaife.
I mentioned this to Mary last week, and, since I've nothing else to go on about, here it is.
Rob Gutsell and I found an abandoned Del Rio off the cottage road, and, since we had nothing to do, we lit the stuff in the glovebox on fire.
It was burning pretty good, so, since we had better things to do, we put it out with sand.
We passed that way again a bit later, and, since smoke was billowing out of the Rio, we rushed to extinguish it.
And even later, since they were called, the fire department came.
"So, what's new?"
"I was driving throughtown yesterday and I stoppd at a red light--King and Bay. All of a sudden this guy jumps out into traffic. He was wearing shorts all torn up and he was waving around his shirt like it was a flag. He was yelling, 'They're here! They're here! You fools! You fools!' Then a bunch of people came like out of nowhere and chased him down a sidestreet."
"Wow! So, what did you do?"
"I just watched, and wondered how long it would be before I was in his situation."
"Know what you mean."
I can't say it was even close to what I had planned it to be. I pretty much lost interest about two thirds of the way through. I was abondoned by the gods or perhaps what I was trying to do was so perverse it couldn't be communicated.
You can see how perfunctory the whole thing is in the third part. Just has no energy. Maybe I knew too much about how it was going to end. Oh well.
Oh well, oh well. Maybe I should ditch this writing thing and go back to being just another child molester.
Q: What is the most baffling thing?
A: Glad you asked me that. This is the most baffling thing: People walk, talk, work, day after day after day, and yet they haven't the faintest idea how they happen to exist in the first place. More specifically, I'm talking about their posessions of consciousness. Why should one's consciousness exist rather than not exist? How does one come to be? And yet they proceed with living. The first chapter of the book is missing; no-one notices. I think there's only one explanation for this.
Q: What's the explanation?
A: Sorry, time's up.
THIS IS THIS SET'S FIRST REFLEXIVE ENTRY - POSITIVE
This is this entry and no other. This is either on Facebook, 100words, or Strips. This is, naturally, one hundred words long. This is followed by a poem based on a poem by John Ashbery. This is one brick in a vast cathedral. This, like most of its kin, is conceived in English and composed of English words. This is dedicated to Queen Elizabeth II. This is on a screen or on paper. This in necessary and intentional. 'This' is its 88th word. This is authentic and unique. This is this.
Into the Dusk-Charged Air
The swallows are sleeping in the trees
And the robins are pulling up fat worms.
There's a murder of crows anticipating
A coming storm and the jays are on the wing.
Piping plovers are hopping along a
Cold shore while pelicans scoop up fish.
Look at those penguins. Look at how
The emus run as fast as leopards or tigers.
The chickadees look like they're thinking
And the owls are peeking through the night's gown.
The eagles are living it large and alone
While grouse strut arrogantly
And geese come to the edge of the water.
This is the hand talking. He's not involved.
And I want to register a grievance. I do all the work, you see. The rest of him does nothing, really. Nothing productive.
Take that! and that! (I hit his head just there.)
All I want's a little bit of credit, that's all. Sometimes I'm exhausted by all the effort making this stuff takes.
(Frankly, I don't think it's that good.)
Boy, the stories I could tell you! but I won't.
I am the eyes too. Yes! I have eyes on the tips of my assistants. You know my eyes as 'fingerprints.'
Dog Bites Man
In a characteristically bold move, United States President Barack Obama today announced a recall of all existing copies of the United States Constitution.
"Check your bookshelves, check your libraries. All copies must be returned as soon as possible."
Citing unspecified defects, Obama furthermore insisted that all copies in all countries must also be returned.
"It's my property, after all."
The number of defective Constitutions is estimated at four million.
"Can't tell you exactly what the problems are. The copies will be repaired and returned."
Sources say a recall of the Declaration of Independence is expected to follow.
THE COMEDIAN AS APPROACHING A BLANK PAGE
The comedian (
) leans out from its stalking-place. The blank page (
) appears to be sleeping. (Nine-tenths of a page's life is spent in slumber.) The comedian swishes its tail in balance; its heart rate has increased. Its entirety is focussed on its pristine prey. And then, as if after a count of three, it pounces! And before the page can escape, the comedian hurriedly writes:
Two waiters, one saying, "You got a degree in film theory, huh? Well, I guess it's good to have a trade to fall back on."
At about three this morning I was out as I usually am Wednesday mornings gleaning wine and beer bottles and cans out the recycling bins along my route when I ran into this big guy I'd never seen before gleaning wine and beer bottles and cans just like me only he had a slightly bigger cart. He shoved his shoulder against my shoulder as we passed and I cried hey! and he turned and sneered Find another route pal because this street's now mine. Geez I'm just trying to make a living and here I'm being bullied off my route.
Summertime in London, and at the top of the temple
Lie bones and sinews, and a mean old seagull
Snaps like galvanized steel struck by unstable orange meteors.
The places I've been, luckily ducking St. Elmo's Fire
And scattered tequila worms and all those pages from the devil's diary,
quartet stored on a broken floppy,
in order to play golf at 11am--got there via Chevy Impala--
To drive down a bucket of bolts over a mountain of gold,
And here's my reward: a 7cd set and a look at a woman's instep.
I'm always in love.
-Bill, why are you pushing me away?
-I'm not pushing you away.
-See, that's just it. You refuse to open up to me, and that's a way of shutting yourself off.
-I've being as honest as ever.
-No you're not. Stop denying it. We're both adults. Admit it.
-I've nothing to admit.
-Yes you do. Admit that you've been avoiding me ever since ... ever since I became a zombie.
-No, that's not it, that's not it at all! I'm no zombiephobe!
-Bill, just admit it. Don't be afraid. Come here.
-I feel so repressed.... Aaaagh!
-Ha! Thank you, Oprah!
([bright red ribbons TIMES that certain slant of light PLUS three versions of the third Ballade] OR a case of empties AND Buster Brown) AND NOT ([a half a pack of cigarettes MINUS a desk lamp] MINUS a broken monitor AND [an abandoned abbatoir DIVIDED BY a cumulonimbus cloud formation]) IF (a terrible feeling of happiness AND [a gum stimulator AND Citizen Kane PLUS a calico cat] OR a cord of dry wood) OR (a porcelain planter MINUS the Milky Way) AND NOT ([Volume Two AND NOT Volume One] AND NOT [a Ford OR a bedroom OR the Space Needle])
I couldn't admit I did not know the last name of my niece's boyfriend Jake. I only learned it today, at his visitation, the day before his funeral. He died on Wednesday morning of very enthusiastic cancers six weeks after his 21st birthday.
He was at our house twice--for our Christmas extravaganzas. He was fine for the first one. (He was tall, handsome, gentle.) He barely made it to the second--but he really wanted to come!--and so he did.
Now he's gone forever, and we're left to wonder why unfinished things vastly outnumber the finished.
The first half of time and the second half of time and the third half of time are different times. Time was, I had time, then came a time when I had less time because I went into second, adult, time. I had less time but I still had some time, and now's the time I'm entering third time, when time has nearly vanished altogether. I've got no time, no time for pleasantries and chat, I'm finished with the time for that. I no longer need that type of time. My time of being a nice person is way gone.
You think you've heard it all, then you hear something else.
On-line shopping is being denounced by the Association of Loudmouths.
They're arguing that all the people--the Cowards, the Loudmouths call 'em--who prefer not going into retail shops are destroying all the bargains.
"These Cowards, when they go into a shop, are too afraid to bitch for a bargain!" bitched a leading Loudmouth. "Consequently the retailers are more amenable to us Loudmouths ripping them off!
"With the Cowards jumping the ship, us Loudmouths can hardly get any discounts! Cowards should continue subsidizing Loudmouths! You follow?!"
Heard here first.
Osama? Hi, it's me, Jack. Oh, same old, same old. How you doing? How's the cave? How did Zsuzsanna's decorating tips go? Yeah, I guess mahogany must be pretty pricey over there. So anyway. Osama. I've got some good news and I've got some bad news. We're gonna get to see the documents about torture. That's the good news. The bad news is ... we're gonna be sworn to secrecy. Hey! Hey! You're unhappy, I'm just as unhappy. At least it's a start. Gotta go. Iggy sends his love. Contact us through Agent 'O.'
I'm hungry for your cock.
You've invented a new photographic flash, my darling. My love, I don't understand how it works, but I can see what effect it has. It does not illuminate. It deluminates: is that the word you use, love? Nonetheless, I can see it's a flash that removes all light from the subject, leaving him--often myself--in the dark. My darling, all the plates come out black, perfectly black, pitch black. You drain all away, my love, like a vampire, if such creatures existed. All are equal in the end.... And yet--and yet--you're still with insignificant me, my love.
THIS IS THIS SET'S SECOND RELEXIVE ENTRY - NEGATIVE
This is not actually the last written in the current set. This is not a movie; this is not a play. This is not written by Edward de Vere. This is not to be reproduced without permission. This should not be used as a prophylactic (except maybe in a metaphorical way). This is not the previous entry, not is it the next entry. This does not concern a white bear. This is not funded by the Canada Council. This is not beholden. This is not political. This is not a test.
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