ismadgioips

 

Yes, let’s meet at the Blackbird. What can I say, the heart is a lonely hunter, Rachel said to Carlson baby I cannot stand the heat in the kitsch outside so I stay here in the beauty of the lilies where the fun art dopes and deeper women roam the battleground of upuma at breakfast and say to one another what it is they want but the place should always just do what it wants and maybe have the hot sauce here the sauce hot there and that’s better than a brand you have to keep still and change like a stutter, though the drinks could be drunk in porcelain and the tubas of the air conditioning tuned down, music of many though not just locals lovingly selected on the radio of souls however that can be done, whatever box of magic or single person stage quietly apprised whatever that means for you but minus the hitherto obligatory amp. Voices are supreme lovers, make them sing and sound like the eponymous anonymous Phoebe Sitwell but asynchronous to her speech of dole, in other words no de-alcoholized whine. Just sing the way you sing and make that be your skimpy naturalistic bed. No blanket no sheet just you on a hot summer night and maybe a dream lover medium rare. eat.

Dolda Meier. wept when she had to be respelled. That was when the child said something like she had never seen a flower. And what of Gaza dear, she said. Just a parable I heard. At the blackbird. From the blackbird. Actually a murmuration of the damned. Free us from Palestine. Get this over. In other words leaders piss off. follow that with the negative emphatic superlative of something you don’t fucking deserve, which is a turd in a bucket for breakfast rare. Followed by a full de-vesting. Followed by the naked Emperor march. Followed by a instiquick listening to entreaties followed by a treaty. Followed by fade out for you and you adieu mein asshairs. Thin men. Cranky men. Dork men, and you are almost all of you men, a vast asshole discredit to your sex. With ears that wank their own approval of themselves hourly. Piss off. Get some magic. Some dooby doo. The smallest bit of it could make the change happen.

To those about to lack keys at Monsanto: find another job quick because something really recent and conversant is happening and the golf courses seem to have run their course and the green is a colloquy of Erasmus titled a fool is a fool without balls, and nobody wants their sand because it’s an irrational unspooling particulate negative of Joyce the Dead, waking up early for cyanide in its coffee, not the sand the Man. It's not that the game is bad, just that it's full of perfectly reversible side effects and the companies that make them. Some monsters play the lute in order to pretend they’re not. And I’ve seen monsters. I know what they’re singing about.

 Shakespeare twice used monster as a verb. I bet it’s relevant both places and yes I'm talking about Shakespeare our friend plus yours plus just himself driving you and possibly me if you're my wife, in a cool Westfalia van where in back you can sit facing and talk (in back) or just get down to business I believe in the way back, Shakespeare driving singing us shall I compare thee to a summers day once autumn has begun well why not?  Draw the van curtain again. The earth is a human. Treat it like your aunt who makes you good cookies. And seriously does she put das roundup in yours? Or in any way lessen the blackbird in you? And stop calling her mother, or if you want to fine, or, actually do. 

She is in a bit of a sitch though. We can do way better by thinking of thought for once and putting down the guns of all sorts and warts and instead doing the deeds of love that charm her like walking on her grass in bare feet and dewing the same elsewhere in metaphorical chambers not so metaphorical. Kappee said the coolies at the railway stations of my youth. Or wait it wasn't the coolies, no they were the guys in jeans and tees right, or no wait they wore white beautiful white like hard-working angels. They carried on their heads the heavy of cool, partly largely because what they wore was simple and beautiful and theirs. I wonder if traditional clothes could spread like germs where they're from again. Which means seed too. Wheat germ. spread it, mix it in. Give your culture body and nutriment and zeal. Eat the food of the the place you are. And if you don't know what that is, make it fucking up (fucking used here for joyful emphasis). Say "this where this is, I made it here. Hey Mom you want to try some? I made it myself." 

I know this has been said before, but the truth is simply the future. Now, if you see the future and don’t like it, well begin again at your ass, and stop sitting down, unless you like to. Truly yours, Zelda Bean.

 

Freshman, College of the Will

God bless us every one Ed-

ward and Fitzerald 29 her privates we.

That belle is passing fair that tolls 

bless you honey don't sneeze

she didn't mean it too bad my toothsome.

Touch me there touch me 

I give you a space to enter me shit

come in my lady boy bless me I sneezed

a gob be so kind and stay awhile with rambunctious

doable me the chicken is dressed puck

up the wings of your robe and canvas me

dullard of the pen get it up.

Do you have the Upper Peninsula of Michigan fail-

ure? God in heaven Buttacharya give me the grade

to fail this boy as the final mordant finner of sate.

Mom can I go now?

Yes please go,

 'cause there's wonderwomen

on TV. What did you say?

I said a man is here I think it's dad

shit. Yeah there's that as well

Under the bed

The soap is there though

All the better to watch your mouth out with

Mama are we black No son we are Jose Padillos

touchless batting breeze Dad's going to kill

Leave that to the Lord, If it arcs it's the purse puss of life

Like in our daily devotions at the breakfast table

where we speak of Paul and the Symbol that clangs

butt the robot tables the motion?

Yes that Laddie-mistress kiss my one battle foot

where the toenail is ingrained with love of ye.

I would, but Dad's at the door and knocking

Telluride is a mining town lickety-split

me under bed and get into bed next roomba

in orda to have a fewtcha. lie lie lie.

Down they go he escort she escortee I pictcha

but he on hold he her hari hair me me go next room

beddy bye so no go bye bye

CROASH!

Oh he hurt poor MOM aiyo must go down and see

Harlan I didn't touch your woman but she's fallen

and pretensing harm done her ways (this true). 

I do love you you golden

bathrobe golden sunshine boy just die I stab thee

and go to Jesus who banks thee for the brim of life

but frrrrrst with this pen-knife I stab thee 

forecastably in the shoulder-dom dooby dooby 

you do accept tit for tat as a Sinatra sign 

of one in a kind of regard NO  W

OWW you smirked me dadd but don't worry 

I don't remember though] where are we go go no

 And now, dear Beamish, downdy downdy basement below

I scruff thee by the inexpensive tie of the kneck here 

down down these stpets stuttering (celererity, darkest)

where the workbench ist for Heiling sit up here don't cover

don't cover you shitty pen belonging to you bleeding boy

you you hereby fail to have balls crupsutango I ball thee!

with thissy rubrubbrubrubbrr hammer whatsit twoya

Chop chop nogat robe BOOM. PERIOD. BOOM.

ow

you smirked me twice agenwit I can't think it 

hurt so little me electricity now Oh that too?

your superfrastos electricity of a pen stuck into 

the goodwill wall where the oil drum spanks huge and

mighty illuminum? I thin?

k

a silver pen too, why go so expensive on my wee?

heil

Dress go to car mother will allow thee a hospital too.

stay there till further orders for grieving but not until

and think of Jesus priceless treasure

thy enormous balls red and fullsome

I have manlied

here I'll bloody this kleenex not my hanky poo

Carsten he's white.

HBalls

Orotundo Belundromora. Just a guess. Seems like a stretch though.

Yesterday it’s Sunday. Воскресенье. Once I wanted to help this guy who I think was maybe Czech on the train in Germany who had no German to speak of not that I did really but he had none anyway he went to bed and the conductor came in and wanted to know when the guy wanted to get up to be ready for his arrival you know his particular station. Well there was this back and forth and forth and back and Fortinbras came and found Hamlet dead and the dialogue went on without a single comprehensionary pearl.

So, I tried to think of the Russian word for “wake up” because these guys couldn’t even get THAT far, plus I had my Russian numbers still in my head and figured maybe a guy who’s Czech could maybe understand an American speaking a piss few words in Russian (it had been a couple years since I had had any Russian at all, I’m not James Bond or anything), but like I say I had the numbers, and a bit of the clockspeak. The best I could think of though for “waking up” was  Воскресенье, which technically means resurrection, although no one really knows how it’s done or any of the logarithms and roots or food groups that go with it, according to Garp.

So. I chickened out. I let the guy just wave the conductor away and then go back to sleep. And I left the compartment before he did, so I hope that he got where he wanted to be, like in somebody-friendly’s pants. So what’s the point? The point is thank you try to help, bless you. Do be doers of the word do. Because even God can’t help a guy from the upper bunk with a kazoo band if he doesn’t know how to depurple the beety beety borscht of time, said Kafka, who reads okay. And God goes away. 

Though again, say you’re the guy confused and sleepy. When you do wake up having overslept your destination, in a crush of fear and frustration, you just must rise and make do. There might still be time God willing and the creek don’t too (my choice one) to jump with one luggage and wait. Or too, walk with two luggage and date. 

Koan

 

The question mark butterfly really existed.

Today not so, they’ve all flown over the cliff

and so people no longer ask the way nowhere.

 

I learned Melanesian pidgin

back when I was a pigeon myself

Irridescent at the neck

and underappreciated

even by me

 

Now, may I be birdless beyond myself.

HB