Monday, January 28, 2008

A Tincture of Sleep

‘I wish I could sleep’ sayd Mulligan, ‘even were it for a moment, a tincture of sleepytime sleep. This is cowtime time, the time when all time, even time that hasn’t reared its untimely head, plays tricks on you, a noggin of some say…so they do’. Albacorp tunuh with a musthard yelloo sawce, a wee wittal uv cowz milk sturr’d up in a Masun’s jhar: tha moor u frapit tha sweetar it geyts. Me mamar towld me that, me deer sweet mamar: so shee did so itsso.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

La Creatività è la Distruzione

(Jan 26/08)

Oboe, flute and frugal-horn, yes, frugality of the horn and meter. Dum-dee-dum-dee-dum, another day has awakened arisen arose; a calico of theatric doodads. I have, so I have, sworn-off the use-misuse of italics for the day, today.

Gombrowicz lightens my day, the darkness of a drab doodad-dish day; all days, for that matter, one after another, an unbroken event, series of days, a calico of days one piled on top of the other; weeks, months, years, millennia.

(Jan 27/08)

I have often thought, so I have, that being a minion (a servile or slavish follower of somebody generally regarded as important) would be great fun. Of course to whom one is a minion would be of the utmost importance; a bad master, a piebald bastard of a masterly master would not be to my preference or liking. La creatività è la distruzione, la ricostruzione e la tenacia. Lavorando a un dottorato di ricerca in filosofia, che si basa più in teoria psicoanalitica più noioso filosofia analitica.

I have an idea: cortisone for the brain; re-calibrate the mammy-bar (Id, Ego, Supra-Ego). If Freud taught us anything he taught us to beware (be wary) of the mammy-bar. The mammy-bar is that part, that junction of the psyche that tempers mood, sexual longing and one’s ability to solve simple mathematical equations. I remember once when I had swollen glands my dear mama gave me an old sock slag with Vicks. I don’t remember much else, much of anything, really.

Friday, January 25, 2008

Waxpapre, Seelingwax an Coe'thangrs

Wen Murphy waz a wee lad, a wayf, a tinee wee wayf uv a lad, he mayd kytes frum waxpapre and seelingwax. He uwsed strait’end ouwt coe'thangrs and bawledup twyne he pylfured frum hiss da’s werkshop, tha varysame one hiss da keypt hees two’ll’s and varnush in; tha varysame one wair hee kep’t a bowtell of Ire'ash whyski an his Presbateareean pype abacco hid’en ahind the varysame werkbench th’at he press’d nayls an skroos inta littal trinkats an awd nd’s. Seelingwax werkd best wen it wuz kep at reumtemprature, thatwaz U cuwd stik tha waxpapre too tha strait’end ouwt coe'thangrs with’owt maken a mess’a thengs, wich meent hiss da wood geit all angree and owt uv sorts, wich meent heed mos probablee tan hiss ass t’ill hiss earz whent all red an boyllen-hot.

Bathtub Gin and Denim Slacks

(Jan 25/08)

This evening I attended the ballet at the red-very-red NAC: Carmen without the banana-boat-hat and mambo beat. Stolidly stiff, mechanical and un-swarthy, kind of like The Nut Cracker on downers and bathtub gin, minus the plumed hats and jingle-jingly jodhpurs. I general (as a rule and pogrom) enjoy the ballet, however this evening’s fare was incalculably boring. From my eavestroughing perch above the orchestra pit (I had a rare good time watching the percussionists, as there were three, patiently awaiting they’re tidbit entrée) I sat in a crumpled-slump trying valiantly not to nod-off and carom willy-nilly into the good-seats below. I’d much rather have spent the evening sweeping the toenail clippings from my ecru-grayish rug than sit one more minute watching the gaggle gob agog. Perhaps the opera next, or a minuet with oboe, flute and fugal-horn, and a piccolo played from the bottom up.

(Jan 24/08)

This morning I had to sidestep a bevy’s-worth of crescent-shaped toenail clippings; one should be more careful, tidy at least, when clipping one’s toes.

(Jan 23/08)

This morning at 10 o’clock, or there-about, I am being awarded a bursary-cum-scholarship. My school has seen fit to laud me with a monetary prize, God love them and they’re brethren all. I must now cloth and shod myself, perhaps in a cable-knit fishermonger’s sweater and jazzy denim slacks. I have showered, laving betwixt nook and cranny, elbow and ankle-strop, coiffed my hair and applied a mild lotion to my freshly razored face. One more Parliament (filter-tipped, white) and swill of espresso and off I go, by bus and fleet-of-foot.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Basketful of Coppers

a (funny) hat
eyes like coal-ovens
legs atremble (don’t stare) give
her a basketful of eggs, a kindly smile
a handful of coppers

Throo Hithar an Thon (The Return of Apaleena)

Bebetuktuk: a leng anwendeng rowd; throo tha hithar an thon: Fer tha luv uv God, get onwithit. Goran eets tha prickles between hes wives tows. He sups on tha barnacles that hav fermd on tha cerns uv har feet. Lik a lettal cheld, he suks tha honee frum tha marroo uv tha bone. Inmomint, allwell be dune: on eerth: as it es in heevan: allmen. Goran’s waif mestikates on tha spoyld unyonfat tha sirrownds har splettenglips. Sha kesses Goran’s mowth an swallews tha spet frum has tonge; then drenks uv tha nektar that mends tha evelsmell uv: bacunrind an boyld cabbege with errowroot biscuts an mermallade compote that slendars tha fet rite outa uv ya. Allatonce.

Humbert lookd derectle at Apaleena an frewnd, tha cornars uv hes mowth slack an bittar, raized brouwn wiar tha turtalfat an tabaco jewce staind tha flash arund has chin; teethyello an strukunevan in tha dorm uv hes mowth. Ewe culd see tha postyour in has beck; tha wey it bowd evarso carefelle fetting ta tha mowld uv tha chare he set in. Murphy: God luv Murphy. Murphy was busee tryeng ta cunvence tha dug ta cum out frum behend tha stove wair it hed been hideng: notheng uv littal emport wuz suggestd as the dog wuz tempramental an prown ta fets uv indigestshun. Humbert’s nowse cut the plane uv hes face lik a whayle surfaceng in celd watar.

He, Ambert uv yale, watches the sun fawl lik a stoneduk onta tha mirrar uv th cowld bloo watr. Humbert’s nowse splyen’ acruss the playn of hes fac, a duk’s-ball skoopen’ palls uv madmurnin’ aire. 'God hav marcy on us ull: n’thyn sum' xclaim’d Murphy…! 'Nat a minut ta whyste' sayd Murphy sloo’lee; 'nory …nay…nury a wun…! ' A brownyelo turt’l set acrost the mowth uv tha rivar, its shel spakl’d with watr’gras and marrowbone, a mozaik uv colar tha likes uv witch Humbert had naver see’n…turtalfat, browner tha’n tabaco jewce (so thay s’a) fat’-willoo’ing the whog uv its nek. ‘Strange indeed’, sayd Murphy pleesenglee, ‘such a strange and unsightly sight: a turtle with a woggy neck and a tinkers’ filed down shellcap’. Humbert, his flimax undun, the sk’y a kat-o-nine-tails…not a minut ta wayst, nor a momint to be lost-ni refrownd.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Wesley’s Blue Tick

Morton Salt came by way of Cambridgeshire which came by way of Rollin’s Creek. He knew a man, a very stout angry man, named Paul Bearer who lived in a cabin without a floor. Morton and Paul saw one another on Thursdays, sharing a wax-paper sandwich and a jar of Wesley’s Blue Tick wine. Neither man liked the other but put up with the other as a favor to the other’s parents, who had abandoned them, one and the other, at birth. Morton Salt’s great-great grandfather was the inventor of the italic, having been the proprietor of a stamp and lexicon shop with two windows and a shim-by-two-shim roof. The great-great grandfather of Paul Bearer, a wire and brush man with a strict Episcopalian upbringing and a hair-lip (which he hid beneath a butterfly-wing moustache) died from the whooping, leaving his wire and brush territory to his great-great grandson, who upon hearing that he had been left a territory with little to no value, sold his territorial share to a tinker with a wife as fat as a lowing cow. His great-great grandmother, who never saw the light of day, having been born blind of sight, composed a poem that she recited, without a fail or tail, each and every Christmas morning,

sweetened lips
Christmas morning
the tooth fairy
and you

She lived well into the next century, and a smidgen beyond. As she had no teeth of her own to speak of, she had little faith in the tooth fairy.

A Vacant Toiletry (2)

Hey Hammier...'Enoch's enough!

Monday, January 21, 2008

Стивен Раунтри (О себе)

Творчество является уничтожение, реконструкции и упорство. Работая над докторской степени в области философии, которая основана более в психоаналитической теории, чем скучный аналитической философии.

В славянской миссионерской (Emmet Crawford)

The head Slavic Missionary, an irritable man by the name of Emmet Crawford, wore a flatcar cap with a quail’s foot pinned to the hatband. Руководитель миссионерского славянских, один раздражительным человеком по имени Emmet Кроуфорд, были одеты в один flatcar колпачок с перепелов ногу возлагает на hatband. He believed that the quail’s foot represented chastity and good-faith, two basic tenets of the Slavic Missionary faith. Он считает, что перепелов ногу представлены целомудрия и добросовестно, два основных принципов славянской миссионерского веры. He carried an Old Testament, a handgun , three marbles and a stick of spearmint chewing gum. Он перевез Ветхого Завета, один handgun, три мраморных скульптур и кнут spearmint жевательной резинки. He liked the word crapulence and used it whenever he could. Он любил слово crapulence и использовали его, когда он может. People were crapulent, as were dogs, cats and pigs . Люди были в состоянии похмелья, как и собак, кошек и свиней. Some food was crapulent, hocks and knuckles, stewed mutton and crab salad, to name but a few. Blue Cheese was crapulent. Некоторые продовольствия была в состоянии похмелья, hocks и ножка, тушеная баранина, и салат из крабов, назвать лишь некоторые из них. Голубой Сыр был в состоянии похмелья. Old cowboy movies were crapulent. Feces and bile were crapulent. Старый ковбой фильмы были в состоянии похмелья. Feces и желчи были в состоянии похмелья. And finally, crap was crapulent. И, наконец, дерьма был в состоянии похмелья. The headmaster of the Slavic Missionary was possessed with bad-faith, promiscuity and crapulence. Директор по славянской Миссионер был обладал с недобросовестной, распущенности и crapulence. ‘If pigs could fly everyone would want one’ oratory voice ( he said) ‘ Habitué corpus excelsior morale’s’ ( he said saying ) basso staccato. "Если бы свиньи могли летать все хотят одного" oratory голос (он сказал) "Habitué корпус excelsior в моральном" (он говорит, сказав) basso стаккато. He liked old cowboy movies and chewing tobacco, gunslingers and banditos. Он любил старый ковбой фильмы и жевательный табак, gunslingers и banditos. The poorhouse poor queued in front of the Slavic Missionary hoping for a bowlful of watery soup and a crust of dry bread or a peek at the headmaster hissing crapulence under his breath. В poorhouse бедных в очереди перед славянской миссионерского надеясь на bowlful из водянистой суп, и сухой корки хлеба или заглянуть на директора посмеянием crapulence под его дыхание.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Scotsman’s Hat and X-ray Spectacles

(Jan 20/08)

I am a piebald liar, a Peabody tosspot. Neither have I a Scotsman’s cap nor X-ray spectacles, although I have been known to make a damn spectacle of myself. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about thinking, giving it, thinking, a good thinking over. Bishop Berkeley thought a lot about thinking, or was it George Berkeley, either way one or the other of them (perhaps both of them) put a good deal of thought into thinking about thinking. Just this moment, maybe a moment ago, a moment past (hard to tell, all this clogged up thinking thoughts) I was thinking about the thought that I might, might very well indeed, be a solipsist. If this is so, this thinking like this, like a solipsist would think, or so I imagine he or she (me, perhaps) would think, then solipsism isn’t such a tough go at all, not by a long shot, short if you prefer. I am a piebald lair, a Peabody tosspot, a cesspit in a Scotsman’s cap and X-ray spectacles. We solipsists, if in fact I am one, a solipsist, are a snotty bunch of fuckers, even by a short shot, even that.

(Jan 19/08)

A pea-size peck of a morning: a blue bluer blue sky wearing a Scotsman’s hat and X-ray spectacles. Dear me dearest me, what am I to do, not a peck or a pickle have I, oh dear, Yes. Pedro Pepper picked a peck of pickled plumper’s, shod in sabots and wooly woolen socks was he. (This id the last time I will say this, I promise). Grammar and syntax to the wind, fuck me, oh dear me, Yes.

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Stephen Richard Rowntree

Kreativität ist die Zerstörung, den Wiederaufbau und die Hartnäckigkeit. Die Arbeit an einem Doktorat in Philosophie, die sich mehr im psychoanalytischen Theorie als langweilig analytischen Philosophie.

Józef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski, The Secret Agent

Incontinence and Festive Hats

(Jan 17/08)

You’re a boorish cant, I’d say. A cuttlefish cut from a ream of broadcloth. I, however, am a Neanderthal, a nave-do-well. (Morton Salt jumped father Van Pelt who in turn jumped over a picket-fence. The alms man watched as the two men, one dressed in too-tight pants and a Scottish tam, the other in loose slacks and a festive runaround hat, fought over an inch of space; the space between two trees, a maple and a southern ash. ‘What a strange spectacle, two men, one in too-tight pants and a Scottish tam, the other in loose slacks and a festive runaround hat, fighting over such a wee tiny space of land, a mere pittance of space, a wee-willy-wee between a maple and a southern ash, strange indeed’). These ‘them’ (all of them) arthritic-episodes are taking there toll on me. They ‘them’ encourage (no coax) incontinence, pea-size pecks of pee-urine.

the clash bankrobber

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Zwak van Mouth

Penury is voor de armen, de armen van mond - penuriously de arme, arme. I am poor, penurious, financially defrocked. Ik ben arm, penurious, financieel defrocked. And grandma ma’s hastily hopped coppers, which never quite fell into the cusp of my hand, but fell through into the sewer at the tiptop of my feet, unshod and unholy souse’s soulless feet, feet. En grandma ma's haastig hopped koperplaten, die nooit zo viel in de cusp van mijn hand, maar viel door in het riool op de tiptop van mijn voeten, unshod en onheilig souse de soulless voeten, benen. Flan has no-nothing on me, nor two-boirds at swimmy. Vlaai heeft geen-niets over mij, noch twee boirds op swimmy. Molly, that Liffey-laughy bogslut, now she I have a particular shinning for, as all men with a bird in their brain see fit to fiddle flummox betwixt the hunker of her legskin skin. Molly, dat de Liffey-laughy bogslut, nu zij Ik heb een bijzonder shinning voor, als alle mannen met een vogel in hun hersenen zien in te passen viool flummox tussen de hunker van haar legskin huid. And the wretch of poor Paddy Dingham, all dead and roiled in buttersoil and lime twists. En de wretch van arme Paddy Dingham, alle dode en roiled in buttersoil en kalk wendingen. Sad bastard he. Sad donder hij. No lemony scented lavations or up the end-out for the likes, or not, of he, as worms make ferrous wheels in the ocular obits of his scumskullskittle. Geen lemony geurkaarsen lavations of het einde-out voor de leuk, of niet, hij, zoals wormen maken ferro wielen in het oculair obits van zijn scumskullskittle. Ah, but that I should be so lucky to have a drill bore in the labial ligneous of me headspore. Ah, maar dat ik moet zoveel geluk hebben een boor boring in het labial houtgewassen van me headspore. Parricide butter, pads ends-up, to avoid an unseemly sebascone. Vadermoord boter, kussentjes eindigt-up, om te voorkomen dat een heilloze sebascone. Blackberry Alma tarts with wee-seeds and caraway on the sideplate. Blackberry Alma taarten met wee-zaden en caraway op de sideplate. She was a sure fine one, with her apron trail and headscarf. Ze was een zeker een boete, met haar schort parcours en hoofddoek. And Uncle Jim, with the one cockeye and the other mulled in a tarn of puddle blood. En Oom Jim, met een cockeye en de andere warme tarn in een poel van bloed. Poor Uncle he said verily nothing when green sprouts and vegetables were heaped on the skid of his dinnerplate: not one for the verdigris or the parsimonious root, or a wedging of stale ends with Alma’s applebutterspread unevenly on the heel and croup. Zwak Oom zei hij voorwaar niets wanneer groene kiemen en groenten werden heaped op de slippen van zijn dinnerplate: niet een voor de verdigris of de parsimonious root, of een wedging van afgezaagd eindigt met Alma's applebutterspread ongelijk over de hiel en croup. I must say, this poorman’s mouthing is none too wearying and saddlesad. Ik moet zeggen, dit armoedzaaier de mond niet al te wearying en saddlesad. Now, if time permits a permission, I will see fit to a cunning lingual in a wean the corrupt of dear dearest Molly’s bogslutted leggy leg legs. Nu, als de tijd het toelaat een toestemming, ik zal zien in te passen in een uitgekiende lingual een wean de corrupte van lieve lieve Molly's bogslutted leggy been benen. Adman or not, I see a fitting cloture in the mucking. Adman of niet, ik zie een passend cloture in de mucking.

Wet Krankenschwestern und Spielzeug Pferde

Die beinlose Mann nie ritt ein Fahrrad oder passende Socken trug. He had no shoes or figure-skates, no alpine skis or an alpine toque. Er hatte keine Schuhe oder Bild-Skates, keine oder eine alpine Ski alpin toque. He had wooly mittens and a wooly scarf, both knit by his great-grandmamma with bone knitting-needles and mutton wool. Er hatte wolligen Handschuhe und ein Schal wolligen, beide stricken von seinem Ur-grandmamma Stricken mit Knochen-Nadeln und Wolle Hammel. He had a pushcart that he paddled with stove-poles, caroming and veering his way round town with the greatest of ease. Er hatte eine Schiebkarre, dass er paddelte mit Herd-polig, caroming und drehend seinem Weg rund um die Stadt mit der größten Leichtigkeit. He had a wet nurse with an immense bosom, perfectly round areolas and an unlimited supply of milk. Er hatte einen nassen Krankenschwester mit einem immensen Busen, perfekt runde areolas und eine unbegrenzte Versorgung mit Milch. He went about shoeless, shunting his pushcart round town in lovingly knit wooly mittens and a wooly scarf. Er ging barfuß, Rangieren seine Schiebkarre Runde in der Stadt liebevoll stricken wolligen Handschuhe und einen wolligen Schal. He liked crabapple pie and warm milk, potato-crisps and Gibbs’ Hard Mustard. Er mochte crabapple pie und warme Milch, Kartoffel-Chips und Gibbs' Hard Senf. On the second day after he was born he cried, not a moment before. Am zweiten Tag, nachdem er geboren wurde, rief er, nicht einen Augenblick vor. He cried for milk and for toys, for baubles and for colourful balloons, he cried for his mother and for legs, of which he had none; he cried for more milk and for more toys, for more colourful balloons, for a mother and for two legs. Er rief für Milch und für Spielzeug, für die bunten Kugeln und für die Luftballons, rief er für seine Mutter und für die Beine, von denen er keine, er weinte für mehr Milch und mehr Spielzeug, für mehr bunte Luftballons, für die Mutter und für die Zwei Beinen. He cried until his eyes swelled shut, he cried until his lungs ached and his tiny heart broke. Er weinte, bis ihm die Augen geschlossen schwoll, er weinte, bis seine Lunge schmerzte und seine kleine Herz brach. But mostly he cried for more milk and two legs, for a big red balloon and a shiny toy horsy. Aber er schrie vor allem für die mehr Milch und zwei Beine, einen großen roten Ballon und eine glänzende Spielzeug horsy. The harridan strapped her legs in nylons and hose, corsets and peignoirs. Die harridan schnallte ihre Beine in Nylons und Schlauchleitungen, Korsetts und peignoirs. She wrapped them in broadcloth; she banded and buckled them with old seatbelts and carpet-tacking. Sie wickelte sie in broadcloth; sie gebändert und zugeschnallt sie mit alten Sicherheitsgurten und Teppich-Wendearmen. She stared for hours at her legs in the mirror wondering if they could be crossed-over, the left one being exchanged for the right one. Sie starrte stundenlang auf ihre Beine in den Spiegel, wenn sie fragen könnte-over gekreuzt, die linke ausgetauscht zu werden, das Recht ein. She seldom wept, but when she did she wept with such a cattish wail that her lips crackled and split round the corners. Sie weinte selten, aber sie haben, wenn sie weinte mit einer solchen falsch jammern, dass ihre Lippen geknistert und Split-rund um die Ecken. She wore ruffles and flouncing fastened to her skirt with curette-pins. Sie trug Raffungen und zappelnd zu befestigen, mit ihren Rock-pins curette.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

A Sabot to the Arse

(Jan 16/08)

‘I’ve never met a podiatrist I didn’t like’ he said to she, ‘shoehorn to the wind and a stern sabot to the arse-bottom, up, up and far, far away’. This, this grammatical-fratricide, is the result of a morning’s session with Freud (cinch-knots are my knot of choice).

Me da brought food-products home from work; things like Koogle Peanut Butter (chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon and something that tasted like potters’ clay) Pringle’s potato slims, cheese that came in squeeze-sacs and jellies and jams with too much pectin and sugar. He was to try these things out on us, his laboratory-family, to see if they were market-savvy. The (Koogle) Peanut butter was horrid, the Pringles indigestible and the jams and jellies too gooey and sweet.

We had what I came to call our-Mormon-larder in the basement; shelf upon shelf of things, unmarketable things, things that were neither savvy or just sweet enough, things that came in cardboard boxes and plastic-wrap, things that were way past their expiration date (years, sometimes) and some things unlike any food I’d ever seen or eaten; food with little swirls in it, food with nuts and raisons, food that looked like it had already been eaten, digested (cowed with amino acid and bile) then spit back up.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

El Cónsul General

(Jan 15/08)

The compulsion to repeat is mercenary, so much so that the simplest task, drying my face with a facecloth or tying my shoes (cinch-knots are my knot of choice) takes me an uncommonly long, long time. I am reading Witold Gombrowicz’s book of short stories 'Bacacay'. His writing speaks to me on a number of levels: intellectual, emotional, philosophical and physical (his words facilitating a rather pleasant numbness in the posterior annex of my anterior-lobe). I must ferry-off to sleep, as I have a rather busy day ahead of me (having left this one lagging behind).

(Jan 14/08)

I’d much rather stay home, safely ensconced in the womb of my bed (but as this is not to be or not be) I need muster up the warmth and courage to ferry-out into the snowy snow. If need be, which it might, I will borrow Karl’s broad-axe, the very one he uses to hack away at lengths of timber, and hack my way through the day.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Simpletons y Cangrejos

No creo en la naranja monjes comer obleas y cosas, creo que son más pasivos que luego, a continuación, me refiero a los católicos. Son más en la oración y mantener tranquilo y hacer las cosas con esos largos palos de bambú, las que se desempeñan con lucha, esos queridos. Me pregunto si con los que compañeros de cangrejo tatuaje sabe nada en absoluto acerca de palos de bambú? Él estaba sentado al lado del monje leer el periódico. Él estaba leyendo el periódico, el hombre con el tatuaje de cangrejo, no el monje, en la cuenta de que no se permitió leer nada en el autobús, los monjes que es. Yo estaba bastante difícil saber si el monje tenía tatuajes, la ropa ocultar causa de la mayoría de ellos, e incluso si lo tiene uno que sabe what'd aspecto. Yo no soy aficionado a todos los que de cangrejo, su manera demasiado salada y las conchas y garras y las antenas están buscando bruto. Quise decir desagradable, pero no quería dejar de sonar como un conocemos todos. He saben mucho de saber que todas, y todos ellos eran un jodido un dolor en el culo real. No real que tiene algo que ver con él, pero de todos modos estas son reales fuckers real piezas de trabajo. Si mi perro no han quemado en el fuego, cosa desagradable fuego, que había él en estos enfermos y han simpletons' em corriendo para daylights. Triste cosa es mi perro era demasiado pasiva para ese tipo de cosas, lo que casi han pensado que era un monje o algo, la forma en que era tan agradable y amable y no una fuerte barker y similares. Fue un petter, en el sentido de que al igual que a sus oídos han rayado y la parte superior de su cabeza se frota con la parte del talón de la mano, real duro como usted se va a frotar las pieles fuera, al igual que, real y duro como lento. Joder pobres, que probablemente no escuchó mi mamá y papá hollering causa que dormía al lado de la televisión, probablemente en la tarde-noche algún misionero o mostrar algo parecido así. Puedo ver ahora cómo puede ser que los católicos y protestantes no se entienden, siempre en elbowing en uno y el otro para obtener un mejor espacio de televisión. Triste, casi patético en una especie de triste manera.

Die Stichsäge, Carl und Karl

Carl Adolf von Sydow and Karl Günther Nakszyński

I saw Carl Adolf von Sydow, face reddening, steadying a piece of wood, a shim or a shingle or a truss, as Karl Günther Nakszyński hacked away at it with a broad-axe. The two men, principal actors in they’re own right, were gabbing to one another in German, a Teutonic banter that was ear-deafening. At one point Carl turned to Karl and said, whisperingly, I bet I could beat you at chess, to which Karl said, ‘and I you at staying afloat on a beanpole-raft with a thousand-and-one monkeys’. ‘Would I have to wear a helmet?’ asked Carl. ‘Only if it rains’ said Karl, ‘and then it’s up to you whether to keep it on or not’. The two men, Karl and Carl laughed, shook they’re feet in the air and went back to sawing, Carl steadying, Karl hacking away.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Ingenjör Andrées luftfärd

(Jan 13/08)

The other day (the one before today) I saw a woman who looked suspiciously (or was it conspicuously?) like Carl Adolf von Sydow (Max von Sydow), the star of such films as Det Sjunde inseglet, Fröken Julie, Smultronstället, Nära Livet, Jungfrukällan, Älskarinnan, Svarta Palmkronor, Il Deserto dei Tartari, Ingenjör Andrées luftfärd, Le Cercle des passions, and Bara en mor (Only a Mother) if it weren’t for the fact that she was wearing a leopard-skin jacket and a lilac-pullover and an Ushanka propeller cap I could have easily mistaken her for him.

ابي بالي الاخضر القديم لل

She had lariat hair plaited into neat cornrows and tied back with bolos and Dorothy tassels she’d bid at an auction devoted to the Wizard of Oz antiquities and whatnots. وقالت انها الوهق الشعر بارعه cornrows ضافر الى الوراء ، وتعادل مع السكاكين ودوروثي الشرابه وقالت انها تريد عرض في مزاد خصص لالساحر اوز من الآثار وwhatnots. Her eyes were bluestone blue, almost opal, yet too blue for turquoise, sea green, cerulean or Prussian blue. عيونها كانت bluestone الازرق ، والعقيق تقريبا ، ولكن ايضا لالفيروز الأزرق ، البحر الأخضر ، والأزرق أزرق أو البروسيه. She yammered and wailed when we fucked, and chewed on her bottom lip like it was a switch of licorice or the reddest red jujube. وقالت انها yammered وناح اننا عندما خان ، وعلى ممضوغ لها مثل الشفة السفلى كان تحولا من عرق السوس أو أشد احمرارا الاحمر المستحلب. She had shaky-leg and a faint tremor in her hips, that pushed off kilter and a smidgen to the left. وقالت انها مهزوزه - الساق والاغماء الهزه في بلدها الوروك ، التي دفعت من حالة جيدة والجزء الصغير الى اليسار. And caused her no end of trouble in hooking her garter or scrolling down a silk stocking without catching a nail or the thread of a finger on a rent or cranny. وتسبب لها متاعب لا نهاية لها في التعليق الرباط او التمرير الى اسفل أ الحرير الجورب دون الاصابة مسمار أو خيط على اصبعه او الايجار الشق. You got a car? لديك سيارة؟ Don’t drive. لا تدفع. But you know how, don’t you? ولكنكم تعرفون كيف ، لا أنت؟ A little I suppose, a smidgen maybe. قليلا ما افترض ، ربما الجزء الصغير. You ever driven a car, I mean without a permit? انت في اي وقت مدفوعه سيارة ، يعني بدون ترخيص؟ Once, maybe twice, when I was a teenager, you know, jean jacket and matching pants. مرة واحدة ، ربما مرتين ، وعندما كنت مراهقا ، انت تعرف ، جان سترة والسراويل المطابقه. Your dad’s car, I bet? حسابك ابي سيارة ، واراهن؟ A pale green Old's, with a half-roof made of that fake leatherette, the stuff that’s always curling and pealing off in strips. أ بالي الخضراء القديمة التابعة ، مع نصف السقوف مصنوعة من ان المزيف leatherette ، ان الاشياء دائما من الضفر والتدويه في مدارج. Me too, I mean my dad, he had one of those, a blue one, I think, maybe pale blue, I’m not sure which. انا ايضا ، اعني والدي ، وقال انه واحد من أولئك ، زرقاء واحدة ، واعتقد ، وربما بالي الازرق ، لست متأكدا مما. I suppose you drove it, before you were old enough, had a permit to? افترض انك تدفع عليه ، قبل ان كنتم القديمة بما فيه الكفايه ، وكان يسمح ل؟

Saturday, January 12, 2008

Nikolaus Karl Günther Nakszyński

(Jan 12/08)

The other day (the one preceding today) I saw a woman who looked like Nikolaus Karl Günther Nakszyński (Klaus Kinski). I could have easily mistaken her for the great German actor, the principal star of such films as Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes,
The Secret Diary of Sigmund Freud, Nosferatu a Venezia, Les Fruits de la Passion, Burden of Dreams, Kinder, Mutter und ein General, Ludwig II: Glanz und Ende eines Königs, Um Thron und Liebe/Sarajewo and Morituri, had she not been wearing a long woman’s-coat and smoking a Virginia Slims.

Однако я видел Гуд от начала

Nunca он visto Эль-Валье-де-лас-Muñecas де principio меры. However I have seen Hud from start to finish and was particularly drawn to the costume-dresser’s choice of stovepipe slacks and slick cowboy attire. Однако я видел Гуд от начала и до конца, и особенно обращено на костюм-dresser выбор stovepipe slacks и пятна ковбоем одежде. Melvin Douglas was especially charming, even with his priggish choice of western shirt; I am not one for bolo-ties, ascots or lariat-stitched pockets. Sin embargo he visto Hud de principio a fin y es de particular interés el traje-vestidor de la elección y la ausencia de mancha slacks atuendo vaquero. Мелвин Дуглас был особенно очаровательной, даже с его педантичный выбор западных рубашку, и я не один для bolo-связей, ascots или lariat-прошитая карманы. Син эмбарго он visto Гуд де principio меры и эс-де частности интереса эш traje-де vestidor ла-ла-elección у ausencia де mancha slacks atuendo vaquero. Melvin Douglas era especialmente encantador, incluso con su elección de priggish occidental de la camisa; no soy de bolo - Lazos, ascots o lariat engrapado bolsillos . Мелвин Дуглас эпоху особенно encantador, том числе кон су elección де педантичный западных де ла camisa; нет соевого де bolo - Лазос, ascots о lariat engrapado bolsillos. Let it be known that I have never owned nor worn a lariat-stitched western shirt , nor have I a predilection to do so, ever! Que se sepa que nunca he gastado una propiedad ni lariat engrapado camisa occidental, ni han Ia predilección de hacerlo, nunca! In The Valley of the Dolls one might conjecture that at least one character wore a lariat-stitched western shirt or most certainly would have had it been written into the script. En El Valle de las Muñecas conjetura que se podría por lo menos un personaje llevaba un lariat engrapado occidental o camisa sin duda habría de haber sido escrito en el guión . Да будет известно, что я никогда не принадлежит ни одна одевается lariat-прошитая западной рубашку, и не я один склонности это делать, никогда! Ке таковой отдельно Вы nunca он gastado одной собственности отсутствует lariat engrapado camisa западных стран, не хан Ия predilección де hacerlo , nunca! В Валли из Куклы можно гипотеза, что по крайней мере один символ носил один lariat-прошитая западной рубашки или большинство, безусловно, имели бы оно было написано в сценарии. Ру Эль-Валье-де-лас-Muñecas conjetura Вы таковой podría за вот menos снимите personaje llevaba снимите lariat engrapado западных стран о camisa грех duda habría де haber sido escrito в эш guión. Seeing as I have never seen the film from start to finish, or have the slightest desire to do so, my conjecturing is pure paucity. Viendo que yo nunca he visto la película de principio a fin, o tienen el más mínimo deseo de hacerlo, mi conjecturing es pura escasez . Видя, как я никогда не видел фильм от начала до конца, или имеют ни малейшего желания это делать, моя conjecturing является нехватка чистой. Viendo Вы nunca лет он visto де ла película principio меры, о эш tienen más mínimo deseo де hacerlo, Мы conjecturing эс pura escasez.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Vintner la Gama Baja Putrefacción.

Whilst rummaging through my site-meter (yes, how vain indeed) I came across a surfer who fell upon my bog from his setae in Mexico. Google’s translation option is a boon, as it allows one (me) to have one’s (my) stuff translated into a boom of foreign tongues. Here is the Spanish translation of one of my posts:

El Cónsul General

Yo voy a beber todo lo que venga por el lucio, ginebra, el vodka, gimlets, cal cordial en stouts y cervezas lager y de abajo a la libre Sherries y Puertos, los dos aparentemente indistinguibles salvo por el color. Un Sherry baratos en general, es un pálido, russet rojo, de un puerto, un tinte más ligeros y menos russet, sin embargo, en la coherencia, idéntica a Sherry y otros vintner la gama baja putrefacción. . Bebo cuando estoy feliz, triste, o simplemente descontentos con mi vida y la de aquellos otros que parecen idénticas a la mía y, sin embargo, difieren en el color, sabor y consistencia. Yo una vez pensé que había cólera, pero se trata de un simple calambres en mi costado, en el marco del cuarto y quinto librar mi vesícula biliar donde se asienta. Hay piedras en él, así que he sido informado, y en mi riñón derecho, la uretra y la vejiga-mear.

He tenido tres intervenciones quirúrgicas, una llamada cirugía mínimamente invasiva, y tres libras lithotripsies a las piedras en smithereens. Los fragmentos de piedra son entonces borracho en un tamiz, que luego tienen que busque un poco en el palo de paletas con una recopilación de lo que ha borracho. Estas probabilidades y termina luego se señalan a la farmacia, cuyo trabajo es determinar qué es exactamente lo que las piedras están hechas de, que son la coherencia y el estrato geológico. I cifra que está formado por putrefied pieles de la uva y los taninos, quizás algunos cal cordial y cerveza negra cervezas. Cuando tengo dinero, que rara vez me hacen, me tratan a mí mismo las cervezas importadas y una botella de Maestros o Old Grouse.

Yo rara vez uso un vaso, como me parece imbibing ralentiza el proceso, y requiere de una coordinación mano-ojo que me mystifies una vez que he comenzado el proceso potable. Siempre he soñado con ir a México, donde yo mismo he podido beber en coma en Tic-Tac y real de México Mescal, el tipo con el gusano muerto en la parte inferior de la botella. Ellos dicen que el gusano está tan saturado con mescal, la droga, y no el licor, que una vez que se come puede causar esas horribles alucinaciones que muchas personas masticar sus propios dedos o comer fuera de la suciedad es un pensamiento o algunos tamales mexicanos delicadeza. Geoffrey, el cónsul general en la Lowrey Bajo el Volcán, come gusanos como mescal salir de su estilo, entre ellos la captura de sus dientes delanteros, y luego morder en la mitad de ellos, haciendo que el proceso digestivo mucho más rápido. Me comió un gusano, una vez cuando era un niño, en un atreven de este chico llamado Pete Peters, que tuvo una fisura palatina y pyorrhea. Está probado como suciedad y delgado, si limo tiene un sabor de su propio para empezar, que dudo mucho que hace.

He bebido en el asiento trasero de los coches en movimiento, en los aviones de crucero a gran altura, en la barra de chugging trenes con coches y trenes administradores, y en armarios, salas de arranque y bajo un juego de niños, la estructura durante una tormenta torrencial finales del verano en alguna parte en una Tiene ahora la ciudad donde olvidar. He vomitado con tal fuerza de la naturaleza, que el corrugado tejidos blandos en mi garganta aterrizó en un placentaria bobble en el lavamanos, que se apoyan en la transzonales mientras que el baño tratando de orinar a la vez que se me plantea. He dividido la piel en el puente de mi nariz, rotura de los vasos sanguíneos y en los blancos y la esclerótica de los ojos. Una vez separado casi un retina, pero fue la suerte de tener colirio y gasa quirúrgica útil en el momento. A veces me gustaría tener esos horribles calambres en mi cara y en los cordeles con nudos en los músculos de mi muslos y pantorrillas, que tendría que ser por lo menos media hora en un escaldado ducha de agua caliente para aliviar el dolor y el tormento.

Quisiera arrojar pescado amigo bolsillos cuando no se busca, en busca de cambio de repuesto o de un proyecto de ley de cinco dólares que había pasado olvidado. Quisiera vender todo lo que tenía, incluso las cosas que necesitaba, como los billetes de autobús y de los cupones de alimentos, a scrounge suficiente para un Rey ¿o un vigésimo sixer o de Puerto Sherry, los dos son prácticamente intercambiables y coronado con un tornillo de plástico alrededor de la manga Cuello. Me hubiera borrachos orina del gato, yo había pensado que había alcohol en él y se reduciría de manera rápida y con un mínimo de la quema. I Yo no bebo más, pero aún tiene vívidos recuerdos, a veces flashbacks, que me dejen con un enfermo, ruinosa gusto en el fondo de mi garganta.

Over There, There offered me goatsmilk off the bulb of your tongue, youlystened to the scolding in my heart; you shared bread and Whiskey, you chased the surplices from my thoughts. I wrapped you in sailcloth and tears, cinching my arms round the corset of you hips. We stopped our ears with paraffin, the masthead tight between our legs, your eyes two green skips of coral, mine beery with fret. Be there one god or many, gods’speed and milk.

A-What's that?
B-Over here?
B- I can’t see…
C- Over there?
D-I can’t…
E- See?
G-At all?
I- Over here, look this way.
J- Away from there?
K-Over there.
L- Here?
M-There, here…there the same…
N- Oh.
P- The same?
Q- As there…yes…identical, the same.
R- There or here, the same…yes?
S- Absolutely…identical…
T- The same, then…?
V- Yes…
X- See?

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Caraway, Calabaza, Hinojo y Eneldo

The alms man found a half-eaten bagel in the dustbin behind the Waymart proper. La limosna encontrado un hombre medio come-bagel en la basura detrás de la Waymart adecuada. The Van Pelt’s were bagel people, each member of the family having devised they’re own manner of preparing and eating a bagel. Eloise cut hers sideways at a slight angle, preferring her halves lopsided and off-centre. She fancied whole wheat bagels with seeds: caraway, pumpkin, dill, fennel, poppy and muesli . El Van Pelt se bagel de las personas, cada uno de los miembros de la familia que están teniendo ideado propia forma de preparar y comer un bagel. Eloise corte de lado el suyo en un ligero ángulo, prefiriendo su mitades desequilibrado y fuera del centro. Ella fancied de trigo entero Bagels con semillas: caraway, calabaza, eneldo, hinojo, la amapola y muesli. To the halved bagel she added a slice of Muenster cheese and wedge of pickle , sometimes finishing with a slice of tomato, on top of which she gingerly placed a dollop of sour cream . Para reducido a la mitad el bagel añadió una rodaja de queso Muenster y cuña de vinagre, a veces terminando con una rodaja de tomate, en la parte superior de la cual colocó un cautelosamente dollop de crema agria. He father preferred his bagel with cream-cheese , extra-virgin olive oil and a gherkin . Él prefería su padre bagel con crema de queso, el aceite de oliva virgen extra y un gherkin. ( Her father discovered a small out-of-the-way deli that carried sweet gherkins, and bought a jar each and every week without fail ). (Su padre descubrió un pequeño fuera de la manera deli-que llevó pepinillos dulces, y compró un tarro de cada uno y cada semana sin falta). Her mother abhorred bagels, plain or seeded, and refused to sit at the table when one was being eaten. Su madre detesta bagels, llano o sembradas, y se negó a sentarse a la mesa cuando uno se come.

Caraway, Pumpkin, Fennel and Dill

The alms man found a half-eaten bagel in the dustbin behind the Waymart proper. The Van Pelt’s were bagel people, each member of the family having devised they’re own manner of preparing and eating a bagel. Eloise cut hers sideways at a slight angle, preferring her halves lopsided and off-centre. She fancied whole wheat bagels with seeds: caraway, pumpkin, dill, fennel, poppy and muesli. To the halved bagel she added a slice of Muenster cheese and wedge of pickle, sometimes finishing with a slice of tomato, on top of which she gingerly placed a dollop of sour cream. He father preferred his bagel with cream-cheese, extra-virgin olive oil and a gherkin. (Her father discovered a small out-of-the-way deli that carried sweet gherkins, and bought a jar each and every week without fail). Her mother abhorred bagels, plain or seeded, and refused to sit at the table when one was being eaten.

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Melvin Douglas' Camisa

Nunca he visto El Valle de las Muñecas de principio a fin. However I have seen Hud from start to finish and was particularly drawn to the costume-dresser’s choice of stovepipe slacks and slick cowboy attire. Melvin Douglas was especially charming, even with his priggish choice of western shirt; I am not one for bolo-ties, ascots or lariat-stitched pockets. Sin embargo he visto Hud de principio a fin y es de particular interés el traje-vestidor de la elección y la ausencia de mancha slacks atuendo vaquero. Melvin Douglas era especialmente encantador, incluso con su elección de priggish occidental de la camisa; no soy de bolo - Lazos, ascots o lariat engrapado bolsillos. Let it be known that I have never owned nor worn a lariat-stitched western shirt , nor have I a predilection to do so, ever! Que se sepa que nunca he gastado una propiedad ni lariat engrapado camisa occidental, ni han Ia predilección de hacerlo, nunca! In The Valley of the Dolls one might conjecture that at least one character wore a lariat-stitched western shirt or most certainly would have had it been written into the script. En El Valle de las Muñecas conjetura que se podría por lo menos un personaje llevaba un lariat engrapado occidental o camisa sin duda habría de haber sido escrito en el guión. Seeing as I have never seen the film from start to finish, or have the slightest desire to do so, my conjecturing is pure paucity. Viendo que yo nunca he visto la película de principio a fin, o tienen el más mínimo deseo de hacerlo, mi conjecturing es pura escasez.

Beekeeping Made Simple

(Jan 08/08)

Say AH, thank you. I had a client whose parents were itinerate beekeepers, moving from one hive to another in a Grapes of Wrath pickup truck with a flywheel that couldn’t fly worth a damn, or so he said. He was horribly disfigured in a tenement-house fire in Montreal a few years ago, never once having been stung by a bee. I feel sadness for him, as his parents, who were off somewhere tending bees, never once came to visit him in the hospital.

Monday, January 07, 2008

Sleeping With Joyce's Dog

(Jan 07/08)

I haven’t eaten spaghetti for some time now, though the thought has entered my mind, more than once if I recall. I boiled some Red River Cereal the other day but forgot to cut my toast into tiny fingers. (My dear grandma tutored me in toast fingering, that and applying a mustard poultice to a razor-wire cut). I bought some cereal bars at the grocer’s: charmingly chewy bars chocked-full of oats, barely, suet, rice and a variety of desiccated fruit, some of which I couldn’t identify, not even on Wikipedia. I like the word whore, especially when suffixed with the word corpse. I like the word dogsbody, too, even though Joyce used it no less than four times. I like sleeping, even when I’m too tired to entertain the thought, of sleeping, that is. I have used the term Diaspora, though incorrectly and with little regard for proper grammar and syntax. I built three more snow-tunnels after the snow-tunnel incident, none of which lasted past spring thaw. And I wrote a short story, a novella, almost, whose principal character was named Thaw.

Sunday, January 06, 2008

Childhood Snow

(Jan 06/08)

When I was smaller I got trapped in a snow-tunnel I built on our front lawn. I held my breath, wept and prayed that someone would find me. I managed to stick the end of my wooly mitten out the front of the tunnel, and wagging it round like a pennant prayed that someone, anyone, a passerby, a friend, a neighbor, a stranger would see my wee wooly mitten peeking through the ice and built-up snow. I stayed like that for what seemed like hours, my arms pressed in tight to my sides, the snow pushing in on the sway of my back, tears freezing and plucking at my cheeks. No one came, no one heard or came; no one. Finally a kid, a middle-school kid I knew from the neighborhood heard my bawling, the flag of my wee wooly mitten peeking through the snow, and stopped. I implored him to jump on top of the snow-tunnel, to break it into smithereens. He hesitated, and fiddling with the tassel on his toque said okay, sure okay. He stomped up and down on the snow-tunnel, his snow-boots crunching through snow and ice, and broke me free; the snow-tunnel collapse into igloo-size pieces of hard icy snow. I have never forgotten that day, and when I am feeling lost and confused, drawn away and into the snow-tunnel of my thoughts, I think of that kid and his rubbery snow-boots, and my wee wooly mitten waving and flagging like windsock.

Saturday, January 05, 2008

My Great Uncle's Felling Hammer

(Jan 05/08)

This waking up to wakefulness is getting to be a chore. I’d much rather stay abed, lard-heavy breasts and prickly-pears dancing mad-footedly in my head. But as this is not to be, for a verily of reasons, I jump to the leeside quay, a cooper’s fist-awl jammed into the corner of my eye.

My great uncle stove cows’ heads in with a swing of his felling-hammer. My dear ma, pigtails swaging, swinging in the tractor tire my great uncle slung over an elm branch then tied-off with a yards’-worth of bailing-wire. This homeless fellow I was talking to said (and I quote) ‘we here live in a Bumstead, not a homestead’. Thinking he had said bedstead I said in passing (quickly) ‘do they have those coin-operated beds that shake like the bejezus? He was none too amused, and turning his shoulders to the fore said, ‘fucking know-it-all, a stick in the eye to the lot of you!’

Swagger haggard braggart do the two-step three times four. For the longest time I thought the potato-man on the Humpty Dumpty chip bag was an exact copy of my brother. I also believed that if I kept my eyes closed tight the monster underneath my bed would leave me alone. I live in the Hampstead’s not the Mannerly Manor Mayhem Maycourt Moyle. My great uncle caved cows’ heads in with the same felling-hammer he chopped our Christmas tree down with. I’m pretty certain they didn’t have such easy access to italics as we do now, not by a long-shot.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Aragón Phalluses

It’s colder than a nun’s habit. A Pantheon of coldness; shear cold: coldness colder cold. Aragón cold: so cold that the word cold has lost all meaning; a simulacrum of cold. Dare I venture outside on such a mercilessly cold day? Dare I dare yes. Surly a Sherpa would help lighten the load, the trudging and plodding and gadding this way and that.

This is a crock, this crick in the neck. Neurological buggery (sodomites at high-noon) phalluses aimed and at the ready. The acrid whiff of creosote and barrel-soy, my dearest dear, shoulders high and squared, not a moments rest for the coitus adjunct. I thought the cold would ferry a reprieve from the crockery of my neck, but alas it was not to be. Dane cunt, sure mom’s bickering stayed his ears like bees’ wax. Tomorrow the morrow I will seek higher ground, perhaps atop a hillock or a hill of beans. I’ve had a hankering for the beanery since I was a wee lad in culottes and knees, waiting my turn in the throwaway-isle at the grocery shop. Mom’s prickly-pear hands grubbing stowaways and renames for the fat wee bastard with the orange Popsicle grin.

These were poor times, times of ferrying about in sedan-cars and mini’s, whiplashing our way from one outpost to the other, never mind you’re grimy faces, keep you’re hands on the wheel. A tin of Campbell’s tomato soup is well worth the drivearound, 5 cents a tin ain’t nothing to bugger at. And if you canna keep you’re ass in the stroller-sway, hands-off the tins and bugger off the lot of you! Never did have a fondness for the steady as she goes Campbell’s hocks and beans, and that wee pad of lard, like a slug raviolied in its own sewer-spill. (Bettach a tin of the old standby it’s going to be a cold one tomorrow, colder than a nun’s habit on a fishfry day).

Charlie Brown

(Jan 03/08)

I have a kneejerk reaction to arthritis, so much so (the constant jerking) that I can’t sit still for a minute. The doctor’s say (the few and many) that the corrosiveness will get worse: more rubbing and grinding and banging one against the other. I think it has something (more than something) to do with my misuse of italics and poor grammar, but my doctors (the few and many) don’t see eye-to-eye with me. To that I say (and say...) blah, blah, blah..! Dare I say (dare I do) Charlie Brown would make a better doctor (few or many).

(Jan 02/08)

Blah, blah, blah…such is how people listen to one another; confusion and conflict, the end-product of poor listening skills. Dare I say Charlie Brown had better listening skills, he at least heard the blather and blither chiming in his head.


too long
in the same
position, bend
the knee outwards
then inwards, its
never too late
to master

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Eloise Van Pelt

The man in the hat, now a year older and having accumulated more hats, remembered the Mormon au pair he dated when he was fresh out of middle-school. Her name was Eloise Van Pelt, her father Alberto Van Pelt and her mother Edwina C. Van Pelt, nee Coalman-Slough. She had stitched-braids and wore a Dutch-woman’s winged cap. Her father forbid the use of lipstick, blush, eyeliner or anything that came in a powder-box. She ate with her mouth closed never once allowing a morsel of food to find purchase outside the chewing-vault. Her father wore spats and gabardine trousers with cuffs. The Van Pelt family lived in a four room walkup with two hotplates. Alberto Van Pelt bought everything secondhand: food, beverages, sugary potables, socks, shoes, belts and belt-buckles, hams and thread for sewing worn-through secondhand clothes. Eloise hid her stitched-up dresses in a corkwood box she kept stowed underneath her bed. Her mother, Edwina Van Pelt (nee Coalman-Slough) wore whatever was in reach upon waking each and every morning; some days a crepe dress with lace, other day’s sateen slacks with a smock or linen blouse.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz

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