Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Here Is a Partial List of Artifacts: mirror, belt, half-finished 1040 form (married, filing jointly), mateless walkie-talkie, two blonde eyelashes, set of acrylic paints with all the red and yellow used up, buck knife, dog collar, camping tent (sleeps two), slivers of cut-up credit cards, ashtray in the shape of a naked woman, pen with teeth marks, bottom half of two-piece bathing suit, pill bottles containing unfinished courses of antibiotics, bank statements with the account number blacked out, maps of London, maps of Dubuque, sweatshirts with the mascots of colleges I didn't attend, flash cards for Spanish verbs (querer, perder, olvidar), Canadian pocket change, fork with two tines pushed together

I wrote today, I said last night at a Monday Night Thursday Night Pints, then paraphrased this: As for standard duh and daily suckagain: Obama signs into law detention infinity, it's not like power's torturing more, it's codifying what you knew they always did but pretended to imagine they didn't into what you expect them to do, which is what you expect to happen to you if you are disobedient (as it's expected you will be at America's serbianization), which is the motherfucking point of power. He is so reelected, said D. Yup, I said. K said, it's interesting watching the establishment go after Gingrich now. Do you think it's more animus or belief he can't win? L said, maybe the establishment worries Obama might lose and wants the most Obama-like to beat him? Yup, I said. Serbia? said D. I said, beyond routinizing as normal what we pretended not to know, we are also being told what, with the proper training and guidance, we will be not only permitted but encouraged to do. But not tomorrow, said K. Yes, said L, we have to be England first, right? Scotch is too fucking expensive for tasting like Nyqil, I said.










FORK WITH TWO TINES PUSHED TOGETHER

Nick Lantz

It's fast and cool as running water, the way we forget
the names of friends with whom we talked and talked
the long drives up and down the coast.

I say I love and I love and I love. However, the window
will not close. However, the hawk searches
for its nest after a storm. However, the discarded
nail longs to hide its nakedness inside the tire.

Somewhere in Cleveland or Tempe, a pillow
still smells like M_____'s hair.
In a bus station, a child is staring
at L____'s rabbit tattoo. I've bartered everything
to keep from doing my soul's paperwork.

Here is a partial list of artifacts:
mirror, belt, half-finished 1040 form (married, filing jointly), mateless walkie-talkie, two blonde eyelashes, set of acrylic paints with all the red and yellow used up, buck knife, dog collar, camping tent (sleeps two), slivers of cut-up credit cards, ashtray in the shape of a naked woman, pen with teeth marks, bottom half of two-piece bathing suit, pill bottles containing unfinished courses of antibiotics, bank statements with the account number blacked out, maps of London, maps of Dubuque, sweatshirts with the mascots of colleges I didn't attend, flash cards for Spanish verbs (querer, perder, olvidar), Canadian pocket change, fork with two tines pushed together.

Forgetfulness means to be full
of forgetting, like a glass

overflowing with cool water, though I'd always
thought of it as the empty pocket

where the hand finds
nothing: no keys, no ticket, no change.

One night, riding the train home from the city,
will I see a familiar face across from me? How many times
will I ask Is it you? before I realize
it's my own reflection in the window?


11 comments:

  1. maybe the establishment worries Obama might lose and wants the most Obama-like to beat him? Yup, I said.

    A joke, right?

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  2. I think she meant to be funny but didn't mean it as a total knock-off joke. Do you think Corporate wants Newt Gingrich driving the bus? I mean, I don't think even motherfucking Obama could lose to Newt - and I want Newt to be the candidate for my entertainment alone - but I no longer consider it an thorough impossibility that motherfucking Obama could lose to Newt.

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  3. David Alpert is a hippie treefucker moron with absolutely no idea what the fuck he's talking about, and GGW is a piece of shit duckhumping blog that spends all its time advocating the abolition of automobiles. His vision involves not making the transportation pie bigger, but diverting all of it to support people who want to live in fucking fakeass town centers and walk everywhere or fit their schedules to the fucking Ride-On system. Some of us aren't that fit--many way more unfit than me--and there's this little thing called the Americans with Disabilities Act, you fucking elitist eugenicist worm. Fuck off and die choking on sewage, GGW.

    Well, that was fun. Back into seclusion now. Love you all.

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  4. Yay! That takes care of our Giftmas presents to each other.

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  5. I don't want to be England, they always carry the air of underachieving, at least with the Us of A, we're expected to go out in the round of 16. I assume you guys weren't talking about "important" stuff, but important stuff, like sports.

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  6. Note to self: Don't mess with Landru's commute. You won't like him when he's angry!
    ~

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  7. Randal, the thing I know most about sports now is that your quarterback with a concussion is far preferable to mine without one. Also, fuck the Steelers.

    Herb Alpert? All trumpeters are squirrelly perverts. The only thing worse than a trumpeter is a reedsucker.

    Thunder: You love me when I'm angry, you geriatric dirtlover. It's why you follow me all over the fucking Internets.

    Happy fucking holidays, you fucking fucks.

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  8. Reading the post title, I was half expecting to come across "Revolving door. A sequence of objects which appears to be a caravan of fellaheen, a circus..." somewhere in the poem.

    ReplyDelete