Thursday, December 20, 2012

But Where, Oh Where Is the Holy Idiot, Truth Teller and Soothsayer, Familiar of Spirits, Rat Eater, Unhouseled Wanderer Whose Garble and Babble Fill Rich and Poor, Homeless and Housed, with Awe and Fear?

Tomorrow isn't Alex Chilton's birthday, L said at a Wednesday edition of Thursday Night Pints. I know, I said, I'm an idiot, I should have double-checked wikipedia against the birthday lists I use to remind me of these dates before asking for requests, I usually do, got busy, life is a fucking clusterfuck right now. What a shitty semester, said L, what a shitty Fall. We each recited our woes. What are you going to do about the Chilton? asked D. Play your requests tomorrow, I said. El Goodo is mine, Thank You Friends is L's, September Girls is D's, Kangaroo is mine again. K, not knowing who Alex Chilton was, was made to march to bar to retrieve a round of ridiculously priced Scotch. Jeebus, people, you drink this shit for fun? I said handing L the remainder of mine, getting up to get myself a pint.


Tom Sleigh

But where, oh where is the holy idiot,
truth teller and soothsayer, familiar

of spirits, rat eater, unhouseled wanderer
whose garble and babble fill rich and poor,

homeless and housed, with awe and fear?
Is he hiding in the pit or walkie-talkie,

its grid of holes insatiably hungry,
almost like a baby, sucking in the police sergeant's

quiet voice as he calls in reinforcements?
Oh holy idiot, is that you sniffing the wind

for the warm turd smell on the mounted policemen
backing their horses' quivering, skittish

haunches into the demonstrators' faces?
Oh little village among the villages,

the wild man, the holy Bedlamite is gone,
and nobody, now, knows where to find him....

Lying in mud? lying caked in mud, hair elfed into knots?
Some poor mad Tom roving the heath

for a warm soft place to lie his body down,
his speech obsessed with oaths, demons,

his tongue calling forth the Foul Fiend, Flibbertigibbet
as horse back slowly, slowly into the crowd

as he eats filth, he crams his ravenous mouth with filth -
and then he sits on his stool in the trampled hay

and deep-rutted mud, he anoints himself
with ashes and clay, he puts on his crown

of fumiter weed and holds his scepter
of a smouldering poker and calls the court to order.


  1. of your mention on the last post ,it wasn't really a request , just something of the filming to go with that, of how the eider falls like snow .. / have a good road trip , looking forward to comparing how the snow falls .. . / more cats

  2. No road trip, I'm afraid. Been warned off driving through mountains, blizzard conditions from midnight tonight to midnight Saturday, either falling snow or not-plowed and/or blowing snow. I've been stranded in Garrett County too many times to try it. Got her on a flight Saturday morning. Damn.

    Cats tomorrow.

  3. and with the blowing snow and up there the ..wild man filming to go with, of kate , ( thought of io z 's footing as well ,from the doe .. )

  4. Okay, that's it. I keep my own counsel on so much, in the name of love. But this fucking transcends belief. This, motherfucker, is war.

    Fuck Celtic, you sectarian fuck.

  5. Dude, I'd root for any team on that board except Real Fucking Madrid to beat Juve. I'd root for Fucking Gax to beat Juve. That Juve drew the team on that board with the least chance of beating them is more proof that Juve fucking cheats with full consent and support of motherfucking Baal.