DOES ANYONE KNOW THE WAY
A sunny Saturday morning and coffee in my cup and my unmade bed behind me, playing with my electronic toys recharging the batteries of same and moving files from partition to partition so my platform deesn’t nag me about not having room for more virtual input.
At least when I was shooting film it seemed real but what is reality anyway. The streets are quiet for the moment poised it would seem until the next overdose and the parade of emergency vehicles screaming through he streets.
The internet hums to tunes of insurrection, war and famine as my fan blows cool air across my face as the opportunist runs against the disappointment in a pseudo democratic exercise in the republic to the South whose only reason for existence is war all the time. And a market place that puts more value to putting gas into vehicles than feeding people while the farmers watch their crops whither on the vine as a direct result of providing gas for the these said same vehicles. Who said there is no justice.
By the way, does anyone know the way???
GIBBERISH ON THE SOUND TRACK
and confused thinking on the keyboard
a day of clean white sheets of paper
without any tracks of usable thought
the brain track of thought is distracted
by mis-spelled words and disconnected images
and writing a letter to no one
a midday of laying on your back
reading back issues of the old magazines
that clutter your living space
of other writers who can at least
have written their published stories with
a beginning, middle and an end
and realizing you’ve just pissed away
an hour of your life
on the unwise fictions of other peoples lives
splash cold water on your face
rub yourself on the corner of the door
to cure the ittch in the unreachable middle of your back
and then keep time on the keyboard to the
gibberish on the sound track
Some days are worse than others, but the frequency does not seem to be increasing. I’m talking about memory problems. I still have an ongoing problem with people’s names the last time yesterday with Ken Bayfield’s last name in a conversation with Ken Roberts when we went for a short walk yesterday after coffee.
When discussing film plays or books I sometimes remember parts of plots and the actors or characters but not the titles of the books or films only to have it pop into my mind when it really no longer matters.
Still haven’t solved the ongoing problem with clutter and the flat surface disease which means every available flat surface is covered with scrapes of paper books and small devices jack kinives, screw drivers, battery charging devices plus what ever I carry around in my pockets but empty onto the aforementioned flat surface when I want to take a nap and don’t want to roll onto a lump in my pocket.
Then there is the problem with excess packaging when you keep big lumpy boxes and plastic bags because except for the trash there is no place to keep them and have them on the top of printers scanners etc.
Time for a coffee and some thought about where I want this day to go.
A good analysis of the Red Square student movement in Quebec.
OVERDRAWN AT THE WORD BANK
I’m overdrawn at the word bank
with nothing to write
and no one to thank
the creative juices have drained from the tank
I wasn’t there when the good ship poetry sank
now that’s as far as I can go with that rhyme
and the machine is demanding
perhaps another place
I’ll have some other thoughts
that don’t have to rhyme
but for now
I’ll have to walk the plank
overdrawn at the word bank
Stagger Lee makes his pitch.
he don’t walk so good
lurching from side to side in the neighborhood
his speech is a bit of a slur
to go with his glassy eyed stare
he flogs reserve cigarettes
to keep body and soul together
but when he talks
he talks sense
and not the usual alkies nonsense
so I have named him
after an old blues song you see
so have a look
at our very own
BAGELS AND CREAM CHEESE
Dixie land on the sound track
coffee and a bagel toasted
with cream cheese and blue berry jam
getting crumbs on the key board
but pushing the blues away
at the start of another sunny day
keeping time lipping the trumpet in imagination
spraying spit onto the screen
then laughing as I look for the spay so I can clean
and preparing the shot in PS
where this will end up
is anybodies guess
six lines per verse
can’t think of anything so perverse
would missing a line or two
be any worse
and all this to please the
bagels and cream cheese