a woman is an occasional pleasure but a cigar is always a smoke.

Title thanks to Groucho Marx, without whom I would be nowhere today.  This:

And now here's a poem I wrote a couple of years ago, which was the initial purpose of this post.


I stood before a portrait of a stream
Whose sinuous waist was lined with daffodils
Each yellow head bent down as in a dream
My heart, a cup, began to slosh and spill
Some color down into my marrow deep.
But I inhaled the scent of musty oil,
And through my patchwork lungs began to seep.
My eyes were sharpened from a soft recoil
And I, about to turn, spared one last glance
My shoes were firm cemented to the floor
As I beheld those daffodils now rustling in a dance
I cried with want to step inside that calm, beloved scene,


Stepped I forward, but now was grass where cold, hard tile had been.

My cry had risen from these depths across a windy sea
And filled the ears, reduced to tears some wizened wizard there
He climbed his tower and brought up to his eye
A pair of magic spectacles a rare
And multicolored specimen of lore.
His sight was stretched over rock and gull and sea
And caught my face inside a prism of light
And God did melt into a cup some steaming empathy
And dumped it down into his chest, down to his soul contrite
This eccentric man took both his hands
And rubbed them quick together, mumbled this:


"Spleen of newt, Apollo Contraband,
Ease a weary soul now, such as his."


He then released a slow and shaky breath
Into the space between his thumbs through which
A Golden Scaled Lizard scrambled west
And tore his way into this oily stitch.
The daffodils, once frozen cold in stance
Were Lizard-Born, and round my feet now danced.
I, in half a mood of fright, the other half in glee
Did swivel on my heel and turn to see what I could see
A painting hung now parallel to my embrightened eye
Around the frame, adorned with stars, a dark black smoking sky
Upon the canvas, not a smudge was found
But purest white, which dribbled to the ground
At my finger's touch, as from a wound
The white began to gather at my feet
And I began to make a slow retreat
I turned around, my scene began to melt
My heart began to drain, a strain I felt
As all the yellow hoods dripped in the stream
The cold white muck had raised, I was waist deep
The fiery sky behind did raised a smolder
The cold white muck had risen to my shoulder
And as I cried to God to save my soul
I woke in sweat, my heart an empty bowl.




Thought I'd share it with you, the philistine masses.  Feel free to print it out and stick it to the fridge with a novelty magnet in the shape of a buffalo head from some Yellowstone gift shop.  

Concerning Hobbits

Considering it's the end of the world today, I thought I'd join the fruity ranks of blog-makers everywhere.  Yes, that's YOU, America.

 

If there's anyone I'm excited to see if the end of the world truly is today, It's Bernie Mac.  The way I see it, Bernie, God and myself will sit in velvet armchairs and smoke cuban cigars and just talk for eternity.  

Anyways, I thought I'd make you all a list of ten things to do today.

1. read the love song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot if you haven't already.  there isn't another poem I've come across that has made me laugh and cry in equal measure as thoroughly as this one.  and despite the number of times I've read it, it's always fresh for new interpretation.  The more I read it, the more I feel it's mine, made for me.  I'm certain it'll do the same for you.

2. Watch Thor in 3D.  Niels and myself sawr it today, and I got this strange compulsion to start carrying around a hammer everywhere I go.  actually it's not that strange.  THOR!

3. Catch the nearest flight to the British Isles, take a ferry to the Isle of Wight, and find Tennyson Downs, depicted above.  I spent the night up there with some of my pop's students the other year, and I sat on the grass and stared into the sky like a five year old through the night owing to the overabundance of stars.  It's perfectly indescribable unless you've been there yourself. 

4. Go to Japan, find a "dollar store" and check out the merchandise.  They're a barrel of laughs. for example, puppets, like finger puppets, only designed for the male genitalia.  WITH PICTURED DIRECTIONS ON THE BACK.  Just... Japan.

5. Find Bayley Christensen and chat her up.  Ten minutes with her and you won't want to talk to anyone else ever again.  She's a doll in the first degree.

6. Try and fail to beat my high score in Robot Unicorn Attack. 

7. Read The Book Thief.  wonderful book. I'd be reading it right now, but my copy is a soggy swollen mess at the bottom of some trash can in Keswick, due to a faulty zip lock bag and a 14 mile hike through hell itself over Scafell pike in stormy weather.  John, I hope you're happy.  

8. watch the music video for 'Dig, Lazarus, Dig' by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.  here, let me get that for you.

9. play scrabble with my grandmother.  She's a rapscallion and will stop at nothing to outscore you.

10. stop reading dumb blogs.  It's the end of the world for god's sake!