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Saturday, August 22, 2009


Stop 1: The streets are on fire and the people are sweating in supermarket trolleys. Collect 45,000

Stop 2: You compare the United States to an angry mama bear. Various groups protest. Collect 500,000,000

Stop 3: You put rocket launchers in the hands of children. Millions of lives are saved. Collect NRA pass

Stop 4: Bubblegum-flavored peanut butter is a hit. Collect 700,000,000,000

Stop 5: A group of militiamen has deemed you the Archfiend of Mammon in a promotional pamphlet. Liberal media becomes infatuated. Collect 58,000,000,000

Stop 6: You avoided war but thousands of lives were lost. No one respects you.
Collect 12,000,000
Alternative: You went ballistic. Now the people want blood. Collect 12,000,000
Alternative: You thread the needle perfectly. The universe adores. Collect 17,000,000

Stop 7: Your taxes are due. Collect 75,000,000

Stop 8: Other people can’t get mad at you for your success. Collect 600,000,000

Stop 9: You find the cure for cancer causes cancer. Collect 25,000,000,000

Stop 10: You lose all equilibrium in a skiing accident at an undisclosed mountain range. Win a free talk show.

Stop 11: You are part owner of a nanny torture ring. Government post denied. Collect 45,000,000,000

Stop 12: The AFL-CIO has tapped your phones. Spin again.

Stop 13: 42% of Americans support your new slogan, ME=MC2. Collect 90,000,000

Stop 14: You find a bag of coins under a python. Time magazine calls you Human of the Year. Collect 6,000,000,000

Stop 15: Your BMW is implicated in a sex scandal. Collect 41,000,000

Stop 16: Kate Moss, Vishnu, and an octopus approach you about a time share in St. Martin. You become Viagra pitchman for a fiscal year.

Stop 17: Your sixth wife wants all your money. Collect 10,000,000

Stop 18: It’s time to get back to basics. You create an affordable electric hybrid that everyone wants. Collect 4,000,000

Stop 19: You become an outsized celebrity ice sculptor with a methadone problem and a stable full of wild bears. Collect 1,000,000,000

Stop 20: Effigies of you are burning in the streets. Immediate image makeover is a success. Collect 47,000,000

Stop 21: You enter rehab. Collect 20,000

Stop 22: Signs in the street read Capitalism sux. You don’t explain It isn’t capitalism anymore.

Stop 23: Atlantis rises. New markets form. Pick a car and circle the board

how many times, no one knows.



I am the Empire as the decadence draws to a close.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.
No violence is sufficient to make my draperies fall in ungraceful folds.
I am the Master of my Fate, I am the Captain of my soul.
I am the Empire as the decadence draws to a close.


The dirigible balloon, one of the newest of the wonderful inventions of man gives us reason for patting ourselves on the back.

True, it cannot be denied that it presents a large target to artillery, and owing to the highly inflammable nature of hydrogen when mixed with air, there can be no escape if the gas containers are pierced by incendiary bullets or comets.

But how can I express the beauty of this placid realm of blue? Ambition has nothing into which to sink its teeth! Time never means a thing! I am lifted from the ground and led by a resistless hand.


We travel together, passengers in our little spaceship, preserved from annihilation only by the care, the work, and, I will say, the love we give our fragile craft.
Seated in wickerwork chairs by large sliding windows, passengers enjoy a panoramic view of the world few have ever seen.
How to find, and, having found, to kill, a lion is the unvarying theme of conversation.

Life has always poppies in her hands.


The zeppelin swings in space like a cradle, swaying gently to the lullaby of the winds on the silver canvas.
A lady of pleasing appearance, attired in a mollified Pierrot costume, stood before some Japanese screens and began to intone:
Look around you. A city is the frozen shape of human courage.
The world is wide, and there is Heaven also, and Hell, and that dim twilight house that lies between.

She turned on her delicate feet, her chiffon skirts foaming around her ankles as she stepped out of them.
To ease the tension we laughed at Mrs. Senior about her intense wish for a crocodile.

Ha ha ha. I wish to sip Napoleon's liquid. Ha ha ha.
That explorer grappling with the fire ants of his own blood.

Let us go to Cayenne, and take ship, and then we will see what kingdom we will buy.


Guests were invited to join us at Abendessen, and shared a generous fare of eggs boiled in brine, cold meats, ox tongues, and saveloys, washed down with Rhenish and Franconian wine and beer.

I nourished myself alone like a mirror gone missing deep in the forest. Palm readers, clairvoyant gypsies, and parrots fluent in Greek could be found in the pergolas, along with virile monkeys that pleasured their mates at the speed of the newly inaugurated railway.

Our next stop was Fortaleza in northeast Brazil.


The walk back to Panama was not as arduous as our journey into Colombia had been.
There were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree. I collected rare Ornithtoptera and swallowtail butterflies. I acquired babirusa skulls.

Still half asleep at breakfast, I could see wild geese migrating through the surging mist.
I have now reached a point where I no longer find any written works that satisfy my secret desires.


The emperor had the imperial ornaments made by his goldsmith, Biennais, whose shop had a sign reading "The Violet Monkey."

One morning, while it was yet dark, he commanded me to be conducted into his presence.
Here, he said, take these treasures into your own keeping; they are no longer safe with me.

Every evening a fortune was stowed aboard, but there was another fortune waiting for the morrow—

an exquisite Faberge egg of a city on permanent display
revealing white, distant, miniature towers against a sky of pure blue,
medieval blue, embellished by volutes and cartouches,
pilasters and engaged columns,
shells and garlands,
draperies and lambrequins.

A vase bought in Peking is a beaker, shaped and decorated in the style of Chou bronzes.

In the torso of a youth every trace of archaic stiffness and angularity has been conquered.

To the right a man with a female companion is drinking wine. Two men are feeding birds, a parrot and a magpie.

I consented to the veil I could not lift.

We have arisen to the seventh splendor, where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers, footless and wild, like birds of Paradise.


The mask of an impeccable officialdom peels off like the powdered glove of a hand.
Transfixed and then unhinged, crazed with the wish to die and then with the fear the wish might be granted, we were about to see the Centaur’s birth, and, soon after, the first flight of angels!

We had the Equinoctial Line to pass under and consequently were in the very center of the Torrid Zone. The bright pagodas of Japan, the Great Barrier Reef, China, and San Francisco, all seemed impossibly remote now--kapu, forbidden.
Someone shouted: Behold, the powerful rivers we love are cleaving the world like the fine threads of the spider web!

Below us lay the empire of my dreams, with gigantic trees, exotic animals, and inhabitants grateful for my wise rule.
History is the course taken by changing illusions.


Languorous Asia and burning Africa—an entire distant world. Everyone has expectations as to what they will see when on safari.

The first day I shot one thousand kangaroos, one hundred tigers, three elephants, sixty bears, one thousand serpents and snakes, two hundred seals and sea-lions, thirty orangoutang, five chimpanzees, one hundred bison and buffalo, three gorillas, and three hundred antelope.


Our balloon floated over Paris for a half hour and then descended on the outskirts. There was music in the air.

The music was ingenious since if the composer be more than two years of age, he must have suppressed all he knew in order to devise it.

The Mona Lisa is much smaller than it should be. But arrangements have been made.


The commander of the vessel ventured his personal opinion that we are over-loaded to meet the calls of ambition, and that sooner or later we shall be caught by a heavy broadside wind and rendered helpless, or that we will make a headlong dive to destruction.
But this is mere transpontine nonsense.


The sky was overcast when we took off from Rangoon, and crossing the Gulf of Martaban we flew very low to avoid the leaden-looking nimbus clouds. To port I saw a moated fortress, defended by crescent-bearing troops with smoking cannons, besieged by an army with the cross on its banners.

But on the starboard side none other than maestro Arturo Toscanini, who had come from Milan with his wife!
An airship was never handled by more elegant gloved hands and more select personnel.
Gas lamps shone in the gardens and chandeliers glowed dimly inside.


I wish it were in my power to thank individually the members of the many East African households of which I shall always cherish warm memories of friendship and regard.
They view me as an emissary from the Island of the Blessed in which so many human beings still
believe in the innermost recesses of their souls.

I told them What is right is what works for us. When we’ve got our Kingdom in going order, we’ll let you know, and you can come up and help us to govern it.

They eyed me with admiration, but continued to conduct business as I took photographs.


Night of the golden tiger, and the dry flame in the air. The accidental destruction of so many dirigibles gives one pause.

Germany is scaffolding toward some moons; Tartar deserts are lighting up. I have lain upon hearth-rugs and eaten passion flowers. I have clothed myself in breeches of white samite and offered my friends yellow jonquils instead of afternoon tea.

When the time comes, the universe will be annihilated by the complete arrangement of the complete.
Yes—how I should like to be consumed in the flames of Valhalla.


An untimely consumption of custard, excessive gooseberries, often cover the mind with clouds and bring on the most distressing views of human life. Today the captain showed me a passenger. Allow me to introduce my most particular friend, said he. This is Professor Too Chin-in from the Temple of the Absolute.

This gentleman appeared sane, but never saluted any one. He said:

In more than one country we have hunted the savage and his little children and their mother with dogs and guns through the woods and swamps for an afternoon's sport. Now Woman is claiming to be released from perpetual tutelage, not only in her own name, but in the name of humanity itself.

Ideas about life and duty are rapidly altering, old notions disappearing.
We want to open out life and liberty to all the sons of men.
There are many humorous things in the world; among them the white man's notion that he is less savage than the other savages. Good day.

Well, an inability to understand a joke has never been an impediment to being amused by it. By Jove, what pantomime!

I procured a hookah and struck Oriental poses on a divan covered in Utrecht red velvet.
To burn always with this hard, gem-like flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life.


A battalion of lunatics has arrived in a lawless land.
To add to the deer, gua-gua, and monkey we had already eaten, at Lost City we ate armadillo, freshwater turtle, and squirrel soup.

In the aimless convulsion of Spanish balconies, a jade hand was feeding a jade canary.

The Egyptian embalmer latched the door to the lower chambers and flung himself on the corpse of a beautiful young noblewoman.

Frayed tempers managed to respect parliamentary etiquette until a mob swept into the chamber, led by a uniformed rogue who mounted the tribune, brandished his saber, and proclaimed: I am a high priest in the Brotherhood of the Dancing Anacondas!
The ship is staggering under the influence of the wind.


The ship is staggering under the influence of the wind.
Cloudless, and pierced by one solitary star, a copper-green sky gleams through the windows.
The flat and simple tones of the draperies achieve an effect of nuance and subtlety with a minimum of means.

Life at its best and healthiest, awaits the caprice of the bullet.

The raging squall in the background looks fantastic.


The ship is still staggering under the influence of the wind. Everything has begun to change its aspect. There are serious problems to be solved. We are 8,000 meters high; but my tongue is, as it were, paralysed. Earlier I closed my eyes, and, sinking down inert, became insensible.

What is the matter? asked Mrs. Halibut, putting her head up the companion way.

We can’t get down, even if we wanted, I replied.
The engine is out of control.
(How can she be docked? Steering is another problem!)

Her face was of the most astonishing whiteness; she wore a very large turban made seemingly of pink cashmere shawls.

One thinks of all the hands that are raising dingy shades in a thousand furnished rooms.


The earth has been for a considerable time lost to view, and the rate and direction of recent progress has become merely conjectural.

As the grounds for alarm rose, the crew gathered together in one close group.

For supper we ate oysters, a sauce of small turtles, and cheese. Champagne and some kind of peppermint drink with ice supported my sinking spirits.
Three hours later I was still plunged in the cinnamon oil with which the bath had been filled.

Then the crew said unto me, Tell us, we pray thee, for whose cause this evil is upon us; What is thine occupation? and whence comest thou? what is thy country? and of what people art thou?

I said I am the empire as the decadence draws to a close,
and when I act, I create my own reality.


So late, Death o'er me has spread his sable wings, painted with fancies of malignant power.
I see the past is the result of what is happening now.

And so I attempt to drink from all the vessels at once, lest the savour of one of them be lost to me.

In the interior of a kylix is a medallion of a sphinx surrounded by a tongue pattern executed in charming miniature style.

The shadows on the wall have the same value and beauty as a painting by Rembrandt.


I shall come back, as constant and as changeful as the unchanging, many-colored sea.
The loud shouts of welcome, cheers and yells as we sink earthwards will be like the roaring of a hurricane.

I breathe, new shapes appear,

and the music of a Desire as widespread as Spring begins to move like a great wagon
toward pillared courts beyond the Milky Way.




1. Verlaine, “Langueur”, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1999, Norman Shapiro, tr.
2. Jelaluddin Rumi, "Untitled," p. 14, Coleman Barks tr. The Illuminated Rumi, Broadway Books, New York, 1997
3. Cosmo Monkhouse, “Lord Leighton,” Scribner’s v. 19 #4
4. William Earnest Henley, “Invictus”
5. Verlaine


1. Unknown, “Airship Startles Primitive African Cave Dwellers,” New York Times, 2/9/13
2. George Whale, British Airships: Past, Present and Future, Ch. 6.,
3. “Love in Fiji,” Putnam’s Magazine, V. 32 # 6
4-5. W. E. Davis, Ten Years in the Congo, Reynal and Hitchcock, New York, 1938.
6. Sydney Dobell, Poems, “An Aspiration of the Spirit,” Ticknor and Fields, Boston, 1860, p. 109.


1. Adlai Stevenson, speech, 1965.
2. Douglas Botting, Dr. Eckener's Dream Machine, Henry Holt and Co., New York, 2001, p 53
3. Winston Churchill, My African Journey, Easton Press, Norwalk, 1992, p. 20
4. Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Dover Thrift, New York, 1993, p. 74


1. Douglas Botting, Dr. Eckener's Dream Machine, Henry Holt and Co., New York, 2001, p. 113.
2. James Huneker, Ivory, Apes, and Peacocks.
3. Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged, Signet, New York, 1996, p. 473.
4. Oscar Wilde, "The Fisherman and his Soul"
5. Dora Levy Mossanen, Courtesan, Simon & Schuster, New York, 2005, p. 168.
6. Kate Crane-Gartz, Travel Diary, Mary Craig Sinclair, Station A, Pasadena, 1929, p. 35.
7. Filler and Salvador Dali, 297-8 from The Secret Life of Salvador Dali
8. Andre Breton, "No Way Out of Here," Selections, University of California Press, Berkeley, 2003, Mark Polizzotti, tr.
9. Voltaire, Candide, The Portable Voltaire, Penguin, New York, 1977, Ben Ray Reedman ed.p. 281


1. Charles Sanford Terry, Bach, Easton Press, Norwalk, Conn., 1994, p. 109
2. Cesar Davila Andrade, “Origin,” The Invisible Presence, Mosaic Press, Oakville ON., 1996, Beatriz Zeller tr.
3. Dora Levy Mossanen, Courtesan, Simon & Schuster, New York, 2005. (DOUBLE CHEC THIS)
4. Susan Butler, East to the Dawn, Addison-Wesley, Reading, Massachussetts, 1997, p. 391.


1. Tom Hart Dyke and Paul Winder, The Cloud Garden, Lyons Press, Guilford, CT, 2003, p. 273
2. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, “Kubla Khan”
3. Gavan Daws and Marty Fujita, Archipelago, University of California Press, Berkeley, 1999, p. 80.
4. Robert Pack, "Going and Staying".
5. Joris-Karl Huysmans, Against Nature, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1998, p. 145.


1. Andre Castelot, Napoleon, Easton Press, Norwalk, 1971, Guy Daniels tr.
2. “Notice of a Life of Alexander the Great,” Journal of the American Oriental Society, v. 4, 1854, Dr. Justin Perkins tr. p. 402,
3. Mor Okai, The Nameless Castle, Paaver Cajander tr.
4. Robert Louis Stevenson, Treasure Island, Chapter 34
5. Philip Dodd and Ben Donald, The Book of Cities, “Monte Carlo,” Pavilion Books, 2006 and
Gjertrud Schnackenberg, "The Living Room," and Colin Platt, Marks of Opulence, HarperCollins, London, 2004, p. 163.
6. S.C. Bosch Reitz, Ming Porcelains The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, Vol. 14, No. 12 (Dec., 1919), pp. 260-261
7. Gisela Richter, Greek and Roman Accessions The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, Vol. 16, No. 1 (Jan., 1921), pp. 9-14
8. Joseph Breck, Four Seventeenth-Century Pintadoes Metropolitan Museum Studies, Vol. 1, No. 1 (Nov., 1928), pp. 3-15
9. George Meredith, “The Amazing Marriage”
10. Dante, Paradiso, Vintage, p353 and
Coleridge, “The Eolian Harp”


1. Edmund Morel, qu. Adam Hochschild, King Leopold's Ghost, Mariner Books, Boston, 1998, p. 179.
2. Stan Rice, Singing Death
3. Marinetti, “The Founding and Manifesto of Futurism.”
4. Daniel Defoe, Captain Singleton, p. 47
5. Alan Brennert, Moloka'i, St. Martin's Griffin, New York, 2003, p. 123
6. Jose Maria Arguedas, Ode to the Jet Plane, The Invisible Presence, Mosaic Press, Oakville ON., 1996, Beatriz Zeller tr.
7. Adam Hochschild, King Leopold's Ghost, Mariner Books, Boston, 1998, p. 175
8. Karl Jaspers, The Origin and Goal of History, Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd., London, 1953, p. 217.


1. Charles Baudelaire, “The Hair,” The Penguin Book of French Poetry: 1820-1950, Penguin, New York, 1992, William Rees tr.
3. Franklin North, “The Taxidermal Art,” Century Magazine, v. 25 # 1 Nov. 1882


2. Filler
3. unknown reviewer on Rite of Spring.
4. Nic,
5. Generic


1. Frederick Talbot, Aeroplanes and Dirigibles of War, Ch. 5, Lippincott, 1915
2. J.D. Jerrold Kelly, “An Ocean Steamship,” Scribner’s


1. Jean Batten, My Life, Ch. 4
2. Helmut Nickel, The Battle of the Crescent, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, New Series, Vol. 24, No. 3 (Nov., 1965), pp. 110-128
3. Peter Demetz, The Air Show at Brescia, 1909, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, 2002, p. 88
4. Ibid
5. Dora Levy Mossanen, Courtesan, Simon & Schuster, New York, 2005, p. 88


1. Theodore Roosevelt, African Game Trails, Easton Press, Norwalk, 1992, p. 271
2. Hugo Eckener,
3. Christina Sommers, “Are we living in a Moral Stone Age?”
4. Rudyard Kipling, The Man Who Would Be King, Dover, New York, 1994, p. 49.
5. Adapted from ythian-castle-toledo.html


1. Ezra Pound, Canto XXI
2. Thomas Doremus, “Picture a Penthouse Way Up in the Sky,” Perspecta, Vol. 13. (1971), pp. 196-201.
3. Rimbaud, Historic Evening, BOA Editions, Brockport, 1991, Bertrand Mathieu, tr.4 and 5.Robert Hitchens, The Green Carnation.

6. His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedeanta Swami Prabhupada, Bhagavad Gita, As It Is,International Society for Krishna Consciousness, Los Angeles, 1968, p. xxv7. Richard Wagner


1. Sydney Smith “A Little Moral Advice”
2. Isaac Holton, New Granada
3. Captain Marryat, Japhet in Search of a Father
4. Kim Man Choong, The Cloud Dream of the Nine, James Scarth Gale, tr.,
5. Asenath Nicholson, Ireland's welcome to the stranger: or An excursion through Ireland, in 1844
Gilpin, London, 1847, p. 126.

6. Mark Twain, Following the Equator, Easton Press, Norwalk, 1992.7. Mona Alison Caird, "The Morality of Marriage," p. 638.
8. ibid, p. 640.
9. Rev. Charles Aked, “Man and His Neighbor,” Appleton’s Magazine v. 12 # 9 July 1908
10. Mark Twain, Following the Equator, Easton Press, Norwalk, 1992.
11. Generic

12. Marcel Proust, In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower, Viking, New York, 2004, James Grieve tr., p. 152.
13. Fergus Hume, Red Money, Ch. 6
14. Frederick Brown, Flaubert , Little, Brown & Co., New York, 2006.
15. . Walter Pater, The Renaissance, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1998, p. 152


1. . Ken, Emergency Sex p. 70
2. Tom Hart Dyke and Paul Winder, The Cloud Garden, Lyons Press, Guilford, CT, 2003, p 196.
3. Jorge Caceres, The Wonders of the Earth at an Altitude of Thirty Meters. The Wonders of the Sea Thirty Meters Below.4. The Temptation of St. Anthony, Gustav Flaubert
5. Frederick Brown, Flaubert , Little, Brown & Co., New York, 2006.
Leonard Clark, The Rivers Ran East, Travelers' Tales, San Francisco, 2001, p. 71.
6. James Wait “Through Waterspout and Typhoon,” The Century, V. 26 # 6


1. James Wait, ibid.
2. Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Dover Thrift, New York, 1993, p. 92.
3. “A Late 13th C. French Tapestry,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, Vol. 11, No. 7. (Jul., 1916), pp. 146-147.
4. –Winston Churchill
5. Rob the Badger,


1. James Wait, ibid.
2. Jean Jacques Rosseau, The Social Contract, The Faber Book of Utopias, Faber and Faber, London, 1999, John Carey ed., p. 131.
3. Frederick Talbot, Aeroplanes and Dirigibles of War
4 and 5. The Dominion of the Air: The Story of Aerial Navigation by Rev. J. M. Bacon, Ch. 19.

6. James Lowell, “Yachting,” Putnam’s v. 32 # 6, p. 151
7. A.C. Doyle, The Lost World, Ch. 11
8. Generic
9. Frederick Talbot, Aeroplanes and Dirigibles of War
10.Adapted from Thomas Doremus, “Picture a Penthouse Way Up in the Sky,” Perspecta, Vol. 13. (1971), pp. 196-201.

11. A.W. Kinglake, Eothen, Easton Press, Norwalk, 1992, p. 84
12. T.S. Eliot, Preludes


1. The Dominion of the Air: The Story of Aerial Navigation by Rev. J. M. Bacon, p. Ch. 15.
2. A.W. Kinglake, Eothen, Easton Press, Norwalk, 1992
3 and 4. Tchaikovsky, diary, qu. by James Fenton, “American Holiday,”
5. Gustave Flaubert, Salammbo, Penguin Classics, New York, 1977, A.J. Krailsheimer tr.
6. Jonah Ch. 1.8.
7. Unknown interviewee thought to be Karl Rove, qu. by Paul Krugman


1. Philip Freneau "The House of Night--A Vision"2. Alan Watts, “Taoism.”
3. Starkie, Rimbaud, p438
4. unknown, “Three New Greek Vases,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, Vol. 14, No. 1. (Jan., 1919), pp. 8-10.
5. Breyten Breytenbach, from On the Noble Art of Walking in No Man's Land,


1. Sara Teasdale, On the Dunes
2. Hugo Eckener, qu. by Douglas Botting in Dr. Eckener's Dream Machine, Henry Holt and Co., New York, 2001, p. 128.
3. Jelaluddin Rumi, (275)"Like This," (276-8) Untitled Coleman Barks tr. p. 78 TESand
C.S. Lewis, “Night”

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Moonrise On Herb Garden

Wake up
There is no butterfly

Ordinary lives are clashing in the shadows—
The dandelions must have their meadow

and I refill my cup from public fountains,
to see myself when I have erred

or eaten too much print
or not enough, I never know

How many of us, open as a photograph,
a pose waiting for its meaning to be seen

remain in doubt as the color fades?
falling, pink as hippos in the serenity of sunlit days

before the football game, a thrill-a-minute stunner,
winds down to an intercepted prayer

It’s five p.m. It’s Sunday. And there’s rain
(Like a moving sky I can’t remember where you changed)

Extrapolate what you want
Things aren’t like they ever were

Great seasons pass through a year in a day—
blossoms pulping in April gutters

sitars in the duodenum of June
bright autumns bluer than Tahitian pearls

December madness, December blues,
blossoms pulping in April gutters

Moonrise over the herb garden
Wake up Here comes the butterfly

The Hardy Boys Go Nowhere


“Don’t worry Joe,” Frank advised. “Soon enough we’ll have Egmont and his whole gang of ruthless polygamists under our control.” “I hope so, Frank,” his brother said. He pointed straight ahead. “Look, another woman, in desperate need of help!”

A woman’s form stood tied up to a column underneath the balcony. In one smooth motion, Frank pulled his flashlight, lighting up her face. “Jesus Christ,” ejaculated Joe, “it’s our mother, Laura Hardy! “Boys!” she cried. “See what happens when your father sends me away?” They promptly cut her ropes. She pulled two bowls of opal ice cream out from underneath her blouse. They kissed her on the forehead and disappeared into the dark.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Tenleytown Fix

"Sometimes I am blessed, I am just blessed, to receive premonitions of my own identity--like 'oh, this is who I am,'" I said, forcing myself on the dinner party repartee like a Peugot cutting off a Lexus. And "Like- I just wasn’t meant to wear polyester. So, we don’t live in a natural world, but more and more...."

I paused, and went for the blue tortillas. Dave quickly picked up the slack, and began speaking about a mutual acquaintance’s job prospects. I shot a searching glance to the golden retriever lying obediently athwart the hearth of the fireplace and refilled my drink.

"So you get this fake version. The rest of us, sure, can get by, I’m only concerned about those who don’t accept the nature of reality that's fed to us by pernicious, bottom-feeding media outlets that just reinforce..."

A phone rang. I waited to see who would pick it up.

--Anders Sh. Mandersson

A New Little World of Disruption

"And all I need now is intellectual intercourse; a soul to make the hole much deeper." – Alanis

Turn on the news. The economy is changing, and the number of MacBook stabbings is on the rise. My neighbors are living out long pent-up dreams: making love to beautiful women on trampolines, spraying each other with hoses, over-sampling the menu, expanding lateral pleasure. God bless.

But again, as winter quickly becomes just another idea, your defenses are struck at an unlikely moment. A kind and pretty girl gives you an ounce of attention and takes over your thoughts like a Queen Victoria river-tour of the Ganges. How embarrassing you are in this condition! If there could only be justice--her grace, this overwhelming polaroid sense of her goodness--levied onto every little thing around you. There is nothing and everything to be done. Off with your head.

--Anders Sh. Mandersson


cvijanovich takes off

Cream cheese-cool marine air moving seafood, cotton candy, lawnmower fumes, and cherry milkshakes under the mannequin moon.

The oceans must be planes of glass colliding on horizons about to disappear.

Ford Taurus, aluminum siding, palm tree, detritus, the paparazzi—

The way the moon always goes home.

It is said I resist.
But I don’t.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

The Hardy Boys Go Nowhere


They entered an abandoned showroom where the lights of Egmont’s twenty cars caused them no small disturbance. Between the Edsel and the Corvair a cool low fog breathed through the windows.

“Golly, that’s intense,” said Joe.
“I think I’m losing my mind!” screamed Frank.
“I think I’m losing my fear!” screamed Joe. “This isn’t right!”

Both boys undid their belts and bound each other until the fog had passed. They did not notice that a ’55 Corvette had crept out of its berth.

The Hardy Boys Go Nowhere


Turning a corner against some cushioned red walls, the Hardys found a hundred urinals leading to the stairwell. Frank asked Joe about football practice. And the urinals began to sing: “O there are tides and winds and seasons you do not understand, useless maps and darkened lanterns you are holding in your hands. I do not see a man of your father’s height or width. Go home to the girls you seem so happy to set foot in motorboats with.”

Friday, April 3, 2009

The Hardy Boys Go Nowhere


They came to a sand pit surrounded by electric fences, filled with scorpions, roaches, hot coals and nickels, and watched by an infant with a button on his back that read DANGER. “It’s some kind of sign,” Frank deduced.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Partying On (And On and On)

Five minutes, just
five minutes.

This is all we have 
all promise no payoff.
Doing what we can
whatever comes our way--

bigger seas,
police and thieves,
China in the wings—-
whatever comes our way.

At 3 am,
let others enter.
Come in, come in
to what you know.


ii. hockney and friedrich

One night I get out of my car.
It rains. Umbrellas bloom.
In the closets, empty clothes—cedarwood, bananas, and waffle cones.
The swimming pool a sink of shampoo.

Astroturf gets bloody when a wild pig in racing stripes appears in the garden,
clusters of war ribbons dripping from his side.

By moonlight his eyes shine like black snakes twinkling in the sun.
The beat is dropping like a shuttle out of space.

Someone shouts The splash is on!

and he dives deep in the mire, all turbo desire.

I can see him lathered even now, one tusk still sticking upright like a bowsprit under ice.

When the sky falls
I thank god I’m a pantheist.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

Evo 3

The fluid lake that works below—bitumen, salt, and iron scum heaves up its boiling tide.

The laboring mount is torn with agonizing throes.
Dust particles from space provide an important source of the molecules that give rise to life.

The soil is full of small angular fragments of white quartz.

Tensions in the Earth’s crust break Rodinia apart along rift zones.
Dense, black water-laden clouds mask the sun; thunder claps and lightning flashes day and night.

Turtles cavort in their capes of green algae.

Nature is unambiguously a world of things that appear to be other things, or in some cases, of things that appear to be nothing at all.

It is almost dark when the men who have gone out hunting return.



1. David Mallet, The Excursion, Canto I.
2. Nigel Henbest, “Science: Organic molecules from space rained down on early Earth,
3. Thomas Belt, The Naturalist in Nicaragua, New York: E.P. Dutton.
4. Rick Guenther, “Peace River Geology,”,%20Archeology/17-01.htm
5. . J.E.N. Veron, A Reef in Time, Belknap Press of Harvard U. Press, Cambridge, 2008, p 85.
6. Ibn Sarah, “Pool with Turtles,” Poems of Arab Andalucia, Cola Franzen, tr. City Lights, San Francisco, 1989.
7. Nature, Representation, and Misrepresentation,
8. Eugene Andre, A Naturalist in the Guianas.


i. twilight on crewdson

Through storefront windows, the succulents phosphoresce. Security sleeps under the thieves. Shoes are being idolized, elevators filling with heavy cologne.

Like aquariums blue with Television fluid, suburban light is moving sans control—
all walls turned to H2O. The oaks aglow upon the lawn

serenade us to a boardwalk rendezvous with the golden orange of our body
moonlighting as our child.

Midnight cake is drowning in a bath of milk. Shoes are being idolized.

I know this air:

Spring is coming, the hyacinth,
the impatiens.

It Happens

Once my mother heard the priests moaning through apartment walls
things changed. I came to hate the city.
I rode the bus through Brooklyn. I was eight, alone.
Can you imagine?
Carnegie was cold. Ballerinas can be cruel.
My mother took me to the agency.
They liked me til I smiled,
pointed out my tooth, the one a millimeter skewed, and said
*tap tap*
“This won’t do.” So that was that.

She heard the priests again.
Moaning through apartment walls.
Soon after, men in suits came calling.
I thought they were from the government;
they said the government was useless—
politics, philosophy, writers,
you, I, and tomorrow.
I was headed for Columbia. Law school. I was in.
Can you imagine?

We read the words, attended
It seemed so true—it seems so odd
to say it now.
But holocausts and empty space were all around;
my head full of fears, deep,
historical fears—Babylon, earthquakes, Obscenity.
I met him then. I was seventeen.
He was twenty seven. Can you imagine?

Three years later the kids kept dividing.
We drove around
picking out the houses we would take
once Jehovah cleared the way.
He gained fifty pounds a year.
I told him traumas he didn’t hear,
thought Cuba was the end of all my cares.
Six or seven bolts of light and the fruit would fall.
But the Russians never came
and he only spoke lovely words to God.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009


Hooch, watts, yen, wear, tear, now! Why?
Forget me. Or not.
With a twist, Mt. Fuji rose.


Shiny sun, brass letters glow—
My eyelids are customized.


Eating someone’s lunch
the lounge empty as a shrine.
I’m better than this.


Snoring in my cube
the sound of cleaning ladies
mutes the cleaning rain.

Identity Schmisis

Tell me, Muse, of the man of many ways, who was driven far journeys, how his capacity for staying still to attend to a quiet interchange of question and answer amounts to less than nothing and possibly even subverts our understanding of what it means to mean something. I look at the blue sky and the flower patterns in the countryside with his mind.

How many nights have I found myself listening to Londoners’ diatribes on the sheer weirdness of the American citizenry?

You couldn’t find the sphere on a globe, they complained. Or Your love is suffocating me because it is filled with conditions based on your beliefs of how I should live my life.

I told them our country is noble and strong. We love what is right, and we hate what is wrong!

But it never does me any good to be proud. Because then I’ll start being happy with myself and then I’ll stand still and then I’m old news, choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season. O Mama

always said life was like a box. Any man who dares to be young, or to grow, or to be original, must expect to have the world set upon him and pound him unmercifully! You get pistol-whipped, booty tapped, face scarred. Your future may be happy and productive, but you’ll have to collect power-ups, such as oxygen and flaming tar to emerge victorious. As the years draw to a close, you still won’t know what—if indeed anything—is going on.

But don’t be afraid of change. Just be yourself.

But who am I? That certainly is difficult to say.
I’m very patient, but I’m also very impatient.

When I was a child I used to run races with the wind. The world was inhabited by buxom, bottom heavy, voluptuous nymphos who used to pass around pictures of me with the words ‘teeny weeny boy’ on them, which was my nickname. Now when I see a woman I’m afraid of her. I’ve been so bad with women that I fear if I go near one she’ll hit me. Perhaps she will kill me. That’s why I got into a relationship with a wonderful, beautiful, amazingly sexy (is it getting hot in here??)
transsexual man. Despite 53 marriages he says he is a one-woman guy. Unfortunately, so am I.

Now all ports are open to my immediate desires, but also subject to my long term vices, like Gucci shoes, and certain chemical stimulants. I can barely see the road from the heat comin’ off of it. And I hear there’s always bald tires at the end of the fast lane. Gah! I’m so sick of this! Why,

O mighty armed, is the mind so hard to restrain and restless? There will be some things that people will see. There will be some things that people won’t see. And life goes on!

So let’s break out of the horrible shell of wisdom and throw ourselves like pride-ripened fruit into the wide, contorted mouth of the wind! I’m talking some new kicks, ones like you ain’t never seen.
Open your eyes, Muse, now you realize. Now put on thigh highs. Tie your boots up tight, very tight with all your might and add perpetual tenor to my rhymes.

The greatest number of people are never taught anything properly or accurately.

And only you can make it a wonderful day for a has-been who never was.



1. Homer, The Odyssey, Book 1, lines 1-2, Richmond Lattimore tr.; and
Plato, “Theaetetus,” line 179e6-180a1, Francis Cornford tr., The Collected Dialogues of Plato, Princeton University Press, 1989, pg. 884; and
Luke Mitchell, “Grand Old Inquisitor,” Harper’s, November 2004, p. 67.
2. Arthur Rimbaud, “Mauvais Sang,” Bertrand Mathieu tr.

3. Salman Rushdie qu. by Oliver Libaw, “View from Abroad,”, Feb. 2, 2002.
4. Original
5. Unknown

6 and 7. Peter Enns, “What Do We Tell the Kids?”
8 and 9. Pat Tillman, in an interview with Tim Layden, “A Cut Above,” Sports Illustrated, December 8, 1997.
10. adapted from Eric Roth, Forrest Gump screenplay.

10. adapted from Eric Roth, Forrest Gump screenplay.
11. David Grayson, Hempfield, Doubleday, New York, 1915, p.207.
12. Kool Keith, “Little Girls.” Sex Style. Funky Ass Records, 1997.
13. Unknown; and
an adaptation of video game reviews including
14. Your Future Now,
15. Unknown
16. Lizzy, grade 5,

17 and 18. Roshan Matthews, “Who Am I?”roshan/writings/whoami.html.
19. Jerry Jones, Dallas Cowboys owner.
20. Thomas Duncan, Big River, Big Man, J.B. Lippincott Co, Philadelphia, 1959.
21. Gracie and Zarkov,; and
Letter from
22-24. Zakaria Turay, quoted by Tom Masland, Newsweek, 5/13/02, “Voices of the Children,” Newsweek Inc., New York, p. 29.
25. lynnie,
26. AP article,, “Marrying Man Weds for 53rd time,” Oct. 6, 2004.
27. generic

28. Nigel Coates, Ecstacity, Princeton Architectural Press, Princeton, 2003, pg.119.
29. David Lee Roth, “Panama,” 1984. Warner Brothers, 1984.
30. original
31. generic
32. adapted from Bhagavad Gita, tr. unknown.

32. adapted from Bhagavad Gita, tr. unknown.

33-35. Donald Rumsfeld, Oct. 12, 2001, Department of Defense news briefing.
36. F.T. Marinetti, “The Founding and Manifesto of Futurism,” Le Figaro, February 20, 1909, tr. unknown.
37. David Lee Roth, “Mean Streets.” Fair Warning. Warner Brothers, 1981.

38 and 39. adapted from Kool Keith, “Intergalactic Lover,” Black Elvis/Lost in Space. Ruffhouse Records, 1999.
40. Kool Keith, “Intergalactic Lover,” and;
Ovid, “Metamorphoses,” Samuel Garth tr. 1717.
41. L. Forbes Winslow, Mad Humanity, M.F. Mansfield and Co., New York, 1898, p. 138; and
Johnny Oates, Baltimore Orioles manager.