Not farthest removed

Perhaps we are only able to love
when the other is farthest removed from our humanity:
guileless, worshipful, artless, an acquiescing narrative
whose plot we reign as partial gods, to appoint at will –
pulling and tugging at invisible puppet strings
with peculiar condescension, pride and conceit,
marvelling at the multitudes of even and uneven
harmonics on a tune played courtly on a pianoforte.

Such is the role when we play as master;

Still I pray you acquit of this particular cruelty,
corded like cuffs to disguise an unhappy abrasion,
lean into this unsatisfactory appeal:
draw a drop cloth over this vexing circumstance.
I tire of this inconsiderate gut undulating into
singular silence. My countenance is wan.
Though you are the most honorable estate,
enterprised reverently and with unrefuted deference,
I am but the wild pastures that nest your gardens,
conplementary, adjacent to your stern humanity,

not farthest removed
but just as worthy —

Though you may never perceive anything extraordinary in them,
these wildlings whoop and dance in the ink of twilight,
undeceiving and wanting like these words —

these words, so carefully put together,
were once carefully purloined from the wretchedness of others.

Copy Snogs

Two boppy loads that I’ve been writing copy to all day:

1. Catch My Disease, Ben Lee
2. Everyday is a Holiday, Esthero feat. Sean Lennon

Bah. I wanna go off!! Hate sign-offs with a passion. -grump

Blardy Cow!

People who know me know that I heart my meats — the bloodier, the better. In fact, I like them on the right sight of squishy-warm — where a vet could possibly resuscitate the poor bovine if he’s fast enough. And lest anyone starts the whole spiel about how rare beef is an agent of E.Coli and hypertension and all that jazz, I cordially inform you that the most recent studies have shown that the main causes of E.Coli lie not with the slab of blue (haha) meat, but with the utensils used in the preparation of the meal. And as for the latter accusation, may I again direct you to this little nugget of tivia “A Rare Steak A Day Keeps The Doctor Away” which clearly states that rare beef actually helps strengthen the arterial system. Ahem (jumps off the soap box).

Moral of the story? For a healthy, sturdy body and a cast-iron constitution, eat cow!

Anyways, once a month the cravings revv up, and I find myself googling for pictures of steak and more steak during office hours to whet my appetite. And these are just some of the pictures that made my mouth oasis-y with drool:

Behold the winking pink wonder, and weep!

All chunked up and nowhere to go (not really — my mouth, for instance, is a more than willing receptacle)

This is an onglet!

Lest anyone accuses me of neglecting the greenies, here’re some vegums that I’d love to munch on.

Another favorite sidedish — the almighty asparagus. Sweet, juicy, softly crunchy — a perfect compliment to steak

Damn… writing about this just got my juices flowing! -grump

whatever i catch and set free

whatever i catch and set free
is lost in the rippling flows of this solemn islet.
no one bears witness to this weary setting,
or mourn the loss of this pilgrim soul,
striving forwards, eventually, denied.
And bending down beside the cooing frond,
I lull myself to eternal sleep, head bedded
on a furrowed shell, ethereal nets of grey
desire murmuring on the ottoman of crowded stars,
a little sadly, not quite yielding, not quite dead.

let’s not go too far

let’s not go too far (she said
and i pretend to blot a cussword)
and she said with a cigarette
kiss let’s pack it in and gallivant
into a paragraph. a good beginning,

and a better ending —
she laughed with her cigarette lips
like mint julep and chutney.
so i move and she laugh and i
move again, sometimes bumping

into invisible brackets, leaning forwards
until there is god, and he said,
let’s not go too far while it’s still –
(then i stop, where you are she is
saying like she is trembling words. in

her arms) nothing is more fleeting
or alive than looking into her eyes,
these round ripe olives shining
with mirth, oiled dusky from incense,
as if to say, let’s not go too far lest

i bite and buck; rapturous fingers
on her pillow book, my unhewn alphabets
singing (every curve and crook
a quivering bone and sinew song.)

In reverse

By volunteering a solution
I learn to write my name in reverse,
if only to comfort you from the vast
fog that surrounds us, indelible, inchoate;
I bottle this in a solemn emerald vial
to hang around my neck as a hangman’s noose.
So you may walk a little smoother
down a princessed path paved in primroses,
I sprint ahead to cross this damaged path
(you never saw the pebbles I picked before your
retinue and flung leftward from my shoulder,
into parasitic fern, twisted prickly gold
so nothing shows, except your glittering vision).
In accepting this solution you learn
to write my name in reverse, vomitting
awkward curves churning long into the morning.
Always, no matter your guise or shape,
you meant more to me than I to you.
And these are the saddest lines that
I write tonight: however infinite,
our lines, so truly parallel, will never meet.
Whatever happens with us, half-blotted into half-night,
should I lose the heart to patter on padded feet,
should I cling to the moss clinging to your heels,
your dainty red shoes will haunt mine,
excepting the rule of two, indigoed and mauved
from the twilight, solely a notion in this salt-stained weather.

Tower of Babel

讼无奈
供汝娱遣，鞠躯弃性，烦也，
盼卿还慕，双栖双念，疑也，
不知汝意，孰难畅怀，惑也。

Yes, when the occasion strikes, I write poetry in my native tongue, Chinese (two years of Chinese Lit has got to account for something, hey?). So I was suitably surprised when I discovered a visitor tried to google for an interpretation (at least, that was what I deduced).

Imagine my chagrin when Google’s inaccurate translation services returned something like this:

The defendants helpless

Ru entertainment for removal, and devoted footer up, trouble also.
Mu Qing also hoped that the two-actress study, the suspect also.
I do not know Ruyi, or more difficult Changhuai, also bore.

Gee.

Bookplate

and the two of you merge in to one infnite universe, vaset and unkind, blankand disperesed. maybe you’re one presrion , drawn in to two bodies, splitinto two osuls. I begin to be someone sels. memory, like suticaese, leftbehind, but i refuse to lie.

Something a lovely friend sent me, a response to one of my infamous drunken posts where the fingers criss-cross each other in a frantic bid to keep up with an inchoate mind. Thank you.

Lyrics to string you up and breathe you down (on a bubble float in a frozen mug)

This is the place
You’ll end up when
You lose the chase
Where you’re dragged against your will
From a basement on the hill
And all anybody knows is
You’re not like them
And they kick you in the head
And send you back to bed

Isolation pulled you past a tunnel to a bright
world where you can make a place to stay
But everybody is scared of this place
They’re staying away

Your little house on memory lane
The mayor’s name is fear
His voice patrols the pier
From a mountain of cliché
That advances everyday

The doctor spoke a cloud
He rained out loud
You’ll keep your doors and windows shut
And swear you’ll never show a soul again
But isolation pushes you ‘til every muscle aches
Down the only road it ever takes

But everybody is scared of this place
They’re staying away
Your little house on memory lane

If it’s your decision
To be open about yourself

Be careful or else
Be careful or else

Uncomfortable apart
It’s all written on my chart
And I take whats given me
Most cooperatively
I do what people say
And lie in bed all day
Absolutely horrified
I hope you’re satisfied

Isolation pushes past self-hatred, guilt and shame
To a place where suffering’s just a game
But everybody is scared of this place
They’re staying away
Your little house on memory lane
Your little house on memory lane

– Memory Lane, Elliott Smith

Some philosophies fuel a belief in the self,
Constructed to keep one’s goods on one’s own shelf.
Built well you’re a strong letter ‘I’,
With the feet on the ground and the head to the sky.
Now and then you can bend,
It’s okay to lean over my way.

You fear that you can’t do it all, and you’re right.
Even diligent day takes relief every day
From its work making light from the night.

If something in the deli aisle makes you cry
You know I’ll put my arm around you
And I’ll walk you outside,
Through the sliding doors, why would i mind?

And when you’re holding me
We make a pair of parentheses.
There’s plenty space to encase
Whatever weird way my mind goes,
i know I’ll be safe in these arms.
You’re not a baby if you feel the world.
All of the babies can feel the world. That’s why they cry.

– Parentheses, The Blow

———————————————————————————

Things you want and you can’t get. Exactly the sentiments encapsulated in these songs, trussing desolation and optimism in an undeniable bowl of ironic, upbeat tunes. Good on you — you’re getting somewhere, and I’m proud of you, tincture by tincture, the overarching glow is still that of pride.

Exception to the rule

• Elliott Smith – Say Yes

If only to stay grounded most cooperatively, ‘bove the mountain of cliche advancing everyday.