The Book of the Irish Bulls – On Sale Now
Had in mind a media/textual commentary but decided on something more personal.
A mechanic fixed my front window’s screen this morning after a strong wind storm blew it off. I also rely on a taxi driver now to go and back from a grocery store.
I was raised to be intellectual and/or artistic and/or spiritual, but I think that can make you underappreciate physical-service workers. Most people don’t care about my ideas. Getting to the grocery store and repairing the apartment matter more.
Just a poem today
“Windows” by yours truly
Windows.
We were looking out windows
On a possible future,
But soon we were apart;
Fate thou art. For sure,
And maybe we will be more mature.
When does it end?
Will we ever win? Dohhs!
Windows.
Just a comment on a book Guyland that I have liked lately. I think male psychology is one of the most difficult issues whether it is Vladimir Putin’s or or someone else’s.
From the text:
“In fact there is a lot of evidence that opposite-sex parents play a critical role in the healthy development of their children. For example, let’s take the opposite sex pairing–fathers and their daughters. ,,,When dads are interested in their daughters’ lives. When dads are more involved in their daughters’ lives their daughter develop greater self-respect, and thus are significantly less likely to be in in abusive relationships and less likely to be victims of date or acquaintance rape.”
I have a personal theory that opposite-sex children often get many of their characteristics from their opposite-sex parent. It does not matter, if they end up okay.
On Mass and a brief poem
The North Carolina Pastor mentioned Belmont Abbey several times today. I think it is one of only two Catholic colleges in the Deep South, the other being Spring Hill in Alabama. Maybe southern Louisiana has some.
What interested me was that I think my problems last year in North Carolina may have had something to do with religious .differences. In my experience, Catholics can be very sinful, but Protestants can be even worse, self-righteous. “Damn Prots!”, meaning Protestants, one grad school professor said during a class.
A poem
“Memory Eyes” by yours truly
Memorize.
Remember what you saw.
It was more than a flaw.
Forgive the lies.
Never dies.
But time flies,
Yet everything dies.
I’m afraid many feel they are doing something immoral to satisfy a system.
We all have bills to pay.
Come what may.
Just two poems today (still trying to get new novellas published).
“ICU” by yours truly
ICU, and I see you.
Intensive Care Unit can hurt.”
“Take care. And buyer beware.”
“Ethanol” by yours truly
“You know it is basically poison and ethanol.
Call it what you will, but it is really swill.”
“The proud doth fall,,
They say.”
“Ethanol doth appall,”
“Stuff” by yours truly
I don’t mind the sexy stuff.
They only were moments,
Not torments. Joys. Girl and boy.
But I have mostly had enough.
Won’t for you give any guff.
Let’s both now be tough.
On Giacometti and visual art
From The Irish Times:
“Given that Alberto Giacometti is widely regarded, if not without some dissent, as one of the major sculptural talents of the 20th century, and that his circle of immediate friends included Samuel Beckett, it is perhaps surprising that Giacometti: From Life is the National Gallery of Ireland’s first exhibition of his work.
It has been put together with the co-operation of the Fondation Giacometti, Paris, and incorporates a good representative selection of his output, encompassing sculpture, painting and drawings.”
Giacometti is one of my favorite visual artists. He seems to have combined Modernist craziness and beauty well. For a while as a teenager I thought I might become a visual artist because I sketched almost obsessively. Even took an art drawing class at 19. But I started to scare myself with sketched portraits, so stopped. Now, I “paint with words.”
Three poems
“Miss” by yours truly
I have a proud declaration:
I have a beautiful new girlfriend.
Her name is Russian (Internet) Miss Information.
(A rather long name, but you know those Russians.)
She keeps pushin’ and may not be real,
But you feel what you feel.
“Flame” by yours truly
Flame, glad you are on a wick.
But big fire, please expire.
Or just retire.
Your burning doth tire.
Stay snuffed in the mire.
“Flame Part Deux” by yours truly
“No one’s to flame.” — with apologies to Howard Jones
“Desire without commitment.
I don’t want to play with that flame.”
“Whose flame is it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Mad as the mad hatter.”
Just a poem today, a bit risqué (trying to get three novellas published soon).
“Prostitute” by yours truly
She may have been a prostitute.
Her underarms were quite hirsute,
But she was very cute,
And in the end I was mute.