Falling Out of Bed, A Hotel Room in France

I.

Last night my daughter falls out of her bed. I am asleep yet I hear the *thunk* as she hits the floor. She cries a bit, I get her settled again. Then later, the cat falls off of our bed. Are you okay kitty? Ok. I get up and check to see if the kid is fine & won't be falling off the bed again. Ok. Ok. Back to oblivion. Ok. I'm fast asleep, dreaming about something bizarre -- like giant glowing slices of bread, and then I almost fall out of the bed. What the heck is happening to us?

II.

I keep waking up in the middle of the night thinking I am in a hotel room in France, and it is raining. Then, waking up more, I discover it is not raining -- but I still could be in a French hotel room. To fix this, I turn on the lights. I am surprised to be at home in the United States. Crazy, man. Crazy. I turn off the lights and go back to sleep. I dream of being in a hotel room, somewhere in France. It is raining.

Son He Said

"Son," he said, "You'll find life to be mostly horrifying. Absolutely horrifying in all the contrary things people do to each other, say to each other, think of each other. You'll also be appalled, shocked, and misled by the people you love most. You'll learn that nothing is sacred -- furthermore, every just law, or truth, or simple decency is violated with little or no feeling by masses of people who never wish to think over anything other than what they desire. And these people I am talking about, the majority, will surely assault you, or humiliate you, or abuse you, or kill you if you get in the way. They, these people, will say that is just, and right for them, but wrong for you if you reciprocate in any way. And if they can't touch you, they will still hate you and lock you out any way they can. Eventually, as a reward for your clearer comprehensions on the inequities of the world (coupled with direct experience), if you're not strong, you'll likely lose your faith and go raving mad and die penniless in the street, while the greatest Bastards and Rapers, and Molesters of the Holy will retire in style to Dubai, or Florida to wait for the End of the World.* But cheer up, don't despair! We'll have some laughs along the way!"

* The "End of the World" being the end of their own own minds, but they don't understand that.

Just Like the Song

I did say "Thank you" too many times, I did. I did. And I can't get away, now, it is too late. Remember how many times I'd say, "Thank you?" At first it was nice, someone seeming appreciative and normal -- but then it became repetitive and oppressive. And later it was pathetic. You realized that I had grown up without a certain amount of human kindness. You realized, like in the song, I was just looking for Shelter. And all of my appreciation makes me more of a Stranger. And when I talk like this, again, like in the song, you don't know what I'm after. And whenever I open up a map or timetable, just to go downtown or find a new bakery, bookstore, or restaurant, you automatically shudder.

Hey! It is King Philip III Day!!!

Did you know that today, in 1578, Philip III was born? Here is his portrait, which hangs in the Museo Taurino, Seville, Spain. He was king of Spain and Portugal from 1598 to 1621. Many historians don't know this, but Philip III prided himself for his ability to balance tables on his chin, and pry bottle caps off with his teeth. He also was fond of a game called "Baacebal", attributed by the renown baseball historian Walt Swisserson as being one of the precursors of American baseball. Because of this, if Philip III were alive today, he'd be playing shortstop. But very few people know this. So All Hail King Philip III!

Lamentable

Several lamentable things happen on the way to the funeral. We take a wrong turn with the corpse and get lost with 40 other slowly driving vehicles with the "FUNERAL" placards in their rear windows -- having to stop for directions at the strip-tease joint was decidedly undignified for the deceased, a monsignor in the diocese, who incidentally spent many enjoyable hours there, so when the dancers came out for one last appreciative dance, well.

Vonnegut

Vonnegut
a great writer is dead

I agree
and the rest of it

is Kurt
blah blah blah blah

but Kurt
knew it would be

that
way

In the Storm

In the storm, on the boat, we can blame ourselves. It won't help, but there is plenty of blame to go around. When it was calm and sunny, drunk & as a joke, I threw overboard the life preservers. And you said you had a map, and knew where we were going.

Best Freinds

They could be seen as elderly but still in good health, even fit. They are on vacation together. Years ago, they were married as typical husband and wife, but they divorced. The outcome of this was two fruitful and much more successful marriages with other life partners, relationships that culminated in several interesting & even talented children apiece, and even wealth.

The other result of the divorce, is that they became best friends. And now, to be able to take a trip together this way is a great comfort. The respective second husband, and second wife are now dead, and the children all grown up and starting their own families.

Love is still there, too. But they leave it alone, because it is softly delicate, and muted, not to be disturbed. Yes, it is like a very very old novel, an edition that cannot be replaced, a favorite read, yellowed and ready to crumble into nothingness if mishandled.

Wherever You Go

To make myself feel better, I imagine every place I go is merely an extension of my own living room. I close my eyes, breath deeply, and I see an image of the whole universe flowing out from my living room, so now anything that wasn't my living room is inseparable from it. Try it. For me, you reading this, is just another part of my living room. Imagine the universe flowing out from whatever room, or place, or time, that you are comfortable and secure in. Then wherever you go, you are there.

Said to Self

Talking to yourself is okay. Mumbling to yourself, okay. Yelling at yourself, arguing with yourself, or hitting yourself, not okay. Punching self, as I said, no. Punching = hitting. Jumping up and down, screaming to self, once or twice, yes, but no more. Singing to self showtunes, no. Singing "Whoops I Did It Again" never, under any circumstances. See "Banned Songs" post.

10 Points on How to be a True Gentleman

(Some posts deserve to be resurrected, no matter how long ago I posted it. In this day and age, this one is especially timely and poignant. From April, 2003. I suggest you print it out and carry it at all times in your wallet, or billfold, when emergencies or difficult situations arise.)

10 POINTS ON HOW TO BE A TRUE GENTLEMAN

1. Always be gentle, polite, and speak kindly and nicely at all times
2. Never throw things
3. Moderate your nasty habits
4. Think, "I am attractive."
5. Remember to inculcate a feeling of modesty, and diligence
6. Never kick animals, especially at parks and nature preserves, or in front of children
7. Use spittoons if you chew, or a handkerchief if you use snuff
8. Avoid any kind of low drink such as Vermouth, or Gin that is sold in plastic containers, and soforth
9. Attend a Church occasionally
10. Do well, and fear not

A Short Story

It has been awhile, hasn't it? Looking at the budding trees, a space that will soon be a renewed wall of shivering green, I was thinking almost fondly of you. But I'm glad you're dead. And I'm glad I did it.

rude poem

i write this
rude
rude
rude
rude
rude
little poem

It was then when he realized suddenly

It was then when he realized suddenly, with a flash of private joy, that he was living in the midst of golden days...days that later in his life he would look back over, and feel pleasure towards, he'd feel even a profound reverence for these days. What he was doing now would warm his heart and bones as a lonely old man. He tossed the grenade into the foxhole and ducked before it exploded.

good/ a short poem

good
a short poem
i keep it
or i throw it away
that is all there is
to it

i threw a

i threw a
dime
into hell
and
someone spent
it
far below

A SUGGESTED INSCRIPTION

A SUGGESTED INSCRIPTION FOR
A CHEOPS NEEDLE OR SIMILAR
MONUMENT


I FOUND A RUSTED RAZOR BLADE
ON THE ROOFTOP
IN SLANTING RAIN

I ACCIDENTALLY BROKE A LIGHT-BULB
AND SCATTERED ITS GHOST
UNDER MY COUCH

I LISTENED TO THE LOVELY ARIA
SUNG BY THE FAMOUS
LOVELY OPERA STAR

THE PHONE RANG FROM TIME TO TIME
AND IT WAS THE WRONG NUMBER
OVER AND OVER AGAIN

AFTER IT WAS QUIET FOR A LONG TIME
I REACHED FOR THE RECORD
AND I PLAYED THE ARIA AGAIN

THE RECORD
DEVELOPED A SKIP
SO I GOT ONTO MY ROOF AGAIN

I TRIED TO
HUCK THE RECORD
HALF-WAY TO THE STARS

BUT IT ONLY FELL
SMASHING TO SMITHEREENS

IN THE STREET

ANNO DOMINI 1993

YOUR ASSIGNMENT

Study the effects of Typography on total strangers.

Lunch at the Beach (The Sand Keeps Piling Up)

Lately, every day Martin goes to the beach for lunch. He eats a few bites of his pathetic hand-made sandwich, with its runny tomato on top of sad baloney, then throws himself down face first in the sand, and cries. A bum who lives at the beach has gotten used to this routine and shouts encouragement from a sand dune away, "Yes buddy! That's it! Let it out! You're crying for the WHHOOLE world!" Martin pretends not to hear the bum. He gathers up the sand around him, to get comfortable, like gathering up covers and pillows. He does this as his tears dry. He does not remember, but he did this same repetitive soothing arm motions when he was a small infant. It made him feel better then, and it still does now. Meanwhile, sand is piling up everywhere, in Martin's pockets, his car, the office...there are small traces, trails of sand to the coffee machine, to Martin's front door...his coworkers don't know what to do, because he won't talk. Martin doesn't know what to do. So the sand keeps piling up.

Note on the Tao

the darkness
is Tao

it does not
swerve

it does not sit