Walking the Cat

(reposted from Wednesday, February 16, 2011)

[audio]

He prefers to spend his days lazed
in the stuffy arms of a chair by the window
where he can keep an emerald eye
peeled for caricatures in the street.
His pleasures are unparalleled
though this morning he carried on
about the hot cereal being anything but.
Later, despite the coming snow
he insisted on our usual walk -
the side streets troubled by student drivers
at ten and two, the vacant lot flecked
with white. We stopped for a paper
which pleased him to no end, knowing
it would eventually wind up in his box.
He doesn't seem to mind old news.
On the way home he mentioned
the snow blower which I should have
had serviced in the fall, and his wish
to return to his pastime of compiling lists
of restaurants with take-out sushi
at reasonable prices for friends and acquaintances.
But you know how that goes.

Tara and Corleone

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It's here somewhere . . . it has to be . . . I just know it . . .
Wind chimes . . . catching the blizzard's tail . . .
and you . . . journaling your odyssey . . . now in its nth year . . .
worrying the lines . . . that deepen
with every footnote . . .
nostalgic for the look you had
at the beginning of the New Millennium . . . aka Y2K . . .
Do you regard past playaphiles with a smile? . . .
Should you? . . . You're asking me? . . .
You paid the price for their best behavior . . .
You made the best call . . .
We all make the best call . . . in the moment, yes? . . .
when roads diverge . . .
and the photo-montage of smiling faces . . .
Smiling Faces Sometimes . . .
Smiling Faces Sometimes . . . pretend . . .
The Temptations, yes? . . . Psychedelic Soul . . .
The Wayback Machine . . . back to the '70s . . .
If they can do it . . . I can do it . . .
with Jack in the Beanstalk's goose laying golden
eggs on your face . . . after-hours clubbing
seals . . . awaiting their ship . . .
brimmed with henna intimacy . . .
and the dead silence of phony phone numbers . . .
Who knew? . . . Certainly not you? . . .
Then the stumbling began . . .
the eyeliner underlined with stilettos
and role confusion . . .
Erik - son of Erik - Erikson's Moratorium . . . and the hiatus . . .
I retreat . . . into my children . . .
I am my children . . .
I become my children . . .
I become untouchable . . .
I accept my sentence . . .
my paragraph . . . the entire book . . .
a cautionary, confessional tale of two people . . . me . . .

Patti Smith

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A cautionary tale of the imagination propels a cold plunge
into night which ends with back alley anonymous embraces
down a stairwell . . . into the street . . .
notebook jotting your cross-country gambit . . .
The morning after faced head-on
with words-of-the-day about false eyelashes . . .
and the misunderstandings . . . of playing the part . . .
Yet it did indeed feel good . . . almost . . .
filtering as a go-between
hinged on recording the latest in Odyssey Tales . . .
in which faceless extras being fed fried chicken
audition for the part of a modern day Caligula . . .
bipolarism notwithstanding . . . the meds suffice . . .
charting clang associations
and that darn thread through the labyrinth . . .
I am circus . . .
I am three-ring circus . . .
I am four- five- . . . six-ring circus . . .
careful, of course, in the derangement . . .
The requisite basic disorientation
and the need to temporarily unshackle the mind
from ordinary semantic logic . . .
There is absolutely nothing fortuitous about this . . . or that . . .

Eugenio Recuenco

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Tripping on bad soft-core porn
you are hurled into impenetrable writing
full of postmodern gewgaws
and whirligigs . . .
a room lined with waxy lemonwood paneling
deep in the bowels
of an unheard of snow day . . .
I don't think I like where this is headed . . .
I'm dog-tired from shoveling
and misunderstood besides . . .
OK, we'll back it off a bit
and cut to the symbols
of the unconscious:
a heyday of Freudian slips
and Jungian archtypes
with your tendency to pigeonhole
taking a back seat in a rusted-out stretch limo
pinned by first-timers . . .
The driver is hosting an open mic
reading his/her latest installment from an
uncooperative smartphone . . .
and we're here on the cusp of ordering-out . . .

Screen Dump 349

New and a bit alarming . . .
          - Beauty and the Beast (2017)

The bloated script toggles your erotic other . . .
as if at a meeting of sorts with a chameleon-like character
who never was . . . and never will be . . .
pushing a Something-of-the-Month Club app
celebrating the opening of the New NY Bridge . . .
Scalpers run lines down blind alleys . . .
Friends with benefits bottleneck stage doors . . .
The millennium's magic beans, yes? . . .
A portal to The Time Before the Time That Was . . .
cryptic codes choke galley proofs thick with odyssey . . .
costumes . . . understudies . . . extras . . .
liner notes nuanced
with clues to your whereabouts . . .
last seen being whited-out by sheets of snow . . .

Bruno Aveillan

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The thought of Klein's patented riff on ultramarine
and the high romance of pursuit
saturate your jealousy of time despite a high wind advisory . . .
Gym rats crowd onto a blue continuum with feigned defeat
pained by the thought of your strange repetitions . . .
their ineptitude straining the windows with halftime images . . .
You were climactically rebuffed, yes? . . .
but who's to say why? . . . Certainly not page-turners
who know the morbidity of sand
slipping in and out of costume and into the role of street
only to be shunted off into a siding . . .
You, not unlike many, are mired in the phrase bald-face lies . . .
its etymology as elusive as imaginary numbers
skipping beats to the turntable's scratching . . .
An obsession with interludes will soon spell relief . . .

Anka Zhuravleva

Screen Dump 347

You were kept up at night by Joan Mitchell's Les Bluets . . .
A book on the terrace . . . at the entrance to Monet's cottage . . .
now a pile of pages . . .
ghost-knowledge . . . a mark of erudition . . .
passing the plate . . .
like Beckett's Film starring Buster Keaton . . .
who remained confused . . . throughout . . .
asking Beckett if he had eaten Welsh rarebit . . .
freely improvising the lines . . . the melody dictates rhythm
and shared admiration
of facticity and the poetization of form . . .
What are you talking about? . . .
Not quite sure . . . but little matter . . .
especially now . . . toeing the high wire . . .
though costumed we are recognizable . . . spooning a hard conceit . . .

Samuel Beckett and Buster Keaton

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Under a fermata . . . as if the book's deckle edge . . .
With amplification your silence will inhabit
the margins of this poem
not unlike a ripening of sorts . . .
perhaps indifferent-seeming . . . at first . . .
then a buttoning-up against the cold . . .
You have become unsuited for tangentials . . .
play-acting . . . breathing in . . . breathing out . . .
trying to convince yourself
and the other (named after the main character)
that this is the language of lost things . . .
that this too is the way it is . . . as good as it gets? . . .
tagged . . . archived . . .
to be studied . . . continued . . . forgotten . . .
He/she enters you . . . becomes you . . .
The odyssey as virgule . . .
Your first tea . . . miles away . . . down the hill . . .

Francesca Woodman

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A fairer House than Prose.
          - Emily Dickinson

Instead the twitching vocabulary blinds us
with its patina . . . demanding entry . . .
You have experienced this yourself . . .
[see Journal entry #365]
Without reassurance then . . .
How we manage to traverse March Madness
on a snowy March day . . .
your bad ear tap dancing to Keats's Impossible Music . . .
flirting with segues . . .
past players working an audience . . .
Meditation as foreplay, yes? . . .
You haven't refreshed the pages, that's why . . .
There's a blueness to it . . .
hypnotic . . . despite the trepidation of icosahedrons . . .
20 questions? . . .
And why the cormorants? . . .
Instead of rewinding . . . try resetting . . .
It doesn't matter . . . the directions are misleading . . .
off-putting . . . thick with errors . . .
Of course, he/she wants to re-up . . .
Relegated to inefficiency . . .
the oversight of an overnight of the 10th order . . .
Recheck the code . . .
You embody the Pleasure Principle . . .
skim Freud . . . flag Jung . . .
You deny insensitivity, yes? . . .
arguing instead the pressure points of the body . . .
Little wonder the insinuations . . .
The algorithms wax geometric on your eyelids
providing a welcome respite to food shopping . . .
I can only imagine . . .
Unclothed . . . wrinkle-proof . . .
escaping into the figurative
as if a swell carried you across the jetty
on an overcast day . . . brimmed with extras . . .
Regard the script, please . . .
You were well-versed given your days at the manhole . . .
with its triangulation of
hand . . . mouth . . . womanhole . . .
Is that it? . . .
Shape-changing . . . and leaving before the sun . . .
not unlike a vampire . . .
Reason #3 for why your mother told you . . .
If the sitcom rolls in, be noncommittal . . .
the honester you'll become . . .
These elements will magically take flight
as if from your scrapbook . . . minus 18 minutes . . .
where someone reminded you to hedge your bets . . .
And, of course, the buoyancy . . .
You insist numbness, but that wasn't it, was it? . . .
as you sucked on your lower lip
waiting for the Windows 10 Update . . .
You were lavish in your arrogance
and partied-on until the bubbles were pried open . . .
your odyssey threatening to be something other
than what it was? . . . is? . . .
You continue to catch the wave of enjambment . . .
fresh from Neverland . . .
prancing ostentatiously . . .
and this is good . . .
indented on the next line to show that the break
is the result of space limitations
not the actualization of the self . . .
which tries mightily to crash the servers of past players
who insist the seduction of bass lines . . . not baselines . . .
for no reason other than buy-backs . . .
a pumping segue to the requisite . . .
your meter hashtagged as a dream sequence
intuiting its possibility via ekphrastic verse . . .
laid out on a picnic table astride cobs of corn . . .
Of course, there will be afterthoughts . . . as always . . .
a celebration of the "I" and the "you"
straddled with nary a homestretch . . .

Emily Dickinson

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That the room is spinning . . . spinning . . . spinning . . .
Unhouse your face . . . and begin . . .
Time bookends itself . . .
You have made-do . . . and made-off
with the likes of nobody . . .
Evidence bespeaks versatility . . .
I have been verily amused by your analytics . . .
and antics . . .
Intentionality 'R' Us, yes? . . .
Arrange the chimes farther down the row . . .
You have crossed yourself
past the row houses
seemingly at ease with the accoutrements
being examined and codified
in the makeshift alcove . . .
Of course I remember the locomotive works
qua casino . . . where the slots
found a home . . . and await the starting gong . . .
Isn't it as if you were pre-empted? . . .
It wasn't written that way . . .
I don't know how it was written
but I know it wasn't written that way . . .
A switch must have occurred . . .
and flipped . . .
Nonetheless, you will be less remarked upon
astonishingly mild-mannered
with a ripple-effect to unfurl your socks
in full color
in full view
in full payment
in retrospect . . .
His/her latest novel plays upon dot matrices . . .
It's a Fulbright . . .
Imagine the centrifuge . . .
and the particle accelerator
gathering dust
especially in that moment of anticipated reactions . . .
The Law of Anticipated Reactions . . .
Perchance to dream? . . .
And yet a smidgen, perhaps? . . .
While you're up, could you please flip
the complications . . . of that encounter . . .
when the reds, whites, and blues partied hard? . . .
Trust me, it wasn't allegorical . . .
There was no dispensation involved . . .
further, happenstance was not called upon . . .
You would think the obvious
but the outcome surprisingly took on
a broader issue
and made its way . . . tail between its legs . . .
to the photomontage
as if nothing had happened . . .
We were caught off-guard . . .
All of us . . .
And it was a good thing to be in good company . . .
We got the story straight . . .
with the attendant ifs, ands, and buts . . .
Things can get muddy . . . as you well know . . .
especially with the threat of climate change
and Holly Golightly . . .
You do remember Cat, yes? . . .
The knitsch was knotted . . .
We were about ourselves
with five minutes left in the quarter
and leftovers left over . . .
Please review the conscious avenue of deceit . . .
It's always there . . .
I have your back . . .
Thank you . . . and be well . . .

Audrey Hepburn and "Cat" in Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961)

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Caedmon, the illiterate cowherd, learned to sing in a dream . . . The seductiveness of the transcendent impulse, yes? . . . The words sometimes coming . . . sometimes not . . . sometimes the wrong words . . . No watcher at the gate, they enter the arena and the ears of others . . . their attempt to hurdle the ho-hum foredoomed to failure . . . You steel yourself . . . against what? . . . conformity? . . . obsolescence? . . . Free-wheeling afterthoughts stampede pageviews . . . provide just enough fluidity to prime a cold winter's night . . . the moon taking on all comers . . . in all weight classes . . . The concept of an afterlife . . . so day-before-yesterday . . . Are you still there? . . . or have you retreated into the deep woods of derivation? . . . Day-trippers choke supermarkets' aisles . . . fall victim to the trumpet's dissonance . . . without the bells and whistles . . . without the enthusiasm . . . of post-coital anaerobics . . . All for naught? . . . If push comes to shove, applicants will be required to submit their soliloquies in triplicate with a Sharpie . . .

Gemma O'Brien, the "Sharpie" Lady

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Your last time out was played . . . in mime . . .
good will hunting à la if-he-can-she-can . . .

a disastrous hookup . . . where less was more . . .
and more was even less . . .

with you lost among ceiling tiles
while outside Stevens's snowman orchestrated

nothing that is not there and the nothing that is . . .
And you ask . . . Why "now" the drama? . . .

Wendy Bevan

Screen Dump 341

You're a liar!
          - Tilda Swinton in Young Adam (2003)

But the expectation trumps the whimsicality, yes? . . .
Of what? . . . sleeping with someone? . . .
Ring around the rosie . . . earwormed . . .
and we're all falling down . . . the Urban Dictionary
reminding us of the Black Death
and the monkish chime . . . blurring genres . . .
as effortlessly as the banality of domesticity . . .
But I can do this now, having done time as a footnote . . .
Forget the intrusion . . . there was none . . .
But what about posed pics? . . .
Aren't they filled with lies? . . .
What are you talking about? . . .
Welcome to The Age of Lies . . .
You're kidding . . .
I'm not kidding . . .
Casual lies à la Billy Joel?
No, not casual lies . . .
Again you capture the fancy, better, the fantasy
of many . . . following a hiatus . . . of how many years? . . .
The voice in this line is unrecognizable . . .
Savoring the rush . . .
The rush, yes . . . yes . . . it's all about the rush . . .
Aware of the seamlessness of thought and action . . .
the invisibility . . .
And now? . . .
Zero-out the counters . . . and proceed with the scene . . .
He/she will attempt a comeback . . . at an open mic . . .
But what about Thomas Wolfe? . . .
Didn't he host an open mic? . . .
I don't think so . . . he was too tall . . .
besides, I don't have time to phone home right now . . .
Then make time . . .
Make time? . . . whoa, the designated optimist
has elbowed his/her way into the room . . .
Deliver the lines as written, please . . .
Pedal to the masses . . . no doubt . . . wait . . .
I'm googling as fast as I can . . . and now my eyes close
as I enter the fifth of seven levels . . .

Tilda Swinton in Young Adam (2003)

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The plausible deniability . . . wait, that's a bit too strong . . .
The plausible desirability? . . . no, no . . .
OK, waking to a snowstorm . . .
Another iPhone day chomping at the catch-as-catch-can . . .
Chomping or champing? . . .
Google it . . .
This will in no way be altered or elevated to make it more
conventionally literary . . .
Little matter . . .
I am at my best when I am at my best, yes? . . .
You are at your best with obfuscation . . .
Undiminished . . . he/she wanted to shout . . . I am undiminished . . .
by the inopportune . . .
by the sharp questions being hurled at me . . .
by the light of the silvery silence . . .
Walk with me . . . take a number . . .
How many times . . . how often . . . when did you begin
to feel like this? . . .
Excuse me? . . .
OK, you reek of hyperbolism . . .
Huh? . . .
You exaggerate . . . embellish . . . the idea
that your experience . . . oh, forget it . . .
But who among us does not? . . .
Among us? . . .
You know what I mean . . .
It's part of the bigger picture, I mean, poem, yes? . . .
Are you on the heels of . . . or on the coattails of? . . .
Please stop doing that . . .
Doing what? . . .
Regressing to one of your tried-and-true motifs . . .
like when walking along a roadbed . . .
Yes? . . .
You sense the locomotive . . . and wish for corrections . . .
the corrections you weathered in fourth grade
reading a graphic novel . . . on a snow day . . .

Screen Dump 339

The unbearable lightness of you sporting a bowler
(à la Lena Olin?) . . . slipping through an incognito window . . .
The notion that what goes around . . .
goes around an infinite number of times . . .
cameoed . . . cinemascoped . . .
as if Super-8s were the new now . . .
You sidestep the warp . . . and buy time
on the dotted line . . .
the nearness suffocating (as always?)
the decades-old memory of lovemaking
on a bunk bed . . . deconstructed . . .
with you pining for an inspection sticker . . .
a Möbius strip ensuring non-orientableness . . .
maintaining the mystery . . . for the before-after crowd . . .
rainbowed and enigmatic . . .
The naiveté of post-Internet security thugs
libraried . . . in the 800 stacks . . .
Purging the past with a keystroke, yes? . . .
There's always a room of one's own for everyone on this tug
chuffing its way through the Isles of Langerhans . . .
All you need is faith
To hear the diesels humming . . .
News that's fit to 3D print . . .

Lena Olin in The Unbearable Lightness of Being (1988)

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There seems to be a disparity . . . the images fragmented . . .
the lighting off . . .
and now you're squinting . . . at the camera . . .
trying to clarify the choreography of the odyssey . . .
He/she presented with a revised script . . .
and a smattering of masks . . .
You balk at the masks . . . and sketch an alternative . . .
The dialogue begins . . . off-cue . . .
and does its best to preempt the confusion
which is fogging the lenses . . .
The scene is re-shot with filters . . .
a waste of time . . . nothing seems to be working today . . .
Perhaps the reason is buried in the footnotes . . .
along with your memorandum of understanding . . .
How ill-equipped (unprepared?) . . .
especially now with an albatross as metaphor . . .
In this poem you are all artifice . . . the language frayed . . .
the letters of introduction misfiled . . .

Anka Zhuravleva

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Most of the time I don’t run and hide.
          - Bob Dylan

You seed the illusion
comfortable with the aloofness you've affected
your undeniable self awaiting word
wind chimes buffering fragmented hours . . .
You page through
taking notes
the photos yellowed and brittle
the footnotes tiresome
pages missing or hidden . . .
Why go there? . . .
Why not? . . . It all fits . . .
Or so you'd like to think . . .
But there are elements of happiness
of enchantment
of times spent with eyes wide shut
composing lines that . . .
That what? . . .
That were never delivered, I guess . . .
Aha! . . .
I could have followed the thread, you know . . .
And ended up where? . . .
Not sure . . . But not here . . .
And then? . . .
Look, most of the time not unlike the rest of us
I just try to soldier on . . .

Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison

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Apparently, you were comatose all those years . . .
a marionette to nimble fingers . . .
an automaton dispensing emoticons willy-nilly . . .
off-shore laundering muddying the movements
color-coded from your days
in the dorm hustling Monopoly . . .
The hidden room behind the grandfather clock
maps your seductions with wide eye-shadowed eyes . . .
the undertaking inevitable
as you surrender yourself
to the lusts of strangers
initializing tick sheets in the sun room
while picking lint from shirtsleeves . . .
Surprised? . . . And now, ladies and gentlemen . . .
the darkside . . . the underside . . . the blindside . . .
the other side of then . . .
the other side of now . . .
lip-syncing Regina Spektor's Hero:
He never ever saw it coming at all . . .
Wait! Can we stop with this outpouring of theater or theatre
this close encounter of the un-kind
this semiotic overload
this de-con-struc-tion
this rewinding of the tape
this ripping of musical addenda? . . .
You bought into the notion of restorative solitude
a power higher than the unremitting void
environmentally friendlier than dishwashing detergent . . .
You are doing your part . . .
Correction . . . You have done your part . . . And now? . . .

Francesca Woodman

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How does it feel . . . with no direction home? . . .
          - Bob Dylan

As if boarding a tram in an end zone of irregular verbs . . .
You . . . clothed in the outlandish . . . just to be oppositional? . . .
How many were there? . . .
No idea . . .

You mistake indelible for inedible
and jump into a brief novel of waiting
your Etch-A-Sketch sapping the body of eroticism
courts and rejects intertextual references . . .

No black and white idiom here . . .
the moments between objects and events . . . invisible . . .
You're invisible now . . .
you've got no secrets to conceal . . .*

Pocketing variations of enigma
flexing with the urgency of an unorthodox kind of desire . . .
you begin negotiating angles . . .
raging against outliers . . .

The ultimatum as pre-emptor . . .
as mystery tramp . . .
Genre-bending as gender ploy
skipping the discomfort . . . just when understudies arrive . . .

This is how it played out . . . in the dream . . .
how it devolved . . .
when all else seemed suburban
and you resurfaced as if at an impasse . . .

*Bob Dylan, Like A Rolling Stone

Francesca Woodman

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[audio]

Of course you remember those days, yes? . . .
soundtracked by Jaco's unfettered unfretted bass . . .
Can you spell Word of Mouth? . . .
Looping back to a mind of winter's pink skies
and the remnants of past players
infiltrating your portal
when 1 + 1 was an imaginary number
that laddered its way to the top of your Wish List
where Utopians sported recoilless Doc Martens
in colors to tweet home about . . .
There was no need . . .
no worms drilling into your OS . . .
Your play station was your life . . .
You were warned . . . acoustically . . .
Dylan's gray-sleeved The Times They Are A-Changin' . . .
as you made your way to the corner mini-mart
for Ed's toast (taste?) of the town . . .
circumnavigating the razor-fenced delusions
that profited everyone . . . and no one . . .
while vacuum tubes leaked
the words of poets who had signed off
on beta versions . . . bringing home the bacon
that would one-way-ticket them to an MRI
just when their buckshot ducks were all lined up
and the ovens were ready for the next mitochondrion . . .
Uber Drivers of the World deserve a break today . . .
A Room of One's Own . . .
Do you have an ARoOO? . . .
Of course you do! . . .
There's no telling . . . Yes, please go on . . .
rejuvenated . . . and rejuvenated . . . and rejuvenated
Come . . . You Master(bator)s of War . . .
stepping in and out of a series of dreams . . .
autopiloting plants from bulbs
commonplace bargaining chips YouTubing
your audition for a seat in the orchestra pit . . .
the pendulum swinging
back and forth . . . back and forth . . .
to Vincent's head on the body of a fly
in the flick's parting shot . . .
You was dumbstruck by the Creature from the Black Lagoon
and the mysteries of Julie Adam's white one-piece
that filled the screen
and your head
especially the scenes in the cave
on some backlot no doubt
which led to the bowels of the Paris Opera House
where the Phantom keyboarded
phantasmagoric seductions for Christine for over 27 years
besting Cats as the longest-running Broadway show . . .
Those were the days my friend
unfolding one after another
with suits papering the A Train
which morphed into The Polar Express
for most . . . if not all . . .
Little matter though . . . Little matter . . .

Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954)

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[audio]

This way or no way.
          - David Bowie, Lazarus

Tell-tale hearts tell all on morning talk shows

slotted with errant knights and distressed damsels . . .

wakeup calls . . . ignored . . .

Mavens . . . encrusted with sobriquets

enter roundabouts at speeds

unsafe for Bollywood trailers . . .

and you . . . without reprieve . . .

reminisce through the third chapter and beyond . . .

plotlines folded into money belts . . .

The absurd drama . . . at one remove . . .

anthologized . . .

repeated . . . repealed . . . for the better? . . .

What does this tell you? . . .

about him . . . about her . . . about him and her? . . .

About Eleanor Rigby? . . .

Where do they all come from? . . .

upstaging the Simon and Garfunkels of the millennium . . .

bookended . . . whispering in our ears . . .

anguishing over troubled water . . .

storefronts retrofitted for the now . . .

the without . . . and then some . . .

thinking back wistfully . . .

for however long it takes . . . to count out the coins

and assume the role of lead . . .

The deadline passed . . .

The language poets of Abyssinia . . . silenced . . .

demand a recount . . .

while shooters . . . at 20 paces . . .

with chips in their brains . . . and chips on their shoulders . . .

randomize death . . .

Like Bowie's Lazarus . . . Everybody knows me now . . .

David Bowie, "Lazarus"

Screen Dump 332

With camera obscuras [sic] on the virtual beaches of your odyssey . . .
the white sand studded with the vexing asymmetry
of indulgences flattening your life to a morality tale . . .

in which he/she becomes increasingly enamored of inked torsos . . .
This of course will be addressed in the next chapter . . .
along with the history of illuminosity . . .

Excuse me while I trot off to the deli
for a provolone and tomato on sourdough . . .
Trudging through the snowstorm . . . and all that, yes? . . .

There's something to be said for the interiority
of this short austere work of fiction . . .
It grabs from the get-go . . . with its refusal

to stick to the customary protocol of story-telling . . .
not unlike the days of pushing paint . . . sans serif . . .
Elsewhere sommeliers await the rematch . . .

Interruptions . . . make for interesting bedmates . . .
Why the reluctance to take ownership . . . after all these revisions? . . .
Mayhaps the iffyness of it all? . . .

Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003)

Screen Dump 331

1. Action figures . . . with debits and creditors
2. with parlez-vous français
3. with inconsistent bedtime stories
4. of nights in shining amour . . .
5. have returned . . .
6. The day twists and turns and shouts out . . .
7. Checkout lines bottleneck last-minute shoppers . . .
8. BOGO becomes BOGT . . .
9. Your old Harley . . . running on empty over toll roads . . .
10. appears . . . and agrees to ferry you back
11. to the old neighborhood
12. to the desperation
13. of your parents' backyard barbecues . . .
14. with the gambits
15. karaoke machine
16. sleepovers
17. hangovers
18. (un)dress rehearsals . . .
19. Your élan vital is up up and away . . .
20. and on-deck for The Twenty Question Challenge . . .
21. The end run is in the starting blocks . . .
22. The slo-mo is a no-show . . .
23. heavy with odds for the long shot . . .
24. Install the app for It's a Wonderful Life . . .
25. Do it now . . . before it's too late . . .

Screen Dump 330

Blundering into the hemisphere of adjuncts . . .
The holiday pinspotted with strike zone and age spots . . .
Traps baited with unbound collections . . .
The armatures of engagement, yes? . . .

You kick it up a notch for the blue screeners . . .

a bevy of iconoclasts in a black Chevy SUV . . .
ferrying across the Kill Van Kull . . .
using your archives as GPS . . . The kiosks . . . in overtime
running lines . . . forgetting . . . most . . .

Paolo Roversi

Screen Dump 329

A photograph with no "punctum" to draw you in and disturb you.
          - Roland Barthes

You know as well as I that the costume
trumps the standoffishness . . .
this mirror-image of the transformation . . .
a surprise . . . to many . . .
a panoply of seductiveness, if you will . . .
seduction as entrée . . .
as when Proust dips his madeleine in tea
and is transported to metaphysical reverie . . .
Who is bluffing whom? . . .
Enigmatic . . . without whom . . . yes, go on . . .
I have bicycled six crooked highways . . .
To possess in its entirety
as when asleep one possesses oneself . . .
Is that Proust again? . . .
No idea . . .
A play in three . . . no four . . . acts . . .
Reassembled for extra credit . . .
The creditors askance . . . a well of silence . . .
You enter the scene . . . somnambulistically . . .
Your cropped top . . . directing traffic . . .
The extras? . . .
Conquest or discovery? . . .
Stretching out . . . in control . . .
This will be reshaped . . .
as in I will reshape the scene . . .
Isn't it obvious that it has to be redone . . .
Put your dinner with André on hold . . .
You'll be able to assume charge . . .
able to resume . . .
able to subsume . . . if need be . . .
She was so wasted, she knocked over the dip . . .
When questioned about it . . . she lied . . .
Already indifferent . . .
as change . . .
as redundant . . .
as necessary . . .

Krzysztof Warlikowski's New Proust?

Screen Dump 328

Now that you've circumvented that . . .
I just thought . . .
What with all the brouhaha . . . about whatever . . .
Time to videotape the scene . . .
Resplendent, yes? . . .
But what about the gaps . . . in the dialogue? . . .
The silence would be an action, yes? . . .
Into Great Silence . . .
Like smoking weed . . .
The form-fitting costume . . . as requested . . .
Parlaying the emptiness
as if it were the correct pronunciation
which . . . as I'm sure you know . . . it is not . . .
In cursive . . . if that's what you want . . .
Stop the car! . . .
Pull in behind that minivan
brimming with yapping animals . . .
This was written into the scene . . .
Not sure by whom . . .
But he/she said to follow the dotted line
in the dialogue . . .
Go with it . . . improvise . . .
We could try The Red Hen . . .
Yes, let's try The Red Hen . . .
In the dream, I was burglarized
and he was dead . . .
Kind of unusual . . . even for him/her . . .
Ya think? . . .
Anyway, they continued marking up the menu
with changes to the dialogue . . .
Pretty good, actually . . .
But then Door #2 swung open . . .
The revisions tumbled out of the back room . . .
Certainly enough time to grab a motel room . . .
Well of course you can . . .
Why are you lying on the floor? . . .
He/she meant no harm . . .
What about the bandaids? . . .
And your shoes are scuffed . . .
All that walking . . . seemingly in circles . . .
But now the laundry has been folded
and put away . . .
Time to proceed . . .
I'll take that call . . . and raise you three . . .

Marcin Szpak

Screen Dump 327

1. Grim figures with notebooks and head colds . . .
2. Isosceles triangles in training . . .
3. Perch on bathroom fixtures and drywall
4. in Home Depot
5. recording life's secular apocalypses
6. for price check . . .
7. You engage them in Q&As
8. about toilet tanks . . . sawhorses . . .
9. crescent wrenches . . .
10. the impending blizzard . . .
11. Clues to materials, colors, dimensions, warranties . . .
12. as the Porcelain Doll in Orange Overalls . . .
13. Thumbing through
14. The Whole Earth Catalog's Tools for Change . . .
15. captivating players . . . and their parts . . .
16. in the tool shed . . .
17. pro forma . . .
18. with your 16 mm take
19. on Marvell's To His Coy Mistress
20. seducing the dumbstruck
21. with multi-layered costumed panegyrics . . .

Marcin Szpak

Screen Dump 326

1. Indiscriminate evenings . . . leggy with enticement . . .
2. with eyes . . .
3. exchange costumes at the entrance . . .
4. You know the drill . . . however goofy . . .
5. Are you underestimating the instability of the context? . . .
6. the excitement? . . .
7. Come again? . . .
8. Field studies, yes? . . .
9. as if opening a dream . . . to decades-old meanderings . . .
10. drifting . . . out-of-focus . . .
11. The sky . . . too . . . counterpointed . . .
12. with aria . . . faint . . .
13. The weird aftertaste . . . of an unknown
14. hitting you . . . hard . . . on the drive back over the bridge
15. to an all-night diner . . .
16. before tumbling . . . downplayed . . . into morning . . .

Marcin Szpak

Screen Dump 325

1. You seek the promiscuous feeling of being alive
2. conference-call your mirror
3. and dream alterations in structural modesty . . .
4. In effigy . . . someone reminds you . . .
5. Why tarry? . . .
6. It would behoove you to take it to the next level
7. despite the rumblings from behind Door #3 . . .
8. The other day an open mic in the supermarket . . .
9. Lines run
10. on shoppers with full carts
11. and full bellies . . .
12. No one stepped up to the deli counter
13. to sample the sharp provolone . . . sliced or chunked . . .
14. How long the wait . . . in the green room? . . .

Bruno Dayan

Screen Dump 324

1. You wake to the urge to BOGO
2. at this most wonderful time of the year . . .
3. despite fading tan lines
4. spotty cell service
5. and road-texters fessing up to the White Rabbit
6. in waiting lines that curl into makeshift parking lots . . .
7. as semiotician-stalkers scramble for seats
8. outside your bedroom window . . .
9. obsessing over the signs and symbols
10. of your designer ultrawear . . .
11. The myth morphs . . .
12. The players exchange roles as directed . . .
13. Many are missed . . .
14. A few quibble . . .
15. Rewrites are rewritten . . .
16. An aura of retrofication ensues . . .
17. The scene . . . infinitely looped . . .
18. opens . . . and closes . . .
19. opens . . . and closes . . .

Bruno Dayan

Screen Dump 323

The ramen restaurant . . . offers personal “flavor-concentration booths,” where patrons . . . can experience “low-interaction dining.”
          - Emma Allen, Eating Ramen By Yourself Is An Antidote To Everything

The isolationist in you polishes silver
in a high-ceilinged cobwebbed room
collecting and comparing handwriting samples
from hedonists . . . and patrons . . .
on the truth of the matter . . .
the Mad Hatter's riddles
etch-a-sketching memories
of your understudy, Miss Havisham . . .
a bowl of ramen noodles
a piece of wedding cake
the clock's hands cradling the past . . .
You are stymied . . . again . . .
despite the entries in your journal
its blank pages evidence
of your odyssey's decay . . .
The wedding album awaits edits . . .
Your conquests pile up in the alcove
where a fruit basket interviews applicants
for the role of supplicant . . .
a minor role, yes, but relevant
to the underpainting
which you insist is essential . . .
You, like many, fear micromanagement . . .
The scene . . . color-coded . . . familiar . . .

Bruno Dayan

Screen Dump 322

The shoplifted elements of your profile . . .
Smudges on the answering machine . . .
Developmental studies? . . .
Would that you could, yes? . . .
And why not? . . . asks Door #3 . . .
Buckle up your overcoat next time you swim out beyond the breakers . . .
where mermaids are reassigned . . .
as Sirens . . .
gifting tantric truths . . .
The sinisterity . . .
The what? . . .
You know, the sinisterity . . .
Whatever . . .
The sinisterity of fairy tales disrupts your REM sleep . . .
I am famished . . . for nothing . . .
I welcome the accusation of pulchritude . . .
Many dislike the sound of that word . . .
and are surprised by its meaning . . .
I am intrigued by your insistence on wainscoting . . .
There are many more steps than 12 . . .
How so? . . .
Hey diddle diddle . . .
The cat and the fiddle . . .
I await the laughing dogeared edition . . .
and was sold a mock-up . . .
that whispered in my bad ear . . . throughout the night . . .
Lucky me, I thought . . .
but then resisted the urge to tweet . . .
And so they said you saw . . .
But are you vetted? . . .
It takes some undoing to read I Love Dick by Chris Kraus . . .
soon to be HBO'd . . .
Your shyness . . . replaced by boredom . . .
So what's wrong with that? . . .
With what? . . . The Sexual Life of Catherine M.? . . .
which Salon said Holds you tighter than a pair of handcuffs . . .
I was sentenced to be a fly on the wall . . .
I sat back . . . cigarillo in hand . . . or whatever they're called . . .
I examined the cracks and crazes in the enamel . . .
diagrammed the lines . . .
the air filled with scents . . . and nonsense . . .
words . . . cries . . . shouts . . . moans . . .
the unimaginable sounds of silence . . .
bodies electric becoming . . .
entangled . . . engaged . . . enraged . . . engulfed . . . encumbered . . .
Parts replaced yet the whole the same . . .
as with the compulsion to become the other . . .
an unrecognizable dainty tornado . . .
as in Eurydice's F/32 . . .
Will the miniseries continue? . . .
Will you re-up? . . .
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? . . .
Better as Who knows what evil lurks in people's minds, yes? . . .
The Shadow knows! . . .
I weaken . . . fade from view . . .
enter the Straits of Invisibility . . .
insouciant . . . notebooked . . .

Per Zennstrom

Screen Dump 321

How many words in the average novel? . . .

                    You have mythologized your odyssey
                    pinned nametags on onlookers . . .

How many words in the average reader? . . .

                    questioning the reliability of first-person players
                    who keep butting in . . .

How many words in the average person? . . .

                    You have remade yourself . . .

How many words in the average confession? . . .

                    The nightmarish quality of cameos
                    spurs you to rethink your opening line . . .

How many words in the average day? . . .

                    People are just standing around . . .

How many words in the average saint? . . .

                    I can't stand it . . .

How many words in the average lie? . . .

                    How it looks in a two-way mirror . . .

How many words in the average lay? . . .

                    Hallmarkian? . . .

How many words in the average sentence? . . .

                    You refuse to be bottlenecked
                    by those who insist they're in the know . . .

How many words in the average rant?

                    Never before or nevermore . . . both . . . and then . . .

How many words in the average soliloquy? . . .

                    You admit to misinterpretation . . .

How many words in the average breakup? . . .

                    Your watching is fitful . . .

How many words in the average excuse? . . .

                    and your commitment is a joke . . .

How many words in the average life? . . .

                   Misdirection . . .

Tim Walker

Screen Dump 320

Life is not personal.
          - Gilles Deleuze

OK, there's a redundancy . . . like a rabid dog biting itself . . .
This from a dream a while back, yes? . . .
An online virtuoso . . . nerdy affable obsessive
bopping along
leaves town without forwarding . . . without a word
as if the top of the woodshed blew off . . .
You enter the scene . . . soundtracked by an abandoned house . . .
if only . . . if only . . . if only . . .
But is it inconsequential? . . .
Doesn't it make a difference? . . .
Hasn't it made a difference? . . .
Not ready for prime time . . . not ready for the fall . . .
Why bother? . . .
Why bother what? . . .
Why bother attending to the aftermath
when all are present and accounted for? . . .
Why bother appropriating . . . without a voice? . . .
Is that what you're asking? . . .
Hold a mirror up to yourself . . .
Tell me about the disjunctiveness . . . the fragmentation . . .
You can set up shop as a go-between in the in-between . . .

Kathy Acker (1947-1997)

Screen Dump 319

Segue to bottled ephemera . . . clothespinned to your window . . .
with your affinity for cats . . . for dogs . . .
for cats and dogs . . .
It's raining cats and dogs . . .
the spin . . . the spin doctors . . .
the spinning . . .
the opening . . . as gingerly applied . . . then applauded . . .
Can you believe the outcome? . . .
Of course, it goes without saying, he/she reeks
of unfamiliarity . . . with the lives of others . . .
let alone saints . . .
Perhaps a touch of fear . . . or fear and loathing . . .
Exonerated? . . . One would hope not . . .
but who knows . . . given the present climate (change) . . .
with lives to spare . . . especially now . . .
You lack science . . . and a backstage pass . . .
It would behoove us to redo the read-through . . .
or the walk-through . . . whichever . . .
Cache as cache-can, yes? . . . To know
the many faces of you . . . amid the crumpled sheets of copier paper . . .

Screen Dump 318

You've lost me . . . Brutally honest and soft and vulnerable? . . .

Your aim . . . again . . . is off . . .

Gotta get outta Dodge . . .

Thomas Wolfe couldn't stop . . . either . . .

But sir, the redrafting emanates from the core . . .

You're focusing on the core, yes? . . .

Is it Taking Care or Talking Cure? . . .

Little matter . . .

Put your hands together for the midlife crisis guy, Carl Jung . . .

who, in describing himself, according to psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott,
gives us a picture of childhood schizophrenia . . .

I'll give you a moment to collect your unconscious . . .

Got meme? . . .

The fat lady who's supposed to sing has shed a few pounds . . .

Now what? . . .

We await integration of our split personalities . . .

And Sherlock Holmes's Blue Carbuncle . . .

Is the jury still out on the deerstalker? . . .

Coulda . . . Woulda . . . Shoulda . . .

Why do birds suddenly appear? . . .

Anorexia Nervosa was first described in 1684 involving the daughter of a Mr. Duke of London but wasn't given its own diagnosis until 1873 when Sir William Gull, Queen Victoria's personal physician, presented his observations of an emaciated condition in three young women: Miss A, Miss B, and an unnamed third . . .

And now for a recap . . .

The problem here is one of inertia . . .

Not a problem . . . consider the flying buttresses . . . and the general state of affairs . . .

He/she had a keen aversion to monogamy . . .

The facts in the case of the one who would leave in the middle of the night . . .

The bridge tolls alone, yes? . . .

For whom? . . .

For the party of the first part, of course . . . are you paying attention? . . .

Slipping through . . . costumed for the game . . .

Snogging with ice-men/-women until they cometh . . .

Seduction as effortless as breathing . . .

O, surprisingly, was illuminated by it, as though from within, and her bearing bespoke calm, while on her face could be detected the serenity and imperceptible smile that one surmises rather than actually sees in the eyes of hermits . . .

The odyssey continues . . .

Shelley's cats sat there . . . thinking up ways to get even . . .

Your odometer will be subpoenaed . . .

I kid you not . . . it's all about the bike . . .

Screen Dump 317

So, sad fact, but get used to it, because nothing else is going to happen.
          - Anne Carson

How well did you know him/her? . . .
I didn’t know him/her . . .
Why then the need to act? . . .
the need to deliver lines as if on stage? . . .
I am on hold . . . otherwise . . .
The world erased, rebuilt, erased again . . .

Reminds me of Poe's The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar . . .
How so? . . .
A mesmerist puts a man in a suspended hypnotic state
at the moment of death . . .
But aren't we all suspended in the here and now
awaiting deportation to the there and then? . . .

Houdini never got back to Bess, yes? . . .
But what about now? . . .
Now? . . . I'm only a pawn in the game . . .
A stretch limo . . . with credits . . .
The idea of closure as afterthought . . .
as incidental . . . lost amid the fourth wall . . .

I tried to follow the directions
but kept getting derailed by the enjambments . . .
to say nothing of the pages . . . and pages of footnotes . . .
Have no idea why I felt compelled to continue . . .
I guess it has something to do with where I’ve been . . .
A clue perhaps in the first few lines? . . .

You float above an empty amphitheater . . .
slough-off chance encounters . . .
with reenacters . . .
You hope to make a series of short films
inspired by Anne Carson’s comment that
the best one can hope for as a human

is to have a relationship with that emptiness
where God would be if God were available . . .
You return to the original wording . . .
The line-breaks have yellowed . . .
Impossible to draw the curtains . . .
This much you allow . . .

Screen Dump 316

The pattern of liking should have tipped you off . . .
A long bout of solitude
wrestling on what Mallarmé called the bony wing
only to arrive at the Pop-Up Shop of Pure Reason . . .
Irrelevant, your Honor . . .
This is all in writing, yes? . . .
The declensions . . . the alterations . . .
Insidious, but then . . .
demythologizing the odyssey . . .
à la Maggie Nelson in Bluets:
[It] worked well because he is a passive top
and I am an active bottom . . .
You have encumbered your SUV . . . and your script
with encrustations . . .
the elements of which remain just beyond your assignment . . .
yet you continue to entice players
with your absentmindedness
and hoop skirt . . . hoping for a shot at Reality TV . . .

David Benoliel

Screen Dump 315

You're driving the bus . . . and texting . . .
flirting with alternatives . . . in graphology and museology . . .
taking back roads for all they're worth . . .
breadcrumbing a false route for trolls
back to The Holy Roman Empire . . .
Can you handle the asymmetry? . . .
the inconsistencies? . . .
Can you distance yourself from those
quibbling over insignificance? . . .
No need to reload the camera, yes? . . .
You're on record for covers
for begin-agains
for setting up a kiosk in a trailer park
outside of Atlantic City . . .
and you have been written up for quilting your odyssey . . .
complete with blue lights, dampeners, and (un)dressers . . .
Let's reshoot the conflict and resolution scene, OK? . . .
I know you would have expected a humidifier . . .
but that's for later . . . in the series . . .
after the backers bail . . .
Why bother with circumlocution now . . .
when there are oodles of others . . . chomping at the bit? . . .

Kate Barry

Screen Dump 314

Endless arrays of costumes . . . their subtlety . . .
The clock . . . mimicking the art of the play . . .
the art of the players . . .
their parts . . .
chatting some up . . . bells and whistles . . . and all that . . .
Enlightenment on hold, of course! . . . otherwise . . .
Otherwise, what? . . .
Otherwise, . . . stop gaps . . . transpositions . . .
lost in the labyrinthine aisles
of supermarkets . . . and superstores . . .
Throw who a bone? . . .
Oh, really? . . .
Do you think . . .
Start over . . .
OK, how about this . . . Is there no other way? . . .
You could have at least waited for the credits to roll
yet knowing how way leads on to way? . . .
Time can move forward . . . and backward, yes? . . .
Why then waste time . . . in the waiting line? . . .
Subtraction as metaphor . . . as deal breaker . . .
as long lost . . .
Stop sign innuendos . . . fiberglass juxtapositions . . .
And you? . . . shortlisted . . .
here . . . in your bunker . . . a notch or two . . . up or down . . .

Kate Barry

Screen Dump 313

The Fall Before the Winter . . .

Act One, Scene One: The Agoraphobe . . .

A tilt-a-whirl ride in October’s unseasonal heat . . .
with you going on about the difficulty controlling
the unleashed vulnerability . . .
Your weeping willows . . . and pale matadors as such . . .
and your nostalgia . . . surely counterintuitive . . .
but so what? . . .
Hot prospects jam the queue . . .
Icebreakers . . . with pilsner (eye)glasses
as if Wittgenstein's half-smile
or Dylan's Nobel . . .
Hammering it out with Miles's Someday My Prince Will Come . . .
You decide to err on the side of happenstance . . .
lost in the strictures
of adult coloring books . . .
To seek refuge in a momentary lapse . . .
The incredible luminosity of such
with your ducks all lined up, yes? . . .
X marks the spot
where you began one of your maiden voyages . . .
To be continued . . .
But I thought the pervasive Dadaesque spirit of invention
was a matter of course . . .
wigging out over a red herring . . .
Notwithstanding? . . .
The question of balance comes up to the stage . . .
And I suppose you have others to spare? . . .
There’s a bagginess to it all . . .
a looseness . . .
nothing to steer the course . . .
You left in search of common ground
which you know as well as I
will quarrel with the provocative ensemble
inserted as an addendum . . .
You have been selected for tricks . . . and treats . . .
But aren't you already on someone's to-do list? . . .
Read the next paragraph to yourself, please . . .

Bruno Aveillan

Screen Dump 312

But I am done with apple-picking now.
          - Robert Frost, After Apple-Picking

You order a side of slaw from a waitress in a faded yellow uniform

and worry the humdrum of participating in a mass transit Q&A

as if the bottom were about to fall out . . .

Books are remaindered in times like these . . .

A Netflix devotee with a fat queue trots out an old something

you don't quite get . . .

You think leeks . . .

probably because Dr. Oz extolled their benefits yesterday

on several flat screen smart TVs . . .

Just how smart are they? . . . No idea . . .

When will they ever learn? . . . Dunno . . .

Raindrops keep fallin' on your head . . .

The morning meet-and-greet is a rain check . . .

The wet grass . . . and then? . . .

And then the concubine in you appears . . .

against the world of hoary grass

to announce that she too is done with apple-picking now . . .

Future prospects cast a baleful glance . . .

foreshadowed by ossification and entropy . . .

And so it goes . . .

the after-hours dramatization

the playing hooky in the aftermath . . .

Stymied . . . and overwhelmed . . . with delight, I might add . . .

sinking your teeth into a covered dish

as passersby scratch stubble . . .

and dream of becoming swingers of birches . . .

The standing room only room spins . . .

and fills with surrogate ventriloquist dummies

riding bicycles built for two . . .

By then you are three, four, five . . . maybe even six or seven . . .

Screen Dump 311

There was no misnomer . . . in retrospect . . .
No mistranslation . . . misinterpretation . . .
Naughtiness rendered as daguerreotype . . .
rendered kaleidoscopically . . .
Tests of insignificance at the .05 level invade your sleep . . .
raise hell with the books on the shelf . . .
say nothing when the garden is readied for winter . . .
The overcast morning gives way to a detour . . .
gives way to a mind of winter . . .
I marvel at your driving . . .
And you with your vegetable mindset . . .
a vegan's way of looking at a menu . . .
Destry Rides Again . . . Excuse me? . . .
Cyclists spinning . . . around second base . . . grandstanding . . .
practicing voice lessons . . .
vocal folds encircle Gregorian Chants
in the first inning of a triple header
on the Williamsburg Bridge . . .
Sonny Rollins . . . on the Williamsburg Bridge . . .
circa 1962 . . .
Returning to Brooklyn . . . in the back seat . . .
lipstick smudges . . .
lipstick smudged . . .
As if the body were a stop light . . . snagging the unsuspecting . . .
As if rigor mortis were about to set in . . .
And you . . . odyssey'd . . . hanging by the threat of a garter belt . . .
by the threat of a garter snake . . .
and it's summer . . . fall . . . winter . . . spring . . .
and it's Howdy Doody Time . . .
with Clarabell (all three) . . . and Buffalo Bob . . .
and it's your wedding day . . .
rewound to the first time . . .
Stick women . . . in bustiers . . .
Naughtiness . . . under layer upon layer upon layer of tulle . . .
Come right in! . . . only to count out thirty pieces of silver . . .
Just the other day I was reminded
of Penfield's memory experiments . . .
We forget nothing, yes? . . .
Pontificating on Windows 10 Internet speed degradation . . .
But I'm worried about consuming huge system resources . . .
and deconstructed grocery lists . . .
Caution! . . . Wet Paint! . . .
the wrong color . . .
the wrong place . . .
the wrong time . . .
There was no wreckage . . . in retrospect . . . but now look . . .

Sarah Moon