is teething contagious?

wartseller banshee: or, unitary flarf #222 (re: flarfish harvest no.1 / 2021)

Banshee posted a birthday wish
Successful bidder will get a wart.

Believing it would unleash a
Truck trailer and find myself double sad

pay me with terror through the shroud
of a short puppet musical

hierarchical collection of blood by the slice
Is teething contagious?

Banana butterscotch pudding on each prawn
as seller does not dine out

“… And our fear, like a lover,
Lies with us. Wide eyes in the darkness.

— Etheridge Knight / “Comes Now the Red Madness”

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was never our$

get to one hundred before you get to ten, read the relegation table, tabulate the hü hüsker

something is afoot, something’s always been afoot, and lo and behold (!) after all this time something has to be done …

… but we’ll go down in fracking fissures, hoodwinked, earthquake(d), thirsty …

… frozen water water everywhere (but) not a drop to drink

(let’s go hyperthermic admiring our handiwork)

we’ll go down like oiler rats, like rabid wildcatters (!) in a gush and a push …

and this land was never our$

(but we bum-rushed it)

$$$$
$$$
$$
$

(makes a nice wedge on its side)

i couldn’t be bothered with alternate keys, with umlaut(ed) u’s …

… ask yourself why you don’t know about the White Lion, or if you did know why you learned of it at such a late date, or at such a diminished rate …

ask yourself why (?)

we get cheated, and cheat ourselves, shipped out of our own reality

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What I’m Reading, or: What I Just Finished Reading (a continuing series)

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Unbought and Unbossed / Shirley Chisholm (1970)

Published two years before her groundbreaking Presidential run — Shirley Chisholm was the first black woman to primary for President on a major party ticket — straight talking, like no other Congress person, Shirley Chisholm was unbought and unbossed.

If we’d had a dozen more leaders like Chisholm we wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in today. But the problems remain — just as she railed against status quo politics and caste 50 years ago — if anything our politics and society at large have become more dysfunctional and more prone to autocratic behavior and political unresponsiveness from our leaders.

Maybe there’s still a chance — her words ring true, and just as urgent, today:

“If it is not too late for america to be saved, the young will save it — and the blacks, the Indians , the Spanish-surnamed, the young women, and other victims of American society. They, if any, will become the conscience that the country has lacked. They will try to force it to practice what it has preached.”

I wish I could have cast a vote for Chisholm back in the day, or have been of age when she was still in our socio-political zeitgeist. It’s an unadorned, straightforward, righteous read — and still vital — all these years later.

Ebook, 02/20/21.

“In the end, anti-black, anti-female, and all forms of discrimination are equivalent to the same thing: anti-humanism.”

— Shirley Chisholm / Unbought and Unbossed

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purr kitty rollover

Overheard at the Dominant Group Status Threat Conference

Chankas and sassafras… I shit on the new year… You cause sensation, ugh… Tributaries of terpitude, moral and otherwise, is thankfully sullen and dullard… Yeah, I shopped at Sears junior bazaar… Falstaff the malt liquor?… Elsie the cow… Learn how to swim at the YMCA… Remember the Campfire Girls?… Deliver a white room in a purr purr kitty rollover… There’s always one late comer, you know… Buford and the pussycats… Hilly faced numbskulls and attached silly string wikki wachee watchers, nothing is intransigent until it’s it’s no longer transitive… I’m walking over here… I’m dying over here… Out act you?… Chew more scenery than who?… I’d rather be living in a cave… Nobody gets too much heaven no more… I’m getting vaccinated when my turn comes around… Moving to Las Vegas…

What I’m Reading, or: What I Just Finished Reading (a continuing series)

****

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Girl, Woman, Other / Bernadine Evaristo (2019)

Evaristo pulls off one of the greatest denouements I’ve ever experienced in this kaleidoscopic and virtuosic novel. It’s with good reason she shared the 2019 Booker Prize with Margaret Atwood’s The Testaments.

Very gratifying to experience the scope of this novel and be satisfied that one has learned or experienced as much of each character, and they are manifold, as is possible — in essence much like holding a mirror up to the cast of characters that walk in and out of our lives in the course of a lifetime.

Once I settled into the rhythm and language of the novel I was hooked and hard to put down. Very well done.

Ebook, 02/17/21.

****

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Blueschild Baby / George Cain (1970)

Even though this 1970 novel was rereleased in 2018, I’d never heard of it until I encountered James Baldwin singing its praises to Nikki Giovanni in A Dialogue (1973) just a couple of weeks ago. If Baldwin thought so highly about the book I felt I had to seek it out.

Blueschild Baby is a sucker punch to the gut and the frontal lobe. Wow!

It is criminal that this book isn’t better known, more widely read, and canonical. It’s reminiscent of the best of Toomer, Wright, Algren, Ellison, Burroughs, Baldwin, and Denis Johnson all at once. This should be one of the cornerstones of addiction / counterculture literature. It is simultaneously disturbing, surreal, poetic, and intensely gritty.

It’s about the intersection of existential angst, otherness, and addiction: “Know now how artificial my desperation is. All my problems are created by the time and place I live in.”

Cain is unmatched in his ability to command poetic language, vernacular, and a complex synthesis:

“Awareness is your crime, for once you become aware, you cannot help reacting in a manner contrary to the system that oppresses you. Very few commit crime because they enjoy doing so. They do what they have to. So many leaders are convicts. Awareness is a crime and sanity the only insanity, they are such rare qualities these days, they go unrecognized for what they are and are seen only as deviate from the madness that is normalcy.”

Cain’s personal story, which I researched after reading this book, was the basis of this novel. Tragically, he never wrote another novel, despite living until 2010, due to the continuing struggle with substance abuse.

Ebook, 02/19/21.

“But the anger is in all of us, needing only time or incident to blossom. Fear has done what countless leaders couldn’t, rallied us together. Like a riot in a penitentiary, there is no middle ground or neutrals, color of skin determines what side you’re on. No longer is there choice or free will.”

George Cain / Blueschild Baby

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afterimage aftermath

Anodyne

Frenta blackens the screen by placing her hand in front of the projector. One half of the class turns around and looks at her, the other half screams out “hey” and “oh” and throw their arms up.

Frenta whispers polite invectives. They know she is blocking out an offending buttocks that traipses before the screen headed frame left. She admits to herself it is a shapely buttocks, but it is gratuitous in this scene and certainly to the film overall.

Her earliest memory of watching television is piqued. The living room, in Tallahassee, watching her father reclining in his chair, with a Falstaff can precariously perched on his paunch, laughing and occasionally saying things like “looka’ that rack,” and “jeez, what an ass,” while watching Three’s Company. Then the aftermath. The afterimage. She tries not to think of the afterimage aftermath.

As it concerns this “art film,” she would have never conceived of such a mise en scène — it’s sexist and it’s fatuous. And she is neither of those things, nor does she wish to impart that sort of image to her charges.

“It may even be that some of us know what it is like to be actually hated—hated for things we have no control over and cannot change. When this happens, it is some consolation to know that the dislike or hatred is unjustified—that you don’t deserve it.”

— Toni Morrison / The Bluest Eye

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is a canker

Toadeater Madness

Stop thinking out of your flask, and drink-in some sense for a change. Guttural palavering bridges no connection another caring human can manage. What you say? Lickspittles to madness. Stop posturing. Your people are burning toddler’s wooden blocks for warmth. You needed the Swedes to slap some truth into your right-harrumphing and toady dissimulation — your occipital lobe is a canker. Your party is a pustule, lanced, dancing off the edge of a cliff — harrumph harrumph and huzzah … no, it must be the abscesses on the temporal lobe — wait! Where does empathy reside? In the heart or in the brain? Is it a lesion on the frontal lobe thing? Where’s the sense and the empathy? Hello? Is there a human in there? Toadeaters of bankrupt ideas.

“Know now how artificial my desperation is. All my problems are created by the time and place I live in.”

— George Cain / Blueschild Baby

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dig a pony

Two of Us

I just dug a pony… and dig about for blue plastic soldiers.

I’m digging up around my backyard and my neighbor comes outside to see what I’m doing.

We live in a duplex. I in the south side duplex and she next door to the north of me. We are both six years-old.

“I dig a Pig-meat,” I say, parroting the Beatles album my sixteen year-old uncle plays three times daily. “The song’s called ‘Two of Us.’ I dig a pony too.”

She says she loves ponies. She rode on one this summer. “But,” she says, “it’s Pygmy, not pig-meat.”

I say I’m digging up the bones of old civil war soldiers. She says her father reads about the civil war all the time, and that the civil war wasn’t fought here in Miami.

My parents call them “los americanos.” My parents were born in Cuba. I was born at Mount Sainai Hospital in Miami Beach. A lifetime away from Havana. A cultural light year away from D.C. I’m not sure what that makes me, this is my first year speaking English.

A lizard catches my eye — a fringe of meat-red dewlap retracting. I say I can catch that lizard over on the palm tree, my dad showed me how with a long grass.

She says she wants to kiss me. She places her hands on my shoulders leans in to me and kisses me on the lips. I wipe my lips. I bend down and pull a weed stalk out of the ground and strip the flourishes off the ends and try to fashion a slip knot on the end.

But while I’ve watched my father do this multiple times, and move the noose onto the anoles neck and try to lasso it in it slips out and runs a foot up the tree. All I magage to do then is make various knots that shorten the stalk considerably. “My father knows how to do this. I do too,” I say.

She asks if I want another kiss. I drop the stalk and say, “O.K.”

This time I kiss her back and hold her shoulders as long as she holds mine. Just a second longer than the first kiss. I tell her, “it’s the first time I’ve —”

The back door to her duplex explodes, the chain lock clacking hard against a jalousie slat. Her mother runs out screaming, “Daisy, get away. Come here!” Her blonde hair in a drunken ziggurat of rollers, of varying size, dangerously close to toppling. The speed with which she moves, the menace in her face as she looks beyond Daisy — who is running to her — at me puckers my stomach.

My legs are electric. I run away past the palm tree, the anole scurrying up the trunk, past the blooming hibiscus bush up the side yard out into the air and sun.

I run across the street, and into my cousin’s backyard. I scramble up the mango tree, into the dense shadows, laden with ripened fruit.

“I can’t not respond to Basquiat any more than I can not respond to Chuck D and Public Enemy. It would be like brainwashing myself out of history and the call to action.”

— Greg Tate / “Black Like B.”

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of our delusion

overload

captives of our own conditioning
we must short circuit the fuses
we must smoke ourselves out
of our delusion

or nothing will cleanse us

“No one is going to give you the education you need to overthrow them.”

— Assata Shakur / “To My People”

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between sharpened incisors

Envoi / Envoy

I would like this poem 
to be an envoy —
Bearing a gap-toothed smile
between sharpened incisors …

What I’m Reading, or: What I Just Finished Reading (a continuing series)

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A Dialogue / James Baldwin & Nikki Giovanni (1973)

A powerful edited transcript, in book form, of the Philadelphia Public Television current affairs program Soul! recorded in 1971. Giovanni and Baldwin talk about race, gender roles, literature, and more for nearly two hours. The book contains a short prefatory essay by Ida Lewis and an Afterword from Orde Coombs.

The video of the two episodes are available on YouTube, and is clarifying — it’s worth tracking down — of the few moments that are elided in the authors talking over each other, and revealing in the facial and physical expressions that are obvious to the viewer and in effect make clear some of the omissions, via physical communication, that the book doesn’t capture.

A wide ranging dialogue that include many illuminating moments like this:

“Giovanni: … I think that one of the nicest things that we created as a generation was just the fact that we could say, Hey, I don’t like white people.

Baldwin: That’s a great liberation.

Giovanni: It was the beginning, of course, of being able to like them.

Baldwin: Exactly.”

Ebook, 02/12/21.

****

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Black Feeling, Black Thought / Black Judgment / Nikki Giovanni (1971)

This volume collates Giovanni’s first two poetry collections, both self-released in 1968. This is potent poetry, and a bit of a time warp back to the revolutionary zeal of the 1960s.  The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni 1968-1998 (2003) includes exhaustive notes on all the poems included in this collection, and is a helpful adjunct to this volume — it obviously also includes these two books.

Anyway, the poems here are at once persuasive, searing, righteous, and capture both the particulars of the era, and the historical and universal issues of self-determinism and pride.

There are many favorites here but one short section of Giovanni writing after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., “Reflections on April 4, 1968,” gets at the gist:

“What can I, a poor Black woman, do to destroy america? This / is a question, with appropriate variations, being asked in every / Black heart.”

Excellent collection.

Ebook, 02/13/21.

****

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Going to Meet the Man / James Baldwin (1965)

Among the most powerful and visually disturbing short story collections I’ve read. I feel cheated that I have an undergraduate degree in English Lit, as well as plenty of postgraduate work, and I was never assigned any Baldwin stories, novels, or essays while in college. I guess better as an autodidact, and late, than never.

Includes the widely anthologized “Sonny’s Blues,” as well as “Previous Condition,” “Come Out of the Wilderness,” and “This Morning, This Evening, So Soon” which are sublimely crafted and written stories.

The title story, which closes out the collection, is extremely disturbing in its nonchalance of a shocking event — it will stay with you a long time afterward.

Ebook, 02/15/21.

“Rhythm and Blues is not
The downfall of a great civilization
And I expect you to
Realize
That the Temptations
have no connection with
The CIA”

— Nikki Giovanni / “A Historical Footnote To Consider Only When All Else Fails”

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for cannon fodder

surely someone

you can tease out a great chain of being based on that?

I will not eat my rabbit pellets as prescribed, I will eat meat. Give me a definition as long as is the body of what I write. I produce canonical works for canon fodder …

… and give me thy holy name in debacles, as we proceed through nomenclature appeals. Say all right when you mean dissuade, say saudade when you mean salutary. Say suave when you mean salve.

until the opposition has a hearing

the scope of it all confounds me it seems as the sun is exploding now in our hallway

a modifying or cautionary detail to be considered

and I am consumed

“This struggle may be a moral one, or it may be a physical one, and it may be both moral and physical, but it must be a struggle. Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.”

— Frederick Douglass / “West India Emancipation” speech

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white as death

Agonal Haiku

Snow falls white as death
Fumes exhaust the dying earth
Black rime limns the ice

“it’s a question of power
which we must wield
if it is not
to be wielded
against
us”

— Nikki Giovanni / “Love Poem (For Real)”

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