minute of elation

Seafood City, Very Pretty

Fade In.

The violet sky suffused with a borealis green at the horizon line, and where a dark lake should be I find instead a crumpled piece of black construction paper.

But how did they get the paper so big I say.

As the words leave my mouth they are sucked into a vortex that drains up into a hole in the sky.

And a hot dog vendor materializes and says to me That’s where the wheel in the sky kept on turning.

To which I respond I hate Journey and I hate that the reference has snuck into this dream — although at this point I’m not sure that this won’t degenerate into a nightmare.

The vendor says Nightmare? You ain’t seen a nightmare until you’ve had to vend hot dogs in exactly 1,362,863 dreams. That’s a nightmare, bud! I have a PhD in Medieval Culture and this is what I’m stuck with—hot dogs. Bugger off!

I find myself in New Orleans at 1826 North Broad, and I hear the Seafood City jingle. A disheveled woman stands by the door pulling the earrings on her ears to bizarre lengths, repeating Tchoupitoulas… Tchoupitoulas… Tchoupitoulas…

A 6-foot tall crawfish juts up on its tail and says Ya’ gotta’ suck the head.

The wind gusts. It hails.

Hail strikes me about the head and ears. My ears fall off and transmogrify into two crawfish which scurry away into a sunny mouse hole in the floorboards.

Swells of ELO’s Mr. Blue Sky waft out of the mouse hole.

There is one full minute of elation.

Fade out.

What I’m Reading:

“No, this year I want to call
myself to task for what
I have done and not done
for peace. How much have
I dared in opposition?”

— Marge Piercy / “The birthday of the world”

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humans are dumb

In Silver Lamé

Petunia has a dream where she hides in her sister’s basement while her sister conducts a clandestine revolutionary meeting upstairs in the newly remodeled kitchen. Che Guevara and the Symbionese Liberation Army are in attendance. Hot chocolate and churros are served promptly at 7:16 p.m.

(… but this is a solecism in the dream world…)

(… this is an incorrect unspooling of a dream…)

Dreams should be high on the paranoiac-critical scale, full of soft monsters in the shape of the President’s gal bladder, or the Sri Lankan Finance Minister’s peritoneum, or the Zimbabwean Foreign Minister’s show pony — and all of these elements should be whirling about in a pink funnel cloud while calliope-an music echoes from the tinny corners of the Bolivian altiplano, while the moon melts like gruyere and streaks down the ash gray sky. All while satellites line up in formation in the exosphere and spell out: Screw This! We’re Leaving Our Geostationary Orbits / You Humans are Dumb — then they head for the assured destruction of the Kuiper Belt. It is only then that a sniper shoots out the lights at that department store that specializes in silver lamé tube tops covered in melted chocolate…

Now that has the makings of the start of a dream.

image: Plate XI from The Trouvelot Astronomical Drawings (1881) / E. L. Trouvelot / in public domain

What I’m Reading:

“A bike ride is better than yoga, or wine, or weed. It runs neck and neck with sex and coffee. It’s also, in my experience, an antidote for writer’s block. If you’re stuck, if you need to ungum the synapses and lift dust off the cerebral lobes, take a trip on two wheels and the words will begin tumbling out.”

— Jody Rosen / Two Wheels Good: The History and Mystery of the Bicycle

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please sister please

The Madcap Rasps

She spills a cup of lukewarm spasmodic hate on the splotchy record cover. A monocle of Earl floats on The Madcap Laughs, and catches a waver of dim sunlight.

This is the stuff of irritation. This is the air squeezed out during a bear hug. Bare rugs and bugaboos. Bedbugs and ballyhoo.

There’s a wound wound tight, in questionable wraps, on her forearm. A tremor snakes it’s way through the house—presages the earthquake.

Tectonic rage: 8.4 …

The ferment of a planet displeased. If you can’t please yourself, you can please the ferment.

(The firmament undisturbed and uncaring: You lot did this, you figure it out.)

I’m in a way—in a constant state of unease. A bubonic mind—sardonic—inflamed with carbolic images and unenunciated pleas.

Where is the promised stone from your heart?

Please, sister, please don’t play B-17.

Please, sister, please don’t mount that B-2.

I gots the tangy stuff and me Earl of Grey elides, and glides, off me Syd. I’ve got the badlands bad, sister, please.

I want to live to hear another Aldous Harding record, sister, please.

What I’m Reading:

“Last winter was years ago, before the battles broke out, remember? Here, let’s shake on that. To winter. To cold. To snow, real snow.”

— Lauren K. Watel / “Here We Are”

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seven blisters smooth

Echo Elegy (Tanka)

We bleed salt and ice—
Mournful echoes of glaciers—
Seven sunburns deep,
We lance seven blisters smooth:
Heat domes in the skin-light dawn.

What I’m Reading:

“And if the urgency of a subject were indeed a criterion of its seriousness, then, considering what climate change actually portends for the future of the earth, it should surely follow that this would be the principal preoccupation of writers the world over— and this, I think, is very far from being the case.”

—Amitav Ghosh / The Great Derangement

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is this on

Mainlining Extinction

An overheated tragedy unspooling
in a slow motion, so obscene—
so perverse—in its deathly insistence,
and the players moving about
as if in a deep pool of molasses.
What gives? Why this suicidal main-
lining extinction by heat, drought,
famine, forced migration, acidification & flood?

(while the planet’s little wars start joining hands)

Who’s at the wheel of this floundering mammoth?
Who cares?

Hello! Is this on?
Hello!

What I’m Reading:

“These are the nameless who have brought the present into being, yet what she sees are faces the same as her own, faces that pass by as ever in this city as it breathes the ceaseless exhalations of night into day.”

— Paul Lynch / Prophet Song

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do we pivot

Desperate

Things should be better
Desperately so—
We are running it into the ground
We should be better
Desperately so—
Yet we can’t help ourselves
How do we pivot?
How do we break this downward spiral?

A new year.
A new beginning?

Desperately needed
Desperately so—

Happy happy joy joy

What I’m Reading:

“Even if its extremes are ultimately eclipsed, as seems inevitable, 2023 will mark a point when humanity crossed into a new climate era — an age of ‘global boiling,’ as United Nations Secretary General António Guterres called it. The year included the hottest single day on record (July 6) and the hottest ever month (July), not to mention the hottest June, the hottest August, the hottest September, the hottest October, the hottest November, and probably the hottest December. It included a day, Nov. 17, when global temperatures, for the first time ever, reached 2 degrees Celsius above the preindustrial levels.

Discomfort, destruction, and death are the legacy of those records.”

— Chico Harlan / “The climate future arrived in 2023. It left scars across the planet” / The Washington Post

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a local event

The Best Stuff I Read This Week

“When you have no future, you vote for the past.”

— Georgi Gospodinov / Time Shelter


“The idea of managing energy use and controlling greenhouse gas emissions was anathema to the neoliberal economists whose thinking dominated at this crucial juncture. Thus, no planning was done, no precautions were taken, and the only management that finally ensued was disaster management.”

— Naomi Oreskes & Erik M. Conway / The Collapse Of Western Civilization: A View From The Future


“Darkness comes early
This time of year
Making it hard
To recognize familiar faces
In those of strangers.”

— Charles Simic / “Hide and Seek”


“… the end of the world is always a local event, it comes to your country and visits your town and knocks on the door of your house and becomes to others but some distant warning, a brief report on the news, an echo of events that has passed into folklore.”

— Paul Lynch / Prophet Song


“I expect someday a tiny
piece of paper that, unrolled, will read, ‘The End.’”

— Pat Wilson / “My Fortune”


“… but what was anomalous in 2023 soon became the new normal … A shadow of ignorance and denial had fallen over people who considered themselves children of the Enlightenment.”

— Naomi Oreskes & Erik M. Conway / The Collapse Of Western Civilization: A View From The Future


“We are the world’s apocalypse. In that sense we are also our own apocalypse.”

— Georgi Gospodinov / Time Shelter

What I’m Listening To:

“Hell is just a signpost
When you take a certain path”

— Sleater-Kinney / “Hell”

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tiny sense (erasures)

What I’m Reading:

“Today I decide to die and don’t because of the dog’s heft at the end of the bed … I envy the dead their past-tense bodies.”

— Erin Marie Lynch / “FIGURE [?]” / Removal Acts

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death at 5:26

Hellish (redux)

I forget what the final word is.

Time fog is hellish.

What more do you require on the day of your death at 5:26 am?

What I’m Reading:

“There were moments of beauty here and there
Everything ends, and everything matters Goodnight, sleep well, my brave old world”

— Debbie Urbanski / After World: A Novel

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away the nightmare

What I’m Reading:

“God is not dead. God has forgotten. God has dementia.”

— Georgi Gospodinov / Time Shelter

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