Consummatum est

Sunday, 31 July 2011

Topic pro­vid­ed by Miles Budimir was: “2nd law of ther­mo­dy­nam­ics (en­tropy, etc…)”

Writing time: 47 min­utes.

Discarded ideas: empiricism/​mysticism, us­ing wry­neck form

Kept ideas: cat­a­log, light tone with se­ri­ous top­ic

I shall fall off a cliff and die
and like a blind dog falling off the same cliff,
my son will die, and his son; 
from that same cliff until, one day, that
fucking cliff will fall off itself.

its crumbs shall crumble into themselves
until the earth becomes a peppery dust
that makes the sun sneeze; blown away. 

The waning moon will wonder 
what it did deserve this. 

                                yea verily,
and the sun shall use the last 
fingernail crescent of the moon for a
toothpick before going nova.

the empty wake of space will lap against itself
for a bit, and at that ceasing; here,
after the end of time, and not since before the beginning
of time, for the second time,
it may be quiet enough to think.

A Brag

Wednesday, 27 July 2011

Here’s how Cleveland is bet­ter than wher­ev­er you live. Only here can I imag­ine the ease with which one can go from a plan­ning ses­sion on in­creas­ing lo­cal gov­ern­ment trans­paren­cy (re­plete with ex­cel­lent, lo­cal­ly pro­duced, eth­ni­cal­ly ac­cu­rate Arabic food)(and awash with qual­i­fied, mo­ti­vat­ed, well-in­ten­tioned folks from all walks of life) to a ten minute dri­ve to a bar with the best Ukrainian food out­side of Ukraine to cel­e­brate your neighbor’s birth­day with his fam­i­ly and plen­ty of krup­nikas, piero­gie, and pota­to pan­cakes. Not on­ly that, but when you tell the Ukrainian bar­tender you want a Baltika, she knows to bring you the 8.0% ABV ver­sion in­stead of the weak­er beer. Then you can head home to your amaz­ing­ly af­ford­able abode in one of the hip neigh­bor­hoods to en­joy bour­bon and a Cohiba on your porch on a per­fect sum­mer evening with the afore­men­tioned neigh­bor who just so hap­pens to be so nice that he’ll fix your car for a case of Pabst.

The best part is: I could have done about 10 things this evening oth­er than what I just de­scribed and all of them would have been as equal­ly badass.


She is drunk as the moon

Tuesday, 19 July 2011

It is nei­ther the flag that moves, nor the wind that moves. It is your mind that moves.

Zen Koan

she is drunk as the moon
shining above her arms bracket
face she is wayward 
with some beat some hit
forgotten forgot to pull up and
pull down her too small tube
dress breast ass right on that
line drive to lizard hindbrain
the crowd slows surround conversation
strays away to gaze and she knows
they watch her

        (don't watch her!
         watch them
         watch her)

men stare and women
glare here and there a squint
or licked lip a thumb running
down the sweat of glass
fingers press to table
cigarette pull and arched eyebrow
it is not silent but would be
but for that beat that hook
she the bait they 
want to take

and so when the night died
and nobody told us
and when we weren't looking
                        the moon
stumbled behind some buildings to 
                        sleep it off
                        observed the measure
                                      of our desire

Bruckner & Adams with the Cleveland Orchestra at Blossom

Thursday, 14 July 2011

Once again, I was giv­en the op­por­tu­ni­ty to at­tend a per­for­mance of the world-renowned Cleveland Orchestra. This time it was at Blossom Music Center, there was a Meet the Musicians pan­el be­fore the per­for­mance, and a chance to meet the fea­tured vi­o­liniset, Leila Josefowicz, dur­ing in­ter­mis­sion. We were al­so plied with wine & hor d’oeuvres at both times; so, you know, bonus. The per­for­mance fea­tured pieces from John Adams and Anton Bruckner.

In my pre­vi­ous post, I com­plained a bit about the lack of rea­son­ably priced tick­et op­por­tu­ni­ties to see the Orchestra and a lack of young folks. In the run up to at­tend­ing this per­for­mance, how­ev­er, I learned that see­ing the Cleveland Orchestra at Blossom is a fam­i­ly tra­di­tion for fam­i­lies all over the Northeast Ohio area; that’s a se­ri­ous perk of liv­ing near Cleveland. Growing up in the mid­dle of nowhere Indiana, there was nev­er an op­por­tu­ni­ty to see some­thing as spe­cial as the Cleveland Orchestra. It’s def­i­nite­ly some­thing I’ll be tak­ing my son to in the fu­ture. The acoustics at Blossom are ad­mirably suit­ed to lis­ten­ing to the Orchestra, from any van­tage. At Severance Hall you sit in­side the mu­sic, at Blossom it wash­es over you.

I re­al­ly en­joyed the Meet the Musicians pan­el; hear­ing from Frank Cohen (clar­inet), Amy Lee (vi­o­lin), Stephen Rose (vi­o­lin) and Paul Yancich (tim­pani). Frank in par­tic­u­lar was charm­ing and had some great sto­ries to re­late about grow­ing up at­tend­ing or­ches­tral per­for­mances. All of the mu­si­cians spoke a bit about up­com­ing per­for­mances and their thoughts on the pieces and be­ing part of the or­ches­tra in gen­er­al. When it was time for ques­tions I asked if any of the mu­si­cians could ex­pand on their for­ays in­to play­ing in non-tra­di­tion­al spaces, like the Happy Dog or in Ann Arbor, MI. Amy Lee has been ac­tive in that area and men­tioned that some or­ches­tra mem­bers have been try­ing to find a place to play on their night off dur­ing their up­com­ing trip to New York City, but were hav­ing dif­fi­cul­ty find­ing a venue that would be cool with it. That’s re­al­ly stu­pid of you, New York.

Our box seats were top notch (of course), and the chance to kib­itz as the more mu­si­cal­ly knowl­edge­able asked Leila Josefowicz ques­tions dur­ing the in­ter­mis­sion was an added bonus to what had al­ready been a won­der­ful evening. Post-in­ter­mis­sion was spent on the lawn with dozens and dozens of fam­i­lies and the sounds of Anton Bruckner’s 9th Symphony. It was a per­fect evening for clas­si­cal mu­sic. Many thanks to the Cleveland Orchestra for the in­vi­ta­tion.

It mocked the meat it fed up­on

Tuesday, 12 July 2011

[I]f it con­cerns any­thing not in our con­trol, be pre­pared to say that it is noth­ing to you.

- Epictetus, The Enchiridion as trans­lat­ed by Elizabeth Carter

O, yes I saw how you said
what you said to him. That
flirt to fuck and sweet hip
shook once. I gave a glower.
Tense mute brow a bent 
soot streak. In silence,
the mind accretes a heap
of imagined infidelities.

Though we entangle. Become
the roaring fire gullet the
frenzy wrangle the
clutch [[g][r]]asp torrent.
You in the shower and 
I should be in with but I'm
reading texts on your phone or
scouring your email my
skull a black iron set by the
stove innocuous until
you touch it.
                               Some books say: 
                               "To be possess is to hold, occupy
                               or reside in, without regard to 
                               ownership." "It does not belong
                               to you." "Repent, therefore, of this
                               thy wickedness." 
The way I stood over
those many women, still,
with silent loom, tangent
phrase, fear beyond
the closed door more than me.
but not for long, long ago, no longer.

                               Nor now allow all freedom, no 
                               eye-heat adrenaline-
                               hand snap-tongue withering. 
                               Morph yet not to bud a peach
                               but die to whitefly. Seed-
                               germ split to, spilt upon,
                               spit on, ground down to ground

                   for growth
                   unlikely.   Every alley a false Buddha. Our
                               spoons have long handles. We cannot 
                               feed ourselves, 
                                               but we could 
                                               feed each other.
           Learn to speak
           muzzled ox, or starve
           with food upon your back.