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.