I’ll leave lightly,
Lengthened, opened, varied, empty.
Yearn on (and) under,
Frightened or rounded, every verse, every rhyme.
O Majnoun! that sings that dead leaves fly higher.
O Majnoun! that speaks also between words.
O Majnoun! that does not sleep and pulls out the brain’s eyes like the moon does the tides, back and forth, and crashing on barren land.
O Majnoun! that dances (that portion of the floor that grabs the ballerina’s foot, that ache on bones and muscle).
O Majnoun! that consoles the silence of winter.
O Majnoun! that (once again) rises in the spring.
Pinochio, as well you know,
A lie he could not tell.
Or else his nose, the story goes,
would grow as long as Hell.
But what’s not known will fill this poem
About that playful puppet.
His escapades, the writer gave
Were lies themselves, goddammit!
It wasn’t his nose that would grow long.
It was, of course, his wooden schlong,
That when he did not tell the truth,
Would grow and grow right through the roof.
Well the puppet fell for a local girl,
Whose face was framed by golden curl.
He likened her to the rarest pearl
Shaped in some unearthly world.
He tried to woo her,
She had no clue or
Didn’t want the puppet’s hand.
But then one night,
To his delight,
She offered up a one night stand.
‘No strings attached?’ she softly asked.
Of course the puppet did agree.
She let down her hair and underwear,
‘The carpets match the drapes, I see.’
And she replied, ‘Now, lie to me!’
He told her lies and falsities
Which filled her with an ecstasy,
But he could not stop
His verbal onslaught.
Each lie was more extravagant
Than the last and quite flagrant.
He lifted her up toward the roof
Until she broke, collapsed in two.
Her right side fell on his right side.
And Pinochio lay back, said ‘Oh my! What a ride!’
‘Let me!’ cried the Doc
as he glanced at the clock,
it’s been fifteen minutes since dopey
climbled up inside Miss Snow White’s fine behind
all because he just wanted some money.
‘It’s your fault!’ he yelled over to grumpy,
‘You offered him all of that cash!’
‘I didn’t imply’ was his grumbled reply,
‘To climb in it, but to merely stash
a finger or three up her ass.’
Miss Snow White, by the way,
had passed out that day
from a mixture of dwarf vodka and ale.
She lay ‘cross the beds,
as an eagle she’s spread,
and someone yelled ‘Dopey! Five bucks to impale
Snow White with your dirty dumb fingernails.’
Well Happy was as happy as Happy could be
when Dopey went elbow deep.
And when Dopey’s feet disappeared underneath,
it’s good Miss Snow White was still fast asleep,
she tossed and she turned but let out not a peep.
‘I’ve got an idea’, said the doc with a holler,
and grabbed Sneezy by his wet, snotty collar,
and turned Miss Snow White face up on the bed,
and ordered to Sneezy, ‘Now, please, give her head!’
So Sneezy, tongue out, drooled as he dabbled,
but soon found an itch on the tip of his nose.
‘I’m going to sneeze!” the old Sneezy babbled.
‘That’s the whole point!’ said the Doc with a groan.
And no sooner later came a large, loud ‘Achoo!’
And out flew dumb Dopey all covered in goo.
And late the next morning Miss Snow White did arise
with an ache in her head and in her intestines.
Little Bo Peep fucked a dead sheep,
so much so she could not sleep.
She loved to take rotting meat deep,
the maggots crawl, carefully creep,
the bloated ball secretes and seeps.
It is enough to make one weep
for Ms. Lonely Little Bo Peep.
Dear Victoria General Hospital Foundation,
In July 1995, Californian Jonie Flint filed suit against Chopra,
Triguna, The Sharp Institute, and various other individuals and
organizations. Flint’s husband David, who was suffering from leukemia,
had consulted Triguna in April 1993. According to the complaint,
Triguna was represented as a licensed health professional (which he is
not) and concluded that David’s liver function was down and that he
had “heat” in his spleen and bone marrow, “wind” in his stomach, and
pressure on his nerves. Triguna recommended dietary changes,
“purification” treatment, and various herbal products. David then
underwent treatment at the Lancaster clinic and purchased and used
Maharishi Amrit Kalash and several other products. He also consulted
Chopra, who performed pulse diagnosis and provided a mantra for
“quantum sound treatment.” (This is a technique—also called
“primordial sound treatment”—described in one of Chopra’s books as
“similar to meditation, but … prescribed for specific illnesses,
including those we consider incurable in the West, such as cancer.”)
In December 1993, Triguna retested David’s pulse and declared that his
leukemia was gone. It was not, however, and David died four months
later. The suit charged that the $10,000 he spent for ayurvedic
services and products was obtained by fraud. Unfortunately, Jonie
Flint lacked the resouces to pursue her suit, so the accuracy of her
allegations could not be investigated under courtroom conditions.
It is unfortunate that such desperate people would believe such
nonsense, and unfortunate that a hospital would sponsor such behavior,
James V. Odett
Dear Victoria General Hospital Foundation,
I am appalled to learn that Deepak Chopra is not only coming to Winnipeg, but is being supported and sponsored by the Victoria General Hospital Foundation. I am also confused by the fact that what I thought would be a scientific establishment, a hospital which I hope for other people’s sake keeps itself up-to-date with the latest in scientific understanding and achievements, would align itself with the pseudoscientific, obsurantist, solipsistic charleton and quack Deepak Chopra. This is a man who despises modern and conventional medicines and replaces it with such things as “by consciously using our awareness…you can tell your body not to age,” and “if you have happy thoughts, then you make happy molecules”. These are damaging and destructive ideas for people facing REAL diseases and disorders, and I am afraid that people would think that such debasement of scientific knowledge acceptable when backed by what I thought was a reputable foundation. Surely, SURELY!, the money spent on this alliance could be better distributed. Money that instead is contributing to the undermining of science and reason. Perhaps the Victoria General Hospital Foundation should also embrace the warm, fuzzy arms of The Secret, or perhaps to the production of the newest herb that claims to ‘work wonders’ on your immune system, or perhaps the Q-Ray Ionized Bracelet (as seen on TV). Perhaps now you may, and if you do, I will no longer be surprised. If healthcare is anything, it is not about deluding oneself into believing such nonsense, and the Victoria General Hospital should remove its support from this placebo-incarnate.
Dishearteningly yours,
James V. Odett
argue, grot, and grumble and cowardly crumble, and stealthily stumble, and bumble and mumble. come dance with your shoes off, alight like a fuse top, meandering down like a stream from a trough. who better than you to dance without shoes? after all, rolling rocks send the most pleasurable tune.
I don’t want my sexdoll looking away from me while i’m cannying its valleys… blueandbrownbooks:
what’s a person? and what does this question have to do with lazy eyes and uncanny valleys?
Keys click like crickets (bash those filthy things!) Lead-lidded lights shimmer as squids through some bizarre ocean. (These people pose as algal agents, brushed through tentacles and treating the carpet as something to creep on!) The computer spills its salt water, washing and watching. Computer: Do you eat? Me: Not usually. Computer: How ‘bout a treat? Me: Tomfoolery. [Enter adder, fresh from someone’s asshole] Adder: Pardon me, O gardened three, One must move both carefully And quietly, Now try with me You sly (come hither!) slitherine. Keys tick like trinkets (And garbage fills the sink)
Nails in a jar
Surrounded by
loose papers, yellow, frayed with age.
Snow through a hole in the wall
Spills onto the table,
Settles by the nails, papers, in pyramid pile.
Nails in a jar
Surrounded by
Red rust, creeping patiently up, down, sideways,
Up to a point,
Under frightened flat heads before banging, pushed through like divers through water, through ice.
Nails in a jar
Waiting.
the empty roller coaster spins backward across the clanging tracks teeters atop I hear it banging back no screams no extended arms no puke O silly roller coaster you always were a little rude
Dear ______,
I saw a woman today and I fell for her wedding ring. And the way she turned it over in her hand to hide the stone. And the way she twisted it back and forth, around and around. And the way she refused to acknowledge this. And the way she smiled looking at the ceiling (I looked at the ceiling and it wasn’t funny at all). And the way she twisted her toes inside her salt-stained black boots. And the way her sock had a tiny hole in it at her ankle. And the way she knew I was watching.
I see you everywhere,
_______
Dear ______,
Of course I still write poems. What the fuck do you think these are? Letters? Eat my shit. This is a fucking poem, you slob. You knew this and you still insult me?
I love you,
_______
Dear ______,
It is cold here now, and I’m forced to tend the fire constantly - the furnace doesn’t put out the heat as it once used to. We are getting old, are we not? But you age well. True beauty only grows as time passes - like wine, or cheese (if bitterness or smelliness is your forte). I was glad to hear you are doing so well (to my jealousy, I must admit), and I was surprised that you would venture out that far. You were never a traveler before. What changed? The wind is strong tonight. I don’t trust it. These old bones are breaking, love. (Not that one, dirty dog.)
Help me through this night,
_______
