burger doodles
McLovin’Awkward motorized Paleolithic key
Lime pie, annotated Honolulu
Burger, aspirated French Fries
Of the Loom that looms
Not by fission, nor by
Fusion, nor even finicky condiments
Of shaggy disorder.
Silverberg, he of the eventual eventual-
Ity, kamikaze ukulele incineration,
Karaoke Dewey Decimal old time
Klezmer Ashkenazi jug bands,
Futility grinding futility’s
Oral grind. Silverberg, prolific and organ grinding,
Silverberg, multiple Hugo-grinding, multiple
Nebula grinding, multiple nocturnal
Tooth grinding,
Inhabited by no less than six types of planetary settlers,
Solaris grinders, organ donors,
Panoramic dysfunction, three survived
The man in the maze,
The masks of time,
Across a billion years.
Positronics galvanized,
Peep shows to the stars,
Isaiah gone round the bend,
Mr. Ridley untoothed by verbal
Display, the first face
Of limpid seas. Unfile
The defiled, refile the reviled,
Charism of sparing whimsy.
Labels: billowing, chortling, kibbutzing
posted by murat11 at 1:08 PM
4 Comments:
Paschal, I tried to post a comment here yesterday, but it got yanked away. That string again, my MR sob story.
Today I notice new things. How could I have missed the enjambed key/lime pie? Because I was so taken with the image of a Paleolithic key, that's why.
Kamikaze ukulele: a pairing that reeks of inevitability--same today as yesterday.
The grindings, one after the other--call me crazy, but they remind me of a Duchamps painting, all edges, descending, step by step, a staircase.
It all piles up at the bottom of the poem, charged, ready to detonate.
Or is that just the Big Mac talkin'?
Another "sorta" student "prompt": someone in the middle of something sez "McLovin'," I see arches and a word blizzard and we are once again off to the races.
I'll go with Duchamps: I'd say the whole poem, clothed though she be, is still descending something.
Here's what I think about Mercury and all the time-tricksters: take any given indigenous culture, ever so much closer to Nature's rhythms than we (or most of we). The Maya, por ejemplo: I think there were/are subtle modulations in time that they felt/perceived as readily as we see, say, the ketchup on our tofu McFries. These little hiccups, blips are registered by the Maya, but go rolling right by many of us like invisible Mack trucks and are still beyond our ken. I think this is what, say, Mercury's retrograde is all about: it stands for something phenomenologically, be it by a variety of names.
I love that at the end of each year cycle in the Mayan calendar, there are the 5 nameless days (Wayeb'), in which the boundaries of time loosen, in which we float. I do not think that these are "unlucky" days: they are simply days that have a different "feel," a different potentiality. Days in the Mayan calendar are not "numbers," not ciphers, but are variegated energies.
Or not.
Paschal, it's been a while since I've thought about those 5 extra days of the Mayan calendar. I once heard them described as 5 days to hold the mystery, or something like that.
Numbers as variegated energies. This reminds me of something else. You've probably read Jung's Memories, Dreams, Reflections. I believe he said he had some trouble with math as a kid. He wanted to know--what are numbers? Variegated energies, now that makes some sense.
Bennie and I, in a few days, are leaving for the Yucatan coast. That vacant time. That Mayan, floating energy. WOOHOO!
Sounds like a wonderful trip - and a wonderful place - to float. Have a great "time."
"Ere the bonnie boat was won..."
Post a Comment
<< Home