Sunday Scribbling #134: Bragging Rights
THOSE I DID NOT SLEEP WITH
not Condaleeza Rice
not Ella
not Stevie
nor Little Stevie either
not Colin
not Cheney
not Nancy Wilson
not Mose Allison
not Van
not Dylan
not Sting
not the Righteous Brothers
not the Everlys
not
certainly not Sonny
not Atom Egoyan, while we’re getting all Armenian about it
not William Carlos Williams
not Gertrude
not
not Perry Como
not Marmaduke
not Lennon or McCartney
not the Modern Jazz Quartet
not Stanley Turrentine
not Wayne Shorter
not Jaco Pastorius
not Joni Mitchell (yes, I’m probably the only one)
not Pat Metheny
not Oprah
not Dr. Pill
not the Mormon Tabernacle Choir
not Blake
not Eliot
not Pound
not even Rikki Ducornet
or Donald Fagen
I lost all their numbers
the only boy in a class of four
reflex genuflector
a virgin without condoms or MFA
such are the wonder daze
Phil Levine was outraged
I just walked out
I knew frenzy up in smoke
I was looking for the door
But the madman was checking the windows
14th floor, that ain’t pretty
certainly not the vision thing either
I’m blind as a bat
Governor Edwards next door, if he was running against them
he would have said, I slept with them all
in the lap of luxury he shits where he eats
me, it’s a quandary, a conundrum
it brings out the sandra in me
i start wearing berets
my voice slides up an octave or two
i prowl tattoo parlors late at night for full body frescoes
black Madonnas on my xiphoid process
HEB candles burning down my sighs
not the futzy cowboy, but the A Train
I’m not even sure Mother Theresa could have pulled that off
pretty socks over pretty ankles
long slender toes in leather slippers
hound’s-tooth bathrobe at the piano, you’ve got one hell of a serenade
i don’t care how indigo you’re feeling
what future geniuses were not begot?
[Image: Bed of Dreams: Kathy Ostman-Magnusen]
Labels: xiphoid marvelous
posted by murat11 at 10:14 PM
34 Comments:
When you consider the mistakes others have made, then bragging about what you've not done (rather than failed to do) is fair comment.
if you've not slept with zappa and all his mothers -- then you have no bragging rights... ;)
"I am the slime cummin' outta your radio..."
This piece you posted had wit, and a nice edge -- I was drawn in to the end... well done
Next time write about the ones you have slept with! Would the list be as long?
Stan: I appreciate the distinction.
Rob: You're absolutely right: this is a list of those I would not have: Zappa and his MOI would not have me. What does that say about them?
Rinkly: What do think this is? Kiss and tell? It might not be longer, but it just might be wider.
Not even Elizabeth Bishop? The reserves of steely will you must possess!
I loved this response -- it made me laugh, and, well, I always like to laugh.
anno: Nothing steely about it in the least. Such were my priorities my senior year, I walked out of classes by EB and Robert Lowell. "I ain't workin' that hard, this year." I shoulda "slept" with 'em both, though truly, RL's energy was that of a black hole.
Now Ducornet? That was steel.
I read this last night and laughed out loud. What a lovely take on lists and how we measure the past, with twists of name and time and place that bring surprise. Of course, Elizabeth Bishop. I loved the inclusions and the exclusions, every one, and ending so masculine with begats. May you sleep warmly in peace. And I checked out your posted artist. She paints mermaids.
heheh this is really good!
Silly me, I hadn't read the title for some reason, so I read it twice with a different interpretation each time. ;)
OMG I loved the beginning! I can brag and say that I went to bed with the Cramps. haha. I enjoyed your Scribbling.
I believe this will be the most unique post of all. Thanks for a good laugh. BJ
I love this! I coudln't stop reading it!
You’re a delightfully complicated being, Mr Genius. You went to Walden’s Pond because you “wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life,” the birds and the bees, the pollen, and all. And look what happened! The list of nots is long so that you have some left over to love the likes of us, testing the climate to take a journey to steal Saturn. As for me, my spirit hovers over Fine Line Tattoos in Mesquite where I got my first two. Ask for Mike.
missalister
Beth: Thank you for the blessings and the appreciation. It all started as a goofy office conversation and went on from there. There really was an Ellington "abstinent."
Devilish One: I skip titles a lot, probably because my own so often DO NOT signify. Glad you had some fun, both times.
Autrice: I live to scribble, and your "Cramps" comment cracks me up every time I read it.
Glad you joined the fun, BJ.
Thank you, Linda. You can stop reading now.
Alright, Lady A, swell the braggart's head bigger than it already is. These allusions to Saturn: you're not going all Sun Ra on me now, are you? I believe it's indeed a fine line for you, Mistress Avatar, but I also believe they ain't enough Texas to ever provide enough hover-land for your Big Sky Spirit.
I could say "set it to music and it would be perfect"...but why mess with a thing that sings on it's own.
b
b: I'll let you burn the soundtrack: just no P Como, and certainly no Duke: wouldn't want to tempt fate twice, now would we?
Thanks for stopping by -- I enjoyed hearing from you.
You might not have been quite so happy to have me around last Friday, though, if you'd known that my first strategy when playing chess, is to clear the board of one or two pieces (sacrificing even my own!) just to have some room to move around. Get the game down to just a few pieces, though, and then I'm good for going in for the kill.
About teaching math... I fear that if people figured out how much fun it is, more would be trying to do it. That's why most of us walk around with dour expressions on our faces afterwards, and we never wear our red dancing shoes to work. Like that mother baking Rice Krispie treats while locked in the kitchen, we want other people to imagine that we suffer.
Writing teachers, though? Now there's a job that takes real character. They are the few who number among the truly sublime!
Aw man you sure know howta make one o’ those heart glows happen :-) About Saturn… Naw, Paschal, it ain’t nothin’ as big as that, but I’ll give you a big hint ;-)
Ms A: That is one fine painting (and series), is it not?
May I just say, while we're getting all allegorical, that your palindromic rave was a very fine piece of Swiftian Sun-worthy subversion.
Myyyy goodness, this comment list is quite the addition to your chuckle out loud poetry. I love your take on this proooompt. And I must agree with:
You’re a delightfully complicated being!
Tammie: Glad you're having fun. I don't know about that complicated part: I'm just an inveterate goofball.
goofball eh, so glad you are having fun!
That old transformation artist Death sounds like a good match for the Snake and the Scorpion in your chart. And, I'm not sure why, but it seems like a good match for the poetry you write, as well.
I have a fair amount of Scorpio in my chart, too. Surprises everybody. Must be outweighed by being born in the year of the Dog. So it seems that I'm not a real Scorpio.
P.S. I'm not a real math teacher, either. I just pretend to be one on Mondays. And then I spend the rest of the week thinking about it.
anno: As Forrest's mother would say, "Scorpio is as Scorpio does." (Ironically enough, Forrest's actress mom and I share the same birthday.)
It's all in the attitude and aspiration: not everyone aspires to be a pointed crustacean. Subversive math teacher? I'd say you qualify.
I've not slept with them either although you can add eddie veder and Clive Owens (*sigh*) to my list to name a few - although a girl can dream, n'est pas?
As usual, your writing and creativity blows my mind - where on earth did you come from? You are not of this world ;)
Rebecca: Good to hear from you, my friend. No other worlds, I assure you. Like all good little crustaceans, I just crawled out from under a rock. And it wasn't even Mr. Eliot's red rock. This part of the world, more likely limestone rock.
I like this very much. Enjoyed it. Thanks for posting. You call yourself Murat11. Makes me wonder - why 11? Hey, I'm lili11 ...
Lili11: Glad you enjoyed the post. Murat is my middle name; the eleventh month is my birth month.
I like the way this poem moves from the piled-up catalog of those not slept with to the broadened stories of ever-more-elaborate circumstance, ever-more-elaborate silk scarves.
Out of a hat.
San: Nice to have your words back over here at the campfire. Always welcome and affirming.
Hats off to you, sister.
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