Viral Cat

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Oct 2010 2

Recent Blog Entries

                      October 2010 Issue, Page 2

 

 

"Fire in the Forest Tryptich" (painting) ................................................................................................... Gail Weissman

"vincent" (poetry) .................................................................................................................................... George McKim 

"The Cell" (photography) ........................................................................................................................ Erica Resnick 

"The Need for Thumbs" (poetry) ............................................................................................................. Sergio A. Ortiz 

"To Meld" (painting) ................................................................................................................................ Joseph Dolinsky 

"page 80" (poetry) .................................................................................................................................. George McKim

"Palmer's Gift" (painting) ........................................................................................................................ Gail Weissman

"I've Forgotten Everything I Wanted" (poetry) ........................................................................................ Sophia Argyris

"Pit" (illustration) ..................................................................................................................................... Adrienne Michalski 

"July 1977" (poetry) ................................................................................................................................ John Buckley 

"The Truth About Me" (short film) ........................................................................................................... Emmett Loverde 

"Sissy Spacek in Starbucks" (poetry) ..................................................................................................... Graham Fulton

"Open Plan" (photography) .................................................................................................................... Graham Fulton 

"bursting" (poetry) .................................................................................................................................. Rob Plath

"Persia" (painting) .................................................................................................................................. George McKim

"Here's Looking at You, Kid" (poetry) .................................................................................................... Ryan Quinn Flanagan 

"Doorknob Deconstruction" (painting) ................................................................................................... Joseph Dolinksy

"thinning the herd" (poetry) ................................................................................................................... John Grochalski

"open" (photography) ............................................................................................................................ Erica Resnick 

"At the Zoo" (poetry) ............................................................................................................................. Donal Mahoney

"Cunningham" (painting) ...................................................................................................................... Gail Weissman 

"How to Make Do" (fiction) ................................................................................................................... Timothy Raymond

"Stress Evokation"
(painting) ............................................................................................................... Valerie Patritti

"The Stray" (movie trailer) .................................................................................................................... Tom Ford

"Yes, No." (flash fiction) ........................................................................................................................ Minette Amesz 

 

Click here to return to page 1

 

 

Fire in the Forest

 

 

Vincent

 

hurls
himselves
into
the violent
geometry
of a newly plowed
sky

where
vagrant slurs
of drunk / black / air
stagger
from crippled star
to crippled star

 

The Cell

 

 

The Need for Thumbs

 

We've spent too many

late afternoons creating cities

full of exquisite corpses

 

when what we really needed were new

Visa cards, ones we could access

without thumbs.

 

We're flat, our mouths are full of

halcyon holidays and losing horses:

one in the third, another in the fifth.

 

Everything has fallen from us,

kindness, pieces of our nose.

Sugar crystals couldn’t possibly fix

 

these broken rings.

We're dead and cannot smile,

the sky for us is silence.

 

The sound of jazz comes

from the blood melted

on what was left of our eyelids.



To Meld

 

 

 

 

page 80


suddenly
with
oriental roses
painted for
paris

where, with
long hours in
the stock exchange,

he became
regular furniture

 

Palmer's Gift

 

 

 

I’ve Forgotten Everything I Wanted

Don't ask me where the cold came from
perhaps the walls breathed it out
and I breathed it in.

Your absence is like frost biting.

I stand, a stalagmite
in this room hollow as a cave
dreaming of nothing.

 

Pit

 

 

July 1977

 

I went back home and she asked me what happened, but I said nothing since I didn’t know. I said what happened, she said come here and looked unhappy. I told her I’d gone to the beach by myself but that was okay, I thought, because I had told her that, looked both ways while crossing the street, and didn’t touch the green goose-poo sausages scattered all over the grass by the lake. She got out her sewing kit, pinking shears, holding me steady and cutting a chunk from my scalp. I told her I’d been on the little steel merry-go-round with two older boys, one light-haired, one dark-haired, both of whom’d asked me my age. I’d said seven, I told her I’d told them, and they had said that they were ten. I’d thought that was fine if they didn’t go shove me around or call me mean names. I’d had trouble with bullies before and was leery. Maybe they’d push the merry-go-round really hard, but I never got dizzy. I’d hold onto the tubular railings or stand in the center and balance. I wouldn’t fall off unless I jumped off on purpose, I’d show them, and then we would get along fine. But instead, when my back was turned, someone did something that I didn’t see. Both of them left real fast, laughing, huh, weird, I had thought, we didn’t become friends or enemies, either one. After that, no one else showed up to play with me, so I went back home. And now, she has a big wad of hairy pink bubble gum there in her hand, right from the back of my head where the stubble is. Ah. So never trust anyone born in the sixties. They’ll make your mom mad.

 

The Truth About Me

 

 

Sissy Spacek in Starbucks

 

In a pink padded jacket

lovingly covered in

ban-the-bomb symbols

                              the Sissy Spacek lookalike

          who looks nothing like Sissy Spacek

sits at her sugar sprinkled table

and crunches down hard

on her first lollipop of the day

                          and reads a few more lines

             from Carrie by Stephen King

                              in between

staring sociopathically

at the slowly moving queue of adults

           including a forty year old woman

           with pink streaks in her hair

who could

be her mum

 

                               as if by the sheer force

of her telekinetic pre-pubescent will

                 she can make the whole

grown-up coffee shop

begin to shake

                     and the roof collapse

in a perfect apocalypse

of plaster and paint

                     and the light bulbs explode

            and the glass case

full of croissants and baguettes and

cookies and pastries and plastic bottles

of mineral spring water for

a reasonable price disappear

                into nothingness for a little

while at least

 

Open Plan

 

 

 

bursting



there
is
an
invalid
slowly
waking
up
in
you

&
behind
that,
a
cadaver

&
behind
that,
a
star...

 

Persia

 

 

Here's Looking at You, Kid

 

The headdress was a nice touch

but I’m not so sure about

that Bogey lisp you wore around town

like a raincoat over a rosebush

and the way you gummed my ear lobes

in the dark

with your teeth smiling in a glass

just feet away

on the table by the bed

full of keepsakes

and lubricant

and those pictures

from that time you went to Mexico

and ate the worm

as you’re so fond of telling me

whenever I’m hung over

and dog whipped

and sucking at the mercy stick

from the wrong

end.

 

The sun is up, now,

and the earthworms break soil

as you break wind

and giggle a little with hand

over mouth

from the foot of the bed

while a fattened squirrel

by the window

buries nuts

 

like the truth

of it.

 

Doorknob Deconstruction

 

 

thinning the herd

 

they are talking about
neighborhood kids
 
she says that she hates the summer
because the neighborhood kids
take over the street
 
they don’t look, she says
do you know how many of them
i almost hit with my car?
 
i stop the car and curse them out
 
i ask them
don’t you want to live?
 
but they just curse me back
 
it’s like they don’t care, she says
 
the other ladies agree with her
they all have horror stories
from summer streets
 
kids riding bikes without helmets
diving into the shallow end of the pool
setting off illegal fireworks
 
skateboarding for goodness sake
 
skateboarding!
 
you should let them go, i say
 
the women look up at me because
i typically don’t talk at lunch
 
let them go if they want to take chances
any loss of life will just help thin out the herd
 
thin out the herd? they all say in unison
 
how could you say
a thing like that?
kids are so innocent
 
inside of every kid is an adult waiting to happen
i tell them
 
but they wave me off
 
think i’m the crazy one
 
they go back to talking
 
this time about all of the new shows
on television this summer
 
apparently the cable schedule is packed
with shows that
you just can’t miss.

 

Open

 

 

 

At The Zoo

 
 
The lady in the peach cloche hat
leads the rest of us
around the rhino into better light.
 
She leads us to the guardrail
at the supper hour to watch
the keeper reach inside 
 
the large glass case.
She wants us all to watch the rat
delight the python.
 
 

Cunningham

 

 

How To Make Do

 

Paint one of the rooms red, a deep red like wine. Wander there, in and out, when you can no longer hear the children from next door laughing. Feel like you're inside of someone else. You want a house with character, but you have to learn how to make do with what you have.   

Peel apples and put the skin in the garbage disposal. Run it a few times until the kitchen smells like red delicious. You put a fan in there to spread the smell into the other rooms of the house. On your errands across town, sit in the car without the radio. Sit like you're pretty. Sit like when you were a girl. Imagine that there are people coming to see you at your house when you're away. Believe it as best as you can. Drive to the bookstore and pretend the clerks behind the counter are gossiping about you. 

You go home with the ice cream cone that you bought. Love the vanilla. Try to save it for when you get back inside the house. Turn the air-conditioner on in the car to avoid melting the ice cream.   

Take it outside to the back porch after you arrive at home. Sit in a lawn chair while you wait for the children next door to go into their backyard to play croquet. Hope that they come soon. Eat your ice cream. 

Watch the sky as you wait. Watch it until it turns the color of the cat you lost when you were seven.

 

Stress Evokation

 

 

The Stray

 

 

Yes, No.

 

Yes, that’s what I want you to call me.
You used to call me girl, you used to call me by my first and middle name. You used to say my
name and look at me so sweetly that I would sigh and rub my eyes.


Yes, just like that.
No, not like that. Remember? Remember when it was love? When we did this all for love? To feel
close and combined and whole? You don’t even know my name. I’m fucking a stranger.


Yes, faster. Whatever you want.
Faster, because I want it to be over. Faster, because I want to forget all of this. Faster, because
I don’t want it ever again.


I know, I know. You have to get to work.
We used to lay in bed all day. You used to work Sundays to make up for the mornings we “slept
in.”


Have a good day.
Please. Just get the fuck out.