In Need Of A Phone?

It's hard to say what kind of mobile phone I'd buy if I was looking for one. There's not even that many phones that I've seen in use close up or that I've borrowed to use. I don't know many people to call when I'm not at home, so I just use the house phones--there's 4 or 5 of those! I don't know if it's some or most of the cell phones that are starting to be so small that they look like toys--you know, some equivalent of the plastic cash register they sell that four-year-olds can play "store" with. I used to love gadgets--component stereos, Casio watches, Walkmans, etc.--back before every soul on earth had pocket gadgets in their possession. Now it's just me who doesn't have one! But I'm not sure what the point would be. Would I just call home to find out if I'm home or not? I could do that. I could answer all the crap phone calls from strangers and from the wretches who dial wrong numbers until the day they die. Yeah, I really have a great need for a goddamn cell phone.

She Comes

She comes in when she comes And not before. Men wait in the wild teeming streets And tinker-toy with whores of their own invention. They win nothing more, however, Beyond the torment of being wishful for a tramp Who won’t come home until they’re dead. We kill the time with kisses While she waits for her carriage to arrive And everything gets creamy And much of our nightmare is dreamt of, Forever and a day. For certain none ever kiss much better Than what has been before, Not even in these dreams; We glimpse ourselves in tandem with the famous tart, But no matter how we may aspire, it is all illusory so far As we lift our lids and cuffs and drift discretely apart. rcs Created on 11/12/2009 9:54 AM

All Kinds Of Weather

In all kinds of weather I see you take my measure Just as if I were not there. There must be some way around all that, But, of course, I haven’t found it yet. No, I haven’t got a clue, Not even a stick to stir it with, but It doesn’t matter much from minute to minute Now that times are bad— Anyway, it’s Saturday night again And there’s no one else around. I’ve always found it easy to be alone If I just stay at home With my pistol cocked and britches on And never offer any resistancc To the higher Law that’s seldom blind or balanced. Oh the charm of alarms in my soul, When it goes, never goes off only slightly! So at the start of flu season such as this, We watch the rusty weather vane And are all pretty much alone And are all alike on a nervous track, On the nervous lookout For anyone who might sneeze or cough Or touch us or laugh and force us to decode them Before we end up in jail with their twins or worse. rcs Created on 10/31/2009 8:52 PM

I Get Worse And Worse!

None of this Site Meter shit makes any real sense to me.  I might understand that I got worse each month since last November, but I surely didn’t get better in October of this year and then worse again in November of this year!  That wasn’t true!  I’ve been doing OK lately, I thought.  So much for me bothering to think…

Helpless

Words go out like a candle flame in a breeze, Never failing to amaze me until the moment I get bored. I think of all the lights that I’ve adored but I’m not like, Whether Nasty Dylan or Saint Joan Baez Or lustful Joni Mitchell or musty Neil Young, And it makes me feel helplessly dark And small and imprecise Like I’m lost and out of control in the faraway Of some daybreak horizon I’ve never seen Or on one of those streaked gray highways Out of a dreadful dream where it’s endlessly Sticky and clammy and black-devilled night And there’s no one here but me until the resurrection. rcs Created on 11/21/2009 9:28 PM

Bold And Alive

I have stayed alive Despite a frequent inclination to despair, So suicide or deadly harm Barely loom large enough to jar me anymore And may not be as relevant as you’d suspect. It is hard to be bold in any case. rcs Created on 11/21/2009 9:59 PM

I Know Someone

I know someone there, that place you mentioned, Or, more accurately, I knew someone who went there And later, the last I knew of them, They dropped off the radar screen Without remark or report or regard. I guess they no longer cared much for me, But that’s okay—I see I didn’t care much myself now it’s done. rcs Created on 10/28/2009 6:45 PM

Bad Smell

You can’t do anything about it, So why should you fret? I’ve been bitten, made lame, battered, bitter and shuttered, Since before you were born And you won’t expect to see any change at this late date Until I’m in the grave. Even I don’t expect more than that. All I can do these days, After so much time misspent And so much energy gone for rent, Is to keep a little occupied, Even if it’s only in my head or fingertips While my house and body slowly decay, None too visibly, perhaps, but certain Like a bad smell gone astray in a closed room. (Now that’s a pleasant way To speak about oneself.) rcs Created on 11/18/2009 4:51 PM

A Chrome Knob At Work

It's supposed to be speedy

I downloaded the new Google "Chrome" browser and spent just a little time with it so far. I can't see much very good or very bad about it so far. It doesn't explain or mark all it's buttons and icons, so some things required that I just "try it and see". Sometimes I was pleasantly surprised as a result, other times NOT. I'm sure it'll require a great deal more time to investigate it. It sure did copy itself fast, though, I must say that. I wonder if it left anything out just because it finished so quickly! It was speedy about that, at least.

Most Frequent Blogger Questions

My work at Most Frequent Blogger Questions must be done.  It’s finished, I mean.  It’s not the “best of” anything, nor is it Number One for any reason, but I’ve managed to turn loose of it, and that’s a wonderful thing.  It has freed me.  At first I didn’t realize how much so, but now I see that I’ve written a dozen new poems (at least their beginnings) in the past couple of weeks, and that’s a big accomplishment to me.  I sometimes get a Gerard Manley Hopkins sort of feeling like, “myself it speaks and spells, Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.” (Hopkins) My poetry is indeed more nearly what I came to the Internet for! Hopkins is a far better poet than I am, but he’s also more difficult to read these days!  Maybe three people in the universe will read me, if I’m lucky.

This simplistic post was constructed in Windows Live Writer and then "Published" to this blog. Not bad, though I am not a person who has lately had any troubles just writing my posts in the Blogger editor.

Losing Hand

I have been dealt a losing hand In a game of solitaire, Though you wonder how that’s possible. And so do I—or am I only losing heart? Maybe it’s only what we have at hand That keeps me muddled and unsuspecting And more than a little sick at heart. rcs Created on 11/16/2009 2:41 PM

Missing You

It's true. Of course, it's my fault, too. Like the old Cream song went, "We're going wrong."

The Old Days

(Email To The Blogger Future)

Some day you will recall How you used to speak with me In the old days of the Internet, And others may or may not remark it. Whichever way it goes, it won’t mean much To anyone but yourself and you’ll wonder at it, Guessing that there must have been others who also spoke And where are they now and what do they think— But it will only be a moment’s pause, a mere thought, And you’ll go on again without a care for me, For the world will have changed again by then, Misused and abused faster than even the Internet can calculate. rcs Created on 11/18/2009 5:25 PM

Welcome to the end of the world!

Try to Relax. You are the only human remaining and the rats and other vermin all have your name written down on a piece of paper. I can't tell if you are targeted for extermination or for the menu, but there is no hurry.

From A Comical Poet Who's Droll But Dead

Ogden Nash: Progress might have been all right once, but it has gone on too long.

Modern Pest Control

It is no longer my job to kill all the varmints. Is that good or bad? At least back then I had something to do. But I guess my discernment has waned lately, so I guess it would be a more dangerous proposition. I might mistake your French poodle for a cockroach or your sorry ass for a rat.

Déjà Vu

UC Berkeley students were occupying a campus building and the governor is a famous former actor. Didn't this shit already happen? I feel like Rip Van Winkle, except that things are supposed to be different after twenty years!

OINK!

I got my H1N1 flu shot yesterday and have had no bad reactions so far. So I'm "protected", I guess, though I fully plan to still be a swine this year! I just won't have an audience for it (as it appears that all of my visitors are only lingering for zilch-point-zero seconds and that's not long enough to read a post card!)

Must Be

I must be getting to be the most boring sonofabitch on the face of the earth! Why do I say that? Just guessing.

Memory Of A Song

I've always wanted to know a Rita (lovely rita meter maid) But I don't think I ever did (or was it just too long ago?). It was a good tune, though, Is all I know.

Jenny Frances And The Shower

I Hate It When That Happens

“Oh, God, there goes the shower maniac again,” she said. “Yeah, I hear,” Ed grinned. “What?” I asked. “The guy in the apartment upstairs. That guy spends more time in the shower,” Jenny Frances said in an exasperated humorous, tone. “Nobody spends that much time in the shower, really! I think he's whacking off up there myself and using the running water for cover.” “An interesting concept,” I laughed. “I'm not so sure it's entirely practical. My few efforts at sex in water have never worked very well. Water temperature kept the gonads too cold or something.” “Well, I don't know,” Jenny Frances giggled, looking only slightly embarrassed, but firmly in control of her thoughts. “I've done it in the shower and I assure you I came, and so did the man I was with.” I gathered that it wasn't Ed, since he didn't jump up and say, “That's right, it sure was fun doin' her in the shower!” I still had questions and comments, but none of them were decent, so I thought I’d better keep them to myself. For one thing I was thinking she sure must have a nice warm snatch to so successfully keep that gonad temperature up! Whew! Couldn't say that, except to myself. What an immensely attractive woman, though! Jenny would keep my temperature up if the chance had ever offered itself! I had always found her very attractive, whether in spite of or because she was slightly horse-faced! Yet she was smart and tender, too—characteristics that were winsome in a woman wherever you might find them! Once again, to my regret, I had found them in a woman already in a relationship. Then, too, Ed was a nice fellow, so I had double motivation to be civil. Damn.

No Repair

I guess I always failed to prepare for it Just as I equally could not repair it So that in the end I was at a loss And damned to hell Without a care and despite the cost of it!

Your Fault

I'm sorry, but it's too damn quiet around here. This MUST be your fault, as I am as noisy and provoked (inspired?) as ever!

SPRING AND SUMMER

Oh the blood-red rose is trembling, Trembling in the palm that broke the branch, And the heart-red gash is throbbing, Throbbing in the flesh these thorns have rent. Spring is gone, and summer’s come, And all seems right within— But who knows what is right When all is wrong within?

LIKE A FEVER

“It is this,” she said. “This loss of romance, That kills me every time.” She placed his hand, hard-pressed, Against her breast and sighed: “Feel! How my heart has ceased it’s beating as if I’d died, My hope expanded like a fever in a nun That runs unchecked until I stop.” Though he didn’t know just what the virgin meant, She nonetheless held all his attention…

He Said

"I guess I don't know what women are for," he said. "Though I've made some cry And I've made some mine, Still nothing comes to pass." "We are not for your fool's pleasure, I can tell you that!" I said. "Nor made to feed mere hunger Or be your hind in heat."

AFGHANISTAN

The Soviet shitheel must eventually crush Afghanistan—so logic says. And so it is surprising that the firmness of Soviet disbelief has been taking so long to quell the Faithful of God. One must wonder. These Afghan fighters—how can they win? And some, whether religious or just observant, might look at their fervor and say, “How can they lose?” I wrote the preceding a long time ago, back around 1980. I wrote it before it was apparent that the Russians attempting to occupy Afghanistan could not win. Now it strikes me that WE are in the Soviet position with Afghanistan and Iraq. We think our opponents are just dirty bandits who only want our bribes and other riches. But what they’re doing is their equivalent of Fighting For Jesus, only more so! And just for the hellacious Fun of it, too. And that’s an unfortunate advantage to have over a Superpower which only half-believes in the Jesus we profess to adore and the poor boys from rich America, who keep fighting the battle with technology and air power, but spilling their own precious blood nonetheless. Why did the Russians really leave? I think that they couldn't afford the bills for the battle in the end. Now that money is becoming so dear in our own country, it suggests to me that the problem that defeated the Russians is what's bugging us. Do I mean to sound defeatist—yes, I think I do! Patriotism insists that America cannot lose, but logic suggests that it can't win. Others have already tried. What was it that we called Vietnam—a quagmire? I think that's what it's coming to. Move over, Jesus—make room for Allah and his bloodthirsty pals.

What Kind Of Crap?

(Just the Bug-assed Crazy Kind!)
I have now amassed 2,043 posts of no particular distinction, discern, or discretion! Oops, now it's 2,044. I guess this is how the number got so large--I wasn't very particular about what kind of crap constituted a post!