Memory XXX

Memory XXX

patience, patience, patience, have patience
my cronies, my comrades, my curmudgeonlies:
this caffeine haze is dimming the light of our perceptions
do you like what we discuss here? now? soon?
beware the fiend who howls at the birthing of the moon.
do you hate the gregious flaws? the errors? the missteps?
wouldn’t blame you if you did: my heartmates
this statue smells of eros, cinnamon and lye.
it’s not pretty, by most lights, but that’s the light we’ve got
words and words and words spike through my brain
down my tongue and across the aether, to slip
(miscommunicadoed, as though on purpose)
into the labyrinthine curls of your ears—
and such pretty ears they are: I could kiss them—
where they incandesce and then flare out:
the wincing platitudes and summertime small-talk
cavations and exvacations of those bright caverns of darkness.
dispassion and fortitude are our only allies here.

an anecdote:
Feelflight the Featherman begged me:
“A doubloon, if you would be so kind:
“unleash the wonders of the wicked verm.”
whether or not he did so, nevertheless, regardless
I gave him a bus token out of town,
so that he might fly along the dusty interstates
and roam the collard plains and see the torn and tragic…

***

The higher these numbers get, the less I remember anything about them. I do like Feelflight the Featherman, though. 

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Memory XXIX

Memory XXIX

jamaican japanese radio music

***

I don’t know either.

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Memory XXVIII

Memory XXVIII

the boy’s knee-high socks are crushed about his ankles
he’s been crawling in drain-pipes again
tut-tut, what a naughty boy he’s been
why’s he twisting his fingers behind his back like a scared little thing?
little boy, little boy: you’d better behave
ratchet your paper-thin door shut against the goblins:
oh don’t you just see him jump!
the goblins gonna getcha, if you don’t behave.
when your windows rattle, those are ghosts:
rattling their slithering selves outside.
on full moons, they can slide right inside on moonbeams…
is it a full moon tonight? why! I just think it is…
ghost kisses will turn your face into nothing but wrinkles.
the darken sleeps under your bed at night, oh yes,
and when the sun goes down his alarm clock whistles.
he’s yawning and blinking when your nightlight comes on,
all ready to roam through the shadows in your room.
the darken likes perching on pillows, especially yours.
why? oh, well they have a weakness for towheaded boys.
and you, my lad, are a towheaded boy. yes. yes, you are.

***

Look, it’s clear I read too many fairy tales as a lad. 

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The Gone World by Tom Sweterlitsch

(I had to check three times to make sure I spelled his name right.)

When I picked this up to read, I couldn’t remember why I’d checked it out from the library–I’d renewed it a bunch of times–and at first, I wasn’t sure if I’d like it. Sure, it has time travel (which I love, unreservedly) but it seemed to drift almost immediately into a crime procedural sort of thing (which I don’t love, even reservedly, usually). I’m glad I stuck with it, because this story got far weirder and more interesting than I had initially expected.

This book’s about as delightfully strange and creepy as only a good science fiction time travel story can be. I’d totally recommend it, if you’re into that kind of thing.

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Memory XXVII

Memory XXVII
I am at a loss:
the future waves its infernal eternal
                     possibilities limitless
every       word       shattering       into       others
         all-things dangling colorfully in the stillness
courage fades away
shades of the past
        crawl over the earth
               stifling hope in its crib
stiff hair bristles on my chin
                    keep away from her
         haven’t you learned your lesson?
                         no.
       apparently       not  well  enough
              twined sheets wrapt round
these skinny legs
      naked in the middle of the night
              naked in the middle of the street
                      shuffling to the music of the moon
***

I feel like PastMe came close to some interesting things, but then kind of fucked it up by bringing the personal into it. Also, copy/paste was not my friend here. Messed up the original spacing. Which, at this point, I sort of feel like is an attempt to distract from the weakness of this poem.

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Ghost Devices by Simon Bucher-Jones

I might not have read this one, except that the author left a kind comment on here offering to send me a copy of the book. Instead, I got my own copy and read it.

Somehow, I missed that this was a Dr. Who tie-in novel!

It’s all about this space archaeologist named Bernice Summerfield. She’s pretty great, as characters go. I can see why they did a whole series of SF/Dr. Who tie-in books about her. I can really see the Douglas Adams/Terry Pratchett influence here. I dug it. It was a fun read.

Check it out, especially if you like your SF with a generous helping of wacky hijinks and a nice side of interesting ideas.

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Memory XXVI

Memory XXVI

that stupid egg story
got stuck in my head
again and again and
never before now.
the bird rising tall
from ashes and soot.

***

I have no idea. Guess it’s not stuck in my head anymore! 🙂

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Some Comic Books I Read Recently

Monstress v.2: The Blood by Marjorie Liu: Incredibly rich world-building and the art is beautiful. Unfortunately, it’s very exposition heavy. I kept sort of dozing off while reading it–probably shouldn’t have tried to read it at the end of a long day…

X-Men: Grand Design by Ed Piskor: Summarizes about 30 years of X-Men comics. A love letter to the X-Men, basically. I was delighted by it, but then… I’ve been an X-Men fan for about 30 years. If you’re there too, this book’s for you. I’m very much looking forward to v.2.

All Star Batman: First Ally by Scott Snyder: Exploring the relationship between Bruce Wayne and Alfred. Some good stuff there, about fathers and sons.

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Memory XXV

Memory XXV
times are, when the pissed and flushed out old hipster
crankster, danceinthehall man, snorts and snoozes
asleeping, tries not to recall about all those cliff-edges
precipices dancing intime to the tripping undercurrent
riptides of sad music that quiver his underbelly
stomach, filled with lead by the evil mortician
physician to “protect from those spying eyes
retinas jellied and candied over, prying
wrenching open his secrets with high-tech”
tock. tock. the clock is grinning and the sun is down
falling, inquiring about the lead-belly, the lead-girdle
belt to hold his trousers up,
“Lead-Belly, Lead-Belly: where have you gone?
I have your trousers, please put them on!”
off the rockets, awake he swirls gold vermouth and gin
crystal-poison clinking, making a hurrlycane
tornado, it’s rough as nails, sharp as clams, rusty
red-iron. he doesn’t feel alive unless he’s bleeding inside.
internal dilemmas, coughcough, he doesn’t feel vim
vigour unless he’s brooding about mrs.
ball-and-chain’s been choking new thoughts
neurochemickals raging inside. the dj puts on a record
vinyl spins and crackles: L-B taps his foot upon the floor
wood pounding meets his ‘loafers as he slides
slips to the heart of that empty pulsing
beating and musical core,
“Lead-Belly, Lead-Belly: why do you cry?
“It’s not the end; we’re all gonna die!”
life parks its fat-rump in the corner, gonna stay
linger just a moment more, wink at this goat-song
sad-faced waitress is the only one who sees
high-techs from the corner the dancer’s secrets
mysteries abound in the out-flung arms, the twisting
whirling feet and the glittering disco ball
orb’s been splintering light for all of all of time
***
Sometimes, there are conspiracies everywhere you look. Other times, it’s just people wanting to party. When I was young, I was pretty concerned about getting old, and what that meant, and who I was. Now that I’m a bit older, I don’t really fret about it. Kind of the least of my worries, these days.

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Generations by Flavia Biondi

A graphic novel where this young gay man crashes with his three aunts and grandmother because he’s afraid to go home. Refreshingly, not because he’s worried about coming out–his dad already knows–but because he lied about being in college. Really, it’s about the ways older generations hide things from the younger, sometimes without even meaning to. One of those comics even non-comics readers would probably enjoy.

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