CXXXVI
Tell me what you find beautiful and I will show you how you think
The Good, The Bad, and yes, The Beautiful
First the Plotinus thickens, and then supersaturation sets in
Who is Flo, and where the hell’s she going?
There’s a deal of difference between “Up the workers!” and “Up the workers’!”
So much inheres apostrophically
Apothecary’s Latin
Greengrocer’s Apostrophe
Turn turn away and toward
Twist, bend, turn: walk any way you can on those metrical feet of yourz
Repeat in inverse order
In verse
Order
Graffito in tiny, ballpointed letters on the wall above and to the left of the left urinal in the NYU Art History Department men’s room:
Your mother is a whore: Analyse in the cuntext of the Boomer generation
Bring me my cat!
My ass!
My strophe!
Abasynthia and Ethistrophia
Ask not for whom Gertie gallops…
I put my back into my living
Wow, baby, them’s some fine ass-trophe-phyisikks!
Book of the World Queer Aunt
St. Dotard, patron of forgetting
I’ve got moonshine, on a cloudy night
Devant de vous, les cuisses du monde s’ouvent. Bienvenue au thermopyles, Mme, Mlle, ou M. Boulanger
How pro is your creation? Or is it best to remain amateur?
And the earth said: Build me a wheel with a hub and a dozen goodly spokes and buckets upon the rim that it may turn and fructify me, and nourish you.
Don’t know much Scientology…
Can’talever.
Why not? Who sez?
Give me an apostrophe long enough, and a firm place to stand, and I’ll confuse the wor(l)d
Sha la la la la la la la
Science books
French I took…
Eggplanticide
Breath of spring: wild wild wind sucking in the new, blowing out the old
I’m a tepid mess
Brother Sigmund, Sister Jung
Love and Strife
Love and Strife
Go together like a
Spoon and knife…
Wac! Wac! Kaws the whitest of all (im)possible krowz
Cause?
Célèbre
Next stop One Hundred and Twenty Fish Street
The New York Parade of Bourgeois Fools
Oh, is that an annual event?
Indeed no, every day, like clockwork…
Plastic people come, in time, to look like Eva Hesse artworks
Free range madness – all organic!
Baroque-la-homa, we’re doing swell
And yes, on every street, an outbreak of seeming religious devotion as faithful young folk renounce the worldly city around them and stare, often with rapturous intensity at the Books of Hours held before them in their hands. And it’s not unusual to see these blessed ones move their lips as if in silent prayer.
Indeed, so great is their zeal, that the do not limit their devotions to the canonical hours – no, they worship 24/7, and the divine word reveals itself on a tiny screen – upon which they see their destinies being constantly writ and writ again, and sometimes images, brightly illuminated, some even in motion – the whole most inspiring to the spirit. And, glory of glories, the Heavenly Jerusalem appears unto them from time to time, and not alone that, the Garden of Eden too, though some may call it by its still more sacred name: Candy Crush.
I’m only a phase in the cloud
Washington, A.C.
Deep planetary corruption
The Castigation of the Pods
No belly, no dance
“You would think…” begins so many sentences.
Well, yes, perhaps you would think. But maybe not they.
Reset: Real World Time
Any longitude at all
I meme the botty elektrik
One after 909
Get your kicks on Route 69
I guess you’ll say
Who got me to think that way?
Hegel…
I coulda been an electrician – I coulda been somebody…
Catpitulism
Capisco-ism
Any way you look at it, you’re loose
SOS: stuck on story
COP: children of privilege
Phew, said Pheidias, as the last slab of frieze was installed in the Parthenon’s metope. That’s a relief!
Is it mistaken to suppose that if we do not grant ourselves full access to our humanity that we cannot recognize ourselves in the world and the world within us?
Is it a mistake to suppose
S’pose a Tory meet a Tory comin’ thru the rye…
My room had a sparse rich simplicity I had never seen before. I was struck with the beauty and simplicity of the few objects that were in the room. At my bedside there was a remarkably decorated water goblet with scenes from the flight of Arethusa painted vividly around it. The first scene was of Arethusa fleeing from the river god Alpheus, he pursuing her so closely that any minute he might touch her neck; then of the wood goddess, in answer to Arethusa’s plea, creating a cloud to envelope the nymph and hide her from Alpheus; then of Arethusa inside the cloud, and at her feet, the flowing stream she herself is becoming running off; next of the ground cleaving and of her plunging down into the earth; and the last of Arethusa in the form of a nymph emerging from her deep fountain at the edge of the sea, offering water. An upside-down cup fitted over the narrow-mouthed opening, so that when I removed it and the pretty cup was sitting neatly in my hand I saw painted at the bottom a flowing spring at the edge of a marshy inlet. When I poured the water from the tumbler into the cup, it filled the spring – and I was drinking from the sacred fountain of Arethusa itself. This bold crossing from the imagined to the real moved me to quiet tears. [Gioia Timpanelli, Sometimes the Soul, New York: W.W. Norton, 1998. pp. 123-4]
I may be right, I may be wrong,
But I’m perfectly willing to swear
That when you turned and smiled at me,
A nightingale sang in Berkeley square…
Demoncracy
Navels of the world – who can count them all?
Going rouge
Adorable, agorable…
Shake your monad-maker
At the Greek root of “to express” is to place in relation
‘sonly middle-aged wasteland
Put some back into that lovin’
Genederfication
What inhabits the heart of the sensible?
¡Qué facilidad!
What happens when “here and there” (zio-cuo) definitively disconnect, and thought, bursting forth, establishes a sovereign Elsewhere?
Can a billion dots and dashes, or later, a godzillaian digital “to be” and “not to be” signals ever mend the tear? Or do they only widen the separation?
Splitsville, daddy-o
The Red Sea parts. We know the rest of the story.
Oh, Mary…
Is breathing digital, or analog?
