THE END OF A SHITTY YEAR
Michael verses michael
Michael, was there ever a bigger fool in all of Manhattan?
No michael. Indeed, in all the world, not since Catallus fell for Lesbia has there been a bigger fool.
Thanks for clarifying. Happy New Year, Douche bag.
Happy new year.
m = michael
M = Michael
Watch them walk in circles around his room in the muted white light of winter and then later down Broadway:
how I got here is pain enough to die.
Would that statement classify as a hyperbole?
its the inadequacy of expression with regards to its Alleviatory intentions.
Is that a word? Alleviatory. Its not in spell check.
if i confess, it would change nothing. if i tell you how i feel, the feeling will not dissipate.
Break and be done with it.
is it anything but an indulgence?
I ask the questions here. Not you.
cleft
Yes. A space or opening made by splitting: FISSURE. Websters 7th New Collegiate Dictionary. You can use an ax or a knife...
or kiss.
Yes in a manner of speaking.
sometime the softest things are the most painful.
Would you like some crackers with your cheese?
cleft in two.
Youre not listening.
a divide.
Divide and conquer: "Before the Normans brought despair, the Anglo-Saxon word was wan hope".
who said that?
David Markson.
i knew that.
That was a postmodern referential transaction. Very clever.
thanks.
To say nothing of self-congradulatory.
its a product of feeling worthless. helpless: that is without condolence or salve. inconsolable. bereft of peace.
I see. When you punch the wall in anger does your anger go away?
no but it feels good. it feels so good.
Questions answered. December 31st. Manhattan. Outside it snows. First downward and then to the left, right, and then as if by retreat, upwards. A beautiful white dusting.
that was parenthetical. away you foul pollen.
Snow.
just now the image of autumn in salem. a gala apple snaps and my mouth pulls away with a chunk of white flesh. juicy. cold. people here dont have cell phones. we use pagers. we feel technologically savvy. the manager...
1995.
yes. it was 1995. the year of the pager. it began on the prep-table out back behind the bar and she attacked me. stuck her tongue down my throat.
And did you comply?
...she drove a gray mercedes. an 84. i had to talk to her husband at the bar. two weeks later the bar was closed by the irs and i never saw her again.
LIAR.
not for nine years. one day i got a call and it was her. she said, im divorced.
And?
we fucked for the first time.
How did it feel?
momentous and monumentally empty.
Its plain to see how you got here. Youre just too damn pretty. I heard it said.
its a vacuous comment. on many levels.
Yes.
would yes constitute as a monad?
In a manner of speaking it would certainly serve as one. Websters Unabridged Dictionary (1989)
i was 20 then.
Yes you were 20. Websters defines it as the smallest independent unit of language.
yes?
Yes. Its implications however are monstrous. As you well know.
as i know well, i well know, i should have said no; its a smaller word.
You should have done as you did.
i did. yes... mon objet trouve. how it throbs the heart how it leeches like black ink
It will scab
is it written on my face?
On the sound of your voice. Wan hope.
words are made of letters the way cells are made of protein and lipids...
Fuck you.
i keep her number in my pocket. how i got here is plain.
You keep misery.
shes pretty
You keep mistakes. Takes. Miss. Mis takes. Takes amiss. She is pretty.
i have no delusions. when she speaks, shes beautiful, and the heart leaps a little.
A little?
in its cage it leaps only so much. i am under no delusions
Delusions?
machinations.
As in its over?
again the monad. yes. wan hope.
Its never over. I see it all crumbling before my eyes.
what?
The infrastructure. The internal bridges collapsing. Outside the looks of disappointment. The branding. The shame of it all. The phone begins to ring, less and less.
ill be moving.
And youll take it with you the way one carries a limp.
theyll be wondering.
What on earth did she see in him?
perhaps theyll say, he was pretty.
Not Him.
no not him.
Was it his pithy wit?
patently not so. not so not so not so...and her
Her?
her.
Theyll say he was fixated with her pinky finger of all things, that it was the beginning of the end when she slipped it into his palm and he crumbled.
i told you i didnt have the strength. you were there. i told you.
You should have run.
what kind of a man runs from a woman like that?
A wise one.
the heart cares nothing for wisdom.
Au contraire mon fraire, the heart does nothing but care.
only when it works.
Touch. But when it does...
it is deaf to wisdom.
Yes but for a reason...
reason! pah! what reason?
Self preservation. A wiser man than I, once told me that faith implies betrayal. One cannot exist without the other and that in order for love to manifest there needs to be forgiveness. Without forgiveness, there is no love and without love, there can be no forgiveness.
little consolation.
Its all one can hope for.
when he finds out, will he forgive?
Will you?
myself? no.
Is it truly without hope?
as it should be.
INWHICH OUR HERO (also known as a long american sandwich, often called a sub.) STUMBLES ACROSS A POEM:
from A THOUSAND CHINESE DINNERS
From a thousand Chinese dinners, one cookie:
Good fortune in love, also a better position.
So much for both. Too many humorless people
Who can't believe that God could have made the cunt.
Maybe he didn't make it. Maybe hydrogen
Made nitrogen and one thing led to another.
Some hold that early man stumbled upon it
While dreaming of the perfect end to a long day's hunt.
But I say only the Italians, with their flavor for drama,
Could have invented this fragrant envelope.
Let's drink to the Italians, especially Catullus,
Who knew it was no joke but couldn't help laughing.
---ROBERT MEZEY---
Michael did laugh.
michael did not.
he wonders how many people in the world at any given time are heartbroken? Our favorite sandwhich has an epiphany, not quite Christ-like, but more Judas, or Im twelve and holy shit the waters deep over here.
Before Lesbia was Lesbia, she was known as Clodia. This is known as an Alchemical distortion. Romantics call it chemistry.
If you add amonia to bleech you can kill yourself.
THERE IS THE SIGNIFIER AND THE SIGNIFIED.
Ive been trying to figure it out: A morbid disquisition with the self, I know; Ive turned into a peripatetic antipophora, first in circles around my room and then down Broadway I go dressed like John Bender from the Breakfast club, a moulage of the illicit and unrequited. I have no solution.
Ive googled it: Why MM n KB?: Nothing. Illicit?: Tristan and Isolde. Unrequited?: All of humanity.
I turned to my own sources.
This is what I found, in a dictionary of literary theory regarding structuralism, of all fucked up places.
In the non-human order communication is astonishingly refined and complex, not least through scent. For example, the female silk moth (Bombyx mori) secretes a chemical substance (a pheromone) into the air whose scent is so alluring that it can attract a male moth over a distance of half a mile; and the secretion weighs but the thousandth part of a gram. Indeed, even the antennae of a disembodied male, monitored by electrodes, will respond to a mere molecule of Bombykol.
Well then its solved. Im a twitching disembodied moth. And you my dear are Madam Bombyx Mori.
Bombyx mori is latin for silk worm of the mulberry tree. Apparently you like white mulberry leaves and are native to China. How serendipitous that youve returned to your native land. All this time I thought you were Ukrainian. This moth can also eat the leaves of the Osage Orange tree or the Tree of Heaven (Also called, Stink Weed) (As kids we use to call this tree the peanut butter tree because when you break the branches the pith looks like peanut butter.) This is the tree that is featured in the famous novel, A Tree Grows In Brooklyn.
It seems that this moth can also eat hearts. (also called stinkweed.) Apparently it leaves little holes called throbing spaces, though the sensation is more of a wringing or twisting.
Ive look this Bombyx Mori up. It is grayish white, ghostlike and beautiful. Its been so domesticated that it is unable to procreate on its own. Left to the wild it will surely die.
Ive been poisoned by your Bombykol.
Im sorry for being so morose and selfish. Please forgive me.
yours,
disembodied,
twitching,
m
Michael verses michael
Michael, was there ever a bigger fool in all of Manhattan?
No michael. Indeed, in all the world, not since Catallus fell for Lesbia has there been a bigger fool.
Thanks for clarifying. Happy New Year, Douche bag.
Happy new year.
m = michael
M = Michael
Watch them walk in circles around his room in the muted white light of winter and then later down Broadway:
how I got here is pain enough to die.
Would that statement classify as a hyperbole?
its the inadequacy of expression with regards to its Alleviatory intentions.
Is that a word? Alleviatory. Its not in spell check.
if i confess, it would change nothing. if i tell you how i feel, the feeling will not dissipate.
Break and be done with it.
is it anything but an indulgence?
I ask the questions here. Not you.
cleft
Yes. A space or opening made by splitting: FISSURE. Websters 7th New Collegiate Dictionary. You can use an ax or a knife...
or kiss.
Yes in a manner of speaking.
sometime the softest things are the most painful.
Would you like some crackers with your cheese?
cleft in two.
Youre not listening.
a divide.
Divide and conquer: "Before the Normans brought despair, the Anglo-Saxon word was wan hope".
who said that?
David Markson.
i knew that.
That was a postmodern referential transaction. Very clever.
thanks.
To say nothing of self-congradulatory.
its a product of feeling worthless. helpless: that is without condolence or salve. inconsolable. bereft of peace.
I see. When you punch the wall in anger does your anger go away?
no but it feels good. it feels so good.
Questions answered. December 31st. Manhattan. Outside it snows. First downward and then to the left, right, and then as if by retreat, upwards. A beautiful white dusting.
that was parenthetical. away you foul pollen.
Snow.
just now the image of autumn in salem. a gala apple snaps and my mouth pulls away with a chunk of white flesh. juicy. cold. people here dont have cell phones. we use pagers. we feel technologically savvy. the manager...
1995.
yes. it was 1995. the year of the pager. it began on the prep-table out back behind the bar and she attacked me. stuck her tongue down my throat.
And did you comply?
...she drove a gray mercedes. an 84. i had to talk to her husband at the bar. two weeks later the bar was closed by the irs and i never saw her again.
LIAR.
not for nine years. one day i got a call and it was her. she said, im divorced.
And?
we fucked for the first time.
How did it feel?
momentous and monumentally empty.
Its plain to see how you got here. Youre just too damn pretty. I heard it said.
its a vacuous comment. on many levels.
Yes.
would yes constitute as a monad?
In a manner of speaking it would certainly serve as one. Websters Unabridged Dictionary (1989)
i was 20 then.
Yes you were 20. Websters defines it as the smallest independent unit of language.
yes?
Yes. Its implications however are monstrous. As you well know.
as i know well, i well know, i should have said no; its a smaller word.
You should have done as you did.
i did. yes... mon objet trouve. how it throbs the heart how it leeches like black ink
It will scab
is it written on my face?
On the sound of your voice. Wan hope.
words are made of letters the way cells are made of protein and lipids...
Fuck you.
i keep her number in my pocket. how i got here is plain.
You keep misery.
shes pretty
You keep mistakes. Takes. Miss. Mis takes. Takes amiss. She is pretty.
i have no delusions. when she speaks, shes beautiful, and the heart leaps a little.
A little?
in its cage it leaps only so much. i am under no delusions
Delusions?
machinations.
As in its over?
again the monad. yes. wan hope.
Its never over. I see it all crumbling before my eyes.
what?
The infrastructure. The internal bridges collapsing. Outside the looks of disappointment. The branding. The shame of it all. The phone begins to ring, less and less.
ill be moving.
And youll take it with you the way one carries a limp.
theyll be wondering.
What on earth did she see in him?
perhaps theyll say, he was pretty.
Not Him.
no not him.
Was it his pithy wit?
patently not so. not so not so not so...and her
Her?
her.
Theyll say he was fixated with her pinky finger of all things, that it was the beginning of the end when she slipped it into his palm and he crumbled.
i told you i didnt have the strength. you were there. i told you.
You should have run.
what kind of a man runs from a woman like that?
A wise one.
the heart cares nothing for wisdom.
Au contraire mon fraire, the heart does nothing but care.
only when it works.
Touch. But when it does...
it is deaf to wisdom.
Yes but for a reason...
reason! pah! what reason?
Self preservation. A wiser man than I, once told me that faith implies betrayal. One cannot exist without the other and that in order for love to manifest there needs to be forgiveness. Without forgiveness, there is no love and without love, there can be no forgiveness.
little consolation.
Its all one can hope for.
when he finds out, will he forgive?
Will you?
myself? no.
Is it truly without hope?
as it should be.
INWHICH OUR HERO (also known as a long american sandwich, often called a sub.) STUMBLES ACROSS A POEM:
from A THOUSAND CHINESE DINNERS
From a thousand Chinese dinners, one cookie:
Good fortune in love, also a better position.
So much for both. Too many humorless people
Who can't believe that God could have made the cunt.
Maybe he didn't make it. Maybe hydrogen
Made nitrogen and one thing led to another.
Some hold that early man stumbled upon it
While dreaming of the perfect end to a long day's hunt.
But I say only the Italians, with their flavor for drama,
Could have invented this fragrant envelope.
Let's drink to the Italians, especially Catullus,
Who knew it was no joke but couldn't help laughing.
---ROBERT MEZEY---
Michael did laugh.
michael did not.
he wonders how many people in the world at any given time are heartbroken? Our favorite sandwhich has an epiphany, not quite Christ-like, but more Judas, or Im twelve and holy shit the waters deep over here.
Before Lesbia was Lesbia, she was known as Clodia. This is known as an Alchemical distortion. Romantics call it chemistry.
If you add amonia to bleech you can kill yourself.
THERE IS THE SIGNIFIER AND THE SIGNIFIED.
Ive been trying to figure it out: A morbid disquisition with the self, I know; Ive turned into a peripatetic antipophora, first in circles around my room and then down Broadway I go dressed like John Bender from the Breakfast club, a moulage of the illicit and unrequited. I have no solution.
Ive googled it: Why MM n KB?: Nothing. Illicit?: Tristan and Isolde. Unrequited?: All of humanity.
I turned to my own sources.
This is what I found, in a dictionary of literary theory regarding structuralism, of all fucked up places.
In the non-human order communication is astonishingly refined and complex, not least through scent. For example, the female silk moth (Bombyx mori) secretes a chemical substance (a pheromone) into the air whose scent is so alluring that it can attract a male moth over a distance of half a mile; and the secretion weighs but the thousandth part of a gram. Indeed, even the antennae of a disembodied male, monitored by electrodes, will respond to a mere molecule of Bombykol.
Well then its solved. Im a twitching disembodied moth. And you my dear are Madam Bombyx Mori.
Bombyx mori is latin for silk worm of the mulberry tree. Apparently you like white mulberry leaves and are native to China. How serendipitous that youve returned to your native land. All this time I thought you were Ukrainian. This moth can also eat the leaves of the Osage Orange tree or the Tree of Heaven (Also called, Stink Weed) (As kids we use to call this tree the peanut butter tree because when you break the branches the pith looks like peanut butter.) This is the tree that is featured in the famous novel, A Tree Grows In Brooklyn.
It seems that this moth can also eat hearts. (also called stinkweed.) Apparently it leaves little holes called throbing spaces, though the sensation is more of a wringing or twisting.
Ive look this Bombyx Mori up. It is grayish white, ghostlike and beautiful. Its been so domesticated that it is unable to procreate on its own. Left to the wild it will surely die.
Ive been poisoned by your Bombykol.
Im sorry for being so morose and selfish. Please forgive me.
yours,
disembodied,
twitching,
m
lainey:
Thank you for the comment on my new set, "Stockholm Syndrome"!