Two new developments have altered the way we live. The first is my phone being able to send instant messages thru AOL. The second is my friend having a desk job where the company uses AOL instant messager to send inter-office memos. Mr Golden tells me that incoming messages pop up innocuously "New Instant Message from O It Was Lost!" I keep trying to send him dirty messages in hopes a manager will oversee one & he will have to endure a sheepish talking-to. Here was today's correspondence.
Oitwaslost >What a storm. Might hit up the pubs near campus round 8, perhaps demographers, perhaps Darjeeling movie
Oitwaslost >Cock
Oitwaslost >Offensive
Oitwaslost >Insulting
Oitwaslost >Fetish
Oitwaslost >Outrage
Liam >interesting...... might join you
Liam >INFENSIVE
Liam >of-fencing
Liam >feet
Liam >toe jam
Liam >hippies
Liam >INCEST
Liam >BUTTHEAD
Oitwaslost >Republicans
Oitwaslost >Al Gore
Liam >AAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!
Liam >nobel prize
Liam >fat
Oitwaslost
Oitwaslost >Dylan
Oitwaslost >Poet
Liam >ovipositor
Liam >hankerchief
Oitwaslost >Sex on the beach
Oitwaslost >Blog
Liam >by the fire
Oitwaslost >Work
Liam >back seat
Liam >food
Oitwaslost >Aunt [...]
Oitwaslost >Uncle Willie
Oitwaslost >Mr Elbow
Oitwaslost >Mrs Body Part
Oitwaslost >Lady Diarrhea
Oitwaslost >Lord Thomas Jefferson
Oitwaslost >James Quill
Oitwaslost >Alaine Testicles
Oitwaslost >Papa Taint
Oitwaslost >Mama Areola
Liam >james quill in two weeks
Oitwaslost >Sir Cumsize
Oitwaslost >James Welsch
Oitwaslost >LANDS
Liam >GPS
Oitwaslost >I'm copying this conversation onto my blog, because it is important, & it is raining.
Oitwaslost >Penis
October 12, 2007
Offensive Instant Messages
Ex-Girlfriend Prayer
Monody, & your emotion ends every conversation,
One-love to Nancy.
Monstrous & atrocious, when we were stoned on our Haitian Vacation,
From the kiss to the pesticide-free Persimmon tree,
Are we the joint-heirs with Christ?
Or must I re-chisel my memories to fit your fancy?
Well, I insist upon full custody of the dog, Nancy.
We argued in our dreams, darkle darkling, with such poetry,
We woke the dead neighbors.
My rhetoric is closed for business, & a fortune-teller's symmetry,
The Republican Congressman from Alabama is not superstitious,
His prayer-language is Romansh,
And he keeps several other threatened tongues in his chambers.
But when the paparazzi discovered him with my boyfriend, the little weasel got vicious.
It took a fortnight for the bookshelf to fall, after the hurricane,
But we ran out of toothpaste right away.
Of all America's domestic disorders, my plagiary should not complain,
And plebeian lab rats, who have builded a Greek theater for tragicomedies,
And "Measure for Measure" in squeak speak,
If they can only find a counterfeit coin to play the end of the day,
Keep crying, Nancy, a plague of Colorado Locusts is headed this way, & terrorists on dromedaries.
One-love to Nancy.
Monstrous & atrocious, when we were stoned on our Haitian Vacation,
From the kiss to the pesticide-free Persimmon tree,
Are we the joint-heirs with Christ?
Or must I re-chisel my memories to fit your fancy?
Well, I insist upon full custody of the dog, Nancy.
We argued in our dreams, darkle darkling, with such poetry,
We woke the dead neighbors.
My rhetoric is closed for business, & a fortune-teller's symmetry,
The Republican Congressman from Alabama is not superstitious,
His prayer-language is Romansh,
And he keeps several other threatened tongues in his chambers.
But when the paparazzi discovered him with my boyfriend, the little weasel got vicious.
It took a fortnight for the bookshelf to fall, after the hurricane,
But we ran out of toothpaste right away.
Of all America's domestic disorders, my plagiary should not complain,
And plebeian lab rats, who have builded a Greek theater for tragicomedies,
And "Measure for Measure" in squeak speak,
If they can only find a counterfeit coin to play the end of the day,
Keep crying, Nancy, a plague of Colorado Locusts is headed this way, & terrorists on dromedaries.
October 05, 2007
Genius Prayer
Glory be to my gonads! I can teach the Cafe Gratitude something about abundance,
And cooking mountain oysters.
My wife knows about my boyfriend, but my boyfriend never grasped the subtleties of polyamorous romance,
Before he took the bloodthirsty sickle from his belt & began running towards the cottage,
There was no balance.
The princess of the scales never ventured here from her elysian cloisters,
And a decision-making job results in decisions being made, so says the God of Centrifuge.
Our whimpering & muttering, a few errant gnats heard our request.
They're still buzzing about it.
Now we're shooting quarks thru lenticular galaxies, sexual imagery you know best.
We were fruitful, we did long division, we reified our meek-inheriting descendants,
And then one smarty-pants prime minister
Destroyed an entire colony of termites with a single flaming bag of shit.
I dream of philosophy in the daytime, but after hours, only of getting into Dolly Parton's pants.
And a soul that goes whoring after wizards, or has mastered non-verbal spells,
I will cut him off from among my capers.
I feel the vibrations of the future of the planet as so many tolling life-knells.
The omniscient is still anxious, we have not lived chaste & honorable lives.
Saint John is scoffing at me,
But Saint Frideswide is too busy making out with lepers.
Let Shakespeare exalt his illegitimate children, I am going to meditate ceaselessly until the pizza man arrives.
And cooking mountain oysters.
My wife knows about my boyfriend, but my boyfriend never grasped the subtleties of polyamorous romance,
Before he took the bloodthirsty sickle from his belt & began running towards the cottage,
There was no balance.
The princess of the scales never ventured here from her elysian cloisters,
And a decision-making job results in decisions being made, so says the God of Centrifuge.
Our whimpering & muttering, a few errant gnats heard our request.
They're still buzzing about it.
Now we're shooting quarks thru lenticular galaxies, sexual imagery you know best.
We were fruitful, we did long division, we reified our meek-inheriting descendants,
And then one smarty-pants prime minister
Destroyed an entire colony of termites with a single flaming bag of shit.
I dream of philosophy in the daytime, but after hours, only of getting into Dolly Parton's pants.
And a soul that goes whoring after wizards, or has mastered non-verbal spells,
I will cut him off from among my capers.
I feel the vibrations of the future of the planet as so many tolling life-knells.
The omniscient is still anxious, we have not lived chaste & honorable lives.
Saint John is scoffing at me,
But Saint Frideswide is too busy making out with lepers.
Let Shakespeare exalt his illegitimate children, I am going to meditate ceaselessly until the pizza man arrives.
October 04, 2007
Quotes: Vapid Innocuous Euphemism
These are the final paragraphs from the Times article about Ginsberg's Howl not being broadcast on the radio. (Despite the fact that the classic poem has been aired repeatedly for decades, since Janet Jackson's nipple, there has been a "sea change" & the F.C.C. now issues bankrupting "draconian fines.")
Mr. Ferlinghetti, 88, who owns the landmark City Lights bookstore in San Francisco, said that when “Howl” was labeled obscene, first by United States Customs agents and then by the San Francisco police, it “wasn’t really the four-letter words.” He added, “It was that it was a direct attack on American society and the American way of life.”
Mr. Ferlinghetti quoted the unpublished 1957 opinion by San Francisco Municipal Judge Clayton W. Horn, whom he noted was “a God-fearing Sunday school teacher”: “Would there be any freedom of press or speech if one must reduce his vocabulary to vapid innocuous euphemism?” Judge Horn wrote. “An author should be real in treating his subject and be allowed to express his thoughts and ideas in his own words.”
This also brings to mind the court decision on December 6th, 1933, by the Hon. John M. Woolsey, lifting the ban on James Joyce's Ulysses. The decision is brilliantly written & printed at the beginning of all American editions of the book - go read it even if you don't ever plan to read Ulysses!
I am quite aware that owing to some of its scenes Ulysses is rather a strong draught to ask some sensitive, though normal, persons to take. But my considered opinion, after long reflection, is that whilst in many places the effect of Ulysses on the reader undoubtedly is somewhat emetic, nowhere does it tend to be an aphrodisiac. Ulysses may, therefore, be admitted into the United States.
Another case point is John Milton, certainly "god-fearing", with quite conservative views on sin, but whose speech Areopagitica argues against censorship.
- As good almost kill a man as kill a good book; who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were in the eye. [...]
- And though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play on the earth, so Truth be in the field, we do injuriously by licensing and prohibiting misdoubt her strength. Let her and Falsehood grapple; who ever knew Truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter?
Really, at the very least, the F.C.C. should have a "classic poetry clause" for the radio, if only to let Howl be read.
Exegesis Prayer
I've spent my lifetime deciphering a certain verse sung by Santa Claus,
And I turn Ninety on January 1st, 2009.
For a man of many words, forty years is a very pregnant pause,
If they can't understand my hermitage, perhaps they'll shut up about my macrobiotic dianetics,
There'll be reckoning for this abortion,
But there's no liability in defense of sunshine,
So I have some of my elves digging thru dumpsters for evidence of the savior's disposed antics.
She is dispersed! There is more to the hen's language than we give credit,
And less to the cock's crow.
To Yoko Ono & John Cage's infinitesimal compositions am I indebted:
If I have to teach a year-long course to get my students to comprehend them, so be it.
Every valley shall be exhumed,
We here highly resolve that the ichthyosaur lived long ago,
And today's thoughts will dissolve, but the dead white ones will be salvation's fiat.
Hush! ye trumpeters & harpies! Light is flooding my secret silence,
Or so thinks the F.B.I.
The figs from the Tree of Knowledge are rotting beneath Leonard Cohen's violins,
White elephants in white hats, at least for a while, at least while confusion reigned,
The polymathy of one designer,
And the abundance of beetles & urchins & cactuses,
And the repetition of ideas, remembered & forgotten, enunciated & annunciated, will all be reclaimed.
And I turn Ninety on January 1st, 2009.
For a man of many words, forty years is a very pregnant pause,
If they can't understand my hermitage, perhaps they'll shut up about my macrobiotic dianetics,
There'll be reckoning for this abortion,
But there's no liability in defense of sunshine,
So I have some of my elves digging thru dumpsters for evidence of the savior's disposed antics.
She is dispersed! There is more to the hen's language than we give credit,
And less to the cock's crow.
To Yoko Ono & John Cage's infinitesimal compositions am I indebted:
If I have to teach a year-long course to get my students to comprehend them, so be it.
Every valley shall be exhumed,
We here highly resolve that the ichthyosaur lived long ago,
And today's thoughts will dissolve, but the dead white ones will be salvation's fiat.
Hush! ye trumpeters & harpies! Light is flooding my secret silence,
Or so thinks the F.B.I.
The figs from the Tree of Knowledge are rotting beneath Leonard Cohen's violins,
White elephants in white hats, at least for a while, at least while confusion reigned,
The polymathy of one designer,
And the abundance of beetles & urchins & cactuses,
And the repetition of ideas, remembered & forgotten, enunciated & annunciated, will all be reclaimed.
October 03, 2007
Bulletin: Mimosas Witnessed
| From: |  Mimosas Witnesses |
|---|---|
| Date: | Oct 3, 2007 7:21 PM |
| Subject: | Mimosas witnessed |
| Body: | The universe needs more bulletins! Today, four mimosas were witnessed at around two o'clock in my Berkeley apartment, by myself the Archpope of Transubstantiation, my brother, his friend, & a couch-surfer. There were also pastries, olive bread, sabra hummus, bagels w/ lox, capers, & cream cheese, a ripe melon, organic california gala apples, & a pomegranate which was not eaten. The mimosas were made with cheap champagne & orange-pineapple juice from the Santa Cruz Organic company. This weekday afternoon celebration prompted my brother & his friend to jog off in search of some famous house, my couch-surfer to board the BART to San Francisco, & the archpope to take a delicious two hour long nap. Mr Bush may be fretting about stem-cells, but times are not hard here. I do not know what you proselytes are up to the rest of the week, but, work & wear apart, I am predicting red & green pasta & red wine & orange & green pumpkins to play some part in my house Thursday Night, if anyone does not hate those things. Also, I plan on spending the majority of the weekend in Golden Gate Park, for the free two day bluegrass festival, http://www.strictlybluegrass.com/. Please call me if you happen to be in attendance, many other of us will as well, with blankets & beer. The line-up includes many great bands you've never heard of, like Laurie Lewis & the Right Hands, & Marley's Ghost, & the Cash Magnets, not to mention Gillian Welch, Emmylou Harris, Boz Skaggs, T-Bone Burnett, Earle Scruggs, Bela Fleck, Keller Williams, John Prine, Steve Earle & on & on. Life! And places to live it! The Archpope of Transubstantiation |
-
Jesus Prayer
Are you mocking at me, my lovers & player-haters, for my religion of ecstasy?
You won't live long after my curse.
No corkscrew is too short & no unemployed welfare mother is too lazy.
I've noticed your civilization of morality is drowning in its wastes.
I am the reason I am serious,
You are the underpants of the universe,
So slow down, my lovers & my player-haters, because my cancer doctor was too Hegelian for my tastes.
Pray for me so quietly under your breath, where the dormouse might be electrified out of his narcolepsy:
At least he was high on caffeine.
Saint Augustine was hesitant to startle the peace of the historical-minded nuns in Poughkeepsie,
But I alas have never been one for subtlety, & tend to address whole nations across centuries in a robust bass-baritone.
Is there justice in velocity?
Is there justice in anything, besides obscenities & kerosene?
Fling it. If he's ready, don't keep him awake with a lullaby. And turn off the ringer on your cell phone.
I believe in the imagination, but I do not believe that Canada is ready for a black female president,
Unless she's served with plum sauce.
I respect the hocus-pocus of the masses, I distrust borrowers, but I love paying rent,
I'll help you out of your straight-jacket, if you don't tell anyone I was talking to myself,
I'll sing my own praises,
With or without Walt Whitman I'll glorify the cross,
And you can beg to the invisible with all your sincerity, but keep this book respectfully next to the others on your highest shelf.
You won't live long after my curse.
No corkscrew is too short & no unemployed welfare mother is too lazy.
I've noticed your civilization of morality is drowning in its wastes.
I am the reason I am serious,
You are the underpants of the universe,
So slow down, my lovers & my player-haters, because my cancer doctor was too Hegelian for my tastes.
Pray for me so quietly under your breath, where the dormouse might be electrified out of his narcolepsy:
At least he was high on caffeine.
Saint Augustine was hesitant to startle the peace of the historical-minded nuns in Poughkeepsie,
But I alas have never been one for subtlety, & tend to address whole nations across centuries in a robust bass-baritone.
Is there justice in velocity?
Is there justice in anything, besides obscenities & kerosene?
Fling it. If he's ready, don't keep him awake with a lullaby. And turn off the ringer on your cell phone.
I believe in the imagination, but I do not believe that Canada is ready for a black female president,
Unless she's served with plum sauce.
I respect the hocus-pocus of the masses, I distrust borrowers, but I love paying rent,
I'll help you out of your straight-jacket, if you don't tell anyone I was talking to myself,
I'll sing my own praises,
With or without Walt Whitman I'll glorify the cross,
And you can beg to the invisible with all your sincerity, but keep this book respectfully next to the others on your highest shelf.
October 02, 2007
From the Archives: Article from Sarah Lawrence's The Bubble (c. Feb. 2002)
Acheans Exasperate Sarah Lawrence Heterosexuals
by John Apollodorus, Bubble Correspondent
In a symposium last Thursday in our Esther Raushenbush Library’s Pillow Room (also known as “The Smoking Lounge”), several renowned Greek thinkers, including Phaedrus, Pausanias, Eryximachus, Aristophanes, and Socrates, were invited to chat with students and faculty from Sarah Lawrence College. The panelists reclined on large pillows while drinking watered-down coffee and speaking of Love.
After several of the Greeks had spoken for awhile about their ridiculous pagan gods, Greg Appleton, vice-secretary of the Sarah Lawrence Coalition for Heterosexual Relations, accused Aristophanes and Eriximachus of favoring Eranian relations between a teacher and his beloved youth to “like, good old fashion fucking, you know.”
“That mother-lover Socrates actually, like, implied that sex in pursuit of knowledge could bring you, like, up some sort of stupid fucking proverbial ladder toward some sort of, like, Platonic higher level or something,” said Appleton afterwards. “I don’t know, like, you know, sex is just sex, and, like, gay sex is just as fun as straight sex, you know? And giving your teacher a blow-job is just sick.”
The symposium was interrupted and ended early when the “It’s-Me” Man, Sarah Lawrence’s infamous telephonic heckler, stumbled in drunk and tried to seduce Socrates.
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