Why?

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Sanitized Rowing Machines

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God bless the staff of the Y
For doing what makes mothers cry:
Sanitizing the sweat,
Forgiving the debt,
And making things clean ‘fore we die.

Park No Park

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Pantoum for the Fifty Percent

tom and viv
The dinner détente dies, the candles fade,
The tension mounts, a cat that climbs the stairs.
Like clowns out of step in a sad parade,
The wind and rain repeat, but no one cares.

The tension mounts. A cat that climbs the stairs
Connotes the awkward moment’s masquerade
The wind and rain repeat. But no one cares
When love grows still and breathes contagious airs.

Cannot the awkward moment’s masquerade
Expend emotion’s capital like tares
Our love still grows? To breathe contagious airs
We hum the minor chords of Scheherazade.

We spent emotion’s capital. Like tares,
The dinner détente dies. The candles fade.
We hum the minor chords of Scheherazade
Like clowns out of step in a sad parade.

The Walker Percy, Walter Isaacson, Steve Jobs Connection

As usual Cosmos the in Lost is way out ahead of us on the Walker Percy six-month-old news front. This year mark’s the 25th anniversary of Walker Percy’s Jefferson Lecture. By design or lucky chance, this year’s Jefferson lecturer, Walter Isaacson, happens to have a very interesting Percy connection. Isaacson, the author of the much-acclaimed biography of Steve Jobs, is a friend of Percy’s nephew, and grew up knowing of Percy as “Uncle Walker.” His lecture on the intersection of science and the humanities, references “Leonardo da Vinci, Albert Einstein, Benjamin Franklin, Steve Jobs, Ada Lovelace, Walker Percy, and Edwin Land and others who fused humanistic thought with scientific discovery.”

Speaking of Hemingway …

What do you call a bullfighter who performs the estocada on himself, rather than the bull?

Korrektiv did this to a church back in July.

http://korrektivpress.com/2014/10/27561/

Statua Subito

In the Basílica de San Francisco, Mendoza, Argentina.


See also.

My brother the comedian.

Somebody hire the guy, already. (Don’t forget to turn on sound!)

Father Loisy’s Still Life with Book and Pears

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The search for truth is not a trade by which a man can support himself; for a priest it is a supreme peril. – Alfred Loisy

The morning sun is threading through the haze
That hangs above my head. Tobacco’s whiff
Occludes this April’s finer fragrances.
I break my fast on pears and wonder if
The foolish faith within my heart corrects
The proofs of falsehood – my grandest grazie
To God! These fondled pages – each dissects
The saints’ exquisite corpses, prima facie.

And deep in thought, I stab my cigarette
At earthenware from which I ate the fruit.
The sticky ash that crumbs and smears my plate
Evolved from gold ciborium and cruet.
And so these browning table pears don’t rot
But change, project, develop, recreate…