Check out the animated show Bat out of Hell on Kickstarter!

Hey, look at that—AP says I’m Trump Country!

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See me up there in the upper right-hand corner?

As Percy would say, I’m “validated” like the young man who sees his own town in a film or lights up William Holden’s cigarette without acknowledging that he knows Holden knows he knows who Holden is, etc.

(p.s. This is not meant as a provocation, so please if you have anything bad to say about the current president, I would refer you to previous dust-ups at this blog on that issue, which I won’t even link to because I don’t think it bears any relevance to this post. Here, it’s all peace and joy and I don’t really care what you think about the current president – I’m making a Percian point here, which is much more important.

As a smoking/meat-smoking friend of mine in California might say, “Oh, you don’t like my politics? That’s nice. Did I mention that I bake bread?”

Except in my case I would say, “Did I mention I make a helluva good Chicken Cacciatore and that I can make you a martini that you will never forget? Sit down right there at my kitchen table and I’ll stir us a couple, and then let’s light up a smoke—cigar for you? Perfect!—and cigarettes (unfiltered) for me. Let’s talk then about the beauties of poems that completely nail the execution of a perfect enjambment of lines, of women who wear their hair down, of early R.E.M. albums and whether they were meant to be concept albums in the tradition of Pink Floyd and Yes but tinctured with a Southern Gothic ethos, of love in a time near the end of the world, and of children and how, one way or another, the little dears are going to get you out of bed in the morning. Yes—oh, and how’s your drink? See? I told you so….Cacciatore will be ready in about 20 minutes. How ‘bout another round?” )

 

Does anybody here remember Vera Lynn?

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She’s 100 and still singing. (Sort of.)

She, who for us young laddies was only a strange allusion in a strange song on a strange album….

And in a strange film…

Cartesian Blues

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Cartesian Blues
. .. by Rufus & Quin

I’ve got the Cartesian Blues
From the middle of my brain
All the way down to my nuts and screws

I went to the doctor,
An’ I said, “Gimme da news …”
He just handed me a bunch of data
And said, “It’s just dem ol’ Cartesian Blues!”

I put on my shirt, I put on my shoes,
I put on my rubbers
I had nothing to lose
But them godforsaken Cartesian Blues

I went down by da red lights,
An’ asked, “whaddya got, and how much are the dues?
She said, a hunnerd dolla for 38-26-34
Will get rid of your Cartesian Blues

The automatic teller
Spit out some cash
I’m a handsome feller
I gotta make a splash
Just as soon as I peruse
This article about
The Cartesian Blues

I think therefore I am
Was the caption on her selfie
A vegetarian except for ham
Very clean and never filthy
Except when I hit snooze
And get those Cartesian Blues

So I went down to see the bartender,
And said, “I need some medicine—it’s called booze,
And he answered, “Well I got 101-proof bourbon, aged for 30 years in a 50 gallon barrel,
And that oughtta cure those Cartesian Blues”

It hit my naso-cortex
Like every species of shit
And caused a spark to fly
Across that Cartesian split
But the next morning I paid my dues
I still had those Cartesian Blues

So I went to the social worker,
Cause I got nothing to lose,
And she said, “We got 20% unemployment,
A third of the population is mentally ill,
In the great urban area 5300 people are livin’ in tents,
And now 100% of our assistance programs are means-tested,
Which means we alls got Cartesian Blues”

She referred me to a psychiatrist,
So I told him “I got something on my mind”
And he said, “I think you mean brain”
And I said, “mind”
He said “brain”
I said “mind”
“Brain”
“Mind”
“Brain”
“Mind”
“Well, this is clearly a case of those … Cartesian Blues …”

I went to ask my Ex-wife,
“Ex, Why why why did you move?”
An’ she told me, “I can’t graph
or coordinate your Cartesian Blues …”

In place of God there’s a Demon of Doubt,
All faith is just a ruse …
That is why COGITO ERGO
Cartesian Blues

Shucks! – I guess the 2017 litterachur Nobel is going to go to Bono

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But I’m energized – Big League – at least it’s going to someone who actually understands the difference between sovereignty and totalitarianism…

Well, shit, if you think I’m wrong about it – the laddy said it right here. I quote unquote quote:

“Edited clips of Trump replied: “I will build a great, great wall on our southern border and I will have Mexico pay for that well.”
“A wall? Like the Berlin Wall? Like the Great Wall of China?” Bono, a donor to the Clinton Global Initiative, shot back to the video screen.”

Well, let me uncling mesself from thissere gun, religion and God type-a-thing before I continue. [Sipping at a cold one now, hold on…]

Well, shit, what I mean to say is, hell and hard nuts, America is so tired of thissere electionation process… Oh, hell, let’s just all go home and hope that we have jobs come Monday… I’ll buy the keg (Quinn, can I borrow 40 bucks? The Hamms is on sale…)

Well, as I look out at this wonderful U Ass of A we gots usself here, I can’t help but thinks about that what which Bono’s countryman and fellow string-strummer once said, “That’tare ain’t no country for old menfolk…”

Well, Cormac, I guess you can be fixin your Nobel year to be—

Hell now, look at that, Mr. Tweedy, you made me spill my Blatz.

No, excuse me – EXCUSE ME, Mr. Tweedy, but we happen to got womenfolk in the audience just now, so you just you shut your jaw the fuck up, now you hear. I realize you got a grimace like a hound dog trying to pass a peach pit. But just heel now, y’hear? You’ll have your chance at the carcass after Cormac gets a gnaw!

Well, I guess that’s about alls I got to say – ummagonna end the conversation righ-chere.

Love and peace and I’m all with Her and all.

JOB

…and BOB goes Nobel!

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Sorry, Cormac, maybe next year.

Bob Dylan’s 3,500-year old relative

Musical Score from Ugarit (Clay tablet from Ugarit) with the Hurrian hymn, 13th cent. BC. Found in the collection of Musée du Louvre, Paris. Artist : Ugaritic Culture. (Photo by Fine Art Images/Heritage Images/Getty Images)

“How does it feel….?”

Another Poem about a Painter

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Young Bacchus, Bitten By A Lizard
It wasn’t just bad PR plus zero
support from Cesari—Amerighi lacked
self-control and a sense of tact
from the start. But, oh, the chiaroscuro!

Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote

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The Official Poet of the Year of Mercy

What came in the mail

Scan 1

Another cold spring again this year…

 

There must be more than this provincial life…

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