February 26, 2012
The chamber wolf left the chamber, loped across the meadow, caught the bus, got off on the corner of Filth and Regurgitate, went into the bar and downed a schooner of near beer, exited through the back entrance into the alley, lolluped up the fire escape, squeezed through the window into his office, sat behind the desk for a while humming show tunes, got up, paced, shrugged, left the way he came, downing a schooner of rum and urine this time, rode in the seat across the aisle from his usual seat on the bus, roared the driver to a stop near the meadow, pranced out, rolled across the unkempt grassy landscape, entered the chamber and shouted, “Honey, I’m home!”
February 25, 2012
If you ever managed to make me cry, my tears would sear your face.
This from the impassively harrowing 975 page fictional WWII memoir of an SS officer.
February 24, 2012
James Edward Tillinghast spent three years before the mast.
And when said years had wandered by
he spent three years consuming pie.
And when his girth was more than ample
he said, “Let this be an example.”
What he meant, no one knows,
for all ignored him, and stole his clothes.
February 23, 2012
This lovely camellia, coughing softly, told the loon she dreamed of being cured at the sanatorium on Magic Mountain. The loon, believing himself to be a time traveler and an intimate friend of Hans Castorp, promised to do all in his power to get her there.
February 22, 2012
THE QUAFFING OF MILTON AND ANN
THE HEART USURPING STORY
OF THREE MEN,
ONE WOMAN,
AN INTELLIGENT COW,
AND A REFRESHING BEVERAGE
told on a tramp steamer
by a mysterious stranger wearing lead shoes
and sporting a serious overbite
to a sympathetic turnkey
from sunny Spain
February 21, 2012
kenneth
oh kenneth
please come to the barn
i forgive you for breaking my car
kenneth
oh kenneth
stop carding that yarn
and help me revive stanley marr
kenneth
oh kenneth
i don’t give a darn
if your head is stuck in a jar
kenneth
oh kenneth
…
too late
never mind
February 20, 2012
Little brother basks in his big sister’s easy embrace.
February 19, 2012
Your arm is in your hands. Take care of it.
February 18, 2012
To keep a watch, especially a watch on the bridge was torture: the first shock of that bitter wind seared the lungs, left a man fighting for breath: if he had forgotten to don gloves – first the silk gloves, then the woollen mittens, then the sheepskin gauntlets – and touched a handrail, the palms of his hands seared off, the skin burnt as by white-hot metal: on the bridge; if he forgot to duck when the bows smashed down into a trough, the flying spray, solidified in a second into hurtling slivers of ice, lanced cheek and forehead open to the bone: hands froze, the very marrow of the bones numbed, the deadly chill crept upwards from feet to calves to thighs, nose and chin turned white with frostbite and demanded immediate attention: and then, by far the worst of all, the end of the watch, the return below deck, the writhing, excruciating agony of returning circulation.
Now THAT, my friends, is a sentence.
February 17, 2012
Chester Conklin was a Norwegian fish captain. Later, he was promoted to fish admiral. On a side note, yes, he kept snacks in his mustache.
