Thursday, April 28, 2005

thundercrap...

the thunder is what woke me. undetermined hour but a dark one. what we refer to as a thunderclap. that is a point of importance. generally it only rolls. a thunderroll. some large unspoken playing nine-pins. if we believe in large unspokens. make like we believe. just now on the way to buy four postage stamps (magnolias) it remains angry grey. with an e. the other color is sweaty like gym trunks. just like 9 is mean and five is f and f is not to be trusted--unfriendly. those are my associations. humor me.

thunderstorms. loving them. in the midwest it is mostly a series of ovation. for what we're in the dark. but you can descend to the depth of a cellar and still feel it. how powerful. and the lights are impressive likewise. in texas mostly light was my experience. in anadarko with mockingbirds. in montana a roadway touchdown smoldering.

yesterday the adjacent houselet was removed. the neighbor stood recording. mrs.martin's ghost will haunt you! in the voice of an arkansas coal miner. a little one that house. as long as i can remember that house. a slanting rose. false parrots on the porch. and the wind-up owl. and the frail lady in her smoky octogenarian folds. dovie. another name in the old lady parade. the jaws of the eradicator struggled. like watching babies eat cake. all mind on the intent and little for the grip. consequently crushing. how they stay so slimming. baby.

this feeling needs a quick and purifying acid bath. to look out the window and see into the next lot. transparent. the red hot poker. the highwire insulators. the skulls. the red-yellow windows after dark. so japanese storybook. nailed to the gone ceiling perspective.

and down the avenue they removed the locust! 9! they corded it! f! grey! it's a stack of flowering nonsense and no trees are left. none! fuckers.

it wasn't the prettiest anyway.

in other news...

i started reading moby dick last night. i've never read that. should i admit to things like that. i suppose.

by reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome; the great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild conceits that swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated into my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale, and, mid most of them all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air.

now that is purty. socks. knocked. off.

it's only a locust tree! a houselet! change is good. is all change good? how long does it take to grow a tree? to make a houselet? really change is good. i believe it. but cake. eating cake. and babies. and intent. a strangling grip. or vice versa.

eeep. dunno.

dunnodunnodunno.

6 Comments:

Blogger Matthew said...

I love reading your entries. They always strike me somewhere between my poetry and prose sensors. Love it.

6:05 PM  
Blogger dishpantheism said...

ah! i love that you love it! eeexcellent. it's a salad what i post. prosetry maybe?

6:22 PM  
Blogger dishpantheism said...

oh and thank you. i got excited and left it out before.

7:20 PM  
Blogger ranjit said...

I agree about 5. There's a tuxedo store in San Francisco called Selix but because of the typeface the S looks like a 5 and it was years before I realized that they weren't Felix. I didn't know 9 was mean, but I can believe it, because 3, 6, and 8 are the noblest numbers.

There was a big tree growing in front of my apartment building, a mulberry I think, every summer dropping heaps of pale pale pale green lumpy berries that squished underfoot and that my dog would snap up. A year ago it was cut down, and for weeks afterwards, on the way home, I would walk right past my buliding on to the next block because I didn't recognize it.

7:56 AM  
Blogger dishpantheism said...

ranjit! hello.

yes, damnable 5! it is always turning into f. the shampoo that is called Vo5 i see in the market and read as vof. every time. grr. and 9 is definitely mean and unfriendly (shiver). 3, 6, & 8 are stupendous numbers. although, i'd also add 7 into the mix. it's my favorite.

about trees. i hate seeing them cut down for no good reason. the locust, though sorta spindly, was a perfectly crommulent tree. there used to be two magnolias at the same house which provided the only shade on the street for the bus stop. they cut those down several years ago to put a proper bus stop in (complete with little gazebo-ish bench thingy). the gazebo sucks. no shade unless you stand behind it. i am sorry for your mulberry! it makes one wonder why they planted it in the first place. what were they thinking? (rubbing hands together) *hey, i know, let's plant a mulberry and when it matures let's chop it down! mwahmamama.* hmm. think of the pomeranians for god's sake! they likes to snap up the berries! and ranjit can't find his door! gah!
these sorts of things make me want to put morning glory seeds in abandoned lots. :)

12:33 PM  
Blogger geegaw said...

Was walking down the street, and the question was raised: why are ornamental cherry trees sterile? And I said I bet Mary would know the answer. Was I right? (As for the answer itself, I already looked it up on Wikipedia)

P.S. Don't worry about writing back to my email. I am like a camel about email. I can easily go for six months without responding to an email, or expecting one back.

9:30 PM  

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