Saturday, September 30, 2017


a found poem

that I interfere,
I too would like

to express the opinion.
Tomorrow is a new day.

Today I read on
this question much.

In it something is.

I will know,
many thanks
for the help in this question.

I apologise, but,
in my opinion,
you are not right.

I can defend the position.
Write to me in PM,
we will discuss.

Friday, March 10, 2017

the arrival of marcia

before i met marcia, my life was in darkness.

and then when i met her, i knew it was too good to last.

the world is ruled by evil people, who are themselves ruled by even more evil powers.

i knew i myself had drowned in filth and despair on many occasions.

i had never bowed down to the evil ones, but they held me in the palm of their hand nevertheless.

“marcia, the is pete. pete, this is marcia.” joe smiled the way he smiled at everything. i could never figure f it was an evil smile or a friendly one.

i knew right away that with marcia anything was possible.

i had always dreamed of finding the headquarters of the people who ruled the world.

but i had gotten bogged down in a million swamps of white nothingness.

“welcome aboard, pete.” those were marcia’s first words to me.

“you look like a guy who - “ marcia took a sip of her coffee. “ - the score.”

did she say “a guy who knows the score” or a “a guy who wants to make a big score”. i could not tell.

joe knew the score, that was for sure. and he let us know it.

it had gotten completely dark outside.

we were the only ones left in the burger king, except for the two people behind the counter.

“we are all set now, “ said joe. “with four of us. that is the lucky number.”

“it is a lucky number,” said charlie, but joe ignored him.

“three guys and a girl,” said joe. “that is even luckier. it is nature’s way.”

“whatever that means,” said charlie. i could see he was disagreeing with joe because marcia had showed up, and he wanted to show he was not just joe’s boy.

“i’ve explained it before.” said joe, looking at marcia. “four of everything - always three male, one female. it’s a proven formula. the four elements - three male one female. the four gospels - three male, one female. the four horsemen of the apocalypse - three male, one female.. everywhere you look,”

“like seinfeld,” said marcia.

“that’s good,” joe told her. “very good.”

“like what?” i asked.

“seinfeld.,” said joe. “it was a tv show.”

“oh,” i said. i never watched much tv.

i was too busy dreaming of conquering the world, and contemplating the indescribable innocence and beneficence of nature.

marcia smiled at me. i thought my head - my precious head, the only one i had, would explode.

marcia opened her mouth. i thought she was going to tell me i was a strange man, but instead she said -

you look like a pretty ordinary guy, pete. how did you get mixed up with these two?

i wanted to ask her the same thing, but my brain would not allow it.

i was innocent, so innocent. of course the word innocent has many meanings.

i wished joe would get down to business.

i wished marcia would smile at me forever.

i was filled with strange and conflicting desires.

that last statement does not mean much, i know.

i wanted something, anything.

but i would always be the guy who crawled out of the swamp.

sources: the republic, by plato; confessions of st augustine; the prince, by machiavelli; romance of leonardo da vinci, by dmitri merejkovskii; life of michelangelo, by john addington symonds; pensees, by pascal; confessions, by jean-jacques rousseau; civilization of the renaissance in italy, by jacob burckhardt; walden, by thoreau; thus spoke zarathustra, by nietzsche; life of jesus, by ernest renan; varieties of religious experience, by william james

Thursday, March 9, 2017

the setup

i met joe smith at a meeting . he had a sad story to tell, and seemed to enjoy telling it.

the next day i met joe at burger king to hear the rest of his story, and he introduced me to charlie martin, who was a zealous preacher against the unbelievers.

you’re a strange fellow, charlie told me.

but he is not an unbeliever, joe assured him.

have you stood the test, charlie asked me. have you gloried in the struggle?

i called to mind my past foulnesses before answering.

what doesn’t make you stronger, kills you i told charlie, and that seemed to satisfy him.

i bit into my angry whopper, snd its indescribable innocence and beneficence gave me a rush.

what we are proposing to do has got to be a secret, joe said.

how much are we going to make out of it? i asked as i reached for my strawberry shake.

it depends on the girl, said charlie. you know with women anything is possible.

who is this girl and when do i get to meet her? i enquired.

her name is marcia, answered charlie. make sure you hold on to your head when you meet her.

is she a most zealous preacher against the unbelievers? i asked.

joe and charlie both laughed.

i noticed they both pulled their burgers a little closer to themselves when they said marcia's name.

this is too good to last, a fat woman at the next table said, and i wondered if she was spying on us.

suddenly i realized that i was wandering in darkness. we all were.

i often displayed the worst features of an umvridled egotism, but i was trying.

charlie was right - i was a strange fellow. but who among us can not say the same?

too good to last, i heard the woman at the next table say again, and began to wonder about her.

we have to dispel the darkness, joe said and charlie nodded in agreement.

i realized how innocent they both were - they didn’t know nothing.

i like this job, i said, especially if we don’t get caught.

in this world evil is the ruling power, joe reminded me.

don’t worry, i told him, i can smite the infidel with the best of them.

charlie smiled. you are showing features of an unbridled egotism, brother, he told me.

i scratched my head and smiled back.

i liked the setup. i had a good feeling about it.

sources: the republic, by plato; confessions of st augustine; the prince, by machiavelli; oracles of noatradamus; romance of leonardo da vinci, by dmitri merejkovskii; life of michelangelo, by john addington symonds; pensees, by pascal; confessions, by jean-jacques rousseau; civilization of the renaissance in italy, by jacob burckhardt; walden, by thoreau; thus spoke zarathustra, by friedrich nietzsche; life of jesus, by ernest renan; varieties of religious experience, by william james

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

life is horrible, part 2

joe looked out at the mountaintop.

he knew it was reserved for people who thought they were better than him.

wanda sighed.

“so they think they are better than us - so what?” she asked joe.

joe knew that the category “think they are better than us” was too broad.

“i’m sorry,” he told wanda, “i should have made myself clearer.”

“they are miserable bastards, i’ll give you that,” wanda agreed.

joe and wanda had been bullied and rejected by the elites of the world all their lives.

they were ready to start over.

to start over, press the pound key, that was wanda’s philosophy.

wanda was a girl who never had a chance.

never had a chance to tell her story.

the world was full of miserable bastards who ground you down and never gave you a chance.

“i could go for a whopper and a strawberry smoothie right now,” thought wanda, “and stop looking at that stupid mountaintop inhabited by the rulers of the universe.”

“do you think,” joe asked suddenly,” there is a single person on that mountaintop who gives a flying fuck abut you or me?”

“it’s a pretty high mountaintop,” wanda replied noncommitedly.

“i like to think there is at least one person on it who is not a totally miserable son of a bitch,” joe replied.

“some of them have probably been bullied and rejected too,” wanda pointed out.

“it’s all part of the human condition,” she added when joe made no reply.

“let me tell you a story,” said joe. “a story that has never been told before on this earth.”

“go ahead,” wanda told him. “you know i like a good story.”

“once upon a time i met a girl. and she was the sweetest, most beautiful girl that ever walked the earth, and i was determined too make her mine.”

joe paused and looked out into space. “and then bud wilkins came along. he thought he owned the town. he thought he owned the whole world and everything in it, and that the whole world owed him a living.

one of the conditions that bud wilkins demanded of the world was that it recognize him as the center of the universe.

but i walked up to him on the street one day and i said to hm, ‘bud, a new day starts right here’.

‘i’m sorry,’ bud told told me, ‘but i haven’t got time for your whiny loser simperings.’”

joe started to cry. he could not go on with his story.

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

life is horrible, part 1

this category is too broad
true and unique
part of the human condition

miserable bastards
part of the human condition
true and unique

yes, true and unique
start here
i didn’t believe your side

this category is too broad
so i didn’t believe your side

“every story has a thousand sides”

to start over, press the pound key
truly and uniquely
bullied and rejected

high on a mountaintop
start here
i never did believe you

only reserved for people
he had a girl
to start over, press the pound key

i’m sorry
i’m very sorry
i didn’t believe your side

to start over, press the pound key
it is only reserved for people
high on a mountaintop

Monday, November 28, 2016

the wordy man

when i was just a little firk
my mama took me to see the wordy man

he hung out on the street
outside the gypsy’s place

where mama went to have her fortune told
every other wednesday

the wordy man was talking up a storm
it was what he did

i had a hard time understanding him
but my mama said that was all right

nothing anybody said made any sense any more
which was why humans had mostly stopped talking

except to order takeout
and have their fortunes told

we went inside
but the gypsy wasn’t there

instead there was a werewolf
packing the gypsy’s things into a trunk lined with red velvet

what happened to the gypsy?
my mama asked the werewolf

it’s a long story, the werewolf replied
not worth repeating

we went back outside
the werewolf had the gypsy’s trunk on his shoulder

and me, my mama, the werewolf and the wordy man
all went down the street to mcdonalds

and we all ordered strawberry smoothies
because we thought the gypsy might drop by

but she never did
not then, or ever

the wordy man kept talking the whole time
but i never did figure out what he was saying

Friday, November 25, 2016

prelude to an interruption, part 2

somewhere, somebody was singing a song.

the song made me weak in the knees.

the waiter stared at my knees, noticing their weakness.

“sometimes, “i told him, “when i wake up in the dead of night, i wonder why the grass isn’t always green, and why the sky isn’t always blue.”

the waiter looked at me funny, like i was some kind of nut.

j j was looking at me too, out of the corner of her nasty eye, like she was about to say something really nasty, even for her.

someday there would be a definite end to her pretensions.

she will wake up in the dead of night, and they will be there… the demons who were born just for her…

but that is enough about j j…

the waiter laughed, a deep mournful laugh that seemed to come from the depths of forgotten aeons…

“you don’t want advice from me, miss… as you see, i am only a servant. only a servant .”

“for now,” he added ominously.

i realized there was still plenty of time to escape. but i just lay there like a slug, waiting…

yes we all had plenty of time to escape… but escape to where?

suddenly there was some sort of commotion out on the lawn… and about time, too…

nobody ever notices such things until they happen.

“don’t tell me the police are here,” betsy drawled languidly. “please don’t tell me the police are here.”

and indeed, some men in dark suits and immaculate white shirts had appeared on the lawn.

they made straight for florian, who was still singing his song to the supine and comatose partygoers.

often when i wake up in the dead of night, i can see them striding purposefully across the green lawn… on the lazy, rainy summer afternoon…

i felt weak

i wished that i, too, was wearing a dark suit and an immaculate white shirt.

and that i was the commander of a vast shadowy army.

but nobody ever asked for my advice.

i was a wicked and abandoned child.

and i had plenty of time to escape.

even from the commanders of vast shadowy armies.

suddenly florian stopped singing his song.

the silence was total, even though it was a lazy summer afternoon and not the dead of night.

“i don’t know what to say.”

“did you hear something?” hadrian suddenly asked.

“i don’t hear anything,” j j told him. “but i see those men in dark suits and immaculate white shirts taking florian away.”

“just because he was singing a song?” asked betsy. “that seems rather rude.”

“it rather shows weakness on the part of the authorities.” said hadrian. “if you ask me.”

we - adrian, hadrian, j j , betsy, and me - still had plenty of time to escape.

it is easy to notice such things afterwards.

long ago, on a lazy summer afternoon.

sources: jane eyre , by charlotte bronte; wuthering heights, by emily bronte; alice’s adventures in wonderland, by lewis carroll; the three impostors, by arthur machen; swann’s way, by marcel proust; the counterfeiters, by andre gide; chivalry, by rafael sabatinni; 1984, by george orwell; vengeance is mine, by mickey spillane; one lonely night, by mickey spillane; on the road, by jack kerouac; the bell jar, by sylvia plath.