The Left Column

Politics for Poets

an excert:

It was then that he started to notice that Giggly poo was snatching all his bot gots. They must be on to him. this whole 'am I dead, am I not dead' discussion started to really bother him. He imagined that if the story were any fun he'd have it be the political situation of Bhagdad but have it be culturally Burlington, Vershiretucky (a town in the heavens above, up in a valley. The wind over the mountain. Keeping Still. The superior thing to do is . . . the inferior behavior is that of . . . )

an excert from The Bardo of Macon Hasty by Bill Perilli

Digger is still paranoid, but not as bad as he had been. The knoll that is a giant dragon soul-sucker rested nestled within the farther hills and peaks had been lulled to sleep within the arms of the rugged summits of the higher regions. That upcountry ridgeline drew an artistic line below the sky, draped the world, and covered it like a blanket. The night had calmed. The dragon was sleeping in the blanket. Digger felt the calm that you only get in this valley, on this kind of an evening: August in Chittendon and Lamoille Counties. He's in heaven. Mitchel Hasty, however, is still in purgatory.

Can't you modulate
the way you feel
the way you feel
modulation

Modulation
of frustration
infatuation
renewination




memories of old tapes of jam sessions:
(of the long ago)

Trrucckulous stories
of the long ago.

Oh, the Chuckle drunk

Will wreck your wig,
say they are sorry
sniff
get themselves
another beer
wreck another truck
oh the ruination.

Delete, Delete, Delete, and repeat

In a blog it's always good to delete things. And in a blog right now is the best time to do it! If you want to see any of the old stuff you need but just 'arrow back'. There is a lot of content here. You just need to dig it out for yourself.

🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀

⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀

⏱⏰⏰ Out in the rain on the bea🍀ch ⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀

🍀⏰⏲⏱ In Vermont ⏰⏰🍀

🍀

🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲ Maybe it's the season of fog? all day ⏱🍀⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀

🍀⏲⏱fog for monthsk⏰⏲⏱

🍀

🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲fills up the sky, blocking the stars. ⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀

🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰. 🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀 🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱🍀⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀⏲⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀 🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀 🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱♥♥⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲🍀⏱⏰🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲♥♥⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 🎠🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰⏲⏱⏰⏰🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 🎠🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 🎠🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 🎠🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 🎠🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 oct 1, 2014 🔫 🚀 🚙🚤🚣🔨🍀⚜⏲⏱⏰🚣🚣🚣🔨🔨🔨

There is always time to
🍀 Praise God! 🍀
🍀⏲⏱⏰⏲⏱🔫⏰⏰⏲⏱🔫⏰⏰🍀
🎠 
🎠 
🎠 
🔫 
🔨🔨 

🔨🔨🔨🔨 Give everyone the tools that they need and let's get on with this construction project.

Bash at the bash factory
  
when spies go insane
and go dancing in the rain
with the tablet that gets wet
sparks, a short, big regret
The sensors in his shoes
are singing the blues 
with a sound most harmonic and sparky
it goes suooopposzuoop
in an infinite loop.

when spy verse spy
crash and die
and careening off of the plain
in the rain
with the neon daze gone monochromatic

a jagged-gillion-gill-gigg-giggity pays in silver nickels
saying "Plenty for all, plenty for the bus, 
and gas for you car"
As she  pirouettes on the way out the door
she blesses everybody in the store
what kind of spy is that?
Pays all the debts of all the people she's been spying on
now that is forward social thinking
we should have spies like that
who declare jubelee,
we are all free.
no one is a slave!
please enjoy the rave!

every thing
trying to understand everything
following the chinggle of the mingle
and open door
into
the glass factory
which is his job 
at the dysfunctional grey building
surrounded deep and down in the pines
of the woody wasteland far by-yas of
wasted expenditure.
He likes his new light metal mountain bike.
He enjoys the suburban home.
It's nice to have a guaranteed kiss in the mail
every month.

But he wonders
what would he do?
If it all came to be over?
surrounded by fear?
the man with the most
actually have the least
one thing this, 
that other thing that.
I've got too much of this
and none of that.

Thank Veterans for
their service.
Sollute them with aplume.

Mar 29, 2014 (03-29-2014)

well . . .

I think I've blogged enough today.

"I'm all blogged out."

~ OK Now.

Praise God! awful first novel lines:

Now that Scoop was back in Beantown, he figured he get some clam chowda and paaakk his caaaa in havvvaaa-id yar-id . . . [ . ?. . . ?]

Ever since Skipity had been back in Boston he had a hankering for chowda and garlic bread. . . . [ . ?. . . ?]

I am not a Spaniard in the Works.

(A Spaniard in the Works was written by John Lennon)

A working class hero is also something to not be


John Lennon wrote a lot of poetry that rambled off
into absurdities. Meaning was deep within the jabber.
The song "Working Class Hero" can be classified as a dirge.

Lennon gets to the point in that song. Anyone who is a working
slug appreciates it. Let me tell  you a little story of my days
as a Bus Station Clerk (and bus station toilet washer).

It was back in the '80s and I was working at the Trailways on Speen Street in Natick. The building was built as a single big enclosure with partition walls that extended up to ceiling level, and the ceiling was higher than that. The whole place was open up top and made an awesome echo chamber.

As I would work the place by myself and would pretty much run the operation alone, I was alowed to bring in a stereo and put it in a place in the back room. This was a pretty good stereo and also High Fidelity which means it sounded awesome. The size of the room gave the sound an auditorium quality. I would play my records, Grateful Dead, Neil Young, Pink Floyd. But mostly because a record blaring can be rather intense, especially something like Dark Side of the Moon or Animals, or Terripin Station, or Rust Never Sleeps, and be over powering, I would play the radio instead. And I would note when there were people who might be annoyed by hearing "Money" at full volume. And I'd turn it down. Music was almost political back then. And so, since teh clientelle was diverse, I would not use the music as a way to convey social propaganda. Some people really do object to the song "Midnight Rambler", so if it's annoying, the purpose of Music should be (my theory but not just my theory) to spred the joy. Any other purpose of it is annoying and perhaps not very friendly.

When the place filled up I would turn the music down. If there were no one there, or few people who I felt were 'cool' enough to hear it, then I would turn it up loud. And it would be on WAAF. They would play a good mix or music. Or I would put it one WBCN, and you can read all about them. Of course sometimes it would be John Lennon.

One day there was a Russian guy who was milling around the bus station on his way to who knows where, none of my business except that I can sell him a ticket. Anyone going anywhere far would either have an America Pass kind of ticket, to ride as much as they want for so many days for a couple hundred it was back then. Or they would get a ticket to 42nd street station in NYC and then catch a bus from there. the farthest place that was popular, and to which we had a very lot of riders, was Hendersonville, NC. I would get to enjoy the folks who would be coming and going to there often and found them to be ordinary and pleasant and also diverse (meaning a lot of Black people and White people would be going back and forth to Henersonville).

The Russian guy was there for a while because he had gotten there hours before the bus. And he had a braggadacio about him, that I found charming because he was speaking up for his country and his way of life, Communism, in a boastful way and hinting at the corruption of the world here in the United States, most of which I was fully on the page about with him but I'm not going to smack talk my own country. I knew about racism. He was right about it being real. I wasn't a racist. I was someone who was just trying to have a job, getting paid minimum wages (a little bit more than that, but not much, it was 5 dolla an houar). I was cleaning the toilet in the place, as well as issuing tickets and helping people with their bags.

At some point Working Class Hero came on the stereo. As it was only he and I in the place I had the volume up high so you could feel that Dummdiid Dum Dummdiid Dum that the song excells at. The room had a sweet spot for the bass range, and John Lennon's song sounded awesome and soulful!

The Russian man paused. This wasn't bad. This was not a bad thing to him. He listened to the words as the song progressed. I could tell that he liked it.

Next it was him boasting that "I like this song." It was almost as if he didn't get it that I had basically chosen the station and the type of music that we were listening to, and that I, the capitalist money changer at the bus station was the one responsible for him hearing the Socialist wisdom of Mr. John Lennon, who I adored (and was crushed, just like eveyone else when Lennon was . . . well you know the story or you should).

All in all I was glad to have the interaction with that young Russian gentleman. He inspired me that Russians, if they are as boastful for the good things like this guy was, then the world had a lot of hope. 1985 was a time of trouble in International Relations. I had encountered many different Russians at that time, it was around the time of a reapproachment. I always felt that Russians were ernast, honest, and dedicated to doing the right thing. It was just that we didn't agree just on what that was. And it was just a disagreement that reasonable people can have. and that it would all be OK and we wouldn't have a nuclear war and all end up fried and dead, because back then all us young adults, we weren't really sure that that was not going to happen.

I learned years later that The Beatles were well known in Soviet society. I imagine that my Russian client was probably familiar with John Lennon, but maybe he had never heard that particular song before. In any case I understood better, then, that all young people (becuase this guy was about the same age as I was) have a lot in common even if they are products of different schools and conditions and half way across the world. Secretly I wished I could have gotten to known this guy better, heard what he had to say, let him tell his story. I figured he was some kind of a spy or something and my point of view was "We have nothing to hide, let him snoop around as much as he wants. If he moves here he can get a job at the bus station, too, and we would be friends.

And so in the end, I guess that I can say as a form of conclusin (a cliche) I wasn't really a Capitalist, and he wasn't really a Communist. We were both just young men the products of the best hopes of our parents generation. And as I am sure the hope of both sets of parents is that good people get along, then I think that my encounter with the dashing young Russian spy was quite a life changing event in one sense. It really cemented in me just how ordinary everyone is, no matter where they come from. And that even ideologically opposed (so they imagine) can recognize the purity of artistic purpose, and can agree on the quality of the dialectic of poetry of classic artists. If he can love Lennon like I do, then may be I can understand why he also loves Lenin?

when the icon changes to a plus sign that
means we want you to click:

This is the terse idiom. It doesn't load till you click. 
Blogsnotter doesn't mind this.

how hard is it to use these new symbols in your stuff? Well, first you need to know that they exist. Second, you can just cut and paste them.

🌀 🌁 🌂 🌃 🌄 🌅 🌆 🌇 🌈 🌉 🌊 🌋 🌌 🌍 🌎 🌏 🌐 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝 🌞 🌟 🌠

I've got a message for . . . Mr Bash (an alias for someone else). Mr Bash, if I use brace expansion with the dot-dot idiom, ie like this:

echo -e {🌃..🌅}{🌍..🌏}{🌑..🌚}" "

why does that not work when

echo -e {🌃,🌄,🌅}{🌍,🌎,🌏}{🌑,🌒,🌓,🌔,🌕,🌖,🌗,🌘,🌙,🌚}" "

will? Maybe I've not ordered the elements properly. Well that little snippit doesn't work that well but t

Instead he behaves
 like a chuckle drunk 
  rich boy junkie 
    on the bow deck 
      of his giant yacht
       driving golf balls
        towards an approaching 
          thunderstorm. 
      
Lightening bolts
   zap between the clouds
      and there's been 
       a constant rolling thunder.

full speed ahead
straight towards the storm.




    


🖐🖑
🖑🖐   

The following poem is fresh, whipped up, off the cuff.

  

Chuckle Drunk and in Charge

Wasn't it September 2001
and you were coming down the hill
ha ha ha
driving my car
too fast
after the Tunbridge Fair
And I'm stuck in the back
because Bigga was too large to sit in the back
and the dog
and I'm saying 'slow down slow down' 
worried you'd wreck my car
ha ha
you were in control so
you'll bounce me on the cushion
even with my hip pain
when I'm sleeping
ha ha ha
and you hit the pothole
on purpose
you told me later you'd known it was there
but the next day
denied it all
ha ha ha
He's got a bomb in his bag
ha ha ha
So two days later
I was finally able to get the two wheel repaired
and you said you'd pay 
but you needed the money
for pills

🖐🖑
🖑🖐
   
 🖐🖑

 ♥♥?

rainbows
are only there when it's raining.
If you want rainbows
you gotta let it rain!

rainbows
are only there when the sun is shining
if you want rainbows
you gotta let it shine!


rainbows
are shine on the rain.
Shine on the range
the rain on the plain
rainbows
let's have the rain
Let's have the rain!
Let's have the rain.

If you want rainbows
you got let it shine
while you let it rain
so let it rain
and let it shine.



glossry of what's next
 ♥♥? : do you love me? do they love each other? is there a couple here?
new things to gossip on

in your heart

Be nice to yourself and others. What other choice?

When the fear
came here
last year
kneeling
healing
fealing

when the fear
last year
kneeling
healing 
fealing

This can't be a song
though it seems like it could be
if the meaning weren't so hard
and telling to be truthful.

This can't be a song
not one anyone one would sing
it's only a poem.
Leave this poem at home.
These aren't good lyrics.

He sings: "These lyrics
are not good.
This isn't a song
no one should
sing along
you really should
find other words,
these words
are too absurd
but as a poem
in the book, closed.
read late at night
in the Winter with fright
from the frightening storm
trying to keep warm . . .

When the fear came
last Winter
Kneeling
and praying.

Wake up!

Wake up!
like Jack did

And this really is at 
the end of the column