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Monday, September 14, 2020
Sunday, January 26, 2020
...what you don't know...you don't know...
Excerpt from "About My Very Tortured Friend, Peter" from The Roominghouse Magrigals by Charles Bukowski
“look,” he said, “I’m over at this broad’s house today and
this guy walks in. a salesman. you knowhow they talk. drove up in this newcar. talked about his vacation. said he went toFrisco—saw Fidelio up there but forgot whowrote it. now this guy is 54 yearsold. so I told him: ‘Fidelio is Beethoven’s onlyopera.’ and then I toldhim: ‘you’re a jerk!’ ‘whatcha mean?’ heasked. ‘I mean, you’re a jerk, you’re 54 years old andyou don’t know anything!’”
Mine.
"Her face is a knife. It's beautiful, sleek. But it cuts to the core, 'She'd never have me.' Her eyes did not have to belie the disinterest."
"You don't know that"
I point at my friend's chest as if hitting the top of a counter on a broken deal, "I do. That's what kills me: how fast that decision is made. Give me the benefit of a few seconds." Again with the finger, "Not even one."
"I keep telling you: you come off with a weird vibe."
"A vibe? How do I stop a vibe Paul. I was born with this vibe Paul." I mimicked an ages old conversation in my twenties. I got the intended effect.
"You can act."
"I can't act."
"Everyone can act."
"You want to tell that to Hollywood? You think everyone can act?"
"You're smart."
"Oh, fat good it does me."
"You write. Say something poetic."
I grew pensive and leaned into the bar to tip back drink no. 5. I stay in a lane. It was called a Golden Lion. Vodka, calamansi, passion fruit and yuzu. Potent. Citrus cocktails work for me. You add in calamansi, a very Filipino thing to do, and I'm bought and sold. Damn these are strong.
"Paul, as sure as I'm tottering here right now, I don't believe a poem got a man anything in life."
He pursed his lips. "Ah ha!"
"Drink your drink Jack."
Boy did I.
...
Tuesday, September 17, 2019
recipe ~ Blueberry Syrup (5 cups)
24 oz of blueberries, 2 cups of filtered water, 1.5 cups of sugar, 1/2 cup of honey, 1/2 cup of lemon juice ~~ add all into large pot and bring to simmer, stirring constantly, cook until reduced, and liquid is syrupy and dark; strain to separate pulp from syrup, keep pulp for topping in separate container;
recipe ~ Spicy Mediterranean Chicken (serves 8)
x8 chicken thighs, x1.5 red onions sliced, x1 bulb of garlic, fresh parsley, x2 cans of 28 oz tomatos (cubed), container of dried apricots ~ spice (1/2 on chicken before fry, 1/2 after mixed): 2 tbs cinnamon, 2.5 tbs coriander, 2.5 red chili flakes, 2 tbs whole black pepper, 2.5 curcuma (or curry spice), 2 tbs salt, 2 tbs cumin, 1 tbs pepper ~ ~ Over open charcoal grill; apply 1/2 spice to dried chicken, fry; remove chicken, in same oil, cook onion and garlic until tender, remove; scald both cans of tomatos in the same pan, stirring with slight reduction; put all ingredient into foil pan on grill, add apricots, mix well, add remaining 1/2 spice and continue to cook to desired consistency; add parsley at end; serve with rice;
Saturday, August 31, 2019
...(next) Chambersburg, Trenton, 1994...
He made more than a few switchbacks that even he got turned around. The light of day dithered to dusk. I need distance. He kept on the 3, but cut north to the 252. He had his bearings now. Three hours and no sign of being followed. He remembered little of the drive - only the color and makes of cars to make sure none of them were too familiar over time.
West 30. He stopped before entering Malvern on a small stretch of road, lined by trees. The sky had turned purple, but with the lights off, you could see nothing. He stretched out his hands and pulled his seat back. It was quiet enough, he saw no one for twenty minutes. The cicadas were an ever-present buzz. Dark came and Rook passed out.
...
He woke up with a hunger headache. Gas. Food. He had barely enough for both. He topped off at the first chain gas station he could find. They won't care about me, not ask questions. They didn't. He wanted to buy a map but that would be a tip-off. He resisted the urge and took a paper placemat from the Rollo's Diner instead.
After he hit the head, he got right out of the little town he didn't know the name of.
Can't stay in Ohio, Mauro has reach out that this way. He was in league with another boss out this way - he remembered him talking about some play in Athens and in Columbus.
Kentucky. The placemat was a cartoonish estimation of Rollo's locations in the area. Lexington was one. I'll find a town near there...Winchester. Get a job washing dishes, live in the car for a time.
He eventually found the 68, used the rest of his cash but for 7 bucks for gas and lunch. He swung through Lexington, double-backed on the 60 and toward Winchester. In Colby, he stopped the car, pulled the plates and through them in a gully among a pile of floating trash. He checked the car for anything distinguishing, straightened out his clothes and headed into town.
...
Rook found quickly that Winchester had two main strips - N Main and N Maple. He rode down both, nonchalantly, keeping his eyes open for a Help Wanted sign. Folks weren't too interested in him, which was a good sign. If they were, best get out of Dodge.
A little cafe on Broadway needed a dishwasher.
He found an abandoned house near the N Main, parked in a patch of overbrush and hoofed it back to the strip. The town was mostly red brick, two story shops and Pam's Cafe was no exception. He smiled and asked the waitress about the job.
"Well, hon, they're gonna need you right away - you good with that?"
"I just got into town and looking to put down some roots - I can work now if you want."
"Clark?" A chubby bald man came around the corner with a carafe of coffee, he did not look trusting at all. Doesn't matter, just get the gig and I'll work hard. Plus working at a cafe will be a steady supply of leftovers. Rook explained the situation to Clark.
"You ain't trouble are you?"
"No sir - I was working for a spell out in Parkersburg, chain restaurant called Rollo's."
"I know Rollo's."
"They were outfitting the place with new refrigeration units, you know the industrial GE ones from last year's show? Well, they couldn't keep us through the summer while it was under construction, so I figured I'd come out to Kentucky before the winter."
"Change of scenery?"
"I had some distant cousins out this way, living in Lexington, figured I'd try to set some roots here for a while."
"What's their names?"
"The Browns. Harold, Jenny...like I said, they were distant but I don't have any other family."
"Aight then, Rich Brown...going ahead and start work tonight. No funny business because I'm watching."
"Yes, sir."
Rook rolled up his sleeves, put in a six-hour until the Broadway Cafe closed. Washing dishes was soothing, he completely forgot about his cares. The radio station played country, I never really listened to this before. Not bad.
"Good work Rich, we open at 6:00a tomorrow, be here ten minutes before."
"Yes, sir." Clark opened the register and gave him 15.
"You stick around Rich, we can get you some tips as well."
...
Rook went back to the car exhausted. I'll get a room tomorrow. Wash up. Wash my clothes.
The cicadas had followed him, buzzing in the darkness of Kentucky.
...
Tuesday, August 27, 2019
...when it's over...27aug19...
Resolve comes and sits coldly upon one's chest.Inevitable. Sad nonetheless.
The cathedrals were pinnacles of the ecstasies
Breaths both day and night in thought of you
What could have. What was never.
Yet below the lofts of those countless towers rests
the city. Its brightly colored squares and decorated streets.
I saw daylight dance upon deep red sakura, happily shifting in the ocean's breeze.
The trills of children and joyous animals in play.
Lovers holding hands in quiet contemplation
Holding not only hands but breath and hope
A quantum of surrender.
A city held in a moment suspended in quiet joy.
Expressed to unrelenting stone
Unrecognized to me now.
Ruins far too friendly a word
Even smoke dissipates.
Cruel dispassion, mechanistic precision
Razed it well.
The only lofty throes are the shadows reaching skyward
Over the dark gloss of nothing.
I lament it. And nothing can be remembered for nothing ever was.
As you say.
A red fissure split the sky.
No screams at was inevitable.
The towers fell, the city crumpled
Like paper
The memories lost
And must shuffle be.
Sunday, June 30, 2019
The Belle of the River...short exercise_30jun19
The triumphs of erect stone, molded in the likeness of their creator. Pinned against the clouds, raised on colonnades each. To enhance their own loftiness, they point to above. All told, 'do not think of the firmament below, it is nothing compared to the spaces above'.
Agreed. The human mind has its limitations and assuredly its self-importance. Myself, as lowly as I am, still am victim to the same.
My hands sweat and I shift my kit of oils and canvas to the other. I would relieve myself of my woolen jacket, but I have not formally asked anything of the gardens and I am still desperate to find the Head Gardener. A fellow I'm told is Michaels. I've no idea what he looks like, but I suspect I would find him nearer the estate.
The Villa Liatris had survived the [Civil] War, nestled on a bend of the Mississippi near Ama. It had a rare garden of contemporaneous European varieties of Lady Slippers, with yellow and purple hues that I'm told are quite unique and not easily reproduced in oil.
I had not come across them yet as I tracked across one side of the garden and to the other. An ominous green house had stretched perpendicular to the main house, but I dare not enter without Michaels.
Frustrated at the endeavor and the heat, I found the shade of a cypress that was flanked with thick brush, creating an unnatural form of shade and coolness. I could always find one no matter what backwood forest I find myself. I sat and allowed myself to cool. Sweat and humidity weighed my suit down.
"Sir?" The call of southern hospitality. It was a young voice.
I smiled before I opened my eyes, "Forgive a man some shade, son. It is awfully warm out today and I have exhausted myself on effort of finding Mr. Michaels."
"Mr. Michaels, sir? The Head Gardner?"
"That's him."
"Let me fetch him for you." The boy ran off behind the arboretum. I committed myself to the spot until he showed up. In some time, the boy walked out with an older man in a light white long shirt. I stood up and straightened out.
We shook hands. "What can we do for you Mr. --?"
"Mr. Michaels, I simply wanted to ask for your permission to mix some oils and a bit of canvas painting. I hear tell that the Lady Slippers are available this time of year. I'm particular for the yellow and purple 'uns."
"Oils?"
"Painting. See sir I work as an illustrator for the Post. They are doing a fall piece for summer flowers. I guess for folks hearkening back on the weather. They gave me a stipend for your time to sit and paint for a day or two. That is, if you are agreeable."
"Well, son, I t'ain't ne'er hear of such a thing, but as long as you are just painting them and not disturbing them I don't see no harm."
"Won't touch them. May I pay you or the manor for the privilege?"
"Wouldn't hear of it. We are happy for'n your interest. Just put in where you seen it - we do have tours come through here and the Lady is keen on it. Maybe send us a copy?"
"Sir, I'll send you three and you'll get all sorts of credit."
With that Michaels took me to another section of the garden I wouldn't have found. It intersects under a portion of where the trellis of the arboretum spans to the Manor, it's quite beautiful with all sorts of orchids lining the walk-way. Just enough sun is good enough.
And there they were, in full bloom. I was eager now to take off my jacket, oblige myself on some cool tea (no cubes, they hadn't any electricity), and a stool.
I made two first runs on the yellow and the purple, making swaths from the corner to the center - arriving at a fair conclusion. I will do the second one on my visit. I put the color on my finger and put it near the flower."Close?"
"Colors change with light. Today is a bit cloudy, but hot. Tomorrow may be different. I'll get it close it enough." With that, I took my thin charcoals and sketched their forms.
Whistle. "I t'ain't e'er seen one draw that quickly afore!"
I had what I needed even I didn't come back. But I like the place and the tea is fine.
"See you tomorrow!"
...
As I walked off the estate with tools in tow and my jacket hung off my shoulder, I sported a young belle on the walkway. She was peculiarly out of place for the time. I guessed it was a costume ball of some kind. She was absolutely perfect in every way. Flawless skin, proud cheekbones, glimmering green eyes and fiery dark red hair. She walked with pride, with back as straight as the statues I had just left.
"Sir."
"Miss." I wanted to pull her aside for even a second, but her gait was such I didn't expect to stop her. She did keep me in her periphery for the slightest of seconds before moving on.
I paused. I couldn't help watching her walk away. As a lady should, she did not turn around once. God bless her.
Another reason to show up tomorrow.
...
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