The Thing From Bloggy Swamp
- Boston, Massachusetts, US of A
- September 28
- . . . is the author of over fifty books--some with paper!--available on amazon.com and elsewhere.
MY RECENT POSTS
- Walk for Congenital
Smart-Alecks Finds Many Feet
August 21, 2014 02:38PM
- Last Call at the Impaired
Aesthetic Judgment Bar &
August 21, 2014 08:24AM
- A Night Ride With the
Conservative Poetry Enforcers
August 20, 2014 08:37PM
- Freedonian Nights Ring With
Songs of Bitchiness
August 20, 2014 08:14AM
- High School Debate to Argue
Yoko Ono v. Linda Eastman
August 19, 2014 09:13PM
MY RECENT COMMENTS
- “Freedonian oil kingpin
bought up all lambada VHS
August 20, 2014 05:01PM
- “I knew it was iconesis
as soon as I saw the
August 20, 2014 02:11PM
- “The deck is stacked but
a good debater can turn it
August 20, 2014 05:18AM
- “You haven't paid your
share of the phone
August 19, 2014 08:57PM
Con Chapman's Links
- MY LINKS
I remember what it was like, back when I first joined Open Salon. It must have been--I don't know--2009, 2010? It seems so long ago, my beginnings are lost in the fog of memory, just like that 20-foot Soling I ran aground in Boston Harbor, underneath the flight path… Read full post »
A humid Thursday morning in August. I wade through the lighter-than-usual summer trash as I emerge from the Au Bon Pain at South Station bearing my large iced mocha latte–$4.46 with tax–and think about how different things were when I was a young legal beagle starting out… Read full post »
It was, I assured my wife the morning after, nothing serious. I’d been awakened at three in the morning by acid reflux, a gagging sensation, night sweats, arrhythmic heartbeat, heartbreak of psoriasis and the grippe, but seriously–I felt fine.
Still, she was worried.&nb… Read full post »
. . . either you have it or you don’t,
no amount of MFAing will give it to you:
1. the ethereal fluid coursing through the veins of the gods;
2. a thin, acrid, watery discharge from a wound or an ulcer.
Take your pick.
Either way it brings on those ecstatic states,
verbal… Read full post »
SAN DORITO, California. The men’s springboard diving events were barely over at the Games of the XXXth Olympiad when then-10-year-old Tyler Scher took his first steps up the three-meter tower at the municipal pool here. “He needs all the practice he can get,&rdq… Read full post »
&nbs… Read full post »
There is a state between lady and whore
called “courtesan.” In the reign of Edward IV
there were three such,
of whom he said
they were merry, wily and holy,
one we know by the name Jane Shore.
Daughter of the merchant class,
a grocer’s daughter, a lovely lass,
she… Read full post »
In a summer of my misspent youth long past I worked as an intern in Washington, D.C. and would frequently walk past the White House on my lunch hour. There I would encounter, as you may today, protestors of various persuasions, all of whom blamed a predictable cast of characters–the… Read full post »
Of all the foolish expenditures of my misspent youth, the one that in retrospect seems the worst investment of all is–pool.
Not the kind with water and chlorine and big foam noodles that kids whack each other with–I mean pocket pool, billiards.
Paul Newman and Piper Laurie: &ldquo… Read full post »
The New York Times
An editorial decrying the decline o… Read full post »
The unappreciated genius is a stock figure in the literature of jazz, the art form that seems to require long-distance perspective–say, from Europe, or Japan–in order to receive the cultural approval it deserves. Sometimes beauty, like a prophet, goes without honor in its own countr… Read full post »
The Wall Street Journal
It’s never been easy bein’ a labor organizer, but right now it’s n… Read full post »
There was, in the town where I grew up,
A house with a tombstone laid out front.
It was flat, not upright, and on it was sprawled
A forlorn girl, sculpted from stone.
We used to wonder as we passed
Whether underneath there lay a corpse.
We’d joke in nervous… Read full post »
They’re at it again,” my wife said with concern.
I looked up and saw flames rising from a pile of dead branches off in the distance. Another night, another bonfire in the woods beyond the stone wall that separates our property from conservation land.
“They’… Read full post »
I screwed the top back on the bottle of J.T.S. Brown bourbon I kept in my desk drawer at Mass. Gastrointestinal Hospital, or “Mass Gas” as it is more commonly known, and stared out the window at the thin sliver of the Charles River I could see from my decidedly unprestigious… Read full post »
The kids are getting older–they’re in high school now–and with summer jobs and college campus visits, every year it’s harder to squeeze in the special family time of aggravation and bickering we used to experience during summer vacations.
“We need to get away a… Read full post »
It isn’t every day I get to have lunch with a Nobel Prize-winning author. More frequently than I see Haley’s Comet, which last came through my neighborhood in 1986, and isn’t expected back for another 50 years, but still, it’s a big deal.
Haley’s Comet: “Sto… Read full post »
It was the form letter that sent me over the edge. “Thank you for submitting your poem to plangent voices,” it began. “Please excuse the form letter, but due to the volume of god-awful submissions that we receive, we do not have the time to crush the spirit of&… Read full post »
My cats are big Shakespeare fans; in the case of Rocco, who’s been letting himself go a bit, a huge fan of the Bard–fifteen pounds at his last checkup. We have assembled on the patio for a reading from Julius Caesar. Titus Andronicus was checked out of our local library, and… Read full post »
The wife is out of town this weekend, an opportunity for me to catch up with an old friend whose idea of a good time is, to put it mildly, not shared by the distaff half of my joint tax return. He goes by a lot of names; the ancient Egyptians… Read full post »
Debbie Carneseca had the biggest tits in school
but if you was to touch them that would mark you for a fool.
‘Cause Debbie Carneseca was alleged to be the daughter
of Johnnie Carneseca who believed he was her father.
Now Debbie and her daddy lived just southwest of town
Her hair is dark… Read full post »
It’s Saturday morning, which means the tension is starting to build for our weekly out-of-home social interaction. Regardless of whether we get together with people in a higher income bracket or a lower, my wife faults me for doing, saying, wearing, implying or inferring something I shouldn&rsq… Read full post »
It had been an impulse buy, as so many of my books are when they’re purchased on a Saturday after I’ve had a few glasses of wine and we’re wandering around a bookstore. But it was an acquisition I’d been planning for a long time; I have a home William… Read full post »
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