James Hart / Fiction

If fiction is dead, reality is not far behind.

James Hart

James Hart
Be Home Soon,
December 31
Hart will have maintained this blog for One-hundred-sixty-nine million, nine-hundred-forty-eight thousand, six-hundred seconds through 31 May 2014. Times two (roughly) deep in the Twenty-Fifteen. ******************************** ******************************** ******************************* A carpenter's level designs a calm sea. ******************************** ******************************** Violent movies and prime-time TV shows ought to have disclaimers as reality checks during curtain calls. The cast could gather for a bow and civil handshake and or cheek kisses in order to demonstrate (to the least sophisticated among us) to let us know that the aforementioned carnage was make believe. A fiction. An entertainment. Such reality checks (and stage craft tribute) would well serve a fairness to the deranged among us who are prone to confuse the fantasia of entertainment violence as 'acceptable reality behavior'. There are legions of empty vessels awaiting sustenance about 'how' to react. With sure-bet frequency, the ubiquity of guns and conditioned criminal reflex results in aberrant behavior with subsequent ruinous acts of violence. We see it along the road. We read it and see it and hear it in the news. Such a paradigm! Odd that bow and bow and bow and bow are the same word. One for thank you, one for protection (?}, and the other to stay off the icebergs ... and of course there's the shoe tie, and gift wrap and that bloke from Saginaw, reading USA Today on the Greyhound. Here's a limerick from my Average Guy series: Of all emotion, the grin 'n frown, the best among us, stand down. ******************************** Here's a paragraph from my Average Guy: a couple of satiate dinner guests had ensconced themselves on the living room sofa.* * Whoops that was an abandoned paste, thanks, Merriam W. }One Moment{ Like all boys they wanted everything: the wild treetops and Tarzan hollers, then back to the soccer game on Channel 9 with their buttered microwave popcorn and tough-guy toothpicks. The painted fancy news ladies, in high skirts. Slivered clapboard was a place to carve initials. Not far, canaries built their own thatch nest, hunkered and still against the wind from all directions. An onyx black crow its wing tips torn of feather like a shrapnel-wounded plane, stood watching. Until it was yellow and black, a flurry of woven grass and fallen scatter of shadowed ruin. A swooped escape of yellow dots and the black clawing predator of powerful wide wing, its bright beak triumphant to the sunshine, the white fluff chicks burst within merciless gripped coil. A quick flight toward 3 o'clock backward through nascent Linden buds. An automatic trick spiraling, a mystical bullet, the motion at once there and gone to stellar over soul of weathered naked branch. Its prize of canary chicks: a satiation to the endless March blue. ******************************** (more) Average Guy Then the Old Spiced Fuller Brush man shows up blowing Lucky Strike smoke rings, Dinah Shore had her own hour, and ol' Ike poured concrete, coast to coast. Sundays? Victory at Sea, Archbishop Sheen, Groucho Marx, I'm never sure, such awhile back, weren't the Commies about to attack? Then who'd blink first, Nikita or Jack? ******************************** She spoke of life she did. I'd a fascinating 'eye in the sky' riff' invoking the richly named Auden, at midnight: A to F, clamored-clack of generous muse, nearly always helmeted faces appeared, dusty in white powder, an encounter along the parallel hedgerow , of dog-eared tome, her lips an alabaster meow: some kindling, Edward R. Murrow, the who, what, where when and howl Another magnolia time, first daffodils, another year from June, cold-level ferns as white knuckles; O the color of yellow sugared Chuckles. a sow with piglets, upon the soil: where oil prisms the mud, A new day, so near insane, this autumn an abject postpartum; O bacon, o eggs, why did I start'em? Now I have to eat, the ceiling fan, an aeroplane prop, a yolk slurp, one more word, perhaps a fast break, maybe a dark hour, nothing but cake ... a belly ache ... cooler by the lake. &ah:It's a bit early, Oxford level though, as I'm left, in our adage: truth may vary. If only Aynie would have used "Atlas Mugged", as real utopian form. Keep those Dreamliners rollin'! Until greed and fear return to the dictionary, beyond the zone of human nature. Operative words above: OXFORD & ADAGE &/or: PEOPLE WE GOT THE POWER


DECEMBER 5, 2011 1:25AM

Any Particular Day

Rate: 6 Flag




                   from the collection 'The Servant Loves Sleep' 







Pass the paper bag, sonny

Hey ha-dada-hey

Dude, what up

well it was not only a great game,
but a valid game

easy for you to say

wonderful bit, how you deal
with the precognition

articulate fellows

who's listening?

I hear you bro 

no forward progress

whata mean

close calls,
chalk lines
zebra shirts



puttin those I-s before
those y-s



no there's a whole lotta 

What? You can say it
but not spell it?

erstwhile efforts

did you imply italics?

why not write up your theory of titles

Sorta a measured haiku soliloquy?


I can usually tell---not always

Go on.

I can usually tell when---

Soin ten lee I wanna pack the car and go

Joplin, that was an act of God

Unsure whats going on

Are you sitting down.

Will it hurt me?

the rog

that's well beyond

are you sure you wanna go there

no. she's tired.

What now?

She thinks I'm piggish

Well from what you've said about those apricot panties
she's not even forty-one

did you imply italics?

So all I wanted to do is stop for a fucking tomato


I didn't like what I was wearing.

which was what? what were you wearing

jungle camouflage

you mean desert camouflage?

so in the all and all of it

okay....hold it....I have to leave the room...

(pause) I could hear music far off

Whew! I pissed like that guy in animal house!

Thanks for sharing.  Did it stink of asparagus?


Jack moved to the leeward side of the wall.  Out over Lake Michigan, an incessant necklace of planes---all lit up---kept down flapping almost immediately above the O'Hare Auto Plaza, if you cared to listen---right over where if you'd point with your right arm, it would be quarter after 12:00.  He thought of old songs, but the cold wind was out of the northeast, the planes mechanically howling through the darkness.

my battery life has gone to hell

go inside, warm up



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Life is like a game and the winner gets a stick of asparagus...
Nice and more as a eye opener for the day.
Hi Al. That one would breathe in a block of ice, no?
"did you imply italics"--that is my favorite line in a poem chunked with great lines. "Did you imply italics"--the English teacher in me wants to make so much meaning out of that!
Any particular day ... "a measured haiku soliloquy' like
to be or not to be but kept to
17 syllables
...pass the bag, sonny.

Good stuff.
Soin ten lee:apricot panties will drain your battery. Don't boil that asparagus tip too much.
Certainly a 100M ought to be enough. Pick me up at the base of the John Hancock Tower. Lease an FJ7: aqua white top burgundy white top black white top or chromium yellow white top.

On the Road to the Rose Ball. Cannes, $88K in small bills.

Tickets on me you fork the gasoline. I have many places to stay. I'll sleep, mostly. No. I'll do 62% of the driving, 80% of the talking, and control LOUD RADIO, waiting for Abraxas, digitally reminiscent of Tom Hartman's succinctness, and some type of quid pro quo (much ballyhooed) 'balance'.

I haven't told her.

Roberta would know, the wanderlust of my play, the all of it. We'll catch Route 80, Collinsville then westward ho, through the arc of progress.
You may of course overnight in Columbus, OH. We'll keep in touch via the Ma Bell system. A bus of course adds to the lack of agility, and I can't get away until the 28th. Have I mentioned that I am well organized? I should be able to develop my jacket cam (Hopper, Apocalypse Now) and 'crown-like' headband of micro cams.

And we'll talk all of this through. Driving, driving.

Ultimately, one would volunteer for dissemination *through the particle collider*, but, really, it is not your problem.

Pack light. What'a say?

Unless you're on the private plane level. That would streamline things. I would anticipate a 'new car smell' and baking soda in the ashtray. Also, I am having my teeth whitened. Over exposure is a drag, as I know.

Why is it always about Freud?

Is it something that he said? The voices in his head?

There is no coincidence.


Leave me here. I'll be at the Milwaukee Yacht Club, then, on the first day of the New Year. One can see the Calatrava from there. Knee deep (ice permitting) allow me to read Kenneth Patchen's *Green Ledge* ah-loud:
how's it go?! Cast off 'ol soul, I with thee, thou with me....

The purple glint of death, you say. Okay, high impact ( big footprint) grapes. Bring it on, Cannes.

*from the Chronicles: Dancing with Batman [usual and customary RSVP ala' Writers Guild, Inc.]

Go on now. Paint me Pogo. I can hear the trumpets. I just wanna smell the flowers!
As the dust motes settled on the hissing radiator a myriad of unthoughts assailed the squirming corduroy lad as he stammered; on his way to June baseball.
Hello hello.

Strength is over estimated.

That's where you'll find me---[sic]
Boz Scaggs Lowdown live 2004 - YouTube
Vietnam War-House of the Rising Sun

Vietnam War, We Gotta Get Out Of This Place

Polarization - Definition and More from the Free Merriam-Webster ...
The Zombies - She's Not There

writing like this amazes me ~ to be able to pick and chose lines like this, each one meaning many things, or nothing at all...left me smiling throughout and deriving my own enjoyment...thanks~
HH thank you!

Wisconsin activists like you remind me that this is still America.

Wish that some of my electronic writing were 'cleaner', that it would be more juvenile friendly. On the other hand, kids read the environment and probably have an innate sense of the potential for cataclysmic fail. I knew long ago that people of good will were in deep jeopardy. The on-going fissure of compassion, the near opaque meandering of the advance guard, the pure survivalist dilemma shorn of aesthetics for its own sake due to the ravages of 'life in our times'.

And yet we are the lucky ones, free as doves, sailors upon small ponds.

The respondent to your beautiful words is off track in a meager sort of 'other imposed humility' as there is no pure sound, yet a world of listeners. Earlier this morning, Dr. DeNuccio set me searching 'metaphor' and I found rich discussion of the all in all, primarily in what Thurber tried to say.

You know what I mean, HH, love is Coca-Cola!

Oh andago G0 RED BADGER.

The time is never right, it is now!

Grand Old Badger State! Yoga! Harrier fucking jump jets! Erasers!

my battery life has gone to hell...

implying italics; must one ask? in Philly vernacular, probably not. implication being the lesser of the question.
Welcome avatar, young athletic Friday night lights in his eyes kinda guy. Hey dada hey.
Good morning, Rita.

The photo is several months older than forty seven years. The so-called Domino Theory was in the news, LBJ had just defeated Barry Goldwater, and I wound up in the hospital with a violent concussion.

And, eclectically, deep in the '64--pursuant to Google's infinite memory, Albert DeSalvo the Boston Strangler was arrested. The Bay of Tonkin Resolution declared a de facto war on North Vietnam and, "within a year, 200,000 U.S. troops were on the ground."

'The House of the Rising Sun', (Animals) was the number one popular song.

My friend and I took a bus to see the Beatles at the Milwaukee Arena but had no tickets. Outside, on a cold blustery night behind a yellow wooden barricade, their limo sped past and we saw Paul McCarthy waving a white scarf.

I was still a coupleathree years away from the very good years, the beginning, fascinated by the whatchamacallit, the game.
In 64 I was five, we had just moved to a big old Victorian house, I learned to read by stealing my older sister's Dick and Jane books. My days were spent outside playing wiffle ball and capture. My grandparents came to live with us and life inexplicably changed.
This boy above has a hopeful but not too hopeful look. I like that.
So what do you think I should do?

Maybe start a coffee ranch with fresh A & P 8 O'Clock beans?

If you and your significant overnight here x 10:00 a.m the 8th,
I'm show you Le Trec's 'Lady on Trapeze'. Sting your eyes, it must, those pastels.

Also, dear friend, lovely Rita, Kodak needs a moment, Kodiak pang of hunger, and it is such a day.

A cold sun shined Saturday of opportunity to induce F E V E R, Rita,
maybe find that ice bucket after all. Or ice skate after the S H O W!

Iam drawing a circular car. Six, maybe seven ball tires: rimmed with light (s). Burnished metal mostly wrapped in thick vinyl. Probably with solar panels and it breathes, fueled by oxygen.

As quiet as sunlight.
So what do you think I should do?

Maybe start a coffee ranch with fresh A & P 8 O'Clock beans?

If you and your significant overnight here x 10:00 a.m the 8th,
I'll show you Le Trec's 'Lady on Trapeze'. Sting your eyes, it must, the pastel.

Also, dear friend, Kodak needs a moment, Kodiacs pang of hunger, and it is such a day.

A cold sun shined Saturday of opportunity to induce F E V E R,
maybe find that ice bucket after all. Or ice skate after the S H O W.

I am drawing a circular car. Six, maybe seven ball tires: rimmed with light. Burnished metal wrapped in thick vinyl. Probably solar panels and it breathes, fueled by oxygen. As quiet as sunlight.
Diamonds and Rust - Live, 1975
Joan Baez- Live In Concert 196Joan Baez- Live In Concert 1965 (Part 1 of 3)5 (Part 1 of 3)Joan Baez- Live In Concert 1965 (Part 1 of 3)Joan Baez- Live In Concert 1965 (Part 1 of 3)Joan Baez- Live In Concert 1965 (Part 1 of 3)Joan Baez- Live In Concert 1965 (Part 1 of 3)Joan Baez- Live In Concert 1965 (Part 1 of 3)Joan Baez- Live In Concert 1965 (Part 1 of 3)
Blowing In the Wind  1976.5.23
I'd like to buy the world an I pAd. Thanks, SJ.

Celebration At Big Sur Part 3 - Joan Baez
The Lost Performance of We Shall Overcome
Saw her live in a small beautiful old theater in Wilmington about six years ago. Luminous is a good word. Closed my eyes and felt her voice soar into the vaulted spaces. The layers of it, high and then dark.
Will follow the links, this morning in PA, the moon still in the sky.
Mike & The Mechanics - The living Years
Mike & The Mechanics - The living Years
Working on a disc(s) for catatonics, Rita. Preciate the always appropriate poetic stream you proffer her.

I know too much.

Fresh grapes, a swish, and some R. Or. Bison, simulcast over J.B.
s interview at Walter Reed.

fucking bullhorns on the river.

bring it
I'm with Algis on this one!