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


NOVEMBER 12, 2012 6:16PM

Perpetual Politics

Rate: 3 Flag



 A President decided
Great news from Ohio
No votes were slighted
All votes count, high and low

A toll tallied, a poll sited,
Tick-tock, just a minute
Campaign 2016 ignited
Never mind how you spin it

2012: shoveled to history
Only a wholesome story
2016: a new mystery
Nothing honky-dory

Of fiscal cliffs
Well son-of-a-bitch!
And medicare riffs 
Let's tax the rich!

Lines to vote
Big budget bloat
While fat cats
Improve the moat

There's no sinners
Only losers, winners
Talking heads, 
And swimmers


Your tags:


Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Recipient's email address:
Personal message (optional):

Your email address:


Type your comment below:
The problem is keeping your head above water for another four years... R&R ;-)
Perhaps the rhyme ship sank
A rehearsal or reversal, blank
A word river sliver, nary contrary, non-iamb
A wordy shore&lore, tales&whales, dang logjam
Batten your trusses, yield your cusses,
Await, however late, soulful iambuses
over here in the Minnesota House 60A, my friend, who is a house husband and a homeschooling Repub, lost 82% to 17.8% - had to toss him a dot. They say it was .002 uptick from the last sap that carried the banner. He always loved a lost cause that Damon. What does one wear to an avatar funeral?
Many Things To Do As Open Salon Loads
1) eat a banana 2) fill banana peel with styrofoam packing peanuts; using scotch tape, seam the fruit back together and replace it in banana bunch on kitchen counter 3) watch a meaningful string of CSI, noting how David Caruso re-positions his shades like Keanu Reeves 4) cruise cable renderings as the OS wheel spins until you find Ice Road Truckers and watch it for twenty minutes before realizing you've seen this episode about the whiteout and the appendicitis attack 5) inventory stationary and make a decision with remaining 'printer paper': print credit bureau or entire blog if access is granted 6) search for 'key words' Minnesota House 60A on geographical map, pondering if instigator of search is a Jodie Foster fanboy 7) smoke several cigarettes continuing to re-alphabetize modest personal library. Wondering what other people do with odd-sized fiction anthologies. A separate category, I suppose. Continue 'alphabetical by author' organization; recalling Kerouac's 'if you own a rug you own too much' and Wolfe's 'you can't go home again' 8) drink another Jelly-Belly tangerine soda 9) outline an avatar's eulogy...note: a snappier 'all occasion' outfit nowadays is jeans and a blazer---clean work boots---the mark of a 'thoughtful' neurotic shut in with sporadic access to his 'work in progress' 10) at the risk of self-describing himself a 'hoarder' a blogger without a blogsite contemplates what to do with a very clean copy of Reader's Digest selected articles LARGE-TYPE EDITION DECEMBER 1977. Notes there is a faint rubber stamp from an area hospital. Flipping through it, this, condensed from Woman's Day, Fredelle Maynard, author: [sic] "Vicky's reaction is an extreme example of a common phenomenon. In a society that places so much emphasis on 'making it.' we fail to recognize that what looks like failure may, in the long run, prove beneficial. When Vicky was able to think coolly about why she was fired, for example, she realized she was not suited to a job dealing with people all the time....People are generally prone to what semanticist S.I. Hayaakawa calls 'the two-valued orientation.' We talk about seeing both sides of a question as if every question had 'only' two sides. We assume that everyone is either a success or a failure when, in fact, infinite degrees of both are possible. As Hayakawa points out, there's a world of difference between 'I have failed three times' and
'I am a failure.' Indeed, the words failure and success cannot be reasonably applied to a complex, living changing human being. They can only describe the situation at a particular time and place...."
Maynard goes on to say [sic] "Success that comes to easily is also damaging. The child who wins a prize for a dashed-off essay, the adult who distinguishes himself at a first job by lucky accident faces probable disappointment when real challenges arise." Etcetera. 11)
11)find appropriate music to potentially analogize a cyber moment of semi consciousness; copy and paste. Realize it is Friday, not Saturday.
12)momentarily dwell on 'phrase-as-word' (italics implied)
>arrested development
John Lennon - Watching The Wheels
John Lennon - Watching The Wheels
dear J.P. Hart;

see sculpture: ‘Kouros’ 1944-45, Isamu Noguchi;

see Museum of Glass, 1801 Dock St., Tacoma, WA.;

see keyword ‘bioart’;

see journal ‘Inflexions’ at Open Humanities Press;

see book ”An (Unlikely) Alliance: Thinking Environment(s) with Deleuze/Guattari”;

see appropriating \ sampling \ collaging \ assembling \ mangling texts (clue: ‘Zeitgeist Spam’).

best regards,
why not
14) Artist (writer) conceptualizes a dot
14b)Artist B (writer) draws line, conceptualizes a dot;
soon the night sky is clear, infinite, though the distant wonder might be construed as star dust beyond 'named' or 'patterned' assembly of known synchronism...the charted 'realm'. Presumably the connected dots precede the line. However, I continue to respect the pedagogical offerings and will attempt to consider 'dot first--lines as synthetic'. Feeling enriched at the moment: tranquil, inventive.