dailyplanet's Open Salon Blog

Revolt Against the Revolting

Wed, 19 Oct 2011 22:10:26 -0400

Ode to the Odious William Burroughs

Sat, 19 Dec 2009 13:12:25 -0500

Reply to poem: “I Dreamed I Met William Burroughs,” by Franz Wright (Pulitzer Prize for poetry, 2004). Published in The New Yorker, December 14, 2009.

OUR HOST

TOP CHEF OF BODILY COMMISSIONS

Franz, my poet you “enthroned” me in this very “gigantic armchair”

Bohemian Royalty, royally how I’ve sweated in my kitchen, this very chair where stains of my toil are forever enshrined, impervious to solvent, solvency or sanity

all the day through, you know, roiling in amphetamine & dope

And me, me mean visionary I am

Have

WHA LA!

Slaved over masturbatory fantasies

Ejaculated for guests unpalatable savories

For your delectation produced a feast for your eyes

Dig it man,

Dig into the fruits of my bodily fluids

The succulent self-serving pages

To all you cool-cats

Welcome

To my Naked Lunch

To all who gorge and anoint it art

I belch out resoundedly

Ah, ‘twas was nothing but a fart

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POSTSCRIPT

FROM dailyplanet

To prospective female gate crashers:

____________________________________________________

I dreamed I met Burroughs in a nightmare

the nightmare of his own mind where, for one, the feminine form

scentless of essence-de-estrogen dare tread.

(Lady-Chicks beware the best you can receive is a host gift goody-bag of

benzedrine inhalers and an arrow through the head).

History…It’s SO over with

Sat, 21 Nov 2009 14:11:03 -0500

About a month ago I fell down Alice’s rabbit hole. I’m still residing there…a world where nightmare is an understatement. It’s a place I’m still trying to find my way in and out of. The address can’t be determined other than to be described as a location that is a way of life for all those out there cursed with poor health and chronic physical disability.

Yet..even this realm of existence can be said to have its laugh track. I offer some quality of this “humor” inspired by a young woman who was my physical therapist and who in the course of my treatment provided me with a real “belly laugh.” Ouch!

I had a book on my table, a recently published work relating the final years of Leon Trotsky who due to the influence of the artist Diego Rivera and his wife Frieda Kahlo, was provided a sanctuary of sorts… exile in Mexico. He spent his final years there before an agent of his arch enemy Joseph Stalin was able to insert an assassin into the Trotsky “safe house,” enabling said hired killer to plant an ax into Trotsky’s skull.

My physical therapy Miss saw the book and casually inquired whether it was a work of fiction or non-fiction. I answered briefly that it was non-fiction, Leon Trotsky was a communist leader murdered by order of Joseph Stalin.

She paused thoughtfully at this and said, “Stalin…I think I’ve heard of him.”

Henceforth I present a quiz, which I’ve titled: “Did You Deserve Your High School Diploma?”…alternatively titled: “I’m Not As Smart as a High School Senior, class of 1966.”

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QUESTION:

Who is Joseph Stalin?

A. Jon and Kate Gosselin’s family pediatrician

B. Britney Spears choreographer

C. Kanye West’s new public relations representative

D. New guest judge on “Project Runway”

E. Notorious, sadistic dictator of the former Soviet Union

F. Chris Rock’s hairdresser

G. None of the above

Go for it America! Your educational system is a credit to the advancement of human civilization.

Irving Kristol Lost Scribblings Found

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 18:09:03 -0400

Irving Kristol 1920-2009

We must mark the lamentable passing of Irving Kristol, one of the original standard bearers of the neo-conservative movement in America. But amidst the sadness we are heartened to learn that we in this room and people of like mind were in his thoughts in a message that flowed to us from his pen.

In a handkerchief drawer, folded amidst Mr. Kristol’s linen his housekeeper found the following document I am about to share with you. Untitled, the audience for which it was intended is clear. It is without a doubt a call to purpose and celebration of our mission. From a humble pile of hankies treasure was uncovered which I now have the honor of sharing with you:

Town Hall Tea-Bagger Manifesto***

Call me

But not by Truth’s Window

But through a Hatch from the Right

Stir by day

But to Have is to Walk by Night

Keep in mind

However caught---

Well won is well shot

Good Fortune waits for You

For You assemble in honest rank

In the name of those who begot you

So it is. To those who begot the ability of our Movement to mass into demonstrations, they in media, finance, the corporate world, the academic halls, and they the anonymous individuals whose contributions we could not do without, we publically thank you.

So many in number are these patriotic hearts their names have been bound in a portable pamphlet, which is available at the door when you leave.

We thank also that creative member of our group who suggested the cover be a photo of Ayn Rand.

To those not familiar with the inspirational teachings of Ms. Rand, a brief biographical sketch has been included at the front of the booklet. When you read this, I hope you come away considering this great thinker as “The Fairy Godmother” of all we Americans value and cherish…the upholding of the individual resolve to achieve the American Dream of Affluence, unfettered. Or, as we like to joke around, "Hey, Big Government, every man is a law unto himself. Check out The Bill of Rights!"

I need also mention that included is quoted a grateful reminiscence of Ms. Rand by former Federal Reserve Board Chairman, Alan Greenspan. He was an early fan of Ms. Rand’s and has acknowledged her as a mentor who helped steer him onto the correct path in life.

To Mr. Kristol’s son Bill we say--- our hope is that your recently passed father is now resting where he may relive for all eternity his legacy to America.

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***I humbly thank William Shakespeare whose beautiful words (from “King Richard III) I tinkered with in order to craft the Manifesto. I have diverted the context of your prose, but I hope not dishonored the timeless poetry.

ANNA WINTOUR: Wake Up and Smell the Perfume

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 18:09:52 -0400

To Ms. Wintour;

Any one of us who has a passion for fashion knows that websites have been blazing lately with rumor, innuendo and prognostications on the health of Vogue.

I’m a Vogue subscriber who each month looked forward to finding it in my mailbox. It was my pleasure to lounge with it in my lap in front of my sunny window, savoring it, transporting my imagination. Since its first print date, generations ago, Vogue was conceived to be the exemplar of fantasy luxury...the aesthetic of clothes as artistic expressions of self-image.

Vogue was an elite dream book that scented the work-a day world.

For too long a time now my ardor for Vogue has diminished.

As I reach the last page and close the back cover I realize the fragrance of a past love has dissipated and on my fingers lingers the mundane smell of “Eau de News Print.”

The covers themselves have been screaming, obtrusive blurbs of text, awkward graphics stuck around posed celebrities. And can’t the endless covers of movie "stars" be given a rest? There are a glut of magazines out there that cater to that market. I'm not reading Vogue because it's made itself into some glossed up version of a People magazine with high-end advertisers.

Yes, there is the money making side of things. Fashion is a business at bottom, like every other commodity in our consumer society goods are promoted to generate sales. Can’t the profit motive be reconciled to the mission of maintaining and nurturing Vogue's genetic vision?

Praise for you has actually come from bloggers, who would see you in the pantheon of prestige enjoyed by populist rag trade hawkers. One of your cheerleaders applauded you for knowing:

“who actually spends money on her mags, and perhaps she should put some energy into the shopping mall for once!”

"Shopping mall" and Vogue magazine linked together? It should be thought of as uncongenial a concept as pairing beer with caviar.

Ms. Wintour, Let’s toast the sweet smell of success and hurl the beer mugs into the fireplace.