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Live flamingos are used as mallets and hedgehogs as balls and Alice once again meets the Cheshire Cat. The Queen of Hearts then orders the Cat to be beheaded, only to have her executioner complain that this is impossible since the head is all that can be seen of him. Because the cat belongs to the Duchess, the Queen is prompted to release the Duchess from prison to resolve the matter. She ruminates on finding morals in everything around her. The Queen of Hearts dismisses her on the threat of execution and she introduces Alice to the Gryphon , who takes her to the Mock Turtle.

The Mock Turtle is very sad, even though he has no sorrow. He tries to tell his story about how he used to be a real turtle in school, which the Gryphon interrupts so they can play a game. Chapter Eleven — Who Stole the Tarts? The jury is composed of various animals, including Bill the Lizard , the White Rabbit is the court's trumpeter, and the judge is the King of Hearts. During the proceedings, Alice finds that she is steadily growing larger. The dormouse scolds Alice and tells her she has no right to grow at such a rapid pace and take up all the air.

Alice scoffs and calls the dormouse's accusation ridiculous because everyone grows and she cannot help it. Meanwhile, witnesses at the trial include the Hatter, who displeases and frustrates the King through his indirect answers to the questioning, and the Duchess's cook. Chapter Twelve — Alice's Evidence : Alice is then called up as a witness.

She accidentally knocks over the jury box with the animals inside them and the King orders the animals be placed back into their seats before the trial continues. The King and Queen order Alice to be gone, citing Rule 42 "All persons more than a mile high to leave the court" , but Alice disputes their judgement and refuses to leave. She argues with the King and Queen of Hearts over the ridiculous proceedings, eventually refusing to hold her tongue.

The Queen shouts her familiar "Off with her head! Alice's sister wakes her up from a dream, brushing what turns out to be some leaves and not a shower of playing cards from Alice's face. Alice leaves her sister on the bank to imagine all the curious happenings for herself. Alice Liddell herself is there, while Carroll is caricatured as the Dodo because Dodgson stuttered when he spoke, he sometimes pronounced his last name as Dodo-Dodgson.

It has been suggested by some writers that The Hatter is a reference to Theophilus Carter , a furniture dealer known in Oxford. Tenniel apparently drew the Hatter to resemble Carter, on a suggestion of Carroll's. These are the Liddell sisters: Elsie is L. The Mock Turtle speaks of a Drawling-master, "an old conger eel", who came once a week to teach "Drawling, Stretching, and Fainting in Coils". This is a reference to the art critic John Ruskin , who came once a week to the Liddell house to teach the children drawing , sketching , and painting in oils.

The children did, in fact, learn well; Alice Liddell, for one, produced a number of skilful watercolours. The Mock Turtle also sings "Turtle Soup". Martin Gardner and other scholars have shown the book to be filled with many parodies of Victorian popular culture, suggesting it belongs in spirit with W. Gilbert and Alfred Cellier 's Topsyturveydom. Most of the book's adventures may have been based on and influenced by people, situations and buildings in Oxford and at Christ Church , e.

A carving of a griffon and rabbit, as seen in Ripon Cathedral , where Carroll's father was a canon, may have provided inspiration for the tale. Since Carroll was a mathematician at Christ Church, it has been suggested [23] [24] that there are many references and mathematical concepts in both this story and Through the Looking-Glass ; examples include:. Literary scholar Melanie Bayley asserted in the magazine New Scientist that Dodgson wrote Alice in Wonderland in its final form as a scathing satire on new modern mathematics that were emerging in the midth century.

It has been suggested by several people, including Martin Gardner and Selwyn Goodacre, [23] that Dodgson had an interest in the French language, choosing to make references and puns about it in the story. It is most likely that these are references to French lessons—a common feature of a Victorian middle-class girl's upbringing. For example, in the second chapter Alice posits that the mouse may be French.

Pat's "Digging for apples" could be a cross-language pun , as pomme de terre literally; "apple of the earth" means potato and pomme means apple. In the second chapter, Alice initially addresses the mouse as "O Mouse", based on her memory of the noun declensions "in her brother's Latin Grammar , 'A mouse — of a mouse — to a mouse — a mouse — O mouse!

The sixth case, mure ablative is absent from Alice's recitation. In the eighth chapter, three cards are painting the roses on a rose tree red, because they had accidentally planted a white-rose tree that The Queen of Hearts hates. Red roses symbolised the English House of Lancaster , while white roses were the symbol for their rival House of York. While the book has remained in print and continually inspires new adaptations, the cultural material from which it draws has become largely specialized knowledge.

Dr Leon Coward asserts the book 'suffers' from "readings which reflect today's fascination with postmodernism and psychology, rather than delving into an historically informed interpretation," and speculates that this has been partly driven by audiences encountering the narrative through a 'second-hand' source, explaining "our impressions of the original text are based on a multiplicity of reinterpretations. We don't necessarily realise we're missing anything in understanding the original product, because we're usually never dealing with the original product. Carina Garland notes how the world is "expressed via representations of food and appetite", naming Alice's frequent desire for consumption of both food and words , her 'Curious Appetites'.

After the riddle "Why is a raven like a writing-desk? Nina Auerbach discusses how the novel revolves around eating and drinking which "motivates much of her [Alice's] behaviour", for the story is essentially about things "entering and leaving her mouth". The manuscript was illustrated by Dodgson himself who added 37 illustrations—printed in a facsimile edition in The first print run was destroyed or sold to America [31] at Carroll's request because he was dissatisfied with the quality. The book was reprinted and published in John Tenniel 's illustrations of Alice do not portray the real Alice Liddell , who had dark hair and a short fringe.

Alice has provided a challenge for other illustrators, including those of by Charles Pears and the full series of colour plates and line-drawings by Harry Rountree published in the inter-War Children's Press Glasgow edition. The book Alice in Wonderland failed to be named in an poll of the publishing season's most popular children's stories.

Generally it received poor reviews, with reviewers giving more credit to Tenniel's illustrations than to Carroll's story. At the release of Through the Looking-Glass , the first Alice tale gained in popularity and by the end of the 19th century Sir Walter Besant wrote that Alice in Wonderland "was a book of that extremely rare kind which will belong to all the generations to come until the language becomes obsolete".

The first print run of 2, was held back because Tenniel objected to the print quality. The text blocks of the original edition were removed from the binding and sold with Dodgson's permission to the New York publishing house of D. The binding for the Appleton Alice was virtually identical to the Macmillan Alice , except for the publisher's name at the foot of the spine.

The title page of the Appleton Alice was an insert cancelling the original Macmillan title page of , and bearing the New York publisher's imprint and the date The entire print run sold out quickly. Alice was a publishing sensation, beloved by children and adults alike. Among its first avid readers were Queen Victoria [34] and the young Oscar Wilde. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland has been translated into at least 97 languages, [36] or as many as languages.

The book is commonly referred to by the abbreviated title Alice in Wonderland , which has been popularised by the numerous stage, film and television adaptations of the story produced over the years. The following list is a timeline of major publication events related to Alice's Adventures in Wonderland :.

The book has inspired numerous film and television adaptations which have multiplied as the original work is now in the public domain in all jurisdictions. The following list is of direct adaptations of Adventures in Wonderland sometimes merging it with Through the Looking-Glass , not other sequels or works otherwise inspired by the works such as Tim Burton 's film Alice in Wonderland :. Alice in Wonderland — was a comic strip adaptation drawn by Edward D. Kuekes and written by Olive Ray Scott.

This version also featured a " topper " strip, Knurl the Gnome. The strip was distributed by United Feature Syndicate. The first full major production of 'Alice' books during Carroll's lifetime was Alice in Wonderland , a musical play by H. As the book and its sequel are Carroll's most widely recognised works, they have also inspired numerous live performances, including plays, operas, ballets, and traditional English pantomimes. Spanish Word Formation 1st Edition. Toshiba 46gu User Manual. Hp Photosmart Plus User Manual. Copeland Compressors Cross Reference Guide. Gordon Ramsays Ultimate Home Cooking.

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What happened to the pen? What the hell is only the top of my pen doing in my shirt pocket with the empty candy bar wrapper? I should have stopped around verse number four. Go back and start over. Stop before you come to the part where I start eating the candy bar. I get run off the road once a week average cars, trucks, jeeps machines with 4 wheels.

Up ahead I see a rose garden in full bloom and out in the middle of it sniffing the roses are two old ladies rosy-cheeked curly white hair cute in an old-fashioned way. Go find your own piece of ass! I want to get low real low deep down and dirty below like a low blow to the scrotum I want to get high. I want to go sideways slip, slide, sideways onto parallel world highways I want to get high. I want to go around around and around I want to ride the merry-go-room I want to see the backside of the womb I want to get high see the dark side of the moon.

I never challenge the cars on these narrow tractor roads I pull over and stop on the edge of the grass with my foot on the verge and wait for them to pass. I am not being polite. Yesterday a driver smiled and waved as he rolled by inches from my bike. I gave him a sneer and felt like flipping him the bird. There would be no end. Do not attempt to waltz without a partner. Do not smoke an imaginary cigarette. Not only will you look silly and stupid they might lock you up if you persist in your behavior. However, there are a few things you can get away with. You can and must throw caution to the wind especially when the teeth of the wind is at your back and caution is standing in front of you making nasty comments about your family.

Two little old ladies out for a stroll along a country road at sunset. And as I flash past they look into my eyes and see the other end of the gangplank. They look into my eyes and see the spinning blade of my chainsaw soul.

I am constantly amazed by the garbage that idiots toss from their car windows because I know they would never toss all this crap in their own backyards. I refuse to pick it up. Even on one self-designated road I will not begin to be their janitor. The back of my bike would be sagging with bulging garbage bags. I would disappear behind a mountain of beer cans, pop bottles burger bags and cigarette packs.

How could I ignore them? You get the picture. I held a gun to his head. He was on his knees trembling with fear. I pulled the trigger The bullet blew his brains out the back of his skull. Brought along a D harp today. Held it up in the north wind as I pedaled straight into it. Got a nice D major chord going, got it up to my ear. No human could play that long. I rejoiced in the harvest and I gathered spilled grains of wheat on the road with my hands and brought them home and put them in a bowl by the door to honor the spirits of the earth.

You never can tell about them. I still like This Road especially with the wind at my back and the sun in my eyes and my hands reaching all the way down thru the handlebars into the front tire where my fingers can almost touch the black top. And as soon as these words are out of my mouth lo and behold a convoy of bulldozers back hoes, shovels and rollers plus a troop of men comes swarming over the hill. When I reach the top I look back and there below in the dip of the road a brand new wooden bridge spans the drainage ditch.

Phantom American bombers from W. Two destroyed the bridge last night also wiping out a phantom battalion of their own troops. Then a phantom of the U. Army Corps of Engineers moved in and restored the drainage ditch to its original form according to the antique codes in the authentic style of late 18th century grills. I hop over it, hit high gear and head for the top of the hill. I still like this road a lot. Good place to come when I feel like crying.

Ride back out into the bright sunlight thumbing snot into the slipstream of the hard north wind with my soul purified and my heart beating in the right direction again. The next time I saw the dog he was riding a bicycle. He wanted to have leg muscles like mine. Back on This Road coasting down the hill from the south ahead in the dip I see the bridge that spans the drainage ditch with planks of carved oak. I fly over it like a moon-shot monkey.

Look back over my shoulder. No bridge. Just that rusted, busted grill over the drainage ditch. I imagined it all. You can actually see This Road over there to the west. You can see the barn. You can see the fence posts. French speakers? As for those tokes of wonder weed in the wayside chapel consider them burnt offerings to the goddess Our Lady of Sorrow. A hunting dog in the middle of a beet field comes over and sniffs at me.

Dog Sniff Death Row? On Dog Sniff Death Row. Where did you grown up? Dog Sniff Death Row. Where do you live today? You can put on the dog you can take off the fat you can stick in the mud of green greasy dollars. I biked past the Borg again it was still there Jesus fart in heaven what did I expect? Headwind, tailwind they all even out they become the same sail on the tail rejoice in the head. There is no Teaching No 7.

You already know it. In the dark. Never leave your bike where wild animals can get at it The most untamed beast of all is, of course, the human brat He comes in all sizes from Peanutbrat to Geezerbrat. If push comes to shove with the Peanut Brats snarl loudly and show them your fangs. The bicycle is a musical instrument. And the only time you can hear it is when your mind wanders.

The phenomena of man and machine occupying the same shifting spots of space at the same time or if you prefer the delicious discontinuous blend of bone and metal grease and blood and air everywhere inside and out. Each breath you take could be your last. Bicycles do not have a monopoly on this morsel of knowledge. You can learn it while operating a power drill with one hand and a chain saw with the other. You can learn it playing poker with guys with guns. You can learn it in a bar dancing with a pound Mexican whore while her jealous husband watches from the shadows honing his knife blade on his belt and she, pointing to the room upstairs, reminds you that no less than 14 men have died in her arms including her 6 previous husbands.

This lesson can also be taught by a guy named Gus who drives a school bus and chortles with glee each and everytime he swerves out of the way to smash a rabbit or a skunk a chipmunk or a squirrel a dog or a cat a frog or a toad into the tarmac while his busload of kids scream with delight each time a tire bumps over a lump of squirming meat. There is no fall out here on the farm roads out here in the cold wind riding directly into the setting sun blinded by the light riding into some kind of resurrection.

Leaving heading south into French-speaking Hesbaye why am I in a hurry? I climb south into the Hesbaye and when I emerge from the cool, steep tunnel of trees and rise above the high banks I find the sun perched on the horizon half down its arc of light like a neon sign at a burger joint next to the church in the distant village. Besides I still consider myself the most dangerous animal around. This is a completely different summer. East is west and south is down the back of my neck. Last day of June Who said that? See what I mean?

It just crept up out of the wheat field and jumped into my lap. The Notebook Gate. Chemin Des Parapluies. Elderly elegant ladies strolling in the rain, in the hot sun, Jack jumping out from the corn knee high and snatching them umbrellas away. Nobody in sight. I wanted that. Just a leaky airplane up there above the clouds a million and a half betraves a broken soccer ball a mile of sunshine a graveyard a hedgerow with sparrows and a tree full of songbirds but not a crow in sight.

It was a big black SUV the driver had his door open and his naked legs propped thru the open window and from the passenger side drifted the aroma of sweet perfume and a few strings of a romantic melody. I know what it was. It was a bordello. A cat house on wheels. Special service for midgets [High Point] I left my bottle of water down on Chemin Des Parapluies last stop when my pen ran out of ink and I had to delve into my kit bag for a fresh one, then the rolling bordello rolled by and I forgot to pick up the bottle so now the Chemin has everything including a whore house and a drink of water [High Point].

I came back and got the bottle. My 75cl Vittel with the squirt pointed top that I never use it was still there I could see it from a hundred meters away from the crossroad as an elegant elderly lady on a bicycle turned in from the side road and disappeared down Chemin Des Parapluies. There it was standing up straight on the paving stone edge in a pale of sunlight how many people had passed it by? It has a name.

POEMS – Tucker Zimmerman

Rue Cinq Bonniers. What does that mean, Jack? So which way do I go? Back around again past the floating funhouse? But the bordello is gone. Where is that load of very small prostitutes going? There only one place down at the end of the road. The graveyard. We met Jack Kerouac today. That was a good thing. I needed him. I also did not mention the house I passed where lives a potential love affair if only would be foolish enough to stop and ring the doorbell. They were not to be seen. They called down from the cloud above the house and their opinion on the potential love affair was to be expected.

Two Trees Road was a dream. Floated all the way down with the south wind nipping at my back in winter I came down here thru a field of snow a road with no borders just a wide expanse of frozen white across which I took my bearings from distant trees and it took me a half hour or more today a couple of zippy minutes at the most.

This is what happens when you mix a puff of weed with two wheels. Take another puff and let the south wind chew off your collar. This Notebook Gate is only for what happens in the collective mind of that creature of me and two wheels and moving parts of the most wonderful machine that man has ever invented. And of course I am breaking this rule as I intrude it upon the freehwheeling spin of this gate. The puff shall be optional. The Two Wheels the most essential. Same thing as yesterday, Jack. Denim shirt loose open in front black t. This pair of levis and another arrived in the mail a week after she died.

They are now starting to wear out and I am starting to wear out too. I can only take so many washings it seems. This pair is at that soft, peak-of-arc stage just before the fade. Mother Mary she is small. She is small. We are all small. I bid Jack to hop on my left shoulder.

And I feel Dylan in the shape of a mystical butterfly fluttering down and trying to land on my right shoulder. Due west and flat. High Road. Up Pissing Road. The first to be named. It was inevitable. This was 4 or 5 years ago, one of our first trips together. Thunder Road. It was the second to be named. And I just got my crow. He could smell me too. So could his 5 companions. I hear sharp pucking noises coming from my right shoulder, soft and professional.

Then I hear massive gasping and gulping on my left.

How many more days do you have past the 31st? These are the trips I like the most. They flew straight ahead down the road yards then swooped up to the telephone wires to perch. They waited for me to pass underneath. Then he spoke. I learned that cows are stoned all the time. Alone at the fountain 1st day of July not even Jack Kerouac showed up.

I saw that yesterday. Go flop somewhere else. I hate sitting on these things. Water, man. I can see now that this Notebook Gate is not going to be written on the run. This Gate needs repose. It needs restful verbs and it wants to take a good look at all the adjectives too. The voices and the verbs pile up, spill out and get lost forever which means that much of this will be written in the pasture bedtime type of tension.

The nouns have it : green upon green with yellow-tip wheat and flax clouds bouncing around, dueling with rain hard, sharp sunlight south-west wind shifting around to the south. Taking no chances today. I think he passed out. Flopped out over my shoulder. And she does have a Japanese voice. Get lost. Hard Luck Road. Used to call it Rum Road, three years ago returning from Les Waleffes with the last pint of rum from the shelves of the village shop going out of business, drunk at twilight and not knowing it until I started rolling down Rum Road.

The Verlaine Speed Road has other names too. The Mean Machine Road from when Quanah was a kid and the huge rusted iron cow shit claw over the slop pit reminded him of mechanical monsters that do not hide their human nature, also known as Treasure Card Street. High Point Hesbaye. I used to think cows were dumb. Stoned out of their horny heads. I was a boy. So I guess I was a cowboy. I wore a baseball cap and I drove a pick up truck. I thought he heard a marching band, but it was an ambulance walking across the land on two lumpy feet, dragging one, sliding, slurring it along thru the dust.

I thought it was Gerry Mulligan Quartet tuning up. You dig Mulligan? I come from a weird place, from between the Sons of the Pioneers and Hank Ballard and the Midnighters. They say the cuckoo wobbles when she flies. One flew east. Somewhere between Moondog and Leadbelly. Between the dog and the belly. Not bop. Jimmy Reed high harmonica. Face to face with my death. Red gold setting sun reflected in the rims of my glasses.

This is not face to face. We got pig iron. We got John Lee Hooker. If you squint your ears she could be playing bar music in the atrium lobby of some fancy downtown hotel. He wanted to sleep he wanted to dream a dream of impossible dimensions so vast he could walk from one end to the other and discover he was back at the beginning of his life and that his dream was identical to his life — tho backwards and not once did he have to repeat a single moment. I pressed my palms onto the moss and the dead leaves still half-alive with the evening dew.

So what happened to that guitar? Did you learn to play it? Did you become a second Segovia? Or did you smash it against a chair after coming home from a Jerry Lee Lewis concert? So stop complaining. Two out of three is not that bad. Georges ]. Boy, am I lucky to have legs.

I am lucky to have legs. And by his side on a leash trotted the tiniest dog you ever did see. It weighed no more than a pint and a half it got a few smiles got lots of laughs pound laughters tons of belly jelly rolling and trembling shuddering, slobbering it went on all day it continued at night the little dog bounced and yipped with delight. We had to hold her down at first but after a while she stopped kicking and screaming and we had some fun. Marie Claire would have been better off phoning the baraquis down on the corner and exchanging a few words with their wild dog.

I had to spit them out. I can say anything I can say hum I can cay humdinger I can say it so loudly you will almost see it in print ham bunker rim runner gum bummer plump numb deaf and dumber anything. I can say anything I want I can say hump for example I can say Bump and Blimp listen to me say Lump and Limp went out in a Pumpo Bean, built a leap across Lake-on-Terrible with a lick warm puke box and a charmed arm load of J.

And look at his passport. He never combs his hair and that black t. There must be an inch of dust on the glass. I take bite out of the do-nut Bear just brought to me from the village baker while I waited in the car staring at the door of the village church and listened to its bell bong out the hour. I was about five I had my hands stuck in the pockets of my shorts which were hooked over my shoulders with elastic suspenders I had my hair slicked over with a wet comb this is before they found out I needed glasses I was leaning back, looking up into the blurry, blurred eyes of the brooding drunk and laughing and laughing HA!

What more can you ask? O is a zero. Oh my. No amount of persuasion will ever get it to lie down on its side It just rolls away and comes back again It connects the Irish. I sings. What a burden. What confusion. It gets in the way. Does it still get in the way? You know what to do. Y is an old hippie trucking along thinking about thinking and taking it easy does it, man not bothering to bother to explain why or what and where are we anyway? Give him space. T take a T to dinner give him some meat a t-bone steak grilled mean streaks. G gut smoke rolls right over into gas its goes whiz its goes gash and god and gobble around the gooseberry gush.

C as explained above C has had a hard life road torn and ripped with strife rolled out of rock and rocked out of love. F hovers above you like something bad you might do heavy and heartbroken shivers over you like a sinbad fingersnap. Spanish sweep with it? Greeks sleep with it? M entire book shelves have been written with the help of M You might need a B once in awhile and a D will do just nicely in a pinch when you come to the last paragraph.

U is it something you want to keep? I slump, I sleek I slink with my feet I claw and cheat watch me snatch and catch a batch of wild and wingless menacing meat. No, wait let me guess — — nothing. His name was Bo Fiddley Flop and he lived between Hysteria and a state of Boredom between the devil and the deep blue sleep who knows how many times he had to sing before they opened his cage and let him flop around on the floor.

His name was Meataphysical Mix and he lived from drag to drag with one foot loose in the Fancy Free and one boxcar fist on the gravy train you never saw him come into town without his neck in a knot dragging a noose and a hot-wired battery cable snaked thru his belt loops and stuck up his ass where it sparked and ignited each puff of gas with a muffled explosion that brought a distant look of nostalgia to his eyes. His name was Zimmer Mangoose and he lived between a Moment Too Late and the Next Best Thing he was so sensitive he was worthless everytime he looked up he was climbing down.

I push a button on my cell phone to see what day it is I was in Belgium numb feet on frozen ground then I was in the air riding the thermal bumps then I was sitting in a car zipping down the left side of the highway no steering wheel in my hands. I carry my notebook around the house with me everywhere I go just in case the word waves come crashing in and catch me standing on one foot like a long-legged water bird who lives on mosquitoes and thin air.

Oh look. I skipped the 4th downpour tho its water turned the steep alley by the house into a creek. I can picture the people climbing the mountains with a spoon in one hand and a shotgun in the other be interesting to see who gets the last drop. You talk too much! I saw the sky this afternoon I walked out under it I saw the snow sprinkled on the mountains to the north I stood and watched as fog swirled in around the snow until the mountains were completely hidden.

I feed the birds out under the olive tree every morning two slices of brown bread they like it I pick up an extra loaf at the bakery I prefer the white. I step out the front door the flagstones are dry the moon almost full scoots along behind the clouds and I feel a pinch of spring in the air. I can see now why some people might get a little confused about how many days it rains in Cyprus each year. I sweep around Eucalyptus Corner slow, stop to pick up a branch blown down by the storm last night. I did the dishes at 3 AM and there was nothing great about it maybe I should have waited until when the fun really starts.

I pass more people than I count in a year and tho none of them are jumping for joy neither am I. Love stories are the only kind of stories worth reading. Parker to strum the lobes of my restless brain no Bruce Chatwin or Greil Marcus to assure me that my dreams will be simple, peaceful and harmless. I want to ride I want to float thru Paris down the Quai des Fleurs after midnight I want my tiny red eyes to wink and blink I want to smooth out all the roads all the way thru Place Dauphine and across Pont Neuf and all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge and back.

I feel a vague Mother Mary fixation coming to light here in Paris when I park my butt in the side alcove with the madonna just standing there waiting to drop her alabaster cloak and I start crying. Jean of Montmartre made of brick at Place des Abbesses? Paris Saturday night dampened with showers keeps the yahoos inside shivering in shelters only a few careless cruisers out under wrinkled umbrellas. Paris is sensational at night in the rain like a spinning top a gyroscope filled with tiny lights that will never fall over.

Saturday night approaching midnight the place is packed with Parisians alcoholics like me Havana Club 3 years goes down like silk stockings on a Bukowski whore. Kerouac Ginsberg Derroll too me how about that? Rimbaud and Rilke? Le Petit Prince is a shop do they have any stuffed squirrels behind their darkened window?

I come out right in front of a domed palace and Pont des Arts boardwalk 35 past midnight on the dome clock who can contain me? I place my fingertips against the wall over my bed and flick my bandana at the opposite wall almost touches the back of the closet the other direction is a snap fingertips above my pillow my bandana flicks out between the bars of my open prison window what can contain me? And just as I pull up the leg of my shorts and turn on the hot water the SINKPISS police knock down the door and bust me for pollution where is my beautiful white-gloved loitering cop when I need her the most?

What a way to end the day. Jacques now shackled in scaffolding under repair, towering dominating, all boarded up waiting for resurrection. Jacques blockhouse I see the blue and silver tubes of Beaubourg. I chopped the onions I peeled the ginger I sliced the cucumbers it was a delicious dinner. I might be the first bum to wear a baseball cap off the field in Europe or so San Diego Padres burnt brown and yellow no adjustable strap in back I wore a cap to keep the sun out of my eyes, still do a good rain break for glasses too.

I go thru it once or more likely twice a year and I barely have the strength to pick myself up from the floor after each event. I hear a car coming up from behind fast from the corner of my eye I catch a last glimpse of the flashing sign the number shifts to kph the car blasts past leaving me with a cloud of dust and a temporarly-shattered brain. I squeak my door with the partridge I coo with the dove I hoot with the owl we hoot about love. I lent a sympathetic ear the hammer and chisels were useless just a way to knock out his frustration there was nothing I could do to help.

I already knew I was going to hell for kicking the cows in the bags after milking when they disobeyed my whims and were slow leaving the barn. Forest Service at dusk we stood around the back of a pick up shooting at bats impossible to hit by the way they flit and I grabbed a.

Coffee recruiting officer for the U. Navy I dated his daughter in high school I almost fucked her he was afraid of that me too. Coffee former crewmate of the U. S, Nautilus now recruiting agent for the U. June 26, , waking from a dream of James Emanuel whom I met a couple of days ago in Namur and whose poems I was reading this morning before going to sleep. This poem is not about James tho I see the scene in Paris Jardin des Tuileries and I hear the sounds of French in the air along with the rustling of the leaves.

I used to crank up the old tractor and drive it up the country road a mile or two to see my friend Jim on a hot afternoon. I used to be impressed by what I now consider trivial things bow ties and buttons baseball caps and cards buicks and brass horns. Susan Sontag says when you see a beautiful landscape you see it as a photograph.

Sal Paradise? Leo Percepied? Ray Smith? Shove him in with the groceries and send him home to watch TV. De Louse? I know, James, you know that these days you take your initiations where you can find them. I milked the cows separated the cream slopped the hogs dreamed a dream of a dream of a dream. Why not? How about you, Silvia did you ever run into negativate?

Did you ever use it? I want to talk about Dumb Drivers. Would they wave back? The point is: that god could have been any one of the numerous Gods and Goddesses that guide our lives and hope that we can hear their advice. They only thing the Gods and Goddesses guard are the Gates of the Metaphysical. The Angels have other things to do. As for the Angels, they sometimes get a little out of line and get playful, and tempt you into dangerous waters. How can they? They too have a social life and must have a news update every night around the dinner table — around the old round Metaphysical Table.

It was Goddess of Love, masquerading as an Angel- a trick she likes to play on all gullible souls. I guess it all started in biblical times the old testament, some goon mistaking himself for ALL of you. He must have been blind. He had to be blind. Even I, a much less powerful and influential fool than Moses can tell the difference between a Sex Goddess and a Thunder God. All you have to do is look.

The Thunder God is the guy who runs around ripping up the sky with his fingernails. The Sex Goddess — well, like I said all you gotta do is look. I made the spiral of stone stairs and the curved roof tunnel above them ten feet wide. I could have made the steps only two feet wide I could have made the curved ceiling so low you would have to duck your head. I shake the monkey off my back kick him into a corner turn my head he jumps up sinks his teeth into the back of my neck gives me fuzz gloves.

I knew I would not be mistaken as one of those students martyred by privilege for life when I graduated from San Francisco State.