To Charles Bukowski
"I haven't shat or pissed in seven years," she tells him, negotiating each word around the Marlboro.
Because he doesn't know what else to say, Isaiah asks, "Haven't you seen a doctor about that?"
"Of course." Her words fall out white clouds against an off-white carpet and light cream plaster walls. The air is a stinking thick haze of tobacco smoke. There are only a handful of boxes next to them; they sit on the only pieces of furniture he can see, two metal folding chairs. The room is bare.
"If you don't shit or piss for a week the body poisons itself -- drowns in its own filth," she says. "The doctors said there was nothing wrong with me. One or two actually went as far as to say I was lying. But I haven't defecated or urinated for about the last quarter of my life."
"That must be uncomfortable," Isaiah says, his desire to fuck her quickly subsiding with this new bit of information, thus he had no reason to stay. He'd made his delivery -- the last that evening -- a thirty-six pack of downy toilet paper, to one Beatrice Smith who, despite his usual gamut of old ladies and stay-at-home moms, turned out to be an attractive young woman, shorts tight enough to count her change at a glance and a tight white T-shirt thin enough to see the absence of a bra. Her hair was tied back in a red bandana. When she turned to get him the money and a drink he decided she had the best ass he'd seen in months. So they sat down for drinks, he a beer and she a Long Island iced tea. Then she told him she hadn't shat in seven years.
Kill the beer and go, he thinks. Bitch is crazy. Still. "So, why order the largest and most expensive package of toilet paper?" he asks indicating the behemoth sitting next to him.
She shrugs. "Entertaining guests. I've made a rule, you see. Once I've run through three of these I move. That usually takes about a year of entertaining guests, boyfriends and whoever else walks in."
"So," Isaiah says, "you have a certain threshold of shit you take before you move."
The wind blows, the apartment groans and the rain slaps the window at the termination of freezing, forming a sliding layer of ice on the glass. It looks like the whole world is melting.
"Want another drink?" Beatrice asks.
"Yeah," Isaiah says before he realizes he's handing her his empty. He calls to her after she disappears into the kitchen. "So, how long have you been doing the one-year-and-then-move thing?"
"Since your problems started?"
"Since my problems started?" she says and it sounds like she's telling the punchline of a dirty joke. "My problems started a long time before that."
She reemerges from the kitchen, hands him his beer, sits down and gets to work on a martini. "
There were plenty of ways that I could’ve developed an active interest in writing that would’ve sounded much nobler and more romantic than the real story when related years later. For example, I had an early affinity for language that lead to me reading well by the time I was 2 years old and teaching my Polish nanny English when I was 4. That could’ve blossomed into a convenient, provocative memoir of a boy genius that had all the signs of being the next brilliant literary mind. It would’ve made for a good biopic about me years later, probably with Phillip Seymour Hoffman as the lead (with his hair dyed brown, I think it’d work) or an equally cerebral presence. You could have watched it and said, “Oh, wow, he’s already reading! How ironic that he became such an incredible writer! He was destined for greatness!” I was romantic, imaginative, playful, enthusiastic, just like most kids, really. I was a misfit, and not by choice, which is GREAT for establishing creative faculties in anyone. And the bullies, my God, I had the best bullies. I couldn’t have possibly gotten luckier with my antagonists. It could’ve been the story of enthusiasm and artistic verve overcoming negativity and emerging triumphant, yielding a phenomenal writing talent that would change the world and inspire everyone. Of course, then I went ahead and forgot all about the whole “having a phenomenal writing talent that would change the world and inspire everyone” prerequisite for that storyline. Poor narrative development, on my part. As it happens, I started writing almost entirely out of spite for the English teacher I had during my freshman year of high school who told me that I should consider dropping down to intermediate (as opposed to advanced) English because of my troubles with writing papers. That’s it. The pieces were all there for a great story and that’s the one I went with, instead. I didn’t write at all before that. In fact, I openly hated it. That was the central catalyst for my turning into someone who writes on a daily basis, and it was born out of petty spite. The synopsis of my biopic, now, is basically, “Kid gets mad at teacher for saying he’s not good at some stuff, so he tries to get better at said stuff.” Oscar-winning material, down the drain. But the strange thing is, and it still baffles me, while you might expect the triviality of my creative origins to make my voice more than a little wry and sarcastic, that romantic, imaginative, playful, enthusiastic voice with the early affinity for language carried into my writing, meaning that I always had a place to reconnect with genuine affection for words. For me, that’s why the recording of human perspective is a thing that needs to be protected, and why XRIVO means so much to me, personally. It isn’t about being a genius or a prospective best-selling author. It’s just about being human, talking
Once upon a time so far,So far in time I fell uponA girl of beauty and of grace;Of skin so soft, an angel's face!And once a man would fall in dazeHis eyes would simply come a gazeOf this woman's mastered grace.But to kiss the hand of Beauty's QueenShall drop a man right to his knees,For poison's kiss of death shall beThe last a man will ever see.But lucky me!This curse I've seen,So I ran off into the trees.Never now to ever seeAgain the curse of Beauty's Queen.
Another poem for the March 6, 2012 writing prompt about the meeting of 2 old friends.
I’m sure that everyone wants to know about how we lost the Vietnam War, well I do two but I will tell you some information that will have you pondering about how we lost that war. Well in the Vietnam War the U.S Military had many advantages.
During the Vietnam War we tested many Vehicles and weapons, like rifles, machine guns, shells, bombs, mines, artillery guns, ships, tanks, and jets. One of the best bomber planes was the B-52 Stratofortress bomber. Some of the best supersonic jets were these: the F-100 Supersabres, F-101Voodoos, F-102 Delta Daggers, F-104 Starfighters, F-105 Thunderchiefs (one of the only planes that could conceal an entire nuke inside it), A-1 Skyraiders, A-4 Skyhawks, A-6 Intruders, A-7 Corsairs, F-4 Phantoms, and F-8 Crusaiders. They also had high altitude spy planes such as the U-2 and SR-71 Blackbird. As you can see we had a lot of advantages by testing and using these planes.
We had a lot of help from other countries during Vietnam. The ROK (Republic of Korea), located East of Vietnam, was the largest allied contingent in 1965. They sent in a medical and engineer personnel team, they were then joined by the Marine Corps 2nd Brigade (Blue Dragon). The ROKs Army Capitol Division arrived eventually and then 5 months later the 9th division (White Horse) arrived. Thailand, located Southwest of Vietnam and South of China, sent in 11,568 combat soldiers. The first group to arrive was the Queens Cobras Regiment in Sept. 1967. They were replaced by the Royal Thai Volunteer force in July 1968 consisting of the Black Panther Division with two infantry brigades, three artillery battalions and an armed cavalry squadron. The Philippines, located North of Australia and south of Vietnam, didn’t really help much compared to the others. In 1964 they sent in a medical contingent additionally in 1966 a 1,500 man Philippine civic action group was sent in to help. Australia, south of Vietnam and the Philippines, probably helped out the most. Along with that they were the first country to respond and aid us. The first group so arrive was a Jungle warfare specialist team. I can imagine that it helped a lot because practically the whole area was jungle. Next to respond was an engineer and aviation detachment team. In addition to that they sent in the first battalion R.A.R (Royal Australian Regiment) and the first Australian task force. Along with that the first Australian task force turned into a two-infantry battalion force, a medium tank squadron, and a helicopter squadron. Not only that but they also sent in the R.A.A (Royal Australian Airforce) with No.9 squadron of Iroquis helicopters, No.35 squadron of Carribou transport aircraft, and the No.2 squadron of Canberra Bombers which flew 11,963 sorties (air combat missions). New Zealand, located east of Australia, was another country that responded. They deployed an engineer platoon and surgical team. Later they were replaced by the Royal New Zealand Artillery’s 161st battery and a special air force platoon and infantry regiment.
Believe it or not in Vietnam our troops were the best trained, educated, disciplined and successful. For example in
this piece is a poetic collaboration between brett & I. we decided to write something free-form, alternating authors every two or three lines.
[more elaborate introduction forthcoming]
this piece is a week-long collaboration between katie & I. there had been virtually no prior planning, save for an agreement to compose a fictional piece and to write from separate character perspectives. I portrayed liam, whereas she portrayed ethan.
A good ol' fashioned concrete poem
Here's something I just recently put together. Simple, short. I'm not very poetic, and I know very little about modern poetry, so I'm mostly just slapping words on paper.