tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-116345242024-03-12T18:30:36.515-07:00Unmuzzled OXMichael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.comBlogger184125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-73761934081247819552018-11-30T02:59:00.005-08:002019-03-30T22:57:55.352-07:00ROBERT MORRRIS, VITO ACCONCI & PERFORMANCE ART<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Robert
Morris the artist has died. I go in and out of the art world depending on who’s
exhibiting and what I am writing and editing. I never met Morris.I knew Don
Judd through John Wesley as well as other leaders of performance art and minimalism.
I worked with the late Hannah Wilke and also especially Colette.</span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"> <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">I met the late Vito Acconci mid-performance at
Documenta in Kassel in 1972. He had blindfolded himself and was walking around
an otherwise empty room following instructions pre-recorded on his reel-to-reel
tape recorder. We were alone. It was fascinating. Then four or five loud dumb
drunk German tourists wandered in and fell to laughing at Vito. After three or
four minutes one of them thought it would be hilarious to unplug Vito’s tape.
He had been well aware of their unpleasant presence. Vito then physically
attacked the drunkest. Their smirks were replaced with alarm, and they
vanished. Vito and I then spent the next few days meeting intermittently and
talking. Too bad I didn’t record our conversations. Back in New York he did a
piece for Unmuzzled OX. Vito’s death like the deaths of Morris and Judd and
Wilke seem impossible.</span></span><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-3750680426300261792018-11-27T08:21:00.001-08:002018-11-27T08:24:48.117-08:00ADOLESCENT PORNI try to keep my adolescent humor to myself. For instance, the main street of Princeton is called Witherspoon. It's named after John Witherspoon, a president of the university and a signer of the Declaration of Independence. Reese Witherspoon the actress is a descendant. For neither of these reasons I silently refer to the street as Withersporn. I keep it to myself. But I'm checking a book out of the library and accidentally call the street Withersporn. I am embarrassed and profusely apologize to the librarian. "Relax," she says. "At least once a day I find myself writing 'Princeton Public Library'."Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-74762149362486094532018-06-03T02:40:00.000-07:002018-06-03T02:40:26.641-07:00Suicide was something adults did<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; display: block; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px 0px 6px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
Suicide was something adults did when they got in a really bad mood. Failure at suicide resulted in hospitalization, which was shameful and thus a secret. The adult had simply “gone to Toronto.” Sharing such a secret made children friends.</div>
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My father had a gun with which he discouraged premarital sex. In those days they had violence but no sex on TV and Dad liked TV. Because of magazines like Esquire and Playboy, not to mention puberty, I thought I’d like sex, and a friendship<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;"> with Mary evolved.</span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;"><br style="display: inline; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;" />I always liked it when Mary’s ma was in Toronto because Mary could stay out late. When I finally turned sixteen and got a driver’s license, she could stay out late and far away.<br style="display: inline; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;" /> </span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;">Finally I went to college in Montreal. Finally Mary’s ma succeeded at suicide in the kitchen. Mary was attending the local college in our hometown. She came home for lunch and found her mother.<br style="display: inline; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;" /> My father had many guns and many medals for shooting. Mary’s mother shot herself. Not long after my father got rid of all his guns.<br style="display: inline; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;" /> </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; display: block; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 6px 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;">Mary was my first love. Mary’s mother was my first suicide. Since then many friends and colleagues have committed suicide. Perhaps it’s a bad side effect of poetry. Mary and I wrote poetry. Or maybe I attract sad people who want to die. I wish I could cheer people up.</span></div>
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Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-44808324849407481842018-05-28T02:50:00.000-07:002018-11-27T08:10:14.924-08:00T h e L a t e T w e n t i e t h C e n t u r y<br />
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">The poet James Wright (1927-1980) was wholly of the twentieth century, dead now
these 38 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like William Dean
Howells (1837-1920) he was born in Martins Ferry, Ohio, wrote a few books, and
died in New York City.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Howells was a
bigger deal, editing The Atlantic; like his hero Silas Lapham, Howells faded
away. Wright seemed to die young. My interview with Wright appears in the print
edition of Unmuzzled OX. </span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></div>
Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-86183064856005537362018-05-28T01:36:00.000-07:002018-05-28T01:55:16.386-07:00EMOTIONAL<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Emotionalism
is everyone’s philosophy, pervasive as greed, producing some marriages and all
divorces. People know their parts. Excitement is the goal of the coolest
gambler, ambition pervades society because – triumph excuses hysteria. People
mount hysteria, a mountain whose feet they suck. But history violates hysteria.
What violates the judgement sculpted in sand, lost at each turn of the moon?
Conviction.</span></span></div>
Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-5594114069969574452017-02-02T01:29:00.004-08:002018-05-28T01:49:39.647-07:00GROUNDHOG<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Our North
American Ground Hog Day seems to secularize the British Candlemas. Both occur
February 2. A sunny Candlemas presages a cold spring. </span></div>
<a name='more'></a>There’s the Scottish
saying “If Candlemas is fair and clear, there’ll be two winters in the year”
and a rural maxim “February second day, have half your corn and half your hay.”
Growing up Catholic in Canada I never heard the word Candlemas. I think we
called it The Presentation of our Lord in the Temple. Is it thus connected to
the bar mitzvah? Candles are lit in the hope of rushing out those damn cold
months of winter. The date was established ages ago by Justinian the Great. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-16678238501578033062016-07-09T21:33:00.002-07:002016-07-09T21:33:27.437-07:00DO I LOOK DIFFERENT?Her: Do I look different?<br /> Him: You look much better. Your new apartment and new job in this new town have transformed you and made you radiant.<br /> Her: That’s not it.<br /> Him: What is it then?<br /> Her: I lost twenty pounds.Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-63709362224143571882016-07-09T21:12:00.002-07:002016-07-22T14:30:51.117-07:00JENNIFER AND BARACKI really love Obama. I also love Jennifer Lawrence but our relationship
is special and secret. Obama's hair has gotten gray and he's cut it
short and I'm not enamored of the look. But his ears seem to stick out
even more. I think that's a sign of intellect and vigor. He's a great
president and an even greater guy.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody">Jennifer also likes the president's ears. </span></span> Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-65450369118710999202016-07-09T19:48:00.001-07:002016-07-09T19:50:16.653-07:00<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" data-lang="en">
<div dir="ltr" lang="en">
Me when Unmuzzled OX was young <a href="https://t.co/pVFve30Pyv">pic.twitter.com/pVFve30Pyv</a></div>
— Michael Andre (@MAndreOX) <a href="https://twitter.com/MAndreOX/status/751947184262811649">July 10, 2016</a></blockquote>
<br />
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-62180113010380842522016-01-17T00:29:00.004-08:002016-04-01T19:23:57.232-07:00SWEET SIXTEENAt the New Year’s Peace Gathering Saturday night in the Princeton Chapel, pretty much everyone pounds a drum and chants Give Peace a Chance. Sprouts directly descended from those sprouts sold in 1969 at Woodstock are for sale here. Suspicious brownies. www.peaceweavers.com Sweet 16!<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>When Bill the First of the Clintons was King I taught creative writing to the US military in Europe. I didn’t love all my students. None were saints. Few had genius. My only Jewish student had genius. He was already in Europe playing semi-pro soccer when he joined the military. My other students were unhappy cases. He was comfortable in Europe. He was in special forces. Indeed he had to drop my course for a secret mission. He couldn’t say much but clearly he had to go shoot some people in Yugoslavia. <br />
<br />
Bill the First Clinton conducted a brilliant foreign policy. The two Bushes ruined the world with war in Iraq. Bill the First doubtless loved Suspicious Brownies. Even Hillary the Second Clinton probably nibbled. I myself have heard that Honey Slides were Even Better. Put honey and marijuana in a fry pan. Heat and eat. You feel peaceful. <br />
<br />Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-85950098492580491792016-01-10T09:08:00.001-08:002016-01-10T10:40:14.141-08:00THE DONALD'S STRUGGLEAs Mein Kampf rolls once again off the presses of Germany, I’ve been reading Peter Longerich’s Goebbels. Gregory Corso’s worst advice? Unmuzzled OX should publish Goebbels’ novel. Goebbels would have loved Donald Trump. <br />
<a name='more'></a> <a class="image" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Bundesarchiv_Bild_102-01888A,_Joseph_Goebbels.jpg"><img alt="" class="thumbimage" data-file-height="800" data-file-width="526" height="259" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/53/Bundesarchiv_Bild_102-01888A%2C_Joseph_Goebbels.jpg/170px-Bundesarchiv_Bild_102-01888A%2C_Joseph_Goebbels.jpg" width="170" /></a>
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Goebbels</div>
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<a class="image" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Donald_Trump_hair_from_above_and_behind.jpg"><img alt="" class="thumbimage" data-file-height="1024" data-file-width="768" height="227" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/60/Donald_Trump_hair_from_above_and_behind.jpg/170px-Donald_Trump_hair_from_above_and_behind.jpg" width="170" /></a>
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Rear view of Trump's <a class="mw-redirect" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Combover" title="Combover">combover</a>, in 2013</div>
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*************************** <br />
The Republicans are bent on enriching the richest 1% and impoverishing and degrading everyone else. Gun violence is a favorite tool. Guns killed 225,000 Americans so far during Obama’s presidency. The Donald aims at six million. He may actually kill a billion but most will be Mexican or Muslim. <br />
<br />
<br />Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-23463007371839706182016-01-03T04:11:00.003-08:002016-01-10T10:39:38.402-08:00AMERICAN JUSTICEThe media lynching of Bill Cosby recalls O.J. Simpson 20 years ago. Things look bad for Cosby. He claims he is “skilled at interpreting female reaction to him.” But the lawyer for Andrea Constand, the sometime Temple basketball coach and designated victim, noted in a filing Cosby “did not realize [Constand] was gay until police told him.” Even the guilty are occasionally lynched.<br />
<a name='more'></a><a class="image" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:OJ_Simpson_Newsweek_TIME.jpg"><img alt="" class="thumbimage" data-file-height="257" data-file-width="388" height="172" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/8/81/OJ_Simpson_Newsweek_TIME.jpg/260px-OJ_Simpson_Newsweek_TIME.jpg" width="260" /></a>
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O. J. Simpson on the cover of <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Newsweek" title="Newsweek">Newsweek</a></i> and <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Time_%28magazine%29" title="Time (magazine)">Time</a></i>. <i>Time</i> darkened the image, leading to controversy.<br />
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<i><b> </b></i><br />
The last week of August 1968 was the most surprising of my life. I moved from the McGill Ghetto in Montreal to Hyde Park in Chicago. The tooth mother, as Robert Bly put it, was naked at last. It was not merely the riots in Lincoln Park. One night I thought I’d walk from the University of Chicago through the South Side ghetto to the site of the Democratic Convention. “Ghetto” in the United States differs significantly from “ghetto” in the rest of the world. If a white Hollywood star pulled the same shit as Cosby no one would know.<br />
<br />Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-24666747301900845732015-08-21T04:51:00.002-07:002015-08-22T23:25:35.816-07:00SMOKING DOPE WITH JOHN LENNON AND GREGORY CORSOThe best joint I ever smoked was with John Lennon. I’ve been talking about it ever since. The worst joint I ever smoked was with Herbert Huncke and Gregory Corso. I had a headache for four days and misplaced for seven years an edition Gregory signed and numbered. I'm glad marijuana is finally almost legal.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0.$end:0:$text0:0">Until that day Corso and I had always made good money with signed limited editions. We met in a bookstore and there were huge bottles of vodka and orange juice on the counter-- and of course Herbert Huncke. By the time Gregory and I got down to my off</span></span><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text0:0">ice and Gregory signed and numbered the edition, I was unusually oblivious. He talked me into giving him the money upfront. We then had to traipse back uptown to the OX shelter where they co-wrote an OX check and -- Gregory vanished. The next morning the bookstore owner berated me: "You idiot! You gave Gregory a thousand dollars! He's gone to Atlantic City!"</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text0:0"></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153494343641420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text0:0"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153499224996420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153499224996420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.0"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153499224996420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153499224996420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153499224996420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153499224996420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0.$end:0:$text0:0">Sari Dienes' Japanese friends Isamu Noguchi and Yoko Ono were already there when we pulled in. Yoko was nursing baby Sean. A half-dozen partiers walked into the woods and swam nude in a stream beneath a falls: Richard Hayman, John Lennon, Erika Rothen</span></span><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153499224996420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153499224996420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0"><span data-reactid=".1k.1:5:1:$comment10153494124861420_10153499224996420:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text0:0">berg, me and two other beautiful women. Julian Lennon watched the adults misbehaving. We dressed and returned to the party and John and I smoked his dope. Neither John nor I had ever before swum naked with so many beautiful women. We had both just received our green cards. America had welcomed us reluctantly. John looked about with mock suspicion, as we smoked, for Federal drug agents.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-70477752140450837022015-08-19T06:31:00.003-07:002015-08-19T06:31:27.044-07:00SOMEBODY THOUGHT THEY KNEW SOMETHING ONCESuddenly at the University of Chicago I discovered I could no longer tolerate literary criticism. I had noticed that anthologies of poetry and anthologies of art criticism seemed to have the same authors--Ashbery, Benedikt, Schjeldahl, O’Hara, et cetera--and all these writers seemed to live in New York. So I transferred to Columbia and decided to interview poets for my dissertation. Why not? Sexual Politics by Kate Millet had been a Columbia dissertation. <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />What is literature? Pound fortunately died before I was to interview him, but W.H. Auden was around, and I therefore had to interview him. But there had been many books about Auden. One friend won a huge scholarship to write on James Joyce. But after a few years, he went mad. Too much to read. <br /><br />Aside from Auden, the other poets were in their forties; there had been reviews and profiles but no studies. Fortunately I was able to finesse Auden; he was from an older generation and, unlike the younger poets, wouldn’t allow a tape recorder. His interview had no introduction, no annotated bibliography. Let’s face it, anyway--literature since Byron has been dominated by fiction. Novels portray race, class, gender, war and social upheaval. I rarely read novels. I write brief articles on living poets and art criticism for money. In 30 years my Unmuzzled OX published two short stories and one literary essay. <br /><br />I find philosophical interpretations of poetry difficult to read. My psychoanalyst translated the pre-eminent living European philosopher. I didn’t know this. Psychoanalysis was itself boring; I underwent analysis to please my wife. After six months I happened to pick up a book by the preeminent European philosopher, and saw that my sleepy-headed bore of a psychoanalyst had translated it. I bought the book, and read it avidly, and hated it. At our next session I mentioned I had discovered his other job. He asked, What did you think of my book?<br /><br />*<br /><br />Wednesday was my first fully functional day back in New York. I couldn't really face yesterday, and basically stayed in bed. So I was up early today. When I'm having a hard time knocking the world into focus, for some reason, Butler’s The Lives of the Saints helps. Wednesday it was Paul. Today it's Thomas Aquinas, the older contemporary of Dante. They never met. But Thomas’ scholastic Summa seems equivalent to Dante's Commedia. They both thought everything essentially was knowable. <br /><br />At least somebody thought they knew something once.<br /><br /><br /><br />Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-84711976440891396072015-08-15T01:41:00.000-07:002015-08-15T01:41:29.503-07:00HILARY or HILLARYAre we to judge everyone by their political views? Reagan was an actor and public speaker. John Wayne was a movie star and hypocrite. James Stewart was a movie star, a courageous war veteran, an intelligent and modest Republican. Stewart would certainly have been a wiser president than Reagan. Perhaps however like William Tecumseh Sherman he could not stomach the political process. Politicians have strong stomachs. “Sherman and Grant drank whiskey, smoked cigars and liked to kill.” Grant did such a bad job as president that the United States waited until 1952 before electing another war hero. Do Hillary Clinton and all the Republican candidates fill you with fear?<br />Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-63693612724061522522015-08-14T22:08:00.002-07:002015-08-16T02:48:08.560-07:00MERUThere’s a new mountain-climbing movie called Meru. Does it deal with reality & civilisation as thoroughly as W.B.Yeats in his poem Meru?<br />
<br />
Civilisation is hooped together, brought<br />
Under a rule, under the semblance of peace<br />
By manifold illusion; but man’s life is thought<br />
And he, despite his terror, cannot cease<br />
Ravening through century after century,<br />
Ravening, raging and uprooting that he may come<br />
Into the desolation of reality:<br />
Egypt and Greece good-bye, and good-bye Rome!<br />
Hermits upon Mount Meru or Everest,<br />
Caverned in night under the drifted snow,<br />
Or where that snow and winter’s dreadful blast<br />
Beat down upon their naked bodies, know <br />
That day brings round the night, that before dawn<br />
His glory and his monuments are gone. Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-26342229376943644562015-01-09T07:10:00.002-08:002015-08-07T22:36:42.233-07:00DANTE IN PHILADELPIAThe window of my hotel room in Philadelphia overlooks the grave of Benjamin Franklin. Ben’s spirit presides over Philadelphia. So does Dante. The Rodin Museum on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway has been here so long it’s almost invisible. Its doors are the Gates of Hell. The thinker atop the Gates and in larger scale outside the Museum is The Thinker. The only garment is Dante’s hat from the only authentic contemporaneous portrait. The Thinker is Dante.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
When I visited Yeats grave in Sligo in February 1988, the slab was broken and you could see his coffin. There’s some debate whether that’s really his body in there.<br />
<br />
Drunk late one summer night in Amherst in 1972, I pissed on Emily Dickinson’s house. <br />
<br />
Everybody hates New York. This attitude is most poignant in Philadelphia, city of brotherly losers. Tomorrow I go to Dirty Frank’s, the artists’ bar at Pine and 13th across from where I lived in Philly. The Eagles play the Giants at 1:00pm. <br />
<br />
I love the eleven libraries in Princeton. The chapel is as grand as a Gothic cathedral; the art museum excellent; the polite nerdish undergraduates merry. The Frist Student Union offers cheap excellent food and two large televisions. Princeton is no Berkeley. If there are leftover hippies or loony lefties, besides me, I haven’t met them. Princeton is far from New York and Philadelphia. But the farms and woods, the lake and canal are made for hiking and canoes; the campus and country roads are made for bicycles. I’m happy there especially when fresh from Philadelphia. Princeton reminds me of my home town Kingston, Ontario.<br />
<br />Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-669987121721144262014-12-09T03:29:00.003-08:002014-12-09T03:29:39.744-08:00"RESTRIKE" REVIEWEDWhat about a series of art world mystery novels? “Restrike” features amateur detectives Coleman Greene, editor of an art magazine, and her cousin Dinah Greene, director of a print gallery. The consigner of a Winslow Homer is brutally murdered.<br />
<a name='more'></a> A reporter for Coleman’s magazine investigates; he too is murdered. Newly-found Durer prints are at auction. The Greenes discover they are mere restrikes. I have a restrike of a Rouault woodcut. An art dealer in Chicago purchased the original block, then printed and sold new copies -- always specifying that they were unauthorized restrikes. In this novel the restrikes are passed off as extremely-valuable originals. It could easily happen. Good crime novels make me turn their pages. This one did. Perhaps “Restrike” will inaugurate a successful new series. If it has a defect, it is a lack of specificity -- why for instance do people forever meet in “Starbucks?” Perhaps the novelist does not really know New York. But it is a first novel. More and better work may be in the offing: more mysteries from the diabolical art world. <br /><br />
<br />
[“Restrike” by Reba White Williams; fiction; Delos Press; 393 pages; ISBN 978-1-39052-00-1]<br />Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-14011188787966899712014-12-02T13:53:00.002-08:002015-03-14T03:44:26.940-07:00AUTHOR PHOTOS <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2SVdJdoC6O0/VH02UZSFBhI/AAAAAAAAASg/gfwR2DDHmuA/s1600/1119121846%2B-%2BCopy%2B(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2SVdJdoC6O0/VH02UZSFBhI/AAAAAAAAASg/gfwR2DDHmuA/s1600/1119121846%2B-%2BCopy%2B(2).jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<h2>
Anyone can be a celebrity in Philadelphia.</h2>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f3YbCcOFZfU/VH04COjLMPI/AAAAAAAAASs/e5j7Htyh6Nc/s1600/1219121128a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f3YbCcOFZfU/VH04COjLMPI/AAAAAAAAASs/e5j7Htyh6Nc/s1600/1219121128a.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<h2>
C'est moi a Montreal avec Maurice "the Rocket" Richard.</h2>
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<span id="goog_1778514837"></span><span id="goog_1778514838"></span><br />
<br />Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-7493780820165469472014-04-29T09:19:00.002-07:002019-04-21T00:10:07.014-07:00BIRDS IN THE FREEZER<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I was instantly angry when I saw Katrina van Grouw’s
<i>The</i> <i>Unfeathered</i> <i>Bird</i> in
the window of Labyrinth Books in Princeton. After all, had I not definitively nailed
the subject of unfeathered birds in my poem with that title? </span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">She was not only
stealing my title but had expanded it into a coffee table art book. My poem had
been published in 1987 in the magazine <i>Abraxas</i> in a spread with
other poems by fellow birder Warren Woessner. Here is the true and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>original Unfeathered Bird – <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Without
ever raising the question of circles, preferring the greater gravity of
descent, the ease of downhill progress, what are we?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Less
than fledgling, novices at our gorilla shape.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The
anchor, in other words, going to its place, slips down the incline; the bones
thicken in scale, from bird to man and down. A mood tumbles into a thing, a
warbler, amplified to tuba.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s the mechanism of not flying. We
go along with our bones, ideas that companion a growing weight, sinkers racing
to the bottom.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The axeblade drives into the wood.
Like the rain, we fall, tieclips, and matchbooks, and Chapsticks, and
paperclips, and staples, and bottlecaps. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Birds crash into glass windows. I was sitting typing
by a window in a cottage in the middle of Ontario when a robin crashed into
that window. I finished the paragraph and went outside to see what happened to
the bird. It was not merely dead; it was half-consumed by ground-dwelling bugs
and mites. The skeleton was emerging. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Whole flocks of migrating birds are wiped out
crashing into New York skyscrapers. At dawn one spring morning walking downtown
to the Staten Island Ferry I encountered a dead flock of migrating warblers.
I’m a mediocre birder and I did not recognize the species; -- hmm. I scooped
one up and wrapped it in paper and went back to my apartment on Staten Island.
I still didn’t know what it was and decided to postpone leafing through my bird
books. Leaving the birdie in his wrapper, and put him the freezer and completely
forgot about him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And a month later Barbara Minsky said she was hungry,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and
went out to my kitchen and started puttering and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– screamed! Love never lasts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Katrina van Grouw filled her freezer, and her
mother’s freezer, and a sizable number of the freezers of friends with dead
birds. She then dissected them and made wonderful paintings. Her The
Unfeathered Bird is an<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anatomy for
Birders. I’m pretty sure that van Grouw, before embarking on this project, did
not read my book proposal Anatomy for Sports Fans. Man, if she did, I’m pissed
all over again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">No, I’m not. If Katrina van Grouw did happen to come
across my poem, and took the title unconsciously, I am honored. Her bird bones
are as exquisite as Georgia O’Keefe’s skulls. Unfeathered is a word which
occurs naturally to anyone wondering what makes a bird fly, or swim, or sing –
or lay an egg. Feathered birds are the matter of field guides. You can tell a
bird’s species by her arrangement of feathers. Birds don’t dress up their
feathers for birders only, however. Seabirds, as van Grouw remarks, are
countershaded. The feathers of the shearwater and albatross are white below.
Fish looking up see nothing but the sun. They are dark above. Airbound hunters
lose them in the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>wine-dark waves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Birds feed at dusk and dawn. Their hours are
brief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-43781980607726123982014-03-05T02:36:00.000-08:002014-03-23T02:49:53.630-07:00REVE<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Perturbations?<o:p></o:p></span>
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Well, I always despair.<o:p></o:p></span>
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Despaired twice yesterday.<o:p></o:p></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Suicide interrupted by joy.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Suicide interrupted by sleep:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I'm on a train, and it slows<o:p></o:p></span>
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">and stops, and<o:p></o:p></span>
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">the station placard reads:<o:p></o:p></span>
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Reve.<o:p></o:p></span>
</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<br />
</span> </span> </span> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span>
</span>Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-12791849171287269992014-02-10T18:55:00.000-08:002014-05-22T11:58:14.961-07:00HOW MANY YEARS A SLAVE?<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Minimum
wage earners and illegal immigrants should be allowed to sell their children.
The constitution must be re-interpreted. Perhaps we can take New York back to the
London of William Blake --</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r55FDEpem-Q/UvmQ1ES6aXI/AAAAAAAAASE/vO4WRKd_3Uc/s1600/Slave1500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r55FDEpem-Q/UvmQ1ES6aXI/AAAAAAAAASE/vO4WRKd_3Uc/s1600/Slave1500.jpg" height="320" width="299" /></a></div>
</div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">When
my mother died I was very young<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">And
my father sold me while yet my tongue<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Could
scarcely cry weep weep weep<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>weep<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">So
your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.</span></i></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The market in chimney sweepers has sadly declined,
but sophisticated contemporary parents now sell their children as sex toys for adults.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <span lang="EN">Who says child sex slaves are pitiable? Those not purchased directly
from parents are homeless and easily abducted off the street, They are used and
sold and re-sold rapidly, and filmed, and marketed, and ultimately -- I don't
know -- murdered? An associate editor at Unmuzzled OX trusted the wrong guy and
was sold to a Mexican brothel. After six months she fortunately escaped. But
she did not recover. The last I heard she was a Times Square junkie street
whore. When she worked for me she was finishing her MFA at Columbia.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Slavery is concealed. But it persists. As inequality
grows, slavery grows. People have eyes but do not see. A man might ogle and
despise a woman or girl reduced to a sexual chattel. He does not see how she
got there. But a Mexican laborer and a Chinese scullion are simply invisible
men. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The 85 richest people have more money than
half the human race -- 3.5 billion people. There are more African Americans now
in prison, on parole, or on probation than there were enslaved in 1850. The
population of imprisoned impoverished white meth users is rapidly catching up. Police
protect the rich and imprison drug users. Crime is reported less and less. American
drug users are treated like Germany’s Jews c.1936. But we are all enslaved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-23746488389412241962014-01-30T02:16:00.001-08:002015-08-07T23:04:07.554-07:00PRINCETON<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">I keep accidentally
wandering into the Institute for Advanced Study. What I’m looking for is a
Place for the Retarded. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">The weather outside is
frightful. Princeton is on intersession. Very few students on the main floor of
Firestone Library; guards and fewer librarians elsewhere. I am alone in a
Canadian poetry carrel on C floor. That’s the lowest level of the stacks. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">I savor the Cahiers of
Paul Valery. “A poem is never finished, only abandoned.” Holy shit! The dude
took a lot of notes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I am lonely in
a gigantic empty building. Little old me and 3,500,000 books. Thank God for
free internet porn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">Not really. But an
idiot could sit here and peacefully watch the stuff and nobody would know.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">I stopped loving Philadelphia.
Was it the 6 foot 2 inch drug-addled transvestite prostitute who used my alley
as her office? I moved here. I love New York but not the pigeons and roaches and mice and especially
the rats. I was in my rear parking lot this morning at 6:00 am and a rat-sized
rodent was hopping though the snow. Oh no, I thought, oh no. But it was a
bunny. They are crepuscular. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-81113581501789745482014-01-15T02:16:00.004-08:002014-01-15T05:25:19.499-08:00GUELPH<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Sunni and Shiite are older and more confusing than
Guelph and Ghibelline and far more important. Thus, if you’ve been reading
Dante since 1963, Guelph and </span></span><br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Ghibelline are mere good clean mental fun. Serious
European religious wars began with the Reformation and ended, more or less,
with the Enlightenment. The Reformation had been a war between Protestant and
Catholic. Islam and Christianity had already warred for 800 years. The Turks
conquered Constantinople and reached the gates of Vienna. Earlier Islamic armies
conquered Spain and Portugal; was Roncevaux in France the high point for the
Saracens?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How enlightened, then, was
colonialism?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an unrelenting
world-wide cultural and religious Crusade which burnt out with two World Wars
and finally a long Cold War. Here we are. I preferred the Ghibellines myself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span>Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11634524.post-28212784401663189372014-01-07T07:29:00.002-08:002014-01-15T02:38:38.021-08:00GRAY CAT<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Dogs are omnivores. Canned dog food is usually
vegetation tricked-out with a chemical gravy. Cats are carnivores. If they
don’t eat meat they die. Cat shit is highly nutritious. Dogs happily eat cat
shit. It’s not a lovely sight. Canine visitors appall my cat. Cats
bury it to keep it from the dogs. The Greek word for dog is cynic. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the alchemists might put it, cats are
noble; dogs are base.<o:p></o:p></span>Michael Andrehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041946940083486881noreply@blogger.com2