Thursday, June 30, 2011

Journey to the land of tulips and windmills 3

We are in sin city, aka Amsterdam- the funkiest city in the world. We saw Anne Frank’s house, except it has been glassed and steeled in- apparently to preserve it.
Huge line-up outside, including scores of green-shirted kids shrieking with joy at being on a school trip, I suppose.

There’s the power of the written word: without her diary there would be no kids, no line-up, no steel and glass façade. Anne simply would have been taken away and forgotten, along with millions of other children who were denied the right to shriek and misbehave on school trips.

We also saw the Vondelpark, where an old man played the violin under and overpass with stunningly good acoustics. Nearby, young guys sprawled on a lawn smoked formidable looking spliffs. The film institute around the corner features a JACK! Festival: One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Easy Rider, The Last Detail etc. I am hoping Jesse will go tonight as he has seen none of them- a yawning chasm in his education to this point.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Journey to the land of tulips and windmills 2

Pearson Airport, Terminal 1: a place that manages to be cavernous and labyrinthine all at once. But free wi-fi thanks to the largesse of Rogers. Trip highlight so far was visiting my brother in law on the way in. He's sixty and from the sixties so, as we are pulling away in my Own-a-Wreck, he yells at my son to pick him up a quarter ounce of hash in Amsterdam. Jesse, the innocent, immediately says "What did he say? He wants me to get him a hat?"

Right Jesse. Size quarter ounce. And stick it in your parent's luggage.

Journey to the land of tulips and windmills

The important thing is to find out when is the perfect time to scarf down a few tabs of melatonin. My son Jesse and I have only one night in Amsterdam (funny how that place-name rhymes with sin, isn't it?) and 'tis best we spend our time there in at least a semi-conscious state.

We watched Unknown last night on Apple TV. Liam Neeson carries that movie effortlessly, though the supporting cast is good, particularly the old guy as the ex-Stasi spy. Liam IS Harrison Ford with a funny name.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Kenneth, fondly known as Buster @560 words

Kenneth, fondly known as Buster
By J.R. MacLean

Ah, my love, it is you. I felt your sweet hand on that massive door. But someone trails you. A weight from before.
“Lands sakes, Karen, I don’t know how you can spend half your waking hours in here all these weeks. Just that awful antiseptic smell gives me the heebie-jeebies. Sets off my allergies too. But I suppose part of a mother’s duty is to make her child face reality.”
We flew last night, my love. Do you remember? I showed you the glaciers thundering from Greenland’s tip. Then we soared hand in hand back to Paris. We rustled with the oak leaves in the Jardin du Luxembourg. We hovered, giggling over our old lady’s crepe cart, became butterfly small and road the updrafts from the buttery heat of her griddle. Do you remember the scent of that raspberry jam?
“You know I cared for Kenneth, baby. We all did. He was a very sweet person. A bit—impractical, let’s say. I mean a Poet Handyman? Whoever heard of such a thing? And I said that motorcycle was a mistake from the very beginning. I just give thanks to the Lord every day that you weren’t on it with him.”
We rode the cold slipstream back, tumbling entwined, clinging to the moment while the darkening stars streaked overhead. We came to the mouth of the great river, the St. Lawrence I think, where it spills into the Atlantic. It was pulling me, pulling me towards that vast, gray horizon. You said, “Hey Buster, where do you think you’re going?”—the way you always do—and we put our hands behind our backs and we were warm again and rubbed our noses together. Yes, we floated in the sunshine over green and another color. Red. Red soil. A potato field in Prince Edward Island, that was it! We floated with our hands behind our backs and rubbed noses in the sunlight, over a carpet of potatoes hushed and cool in the red earth beneath us.
“That insurance policy was the one bright move he made. Thank goodness! But honey, you are going to burn it all up by keeping him going here. You’ve heard what the doctor keeps saying? And they need all these tubes and equipment for people who at least have a chance of getting well. Ah ah ah choo! Achoo!  Achoo! Achoo! There they go! Just like Old Faithful. Running like a tap. I’ll be out in the hallway blowing my nose if you need me.”
My love? My love? K—Karen. Karen. Isn’t that funny? For a moment there, I forgot your name. I was feeling you but now, maybe—ah, there you are.
“Mother! Mother! Come here. Quick! Quick!”
“What is it, my darling? Oh my baby, you’re crying. Is he gone? Did you--?”
“No! Come here. Feel his cheek. That’s it. Now feel his nose.”
“Land sakes! His cheek is like touching a corpse, but this, this is warmer than my fingers.”
“Yes! Isn’t it wonderful!”
“That’s just thrilling, honeybun. Achoo! Achoo! I’ll let the nurse know, in case there’s something wrong with the machine.”
Karen tenderly strokes the warm nose of her young husband and brings her lips very close to his cold left ear.
“Only when we’re ready, Buster,” she whispers. “Only when we’re ready.”

Monday, June 27, 2011

abandon your tight-*** ways

abandon your tight-*** ways

a demon infected you
gnarling your fingers

feel his hind claws gouge your bowels
make your splitting tongue be still
so words echo down the caverns of your thighs,
conversant with the ground.

his snarl ripples from your face
the melted mask trampled as
hypnotic hooves unwind their dance.

exultant thoughts caress your spine
broadcasting aliveness
like the first crows of the morning
like the last crows of the evening

as you abandon your tight-ass ways.

Getting this blog together feels like a career in itself. I'm venturing into the blogosphere. I'm a blogosphere rider! Riding my blogosteed through the interweb canyons! Yippeeayeh motherfracker!

June 27,2011

I'm in the Cone of Silence, extemporanizing- is that word? on the new blog. I am going to insert whatever wild, devious thoughts come to me in this space on a regular basis. Experiencing a couple days pre Holland departure, off to partake in a family wedding.  Manana- that's Spanish folks, not Dutch, (though we're missing a squiggly line- manana, morgen, tomorrow is final preparation day and now, now comes the shout for dinner.