On My Recent Lack of Prolixity

Since I went to a couple of beaches along the south atlantic coast (down Charleston way) this summer, I've found it difficult to muster the concentration to ideate and write a coherent essay longer than an extensive aphorism. So I'm going to just quit trying, then later it will be no problem. In the meantime, I'll send the briefer things that are happening.

& we'll begin with yesterdy's poem ^*^*^*^*^


Lamasery

Breaking the ice with an umbrella,
plunging in impulsively,
up to the neck.
15 minutes later, you exit,
old fella,
and soon you begin to steam.

Half your age,
I would already
be dead,
as I have not bothered
to learn
how to control (my)
mind.

-------Lp 9/28/06


This work was inspired while reading an incredible memoir, "Don't Fall Off the Mountain" -- the first by Shirley MacLaine, published in 1970. Her later writings, dealing more directly with reincarnation and spirituality, are more widely known and sometimes scoffed at, I suspect unfairly, by people who are uncomfortable with such topics and of course by know-nothings who will take any easy target they can get in their endless quest to appear witty.

But by all means get a copy of "Don't Fall Off the Mountain" & surprise yourself. Among other virtues, it contains the most illuminating take I've encountered on the pitfalls of fame,
and, more specifically, the 'can of peas' marketing mentality that permeates so much of the film biz.


Arcane Music Award --- The Ultimate Mellotron Band?
King Crimson on their first two or three albums, including
"In the Court of the Crimson King" & "In the Wake of Poseidon"

Totally Hot


She wandered near the would-be
FAO Schwartz storefront, tugging down at her
powder blue miniskirt. Lilting out of the earth
like a lily stalk.
All about ascent.

A Flamenco line, long and tending to weightlessness,
kept from lifting off the street
by an invisible cloak of humility, salted
with appealing noble droplets
Of uncertainty.

Sun-exalted legs, radiating celestial tan,
the liveliest shade of brown.
Long arms, more of that blue in a tunic,
then the face
you dare not look into, an improvement
on what Gauguin tried to capture
in the islands.

This is the beauty that walked through some other existence,
electrifyingly seen for 5 minutes
on the hottest day of the year.

Intermittently tugging, still,
at the hem of your skirt,
flipping solar-charged
brown hair
away from your shoulder,
one eye noting my presence --- time to break contact.

One goes south,
One goes east, diverging
at the overpriced pizza joint,
striding on either side
of the red-painted vertiginous brick.

When you lope back to your lair,
I will begin, finally,
to hunt for those other lives,
like any good retriever,
never again believing
that what you promise
is impossible.


----------- Lp

7/1