The Muse's Advisory typed & spellchecked by Tom Riordan
Opportune Knock - Muse's Advisory, June 29 – Yusuf to Tom, Margaret Hotel
Download 1.87 Mb.
|
- Navigate this page:
- Who I Am - Muses Advisory, June 30 – Tom
- Ruffled Feather - Muses Advisory, July 1 – Zeus to Tom
- In Perspective - Muses Advisory, July 2 - John Cantell
- Δίας Σχήμα Μετατόπισης - Zeus Shape Shifter - Muses Advisory, July 3 – Terpsichore
- Kazantzákis II - Muses Advisory, July 4 – Erato
- At the Margaret Bar - Muses Advisory, July 5 – Yusuf
- In a Hot Bath - Muses Advisory, July 6 – Zeus
- Business Manager - Muses Advisory, July 7 – John Cantell to Yusuf
- Exposition - Muses Advisory, July 9 – the Margaret Concierge/Zeus
- Entity 13 - Muses Advisory, July 10 – Urania
- Reprimand - Muses Advisory, July 11 – Poet In Front of Tom in Line
- Words to the Wise from the Wiser - Muses Advisory, July 12 – Urania to Tom
- In the Hoosegow - Muses Advisory, July 13 – Thalia
Opportune Knock - Muse's Advisory, June 29 – Yusuf to Tom, Margaret Hotel: You're who? from where? I'm sorry, I apologize for knocking on your door, but just the other day my friends were here— well, not exactly friends, my ex and her new beau— and then he came—well, you don't have to know the fine details, I showed up here to try and set things straight, but see I've come at a bad time, and I'm too late. You're meeting them tonight? Downstairs? Oh, what a stroke of luck for me! No no, I can't barge in— You're serious? You sure? At six, down at the bar? That's splendid! Yusuf. Glad to meet you, Tom. Some kind of journalist? Oh, I could tell you things, oh yes I could! But no— Of course not, you go right inside and finish up your shower, like you say. You'll catch your death, a thousand pardons, yes! I'll see you downstairs— shortly after six? Okay? Who I Am - Muse's Advisory, June 30 – Tom: I did “Zeus"– about the guy who found a lightningbolt? Nit printed it. A little journal in Seattle of post-Dada lit & crit? In '98 I had three poems in Trilling too. And one in 6.Nobody reads
But poets' credibility is built on publications like that, yes. Although I see you're not impressed. But still, when my obit comes out, you'll see. They'll say, His poetry was widely published. No, no shi t.Ruffled Feather - Muse's Advisory, July 1 – Zeus to Tom: The hoop-snake guy, the evangelical who saved my skin from the commandos?— that asshole sees your poem in Nit and sends this letter in, “I've never felt so humbled or so proud.” Damn dickwad saves my motherfucking life and pees his pants because his name is in a lousy poem. In Perspective - Muse's Advisory, July 2 - John Cantell: I save his life and he complains I don't feel proud enough. The day that Christ saved mine, did I think that was more important than His Gospel? Let me tell you Zeus's two big secrets, folks. One: he's illiterate. That's why his girlfriend gets away with stashing secrets in her diary. Big dummy can't tell mu from pi. And two: his thunderbolts are not what they're cracked up to be. The one I found? It missed. Whatever he had launched it at predawn one August Sunday morning, it destroyed a KC Southern freight train rumbling through Noel, Missouri bound for Shreveport, Louisiana with dehydrated alfalfa and ammonium perchlorate and the real God only knows what else. A huge piece of that train ripped through the wall of the beautician Rosa Miller's place and crushed her in her bed; a half-ton wheel hit Virgil Bentley's home and maimed his wife; and blue-white fire, mushroom-shaped on top, shot missiles of hot steel in all directions. There was a deafening roar, a sucking vaccuum sound, and then dead silence but for bits of metal raining down. That-all was Zeus's work. He's an incompetent. When kids ask me in Bible school, “Is there a need for Jesus Christ?” you pretty much got all the answer that you want, right there. You do the math. So when your fake god whines, “He thinks that being in a poem is more of an accomplishment than managing to save my life,” you betcha, yes. It was a godly poem. The life I saved from them Israelis— and I'm gonna say it right here to his face— I more or less regret. It's just a lot of devil-worshipers and orthopraxics in my debt. Δίας Σχήμα Μετατόπισης - Zeus Shape Shifter - Muse's Advisory, July 3 – Terpsichore: It could have been the Jews slipped angeldust or meth into his drink; distemper flaring up after the Holy Roller slapped his wrist; his rival Yusuf strolling in; or maybe just a stage in Zeus's normal cycling between divine and more inhuman dispositions. But no one in the Margaret Bar thought it amusing when he metamorphosed from a slick-dressed Greek into an ogrish blue apparition half “The Scream” and half Diana Ross. Kazantzákis II - Muse's Advisory, July 4 – Erato: Her lips rubbed with walnut leaves and tinted orange, heels beating Floorboards like a man beats a gray wolf until it won't ever Take another lamb, and nipples thick and rubbery and sweet As loukoums—high up and all alone, the hajji herds the winds That rake across his mind. He whinnies like a mustang. She brought Him suckling pork in lime leaves, tucked his foufoúla in his boots, Raised the icon of St. Minas gilt with slender javelin And crucifix—oh, how she heated up his bed in the dark! Ahmet Aga sent a chibouk with nutmeg-spiced tobacco, But he spurned it, “I don't smoke,” then sent an inlaid yataghan, But he spurned it, “I don't fight.” To shattered lovers, send raki Mashed by heifer's hooves, sing dekapentasyllabos, pave a path To the door for a black-draped oxcart driven by a eunuch. At the Margaret Bar - Muse's Advisory, July 5 – Yusuf: Mind if I take this stool? You don't know me, don't despise me yet. I'm Yusuf. You're—? Cantell? Can't say I've heard of it. From the United States? Why not? Accursèd Nazareth attracts all kinds of mutts, Your claim to fame is what? You found a brokedown lightningbolt? A writer put you in a poem? You're boning up your Bible-teacher bona-fides by visiting the Holy Land? My claim is that the girl I married was already knocked up— gave birth to a boy, Yeshua, who had such a talent for affront, he basically pissed off the whole of Israel and then paid for it by hanging on a cross. That's right, Yusuf. No, not a saint! Ask anyone. Bartender, please, one ice-cold Pauli Girl? And it appears—it smells as if— that Russian gentleman has lost hold of his bowels, bladder, all that stuff. I think you better cut him off and get him out of here before that troublemaking Cretan Greek shows up. Oh, yes, I'll bet you know the one! Why, yes, I am the guy who built your sleeping loft! It had the most romantic view. You're married now? You see? It worked! So mazel tov! I hope it pans out better than my own. That's right, Joaquim's girl Miriam— she and that Cretan lunk just walked in now. The beer is on the poet's dime, he also just came in—Room 416. But here—something for you— heartfelt appreciation for the frosted stein and central air. It's hot enough out there to fucking fry an egg today. Zeus, shut your face!The poet asked me here, okay? I came this morning to demand that you apologize for what you did on Sunday and— You didn't tell your tramp how you came raving by the Sudfa Bar to knock some heads? You're going to give this poor drunk Soviet a hard time now? Your nose too upper-crust to smell what ordinary people by and large contain inside? Your shit is sweet? Your piss like wine? It's just like you to wander in and try to tell somebody else to take a hike. What's that, Cantell? You're moved by how I stick up for the least of them like Jesus would have done? You're wondering if human nurture and not super nature made Him what he was? You what? You want to pay my way to where? Noel? Okay! Go home and pack my stuff? Hell, I can go right now. My wardrobe's way too grungy for the USA. Tom, right? Big thanks. Sometimes a lucky knock on an unlucky door pays off. With Jews and Arabs not too big on Trinity, my own degree of separation from divinity is high, and Christian Nazarenes all learn to keep their heads down on both sides of town. No, go on, be my guest, put me in any poem you'd like. Publicity of any kind can only help. My star has never been what a cosmologist would call ascendant. Hear that, Zeus? It makes you boil, doesn't it, to hear that I'm the man who's in demand? And Miriam—so sorry, baby, but you hitched your wagon to a burnt-out star. The world has changed. It used to put a premium on magnetism and nobility but now the pendulum has swung and everyone exalts the common man. In a Hot Bath - Muse's Advisory, July 6 – Zeus: Thrown out, cut off– no one the least bit frightened by my grim blue mask– it's time to take them all to task, beginning with that turncoat bird down at the desk. Damn all of it! Off! every one of you! Beyond oblivion! Civilization isn't worth the grief— trying to keep a woman and my self-respect, Sisyphean. Poseidónas, come! Your trident
I want it all, this time. No artery untapped. I want it done. Business Manager - Muse's Advisory, July 7 – John Cantell to Yusuf: This is America, pal, where God helps those who help themselves. Johnson & Johnson's offer isn't chickenfeed. What could be simpler? “I gave St. Joseph's Orange-Flavored Children's Aspirin to my child. You should too.” It's either that, True Hardware, or the Donald's Apprentice's Father. Either you say yes to something nowor I say no to $20 Haut-Médocs, no trip to Precious Moments Park, no front-row seat at Eminem's upcoming “Homeboy From St. Joe.” You have to earn, you thriftless geezer! No one cares what your pedigree is! Your inspirational YouTubes gladden hearts and fatten people's otherworldly wallets— but we can't forget to render unto Caesar. anthropology 101: "piltdown man" - muse's advisory, july 8 – professor castaneda: • jaw of a sarawak orangutan • fistful of chimpanzee teeth • boy's skull wrested from the roots of ancient wilmington church yew • iron and chromic acid stain • imprimatur of pierre teilhard de chardin and the infallible sir arthur conan doyle but hidebound darwinists still claim 'twas nothing but a shameful hoax? if anyone in here agrees, go home. why even try to teach such boors? Exposition - Muse's Advisory, July 9 – the Margaret Concierge/Zeus: Why, Monsieur Zeus, I love your hair tonight! It's like a bird of paradise— très Dr. Seuss. Madame—?
—Rashid. Madame Rashid,excuse my memory. Before you call the cops again... you know much I love this cockatoo. I do. Can you imagine
I can. Then please observe.
now accidentally I've crushed his skull. Entity 13 - Muse's Advisory, July 10 – Urania: This time the Israelis come prepared. They've tracked Zeus like White hunters track big game, plotted the ideal time and place to strike without the monstrous Cretan's lashing out endangering the street; and with aggravated avicide a felony, and reckless discharge of unregulated braincase flame a likely second count— it's GO! They jam him with the new Q-type carcinotron; the deep blue voltage blowing off his hair begins to sputter, break up, then pathetically drift to the cobblestones like morpho scales; an Instalaza-fired mesh of tungsten-hardened bark-spider filament blossoms above his head; and the great god, foaming from every orifice, collapses softly, as though onto a feather bed. “We dealt with something similar,” the Colonel crowed, “back at Entebbe—and way back, when our plasma dike outside Zeituna on the Red Sea sucked in Pharaoh's cavalry. We always train for what we call zero scenario. We air-condition hell. Our specialty is para-psych. The ordinary stuff—the rockets, mortars, Scuds— we handle that, but it's this otherworldly stuff we're peerless at. That's why they call us Entity 13.” Reprimand - Muse's Advisory, July 11 – Poet In Front of Tom in Line: Man, keep your critters on a leash! We're serious poets, not zoologists! Each time I try to catch a few winks on my feet, one of your miscreants starts yipping. A poem is not supposed to be like HBO, ba-da-bum! ba-da-boo!— but quiet, meditative, something the guy in front of you can sleep through. We get enough of people being rude at home, out on the streets. This place is sacrosanct. Who wants to pay good money for a paean to the wine-dark waves of the Aegean if the tone of voice is going to be plebeian? Your name is?—Tom, that's right. Tom, you will never rise above a third rate talent till you learn that less is more and thrilling drama's always nonchalant. Look at the Muses: tidy, bobby-socked girls at Catholic school in starched plaid uniforms, prim permanent waves and shipshape rolling curls. Beauty is order, order is good, and honest goodness always paves the high road to the finish line. So please, man, curb your curs and mute your mutts. Who wants to be disturbed at night by brutes in rut— your boxer's cock, your cocker's box or your sienna-spotted basset's butt? Words to the Wise from the Wiser - Muse's Advisory, July 12 – Urania to Tom: Your critic's right. We aren't terrorists, regardless of what the City of Chicago insists, poetry isn't LOUDER THAN A BOMB but it permits a modest adjustment to sestina if justified. Otherwise it's only scribblers doing something they're too proud of. Tradition's another prerequisite. There's no validity to anyone uninterested in their predecessors. Yes, lit is a club that iconoclasts want disbanded— but once they link arms and lapse into imitation, hero-worship and self-aggrandizing themselves, we simply issue them a membership! Kiss the tit of dull Greek myths as silly as the Ancient Arabic Order of the Mystic Shrine, the Benevolent and Protective Order of the Elks, and Odd Fellows in fezzes— real embarrassments, and that's the point of initiation. If you won't look foolish, how can you be trusted to sacrifice yourself and slit your wrists on the altar of belles-lettres? Readers count on us for certain essences and if that faith gets lost, it's curtains, time to roll up the carpets, and poetry is, as some mediocrity wrote, 'enshrinement of ordinary moments by ordinary people utilizing ordinary language.' Same goes for madcap antics. All this mayhem— Zeus a lunatic, Yeshua a popinjay, St. Joseph hawking aspirin— Tom, time to revisit the eternal verities. We're not panicking but our collective intuition is that you're closer to the brink of listless repetition and inanity than you think. In the Hoosegow - Muse's Advisory, July 13 – Thalia: “Now look at you!” sobs Miriam. She'd worshiped him with all his faults
His rage was spent, all that was left was a disheveled mane half gray, half white, two bloodshot eyes, ten chastened fingers purple at the tips, and thick-scaled, harshly bitten lips. For the first time in his life, he couldn't speak, and had a tremor in his arms, he was so weak. “Have you been beaten?” Miriam breathed, and then regretted it. The thought itself hit hard. What dignity remained a god kept in captivity?— a deportation jail facility just outside Nazareth, where poor, unpapered laborers and part-time terrorists were processed, held indefinitely, their families squeezed for 20,000 shekels bail, and then deported “voluntarily.” The inmate in the cell across the airless corridor was one of those who stubbornly refused to take the bait of banishment. He'd been there six or seven months apparently without the benefit of either shave or haircut, and watched quietly while Miriam sobbed and Zeus did all he could to keep from joining her. Casting about to give the god some privacy, at last she looked into this stranger's eyes, and lo, it was Yeshua. Trembling smiles loosened on their lips. Then Zeus spoke up: “If this is what it took, then this is what it took. I guess I've hit rock bottom and it's time to take a look at my whole repertoire of maladaptive tricks, including gadding to and fro as if you—my own flesh and blood—did not exist. Goddammit, though, I really have to take a piss. Guard! Guard! Is there a toilet in this shithole? No, excuse me, sorry for my tone. I'm overcome. That guy there is my son. So tell me, what's he done? Done recently, I mean. I know he rankled Pilate pretty good. Gave aid and comfort to the Palestinians? Yeah, sounds like him. A bleeding heart, recidivist. Ah, thanks. I'll only be a sec. The prostate. You too? Feel as if you've gotta go again before the tip is even dry? The penis is the curse of men, I swear. But what else can we use to show the sphinx a good time in our underwear? Man's gotta dream. Okay, I'm done. Now count to maybe ten and I'll be hollering again. You're not a bad guy, Ben. Of course. Ben Gurion's your last name, yes. You're still a decent man. Now, Miriam. Yeshua—son. Where were we in our family therapy before I had to run? That's right, I was about to say I'm sorry, all of that, admit the error of my ways— jailhouse-confess! It's shameful to be seen like this myself, much less to find you here as well. You haven't heard? I let them taunt me like a bull. It proved your mother right: I need more self-control. I've been a bad role model and I have a raft of faults. Okay? Is that enough? Can I go back to being me now, arrogant and gruff? My circadian clock is ticking and it feels like almost time to get into another fisticuffs, to give the frail another fright or crush another stoolie's skull.” Directory: files files -> Answer True False 2 points Question 2 files -> Integer programming and game theory files -> 4 Integer Programming files -> Bpa vehicle Window Repair Scenario #1 task: Procure vehicle window relacement. Objective files -> Pop Warner History files -> North Carolina Inclusion Initiative Mapping Where Children with ieps are Being Served Purpose files -> Fall 2013 Spring 2014 Program Data: Standard 1 Exhibit 4d files -> Hanban – asia society confucius classrooms network 2010 request for proposal files -> Northern England’s set-jetting locations Download 1.87 Mb. Share with your friends:
|