King Kong, Little Elves, on the Rooftops They Dance

easing

ruinous winter

besmirching my hobbled soul!

bad santa

the midway point of the six months of silence

there have been losses, predictably, especially in the month of december. november saw a placid downfall, january, a foreshadowed surge. if you were not there, fires happened in the barrels and they kept us warm, me and the one who speaks like a lake, the one with no fingertips left on her gloves. there were others who showed up as well: chileans, map-makers, our hound, and of course this weekend, the stuffed bear that lives. marquez was closed, and was reopened with giddy trepidation: in britain they left it off the non-fiction shelf; how could such a tale be true? we've moved on to existentialism and sitting - funny how fiction seems to square itself against itself in the dark of the early evening. despite the ice that falls but never sticks, we are making it - today the butcherman sent in reinforcements of different sorts. he is the one that hails from the dominican islands and like his brothers, he looks out for the silence with reverence and a skeptic's glare. it was mentioned that soon the catchers and pitchers will report. baseball looms. -brooklyn, 2008

owl hunting when i heard you on the radio

come on baby and bowl with me

ka-pow!

mecks

when i see this stone i wonder about mecks and what he was in to. i wonder if he knew he had a friend who cared this much.

Can We All Put Our Hands Together For The Best Kitchen Sink In The Borough Of Brooklyn?

We are Here

Now open the door.
I can't.
You can.
And the band plays ooomp pa pa, oooomp pa ping!
And the moocow goes, 'groooooaaaan.'
And the sleeveless monkey jumps from tree to tree threading monkey nails through the bark and below to where the wood is softer, and yellow.
Open the door.
"Perhaps the hinges are busted, or perhaps the opening door is not what you're after?" Says the mealy crow, swooping overhead as if he gave a care.
Somewhere the sky is soft and blue, like the time we all fell out of the Caribbean, and up and into the air.
"Yes!" Declares the sullen, black moocow, "Vieques it will be."

not gratitude but big freaking cash payouts

ich bin ein family

(foto courtesy of C.F. who is also missing from this foto)

not happiness but gratitude