Wednesday, August 31, 2005

bukowski fish

tonight's fish is brought to you by Charles Bukowski.

Young in New Orleans

starving there, sitting around the bars,
and at night walking the streets for hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,
and in the French Quarter I watched
the horses and buggies going by,
everybody sitting high in the open
carriages, the black driver, and in
back the man and the woman,
usually young and always white.
and I was always white.
and hardly charmed by the
world.
New Orleans was a place to
hide.
I could piss away my life,
unmolested.
except for the rats.
the rats in my small dark room
very much resented sharing it
with me.
they were large and fearless
and stared at me with eyes
that spoke
an unblinking
death.
women were beyond me.
they saw something
depraved.
there was one waitress
a little older than
I, she rather smiled,
lingered when she
brought my
coffee.
that was plenty for
me, that was
enough.
there was something about
that city, though:
it didn't let me feel guilty
that I had no feeling for the
things so many others
needed.
it let me alone.
sitting up in my bed
the lights out,
hearing the outside
sounds,
lifting my cheap
bottle of wine,
letting the warmth of
the grape
enter
me
as I heard the rats
moving about the
room,
I preferred them
to
humans.
being lost,
being crazy mabye
is not so bad
if you can be
that way:
undisturbed.
New Orleans gave me
that.
nobody ever called
my name.
no telephone,
no car,
no job,
no anything.
me and the
rats
and my youth,
one time,
that time
I knew
even through the
nothingness,
it was a
celebration
of something not to
do
but only
know.

the brothers fish

went to see The Brothers Grimm last night. fun, but rather un-Gilliam-esque, oddly enough. the most interesting parts of the plot -- to me -- were the girls; sadly i s'pose it was more commercially sound to dwell on the juvenile relationship between the brothers. which is not to say that i didn't enjoy the farce of it.


speaking of which, Cavaldi the Italian Guy was either a brilliant role or a shamefully hammy experience. i can't decide.


classic Jonathan Pryce moments though, including a scene that will be gleefully recurring in my head for some time (the "soldier's meal" at the edge of the woods, by which i give away nothing, trust me).

it was a beautifully filmed movie though, very lush, the mirror queen in particular.


ah well. i'll probably get my Gilliam fix from Tideland.

p.s. oldben's favorite part of the movie was Heath Ledger's beard.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

bits & fishes

how visible is your fish? the vanishing point knows.


moon jellyfish are invading the globe.


the great inventor Mr. Moog died last weekend.


Robert Moog, NY Times photo.


& this man just seems to want to find as many planets as possible.

Monday, August 29, 2005

fishie



adopt your own virtual pet!


i have adopted a fishie, & as soon as i figure out how to make him small enough to live in the sidebar, there he shall live & play & swim.

thanks to potted flower for this one.

Friday, August 26, 2005

arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrg.

i'm a frustrated fish.

& September 19th is International Talk Like a Pirate Day.



Ocean City, MD.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

secret agent fish

aha! i have fooled you all! i am zola! which is like zalu with bubbles, only different!

Zola - Life (Greek)
Colour - Blue
Element - Water
Emotion - Freedom
Stone - Sapphire
Weather - Blue Skies
Animal - Dolphin


Which Unusual Name Suits You?
brought to you by Quizilla

(that first little tiny line is a link to the quiz)

zalu with bubbles:

my photo, mysfit's photoshop glee.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

colorado fish

i know i promised a tale of the Colorado Expedition, & you shall have it...
...er, soon.
until than, the last of the voyage's photos are up on the tourist.


follow your fish, sidewalk chalk, Boulder, CO.

weekend and the fish

WARNING: this post may change as i get my pictures back.

there was one place i wanted to be this weekend and it was about a four-hour drive away from where i ended up - but you know, what I had a fantastic (if painful) time anyway.

saturday was the six-month anniversary of Hunter S. Thompson's suicide and he was flying high for the last time. so while the hanger-ons, revelers and hullabaloos where crowding around Aspen CO to memorialize a strange character in US history and his equally strange Gonzo Journalism (the fist is two feet taller than the statue of liberty, by the way) - we - my brother, his girlfriend, Hamlet and I - were having our own little ceremony.

(drunken girl, fire & camera = a potentially dangerous situation)

this involved a roaring camp fire, blackened catfish, jack daniels, old chub, gravity and song (ok, no singing, but it fits nicely in the memory). my bro and i toasted many a drunken time to that infamous outlaw and i paid my tribute by falling off a rock (many times) and nearly knocking myself out on a chair(don't ask). the afternoon rain had left enough mud to get my new hiking boots dirty and even though i deserve one, i didn't end up with a black eye.

before sunset and this drunken carrying on, we off-roaded a bit in a truck nearly too big for the jeep-trails, karate-kicked burned-blackened stumps of trees and shot each other with paintball guns in an improvised game of king of the hill.

by the time sunday came around i was hungover, bruised, battered and disoriented, but happy - happy we didn't accidently set forest aflame, happy to be out of the house for a few days, happy that i had some good camp-coffee and breakfast burritos to wake up to, happy to be alive and in nature and if you think that sounds cheesy, you're really weird.

Monday, August 22, 2005

unemployed fish

i hate looking for jobs. it's such a strange mixture of self-promotion & abasement. & you never know what to expect, from the garbled act of talking business on a cell phone to the strange looks sneaking out sideways from the girls behind the counter. ah, the thought of 45 hours a week at the Staten Island Mall. shudder.

i thought i'd worked all this out when i started work at an animal hospital in the spring, but no.
why, i ask, would you hire someone full-time & fail to have the necessary hours available? scrape, scratch, beg, every pay period...the kicker was when they started sending me out to other hospitals to fill in; they're not at all near each other, & suddenly i'm sitting in a recently-flooded old brownstone attic with a decade's worth of dead animal files to sort? ahem? & then the 12-hour-shift at a hospital i'd never even seen, on Memorial Day. sorry bout your old dog ma'am but i don't know who the doctors are, or who's in charge, or where Poochie is...or if he's still alive even...believe me, i'd tell you if i knew, but there are hundreds of people & they're all wearing scrubs...

i was not meant to wear scrubs.
neither was i meant to work, i think.
so now i'm unemployed again, albeit less likely to rave at the universe or blankly state my miserableness.


Nermyl, resident cat at the Animal Hospital of Staten Island, Spring 2005.

i don't think i'm going to get the position i interviewed for today, but that's ok, because the idea of Holiday Season at the Staten Island Mall makes me twitch. yelp. you'd think they'd mention that a coffee shop's in the mall; it so completely alters the definition of "coffee shop".
it would have been fun to manage one...more interesting than being a legal secretary anyway...but the mall (shakes head despondently).


labels, AHSI, Spring 2005.

i have no idea why it's been so hard for me to find work. too much else going on, maybe (although the phrase "freelance photographer" seems to work wonders when i explain i need such-&-such time to go on the road with the band) or maybe my heart's just not in it. i don't like feeling like i don't like people, but honestly...some of those potential fellow employees/employers just irk me...my inherent snobbiness maybe, or some misplaced screw-you-i'm-a-Jersey-girl mentality.

alas, alack. all this whining gets me nowhere. once more into the want ads, then.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

fishy fishy fish; this is quite a tasty dish....

in the glow of elvis costello's voice, thanks to tesco, and on the off-handed comment of a co-worker, i have discovered the meaning of the universe.

Vintery, mintery, cutery, corn,
Apple seed and apple thorn;
Wire, briar, limber lock,
Three geese in a flock.
One flew east,
And one flew west,
And one flew over the cuckoo's nest.

ok, so maybe not the universe but it was a nice thought. what i really found was this site, and it made me think. often faerytales and folk tales, like those in the Brothers Grimm collections, were told to children to "encourage" them to behave and to teach them how to survive in the wilderness.

these stories spread adages like: "don't talk to strangers", "don't take apples from crazy old women", "always pay the piper", and "never trust anyone with a title like grand-vizier". they also shared such useful tips as: if you're wandering in the woods it's a good idea to mark a trail, but don't use bread crumbs, and: learn to recognize the difference between your grandmother and a wolf, it could save your life.

Georgie Porgie, puddin' and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry.
When the boys came out to play,
Georgie Porgie ran away.

History: This rhyme refers to the amorous and amoral Prince Regent who became George IV during Regency times in England.

however, from many of the historical notes attached to these and other nursery rhymes, it seems that these rhymes were way to teach children how to make fun of nobles and the reigning monarchy, without them finding out.

perhaps these rhymes are the secret signs of the rebel army of children (must be less than this tall to join) that spread fear and jump-ropes across mediaeval Europe and overthrew many a sandbox-king. i have been looking for solid proof of this army for a long time and though i have long known of it's existence, this is the most significant evidence i have ever come across. AH-HA internet, i shall soon become the most well-renowned archaeologist of my age!

Ring a-round the roses,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down!

In other news, they found the plague in prairie dogs in north Boulder, CO - this will make many people very happy, because they've spent a lot of legislative time and money over the last 10-15 years trying to figure out just what to to do with these cute little nasty pests.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

on the run: a collection tucked in the fold of a book

something in glances or a lack therof,
sputtering over wood tones & natural hues,
a faint, wavering staccato on a tattooed drum.

ways of not looking lead to silence.
the lag in response was telling,
a demonstration of control.

recharging the creature doesn't seem to work;
just look at its cunning little tail.
i would i had worn other colors.

& in the awkward shy steps
between each arpeggio
or reel

a new thing stumbled & weaved,
uncertain, a little doomed,
a little too Shakespearean in the way it danced.

Buddha Fish


"Do not believe in anything simply because you have heard it.
"Do not believe in anything simply because it is spoken and rumored by many.
"Do not believe in anything simply because it is found written in your religious books.
"Do not believe in anything merely on the authority of your teachers and elders.
"Do not believe in traditions because they have been handed down for many generations.
"But after observation and analysis, when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and benefit of one and all, then accept it and live up to it." --Gautama Buddha

Monday, August 15, 2005

damn the man - save the fish

i had started a post meandering through all the fishy details of my Boulder expedition, but i don't quite have the concentration for it...however i thought i'd share this marshmallow bra with everyone as a sugary subsitute.
i dunno, people send me these things.

also the first season of the Muppet Show is out on DVD, & i thought i'd bring the sheer genius of Jim Henson to the attention of the fish.

just finished watching Empire Records & feeling very youthy-conquers-all-ish.

support endangered music.

"Who knows where thoughts come from? they just appear. mmmhmm."

exquisite simul-fish corpse

here is our collaboration - this is an exquisite corpse - this means one person writes two lines, folds the paper over so that only one line shows passes it on, the next person writes two lines and folds the paper so that only the last line shows then passes it on; repeat. this can be done with any number of people and often each first line has to rhyme with the one before, but as jenn see will surely point out, i cheat.

the lines in italics are jenn see's.

Boulder, CO - August 12; 5 p.m.ish
an automated voice thanks me for a series of numbers
"Rhyme if you like" she says, & i go under

to follow fish in my tiki-torch submarine
but i was thinking of this ahead of time
& there are rotations of songs, her voice singing sublime
slightly atonal but sincere, turning conversations

tuning realizations but there are songs in the leaves
and creatures hiding behind colors playing trees
mischievous in their hues, determined in their decrees.
solid & 3-D in this mutable temperature & light
transitional before the alter of fracture, and i am
still waiting for the sun to soak oils in this canvas
& always crossing fingers that combustion escape the endless
summer sundown, but this afternoon the threat of thunder--
summer sundown, but this evening on the tundra
the butterflies have ceased their chaos-heart beat
distinctive wings folded in the mountain altitude heat
posing for a moment in the trials of tiki transformation
"ah, back to the sub," she sighs in imminent illumination
and "i've never been much for rhymes" i think but
on exquisite occasions I wonder, without them, what
continuity would persist but the unlikely schedule
and errant flings, conspiring against our different level
of trying out puzzle-piece symmetry and old connection
& the essential jigsaw of reminiscence--I look to the resurrection
of understandings & these talismans of lavender hard-cover

so we strive to discover wire-sewn butterflies within
pages and pages of past we've created, to gaze at
mile-high cities that are not so high, after all, & an ancient cat
winks to me that all quiet times have an end, & many doors still open

into history's future--but we will still share this pen.

Saturday, August 13, 2005

regular fish-programming

so i realize that the fish has been a bit lax lately - since jenn see came out to visit me - but worry not, we were off doing things to fish about. but now that she has returned to her life and i to mine, the fish will return to its regular scheduled programming:


mysfit trimming jenn see's hair

Monday, August 08, 2005

follow the fish to Boulder

it's strange how another's computer can seem so alien. this one feels pretty odd. but the screen is amazing &...weird.

anyway, i have followed my fishie to Boulder.

hello, Boulder.

let the fishing adventures commence.
& when mysfit gets out of work, it's all going to go quantum.

& that's all i have to say about that...for now.

Friday, August 05, 2005

moving the superhero fish - part um?

I know many of you are waiting on the edge of your monitors for an update on my moving endeavor, but this isn't the full version. Brace yourself as we travel back in time to last Sunday. This really should be called:

THE MOVING DISTRACTION-FISH

After a gruelling Saturday of realizing that I have too much stuff and not enough time to go through it all before throwing it in boxes and dragging it four blocks, we decided to go to a rodeo. For those of you who do not remember the old west or cowboys or even what a horse looks like here's a picture:

Cheyenne, Wyoming - proud home of the Cheyenne Frontier Days: "the Daddy of 'em All" - a rodeo tournament that lasts a week, and has every year since 1897. For those of the rodeo-persuasion, this tourney is the second most prestigious in the country - cause it has the second largest reward pay-out of all the events on the rodeo circuit. It also hosts one of the best old west museums.

My favorite was the clown:


(yes, he's waving at me - that made me very happy)

Outside the arena was a gala of leather and lights - a boardwalk without an ocean - I kept expecting when I got to the end of the carnival strip of games and rides, that I would be able to walk onto the pier, take off my shoes and wade into the cool(cold) water of the Atlantic Ocean - but of course, I was in Wyoming. (Just in case you were wondering - Wyoming is a looooong way from the Atlantic, something like 2500 miles away).
I was going to post these pictures on the tourist, but the only talent I have with pictures that rivals jenn see's ability to take photographs, is my ability to edit them. (This isn't a complaint - sometimes I take gems as well, just not as often.)
before editafter edit
(yay disappearing people)

Yes, the carnival had a fun house. It's been years since I've even seen an attempt at one of these and though it was kinda lame, it had a small mirror maze (I've been drawn to these strange infinities ever since I saw Something Wicked This Way Comes as a child).

All in all, the day was hot and pleasant - I got drunk on cheap beer, was amused at all the cowboy hats, and watched a bunch of macho men try to prove that they really are smarter than your average side-of-beef. I also scared myself silly on this ride:

But mostly, I spent the day avoiding any thought of the room I had not yet cleaned, of the boxes sitting stacked in my new living room/dining room/bedroom, of the fact that I can't find anything, despite my four-tier system, and just enjoyed myself immensely.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

space fish & science movies

bubble, bubble...wait, what happened to the bubbles?

a few random thoughts before i make the vast voyage to mysfit-land, where i'm sure tandem fishing will occur in spades.

the havoc we've wreaked on mother Earth is visible from space.

& the Pentagon is putting those mad scientists away in rooms to write screenplays. on government money. seriously.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

episodes of strange and unusual fish - part 3.5

                   never fly standby on a sunday
                 (probably a fractured faerytale)

tom waits is a strange looking beast—
           he inspires such raging thought-cacophonies

           that i breathe newness into every O2 molecule
            slipping past swollen throat to seethe through
                                        lungs and infect my blood—
                                freeing force to universe to create to

                                                      go mad

i’ve broken free of florescent madness
                                            and neon sacraments
leaving behind twelve-hour airport adventures
                                            and empty glass rings

i never knew just how your carnivalesquence carved guitars
from the gears of my internal clock
           so you talk to strangers setting questions like fruit cocktails
           as i tap my foot to nick cave on 30,000ft of wind whipping
                                                      dreams of striking it rich in

vegas looked the other way and i slipped by
invisible between the flashing machine-molecules
                                            and rainbow reverberations
if i look back (i can almost feel elvis chasing me):

“this airport operates at a high level of security.
 you can help increase the effectiveness of the
 airport                security                 program
 by following a few
                           simple
                                     procedures”
“Thank you for your Cooperation”

 so i clutch my few simple possessions
 and Cooperate with—
                             the counting crows string sentiments
                             inside my otherwise strung-out subconscious:
          “Well mister, if you're going to walk on water
                   Could you drop a line my way?”

i nod in time with the potted plot, the beat and
       “now my chin falls on my breast,
       i pray that this in not a test,
       but if in vegas when i wake,
       i pray the dream my mind to take.”

another quick fish

before i go dancing at the ballroom:

is it just me, or is it starting to seem that there's an angry god after the boy scouts?

in pursuit of a true fish

an American freelance journalist was kidnapped & assassinated in Basra, probably as a result of this article. because fish need to know that these things go on.

some random scattered fish

courtesy of blogger buzz, the Nonist has published a special pamphlet for those afflicted with blog depression, & CNET has a top-ten internet fad list. (just, you know, doing my part.)

found a creepy schoolgirl film at ifilm. creepy. was glad to not have to be anywhere near a school for a bit.

the 2005 Hugo awards are ongoing, & if you have the time, follow your fish to some class-A SF.

& i've just learned the answer to a burning question: why do men have nipples? apparently, everyone starts out the same, & by the time a fetus decides to be male, the nipples are already there.

& i'll just assume everyone wants to see the giant catfish.

for reasons best kept quiet at the moment, i'm going off with schoolgirls on the brain...

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

through these portals walk the famous

self-portraits of Van Gogh all
on one upstairs wall
& portraits of others on another

pageant of shifting musical agents
drenched in neon location
poured down the stage area
bright language of titles

& I don't understand
the tree trunk
either
or tropical names like Robinson Crusoe
cast up on Manhattan edges

get the groove on
out of tunnels & street-giddy turns
tunnels with varying degrees of sky

I've been kidnapped & I like it
it's her emblematic red shirt--it's
a comment on communism

all this black light pointed at nothing
ignites a pervasive & subtle glow
& changes the eyes

the details--these are good details
like this monochromatic
photographic
collage in table-red

somewhere in this cityscape wasteland
fertile details bloom in time-lapse
anyway
& when the accessory drum beat ceases
suddenly silent in here

Elvis my
what?
      "wise
            men
                  say"

"something shook just died"
a lot of bodies
very loud
in a shrinking circle of space

& those elegantly leaning
wide women curving
next to me
sit rhythmically
catcalling in positive judgement

& the energy level
in spite of it all

I press my skull against this lower wall
slick-like
to pull up right
for to
see you
wisely
or only clearly

in a crowded place I imagine you get quite the response
you & your sloped gliding shoulders
cast of character acts for comedic effect
& haloed in almost-pastels
reflective
backlit
smokelit

i like that you dig behind lenses
on a slow song
      ends
            like that.

the original piece, of course, had much more interesting spacing...
i wanted to post this in tandem with the Kenny's Castaways photos from last week, but didn't get the time...when i was there i was reminiscing, as one does, or as i do, anyway...it's a bit of a fateful location, when i once decided that a certain someone was taking too damn long to steal me away, & i took matters into my own hands...as it were. but that's a different sort of story.
but i wrote this poem after that night, & it's strange how it resonates in me still.

Monday, August 01, 2005

dream of the fish

this is all true.

how could it not be? remember, i'm no fiction-writer.

it had to be a dream, the strangest, longest, realest dream i've ever had; these past few days are too improbable to have happened outside my subconscious narrative.

overlaps, that's the thing, & a series of surreal settings, sensory-overload lights encompassing unlikely scenes, sequentially.

it had an underwater feel, the ebb & flow of time intensely felt, a quality of light that gave it away. green clamshells glowed blue & the shells of crabs & underwater flora lay strewn about my feet. the edges of shells are sharp, the beckoning blue mouths of mussels seemed to parallel the curve of black dolphins surfacing. there were cycles, & much destruction & construction of sand castles, one way or the other eventually taken by the tide. the egrets had vanished from the marshes, & what were all those shifting, floating arms & that spreading red glow if not an undersea volcano?

thatch in the rain, shining drops over a view of a city of the future, & the wet paths that lead to it spotlit in blue. overturned boats, advertisements in the sky. Steel Pier at a distance, closing down, neon & bulbs going dark one ride at a time. who is abandoning all these places, & why? the flickering light at the end of a braid. veritable showers of light, bombardments of light & driftwood. drums & birdcage chairs, convex mirror coffee table, hammock swings hung from a lush canopy.
at key moments i could feel the spin of the earth.

i haven't seen you in years. you are so changed, you are not you, you are fundamentally the same, like our conversations never died, i would know you anywhere. i know you. how are you all in the same room together? how does this conversation happen? how did we get from there to here? how many cities can you visit in a night? how many rooms full of overlapping worlds? so many eyes to make contact with, to hold, to question, to maintain a memory of along with a silhouette to imprint on the mind. features are a blur, an exercise in time travel. & always there is change.

stained glass sacred hearts in the ceiling & devil-worship emblems tattooed on bathroom walls, black on red, as if on sunburned skin. merpeople engraved in pillars, their armor & schools of fish separating from the stone. meet me at the column before the rain begins.

sun blazing in & out of background fixtures & clouds, making details impossible to see. even the grains of sand cast shadows. i was not surprised when the talk turned to paradox, but who remembers the conversations held in dreams? a quote, an epigram, a bit of an elegy here & there. something inexplicably meaningful for all its nonsensical nature, a conversation between strangers.

therefore the question is -- the question is -- what does the dream mean?