STARVING AND DISGUSTED, TO FEEL

(this one is to fulfill a vow to Roberta)

Starving and disgusted. To feel like the buzzard, looking down on Death. The puke eye vieweth all. Pick a card, any card. And then

Do.

Exactly.

What.

It.

Says.

To eat cold vomit, then you shall eat cold vomit. Make a shoe from the corn husks, a horn from yon brittle root. Feel the scratches on the inside of your stomach, walking about, crawling towards the out. It's all going to come up again. Your insides are all going to be on the outside. Someone has named it, The Human Breakdown of Absurdity. This song-poem and a quarter will get you . . . . well, nothing. It will get you nothing.

From the feast of vultures the true cannibal can groom a raw religious experience. First there comes the justification. Only afterwards comes the thing justified. It only makes sense. You look to find a bullet in your heart. You must have needed it there or it would not be.

The devil's feast is always an easy fit in your stomach, this one is no exception. When good air breathes through a truly dead thing, and more good air uplifts its wings, this is what defines the slow wicked innocence of the condor. It's a hole in the good air sky filled with a rotting chill. If you taste it once you shall taste it always. It's like seeing Brother Cain help out with the barn-raising by bringing a really good cold potato pie. Every mouthful makes you deader, makes you hungrier, leaves you more fulfilled and empty. And all the while the walls just keep going up.

Please bring some cold water to sip as you watch me burn.

JUST ANOTHER TAWDRY TINSELTOWN LOVE STORY

Last night at the Grand Theater I fell in love.

I'm talking machine shop love, splintered barber pole love, binging on cold sausage grease love. Love the color of a skeleton's kiss. Love as sharp as buttermilk served freezing cold from an old nippled beer bottle. Love pure. Love sweet as gum licked off the bottom of the theater seat. Love filling your head like cigar smoke from the nostrils of faeries. Love to make Kafka wet himself in the middle of a dream soon to be forgotten forever. I fell in love, hard like old nuns, sturdy as the gold standard used to be, drinking down thick black coffee in the rectory, cup after syrupy smoldering cup. Love like sneaking into a burned out movie house and finding a nickel and a melted pack of licorice Nibs behind the charred counter. Love that squeals in your brain like the crab racing from the boiling pot at the last possible moment. Love so strong I gripped the armrest tight, twisted my wrist and felt old wood snapping off, love that got me down on my knees in the aisle on rotten stinking carpet, love that burst me into weeping and made me curse and worship the cloudy flickering gods lit up on that tattered gray screen, love to make soup in your brain so hardy and heavy and bloody that a full-grown man could roller skate on it noon until night. Love they don't even try to describe using words, love they just cry about at the very thought of, while praying that the loving and the crying never end.

Then I noticed it was just a bug on my glasses.

published in 1991 by Anaconda Press ("Snakeskin") in a very different form.

The Fall of the House of CAT BARF

This morning there occurred an event so monumental, so astounding, so abysmal and so apocalyptic that I feel I must record it here - if for no reason other than to purge myself of the images, impressions, dare I say the abject horror of the experience. The aftermath has left me feeling somehow like Edgar Allan Poe so I am certain something must be done.

The Fall of the House of Cat Barf

Once upon a morning sunny, clean and calm (with nothing runny!), the early day when things

seem funny - even for no reason,

I was seated on the floor, just three feet from the bathroom door, where Stacey tried

to dress for work - for yes, it is that season.

My vocation however small, how minor or unimportant - was sorting socks

yes a triviality to be sure - but there's a great assortment.

A simple task, which I could master, near trinkets made of alabaster, all styled like cats

of different shapes - but no sign of disaster.

But nearby too - and at this thought, the terror erupts, bursts like a clot,

for with innocence there did gather; two cats (each one my lord and master) --

as I will now know evermore. My thoughts did drift from socks to clouds, of gossamer so light

(yet so like shrouds!) what next I heard filled me with fright -

but with no time to take to flight, or hide behind a door.

Suddenly there came a gurgle, a ripple and a babble, no chance to think or reach

or grab a towel with which to dabble, or even to shout out or screech -

A cat was sick, so horribly sick, right next to my seat on the floor!

Our carpet's crap, so that's no matter, so worn and stained, we all saw it

with but disdain - if that were it, I must explain - there'd be no need for my chatter.

Cat Number One was about to blow; a foot away (I moved so slow!), but the problem

as I just knew - was Cat Number Two.

The second cat, whom we've named Tex, has wide and sundry powers to vex -

but a foot from Harold (the barfer here), I could not reach - O Lord! O Dear!

Harold's head became a fountain, hot wet canned catfood he was spoutin'

I watched with horror as Tex moved in - all I could think was, "Please - nevermore".

For canned cat puke all know and hate, but Tex foresaw another fate, for him -

it all cried "Winner!" At the thought my face goes ashen, revulsion floods in with a passion -

But Tex, you see saw just one thing: "Ah! A second dinner!"

So while Harold, to my horror, barfs like a spout near bathroom door, Tex sticks his head

under the flow, a feast of friends (I'm still too slow!)

A cat's head that is clogged with barf, all wrapped up in it like a scarf will make you react

with a yell - this you all must know.

But such a shout, instead of erasing the truth of the scene which you're facing, is more likely to send both cats racing - with globs of barf in tow.

So barf still hot is now dispersed, the stench pervades and makes it worse, and somehow my hand's in the glop (O please, to make it stop!)

The aftermath, the shock may wane, but guts still wrench and minds disdain

cannot be lessened just with time - (or trying to dispel with rhyme)

I've cleaned the carpet, washed the floor, wiped down the wall, stripped the door

A wrecking ball (and nothing more) may be the true way to endure -

So your sympathies I do implore, and if my react seems quite poor

I'm crawling through my private hell, no opiate can cleanse that smell

Our next cat I shall name Lenore

Just that, and nothing more.

DICK GETS SOME GRUB

Dick Gets Some Grub

Word comes down, Dick

Get some grub

No pout - chill out

Next stop: Sam's Club.

Dick feels frisky, on the sly

Dick quick cops Eskimo Pie

Sally says "Dick, now that's a sin"

Jane just smirks

Turns him in.

Make a break, new wanted man

Dick slips out - take it on the lam

Grocer tries to run him down

Bad mistake - Dick cracks his crown

Flesh gets patched up, charges

Pressed. Squeeze some Charmin, you'll be

Blessed. Meanwhile Jane

Runs back to school

Sally in tow - her new drug mule.

Crowbar Hotel, there's Dick inside

Juvie Hall, let's take a ride

Skip the strip search bulls decide

But Dick's still packin'

Place to hide.

Something happens, charges

Dropped. Dick gets lippy

Takes a walk. Pete his posse

with a plan - somehow gets to

Grocery Man.

They just pinch him

'Till he squeals. Let's just

Forget the whole deal.

Sun's still shining

Dick hits the street. Ice cream

melts, but meat

Is meat.

See Sally Dig Chicago Blues

Sally loves Chicago jazz and blues.
Dances her trike like trick skateboard voodoo news.
Shell-shocked Spot just dribbles & spins
Where ever he been - now goin' again.

Willie Mabon's mad but
She has the nerve to be glad
Throw Puff out the window
run out & catch her before she fall
Just don't get this stuff with Les Paul.

Her bookie visor's back in place
chin down, spy up green eyeball face
Her whispers haunt some South side wall
On the street every man she see
Name Sonny Boy or else John Lee

Father wants reprimand
Found bedroom window open again and
her panties on branch in maple tree
Heard her singing 'bout Bo's Diddley

Now she talkin' "draw" and "blow"
Blues harp is sharp and got ten hole
Mother wants new generation gap
This one not even on her map

Her allowance gone to Dick for weed
Sunglasses at night for new Bad Seed
Father frown - they just grow too fast
His future princess now gots some past.

JANE THEFT OUGHT TO

In recent years the style has changed somewhat, taking on a more cynical, light-hearted tone, and being based on uneven rhyme schemes. I say this as if I had some control over this sort of thing.

Dick flipping soda caps

into a bed pan filled with

honeydew and, now

soda caps.

Spot sleeps, that is, rugwise

rather drooling, mouthwise

rather dreaming, rabbitwise

it's an idle, boring time

to be dressed like postwar gondoliers

with Barney Rubble haircuts

Betty Rubble tattoos

snap peas behind the ears

shoes that buckle like

collapsed earth building

its new volcano for years.

Capless Dick, too mollycoddled

nose now dripping from his sniffs

built some backbone with some whiffs

Somehow still he keeps it bottled.

but then

Laughing, slapping, Jane

busts in - "Wake up!"

quick as a sneeze pulls

Sally's crotchless panties over Dick's

face and chin

clear to his knees - now just skin &

dribbling nose peeking through pancake makeup.

"Time to boost a ride" is what comes

down her pike

Jane she has the tools for the trip

left foot kicks Sally off her trike

black electrical tape binds her hair knot

into a mohawk, and pretends

a Hitler mustache on her milk lip.

Looks new henchman in the eyes

"Good disguise!"

Dick now angry like jigsaw out of gas

sees poorly through panty gaps

and glue lung gasps

so he hits floorboards ready

to haul ass -

pedals to push, grinds to gear

Jane hotwires ignition

chugs a beer.

She'll sit up high to steer

like Rockin' Granny

on Uncle Jed's Jalopy of Critter Fear.

Hillbilly Hell and Hootenanny

Thunderbird tires screech

"Hey, no junkball flivver

here, Dicko!" His advice:

"head for the river!"

It all plays out

when the crankshaft snaps

oil pan drops its load

and a slippery blood diamond asphalt flaps

It's squirming like a toad,

confounds the hounds

and a harbor cop just blows his top.

Dick's a snickerer, but Jane hushes

hidden in culverts none the wiser

Punk rock Sally with leather hair tongue

now beneath green bookie's visor.

But while the fuzz gets waited out

Dick's poor gluesnort heart gives out -

Jane licks mud from Dick's dead eye

"That was fun! Now what we try?"

LOVESEAT

Originally composed in about 1992, has changed very little since.


dick and jane on a loveseat
cradle hot loaf of anger
they're electric to slice it wide open
when jane says I don't feel
good she says I feel heavy
then sinks loveseat & all

dick goes for the grocer to buy holy trinity
donuts, cheese, lemonade
but on approach suffers huge beating
at the hands of man carrying bouquet of roses

dick looks up from ninja hour on the sidewalk
sees red painting melting like ice cream on wall
hard to believe this is hell he says
paddles over to jane's famous spot
worships her history like upholstered Titanic

soon it's all yesterday's papers
news photos old and cold
dick stands smoking cigarettes in middle of forest fire
paddling his wooden skeleton in ever widening circles
seeking soft cushions w/ empty sockets

seems he knew the last page all along
loss of love in singsong suicide pact embrace
spot & puff left rolling in the aftermath
hungry for hot wet treasure
or a single soft rusty
slice

DICK GETS MAD

From about 1990. With the mood a bit less dark.

Jane says Dick

I'll fix

yo breakfast

but smack

in the middle Dick

gets mad, flips

flapjack through window crack

smacks Jack

in the back he's

trimming his hedge edge Dick

whips out

slips buck naked

across syrupy Jack

look at him go!

butt flaps in the wind

down the block and oh

shit Jane quips

must've been

that sourdough

Dick & Jane Get Spaced Out

(this is nothing like the original version from 1969 - much grimmer - but I guess it is as good of a place to start as any. Mostly written in the late 1980s. We'll just get this nasty stuff out of the way. All illustrations are copyright Scott, Foresman & Co. and I'm not trying to steal them if anybody cares).

DICK AND JANE GET SPACED OUT

"You don't know the half of it,"

says fat one-legged man to Dick.

"Call me Ishmael again you shit -"

Dick spits hot oil -

"And I watch your blubber boil!"

Throwing fist full of presidents

Dick grabs tiki god incensed

bobble-head nodding, noggin ripe

and filled clear up with China White.

In filthy flat, Jane lays back

slaps & pops a tired vein

to get a React. Dick he gots

the tiki head

lays it open on the bed

Decision is already made

Wincing while he cooks it up

Jane spits, then slits

then waits for Dick to hook her up.

Oh Look, see Jane

spike the vein

Then in rides the rainbow train.

With a head on, down they drops

time stops -

a floating cloud of lemon drops

John the Baptist with a side of fries.

Grade One primer? Not this time

Hang on Sloopy side of tracks

hope no one cracks, no one dies

from doing a Dimer Oh Lord please

just no more Flies.

Sorry not the one you read

This D & J must find their way

text book tots will feed the head

No bright Spots, just lots of Puffs

In 1st grade lit some roads gets rough.

The Dick And Jane Papers, Part Two

With a certain level of naivete' in tow, I wondered to what extent the pervasive role of Dick and Jane had faded in the collective scholastic consciousness of our youngest entrants into the world of public education. Accordingly, when I was in my coffee shop the other morning, I turned to a young woman I know who works there and asked her, "Katie, did you have Dick and Jane when you were in first grade?"

She paused from her labors for a moment and then responded, "What is Dick and Jane?"

A bit of research seems to indicate that Dick and Jane, who made their colorful two-dimensional entrance into our society in the 1930s, had mostly passed out of usage by the late 1970s. Given this unfortunate fact, I have included a page from a primary grade Dick and Jane reader here, to give the uninitiated a little glimpse of this fabulous teaching tool in action. This is the final page of one of the best Dick and Jane stories of the first year selections, a four page tale entitled "I See Three". The plot line involves the laundry man delivering the clean laundry, and Mother giving the kids the zip-up laundry bags as toys to play with. I'm not sure if this type of acute oxygen deprivation was considered an effective teaching tool as well, but who's to say?

Apparently Dick and Jane's rather limited use of phonics as a primary teaching tool was shown to not be the most effective method for learning to read, and this led to them being phased out, probably among other things (even though, in the late 1960s, some ethnicity was introduced into the stories when a black family was included). I guess I am sad to see them gone. Luckily for me, my depraved consciousness has retained some level of obsession with them for the past forty-five years, and I can still write about them at will, using a sort of "What if?" mentality; in my writings, these watercolor adolescents (like the actors on Partridge Family, Brady Bunch, Family Affair etc.), are in "real life" everything that their role-playing characters are not.

Next up, I will start in with some accounts of the awful things that Dick and Jane and company were inclined towards in their off hours. Thanks.

The Dick And Jane Papers

Ever since my first days of school, I have been fascinated by the world of Dick and Jane. What is apparently a "family unit" consisting of Dick, Jane, Sally, Tim (actually a teddy bear), Spot, Puff, Mother and Father is a most intriguing template for an idyllic and bygone era of the "typical" American family.

I first started seriously lampooning this group of apparently happy idiots in about 1969 when I was in 7th grade (at least, this is as far back as I have records of my writings and drawings about these characters. I may have alluded to their ridiculous and naive lives as early as 1966 when I hand-printed my first set of my "Monkey Time" encyclopedias). From very early on I was fascinated by these simpletons and their blundering, boneheaded innocence, their severely mentally impaired and repetitive meanderings through life without ever demonstrating much more spirituality and self-awareness relative to the world than is commonly demonstrated by the average family pet. They were, I guess, just such easy targets. I couldn't just let it go.

As time went by I began to see them as the onstage (or "on-page") actors who played these roles, and I started to speculate about what these people might be like in their real lives, when they weren't playing the fool for the Scott-Foresman Publishing Company. Clearly they could not be as naive and stupid as they appeared. I began to consider them on the same wavelength as the actors who appeared on TV shows like "The Partridge Family" and "The Brady Bunch" which also attempted to display these typical and perfect family units. Behind the scenes, the actors on these shows, both the adults and the children, were often tragically flawed in large part by the wear and tear of their celebrity. In my mind, I believed that Dick and Jane and their clan had to be similarly damaged.

So I began creating perverse parodies of these scholastic legends. My first serious attempt, I believe, was a small booklet entitled "Dick and Jane Get Spaced-Out", which told a brief tale of drug abuse in the family - this tome, alas, no longer exists except in my memory. I passed it amongst a select few during Mr. Schwartz's English class in seventh grade. I know it was returned to me, but I do not know what ultimately happened to it; I only know that I do not have it amongst my files of this sort of thing. Ray Sibra does in fact have some of the material that we produced during this time period, I believe (either individually or together), but I don't believe he has any Dick and Jane materials. I will have to remember to ask him.

For the next few entries on this blog, I intend to reproduce a few of the trips that I have taken behind the scenes, into the dimly lit shadows that fell across the lives of Mother, Father, Dick, Jane, Tim, Baby Sally, Spot and Puff, during the times that the covers were closed. I can only hope that this will in some small way sully the earliest memories of at least a couple of the readers of this blog. In fact, if it makes even one person take a second look at what sort of effect Dick and Jane might have REALLY had on them, I will consider my time well spent. Thank you for reading.