The Drunken Boat

"Imagination about travel corresponds in Verne to an exploration of closure, and the compatibility between Verne and childhood does not stem from a banal mystique of adventure, but on the contrary from a common delight in the finite, which one also finds in children's passion for huts and tents: to enclose oneself and to settle, such is the existential dream of childhood and of Verne. The ship may well be a symbol for departure; it is, a deeper level, the emblem of closure. An inclination for ships always means the joy of perfectly enclosing oneself, of having at hand the greatest possible number of objects, and having at one's disposal an absolutely finite space." 

The Nautilus and the Drunken Boat, Roland Barthes

Different Items Different Cities.

Robert Mitchum, Lila Leeds

article left on my doorstep

CCTV trying to say something to me?

This House Has A Shadow

Legs Revisited

Abuse

of the language

and you argued against

this

yet when

you ask

how I am

I am to 

respond

how are you?

How are you?

How are you?

How are you?

How are you?

I play this game

with Zeus James

the three legged cat

and he tells me

it's never easy

and it never

gets easier

just play their game

and eventually

someone will let you in.

Smells Like Teen Spirit

First day of university in Ireland and unfortunately I still don't know how to tell the time, or maybe time is always lying to me, but I went to school for a ten o'clock class that was really at twelve, and then thought I had a class at one when it was really at two. So I ended up entering the lecture hall for my two o'clock class too early, sat down, and noticed only twenty other students. This should have been my first red flag. A jolly Irish fat professor struts in, and I ask you to emphasize the strut. Another red flag considering all the English professors tend to be thin and angry. But this guy stands before the class and says, "Welcome to the theatre." 

A big oh fucking shit instantly repeats through my mind. I cannot get up now in a lecture hall filled with only twenty other students, and considering my luck this professor would say something stupid like, "Where are you going?" And I did not want to be that student on the first day who says "I am in the wrong class." My skin gets too red when I am embarrassed and that risk is never worth it. So I remain frozen in my seat praying this class would be more of a theory class and less of an acting class. Of course the class I thought I would be missing was Enlightenment, which I think makes this lesson even more fascinating. Of course this theater class is an acting class, and I am about to faint. 

When I was younger I loved doing musicals and acting in front of audiences, but now getting up in front of a class I am not even in, a class no exchange, visiting or Eramus students are allowed to take, I feared I was going to be caught intruding on this class especially with my American accent. The instructor gives out directions, we get a five minute improve, and I think well, should I try to fake an Irish accent in an acting class? My palms are so sweaty, I know there is no way I am going to be able to fake an accent. I keep swallowing in intervals of two. 

It's my turn, the instructor is pointing at me. What the fuck was I doing, I missed the entire first row give their improves, I could have used one of those for inspiration and I have nothing. Now he is saying "Don't be shy" extremely loud. I know I must look like a deer in head lights, and I trip going down on the last two steps. I stand in front of my "peers" swallow two times and fake faint. The students gasp, I wait five seconds, Mississippillies included, jump to my feet, smile and bow. For some reason everyone laughs, and I am not discovered as an American intruder.  

And The Lord Said, You Are Home.

I Follow The Shepherd For I Have The Brain of a Sheep

Every Sunday

at four

traffic stops

some cars

too far back

honk impatiently

unable to see

 the crowd in black

the six men

arms linked

carry the casket

no one ever cries

everyone seems

just as impatient 

as the cars stuck

behind the other cars

wishing those six men

were stronger

capable

of walking six paces faster

with the chunks of wood

and empty body

of someone they once knew

weighing down on their shoulders

I watch girls

dressed in black short dresses

probably worn

some night out

with fishnet stockings

tucked inside their black Ugg boots

and men wearing

black tracksuits

with white sneakers

as I cross the street

a blast goes off in a near alley

and Bertille says, 

"Ah we are now in Afghanistan"

Isadora the Explorer

Treasures found in my backyard

is a quiet basin, the Blessington Basin.

Also known as the Dublin's Secret Garden.

Hit Me With A Flower

Lady Lavery, The She-Man

Not just a pretty face?

But you put her

on your bank notes

as your icon

loose change, loose legs

loose lips?

prostituted for reformation

a Venus in Furs

if you insist

but she is no flower

just like all women

she is castrated

by her own womb

and by you

oh Ireland!

you are the masculine

master, monster

putting her in

your place of choice

and when she set eyes on you

did she choose to go blind?

did she let go

of her impulses?

do you dare

glorify your Lady

and wish us all blind?

 

Girl In Cafe

I sat outside the Lennox Cafe with only a pot of tea since my money was running low due to my inability to open a bank account in a foreign country. I sat between an Irish couple, a Spanish couple and two Irish men, all enjoying wine, food, espresso and dessert. I didn't dare make eye contact with any of them especially after the waiter snuffed at me when I said I would only be ordering a pot of tea at a table for one.

To distract myself from connecting with strangers I pulled out a copy of Venus in Furs, slowly sipping the Irish tea since my waiter refused to bring me milk. 

Without hesitation, even after I warned myself not to, I looked up at the street to see a man pedaling a bike and as he turned the corner he blew a kiss. I looked down back at my book feeling my cheeks burn. I turned the page but from under my table I noticed two wheels and a green sneaker. The man on the bike had turned, turned around.  When he noticed I had noticed him, he threw his bike down not bothering to lock it and asked to join me.

His name, Henry.

Henry the musician, on his way to meet his friend to grab his guitar before a gig said he felt he had to turn around to meet me, to ask my name, to learn where I am from and laughed when I said California, claiming I looked French. I had the hair of a French girl with wicked lashes. I sensed the couples were uncomfortable with us, us the intruders, the poor, the unequipped to dine and wine. Henry said beautiful girls should never sit alone. 

I told Henry I wished him the best with his music and asked him to leave, see no man with a bike, no man with a guitar can swoon a girl at a table for one when he tells her she would fit in only when sitting at a table for two.

Who Wastes His Child Born So Wild

The Cross By My House


I dreamt
I was floating face down
inside this cross
like that scene 
in Romeo + Juliet
when Tybalt
is shot outside
the church
floating
below jesus
or was it mary?
the face of that statue
terrified and condemning
and when I woke
gasping to breath
because I thought 
I had finally
plunged out of 
the water
I felt terrified, alone
and misplaced
so I returned
to the cross
and read
the Century
since 1787
the passion
for the real
still exists
never close
to a birth,
this cross
is the montage
of semblance
man has killed Christ
and man has killed man
and for repentance 
built a sunken 
cruciform water-feature
for his grave. 










Officially living in Dublin, Ireland.