59th Street Bridge NY, NY
by Matt Rosenberger
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Friday, May 30, 2014
i have a great idea for a movie
opening scene everybody would die except
just two or three would survive, to live
gruesomely scabby yet riveting lives
the survivors would have cleft chins
and perfect breasts that heave on command
or off
and they, the stars, the beautiful stars
would repopulate the earth in 90 minutes
make it a better place for kids and golden retrievers
the movie crests into naked euphoria
in the first two seconds
when bill o’reilly explodes in a deluge of magma
that has surged up from the earth’s core
directly into fox studios
the remaining eighty-eight minutes
with the movie’s perfect pacing
of cliffhanger rescues followed by frenzied fucking
feature nancy grace, the former prosecutor
whose southern accent
with its bitter yet come hither edge
makes me and all other cinematic
dorky ass viewers of cable tv cringe
and lust mightily at the same time
her full lips feverish and shiny
her open thighs ready to receive
the burning priapus of the sub-plot
anyway i digress from my movie idea
of the people who recopulate the world
and for a brief time live happily, so happy
in utah, where the mormons used to practice posture
before my movie sent them all to kingdom come
in the denouement, just before the climax
a really horrible thing happens, finally
after reams of crazy deaths and ecstatic couplings
but strangely, it seems rightly horrible
you might even say – apropos of
all the things, the death, the life
the well-hung dialogue, the rippling tears
the crippling laughter laced in the sacral bone
the very emulsion of the film itself
all melting together – beguilingly
a strange comic relief, a last straw
in the unending beverage that is my movie
opening scene everybody would die except
just two or three would survive, to live
gruesomely scabby yet riveting lives
the survivors would have cleft chins
and perfect breasts that heave on command
or off
and they, the stars, the beautiful stars
would repopulate the earth in 90 minutes
make it a better place for kids and golden retrievers
the movie crests into naked euphoria
in the first two seconds
when bill o’reilly explodes in a deluge of magma
that has surged up from the earth’s core
directly into fox studios
the remaining eighty-eight minutes
with the movie’s perfect pacing
of cliffhanger rescues followed by frenzied fucking
feature nancy grace, the former prosecutor
whose southern accent
with its bitter yet come hither edge
makes me and all other cinematic
dorky ass viewers of cable tv cringe
and lust mightily at the same time
her full lips feverish and shiny
her open thighs ready to receive
the burning priapus of the sub-plot
anyway i digress from my movie idea
of the people who recopulate the world
and for a brief time live happily, so happy
in utah, where the mormons used to practice posture
before my movie sent them all to kingdom come
in the denouement, just before the climax
a really horrible thing happens, finally
after reams of crazy deaths and ecstatic couplings
but strangely, it seems rightly horrible
you might even say – apropos of
all the things, the death, the life
the well-hung dialogue, the rippling tears
the crippling laughter laced in the sacral bone
the very emulsion of the film itself
all melting together – beguilingly
a strange comic relief, a last straw
in the unending beverage that is my movie
by the boy poets, throwing an eephus pitch
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
One of Many Internal Conversations
About the Medical Crisis of 2013
The extreme medical crisis brings me full circle on the brain question,
the question about whether our brains are in charge of anything, and if so how
much, because in a medical crisis you pretty much have to trust the medical
professionals, because, let's face it, they use their brains and the
accumulation of medical knowledge, to do things – such as save lives – that
you, with your carpentry and plumbing tools and paint brushes and nice way of
talking and cool life experience, simply can't do, plus they can prescribe
morphine, which you also can't do, but speaking of brains, there's nothing like
a medical crisis to engage you and your own brain to ask the bevy of doctors
urgent questions and more questions and more questions until you start to
notice that their answers don't always fit their other answers nor do they
always fit the others guys' answers, so you ask more questions until you are
layers deep into the accumulated medical knowledge of the eons, and now your
questions are getting pretty good and engaging their brains because your brain
has been paying very close to attention to the words they speak and parsing the
words and breaking the facts down and stacking the facts up since this is a
matter of life and death, and one day in the office of a major doctor dude, you
realize that regarding the question you are asking he doesn't know the
answer. He's never thought about this before. This is a scary moment. The
doctor doesn't want to admit it. Neither do you. He's got his reasons. You've
got yours. But none of the reasons are worth a flip compared to life and death,
and within the space of one more question you don't care about anything but
your hunger for knowledge, because his reasons and your reasons are small and
shabby compared to life and death, and because your brain is engaged with your
heart because your heart wants to go on beating and your brain wants to keep on
breaking through the veil with new questions about the brain question and
because of the crazy desperate throbbing exuberance of the immortal dizzy deep
mystery of cells and space and the spinal column, and what doesn't belong there.
Monday, May 26, 2014
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