"Munch" by Austin Al Ackerman

Munch

Have you enough round hole flabby-strength to skate your eye lint
Let's ask someone who knows
Let's ask patchy lint custard on your elbow
About dog cough, mist halation, all that wisdom fulla smoke
When I get to going I know it sounds silly and sordid
People begin to predict I'll go to the chair
A bunch of flying snails in the end is only wrinkly folds
The way you lunge sets us to belching and the clouds
Throat combination screwy storms in my mask collection
Sets something to sparkling in my lap
I seem to see floppy shorts will name your life
Look out for bombing phones you always followed
When you place your trust in cheese then blocks of salt
Glisten in your tub like lumpy ashcakes
No wonder a football bursts and stinks
I'd have to say I'm charging you with that
You who made these letters act all screwy and thud
Like apples behind the toilet
Thanks to you I smelled and stunned the coughing hat
That's what it means to foam beside the river
And find the birds stacked to north and south
Have you enough round hole flabby-strength to munch on those buggers
I bet you have

(from jmb of 11/3/10 etc etc)

Tardy Thoughts On the Grammys

Thanks to a Big Daddy Roth of a stomach virus - Rat Fink bulging eyes, colors not found in nature, everything ensconced in flame - last Sunday found me doing some serious couch riding, missing the love filled resonant acoustic show at Normal's with Sea Couch and Her Fantastic Cats.

One thing led to another, including viewing a filmic charmer named "The Black Death" that would make a great double feature with the original "Wicker Man" with its tale of a small pagan town living peacefully without the plague until Christian Crusaders invade and next thing I knew Kim Jong Ev had me watching The Grammy Awards for the first time since maybe High School when The Andrews Sisters were battling it out with Leslie Gore and Cee Lo Green was still nothing but a protoplasm being stirred up in an ice cave on some far away planet.

Either it was the absence of a stomach lining putting a drain on my brain or perhaps the cobwebs of age itself, but I was pleasantly surprised. Not by the winners since I didn't like any of the nominees (other than an appreciation for Arcade Fire, of course, although the singer is still sporting that Nazi Youth hairdo and naming an album after a concept - the suburbs -that is long dead and already dealt with handily by '80s New Wave), but by the entertainment.

Loved crazy Old Man Bob stretching his pretzel legs with the new kids on "Maggie's Farm". He got quite a bit of dramatic effect out of minimal movements and gesturing with his harmonica mic. His fifteen seconds of harmonica playing at the end though was a bit of a tease. And I want to enter whatever world Cee Lo Green is on. What the what! Muppets, '70s funk, Gwyneth and Big Bird and somehow it all works. Love that guy.

And fucking Mick Jagger. Always kind of put up with him so I could love the Rolling Stones great early music, but of course truly only loved Keith, but sweet Jesus, the guy is a stage natural. Where the hell is he coming off like that at his age???? I guess being filthy rich for four decades and being able to spend your whole life exercising, swimming on tropical islands, fornicating with models and eatng only the finest foods and drugs pays off.

It also always warms my heart to see soulful Kris Kristofferson on stage in all his raw warmth, even if it is just to introduce Dame Babs Streisand. Was it just me or were all the black superstars filmed during Babs sequence hating on her? Man, some real sour expressions.

Of course right off the bat at the beginning during the red carpet sequence there was Lady Gaga supposedly being carried in an egg and spoken of as if she was Christ carrying a cross. What, what is her mysterious attraction? A 21st Century female Liberace? Performance art that is so campy and put to robotic beats that even the masses can spoon it up? The thin extended pointy shoulder blade was a nice touch, but sweetest of all was picturing her under the giant hat as all the awards passed her by.

"Like Gandhi, I Want More" by William Merricle

Like Gandhi, I Want More


Raindrops penetrate a chthonic sonnet
limning the gluons that propel fetid corpses,
a limping wartime river,
a newfangled abyss the size of a neutron,
your tempting tongue's cruel care,
god's hands covered in dark ointments,
the sickly fire in the center of sincerity,
all the worldly kisses in the afterdeath foyer.

The band strikes up a tune analogous to entropy,
the world turns and twists in Klimt-light,
the beginning of a universe radiates itself out of existence,
wisdom's penetralia deliver a wallop of spontaneous symmetry,
innocence carries profound implications for the concept of putrefaction,
Janus turns lazy and bitter,
I perform a bad imitation of cruelty
for the faces in the back of the car just ahead.

Back of the forest lies groggy with sunshine,
death looks for kindred moisture,
logic emends the manuscript
until it falls off the edge of the world,
rain feels like a dove to the heart,
light predicts the future by
rummaging through the universe's rotting body.
How do I sleep? Because space-time is curved.


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William Merricle lives in Lima, Ohio. He once was the assistant manager of a porn theater, and would open up the little window panel in his office and throw paper airplanes with quotes from Heidegger at the patrons below. His latest chapbook, "Heimlich the Donut," is available from Pudding House Publications.

Baltimore Bon Vivant Linda Franklin Celebrates Her 70th Birthday By Channeling Her Grandmother Grace at Show and Tell

With breasts stuffed with blackeyed peas and exhorting the crowd to "Smell my purse!!", Baltimore artist and gadfly, avatar of Robert E. Lee dog park, Linda Franklin celebrated the milestone of her 70th birthday taking a packed crowd in Minas on a trip through her eyeballs and heart and through time itself.

And just as the presence of the Elvis Impersonator was too powerful to glimpse clearly with modern technology, so too the image of Linda summoning the spirit of her long gone grandmother.

If you have ever met Linda you not only remember it, but you lose any belief in linear reality. Former writer of books on antiques and kitchen collectibles? Wood nymph of Robert E. Lee. Filmmaker. Folk art collector. Raw nerve open receptor of wonder 24/7.

It was a Boite: Show and Tell night hosted by the enigma known as Lauren Bender at the ever friendly and well curated Minas shop and gallery. Two of the showers on this night were Linda who was turning 70 and radio star Aaron Henkin. Linda celebrated her birthday by inhabiting the clothing and spirit of her grandmother, Grace, having Grace tell us about her own life at the age of 70. It was a moving and illuminating look at her family and at her childhood with Linda right there feeling it. After the show she was dj'ing at a party down the street where she promised the crowd "There will be funk". One day I hope to have a satori that fills me with half the energy that she contains. Truly she has supped at The Cup of Borgnine.

Dr. Henkin of The Mellifluous Pipes took us back to his early days in Baltimore when he and his pal Todd started up a heavy metal band called Destroyer 666, a name they found out was already taken by an Australian white power heavy metal band. The moment of truth came when Aaron unveiled the flying V electric guitar he purchased after Destroyer 666's first gig. Not only did it have devil horn's at the head, but it rested in a coffin shaped pleated purple cloth lined case. I for one was relieved that it wasn't the shrunken cold corpse of Andy Bienstock revealed when Aaron with a leering smile swung open the lid of the case.