The Day They Got Saddam

I was sitting in the living room watching t-v Eating frozen scrapple and some old kim chee Albanian beer and some take out falafel Oozing maple syrup on a frozen waffle The neighbors were building a plastic latrine A cesspool from China, impeccably clean If the thing didn’t work you could take it all back.

News As Ritual

When does news become a religious rite of passage in which only the names of the bereaved change? I don’t know, but it has happened with a gang who share one sort of skin pigmentation beating up or killing a lone victim who has been intrepid enough to take a stroll on their turf. Mircea

A Vacation In Bed-Sty

‘I’ve been to lbeza,’ said Isola de Chachkes, the svelte, trim, diet-conscious androgynous ganzemacher of Little Neck society the other day to her claque of shoppers at a posh mall. “Nowadays, Bed-Sty is the last place on this overrun planet one can have a civilized vacation.” To many a cunning matron of the posh Five

Visions Of Baba Yugga

Introduction I am going to recount here merely the various sacred sayings mostly about the murky mysteries of commerce I had heard over some years while a disciple of Baba Yugga, the charismatic financial guru born Artis Buckwhistle of East Peconic Park, New Hampshire. He was a saintly mahatma of business and commercial morals we

Oh Yeah – You And What Army?

In prose of a deep grey shade and soporific torpor which the Times regards as augustan an article with the head: Report By Powell Challenges Call To Revise Military describes shallowly what is a bold move by the Army to establish itself as the Fifth Estate. Never mind the issues of how military mechanics are

The Decline and Fall Of Adult Life

How we define life generally as well as our own existences structures both our sense of expectations and our perceptions of failure. Before the last half of the 20th century in the West it would be hard to find any corner of the planet that didn’t see mature existence as action and though in areas

The Little Alphabet Book

For Ryan White If my name were Ryan White If I were three months old but bright I would learn to read and write While other children fight and bite. In looking at the gifts I’d get While I made my diapers wet You’d know what I would want, I’ll bet. I would want the