Jeux Interdits
Read me:
“If to the moment I should say: Abide, you are so fair.”
- Anny Ballardini’s Narcissus Works
- Crag Hill’s Poetry Scorecard
- Geof Huth at dbqp: visualizing poetics
- Michael Jacobson’s The New Post-Literate
- Halvard Johnson’s Entropy and me
- Kaz Maslanka’s Mathematical Poetry
- Oneironaut at Fragments of Thought
- Kick Pleat’s Suicide by Language
- Mark Young at Gamma Ways
- Mark Young’s Series Magritte
Contact
All content The Postmodern Romantic © copyright 2009 Gregory Vincent St. Thomasino.
En procès, a novel in sentences. (Is the sentence the new lyric?)
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Hath the rain a father?
My father’s an absurdist, only he doesn’t know he’s an absurdist.
My father’s an absurdist, only he doesn’t know he’s an absurdist.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
I am not now nor have I ever been one to mistake turpitude for enlightenment.
Monday, December 07, 2009
We think the world of each other.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
The camel kneels to receive its burden.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
I have this in black.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
This is Bobbin, she was named for a mechanical part.
Friday, November 27, 2009
She made the sign of the cross upon her forehead saying in German (but I translate), If it drives me crazy. She made the sign of the cross above her heart saying in German (but I translate), If it kills me.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
She fell asleep at the writing table. I took her in to bed. I returned to her writing and read, where it began in a letter to Cabala Girl, Angel, when I heard the news I made the sign of the cross for you.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
She fell asleep at the writing table. I took her in to bed. I returned to her writing and read, where it began in a letter to Timon, Deliver yourself from revenge, that is your bridge to the highest hope. I have met him and the impression is not good. How does one say, sour breath and rotten teeth. Or, what is the opposite of charming. We read, Psalm 38, and there is no soundness in my flesh, for my loins are filled with a loathsome disease. We’re all looking forward to be meeting again in that great golden cornflake in the sky.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
She fell asleep at the writing table. I took her in to bed. I returned to her writing and read, where it began in a letter to Justine, I cannot tell when you are lying. Ask yourself, is this someone you want to have a weekend with?
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
She fell asleep at the writing table. I took her in to bed. I returned to her writing and read, where it began in a letter to Supergirl, My favorite scene is where you are relaxing. I want to have cigarettes with you.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
She fell asleep at the writing table. I took her in to bed. I returned to her writing and read, where it began in a letter to Juliette, There is a night I will never forget, and it is what I will remember you by always. It was not meant to be a sleepover. It was snowing, and it was snowing forever. You walked me to the door and I was about to leave but when I saw the snow I was taken by the most superstitious fear. You did not plan for me to stay over. And in the morning your mother (and her boyfriend—I remember him, he was a student) made waffles.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Every cabby knew the way to Sneden’s Landing.
Monday, November 02, 2009
Little Miss Showers went to the spa, and came home with not a hair on her body.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Marginalia: According to Margaret Anderson, where concerns romantic love, “I have found romantic love where, alone, it can exist for me—in someone whose nature it is to regard sex as a mystery and a gift.” According to Margaret Anderson, “Don’t complain about anything—just leave the room, or the city, until you can act like an attractive stranger.”
Thursday, October 29, 2009
She said the pigeons have Brooklyn accents. She said I saw you in the subway. I asked you is this train going to Brooklyn. You had the worst case of hat hair.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I took the Vespa, because I want to have her arms around me always.
Monday, October 26, 2009
We thought the same thing but for different reasons.
Friday, October 23, 2009
The next morning I read in Jung that the basket is a symbol for the maternal body (for the womb—a basket of fruit may symbolize fertility). A basket may also hide a secret.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
On the receipt she wrote, ministre de corbeille à fruits. I said, That is an act of poetry, and she said, And for me. This is a photograph. A vélo-taxi on a Paris boulevard. On the back of it was written, ministre de corbeille à fruits. She said the soul is a stranger on earth.
Marginalia: Plato. Timaeus: And into this body, subject to the flow of growth and decay, they fastened the orbits of the immortal soul.
Marginalia: Plato. Timaeus: And into this body, subject to the flow of growth and decay, they fastened the orbits of the immortal soul.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
In the envelope, this letter, where it read, You are too well-balanced to be a poet. Your poetry insults the poetess in me. And in the margin, Quite so. This photograph. Someone I did not recognize. I told her, replace your apostrophes with commas and use as few contractions as possible. That night, as she slept, I rewrote her poetry, replacing her apostrophes with commas and using as few contractions as possible. In the morning I took her to see where the comedians lived. The pool is empty now, but see there? See that crack in the foundation?
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
In the morning I took her to the House of Hearts, to the place of the Destroyer of Hearts. The pool is empty now, but see there? See that crack in the foundation? That is where Medius fell. This is Procopius, Greek historian and proto culture critic who made scandal his specialty and survived into his seventies. The man with his pants at his ankles is The Fool.
Monday, October 19, 2009
In the morning I took her to meet the Climack sisters. They are something out of the Brontës, she said. The cure depends on your having what you want and doing what you want. Conjugation, my love.
Friday, October 16, 2009
In the morning I took her to meet Stephanie Smothers. Every song Bob Dylan wrote is about Stephanie Smothers, I told her. I think I’m in love, she said.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
I said for Lawrence the end of man is woman. She said Lawrence is the most unamerican of writers, then adding, Among the most. I suppose I can think of several Germans. In America you don’t like the word philosopher. You take it out of the titles of your children’s books. Americans put their faith in common sense, I said. Egalitarianism and common sense. She said if common sense were folk sense it might cure a wart, but as such it cannot tell you anything you don’t already know. And that is the fallacy of common sense, it makes a virtue of ignorance. In America you have dangerous books. Your best writers, Emerson and Thoreau, they are useless to your liberals. One of our politicians said Emerson was a proto Social Democrat. He was laughed at by the academics, who said he was conservative.
Marginalia: D.H. Lawrence. Kangaroo: Australian Labour has set out from the first on the principle that huge fortunes should not be made out of its efforts. We have had the obvious example of America before us, and we have been determined from the start that Australia should not fall into the hands of a small number of millionaires and a larger number of semi-millionaires. It has been our idea that a just proportion of all profits should circulate among the workers in the form of wages. Supposing the worker does get his pound a day. It is enormous, isn’t it? It is preposterous. Of course it is. But it isn’t preposterous for a small bunch of owners or shareholders to get their ten pounds a day, for doing nothing. Sundays included. That isn’t preposterous, is it? They raise the plea that their fathers and forefathers accumulated the capital by their labours. Well, haven’t our fathers and forefathers laboured? Haven’t they? And what have they accumulated? The right to labour on, and be paid for it what the others like to give ’em.
To the simple-minded everybody’s simple-minded.
Marginalia: D.H. Lawrence. Kangaroo: Australian Labour has set out from the first on the principle that huge fortunes should not be made out of its efforts. We have had the obvious example of America before us, and we have been determined from the start that Australia should not fall into the hands of a small number of millionaires and a larger number of semi-millionaires. It has been our idea that a just proportion of all profits should circulate among the workers in the form of wages. Supposing the worker does get his pound a day. It is enormous, isn’t it? It is preposterous. Of course it is. But it isn’t preposterous for a small bunch of owners or shareholders to get their ten pounds a day, for doing nothing. Sundays included. That isn’t preposterous, is it? They raise the plea that their fathers and forefathers accumulated the capital by their labours. Well, haven’t our fathers and forefathers laboured? Haven’t they? And what have they accumulated? The right to labour on, and be paid for it what the others like to give ’em.
To the simple-minded everybody’s simple-minded.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The parallels to the Roman Empire are frightening. More frightening are the parallels to pre-Hitler Germany.
The taking of Elian at gunpoint?
You have people here who actually worship their leader. When this began to happen in my country, that’s when things began to go bad.
The taking of Elian at gunpoint?
You have people here who actually worship their leader. When this began to happen in my country, that’s when things began to go bad.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
There is an essay, over a century old, by one Dr. S.J. Holmes in which it is reasoned the role of sex in the evolution of the mind. Here one finds compared the elaborate wooing of male birds—their mating call, that is—with the articulate language of man in such summation as the function of the voice in the vertebrates is primarily to serve as a sex call. Granting this, the most eloquent of speakers ought to be among the most alluring—sexually winning, that is—and conversely, the sexually alluring ought to be found among the vocally eloquent. Now on the whole, this is untrue. Although there are exceptions. Some choice exceptions can be found at the opera. . . .
Monday, October 12, 2009
In the morning we both agreed we cannot stand the sound of Yoko Ono’s voice. (In the morning we both agreed we cannot stand the sound of Yoko Ono’s voice.)
Friday, October 09, 2009
To the simple-minded everybody’s simple-minded.
Never use the word helmet to describe a person’s hair, unless you’re describing Louise Brooks. It’s wonna them to the simple-minded everybody’s simple-minded situations.
Never use the word helmet to describe a person’s hair, unless you’re describing Louise Brooks. It’s wonna them to the simple-minded everybody’s simple-minded situations.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
She didn’t know there were rickshaws in Manhattan. In church there are mandalas everywhere.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Jonathan left the kibbutz to join an ashram. It’s a Jonathan left the kibbutz to join an ashram situation.
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
In her dream she was gang-fucked by The Band. I understand the man who carves a cross into his forehead.
Monday, October 05, 2009
She wrote, Last night we made love like two retards. And then the doodle of the Wonder Wheel.
I was madly in love with her for two years, and when we broke up, amicably, she gave me back everything I had left at her apartment, everything except my volume of Neruda’s love poems.
I was madly in love with her for two years, and when we broke up, amicably, she gave me back everything I had left at her apartment, everything except my volume of Neruda’s love poems.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
She was from Germany. She wanted to see where Lennon was killed.
Friday, October 02, 2009
If you don’t know why people do things, how can you know what things mean?
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Say no to hunger.
Say no to ugly wrinkles.
Say no to ugly wrinkles.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
There’s a whole belt of avant-gardist territory where to criticize them is like telling the Fat Lady at the freak show to lose weight.
Favorite words: wait, wait, wait, wait.
Favorite words: wait, wait, wait, wait.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
We met a man named Tom who said clearly, Tom, my friends are not your friends and what is more my friends will have nothing to do with your friends. And nor will I. We met a man named Aloysius and that was enough. Later that morning we met Dolly on her way to a tea party. May we come along? Corky, tell us about your open invitation to stay at Davy’s any time. I have an open invitation to stay at Davy’s any time. Thank you, Corky. Corky, tell us what you told the doctor when he told you about your special chromosome. Doctor this is my worst fear realized. Thank you, Corky. Did you say something, Corky? The word you’re looking for is holophrastic. Thank you, Corky.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Marginalia: Stendhal on love: “He who is indiscreet cannot love.”
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Better than akin is condusive.
Friday, September 25, 2009
In 1987 she wrote, all the pilots drive Lincolns and have pink skin. The stewardesses fuck like bunnies. After Cixous, the envelope is sealed with a kiss, is this poetic justice? Write for rules and detailed information.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
In a previous life I was a chorus girl and I died very young and with a broken heart.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
This movie was shot on cell-phone video. It’s the footage of the head of Jacques Derrida on the body of the Bigfoot.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
She did the whole first chapter of The Whale for me. We’re talking magnitudes and properties, she said. Seems some letters are more equal than others.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
This is a photograph. Schratz Brice sitting at his piano. Those are stacks of newspapers in the background. Schratz is, in addition to everything else, a historian.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
This is a new sentence.
