Nunca Nada Nothing


My brain is dead. I work. I sleep. I watch the gameshow network. Yes, my brain is dead. I have nothing interesting in my head that I can transfer to this blog page. I read about a dog in Argentina that saved an abandoned baby by dragging it across a field and adding to her clump of puppies. See, I know there is a word for a bunch of puppies but I can't remember what it is. brain dead. Soon I will be 48. Oh Christ, there's a subject I don't want to think about. Kids back to school. Another subject that makes my brain shut off in fear (Jack, did you do your homework? Really? Really?) Kate would like me to tell everyone that she has new video on Youtube called My Friends Youtube and Otherwise. That's it, nothing else.

The Munich Mannequins

Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb

Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life

Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,

The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,

Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles

These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,

Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,

Intolerable, without minds.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,

Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting

Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.

O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,

The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks

Glittering
Glittering and digesting

Voicelessness. The snow has no voice

Sylvia Plath