Monday, October 18, 2010
The Mountain Goats - See America Right
I was driving up from Tampa
When the radiator burst
I was three sheets to the wind
A civilian saw me first
And then there was the cop
And then the children standing on the corner
Your love is like a cyclone in a swamp
And the weather's getting warmer
I was getting out of jail
Heading to the Greyhound
You said you'd hop on one yourself
And meet me on the way down
I was shaking way too hard to think
Dead on my feet about to drop
Went and got the case of vodka from a car
And walked the two miles to the bus stop
Got on the bus half drunk again
The driver glared at me
Met up with you in Inglis
Thumbed a ride to Cedar Key
If we never make it back to California
I want you to know I love you
But my love is like a dark cloud full of rain
That's always right there up above you
Hey!
An Absolutely Ordinary Rainbow - Les Murray
The word goes round Repins,
the murmur goes round Lorenzinis,
at Tattersalls, men look up from sheets of numbers,
the Stock Exchange scribblers forget the chalk in their hands
and men with bread in their pockets leave the Greek Club:
There's a fellow crying in Martin Place. They can't stop him.
The traffic in George Street is banked up for half a mile
and drained of motion. The crowds are edgy with talk
and more crowds come hurrying. Many run in the back streets
which minutes ago were busy main streets, pointing:
There's a fellow weeping down there. No one can stop him.
The man we surround, the man no one approaches
simply weeps, and does not cover it, weeps
not like a child, not like the wind, like a man
and does not declaim it, nor beat his breast, nor even
sob very loudly—yet the dignity of his weeping
holds us back from his space, the hollow he makes about him
in the midday light, in his pentagram of sorrow,
and uniforms back in the crowd who tried to seize him
stare out at him, and feel, with amazement, their minds
longing for tears as children for a rainbow.
Some will say, in the years to come, a halo
or force stood around him. There is no such thing.
Some will say they were shocked and would have stopped him
but they will not have been there. The fiercest manhood,
the toughest reserve, the slickest wit amongst us
trembles with silence, and burns with unexpected
judgements of peace. Some in the concourse scream
who thought themselves happy. Only the smallest children
and such as look out of Paradise come near him
and sit at his feet, with dogs and dusty pigeons.
Ridiculous, says a man near me, and stops
his mouth with his hands, as if it uttered vomit—
and I see a woman, shining, stretch her hand
and shake as she receives the gift of weeping;
as many as follow her also receive it
and many weep for sheer acceptance, and more
refuse to weep for fear of all acceptance,
but the weeping man, like the earth, requires nothing,
the man who weeps ignores us, and cries out
of his writhen face and ordinary body
not words, but grief, not messages, but sorrow,
hard as the earth, sheer, present as the sea—
and when he stops, he simply walks between us
mopping his face with the dignity of one
man who has wept, and now has finished weeping.
Evading believers, he hurries off down Pitt Street.
the murmur goes round Lorenzinis,
at Tattersalls, men look up from sheets of numbers,
the Stock Exchange scribblers forget the chalk in their hands
and men with bread in their pockets leave the Greek Club:
There's a fellow crying in Martin Place. They can't stop him.
The traffic in George Street is banked up for half a mile
and drained of motion. The crowds are edgy with talk
and more crowds come hurrying. Many run in the back streets
which minutes ago were busy main streets, pointing:
There's a fellow weeping down there. No one can stop him.
The man we surround, the man no one approaches
simply weeps, and does not cover it, weeps
not like a child, not like the wind, like a man
and does not declaim it, nor beat his breast, nor even
sob very loudly—yet the dignity of his weeping
holds us back from his space, the hollow he makes about him
in the midday light, in his pentagram of sorrow,
and uniforms back in the crowd who tried to seize him
stare out at him, and feel, with amazement, their minds
longing for tears as children for a rainbow.
Some will say, in the years to come, a halo
or force stood around him. There is no such thing.
Some will say they were shocked and would have stopped him
but they will not have been there. The fiercest manhood,
the toughest reserve, the slickest wit amongst us
trembles with silence, and burns with unexpected
judgements of peace. Some in the concourse scream
who thought themselves happy. Only the smallest children
and such as look out of Paradise come near him
and sit at his feet, with dogs and dusty pigeons.
Ridiculous, says a man near me, and stops
his mouth with his hands, as if it uttered vomit—
and I see a woman, shining, stretch her hand
and shake as she receives the gift of weeping;
as many as follow her also receive it
and many weep for sheer acceptance, and more
refuse to weep for fear of all acceptance,
but the weeping man, like the earth, requires nothing,
the man who weeps ignores us, and cries out
of his writhen face and ordinary body
not words, but grief, not messages, but sorrow,
hard as the earth, sheer, present as the sea—
and when he stops, he simply walks between us
mopping his face with the dignity of one
man who has wept, and now has finished weeping.
Evading believers, he hurries off down Pitt Street.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
The Tale of Philip Death Part 2
In a second I was in the back office all alone with the doors locked, I started to freak out. On the ground I saw the tape gun on the shelf and in an instant I was bent right over I had my pants around my ankles trying to tape the arse of my pants back together from the inside whist pushing my whole body into one corner of the office so I could avoid being filmed by the cctv camera’s directly over head. At this point I should mention I am an over weight thirty four-year-old man with a big bum. Back and forth I taped my pants until it looked like a spiders web. this was going to be very uncomfortable but all I wanted to achieve now was to get Philip out of the store and at best save a shred of dignity. ‘That looks like it could work’, I thought looking at charlottes web of sticky tape on the inside of my pants. I pulled my pants up and instantly the tape started to pull away, it absolutely didn’t work. – dammit! So now I had blown the arse of my pants to shreds and secondly I now had some strange sticky tape collage hanging out the back giving my bum a similar appearance to a half opened Christmas present. Someone knocked at the door and I screamed at in a terrified high pitch voice ‘you can’t come in! Leave me alone you bastards you know what’s happening!” I was now delirious with anxiety.
We had a casual staff member working in that store for a little while, her name escapes me so lets call her Persephone. Persephone was a very lovely neat shy young girl who had trouble being self-assertive so she went to a mellower store. In her locker was a beautiful Black Benetton cardigan (Benetton use some lovely cotton so soft) a cardigan she had forgotten to take with her and one she would never see again.
I have now been in the office for two and a half minutes and I see Persephone’s cardigan. Grabbing it with one hand I rip the sticky tape out of my bum with my other hand in one fluid motion I tie the cardigan around my waist grab the handle of the door –Pause deep breath and return to Philip.
“I am truly so sorry Philip I am very embarrassed” he signs the contract without emotion and I start to usher him towards the door. Not knowing what he was really thinking and probably never will. But if I could choose what customer to serve while my pants exploded it would have been him. Nice guy.
A few weeks later he came back to pay his first bill and thankfully out of embarrassment I didn’t have to serve him but for a moment our eyes met and we had a moment and I can say without ego he looked a little bit disappointed I didn’t serve him.
Since then on occasion maybe on a date maybe with a friend someone does something really embarrassing and I say “Hey have I ever told you the story of Philip Death” and they feel better again, no more embarrassment. That’s the power of the Tale of Philip Death use it wisely my friends use it wisely.
We had a casual staff member working in that store for a little while, her name escapes me so lets call her Persephone. Persephone was a very lovely neat shy young girl who had trouble being self-assertive so she went to a mellower store. In her locker was a beautiful Black Benetton cardigan (Benetton use some lovely cotton so soft) a cardigan she had forgotten to take with her and one she would never see again.
I have now been in the office for two and a half minutes and I see Persephone’s cardigan. Grabbing it with one hand I rip the sticky tape out of my bum with my other hand in one fluid motion I tie the cardigan around my waist grab the handle of the door –Pause deep breath and return to Philip.
“I am truly so sorry Philip I am very embarrassed” he signs the contract without emotion and I start to usher him towards the door. Not knowing what he was really thinking and probably never will. But if I could choose what customer to serve while my pants exploded it would have been him. Nice guy.
A few weeks later he came back to pay his first bill and thankfully out of embarrassment I didn’t have to serve him but for a moment our eyes met and we had a moment and I can say without ego he looked a little bit disappointed I didn’t serve him.
Since then on occasion maybe on a date maybe with a friend someone does something really embarrassing and I say “Hey have I ever told you the story of Philip Death” and they feel better again, no more embarrassment. That’s the power of the Tale of Philip Death use it wisely my friends use it wisely.
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