| Bush,
Butts, Bombs, Blood |
 By
Louis Martin
Bush, butts, bombs, blood. Your blood,
my blood, our blood, theirs. All in a flood. Bushful flood of
moaning and groaning. And if your mood is wrong, you are wrong
and you'll just have to swallow a Cheney, this little
metal pill that will make you think twice before you ever dare
think again. End all now. Why not? So what? Miles to
go before I Davis. Sivad Selim. Put her in reverse, then let the
clutch out. You'll have fun. 'nuf this? Evah Ll'uoy. Be patient
out there in the desert. Don't touch your thing or hers. It might
explode.... |
| Wild
Goose Chase |
|  By
Joe Smith
Grandpa
spent the last day of the Golden Age out on the front porch, rocking
in his old rocking chair. It was a slow day. No mail, no emergency
calls from sphinxes, no medusas to be mended. The only visitor was
a shepherd who dropped by with stale rumors about chimeras lurking
in the hills. “But you haven’t actually laid eyes on one yourself,
have you?” The shepherd was sorry his answer had to be no. Not for
himself so much as for my grandpa, who used to be a famous veterinarian
for mythical beasts.... |
| Angeehadeejz,
Bachelier ... |
 By
Louis Martin
Sweet Heat at Enrico's on Sunday. We are under attack. The Blue
Angels scream overhead. No bombs fall but we know how it feels.
On the street an old Chinese woman stops, looks up, shielding
her eyes from the sun with a hand. She looks scared. What is angelic
about this show of power? Do what I
tell you or I'll make an earthquake of your brain. Is not
one small bird more holy than these factory beasts? I
will drain your blood into the street where the dogs do it. I
will pursue you to a cave where I will seal your fate with bombs.
Bombs, business, butts, buildings ... |
| Frabulous
Art, Frumptious Food ... |
|  By
Louis Martin
At
the Weinstein Gallery on Geary there is a couple from the midwest
there when I walk in. They are overweight and wear shorts. I look
at their knees while Russell Manning, gallery rep with the soul
of a poet, gives them the basics on Thorpe. It goes something like
this: "His father worked in a shipyard. He is the eldest of
seven children. Consequently the family always struggled financially.
At the age of fifteen he decided to leave school and work in the
shipyards along side his father ..." The man in shorts looked
pained. "School was a miserable experience for him," says
Russell.... |
| Stairs |
 By
Joe Smith
Much of Aristotle's complex physics rests upon the simple postulate
that nature abhors a vacuum. Scientists today, of course, pooh-pooh
the notion as absurd, but after Qin-shi and I make several swoops
down Clement Street in search of that most prized of urban vacuums,
a parking place, I wonder if they haven’t been too hasty
in their dismissal of the old philosopher. Her eyes light up at
the sidewalk displays, the piles of lily buds and lotus root,
dried bean curd skin, winter melon, star anise and thousand year
eggs, the crocks of Tientsin preserved cabbage ... |
| Disappeared
in San Francisco ... |
|  By
Louis Martin
But
before we discuss Thorpe, maybe you, like me, have been wondering
where all the "girls" went. I mean the young Korean women who worked
in the massage parlors around town. Well it seems that on June 30,
Immigrations and Customs Enforcement (ICE) along with the Department
of Homeland Security (DHS), busted them. I'm sure that you, like
me, now feel much safer. Yes, these girls were quite a threat to
the city, if not to the nation. True, Osama bin Laden is still on
the loose but getting these girls off the streets and out of the
houses is a real start in catching that bad guy. Way to go, ICE!
Way to go, DHS! The troublesome thing is that they have "disappeared"
these women with little explanation ... |
|
