Blog Home Agent of Chaos City Poetry Zine Buy Stuff!
 
...and they lived happily ever after. Smith & Lady: poets, artists, photographers & adventurers.
Our relationship was forged to the soundtrack of Yoko Ono's magic,
frenetic, love-laden song, "Walking On Thin Ice." ( play song )
 
   
 
 

fertile lies


lady looking in our apartment – foto by smith

hell for me would be forever sitting around a table eating with a bunch of people in a noisy restaurant where you can’t hear the conversation.

lady and i have spent the week going around with 3 friends visiting from cleveland, and there’s been a lot of restaurant meals. i like our visitors, enjoyed their company. in fact one of them is one of my favorite poets – russ vidrick. but interacting with people via small talk isn’t my best skill. my natural element leans more toward making absurdist politically incorrect quips that tend to end conversations rather than promote them. the only person i’m truly comfortable being with is my wife lady k. i’d make an excellent hermit as long as i had solar panels for electricity and an internet uplink. i’d be a perfect example of tormented genius if i had the genius.

lady says after this visit, we’ll probably get more visitors. told her in that case we’d better move farther away. she said if we do get visitors, we’d sleep on a mattress on the floor and give them the bed. told her no, you make them too comfortable and they’ll want to stay longer, or come back again. you need to keep guests edgy, stressed, and uncomfortable so they’ll be happy to leave sooner than later.

as for the dinners, mexican food is delicious, but of a broad sameness – beans, cheese, salsa, meat on thin round bread with mole, salsa, peppers, cornmeal – and bad bread. haven’t had excellent bread since france. still dream and yearn for their sesame baguettes.

perhaps our task here on this planet is to eat and drink, then process the eaten into feces and the drink into waste water. we grow the food somewhere else, use slave labor to harvest and package it, transport it here, eat and digest it and deposit it in the toilets around town, whereupon it’s processed into toxic fertilizers, shipped back over there and spread upon fields to grow more stuff to start the cycle all over again. move stuff around for mother earth. essentially we’re piss and shit machines – toss in reproducing and you’ve pretty much summed up our job descriptions as humans. which reminds me of one of my not so nice poems:

Fertile Lies

Small particles of truth lace love’s lies

Peeping one-eyed cat’s seafood stores
Mount used two love carnivore rides
Cast past sated loss

Self to self slip service schemes for the day
Emasculation Mama stiff with semen
Screams dreams porta piss shit machine
Message me to mine

Bile regenerative truth du jour:
loving spoonful’s
pearl jam
nirvana
to my hole

this is smith, reporting from the tangled tango of time and temptation called the here and now.


wall graffiti – foto by smith

Leave a Reply

*

 
Copyright (c) 2009 Smith & Lady
Designed by Lady K