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Tag Archives: language
Plenty of Ouch for the Wicked
The fellowship is festive.Rectified canticles boom from the sanctum,Would you believe? … Marching as to war,All the pardoned felonsGoing on before… Rigor mortified, the righteousStiff-arm the anxious,The walking doomed. Worm meat.All told in the scriptures:They will go poof. Straight to … Continue reading
Montserrat of the Heart
When I thought I’d become a poet my head was as empty as a young male’s under-developed frontal lobe can be. In hindsight I can see it now. It was hiding in plain sight, the poetry, waiting for me to … Continue reading
‘The Things That You’re Liable to Read in the Bible…’
“… They ain’t necessarily so,” goes the song in Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess. “If we could stop coming at the Bible postured as though we’re the ones that own it… to prop up, whether it’s theologies, whatever makes us comfortable, … Continue reading
‘Something Endlessly Inspiring and Strange’
While Shakespeare’s plays must have stemmed from some personal experience, they take the “thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to” and, through an act of artistic creation, fashion them into something endlessly inspiring and strange. (Drew Lichtenberg) Inspiring and … Continue reading
Portrait of the Reader as an Exigent Mug
“Boundless extension of torment, incredible intensity of suffering, unceasing variety of torture. This is what the Divine Majesty, so outraged by sinners, demands.” (From “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” by James Joyce) I’ve been hearing a milestone … Continue reading
The Parable of Angus Burdoo
“Interdependence is no longer our choice… It is our condition. We will either build healthy interdependencies and rise together or suffer through unhealthy interdependencies and fall together.” (Dov Seidman, quoted here) Picture a man who engenders a lovely daughter. In … Continue reading
Never Too Many Books
… Peter-Ayers Tarantino[’s aesthetic] recalls that of maximalist bibliophiles of centuries past, including Marcel Proust and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, was formed during a life on the road. In the Abstract Expressionism section, Tarantino extracts, almost without looking, a thick … Continue reading
And One More Thing…
I adore compression and spareness, and Infinite Jest, finished at 7:29PM on 11-16-25, is bloated and prolix. It tells you something that it’s a novel with footnotes. Hundreds of them. During the periods when I ground my teeth, it tracked … Continue reading
‘I’m Too Old to Paint Such Beautiful Things’
Monet made the comment about being too old before starting to paint the town feverishly. I’ve seen enough of his paintings for now. They’re on pillowcases and doilies. They’re everywhere! What I relish is seeing the man himself feeding the … Continue reading
Mel Leipzig, the ‘Chekhov of Trenton’
The acrylic canvases of Mel Leipzig, a painter christened by Peter Schjeldahl as the “Chekhov of Trenton,” reach me as analogs to the loudest arena-rock virtuoso guitar hero solos you can think of. They are an ostentation of look-what-I-can-do. They … Continue reading →