Archive for ‘Uncategorized’

July 18, 2012


What could be important as a sweet intake of breath after summer’s rain? What cup of tea refreshes like a sudden thunderbolt? The strength of oaks recedes as mighty clouds descend. Upon the mercy of old thunder do the trees depend.

But here, I sit in idle modern comfort. Here, I listen to the whirr my deskfan makes, and only notice passingly, the sound a treebranch breaks.

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July 18, 2012

The Dilettante’s Song

The Dilettante’s Song

A Poem, by Jose Luis Nunez

A dilettante needs no man, except for he, she spies.
A dilettante needs no voice, for she has glitter eyes.
A dilettante shakes her hips in front of all the guys.

Oh, how free of frown and matted hair she seems!
Such innocence, her red moistened lips do bring!

A dilettante holds her father’s hand and not a man’s.
A dilettante dances all throughout the western lands.
A dilettante blooms, a flower amidst the desert sands.

I’d love to ask her for her hand, and kiss her tiny palm,
I’d love to marry her beneath the canopy of paradise,
and lover her long in pastures by the ocean sea.
And kiss her long in pastures, passionately.

A dilettante needs no man, except for he she spies.
A dilettante needs no lips, for all her pretty eyes.
A dilettante moves her hips, and all us fantasize.

How slender be her form and firm her lovely legs.
How slender be her form, and firm, her lovely legs.

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July 18, 2012

Walking the Old Neighborhood

A Short Story, by Joseluis Nunez

I took a walk today. A really long walk, from the innards of the city to the bowels of the suburbs. I constantly checked my shoulders, kept aware of my environment. I hugged the main roads, wary of the wild path. But no one followed me. No one held me up. I found the library, and lounged down by the door. The sun broke through the clouds, and I saw a sky as blue as any Facebook logo. Bluer than the Mac Screen. More blue than the blue screen of death.

Sweat clung to my shirt and skin. I often wiped large drops of moistened salt away from forehead. A tall woman with grey streaks in her brown hair, a purple dress and knapsack, walked up the tile steps and tried the door. It was locked. Her eyes darted away from mine, like cockroaches when the light’s turned. I waved. She smiled, but in a forced manner. The smile that shows in the mouth, but not in the eyes. Then she rounded the corner of the pavilion.

Several people drove and parked inside the lot. They stayed inside their cars, where there was air conditioning. Three minutes before the library opened, a fat woman with a light blue shirt and dirty fliplops walked up to the door. Another group, three or four children, each a year apart, and led by a single mother, shuffled in behind me. At the time I was humming softly to myself. It was an 18th century concerto I had heard on a Vivaldi cassette tape.

“Haven’t heard that song before.” One of the ladies said. I stopped, and we waited in silence. It was an uncomfortable silence, the kind that happens when your hubby uses the cell-phone after sex, and you’re left to wipe the semen off your face by yourself. No one met each other’s eyes. When the door unlocked, a blast of cool, refrigerated air melted away the unease. The cold logic gates of the 20 computers at the front burned off our discomfot. Everybody sat in front of a screen, like ducks in a row.

July 17, 2012

The Dynamism of the Avengers

A while ago I saw a movie called The Avengers. Egotistical and typical, it embodies everything that we’ve become: Content. Look back at what the movie showed. The first few minutes could have been a scene from many other movies. Stale and trite, the tale it told is ancient as the bible, or maybe Babylon.

Why shouldn’t people have a laugh? Why shouldn’t they enjoy themselves? I’ll bet the pride engendered on that screen is thought as real as cocaine on the streets. The little children look and see, and think that man is great. Of course he’s great. No doubt could cross my mind to question such as that.

It’s just, the greater men have dwindled from the ranks. Prosperity has brought a dive in self esteem. The lack of love between a father and his sons means movies such as this are needed more than past. Avenging all the souls that died to give us cynics meaning to our lives is heady work. So really then, there’s no surprise to see the popularity of such a show.

But mark my words, for if there comes a time when man has grown a pair. If Ubermenschen ever see what we’ve created on the silver screen, no doubt exists, their mockery will raise us from the dead. Mark my words indeed.

July 17, 2012

The Cynic’s Joke

I find it stunning that a serious essay on the internet will suffer such a lack of ears, but a Joke will be followed by a thousand other quips. Why is humor such an omnipresent force online? Because people lack confidence. Humor is a way to wade through nervous energy, and online when things get serious, no one really knows the proper things to say.

The largest swathe of humor on the Net is black and cynical. There exists some proper literature, but people rarely take the time to read. Black humor, however, lets us nod our heads in agreement. The cynic’s joke reminds us of our failures. It affirms our wretched misery. It tells us we don’t have to struggle. We don’t have to fight. And so, the more black humor on the web, the more we feel we don’t need to challenge ourselves.

You see, it is perfectly possible for a person to seek out higher knowledge on the internet. The world wide web is perfect for intellectuals. The only reason we decline, it seems, to look up astrophysics is an utter lack of confidence. So many people work and sleep, and nothing more they do.

Why shouldn’t they raise their hands in the air, and say, “God did it!”

I trust, however, that with an increase of confidence will come an increase in serious internet topics. As for those who this applies to. Fear is necessary to progress in skill. And trembling hands will only do you good.

July 17, 2012

The Mexican Dog

For my father, a dog in the south is a Mexican beggar. He’s fed and he’s buried, so he stays on the stoop. The picture is painted differently by people on the north side. Some dogs become so pampered they need the help of a Mexican to get them in line. And even then, Cesar changes the people. Not the dog.

I for one, would gladly let my dog inside the house. I wouldn’t, however, let her lick my face. My dogs are humble Mutts. I feed and wash them. I pet them and I love them. But they are dogs. They have no rights, because they can’t understand them.

To brush a dog’s teeth. To give it birthday presents. To have it seated at the dinner table. These actions strike me as strange. I suspect the dog just wants to be around you. These actions are fine, from that perspective. What is strange, for me at least, is when a man calls the police when a dog is run over. When a tourist gasps out at the sight of a mutt with mange.

Dogs benefit from humans, because the human rules the world. But the dog was once a wolf, and those creatures know no civilization, nor do they want it. I suppose the pity then belongs to the hound. A dog is a bastard breed between the dinner table and the dead sheep carcass. And only we are to blame.

July 17, 2012

The Life of a Celebrity

Everybody craves the spotlight in america. Furthermore, we all have more roads to recognition than ever before. Egotistical micromanaging neurotics flock to twitter. Budding social dilettantes plaster themselves all over the Facebook. The new geeks, the real technical supermen, find Facebook too noisy. They prefer the quiet gardens of Google+. And everybody, and I mean everybody, uses Youtube.

You see, everybody in america wants to be a celebrity. But there’s something wrong. Everybody, you see, is a celebrity. There is no Facebook profile with no friends. Everybody follows somebody on twitter. 4chan is a boiling pit of recognition just as much as it is a boiling pit of hate. So why all the cynicism?

Perhaps the thousandth comment is as shallow as the first. I’m not one to shout at the top of his lungs. I certainly shy away from aspects of Hollywood. But I would, I suppose, enjoy a good conversation. Steaming black tea may loosen the tongue and freshen the senses. It is much to be preferred over a keg of Budweiser. The truth is this. A cup of tea makes a friend, but a keg stand breaks a tooth.

It’s interesting, the life of a celebrity. We all envisioned gold-plated restrooms and diamond encrusted stool swallowers. I think I’d settle for a deep conversation, an intimate relationship, instead of a thousand tenuous connections. That is what I’d like.

There are others, though, that relish the lime-light. It makes sense, I suppose. In a country where material needs are at such a level, a large number of people have only one real need left. The need for egotistical gratification. There’s nothing wrong with that. Some need more friends than others. Some need less. Some need deep connections, and some nod off at the talk of intimacy.

That’s what I like about this world. Information is so easily accessed. Is it any wonder that so much of it is taken for granted?

July 17, 2012

The king of limericks

The Manic Magician of Notre Dame

A poem by JoseLuis

It may be so plain, but never is simple, the thoughts I now deign to write own. For must I forgo all the things I’ve been told, abandon my pencils and pens? How right you so are, who’ve set high the bar, but please understand if I smile. I can’t go a mile, and meet not a pile of garbage ‘been smeared with dog ****. So ‘scuse my faux paux if I drop my big jaw and ask, really, is all this what’s it?

Now I’ve begun, I’ve forgotten the sun, that thing which does give us all life. I’m filled with such strife, as I’m under the knife, and nothing is real any more. I’m callous and sore, and my guts I’ve outpoured, under the blackness of rain. They call out my name, throughout Notre Dame, as he who has fallen insane. They whisper my name, throughout Notre Dame, as he who was driven Insane.

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July 17, 2012

Chuck Norris is Gay

I’ve heard so much about ‘Ol Norris, but what has he to really say? Has he ever really saved the day? His arms were wrenched away by master Lee, and how much of him do I really see? Apparently he hates the trailer parks, they say. Apparently, he’s loved such women, he has turned out Gay. A ginger beard, the man has reared, but silly does it look. Chuck Norris is a figment man compared to Captain Hook.

Mr. Hook, in turn, is cake to Peter Pan. Yet even he must back away from Alice, in her wonderland. And off the links do go, a chained up mess of culture creeps. And all of them now be deceased. Who speaks of Kublai Khan or Giappetto? Who speaks of a kiss so long or a bedtime ghetto?

I stand at the back of the library place. I hope to be dazzled with works of great grace. I find out too late that no life occupies what might I surmise to be bookshelves of such of a size–I find out the lies! The lies, they’ve been said! They’ve burst out my head! And now that I know that you won’t give a damn, I walk out the door before it does slam. I leave you in bed.  I walk out that door. I don’t give a crap about Norris no more.

July 17, 2012

Television is more Real than Reality

The Silver Screen

A Poem: By Joseluis Nunez

I see a perfect row of ghastly faces when I stare into the telly screen. These ancient masks of theatre do cringe and cowl and gasp and glare. These actors on the silver screen just scream about the lives they live. Lives lived like gods on top olympic thrones. My friends–if you be friend– more likely be you foe, I’ll make an honest pact with you. I’ll set the record right away. I’ll certainly be honest, too:

I tire of triviality. I’m full of feeble speak. No longer do I like the simple words of praise. I hunger for another time, and another day and way. No judge shall judge upon me, nor the words I say. No mob shall come enthrong me, no more, no more today. I’ll speak my honest heart and hope to hear you say, “By god, this boy has right the words! I’ll listen every day!”

And so, the words I speak right now, I’ll speak them right away: The actors on the silver screen do live a life above the fray. The magic of the movies needs to disappear. I myself must stop my drinking of the beer. Go out! Go out! Run out and rummage through the soil! Bake a cake and eat it too, with stockpiled elbow oil! Leave my phone on top the shelf, and see what mysteries might show themselves. But worry not, for I’ll return.

I’ll tell you all what I have learned.

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