subtle juxtapositions
-gumballSaints-
Wednesday, March 12th, 2008 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*santos de la maquina del gumball
(gumball machine saints)*
at the computer store
w/ the retro, 50’s sci-fi, ‘aliens-have-landed’ decorating motif,
he was almost out the door
when he was ambushed by a bank of impulse buy
bubble-gum machines
…here was the usual fake-ass grape, & sour apple jaw breakers,
some knock-off skittles, ironic counterfeit bling,
& cheap chinese superballs,
but, one machine on the end, grabbed him
…on a backdrop of lurid icon colors,
stone black O.G. tattoo script reads;
‘SANTOS’
…& there they were:
the gumball machine saints
…a display of a dozen, mexican-flavored-catholic saints
…waiting patiently in their plastic bubbles,
for him to go thru his pockets
& find his quarters
…he noted that they were about as big as bullets,
& badly painted,
…as he stuck the coins in the slots, & turned the crank,
he thought of those who never took refuge, or sought salvation
from the blood of spear wounds collected in grails
& turned into wine & back to blood again,
those who only ever looked upon sculpted rugged crosses,
& sunshine blasting halos thru stained glass,
while seeking explanations the brain wouldn’t choke on,
& he thought;
‘50cents a saint,
seems reasonable’
…so he got 2
…then walking thru the electric door, juggling his change,
his purchases, & his newly bought injection molded relics,
he dropped a dime,
& it rolled synchronisticaly across the sidewalk,
& stopped in front of a brother all dressed in white,
w/ a clerical collar,
collecting for the choir;
spare change in a can
…& he let slip out loud;
‘well, if that ain’t a sign from above…’
…& becuz the brother heard him, he felt he hadda
put a penitent dollar in the can for his irreverence,
which he did, becuz of, & in spite of those
truths,
the ones which we can take a bite of, & also those, that,
like church bells, resonate long after we stop hearing,
…long after we’ve stopped listening
*fireSeason*
Monday, June 18th, 2007 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*fire season*
the chessman are all set up to lose another game,
you’re compassionate, & you’re beautiful, now; shut up
…the fire in the hills has died down,
& i want to sweep all the pieces from the board
…you’re compassionate, & you’re beautiful, now; shut up
not even blood could make it right,
& i want to sweep all the pieces from the board,
let’s see who the craftiest mother fukker in the room is
…not even blood could make it right,
800 acres of embers smolder
…let’s see who the craftiest mother fukker in the room is,
the weight of the sky is upon me
…800 acres of embers smolder,
even pain is not enough; everything’s less than it should be
…the weight of the sky is upon me
…lay me down among the blackened trees; food for the coyotes
*the late early bird*
Friday, April 27th, 2007 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
a few hours after dawn,
a small bird, w/ grey wings, head & back,
& a bright yellow-green breast
lay quite dead
on the cold cement of the courtyard;
its arrival there, a mystery
…its fragile, perfect, beauty
moved me to project a sense
of affronted dignity upon it
& i was seized w/ a desire to cover it w/ a sheet,
& begin an investigation into the particulars
of its demise,
prior to a decent & proper burial
…instead,
because of the circumstance under which i had found it,
(while working an overnight shift as a security guard
in the public courtyard of a complex containing
a 24 hour health club, a multi-plex cinema,
& their attendant parking structure),
i opted for scooping it up w/ a postcard
advertising an indian film festival,
& placing it gingerly in one of the
over-designed stainless-steel trashcans
..& hoping
that it would’ve done the same
for me
*busyDevil*
Wednesday, February 7th, 2007 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
the devil rides a red bicycle in mexico city,
goat ears hear kidnapped broken bones poke internal organs
…he steers a yellow cab thru manhattan,
sees hungry children crying…the devil
drifts a black BMW thru beverly hills,
long, black, forked tounge tastes cordite
…he rides in the bed of a camouflaged toyota pick-up in sierra leone,
standing up to his ankles in spent brass
…the devil
rides a donkey in sarajevo,
canine olfactory nerves sense blood
…he flies a helicopter over bogata,
pondering ancient arrowheads that won’t stay buried
*friday@the studio*
Wednesday, February 7th, 2007 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*friday @ the studio*
sitting under a sloppy watercolor
painted by a man who made a fortune
selling himself as the anti-christ to iowans,
& laughing up his sleeve
…friday @ the studio;
an afternoon of chess problems &
platinum records amid the orchids
…‘horrorCrashPuzzle’ are on the mix box
they have mean little mean tunes
w/ chix reading bible verses
somewhere around where radioHead collides w/ tom waits
…they’re harsh like a 3-penny opera trolly car rattling
down tracks laid by a blairWitch live-feed horror show
…there’s tea & honey on a tray atop the fender-rhodes,
& lyrix sneered thru pro-tools
while i scribble
* * * * * * *
…donde esta el studio?
barrygoldberg.biz
*crossings*
Friday, October 13th, 2006 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
on a grey pasadena monday
morning i’m sitting on a sidewalk
bench, when here comes a man who
didnt sleep anywhere paticular
last nite, or the nite before
…filthy clothes, matted beard,
w/burning holy man stare he looks
down at the sidewalk where, for
reasons of their own, city workers
have spray-painted a cross …it
is some sort of public works
hyrogliphic but it seems that this
man sees something else …he
pauses, tracing the cross in the
air w/ his rough hand, then looks
up, feeling the weight of my eyes
upon him …i nod my head slightly,
meeting his gaze …he walks past
me then stops, turns, & earnestly
intones: ‘if theres any doubt
that there is a god, all you have
to do is look around at all -this-’
he gestures vaugely at the city, at
the sky, & beyond, ‘-this- is all
heaven …any where there is a moon
& stars is heaven …we are all the
family of god …there is no hell but
the one we carry here’ & he points to
his chest, as if he were pointing to my
chest, as if he were pointing to all
the human chests everywhere …i do
my best to wordlessly convey to him
that i am listening & hearing, balancing
my interest w/ caution the way one does
w/ strangers …he nods to me & walks
away …i look down at the sidewalk &
notice 2 ants approaching each other from
opposite directions …they are walking
one of those paths that only ants can
sense …they come together face-to-face
in their insect encounter, & i imagine
the antennea too small for me to see
bending & whirling, feelers feeling,
sparks going off in minute nervous
systems …then, apparently satisfied,
they part, each one moving along the path
the other had walked, but now moving away
from each other, having exchanged whatever
gifts they had to on this morning
…the sun begins to burn thru the cloud
cover
*backgroundInfo*
Tuesday, August 1st, 2006 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*background info*
this is all
you need to know:
the stars
are our cousins,
& we are those
who’ve carved roads
in the earth,
& dared to dream
of flight
…we are heat
& light & liquid
made flesh
…we are the echoes
of god’s fingers
…this
is all you need
to know
*semantics, pain & finality*
Saturday, April 1st, 2006 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*semantics, pain,
& finality*
many folks don’t like
to use the word ’suicide’
if they are speaking
of it in other
than abstract terms …what one is
more apt to hear is
the phrase; ‘please dont hurt
yourself’ -which is a promise
much harder to keep
if one intends to
go on living
-lull-a-bye-
Friday, January 27th, 2006 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*lullaby*
mixing mashed grains with
my blood, hoping for some sleep
or inspiration
or perhaps a blank
black-out, sweet dreams of kisses
like smoke, & souls on
kite strings …tears & fists,
proud flatulence, the delights
of idiots &
sheep …the poison does
its good work, my brain cells wink
out like stars before
the dawn
stosh unplugged
Friday, December 30th, 2005 | subtle juxtapositions | No Comments
*under sedation*
they had jammed this tube in my throat
so i wouldnt stop breathing during the operation, &
when they were done & had stapled me shut, &
wheeled me into post op
they yanked it out
…but it hurt so bad, it woke me up, & i raised
my head up off the gurney & growled
‘OOooRAH!’ w/ all the force i had
which was enuff to put a look of shock
on the attendent’s face, his
eyes widening over the surgical mask, &
he said; ‘ummmmmyou should go back to sleep now’, &
i said; ‘ok’, & did
…coupla hours later i woke up in ICU
w/ my legs wrapped up, immobilized, various
electrodes glued all over me, my neck in a
brace, a tube jammed into my pisser, needle
stuck into my hand, &
standing beside the bed looking at me like
they were at my funeral were my father &
one of my 4 sisters, &
when i saw the look on their faces i just
started to cry; ‘i’m sorry’ deleriously &
apologize for nothing
…so, that pretty much sums it up;
when i’m in a weakend, unconscious,
raw, peeled state you will either get the
tuff warrior/loyal soldier, or the weak,
emotional, guilty, baby boy outta me
…this is what i look like w/ no armor
…this is what they will put into the box &
bury
…this is what i might be, at any given moment
…any requests?
