Larry Shitsverse: We

I had a dream there
was a boom in the street,
a shower of stones,
and we were the bones.

I had a dream there
were ashes in the air,
dancing light, and
we were the fire.

I had a dream there
were bottles of gin,
fountains of mud,
and we were the flood.

I had a dream there
was a howl in the trees,
darkening eyes, and
we were the night.

And we were the deep.
-----------------------------------------------------------

Alright, apparently Larry had a dream. I'm not sure if it's supposed to be all one dream or four separate dreams. Five if you count the last line as a separate dream, but it could be just part of the last dream (or all of the dreams). And in what way could you dream about "we" being the night or the deep (whatever the hell "deep" means)?

I wonder if Larry started writing this poem in a certain format, like a villanelle or something. The scheme of a full-on villanelle goes like this:

A1 b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2.

Six stanzas (separated by the forward slashes) and three lines per stanza, except for the last stanza which has four lines. Lower case letters symbolize a certain ryhme. So the "a" lines all ryhme with each other, and the "b" lines have their own ryhme. But the capital letters symbolize a "refrain" which means it's a line that's actually repeated word for word. A1 doesn't just rhyme with the next A1. It is A1.

The example that people always give for the villanelle is Dylan Thomas's "Do not go gentle into that good night". But I will not use that as my example. No. I will use a nonsense poem about an epileptic duck that I will now write extemporaneously, meaning that I will not get up and get a refill of coffee at this here coffee shop until I've written an entire villanelle. Here goes:

....

Ok, I can't write poetry on the spot like that. Here's the standard modern example:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Like I said, I think that maybe Larry started writing his poem in a format like this, where he's repeating certain lines, and just dropped the format when it didn't suit the poem.

And as far as the last line of the poem goes, I think he might have wanted that to be a fifth dream but just couldn't come up with a good one to end with "and we were the deep." He could have done something like

I had a dream there
was a dome of stars,
the moon over the sea,
and we were the deep.

I also feel like there could be a better way to write this so it flows better. Or actually what I mean is, it could read better if the stanzas didn't even try to flow together. Because they don't. We could try to do something like this:

I had a dream.

A boom in the street,
a shower of stones,
and we were the bones.

I had a dream.

Etc.

or

I had a dream--
a boom in the street,
a shower of stones,
and we were the bones.

I had a dream--
etc.

But now it's sounding a bit MLK-ish. Doesn't really work for me. Ok, if I wanted to actually make it flow, this is how I would rewrite it:

I dreamed
there was a
boom in the street
a shower of stones
and we were the bones

there were
ashes in the air
and dancing light
and we were the fire

there were
bottles of gin
fountains of mud
and we were the flood

there was
a howl in the trees
with darkening eyes
and we were the night

there was
a dome of stars
moon over a black sea
and we were the deep

Aphorgasm #2

The most sane ambition is to shrink yourself. Or as Wendell Berry puts it, to become one among the grasses.

Masculinity

I do a lot of things that only "chicks" are supposed to do. As a result, I get razzed in hyper-testosterone environments and endure the occasional tampon reference. I suppose there's something primal about the ancient and primitive shame of menstruation, so I try not to take it personally.

And I've come to realize that I've really been showing my slip on this blog. Been posting a lot of soft stuff. Like poetry. I know that typically only 16 year old girls post poetry on their blog. I am well aware. Although I mostly just publish Larry's poetry now. He's kind of a pansy too.

Anyways. I just think we should acknowledge the fact that we still have these assumptions and prejudices about masculine/feminine roles. And in a marriage you must deal with this.

Over the years, my wife and I have noticed that we don't neatly fit into gender roles that are sometimes still expected of us (especially in the conservative Christian world). Our view (I really did ask my wife about this and she signed off on it) is that a marriage is a partnership where certain responsibilities must be fulfilled, and often it doesn't matter if it's the chick or the dude.

Ways in which my wife is more like a man and I am more like a woman:

1. I usually wash the dishes and she usually takes out the trash.

2. I will sometimes eat pizza and tostadas with a fork. She always eats them with her hands.

3. I like to talk through problems ad nauseum. She is prone to shutting off all communication. Silent treatment.

4. I am much more likely to take a long bath.

5. If something needs fixed around the house, she is much more eager to fix it, and more capable. Unless it requires brute force. I have the brute force.

6. She is able to let our nine month old cry in her crib for 5 minutes. The self-soothing thing. I must be held by the collar while my feet churn in place to keep me from going into our daughter's room and picking her up.

7. She donates blood and I don't because I hate needles. The one time I donated was when we were dating, and I did it to impress her. Then I passed out.

8. When my wife was pregnant, she managed to avoid getting hemorrhoids, which women sometimes develop during pregnancy and delivery. I on the other hand managed to develop hemorrhoids myself. I know that's gross. I'm not supposed to blog about hemorrhoids. You cringe every time your eyes run over that word, hearing your inner voice say "hemorrhoids". But I'm all about getting our imperfections out in the open, and I will wear you down by the sheer number of times I type hemorrhoids in this paragraph. Because I'm doing you a favor. There's actually a good chance that you, yes you, sometime in your life will get hemorrhoids. And you will be embarrassed about it and will probably wait for a long long time before even bringing it up with your doctor, letting it get way worse than it needed to be. So I'm drawing back the curtain and exposing the real or maybe just metaphorical hemorrhoids we all must face ("the hemorrhoids of the soul"), keeping it from becoming 10 feet tall, like the giant Adenoids in Gravity's Rainbow:

Sub-sub's chalk drawing of an Adenoids Monster, sparing you the image of a Hemorrhoids Monster, which, come to think of it, would look very similar.

So fear not. Drink lots of water. Eat lots of fiber. Take lots of standing breaks at your desk job. And if hemorrhoids show up anyway, don't hide it. Shine a light on your hemorrhoids and it will go away.

9. She is a better cook and I am a better baker. Katie will look at our refrigerator and cupboards and throw a bunch of stuff in a pot, sprinkling some spices, and end up with a tasty dish. But if I don't have a recipe with precise measurements to work with, it really ruffles my apron.

Of course there are many, many ways in which I am like a man (which I am) and she is not. Those obviously don't need to be detailed because they are the assumptions we all have about male and female roles. But as a for-instance: I am in charge of the killing and dispensing of rodents in the house. Now before you go judging me, you should know that I tried the live-traps and they just didn't work. And when the pests are on the larger side of the rodentia family (or order--whatever), it's hard to be patient and not kill the suckers. My conscience is somewhat clear though. I refuse to use poisons that would compromise the toxic free sanctity of our home. I use a crossbow.  

I live next door to this

Aphorgasm #1

Persistence is a virtue. I wish I had more of it. But then changing my mind, the willingness to change my mind, is a virtue as well. I mean, to persistently travel down the wrong road or stubbornly believe something I know may be false--that's just stupid.

Larry Shitsverse: Tea

Chicory root
Lemongrass
Peppermint
Papaya
Chamomile
Dandelion root
Orange peel
________________________

Larry, that's just an ingredients list. You jackass.

Aphorgasm

aph*or*gasm n. A nugget of philosophical writing by Sub-sub-librarian. Usually composed in ecstatic inspiration, but of dubious wisdom and very much a letdown after just a few minutes.