'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,
'Ff'lo
fflo

oh, that's a good part

Somebody just posted in greatpoets this poem, which apparently was just in the New Yorker:

Trouble

Marilyn Monroe took all her sleeping pills
to bed when she was thirty-six, and Marlon Brando's daughter
hung in the Tahitian bedroom
of her mother's house,
while Stanley Adams shot himself in the head. Sometimes
you can look at the clouds or the trees
and they look nothing like clouds or trees or the sky or the ground.
The performance artist Kathy Change
set herself on fire while Bing Crosby's sons shot themselves
out of the music industry forever.
I sometimes wonder about the inner lives of polar bears. The French
philosopher Gilles Deleuze jumped
from an apartment window into the world
and then out of it. Peg Entwistle, an actress with no lead
roles, leaped off the "H" in the HOLLYWOOD sign
when everything looked black and white
and David O. Selznick was king, circa 1932. Ernest Hemingway
put a shotgun to his head in Ketchum, Idaho
while his granddaughter, a model and actress, climbed the family tree
and overdosed on phenobarbital. My brother opened
thirteen fentanyl patches and stuck them on his body
until it wasn't his body anymore. I like
the way geese sound above a river. I like
the little soaps you find in hotel bathrooms because they're beautiful.

Sarah Kane hanged herself, Harold Pinter
brought her roses when she was still alive,
and Louis Lingg, the German anarchist, lit a cap of dynamite
in his own mouth
though it took six hours for him
to die, 1887. Ludwig II of Bavaria drowned
and so did Hart Crane, John Berryman, and Virginia Woolf. If you are
traveling, you should always bring a book to read, especially
on the train. Andrew Martinez, the nude activist, died
in prison, naked, a bag
around his head, while in 1815 the Polish aristocrat and writer
Jan Potocki shot himself with a silver bullet.
Sara Teasdale swallowed a bottle of blues
after drawing a hot bath,
in which dozens of Roman senators opened their veins beneath the water.
Larry Walters became famous
for flying in a Sears patio chair and forty-five helium-filled
weather balloons. He reached an altitude of 16,000 feet
and then he landed. He was a man who flew.
He shot himself in the heart. In the morning, I get out of bed, I brush
my teeth, I wash my face, I get dressed in the clothes I like best.
I want to be good to myself.

-- Matthew Dickman


I like it. Simple conceit & all. It has fun saying the suicide things in those certain ways, which is itself funny, and kinda poignant, if you let it be. And that brother part does something notable in there. Cuz it's all about tone. But then this part here---

... If you are
traveling, you should always bring a book to read, especially
on the train....


-- how about that? Cuz, like, dude, you know what? --- we're all traveling.

I mean, I kid (and I love), but we are. Some of us more than others. Mattera fact, if you have motion sickness, watch out. That can be as bad as stillness sickness. Both are unmoorings. You're gonna need another story to be following, like the one in that book. At least one.

Of course one of the worst parts of being crazy is trying to figure out how crazy you are, and/or what's to be done, and whether it really is crazy to be crazy, and well even if it's crazy not to be crazy, c'mon, it's crazy to be crazy this crazy way (or this other crazy way).

- + - + -

Like, fer instance, should I be worried about my magnetics? I'm going to blame the narrator of this Steve Martin novel I'm making my way through (The Pleasure of My Company), who's OCD lonely nuts, for putting me in mind of such magickal thinking. But, see, my cell phone has been periodically timestamping text messages 3 hours early, for no reason I can discern (and following no pattern I perceive), and my outdated browser keeps thinking my posts here are being drafted 20 hours off from when they are, though my operating system is in synch with the rest of this slice of the world.

As has apparently also long been the case with this other chick at my work (who's at "Festival" [a.k.a. "Michigan"] right now, even though she's not a lesbian), ever since I was a teenager I've not been able to wear a wristwatch and expect it to continue to work more than a day or two. It's the personal magnetism, no doubt.

And in (at least the TV movie of) Helter Skelter, Charles Manson looks at the prosecutor menacingly, and, poof, the guy's watch stops. And that's a cut to commercial right there.
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