friday night prosodic poem finale

the smells are man-made leather and man made misery
and nail polish
I don't reply to emails because the time will post
and everyone will know I am home alone on Friday night

the sounds are other people living
and in my apartment not even an iPod is playing
the guitar and keyboard are finally packed near the closet
with the other instruments long inside the closet

it seems fair to spend an evening alone but I
spend most evenings alone, with Jon, alone
and I wonder what I planned to do with the long homestretch
of childless years
now that it seems that every two I reinvent myself

I nearly pick up the clump of dust with my bare hand
and decide it can wait until tomorrow



on that note and on the cool number of 101 completed posts, donuts at home will be saying aideu an an instrument of public intervention. old posts will remain.

We'll Never Have new Year's

New Year's reminds me of all the resolutions big and small we make as a bargaining tool for ourselves to get through another year. 'We'll Never Have Paris' is a zine for all things never meant to be.

In the spirit of combination, I invite you to submit your secret 'never have new years' resolution, poem, haiku, blurb, photo or drawing. These will appear on the blog and on a facebook page. The winners will appear in print in Volume 4 and if a photo or drawing, possibly as the front cover. They can be printed as 'anonymous'.

A contest of prolonged failure, if you will.

The deadline is January 1.

neverhaveparis@gmail.com

Atoms for Peace

Know how some people feel when they wake up from a dream before they forget it, or better still I suppose is that 3/4 awake when the dream is still a snowflake melting on your jacket. It's a mental miracle, the dreaming and the remembering, and the losing it too. Did you ever see the movie "Until the end of the World?" (look it up if you are interested or I may get to a synopsis later).

Some people, not me, feel a strong reminisence with scents - they smell apple pie and are whisked back to their grandma's house in 1976.

For me, the unspeakable thrill is the randomness of time selection of songs that pop into my mind. Walking down the street, washing dishes, wishing, wondering, warming. A song will stay for a random length of time. Like a musical ghost. Does this happen for you? I also enjoy how in my head I am able to re-mix it and tune in more to lyrics or bass or the keyboard I never heard the first ten times. It's like how it is when you're stoned.

Today's selection is Thom Yorke's 'Atoms for Peace'. The lyric "so many alive, so many alive" came in first, then the mental color of the ambient keyboard layers. I don't travel with an iPod so the anticipation mounted all day. This song is so fucking good.