Sensitive Content(s)

READ

Slice / Life (annoyances, episodes)

There'll be a quiz ...

Disturbance

The 25th

by Jeff Glovsky
*

Rain Dance (reboot)

When it's not icy cold in New York, it's raining.  There are so rarely days of pleasant weather, or of pure sunshine ...

“Can’t Stop the Weather”, ©Jeff Glovsky

In remembrance of some messy Marches, and other months of the year when it's not just winter in the U.S. northeast -- and in toast to St. Patrick's Day, when Erin goes braless and drunks will be pissing like New York skies -- I give you a little rain rant, from my ongoing (decades long) work in progress ...

It's said to rain a lot, Seattle.  London is renowned, of course, its foggy, mossy climate ...

How come no one ever sees ugly New York for what it is, though?

It's a grey and pissing open wound!  Forever dripping, drizzling like a swollen, leaky faucet.  Let's give credit where it's due, now!  Let's acknowledge that we rot here in our festering putrescence, in the scalding fetid moisture of our cemetery skies.

Let's hoist mighty, high, our rain guards as we slam through, past each other ... as we're snarling in our moldy streets.  While cursing and drowning and suckling, and snarling ... While always hurry scurrying to our empty lives and nowhere beats ...

GUESS WHAT!?  You're gonna die, you Suit!  You pick out my eye with your sodden umbrella [... even make that aimless be-there poked with passion on your phone toy!]*

It matters nicht, 'cause we're all dead.

from Central Park

by Jeff Glovsky

* * *

 *original text (1993):   "... even make that aimless be-there scrawled with Cross pens in your ledger!"

Read, Liked District

November Nods (October Acknowledgements) out to ...

@Spiegro, for recommending "In Carmen Aragon Again".

... I'll find her.

@tkwyoung, for amping up the visibility of "From Medium to Middling" and helping me get my point across (and thanks to the 10 (so far) who seem to agree, by recommending the piece):  simply put, that Medium (not the TV show), a once vibrant and valuable visibility platform -- a writer's wet dream, if you will, affording easy exposure to readers of quality -- is not what it once was.

Still, I enjoy the simplicity of posting to Medium.  Although work of mine may very well, literally, languish unread there ... it only takes one astute Collection editor to snatch up the orphan ...

So thanks to @JustThinkingNow for taking in "Still Relevance" - a (relevant) Monica Lewinsky piece, originally posted here on blogspot.

Finally, thanks to Guilhem Ribart, Daniel P.K. Ng and AlmostFreeNYC for noticing, a lot, last month.

*Plus a special shout this time around, out to long-time Photos by Jglo appreciator, Sawa Minori! ty :)

- September Shouts

- December's Children

(Some) Musical Influences

"A-B Road"

"Liam"

"Integration Blue(s)"

"Disraeli Geared"

"Sunday Morning"

* * *

"Walk on the Wild Side", ©Jeff Glovsky

Bad Lines and Inspiration

"Some might argue that it’s hubristic to write in the first-person.

"I (me, myself and … ) disagree.

"What I would argue is that the first-person, as a narrative form, should be retired. This would limit, if not eliminate, all the posers, pretenders and Starbucks dreamers who 'share' themselves like drunken cheerleaders. It would also pretty much lay waste to the 'blogosphere' … this, arguably, not a terrible thing.

"Several decades ago -- before our Facebook, cut and paste, 'open-source' world --  there were older siblings … also scribbling, pos(t)ing dreamily, into Barnes & Noble 'journals' the size of granny panties … or contributing to Fray."

It's All About Me(dium)

in

Inspire the World

Hysteric Indulgence

"I am not a saint, unless you think of a saint as a sinner who keeps on trying." - Nelson Mandela (1918-2013)

I'm ill-fitting, and self-absorbed.  Upon hearing of Nelson Mandela's death, I posted a picture of myself, and a link to my page on Writers-Network.

Here is what I was thinking:  I was trying to illustrate his quote about saints and sinners and perseverance, by putting up a "selfie" that might have sort of worked as a visual, sort of, 'Should I or Shouldn't I?' ... 'Done that (too late!), now what's the next move?'.

And then I linked that photo to my page on Writers-Network, because the apropos quote, attributed to Nelson Mandela, has always been a part of my profile there.

The move backfired, though, when that one guy who's following me intimated that I seemed like an asshole for doing this.

Beyond which, my sincere and timely post on Tumblr -- a humble homage to one of history's great leaders, and a light and inspiration to millions -- could have achieved 'maximum viscosity' (i.e., re-blogging) if I'd only decided to bag the link ... or better yet, do away with my own photo completely.

I did end up choosing to lose the linkage.  But my photo's still there ... first of all, because I think it does, in a way, sort of lend itself to the above quote, and this was my intention.  Secondly, because it's my damn Tumblr (just like Lil Wayne's cup) and I'll post what I want there!

Generally, I prefer to let my WordSpeak (and my Photos by Jglo) without boring, pretentious exposition.  'I wrote this piece when I was not in a good place' ... 'This next song...'.

"Shut up and sing!" I used to scream, when I'd drop into an open mic. to read my words, or be trapped in a sound booth mixing a gig, and some insecure windbag would get up before me.  'And then my dog suggested, "Eat the bone!"...my dog is my muse.  Why, I'm just a vessel.  But I can't do an English accent...'

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I used to scream ... as the audience assembled would invariably chuckle in indulgent, embarrassed anticipation at what the insecure windbag might utter next ...

Now the internet screen has become the stage ... but other than this, there is little that's changed.  I still become hysterical when I visit most blogs and read all of the reasons and rhymes for each posting; the gestation behind each creation, the excuses for what, why and how each exists.

I BECOME HYSTERICAL with explanations which have themselves no need for existing, and only serve to pad the word count (or cleverly populate search results).  Rather than letting the words, or the various images, speak -- and rather than allowing me to absorb them subjectively -- there are zillions of  "creators" all telling me what, why and how I should feel, follow, "favorite" or "like".

Of course, zillions respond to this becoming-less-and-less-subtle steerage, and the "blogosphere" gets born and is an ever indulgent, happy place ... I become hysterical!!

Though all things considered, I am happy to be weighing in.  I will steadfastly be keeping your two cents to yourself ... but I know you'll continue to 'stumbleupon' sundry Random Poetix and other works, and Wor(d)s in Progress, by Jeff Glovsky, and take what you may from them ... without any boring, pretentious exposition.

I just wanted to take this moment here, to elucidate my self-absorption.

Thank you very much.  Thanks for reading.

Good night!!!

"All of Me", ©Jeff Glovsky

The Numbers Scheme

This was not the original plan ...

The plan was to match up my number of posts here -- or 'annual output' -- with the number of each corresponding month.  For example, June, when I started, should've seen six posts ... August, eight, right (because that's the eighth month)?

October, there should have been 10 posts, etc.

So here we are now, at the end of November, and I've only had seven things to say!

Seven seems to be the mean:  the overall average of monthly posts that time (or inspiration) allows me ...

I was wandering around a carnival once, or maybe it was some street fair or boardwalk / hippie part of town (like Santa Monica Pier or Pike's Place) some place ... and these Jesus freaks were pummeling people with pamphlets promising redemption.

One pimply prophet, someone's young runaway, ran up all saying, "Sir!  Sir!  Can I just talk to you for a minute?"

It was the first time I remember ever being called "sir" - so it must have been about twenty years ago ... right at that tipping point between Youth and Now.

"Not now!"  I remember clearly snapping.  I was snapping photos, and wanted then, like now, to be left alone doing it (buildings and night skies and moods much more vital than people to me, even then, like now).  "You're like the seventh person to come up to me here.  What part of town is this?"

The pimply young prophet did not miss a beat!  "Seven ... You mentioned seven," he says to me, eerily.  "What's that about?"

"Well," I begin, mustering enough patience to be able to feign.  "Seven is a natural number following six and preceding eight.  It's the first integer reciprocal with infinitely repeating sexagesimal representation ... and in quaternary, seven is the smallest prime with a composite sum of digits.

"It's also a purty little glyph...".  I reach down and unzip my fly, and that does the trick!

The pimply prophet's off and running, not looking back.

I was telling this story to Kléber the other day, this guy who lives in the apartment below mine.  I was jockeying for a parking place (i.e., crossing several lanes of traffic while down-shifting, finishing a pretzel (wiping mustard off my tie) and sending a text message) when I ran into Kléber -- literally -- stepping off the curb in front of our building.

As I was helping him to his feet, we started talking about numerology.  Kléber was all pissed, because his wife had just accused him of removing some photographs from a family album, and he wasn't looking where he was going (that's why he ran under my Volkswagen) ... We started talking about numbers, and I told him about my run-in with the meaning of the number seven.

Then it occurred to me, while we were chatting, that each month since July -- July of course, being the seventh month -- I've posted more or less seven items ... except September, the ninth month - when I correspondingly posted nine.

... I have no idea how any of this all ties together (seeing as you asked) ... but it wasn't the original plan.