Comments for Oleoptene

Comment on The Factoid List by Alta Badanguio

Alta Badanguio — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 20:13:49 +0000

sit and stand stroller

Comment on Memory Supplements by Thomas Hertel

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Comment on Good-bye Christopher Robin by Zoo World Cheats

Zoo World Cheats — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 09:47:28 +0000

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Comment on Why I haven’t written in a few days by Internet Banking

Internet Banking — Thu, 04 Feb 2010 08:14:26 +0000

So not really on the same topic as your post, but I found this today and I just can’t resist sharing. Mrs. Agathe�s dishwasher quit working so she called a repairman. Since she had to go to work the next day, she told him, �I�ll leave the key under the mat. Fix the dishwasher, leave the bill on the counter, and I�ll mail you the check. Oh, and by the way�don�t worry about my Doberman. He won�t bother you. But, whatever you do, do NOT under ANY circumstances talk to my parrot!� When the repairman arrived at Mrs. Agathe�s apartment the next day, he discovered the biggest and meanest looking Doberman he had ever seen. But just as she had said, the dog simply laid there on the carpet, watching the repairman go about his business. However, the whole time the parrot drove him nuts with his incessant cursing, yelling and name-calling. Finally the repairman couldn�t contain himself any longer and yelled, �Shut up, you stupid ugly bird!� To which the parrot replied, �Get him, Spike!�

Comment on Words Fail by Arletha Setlak

Arletha Setlak — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 22:15:04 +0000

Per iniziare a guadagnare con il tuo blog, inizialmente l’uso di Google Adsense, ma man mano che aumenta il traffico, continuare ad aggiungere più e più soldi facendo programmi per il tuo sito.

Comment on Words Fail by Alita Tindol

Alita Tindol — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 20:51:11 +0000

Vry intéressant de le lire: P: D

Comment on Toothy by unreliable narrator

unreliable narrator — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 19:47:35 +0000

I always think: teeth is the part of my skeleton I can see. The visible evidence that I am bones and a skull.

They scare me more in their mirrored nightly existence, not so much in the dentist’s chair—though I love this part in Synecdoche, NY, just a short scene, where the dentist or assistant or whatever is measuring out the gaps? and is saying in this droning monotone: “Five…five…six…five…” and only if you are over 35 and have gum disease do you start moaning in sympathy.

But there are of course plenty of those tantric graveyard meditations, staring for days at a skull and just being with it, being with the fact of dying. And you did this in a modern-day antiseptic charnel ground. Being with dentistry.

Comment on My Own Private Normal by Dana

Dana — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 06:16:55 +0000

Comment on Selkies vs. Mermaids by Oleoptene

Oleoptene — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 00:23:20 +0000

So re-reading three weeks later, I remember that when I wrote this I loved the title and wasn’t sure that the post was equal to the title, so I repurposed the title with this:

I have the perfect title, then for my poem. If it were a poem, then, this, my title for this morning would be set against that mackerel sky. It would be a poem about the tug within me to swim off, without restraint, without care, set against the fascination with the land-bound creatures among whom I live. It would be about my sisters sitting on the rocks luring sailors to their deaths. That a voice is an unbearable price to pay, but at the same time our voices are terrible, are dangerous. It would be a poem about sometimes feeing trapped, sometimes not feeling my true self. About loving nonetheless. It would be about loneliness. It would be about sisterhood and inheritance, about motherhood. And it would be full of the sensuality of having every inch of sleek skin caressed by gentle waters, about the sting of salt and feet scraped raw by sharp rocks. About light perceived filtered through water’s murk so that light becomes a place and shadow a playground. It would be about shedding limitations and fears and following one’s nature, about the power required and the power created to restrain oneself to cradle the small and helpless, about recognition that one can wait, that this is all temporary. It would be about the fisherman’s hut, the flinging of nets, the hope chest, battered, the folded fur at the bottom, neglected, musty. This poem would contain the cry of gulls overhead and the ceaseless roar of waves, and the loss of voice within that roar, sound bleeding into sound. It would be about the rediscovery, the shaking that skin out and stifling the cry of recognition.

Comment on Selkies vs. Mermaids by unreliable narrator

unreliable narrator — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 12:19:18 +0000

PS that tree thing? sounds for sure like a poem.

(And maybe “silence” is just narrative’s fracture, that place where straight talk can no longer go, and lyric’s geysery eruption from the breach? You know how that goes. That moment in the musical/opera when people have to stop talking/reciting and burst into aria, because prose won’t contain the emotion any more.)

A poem that has these lines in it:

My truths misplaced. I try to remember what I was thinking, what it was I needed to tell you.

My hours misplaced. My voice misplaced.

And the selkie-skin image. And trees and what they become; and the inevitable smoke. And probably the shoes and the sake bottles too. And definitely the jeweled spider web.

Okay DONE kibbitzing now.