The International Bedlam Society Old Time Radio Hour » Poems

Eek baby eek

qbkukor — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 05:35:32 +0000

Violet velvet heel
Eek baby eek
Snap your fingers like a rubber band
Crack your knuckles like you’re on a chain gang
Eek baby eek
Drop your brief case
Tell me a story
Loosen your tie
Straighten your nose
Lovely winter
Eek baby eek
Take a toot from the snoot
The emancipator shoehorn
I’m tired
Iron
I’m lonely
Brass
Dance like you stubbed your toe
Call up your god
Tell him you don’t exist
Iron Pyrite
A sandalwood kiss
The last drops from a canteen
Wooden sandals
A niveous evening
Woolen mittens
You wonderful minx
You excellent hostess
You kindly beginning
You pointed riposte
Eek baby eek
Shake hands like a wet dog
Eek baby eek
You remind me of packing peanuts
You made me feel like a whore
Eek baby eek
Aluminum
Tickle Venus’s toes
Slip the boy a sawbuck
Tell him to keep it fair
Steal a glimpse
Put it in formaldehyde
Wash your hands
eek baby eek

the motion of bodies

qbkukor — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 05:32:40 +0000

If there are two unknown bodies, neither the attracted nor the attracting body impresses a whole force, and generates a whole velocity proportional to the time given the time.
A short time to describe among themselves; the motion of bodies in resisting mediums.
If the bodies meet with contrary motions there will be an opposite reaction.
If both bodies are urged in the direction of parallel lines, determination of the forces is reciprocally
proportional to attractive counter force.
A body exerts this force only when another force impressed upon it
for maintaining its present state, name of body or mass, or position.
The forces of which bodies, in spaces void of resistance, are firmly forward.
If to educate of the heavenly, bodies are bent several times backwards and forwards in action of which the spirit of bodies mutually resides.
Of the heavenly bodies, colors of natural bodies, position of bodies, force resides.
A body will act upon another with a force directly, body to body, particle to particle, atom to mass.
In bodies we see a method before time, with an uniform motion, magnetic force,
or the earth in the center of the gravitating force,
which by equable motions generates a whole velocity proportional to the time, taking
nothing from the motion of bodies.
Bodies find no resistance to the supplies of elastic force, the force of the attracting body.
Wherefore the motion of the equinoctial points of the body, like one solid body. in the equator of the
centrifugal force, the body will ascend obliquely in the trajectory and velocity as another body falling.
When the action is over the bodies recede from the axis of motion and may orbit or dissipate.

Enumerated

aemoser — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 02:51:24 +0000

He was many numbers. 412-43-8516. 220-203-4895. 2397 (4B). 45000. He lived

in a world of numbers. Ever morning he awoke at 7 and left by 8, left 2397 (4B)

driving A1U4-E56 along I-95 to 6571 on 6th. By 9 he had taken the elevator to 10

and started. He sold numbers. 220-297-1315 wants 3000 of 8643 by the 23rd for

15000, 3rd sale today then lunch at 1. 5.95 for 2 double cheeseburgers at the

corner of 5th and 14th. Back to work by 2 after narrowly avoiding the 32nd

westbound. More sales. 471-938-4133 needs 1500 5921s for the 18th: 11500. Punch

it in the pad, where 5s and 8s become 1s and 0s. 100101000101110. He was 1s and

0s. He was many numbers. The industrial average dropped too low, 35000 laid off.

25.00 to fill A1U4-E56 before driving from 6571 to 2397 (4B) at 4:30, early out

on the last day. Last day #3. Tell wife #2, tell kid #1. Pulled over driving, in

the system. 80 in a 65, A1U4-E56, that’s 150. 150 after last day #3. Last day #3

because the average was too low, the stock down 15% from the numbers projected

for the quarter, off 25% from the 52 week high. Projections were imaginary

numbers. All numbers were imaginary, sort of. But he was real, and he was

numbers; he was many numbers. Numbers like imaginary-that-is, not imaginary-

that-might-be. Not like projections. Sometimes he felt less real, being made of

so much imaginary. 100101000101110. He was 0s and 1s. What is a 0? Nothing. What

is a 1? Not nothing. He was nothings and not nothings and sometimes he felt less

real being made of so much nothing. He was being calculated out of existence. He

was manufactured, shipped, sold, bought, stocked, inventoried, obsoleted,

resold, rebought, restocked, reinventoried, reobsoleted. How many times?

Numerous. Enumerated. Numbered. Calculated. 100101000101110. What’s in a number?

A rose by any other name is 6 for 12. What is a 0? Nothing. What is a 1? Almost-

nothing. He was nothings and almost-nothings and sometimes he felt less real

because he was being calculated out of existence.

Unmitigated Cheer

aemoser — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 02:50:02 +0000

Violets.
Violets, and roses.
Flowers happy,
flowers bright;
flowers -casket!
flowers DEATH!
deathdeathdeathdeath!

Puppies.
Puppies, frollicking.
Frollicking dogs, big
frollicking -guard dogs?
frollicking DEATH!
deathdeathdeathdeath!

Children.
Children, playing
ball, children playing
happily, happily playing
ball in the -street!
playing ball with DEATH!
deathdeathdeathdeath!

Sunshine. (skin cancer!)
clouds? (depression!)
rain; (suicide!)
high of 85, (cremation!)
low of 40. (hypothermia!)

Outlook cloudy and uncertain.

death.
death, death;
death, death, death.
death: death, death,
death. death-DEATH!
DEATHDEATHDEATHDEATH!

Ode to Myrtle

aemoser — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 02:46:23 +0000

O marvelous Myrtle I burble your name
it gurgles and warbles and bubbles so gamely
gargling growling and grumbling amazing
rolling around all the vowels that abound
in the sonorous sound of your wonderful name.

O mystical magical myrtlous Myrtle
I’d beg or I’d borrow or furtively furgle
or burgle the gollup to wallop the moon
glug myrtleglug like a bug or a loon
all the bountifous beauty of that bounciful boon.

O myrtle I’d hurdle a mountain for you
its towering bowlegged obstacles do
not compare to your syllables I mumble and chew
glorious grinding and grounding and grew
muttering myrtlety-myrtle for you.

Indiana

aemoser — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 02:43:59 +0000

Driving through Indiana is like driving on a treadmill. You get nowhere, and after a while you start to zone and forget what normal walking is like, so you get off and feel like some kind of awkwardly shaped waterfowl gliding around the room until you almost hit a concrete barrier or the flashing lights show up because they think you must be strung out, drunk, or exhausted, but in fact it’s just Indiana, it’s just a million empty handicapped spots in the middle of a corn field and a dusty highway, a thousand rest stops with broken down bathrooms and out-of-order vending machines. A fat cop sweating out a ticket with a radar gun and a tabloid, smearing ink on greasy hands, waiting for you.

The world ends thirteen times consecutively

aemoser — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 02:40:02 +0000

one heart thirty six and a half years away from scheduled retirement takes early leave
two i’m sorry we can’t see each other anymore
three the sun unexpectedly explodes
four concentrated and constant contamination reduces arable water to flammable sludge
and leaves the summer breeze with the consistency of sandpaper choking the leather
lunged winners of mother nature’s lottery
five methodically destructive aliens take preventive action
six overtaken by centuries of history humanity feels a sense of collective guilt and loses all interest in
reproduction
seven you’re not santa claus
eight a cascade failure of nuclear arms control spirals through the middle east and bursts like
a rotten tomato
nine christ or applicable major religious figure returns to damn the unfaithful
ten oceans boil and mountains burn under the intense encroachment of a red giant
eleven god blinks
twelve friedrich nietzche returns to damn the uninterested
thirteen i take a nap

The Grim Reaper Is Lazier Than I Am

aemoser — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 02:34:06 +0000

What is there worth writing about but lazy death?
So inept, so unpunctual and mixed up.
He came too early, say lovers
or friends who are not in the will
and have not been secretly pondering
where he has been these last humorless years.

Stovepipes, perhaps, or flash photography;
fresh paint or icy slush streaked with exhaust;
the occasional transcendent moment or a forgotten wallet.
Spring before summer; autumn and the hasty harvest of departure overdue:
still shots of a sheet of ice as it breaks into the morning of its acceleration, strolls into the afternoon of high velocity and comes to rest with a twilight splash in the soft memory of the ocean where it lingers and gradually melts away into nothing.