Please Remind Us Using the Provided Pencil  

…please remind us using the provided pencil + so kindly since last time the string’d come ‘part provided as a token of our appreciation  + hung there for this reason but somehow broken and crank, who’d a’ “known it”, ^why’s it wrong to do things different, Gimi^ who’d a’ “thunk it”, you know, “Doctor”? Do you know? You must know. I must have seen that…s..ss..no no okay maybe can a car crammed so but that’s as close [pillo] with a cow as they can without

touching.ss..s…pencil {and not just back here at the cooler oh no} dozens of times, and, uh each time I said to myself, Yes I know ^I know when I lie down I lie down very very differently from how others lie down Gimi^ there is something {what is it?}I’d like to write down there for the % kindness of their hearts brigade to go get right now, shaking down my head, and provide me uh % ice cold drink zipper, but. I could not think of it “Doctor”. No no no, just quite really

ver’simply, could not. You know that old thang, (slash) G’, eh there it was, hung on th tip o’ my tongue ( hissssssss ) so ah, I know, yes I do; that there’s something inside me, exploding to be made so much happier by the simple inclusion of one particular drinksnack to our very own communal beverage cooler, but, ^and I know they will not like me for it Gimi remember you said that yes you did Gimi^ as I cannot think of it now, I’ll just think it for next time, and, in the time between, “Doctor”, there should be plenty of time to get it out past my tongue-tip, and from there to my hand. Know sweet? Know sweet, “Doctor”? Hey, “Doctor”, know know know know, so very super

simply…z..zz..inside which also but oh yeah well half with a tipped of that’s close but not has a car touching.ss..s…damned sweet! Sooo o oo oo o o,  next time I can ask for sure, but each time, “Doctor” * why does it seem some freak-law of nature { that })* nearly immediately there I am again, my dear Mickey-Wah, pressed up ‘gainst the cooler door, Mickey-Wah, slapping myself  ^why’d you lie to me Gimi^ slap sl’ ‘lap ‘tindah foerre-head, thinking on thinking that What’s that Big Cyst off Your Ear? gaaaaa, here we go I plum forgot gosh-darn here I am again I could remove that for you really fast I could, “Doctor”, with it at the tip of my tongue { thin ‘s an’ ‘parro’ flying coo fly! } HUP and the pencil is there hung with write it, f’ you want it, so use me, jot it over onto the provided taped-up-tight paper, but no, so as always { sigh } I settle; ^why didn’t you mean it when you said it Gimi^ shaking and shaking down my head, I settle like I always have ended up settling, and always without fail, for much less. I get out a Pepsi settled into for less, and I say scre’ myself thu’t next time I’ll

remember ‘tween now and then I’ll think this name up but over again for X number of Pepsis I drink, forget, need a break, go there and gahhh; forgot again, ^when I stand up yes I do do it differently Gimi^ damn the sillies, so I settle; until next time always next ‘gain o’ forget, need a break, go there and gahhh; o’re and ova’ and always [ da fyne deestra-fahne’d “Hoons” ] —The same the exactly same same {oh my} So that’s the nut of my whole ‘dica”men”’ t-t-t-t,  “Doctor”. ^you told me that Gimi I never forget anything you tell me Gimi^ And I swear, this goes …c..cc..so hey hey over out-spilt can you’ve been caught in a crammed inside.ss..s…on as many times as possible, in as many days as possible, yah as many times as it’ll end up to take, that we’re all stuck here doing this stupidly silly, ‘ll pointless, day after day high-priced mood and attituctivity in lieu of prison time, p-p-p-

personal improvement plan ^remember you told me I didn’t care at all what happened to you Gimi^ (hic”cup”) planet Earth Census ah, yes; but now that magical time comes when, ah, a break is needed | ah HAH ditch that bayonet right “this instant”, young man!| and ah; there it is! Snatch it down so I git it and I got it and there it is ha I got the name, ha ha ha yes yes “Doctor”, [ awk Linkletter’d-downe distra’d ] this time around’s so destined to be different—shush yah yoh ooh ahh rush to the cooler that name in my hand; stop short there’s the sheet ( ugh honeypt’d rag-man “ though ye may be” ) write it down ‘fore forgotten, yes; This time I’m different, here I am, different time hold the name in the left hand ^why’d you say that Gimi when you’ve told me over and over you know I really care^ get the pencil in the right here it is look at it but where there’s no nahh don’t dare say that write it down …c..cc..no no okay maybe with a cow so but that’s as close also has a as they can without touching no no okay with a

tipped.ss..s…no NO where’s there there’s no damned ^I want to help people Gimi I want to I do but^ Pe NO do not know that, that cannot possibly be not this time write it NO there is no pencil this time BUT yes up top the cooler NO there’s no there’s no HOLD Breath do not lose the name in the left b-b-“b-but”, slow, 0, d-damned down (eck); slow down slower to slowest   drain  “I am not one t’ be ‘countrashaane-shoopt’d’ ”   down    there’s   it can’t be gone and         this can’t have happened this way  + ‘roun’ do-daht’s big Romanian teakettle’d clash +  ho “Doctor” this  the pencil the name of the thing my  .   left palm’s not empty   ..  ^why is it wrong to do it differently from other people Gimi^ !!     .     .   hung limp brown string and I            slump’d down “Doctor” that’s ::::: how I found myself walking eck ack O Doc  .   tor  .  I quit I just        walked clean    out    off the place     d oc’     TOR      what can’t have ever happened to be had happened “Doctor”     why was I born into this        shaking and shaking and shaking down my head, and my head and my       . 

   eck ack s    n s oon, {Ah!} swoon  …sh..sshh..so hey hey you’ve been car crammed inside caught in a lie.ss..s…    .     “Doctor”?   .  Why could I not have been born into that?    Or those—over there “Doctor” why could I not have been born into one of those over there?  Or these here??????  or possibly this ‘un up there, “Doctor”. There. That. “Doctor”—r-r-r-r-r-r oh.       Leaned into the cooler, eyes closed down, a voice, Voice behind. Voice of.       (8)   “Say-y-y-y, excuse me, could you step aside, I need to get something out of the cooler, thank you.”       .      ^why can’t you tell me Gimi oh why you do this to me Gimi^      O?        .     Jesus Christ, Samuel, you’ve left your used Harvies all over the place [ there’s cans for that, honey ]   … dont.you.know.that.honey be’damned why’s all these big spill? 

 .    aka big Ben Harko     .      ‘round ‘bound me an’ that when I let go s-hot(!) into, Why? So-o-o-o, so-ooo, that you can get your very favorite drink out this “very favorite” cooler to mock me down yes yes yes yes to mock me down all the hell of the way down and get it out right ‘front of my face with ha ha ha ha see what I can do and you’ll never ha ha ha ha ha look what I can do that you’ll never be permitted to ha ha ha never be permitted { here, passacaglia!! } ^why can’t you tell me Gimi oh why you do this to me Gimi^ to oh hey who’s that dumb one we’re never to permit anything good to ever happen…sh..sshh..so hey hey you’ve been car crammed inside caught in a lie.ss..s… here, L’il whoa-whaah’td ittl bitti fugue!! }to oh this one right here officer I am glad you came fast officer this one is not right in the head, “Officer”, and you know as well as I do ^oh why oh why^ that the ones not right in the head are the really really most dangerous and deadly ones of all ones he he he he ah ha ah—why sure, be my guest.

Cooler opening blow by—somebody who’s not—me.

“Thank you.”

Not me.

You’re welcome. S-a-a-i-dde (honnk) beye, ^o’ ‘hy o’ ‘hy^ somebody who’s not me not me any more not not me s’let me quick sorry to bug you step back let me get another what is this, this’s a damned ^’ ‘h’’ ‘h’^ Pepsi, “Yanni”, s’ shut the cooler and get ‘ur fast ass back down to/or or {???} into the God-damned line that’s ^0^ what you’re here for God damn man God damn what the hell did you think do you  think you were here for anyway if not no if not that?

Gimi?

Brian Michael Barbeito is a Canadian writer and photographer. Recent work appears at The Notre Dame Review. 

Spirit of a Place, Spirit of a Thing (Artist Statement)

In an off handed remark during an interview, U.G. Krishnamurti, called by some an anti-guru, and by himself, ‘Something like a philosopher,’ said that he once thought he could sense the spirit of a place. But then he brushed it off through words and body language. It didn’t fit in with his philosophy and message. But I resonated with his statement anyhow, because I had always felt that I could feel the spirit of a place and also a thing. Old town, lake still and wide. City street, carnival game vendor and prizes. Bee. Spider. Flower. Vine. Ridge. Summit. Stone. Petal. Stream. Sun. Cloud. Bird and dusk, horizon and dawn. Lock, denoting love, affixed to lonesome bridge alone in the rain. Artifacts. Areas. Some saturnine and some sanguine. Hundreds of places and things, their spirit, against reason and logic, somehow speaking out, not with language of course, but calling out nevertheless. Semantics and nomenclature could argue what spirit means. Is it the atmosphere, the daemon, the angel, the area, the vibration, the feeling? Is it physical, metaphysical, true and there, or purely imaginary and projected? Difficult to know conclusively. But there is something I think in all that mise- en-scene, and so on the rural footpaths and metropolitan worlds also, I try and photograph it and also write about it, this spirit of a place and spirit of a thing.

VESSEL

An older gentleman
Wanted to have love affairs with a young woman
That she was a waitress at a coffee bar
The Bowery pub
Who was married to a pizza courier
Arranging one night for him to come to the bar
Barking, at the door, like a dog
That she would leave telling the manager:
I'm going to kick that dog out.
With such a tale
The two marched to the banks of the Arlanzón river
To eat with kisses
And get laid quickly.
When they returned to the bar
They met the pizza courier
That he had asked the manager:
-Where is my wife?
Answering him:
-She's gone to chase that dog.
Appearing at the moment
His wife and the “old man”.
The bar manager
Asked the old man how it had gone
The dog thing
Answering him
Praising the woman first:
-If it's not for her we don't get the dog
Seven swelled it for me and seven emptied it for me.
The husband who listened
Asked the manager:
-What is this about?
Replying the manager:
-No, you're welcome.
This goes from a coarse clay vessel
Wich is wider at the mouth
That for the base.
-Daniel de Culla

Title: Move On

Chorus

Move on (6CE)

Move on

Drive in

Get right here

Hit the Bull’s eye

Get on it

Don’t Give Up

Keep trying

Start moving

Study hard

Strive more

Be straight

Be Positive

See the result

Then Move On (6ce)

Be grateful

Expect problems

Fail forward

Don’t be afraid

Falter not

Keep to your words

Be hopeful

Don’t be discouraged

Refused to be depressed

Be patient

Keep the right friends

Then move on (6ce)

Verse 3

Keep learning

Study hard

Make sacrifices

Pay the price

Be attentive

Try new things

Be adventurous

Seek inspiration

Be creative

Stand out

Be yourself

Then Move on (6ce)

What birds think of you

The content of the woods when you stop to listen
is you     listening      stopped

not that the birds do   stop   
not that the birds        mind

the contents of their minds for some minutes
look through you at worried mud

after all
              the content of the ground beneath
your feet carpets their dreams too

and you     leaning into the cut smell   of chlorophyll         
sprawled buzzing in            a heat wave of blankets

why can't you sleep


Sweating below zero

Through cracks in an outer pane woods glow
these echo what we leave in other people
when they die your eyes don't belong to you
when you talk to yourself you talk to them

You pedal for an hour but you're still home
the view changes even if you blink
and will continue to even if you get away
your breath stares back at you on glass

Moons drip over a desperation of sleeping roots
you fill it on nights that thin your time
owls listen for the crackle of fear in snow
before you go to where other people wait


Lake affect

Waking, Lake Erie piles up in her window. The cold green water swirls old shipwrecks open for her dream-gummed eyes to allow her dead husband to rise like white rocks from the waves. Algae blooms and a coal-colored pollen falls over all the rust. The face from her doll head cake turns on a scratched-in smile so that we may better see the chorus drowning with their hands tied. When we die we become the smell of liquor.

You who suffocate on your hunger, you who choke me up on the cold green cemetery lawn, how did the germs grow so fast to choke your heart?

On the form a blank hungers for his date of birth. His dead wife watches from her window as the shipyard rusts into the Black River, chocolate taste of lead on her tongue. Egrets reel. These days when I mow the cold cemetery lawn her mother's bitter lips tin an August morning surly with clouds. What you can do with a white bandana, with the smell of liquor, is near grace and almost grateful for how it coats everything, the cars, the lawns. Real egrets. Instead of going to you become. She is waiting for Lake Erie to fill her with ceaseless motion. She is suffocating with her mouth choked up on mercury and tin. The minnows' silver eyes dream in gum.

I towel the germs off and when she lifts me white from the tub spill them on the floor like a smear of cake.




The blizzard of '77

Ripples on the surface of the Black River chart the rise and fall of good times for egrets. With the frame smudged around her and with her face pinched to show her mother what she's made she holds the doll head cake out from the front of her body as if to hold it any closer would invite her mother's criticism. You pass through dusk with fireflies scintillating like airborn embers around you. Germs coat the windshields, the sidewalks, the lawn slashing the windows in the wood-paneling in the Blizzard of '77. In the back of your throat a small doll with her mother's face mutters crests into the troughs where egrets wheel and swoop.

War ripples across the continent, staining the Black River water the color of dead minnows floating belly-up against the splashed wings of egrets. Snug within the safety of the frame your father's smile points to the pins in his lapel. But no-one asked her to prom. Your white bandana makes you one of the good guys. On Marshall Avenue the grass sparks with flint light and the Blizzard of '77 plows your heart under, where a bag of warm takeout begins to think. I mow your lawn these days a hundred miles from the nearest pile of slag. In summer children climb to the top and launch empires into cold green waves. The Black River cups in their hand only the unlovely boats. Egrets repeat themselves in the sugar crinoline of her doll head cake and your heart coats the back of your throat like plastic. I'm porcelain. Ask your father to mow the lawn on Kentucky Avenue before these lengths of shadow choke him out into the cold green waves of derelict mustang grape. Have him look you in the face.

Germs scintillate like a porcelain dusk of misremembered fireflies that land on your arms and your shoulders and climb down your throat to choke your heart up. I dream in your ashes, another empire impaled on her mother's criticism. We're all scared.



The calligraphy of great lakes

In print you make your mark with my voice on hold
curved     the way my bones point in your direction

I wish I had listened to the roses     papering their season
in a room of no walls     you open every window
     to hear me tell it     from the street where our bikes

propellor     Are you trying to teach me     how to fly
or swim against your body slipping into spills greedy
      the light strained through     to colors      and so sinking

the sky can be worn like a hat     flotation device
toughening the sugar that clings to your fingers

     My breath the flavor of paper     in the sun’s plastic
streets where you lead me blind through the trees of your mark    



Count Chocula

With pollen in part as your throat, sprung cotton
among shag of light, at in instant oxidized, toxic
flavors of childhood’s improbably tomorrow

Their vehicles were trapped in what could carry
in legs, dried and picked off protein birds dare
colluding with information as murmurs as blue

The water invasion will vanish nights off
everyone waits to come out, carry dead out
to fields forever talking, long without breath

Imagine a wafer infestation of the host
resurrected, useless terms, tasting like
on the head of a pint, shrubs of printed word

Imagine the light vampire like your father’s
shame you could smell on the seats on hot
summer days catch the arrogance of dusk