Gimme Some Pope Bone Welcome, James Mason. What moves you to come sit with us today? I am looking for funding to allow me to deal with the current crisis involving the pope. I, uh—we have no knowledge of any current crisis involving the pope. Please elaborate. Sure. The pope’s not only the head of a very huge church but is also a fish of the perch family, with a greenish-brown back and yellow sides pope and pope underparts pope pope pop po p pe poe pope ope pe e pop po pop p’pe epop pope pope pope. And also, its no coincidence that the hard whitish tissue making up both pope’s skeleton bones is called bone pope bone pope bone pop bon po bo p b pe be poe boe pope bone ope bon pe bo e b pop one po ne pop one p’pe b’ne epop enob pope bone pope bone pope bone lasso. Okay. But, I’m a bit lost. Back up and elaborate. Sure. More’s that the fish-pope’s diet mainly consists of small aquatic bugs and larvae meat chops steaks cognac and wine such masses of which are consumed daily it’s as though theses popes are constantly crying out gimme some more pope bone gimm som more please pope bone imm om pop bon catholic chicken is imme ome po bo mme me roman guitar p b gim so pe be gime soe poe boe im’e soe ‘e gumbo pope bone ‘e me ope bon e m’ e b m’ gm’ pop one om’ po ne gim’ som’ pop one gimm’ some Charlie the chicken p’pe b’ne gimme some epop enob gim so pope bone imm om pope bone gimm ome more pope bone gimme some gimme some deep acceleration please pope bone gimme some pope gimme some bone gimme but some the popefish gimme some do you see now, lasso lasso? It's coming along. I think I might see, but, the viewers might need more. As in some games’ big Cuba. Popular hereabouts. So; go on. Absolutely. In some aquatic environments where they’ve been irresponsibly introduced the popes have become so damaging to their environment that scientists have been frantically searching for a way to bid them a final bon voyage, as Dr. Matthews-son, biologically academic big shot frontman has put it bon voyage pope bone n e gimm som b v pope bone on ge imm om o ya pop bon on yag imme ome bon oyag roman hard catholic skeleton gumbo po bo b’n vo’ge mme me ‘on ‘oyage p b nob egayov bno gim so oyaeg obn pe be ovyage ob gime soe ov-yag b’ poe boe oyage’ non im’e soe ‘e e-oyage vo pope bone yage b’ ‘e me on ope bon no eg’ e m’ ban vayoge e b nib yivoge m’ gm’ the goal is to kill off the species b0n v0yage pop one b om’ =n vo=ge po ne bin viy’ge gim’ som’ von coyage pop one bob voyagw gimm’ some simmering cooked roman gumbo anna chicken from electric buzz buz bln vl-yage p’pe b’ne cpo wpzbhf gimme some opc fhbzpw epop enob ‘p’ ‘ya’ gim so the goal is to kill off the species entirely bon voyage pope bone bon voyage imm om hey hey entirely bon pope bone hey hey voyage pope bone hey hey hey gimm ome while the gumbo is simmering remove church tissue from the danger site more pope bone hey entirely bone the gimme some cooked chicken quick and slick gimme some pope bone hey hey kill off entirely gimme some pope gimme some bone gimme but some the popefish gimme gimme remove church tissue lasso from the lasso lasso from the danger site, lasso. In fact, the pope is the first invasive species to have been classified as a nuisance by the non-indigenous nuisance prevention and control program. As such it needs to be killed off entirely. So, do you see? Do you? Oh, yes—but this non-indigenous nuisance prevention and control program you mention. I have not heard of this. What of it? What of it is; it is me all over. All right. So then— And that’s why I need money. To begin work on a solution. An this work gimme money must bon voyage gime mony begin immediately pope bone gimm mone n e imme oney gimm som mm ne b v gime moey pope bone on ge imm because om o ya pop bon on yag imme ome bon oyag po bo b’n vo’ge mme me ‘on ‘oyage gmme mney p b e y nob egayov bno me ey gim so mme ney oyaeg obn imme because man is oney pe be gie mey ovyage ob ge my gime soe g y ov-yag b’ gi ey poe boe gim ney oyage’ non gimm oney im’e soe gimme money ‘e e-oyage gimm oney vo pope bone gimme money yage b’ gimme money ‘e me because man is in the forest gimme money on ope mm ne bon no gimme money Bambi hey Bambi eg’ e gimme money pope bone hey hey gimme some because man is in the forest Bambi gimme money because man is in, because! I am sorry, but. Can you repeat that a bit clearer? No; it’s as simple as pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone— Stop! Hold it—you— —pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone— Mister Mason, Plaese! —pope bone pope bone pope bone— Hey Sal! Cut the juice right now! —pop bone pope— Okay Jack, you’re the boss! —bone. Jesus Christ, thank God. Whew. Lights out.
Category Archives: CHAOS
Photos from Channie Greenberg
Poetry from Alan Catlin
At the first meeting of a fiction workshop with Lydia Davis, one of the students asked her if she believed a short story could consist of three sentences or fewer. Lydia said, “Yes, I do.” He nodded, stood up and without a word walked out of the classroom and never came back. We all wondered if something happened to him. Fact or fiction? Dark comes early in the mountains. They were climbing up there, bushwhacking as they went. Their headlamps cutting zig zag patterns into the night. Gladys gave me a corkscrew once. She insisted, “You never know when you might need of those. Tonight, was one of those nights. In the wake of the storm, the night was charged by downed electrical wires. The streets sparked and the few remaining trees ignited shooting fingers of flame along the branches. The air smelled wet and feral, alive like an animal no one had known of before. 536- Tour Concentration Camp Erased I have carried The United States the gas chambers of Auschwitz A splendid visit small white- wood oblong mausoleum white oven knobs switched off lights. Darkness killed as much as the gas. I went in Right away I Attempted to escape Hid in a niche I veered the crowd climbed , doubly mourning yesterday’s anguish everyone joined in a sad funereal picnic Helene Cixous 538- Random. Boring Post Cards. Phaidon. Atomic Post Cards. The Lochgelly Centre Complex or SAC Headquarters Offert Air Force Base. White Rock Los Alamos County or Actual Pictures of Dreaded Bomb Blasts. Frenchman’s Flats, Nevada. Convalescent Home Broadstairs. Looking Across Solway Firth, Silloth (With coffee ring stain) The City of the Atomic Bomb: Cedar Hill Elementary School Oak Ridge Tennessee. Dead Men Reading Post Cards. 558- Dream on with Joseph Cornell The Parkway Dream. Utopia that is. Film strips. And air guitars. Monsters in a Box. Neither black nor white. Gray. Domestic tableau. Not an American Tragedy. My Brother’s Keeper. Dreams of old toys. Broken music boxes. Jack (s) in. Scrapbooks. Vandalized, 1906 Sears Catalog. When is a Franklin Stove not a Franklin Stove. When the canary from the coal mine escapes. Sings. Like a jailbird. Vonnegut. Shoeless Joe. All those boxes filled. Many times, over. 561- Back List Book Titles Arranged: a found poem If Night Is Falling. The Moon Rises in the Rattlesnake’s Mouth. Night Farming in Bosnia. Weightless Earth. Carbon Dating Hunger. Infinite Days Teaching Bones to Fly. Travel Over Water. The Sky’s Dustbin. Light from a Small Brown Bird. Blue Swan, Black Swan. Kissing the Bee. Painting the Egret’s Echo. Reembrace of Water. Ancient Maps and a Tarot Pack. All the Beautiful Dead. Bitter Oleander. 562- The perfect fiction is reality. (Life). Gilbert Sorrentino asserted. In a book of poems. A day book. Of sorts. Perfect fictions. All. A deck of 52 involved. Not necessarily playing Cards. Weeks. Are. Not in an Orangery for sure. That book with the word orange embedded within. Not a rhyming Simon, he. El Gilberto. Le gran orange. Trusty Rusty. Not the poet. The ball player, “Everything invented is real.” Flaubert.
Photos from R.W. Stephens
Poetry from Kathleen Denizard
My Cultivated Garden I fell into a dream stepping across a path of fragrant jasmine and hibiscus And lay above a cushion of roses It was a curious time to indulge in the plantings of my garden Poppies embraced me in a frenzy of aromas That quickened my retreat from a world of overwhelming matters, A world often perturbing in its synthetic quality I slept in the lovely presence of pixie-like daisies Warming me in a shawl of petals Soothing my feet in a coverlet of ferns A flutter of birds came to light in the shelter of fruit trees Away from weather and intruders I imagined them enjoying the raspberries that stained their bills Until splashed by the fresh spray of a water fountain I dreamed as the day waned and the buzz of wee insects stirred my senses Wondering what breeze drifted tiny white blossoms through my hair I awakened to feel the gentle sway of wisteria Pleased with the way I cultivated my garden
Poetry from Sayani Mukherjee
Beam By Sayani Mukherjee Pyre of hollow embers Burns purged insecurities; Ravishing coiling serpant machinery Jokes and trickstars of naysayers, Of caging the free spirited Moksha Dreams of mana, Himalayan bluebirds The flappy wings of fancy somantic fury Only tune of one song. Loud enough to burst forth Material orders hierarchies Ashes of power game Caged and bonded Flattering cynismcism a cyclical tornado Only the blue bird sings It knows the one tune I'm an om An autumnal seasonal flashback. Draping warm leaves around my sweet neck Honeybees and nectar of sooth Sayers fuzz My veins a musing, jumping, free spirited laboratory- Made of Streaming stars and faith and woolen love I, a Bluebird sing of mana Airy floaty elfish vain Titular rambunctious whole of a new realm I am a power of my life force Watery windy fiery fiesty road Akashic magic burning sages Rosemary incensed fume I swallow pyres Burning up eights lusts heads I twinkle and beam.
Poetry from Adepoju Timileyin
Before I Was Born the night before I was born cloudy night sent me tons of muse n' caged me on sit the night before I was born my life became the only image my eyelid pledged patriotism the night before I was born nightmare became my company while I'm paranoid by unknown guilt the night before I was born I became friend to my future while my past shallowed tunnel of memory the night before I was born I had this writing as prophecy and for I couldn't wait to write it's end, I'm here to attest the living.