It doesn't possess the form of a griffin
nor does it suggest the register of a centaur
It hath not the covering of a werewolf
it don't do the voice of a banshee
See also -
the allure of the mermaid
the majesty of a pegasus
the glimmer of the unicorn
But we'll just have to accept it
relegate it to the margins of cryptid vernacular
Read it, half-digest it
and move on with our lives
harbouring only the mildest
bellyache
He also served
a quiet, bemused soul
freckled, uncomfortable
you couldn't tell if he was young or old
Part of the first underground rock groups
The Fugs, The Holy Modal Rounders
swigged crême de menthe at St. Mark's Church
played with Pearls Before Swine
sat and wrote with Patti Smith
Author of An Unfinished Memoir, he
deserves his place in the pantheon
Lee played the piano, Farfisa, percussion
flute, celeste, and bells
a plastic toy horn in the Chelsea Hotel
friend of Ted Berrigan
hanging out at Allen Ginsberg's farmhouse
Peter Schjeldahl remembered him
as the gentlest, most generous person
Finally, accounts are disputed
talk of demons and trenches
struggles with family and acceptance
and aren't we all trying to connect
No more winters in Springfield, Mass.
no more visits to Bustin's Island
no wikipedia page for Lee Crabtree 1942-1973
For starters and I'm not paying for them
we are riddled with meaning, anxiety, cancer
we are all riddled with bullets, guilt, arthritis
all the essentials, a fine platter to share
My scalp is on fire
my invisible head rests on your marble shoulder
I am riddled with all the answers
and none of the solutions
Riddle me this riddle me that
riddled with the clap, with the tism
And don't call me the complication
you've been the conundrum all along
you're a closed book with answer
christmas tree, piano, fridge
You're a riddle wrapped inside a rebus, lost
in a labyrinth, a puzzle twisted inside a rhyme
you're a riddle with answer wardrobe
Riddled with unnecessary feelings
riddled with un . . . . . certainty
a riddle with umbrella as the answer
and now, we retire to our rooms
Pervaded
with deceit and errors with fear and gout
Transfused
with head lice and ink, jokes and mistakes
Saturated
with parasites questions and regret
Flooded
with stress and scars and sickness
city rugger boy
curls his plump lip
at the heaving
sweatmobile juddering
with the overexerted
heart capacity. the
lanklong russet hairpiece
and full auburn
beard, a bold
open chest orange-grey
sprouting. black shirt
festooned in hair,
black pants draped
in hair. all over
moulting like
a golden retriever.
the groomed, plucked
and perfumed city boy
stares with
manifest affrontery at
the dripping back
neckfolds, willing him
to disembark or implode.
I rediscovered the power of flight after
almost a decade of ground confinement.
The conditions were fine. Clear skies, a slight breeze
and a warm undercurrent. I approached a
wheatfield near a ruined castle in the northern territories.
Time to loose the surly bonds, I thought.
I can't take off if anyone's watching,
you must have heard of shy wing syndrome.
There was no one about so I thought to hell with the consequences.
New rulings had downgraded unlicensed flight in this
territory to a misdemeanor. Something to do with
the less stringent gravity up here reducing the risk of accidents.
After so long away, I found it remarkably simple
to enter the mild trancelike state required
for take off and I soon found my way into the slipstream.
I had some trouble settling upon a dignified position
and soon discovered that any deviation from
my clumsy seated position resulted in loss of altitude.
I waved to the jolly ploughman. He ignored me.
Some claim that flyers become invisible to those
who are incapable of flight themselves. They simply can't see
what they don't believe in.
As I drifted along, I experimented with posture.
Found a way of slowly extending the legs without losing height.
For flying enthusiasts, this involves
a gentle rotation of the shoulders.
It seems that faith in the existence
of other-dimensional shoulder attachments
- what some term the Angel Heresy - is crucial too,
but I am aware that this is a controversial topic.
I angled my legs behind me and found myself
in what I considered a stylish position
perhaps resembling the serene angle of Chagall couples.
The fields passed below me and I approached a forest.
There was a small building inside the forest
and saw a hooded figure walking away from the building.
At this point, the patient stared shaking uncontrollably and
the interview was adjourned until a later date.
from Start Dancing, 2004
Does anyone remember an aquarium
store that was located in the Sunset
District on the corner of 24th and Vicente
in the mid to late 1960s?
It was kitty-corner from Parkside School
I think one of the owners' first name was Dave
but I cannot remember the name of the store.
A couple of times he would join us
across the street at the school
and play a quick game of basketball.
Here is a current photo.
We were hanging round the Haight went to a cafe that blasted Coltrane
my sandwich was soggy didn't care, I was in my fucking element excuse me
and earlier we'd stopped by the Grateful Dead house and all that shite
Emerging it was actually foggy and we giggled about the hidden terrors
a little worse for wear and confused we stumbled under a bridge
and you asked a stranger for directions
something it must be noted I would rather die than do (and I will)
The genial youth who was to my credulous mind
likely an associate of Thee Oh Sees or the Allah-Las, said
we had to head back, go 'kitty-corner to the cafe' and honestly
I lost it at kitty-corner and hoped you remembered the rest
because I'd happily sit down under the bridge and play
finger bells while waiting for the fog to claim me
I was so high I don't recall being high
I sat in the basement waiting to come down
I hung with a friend, hung with, who was that boy
We waited in the bar while he waited for the bus
I called my gran, my safeguard, she knew something was up
Something is wrong, something isnae quite right
I found out later she'd been dead since 1987
I was so high I crossed paths with myself
And couldnae tell which one to take back
Some say it was mushrooms, some say it was acid
Blu juice or lettuce were the other options
I lost a week there and then it was Saturday
Had no idea who to call or how to get home
There was no gran of course now there was no bus
Spent twilight in the car park trying to come down
Rehydrated but the water just made it all grow again
I like knowing what everything is, I'm the annoying
##### who can't watch a show, or a commercial, or a film
without firing up Shazam and finding out what's playing
There was this extraordinary music I heard in a hotel room
during Easter 1981 somewhere in Scotland
my belief it was a BBC station, maybe local
it sounded like the most glorious, furious, transcendental
sounds I ever wanted to hear
No I don't know who it was, that's the whole point
but it surprised me that this was jazz, an area I feared as a youth
jazz from Sweden is what I remember
oh no, I can hear you say actually it's probably
Esbjörn Svensson but you're wrong you've ruined it
and now its identity will never be known
I was always recording songs off the radio
naturally noting down the titles inscribing them on the
cassette inlay including, in 1985, a 1960s
soul record which I played a few times but couldn't enjoy
because I didn't know the artist or name
the refrain was 'let love take care of itself' or 'of the rest'
the tape is long gone, please help
Early 1990s just before the advent of you know what
I wrote to the NME with a line from a song I wished
to be identified (what kind of person does that)
and next week there came the answer: Breaking Circus
"stuck in several thousand heads"
sometimes all your wishes will be granted
There was a riff that went through my head, heard
on holiday in Italy 2003, maybe on a local TV station
+++++five notes, staccato, rock guitar, a proto-ident+++++
it played relentlessly in my brain for days until fading and
some years later I heard Making Time by The Creation on the radio
DANG NANG DANG NANG NANK
not exactly a staple of 60s hits radio but I had heard it
before maybe in 1988 when
I'd checked out a Creation compilation from West Hampstead
record library, probably played it once - nothing wrong with it,
I am just a very busy person - and filed away
I apologise for whole unrelatable nostalgic indulgence of this we're nearly done
But the biggest mystery is the one I heard while
travelling on a train from Amsterdam in 1999
with my mini portable radio plugged in to one ear
the local radio played a creepy song about cutting off your fingers with scissors
sung in a heavily accented girlish voice - it was NOT Bjork -
and I will never hear that song again
It may on second thoughts be garbage and also trash
but I just need to know the title
You have a new message
'oh did you forget about me'
no but your picture suggested
we couldn't inhabit the same universe
There was a lunchtime meetup
I tell myself I am not that sort of person
but maybe you were for one wild week
five dates in three days
what is paralympic decathlon
I always say: I didn't chose acting
acting chose me
We had a coffee, saw some art she
invited me to accompany her to an
appointment
'I'm no good at this, I never was'
that's what she said
although it was my line
Listening to an old Spotify playlist tweaks
a sudden burst of (unworthy) idiot nostalgia for the lockdown
when wfh which stands for working from home just so you know
I don't meant to be exclusive
I used to wrap up my mid-level drag
and dropping activities at 5.30 or
sometimes in the interests of nip
which stands for nothing in particular which
I just made up where were we maybe at 5.00 itself
The relief of the quotidian routine commuter office hell just-
pausing, and a new, improvised
peculiar routine replacing it sent me mildly giddy
I will admit (only here where no one sees me)
I was technically a key worker ffs which stands for
never mind, I (pretended to) play my part and I'm
not asking for a medal (you won't get one) then
I'd make a playlist and head OUT
On my #1 or #2 neighbourhood loops plugged in
to an hour or two of music
how solid and true this simple activity could be
especially walking in the dark and cold
better than any midday sunlit lunchtime jaunt
Time expanded contracted and
it was all good for some of us but
not for you, no not for you
I texted you my Fridge Magnet of the Day picture, or
various tableaux of the Little People
aka Legoman, little frog, goofy dinosaur, the dwarf, the elephant
look, this is a personal thing so I'll move on...
And yes it should be acknowledged
there was an element of unravelling
'quiet the mind, open the heart'
Cause I can't remember a thing
Did I translate the Bible into Bulgarian? Did we
vacation in the Poconos? Please be serious now
we may not have
long to say
what we want to say.
My memory is shot. Remind me of the big news:
Lady of the Lake sank, struck by
ice on the starboard bow it was a nautical shitshow
in 1833
Dubai became a city, there was
a backlash against the Mormons
a revolt in southern Vietnam
the forgotten tragedy of the Amphitrite
sunk while taking women and children prisoners to Australia
all in 1833
A big old earthquake in China
a meteor shower in Alabama
a big old earthquake in Sumatra
naval dispute in Portugal
in 1833
And the songs were about as memorable
as the songs from 2033
Chile got a Constitution, may not mean much to you
British bigwigs call for immediate abolition of slavery
the Factory Acts restricting child labour
Kaspar Hauser German youth of uncertain origin is stabbed
all in 1833
Franz Bopp published Vergleichende Grammatik des Sanskrit, Zend, Griechischen, Lateinischen, Litthauischen, Altslawischen, Gotischen und Deutschen
you can't say it was not a golden year
talking about 1833 (MDCCCXXXIII)
I guess the jig was up and that word in itself is a tell, my boy
when I suddenly arose from my torpor and
started flailing about to Personality Crisis
only played as a tribute to David Johansen who'd just died
and otherwise out of place at the indie
excuse me ethereal disco focused on the forgettable ersatz
and generally lame (my words) so-called alternative non-hits of today
Today being let's be clear 2025 when David Johansen died, I mean look it up
I was singing all the words, giving myself a mild hernia
really testing the old titanium kneecaps ha ha
what with me being secretly 75 just like the erstwhile frontman
of the NY which stands for New York Dolls
And yet I have been so well preserved and fortunate of let's say DNA
that I was able to claim an age of 32 on the apps, the apps,
we're all on the apps, you're all on the apps aren't you, aren't you on the apps,
of course you are (on the apps), we all are
And no one has ever questioned this age of 32
because of my youthful physique slash visage
and don't you dare say Dorian Gray
I'm what is known as neonate some say whelp, a disrespectful term
but employed here in the interests of full disclosure
i.e. one who has been involved in their Requiem for less than 50 years
beyond the fledgling stage, subject to an Elder don't get me started
Move on: my date (from the apps remember them) was alarmed at my sudden invigoration
as if my blood had been EPO'd (if only you knew)
as if my very essence had been suddenly electrified
as indeed it was, by the spectre of ye olde pre-punk
thus the flailing about on the dancefloor like a 'man' possessed
Yon, my date found this display by turns alarming and appealing
the suggestive energy, the spastic yet innovative shapes I pulled
then the aged DJ got carried away and segued straight into
the original 1973 Mercury Records double A-side Trash
which was a step too far for my veteran tendons, and I crumbled, crumpled
into the dust trying to maintain the tempo but
I just couldn't keep the pace and visably aged
at an alarming and ultimately ruinous rate
32-33-34-35- but never over 40, NEVER
Carrice was vekry indifferent oto tyhe
she dihd n ot like azt all
How qmuch d o you pay for
Oh there are different pricels saidh
Onn t his excijting journemy today
have n t done me right
Ij lrl not luive withz you usaid
You vde donet nothing but bratg around
Aw It h aven it anythning tof the
Carrie walk ed dover to the doorc
He had hisi chores Cleanixng
Master Syn s bootys fo r au
starst could n t d o that
He held outs
his ha nd anhd
she ntook oit
anjd press ed it
grinned atw hins visitors
Did yofu wa nt something my lordp
tau nted
Id l ike your heaad on a
For the most parxt
its been very
exciting I a m
simplyx in need
dthe cheerful
grdeetings o f the
fiew Obthers simply
igvnored the quartet
Cl ues as to his ipdentity Gervasew
p eeled the sackling away lto reveal
t he loweer ha lf of the body
The fee t we re tied to gether with
ar stout rope Toz the surpr ise
Her mer leived alonei
Hqe must ghave hadt f amily
or friend s of some sortq
H is pare nts cavme
"We are the rogue state" reads a sticker on a car.
To think that I ate a Vietnamese crab for lunch is inconceivable.
It was pink and flaky, like me.
A gust of hot breath grazed my cheek.
It was very nearly overwhelming.
I don't mean malodorous, merely that it suggested intimacy.
The sky higher than normal and lacking a protective layer.
Vapour trails criss-cross but refuse to be read.
Current mood: Inelegant
Stains: Toothpaste
Bladder: 20 per cent full
Spoon: Red, plastic
I am Lord Merlin King of the Goblins and I cast magic runes up your wazoo.
I grew a shifty beard in seven days flat as
an antidote to winter and its rusted blade.
But now it's like durrrhh you look like whiskery vole man.
Stop being such a baby Virgo perfectionist.
Do it do it do it do it do it. Now!
This is an arcane practice known to advanced
practitioners such as myself as Swinging the Anti Rune.
And it doesn't pay the rent.
Every day I have the same illusion - that at some point
in the future there will arrive magical moments
where concentration and inspiration are in perfect alignment
But the language is pedestrian, the events are mundane
and there's no distance between you and your main character.
His antlers were twitching feverishly in the thin, electric air.
Waiting for the seepage of air into the cribriform plate.
Tjoday hjis fjinal ijdea flowjed ijn hjis hjuman braijn juice.
Superstition: Evil eye trinkets
Aromatherapy: Peach favoured candle
Current Music: Éthiopiques
Sky: Rainbow trout
From molecular nanotechnology, 2004
Probably gonna die from falling down the stairs while drunk
clunk crick broken neck body not found for a month
I can see it now, I can feel it now ah oops odds-on
Probably not gonna die from being trapped in a cave in a
claustrophobic spelunking misadventure though judging by the number of times
I've woken up in a cold sweat about this scenario you wouldn't bet against it
It's not gonna be cancer I just know it, and
he doesn't even bother knocking on plastic wood
heart failure is rising up the charts
esp after hearing about the hidden danger of the early evening nap
rendered catatonic at 6pm whatever the situation
In previous lives I was beaten to death as a slave 1000 times
this may include being set alight as an exemple pour les autres
a fistful of drownings for looking askance
and I have proof of this gleaned through mystic crystal revelation
these methods almost certainly will not apply this time
I play the NYT Games every morning - the Mini Crossword, Strands,
Connections, Wordle and Spelling Bee fuck Sudoku -
and share the results with my buddy, we're keeping an eye
on each other for the signs of the decline
But it won't be Alzheimer's
we're pretty sure it won't be Alzheimer's
it better not be Alzheimer's
no way will it be Alzheimer's
