Typewriter Series #39 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Masks
Submitted by lalalashawnnicolekim
Why I Hate Reading Maps
I have unrolled a map
onto my kitchen table
and put one finger
where you are and
another where I am.
The space between
is only inches. That close,
I could feel you breathing.
I could reach out and
run my fingers through
every strand of your hair,
touch your lips and
barely need to move.
In the corner of the map
there is a guide for judging scale:
every inch a hundred miles
full of roads and rivers and trees,
the guide a sharp reminder
that you are where you are
and I am where I am,
inches apart.
Poem by: Gabriel Gadfly
If I ran the internet
If I controlled the internet?
You could auction your broken heart on Ebay
Take the money, go to Amazon,
Buy a phonebook for a country you’ve never been to
Call folks at random until you find someone
who flirts really well in a foreign language
If I were in charge of the internet
You could Mapquest your lover’s moodswings
Hang left at cranky
Right at preoccupied
U turn on silent treatment
All the way back to tongue kissing and good lovin’
You could navigate and understand every emotional intersection
Some days I’m as shallow as a baking pan
But I still stretch miles in all directions
If I own the internet
Napster Monster and Friendster-dot-com would be one big website
That way you could listen to cool music while you pretend to look for a job
and you’re really just chatting with your pals,
Heck if I ran the web
You could email dead people
They would not email you back
But you’d get an automated reply
Their name in your inbox
It’s all you wanted anyway
And a message saying: ‘Hey, it’s me. I miss you.’
Listen you’ll see, being dead is dandy.
Now you go back to raising kids
And waging peace
And craving candy
If I designed the internet
Childhood-dot-com would be a loop
Of a boy
In an orchard
With a ski pole for a sword
Trashcan lid for a shield, shouting
‘I am the emperor of oranges’
‘I am the emperor of oranges’
‘I am the emperor of oranges’
Now follow me OK
Grandma-dot-com would be a recipe for biscuits and spit bath instructions 1-2-3
That links with hot-diggity-dog-dot-com, that is my grandfather
They take you to gruff-ex-cop-on-his-fourth-marriage-dot-dad
He forms an attachment to kind-a-ditsy-but-still-sends-ginger-snatch-for-Christmas-dot-mom who
Downloads the boy in the orchard, the emperor of oranges who grows up to be
Me,
The guy who usually goes too far, so
If I were the emperor of the internet
I guess I’d still be mortal, huh?
But at that point I would probably already have
The lowest possible mortgage and the most enlarged possible penis, so
I would outlaw spam on my first day in office
I wouldn’t need it.
I’d be like some kind of internet genius.
And me,
I’d like to upgrade to deity and maybe
Just like that
(p-o-p)
I’d go wireless.
Huh.
Maybe google would hire this
So I could zip through your servers and firewalls like a virus
Until the worldwideweb is as wise as wild and as organised
As I think a modern day miracle-slash-oracle can get, but
Oooooooooo, you wanna bet just how whack and un-p.c. your Mac or PC’s gonna be when I’m rockin’
hot-shit-hotshot-God-dot-net?
I guess it’s just like life
It’s not a question of if you can
Its, ‘Do ya?’
We can interfere with the interface
We can make you god hallelujah the national anthem of cyberspace every lucky time we logon
You don’t say a prayer
You don’t write a song
You don’t chant an ooooohm
You send one blessed email to
Whoever you’re thinking of
At
Dadeladatatatatatatadadeladedadeladedatatam-dot-com
Tre fiammiferi accesi uno per uno nella notte
Il primo per vederti tutto il viso
Il secondo per vederti gli occhi
L’ultimo per vedere la tua bocca
E tutto il buio per ricordarmi queste cose
Mentre ti stringo fra le braccia.
Jacques Prévert
Three matchsticks lit one by one at night
The first one to see your face
The second to see your eyes The
third to see your lips
And the darkness to remember these things
While I embrace you within my arms
I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.
Love Poem
I’m familiar with that feeling
of a thousand swords right in the stomach.
I cannot make it sleep, nor can you.
But if you hug me for a moment
and lean your head on my shoulder,
if you hold me tight and feel the pressure
of your hands on my back,
if you embrace me with empathy,
as if your blood was in my veins
and my flesh was part of you,
and if you celebrate it
like nature celebrates spring with blooming,
if you do it all,
in that single moment,
darkness will fear us.
I Ragazzi Che Si Amano di Jacques Prévert
I ragazzi che si amano si baciano in piedi
Contro le porte della notte
E i passanti che passano li segnano a dito
Ma i ragazzi che si amano
Non ci sono per nessuno
Ed è la loro ombra soltanto
Che trema nella notte
Stimolando la rabbia dei passanti
La loro rabbia il loro disprezzo le risa la loro invidia
I ragazzi che si amano non ci sono per nessuno
Essi sono altrove molto più lontano della notte
Molto più in alto del giorno
Nell’abbagliante splendore del loro primo amore.
we live under our closed eyes
and vanish from here."
Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her
by Christopher Brennan (1870-1932)
If questioning would make us wise
No eyes would ever gaze in eyes;
If all our tale were told in speech
No mouths would wander each to each.
Were spirits free from mortal mesh
And love not bound in hearts of flesh
No aching breasts would yearn to meet
And find their ecstasy complete.
For who is there that lives and knows
The secret powers by which he grows?
Were knowledge all, what were our need
To thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?
Then seek not, sweet, the “If” and “Why”
I love you now until I die.
For I must love because I live
And life in me is what you give.
I asked God to take away my pain.
God said, No.
It is not for me to take away,
but for you to give it up.
I asked God to make my handicapped child whole.
God said, No.
His spirit is whole,
his body is only temporary.
I asked God to grant me patience.
God said, No.
Patience is a by-product of tribulations;
it isn’t granted, it is learned.
I asked God to give me happiness.
God said, No.
I give you blessings.
Happiness is up to you.
I asked God to spare me pain.
God said, No.
Suffering draws you apart from worldly cares
and brings you closer to me.
I asked God to make my spirit grow.
God said, No.
You must grow on your own,
but I will prune you to make you fruitful.
I asked God for all things that I might enjoy life.
God said, No.
I will give you life,
so that you may enjoy all things.
I ask God to help me love others, as much as He loves me.
God said…Ahhhh, finally you have the idea.
Paolo Neruda is the best. :)
