I once belonged to a writer's network that cultivated the art of writing extremely short pieces. Members submitted 200-words-or-less pieces to be voted and commented upon. Cleaning my room tonight I found some printouts of mine. I thought I'd share.
"My Dinner Doggy"
From whence my dinner doggy?
Oh tell me, if I please!
The one who drinks 'til groggy
Then pees upon his knees.
The doggy I call "froggy"
Because I'm such a tease.
From whence my dinner doggy?
Oh tell me, or I'll sneeze.
His butt was 'pon a loggy.
'Twas just about to freeze.
His fur was much too soggy
His tail flapped in the breeze.
And crawling 'bout his noggy
Were sixty-seven fleas.
They'll add fine spice to "froggy"
When I scoff him down with cheese.
From thence my dinner doggy.
Now where'd I put my keys?
"Pizza Dream"
There is the dream of someone else. At first, I may be the star in it. That's how it gets my attention. The hook. There's coffee and pizza, too. But it's just to suck me in. I'm there for minutes, I get some pizza, then I turn into a dog or a cat and then the real dreamer walks in and takes over. Last night I turned into three blackbirds. I woke up with a splitting headache.
Why does this guy want me to be present in his dreams? I'm just present there, I don't get to do anything, I'm just an audience in the form of whatever fauna he's obsessing on at the moment. I don't know this guy. I don't want to know him. I should be in dreams of my own. I have my own wishes that need fulfilling. That should be MY cigar, MY railroad tunnel, MY leap off a tall building to certain death. That should be ME drowning, flying, being chased by an ax murderer.
Showing posts with label pizza. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pizza. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Thursday, May 24, 2007
The Art of Committee Guesting
Thanks to scheduling, if there's a Single Adults Committee meeting for the CEHKC some Monday, that same Wednesday there's a CAC meeting. CAC is the Consumer Advisory Council, and instead of token consumers who have no power because they are permanently a fractional minority of their committee, they are the whole committee (less the facilitation), so they have power galore, for their two hours per month that they meet, within that room.
One does wonder how that power is conveyed up the ranks to the higher committees. I keep hearing that the higher-ups are listening and responding to the CAC's suggestions. Bill Block, the big Project director of the whole shebang and who's been the facilitator of the CAC meetings, has said so many times. I wouldn't know about it much because I always fade out when the subject comes up.
Anyway, the CAC meetings are cooler than the Single Adult Committee meetings. There's pizza. There's Bill Block. There's actual passionate arguments, with raised voices, instead of mumbling deferential professional courtesies all around. After all, to the members of the CAC, it is, as I often say about my involvement at Real Change, personal. I'm not a member and only have guest status each month, so I can only speak during public commenting periods, but it's those constraints of the art form that make it both challenging and fulfilling to me, as an artiste.
This month the only comment I had at the beginning, after inhaling two slices, was to ask if anyone knew how realistic was the rumor I was hearing that those who won the new Section 8 Voucher lottery would have to endure an eight year waiting list.
Lucky me, a representative of the King County Housing Authority was right there to tell me that no, for the folks who win the lottery, it'll be only two years at the most.
Turns out there's an entirely understandable explanation for the rumor. You see if there weren't a lottery, the waiting Time would be eight years. The lottery cuts the pool of applicants by a factor of more than four, so the waiting time, for THOSE people, the winners, drops to less than two years. The waiting time for the losers is now certain to be eternity, because it's been confirmed that they really are losers. They can apply to the next lottery in two or three years, but they'll only lose that one, too, they're losers.
Well, cool. That settled, they went on and had the meeting, while I was quiet and tried very hard to listen. Fading in and out as I do.
They woke me up twice. Once, when one of the members went off on a tirade about too frequent public housing inspections. He was sitting next to Bill Block and pounded the table so violently Bill had to lunge to save his water from spilling. That was funny. The guy was particularly mad because Liberal Congressman Jim McDermott didn't answer his letter about it, and "that goes to show why I'm a conservative."
The other time they got my attention was when we were told that the Governing Board, the highest level committee, would let a new one of the members of CAC to join it's August Body. All CAC needed to do was nominate precisely three members for the position and the Governing Board would decide for them which of the three would be selected to represent them, except in the unlikely event all three nominees were unacceptable, in which case the CAC would be permitted to make additional nominations.
Let's put this in perspective. We're talking about a committee that now consists of 22 heavy hitters, including various current and former mayors, major corporate hotshots like Blake Nordstrom, a former governor, influential members of the faith community, and currently one "Consumer Advocate" (Sheila Sebron), and in contemplating allowing another "Consumer Advocate" from the ranks of CAC, the notion that CAC might choose their own representative is just too radical?
Why? Is it that one token consumer advocate on a committee of 23 occasionally speaking up is barely tolerable, and that a second one would have to be certified dead or at least comatose before being allowed to disrupt the Governing Board's very important process of deciding everything without any input from the people most affected?
I didn't have time during the final public comment period to express that thought, so instead I said, I too am angered by the outrageous too frequent inspections in public housing (my room is invaded by inspectors 13 times a year), and I'm even a liberal, and if the Governing Board is going to tell the CAC who will represent them, the CAC should insist on giving the Governing Board the information they need to make the best choice.
If I were a member of CAC I would propose that we give them three nominees and inform them which one they pick or else the CAC quits en masse and the charade is ended. No more pretending that homeless people are sharing in the process and that they support it.
One does wonder how that power is conveyed up the ranks to the higher committees. I keep hearing that the higher-ups are listening and responding to the CAC's suggestions. Bill Block, the big Project director of the whole shebang and who's been the facilitator of the CAC meetings, has said so many times. I wouldn't know about it much because I always fade out when the subject comes up.
Anyway, the CAC meetings are cooler than the Single Adult Committee meetings. There's pizza. There's Bill Block. There's actual passionate arguments, with raised voices, instead of mumbling deferential professional courtesies all around. After all, to the members of the CAC, it is, as I often say about my involvement at Real Change, personal. I'm not a member and only have guest status each month, so I can only speak during public commenting periods, but it's those constraints of the art form that make it both challenging and fulfilling to me, as an artiste.
This month the only comment I had at the beginning, after inhaling two slices, was to ask if anyone knew how realistic was the rumor I was hearing that those who won the new Section 8 Voucher lottery would have to endure an eight year waiting list.
Lucky me, a representative of the King County Housing Authority was right there to tell me that no, for the folks who win the lottery, it'll be only two years at the most.
Turns out there's an entirely understandable explanation for the rumor. You see if there weren't a lottery, the waiting Time would be eight years. The lottery cuts the pool of applicants by a factor of more than four, so the waiting time, for THOSE people, the winners, drops to less than two years. The waiting time for the losers is now certain to be eternity, because it's been confirmed that they really are losers. They can apply to the next lottery in two or three years, but they'll only lose that one, too, they're losers.
Well, cool. That settled, they went on and had the meeting, while I was quiet and tried very hard to listen. Fading in and out as I do.
They woke me up twice. Once, when one of the members went off on a tirade about too frequent public housing inspections. He was sitting next to Bill Block and pounded the table so violently Bill had to lunge to save his water from spilling. That was funny. The guy was particularly mad because Liberal Congressman Jim McDermott didn't answer his letter about it, and "that goes to show why I'm a conservative."
The other time they got my attention was when we were told that the Governing Board, the highest level committee, would let a new one of the members of CAC to join it's August Body. All CAC needed to do was nominate precisely three members for the position and the Governing Board would decide for them which of the three would be selected to represent them, except in the unlikely event all three nominees were unacceptable, in which case the CAC would be permitted to make additional nominations.
Let's put this in perspective. We're talking about a committee that now consists of 22 heavy hitters, including various current and former mayors, major corporate hotshots like Blake Nordstrom, a former governor, influential members of the faith community, and currently one "Consumer Advocate" (Sheila Sebron), and in contemplating allowing another "Consumer Advocate" from the ranks of CAC, the notion that CAC might choose their own representative is just too radical?
Why? Is it that one token consumer advocate on a committee of 23 occasionally speaking up is barely tolerable, and that a second one would have to be certified dead or at least comatose before being allowed to disrupt the Governing Board's very important process of deciding everything without any input from the people most affected?
I didn't have time during the final public comment period to express that thought, so instead I said, I too am angered by the outrageous too frequent inspections in public housing (my room is invaded by inspectors 13 times a year), and I'm even a liberal, and if the Governing Board is going to tell the CAC who will represent them, the CAC should insist on giving the Governing Board the information they need to make the best choice.
If I were a member of CAC I would propose that we give them three nominees and inform them which one they pick or else the CAC quits en masse and the charade is ended. No more pretending that homeless people are sharing in the process and that they support it.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Limbus, Nimbus
My immediate reaction to the news that the Roman Catholic International Theological Commission had put down the concept of Limbo, saying it reflected an "unduly restrictive view of salvation" was to rejoice that this may be the loophole that gets me into the last big party in the sky.
After all, although I have been baptised at least four, possibly five times, most were against my will, and therefore couldn't have counted (surely consent matters) and the other time probably didn't "take" either, as the devil did not leave me screaming, and the wet spot didn't raise any welts.
So I've been thinking Limbo was my best hope. Maybe God would decide I was like the virtuous pagans who lived before Jesus and couldn't have heard of him. So at least I wouldn't fry.
Now though, the Commission was saying that God could extend his Grace more than had been dreamed of ever before, and whoa, maybe He might accept the heretofore Limbo-bound to Heaven.
Then Anitra "Freethinking Christian" Freeman pointed out the silly error of my reasoning, which only wishful thinking could have blinded me to, namely that I have heard of Jesus, and have had plenty of chances to install that program, and have repeatedly clicked the back button, so there is no question that I never was a candidate for Limbo at all, and frying has always been and always will be my only option.
I can only console myself with the fact that no one has promised pizza in Heaven anyway. So what good is it?
Which brings me to what I hate about the Commission's position. I LIKED that there was a Limbo, because it made the whole situation more interesting. Baroque good. Rococo better. The more stuff there is in your theology, the more stuff I get to play with. OK, I can't get to Heaven, but tell me there's pizza there, and some of it has pineapples and ham, which I wouldn't like, and some of it has anchovies, which I would. Someone might toss some cold leftovers down to Hell. I want to dream.
The Germans are surely behind this. With their revolt against Nouns triggered by the way their own written language rubs their faces in them all the time. So they keep trying to take all of our Nouns away from us and the Things and Places and People they attached to, to leave us with nothing but a world of be without any Thing or One to do the being, or any Place to do it.
Please Ratzinger, in your quest to escape the tyrannical Nouns of your literature, don't also take away the furniture and rooms of my English imagination!
[Baroque Good? Rococo Better?]
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Groping for Answers
[The subsidized apartment building I live in is called The Union Hotel. It's run by DESC, Seattle's Downtown Emergency Service Center. All the residents have been homeless. I write a column for the monthly building newsletter. The column is called Out of My Mind. I'm posting them here, properly dated, because I can. -- wes]
I am fascinated by the Universe and Space and Time. I call myself a space-time cadet. I am alert to news about the space-time continuum and its disturbances.
For example scientists have recently learned that there is more deuterium in our galaxy than expected. Deuterium is that freakishly heavy hydrogen used to make H-bombs. Finding too much deuterium in space is like coming home and finding six large pizzas when you hadn’t ordered one. You never called a pizza place, you never saw a deliveryman, and nobody else has a key to your room. Or do they?
Or take this afternoon. Adam, who works at Real Change, said, “Thanks, Wes.” I said, “What are you thanking me for? I didn’t do anything.” And Adam said, “Oh.” Then, as if that wasn’t enough of a disturbance in space-time, I said to Adam, “What are you planning to do, move to New Zealand and never return? So that you have to wrap up all your personal affairs by thanking everybody you know whether they deserve it or not?” Then just ten minutes later I found out the front office had a fifty-pound donated box of New Zealand apples! Coincidence? Or rift in the space-time continuum?
Last month I was living my life in all the normal ways I always live it – I did nothing at all different from usual! I went to all the same meetings, watched all the same TV, read only the newspapers I always read and none of the newspapers I never read. I watered Spartacus, the house plant pet I keep at my window, exactly as often and as much as I always water him, not watering more, not less, not more often, not less often. His long tendrilish stems as always groped gently upward, thrusting tenderly but firmly into my books, exploring their secret closed pages.
Until, one Friday, I came in and found his long tendrilish stems sagging! Sagging to the floor! “Poor Spartacus,” I thought, “what has become of you? What strange disturbance of space-time has done this to you?”
The following week I had the answer: The painters had raised my window an inch from the outside to better paint, moving Spartacus by accident.
Thank you painters. Thank you Union Hotel for keeping me informed, eventually.
I am fascinated by the Universe and Space and Time. I call myself a space-time cadet. I am alert to news about the space-time continuum and its disturbances.
For example scientists have recently learned that there is more deuterium in our galaxy than expected. Deuterium is that freakishly heavy hydrogen used to make H-bombs. Finding too much deuterium in space is like coming home and finding six large pizzas when you hadn’t ordered one. You never called a pizza place, you never saw a deliveryman, and nobody else has a key to your room. Or do they?
Or take this afternoon. Adam, who works at Real Change, said, “Thanks, Wes.” I said, “What are you thanking me for? I didn’t do anything.” And Adam said, “Oh.” Then, as if that wasn’t enough of a disturbance in space-time, I said to Adam, “What are you planning to do, move to New Zealand and never return? So that you have to wrap up all your personal affairs by thanking everybody you know whether they deserve it or not?” Then just ten minutes later I found out the front office had a fifty-pound donated box of New Zealand apples! Coincidence? Or rift in the space-time continuum?
Last month I was living my life in all the normal ways I always live it – I did nothing at all different from usual! I went to all the same meetings, watched all the same TV, read only the newspapers I always read and none of the newspapers I never read. I watered Spartacus, the house plant pet I keep at my window, exactly as often and as much as I always water him, not watering more, not less, not more often, not less often. His long tendrilish stems as always groped gently upward, thrusting tenderly but firmly into my books, exploring their secret closed pages.
Until, one Friday, I came in and found his long tendrilish stems sagging! Sagging to the floor! “Poor Spartacus,” I thought, “what has become of you? What strange disturbance of space-time has done this to you?”
The following week I had the answer: The painters had raised my window an inch from the outside to better paint, moving Spartacus by accident.
Thank you painters. Thank you Union Hotel for keeping me informed, eventually.
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