Racists in CA

racists in CA will really be like
tHiS iS aMeRicA sPeAk eNgLisH
but live in a place called Los Angeles 
or Palos Verdes or La Habra 
or San Diego or La Mirada 
or Escondido or Sacramento 
or Rancho Cucamonga or Santa Ana 
or Costa Mesa or San Clemente 
or San Jose or Santa Monica or

(A tweet from @karladelucas_)

I feel a great love for grass

I feel a great love for grass, thorns in the palm
of the hand, ears red against the sun,
and the little feathers of bottles.
Not only does all this delight me,
but also the grapevines and the donkeys
that crowd the sky.

                                        In the sky
are donkeys with parrot heads, grass and sand 
from the beach, all about to explode, all clean,
incredibly objective, and the scene 
is awash in an indescribable blue, 
the green, the red and yellow of a parrot, 
an edible white, the metallic white 
of a stray breast. How beautiful!

                                                            Helle,
dear sir! Yessirree, you must be rich. 
If I were you I would be your whore 
to cajole you and steal peseta notes 
to dip in donkey piss…

                                             Just think
with a little money, with five hundred
pesetas, we could bring out an issue
of the ANTI-ARTISTIC magazine
and shit on everyone and everything
from the Orfeo Catalan to Juan Ramon.

(From Salvador Dali’s letter to Federico Garcia Lorca, December 1927)

Feed the brute

Advice on Marriage to Young Ladies:
do not marry at all but if you must
avoid the Beauty Men, Flirts and Bounders,
Tailors Dummies and Football Enthusiasts.

Look for a Strong, Tame Man, a Fire-lighter,
Coal-getter, Window Cleaner and Yard Swiller.
Don’t expect too much, most men are lazy,
selfish, thoughtless, lying, drunken, clumsy,

heavy-footed, rough, unmanly brutes,
and need taming. All Bachelors are
and many are worse still. If you want him
to be happy, Feed the Brute. The same

remark applies to dogs. You will be wiser
not to chance it, it isn’t worth the risk.

(Suffragette marriage advice from Pontypridd Museum, via History Hit)

Dead brown mice

At sundown the western sky turned a deep
and almost brilliant red, changing
and softening in colour in its upward
spread until the verge from south to north
was like an immense but yellowing rainbow.
Then frost came lightly; there was the merest
sound of a crinkle in walking over the grass
away from the oak wood. This morning the air
was softer. On the broad marl and flint track
there were dead brown mice; they had crept
from among the withered leaves under
the bramble bushes; it is one of the signs
that winter is sharpening.

(From 100 years ago: Rooks set about the acorns in an orderly way)

10 more years

Ten years of being loved up
fucked up 
fucked off
loved up 
very loved up
totally fucked off 
so fucking loved up 
I love you so fucking much
fuck you and the fucking horse 
you rode in on. 
Yeah? 
Well, fuck you, too. 
And utterly 
utterly 
loved the fuck up. 
Another ten, then? 
Yeah, go on 
you sexy mother fucker.

(A friend’s Facebook status celebrating 10 years of a relationship)

Going on

The dog on a train station on my bed 
and Netflix 
and I’m working fine now 
and I’m not working on a new phone 
and then I’m driving to this room with me 
and I don’t know if I’ll get it back 
or I get it now 
I got a problem 
that I’m just going on with my life

(Generated by hitting the suggested text button in iPhone Notes repeatedly)

Théodore Monod’s flan

Place some pastry in the flan-tray
in irregular masses, these
are the Precambrian mountain chains.

One fine day, while iguanodons
are blundering around in Picardy
and swarms of ammonites
are scudding around in the Parisian sea
a second tap is turned on again
and adds another layer,
this time of cream.
The sea re-invades a good part of the Sahara
and deposits the usual sediments —
Cretaceous and Eocene.

Gradually, the country comes to be
like it is today;
sprinkle with granular sugar
(fresh-water Quaternary deposits)
and icing sugar dunes.
Serve hot or chilled.

(From French naturalist Théodore Monod’s Méharées: Explorations au vrai Sahara, 1937)

Can you die of a broken heart?

Researchers have looked at what goes on in the brain,
and for lovers and addicts it’s exactly the same.

Those who are newly in love
experience joy in their minds from a dopamine flood.

And it’s this same pattern that goes on in the brain
as that which occurs when you’re hooked on cocaine.

So in the first throes of passion you’re literally addicted to love,
and that’s probably why those feelings all hurt so much.

(From Can you die of a broken heart? Submitted by Ben Mellor)