Dog Days Are Here

It’s almost time to go to ‘The Fair.’

The Future Fair!
A Fair for All,
and no fare to anybody!

Yes, it’s free! Join the expectant crowd gathering now,
as we stop here on

DUTCH ELM STREET . . .

NICE LADY GAVE ME A PIE

Nice lady gave me a pie
I didn’t need to ask why
I sure am one lucky guy
Nice lady gave me a pie

I only gave her Ordeal
which makes the pie a stone steal
it features peaches unreal
and all she got was Ordeal…
an’ an old Life magazine
Jack Paar was hot on the scene
‘59 Fairlane supreme
cool ads in that magazine

But the mag smelled like must
a fear my gift was a bust
no doubt the CD was cussed
not like this pie… it’s a must!

Evan Essence

Well, I’m back from meeting Dana and Ken (they are very nice and on vacation with a great itinerary) and I must say my concern that would turn out to be involved in the white slave trade was completely unfounded! The bus is very nice and I saw no evidence of trap doors, secret compartments or manacle stantions. Boy do I feel silly now but sometimes when I get something in my head….

Anyway, Dana makes a great peach pie and also is a real person. I have proof and everything. Thanks!

Manic Cal

Saw that you contributed your witz to a collection about the Contemporary Dog. I wouldn’t expect that it included “Investigations of a Dog” by our dear Yiddish humorist from Prague. Reading a collection of Elias Canetti’s essays “The Conscience of Words” (translated by Joachim Neugroschel), and in which he really puts on the dog, there is this passage (which, it occurred to me, might well intentionally invoke “Investigations of a Dog”): “…the true writer, as we see him, is the thrall of his time, its serf and bondsman, its lowest slave. He is fettered to it on a short, unbreakable chain, shackled to it as tight as can be. His lack of freedom must be so great that he could not be transplanted anywhere else. In fact, if it did not sound a bit ludicrous, I would simply say: he is the dog of his time. He runs across its grounds, stops here and there; seemingly at random, yet tireless, receptive to whistles from above, but not always, easily roused to a fury, harder to call back, driven by some inexplicable viciousness. Indeed, he sticks his damp nose into everything, nothing is left out, he also returns, he starts all over again, he is insatiable. Otherwise, he sleeps and eats, but that does not distinguish him from other creatures. What distinguishes him is the uncanny persistence in his vice–that heartfelt and thorough enjoyment, interrupted by running. He never gets enough, and likewise, he never gets it fast enough; why, it is as though he had learned to run especially for the vice of his nose.” This passage quoted in dedication to Beaver Teeth, its chapters so far, to its dogged persistence, and to the continuation of our, that is, all of us here, shared textuality and writing experiment.

I have a review of “Box of Danger”; not the dangerous content, just the Box, as a topological event in itself. But I’ll save that until all our previous texts are available to be read.

How’s everything and the health, too?

Have you heard anything from that Bebop charcter?

He’s so elusive or just a night time dude in disguise. . . .

Isn’t that the way it’s done?
Everything and everyone aren’t busy all the time.

This is why they call it the blues by simple inactivity, right-or-wrong.
Isn’t this where you came in or is it, get off?
The order doesn’t seem to matter at this point, other than to do it.