Let's Talk Lisa-ese.

http://wings.buffalo.edu/AandL/english/pubs/spc/alyric/jarnot.html

or

http://www.walrusmagazine.com/article.pl?sid=05/08/13/2356246

or hey...let's just dissect the person, not the poetics because that is how poetics are actually dissected even though there are those who strangely enough, disagree. All the while citing instances of homosexuality, religion, hair and eye color, gender, etc. ONCE the poet is DEAD and stasis is achieved and manipulated as some people see fit to manipulate political intentions in the work of others.....and in the religious affiliations of same. **EDIT: I do want to preface this however with the absolute conviction that this Lisa is a DAMN FINE ARTIST....I mean...she plays words like a piano. The outcome however of an "intent towards sentiment" of such great writing leaves me with a sense of powerlessness that must be the feeling of being an American Activist (of some sort or another). Lisa Jarnot's poems are successful in provoking feelings not only of political "I give up-ness" but simultaneously inspiring another poet to tremendous envy at her obvious verbal skills and prowess, the beauty of her verbal rivers. There is a sense of "collective guilt" that is disturbing in more ways that one and that cannot be ignored...

....I am not suggesting anything untoward this absolutely GREAT woman in the following...she sounds like a great LISA. Personally, when I choose to represent this "sociological" type of person in a poem I refer to them as a "LISA" because I happen to have known alot of REAL Lisas in my life (including my good pal Jambalaya from the bayou, my current LISA)...but if I really want to refer to this specific "type" of thing I call them a "Faith" or a "Courtney". My personalfavs. If only my name woulda been Bruce.

"It's sad but true that Lisa of Lisablog still doesn't like flying." from a blogentry here:

http://www.angelfire.com/poetry/lisajarnot/blog/

Why? Flying is great. It gets you to the liberal minded hotspots like the rainforest. Works for me anyway.

"Seven: The American Apparel clothing company. We at Lisablog have finally found a place to buy non-sweatshop underwear. The American Apparel store on Haight Street looks like the Gap, but it's cooler because the clothing is 100% made in the USA at more than minimum wage. And yes, I am willing to pay twelve bucks for underwear if it's made by someone who is not chained to a sewing machine. Check out American Apparel at Ethical Underwear!. "

Okay Lisa of Lisablog fame and now, Silliman-raceblog fame....so...you mean you want to take it out on the victims of your sort of capitalist hooey? I prefer to buy low cost items made by Syrians and sometimes Africans regardless of what they are chained to because we are all chained to something...sometimes it is even a name or an epithet. Or a racial slur or a bias. I wonder....twinkle twinkle.....(visual here is of that video blurring which indicates a dream like fantasy land ala Wayne's World...)..do you not see your ethnocentrism here?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~dreamsquigglesdreamsquigglesdreamsquigglesgigglestoo

....it was on that flight out of London. The day after would be one of the worst days in London tube history and I only hoped and prayed (later of course) that my face wouldn't be on some handy-cam so that I might be identified as a terrorist or something...yes I truly hoped that wouldn't be the case. That horrible event at CDG some years ago left me a bit fearful of being racially profiled even though my hair is red....and my face colorless. My point of origin however, not being the usual Upstart Locales like San Fransciso...tends to get me into some trouble sometimes. Like it did at Silliman's Not Friendly Blog of Bigotry and Heartache.

I settled in with my nuts and soda. Next to me were three people (and I am thinking that the young girl was named Lisa...at least she looked "Lisa-ish" to me, very blond and studious...chewing gum, that sort of thing). Her bald father had his reading glasses on and looked every bit the part of a "detached father figure" named something like BOB. I don't know why but I imagine he was a BOB. I noticed that MOM wasn't feeling very well. I think her name was Alice or maybe even Delores but most likely it was something unfathomable like Gretchen or Patricia. In any event, she didn't look too good but old BOB just kept reading and LISA just kept chewing her cud and reading a book with that little overhead light casting that supernatural nuclear family glowiness on the three of them, the type you see on planes.

MOM called the stewardess over and had herself a Bloody Mary. That is a nice way to fly through your fears and far be it from me to think that if you aren't feeling too well, alcohol is generally not a recommended tonic for the soul. It is a personal choice, one that I prefer to relenquish to preserve my REASON.

Then, MOM called the stewardess over and (I thought how unfair this was) got AN EARLY SNACK. That is just awful when you are hungry and they give a stranger something that you yourself aren't allowed to have because you feel pretty much, "okay". You've accepted the risks of flying and anyway, you haven't been to America since 9/11 and are really excited. But you'd still like a banana. I then asked, because I'm like that, perpetually nosey when it comes to another person's health on an airplane high up in the sky and far from GENERAL HOSPITAL....I asked, "Are you feeling okay? I'm a nurse...if you need anything just tell me okay?" MOM was quite pleased. I mean even BOB and LISA didn't give a big rat's butt about her nausea and distention, her cold sweat and palor. I asked the routine questions: Heart disease, diabetes, etc.? And MOM related that she was on a few tricyclics and that sort of thing...ANTIDEPRESSANTS. Which of course are not good Bloody Mary mixers. But anyway...I kept that to me-self. I told the nice stewardess that I was a nurse should she need me and she assured me that everything was under control and she was on the line with the SHIP'S DOCTOR...some aviation medic or something in Chicago, the heart of America. But she'd call me if she needed me, she assured me this...that if a SHOT needed to be given, I could give it if I could show her a license to practice on board a 747 far away from an ER.

Some time passed~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~like that.....~~~~~~~~~~~~~and then I noticed MOM had been placed in Reverse Trendelenberg position in the galley...on the floor with her feet up as if she was going into FULL BLOWN SHOCK. I was worried about MOM but "BOB and LISA" just sat there reading and chewing cud. How unusual I thought, but maybe I thought, how USUAL for Americans, how typical to care by 'not caring' or caring through 'ideologically caring' or even hey, just not giving a shit and talking about the gay flowers.

Then I got my call. The stewardess held me by the elbow and led me up near the cabin (if she only knew how dangerous it is to let someone LIKE ME* near the CABIN). The nice stewardess related to me about how MOM had seen a terrorist board the plane. I said, "WHA?" Yes...a man with a rag on his head. It made MOM sick to her stomach (never mind what the Bloody Mary did in conjunction with the PILLS FOR ANXIETY RELATED DISORDERS LIKE TOTAL FAMILIAL DISSOCIATION PATTERNS OF THE TYPE WE SEE EVERYDAY ON DOCTOR PHIL).

"But," I said...not realizing how important these things are to some folks nowdays who hate flying, "I'm a muslim*."

You shoulda seen the look in that stewardess' eyes. I wish I'd had a camera.

I never did tell MOM about my religious affiliations. I just kept a careful eye on her in case she should turn into a stark raving mad lunatic and we'd have to land our butts in FARGO or something. Afterall, I was in a hurry to see AMERICA.


~~~~~~~~~~~~but back to Lisablog.....

My question is, WHERE IS THE BEEF IN THIS WORK? Am I missing something besides the lovingkindness it invokes? What a downright lie, sorry...I mean I'm truly sorry for my honesty here but it has to be said. Lovingkindness is dead and writing rubbish like that is simply more of the same type of thing I so dislike about most modern poesy....gooserot.

It is gooserot and bracken. It is lichen and dross. Plus thrum. With a nice whole wheat muffin on the side and some "dancing tralala". The color of it is PINK. No backbone and little to say except for "isn't that nice".

In a world where nice isn't nice, it is a euphemism for dead. Certainly it is a myth that only the formalists have gone sterile and dry. The whole bunch (a majority of insurgent hugging acitivists) have gone completely numb to their own awful reality...the one where they penalize foreign labor because it is tied to a Singer....and you know what? I am not sure that it is true about all things foreign but it has become a strange mantra for folks named Faith and Courtney.

Sorry. And really...I hate to post this but my guts forced me to. That evil djinn that beats people up and curses. It ain't my fault.