Do Cows Wear Blue Jeans?

Now then. These four were quite easy but the next ten are going to be a bit harder to fathom. All that research and no holds barred, an all out food fight. This just goes to show that it isn't about the tools but more about the quality of the metal, you get what you pay for and by george, you get what you deserve.

I'm reading a very, very good book but it says literally nothing. Nothing at all. Brilliant lines, absolutely contagious efforts but it says, literally...nothing at all. Comes to no conclusions..yet...because I ain't quite done with it. Haven't chewed the cud nor made it past the gemstone that ought to be in there. Not that it isn't likable....no....things can be quite likable but do they feed a hungry stomach? Fill it up for more than a few hours?

You might ask, which book might that be?

Hotel Lautreamont by John Ashbery. Got it cheap and for two dollars. Thrown out from the Osceola County Library and stamped DISCARD. Now, why on earth would a library throw out a good book of poetry? Did no one want to read it except me or is it the case that they were throwing it out to me? Not sure. Any more than the fact that an old Ford got rolled into a lake many years ago and this old gal decided to hire some divers to find it in this lake up there. Five minutes into the dive, this guy finds some bones and the detective laughs and tells him it's just an old cow carcass. Funny thing though, the diver says, "Do cows wear blue jeans?" Turns out, this nice fella had been murdered about four months before on a lonely county road. The killer buried him but a week before the divers went looking for that old Ford from the twenties, he decided to dig up the body and dump it in the lake, jeans and all. Damn if things don't just work out perfect sometimes.

And all hail to Ashbery. He's got it going even if he isn't saying anything all that important. I love the freedom of his verbs and the way he house squats on reason. A poet ought to do at least a little of that if they expect to survive the trend that they initiated. No rules in art you know except for us goodly sorts who expect to find whole libraries in paradise, most likely full of discarded texts from dusty old departments of literature and maybe even a hymnal or broadside.