These words climb up out of the skeletons of words buried in desk drawers. They break free of word-skeletons worn thin and broken on outdated discs. They exist due to remains of finished ribcages, each right bone rhyming with its left, hidden somewhere in forgotten correspondence. City of HAPPY advertisements and FOAD graffiti, one x-ray overlaid on another, vision of overload, who is reading these words that quietly step from the boneyard of poetry past? These words spiral from skulls of wordless seventy years, smiling their oft-told odes to January, their bumptious limericks and yearn yarns, their own little golgothas.
Tuesday, 16 January 2018
Sunday, 14 January 2018
“Alistair Cooke here with this week’s Letter from America. [Pause] Well, this January great and noble nations strive to translate a word now synonymous with the sitting President. [Avuncular tone] I cannot repeat the word, but here report on some results: China, ‘countries that suck’. El Salvador, ‘agujeros de mier’. France: ‘pays de merde’. Germany, ‘drecksloch’ (‘garbage dump’). Greece, ‘thieving countries’. Haiti, ‘trou de merde’. Japan, ‘countries that are dirty like toilets’ (‘benjo no yo ni kitanai kuni’). Poland, ‘zadupia’ (‘nowhere’). Taiwan, ‘niao bu sheng dan de guo jia’ (‘countries where birds don’t lay eggs’). Vietnam, ‘rubbish states’. Good night!”
Friday, 12 January 2018
Fearsome and oafish, Skull Murphy strode through our weekends, a glowing TV titan. In league with tag-team partner Brute Bernard, mad, bad Skull administered eye gouges, powerslams, atomic drops and other holds that would’ve got them arrested outside the ring. They were scarcely legal inside, but the boundary between wrestling and make-believe was very blurry. They were more like Abbott and Costello than Ajax and Achilles. World Championship Wrestling was a misnomer for old American stagers still acting the part in makeshift studios in Richmond. Only January break kept us from watching Skull apply the hammer lock, one more time.