Selections from Untitled Writings from a Member of the Blank Generation by Philip Good
Philip Good, poet, editor of Blue Smoke, producer of Utopia Productions, and author of Drunken Bee Poems and Coffee Poems, Philip Good has published his works most recently in YAWP: a Journal of Poetry & Art and Exquisite Corpse. His recent work in-progress, Untitled Works, is forthcoming from Trembling Pillow in 2009.
We used to say "wait a minute what?" The day started with "wait a minute what?" and ended with "daisy, daisy, daisy." You know what I mean if you laughed. "It's always jokes with you," the musician/poet said with venom. But daisy, daisy, daisy, I know exactly what you mean.
How many poets does it take to screw in a light bulb? It doesn't matter as long as there's a paper published about it.
Bernadette said she came up with a title for a paper, "Poetry and penis size: does either matter?"
Michael said that was mean, but every one laughed and as Peter writes, it doesn't matter because Bernadette said it.
Old fashioned phones always ring during thunder storms. Doesn't that make for interesting copy?
It is not because we didn't attend for the gilt and all the potential positions of power.
It is not because we weren't seeking good times.
Hearing the word rhythms and watching the paintings was a bonus.
During the recital, inspiration flowed through the veins of the audience.
An ocean of intellectual hogwash. It's ok to say that, Bernadette
What's important is not to care, or is it care so much it hurts.?
What part of the body hurts when caring too much. The tear ducts?
Don't forget to breath in and breath out.
And pick up your bagged lunch on the way out of the art gallery.
They make huge paintings; abstract, impressionistic, some kind of landscape. It carries the sound across the room, above the alarm system, bouncing off the polished floors. How do they get the floors to shine that way? Not found in nature except near riverbeds where wet rocks look different than an empty conch shell. Think geometry or conchologist, wait a minute what? Language is a funny thing, isn't it?
So we got back on the road again, headed south across state lines into rain storms. Forgetting the day's exhausted conversations about how great you are and when will we speak again. Here's my address, my electronic mail inbox. Take a picture it lasts longer. Sorry we got to run. Our waitress is waiting to serve us, smiling as if stoned, saying, "awesome".
We'll try to bring something home. We'll try not to remember whatever kept us up at night.
I know what I said; I said what I meant, unless it came out wrong.
The titles of the paintings were hard to read. Looking at the colors was easy. They
probably read "untitled"
We once gave Clark a list of titles for his poems - and the book should have an
attractive cover by artist unknown.
Quickly roaming through galleries catching glimpses of famous figurative works
of faces. Some smiling, most seemingly bored for eternity. It doesn't take but a
few minutes to find the outdoors instead of entering another century.
Missing the lecture, I'll never know what to think. Of course that's not true. I once
listened to an explanation of how a drawing of a line is a drawing of a line. Many
assistants made it possible to recreate what seemed like years to develop into
some kind of manifesto. What does that mean?
Anonymous actions covered the walls from one end of the building to the other.
We wanted to anthologize all our collaborations but since nobody would know
who wrote which part, the youngsters decided they won't partake in such a grand
So we looked at the pictures, we decided if black & white was better than
green and red or yellow and blue. Thankfully the guards didn't ask us to throw
away our pens or check for weapons of art destruction.
And the audience got back on the bus digesting the day's activities.
Safety in anxiety is recreated terror when the monster that destroyed another city
for the fun of it couldn't be stopped without bombing the whole place. Rampage
was his game, he was a monster with no name. What would Galileo and Newton
think? What did those guys ever do for entertainment?
Meanwhile, so many of us live in exile without ever leaving home. It's the price we
pay for partaking in some useless art form. Will they rescue us before they make
the rest of the world safe from the evil unknown powers? Of course I'm joking,
there's no power in poetry. Is there?
Science could make the exercise boring but only after the fact. Critics always find
room for their pages. It's a good distraction or is it an influence? Why not be
available to philosophy? Sure beats being self-consciousness of your
Everyone knows that the successful method to save the city is to attract the
monster back into the water. Or bring in another monster to fight it off. How do
we determine the consequences? How do we calculate the cost?
In fact there's always a person who determines what they think is the correct
answer. I'm still trying to understand the difference between subjective and
I guess it has something to do with states of consciousness.
If I close my eyes the monster will go away.
Tesla knew the answer like a surfer knows the tides. Ask any person
who mastered their art.
Somewhere, some one is pointing at a chart. Even though the storm might have
caused a slight case of
Vanishing Dream Syndrome, we never lost electricity. Not quite making it to the
porch we watched the light through the bedroom window.
Now we must reset our circadian clock through another cycle without
pills of unknown origin.
Yes, it was the kind of storm that could knock your socks off.
Certain evidence of absent everyday occurrences could really alter one's mind.
Sometimes your global position is further away than you think. And when you
can't remember the name of an object ask for assistance. The voice on the other
end will add absurdity to the situation.
He wore numerous watches on his arm to keep track of all the time zones he would visit.
Remember all the useless wars that some poet's ignored? Remember the
secretary of defense that received a "love" letter from the English department? He
just cashed his checked and raised your rent.
Where the electric lights are shining a viewing of a painting at night is no
Where the electric lights are not shining a viewing of anything at night is a
When Atticus poured gasoline on the funky wood it made a wakening sound as
fast as flames
cheered those gathering around.
So, there might be a way of knowing all the objects absent.
When is the last time you took inventory? Where to begin?
There's what's his name and that girl he used to date. There's the green reptile
and its unknown gender not to mention its mate. And the unwritten list of things
to do like change the world, stop the gore and all the rest of the waste.
We can always count on laughter to ease awareness of what's
going wrong on this rock traveling its course.