Having my way with Ulysses

Mirror there.

• Sirens

At times in the evenings a face looks at us out of the depths of a mirror; Art should be like that mirror Which reveals to us our own face. They say that Ulysses, sated with marvels, Wept tears of love at the sight of his Ithaca, Green and humble. Art is that Ithaca Of green eternity, not of marvels. It is also like the river with no end That flows and remains and is the mirror of one same Inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same And is another, like the river with no end.4:38 pm

Proportio dupla

 

I’m no expert at it, but I’m good at feeling anyone looking at me. I’ll gaze this way. Yes. Gaze far sidewise. I see something thoughtfully just there, past the wall. Look at how deep thinking I am, mouth slightly parted, longing eyes. Not sure which is my best side. Move slowly, with the music just a little closer, almost there. Yes. Mirror. Now both sides are facing, yet I present the unapproachable profile. Irresistable. I feel you in the air. The weight of your gaze resonates according to your distance from my profile. Perfect. I’m busy looking far out this way, so you can busy yourself looking at me. Watch me breathe. Deep breathing from the chest. In through the nose, out through the slightly parted mouth. Makes my lips pucker just enough, fills out that bottom one. You are still looking. I can tell. I’m still gazing over there but farther now. I’m gazing into a distance so far so far. I gaze erotically into the other side of the world. Longingly. Soulfully. I’m not your average run of the mill. Not in the same way that Cowley isn’t a priest. More like how the guy in the song isn’t a priest. But don’t think about that. Just gazing soulfully next to the mirror so you can gaze openly. Take your time. I can do this as long as it takes.

A lady’s grace, gave and withheld.

• Sirens

To take care of oneself one must only study what is really useful in and for existence. Diogenes Laertius quotes these remarks of Diogenes the Cynic. The latter “was surprised to see the grammarians devote so much study to the morals of Ulysses, and to neglect their own, to see musicians tune their lyre so well, and forget to tune their soul, to see mathematicians study the sun and moon, and forget what is beneath their feet, to see orators full of zeal for speaking well, but never pressed to act well.”4:12 pm

Anima

Oh Christ why did they mount me next to the piano.  I may be inanimate, but I can still smell that one’s breath.  Ick.  And what kind of priest wears a beard?  Why didn’t they mount me in the dining room.  That one with the kidney disease eating kidneys (sweets to the sweet) has very nice breath.  He doesn’t take care of himself either, though.  Orders expensive whiskey then sends his son sir I did sir begging for money.  Hm.  At least I get to watch those two alive ones at work.  they get to move around.  Be warm, be moist.  I have to charm from my wall.  Lidia faded a bit but she’s back.  Look at her.  Holding that new one’s hand.  Yes.  Entice him.  Let him think he is the player and we are their harps.  Leave me here to hang around over the stench.  No problem.  It’s not like I have a choice or anything.  Oh my aching back.  Please, somebody give the guy a mint, some gum, an Altoid.  Something.  He does know music, I suppose he does have that.  But look around at all this disappointment.  Makes me want to fall right off the wall and crush myself.  Or somebody else.  That could be amusing.  Piano sounds nice, that tuner will have to come back for his tuning fork.  I could have told him; I saw it right there.  But nobody can hear me.  Well, except for you.  I exist.  And I know what it takes for me to exist.  I have studied existence, I get it.  All these broken people singing here, wrecked upon the bar reef, eating in the dining room.  Waiting.  Focusing their attention on the music.  They don’t know their danger.  Would be better for them to focus on their own lives and households.  They each think all is lost.  That’s the song they hear, no matter what tune they play.  But will they be persuaded to save themselves?  As easy stop the sea.  You who read me, can you be persuaded to save yourself?  What do you hear?

Love or money

• Sirens

Ay mi pobre hija, se van a quemar juntos en el infierno.

4:08 pm

Irato

These two bitches been doing a shit job of things. I see luring but no devouring. Where’s the devouring? Why I leave girls to do a woman’s job? Move over, all of you, let me through. Mama’ll fix this mess. Lidia, ready to kill herself over that one just left. He’s on his way to a real sirena baby, go play sad music and cry. Stupida. Where’s your sanity? Stand up straight! God give me patience these girls make me crazy. Who told you to warm him up for somebody else to finish off? Did all her work for her. She’s a better singer too. She knows what sells. Think. Remember when she was selling clothes? And singing in bars. What do you think made her money, eh? Those old theatre rags don’t sells themselves, you see people lining up for that? It was the men. The men. The men she lured singing. Learn something. And Mina. Who you going to get standing there doing nothing? Look at that fatso there slapping that piano with his meat hands. He knows. Or that fake priest who helped him knows: put on tight pants when you sing to the girls. It’s not the voice it’s the body. Even a fatty like him. Come on chicas! Why is it taking men to teach you a job you should know by instinct? Listen to these guys:

 

They know their business, ya. They’ll eat you alive then drag your soul to hell and you’ll want more. Listen to their promises. Even I’d take my panties off for them. Get your shit together. Now Lidia don’t cry. An idiot who leaves just like that isn’t worth throwing yourself away over. Mi pobre hija. I just want you to get them to come to you, to see you with their own will. Now enough of this, you give me a pain deep in my heart. You have work to do and another one coming in. You get him, ok? Enough tears chica, you make yourself crazy over nothing and me with you. Now go.