Sometime we listen but what do we hear? sometime stay still and breathe until a deafening silence opens your senses to the thunderous barrage, war without dimensions, relentless cascade, hate filled, race distilled imaginations, of meat on a block, value per pound, good muscle, good teeth, good bad air to breathe, until the air and…Read more Sometimes We Ask*
If at first You don’t succeed, try, try, try again
“Are you a superhero?” the snotty boy with a thin film of dayglo popsicle on his face, asks.
He was asking the man in the dandyish Edwardian suit of shades of blue plaid with skinny pants and mirror polished, brown leather shoes.
“It all depends,” the dandy answers.
“On what?” the boy asks, one finger exploring the inner depths of his right nostril.
“On whether people value style over substance.”
Examining the treasure gathered from his nasal probe in myopic detail, the boy misses this last retort. He looks at the dandy with the same scrutiny he’s just given his mucilage.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Irony Man, “ says the dandy.
Music and Soft Shoe were sneaking backstage at the circus. Soft Shoe notices Music's gone. 'Music?' he whispers, 'Music?' 'Hey, Shoe? C'mere.' Music's standing in a cage. Soft Shoe sees Music lose his head to two lions. "Music has charms to TAME the savage breast," I told him, "not claim."
"Are you a superhero?" the snotty boy with a thin film of dayglo popsicle on his face, asks. He was asking the man in the dandyish Edwardian suit of shades of blue plaid with skinny pants and mirror polished, brown leather shoes. "It all depends," the dandy answers. "On what?" the boy asks, one finger…Read more Modest Super Hero
Everything was prepared, the score commissioned, the ranks of strings, brass, woodwind and percussion, assembled, even a singer found for the brief cantata in the first movement. She had him wheeled in, his broken body propped by stays. 'What's this?' 'Your symphony.' 'Symphony? Are you deaf? I asked for sympathy.' Photo: Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra…Read more SYMPHONY
Municipal officials argued the city needs a symbol, a monument. So they commissioned artists for ideas. The winning entry was a 120 meter tall, stainless steel, pin-like structure. Oblivious to the irony of a city devastated by a heroin epidemic, they called it The Spire. Dublin people call it The Spike.