The Argument for Drink
“ — We’ll send abroad
And purchase all the wine the world can yield,
And then drink it off —.”
— Francis Beaumont & John Fletcher, The Coxcomb.
Akhenaten was ambitious
and he changed the solar system;
where art was once didactic
he decreed that it should breathe.
Not content with just that project
he made worship more tendentious;
legislating one god as the sun,
he centralized religion.
It’s prodigious how one person
can exert on history
astronomies of consequence
to make the future rove.
Myself, I see a destiny
that will in time astound;
until then, give me time to think
and in the meantime, have a drink.
Elizabethan London
is where literature matured;
the sovereign, being feminine,
induced upheavals strange.
The merchant classes raised a voice
and printers mechanized it;
but, more than that, all women
did imprint their consciousness.
It’s uncanny when personas
can align with spinning times
and the calendar which marks events
does midwife a renaissance.
Musing to myself, I see
a burgeoning bewildering;
but first I need some time to think
and thinking on it, have a drink.
Louis Quatorze built Versailles
with poetry, ballets and fetes;
he patronized aestheticism
to outwit his opposition.
The court he shaped was arrogant,
voluptuous and erudite;
all the while France modernized,
with civic law and fiscal codes.
Heroes don’t make history
but history can make heroes
and sometimes individuals
will sing immortal melodies.
Myself, I could inaugurate
epochs to come in embryo;
but first I’ll conjure up a plan
while drinking more than mortals can.
On the Lack of a Potty at Harmony
PROLOGUE: At Twin Oaks Intentional Community, where I reside, the 9-room barracks known as ‘Harmony’ has been without an operative shower and toilet for 31 days (and counting). While it is true that the nearby barracks in the ‘courtyard’ has such five other such facilities (give or take a couple of showers), it is also true that these house almost 30 other people — not to mention, putting on shoes to walk through the rain to, say, change a tampon or perhaps vomit is a bit of an botheration, especially in the middle of the night. ‘House maintenance’ comes slowly, and exceedingly penuriously, at Twin Oaks — for example, the roof at ‘Llano,’ the courtyard kitchen, has leaked rainwater on the bread table every winter for the last half decade (and counting). In the so-called ‘bourgeois mainstream,’ tenants would extract a portion of their rent to address such negligence, but here in socialist utopia, communards simply capitulate, whimpering. Deciding to apply ‘activist’ attention on this injustice, I posted a note on the potty, conspicuously set outside of Harmony every day, with an updated tally of disrepair. On ‘Day 20’ my little placard received a rebuking ‘I fart at thee’ — which prompted the following poetic retort.
Maybe you know, or not, or don’t care
but Harmony’s got no potty in there.
The pipes they did burst, then got repaired
(I thanked ’em myself) then someone affaired
to tackle a total rehaul of the site
which has now exceeded more than a fortnight.
There was no notice, no process to heed,
just take it on faith ‘we know what you need.’
While I applaud the ambition assayed
to fix up the courtyard (so badly decayed),
a potty most people consider essential
to sleep through the night without somnolent trouble.
So it is true I have an issue --
it’s thirty-one days (and more will accrue)
of going to Llano, at night, in the rain
to do this and that — who wouldn’t complain?
And it true, I’ve posted a note
“Day such-and-such” which has gotten the goat
of someone who’s tasked with doing the chore
of fixing the bathroom (which no doubt is a bore).
And I do see (see the prologue above),
this vexed individual does sense there’s no love
displayed for their efforts, and I do see their point --
what incentive has anyone in this communist joint?
All jobs ‘pay’ the same, half-a-dollar an hour,
and compared to recruiting, bathroom work is quite sour.
Yes I get that, but it’s not personal:
my impugnment is entirely societal.
Amateur culture, extreme parsimony --
that is the tendency I critique mordantly.
Call a professional and hasten the task --
don’t cheap out on everything is what I now ask.
And, on the side, let me remind you, my friend,
a little protesting all lefties defend.
Since when does an ‘anti-mainstream’ radical
consider dissent an unpatriotic evil?
What I protest, my anonymous foe,
isn’t your work, nor the resentment you show,
but the system that measures human exigence
(such as a potty) in nickels and cents.
Remonstrance to a Note
You, sir, are pugnacious
and that much I do respect;
but if you care to challenge me
then follow etiquette.
Philippics made ad hominem
should carry your signed name;
and if you place them at my door
don’t obfuscate your fame.
Quarrels are a noble art
that gentlemen engage;
but protocols are followed
by those who act their age.
Punctilio in contretemps
is how good men behave;
so sign your quarrels honestly
unless you be a knave.
“ — We’ll send abroad
And purchase all the wine the world can yield,
And then drink it off —.”
— Francis Beaumont & John Fletcher, The Coxcomb.
Akhenaten was ambitious
and he changed the solar system;
where art was once didactic
he decreed that it should breathe.
Not content with just that project
he made worship more tendentious;
legislating one god as the sun,
he centralized religion.
It’s prodigious how one person
can exert on history
astronomies of consequence
to make the future rove.
Myself, I see a destiny
that will in time astound;
until then, give me time to think
and in the meantime, have a drink.
Elizabethan London
is where literature matured;
the sovereign, being feminine,
induced upheavals strange.
The merchant classes raised a voice
and printers mechanized it;
but, more than that, all women
did imprint their consciousness.
It’s uncanny when personas
can align with spinning times
and the calendar which marks events
does midwife a renaissance.
Musing to myself, I see
a burgeoning bewildering;
but first I need some time to think
and thinking on it, have a drink.
Louis Quatorze built Versailles
with poetry, ballets and fetes;
he patronized aestheticism
to outwit his opposition.
The court he shaped was arrogant,
voluptuous and erudite;
all the while France modernized,
with civic law and fiscal codes.
Heroes don’t make history
but history can make heroes
and sometimes individuals
will sing immortal melodies.
Myself, I could inaugurate
epochs to come in embryo;
but first I’ll conjure up a plan
while drinking more than mortals can.
On the Lack of a Potty at Harmony
PROLOGUE: At Twin Oaks Intentional Community, where I reside, the 9-room barracks known as ‘Harmony’ has been without an operative shower and toilet for 31 days (and counting). While it is true that the nearby barracks in the ‘courtyard’ has such five other such facilities (give or take a couple of showers), it is also true that these house almost 30 other people — not to mention, putting on shoes to walk through the rain to, say, change a tampon or perhaps vomit is a bit of an botheration, especially in the middle of the night. ‘House maintenance’ comes slowly, and exceedingly penuriously, at Twin Oaks — for example, the roof at ‘Llano,’ the courtyard kitchen, has leaked rainwater on the bread table every winter for the last half decade (and counting). In the so-called ‘bourgeois mainstream,’ tenants would extract a portion of their rent to address such negligence, but here in socialist utopia, communards simply capitulate, whimpering. Deciding to apply ‘activist’ attention on this injustice, I posted a note on the potty, conspicuously set outside of Harmony every day, with an updated tally of disrepair. On ‘Day 20’ my little placard received a rebuking ‘I fart at thee’ — which prompted the following poetic retort.
Maybe you know, or not, or don’t care
but Harmony’s got no potty in there.
The pipes they did burst, then got repaired
(I thanked ’em myself) then someone affaired
to tackle a total rehaul of the site
which has now exceeded more than a fortnight.
There was no notice, no process to heed,
just take it on faith ‘we know what you need.’
While I applaud the ambition assayed
to fix up the courtyard (so badly decayed),
a potty most people consider essential
to sleep through the night without somnolent trouble.
So it is true I have an issue --
it’s thirty-one days (and more will accrue)
of going to Llano, at night, in the rain
to do this and that — who wouldn’t complain?
And it true, I’ve posted a note
“Day such-and-such” which has gotten the goat
of someone who’s tasked with doing the chore
of fixing the bathroom (which no doubt is a bore).
And I do see (see the prologue above),
this vexed individual does sense there’s no love
displayed for their efforts, and I do see their point --
what incentive has anyone in this communist joint?
All jobs ‘pay’ the same, half-a-dollar an hour,
and compared to recruiting, bathroom work is quite sour.
Yes I get that, but it’s not personal:
my impugnment is entirely societal.
Amateur culture, extreme parsimony --
that is the tendency I critique mordantly.
Call a professional and hasten the task --
don’t cheap out on everything is what I now ask.
And, on the side, let me remind you, my friend,
a little protesting all lefties defend.
Since when does an ‘anti-mainstream’ radical
consider dissent an unpatriotic evil?
What I protest, my anonymous foe,
isn’t your work, nor the resentment you show,
but the system that measures human exigence
(such as a potty) in nickels and cents.
Remonstrance to a Note
You, sir, are pugnacious
and that much I do respect;
but if you care to challenge me
then follow etiquette.
Philippics made ad hominem
should carry your signed name;
and if you place them at my door
don’t obfuscate your fame.
Quarrels are a noble art
that gentlemen engage;
but protocols are followed
by those who act their age.
Punctilio in contretemps
is how good men behave;
so sign your quarrels honestly
unless you be a knave.
