Burning Museums

Antonio Manfredi, director of the Casoria Contemporary Art Museum in Naples

Faced with a dismal budget that forced his museum employees to wash the car windows of their clients

 Has decided to take the extreme measure: burn the museum's paintings to protest a lack of funding.

Not suprisingly the director of the Uffizi museum in Florence

has decided to act accordingly. Having contacted the artist and the subject for approval -just as Mr. Manfredi- last Friday Boticelli and his Venus witnessed the burning of his masterpiece. When the artist was interviewed he stated, "I felt weary moving my bones after some centuries of idleness, but for a good cause, and so that Italians remember that art isn't free, I said 'what the heck, let's do it.'"

Venus, on the other hand, said with a soft chuckle: "I suppose you could say I've felt a chill being naked -I mean nude- for so many years. I love my body and it's a pity so many won't be able to see it, I mean the young people and future generations and stuff like that, but I think a little fire will feel good and I hope do good for Italia!"

The Birth of Venus, Boticelli

It was feared that the choice of the Medusa was more complicated; her spell could still be intact and thus bringing her back was a risk. However, the Medusa, keeping her eyes fixed to the black and white tiled floor said (over the hissing of the snakes in her hair), "I'ma reallya pleased to be here to see my painting burned! Don't get me wrong, I lova the expression of my face. But I no wanna see museum staff washing cars or windshields or whateva. It just pisses me off."

Then there was the little trio -remember the average height during the renaissance was 5'5"- all standing face to face like talking Egyptian. There was Piero, Federico and his wife, Signora Montefeltro. Federico, being a big art supporter, spoke out first: "I don't care if if this situation started with Berlusconi or now is a Monti problem. I don't wanna hear it's a north or south issue. Art has no boundries" he said, keeping his profile fixed on his wife's, "and if the economy is bad, so what. In my days we had problems too. I was a condottieri, a mercenary in charge. And sometimes we had to fight for what we believed in. I didn't allow my guys to wash the horses or anything because I made sure they was a paid for what they worked."
Piero della Francesca, standing behind Federico's wife, some say trying to wake her up, simply stated, "I couldn't have said it better. You can burn all my paintings, cazzo!"


There seems to be a change in the air regarding museum funding that is spreading beyond Italian borders. Culture is the first budget to be axed. At the National Gallery in London, Hans Aznavoor, a curator, has set out not only to invite Paolo Ucello, but the original combatants of Florence and Siena that figured in the Battle of San Romano. "I want all the warriors in their original armors to bring a torch and light up the painting. It's time people learn what real perspective is about!"

The Titanic

The Titanic

a silent novel by Jamesola Langola. 

Sam and Fred are two happy-go-lucky  dogs on the Titanic. Their master was Charles Randolf Macy the IIIrd. Everything was just swank: drinks were "a volonte" and the dogs even had foie gras as an appetizer. When the ship hit the iceberg things took a nasty turn and the dogs could smell the trouble in the air. they looked over the icy ledge and reminisced about their comfortable lives in New Jersey when their master would have  butler James take them to the kennel when Madam would go shopping. 

Sam resting during the Titanic's maiden voyage.

Further down on deck, Millicent and Jarvis, two pooches, contemplated who would take the

lifeboat as the orchestra played their last songs

Millicent and Jarvis were confused because they couldn't understand the exited voice of their excited

boss, who reverted to speaking Japanese.

Fortunately, Madame Wiggens and Ursula, two of the first class poodles, had a nose for lifeboats, and they offered advice to the young pooches.

Albeit stuffed with people!

There was little time left. Millicent looked at Jarvis, Jarvis at Millicent, and then they both looked
at the incredible stars that shone above them. Millicent pushed Jarvis, making a quick pounce and...

Stay tuned for the next thrilling episode of the Titanic                  (or Titanica). Do Millicent and Jarvis survive? Will Madame Wiggens find another solution for a lifeboat? Can Sam and Fred find happiness in their memories?

Expired Passport

Just a few days before an expected departure over the seas

I lay half asleep, ruminating with face pressed into the folds of my pillow

When some inner neuron coming from God knows where

Carried an alarm indicating that my passport was expired.

Wearily, feet searching for slippers, my body responded

to nocturnal commands.

I shuffled like Frankenstein's Bride

(my hair whipped up on the sides)

to the dark desk whereinith my Passport lie.

Damnation! The fatal date 

marked clearly in ink

belonged to another time in the past

It was a pill I had to swallow

And dilly dallying would serve no justice!

I would have to cast

a line

for

an

Emergency Passport.

Knowing that most mortals rarely check their Passports on a yearly basis,

Why? thought I,  couldn't my cherished government create a friendly reminder

so that 3 months before the DATE

one would be alerted to take a course of action.

Hence I wrote to the Department of State

Suggesting that a passport would contain a timed device

that meant that it would start smoldering 3 months before expiration.

To my surprise the State office accepted

Under the one condition that citizens must wear fireproof clothes and pajamas 

 Thanks to the State Department

I got the renewal in time and made it to my plane to

see the launching of the latest missile in North Korea

A giant missile in the shape of Kim Jong Il!

I never clapped so hard in my life

As Kim Jong soared over the skies!

The following day, however, my hands hurt so much

puffy and too tender for a handshake or touch

I went, thinking wisely for some needed relief:

little acupuncture needles in thy neck,

and my passport, firmly in my rear pocket.

Elevator Talk

In Miami I took the elevator 7 times a day

But the first few days I had nothing to say

Finally I got less timid and launched  on the ground floor,"Hi, the Japanese are closing

their reactors, what will they do now with their uranium?

to a man with a small dog on leash

"Have a nice day!" he bowled!

I concluded international news must be avoided, so for the next 

person, on the 8th floor, I made it more personal:

"Do you know, M'am, yesterday I was painting a house

and by accident I kicked over a bucket of paint and it dripped over

the facade like a Jackson Pollack."

"Enjoy your Easter." she pinged at the bing of the opening doors.

On another occasion, coming down from the penthouse, the elevator stopped on the l7th floor.

A young boy holding a red lollypop walked in and I said, looking up

 at a hidden camera: "Hey, we're being filmed, do y'a know?

Security here knows everything we are doing. And in Florida you can get strip searched for just not wearing your seat belt!"

"I don't drive. Have a great day!" said the boy,skipping out with a red smile as soon as the doors opened.

After a week the elevator talk was wearing my nerves thin

Only with effort I held up my chin

 expecting to hear the dropping of a pin.

Having just read Darwin and Hegel I wanted to impart with

 these fleeting strangers, just something beyond, 

"Have a great day!"

Finally I decided the only way to breach the gap of social order and natural selection

was to knit, stitch and loop in the elevator.

Holding balls of wool and oversized needles 

able to make any witch weary

I knitted breathing deeply going down or up the dark shaft and

-aside from some strange looks from Miami muscle men-

I was showered with complements and smiles

My grin took the countenance of a Swiss Cheese.

And the elevator talk flowed like a good French wine.

PS: In the case of a stuck elevator it appears that Elevator Talk is elevated to another principle.

Pink Slime and White Coats

Pink Slime and White Coats

 According to a large body of work

our bodies work according to the environment.

If you wear a Wall Street Jacket

you are liable to save pennies in your bone bank

A simple doctor's jacket

Can make you a more detailed oriented person, regardless

our skills or background

A farmer's overalls

Will suffice to go fou fou for leek

A military uniform

Makes one more adept in the killing fields

And wearing a butcher's apron

Will make you a ground beef master

But in America when business outfits and science outfits come together 

Using Ammonia to sterilize and beef up sales

All in the name of Connective Tissue

Our bodywork is lost

The environment has been broken

The Ammonia burger has been created!

Ammonia burgers don't sound good

So some call them Pink Slime burgers!

If Coleridge (the author of Kubla Kahn) were alive today

Might not he close his eyes and see a pleasure dome and icy caves

while bitting down on a Pink Slime Burger?

Or would he see, after biting a chomp,

his demon lover?

Or a pig, flying over the dark chasm of humanity?

The world upside down

There are those who see the world from a privileged  point of view

there is no question of their balance being askew;

our world may be spinning to keep us in our shoes

our brains may be spinning to keep us from the blues;

What argument may there be to think, conceive, instrument ourselves to

hear like a bat, walk like a beetle or swim like an otter?

Is it not enough to see a Balkan ballerina do a grand jeté? 

Or a Greek geek tweet about green thé?

On this unbenounced day

Not having seen a bump at the end of an extravagant run

 my ski and leg was sent to

the outer limits of an inner city slum

Pain hooted through my ears

and my orbs knew only tears

My ham, my only jambone, that string that belongs to the mighty Thigh,

was plucked harder than any violin string

shredded like cuban ropa vieja

recoiled like a cobra

Not knowing how to react 

I invoked the  rhino scarab  to accompany me in my upside down world!

I opted (if a choice there ever was), to slide down the face of the mer de glace,

 head first down a sled

wrapped up with straps and inflatables

 "A little outing to meet your clay maker."

-that's what Osiris, the speedy sled pilot said.

Once more I thought of the ectoderm of a Rhino Beetle

It was a way to make pain impermeable to the bumps that we overslode

The ride was long and true, soft on top and icy on the bottom.
And all the way down people peeped at me as if I had
some mental disease
"What an appetizing sight! Pity no blood!"
I felt damned as to why, an impassioned  cycler like myself, why did

I choose to ski? Was it, could it, be all for that special view?

And then for no reason at all, I though of my grandfather who I had never met

He, like many, was taken away from our family tree because of the war.

60 years later dear mother gives my his hankies from an unbeknownst coffer

So while I am sliding and forgetting the pain thanks to the rhino beetle

I am flabbergasted at how beautiful and delicate the DZ monogramed handkerchiefs are

despite the passing of time

despite the outpouring of hatred that went towards Zoltan Denes and people of his like,

the fine stitching and squared colors defy their period

These pre-kleenex utensils 

Memory receptors of what flowed through the nose

Today are history in the making.
They attest to the invincibility of mankind.

Back to my drama I flowed down my own white, mucusoid mountain

relaxed, serene, as a rhino in the sky.

Cracking fingers, arthritis and other studies.

50 years of cracking fingers does not give arthritis.

(Thanks to a study where Donald Unger tested cracking

his own hand, the evidence is conclusive.)

Nevertheless, scientists have discovered that,

-smoking crack and cracking knuckles may.

Other related studies streaming in has revealed that:

-37% of people who crack their fingers are victims of assault.

-people who crack their fingers while driving and texting are not,

according to a recent 6 year study in California, more prone to accidents

than people who play sudoku and text drive.

-men who crack their pants while cracking their fingers do not risk

contracting diabetes more frequently than women who crack their pants idem.

Finally, Merit schools report that 82% of students who crack their fingers are no

more sensitive to the noise of nails scratching down a blackboard or the heavy

breathing of a bully than students who do not crack their fingers.

However, students who cracked their fingers showed higher results in

CGCSE and IB4UME tests than their counterparts who scored lower in

CGCSE but higher in IB4UME.

No link was found between cracking fingers and obesity, although it is believed that

the wider the individual the more difficult it is for the hands to reach each other,

grasp the knuckles and pop the space of synovial fluid, hence making cracking impossible.