Post Anything

Talk about not knowing what anything means. Goddamn logistics, when something is supposed to be. Post is what I do when I write, also a stick, upright, or a place you need to be. At your post. Also the mail, what you might do with a note. And after, of course, as in post accident, or post divorce, or whatever. I won't even mention fence posts. Got me thinking about some post modern projects I'd heard about, involving lard and charcoal. Handling art, you form opinions, it can't be helped. You become a post-modern critic, looking back at the modern. Consider Gaudy, or those Swedish guys. Several things occur to me, some of them relevant. Using the word "post", right there, was a joke; the playful word-shit I do as a matter of course. Doesn't mean our girls won't be happy. If I understand post-structuralism, I can leave almost everything out. 3:12 in the morning, I'm feeding dog food to a pair of courting coons. Haven't slept in forever. Too many things to think about. Post Impressionist Midwestern show coming down. I don't deal with politics, that's someone else's turf. When I'm depressed I mop. I don't think when I mop, I just sling back and forth. Mindless pleasures. You and me and the horse you rode in on. Doing an imitation of Skip Fox doing an imitation of John Wayne getting off his mount and walking around to the front, mumbling "the only thing wrong with loving a horse, is you have to get off to kiss her." I aspire to nothing, but I can't help noticing things, the definition of your legs, as you walk away. Was there something you wanted to say? Post-partum. The post-prandial cigaret I'm having now. Dinner was a piece of cod I more or less poached and spread with a very garlicy mayonnaise, two ears of sweet corn I cut off the cob and fried, in the southern fashion, and a piece of that wonderful bread from Cincy. The ways of the world are delitescent, my mopping mentor was fond of saying. Glenn and Linda can see the modernism show in Wisconsin. If I visited them, I could see the show in another venue, post de-installing it here. The word 'post' becomes merely a time marker, the period could as well be called Smelly or Green. So, yes, I do think naming is, in fact, the issue. Equerry is a lovely word, he would be the Queen's horse guy. Maybe I occasionally steer things in a certain direction. but usually I just go with the flow, it's easier, doesn't involve as much digging. At a certain age, you get tired of digging. Kim and I, and he'll be here next Monday, for dinner, are in that small circle of people who still dig, by hand. Anyone else hires someone, but the two of us, as if someone was paying, dig stumps and trenches. Bred in the bone. I tried to stop digging, but I couldn't, it'd become a habit. I often take a shovel as a walking stick, dig something just for the sake of digging. That bronze statue of Edgar's raven, with the marble base, deposited on a middle school in Baltimore, that was me. Just a joke. Post something, nouns are easy, we have more nouns than the French have words. Just saying. Statistics might lead you somewhere, but I'd be leery. I say this from the mainland, where my pram is securely affixed against the tide. Everyone else's tow-rope is tugged. I'm asleep by then, check the record.