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"OH WATERS, TEEM WITH MEDICINE TO KEEP MY BODY SAFE FROM HARM, SO THAT I MAY LONG SEE THE SUN." - Rig Veda
"Don't let your cell phone rest
against your ear or any other body part. Don't use the same ear
For every conversation. Don't use your cell phone
while you're driving
since it must continnualy reconnect with antennas,
which uses more power,
and the signal is reflected by the metal around you.
All of the above doubles the chances for salivary glands anomalies, gliomas
and acoustic tumors.
Don't own a cell phone.
Never leave the house
without a cell phone
because you never know when you'll need someone.
Digitally Enhanced Cordless Telecommunications (DECT's)
constantly emit radiation.
Try never to use one while you are using one.
Don't use computers, printes, iPhones, iTouches, Blackberries, etc.
Wireless signals are a source of electromagnetic radiation.
Don't doubt the truth of this; Google it for yourself.
Don't ever use the internet.
Every search you execute exposes you to viruses.
Even if you don't have wireless
service, don't leave your Wifi setting in the on position;
the device will emit electromagnetic energy
in a continuous search
for the nearest available router.
Don't own a computer.
try never to breathe on Ozone Alert days.
Don't stand within twenty feet of an operating microwave.
Don't believe you're safe.
Set your cell phone inside your microwave.
to test it for radiation leakage. Call it.
with another cell phone. If you can hear it ringing,
it means that microwaves can pass through the walls
of your microwave oven.
your cell phone.
Don't own a microwave.
Don't forget to microwave leftovers to kill bacteria. Try not eat leftovers.
Don't waste food.
If can help it, don't eat.
Don't own a a plasma TV
which generate high levels
of dirty electricity,
linked to fatigue,
and cardiac symptoms
in sensitive people
(known as electrohypersensitivity).
Don't forget to watch programs on your plasma TV about household safety.
Dont, if you can avoid them, own a television or a home.
Don't put your feet up while relaxing; we don't know why yet, just don't.
don't forget to try to relax.
Don't do anything stressful.
Don't forget that stress is a sign that you're probably living.
Don't wake up; don't sleep.
Don't do anything that feels good.
Don't do anything that feels bad.
Don't do anything.
Don't forget to breathe. Don't forget to eat vegetables.
Don't forget to t remember that the fertilizers they use to grow vegetables can leave
trace amounts of carcinogenic nitrates in those salads you eat.
Don't forget there's nothing you can do about any of this.
This poem is already outdated.
This poem will never get old.
Don't try to avoid reading this; it could save you.
Don't ever read this poem...it's a proven killer."
Rattle, edição impressa, nº 36
"The childs hums as he carries, too late,
the grandmother's sugar-dusted lemon-glazed cake.
down the street to the neighbor who needs to be cheered,
too late for the neighbor
who's stepped into the air
of her silent front hall from a ladder-backed chair
her church dress just pressed, her head in a loop she tied into the clothesline, too late
he unlatches the gate,
walks up the brick walk on his tiptoes, avoiding the cracks
toward the door she unlocked, left ajar, who know why,
or for whom, if on purpose
or not, because he's too late
she's gonne still when he reaches the door and because
he's too late, as he calls out and looks, brilliant sun
burns through the haze
pours through sidelights and bevels
through chandelier prisms, strikes white sparks and purples
on ceiling and walls, on the overturned chair, on her stockings
her brown and white
spectator shoes on the floor
and because it's too late he remembers both terror and beauty
but not which came first. But enough of the one
that he ran
and enough of the other
to carefully lay down the cake at her feet."
Rattle, versão impressa, nº 36
"Today at the glass factory I fell in love with a blue-veined reticulated glass
hand. Heavy, cold and translucent, it is not a hand held out in love of or forgiveness.This hand is simply a hand, simply itself
devoid of intention, I admire most, beyond its heft and cool
presence, its detachment. As was Kant; his devotion do desinterest
Spawns beauty like Athena sprung from the head of Zeus. Across the way
men with overalls dismantle an old house-whining power tools
mix with wood's hollow call. I should be reading
Lorca but instead I'm flipping through a book on ornament, page after page of hand-wrought symmetry in gilt and finely wrought intricacies;
the knots, the flowers, the pendulous, hanging and spotted
pointillistic moments of pure color and form. Today I sent my daughter a new pair of gloves-black, supple leather with a cashmere lining. I can still feel the the weight and smoooth elegance of that blue hand, cold
as my mother's the day she died. I wasn't with her though I recall the March day. I make myself picture touching her hands, cool and a little
blue, the veins full of the motionless tide that just seconds before
had rocked to a halt after the pump stilled. For Lorca, the darkenss of death
is the light of the imagination. I'm not sorry to be devoid
of feeling. It's absence leaves the mind's blue light
cool and composed, yet even it struggles against the infinite which is without reason. There is nothing of use to say about our private
losses. The house across the way is now merely mounds of stacked
bricks-clay and straw molded by men gone to dust long before the cool
calculation of economy judged it
extraneous. The book's heft contains millennia we've strived against disorder, constructing geometry's repeatable patterns-
squares the haven of protection, lines the predictable journeys
and a good end; countless lotus baptizing us over and over in pure
radiance. How we make whole the fragments of reason-a vase, a a wall,
a stone relief...things that call to mind
what is lost. My talisman is the body's enactments: a blue hand
standing in a pool of light. And my daughter's-warm, thriving."
Rattle, versão impressa, nº 36
"Gramps, through all the years of layoffs
And callbacks, you worked in
The factory laboring endless
From your first day in Detroit until you retired
From the Dodge Main line 33 years later.
Gramps, I sometimes wondered
What your life could possibly have been
With the exact same breakfast every day at 5:30 a.m.:
Two fried eggs, bacon, toast and coffe with condensed milk.
They say a man is
Measured by his soul.
I did know that yours was dark and blue,
But I never really understood much more
Of who you really were.
Gramps, who loved me more
Than any real father loves a son,
I see you now in an old black & white
Photograph standing next to
The neighbor's brand new Desoto
And their new small new travel trailer. All the while I knew
You were only dedicated to one woman
Whom you loved for over 50 years.
Gramps, you were always
The one I admired-
You lived exactly what you believed: hard work,
A paycheck to keep life
Balanced and going,
And an occasional, small, treasured kiss.
You never needed much, Gramps, because you knew,
as I am learning now, it was never
About you. How silent
Your joy must have been alone
In your old battered Chysler
That you drove back and forth
To work at the plant-
Like your own life-
It was enough to get you from here to there,
With nothing at all waiting for you
At the end other than a life
Well lived and complete."
Rattle, edição impressa, nº36