James Hart / Fiction

If fiction is dead, reality is not far behind.

James Hart

James Hart
Be Home Soon,
December 31
Hart will have maintained this blog for One-hundred-sixty-nine million, nine-hundred-forty-eight thousand, six-hundred seconds through 31 May 2014. ******************************** ******************************** ******************************* A carpenter's level designs a calm sea. ******************************** ******************************** ******************************** Violent movies and prime-time TV shows ought to have disclaimers as reality checks during curtain calls. The cast could gather for a bow and civil handshake and or cheek kisses in order to demonstrate (to the least sophisticated among us) to let us know that the aforementioned carnage was make believe. A fiction. An entertainment. Such reality checks (and stage craft tribute) would well serve a fairness to the deranged among us who are prone to confuse the fantasia of entertainment violence as 'acceptable reality behavior'. There are legions of empty vessels awaiting sustenance about 'how' to react. With sure-bet frequency, the ubiquity of guns and conditioned criminal reflex results in aberrant behavior with subsequent ruinous acts of violence. We see it along the road. We read it and see it and hear it in the news. Such a paradigm! Odd that bow and bow and bow are the same word. One for thank you, one for protection (?}, and the other to stay off the icebergs . . . Here's a limerick from my Average Guy series: Of all emotion, the grin 'n frown, the best among us, stand down.


APRIL 28, 2012 9:34AM

I See You Are Old

Rate: 13 Flag













I see you are old

and your thoughts young

that you miss the clack
of a taut-ribbon typewriter
and large cash, 10's, 20's
an assured walk over
unused sidewalks
diminished wind chimes
due to rain
wet as you are
tired of lipstick messages
and silent shopping bag
statues with thoughtful
large eyes
forecasts, pneumatic glass
bright black drop bouncing
water-beading leather
tranquilized, morose idiots
beneath a couple of three 
agitated newspapers opened
vertically to day-glow 
smithereens, the words
so suitable, the chrome
as sticky as the new disease 
asleep, asunder,
a serenade  

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Yep, that's me: tired of lipstick messages and morose idiots for sure. You have captured the world weariness of old age perfectly. R
"I see you are old

and your thoughts young

that you miss the clack

of a taut-ribbon typewriter"

Love your opening act here JP, your word choices; morose especially telling. But how can anyone be sick of lipstick messages?
As old as I might be, the ease of word correction without messy erasure or equally unfortunate white-out to defeat typos and re-thoughts easily defeats the clack and the whack of an old fashioned typewriter. Some nostalgia is best quickly dismissed.
"morose idiots
beneath a couple of three
agitated newspapers opened
vertically to day-glow

loved this.
this creates all kinds of images and thoughts
and leaves me wondering
to whom it is written.
We should bend the Sears Tower over and whisper this one in its ear.
Much memory and familiar tone here, J.P. I couldn't have said it better from my reluctantly real vantage. I even agree with Jan on this one - to a point.
What Gerald Anderson said.
Oh thanks for the comments! I was away from the screen tuck-pointing and now I've got cement in my eye...and there's cement on the PRTSC SYSRQ key...whatever the hell that is...^over 6 just found!

Ol' Paint!
",,,as sticky as the new disease "

just one of many images to love in this
Even better when read aloud.

I said something like your first two lines to a smart phone salesman, who might have been 20, the other day. After I told him I was only old on the outside, he stopped talking down to me. I told him I needed the 4G so I could take better video and play Words with Friends with my children.
Having just flipped through some Anne Sexton and Charles Simic, I'd take you in battle royale poetic arm-wrestling contest on the strength of this one.