Sounds of the Human Condition

The house on Harvard Street that sometimes displays poems handwritten in chalk on a blackboard hanging on its front veranda (see here and here, e.g.) is continuing to do its very fine thing that it sometimes does. I really should just knock on that house's door one of these days and tell whoever answers how much I appreciate their efforts, because every time I stop to read one of these, I end up either laughing out loud, directing a pensive "huh" at the trees and sky, or making an uncontrollable noise somewhere between "Hey!" and "Oof!" and falling onto the sidewalk, usually just as a snooty-looking woman and her small dog happen hoity-toitily by, the latter of whom invariably sniffs at my crotch before stepping on me. Today was a laughter day:

Poem Addressing People Who Are Tired, Hungry, or Horny

These things can wait. This is a very good poem and you’d be very myopic to lose sight of this beauty simply because some of your baser needs are asserting themselves. I’ll keep this short, but you should exercise some control, okay? Stay with me here. Allow this poem to carry you beyond yourself, transcending your mortal flesh as you wed yourself with the potentially infinite.

- Peter Davis

And, hey, speaking of uncontrollable noises, lately I keep getting woken up in the middle of the night by loud, horrible screams. That's a pretty awful thing to happen, but not as awful as when I realize they're coming from me. Some kind of nightmare keeps scaring me so much that I have to wake myself up by yelling out loud, and let me tell you, the screams of an unconscious person trying to become a conscious person would be horrific enough even if both of those people were NOT myself. If only I could remember the dreams when I wake up, I might be able to get to the heart of what's bothering me. But they immediately withdraw like slippery sea creatures under a rock before my memory can grab hold of them.

Psychic Fair and The Reference Desk will both be contributing to the racket that St. Patrick's Day at Gus' Pub promises to be. This Sunday, starting at 1:00 in the afternoon, the bar is hosting 14 different bands, offering live indie rock until well past the bedtime of anyone with any kind of conventional job to get back to on Monday. I'll be there at 5:something and again sometime after 10. Stop by if you're in the mood for some loud music and ironic young people enacting borderline offensive cultural stereotypes in the name of getting drunk.