The most recent 20 comments posted to Making Light by Tyg:

Hi,

I delurked for the first time (I think) on the Smulp thread, but was illmannered enough not to note that. So, hello everybody.

I'm Australian and I recognize the negatives of Uncle Tom, though I haven't read the book. What I am unsure of is Uncle Sam - I know it as a nickname for the USA, but I usually only hear it as negative, I thought Nader was trying to use it as positive contrast - is that correct?

As for cunt, maybe we are less sensitized to it here in the Antipodes, I tend to use it as an endearment. Although not to all people. Only in special, very loved, cases if you will.

I
Among twenty snowy icecubes,
The only dark thing
Was the fruit of the plumtree.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a fridge
In which there are three plums.

III
The fruit whirled in the cook pot.
It was a small part of the plum pie.

IV
A man and a fridge
Are one.
A man and a fridge and a plum
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of white enamel
Or the beauty of anticipation,
The plum dark in hand
Or just after.

VI
Icicles filled the long oblong
With barbaric frost.
The shadow of the hunger
Crossed it, to and fro.
The plums
hidden in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden flesh?
Do you not see how the stone fruit
stains red the lips
Of the women about you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the plum brandy is involved
In what I know.

IX
When the plums vanished out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many recriminations.

X
At the sight of cool plums
Resting in a green bowl,
Even the ascetics of carnality
Would cry out sharply.

XI
He surfed over the Internet
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The plums of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII
The housemate is sleeping.
The plums must be stolen.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The plum thief sat
In the cedar-limbs.

Giamoco @ 136

I find your lack of plums disturbing

What am I? Nosing here, stepping tiles over
Following a faint stain on the air to the fridge's edge
I enter whiteness. Who am I to split
The glassy grain of fridge tray looking upward I see the punnet
Of the strawberries above me upside down very clear
What am I doing here in this whitegood? Why do I find
this plum so interesting as I inspect its most secret
interior and make it my own? Do these stonefruit
know me and name me to each other have they
seen me before do I fit in their world? I seem
separate from the kitchen and not rooted but dropped
out of nothing casually I've no threads
fastening me to anything I can go anywhere
I seem to have been given the freedom
of this cold white box what am I then? And picking
bits of skin off this yellow flesh gives me
no pleasure and it's no use so why do I do it
me and doing that have coincided very sweetly
But what shall I be called am I the first
have these plums an owner what shape am I what
shape am I am I huge if I eat
to the end of this fruit past these peaches and past these loquats
till I get tired that's chilling one wall of me
for the moment if I sit still how everything
stops to watch me I suppose I am the exact centre
but there's all this what is it ice
ice ice ice and here's the light
again very queer but I'll go on looking

Today I saw a man with no arms swim the 200 medley, butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle and come in far ahead of his competitors.

And he is a hottie.

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