My bizarre experiment in unchecked hair growth continues. Which sounds appalling, now that I write it. But I mean I haven't been able to get a haircut yet. Tomorrow, though, at long last. It's driving me batty. I wonder how girls stand the strands. Or the guys in Def Leppard. Finally, I learn empathy for those guys. Now I might be admitted into heaven.
***
Last month, I guess it was, I recorded several poems for From the Fishouse. Matt O'Donnell, up there in wintry Maine, is running a great project. I was sent in the mail an eensy mp3 recorder about the size of a cigarette lighter, a little larger. Easy to work, at least for most people -- it was a bit challenging for me, to push the button with my mouthstick, then stow it, then start reading. So if the recordings suffer, blame my spinal cord. Saying that amuses me. Ha!
The poems should be posted next month or thereabouts. The ones I recordered were:
Questions for Godzilla
On Being Asked Who the You Is in My Poems
Elba
Minus
Lullaby
The Numbers are Not In
The Amplified World
***
Going back to disability for a moment, I should say that terms like physically challenged or differently abled or, God help me, handicapable, make me insane. I caught a new variation yesterday: diffabled.
Yes, I'm diffabled. Besides an apparent speech impediment, I'm also differently abled. It's like in that episode of Wonder Woman I remember from when I was a kid. The villain was, essentially, a brain floating in a fish tank, more or less. Freed of the pesky flesh, it had telekinetic powers. The climactic showdown took place in a gym. Why the brain needed to be at the gym was never really touched upon, but it started tossing barbells at Wonder Woman.
This, of course, was silly.
The great thing about the disembodied floating brain is that there really is a comic book villian fitting that description. It's name? The Brain. It hangs out with a talking gorilla named Monsier Mallah. You have no idea how happy this makes me.
***
Back to The Godfather Part II.
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