Life is Fun

9/22/11

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Air-Conditioned Nightmare

For about the past year, I have had a growing fondness bordering on obsession with the book “The Air-Conditioned Nightmare” by Henry Miller.  The book is difficult to categorize, but I would call it a book-length anti-American essay disguised as a travel memoir.  Now, the words “Anti-American” may turn some people off, understandably.  But see here: Miller wasn’t shy about disdaining our nation.  And while I love America, I can often see many of Miller’s points.  I don’t blindly love America.  There is, in fact, plenty to loathe here.

What I love about the book is the true amazingness with which it is written.  The whole book—all 288 pages of it—reads like an abrupt, out-of-breath poem about a trip Miller took across the US after his lengthy self-exile in Europe.  Every page is in exquisite joy to read, even if you think Henry Miller should have shoved his Commie dick up his ass.  And what really astounds me about this incredible work is that it is arguably his least-known work; you will not find it at Barnes and Noble. you have to order it!  Gasp!

So anyway, I read the whole book a few times over the last year and just couldn’t stop being held in it’s spell.  Then I started reading it aloud…and I have never turned back.  Yes, I am a man who reads things aloud to myself at home.  Sometimes, there’s just nothing like it.  But it’s usually poetry.  Once I started thinking of “The Air-Conditioned Nightmare” as poetry, there was no looking back!

Of course, then I had the idea of recording myself reading it for a blog (just the first chapter) and despite my complete knowledge that nobody would care and it would make me look like a weirdo, I just HAD to do it.  I assure you, this was just for my enjoyment; I never had any illusions that this would be of value to any of my readers.

If you ARE feeling frisky, go ahead and start listening.  You might just like it enough to order the book!  But be forewarned, even this first chapter reading is VERY long.  But I am a damned good reader and you’re bound to enjoy my audible interpretation.

 

 

My Heart is Not

my heart is not pure my heart is not the frayed ends of your favorite sweater sleeves my heart is not two playful squirrels dancing in the snow my heart is not a guitar strum in the key of E my heart is not your perfumed love letter my heart is not a marble monument my heart is not subsumed with fire my heart is not that park bench my heart is not a meadow alight with butterflies my heart is not the breath of a thousand daisies in agreement my heart is not the majestic schooner in dry dock my heart is not the fountain’s fantastic burst my heart is not the steam gently rolling off the fresh-drawn bath my heart is not a clean slate my heart is not everything you ever dreamed it would be my heart is not the lazy looping contrail hanging effortlessly in the sky my heart is not the chartreuse forlorn leaves flapping in the spring breeze my heart is not the dusty book laying open on the table to just the right page on just the right day my heart is not the dazzling twinkling lights off in the distance that may as well be jewels my heart is not your favorite hat my heart is not your childhood memory my heart is not the sensation of suddenly flying my heart is not the moment you see the acrobat lose his grip and hang seemingly forever in midair inside the huge tent my heart is not a bowl of fresh delicious red raspberries my heart is not the paint drying on the canvas my heart is not the moment the needle kisses the record my heart is not the way you look in that special pair of jeans my heart is not tiny paw prints in the sand my heart is not men in the Old West in tall hats and heavy coats my heart is not the conductor’s baton waving wildly on opening night my heart is not a plume of smoke billowing from the train’s engine as it chugs up the final feet of the escarpment finally getting to where it’s going my heart is not an amputee running a marathon my heart is not warm honey simply resting inside your mouth my heart is not your car righting itself instead of flying off the bridge at the last moment when the scream is still stuck in your throat my heart is not rainwater cascading down a cliff face my heart is not your cool sheets on a warm morning my heart is not the coffee pot slowly dripping in the adjacent room my heart is not the furnace slowly and methodically coming to life in early October my heart is not brand new socks my heart is not your children’s grinning loving beaming faces looking up at you my heart is not a black and white movie just loud enough for you to hear while you drift off to sleep my heart is not sunbeams dancing on fresh puddles my heart is not the tan line left by your wedding ring my heart is not a coin that’s been rubbed smooth by years and pockets my heart is not the top drawer in the kitchen with everybody’s photos and social security numbers in it my heart is not a cheap used car with low mileage because an old lady owned it my heart is not a scratch-off ticket that’s a five dollar winner my heart is not Saturn’s rings my heart is not the twin dewdrops on the blade of grass my heart is not the cheap bus ticket out of town to anywhere but here my heart is not the low hum of the film projector in the stifling classroom my heart is not the thump of the orchestra’s timpani my heart is not the sweating glass of water under an umbrella by a swimming pool on a wooden deck at the house of someone you barely know my heart is not fresh cookies my heart is not the baby in the car seat sleeping my heart is not the perfect toppling of dominoes you worked so hard to make happen my heart is not the newly mowed grass sticking to your bicycle tires my heart is not the fog on Sunday morning my heart is not waking up to the dog licking your face my heart is not the fireworks on the night of your anniversary my heart is not the new car smell my heart is not two eggs sunny side up my heart is not the cacophonous ceaseless ringing of church bells my heart is not boxes waiting to be unpacked in a featureless room my heart is not quiet footsteps in a delicate museum my heart is not getting a quiz back with colorful stickers on top of it my heart is not a basket of delicious chocolates my heart is not the old man mulching outside the VFW my heart is not the polished brass doorknob slowly turning my heart is not the police car that’s been following you for five miles finally turning down a side street my heart is not the sight of the parade coming around the bend in the road my heart is not the Lazuli Bunting landing on the railing three feet away from you and singing you a song before suddenly flying away as if nothing had ever happened and nobody else was there to see it my heart is not an erupting volcano my heart is not the moment you know your cold has cleared up my heart is not a herd of elephants on the savannah having dinner together as the day’s hot sun sets over the flat horizon my heart is not the unsnapping of a bra my heart is not the elderly couple helping each other out of their car my heart is not a supermarket on an early Tuesday morning with the aisles all empty and the parking lot a ghost town my heart is not a bright spot on a dark day my heart is not a lipstick stain on a starch white shirt collar my heart is not the gilded golden picture frame on the mantle my heart is not blueberry preserves spread over whole wheat bread my heart is not waves crashing calmly but persistently onto the white cool sand my heart is not the smell of a newborn’s head my heart is not a hawk gliding high overhead against a blinding blue sky my heart is not finding out that you’re not dying after all my heart is not singing a song at the top of your lungs in an empty elevator my heart is not a lemon wedge on the side of your glass my heart is not your monogrammed bath towels my heart is not a high-cielinged warehouse my heart is not dancing with delight in a gymnasium as though nobody were watching my heart is not the whistle of your aunt’s tea kettle my heart is not the glorious sweeping arches of an ancient aqueduct my heart is not the bumblebee with it’s head in the flower my heart is not the two-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle that seems to put itself together my heart is not the cold spoon in the warm mouth my heart is not the pulsing mind of the earth my heart is not a new haircut my heart is not the counterpoint to your heart my heart is not eternity’s ballad my heart is not pure instead my heart is a dark, brutish ghoul that will devour planets in their orbits