Tag Archives: King Kong

If You Stare At My Nose Long Enough It Looks Like A Penis

4 Sep

 

If You Stare At My Nose Long Enough It Looks Like A Penis

 

I only just noticed this yesterday

 

Between Trump vs. North Korea and a bad dream

Involving all the women who’ve left me vs. all the women

I’ve let down and I’ve been living with my nose now

For a really long time, still

I remember it looking other ways, but

Holy Dick Flakes, Batman!

I have no stuffed box memory of it ever

Remotely looking like this

 

And for the past 10 years of so I’ve been paying attention

Because Richard Brautigan wrote a poem about it

And it’s a good one

About his nose and how it was growing older

And I was a young lad at the time, suddenly horrified

By something that had not occurred to me

When I thought all the horrible things about everything

had already occurred to me, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

 

Youth is an endless procession of discovering

One brand new horrible thing you’ve never thought about

after another, day after day

Until the day’s become years and

The years become Grape Tic Tacs

And untouched jars of Chicken Tonight

And the Chicken Tonight becomes oblivion

 

So every year I get older, if I remember

I’ll occasionally check to see if that face part is getting older

Faster than the rest of the things

I’ve been on the lookout for the Brautification of my nose

For a reasonably measured amount of time

 

And before tonight, things had been fine as far as that area goes

But tonight things have changed again

And not in the way poetically expected

It doesn’t look older, it’s just………….

 

Tonight my nose looks like a penis

Ok

Fuck it

“So it goes” as KV used to say

But things weren’t always like this

 

My nose didn’t always look like a penis

 

At one point it looked like my favorite Foghorn Leghorn cartoon

At one point it looked like King Kong attempting to protect Fay Wray

And at one point, as I got older

It looked like the Bat Symbol

And every time it went down on her Gotham City

It was beautiful, and

Love would save the day

 

It’s been a long time now

Between tonight where my nose looks like a penis

And those past times when it last donned the cowl

 

It’d be too easy to blame Ben Affleck for this

So we won’t blame him, or will we?!

It doesn’t matter

 

Tonight, if you stare at my nose long enough

it looks like a penis

So be it

 

Though I still may or may not boycott the new Justice League movie

I still think of you often

every time I sneeze

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Notes on Skull Island aka What if Kong Had Survived The Fall

15 Mar

 

Notes on Skull Island aka What if Kong Had Survived The Fall

 

(the world is one big spoiler alert, so naturally spoilers (Kong: Skull Island) exist here too.)

 

Remaking the original 1933 King Kong is a pointless act, like repainting Van Gogh’s wheat fields or fucking a ukulele with a tuba on a deadpan Wagner-tuned rainy night shaped bassoon. It’s sad madness but that hasn’t stopped humanity from doing it anyway. Dino De Laurentis fucked it up in the 70’s with his goofy monkey suit version and Peter Jackson gave us a big budget take in the early 2000’s that had Jack Black attempting to fill Robert Armstrong’s movie boots and a flawed CGI Kong ice skating in the middle of New York for some goddamn reason. [Historical Note: Jackson’s heart was in the right place, loving the original as much as all of us who love the original, and I respect him for that, still it’s a tough thing to forgive, all that goddamn ice skating in a script that just never felt right.]

 

[Historical Note 2: Son of Kong was pretty great, but that’s because they didn’t try to remake something that’s in no need of remaking. They made a sequel. Sure it doesn’t have the Kong-equals-unrequited-love-type-layers of the original and can play sort of like a jungle island version of Home Alone with Kong Jr. taking over a role originally played by Macaulay Culkin, but fuck it. Leave it alone, cynical bastards. I like the hell out of Son of Kong. (and Andy Schneidkraut digs it too.]

 

Just like I liked the hell out of Kong: Skull Island. Skull Island isn’t a remake. It’s a brand new movie that plays out like an alternate timeline sequel that goes something like this:

 

What if, in the original movie, Kong didn’t die at the end? What if he survived the fall somehow? The fall and the knowledge that the only lady he loved didn’t love him and the fact that half of the entire city of New York had seen his weiner (from both a distance and up close and unconsciously personal) because he’d been abducted against his Kong-will and wasn’t adequately packed for life in a big city/he didn’t have any pants on/I don’t have any pants on/We’ve all found ourselves inadequately packed for the city at one point or another in our lives/let’s move on.

 

Ah, but that’s the thing now, ain’t it. Kong can’t move on! And that’s what this Skull Island thing’s all about. Say Kong survived the fall. Say he managed to crawl his way out of the city un-re-captured and booked passage on a crab fishing boat of some kind working odd jobs here and there at sea until he eventually made it back to Skull Island. Say he made it home and now it’s 40 years later and he’s spent the entire time eating octopus, staring at a lake like it was Netflix, and missing the girl he’s still hung up on and will always love.

 

That’s where we find our hero in Skull Island. We find a post-lost-love Kong mangled by the effects of all those years that have followed the loss. We find a Kong alive in a world that at all times holds its stomach in like it’s trying to pick a fight. The metaphor has been shifted to the island in this one. The island is lost love. This is what the world looks like post losing your Helen. Lost love is an island full of loneliness and terror and monsters that must be fought daily.

 

And Kong fights them. Because that’s what we have to do. Oblivion is inevitable and also oblivion is not an option. And even on Skull Island, as hopeless as it is, not everything is inevitably hopeless. There’s a small group of natives that are still alive on the island, a small group of natives and John C Reilly, a small group of natives and John C Reilly who still have a shot at this. They are born and then they die but between all of that they fall in love. Even on an island that represents a post-love nightmare, there’s still love. And this new Kong can relate to that. So he protects it. He’s re-dedicated his post-Helen years to protecting the love that’s still out there. And when he’s not doing that he eats octopus and stares at lakes like he’s watching Netflix while wishing that Fay Wray’s happy out there, somewhere, wherever she is.

 

Because that’s all Kong really wanted from her. To be happy. He wanted her to be happy. That’s what this new Kong wants from everyone. That’s what this new Kong movie’s all about. Kong wants you to fall in love. Kong wants you to be happy. And he’s willing to go on fighting inside his own nightmare because of this. He’s still willing to fight for it. Because Kong knows what something like that feels like.

 

Because Kong still remembers like we all still remember.

 

Kong fights because

 

Flash forward to the past a little bit:

 

For a couple of million minutes or something like that, Kong was happy too.

Me Too Night: King Kong

6 Mar

kong

Me Too Night: King Kong

 

Mr. Speaker, Mr. Vice President Homophobe, members of this library instead of congress, today’s assignment is to converse about a specific work of art, artist, or artistic process that we’ve found specifically inspiring in our lives. That being that, I’ve chosen for the subject of this address a film that I’ve felt deeply connected to for most of my childhood and whatever this thing is that is generally referred to as my adult life, a film that exposed the dangers of mongering fear and a mob mentality, the deadly consequences of unregulated capitalism, and the sad horror of unrequited love. That movie is: King Kong.

 

King Kong is the story of an introverted gorilla the size of fuzzy ferris wheel who finds himself inevitably captured by a gang of greedy Americans whose goal is to drag him back to their big corporate owned cities so they can chain him to a rat infested stage off Broadway and make a fortune selling tickets to the soulless masses who are always willing to pay for shit like that. Welcome to the modern world. In the midst of all this madness Kong finds himself falling in love with a woman who doesn’t love him back. She’s in love with some cardboard creep who thinks ladies don’t belong on boats and treats her like a continuing annoyance that he occasionally tolerates because he feels the need to put his dick in something that isn’t a partially lubed tube sock or his right hand in the rain. This is a story that any every day romantic can relate to. Amazing women are always falling for the wrong dude or porta-potty’d Yeti. At one time or another or in my case always, we all take turns being a Kong.

 

I’m a clunky human being. I’m inevitably walking into rooms in which I feel like a giant monkey with a broken heart who doesn’t belong there. The behavior of people constantly baffles me. I have no idea how to talk to a woman I’m really attracted to. I’ve been killed before. I’ve been gunned down a few times and more. I’ve had my heart’s grip ripped away from the tip of that big skyscraper that is love. I’ve taken that long plunge towards the cold concrete of cracked sidewalks more times than feels humanly possible. Thus my recent multi-year retreat back inside the illusional safety of my futon shaped jungle. I’m horrible at meeting new people. I see a girl I might be fond of and I immediately start hearing the sound of 1930’s airplanes flipping the safety switches off on their machine guns. I’m dangling naked on top of the Empire State Building all over again. I’m just a big broken gorilla capable of basic gruntings these days when it comes to things like potentially dating. Hey, you appear as if you may be potentially awesome, would you like to go out with me? I’ve never known how to talk to a woman like that. It just seems crazy. Fortunately, I happen to be a poet. A poet who tends to meet women who know how to talk like that to me. This is the only reason I haven’t been alone my entire life like I’m alone right now.

 

Just like Kong was alone. That’s the real reason they refer to him in the movie as King. He’s a perpetual martyr for loneliness and unrequited affection. Sting may be the king of pain and Adam Duritz may be the king of rain but Kong is the King of love. And love is impossible to control. This world is ruled over by billionaires and politicians who live to control things. In this life everything is dictated by politics. A terrified population is much easier to manipulate then a population that loves. And that’s why the natives on the island in this movie decided to build a wall around Kong and told fake news stories to their children and gullible constituents about the beast on the other side and how its sole purpose is to illegally sneak into their corrupted world view and rape their girlfriends and murder their lawn mowers and steal jobs they have no intention of doing. Which is ridiculous! Kong doesn’t want to rape your girlfriends. It would be physically impossible. His penis would never fit inside something like that. His penis is the size of seven or eight girlfriends tied together. It’s basic science, people. That’s why the current administration hates science. Kong doesn’t want to murder your lawn mowers. He’s from the jungle. He likes his grass long. And he sure as hell doesn’t want your jobs because most of your jobs suck. Kong just wants to be left alone and find a girl who loves him and wants to be left alone too so they can be left alone together. And the corporations that rule things can’t stand that. If everyone gave up on their hate and decided to choose love they’d lose control of everything. So they built a wall around Kong in an attempt to maintain control of things. Without hate and fear they are powerless. So they built a wall around love. In King Kong, that little plan didn’t work out so well. Love breaks out. Yes, after breaking out love is drugged, chained up, finds out that the girl he’s hung up on doesn’t love him, and is eventually gunned down by an armada of tax payer funded war planes. But shit, what else was Kong supposed to do.

 

At least he tried.

 

 

 

(written for the Me Too reading hosted by Jonny Montgomery, Boulder Public Library, March 5 of the year that is now)

The Most Unnecessary Bridge In The World

20 Aug

owls

 

The Most Unnecessary Bridge In The World

 

So the power chord that I ordered

for this old movie camera that used to be ours

aka/ergo/etc.:

the movie camera stayed with me

what I lost was her

and the chord

 

(insert sound of time moving: here,

in an ear that has been conveniently shaped

like an extroverted vagina. insert it there, with the vocal intonations

of a mighty Herzog sneezing………can we soundtrack the hell out of it

with the original score from King Kong?……….huh?……….

I miss her?…………I mean, shit

that’s not where I was going with this,

This is serious.”Signs

I mean

hell…..)

 

I know there’s no getting her back

I knew that 40 minutes before the second time

that she left me

(her life left my life and while sure,

my life still stares off in the direction

of her life’s leaving

it’s all maroon vs. purple at this point

it’s irrelevant

 

her life has a new life to hang out with

and they probably have their own video camera

by now and it’s probably really nice

and they know exactly where the chord is

at all times)

 

and shit nothing really comes back anyway

because back is just a pile

of misplaced brevity

and previously house shaped sticks

 

and there’s nothing I can do about that

because I’m a pretty lousy time plumber

and what do I know about sticks?

 

but goddamn it there was something I could do

about that chord

(baby steps to oblivion)

and what I did was

I ordered a new one

and like I’ve already said at the beginning

of this, or no I haven’t

I got distracted in all this loss of her

because it’s everything, dammit

 

from the world and that thing that moves time

to the goddamn tree trunks in the backyard of the song

that Bruce Springsteen will never sing for us

 

once or at all

it’s all of it

everything

made out of loss

 

which when you think of it…….

right?

so yeah, the chord I ordered for the camera

that’s been sitting in a drawer

with its battery drained from the inside

for 6 years now

that chord showed up today

while I was at work

 

so when I got home

(two pianos playing rock/paper/scissors

with each move banging only the super-most

saddest of notes)

 

of course the first thing I did

was plug the entire goddamn thing in

I mean, I really put that shit together

 

I plugged that fucker in

and all the buttons burned to life

like a gallon’s worth of adrenalin

pumped straight into Uma Thurman’s

pulp fiction shaped chest

and there it was

just fucking sitting there or whatever the hell

it is that digital images of your own past

encased in plastic fucking do

 

an hour of footage

shot 10 years ago

before my heart had cracked for good

and the world had grown so goddamn unreasonable

that a fuck like Donald Trump actually has a

shot at being President

 

an hour’s worth of footage of my old life with Helen

60 minutes worth of pixilated memories

60 times more detailed then the memories

I have in my head and………………

 

……..I’m fighting the urge to be distracted

because to continue on about things we no longer continue

…………………I mean, ouch

“I need a drink”—R Gosling’s daughter in The Nice Guys

 

so let’s just impale ourselves upon the cliff notes

for now, shall we?

and we can all just try to fill in our own gaps later

 

agreed?

groovy

 

fast forward to the bit about how we used to check into

mountain motel rooms and get super drunk

and have a really great time but also if this video tape

is to be believed we used to get into really dumb

stupid fights about stuff too

and for some reason we’d record them

 

I’ve only watched half of the entire hour

and we’ve already had two long

middle of the night motel arguments

that are so ridiculous and funny

and I found myself screaming to myself

on the tiny video screen to just “Shut up!”

 

I get so fucking stubborn and let down

about stuff that should just be disagreed upon

for a couple of minutes and then

moved on, or away from, fucking un-dwelled upon

 

but I had some goddamn theory back then

that if you talked about something long enough

then everything would eventually turn out all right

 

and we all know how well that worked out for me

so yeah, (cut to the original trailer for

The Creature From The Black Lagoon)

 

fast forward to the bit about the bridge

 

at one point in the video when we’re not arguing

like idiots we’re having a really nice time but we’re out of ice

so I grabbed the ice bucket and Helen grabbed the camera

 

and we headed outside and down the stairs to the ice machine

the motel is structured like a double decker Bates Motel

and the two of us being drunk and laughing about everything

we were convinced that somebody was going to call the cops

on us again because we were being loud and the last time we

had stayed at this particular place somebody had called the cops

 

so we were trying to be discrete and secret mission-ive as possible

because the ice machine was located directly outside

the motel managers office, which was pretty much

like the local Death Star for us at the time

 

so the plan was to get in, talk an old man into

disabling the tractor beam, grab the ice, and get

the hell back to our room as quick as Wookily possible

 

and the plan was going horribly

but goddamn it we were having fun

 

the ice had been secured, some local squirrels

had been made fun of, and we were about to head

back to the Millennium Falcon which was also known

as: our room, when the two of us at the same time

happened to turn our heads together to the left

 

and that’s where we saw it

Helen, with the camera

and me with my Helen loving eyes

lodged somewhat symmetrically in my head

 

behind the motel there was a bridge

it was around two feet long and

one foot off the kind of ground that looked

like it had never seen water

 

and we just started laughing

because the bridge was unnecessary

on a scale that made it remarkable

like a pumpkin the size of an igloo

or a really great work of art

 

it was the most unnecessary bridge in the world

 

nobody gave a shit about that bridge

that night, but we loved that bridge

for the fact that it was excelling at something

 

even if its area of excelling was

being unnecessary

 

we laughed about it all the way

back to our room, where we learned

that we’d lost our room key

and Helen set off to the front office to get us a new one

and showed up 10 minutes later laughing and without

the room key because she’d forgotten what she was doing

and did something else instead

 

which tonight leads into

me, still loving her

 

while back then it just led

us into another

unnecessary fight

Tomorrow is June 30th, June 30th

30 Jun

brautigan

Tomorrow Is June 30th, June 30th

 

On June 30th’s

I always feel like I’m standing in Tokyo

but I’ve never been to Tokyo

so where I’m standing is a place

that I’ve made up based on words,

stock footage,

and missing you

in my head

 

on June 30th’s I live in a dream

 

and in the dream the sun looks like the moon

and the moon looks like a ball full of cats

purring along to the opening notes

of early Bon Jovi                  (Tokyo Road)

 

everything that’s shitty about everything

gets replaced by bowling trophies, sombreros

and trout

 

because in this dream

Brautigan put the gun down

and traded in all thoughts of pulling the trigger

for another shot of love and whiskey

and an entire library

of more time

 

in the dream Brautigan’s still breathing

he’s 81 years old

and the reason the world doesn’t know

he’s still around

is he’s been living

in my basement

 

on June 30th’s

he comes upstairs

and we watch Planet of the Apes

with the sound down

 

and write dick poems

about Charlton Heston

until we’re both too drunk

to spell ‘dick’ right

 

or we pretend the cats speak

Japanese and that’s why we don’t know

what they’re saying

 

one time we ordered a pizza

but our order got mixed up

and they brought us the Empire State Building instead

 

so for the rest of the day

we lived in the Empire State Building

and took turns being King Kong

 

until our hearts

had been made

out of bullet holes

 

and whoever the fuck

dream-owns the Empire State Building

kicked us out

 

 

 

(written while listening to 7800 Degrees Fahrenheit/Bon Jovi) 

The Whole Damn World vs King Kong

18 Jul

                             king_kong_1933_01 (1)

The Whole Damn World vs King Kong 
 
            Tell her your theory, Carl.
            Carl has a theory?
            Carl has a theory.
            About what?
            9/11.
            Everybody has a theory about 9/11.
            I know. But Carl’s theory has to do with how the World Trade Center could’ve been saved if King Kong was still alive and had been there because he has experience batting down airplanes while hanging on the tops of tall buildings……
            ‘Building’ actually. The Empire State Building. In the movie there was just the one….
            Yes. Fine. Building.
            Or maybe ‘buildings’ if you’re talking about the Rick Baker in a monkey suit remake…
            We’re not talking about the remake. Nobody should ever talk about the remake.
            Or that Peter Jackson thing where King Kong’s ice skating in the goddamn park. A grown ass monkey ice skating, I mean. What’s up with that?
            I’m right now pretending you didn’t say that. The point is Carl’s convinced the Towers would still be where they used to be if King Kong had been around to save them but he’s not around because we live in a post-love world these days and ……
            Post-love?
            Yes. Carl says love’s dead. Murdered actually. Butchered in its sleep, but not quietly. It was only taking a nap when….
            Wait. What killed love exactly?
            You know. The usual. Narcissism. Fear. Greed.
            Idolatry.
            Gluten Free Pop Tarts, Stub-Your-Toe-And-Sue Accident Attorneys.
            Ben Affleck movies.
            John Mayer Records.
            The Celebration of Ignorance.
            Profit Based Monopolies and their Manipulation of Faith.
            That reminds me. Did you happen to catch last night’s episode of Duck Dynasty?
            No. Stay on topic! We’re talking about Carl’s…..
            Right. Terrorism and King Kong. The Overdramatically Pronounced Death of Love.
            Exactly.
            Wait. I’m confused. Carl, I’m confused. What the fuck’s Love got to do with King Kong?
            Carl says Love and King Kong are the same thing.
            How’s that?
            Carl’s watched the original movie about 500 times and has convinced himself that Kong is the Stop Motion manifestation of pure and selflessly self-sacrificing affection. The way he falls for Fay Wray in the jungle at first look and protects her from the giant monsters with absolute zero regard to his own safety…
            They hadn’t even kissed yet.
            ….and how when they get separated in the city he loses his goddamn mind without her and stomps around lost until they’re reunited again, which is when he does the ultimate sacrifice thing…
            Yeah, I’m not sure I’d be all excited to do that if we hadn’t even kissed.
            …because he’s in danger he believes she’s in danger, but he’s gotta know that she’s in no way into him and the thing is it doesn’t matter to Kong because he loves her. It matters and it doesn’t matter. Get it?  And her safety’s more important than his own safety and all that so he takes the bullets. Love takes the bullets. For Fay Wray and everything else. Gunned down by Fear and Greed and Duck Dynasty……
            Ok.
            I know, right? Is that right Carl?
            Don’t answer that Carl. I’m thinking. Narcissism and Pop Tarts. Ok. So what, Carl’s saying that the airplane’s were actually flown by all the worst parts of everything that makes up a goddamn Human Being squeezed into the bodies of tiny asshole pilots and King Kong was Love…
            Dressed up in a fur coat and cursed with a sad dick that’s so big it’s unable to fit into the only thing it ever wanted to fit in.
            ….yeah.  And the assholes killed the good stuff. King Kong’s the good stuff.  And that’s how the terrorists managed to take out the Twin Towers during the 9/11 attack?
            Exactly.
            Bullshit.
            See Carl, I told you you’re crazy. Carl told me that he figures that if there was real love in the world today instead of all this opposite stuff everyone wouldn’t be so goddamn programmed to hate each other so much and…
            Carl’s stoned. He thinks Love could have saved things?
            Love could have saved things.
            And King Kong equals Love in all this.
            Exactly. Ergo: King Kong could have saved us all.
            But he didn’t.
            Because he’s dead.
            Fuck that. Carl is aware that King Kong’s a fictional character, right? Carl, you do know the difference between real life and TV?
            You know Carl. He has a thing about inserting fictional characters into his real life solutions.
            Right. So Love’s dead then.
            Correct.
            That’s depressing. Wait. Does this have something to do with the fact that Darla left him?
            I don’t know. Carl, does this have something to do with the fact that Darla left you?
            He don’t need to answer that. You don’t need to answer that, Carl. It does.
            Carl still misses Darla!
            Yep.
            That’s terrible. Carl, you’re just sitting here missing her and she’s…huh. I wonder what Darla’s doing now?
           Last I heard she’s living with some guy who’s Grandpa owns Planters Peanuts.
            No shit.
            Yeah. And when Grandpa dies he’ll inherit the entire company.
            Ha! You hear that, Carl? Darla’s gonna be Queen of the Peanuts. What’s the guy doing now, until his Grandpa croaks?
            He  just sits around fucking Darla and  making money off peanuts I guess.
            Lucky bastard. Darla’s a real looker.
            She has great boobs.
            I know, right?
            Her boobs were real.
            And so were her feelings.
            Exactly. And those feelings wanted nothing to do with Carl.
            That’s sad.
            Almost as sad as Carl sitting there thinking King Kong’s real.
            It’s better than thinking about his ex-girlfriend fucking the Prince of Planters.
            Maybe. But there’s still something off about the whole thing.
            It’s best not to dwell on it.
            Did you hear that Carl? It’s best not to dwell on…..Wait.
            Where’s Carl going?
            Carl, where are you going?
            Why’s he climbing on top of his desk?
            I have no idea. Carl, why are you climbing to the top of your desk?
            I think he’s crying.
            Fuck. Carl, why are you crying? Get down from there.
            He’s not getting down.
            I’m lost.
            Carl’s nuts.