by Jeff Glovsky, Writing

(I’m) Just a Number?

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They still engage.

To whatever extent it matters (and it matters to me, a bit sadly, a lot), they’ll say things and strike up bemused conversations, amusingly shifting to repartee… or small gauntlets they feel emboldened to throw down!

“Nice touch, with the ice cream cone,” one yells.  “It makes you look innocent!”

This beautiful stranger!  As I walk down the street on a hot summer day with Moosetracks dripping down my shirt…

moosetracks melting

As I’m licking my finger after flicking it up, she yells, “Nice touch, with the ice cream cone!”

And she smiles.

A bit sadly, perhaps.

Still, engaged

In a diner, where I “dine” alone, a rap on the glass between me and the street.  She is laughing like a college sweetheart, saying something I can’t quite make out…

‘Til her friend pulls her along and I’m left laughing through the glass myself.  But alone, with some french fries, like uneaten meat.

Now I realize (a lot, sadly), I might end up home-bound… Or hiking my shirt up above my neck, spinning blindly and spitting, rejecting awareness

Uncogent, and swearing and lashing far out…

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(No) Escape“, ©Jeff Glovsky

Or in thirty years, who knows?  I may have slithered from this mortal coil… pooled around my ankles, swelled edemic or lopped off from underuse, or Type 2 diabetes…

Beautiful strangers engaging me now, do so piteously!

As my french fries cool and Moosetracks drips, and I become less and less engaged…

Less bemused and amusing, a bit sadder (sadly).

And vaguely, enraged.

by Jeff Glovsky
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by Jeff Glovsky, Writing

On the RECORD…

<<>>Jeff Glovsky

In NEW YORK, before loud hordes pollute each day, and in MUNICH, before tourists take dumps on the canvas — and in any place I find myself with a café or diner open early enough — I avail myself of public solitude.

Some words on ‘mornings’… by Jeff Glovsky

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Not to be confused with

Mornings

a short Story by Jglo

 

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by Jeff Glovsky, Writing

Jazz Azz a Metaphor

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You can have tone and technique and a lot of other things but without originality, you ain’t really nowhere.

– Lester Young


Ornette was “out”.  He was different.  He ‘couldn’t play’, yet “rewrote the language of jazz” (no small feat in a musical landscape of perpetual innovation (once), and the ethereal dissipation of improvised note bursts nightly, on a ‘moment’s notice’).

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I myself am no musician.  I don’t capably play any instruments … and I’m no authority.  But I do know well and appreciate jazz:  its humor, its sense of chaos, its combustible spontaneity … and above all, its take it or leave it, ‘is what it is’ ethos, too often exploited because, Hey! It’s Jazz!

a (Blue) Noted Passing
Ornette Coleman
1930 - 2015

“L’Esprit de Jazz”, ©Jeff Glovsky

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by Jeff Glovsky, Writing

When Blogs Collide . . .

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Writing on Blogspot
. . . on WordPress

(and vice versa!)


If you’ve searched me by name, Jeff Glovsky, chances are you’ve wound up here.  Welcome.

What’s in a Name?

In learning the craft of writing, and of becoming (more or less) myself, I seem to have tuned into a few of the biggies … certain manna, and ticks and inflections of theirs, picked up by my young and thirsty antennae, all bursting with needing to take it all in.

Gifts and Ripoffs

… flying in the face of his own misguided logic that in some small way, an exit by overdose might be a good thing — its transmitted “message” perhaps being taken to heart, as opposed to being ignored or simply not received at all by other nodding junkies suddenly waking up, saying, “You know what?  Philip Seymour Hoffman died.  Let me quit.” —

Sadly, it’s unlikely that this became the case anywhere.  Philip Seymour Hoffman just died.

Olympic Darkness

Once I was sitting outside a jazz club where I used to mix sound.  It was a beautiful spring night, and I stepped out of what was, at that time, the stereotypical smoke-filled room to gulp in some fresh air.  It was during a bass solo … These always tended to go on forever anyway, so I figured I had a few minutes, at least, before the singer would come in again and start gesticulating (wildly) toward her ear, suggesting (none too subtly) that she wasn’t able to hear herself …

Cold, War and Otherwise

Elliot Rodger was a sick, pained soul. Stereotypically “tortured”, almost “poetic”, in his musings. His dark manifesto, had it been written, say, a century and a half ago … penned anonymously, and/or “discovered” … who knows? Might have become a literary classic, in the Dostoevsky or Knut Hamsun vein.

As a writer, I myself am tortured: panged with jealousy, twisted, unnerved, by the guy’s naive, sadly wasted talent!

America’s Psycho

When my dad turned 50 years old, he did a little ‘river dance‘ on his birthday cake.  Sadly frustrated with life and years behind him to that point, and whatever present hassles he felt his family, (empty) wallet and failing business had been giving him, in a single swooping motion, he swatted his 50th birthday cake off the kitchen counter, and leapt upon it like Nureyev.

Remember(ing) Laughter

Last May, in the wake of the Donald Sterling nonsense, I commented — rather vehemently — about the old fella’s ‘mistreatment’ at the hands of certain “hating and seething” “thought police” … “angry, directionless ministers beseeching … already converted choirs” that Sterling was worse than just a crusty curmudgeon, left up to his neck in societal sea change.

I empathized with Donald Sterling …

Two Nations, Under God?

Jeff Glovsky (Words by)
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by Jeff Glovsky, Writing

New (Dis)Contents

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Will you really stare, my love?


Coffee Sounds

Underground… feeling heat in the furious subway.  Flipping through a candy rack and trying not to deal.  I buy a pack of gum and turn to see what kind of juice there is.

read more

I steal her soul, but it’s not exploitation.


Safe Already

They climb aboard at 49th Street.  “Moe” and his two stooge companions, rocking the train with loud, garrulous poses…

read more

In 2003, Le Spleen de Paris became the bowels of New York and northern New Jersey … and Slice / Life (annoyances, episodes) was scrawled.

Slice / Life

by Jeff Glovsky
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