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.

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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…

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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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by Jeff Glovsky, Writing

Old Is New(ish)

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Untitled

  Writing on Medium

by Jeff Glovsky

Several decades ago— before our Facebook, cut and paste, “open-source” world — there were older siblings … also scribbling … pos(t)ing dreamily, into Barnes & Noble “journals” the size of granny panties, or contributing to Fray.

It’s All About Me(dium)

Not long after I penned my ode to the beauty and simplicity, and read-generator, which was Medium — it all fell away … Medium 2.0 seems to be nothing more than another tired social network: aggressively encouraging “likes” … encouraging peanut gallerists to chime in …

From Medium to Middling

Swimming through the noise I cannot place, the curt, intrusive bleats — unbeautiful, like summer in a land-locked foreign country, or a desert… or a pounding rain — (an) army sucks and splashes past, hoof-thund’ring toward cerise horizon.

Bad Olives (or, I Hit My Head)

I think of the ‘ones who got away’ sometimes … those fleeting passengers through my life, who wouldn’t have reason to think of me, but nonetheless made their impressions felt and registered on my akasha.

October Song

There’s a guy on the ground, with a boot in his back: “Release me!” the guy’s yelling up, in English, to a man in green, one of Bavaria’s Finest. “Bullenschweine!” (the guy’s switched to German) … “Sofort!” he shouts to the boot in his back (and the cop’s deaf ears). “Release me!” he Englishes again, “Immediately!

The Bavarian cop presses down in a Schuhplattler.

nicht by Jglo

(A) Time and Place

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by Jeff Glovsky, Writing

Observance (Rituals)

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They lean in … They’re too close to each other.  Yet not close enough.  There’s something off.

In pretty red, dressed like a Valentine’s Day, she’s all smiles, commanding attention and swaying … He leans in and keens, like a friendship example, and jokes that he’s handsome while screaming a little …

The volume of the music increases, in tune with his voice and the swaying of her body in the Valentine’s dress.  And the wine flows, red, white and nobody’s blue.

From the snowstorm steps an embarrassed Yeti; getting warm as he stamps off his feet, and beard … underneath which he’s red-faced, alone on this day.

No one cares, though!  Least of all, all of the others:  the Valentine’s dress and the keening example, and me, alone also, enjoying this day …


TGI

from Slice / Life (annoyances, episodes)
by Jeff Glovsky

The shouts continue.

“Extra caramel macchiato!”.  “Grande, triple latte chai!”.  “A ‘skinny’ decaf Frap, light ice!”.

“…three ‘pumps’, with extra ‘room’ please?”

And nobody’s embarrassed!

All these selfish inhalations, spoiled preferences, demands.  How do they purge themselves?  Expel such waste?

The stupid, herd-like slobs!  All waiting docilely in line for “coffee”…filling up the popcorn store (…a ‘popcorn store’!), the yogurt shops…

Thank God I date alone.

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by Jeff Glovsky, Poetry, Writing

Members Lounge

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PoloJPGRandom Poetix from

Writers-Network
***
Let's Make Babies in 2 0 1 5
Whore Touches Self

( À Charles )

Whore touches self
on parts infected with
stains of old lovers,
vile caresses…

Moldy lips cleft,
shriveled flesh,
try to smile;
parted thighs repel,
reveal
sadness, sickness, deep inside.

Whore touches self now,
applying youth magic…
remembering long agos,
drying dimmed holes


Alison

Blonde — whiskey-laughing,
nicotine husk and
drunken smile (out of head!)
invites me to a moistened world…

Affirms me and accepts me there;
aroused appraisal,
more to share,
firm curves! And ripened
testament to sin:

Begin with nape,
atingling down to
ridges, bold and true;
still down further,
apple bounty: Pointed,
ripe and two.

From there, we ride
the delta plain
(it’s there where stains are common oopses… !)
Flaring fortress down below
surrounds the place
I want to go…

There!
Yearning long-ways,
smiling pinkly,
inside deep, recurring
nightly in my head,
the chance to bed blonde
Alison, all in
virgin blue and
red from heat
beneath the neon…

Moon and Jazz Blue drift Manhattan.
Mornings out and up
with tea and
thoughts of lustful
revelry, and
Alison.

But not with me.


Hot Nude Fish

Hot nude fish, you know
who you’re, yeah
you, who hotly flop, who
heated, heed the sounds I make
while hinting (hotly)
toward your hed’nist
bents.

Spent, flopping!
heat and fish-like, scent
of learning, seed
of Life up in you

*Kiss!*

To
Hot Nude Fish!
what makes me
vast blue days less
empty…

Random Poetix on this page
Long Reads & Short Stories
©Jeff Glovsky

Always be a poet, even in prose.

– Charles Baudelaire

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by Jeff Glovsky, Writing

3 Monsters

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by Jeff Glovsky

Monsters

As I was sitting and having breakfast (trying), I’m privy to this overloud conversation:

“And it was just that hair, completely … unkissable! The way she carried herself, and that nose! I mean, the woman is just plug ugly.”

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Dumb Monsters

The Dutch roll out of bed like we do. Stuffy, they’ll throw wide their windows; chilled, then just their curtains, let some light in. In their red bathrobes…

They don’t have any shame, these Dutch! Red bathrobes, or red window dressings…All the same to them. White satin panties and a milk-fed grin…

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I’m Not the Monster

The chair tips and the child howls…Bangs its head on the edge of a table.

“HaHaHaHaHA!”, staccato, high-pitched burst of another one. “That was funny!”

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from Underwear Woman Digs the Sea and
SLICE / LIFE (annoyances, episodes) 

by Jeff Glovsky

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