Joshua Barkin

Square bottles with round holes.

I realize that nothing I say matters to anyone else on the entire planet. My opinions are useless and unfocused. I am an expert in nothing. I know nothing. I am confused about almost everything. I cannot, as an individual, ever possibly know everything, or even enough to make editorial commentary on the vast vast majority of things that exist in my world. This is a stupid document; it is meaningless drivel that I do not expect any of the several billion people on my planet to actually read. People who do read my rambling, incoherent dumbfuckery are probably just as confused as I am, if not moreso, as they are looking to my sorry ass for an opinion when they should be outside playing Frisbee with their dog or screwing their life partner or getting a dog or getting a life partner. Anyone who actually takes the time to read my bullshit probably deserves to ingest my fucked up and obviously mistaken opinions on whatever it is that I have written about.

I once stuck a Trident gum wrapper up my nose, and it had to be removed by Dr. Howie at the hospital. I'm allergic to cats, broccoli, avocados (but only slightly), lactose, and bee stings. I can wiggle my ears.

I used to drive a 1985 Toyota Celica... in the snow. I have AB (not technically BAs, because Latin does things backwords) degrees in Politics and Religion. I'll eat anything.

I'm a recovering Dr. Pepper addict (been sober 13 months). I live in Encino, Calif. The lady who cuts my hair says I must have a black person in my family tree (I don't think I do, with the exception of Bubba Robinson, a story that really needs a site of its own).

I once got suspended from high school for writing, "Jen is a douche bag" in a copy of The Jungle, and I got suspended in fourth grade for kicking Ethan in the balls. I almost never eat breakfast.

I know for a fact that Wisconsin is cold. I teach seventh graders twice a week and ninth graders once a week, and go to work at Torah Aura Productions (where I have a fancy title, which is mostly fancy because they let me make up my own title) five days a week. I played second base for my high school baseball team. I like Cheerios.

Jack the Rabbit and Weak Knees Willie, you know they're gonna be there
Ah, sloppy Sue and Big Bones Billie, they'll be comin' up for air
We're gonna play some pool, skip some school, act real cool
Stay out all night, it's gonna feel all right
So Rosie come out tonight, baby come out tonight
Windows are for cheaters, chimneys for the poor
Closets are for hangers, winners use the door
So use it Rosie, that's what it's there for
- Rosalita (come out tonite), by Bruce Springsteen


The Great Figure
Among the rain
and lights
I saw the figure 5
in gold
on a red
fire truck
moving
tense
unheeded
to gong clangs
siren howls
and wheels rumbling
through the dark city
-- William Carlos Williams


"Gibson . . . swings! And a fly ball to deep right field! This is gonna be a home run! Unbelievable! A home run for Gibson! And the Dodgers have won the game, 5-4! I don't believe what I just saw! . . . I don't believe what I just saw!" -- Jack Buck, CBS Radio, October 15, 1988


somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near;

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose;

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing;

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.
-- e.e. cummings