annie hall

Often I've been having dreams in which there is a normal interaction; it would me and usually some friends or a guy I like or think is cute. We'd be in a regular situation, but for whatever reason I'd start feeling really self conscious. In the dream I would feel fat, or be concerned with turning on my "good side." Then somehow I'd slip in and out of the dream and I'd physically feel my body through the same feeling of self consciousness of the dream, but in a quasi-awakened state. If i felt fat in the dream I would find myself stretching and feeling to see that my stomach was flat while I lied in bed. Its all akin to one of those cartoons where we would see an animal dreaming about chasing a rabbit or the like, and its legs are moving as if it was really running.

This kind of reminds me of that thing we learned about in class, where a part of our brain shuts down our muscle movement in order for us not to physically act our dreams, though this of course does not really apply here because a part of me knows I'm awake. (at least that part of me which becomes really embarassed soon after the dream is over.)

Because I had this dream a couple of nights ago I'm not sure what happened before the scene I'm about to describe. But that doesn't matter because what's to follow is weird enough!

This poem just appeared in my email box some days ago. It's by Charles Bukowski. I've heard of him plenty of times before, mostly from my angst ridden friend in high school, but have never read any of his stuff. Here's the poem I received:

The Crunch
by Charles Bukowski
from LOVE IS A DOG FROM HELL
1977

too much too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody.

laughter or
tears

haters
lovers

strangers with faces like
the backs of
thumb tacks

armies running through
streets of blood
waving winebottles
bayoneting and fucking
virgins.

an old guy in a cheap room
with a photograph of M. Monroe.

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock

people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one.

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners

it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone

untouched
unspoken to

watering a plant.

people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.

I suppose they never will be.
I don't ask them to be.

but sometimes I think about
it.

the beads will swing
the clouds will cloud
and the killer will behead the child
like taking a bite out of an ice cream cone.

too much
too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody

more haters than lovers.

people are not good to each other.
perhaps if they were
our deaths would not be so sad.

meanwhile I look at young girls
stems
flowers of chance.

there must be a way.

surely there must be a way that we have not yet
thought of.

who put this brain inside of me?

it cries
it demands
it says that there is a chance.

it will not say
"no."

The first thing that I noticed about the poem was its form. It has very short lines, sometimes ones made of just one word. The stanzas are very short as well. A lot of the lines are also enjambed, and only a few are end stopped. The diction used by the poet is very common; a lot of the words are short and don't have many sylablles. All this speaks to the rhythm of the poem. It reads very quickly, but its not choppy. He uses internal rhyme and some end rhyme throughout that allows the words to flow easily. For the most part anyway. There were some sections which felt a little awkward to say, but this was probably done on purpose. The content of the poem isn't conducive to a soft melodic sound. The way it reads reminds me of the title. The little stanzas themselves seem to have a "crunch" of their own.