Galatea of the Spheres
—Painting by Salvador Dali
—Poetry by Jon Wesick, Woburn, MA
GEOGRAPHY OF DREAMS
Sleep dissolves the membrane of space and time so whenever I drive through Holland, I park the car and walk along a jetty, past gleaming blue water, to Hong Kong where I wander Kowloon’s back alleys and marvel at neon lights and outdoor cafes. Bubble tea in hand, I enter the hotel lobby with a buffalo head mounted over a granite fireplace, to read Italo Calvino. They say Doc Holiday shot it with a Spencer repeating rifle in 1889.
The hills, climbing like lions out of the harbor to pounce on the Star Ferry, take me to Vancouver’s waterfront with its hemlock, cedar, and nude beach. I feel one of its devotee’s warm flesh under the blanket with me. Even though we’re both naked, she’ll reject me if I reach for her. She whispers a confession but I stuff her vulva into my ears to avoid hearing of her betrayal.
Betrayal! Betrayal! The disappointment of a failed career! After metal walls, concrete floors, and a confusion of electronic dynamos each humming a sixty-Hertz aria, I’m back at university taking freshman physics over and over again. My only job offer is from a landscape no one would dream about. After that falls apart, I live in a studio apartment with grimy walls, ripped chairs, and a card table in the kitchen. It’s smaller than my other apartment, the one farther from campus with a parking garage. I’ve forgotten where the big one is and don’t remember when the rent is due.
Sleep dissolves the membrane of space and time so whenever I drive through Holland, I park the car and walk along a jetty, past gleaming blue water, to Hong Kong where I wander Kowloon’s back alleys and marvel at neon lights and outdoor cafes. Bubble tea in hand, I enter the hotel lobby with a buffalo head mounted over a granite fireplace, to read Italo Calvino. They say Doc Holiday shot it with a Spencer repeating rifle in 1889.
The hills, climbing like lions out of the harbor to pounce on the Star Ferry, take me to Vancouver’s waterfront with its hemlock, cedar, and nude beach. I feel one of its devotee’s warm flesh under the blanket with me. Even though we’re both naked, she’ll reject me if I reach for her. She whispers a confession but I stuff her vulva into my ears to avoid hearing of her betrayal.
Betrayal! Betrayal! The disappointment of a failed career! After metal walls, concrete floors, and a confusion of electronic dynamos each humming a sixty-Hertz aria, I’m back at university taking freshman physics over and over again. My only job offer is from a landscape no one would dream about. After that falls apart, I live in a studio apartment with grimy walls, ripped chairs, and a card table in the kitchen. It’s smaller than my other apartment, the one farther from campus with a parking garage. I’ve forgotten where the big one is and don’t remember when the rent is due.
The Persistence of Memory
—Painting by Salvador Dali
SALVADOR DALI’S RESTAURANT
Soups and Salads
Tossed Batteries
Circuit Breaker Caprese
Diode Niçoise
Rectifier Chowder
Voltage Divider Bisque
Inductor Mushroom
Entrées
Smart Phone Étouffée—A modern reimagining of the classic Lobster Telephone, tender Android phones harvested from the banks of the East China Sea and served over a bed of steamed germanium in an electrolyte sauce thickened with a blonde roux
TTL Tempura—Bipolar junction transistors dipped in batter and panko, deep-fried to a golden brown, and served with a dielectric dipping sauce
Blackened Circuit Breaker—Artisanal components dredged in Cajun spices and seared with 50 amps shorted to ground
BBQ Op Amp—Grain-fed transistors slow-cooked over a mesquite fire and topped with a silicon reduction
Strain Gauge au Vin—Free-range transducers with mushrooms and baby potatoes in a white wine sauce
Desserts
Cathode Ray Tube au Chocolat
Photomultiplier Tube Tarte
Ice Cream: Chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry
Soups and Salads
Tossed Batteries
Circuit Breaker Caprese
Diode Niçoise
Rectifier Chowder
Voltage Divider Bisque
Inductor Mushroom
Entrées
Smart Phone Étouffée—A modern reimagining of the classic Lobster Telephone, tender Android phones harvested from the banks of the East China Sea and served over a bed of steamed germanium in an electrolyte sauce thickened with a blonde roux
TTL Tempura—Bipolar junction transistors dipped in batter and panko, deep-fried to a golden brown, and served with a dielectric dipping sauce
Blackened Circuit Breaker—Artisanal components dredged in Cajun spices and seared with 50 amps shorted to ground
BBQ Op Amp—Grain-fed transistors slow-cooked over a mesquite fire and topped with a silicon reduction
Strain Gauge au Vin—Free-range transducers with mushrooms and baby potatoes in a white wine sauce
Desserts
Cathode Ray Tube au Chocolat
Photomultiplier Tube Tarte
Ice Cream: Chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry
The Burning Giraffe
—Painting by Salvador Dali
SOME MINOR ANNOYANCES
E-mails from “an unknown admirer” who’s sent me a picture
Laundry left in coin-operated driers for hours after it’s done
A shopper’s overflowing cart arriving at the checkout an instant before me
When that shopper pays with a check, phone calls from “unavailable”
Waiting for the caller to pause so I can say “No”
People chatting with bank tellers for twenty minutes while I
wait in line, neighbors who scream “Yeah!”
People chewing with their mouths open, stopping to talk in front of exits,
or plodding side by side down the sidewalk
Crowded planes, middle seats, no room
in the overhead bin, the prices at airport restaurants, some jerk
in the Hertz courtesy van shouting a sales pitch into his cell phone
Ten pages of contract at the rental car counter, a new
type of charge on my credit card bill
Traffic jams on Sundays, bicyclists running red lights, motorcycles
scooting between lanes, SUVs blocking my view, idiots
that come out of nowhere doing ninety in the right-hand lane
The pickup truck with a battering-ram bumper as high as my head
Fad diets, miracle cures, get-rich-quick schemes, those phony
grassroots organizations that act as shills for special interests
Sick people coughing without covering their mouths, waiters
with the flu, the smell of cigarette smoke, filling out the same stupid
health-insurance form every time I go to the doctor
Congressmen who respond with form letters, candidates
who promise to run government like a business
Anytime Trump opens his mouth
Tuna Fishing
—Painting by Salvador Dali
THIRTY-NINE WAYS TO SAY FUCK YOU
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Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee Around
a Pomegranate a Second Before Waking
—Painting by Salvador Dali
LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA
First acquire all needed vaccinations.
Get to the restaurant early
and inspect it for cleanliness.
When your date arrives,
hold her chair and remain standing
until she sits.
Peel uncooked fruits and vegetables.
Avoid salads, shellfish, and ice cubes.
Compliment your date’s hair
and choice of clothing.
Drink only bottled water.
At the hotel, sterilize the TV remote
with disinfectant wipes.
Examine sheets,
pillows, and headboards
for bedbugs. As a precaution
against infestation, seal suitcases
and clothing in plastic bags.
Since latex will prevent most
but not all STDs,
interrogate your partner
about her sexual history.
Before commencing foreplay
roll on the condom
following manufacturer’s instructions.
If hands or mouth
exhibit cuts, rashes, or broken skin,
use vinyl gloves or a dental dam.
You are now ready to proceed.
After the sexual act, grasp
the condom’s base during withdrawal
to prevent spillage.* Dispose of it
in a leak-proof container.
Wash your hands in warm soapy water
before returning to bed.
Relax.
Bask in the warmth and oneness.
Tell your partner you love her.
*Should spillage occur, follow the decontamination procedure outlined in Appendix A.
Jon Wesick
Today’s LittleNip:
Surrealism is destructive, but it destroys only what it considers to be shackles limiting our vision.
—Salvador Dali
_______________________
Welcome to Medusa’s Kitchen, Jon! Jon Wesick is a regional editor of the San Diego Poetry Annual. He’s published hundreds of poems and stories in journals such as the Atlanta Review, Berkeley Fiction Review, Metal Scratches, Pearl, Slipstream, Space and Time, Tales of the Talisman, and Zahir. The editors of Knot Magazine nominated his story, “The Visitor”, for a Pushcart Prize. His poem, “Meditation Instruction”, won the Editor’s Choice Award in the 2016 Spirit First Contest. Another poem, “Bread and Circuses”, won second place in the 2007 African American Writers and Artists Contest. “Richard Feynman’s Commute” shared third place in the 2017 Rhysling Award’s short poem category. Jon is the author of the poetry collection, Words of Power, Dances of Freedom, as well as several novels and most recently the short-story collection, The Alchemist’s Grandson Changes His Name. See more about Jon at jonwesick.com/.
Welcome to the Kitchen, Jon, and don’t be a stranger!
Today at 3pm, Lincoln Poets Club presents an online open mic, hosted by David Anderson. Please RSVP at dcajla80@gmail.com/. Zoom: us02web.zoom.us/j/82816858339?pwd=VHdhYU1aeS96Mkh6MWdQbWhyVnZBUT09/. Meeting ID: 828 1685 8339; Passcode: 401798.
For comments on today’s paintings by Salvador Dali, go to www.virtosuart.com/blog/salvador-dali-art/.
________________________
—Medusa
Jon Wesick
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