The Glass Character

Friday, April 4, 2014

Daddy oh Daddy, oh

You do not do, you do not do

Any more, black shoe

In which I have lived like a foot

For thirty years, poor and white,

Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.

You died before I had time--

Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,

Ghastly statue with one gray toe

Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic

Where it pours bean green over blue

In the waters off beautiful Nauset.

I used to pray to recover you.

Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town

Scraped flat by the roller

Of wars, wars, wars.

But the name of the town is common.

My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.

So I never could tell where you

Put your foot, your root,

I never could talk to you.

The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.

Ich, ich, ich, ich,

I could hardly speak.

I thought every German was you.

And the language obscene

An engine, an engine

Chuffing me off like a Jew.

A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.

I began to talk like a Jew.

I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna

Are not very pure or true.

With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck

And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack

I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,

With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.

And your neat mustache

And your Aryan eye, bright blue.

Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--

Not God but a swastika

So black no sky could squeak through.

Every woman adores a Fascist,

The boot in the face, the brute

Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,

In the picture I have of you,

A cleft in your chin instead of your foot

But no less a devil for that, no not

Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.

I was ten when they buried you.

At twenty I tried to die

And get back, back, back to you.

I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,

And they stuck me together with glue.

And then I knew what to do.

I made a model of you,

A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.

And I said I do, I do.

So daddy, I'm finally through.

The black telephone's off at the root,

The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two--

The vampire who said he was you

And drank my blood for a year,

Seven years, if you want to know.

Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart

And the villagers never liked you.

They are dancing and stamping on you.

They always knew it was you.

Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Sign me up (but not over $100)

This is doing the rounds of the internet. Interesting stuff, and reminds me, most yearningly, of the old blue-splashy watercolor Dick and Jane illustrations of my childhood (though that was much later, of course).

1934 Montgomery Ward Catalogue

If you convert the prices to pound value at the time the prices are not so cheap. But more importantly consider the rise in the cost of living in such a short period of time, 78 years is not much in the context of history!

Amazing prices! Check the style of ladies dresses and shoes, but wait, check the order blank at the bottom of the page and see what it says about if you are married and the total is over $100.

1934 Catalog

"If customer is married and order totals more than $100, both husband and wife must sign, otherwise one signature only is required".

This is automatically interpreted as "oh, if the wife buys anything expensive her hubby has to approve it". But this could go the other way: it does say if "customer" is married, then says "both husband and wife" must sign. The customer might be the husband, after all.

Thus one partner can't go on a wild spending spree (coils of barbed wire, 74-cent shirts, day-old chicks) without the other one knowing about it. A practical arrangement, and probably a necessity during the privation of the 1930s. If we brought it back, it might just reduce the debt that destroys marriages more surely than infidelity.

Order The Glass Character from:

Thistledown Press

http://www.thistledownpress.com/html/search/genre/Fiction/the_glass_character_p580.cfm

Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/Glass-Character-Margaret-Gunning/dp/1927068886/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1395534131&sr=1-1&keywords=the+glass+character

Chapters/Indigo.ca

http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/the-glass-character/9781927068885-item.html?ikwid=the%2520glass%2520character%2520margaret%2520gunning&ikwsec=Home

Monday, March 31, 2014

What a douche!

This is the latest in a long, incredible line of ads aimed at women, presumably post-War. This absolutely baffled me at first (actually, it still does). It seems to be hinting, nay, stating that married women have a certain delicate little problem, one so offputting it can "ruin" a happy marriage.

Not to put too fine a point on it, their cunts stink.

We don't know why (except that we do!), as these are women who look to be clean and tidy, women who change their underwear daily and take baths. (And wash their hair in the sink and roll it up in a towel like a turban. Oh, I remember.)

I can only decipher this mystery as such: women smell so horrible and rank and offensive because they have had sex with their husbands. So it's HIS excrescenses that stink so much, except SHE gets the blame for it, and for breaking up the marriage.

So what's the solution (so to speak)? Why, Lysol Brand Disinfectant! You don't use it straight (or at least I don't think so), but add about a teaspoon to your "regular" douche, the douche you have every day because women's private parts are inherently smelly and foul.

I can only imagine how she'd smell THEN. Like a freshly-scrubbed kitchen floor, maybe, or a toilet that had just been swabbed out. A real turn-on, and obviously preferable to smelling like your husband's rotten festering day-old spooge.

Personally, I thought Lysol was for drinking when you're really desperate, or when the liquor store clerk throws you out for loitering. It goes well anywhere, most especially under a bridge, and with anything, namely Sterno. But for cunt hygiene, well, it's not the first thing I would have thought of.

But there is one thing I know, honorable readers (and forgive me for using the word cunt, it's the only one I could think of besides twat) - it's that stupid-ass HUSBAND who is the real douche, and for that, he deserves a Lysol enema so potent it will spurt out of his ears.

Love-quiz. . . For Married Folks Only

(This is a word-for-blotchy-word transcript of one of the many Lysol "Love Quiz" ads "for married folk only". The coy reference to "Lysol. . . every time" could only mean one thing.)

COULD THIS MARRIAGE HAVE BEEN SAVED?

A. Yes. . . had the wife taken heed of her husband's increasing coolness, known the secret of thorough feminine hygiene, kept herself lovely to love.

Q. What does feminine hygiene have to do with keeping married happiness?

A. Far more than some women realize. . . but the WISE wife has the assurance of complete daintiness when she uses "Lysol" brand disinfectant REGULARLY in the douche.

"Check these facts with your doctor. . . "

Q. Many women use a douche only now and then. Is regularity in douching so important?

A. Yes, indeed. . . it should be a routine procedure with every married woman, and always with "Lysol". Because it has marvelous deodorant properties due to its PROVEN ability to kill germs instantly on contact.

Q. How about homemade solutions, such as salt and water?

A. They are old-fashioned and ineffectual, not to be compared with "Lysol"'s scientific formula. "Lysol" has tested efficiency in contact with organic matter. It is both effective and safe for delicate tissues when used as directed.

ALWAYS USE "LYSOL" in the douche for its efficiency in combating both germs and odours. It will help you feel you have perfect grooming (for) romance.

Check these facts with your doctor (unintelligible)

Why 4 OUT OF 5 PREFER "LYSOL"!

For Feminine Hygiene use "Lysol" Every time

FREE BOOKLET!

(the rest unintelligible, but contains the word "Lysol" at least three times. The product name appears about ten times in the copy. So we won't forget.)

OK then, so this is a repeat of something I did awhile ago, but the same truths apply. Bizarre and obnoxious as advertising is now, it was infinitely worse then.

I'm sorry, it's late, but I had to show you this. I hope you can read the text. I had to look at it twice, or more likely about 600 times to believe what I was seeing.

Women were conned into believing they were so stinky and drippy, the only solution was to douche every day with LYSOL. What did they have, bugs up their vagina? Were their twats so desperately in need of disinfection?

The add doesn't say this, in fact nobody ever says it, but MEN are the main reason women get stinky in the first place. You try getting ejaculated into, and not smell like an elderly salmon.

This ad is more horrific than the one about "more doctors recommend Camels". But if it doesn't work as a douche, I guess you could always drink it.

(Discovery! This ad wasn't a fluke: now I find a slew of them. A whole sociological treatise! If a woman smells like a woman, her marriage is over. If she smells like Lysol, however. . . va-va-VOOM!)