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G. David Schwartz
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Tattoos And Memory
11/02/03

Tattoos are stained from an inky substance, etched into flesh, virtually permanent, yet superficial. Soldiers, sailors and vagrants acquire tattoos for a sense of permanency. Anchors or ribbons boasting 'Mother' are particularly ironic. Both are mooring and both are ink committed to flesh.

Compare a tattoo, which is painful to apply and takes a significant amount of time, with memory. Retrospection, too, may be painful but while memory does not take a long time to apply may encompass quite a bit of span?

Memory is neither strictly personal, chosen as a tattoo might be, nor necessarily aesthetic. The pain of memory suggests it is as subjective as application of a tattoo. Memory, unlike a tattoo, is not superficial.

Whatever we remember we remember because of its importance, or its trace along with something important.

The assertion that memory is not superficial may strike one as odd inasmuch as memory has all the characteristics of superficiality. Memory is fleeting. Memories may be modified. They are largely hidden whereas tattoos are exposed. Nevertheless, tattoos are largely the result of a personal preference. We choose a tattoo whereas a memory more often than not seems to choose us.

Although Jimmy Buffet suggested that tattoos are chosen when in a state of inebriation, they are certainly the portraits of an artists' ability. Memory is not the result of any one person's skill but the consequence of receiving and assessing (and possibly projecting) experience.

The primary reason memory is not superficial is precisely because it is not strictly personal. When a human being dies, for example, not only memory but also, to some extent, the memories of the person survive. Wakes and family gatherings after a funeral consist largely of sharing memories the living have of the deceased. The living also repeat and spread memories that the dearly departed told while alive. While these are largely reports of what the deceased did while alive, they are also statements of stories the departed told. Upon death, on the other hand, a tattoo is simply irrelevant.

Whereas tattoos are always superficial while alive and irrelevant when dead, memories are always available in some form of another. They may continually be appraised, researched, repeated, and act as contributory to future experiences. Tattoos are not even particularly self-expressive.

Memories express the self as well as the surrounding selves. A person entering a tattoo parlor, even if sober, may or may not be in search of a particular design. In either case, her or his eventual choice is limited to the skills of the artist. An anchor, a ship, a floral design, a skull and crossbones, a spider's web which winds from the elbow to the biceps and wrist are experiences the subject undergoes but not particularly expressive. Nor is it particular persuasive to regard the spider's web as evocative.

The subject, especially is drunk, may simply have thought the catalog etchings of the artist's repertoire were interesting. A tattoo is rarely, then, eloquent, much less self-expressive. This is not to say a tattoo may not be ostentatious. They can. However, the spider web as little denotes an evil personality as the floral design snuggling the word 'mother' expresses love. It is the design which is important; a pattern as at home on a flimsy piece of paper, wadded and throws away as poor art, as on the flesh. Indeed, the tattoo generally begins as a decoration on a certificate. Even the epidermis is an afterthought.

The only thing the tattoo expresses is the otherwise irrelevant fact that the subject is willing to undergo a certain amount of pain.

On This Land Of Steel Eyed Battle
11/25/03

On this land of steel eyed battle
Where the thunder hates the rattle
Shivers dread through stars and cattle
She calls me gentle.

On this earth of grappling weapons
Each crude practice wins a mention
And houses shade ones every deception
And she called me gentle.

In this wood where eyes pierce dazes
In this thought where sins dance gaily
In this world where life is gentle
In between we must double

Bad News
01/02/04

Bad news travels by threes
But problems occur
Either one at a time
Or in multiples of four

When boys were boys and men were men
There must have been some woman then
But when boys were boys and men were men
The women were called ladies

Boys were boys and men were men
The ladies were the women then
And here's another though my friend
The babies were called babies

I'll bet the chicken and the hen
Were called the hen and the chicken then
Boys were boys and men were men
And women were called ladies

The barn was called a barn, and then
The apples were just apples again
And on and on again and again
The babies were called babies

When boys were boys and men were men
The planets were the planets then
Geraniums Geranium
And gratings were called grating

The stars were stars, but now and then
They called them orbs, and once and again
The night have called them Orion
But ladies were still ladies

The nanny goat were named right then
And ginger snaps were ginger then
Unmentionables were unmentioned
And Hades still was Hades

Yes boys were boys and men were men
But I believed and imagined
I'd miss the boyishness of men
And the laziness of ladies

He Was So Sad
01/12/04

He was so sad

He became a cloud.

And rained on enough friends

That they all ran out

So then he became a giant puff of smoke

But the rush of crowds

Made his own trail go

And so he became

A forgotten thought

But people stopped truing

And now he is not.

You
05/10/04

You let me get your morning juice
And gladly help with coffee
This is to say more actually
You chance to be all sloppy
But when is comes to changing you
You stretch your lungs for mommie to do

You let m put the coffee
It's hot, 'n that you knew, 'n
Then you called out for the bowl
Of sugar and the spoon
But when it came to breakfast you
Again called for mommie

You helped me put the cream right in
And stirred it two or three swoops
Which made, of course, half my drink
Spill across the counter, oops
But when it came to dressing you
Once mire you cry for mommie

Oh my sweet darling love
Just a note of thanks
I will always remember this
That you save the worse for mom
And the best you do give
To mom as well!

You Can Not Sell Shadows
05/15/05

You cannot sell shadows
And you cannot seek emptiness
You cannot turn your eyes blue
But you can make everyone love you
You cannot plead insanity
You cannot be old yet fast
You cannot ever remember birthdays
So don not think you can swing in grass
You cannot find answers
You cannot seek explorations
You cannot be entwined in marriage
But you can do mastication
You cannot do anything
You cannot read from books
And you cannot stop doing anything
That you find in looks
You cannot do robbery
Thought you do thieve time
And you cannot forget snobbery
Till you are drinking wine

She Wrote Me A Poem
07/08/05

She wrote me a poem
About an event long ago
One I have forgotten
Or left in the snow

It spoke of a poetic scholar
Who certainly was not be
All my essays are deep
In philosophy

But she is so very kind
Certainly at certain times
That I will have to thank her
For her free verse rhymes

She says the philosopher has a dry wit
Well let it be as it must
She is wise and intelligent
And so her I will trust

I won't dare tell her that I think
She is so very attractive
That is why in there I am so active
For yes I am a philosopher

So says my masters degree
But how will that explain why I
Am enthralled with poetry
Actually I am not

Tis her which is sought
But I can't come out and say it
Firstly because I do not have a rhyme with
Chauvinist pig

Electric Spirits
01/01/06

Eclectic spirits wait in the hall
An listen to the doors of gloom
And instance, just instances
Running into the forsaken room.

Eclectic spirits are never dull
And never made of light
But are also never truthful;
But stand in the depth of blight

Electric spirits stand alone
Seeking dreams of perfection
Listening to the dreary dreams
Of friendly inattention

Eclectic spirits do not ride the train
And that is one reason why
The lights do never really go out
Even when the truth has died

A Voice Under Water
09/21/06

I've been singing for you
Hope you feel it too
For all my entire life
At leady the last twenty years
I have been singing for you.

I wonder why fish don't fly
And I care truly that you get gloomy
And for all my entire life
I have wanted you by my side
And I have been singing for you

But my life is not fortunate
So unfortunately not smarter
I have pleased for you
As sure an as true
As a voice under water

Bob Schockler
01/01/07

Bob Schockler
I never knew
If you were bold or
If you were not true

I may have got a wind
A notion of it then
If they called you Robert
And if you had a yen

To grow to be a philosopher
Somewhat like me
Or a guitar player
Something like Robert McGee

Well now to be honest
I never knew a Robert McGee
So I am sure
I never knew me

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