1975 Art Institute is tactic for Odysseus to put off dealing with real world also investigate range of visual techniques gay instructor fruitlessly endeavors to ****** him he enjoys several affairs with beautiful girls yet Bayli haunts him main building of school is connected behind Art Institute of Chicago Odysseus spends lots of time looking at paintings Edward Hopper’s “Nighthawks” Gustave Caillebotte’s “Paris Street Rainy Day” Ivan Albright’s “Portrait of Dorian Gray” Jackson *******’s “Greyed Rainbow” Georgia O’Keeffe’s “Black Cross New Mexico” Francis Bacon’s “Figure with Meat” Pablo Picasso’s “The Old Guitarist” Balthus’s “Solitaire” Claude Monet’s “Stacks of Wheat” Paul Cezanne’s “The Bathers” Vincent Van Gogh’s “Self-Portrait” Edouard Manet’s “The Mocking of Christ” Henri Toulouse-Lautrec’s “At the Moulin Rouge” Robert Rauschenberg’s “Photograph” Mary Cassatt’s “The Child’s Bath” Peter Blume’s “The Rock” Ed Paschke’s “Mid America” Grant Wood’s “American Gothic” Jasper John’s “Near the Lagoon” and John Singer Sargent James McNeill Whistler Diego Rivera Marsden Hartley Thomas Eakins Winslow Homer his 2nd year at Art Institute involves student teaching during day then at night working as waiter at Ivanhoe Restaurant and Theater gay managers teach him to make Caesar salad tableside and other flamboyant tasks wait staff are all gay men once more Odysseus experiences bias from homosexual regime he is assigned restaurant’s slowest sections it bothers him the way some gay men venomously condescend women and their bodies Odysseus loves women especially their bodies he thinks about how much easier his life would be if he was gay in 1976 the art world is managed by gay curators gay art dealers he wonders if he could be gay yet not realize it can a person be gay but not attracted to one’s own ***? Ivanhoe hires variety of night club acts one night he watches Tom Waits perform on piano in lounge Odysseus feels inspired in 1977 he graduates with teacher’s certification he considers all the sacrifices teachers make and humiliating salaries they put up with he does not want to teach candidly he feels he has nothing yet to teach teaching degree was Mom’s idea Odysseus wants to learn grow paint after Art Institute he flip-flops between styles his artwork suffers from too much schooling and scholastic practice it takes years to find his own voice he has tendency to be self-effacing put himself down often he will declare what do i know? i’m just a stupid painter one topic artists do not like talking about is their failures how much money they cost creation requires resource paint and canvas can be expensive how much money is spent on harebrained ideas that never pan out? most artists resort to cheap or used materials few can afford their dreams he gets job selling encyclopedias that job lasts about 5 weeks then he finds job selling posters at framing store on Broadway between Barry and Wellington Salvador Dali Escher Claude Monet prints are the rage his manager accuse him of lacking initiative being spacey after several months he gets laid off he finds job waiting tables during lunch shift at busy downtown restaurant other waiters are mostly old men from Europe they play cards with each other in between shifts teach Odysseus how to carry 6 hot plates on one arm and 2 in his other hand the job is hectic but money is good experience educates differently than books and college a university degree cannot teach what working in the real world confronts people learn most when they are nobodies he reads Sartre’s “Being And Nothingness” he wants to discover who he is by finding out who he is not often he rides bicycle along lakefront taking different routes sometimes following behind an anonymous bicyclist possibly to come across new way he does not know or to marvel at another person’s interest

truth is this life is too difficult for me the violence hatred turf wars tribalism laws judgments practices rules permits history i’m not prepared emotionally to withstand the realities of this world not equipped psychologically to deal with the stresses of this world not prepared emotionally to withstand the realities of this world not equipped psychologically to deal with the stresses of this world i’m sorry am i repeating myself i apologize i’m not prepared emotionally to withstand the realities of this world not equipped psychologically to deal with the stresses of this world god please protect teach me strength courage fairness compassion wisdom love i’m not prepared emotionally to withstand the realities of this world not equipped psychologically to deal with the stresses of this world

buy divinity purchase devotion earn reward points own 4 bedroom loft with roof garden deck porch pool parking in paradise’s gated community pay for exclusive membership into sainthood become part of inner circle influence determine fate destiny of everything step up to the plate sign on the line immortalize yourself feel the privileges of eternal holiness i’m living inside a nightmare inside a nightmare inside a nightmare hello? i am dizzy in my own self-deceptions lost in my own self-deceptions alone in my own self-deceptions there was a time once but that time is gone there was a place once but that place has vanished there was a life once but that life is spent remember when things were different truth is i’m weak skittish anxious alienated paranoid scared to death pagan idiot stop

breath deeply push stale air out imagine kinder more respectful loving world please god do your stuff angels throw your weight around clean up this mess planets align stars shine ancient spirits raise your voices magic work there are words when spoken can change everything words rooted to spiritual nerves if voiced in  particular order secret passwords capable of setting off persuasions in the mind threads to the heart if a person can figure out which words what order tone of voice rate of pronunciation time of day then that person can summon powers of the supernatural Isis goddess of celestial sway of words whisper secret earth water fire air reveal your alchemy winter spring summer autumn teach about passages patterns sublime eastern western sun fickle moody moon unveil your heavenly equation north south east west  beat the drums blow winds show the path to healing path of the heart blood dirt hair *** bare the mystery of your trance dance the ghost dance sacred woman with ovaries cycles flow smell beautiful girl eyes sweetness strange awkward skinny scruffy boy great bear spirit bird jumping fish wise turtle where are you why is there no one to back me? jean paul sartre what was your last thought before you died? was it nausea? nothingness? or a wish?

this canvas
watercolor memories
diluted dreams
washed away
with the tears.
careless strokes
of misused brushes
smudged the palette
on the linen
of our history.

old photographs
polaroid moments
stuck in time
where darkness
won't fade to light.
shake us up
but it's way too late.
frozen smiles
of strangers
won't change our fate.

Unpublished work © 2010 Kimberly Rae Albright

So if you want to know upfront,
Then, you should know
That a reasoned selection process was used,
The music was cherry-picked,
Three perfect compact discs,
Hanging there from the branch,
(Actually CD stack storage)
And me, with a sativa buzz,
Working nicely, grazie mille.
I sit down to write another one of my “fakakta” poems.
The music?
Three crystal gems
Liquid pearls, all of great price.
To wit: (1) “The Best of Joe Cocker,”
(Joe died last year, and
Don’t we/Shouldn’t we
Consider him a close associate,
A kid we grew up with?)
(2) “A Twist of Marley,”
A “Verve Music” product,
Brilliant conception!
Montego Bay gone South Chicago,
A sweet instrumental miscegenation--
A potent, wicked fusion of reggae & jazz--
Manifested by Dave Grusin,
Gerald Albright, Lee Ritenour, & Others.
And last, but not even close to being least,
(3) “MILES DAVIS Kind of Blue.”
Lest we forget Norman Jewison’s
Homage to Mambo Brooklyn Italiano
Cher & her wacky greaseball family:
The Castorinis.
The Cammareri.
The Cappomaggios.
Did I hear someone say “*** Stereotype?”
Bam! A double “Moonstruck” slap,
Just to remind you:
“I’m talkin’ here.”

Lest we forget:
Coltrane blew tenor sax
Both March & April 1959 sessions,
Columbia 30th Street Studio,
New York City.
And if you've heard
"Freddie Freeloader," a
Sizzler solid 9 minutes & 49 seconds,
I think it’s probably a good time
To go check to see if you
Left the garden hose on.
BAM!
Now do I have your attention?

We pensive Boomers--
We take stock.
We ponder the clock, a
Vexatious tick-tock
Arctic soundtrack,
Music in the key of winter of
Our discontent/content.
YOU MUST CHOOSE ONE!
Time to script your buggering off,
Time to settle in
On an exit strategy.
“Yes, hurry up, it's time.” screams T.S. Eliot,
From an English major’s
Vast wasteland archive.
The scoreboard reads 4th Quarter now.
We ruminant Boomers,
Facing up to it at last, are we?
To be or not: a serene letting go, or
“Rage against the dying of the light?”
Dylan chimes in:
Thomas, meet Thomas.
Oprah, Uma.

So you should know upfront,
I got a great buzz on.
The music is groovy.
This poem ends here.

Alexandra Road is found in the sea-side town of St. Ives, England. Russell Albright was found sitting on a bench on sunny Alexandra Road reading a 'Sunday Express' dated Sunday, 8th, July, 1962. Russell was a well-known Teddy Boy around the town, a cut-above all the others for miles around, always having the tallest creepers, the most flamboyant pompadour and the slickest suit. Role model Russell was epitomized by the young mollycoddle Teddy Boys and Girls and even the one his own age of 18.

Russel Albright sat alone smoking a Marlboro Red while reading about the 1962 French Grand Prix that was held at Rouen-Les-Essarts, but before finishing he was interrupted by the voice of Miles Welch, a boy two and a half years Russell's junior. 'Hey Russ, were you at the record shop lately?' asked Miles in a small, high voice. Miles looked somewhat in awe as Russell slowly lowered the newspaper as if it was a shield. 'Not since Tuesday' Russell replied coolly. 'Oh, well they just got in that new Bobby Vinton record' Miles said quickly, then saw the intensity in Russell's eyes. 'Not that *****, Welch' sighed Russell in near disgust. Miles' eyes opened wide and he stuttered out; 'They also have the new Francoise Hardy record, Russ'. Russell let out a faint glimmer of what could be called a smile. 'That's more like it, Welch, my son' he said, as if to repair the boy's feelings. Then Russell rummaged through his breast pocket and produced a Marlboro packet. 'Wanna a cigg?' he inquired. 'Yeah, sure, thanks Russ' answered a lit up Miles, popping the little white stick between his teeth, and sat down as Russell cupped his match-holding hands to light up the end. In a mushroom-cloud of smoke, Russell stood up, tall and skinny, and cocked his head in the direction of the record down the road, 'Shall we?' he asked Miles, in a false posh manner that made Miles smile. They walked to the shop.

The record shop was owned by Marshall Chapman, and it was always never empty, there was forever a bustle of teenagers in and out, buying the latest things that were in the charts. Marshall was in his mid-forties and somewhat of a gentle giant, he never really got into any rumbles, but this was most likely because of his great stature. He was always happy to see Russell in the shop, not just because kids would see him buying a certain things, and they'd fallow-suit, but the two were good mates. 'Alright, Russy boy? bellowed Marshall, upon seeing Russell enter the shop. 'Just dynamite, Marshall, and a little birdie told me about the new Francoise Hardy that you may have', Russell said Francoise Hardy in a French accent. Marshall put his massive hands into a drawer under the desk and fished out the record for Russell,'Oh, nothing but the finest for you'. Russell looked around the shop and was stunned in the headlights of a women standing at the other end, he tried to keep his legendary cool. 'I am a miracle worker expecting a miracle right now' Russell said to Marshall, looking at the cute blonde girl, and he walked over to her. She was tall, even without the heels. Marshall watched from a distanced as Russell stood over her, whispering sometime in her ear. The two then walked towards Marshall, who handed Russell the key to the backroom.

oh heavy heart
painfilled
I’m drowning
in the emptiness
of my lonely despair.

oh heavy heart
breathless
I’m suffocating
with the sounds
of my mournful sighs.

oh heavy heart
oppressed
I’ve collapsed
under the weight
of my desperate thoughts.

oh heavy heart
my heavy heart


Unpublished work © 2010 Kimberly Rae Albright

Thrown aside shattered, broken…
I’m in tiny pieces
A reflection of a half lived existence
of one great big sad lie.

it’s funny what we settle for
in times where we want more.
it’s clever that your words are exactly
what my ears have longed to hear.
it’s sad that all they’ll ever be are meaningless.
promises you made but never meant to keep.

I’m in pieces here
disregarded
you left me on my own.
I’m in pieces here
I gave you all my love
but you don’t want it anymore.

Ego bruised, Heart torn
the melancholy of me blows restless
on these winds of change.
I’m not sure how I can carry on.

it’s crazy the lengths we go to
just to keep from being alone.
it’s maddening how easy
you can walk right out that door.
it’s scary to fall so helpless
into the darkness of what’s no more.

I’m in pieces here
disregarded
you left me on my own.
I’m in pieces here
I gave you all my love
but you don’t want it anymore.

you don’t want me anymore.

Unpublished work © 2010 Kimberly Rae Albright

Did you know
the average person
spends only five seconds at a piece of art?

A mere glimpse of Albright’s Dorian Gray
his phantasmal and grotesque visage
silently screaming horror

Only a look at Litchenstein’s pulp women
straw-yellow hair and ivory word bubbles abound
their comic book stories told within one panel

A sighting of Breton’s Lark
a dying sun sinking into the horizon behind her
her tired, shadowy eyes awaiting the next one’s arrival

All these fleeting moments betray art
for they do not deserve seconds
they have earned centuries

Lesley Stahl on U.S. sanctions against Iraq: "We have heard that a half million children have died. I mean, that's more children than died in Hiroshima. And, you know, is the price worth it?"; Secretary of State Madeleine Albright: "I think this is a very hard choice, but the price--we think the price is worth it." — "60 Minutes" (5/12/96)

Christmas morning
I found a deflated
balloon with a knot.

Baffled initially, but
I figured that Santa
used it as a ******.

Me love white Yankee conquerors with ****** B & ricin nerve gas
who ****** all my **** family long time ago in long-time-ago past
when it wasn't kooky to alphabetize ***** as **** A, B or **** E*


Teleprompter-reader Lesley Stahl on U.S. sanctions against Iraq: "We have heard that a half million children have died. I mean, that's more children than died in Hiroshima. And, you know, is the price worth it?"; Secretary of State Madeleine Albright: "I think this is a very hard choice, but the price--we think the price is worth it." — *60 Minutes (5/12/96)

Lesley Stahl on U.S. sanctions against Iraq:

"We have heard that a half million children have died. I mean, that's more children than died in Hiroshima. And, you know, is the price worth it?"

Secretary of State Madeleine Albright: "I think this is a very hard choice, but the price--we think the price is worth it."

— "60 Minutes" (5/12/96)

Teleprompter-reader Lesley Stahl on U.S. sanctions against Iraq: "We have heard that a half million children have died. I mean, that's more children than died in Hiroshima. And, you know, is the price worth it?"; Secretary of State Madeleine Albright: "I think this is a very hard choice, but the price--we think the price is worth it." — 60 Minutes (5/12/96)

Teleprompter-reader Lesley Stahl on U.S. sanctions against Iraq: "We have heard that a half million children have died. I mean, that's more children than died in Hiroshima. And, you know, is the price worth it?"; Secretary of State Madeleine Albright: "I think this is a very hard choice, but the price--we think the price is worth it." — 60 Minutes (5/12/96)

Lesley Stahl on U.S. sanctions against Iraq: "We have heard that a half million children have died. I mean, that's more children than died in Hiroshima. And, you know, is the price worth it?"; Secretary of State Madeleine Albright: "I think this is a very hard choice, but the price -- we think the price is worth it." — 60 Minutes (5/12/96)

Teleprompter-reader Lesley Stahl on U.S. sanctions against Iraq:

"We have heard that a half million children have died. I mean, that's more children than died in Hiroshima. And, you know, is the price worth it?"

Secretary of State Madeleine Albright: "I think this is a very hard choice, but the price--we think the price is worth it."

— 60 Minutes (5/12/96)

One must go on working
And one must have patience
I take daily steps
When I fly, I fly by night

One must go on working
I lived among the Asians
Never been to UTEP
Don't know Madeleine Albright

One must go on working
Poems among the nations
No street cred, No street rep
Just Gatsby's great green light.