BLOCKHEAD: An Unedited Brain Dump Before the Memories Fade

By August Franza

BLOCKHEAD is made up of stories, poems, essays, nudgies, and brickbats.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369402597

August Franza

August Franza writes and writes and writes... and keeps writing.

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Copyright © 2023 by August Franza.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 07/10/2023

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

The Wallet (Eros)

What Actually Happens

Vocal

At Bat

No Doggy Bag

The Mueller Report

Verborama

Pack Up The Books

Whac-A-Mole

Pistol Packin’ Amerika

How’s Your Hubcaps?

Gimme

The Burning

Nobody Knows

No Garbage Collection Today

47

The Haircut

Reciting The Mysteries

Summer School Fool

Pome Make Me Smile

Hitchhiker

History Of Ears

High Tide

Becoming

Take A Gander

My Fave

How Dare?

Nitwit’s Wit

Madge Assaults Max

James Joyce

Morass

Money’s Not Our Guiding Principle

A Girl And Me

What’s To Become Of Them?

Are You Happy?

Hell And Heaven

Red Blend

Well, He Said Noncommittally

The Prize

Piazza San Marco: The Money

The Tall Man

Romping Thru

Trumpworld Decoded

Her Blue Windows

That’s Right. That’s How It Is.

Hey! It’s Me!

Amount Due

SK

Mouth

Alfredo Demands

Weird Tingling Numbness: The Dream Is On

A Sweet Languor

The Last Poem

Warm Feet

Hallucinations

Guglhupf

The Poems He Wrote After His Death Were Better

After The Mgr’s Rum Punch Party

Bite The Bullet

The Identity Of The 4Th Man In The Photo Is Unknown

Dripping From Our Chins

Kayraykhkuhko

Siege: The End Of Donald Trump

Tone Deaf

An Old Dog For A Hard Ride

Things Thought, Felt, Seen, And Heard

Encantado

Face It, Let’s

Saving Kathy Acker

A Thrill A Second

Get Out While You Can

In The Lobby

Duration Of Tones

Milestone

Invigorating

The Theft Of The Mona Lisa

Out There

In Here

The End Of The World At This Time

Moon June Tomb Doom Howl

Open Carry

Accomplice To A Crime

The Night Of The White Moon

Trauma –Big!

Poetry Will Never

It Always Amazes

Symphony #2

Standing Water

Temptation

The Grass The Tree The Mountain The Moon

Clazy Druvels

At The Academy

Hamlet, Prince Of Denmark

Blood Doesn’t Say It All

The Lecture

The Writer

Max Trump Luigi Boccherini Cvs And Her

They Were Alone

Easter Sunday

Not Coca Cola

Life Of The Be

Tell Him One More Time What To Do

Head Face Arm Hand Leg Ankle

Your Turn

Now Carrying

She

Shadow Of Fallen Columns

The Computer Guy Knows Everything

Personal Hygiene

Deep Flush

Closing The Umbrella

Grinning Gaffs

444-1

Cancel After Comsuming

Touch But Don’t Go Near

Dark Blue Eyes

Hideaway

Don’t Yell At Me Please

Scotus

An Island Of White Horses

Orange Blossom

I Wash My Face

Nothing Awry

I Go To You

The Goat

The Last Poem In The Anthology

Symposium

Within Reach

I Was Having A Word

I Bite You

No Shit Dick Tracy

Heat System

Did You See What’s Going On In Iran?

Dec. 7th, 1941

Edward Snowden Did What?

Thirst

O My Honey

Pope Nancy Pelosi Give’im Hell

Fever

Lower Than Whale-Shit

The Modern Mind

Suck He Said

Hypocrisy

Trump’s Blues

Meat Show

Homeless Guy

Dead Flies/ Big Sleep/ Emptying The Bottle/ Martian In Town

Revenge

Picnic In Eden

Symposium

Like Toward Like

Ring Of Fire

The Forgetting

Essence (Marrow)

Sop For Shootdowns

Spherical

Heat System

Did You See What’s Going On In Iran?

Trump

Where He Is Is Not Where You Are

1966

The Couple

Ah, Earth

Handling The Situation

In My Kitchen

Camera Eye

In These Great Times

Erasings: 5 a.m.

Seven Days

Peak

The End

Three Hundred From Valhalla

Jan 6th

Hang Mike Pence

Jan 6th, My Love

Maypole

Weep You No More

Wild Things

Secret Song

Disguise

Natural Born

Fever

A Day’s Reading

Floating Laundry

Saving Kathy Acker

Kafka’s TV set

Joy

Still Here

Things As They Are

The World As Such

All You Can Eat Golden Corral

How Is That

The Path

Dread

Buffet

I Didn’t Want To Die In Stop & Shop

The Sky Was Black

Greece

Tourism

Wicked

Nausea

Bailed-Out Love

Trump Indicted For Federal Crimes

P.S.

Eyes Peer Deep

Only a blockhead writes for anything except money.

Samuel Johnson

NOTE:

Mr. Kiss of volume one (WMTD) will not appear in Volume 2. He has left, departed without notifying the author. His whereabouts are unknown. He has abandoned his apartment, left behind his clothes and his private papers which are of an hallucinatory character. The author will examine them and attempt to report on the contents to readers if they are worth attention.

NOTE #2:

BLOCKHEAD is the sequel to WRITING MYSELF TO DEATH (2019)

THE WALLET (EROS)

This happened to friends of mine, Rachel said.

Oh, yeah, cynical Luke was thinking. Oh, yeah.

Steve and Doris. Do you remember, Luke?

Luke was only half-listening. He was occupied with two immediate realities: Rachel’s good looks and getting to the theater on time. Good looks are good looks, and Rachel had them. She had what’s called ‘that certain something’, the kind of presence that made you double-take, that made you notice and behold.

Knowing Rachel pretty well, Luke knew that this story was more important to her than the play they were on their way to see which Luke had picked for its raunchy content.

Moving along, regardless, Rachel proceeded, Thinking they would be late, Steve hailed a cab. When they got in, Doris noted an object in the corner of the seat.

What’s this? she said, picking up the object. It looked important. Somebody had left a wallet in the cab. It most likely, she was thinking, slipped out of someone’s pocket—probably a man, it looked like a man’s wallet— while he was paying the fare. Maybe he put it down on the seat and then got distracted by the woman—any woman-- or maybe he was in a hurry to get some place, the way people do in Manhattan.

Rachel picked up the wallet and showed it to Steve.

’Give it to the cabbie,’ Steve said, ’and let him worry about it.’

He was eager to see the hot play and the only thing on his mind, besides Rachel, was getting to the theater on time.

’No, no,’ Doris said, ’Suppose he steals it, takes the money for himself? That’s not right.’

Steve thought Doris was taking an inordinate interest. But it’s just like Doris, isn’t it?

’Then just leave it on the seat,’ Steve said. ’How much is in it?’

’I feel terrible pawing through it’, Doris said, as she pawed through it. ’It’s like invading privacy. There’s a lot of money here.’

’Just leave it for somebody else to worry about.’ Steve said grouchily.

’That’s not right behavior.’

’Oh, you and your Buddhist principles.’

Steve tried to say this free of a critical tone. She had picked her Buddhist principles up after opening the wrong drawer on a vacation and finding beside the Holy Bible The Wisdom of Buddha. Doris became transfixed.

Vacation. Good idea, Luke thought. Let’s see if I can convince this lovely Rachel to go down to the Caribbean with me.

’No, no,’ Doris said. ’Suppose he steals it? Why should we trust him?’

’Well, do one thing or the other,’ Steve said.

’There’s really a lot. And here’s his name, address and phone number. He’s in Manhattan. He lives here.’

’Good,’ Steve said, hoping this was settled. ‘After the play we’ll put it in an envelope and mail it to him.’

And that was that, according to Steve.

Luke was thinking about the famous play about desire. He wanted to see men and women fighting over one another, brawling about the emotions he reserved for himself. He was so closed off it took many visits to plays to get him aroused. But Rachel was doing it.

Doris wasn’t satisfied with Steve’s solution, Rachel felt. It was too clean, too easy. Doris not only wanted to do a good deed, she wanted a reward for it.

Like a missionary, Luke was thinking.

She wanted to see the expression of gratitude on Harry Carlsen’s face, the name in the wallet, when she handed it over. She wanted to hear the gush and praise for her good deed. She told Steve she didn’t trust the mail with a wallet full of money.

Steve was becoming irritated but he went to the bother of asking Doris what she had in mind.

’I could bring it to Harry directly’, she said.

Steve was thinking, and why was she getting all involved like this? Something to do with Buddhism?

This was Doris to the tee, Rachel said.

’Some post office weirdo will steal it,’ Doris said. ‘I’m sure of that. And frankly, Steve, I want to experience the relief he will get. I want to see his joy, I want to see completion.’

Now Luke was getting irritated with Rachel/Doris.

’I could bring it to Harry,’ Doris repeated.

Oh, it’s Harry now, Steve was thinking," Rachel said.

’That’s overkill, Doris,’ Steve said. ‘It’s too much. He owes you, you don’t owe him. Let him move off his ass. Call him up and tell him to come and get it. Or just leave it with the doorman.’

"’Oh, no,’ Doris erupted. ‘I don’t trust him at all. Fitzpatrick has a fisheye. Have you noticed?’"

’I don’t even know who Fitzpatrick is,’ Steve said.

When he looks at me, I get a creepy feeling. The doorman!

Luke thought he might like to take Doris to the theater. She has some spunk, being so bothered by a wallet in a cab. Maybe she’ll pay that much attention to me. But then she had this Buddhist thing which didn’t go well with Luke. Just shut up, Rachel, and let’s move on was he next thought.

’Well, what do you have in mind?’ Steve asked.

’I’ll think about it,’ Doris said.

The next morning Doris called Harry Carlsen and told him she had found his wallet, but to Doris’ surprise Harry Carlsen barely reacted.

Luke could now see that Rachel was committed to all the details about Doris’ game. He realized that Doris’ game was becoming Rachel’s and a great night with Rachel was slipping away.

Harry Carlsen was cool. Remote. That intrigued Doris even more.

’I’d like to get it back to you,’ she told him.

’Oh, just put it in the mail’ Harry said practically yawning.

’Do you think that’s wise,’ Doris asked.

’Well, what do you have in mind?’ Harry asked.

’Why don’t you come to our apartment and get it?’

Doris made the ‘our’ clear. She even mentioned Steve. Harry Carlsen agreed but there was still no expression of thanks.

Rachel stared dramatically at Luke, expecting him to say something, but Luke was wondering when Rachel was going to finish so they could get on with their own thing. Was Rachel stalling by digging up this story?

Come on, Luke, Rachel urged. What do you think happened? Did Doris get the gratitude she was looking for?

I bet she didn’t.

Doris persisted because she believed in Buddhist principles.

Luke refused to get taken in and start thinking about Buddhist principles which had never entered his mind until Rachel started tallking.

So Harry Carlsen retrieved his wallet with a grunt and walked away. Doris was stunned, and then affronted. She told Steve she couldn’t believe the lack of affect in men. She hadn’t asked for much and she didn’t even get that.

Don’t put me in that category, Luke was thinking. I’ve got plenty of affect if I get going and a lot more if you’ll only let me express it.

Doris has a problem, Luke said to Rachel, while he suppressed a yawn which did nothing to conceal his frustration.

A week later, Rachel said, a beautiful bouquet of flowers arrived with a note of thanks from Harry Carlsen.

That’s nice, Luke muttered with nothing else to say; but he was feeling he was losing something.

A few days later Doris wrote a note to Harry Carlsen. He wrote back, they arranged a meeting, and you can guess the rest: they met and fell in love. As she was about to admit the affair to Steve, Harry Carlsen robbed Doris of her jewelry and a large amount of cash and came near to killing Steve who arrived home at an inconvenient and inopportune—and wrong—time.

What happened to Harry Carlsen?

Oh, the usual, but that’s not the point.

And what about Steve?

Steve and Doris never got along. Did I tell you they’re divorced?

Poor Steve.

Poor Doris, according to Schopenhauer.

How’s that? Luke said, sadly looking at his watch. I hope this is the end of the story.

It’s not the end of the story. It goes on and on. Doris says the human will is omnipotent and evil. It’s the cause of all suffering.

"I’m sorry, Rachel. It doesn’t sound like Doris is suffering. Steve is suffering. I’m suffering."

It’s all the same. Doris says everybody suffers until we stop the will. We have to control it. The less we exercise the will, the less we suffer. That’s what Doris says.

I’m telling you, Rachel, it doesn’t sound like Doris is suffering. Ans then Luke let it out. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had sex with a woman?

With a woman?

Do you want me to get personal?

Aren’t you? Rachel said. Luke, you’re dense. The point is, Doris says Schopenhauer has the answer and Buddhism is it.

What happened to Steve?

I don’t know. They split up. I told you.

"And then…and then…?

Doris tells me all about Schopenhauer.

You’re in touch?

Regularly. His life was miserable.

Whose?

Schopenhauer’s. He hated his mother, he slept with a gun under his pillow, he abused people, he ate in the best restaurants, he had love affairs, his philosophy was pessimism, but he knew The Way. Maybe he’ll get a chance in his next life.

Luke was exhausted. The women, Rachel and Doris, and Schopenhauer, had exhausted him.

WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENS

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VOCAL

If I could write a song this is it,

I would sing it to you, & to the world

And it would go like this: aaallahagahafahagafa.

Isn’t it beautiful?

AT BAT

In the middle of a fraught move on the chessboard of Kismet

I wanted to know who she is.

You don’t know who she is? Look it up.

She played third but she had no arm.

But she played third anyway as I did second.

I had a much stronger arm and a lot more moral uplift

Than her five foot two self which she gave away to

That boy on the bench who was something special

Unlike me who just played second.

NO DOGGY BAG

I remember

in Hong Kong

a restaurant

could seat 5,000

which included

you & me.

But who knew us?

We didn’t either.

THE MUELLER REPORT

After two years of labor

the report was barred from discovery

like a whore in a greatcoat, neck to ankles

VERBORAMA

English Language, speaks me

Even tho’ Shakespeare got there first.

Now there’s a guy…

PACK UP THE BOOKS

Max wants to make love to ‘The Squad’

Each one or all together

If they’d have him

WHAC-A-MOLE

Max had a dream and was upset because the dream wasn’t about A. His distress is deepening because it’s becoming clear to him that he’s losing A in his dreamworld. She’s not there anymore. He’s close to losing any contact with her. More than ever he feels gripped by despair. He can’t remember the last time he dreamt of her, made love to her or even enjoyed her sparkling company. (Just look at the way she dressed and did her hair abundant.)

The dream, instead, and a big instead it is, was about Jim who gave him a LP record which contained two pieces of music Max was unfamiliar with. One side of the record was religious music which didn’t impress him in any way. He’d already forgotten what was on the other side. Jim came by and as a dear friend asked Max what he thought of the music and Max had to dissemble. Not lie but sneak around. He said he only heard a bit of it so far, that it was nice. He had to say that because Jim had lost his wife and children to illness and was finding succor and relief in his Catholic faith and now wanted Max to experience the same relief and in particular by considering making a presentation of the