Homer’s (the blind man’s) poetry as seen by helmut s.
As Zeus watches
blood and tears flowing,
he knows he has a winner.
He shakes his head at the mortals,
“Poor creatures, why did we give you King Peleus,
a mortal doomed to death…
…so you could suffer the pain of wretched men?”
Yet looking at hills of bodies slain and butchered,
smelling in the sun, and here and there
an armless body moving like a worm,
disgusted he aims his spit at one of the nearby islands:
“There is nothing alive more agonizing
than a man’s shell, who still breathes
but crawls over reddened soil.”
And subsequently he orders a few
of the bloodiest of the bloody scenes changed,
the use of more tomato-juice and cuts,
banning some of these earthworms
from his celluloid. He obviously plans a PG version.
Variables were data which was variable.
Charts showed the relationship of the parts
to the whole: All charts did such to some
degree, however in percentage the pie chart
was peferred. It was no sweat to
generate a chart for a computer, just
clicking on the chart wizard did the job.
Concrete allusions some might
call these those variables.
“How can I move to a named cell?”
Shouting he was. Sophia ignored him.
He clicked on the drop down menu
in the Name box, clicking on her Name.
There she was more beautiful than ever,
EGOTRIP, he changed it to HER TRIP and he
buried the story about Deborah and the
GONE F……G in it.
And Sophia’s screen flickered
irritated as he was logging out
J 10:00 p.m.
…ears filled with: “Work! Work! Work!
The voices unstoppable by wax or by cork.
he left his latest love, just to adjust,
Annoyed with these voices’ unwanted infusion
between his ears, he left her
all by herself without company or intrusion.
“The default alignments are for numeric
entries Right justified and characters
align Left justified, not only generic.”
He lectured himself. Helen the actress
was centered in the wide open door.
Her beauty stunning came into
view the light shed on her, superior.
His thoughts as deep as her valleys, whereto
his eyes sans spectacles were glued.
He remembered her magnetic field since she
touched him as he was standing next to her.
“Howdy!” A kiss flung, said he.
“Where you go now, hun?” was her answer.
He departed with a “I shall be right back.”
His gut feeling was “Too nice an evening
to lock myself away.”
“I have to work too,
Helen said as he was leaving,
“At least till two”
Helen said, yet did he listen?
his brain tried to tell him: “You must work!
YoumustYoumust! You! MustYou?”
Annoyed he had left the keyboard
of his workstation.
He defaulted like he did on his mortgage
walking away from her like from his first wife
characters in a life time, all justified.
Helen aka Sunshine was looking at him
wondering to what no-good-he-was-up-to-this-time.
And he was and she knew it all-to-well.
He remembered now: Two
names can be used in one single cell,
as he left once more on a trip
over to the Salad bowl of the nation…
Dark soil on the Nikes and in his tires’
groves told where he was coming from.
He used the Trace Dependents button
as a Troubleshooting tool, to find errors,
to learn about formulas and functions,
and to find the rest of the rowdy
bunch which belonged into the same formula.
“This-data-table-thingy-worksheet is very
simply,” he said to himself,
“Nothing but the result of my number-input.”
He did not ask himself the question of
“Why would one who has every
thing else want to have a database
beside it being such a great toy?”
budgeting-tool, list of inventories,
fun which kept any novice busy,
or to control and record information
impertinent for future use?
He enjoyed playing the field
like playing a record in a database
referring to the field as a single
element within a record. Each cell
was comparable to a file in
which the record made up of
fields was stored.
Next to the story of the fields, another
man, dry skin, cracked hands, cement
under and around the square fingernails.
One didn’t have to ask
what he was
the rig outside, with the hoses
in the back and the two wheeled concrete-
shooter had his name on it.
Beside these two men at the wine
and beer bar, five tables were filled with
noisy characters. Spanish was spoken every-
where. Tanned hides, carried to the market
on high heels clicking-clacking-dragging
and shuffling on the concrete
just outside the
…where cigarette smoke used to hang above
the tables. The law had changed now
cigarette-smoke sneaked in from the door.
…where the smell of fish, burned
oil, stale beer and sour wine
mixed with the sweat-stains
on the men’s shirts.
…where the few women
smelled just like the place,
oily sweaty bodies
nowhere to go.
The past-time the future,
the future past
as time past
music was playing
and Spanish songs
were sing-sung …
…there she looked different,
had an accent,
an air of authority followed her.
…there she smelled different,
it wasn’t the shower talcum.
…there the field worker
next to him said: “A cop,
passing off as a hooker!”
and every body knew.
…where word traveled fast
…the one who said “Holla!”
Both concrete guy and worker
touched her wiggling butt.
An average woman’s body
covered in a light dress with
?sweet stains showing,
passing through, trying to get by,
wanting to leave town for good,
but had to walk work-walk
work-walk to work to work.
She smelled cheap,
just like a woman smells
who had not had a bath all day
sweet perfume covering up
telling about the heat of the day
of tastes of passion
short lived in the parking lot,
standing up in driveways
on her knees in the alley behind those
apartments over there.
Her smile was childlike,
she acted or was she lost.
“I need money for a hotel,
a room, to clean and pretty up!”
And she told us about herself.
Wanting enough money to buy
some clothing at Salvation Army,
enough for the next meal too.
Tomorrow she would make
some more money,
maybe enough for the bus
a ticket out of here.
This town as beautiful as
it might have looked
to farmers, workers and locals
she called appropriately
her end of world the butt-hole
to hell since released at four
this morning from the women’s jail
walking from Natividad she was
and still near broke.
The MST driver did not let her
on the bus, for she had no shoes
on small feet a long walk
with a hardened soul.
Oh wonder the few lucky bucks
sucking off the vacuum cleaner salesman
and the ten bucks from the cab driver
didn’t last, went for essentials
lipstick, Trojans and a steak dinner
to forget the razor-tipped wire
fences, dreaming of a white
picket-fence she was too once.
No she talked and the guys listened
checking their wallets the concrete guy
says, “Sweetie? You have a name?”
“If you have a room you may
call me whatever you want. If you
have spare cash you may do me
however you want! Deal?”
He called her Sexie and off they went
his motel room on North Main
couldn’t wait much longer.
Walking out the door there was
nothing cheap about her.
Proud, happy, small hands gentle
held by big hard rough hands.
A happy big hard working fellow,
a small time crook on his hand,
both having found each other,
wanting what the other had to offer
a fair deal, both able to give
no illusions no false promises
A pretty woman, a winner he was.
A good healthy man, a winner she was.
And just like a winner
holding a trophy,
she was holding his hand.
“Twenty bucks ain’t cutting it…”
she shouted, out on the street.
“Who do you think I am?”
“The bus fare to Florida is a lot more.”
She was coming closer,
Sweetheart, buy me some shrimp.”
He heard him say, “Sorry
can’t do!” and she was coming his way.
“Where you from?”
“Monterey!” he answered her.
She said: “Call me Georgia.”
His mind was spinning,
he already had had tripe soup,
an open faced sandwich might be nice.
Smell of French fries, Greek salad,
Black olives, came from her mouth
lined with white teeth,
framed by dark red lips.
Her feminine presence let him
forget the stink of cigars, stale beer,
and lingering cigarette smoke.
She had the goodies displayed,
a pretty red dress, high heeled shoes,
scratched knees on naked legs.
Smooth skin, dark by nature.
Food for thoughts, mustard for the hot
dog, all kinds of relishes, much
was offered in addition to satisfy
his craving for salsa and meat.
No! He didn’t want crabs,
that’s why he skipped much of
the selection along the railroad
track. At Guituirez he had bought
a plate of roasted carne,
flour tortillas. To go one order of
Mexican langustas, food at the best
in Garden of Eden out West.
She offered herself with
“Want a date?”
Dates are good food
and healthy for the digestion.
Oh yes! He was
getting hungry very fast.