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Archive for the ‘mad men series’ Category

 

 

“Love is just an advertisement that men made to sell advertising”

 

I want this. I must do thus to obtain this. I will hence do this. Ergo, I shall get what I want. Stupid girl. You will never win anyone through pity. You must create the right kind of dream, the sober, adult kind of magic: Illusion born from disillusion.

                                             The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

 

It’s a madmadmadmad world.

Everything can be manufactured, sold and bought, but love, love is the mold.

You sure could have a lot of fun with this.

In the material world, objects are marked up from face value.

The confusion of client services is merely based on articles, like he and she.

You can find anything on the internet:  even beauty.

Advertising is based on happiness. Be happy.

 

 

© Umansky 2013

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1.

You can’t be a man

so, be a woman

It’s Versailles, baby.

If you never had the urge to gulp cold milk,

                                                                don’t.

Women already have their fantasies.

Women want to see themselves the way men do.

It’s desperate but when you’re in their country…

learn to speak their language

                Here, take this cape,

                and this hide.

Enter the frontier.

 

2.

Upon entering the frontier,

Put on your history.

Your North might be South.

Dirty up, man.

Side your ways, and gallop.

                Come here, son.

Invite a little mystery.

                Drink this.

I never said she was a harlequin.

 

3.

I never said, harlequin.

This is for when you get there.

There are finite natures in life.

Every woman wants both sides of the order:

                the short and the long.

I’m going to give it to you straight and gold-like:

people buy things to realize the value of their

aspirations.

I don’t. I buy things so you can realize the value

of what was once in your grip.

I can stop dressing it up anytime, but you

you’re still pretending to be a cowboy.

Pick something and saddle it.

Confidence kills the butterflies.

 

© Umansky 2013

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You’ll like this poem, because you should.  Because we all fight for the underdog. It has a nice ring to it, jewess.  Draper invents their dichotomy, but I, I imagine their kiss is sweet, like an apple halved. Fresh, yet sour, and of course, verdant. Very verdant.

 [which is close to virgin].

 

She reminds him of        ofofof   something pure, and of value and  charm. An antique. A throw-back to a day of glory and grain, a day of the humble and pain. She is something unseeming, or appears to be so, until he lays his paws on her.   She wants to love him, but he grows clingy and pale, recoiling from what she is:  jewess.Her kiss is both a mother and a smother. Her wild heathenness beckons and stirs, beckons and purrs, and then, look what the cat drags in:

 

In her, he sees nostalgia. He sees what is sundogged, dawned and near-death.He sees pennies and scrapes and his scraping-by but also sees clarity and calm. In him, she sees his goishe American ways. They are Napoleonic, bionic, and myopic.  They could take over the world, but, she, she is a businesswoman. Her guards [and garters] rise to his touch. If he wants to invest, he will need to earn his shares just like everyone else. She is the Empress of Fifth Avenue. She is a rose, and he is a hornet.

  [ Now, who’s the one with horns?]

 

He abandons his life. In her, he sees how the other side lives, but he forgets she is a proprietor.  She knows what she values and manhood is golden.  The Jewess does not get what she wants, but either does the Don.  He’s got nothing.                 Zilch. 

 

© Umansky 2013

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The most important word is N-E-W !! And, in the face of optimism

It’s all about getting things done. You need to feel something –   

That’s what sells.   That’s what steals over you, across your face,

Down the back of your neck; into the flush. It’s the selling.

Some part wanders off and actually likes the remembering.

The remembering of being told what you like and what you don’t.

It is almost-precious the way the back of the head is both cushion and

Target  [and I’m aiming]. You can feel after it, but the reality of the sale

Is there: you want to be told.  Your personal territory is harvested

[Some would argue deforested] but  remember the feeling

Right before you put your finger on it; right before you knew

What it meant to want.  It was delicious.  It was savory.  It was:

Pure.     Now.     Quickly now.   Go brush away those crumbs –

That remembering.         [or are you saving those for later?]

 

© Umansky 2012

 

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