IN SEARCH OF ARCTIC HORNED BEASTS, RUMORED FOR CENTURIES, POSSIBLY MYTHOLOGICAL, BUT PERSISTENT ENOUGH IN THE LITERATURE THAT THEY ARE DISCUSSED AS REAL BY SEVERAL SCIENTISTS ON THE FLOOR, THOUGH ONLY IN THE BREAK ROOM, NOT IN THEIR ACTUAL OFFICES

Take nothing for granted. Leave ranting to others. Come northward to Greenland. Go forward to Nordland. Grant access to no one. Revoke no one’s access.  Take something for reading. Mark others with reddle. Start on life’s riddles, and then stop at nothing.

ROOM 327

By Ben Greenman 

From forthcoming thing

“Yes, I know, it’s not very diplomatic. It’s not in the rule book.” An actress was standing on set refusing to be interviewed in her skimpy costume. There was no comment at that time, but now the commission is putting a report together. There has never been a toy with a higher upside. All of us agree on the recipe. It’s not very diplomatic. The new guy has no question he can get her goat. Her costume was on set. A poison released from an overhead vent quickly filled the room. They hopped into the car before emerging and giving in to a bumper-to-bumper passionate public display. “Metaphors subdued the day.” There was no comment at that time. A jazz player feels his way through a melody, unless the melody feels its way through a jazz player. An actress was standing in the rule book. “When he put her saucer on the table, he did so roughly, in clear violation of the organization’s protocol, not to mention common human decency.” I thanked you. I am sure of it. On the magazine cover a body in repose proved on closer inspection to be a corpse. An actress jumped into the car before emerging. A jazz player provided a bumper-to-bumper passionate display. The new guy put her saucer on the table before they jumped into the car. A skimpy costume is a recipe. A public display is a protocol. The new guy has no question he can get her goat. On closer inspection, all of us agree. Yes, I know.  I thanked you. It’s not very diplomatic. I am sure of it. An organization was standing refusing. There has never been a question. There has never been a new guy. A melody was released from an overhead vent to subdue all of us. The commission is putting a metaphor together. All of us agree. There has never been a comment with a higher upside.

EVERYTHING FELL

By Ben Greenman

from random notebook, mid-nineties

Everything fell.

Everything fell because there was nothing holding anything up anymore.

Everything fell and everyone looked at it where it fell and shrugged. 

Everything fell and there was nothing that anyone could do.

Everything fell and everyone noticed that specifics had ceased to matter.

Everything fell and every noun that had once described a scene first faded into the background and then fell onto the ground.

Table, man, interrogation, for example, or airplane, missile, explosion, or even husband, wife, tears: everything fell and there was no dividend in description.

The nouns were on the ground.

The scenes were on the ground.

The ideas about those scene were on the ground.

The ground held everything, but passively, with a cruel indifference.

The ground held power by removing power from everything else.

The ground began to sink, almost as an afterthought.

Everything fell further.

THE BALLAD OF CAMP DAVID

Come up to Thurmont

The Taliban's here

We're ordering pizza

And drinking light beer

We're arguing over

Ideas of heaven

And counting the days

Until 9/11

Camp David, Camp David

In the Maryland hills

The party keeps going

The Feds pay the bills

Camp David, Camp David

With the pond and the geese

That's where we will broker the peace

In Frederick County

The ridges are blue

When I'm here alone

I feel sad, too

So I called up some friends

Now I feel less gloomy

They're Muslim but I'm not sure

If they're Shiite or Sunni

Camp David, Camp David

In the Maryland hills

The party keeps going

The Feds pay the bills

Camp David, Camp David

With the pond and the geese

That's where we will broker the peace

The ramparts, the fishing

The proud timberline

All of this nature

And all of it's mine

I told my new friends

I'm the king of this place

They smiled when they saw

The smile on my face

FRAGMENTS FROM A MASS OF HOT AIR! THE MUSICAL

[Hurricane Dorian approaches. DONALD TRUMP is watching TV. At first, he is confused why the shows are all so boring. Someone explains it to him. He gets excited.]

TRUMP:

Winds, winds, blow blow!

Westward, ho, ho!

Wind, wind, howls, howls!

I’ll throw paper towels.

[Early maps, long in advance of any real information, show Dorian most likely heading up the East Coast, with statistically insignificant models that raise the tiny possibility the storm will cross Florida into the Gulf of Mexico. This excites Trump.]

TRUMP:

Maybe it’ll slam a

Part of Alabama

Maybe it’ll gnaw

On Northern Arkansas

Maybe it’ll coat a

Stretch of Minnesota

Maybe it’ll go

Right to Idaho.

[Trump stares at the map, realizing that he does not know more than maybe a quarter of the states. He begins to map possible courses for the hurricane. His heart is racing.]

TRUMP:

Next it’s off to Utah

Then south to Illinois

It jogs back east toward Oregon.

Who knows what else it will destroy?

[For some reason, Trump gets fixated on the possibility of the hurricane hitting Alabama, maybe because it was the first rhyme in his song. He tweets about the danger. By this point, the storm has set its course and actual hurricane authorities quickly correct him. He doubles down, first on Twitter and then by producing a map to prove his point.]

TRUMP:

They think I’m in error

But they’re full of crap.

Just look at this totally

Non-doctored map!

I swear that’s an official line

And not one drawn in with a Sharpie

That looks exactly like the one that’s

Clutched here in my metacarpi!

[Caught fat-handed in his map-altering scheme, he triples down and then quadruples down, ranting on Twitter and in press conferences, derailing otherwise sensible meetings to make his same invalid point. He retweets an old map from a South Florida Water Management organization that says on it, in no uncertain terms, that it should be superseded by any National Hurricane Map.]

TRUMP:

The truth is simple

The truth is so plain

Alabama was threatened

By this hurricane.

I don’t care what they say.

The experts know zero.

Look out, Alabama.

I’m your number one hero!

[The hurricane proceeds up the coast. Property is lost. Lives are threatened. The president of the goddamned United States of America remains fixated on his poor understanding of storm plots, even devising a new vocabulary to justify his behavior.]

TRUMP:

Grazed or hit

Hit or grazed

I was correct

I’m right for days

Hit or grazed

Grazed or hit

I see the truth

From where I sit

All these liars

On the news

Think I am wrong

But they’re confused.

All these liars 

In the press

Think I know nothing.

They know less.

[Trump retweets an old Alabama National Guard tweet. He tries to invent a time machine to take him back to when Dorian was not yet a tropical storm and still could potentially have passed into the gulf. He hires a choir of children to ring around him and sing.]

CHOIR:

Dorian, Dorian,

Where are you going

With your vicious storm surge

And fearsome winds blowing?

Dorian, Dorian,

You bypassed Miami.

When is your landfall

In old Alabammy?

[One child steps out of the choir and faces Trump. “Mr. President,” she says. “We learned that lying is wrong. Why didn’t you?” Trump holds up his hand to protest. He is about to explain. You are not a liar if you believe that you are right, he will say. You are not a liar if someone else ever makes an error, he will say. And then maybe he will attack the girl’s appearance. She’s wearing a shirt that looks ridiculous. But something in her eyes stops him cold. He collapses to the ground, clutching his head. When he stands again, he is changed. He is, if not remorseful, at least temporarily honest. He calls in to Fox & Friends and admits his deception.]

TRUMP:

I took the damned marker

And I drew a damned cone!

Then I felt triumphant

And deeply alone.

What kind of man resorts

To map-based graffito?

A man who is actually

Mapping his ego.

[Trump hangs up on Fox & Friends, goes to his bedroom, sits in a plush gold armchair, bends his head, and weeps. The top of his head resembles a hurricane of hair. Like all hurricanes, it has done damage. Like all hurricanes, it passes. The choir of children returns to stand outside his bedroom door and sing a medley of “What a Fool Believes” and “The Tears of a Clown.”]

THIRTEEN WAYS OF LOOKING AT A HURRICANE

By Ben Greenman

Apologies to Wallace Stevens and everyone.

I.

In a season of bad weather,

The only moving thing

Was the eye of the hurricane.

II.

I was of three minds

Of how to beat it,

Denial, paper towels, or nukes.

III.

The hurricane whirled over the summer ocean.

It was a large part of the weather map.

IV.

A man and a woman 

Are one.

A man and a woman and a hurricane

Are one.

V.

I do not know which to prefer

The beauty of destruction 

Or the beauty of disaster management,

The hurricane gusting

Or just after.

VI.

Streaks of rain in the window

Give the sense of shatter.

The shadow of the hurricane

Crossed it, to and fro.

The mood

Traced in the shadow

Terror and loss.

VII.

O thin men and women of meteorology,

Why do you speak about the climate?

Do you not see how the hurricane

Can be beaten by paper towels

Or by a nuclear bomb?

VIII.

I know paper towels are

The best and most absorbent;

But I know, too,

That I control the nukes.

Isn’t that exciting?

IX.

When the hurricane flew out of sight

It went as it came

In a symphony of circles.

X.
At the sight of hurricanes

Looming in a bruised light,

I tried to put

My finger on the button.

XI.

It wasn’t my first choice

Like I said before.

Once, I threw paper towels

In Puerto Rico.

People caught them

Lovingly.

XII.

The paper towels in the air

Go in a straight windless line.

XIII.

It was evening all afternoon.

The light stepped down.

And it was going to rain.

The nuke came in

Whistling its helpful song.

FRAGMENTS FROM “BLAGOJEVICH! THE MUSICAL”

By Ben Greenman

Originally Composed January 2009

[It is 2008. BARACK OBAMA wins the Presidency handily over John McCain.]

BARACK OBAMA:

America is beautiful

A place of possibility

Where great power can coexist

With great responsibility

I’ll soon be sworn in on the Capitol steps

Looking out west toward the Lincoln Memorial

But before that day, I must address

Some matters senatorial

[BARACK OBAMA vacates his Illinois Senate seat. The responsibility of appointing a replacement falls to the unpopular Illinois governor ROD BLAGOJEVICH.]

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

My numbers are bad

There’s no denying it

I’ve tried and I’ve tried

But the voters aren’t buying it

My approval rating’s at four per cent

That hits me like a ton of bricks

What can I do to help my case

With the other ninety-six?

[JOHN HARRIS, Blagojevich’s chief of staff, enters the office.]

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

Disapproval’s no fun

It’s a hard state to run

Plus, the hours and the stress

Man, I’m really a mess

JOHN HARRIS:

Much as I like this psychodrama

We have business on the table

To replace Senator Obama

As selfishly as we are able

Wait: did I say selfishly?

I meant honestly. I mean,

“Selfishly” is dirty pool

And we are scrupulously clean

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

John. You’re blinking. Why?

Is there something in your eye?

JOHN HARRIS:

Winking, not blinking

My God, you’re slow

No wonder your numbers

Are so low

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

You’ll have to be clear

About wheelings and dealings

Four per cent, John!

It hurts my feelings

And makes it hard to concentrate

Have I mentioned that I’ve put on some weight?

JOHN HARRIS:

This appointment

Should make you feel glad

It’s not a fly in the ointment

But gains to be had

[JOHN HARRIS explains to ROD BLAGOJEVICH how the Senate seat can be sold. Down the street from the Governor’s office, BILL, a federal agent, is sitting in a van drinking coffee and monitoring the Governor’s wiretap. There is a van ahead of him and another behind him.]

BILL:

I feel useless, half dead

I feel like a vagrant

It’s cold and boring

I’m full of frustration

This long conversation

Has me nodding and snoring

Nothing that flagrant

Ever gets said

All the other agents are acting like schmucks

They stranded me here and went off to Starbucks

[JOHN HARRIS and ROD BLAGOJEVICH enter the Governor’s office. BILL switches on the tape.]

BILL:

Ho hum

The fox is in the den

Ho hum

Here we go again

JAMES HARRIS:

Let’s talk now

About the sale

Of Obama’s seat

The plan can’t fail

[BILL does a spit take.]

BILL:

Wha? What the eff?

Is this some perverse trick?

JOHN HARRIS:

Let’s make certain we get

The most for our pick

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

I’ve dreamed of this since I was a boy

A Senate seat in Illinois

Do you know the value of what I’m holding?

I’ve got this thing and it’s fucking golden

BILL:

Holy moly. Holy hell.

Did he say what I think he said?

He can’t really be serious

My heart is racing. My face is red.

JOHN HARRIS:

Let’s take what we want

In exchange for what we give

It’s a jungle, and only

The craftiest can live

BILL:

Holy hat rack. Holy cow

Is he truly prepared to peddle the seat?

I need to get the other guys

Jack and Manny and Don and Pete

[BILL runs outside to get the other agents, JACK, MANNY, DON, and PETE. He finds them in Starbucks.]

JACK:

What’s the big idea, Bill?

I’m drinking a latte, which means we’re busy

Your face is flushed and your shirt’s untucked

You look like you’re in quite a tizzy.

[BILL gestures but cannot speak.]

DON:

Slow down, man,

And catch your breath

BILL:

You know that

Shakespeare play “Macbeth”?

PETE:

No. Well, maybe

MANNY:

Por supuesto

BILL:

Well, the Governor is twice as nuts

What he’s done might lead to arrest…oh,

I want it to be a surprise

Come to the van and listen, guys

[BILL leads JACK, MANNY, DON, and PETE back into his van and gives them all headphones. They sit and listen to ROD BLAGOJEVICH’s conversations.]

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

Pepperoni on just one half

Also send a mushroom, large

Don’t bother telling me the price

I don’t think I should get charged

JACK:

This is only pizza, Bill

MANNY:

Si—what did we come here for?

DON:

I left a half-full mocha frappucino

Back there at the store

[BILL motions for them to listen. JOHN HARRIS and an AIDE enter the conversation.]

JOHN HARRIS:

Other men will hint and hint

Pussyfoot around the matter

I’m not going to waste your time

With whispered words and cunning chatter

Strategies will just delay it

Why not come right out and say it?

Let’s take Obama’s Senate seat

And sell it to the highest bidder

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

Where should we start? Three million? Four?

JOHN HARRIS:

This is something to consider

Or if there’s no cash in the deal

A Cabinet post has appeal

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

You know how the wheels turn

It pays to be nice to the nice

Health and Human Services

Will be my final price

AIDE:

This seems wrong. This seems untoward

Of course, influence moves the gears

But the process isn’t so direct

You should really wait two years

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

No one gets this seat for free

Otherwise I’ll just keep it for me

Anyway, let’s all think more

I think that I’ll be leaving now

I’m going home. I’ll see you

JOHN HARRIS:

Ciao

[During ROD BLAGOJEVICH’s drive home, BILL and the other agents discuss what they have heard.]

PETE:

He’s trading the seat for a Cabinet post?

This guy is crazy. He’s finished. He’s toast

DON:

Hold on a second

Don’t be so hasty

I know that scandal

Is alluring and tasty

But let’s slow down

This is a man’s life

Let’s see what happens

When he talks to his wife

JACK:

They certainly seem

Like schemers and liars

But I’m holding my breath

To see what transpires

[ROD BLAGOJEVICH arrives at his home. PATRICIA BLAGOJEVICH greets him at the door.]

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

Hi, honey

What’s up?

How was your day?

PATRICIA BLAGOJEVICH:

There’s a phone call

From Deputy Governor A.

[ROD BLAGOJEVICH goes to the phone. In the wire-tapping van, BILL scrambles to press record.]

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

You have reached

The Blagojeviches

DEPUTY GOVERNOR A.:

Those Tribune scumbags

Should sleep with the fishes.

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

What do you propose?

Harming the writers who compose

The paper’s editorials?

That’s far too dictatorial.

JACK:

See

I exhaled

Cooler heads

Have prevailed

[PATRICIA BLAGOJEVICH grabs the phone from her husband’s hands.]

PATRICIA BLAGOJEVICH:

Fuck them all

I’m so mad I could spit

Fire the writers

And hold up that Cubs shit

Whoever dares to interfere

With us will simply disappear

Their faces I’ll slap

Their necks I will break

I’ll cut them to the bone

Like the wind off the lake

[The federal agents all stare at one another.]

JACK:

Oh my God

Oh my God

Thank you, Lord

Thank you, Rod

Most of all, I give thanks

To our wonderful host Bill

In the past I doubted you

But now I never will

DON:

This is huge

This is huge

A gigantic eruption

Of political panic

And naked corruption

PETE:

Your face is all aglow

And each eye is like a moon

MANNY:

¡Ay caramba! ¡Dios mio!

I think that I may swoon

[The next day, federal agents arrest ROD BLAGOJEVICH and JOHN HARRIS.]

JOHN HARRIS:

This is just outrageous!

ROD BLAGOJEVICH:

What are you implying?

ARRESTING AGENT:

When you get to jail

Say hi to George Ryan

[BILL, MANNY, JACK, DON, and PETE are still in their van, overcome with shock and joy. That night, there is a heavy snowfall. The agents are trapped. They subsist on protein bars for a few days and then perish. When they are found, they are all grinning.]