Postcard to the President. (By guest artist Ohen Read.)

Re: Machu Picchu Is in Unnecessary Danger A new international airport in Peru would undermine exactly what tourists are coming so far to see.

a tourist has sixteen hands but only one foot.
he brings his girlfriend along for metaphysics.
she brings her cosmetic smile to paint landscapes.
s/he is photographing long lost pictures of the children eating 
pineapple fritters on banana leaves.
and their knapsacks sicken the waving fields of gravel.
someone ought to tell them to send box tops not bottled water.
"wikiup!" says the tourist, meaning "home sweet home"
and "home is where you harvest beans."
they are too interested in foreign monotony to notice how brilliantly they shine in the eyes of rodents.
their hotels glisten in the moonlight and their airports
eat up all the ancient cereal grains.
"wikiup! wikiup! wikiup!" they chant at the baobab and the mangosteen. and they are really sincere about it.
but when push comes to shove they go home after capturing
the souls of the natives on their smartphones to display as
trophies to other tourists -- and when they grow old
they are stuffed and displayed
at the Smithsonian.

*****************************

To the author:

Sometimes being mysterious is intriguing, as if the the strange passageways are leading somewhere, and both the journey and the destination promise to be a delight. But sometimes I feel stuck in a dark room and the mystery turns to mere meaninglessness. Promised delight dissolves into present irritation. 

So to avoid being stuck I want to ask a few questions:

In what sense is your (intriguing) offering FROM an opinion piece in the NYT. Is it a direct excerpt? Is it inspired by the opinion piece? Are all the words FROM the opinion piece, but brilliantly (and strangely) selected and rearranged? Is the opinion piece genuinely titled "Machu Picchu Is in Unnecessary Danger" (etc. . . . as in your subject line)? 

If this is something you created (either using words from the opinion piece or inspired by it), what is your creative method or process? (That's one of the intriguing mysteries that I hope will turn to enlightenment.) What led you to create this piece and use the particular method you used? Are you imitating the style of a particular writer? Do you have some purpose beyond that of creating an interesting verbal artifact? 

I realize that if I asked Shakespeare or Allen Ginsberg or T. S. Eliot or some other writer questions like these, they might say, "I don't have to answer your questions. My creation speaks for itself. It's up to you to enjoy it or be baffled by it or figure it out without my help. Or if you must, to ignore it." 

Yeah, yeah, yeah. But we're naturally curious, and honestly, the writer is a better source than mere guessing to get answers to our questions. And though I think Hamlet and The Waste Land are worth spending time figuring out without the author's help, I probably won't devote hours of effort analyzing your creation. It would be immensely satisfying, therefore, to get a few straight answers directly from you. 

In anticipation of which, I offer many thanks, and remain as always, sir, your humble servant,

Bruce

**********************************

To the Bruce:

In a nutshell (where it belongs), I write poems like this because in postmodern/zen poetry there is no such thing as a typo. It is what it is. Making it completely verbal, ephemeral -- with no more importance, but all the charm, of a soap bubble. (which reminds me of my favorite movie line of all time, from the film The Bank Dick, starring W.C. Fields:  He meets his prospective son-in-law, whose name is Ogg Oggleby, and repeats the name back to himself, musing: "Ogg Oggleby -- sounds like a soap bubble . . . ")

On the same page: 12 years in, this Kaysville book group hasn't read anything that was a 'waste of time'

(Dedicated to Kaitlin Hoelzer.)


the group has read the same book each month for twelve years. they are joined by a large secretarial pool during months that have a Q in them, or sound like they should. their self-editing process has brought praise from conservative political organizations but no free tickets to Saltair. 
in the winter Mrs. Hemmingsocks serves hot apple butter with pickled marmalade, and in the summer Mr. Mapaport brings over his trained sieve to lead a literary deconstruction workshop. they are a fun group, and get even better when meeting under a bridge.
they once talked about vichyssoise for an hour.

**********************

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Your Comment on F.T.C. Approves Facebook Fine of About $5 Billion

Your comment has been approved! Thank you for sharing your thoughts with The New York Times community. tim torkildson | utah the light at the end of the tunnel/is suddenly getting more bright/the fine that poor Facebook is paying/the federal debt could rewrite/just make ev'ry big corporation/pay right through their nose once a year/and soon the whole federal bankbook/will be in the unending clear/in fact we will gain so much money/that taxes will suddenly cease/and Uncle Sam will subsidize us/until we forget elbow grease. View your comment If you're having trouble viewing your comment, please copy and paste this link in your browser: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/12/technology/facebook-ftc-fine.html#commentsContainer&permid=101433909:101433909 All of our comments are moderated for civility. Have feedback? Let us know. If you would like your comment to be considered for publication as a letter to the editor, please email a copy of your comment to letters@nytimes.com – along with your name, city/town and phone number (the latter for verification only). ABOUT THIS EMAIL  This is an automated notification. Please do not reply directly to this email. You received this message because you signed up for email notifications from The New York Times. Unsubscribe | Manage Notifications | Privacy Policy | Contact Copyright 2019 | The New York Times Company | 620 Eighth Avenue New York, NY 10018

Postcard to the President. (by Guest Artist Lance Read.)

Google and Facebook, Among Others, Face Huge Tax Bite From France and Britain

France moved on Thursday to become the first country to impose a so-called digital tax of 3 percent on the revenue companies earn from providing digital services to French users. It would apply to large companies, numbering more than two dozen, with robust annual sales in France, including United States-based Facebook, Google and Amazon. British leaders also detailed plans on Thursday to impose a similar tax, of 2 percent, on tech giants. And the European Union has also been mulling a digital tax.

NYT

The Wasatch Mountains pay heed to me.

And the pink clouds of sunrise are at my

beck and call.

Afternoon simooms tiptoe around my patio.

I'm in charge, see?

I ask the rocks for sweat.

The pigeons for song.

The sidewalk for ice cream.

Asphalt gets out of my way.

There's nothing can stick to me.

See?

Light bends around my wisdom.

Darkness dare not lap my feet.

I'm a Marvel comic book waiting

to be opened.

Got it?

Trump Says He Will Seek Citizenship Information From Existing Government Records, Not the Census

WASHINGTON — President Trump on Thursday abandoned his quest to place a question about citizenship on the 2020 census, and instructed the government to compile citizenship data from existing federal records instead, ending a bitterly fought legal battle that turned the nonpartisan census into an object of political warfare.

NYT

I've stopped feeding the sparrows 

on my patio.

They take and take and take

in complete silence.

And they are a dull spotted brown.

But they still get my stale bread.

But I have spent sixteen dollars

this month

on black thistle seed for house finches

because they sing.

And some are red and some are yellow breasted.

Ring necked doves eat what falls to the ground.

As far as I'm concerned they are all

welcome.

Whether I feed them or not.

Whether I like them or not.

No questions asked.

Postcard to the President. by guest artist Stephen D. Torkildson

The Nordic Model Tames Capitalism. But Can It Survive Massive Immigration in Sweden?

Filipstad, Sweden. NYT.

White balls of lard hanging from the money tree

tremble at the suddenly unwelcome brown breeze;

the lights go out on top of the mountains

before marching bands can reach them with

glockenspiels.

Is this the end of pancakes as we know them?

Of homemade lingonberry butter?

Or can the common sand of humanity

prevail to uncover heads and hearts

in tandem?

A fine Baltic mist creeps over the steeple

and dampens woolen prayer rugs.

What mighty fortress will barbers build by day,

and wooden narwhals dismantle
by night?

Peaceful Children

 And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children.

3 Nephi 22:13

Peaceful children full of bliss,

taught though all the world's amiss

that the Lord remains steadfast

from the first to splendid last.