Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: By the Statue of the Unknown Bodybuilder

Midnight in the underworld, fireflies twinkle.

Hades scratches himself and remarks on the rain, “Wet, ain’t it?”

The hot Sun settles over Jamaica Plains as the F Train find its
way to The Village.

Persephone claps her hands to her forehead and remarks to the old
woman in the seat across from hers: Oh, the unbearable lightness of
being!”

Replies the old woman, “I’m sorry, these are my bad ears.”

“They look fine to me.”

“Don’t be absurd!”

Persephone points through the screen at the writer: “Tell him to don’t.”

“Oh he never doesn’t!” proclaims the old woman. When do you reach Hell?”

“As soon as I relinquish this train.”

“That could be any time.”

“That could be as we speak.”

“But it won’t be you know,” the old woman points through the screen at the writer. “He hates mixing action with dialogue.”

The train slows as it nears the mouth of Hell and stops.

Persephone disembarks; a cat darts between the wheels of a cart and she recognizes the familiar landmarks of her youth:

The Statue of the Unknown Bodybuilder heroically crushing a mound of
squirming women beneath his feet; the 7Eleven where she stops to buy
Hades a fine cigar.

Public Domain Photo of the Statue of Civic Virtue which Stood at the Union TurnPike station in Queens until it was removed in 2015
The Statue of the Unknown Bodybuilder

How the old devil loves his cigars!

“White Owl.” she says.

“Oui.” replies the clerk.

And it is done.

(C) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

Statue of the Unknown Body Builder based on a public domain photo of the Statue of Civic Virtue which stood in Queens at Union Turnpike Station until
2015.

Fusion

You have no

business

No right to

Tell me how to feel.

I do what I must:

I wake up

and pull

the Sky

down.

I plant

my feet

in the best

tradition.

Here, where the

mattress is soft

and damp;

we are bound

by wire and anger:

we are one again.

(c) Rob Goldstein 2015-2017 All Rights Reserved

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Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: Felique Steals Credibility

Felique Duprix sang a gentle lullaby to the little girl clamped between her knees.

“Ladies and Gentlemen/Take my advice, pull down your pants/And slide on hot ice”

The girl’s Mother wept when the train rolled out of Hootersville but Stella knew it was for the best; her little girl would lead a more charming and sophisticated life with Felique.

Stella,” said Felique, “Take off that tacky dress and give me your daughter.

Now, the little girl is a prisoner on the Amtrak to Hell.

The train rocked and rocked and a South of the Border rolled by.

“I want my Muthuh!” said the girl.

A South of the Border rolls by…

“A hag in rags?” replied Felique.

A South of the Border rolled by…

But she’s my Muthuh.”

A South of the Border rolls by…

“Well. So is God in his own way!”

A South of the Border rolls by…

The little girl pulls out her notebook
and writes a poem:

Mommy cried

when

Trina left.

tiny lizards

with

sharp little

teeth

fell from

her eyes

and ran down

her

cheeks.

She closes her notebook and waits:

a South of the Border rolls by.

(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

Scroll

I went to the market just the other day

To get some toilet paper in a desperate way

I grabbed a roll an took a poll

“Is it used up for you in a day or so?”

A man in the checkout line smiled and said:

You one silly faggot right outta your head!

I use it scented, I use it mean.

I’m all wiped up like a clean machine!

So I went on home with that in mind

and unrolled a scroll before Suppertime.

donald trumps face on an unscrolling roll toilet paper

Funky Cold Medina – Tone Loc
The Internet Archives

Image and poem  (c) Rob Goldstein January 1986 All Rights reserved

Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: Fellini Characters with Hitchcock Touches

A chill settles over Jamaica Plains as the F Train winds
its way to The Village.

“New Haven. Miss?” sang the conductor.

Persephone sits quietly with an old bag between her knees.

Surely, Hades will ignore the weather and see her; but she has
no guarantees.

Her stomach grumbles as she examines the other passengers.

They look like Fellini characters with Hitchcock touches.

To her left is the slave boy from The Satyricon, but, he also looks like
Grace Kelly: and she’s sure she’s seen that whore in La Dolce Vita
and The Birds.

Animated gif of Anita Ekberg and Marcello Mastroianni from Federico Fellini's 'La Dolce Vita'
La Dolce Vita

The E screams to a stop.

“Penn Station. Miss?” sang the conductor.

Persephone quickly rises and says her good-byes.

(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

Animated gif found on Giphy

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Magenta

Her lover

has

left her:

he’s on

the road

now

revving

some

big rig

doing

God knows

what In

the rest

stops.

She saves for

the future.

A fresh

deposit

saunters in

as she

freshens

her

Lipstick.

Eyes steady

she

approaches

and

whispers.

20 bucks

rides

on this,

10 will buy

some quiet

spot;

some place

to spark

his

imagination.

“Living Loving Maid (She’s Just a Woman)” from Led Zeppelin II
The Internet Archives

Words and Image (c)  Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved


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Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: Headed to Hell

Persephone is headed to Hell but first she decides to
meet Christ in Manhattan.

She takes in the sights of 7th Avenue; shards of rain
slice the sky.

She stops at the Cafe des Poetes for a cappuccino:

“Ex-presso! she orders.

“How fast?” asks the waiter.

“Oh, the puns,” Persephone sighs. “Please stop!”

“Make him.” the waiter points through the screen at the writer .

Persephone gives the writer an irritated glance, “He never stops!
Ex-presso please.”

“But you came in for a cappuccino.”

“But I ordered an ex-presso.”

“Not stating your intention! This is no way to meet Christ!”

(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

He Said, He Said

He called like he usually did, his voice sexy and deep, not hysterical, which
he can sometimes get when something’s on his mind, something I have to
ferret out , burying my muzzle in the shit of his psyche.

He said we couldn’t have dinner, that he was broke and, ‘some people have
to work,’ implying something about my life.

He said that I was fine, but, ‘a little too much’ and wondered if I wouldn’t
be happier with someone more complex, more my ‘speed.’

And I said no! No! Simplicity is my goal, what can I be?  What would you
like me to be?

“Nothing.” he said, and hung up.

He Said, He Said

Excerpt from a poetry reading with Harold Norse, 1986.

(c) Rob Goldstein 1986-2017 All Rights Reserved

Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: Farewell my Raisin D’etre!

Marcy awakens the next morning and Felique is gone.

On the mirror, scrawled in lipstick: Farewell my raisin d’être!

Behind the message Marcy’s reflection bubbles and is slowly
replaced by the face of a hag.

“Who are you!” demands the Hag.

Illustration of the 'Hag' based on a photograph of a paste up on Valencia Street in San Francisco
The male gods are titillated but not amused

“I am Marcy Bloomingdale of Queens, New York.”

“No! You are Persephone, ex-wife of Hades!”

Marcy rolls her eyes, “What he want?”

“The male gods are titillated but not amused by your lesbian ways. They take revenge on you by unleashing your love’s late Mother for she cannot bear to see her daughter happy. Felique is her hostage in the Underworld.”

“By the gods,” Persephone, alias Marcy Bloomingdale of Queens, New York exclaims, “How can I retrieve her!”

The image of the Hag begins to vanish, “You must seek the mercy of Hades…You must return to the Underworld…”

To be continued…

(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

Felique Dupré in the Haunted World in the Haunted World: An Affair

 

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A flight of Ideas: I’m alive!

I stand on a day room table and shout:

“I’m alive, God bless you, Jesus; I’m still alive!”

Oh, for Christ sake!

I’m still alive.

Is nothing, know nothing, be nothing.

I am the blood of Christ; these bright red
splats on slate grey walls.

My reflection is soft and feminine, my eyes
unspeakably kind.

Birth, death, infinity

We are a miracle struggling to happen.

 ✳ † ∞

(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: An Affair

1.

Footsteps: an affair.

“You’re late.” says Felique.

“Ten minutes.” Marcy replies.

“I cannot kiss on an empty stomach.” Felique orders à la carte
and gazes fearfully into Marcy’s eyes.

“What bothers you my little bon-bon?”

“Nothing, Mon cher. Try these snails.”

Yet the fear remains…

“Oh Marcy!” Felique feels suddenly silly, “Will I die if I make
love to you?”

Marcy giggles, “Only If you forget to breath!”

Tragedy replaces the fear in Felique’s eyes . “Breathing reminds me
of my mother.”

“Is your Mother still alive, dear Felique?”

“I was ten. Mother chased some wild geese and drowned in the Seine. This is why my love for you is so painful. Everything reminds me of Mother, which makes me cry. Oh my poor stupid Mother!”

2.

Felique sobbed as they hopped the E Train for Harlem; she sobbed for
her poor Mother.

Fellique turned to Marcy, her face as grey as the Moon.

“I’m a troubled woman.”

“Lamb.” Marcy replied.

“I do nothing but need.”

“Lamb.” Marcy repeated.

“Have I told you of my Mother?” Felique asked.

Marcy’s head throbbed with love; she gripped Felique’s shoulders: “Did your Mother drink?”

“Wine…White.” Felique replied.

“Alcohol has wrecked your life!”

Felique offers a dry cackle: “Ah, that it was that simple my wise, merciful,
long-suffering woman. She said she loved me.”

Marcy was strong yet gentle: “Denial! Make love to me now!”

“In the road?”

“Nothing sullies those who love!”

“Not even history?”

“Lamb.”

3.

What it is about love? As if a conquered people had gathered to rewrite history.

Felique moves with the purity of a child who spies a new perception: all mothers are one Mother and the World is one big Mother

Hot tears dribble onto Marcy’s mound, whose love expels the ghost of Felique’s affliction.

“O! Que j’aille à’ la mer,” sighs Felique.

A digital photograph of an avatar that represents a young woman named Felique Dupré in a virtual Manhattan
Felique Dupré in the Haunted World

 

To be continued…

(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved

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Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: Among the French Cymbalists


(symbol.crash)

She has strolled the
twenty yards among
the desperate Italians
who sleep on fine couches
beneath that crummy hotel
over Washington Square.

The wind as a Southern Storm
lifts her up to the land of
wildflowers and Irish seascapes.

Flemish belles wring

A clarion call!
An armistice! And
Felique is alone on a
subway that goes
nowhere.

As surely as the clock ticks,

Just as surely there is a way
to escape the Village

But for Felique, whose anguish
has never been televised

And whose skirts are off the rack

There is no escape to money
and romance.

 

This poem was first posted in March 2015 as a standalone piece but it’s part of the Felique Dupré in the Haunted World  prose poems.

 

Poem and Image Rob Goldstein (c) 2015 All Rights Reserved

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Heather Heyer: Charlottesville Violence Victim.

from The Militant Negro™

The Militant Negro™

Mother of Charlottesville victim speaks to HuffPost about her daughter’s life.

Heather Heyer ‘Murdered While Protesting Against Hate’ In Charlottesville, Friends Say

The woman who was killed in Charlottesville, Virginiaon Saturday when a car plowed into a group of anti-racist demonstrators was a 32-year-old paralegal who was passionate about social justice.
Heather Heyer’s mother, Susan Bro, told HuffPost that her daughter attended Saturday’s rally because she “was about bringing an end to injustice.”

From The Huffington Post.Com:

Heather Heyer ‘Murdered While Protesting Against Hate’ In Charlottesville, Friends Say

“If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention,” read Heyer’s last public post on Facebook.

RUCKERSVILLE, Va. ― The woman who was killed in Charlottesville, Virginia, on Saturday when a car plowed into a group of anti-racist demonstrators was a 32-year-old paralegal who was passionate about social justice.

Heather Heyer’s mother, Susan Bro…

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