SUP, DAWGS?: I, Seraph the Dank, am up and pontificating on this here blog.

For those unaware, my original blog is Pensate Omnia. I must say it is one fine blog (when I am on a roll and posting regularly). In fact, I believe I am the most seasoned blogger of the Beat bunch: I started Pensate Omnia more than a year ago.

But who cares about that?

I offer you two things in my debut post. 1) What the hee-eck is up with my name 2) Some poetry.

First things first: My name is Seraphim. Not Serafin. Not Sarafiiii(drop off into unintelligable noise, affected so as to sound as if you know what you are doing!). Not even Seraph (although I readily accept Serafim).

Come on, people! This is a common name for Orthodox people, especially those non-Greek Russian/Romanian/Latvian/Bulgarian/Serbian types. That's because St. Seraphim of Sarov (that's in Russia) was a very popular, influential saint from the 19th Century. Many faithful named their children after him, although both "Seraphim" and "Cherubim" are names not unheard of before St. Seraphim's time.

Now, I refer you to this set of definitions of Seraphim. Seraphim is indeed the neuter plural form of seraph, which is a fiery angel that stands before the thrown of God. It is a name that appears in both the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures. Before you go bustin' a premature move, frontin' because you think I should be named "Seraph" and NOT "Seraphim," consider what Easton's 1897 Bible Dictionary has to say:

"Seraphim: mentioned in Isa. 6:2, 3, 6, 7. This word means fiery ones, in allusion, as is supposed, to their burning love. They are represented as "standing" above the King as he sat upon his throne, ready at once to minister unto him. Their form appears to have been human, with the addition of wings. This word, in the original, is used elsewhere only of the "fiery serpents" (Num. 21:6, 8; Deut. 8:15; comp. Isa. 14:29; 30:6) sent by God as his instruments to inflict on the people the righteous penalty of sin."

Need I say any more, foo'!?

But, just in case you are truly wanton, I have one other explanation (aside from the obvious fact that I am named after a Saint). It is the neuter collective, you see! Which means I am 1) full of love; 2) able to bust out some serious wrath; 3) pleasing to all those who have ever taken a Garnjobst class.

Again: need I say any more?

Let that rest, never to be mentioned again.

Oh, and here's the poetry. It a snipet that comes from Ron Silliman's book, N/O:

                         O parking lot
                         oh parking lot
                         I'd give my arm
                         to find a slot
                                 
                                            shattered umbrella

                                    bent

                            awkwardly as a broken bird

                    morning markets meaning maybe

              old disposable
              diapers
              tied in knots
              atop the black asphalt

                            almost blue
                            barely visible
                            smoke spews
                            from a red brick chimney

weird social movements

                     (save the snails)

              my little chubbette

                            imagine Nobel laureate in chem
                            as political, as pathetic
                            as those in lit

              homeboys in the rain eat brain