wheel reel

for years, for fears

aligator gar

I thought a gar bit me once while I was climbing the ladder to our dock on Turkey Creek. I immediately reacted to the sudden sting and quickly jumped onto the wooden platform to check my leg. I was bleeding and freaked out. Later that day, my first cousin by marriage, Ray, found the gar, dead, twisted to the ladder by fishing wire, punctured by an angler's hook. I remember walking over the little bridge attached to our dock and seeing him throwing something towards the cove with a cave side of our swimming area whilst simultaneously receiving news of what really happened to me earlier in the day at the ladder. It disturbed me that Ray would throw the fish of projected evil right where we swam. We surmised that the hook cut me and not the gar, which was way smaller than the one in the above picture and probably not the aligator kind. For years, I would purposely float my legs upward avoiding the rung of the mossy ladder where I felt the pain of the hook.

observed first cicada song today

windy june

windy june

two aunt junes

big june

little june

seriously,

6'2

4'11

one had dutch boy

one had high hair

both wore

obvious eye make-up

emboldening their

beautiful blue eyes

both smiley,

hugging lovers

of cuteness

Fantastic Planet

Hieronymus Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights triptych come to life

Another Troubled KAREN Movie

I should have made this post a companion piece to The Manitou post. These movies both have women named Karen that are in trouble. In addition, they have two actors (Bette Davis and Tony Curtis) that say "Karen" in a way that begs to be imitated. Watcher in the Woods is cool, not too scary, but visually appealing. I read the book from which this movie was adapted. It's by Florence Engel Randall. The book has this awesome, creepy, other dimension communication via television scene that wasn't included in the movie.

Nooner

4 armed man, in utero baby and witch doctor

The sun

mama say mama saw ma ma ku saw

baby robin rescue

Ween:

Oh little birdy, oh little birdy

I saw the little birdy sing
He sang with glee and everything
He sang for spring and sang for me
And everything was so happy

I don't know why I want to fly
Try to sigh, try to fly, made a tie
And then it tried to get me down
I want to buy make me fly
Get me high, so I can try
And then I try
The little birdy start to cry so happy
Little birdy was so happy
Little birdy was so happy

Can I touch your birdy wing?
And fly and hop and everything
Can the sun reach down on us
And through the heavens only we would sing

I want the birdy make me laugh
See the birdy make me laugh
Take a little birdy bath
I don't know why he got me high
I don't know why, I don't know why
It cannot die, it sang too high
And all the birds on the wing sang so together

So together, so together




Kristin Hersh:

Little birdy, little birdy
What makes you fly so high?
It's because I am a birdy
And I'm not afraid to die

Little birdy, little birdy
Come sing me your song
I've a short time to be here with you
And a long time, to be gone

Little birdy, little birdy
What makes your wing so blue?
It's because I've been a-grievin'
Grievin' after you

Little birdy, little birdy
Come sing me your song
I've a short time to be here with you
And a long time, to be gone

Little birdy, little birdy
What makes your head so red?
After all that I have been through
It's a wonder I ain't dead

Little birdy, little birdy
Come sing me your song
I've a short time to be here with you
And a long time, to be gone

Summer Horror

I love this movie. Tony Curtis is so vibrant. I wish I could've partied with him back in the day. He seems fun. I like the scene where he turns on some quasi disco music in his apartment and pours himself a beer. The Manitou portrays an interesting take on evil possession. My husband and many others around his age that saw this when they were young were terrified by this movie. I can see why a kid would be freaked out by this, but adults will be horror free. Nice 70s feel if you're in the mood.

#1 Boompy

Tiger or Squirrel dream

two tigers
in a huddle
a squirrel
is motionless,
then moves.
one tiger
chases the
squirrel.
up the
tree goes
the squirrel
up the tree
goes the
tiger.
the squirrel
feels free
at a certain
height, yet
the tiger
surprises the
squirrel in
reaching the
squirrel's point
of freedom
much flurry
and the squirrel
bounds to
escape

Rover

The space program has landed. Back to earth now. The busy minded scientists could not turn off their curiosity buttons. Because of that, there are wayward rovers roaming the nation. People are in charge of avoiding them or risk getting hit. Suburban kids have urban legends about kids at play yelling "Rover!" to warn their playmates to move out of the way. Over many years, the rovers converge around one spot of this continent. It is a magnetic threshold in the earth. It's one of the starting points of what makes the earth have an insectival exoskeleton magnetosphere.

That is the biggest fish I have ever seen

I am a muppet

Oh! Hello!

Recent determinants agree that I am a muppet.

Unfortunately, I do not resemble any of the muppets

pictured above, but Waldorf, one half of the balcony hecklers duo.

I'm the muppet on the left.

I have hints of John Denver too.

"Rocky Mountain High!"

Saturn day

swallowed with the oxygen that burst up our bones



lyrics from Vertigo by Kristin Hersh

two things

I saw my first lightning bug of the summer last night.  I have been documenting these first sightings for awhile now.  I don't know what I expect to do with this knowledge, but I save the calendars with my nature observations anyway.  While searching through Google images for lightning bugs, I came across this blog.

And this drawing...

The blogger, one Margaret Huber,  draws on her train ticket from London to Brighton everyday.  I really like this art concept.

Found a yellow wild pansy in my yard.  Pulled it up by the roots before my husband mowed over it.  Put it in water.   Keeps blooming!  

I think I'm getting pretty good at identifying plants.  My first guess was right--which was based on the flower scene from Disney's "Alice in Wonderland."

Twisted like a Triplet from Belleville

Another band that plays home appliances.


Belleville Rendez-Vous  (English Version)

I won't finish my life in Timbuktu
cheeks so tight my lips are turning blue
I'd like to be wrinkled, utterly wrinkled
wrinkled like a Triplet from Belleville

Don't want to wind my days in Acapulco
stiff as a board dancing tango-tango
I'd love to be twisted, utterly twisted
twisted like a Triplet from Belleville
"Come on Girls!"

Swinging Belleville rendez-vous
marathon dancing doop dee doop
vaudou Cancan balais taboo
au Belleville swinging rendez-vous

I won't be an old man in Singapore
playing scrabble and eating petits-fours
I want to be wicked, utterly wicked
wicked like the Triplets from Belleville

I don't want to end my life in Honolulu
singing like a bird in an ormolu
I want to be as rough, every bit as rough
rough as a Triplet from Belleville

Swinging Belleville rendez-vous
marathon dancing doop dee doop
vaudou Cancan balais taboo
au Belleville swinging rendez-vous

I won't finish my days in Miami Beach
sweating my heart stalking like an old bitch
I'd like to be flying (Hop!)
utterly flying (Hop! Hop!)
flying like a Triplet from Belleville

Don't mind ending my life in Katmandu
signing with a sitar and a guru
but I'd prefer to be
much prefer to be
swinging with the Triplets from Belleville
"Come on Girls!"

Swinging Belleville rendez-vous
marathon dancing doop dee doop
vaudou Cancan balais taboo
au Belleville swinging rendez-vous

Swinging Belleville rendez-vous
marathon dancing doop dee doop
vaudou Cancan balais taboo
au Belleville swinging rendez-vous

written by: Benoît Charest, (music); Sylvain Chomet, (lyrics)

Sunday Crack

too much about this is lovable

Clover takes Over

A nitrogen rich plant from the pea family, clover is observed taking over broken ground from human use. Does the soil beckon it or does the plant know it is it's job to reclaim the soil?

ghosts of television past floating through my brain

These two popped in my mind earlier. Connected by an SNL skit--the liar.
Morgan Fairchild was such a big deal--weird. Was it the hair?
"Yeah, that's the ticket." Forgot all about that.

Spousal observances

Sunday 24th of May 2009 around 4:00:
Husband observed a bee swarm the size of our house at the golf course near 70 Hwy and Woods Chapel Road (a road named for my ancestor and his chapel). The swarm was like a black cloud in the distance flying towards my husband. He backed up out from the path of the live mass of insects and was close enough to view individual bees in the "controlled chaos" rolling around each other. A swarm this size is imagined to be able to make it from Mexico to Canada.

Tuesday 26th of May 2009 all day:
Husband observed another swarm of bees on the corner of St. Louis Street and the alley between the Hobbs and Abernathy buildings. The swarm was half the size of our t.v. room and not as dense as the one at the golf course. The swarm was observed flying up towards the top of a building and turning the corner. The swarm eventually descended upon a fire hydrant and gave it a beard of bees.

Cornflower blue

A woman with a blonde bob adorned with a bronze flower clip barrett and horizontal oval glasses leans over to scrub the stain off the sky blue polyester golf shirt. She wants to stitch up her husband's tennis shoes with thick green thread so he can call them mocashoes.
She wishes for lavender bushes to cut and put in vinegar to make a cleaning solution. Will she ever try to make that parsley perfume?
Colors are magenta rose, lilac and cornflower blue. Ah, cornflower blue. She practically had an orgasm for this crayon. Oh and forest green. Yeah, forest green. She wanted to color that color so hard.
Her heart almost breaks because the pincushion flowers planted before she moved here, don't appear to be coming up this summer. She salivates over a dark leafy green weed growing along the gravel path. Are they those French lamb's ear greens she's been wanting to try? Oh please, god, make it so.
She decides to chop the volunteer mulberry tree she had been cultivating. Maybe it will grow back. Inside the columnar cut stem is light green. Not that verdant. She hopes the mulberry is as tough as it's known to be. She decides to make the little cut tree her wand. She will add it to her wand collection, which consists of a dogwood wand.
She has a small dried root collection too. Pods, seeds, nuts, feathers and rocks coveted and loved. Snail shells, piece of a bird skull, crow's feet, green june bug, weird irridescent blue fly, and a dragonfly in a jam jar that should never be opened unless one wants to unleash a scent to draw demons from the depths of putridity.
Remember the yard that summer on Wyoming where the wild garlic looked like fiddlehead ferns?
Remember when the yard was purple?
Oh, I loved that time too.
She wants to master the stove. She envisions four swirling pots spinning as she maneuvers over them like a dj.
She thinks a purple kitchen will make it her own.

Hold on to something still

I'm listening to this CD in my car and I can't get past this first song on the second disc.
Here's a webisode I found:
http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=671585759627
And his website (I like the invisible man image):
http://www.scottweiland.com/

Whose Beauty? (Zombieville) [In editing]

Now that the aesthetic movement has been in effect for a few years, the citizens of this country have torn down the ugly homes and buildings that shouldn't have been built in the first place.

The restoration of edifices that were begat of real craftsmanship have begun. The government plans to unveil a new campaign to reclaim green space. Most of the campaigns have progressed smoothly. Most city, town and village inhabitants of this country have decided on an aesthetic scheme for their dwellings that dignifies, sustains and appeals to the sense of sight belonging to the majority whom voted in the localized beautification election.

The folks of the town of Harkness, however, could not agree on a singular beauty. In a town so small, I never imagined how diverse it could be. We never knew the creativity hibernating in each Harknessian individual.

I was renting one of the ugly houses. The town leaders put me up in an old renovated Bed and Breakfast until a more beautiful abode was built for me, er, well, I can't lie, for any renter.

The town folk gathered at the Harkness town hall to deliberate on the Harkness beautification plan. Joshua Stangl, the director of the Harkness Museum, desired a historic aesthetic, Merry Tuttle, owner of the Harkness Nursery wanted an Olde English look, Turk Collins, proprietor of the local bar, Zoot, coveted a 1920s Art Nouveau visage, Harkness postmaster, Shill Kramph liked modern and clean lines. The Hamilton family, of the the Hamilton Family Farm, pined for edible landscapes as far as the eye could see. The Comic Book shopkeeper, Fitz Pringle, volleyed for a wooded glen dotted by Hobbit-style earth homes, The Harkness School District superintendent, Arlyle Mock, requested red brick for everything. Holly Mezner, the Harkness librarian, was keen on green, the color and the application. John Flax, the town drunk, envisioned a Scandinavian ski village to go with the Arkness mountains, which were ancient and nothing more than high plains.

Mayor Vernon Kronon introduced his wife, Midge, to the discussion as she took over the podium. Lips too close to the microphone, she puffed, "Listen everyone. Your aesthetic is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong! All wrong!," she darted her eyes around the room before she reasoned, "This town needs to move beyond the past and look towards the future." Pausing to pose an airless face stoppered by a fish mouth, she gathered untempered courage and proclaimed "I suggest the town of Harkness embrace our clean slate and create a masterpiece of old Rome--a better Rome!"

Instinctly, a few of us chuckled at Midge's foreward thinking plan.

"Better Roam home!," flew from the back of the crowded room; a comment which vibrated the congregation in stifled laughter.

"Yeah, real futuristic--an aesthetic that was dreamt thousands of years ago," flipped Harold the Funeral Home Director.

"I want lightrail!"

"I want cobblestone!"

"I want gaslights!"

"I want gothic!"

"Green roofs!"

The meeting adjourned in a frazzled state of incompetence. I went back to my room at the Bed and Breakfast. Gerry and Terry Marsh, my hosts, weren't going to let me stay forever. I had to find a place to rest my bones.

The next morning I went to my job at the Funeral Home. I'm a carpenter by trade and I can build a good box. Yeah, I make caskets for the deceased citizens of Harkness.

Harold approached me as soon as I turned the lights on in the shop.

"What did you think of last night's meeting?"

"Well, its a shame nothing came of it, but I heard some good ideas."

"Yeah, I kind of liked Superintendent Mock's red brick conception."

"I liked that one, and I'm rather fond of Holly Mezner's green plan."

"Oh, that green stuff. That will never last."

"I think that's the point, Harold, it's called Cradle to the Grave."

Harold searched my face to see my angle. Unanswered and still unsure, he turned his back and offered, "Hmph! Green! Doesn't have any business being in Harkness."

"Why's that, Harold?" I uncharacteristically taunted him further.

He mumbled something with expletives and wandered down the hall and up the stairway to his office.

I rolled my eyes and simultaneously turned toward my current project. It was a casket for Torly Striker. He is in his eighties and figured he better have himself a nice home for the thereafter. We designed it together.

As I added the small details for Torly's next home, his words came back to me..."a home for the thereafter." I smiled.

"Maybe even a home for the right now," I thought. A slight notion fogged my mind. I could sleep in here. After all, I just need a place to rest my bones. Click.

My thoughts churned and calculated. Yeah! That's all I need is a protected place to sleep. The rest of the world will be my living space. I can shower at the High school gymnasium or in the pristine Arkness creek. Eat at restaurants or on the go. Have my mail sent to the post office. Buy a plot of land in the cemetery and wake up to a solitary lifestyle.

I did this. Right between the headstones of Murray Castberger circa 1812 and Lorelei Chambers circa 1921, I slept in the grave yard in my personalized casket designed to hold a few belongings and influence a satisfying slumber. My approach to living was at first considered strange and macabre, but after the town leaders got ugly over beauty, many Harknessians were left without a beautiful home.

I was now considered a hero of sorts for the new homeless Harknessians. My portable sleeping quarters fulfilled a void in the town. Made to order, my caskets or casks, as I now call them, are customized for complete slumber comfort and satisfying minutia needs of the individual. The homeless needn't be bedless. Nor should they keep one eye open whilst engaging in rejuvenate sleep. The health of the down trodden improved. Not only did they get enough sleep, but they watched less television, became more physically active, and many were released by the nasty grip of pack-ratism.

At first there were only a few of us and the company was welcomed in a Hobo aesthetic kind of way. We had campfires next to the Pauling Mausoleum every Thursday and spoke like frontiersmen. I will report to you my journal entry from several months ago so that you may see where my mind was when I invented the new fad of Harkness:

More neighbors, I think I'm going to add wheels to my cask and try nomadic living for awhile. At least until I can once again wake into solitary enjoyment. Maybe I'll buy an orchard and rest my bones among the fruitful groves.

Now all the casks have wheels. Mobile portable sleeping quarters, are wildly popular in this region. Everyone is pulling them along with designer or creative, handmade ropes. Some casks are bedazzled, spray-painted, toled, decoupaged, Pollacked, big and little wheeled, hydraulic, and on and on. Everyone is expressing his and her creativity and displaying his and her version of beauty.

Most of the Harkness citizens sleep in the graveyard now. The town is known for its living dead. This acknowledgment was resurrected when weary travelers witnessed a mob of Harknessians groggily, weaving and lurching down through the cemetery gate in search for a cup of morning joe. We are also known as Zombieville.

Holy Shed

This is where I worship.
I zero in on the blackness
imagine vibrating hands
healing and exorcising me
body surf style
the healers spit on the floor
and torpedo propel me
out of the blackness
to soak in the light
and once again
become entangled in
the beauty and thorns
of the roses

Scratchin'

The story that I'm writing has a Faust twist. My main character runs a drive-thru that serves anything desired. Here are the ways he obtains his customers' requests:
A horn of plenty, because I have always liked that image and I also have a weird thing about it (I was a dreamy kid).
An orchard, I always wanted an orchard and my mom's grandma had one. A wolf chased my mom and her sister up a fruit tree in that orchard. It was a terrifying tale. But I can't tell it--she has to.
The last way my character achieves in his business is by time travel.
He obtains the horn of plenty and the quantum power from Cecil the Devil whom only asks for one request. Not for my character's soul, but for something. That's all he knows of it. It could come out of nowhere, it could last forever.
A bargain for the power to satisfy customers.
The orchard provides my character's only means of self sufficiency.
Dr. Zorba a man of intimidating intellect finds my character and uses him to bring desired artifacts of our great mysteries. Tactfully pushing my character further and further towards the edges of time. He wants to know something. Is that him following my character through time? The doctor's constant thirst proves too much for my character's body which changes into a static magnetic opposite. Matter is flipped and he can't change it back. He floats through puzzles of familiar objects and finally finds a friend or a person just as crazed for the answers as Dr. Zorba.
Margot Brungardt is a bright, nervous daydreamer willing to sacrifice her life to reach the pinnacle of knowledge. She is intrigued by my character's plight. What kind of knowledge is the best knowledge? Everything or yourself?

This is for Tierney

(droney guitar: dun un dun un dun un tah)

ran away to the west
faxed my mom for the test
couldn't stay for the rest
then I met him Jess
he is just the best
we kissed right under a tree
I felt so salty free
I felt so salty free
I felt nothing like me

I felt so s-a-lty free



This doesn't make sense, but it does to me. Lyrics are from "Quest for the Cup" by SY. Feel s-a-lty free to give it a listen.

The May Girls

What is it about those

girls born in May?

Full of giddy life and smiles

Their party perfume

and floaty charms

Every organ filled with

Laughter

It's like every girl

wearing their best

colours took a 

trip around the

May pole.