Growing

He was a burgeoning misfit and sinking morass, A growing maniac That any and all could see Could not be hindered, He was a worry to his family And a blot on the reports and repartee that Self-appointed experts or his fading friends might make That ought to please, yet nothing pleased... Spectacular moonbeams like monograms on the wane And steeped in wine, robust movements Of comfortable pillows On top of twisted mangled bowels, Tawdry dreams and lacklustre schemes And the old bitch science, who's failing Each and every one of us And falling down, from grace in drag, On Tuesdays and every Friday... It has all squashed my resistance now And heaped up this poverty of appetites Until every lick of poetry in the bowl Is more sticky and more satisfying Than oatmeal on lumber that's never sweet,

Dead Mouse

I was offline for about a day because my second effort to clean my mouse killed it! The fact that I've cleaned mice previously doesn't matter much, evidently, because it froze up and wouldn't show any sign of life. I was going to consult my nephew about it (he might still have my optical mouse that travelled to his house), but he was out of town, so I broke down and bought a new one. It's not as if they're expensive. I paid $20, but there were $10 ones! Considering how much gunk I found in the mouse that just died, I think I'm pretty happy to be back with an optical mouse, not to mention a new one! This Microsoft bugger sure does move fast comparatively! I keep running right off the screen.

Bail Me Out, Too, Mister!

Daniel Webster: "A strong conviction that something must be done is the parent of many bad measures."

Bellies

I knew a girl, I didn't know her very well, I used to tell myself, though, How I'd love to belly up to her Even if our bellies were all that was involved Except for our kisses. There should always be kisses, Slow and long and lingering on the lips... Meanwhile, she was just so fucking cute I couldn't bear it And couldn't wait any more And I fell to sticking my tongue in her While she rolled and jerked around! It was very nice of her to like it so well, I thought, When I myself liked it so much! I'd love to tickle her somewhere, Anywhere that would tickle her! Oh, what an effect that would be! But I'm not all that cool And can't pretend to be, at least not for long, So do I know her or not?

Authority

Albert Einstein: "To punish me for my contempt for authority, fate made me an authority myself."

Goddamn

While riding as a passenger in a car the other day, I was jarred by an unexpected speed bump and exclaimed "Goddamn", as I am (at the least) wont to do at any significant provocation. The driver bit my head off for it (exclaiming "That didn't hurt you!"), apparently forgetting for a minute what decades have passed since the 1950's when nobody except auto mechanics (like my father) ever said bad words. I'm not in favor of teaching "bad language" to children, but anybody who can drive a goddamn car is way too old and experienced (I would have thought) to try to crush me for that particular sin. I have to admit that I'm an extremist. I cuss a lot and I do so emphatically, most especially when I'm alone or think no one's close enough to hear me rant. But I wonder about the driver's statement that the sudden bump "didn't hurt" me. True enough. But the truth is that the only way I could avoid such neurotic automatic responses would be if I were someone else or if I were taking powerful pills (don't I take enough already?) for my nerves. I would need some pretty serious dope. I don't like to be startled! I am pretty constantly tensed up in expectation of some surprise, pain, or shock, whether it be an expectation of pain in my back from leaning over to pick up objects or the fear that objects I need to move will be too heavy or the dread that a four year old boy will rush at me in fun and knock me off balance and onto my ass! Don't laugh--when his older sister was young, she knocked me down in just that way and it was both difficult and embarrassing to get myself picked up again. You may think those fears are pathetic; I certainly do--but it's the condition my life's been in for a few years now and I don't know how to fix it so that I couldn't possibly offend someone's sensibilities. Well, I could kill myself, but surely no act of Harikiri is required here! If there's a problem, just bugger off, and let me do the same!

Reference To An Old Song

I'm an old pipsqueak from the Rio Grande, But I promise I won't press the issue. Actual song lyrics at my old post about The Old Cowhand

Onset Of Boredom?

I answered 2 or 3 other easy-as-pie questions on Blogger Help Group since Monday, but my energy level is pretty low about it. I don't have nearly as much commitment or obsession as I used to have. Well, we'll see. Some things fade away in life, whether they be lovers or just loved things. Maybe I'll learn to just go and pick my nose until it bleeds; that'll keep me busy.

Woogie, Ancient Blog*Star From Hell!

I answered some silly question (easy one) on Blogger Help Group today, the first one I've answered in a couple of months. All the other questions seemed to require some thinking on my part, so I didn't answer any of them. Maybe my habits have changed at last and I can't get back in the habit of being a Blogger knowitall? It could be. Just a tainted, water-damaged, rusty old Blog*Star ready for the garbage heap. Let it rain on me. It doesn't hurt, though, so what does it matter? Maybe this is another retirement from Retirement? I can't keep track.

Crazy?

IN THE DREAM I BURNED IT ALL In the dream I burned it all, First the letters never sent, Then the ones addressed to me. Next came my poems and stories— Every paper draft, every final page. Then came the program files— Truth, fiction, databases, all— All melted in the flame. Then all the leather, raw and finished. I don’t know why I’m so surprised To see how well that skin will burn— Even hide as thick as that. Only this lazy cognizance remains, and it seems Too poor a thing to lay much claim to fame. Or am I merely stating That I'm starting over, Standing in a circle, Like some crazy syphilitic phoenix? rcs. 3rd draft: 10/19/08

Whistle

Woody Allen: "It is impossible to experience one's death objectively and still carry a tune."

Blind Jack

Edgar Lee Masters (1868–1950). Spoon River Anthology. 1916

I HAD fiddled all at the county fair. But driving home “Butch” Weldy and Jack McGuire, Who were roaring full, made me fiddle and fiddle To the song of Susie Skinner, while whipping the horses Till they ran away. Blind as I was, I tried to get out As the carriage fell in the ditch, And was caught in the wheels and killed. There’s a blind man here with a brow As big and white as a cloud. And all we fiddlers, from highest to lowest, Writers of music and tellers of stories, Sit at his feet, And hear him sing of the fall of Troy.

Dead And Deadly Singers

Fabulous Dead Pop Singers

Elvis Presley Gram Parsons Jimi Hendrix Richard Fariña Janis Joplin Jim Morrison Buddy Holly Jimmy Reed Faron Young Sandy Denny Roy Orbison Kate Wolf Ray Charles John Lennon Tim Buckley Rick Nelson Johnnie Ray Otis Redding Billie Holiday Cass Elliott Eddy Arnold Jim Reeves Patsy Cline Johnny Cash Dinah Washington Edith Piaf Bessie Smith Minnie Ripperton Nicolette Larson James Brown Nat King Cole Marvin Gaye Sam Cooke Jimi Hendrix Richie Valens Hank Williams, Sr. (We can only wish it for junior.) If I left out any good ones, feel free to list your own and I might add them to the list. If I don't like them very much, though, it won't matter to me how famous they were. I notice I didn't list many blues singers--although I may like some of them very much, I am not conscious of thinking about the dead buggers as great singers.

p.s. OK, so I left out Frank Sinatra, but I despise that Las Vegas scuz and his lame efforts to speak like the black musicians he worked with.

As I Walked Out One Evening

by W.H. Auden

As I walked out one evening, Walking down Bristol Street, The crowds upon the pavement Were fields of harvest wheat. And down by the brimming river I heard a lover sing Under an arch of the railway: "Love has no ending. "I'll love you, dear, I'll love you Till China and Africa meet, And the river jumps over the mountain And the salmon sing in the street, "I'll love you till the ocean Is folded and hung up to dry And the seven stars go squawking Like geese about the sky. "The years shall run like rabbits, For in my arms I hold The Flower of the Ages, And the first love of the world." But all the clocks in the city Began to whirr and chime: "O let not Time deceive you, You cannot conquer Time. "In the burrows of the Nightmare Where Justice naked is, Time watches from the shadow And coughs when you would kiss. "In headaches and in worry Vaguely life leaks away, And Time will have his fancy To-morrow or to-day. "Into many a green valley Drifts the appalling snow; Time breaks the threaded dances And the diver's brilliant bow. "O plunge your hands in water, Plunge them in up to the wrist; Stare, stare in the basin And wonder what you've missed. "The glacier knocks in the cupboard, The desert sighs in the bed, And the crack in the tea-cup opens A lane to the land of the dead. "Where the beggars raffle the banknotes And the Giant is enchanting to Jack, And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer, And Jill goes down on her back. "O look, look in the mirror? O look in your distress: Life remains a blessing Although you cannot bless. "O stand, stand at the window As the tears scald and start; You shall love your crooked neighbour With your crooked heart." It was late, late in the evening, The lovers they were gone; The clocks had ceased their chiming, And the deep river ran on.

Harold Arnett

Edgar Lee Masters (1868–1950). Spoon River Anthology. 1916.

I LEANED against the mantel, sick, sick, Thinking of my failure, looking into the abyss, Weak from the noon-day heat. A church bell sounded mournfully far away, I heard the cry of a baby, And the coughing of John Yarnell, Bed-ridden, feverish, feverish, dying, Then the violent voice of my wife: “Watch out, the potatoes are burning!” I smelled them ... then there was irresistible disgust. I pulled the trigger ... blackness ... light... Unspeakable regret ... fumbling for the world again. Too late! Thus I came here, With lungs for breathing ... one cannot breathe here with lungs, Though one must breathe.... Of what use is it To rid one’s self of the world, When no soul may ever escape the eternal destiny of life?

Attitudes

We have attitude and platitudes, And plenty of. But we don't have much real choice any more (Said the pogo stick in an awkward voice To a dead horse wearing lovely makeup).

Philosophers

William James "There is only one thing a philosopher can be relied upon to do, and that is to contradict other philosophers."

Minerva Jones

Edgar Lee Masters (1868–1950). Spoon River Anthology. 1916.

I AM Minerva, the village poetess, Hooted at, jeered at by the Yahoos of the street For my heavy body, cock-eye, and rolling walk, And all the more when “Butch” Weldy Captured me after a brutal hunt. He left me to my fate with Doctor Meyers; And I sank into death, growing numb from the feet up, Like one stepping deeper and deeper into a stream of ice. Will some one go to the village newspaper, And gather into a book the verses I wrote?— I thirsted so for love! I hungered so for life!

Modern Phones

Among the things disturbed or zapped by Hurricane Ike seems to be my cordless phone I used out here in the study. I bought that AT&T phone sometime before 1988--so it's ancient. I remember I paid something like $150 for it and didn't mind it, it seemed like such a fine new toy to me at the time! Nowadays, they are as common as dirt and nearly as cheap. All the fancy phones are in the house these days, so I bought the cheapest one I could find at WalMart (less than $10) and it seems to be perfectly good. It seems like it's even better in some ways because it's smaller and lighter. I have no real use for cell phones, so all their lightweightness and smallness has not much intruded into my life, but I can see how they too have reached a premium stage of existence for those who have to carry them around. Technology is a wonderful thing, I guess--until it tracks you down and locks you up, of course.

Lock And Lither

Pither, fither, Lock and lither, Schlock and flither, Clock and chither-- Out on the way to Mayfair we bumped Into a drunken lazy bum who stumbled. Now we swindle, swelter, and connive, and The Jews and all my juicy friends are helter-skelter! Shriek your shrug and hang your quiver, But don't just hang around here Like some kind of bad luck personified Or with any great expectations, either, Chuck! Pig snouts, without a doubt, Who knows what'll rise up out of the dust next Or what will rip what ripe flesh Or who will go down in pride now without a word?

Too Much At Once

Anonymous: "Time is that quality of nature which keeps events from happening all at once. Lately it doesn't seem to be working."

The Song that Bush Sings In The Shower

Political Science

by Randy Newman No one likes us-I don't know why We may not be perfect, but heaven knows we try But all around, even our old friends put us down Let's drop the big one and see what happens We give them money-but are they grateful? No, they're spiteful and they're hateful They don't respect us-so let's surprise them We'll drop the big one and pulverize them Asia's crowded and Europe's too old Africa is far too hot And Canada's too cold And South America stole our name Let's drop the big one There'll be no one left to blame us We'll save Australia Don't wanna hurt no kangaroo We'll build an All American amusement park there They got surfin', too Boom goes London and boom Paris More room for you and more room for me And every city the whole world round Will just be another American town Oh, how peaceful it will be We'll set everybody free You'll wear a Japanese kimono And there'll be Italian shoes for me They all hate us anyhow So let's drop the big one now Let's drop the big one now

"The Battle Hymn of the Republic"

I'm not sure when it became permissible to put one's God and one's militaristic leanings into a single pot and stir them together, but certainly there was no one during the Civil War who didn't believe that God was on his side and would help smite the enemy! (What a bunch of jerks we are!) This was an American abolitionist song written by Julia Ward Howe in November 1861 and first published in The Atlantic Monthly in February 1, 1862 that was made popular during the American Civil War. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on. (Chorus) Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! His truth is marching on. I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps, They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps: His day is marching on. (Chorus) Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! His day is marching on. I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel: "As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal; Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on." (Chorus) Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Since God is marching on. He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat: Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. (Chorus) Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me: As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. (Chorus) Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! While God is marching on. He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave, He is Wisdom to the mighty, He is Succour to the brave, So the world shall be His footstool, and the soul of Time His slave, Our God is marching on. (Chorus) Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Our God is marching on.

Hippo

I think about things every day that aren't even important to me, so how much less (I figure) is it to you? This is just one of them, I'd say--not more, not less--even if it's wearing steel-toed boots and a mauve tutu without any bra or panties.

Not Out Of Spite Or Anger

Nothing Was Delivered by Bob Dylan Nothing was delivered And I tell this truth to you, Not out of spite or anger But simply because it's true. Now, I hope you won't object to this, Giving back all of what you owe, The fewer words you have to waste on this, The sooner you can go. Nothing is better, nothing is best, Take heed of this and get plenty of rest. Nothing was delivered But I can't say I sympathize With what your fate is going to be, Yes, for telling all those lies. Now you must provide some answers For what you sell has not been received, And the sooner you come up with them, The sooner you can leave. Nothing is better, nothing is best, Take heed of this and get plenty rest. (Now you know) Nothing was delivered And it's up to you to say Just what you had in mind When you made ev'rybody pay. No, nothing was delivered, Yes, 'n' someone must explain That as long as it takes to do this Then that's how long that you'll remain. Nothing is better, nothing is best, Take heed of this and get plenty rest. Copyright ©1968; renewed 1996 Dwarf Music

Duels

Mark Twain: "I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him."

Pathetic

Jerry Garcia: "Somebody has to do something, and it's just incredibly pathetic that it has to be us."

Cooler Temps And Shirts And Pants

I had to start wearing a few of my long-sleeve shirts this past week. Whether the warm weather is "all over" here in Texas or not, it at least starts to feel like it's not quite hurricane season, and you know that can't be bad! I even turned the bathroom heater on this morning and it's hard to remember when I did that last. I think last winter was so tolerable (to me) that I almost never turned it on. That's always the oddest odor, though, the smell of the past year's dust burning off of the heating element--for a moment or two before realizing what it is, I panic. The first morning I reached for a winter shirt last week, I grabbed one that was a very tight fit and wondered if I'd grown fat during the night! I finally recalled that it was one I'd meant to set aside from the "normal" shirts and had failed to do so. The tight shirt was the same "large" size as all the others, but still it was for someone just a few pounds lighter! I can't recall how I acquired a shirt that didn't fit very well, but maybe it was one of those fifty-cent wonders I sometimes buy at Good Will. At the same time last week I began trying on some of my smaller (size 36) pants and found that I've shrunk again in that regard. So now I have two sizes of pants in my closet, size 36 and 38. If the smaller sizes stay comfortable, I'll eventually move the larger ones into the bathroom closet to avoid the confusion! I'll keep the cargo pants handy, though, since all three pair of them are the larger size! I like all those pockets, though it's seldom that I use them all! Nonetheless, when using a cane for walking as I have done much of this past year, one sometimes needs either an extra hand (no one sells them) or an extra pocket. Meanwhile, it's weird to have some pants so loose they fall off without a cinched belt and others that stay up without any belt at all!