the cats out of bed. 11.5 degrees. Before I got up, I thought about the teacher who nearly flunked me in his class he taught, Video Production; which made me think of a printmaking class I got an ‘A’ for all my trouble..and a drawing I never refined into a print, but should. It tells the story of a man and a woman in love. In an old downtown area. Under a crescent moon, as a jet whistles by, overhead, before the moon at a stiff, upwards angle, they embrace; possibly for a kiss. His violin-case can be seen on the butt-strewn sidewalk, under tall, ancient hi-rises, perhaps condemned; or maybe people still rent the apartments or maybe are just squatting in them while they can before they get put to the wrecking-ball! and maybe, from one of the vacant windows, even, someone..with a vacant stare, is observing these two humans..who have nothing in this world, now, but each other; and a few partially smoked cig’s, butted. In my opinion she’s probably a dancer, between jobs, presently (polka-dot mini-dress and go-go boots to support the hypothesis). It’s a really crude drawing; but it is art! (depends, probably, how to define aRT). Anyway, when I drew the picture, just sitting around the classroom, light and airy with spring sunshine streaming in trying to fake it like I still had the spark of creative juices flowing, I was thinking, obviously, of my long ago life, living in San Francisco as a young college student on the San Francisco State College campus, studying animation; and fencing. And love! (a failed experiment, btw..When a ma-an, love-a-GOOGLE..he will search the www, –fin’a “paper-doll..other fel-lows cannot steal..”).
Looking back on it, in the history, it was a sterling youth spent in circumstances of myriad pseudo-scientific enchantments, PCE (pre-computer era)..all sorts of experiments! art experiments, music concerts of all sorts, MOBY GRAPE,Benny Goodman&party’s! and catch-as-catch-can minstrelsy? performances down on Embarcadero, –by the wharf..AUTOMATIC HUMAN JUKEBOX, young-man-with-a-horn from Oakland, a life lived in a town by the bay, –porpoises and abalone’s and sea otters and sailfishes..anemones; and its daily sometime parade of decadently delightful diversions; at a settlement by the seaside, seasoned with historical interest, a local culture boasting echoes of a near-distant golden age teeming with Indians’ tee pee’s, and other lore’s, gold-rush excitements, global shipping ventures, and crusty hippie left-over’s from the 60’s; and whatever else, –smelting-pot, in which lots of money mixed with many curiosities made San Francisco a sort-of lost weekend, post-Summer Wonderland of Love, open for try-out’s, to be lustily inhaled by a young, non-upwardly mobile poet; such as my self. And of course, Alcatraz! (symbol, meaning freedom). It was also living with a constant chill-weather factor, on-off, luminous white clouds abruptly turning dark, un-zipping, and scattering intermittent downpours, the familiar squalls..then swiftly changing the stage-lighting menu to sunshine again, beams angling through cotton-candy clouds drifting lazily under acid skies making shadows over all us..city dwellers! dwelling therein, tucked inside streets fringed with tall grey buildings of stone sewn to cement sidewalks with some kind of heavy, industrial sewing-machine, rushing here and there past batches of small, odd businesses, selling dusty volumes of ancient literature; or near-forgotten fashions, and what-not’s..in urban gloom; the sullen peace, broken suddenly by military flyovers of fighter-jets, howling over roof-top drug-deals, –&sex-for-dope! if, so be it happens you were out walking on Armed Forces Day! (that was a big day back then); or..out in the more strictly residential districts, Sol..and his open lighting schemes re-painted brilliant colors on them, new seal-coat on the space-colours, and pulsating sidewalks, in front of..three-story Victorians; and other classical architecture’s dotting hills stretching west, into the vast, salty sail-boaty Pacific, over miles and miles of beautiful rich homes, the caviar of domeciles! for the fortunates living in them; for others, a cheap price in the crummier neighborhoods..but nice Victorian’s! Such was the case of this writer, 110.00 a month..and a view! Then. So!
(And of course, now, Frisco’s a sh**-hole, just a third world sh**-hole; and no helping it.)
Daylight’s finally here, anyway, and the temperature’s dropped from 11.5 degrees Fahrenheit to 11.1..usually happens just before the sun peeks in on us over the mountains, back there. Here in Big Bear (in Coachella in July it’s the same number, but no decimal-point). Better add some more wood..cat’s at the door, wants out. Ha! that would be fun..give him his wish! So I was thinking I’d make a series based on our loving couple, –Bohemians, you could label them, calling it something strikingly original like WOMEN IN LOVE, with Poet’s, Painters, Artists, and Musicians..Writers. Like that. I would think it would not be lacking in appeal at some level or another. Anyway..65.7 in here, now. So the dog’s up, also wants outside, wonder why (the usual). Starting to moan now, and grab my arm; to take me to the door. It’s only 7:15, c’mon! Alright! alright! (The world is such a wonderful thing, sometimes you forget Who made all of it!) Alright, let’s go..Brandon (everybody names their dog ‘Brandon’ these days). See if there’s any snow left, at all. (It snowed on my birthday.) Anyway I gotta work on my JEEP (after it warms up a little).ikjhk(<cat wrote it when I wasn’t looking) and bypass the wires to the steering column so I can have: 1) Turn-signal’s; 2) Defrost-blower; 3) Windshield-wipers; &4) Fog-lights..right; you don’t want to go tearing into the steering column to have a look at all the shorted wires and switches, just because you lost all those winter driving niceties, according to an excellent mechanic-friend of mine because nothing might ever work in there for you again! once you start. So I started tracing the wires and where they go to all those things testing with a hand-made&fused hot-wire from the battery; and will do it a better way. A surer way..to be continued
“I’m not sleeping.” ~God
Tornado, maybe the biggest ever, ripped through five states..this morning’s news.
These cats..they go MOO! instead of ME-OW. And the dog says ME-OW! instead of BOW-WOW!! Isn’t that a trip..(?)
Dear Dairy, Day 3: (or 4, ARF! ARF!) I don’t even know if it’s really that important, but I think they got us celebrating Christmas which is the birth of JESUS at the wrong time of the year..yeah. You see, –listen! according to what I got the DS (Deep State) when it made Christianity legal back under one of these emperors, back in the Roman days, yeah, “Let’s Go, Vespasian!” –having their ROMAN HOLIDAY..without Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn, unfortunately! got the hot idea to unify all the religions and quell religious bigotry’s by giving the Christians Christmas..yeah, but only they got to share the same holiday with everybody’s, –and I think we got that – holiday – from Holy day, as in high, Holy days, which has something to do with the religious Jews and their calendar, anyway, –a simple look at it by the historians and those who carefully study such things seems to indicate that merely on the basis of the seasons – which we have had around for quite a bit of time now, at least since before we can remember – on the seasonal evidence they bear witness that shepherds were not watching their flocks by night (at least not as we understand that) at the time of year they’re calling Christmas..or even X-MAS! so-called, inappropriately according to many, who consider it offensive, and perhaps rightly, but the main idea is Christ was not born on ‘Christmas’ as we consider it to be, but rather at some time during spring..maybe the Easter-bunny has some information for us about it (and the Gregorian’s); anyway, it is a fact that Rome was a very political state at the time – not so unlike another very,VERY political state that shall go nameless with which we are all starkly familiar, thanks to the 24-hour news cycle and that cyclical seasonally unbiased phenomenon (like cnn; &all their Epsteinian’s, et al) bares witness to the final decline of western civilizaTION, SO-CALLED..but anyway Roman politics was trying to hold itself together coming apart at the seams, it seems; and so it is likely that, when they let the Christians into their culturally tight little one-world-government concept, merrily rolling along towards history’s dust-bin, that..that something had to give! and, as it is more blessed – to give, that is, than to receive – the Christians it appears were ready and willing to give the pagans their special day that celebrated the return of the Sun, that was their god they worshipped and sacrificed to, like the Druids did, –don’t look too close at thaT! plus, it’s 300 years already, after the fact so who remembers when? and so all the Christians honoring the arrival of Messiah build all the shopping-malls so they can have someplace special to go and buy gifts in the tradition of the Wise Men – or guys, as we say nowadays – ’cause now, just as then they’re all tired of being eaten by lions and burned like Roman candles, in the arenas, –and don’t wish to offend anyone by inadvertently calling them by an objectionable pronoun..either in the first-person, or second or third or 64th person for that matter, whatever! so we just all go along to get along as they say..So! next time you’re burning your Yule log, –energy-saving kind, I hope! to save the palnet; or dragging your Christmas tree in your front door; or trying to! and muttering under your breath some choice words that it saYS in the Proverbs are best left unused, –some FREE ADVICE: just trim the branches a little, there at the threshold and it’ll pass through okay, without tearing tearing the door-frame and everything up. And also, if your a true-blue Christian with your i-Tunes playing Elvis singing BLUE CHRISTMAS, –or your 8-Track player, in the dash of your Pinto; up on blocks in the dark garage, cold, sad and forgotten..REMEMBER! it’s Christmas to celebrate every day of the year, not just when there’s snow all over the place, and not a sheep to be seen; and by all means, go to the mall and buy all those ABERCROMBIE’s..and, and FITCH’s&WHATEVER, PRINTED ACROSS THE BUTT ON THE BACK OF YOUR YOGA-PANTS like some advertising bill-board in NYC; and Yves St, Laurent’s and all the rest of the name-brand what-nots for your loved one’s (or those whom you are trying to impress); but also, don’t neglect to give some poor person a gift..gift to some wretch you may not even know, maybe even a Druid! who listens to msnbc all day, –uncritically; because that’s what Christmas is really all about..Charlie Brown. A-men.
PS: And to that emperor who established Christmas inline with Winter Solstice to appease the pagans; I hope you are well..wherever you are. That’s all. Merry Christmas, everyone..ya-all!
Dear Diarreah..diuhrehah, –well! you try and spell it (did I get it right? Day 7),
DD, –Everyday, we have our little victories. Today, I woke up cold..just before sunrise. The fire had gone out. I looked at the thermometer on the wall, well..it’s not a thermometer, but there’s numbers; and they said FORTY-EIGHT. In the house. We are losing the war with winter (I said to myself). So I started a fire. First, stuff some cardboard, a wad of paper scrap, and a piece of split wood, which is walnut – nicely seasoned! and another one across that, piggy-back; and then some big furry, fuzzy pieces of bark..bark! bark!BARK-BARK-BARK! that’s your tinder, it goes up quick and hot, to catch the serious wood on fire after it (cardboard gets that started). With a cigarette lighter, I put the flame to the paper..and we’re off! very slow at first, nothing wants to cooperate. Then, as things start to combust, the ice cold stove begins to come into its own, owing its own heat so to speak, as things begin to heat up..now I can taste victory. At first, the firewood doesn’t want to go. So I encourage it..”Let’s go, Brandon!” I whisper to it, liltingly, pathetically, in the pre-dawn shadows; but it doesn’t respond so quickly, as I am wishing, winter’s cold pressing in on the walls of our tiny cabin, so I speak in harsher terms, more tersely; and definitely..I command it (using the subjunctive):
“Come on Brandon! you feckless..uhh, you feckless race-car driver!!”
as Samantha “Diorama-breath” Bee might say, when she’s trying to keep the lid on it, or, ah, BEE-onner best bee-haviour (I guess she’s some kinda rock’n’roll historian she purloin that compound pronoun/adjective off Jagger who used it on Stevie Wonder to express his consternation about Stevie’s tardiness to open one of the shows..anyway, nothing original).
That seems to have did it, now, the bigger piece is starting to FLAME ON! as the expression goes..Human Torch talk (or maybe just a snippet of something, overheard, in a cocktail lounge; one of any number of them to be found up on Castro Street, or down in Polk Gulch, nestled, in the hills of a cozy village known as Frisco, USA; or at least it used to be the case, before the scourge of aids hit, back in the 80’s..and there was the public library, too, I wonder if it still exists? a wonderful bastion of civilization, pre-Obamma and the smell of books, where all walks walked, and I recall one afternoon, in the periodicals department – that’s magazines, like BOY’S LIFE – and there was this old, old-school German immigrant that ran that..when the term immigrant meant something! and some local homosexual was giving him the ration, going on and on about his particular magazine he went there, expressly, to read, some, EUROPEAN publication the guy was too cheap to buy for himself, whining about it not being put out on the racks until the next issue was due to arrive any minute; and he – the gay guy – was certain it was a plot by the gang in charge of all of it to keep it for themselves and their own enjoyment, back in the break-room, and rip off the public with their insider influence, short-changing the public, –and so on and so on; so finally this be-spectacled gentleman with his straight jaw and neatly combed hair had had enough and lashes back with: “Oh! who kierz about zet krap!” so that’s my San Francisco Public Library story, it’s probably closed up like some third-world sh**-hole library, now, blm and antifa checked out all the books, all there good ones! and never brought ’em back..like Huckleberry Finn, –Burn ’em! burn ’em all).
But..So! but I digressed..So! Confident that I have gained the upper hand on our situation, with the coldness, I turn to my keyboard to indulge myself in my morning pre-poem meditation..heat from the wood-stove pushing gently at my back. A little victory to start the day.
And Now, Miguel (feed the cat in other words).
..diarrhea, D-I-A-R-R-H-E-A; also DIARRHOEA (little victories)
ps: No more 16mm Bell&Howell Film-0-sound’s for the classrooms of today, now it’s EPSON’S hanging from the sprinkler-pipe’s, overhead, showing the kids their cultural enrichment’s, very sharp..And Now, Abdul (SIGH) I wish I had that nazi-guy at the library for a pen-pal from another part of the planet now, that would make for some interesting correspondence..we could re-hash the old days. But he’s probably gone on to..that great Trump rally in the sky by now, –Sieg heil, anyway.