Scruffy’s..Blurgh!

some stinking xzwrpk! – I think they’re called bureaucrat in your language, and I know I spelled it right in spite of the fact that this device is stating otherwise – come! and have some unelected xzwrpk nincompoop-for-hire with morning breath and a clip-board in the crook of his/her arm, flourishing a pile of locally generated forms outlining fake rules, and regulations approaching-and-telling me..how! or in what manner I may find true love; and with whom! NO. I loaded my single-spaceman spaceship aboard the mothership with a few personal space belongings, and left everything to win your heart; and that was a lot! let me tell you, but that is what I am about (does not depend how you define IS; and, if you like your red-hot spaceman lover you can keep your red-hot spaceman lover). So I got tired of how things are back home, being really close to our sun, about, half a mile by your earth’s measurements..too hot for almost anybody to even think about being in love; or skiing! and getting warmer all the time. GLOBAL WARMING, we’ve been calling it..for lack of a more scientifically precise term; because such does not exist in our language (I tried looking it up in our space bront’saurus and it’s not there, no sin-o-nym for taht). So, one night, while out stargazing, I was checking up on your planet, –the Azure Globe as it is referred to where we’re at..a.k.a., the Cool, Blue Planet, by translation into common English, as your people would call it (that very excellent language, you, here, by the way, speak..when it’s conjugated and enunciated correctly and in good taste); and it’s very chilly, here, too; especially compared to our climates where I left off from sweating buckets and don’t get me started! but you earthpeople have many trees! still, to cut down; and fireplaces, to burn them in, and stay warm; and so I want to become a citizen among your people and be here with you, be a im’-mi-grant..maybe, even sing you The Immigrant Song; by the fire, as is your local custom (unless The Government came and took the fireplace). But yes, I want to stay here with you, in this solar system; in spite of the UNIVERSE FACT that your planet is getting colder every year since we have been paying attention to it, about this many degrees, dropping annually for the last, —universal measurement of time (=X), —global cooling we call that (another UNIVERSE FACT!); and that’s what’s happening on your earth, by the way, and you can verify that simply by going to the UNIVERSAL FACT-CHECKER, go ahead, it’s there, out there in the cosmos somewhere, conceived and assembled by one of our more extreme-to-right-of-center extra-terrestrials that wanted “..Just the facts, Ma’am..Dah! da-da-dah!” you’ll find it, it’s there, just..LOOK. Now (for the record): back where I come from we don’t do much of anything because the cats do all the heavy lifting there; because it’s too dam hot for them to sleep, and since they can’t lay around the _____’s, (our word for house..which, before the G.W. were like your earth’s igloo’s, with green, frozen lawns out front, and inside piled high! with ESKIMO PIE’s (for space-snacks); and you can add-on into that equation our adjective/combo-use-verb equivalent for your feckless – it’s a BEE thing, Se-man-tic-a B. – as a piggy-back’d pre-verb, of sorts..I think maybe in your language it’s called helping verb, I don’know, if that helps, anyway, add it up in that part of the sentence structure preceding HOUSE,stick it there..for exttra emphasis), okay, —cats..all day; they can’t lay around the _____ all day, and, whereas they got nothing else they can do to MEOW-MEOW! away the time, they took over governing our planet, making all the necessary arrangements for our needful creature comforts..like the air-conditioning services, etc.; and we don’t elect them, they just do it, and it’s convenient, taht way. Which leaves us plenty of time to enjoy our rich foods, work cross-word puzzles, and look at the stars. And write poems. No!! we don’t have TELE-VISION. So you would think with a set-up like that everybody would be in love all the time; but sadly! this is not the case. Think about how much you could stay focused on romantic notions..when the outside temperature’s only around 186,000,000.99999999999999999999999 (by your earth’s measure, in degrees Centigrade..give or take), it just don’t work; and on the side of that, I notice our cats are doing a fine job running our planet compared to the @#$%^&*&^%$#@!!@#$%^&*(???!‘s (we don’t have a word for them) charged with similar responsibilities here on yours. In fact on our planet on a slow day, the stupidest, lamest, dumb-a** cat can walk circles around your best and brightest, ah, star commander’s, or whatever you care to call it, here; plus calculate the closest distance between our planet and its sun at the normal seasonal equinox’s..vis-a-vis, the farthest separation betwixt the two, at that other cyclical point in sidereal time, doing the math in his, or her head..while managing a 1/2-hour treadmill workout at the high setting..and chew gum! wearing their RAYBAN’s (our cats are no pussies); and that’s one thing that, that, how do you say it? that really blows me away! in terms of coming to terms..with terms of citizenship, according to standards for such stuff on your earth, —Whom do we accept? (and HOW) and I get it, I get it! It’s hard for your earth leader-persons, –as they prefer to be mentioned, –whether in the classroom or at the nerve-center of your world’s government’s, aka, the Big Apple,&U.N.,etc., etc..it’s hard! difficult in the extreme for them to shoulder the blame, when it all goes awry..shoulder! something peculiar to the physical anatomy’s of you, you race of earthlings; and additionally one other thing: What is it with you people and everything’s about race?? C’mon! we’re all one race!! Anyway, I got off the rails, there, with that one, railing like that; which reminds me of one of your local planetary customs I’ve been noticing, a tendency to rail about it/anything,everything, whenever a person is faced with something they fail to understand, can’t grasp, “He doesn’t get it.” Thanks! tahnks for that..now how do you define IT? and is that leadership-level word-smithing..at all?? that kind of speech..off-the-cuff??? that sez”He gets it!”anyway, a knee-jerk tendency by all, to rail at..the Unknown! all your planet’s left-wing, knee-jerk liberal commiepinkofag’s!!!!! that is; anyway. Oh! but as I was saying, your leadership’s don’t like the criticism‘s and so, politely request everyone/anyone on the planet..whether on the streets, or in the homes, Holmes, –to please refrain from criticizing; in fact, they’ve gone so far as to not only request that citizens of your planet not criticize..but much farther than that, and, showing plainly their adverseness to a predilection on the part of many, to heckle (our word for that is grrphr_v, I put a space there before the last character as there is no member letter equivalent in our alphabet, –or whatever you care to call it), –so much more do they disdain hecklers, that they have added a, ah, an enforcement component to the request – to not heckle – which is not really totally officially an enforcement component, per se, but rather, a sort of recommendation, aksing in a nice way that everyone in the community cooperate with the language regulations..or guidelines, if you prefer, by kindly turning in the names of those who staunchly refuse/RESIST going along with the programme. That concept – taht of compulsory compliance on the parts of everyone – is so foreign, to our minds..can I say the word foreign?? because I notice there are lotS of words – YES! lotS with a capital S! – lot of words here on your planet, –like foreign, which – for purposes of debate ONLY – serve to clarify the discussion of issues on how you/we aught to be governed..though many have likened it more to a thing here called Ranched (as opposed to being governed); and with that kind of Lincoln-esque imagery stirring emotions, it seems incomprehensible that any intelligent life form any-where! would want to eliminate from the usage such efficacious words that – used appropriately – bring into sharp focus that very abstract topic of LIBERTY, being the core of the debate,BEAMMEUP! and a something of such personal import as that, wherein the disputed words we may want, can only lead to a more complete understanding of, —What’s-what! as your people call it; which, had they only known that! huh, what? – what’s-what – they could of went to City-college..anyway, I don’t want to rock the love-boat, here, –on your planet, hear? as you-all have been so gracious to consider accepting me into your race of Earthy-link’s, adopted, so to speak, by you people..so I want to fit in, as-best-os I can. I’m picking up on your lingo, correct?? catch-as-catch-can (hope its good enough, if not, sorry!need to listen harder). Just one thing, one only other thing..are spiders, here, on your earth, smaller than five feet? ours on our planet make the bath-tubs look tiny, they migrated..from Mars, –the spiders, a little hard to handle: All you need is gloves! gloves..gloves is all you need! beetles, beetles better, A-hem! oh, and are any of yours vegan’s? ours are not; and so, like, how many genders of cats on your planet? only two on ours, you can fact-check it, by the way, and so..I don’t want to get that goofed-up, calling one of your furry pet’s with the pointy ears by the wrong pronoun! and cause offense, perhaps start a global conflict, God forbid..oh! sorry, one other thing, only: How do your people celebrate Christmas? because where I come from, our planet..which is like so many other planets in our galaxy, where there’s intelligent life..with the possible exception of some of them that are luke-warm only, and march in their local plaza’s with pictures of their leader on a stick, –and we know very many of you earthlings believe in that stuff, about life out there, somewhere..on other planets; and if it feels good, fine! then, by all means..but, so, uh, —CHRISTMAS! yeah..so we all, from the hot planet, here, worship Christ, the Son of our creator, Father God, our Saviour and Lord; and in the whole universe there is one name only for him and his name is JESUS,akaTheWAY,TheLIFE. So I just want to understand what your feelings, here on your planet are, concerning his Universal Truth..not that it would change my heart any towards the One who came to save us all from our space sins, but just as a point of interest..and possible discussion? Can I say the word JOHN? and the number 3, –with verse SIXTEEN?

And with that, –oh yeah! and will you marry me? I’ll supply the space preacher..and cake! (insert photo)

Love, Spaceman

ps: Here’s your proposal poem..how we write ’em on our planet: Dear! Dear..fetch me a pale of water; so I can talk to your vater (about some particular’s). I’ll ask for your hand, he’ll presume it was planned; but in the end, –us by the fire in December, it won’t mater.

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.

2.

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!

~c.

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).

“Here, ‘Miguel’..Kitty-kitty!”

..diarrhea, D-I-A-R-R-H-E-A; also DIARRHOEA (little victories)

~c.

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.

1.

Late at night, while insects sleep, I lie awake..a drunken heap

and dream of you with open eyes, while falling! in starlit skies..

shifting pinnacles, of light! radiating nature’s might

beacons, for the common man, to light the Way, reveal God’s plan.

Like the ants who work by day, my mind at night is free to play

unperturbed by itchy bites..and gory human/insect fights; a

fundamentally sound agreement: They don’t crawl up inside my trousers

I don’t crush them! in the cement, and

so, in peace, we go our ways..sealed within a common maze.

We humans spend our time making skyscrapers; while insects toe the line

stuck on fly-papers. (SIGH)

To starve quietly to death; or fall a mile, really, it makes no difference.

Only thing I think I’d like is go out wearing A TALL SMILE (if you get my inference).

But at this point you’re probably saying, “Gee..this poem hasn’t been too terribly romantic.” Or perhaps, were I ‘neath your window, I might hear yet harsher critical utterances, like: “TOO OVERTLY PEDANTIC!”

but please bear with me, and don’t take this disillusionment seriously; because the sweetest lyrics are about to start! while the idiotic stuff fades ‘way mysteriously..and

if you picked out my meaning when I spoke of smiling at the very end, –well that, Sweetheart, is the power of my love for you..which is why this poem was penned.

2.

I thirst

for knowledge of you.

To drink from the waters of that sacred receptacle,

a temple..which encircles the essence the of your uniqueness

the vehicle

that sustains your expanding awareness

on its timeless journey of self-discovery

is my heart’s desire.

To share in that discovery..a paradise unfolding

plane, upon plane

bursting forth, in ever widening surges

of lush beauty

atmospheric purity, fertile..irresistible!

I give myself

to you.

3.

My kingdom I’d give, ‘f I were a king..for a song from your lips, just hearing you sing.

There is the treasure I love most of all. I already told you..don’t you recall?

The very first sight of you struck at my heart! the armies of Caesar couldn’t keep us apart. No arrow, nor spear, nor firey rock..come flying through the air! could give me a shock.

Empires fall; and new ones arise..even Tut’s pyramid ‘ventually dies; as stone turns to sand, and ‘spicked up by the breeze, until it falls, scattered, across seven seas; sinking under the waves, sliding ’round with the tide, re-arranging, and shifting, till at last purified..it rolls in from the depths! upon the dry land, where sunshine’s abundant, and there, in my hand, I ponder the journeys, imagine the source..of each tiny granule, disciple of force.

The power of nature prevails over all..we’re part of the order, we must heed the call. It’s our obligation, a pre-destined fate: To further the species we must choose a mate..So! it’s you, Jane, I’m wanting..let me be your man! in case you ain’t guessed yet, call me

TARZAN! TARZAN THE APE-MAN, TARZAN, KING OF THE APES!! Call me anything, JUST CALL ME..I’ll give you all my apes! a whole kingdom of ’em..

~c.

ps: Ahh! nothing.

the topic of the bows, –also spelled BOSE, in case you’re an aficionado with the homonym’s, bro’, or you have an interest in hi-fi, or, right now! you’re listening to the DOOBIE BROTHERS or Country Joe MacDonald (&the Fish) through a pile of vintage electronic’s, with tubes, and monster-speakers and everything, sitting cross-legged in your ti-pi; and, in lieu of a doobie, doing a bowl in the old peace-pipe, or whatever (if your a little hipper, Sly&the Family Stone, or even FUNK-A-DELIC, may-be), wishing, perhaps, you could have some, –some peace! even a little. But we don’t get to have that, thanks to our Government, “Let’s go, Brandon!” so a word, now, on the bows, and of course a goodly supply of arrows to go along with, ooh! makes me quiver all over thinking about it because if you’re an Indian then you know you’re pretty handy with one of those things; and living in your tipi, or teepee or any other number of ways you can legally spell that (according to no less an authority than Wikipedia), you know you are patently upwardly mobile..and outwardly and downwardly..sidewards-ly and any other –ly (Bruce-Lee, –okay, make it a Lodge! or wigwam, if you prefer). But all that aside, being ready – at the drop of a moccasin – to move on to better pastures with your ‘tepee’, —that being quick to disassemble (for the migratory reason’s) and throw in your U-haul, you have the option to up and take off, when the taking-off’s good; like in the hypothetical case of one of any number of the so-called WUHAN viruses..coming to get you. For reference, they’re a little like, –Palmer’s Disease. (You have to go research that if it sounds strange to your ears..Paleface! Palmer’s Disease, or P.D., for short (as opposed to ED), happened aboard the last, biggest, and most giant English luxury ocean liner made named GOLIATH in the made-for-TV picture GOLIATH AWAITS, an undeservedly, ignoringly overlooked movie with Christopher Lee – another -ly! – as the ship’s captain; and huge all-star international cast including Frank Gorshin as his maudlin-ly worshipful ne’er-do-well henchman, or hench-person..mind the pronouns, please! and doer of foul deeds, um..whatever may be needful in a pinch to keep things running smoothly within that odd, ultra-pressurized microcosmic society, shipwrecked on its sandy bed – placidly – a mile below oceanic crests of white (privilege) and wet, bitter cold, —victim of an unprovoked act of war in peacetime, –arguably! the year, 1940; and her underwater population, all the while, being craftily mesmerized by a cult of personality forty years hence, manipulated! by pandering to fears in tight spaces, sitting smack at the bottom of the Atlantic, with a nazi torpedo-hole in ‘er hull, –Ahem! those damn huns again! Note the appropriate use of a pejorative tagging the Germans for their trans-generational and bellicose warrior ardour, not so un-atypical of their race..they’re anglo’s anyhow so who cares much about their genetic flaws, deeply embedded in the DNA..inbred with the even naughtier Norsemen).

NOTE: (to myself) make a case for the signing of petitions to have blackjack dealers in Indian casino’s wear facsimiles of their native war-dress, for dress-codes, while they’re flipping the cards; since, as they’re successfully waging war on our wallets – and bloody wars, at that – they could at least offer a little culturally appropriated entertainment value for us while we’re losing all our disposable cash, and liquidatable assets..also the damn hippies, and the damn fbi and irs and doj,,]],G-men..GEE, deal with it! here’s your PSA,for-the-day:kjhelgveglsilucahaliygascjb_,akjs;.aklJL, etc., etc., –‘sdriving Cadillac’s! around on the reservation (also install old photo’s to document stuff)

The hippies, the hippy’s; whatever..

“Well they used to be the hippies way-back, once-upon-a-time..liv’d de life’s like gypsies, and it sho’ was fine! yuppies think they kill d ’em but de’ livin’ unnerground, –at places they can’t bill’em, if ya seek ’em, you’ll be found! that’sa psychedelic rap, uh-huh, right..psychedelic rap, mm-hm, yeah..psy-e-del-ic rap!” (0ld rap tune from 1986 written-and-never-recorded by a unknown poet..because how can this sh** survive? it’ll be out-of-fashion inside a year!)

So the hippies, back in their hay-day, worshipped the Indians for their perceived lifestyles, in freedom! un-vexed by external forces trying to take away their Indian ways..for profit (of course). Ride horses, save the planet..Right?? But what about the buffalo’s? First, why not give them, bunch of peyote-buttons, wait several hours, –then eviscerate them!! they won’t know the difference! how humane must we be?? Besides, gotta get their meat off them to survive on the native diet..or the natives will be restless; plus have to skin them for the hides so we can live out of our..wigwam’s! or tee-pee’s, if you prefer, A-hem! why not just skin the BUFFALO SPRINGFIELD’s. So the same thing happened to the hippies at Kent State, though on a much,MUCH smaller scale than like what they did to the Indians..all over da place* (for the historical interest for you-all! But don’t worry, though, we’ll get back underwater for a more detailed investigation on the connection of ‘Palmer’s’ Disease’ to the latest strains of asian flu’s blowing around, ’round here..shortly, Shorty! and btw, anybody experience the heart disease, so-called..and the subsequent landing on the table for a quadruple by-pass, because of it? and the hernia’s, the mesh law-suit’s and bladder cancers..pull a single shot-gun pellet ricochet from the left eye-ball, save a great toe from a motor-cycle wreck?? (wreck’d a Z-1 into a gas-tanker, encounter that happen’d heading up to Crestline, with drugs&alcohol, night of the full moon); and the list of medical procedures goes on, and on, –beginning – in the beginning – with the forcep’s, them having just been invented, –for little ol’ me?? so by now, maybe you can understand, to a minor degree, how come I’m how I am..or at least, note the apparent absence of a learning-curve).

So where were we? What were we? Oh yeah, the Injun’s..and their hippie, hippie-dippie counterparts (am I supposed to capitalize HIPPIES??) OK, bows&arrows. And assault-bows; cause they got multi-shot capability’s. See, if you’re a good shot, you can drop a commie x 2 before breakfast..sans re-load’s; and with these modern weapons of war, dating to around the 1300’s, often found in Swiss villages, bourn by violent persons..like William Tell (spoiler-alert! someone messed with his kid so after it was all over, ending happily for them, he’d said something that could be construed as a death threat; or merely innuendo..well). So these latest cross-bows now can shoot two arrows before the necessity of re-loading. That’s a definite improvement; or whatever. So if you’re a cross-dresser with a cross-bow, you just crossed over some kind of line, in terms of the hot-button topic of assault weapons that shoot multiple shots (more than 1 x) in this case a fully automatic cross-bow! All you cross-dressers with your cross-bows, take note! of the fag’t. But aside from all that; and the spurious educational content, (this essay is going for the Guinness Book’s record of most unforced PC errors in a single batch of run-on sentences in the world’s history..how’m I doing?) in terms of terms, let’s examine some long forgotten base-lines from our public education in the remote and foggy past.

In times going back at least a century+, the basic requirements to graduate high school level course work leaves current standards for 8 years of college..in the dust! in terms of knowledge of common subjects a hundred or more years ago, common sense stuff with Math, History, Art&Kulture, etc., Et cetera (Geography). Here’s a sample from a common textbook in use throughout the United States (of America) for students of all backgrounds..a plethora of diversities for learning, in education, if you will:

INSERT FAC’S FROM ANTIQUE TEXTBOOK (Work in progress)

And on top of all of that, the most primary purpose in public education, above all worldly knowledge that supplants – potentially – prescience and cleverness, for humility before God, was to impart a saving knowledge of the Holy Scriptures, as well as a complete familiarity with the Good Book in its entirety, in both the Old Testament, and The New..in other words, establish an ongoing and intimate lifetime relationship with our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. That aught to piss off a peck of communists running our kids through a marxist mill, grossly misrepresenting key truths, so as to lure them down a path: better a millstone..than! ~Luke 17:2

So! sinking down under the waves, –down and down aND DOWN,inexorably with that stone, Third Stone From the Sun, maybe, –Well it’s too bad! that our frie-ends..cain’t be with us to-day-ay! (it’s too bad) the Machine! that we built..would never save us (that’s what they say), et cetera, ~1983: A Merman I Should Turn To Be, –so we join with our friends, previously mentioned..including John Carradine as the incurable thespian, reenacting sword-fights from his swashbuckling silent movie days before his admiring but admittedly limited swatch of admirers, from among a slew of other denizens down,DOWN..way down deep, who somehow miraculously having survived being sunk by a torpedo attack in the dark days leading up to the United States’s entry into the Second World War, are presently alive and well “..at the bottom of the sea!” (Palmer’s Disease notwithstanding! but first..R U..exper-EE-enced..) So I said I would explain about the Palmer’s..Palmer’s is a mystery disease and no one knows anything about it, what it is, where it came from, etc., just that it’s 100% fatal and zero recovery factor. So if..no, not IF, when! when anybody’s diagnosed with Palmer’s that’s it..he’s through (or she’s through, whatever). And that’s where Gorshin’s character enters the picture; and always in dark shadows! to look in on the patient who just got diagnosed with the Palmer’s..never to be seen again, at least alive. (I am so sorry this turned into a Siskell&Ebert eternity.. movie review, slipping from a fairly titillating foray into the kulture wars, but..oh! and by the way, the character who represents the full, unbridled power of The State, is played by Eddie Albert, as a most benign and banal bogey man, working discreetly in the interests of certain globalists, concerned about the existence of a particular diplomatic pouch, known to be in the care of a U.S. senator on board, containing damning information still, after 40+yrs! potent to cause ruin in high places; in the role of overseer/consultant, ‘Eddie’ weighs developments, sifting the latest information for clues, gleaned by the deep sea rescuers, including the team’s ‘black sheep’ (he’s a little ‘off’..but steady) played by NCSI’s guy; and the former MARLBORO man? FACT-CHECK:False! everybody thinks that, Mark Harmon did not..repeat, NOT! cover the image of the Marlboro Man..who thinks he saw a mermaid; and everyone else suspects nitrogen narcosis, oh, and I might add, Albert created another unforgettably insipid bourgeoise character, the CEO in HEAD OFFICE, and guiding intelligence behind the global corpoaration, INC. a conglomerate colossus that manufactures – among other essential necessities – nuclear warheads; and, “..a smoother, creamier peanut-butter”; as well, PERMA-LAX! an efficacious pacemaker-like invention, installed surgically, –Albert, “I had the PERMA-LAX implant; and now I’m regular..for life, ha-ha!” but where were we?)

Any-way. I hinted that I might, at some point, get to the point with this writing project; and so since I am a man of my word, man-o-words, man of few words, here (here in the picture) we find Frank Gorshin’s Dan Wesker character, the power behind the throne of Christopher Lee’s captaincy, who, on the mere whim of his master and commander, –or thee perceived whim, goes running amok throughout the ship, with his hypodermic syringe in pocket, injecting a deadly serum in the weary arm of anyone from the passenger-list..and especially the bow people (a sub-population of rebel terrorists in control of the bow end of GOLIATH and who reside there); or anyone else luckless enough to become obsolete, dead weight! in an underwater food-chain stretched to its slimmest margins for error..if you don’t contribute, you don’t eat. It’s the law of the jungle, underwater, as I said..about a mile down; where something like a garden variety on-the-job injury such as a broken ankle, inexplicably, and always instantly! morphs into the latest case of Palmer’s Disease..a death sentence – literally! As the plot thickens, one girl, a young, pretty thing, has such a mishap; and before you can say, Slipped my disco! she finds herself alone in her bed, after the termination of a warm and reassuring visit/pep-talk by our Captain, –none other than the immutable Chris Lee!! and, terrifyingly, next! is visited, as you might expect, by our steward of good will and ill omens, the ubiquitous Wesker, who forty years previous, murdered a wife, then fled! the old dependable/deplorable Irish system of swift justice; but the Head of State, here, herr Kapitan Dra-ku-la, benevolent suzerain and ultimate decider of all political outcomes aboard the ship, gave him a job; and a fortuitous and timely means of egress. And he never forgot the favor! Ergo, anyone who needs to be dispensed with gets to meet their Wesker.

So there’s treachury’s; and there’s cowboys. And speaking of bows, people, there’s Indians (and Wesker’s!); and in one of the last of the prime 007 movies – the oddest, perhaps, jabbed with a surfeit of svelte models – Indians are on the attack in the final, apocalyptic, –everything-and-the-kitchen-sink scene inside the CASINO ROYALE! featuring the unsinkable Woody Allen as one of the James Bond’s in the line-up, one of many, there’s no end of them in this picture..Peter sellers, Davide Niven, et al, plus a casting-call bevy of all-Bond look-alike wannabees, extra’s, all legally BOND..James Bond! quite the character twist, in terms of an array of relative virilities, suavenesses, and male sex-appeal’s..slick danger! (master-of-arms). But I didn’t embark on this literary odyssey/debauchery to go getting stuck on Connery, the ultimate in Bond men, a lovely man, no! NO! we are on the mission..le mission! like monkeys on strings, dancing around a tall, mysterious-and-slim black object; alright, it’s a monolith. There! it’s done. And so would we all be if I could only figure out the ending (SIGH)..this’s getting a little creepy! almost as creepy as the Government from time to time, creeping in shadows (like Peter Lorre, mystery man of Fritz Lang’s ‘M’ stalking all the little girls..like where Wesker comes in with that one). Oh, so I remembered I will include pictures and i hope it will help. In the maenwhile, I jotted all this down, all the histories, and anecdotes, and, –and poetry!! and all of the rest of it, because I had hoped it might be of some relevance with what’s going around here, lately..in the world, what with all the patchy global lockdowns, and semi-official explanations, or renderings, so-called, of what’s what..Huh! what’s-what? If I’d a-know’d that I coulda went to city college! these minor deprivations and deceptions happening to us-all, regarding the notion of liberty; of which we are endowed with that inalienable right by our Creator..that, we hold, among other truths, to be self-evident!

Anyway, I just thought it all a bit curious..all the fear-mongering, and all. Cheers! all.

~c.

ps: PSYCHEDELIC RAP, SLIGHT RETURN..(verse 1) Listen to me people cause I just want ya to know..yuppies built a steeple to da late,LATE show. They think they kill the spirit, an’ they might be onna roll, but listen an’ you’ll hear it! now jus’ fall into the flow..of the PSYCHEDELIC RAP,PSYCHEDELIC RAP! PSYCHEDELIC RAP,PSYCHEDELIC RAP!

Indians..CASINO ROYALE w/FULL-AUTO BOWS/ASSAULT BOWS, BELT-FED, BABY!

*Custer,CUSTER, couldn’t cut the muster’d! so them Indians they made of him a Custer pie..Now smokum peace-pipe! make treaty; good medicine..for virus! (squib’s, Squibb..MIB)

(BTW) And it’s the middle of December, so it has to be because of, –right! global warming. Face it, we’ve never had it like this. The mice can be seen wearing shorts and tee-shirts, sipping their mint julip’s, brought out to them on platters by their house rats. RLM, rats lives matter. One day we shall be free. No one has to be anyone’s slave anymore, that’s for sure..but mice are so inquisitive! not least of all the Spanish mice; and their Spanish Eyes (munching the Spanish rice).

So the women,THE WOMEN! are fed up with it, they had it up to here (especially the poetry). First, they have to cook and now they want to take away their human right to have an abortion..it makes sense. How can women be free if they can’t have control over their own bodies?? if WOMEN can’t make their womens’ health care decisions, in PEACE! without some man telling them what to do..the government, The Government owes them an abortion because they wouldn’t be carrying this kid if the government hadn’t made them do it! Right..RIGHT?? And besides, they need the left-overs from the 70 million, or so, odd procedures to cure other medical needs because of a life of dissipation..too much parties, with strange persons, and, –well, that’s why we got obammacare. Right?? That’s free money for women’s hc decisions and no dumbass man has the right to take that away so he can blow it all down at the bowling alley, throwing bowling-balls and downing beer’s; and saying disparaging things about..women. Period! That’s an ear-mark and it is what it is, and what happens in Congress stays in Congress, now..NOW

Now we all got the corona-virus, now (thanks, Corona). So what do we do about that? Hm?? Well obviously everybody gotta get vaccinated, first, and then we sort out what other executive orders we all get to obey (as recited by the anchors at your local network affilaiate). After all, in the final analysis, it’s all a women’s health issue, and the Right to choose, so we gotta do what they say..or else it comes down to we’re all a bunch of fat, male chauvinist pigs, right? Right. And if we all don’t comply, women lose all their rights. Isn’t that right. And that will be worse than a 9/11, worse than Pearl Harbor (right?); and in fact worse than anything that’s ever happened to the human rights scene since time began..back before the so-called b.c.e. happened. And then the c.e., –which supposedly followed that. And who wants that for your children?,..wait a minute what children?? teh, THE FEMINISTS aborted them all, there goes that argument (back to the drawing-board..take your pill).

So here we all are in the government classroom, some person’s up there drawing on the drawing board our sex ed lesson for the day. The teacher-person, certified ‘educated’ by the highest academic standards available (in the context of a free, all-liberal arts, government-subsidized education), is – chalk in hand – illustrating how the sex works. Nice art. The stick figures, very realistic in the rendering of them (and the scratched-out rectangle, btw, means a bed), are shown with all the optional genders, and gender-related options (+pronouns)..wait a minute, this biology or science? Doesn’t matter, all classes are – finally got there! – a r e..EQUAL (========, =?=!) So I guess we’re in math..anyway, –Hey, wait! what’s a whip doing in there?? (must be phys.ed.?) Oh, it’s Washington d.c., my mistake! everything’s normal (so we’re in Lit.)

So all us kids are looking out the window at the chem-trails trailing behind the government jets not concentrating on our lesson’s, government pilots busily dumping government chemistry’s on they, we (and everything, WHEE!), flying back and forth, first long-wise, then lateral,–“LATERAL!” marking up the blue sky with their marx, very organized (someone just got tossed the hall-pass by the merchant/free agent of the class, wonder what they had to trade, um, Ze/hir for it?), –boy raises his hand, “Can I go to the gender-neutral bathroom?” Teacher: What gender are you? Boy: All-of-um! Teacher: Good! good answer, very inclusive, write me a one-page essay on it after class..and be sure and keep your pronouns straight. For extra credit! Now where was I? The Whole Class (in unison):

HERE COMES THE SUN!! DOO-DOO-DOO-DOO!

Narrator: Right..Thanks, Disney!

So that’s my sunrise, how’s yours?

~c,

ps: And now all the cats are yelling for breakfast, and the dog, too..and trying to get mine! so whatta we do? no room left for human rights. So now the music’s over so now turn out the lights..now.

Girl, not gurl; or gheer-rel..or gerl, or however one might imagine it to be spelled. Girl! looks weird written down, something I never considered, or given much thought to. And speaking of that, I should be more considerate to the girls, and give them a lot more thought! They are special..guirrels!

God made me a most excellent gift when He brought me the wife..my personal ‘Eve’. And He gave us a special gift when He presented us with our baby girl..Elizabeth. Before there was them, –or they, I was sad all my days. Not thinking, I ate sad food, drove sad cars down weeping freeways..to Timbuktu! wrote sad poetry, for me and you. SAD summed up my life. But now all that is past. I love my girls..my girl, and my wife; and I still want to make them a great poem..like in days of olde. It’s funny, you know, it’s a bit funny. Before I had the best girl anyone could have, –That’s you, babe! when only there were girls who would leave me in the lurch; or high up looking down, from a perch! I would write down passionate lines..lines upon lines that found their mark. Poems like arrows shot from my heart’s strings, strung low..arrows that didn’t know quite where to go. I should have written more..many more, and quick! while I could; but how was I to know? My sad days were numbered, removed from those of poets gone, below. Giant were their feelings, their emotions condensed to ink, for the quills, ink, red ink, scoring black thoughts to paper, –Childe Harold, what works he wrought! but for naught. Poems can’t save your soul, even if epic..like that, there. Satisfaction in it’s fleeting, and those who sail those oceans, wind up in Davy Jones’s poets’ locker, monkey romantics, sunk..in icy waters, –(closing thought) alas! if only I could have me a lass. But there! it’s done; and we can only hope he made it somehow, contrary to all the evidences left behind in verse, scribbles in ‘is pockets. Only your bovine poet knows for sure, him and Jesus. Make your poem out to Jesus..Dear Jesus, –He’s the only one who sees us, as we are. Truly. So seize the moment! Hearts on fire, above or below. His love can save us for sure, the only one who knows..if we knew him, or not. It’s a sad poet indeed that does not proclaim the glory of the risen Lord. To him be all praise! His majesty doth amaze. And with that understanding, a sad poet’s transformed into a something much greater..but not the doggerelist himself, but He who lives in him, making of his life a new purpose, and poet..to tell every one of the gospel. And those who can hear his words, words like water watering parched hearts; and then those hearers among them who become doers, turn from sin, and open..unto him, that,THAT! is the poetry the Lord loves. Yes indeed! Kingdom coffee-house poetry for the ages..Way, the Truth, and the LIFE!

Girls! wife’s, –hear the wonderful poem of love God have wrote for you..it starts, “In the beginning..” and ends where it begun, “She is more precious than pearls..her price is far above rubies.”

Love, the Lord (~ Proverbs 31:10)

ps: Boys! and no sooner have you had that fine, sentimental impulse to consider their delicate feelings than they force your sympathetic hand – amazing! how God works, isn’t it?

It’s not like Disneyland but it’s close enough.

God’s five gallon jug of cosmic paint. It will do the job.

Picture: No brush!

All night we slept..while our Creator, who endows us with certain inalienable rights (like the pursuit of happiness), keeps busy, day and night; for example, maybe..pointing out a cat who stayed out for the coyotes to snack on, –Yip! yip! har-oo! now face to face; whereas before, he saw it behind kitty eyes..as through a glass darkly. Now! some I’ve heard will argue the point: Animals don’t go to heaven, animals got no soul..anyway, it doesn’t say it anywhere in The Book! so forget about it.

Well I say this (to those, contentious among us). God, who is thee merciful God! and a loving and kind God; and who cares very much for all of His creation made the animals to be good, and for our pleasure; and it was man who got it all goofed-up! so He will certainly supply some form of resurrection, or whatever, for a kitty-cat who was unwise, perhaps, but nonetheless sweet; and met a horrible fate! or a perfect puppy-dog who got sick and died too young.

Animals don’t have souls?! Okay, what about 90% of the politicians?? Give me a break! Anyway, we don’t have to be worried about all of that, because whatever he’s got for us, there, in the hereafter, the unseen beyond the second heaven..well it’s bound to be a little more than adequate, for sure..for us, we saints, counting off ages through eternity’s unfoldment..on the hammock, no! it’s even better than that..but I’m at a loss! not even through a glass darkly am i seeing it. Well I’m just one mere mortal poet! So what do you want from me??

SHEESH!

See? I never learned how to play the piano, here in the sea, this player-piano, here, so I just install a player piano-roll, pump on the pedals a little, and play some rag-time..just like on my air-guitar. It’s not as convincing, though, cause you can see the keys go down where my hand isn’t even close! I guess I have to practice my ‘air-piano technique’ more so I can play it better..blowing bubbles. Underwater. That’s the part that really makes it, it’s real visual, you know..bubbles? Then maybe they’ll stop throwing vegetables at me, like sea-cucumbers; and kelp, –KELP! KELP! Them fishees are a tough room to work. A very discriminating crowd..I guess that’s cause they went with schools, rim-shot! Oh, here’s ‘Great White’. You, sir! Take my, my life..please! Thanks..you’ve been a great audience. So, Babe..how do you like it down here so far? The price is right..but it’s kind of clammy, isn’t it? They didn’t show me where the thermostat is that controls the central underwater heating, maybe behind this rock..I feel something there, I’ll give it a little twist OUCH! nope. Moray eel. Okay, skip the thermostat. Can you please do me a big personal favor and help me get this guy off my hand? Thanks.

It’s still cold, huh? Tell you what, let’s walk up this sand hill, heats s’posed to rise, maybe it’ll be warmer up there. Yes, that is a sensible difference..does not depend how you define IS, ha-ha, Oops! Don’t wake up that whale! He might roll over on us. That would not be good..have to pull us out with some Baleen wire, hahh! Well, how you like it here in our new digs so far? The good news is the realtor is not going to show up at our door with the marshall and lock us out; the bad news is it’s still cold. I’d make you a fire but I don’t see any dry wood..no fireplace anyway. Are you getting hungry? There’s no DEL TACO close. And the car still doesn’t start; but I think I got it diagnosed..water in the gas OWW! stepped on a sting-ray, dang! that’ll teach me. How long we been down here? Is it Valentine’s Day, yet? I love you, Baby. Give me a kiss..big, wet one, NO! too wet. Now I got water up my nose. Still cold, starting to shiver..Shiver me timbers! our free mortgage is underwater. Tell you what, maybe we’re not cut out for life in the sea, see? I’ll call AAA and get us a tow to the beach..no, that’s no good, they don’t let you ride in the cab no more cause of COVID, or WUHAN..whatever. (That’s with the under-toe..from Chi-na! all the way from China’s sea..see?) Oh well, we can walk. The exercise’ll be good for us. You’re looking a little flabby, just kidding! No! I’m kidding..I said it for joke! Wha-el ha-el. Look at me..look at me. See this face? See these blubbery lips? They’re saying, “You’re the cutest mermaid I seen all day!” So! let’s hoof it back to the dryer parts and check into a room and we can order food from free room-service..for FREE! The government’ll pay it all, all we have to do is say we’re illegal aliens from the sea..and we got separated from our family’s, at the border reef. That’ll fix it. And it’ll be handled. And you won’t have to worry, Sugar. Anyway, I’ve had it with the great outdoors..underwater. How ’bout you..Babe?

So last week we took out my heart and chopped it up pretty good. That was my first four-way by-pass, it went really nice. i came out of the anesthesia just in time to fight with the night nurse. Then we kissed and made up, so to speak. She’s from New York City. We found out we had a lot of common interests, like art and fencing and church. Anyway it was a lot of pain but they gave me narcotics and that helped. So now it’s been two weeks and I’m off the pain-killers, but this morning I woke up with a sharp pain in my back before sunrise. So I got up and sat on the couch and it went away. Until noon. Then it really came back and I nearly passed out. So now we are looking at passing kidney stones. They want to have me X-rayed for that, plus a urine sample for the lab boys to analyze. In the meantime I took some olive oil and lemon juice for it and had the opportunity, looking at my e-mail’s, to get a quicker appointment for ear surgery to fix my ear when I was talking to the neighbor last year and experienced a lightning-strike and thunder-clap just a split-second apart. It was really close and it jacked my left ear. So now I gotta get that worked on. Later, maybe next year, they’re talking about pulling my eyeball so my headaches will go away. That’s all I got for now. The dog’s howling to go outside and I either have to handle that or take something for her pain! Bye.

LA freeways, built in a day, couple of weeks, whatever, –circulatory system of the Golden West! car-puscles putsching their way hazily, na-zi-ly through sky-scraper needles..miles of corporate earthquake-proof nazi glass, captures: Sunrise! bounced to beaches’ sparkling sands and back, at ironclad cells in perpetual movement, workers! peeping through glass, rolling along on fresh UNI-ROYALs’ ebony fragrance, cutting a flat concrete ribbon..in twain, generous, heaving white sidewalls (SIGH!)..whites’ privilege; flashing multiplications in rear, side-view mirrors at the speed of light! cupped in chrome..reflection: million eyeballs owned by solitary drivers..ants, driving in droves! white ants, red ants, black ants, –they drive by night, ants..mixed ants’ angels flight, on metal wings of butter, sun’s light through a magnifying-glass, seeking for wood-frame homes to eat, set up goodhousekeeping..refracting rainbowspectrumbumperstickerants! touting whoever/ wherever/ whatever..back at worker-ants tail-gating in their wake, waving antennae’s at blossomy billboards, WINSTON TASTES GOOD! FOREST LAWN’LL FIX THOSE BLUES FOR YOUS..ANTS! WITH A PLOT OF GREEN (FOR YOUR NEW INNA ANT-HILL FOREVER HOME); in-the-dash AM radios pull strong signals, ploughing fields of blue deep overhead, fouled by jet-streams, contrails..transmitters, forcing strained advertising jingles on the collective eardrum, “WHAT A HAPPY FEELING! BRIGHTEN UP YOUR DAY, ‘CAUSE IT’S SO DE-LI-CIOUS..CHEWING JUICY-FRUIT!” crunching it between your mandibles blowing bubbles..blinker-signal wand in hand, cringing at the wheel! clutching shifters, push-button selectors and the like, –fiddling the knobs, SHOCK! HEAD-ON!! fire-trucks shooting tubes, tunnels through hills..dragging stents, lights flashing TO SEE! with each pulse of a modern city on life-support, –forty lanes north, forty lanes south x sixty east and west stacked twenty high*, urban renewal, — “Hi, friends, Ralph Williams!” and it’s no help. Everyday, early each morning..fearful blockages, blocking main rush-hour arteries (requiring emergency attention from the county highway commissioner, and his crews, cones, strewn about, anesthesiologies, –lend relief from the surging general-ly myrrh-jing twaffick..eh! dump a bunch of nitro pills out the tail-end of one of those ‘special’ government jets, trailing white smokes’ unison with gamma-ray voices on the whole mess and be done with it!), blinding solar flares glint windshield sheen’s: “WE CAN’T B’WEATHE!” “Here’s Sunset again, Sarge, turn LEFT, –There!” cruise old Hollywood’s streets, street-racing horsemen with no heads, stoplight-to-stoplight, pass storm drains, –signs! 101 signs..thatta-way! north&south, gas stations, lines around the block pumping clear, black gold in tanks,TANKS! SERVICE WITTA SMILE (You’re welcome), banks, pouring out cash in oily hands, newsstands, gnashing periodicals, monthlies, all the nudes that’s fit to print, PLAYBOY‘s,stacked, –High! this month’s, 1 buck! wink at swanky murals soliciting worship&sacrifice to La-la land’s inglorious past. Long gone! James Dean..Marilyn. What else? Nothing, move along, now, nothing more to see. Clark Gable you see..with those other two, he, –prob’ly never slept under a overpass (?maybe over some underpants); but he won’t be needing a four-way bypass, no, not here, nor now..why? He lives on a forever sidewalk, his name impress’d with brass struck on a star..heart of polished stone. Leaf! shall fall off..a tree, —Wheeze! beat the street-cleaners, working ‘gainst a firm breeze to the punch, managing somehow to not be intercepted in his course counting off minutes, crackling upstream, upon yon sidewalk..down to ‘is crispy end and will – gusty – blow, poetic! (naturally) over this name:

CLARK GABLE

held, enchantingly – circling curly-que – will-o’-the-wisp, “TAKE 48!” to spy..perchance&dream, o! pretty pumps, pinching the spot..Sleeping Beauty’s taps, awoke! from the casting-couch (EXIT, Stage Left, –#MET00) –perusing some plaque! pointed&pointy-toe’d&pointing at the actor’s honorarium, polka-dots&moonbeams (stifle the night) rocking back on stiletto-heels of pink&velvet-blue&caramel glass..tell a tale, Yes! do tell! “Have you seen anything of the white whale?” “Who, Shelly?? ha-ha!” “No-ya dummy! Leviathan, that other..the depths’ own harpoon-bedeck’d demon.” (So..Shelly?) ‘Leaf’ will tell his friends, –READ ALL ABOUT IT! (about the shoes), all his friends are named LEIF, a-hem! for example, Leif Eriksson, #2, who,

,OOKAY WE..GOTTA SAVE THIS POEM NOW! BEFORE WE GET BURIED IN POET’S-DOO-DOO, –DR. KILDAIRE..PAGING BEN CASEY! CAR 54 WHERE ARE YOU? END WHERE’S YOUR MASK?? THANK-YOU,MASK MAN! POEM NEEDS AN OPEN-HEART HAPPENING NOW..WOW!! OH SUHUCKS! NEVER MIND. LEIF E., AS WE’RE SAYIN’,

L’ERIKSSON himself, innis’ship, Viking one, oars a-rowing..circling The Shoes, blew in onna wind ’round the 900’s, –(900 A.D., not C.E., –as they like to say, —of late) WHITEANGLO-SAXONMICHAELAGELO,emmer-effer! protestantPUNKviking-punkWHITEprivilege’d..Bohunk-Honkie, –Sir White-boy! recently knight’d,standing tall on viking platforms, pounding the keys, –“Get back! hunky-kat!” son of Eric, –no! not Carmen#1Eric, the red honkie (so-called, here, around and about these parts in the Winston Street neighborhood’s)..beat Columbus (an’alla’usotherkracker-eurotrash) to the continent by about half-a-mil..half a millennium, that is to say..Whitey! Now..but now we’re, where were we, now? Oh yeah, oh,OH! oh-oh say can you pee-ee..by the dawn’s early blight..somewhere, under the rainbow (The Overpass) us guys, blue angel’d vikings, left to the street, we..

OH YEAH! CUT THE TUNES!SOMEBODY, HELP!!YA GOTTTA RESCUE THIS..POEM!A RESCUE-POEM, BEFORE IT GOES TO CRULE EXPERIMENTS!CUT TO, –TA-TA!TA THE STROBE-LIGHT NIGHTS ON LA’s SUNSET STRIP, PROP-HIPPIES’N’PROP-MARIJUANA-SMOKE..VELVET FOG,FROM PROP JOINTS, –‘N’COPS IN PROP COP-CARS CHASING PROP-VERMIN’S,THROUGH PROP-RIOT’S, WAVING PROP-GUNS AT PREPPY PA’s, HERMAN..C.U.,HERMANMUNSTERINNACOPCARONNAPROP-COPCAR PROP-RADIO, HIGH-SPEED, NO! SCRATCH THAT..THIS IS HOLLYWEIRD!! (WE CAN DO THIS) MAKE IT..TWO-SHOT, –HERMAN MUNSTER A-A-AND GRANDPA MUNSTER..+LILY, &ALLTHEMUNSTER’S,SNACKING SOME MUENSTER INNA COP-HELECOPTER..HELECOPTER 54,WE’RE,YOO-HOO! SHADOWING HIGH-SPEED-CAR-CHASE-IN-PROGRESS,THROUGH STREETS OF LA,SOME DIED..PASS JOHN WAYNE INNA HOT-AIR DIRIGIBLE DRIFTING OVER OUR OLD ALMA MATER,THERE,JUST ABOVE THE COLOSSEUM, PHANTOM MEM’RIES–FIGHT, TROJANS, FIGHT, –HIKE!CUT..CAR,CUTTING CORNER,QUICK!TEENAGER-AT-THE-WHEEL,SKILL-FUL-LY CRASHES INNA,INTA SOLID BRICK WALL ON THE SOUTHSIDE OF THE GASOLINE STATION,ON OLYMPIC,AN’ THE GAS WARS, PRICES AN’ALL..EXPLODE!BIG, CONFLAGRATION!!NOW WHERE WERE WE? OH YEAH,HERE! (AND THEY – THE PURSUING PERSONS..THE PO-LEECE – DRAG THE PUNK OUT OF THE CAR – WRECK, WHEELS AND ALL – AND ALL THE COPS AND EVERYBODY TAKES TURNS POUNDING SAID PUNK IN PAVEMENT LIKE A COMMON Visigoth, TEXTBOOK POLICEWORK – WITNESSED BY THE AUTHOR – AS IT SHOULD BE PREFORMED, c. 1985, –AND THEN IN A COUPLE OF MINUTES IT’LL BE ALL OVER ALL THE TELE-VISION SETS..RIOTS ENSUE, BURN THE CITY WITH FIRE, “BURN, BABY, BURN!” etc., –and all of the rest of it, –“CAN’T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?” and so on, and so on,DEATH IN VENICE, EARLIER, a.k.a.,MUGGED AT THE BEACH, #MYWHITEPRIVILEGE..OH! MY KEYS BACK, THANKS), and so we, WE WERE, YEAH..WATT?

21st CENTURY (again), SAME POEM, SAME SIDEWALK, UM, DIFFERENT STAR: Jayne Mansfield’s. And her plaque-turned-to-granite in the prior millennium (same as with The Others)..petrified veins of the Hollywood Freeway and Felix’s Chevrolet’s, GO SEE CAL!: Bel Aire’s, ‘m!palas, and Sting-Rays’ nipples, “Hi Friends,RALPH WILLIAMS!” blocks..BLOCKS! and blocks of blockages, millions of blocks..All blocks, every block! big blocks, small blocks, long blocks/short blocks! turbo-charged, super-charged, blue-printed, nitro’d, –bored and broke? Plastic sturgeons, Brentwood doc’s..looking over Santa’nita’s Munchkin jocks’ lockerrooms’n’smelly socks, yeah! sock it to me..Care to wager Mister, Major..Bill Shoemaker? Wot? he’s a dog! Well, whatta we got? (Town.) Nah, yeah, well, can’t find a backer, it, it’s getting dusk..?say we hop on the 101?North, hit it for the valley and go look at a Drive-in movie? what’s playing?

THEM!

(Authors’ note:I don’t claim to push the poets’ envelope, any, per se..but I would cop to nudging the parameters of said envelope, just a smidgeon, now, and again, –Nay? then a wee pair of parsec’s, let’s say..Do you like poetry? tee-hee!)

The END

ps:Oh,hey! Did the a-tom-i-cal-ly mutated ants ever get their star on the Hollywood Boulevard? The annoying noises they make when they’re about to attack sure should’a won ’em one. Plus James Arness? pre-GUNSMOKE, he gets the girl, wearing a little, army helmet.. “CAL WORTHINGTON AND HIS DOG, SPOT! IF YOU WANNA BETTER DEAL, GO SEE CAL..” (it’s the end of another broadcasting day..)

*..motoring, improbably along, upon the uppermost antediluvian pour of concrete..plastic, waving rhythically with the stratospheric breeze, high over the city, we see the sky is indeed the limit; in accordance with ziggurat KUSTOM..blinded by sun-rays, slashing! at views of sacrificial radiators, shredded re-caps and blown engine parts, hoods up! steaming by at ninety; while at the lowest levels of the automobile heap, there, in the bowels of the earth..dark, deep beneath! nocturnal glow of surface streets..schools, demo’s, hot-dog stands, convenience store what-not’s, –four-leaf clovers, all tied in pretty cement bows straddling the Little Apple’s vein clusters, drivers – pallid under rock – in these dark times used their headlamps to see, always, on account of their subterranean’s..untermensch! blare of bleating horns sounding through molasses blackness, thick and train-like, like you can’t cut’em with a knife..what’s ‘is..old septic? sewer! Call Public Works..works for me! (..didn’t want to deprive anyone of that inspiration, so there ’tis; in the appendix. Thanx)