Scruffy’s..Blurgh!

..poem’s me toy, a new toy! (Poem) I take it out of the package..brain, A, ‘B’ for brain, –it’s bright, it’s shiny..it’s plastic, new and cool, with colors! and fine adjectives; then,THEN! (something) begins to play with it, it gets scuffed, some of its edges, or projecting metaphors gets busted off..cause I play a little rough, I do! eventually get swept under the carpet or thrown in the trash, “MOM!! have you seen my..” Oh well, it’s just a poem, anyway. It was fresh. But I fixed that! you bet. Now everybody’s wondering why didn’t I just leave well enough a-loon..I understand. They’re not a poet. They don’t like to risk it all and end up, well, you know, E=mc2, verbal holocaust, right?? okay, so we don’t drop it on a city, no! noNO!! that won’t do, people will get upset, and have their little feelin’s hurt, there, they’re..usual bunch. They like poetry alright, they say they do, anyway; they just hate the poets. That’s why they’re called HATERS..anyway, where were we? Oh! The poem, I know! we’ll tie a rope to it and drag it behind my car, me ol’ BUICK! through some bad neighborhoods, dark alleys..then, for the outskirts over hill’n’dale, few muddy fields, and see! if that will make it recover some, maybe..maybe that’ll get the police out! (the poetry police..sigh). I can’t imagine why people don’t like my (brain) work, it’s for them, anyway, the only reason we write, we poets..us poets, us wee poets (with the wee brains). Yeah, that’s almost disreputable enough, for an image, poetic image, think, –I think we’re getting somewhere now..THE ATOMIC POET-BRAIN! THE ATOMIC POET-BRAIN THAT WOULDN’T DIE, I, –guess I should probably quit while I’m behind, no further point..okay, bye! let it settle, we might have something

~c.

Dear (other) fans,

We just watched the documentary about ‘J.T.’ (c. 2014), finally; and the sad thing is it seemed to follow the usual junkjournalism imperative – to libelously throttle – that chased the former congressman around&down every road and city street travelled throughout his big, beautiful public career, lived in service to the American tax-payer..Sigh! It was okay but biggest disappointment was its morbidity-inducing conclusion, affirming the one world government sticking-point that Jimbo died from a tractor accident on the family farm; without taking the slightest trouble to fan embers of an alternate theory, Yes! a conspiracy! favored by Kool-aide slurping Trump enthusiasts all across Amerca..that it was some kind of hit-job, pulled by shadowy figures, men-in-black style, funded by Bilderburg’s, and their ilk, –“Not now! I’m having a Rothschilds.” In any case..in every case! just having the opportunity to see and hear JIMBO presenting himself to the media, in his own words, and in a time of his choosing, –and reaching way back, it’s a rare treat I think; that, in addition to what we private citizens sitting on the sidelines have managed to collect onto magnetic-tape, threading through clunky, Victorian era recording-machines over the years, grabbed off c-span feeds and other fake news broadcasts, raw and juicy, O! for the halcyon days of those firey one-minute speeches, delivered, by golly! up the butt’s of congress’s collective arse, each and every morning first up..as with a fireplace poker, –in the allegorical sense of it (in terms of comp’s). But I digress.

TRAFICANT (as he often referred to himself, in the third person..in the interview situation) sure told a lot of truth for a guy who was supposed, by a majority of interested parties, to be a slippery crook..the same dodo’s who demand of us that we accept their mindless propaganda concerning him, and everything! prima facie, without probable cause and in full denial of certain facts (and yet, what won’t they demand of us? as we have learned). But Jim was, after all, human! and if he feathered his nest with corrupt donations – <so? so what!> – to further his career for whatever purposes, –known, or merely conjectured about..and if (as some say) he lied about it! how is he any different from all,ALL! the other politicians in D.C.ville. Here’s that difference: Unlike all the others..to make what we learned in high-school bonehead English a thing they call SWEEPING GENERALIZATION (about a thing, a person), –unlike all of the rest of them, Jim’s alleged corruptions are no where to be accounted for..no multiple mansions up on mountains, no Swi$$ account#’s, no obvious BIG MONEY handing him bags of cash, and zero,ZERO legislative support, coming from him, for America’s enemies, and their marxist machinations, –calling it a kickback! geared to our mutual democrat-ordained destructions, no..NO NOTHING! (I guess all the lobbyists must have skipped his Rayburn Building door-#, when they were traipsing down the halls, tossing the ceremonial flower-peddles here, there&everywhere..ala Rocky&Bullwinkle.) Elsewhere, when all the alphabet agencies went after Traficant for a second smear attempt (after the failed first) to deal with his go-it-alone, eff-all-of-you! attitude once and for all..with their well-oiled ducks in a slick, single feathery row, –in terms of a hand-picked judge+prosecutor+jury&location=(?); still, they had to get creative! even more creative than this writer, fcol! in fishing for a crime to prosecute on him, uniquely! out of a grossly polluted ocean filled full with so many bigger fishes to try..so,SO many. Traficant could not have possibly made himself a more tempting and juicier target for the perfidious other people – his counter-parts – lining their pockets, in exchange for selling out dear America..Lady of the Swamp? For good measure, add a count of conspiracy for each charge, to get a max-few-years-sentence..lengthened to life. Yeah, Capone him..why not? But, –but,BUT? no named co-conspirators?? disallow the defense calling up material witnesses? give the jury bogus instructions, in violation of standard legal procedure?? essentially, throw Jim in a knife fight with his hands cuffed to his belt? Oh well, that’s politics.

Those of us who loved Jim are vindicated in our unqualified love for the man..by the naysayers, the abusers. Yes, love, something most of his detractors know little about! Both Jim, and one other former non-politician, residing in the sweaty, oily crosshairs of the obsequious D.C. establishment/untermensch and known to all, –and who actually made it to the white house! against all odds, only told one completely overlooked and bona fide lie each..by those keeping abreast (and a giant!): Jim got out around 2009, opining, in his first post-prison interview, –approximately, 1) “Give the guy a chance, I think he’s doing okay so far..” and the other candidate, nearing the end of a long and contentious, historically dominating campaign v. the knuckle-draggers, for the top job coming in..as the outsider’s outsider, said, in ‘016, to the press, something about, 2) “..being probably wrong about the birth certificate, that it was after all, alright..probably.”, (something like that) which strikes me as bowing to an obsidian calf for the political convenience; bend a little but what the hell! who of us is perfect? Well –

I had a friend from Youngstown. He grew up there. And he shared some brutal facts about life, living, swimming in mob culture. The old Youngstown tune-up was a term well understood among locals..like everyday here’s 4th of July! And Steve said, when I aksed him – concerning Traficant, whom I’d recently come to admire – about stories being circulated alleging a cozy relationship between him and shady local underworld dwarf’s, Steve had said, (after a moment’s reflection, and heaving a notable sigh ), “He’s no choir boy..” Then we went outside in the sunshine and he offered me a giant gagoot, fresh from his vegetable garden..and gladly received!

So here’s the top reasons we’re supposed to believe Traficant is the worst criminal genius to scratch&dent our dear mother earth’s crisply baked apple pie crust..since Lex Luthor first hit the funny-papers of Metropolis’s own home town rag,

THE DAILY PLANET, there..

1) The congress said to; 2) The Vindicator said so; and 3) the FBI, DOJ, and all the local mafia families agree Traficant’s a crook and pathological liar..and a stain on the human’s.

First I’ll take congress (soliloquy): What a bunch of pathetic poodles they truly are! a smouldering, literal smelting-pot of tiny, creepy, bio-unfriendly ne’er-do-well’s obviously birthed from some newer, braver world’s highly elite hatchery complex, an industrial wasteland peppered with lab-coats&clip-boards&spec’s reflecting monitors, fluttering about vaulted shelving, stretched to the interior skylighted heavens, chock-full of oxygen-fed embryonic, –sojourners! regulated, bubbling in scant light, gently stirring in jars-for-wombs on timers, in a scientifically-controlled habitat, collectively breeding a senseless, sexless, and adequate future federal employee pool..of nazioid delta workers, gamma’s, walking botualism’s (Himmler’s injected dna in the tinctures, for enhanced personality features), to the purpose of answering the job description, –to govern..over public education system-indoctrinated populace’s of media-grazing nincompoops, morons! utterly unable to see our bovine enslavements for the legislatively attenuated smoke, billowing over that whole capitol, mess-on-a-hill —

NEXT!

The Vindy (defunct local Youngstown affiliate of theFAKENEWS)..Everytown, USA has its own Bertram De Schnitzel..the old wiener-dog, SCHNARF! SCHNARF-SCHNARF! These filmmakers choose Bertram to give his knowledgable expertise on Traficant, Bert..who built a crap career for himself, based on propounding tabloid type tales, parroting spurious impressions about the former Y-town sheriff. Who knows? some of them may even have the element of truth..but! after Traficant’s death, by whatever cause or causes, it is a fact the paper went belly up..sunk. Nothing more to sell, no more establishment sponsored Traficant hate-speech to keep it afloat. On the side of that, it’s the platform where I first observed the phenomenon of ‘the Troll’..seemingly, the truth warrior with no dog to fight, jumping in the discussion to correct our wrong impressions and queries, stemming from a cult-like faith in Traficant’s innocence; in opposition to an overwhelming, unified&obstreperous, and yet somehow anonymous g-man presence – a troll, troll with a user-name – determined to say..and have us believe polarly otherwise (add, and very condescendingly).

Reason #3..the fbi,doj, and their mob family ties: need we really have this discussion? Indeed we needn’t! Let he who is without sin cast the first payola. (When Jim was offered a plea-bargain in exchange for a reduced sentence he’d said..with conviction, “I’ll rot in prison before I’ll admit to doing something I didn’t do! Go ahead and lock me up.”)

James Anthony Traficant, Jr. – May 8, 1941-September 27, 2014 (Happy Birthday, Jim!) – served his time and got out; and wasn’t that a surprise! (for some it would seem) he actually survived. So what happened next..who knows? He barely rated getting an obituary about it that saw a speck of daylight (I wrote one). Did I say we love Jim? WE LOVE JIM! How could you not? unless you prefer the big bad wolf we call The Government. I believe James Traficant’s in a better place, a far better place with his precious saviour, waiting, with an eternal patience, to receive the rest of his family, and perhaps praying for us all. Time is winding down..where will you go, when you, like, –die? It’s Jesus for me. How about you?

Lovingly yours, Scrunch-il-icious!

Dear (other) fans,

We just watched the documentary about ‘J.T.’ (c. 2014), finally; and the sad thing is it seemed to follow the usual junkjournalism imperative – to libelously throttle – that chased the former congressman around&down every road and city street travelled throughout his big, beautiful public career, lived in service to the American tax-payer..Sigh! It was okay but biggest disappointment was its morbidity-inducing conclusion, affirming the one world government sticking-point that Jimbo died from a tractor accident on the family farm; without taking the slightest trouble to fan embers of an alternate theory, Yes! a conspiracy! favored by Kool-aide slurping Trump enthusiasts all across Amerca..that it was some kind of hit-job, pulled by shadowy figures, men-in-black style, funded by Bilderburg’s, and their ilk, –“Not now! I’m having a Rothschilds.” In any case..in every case! just having the opportunity to see and hear JIMBO presenting himself to the media, in his own words, and in a time of his choosing, –and reaching way back, it’s a rare treat I think; that, in addition to what we private citizens sitting on the sidelines have managed to collect onto magnetic-tape, threading through clunky, Victorian era recording-machines over the years, grabbed off c-span feeds and other fake news broadcasts, raw and juicy, O! for the halcyon days of those firey one-minute speeches, delivered, by golly! up the butt’s of congress’s collective arse, each and every morning first up..as with a fireplace poker, –in the allegorical sense of it (in terms of comp’s). But I digress.

TRAFICANT (as he often referred to himself, in the third person..in the interview situation) sure told a lot of truth for a guy who was supposed, by a majority of interested parties, to be a slippery crook..the same dodo’s who demand of us that we accept their mindless propaganda concerning him, and everything! prima facie, without probable cause and in full denial of certain facts (and yet, what won’t they demand of us? as we have learned). But Jim was, after all, human! and if he feathered his nest with corrupt donations – <so? so what!> – to further his career for whatever purposes, –known, or merely conjectured about..and if (as some say) he lied about it! how is he any different from all,ALL! the other politicians in D.C.ville. Here’s that difference: Unlike all the others..to make what we learned in high-school bonehead English a thing they call SWEEPING GENERALIZATION (about a thing, a person), –unlike all of the rest of them, Jim’s alleged corruptions are no where to be accounted for..no multiple mansions up on mountains, no Swi$$ account#’s, no obvious BIG MONEY handing him bags of cash, and zero,ZERO legislative support, coming from him, for America’s enemies, and their marxist machinations, –calling it a kickback! geared to our mutual democrat-ordained destructions, no..NO NOTHING! (I guess all the lobbyists must have skipped his Rayburn Building door-#, when they were traipsing down the halls, tossing the ceremonial flower-peddles here, there&everywhere..ala Rocky&Bullwinkle.) Elsewhere, when all the alphabet agencies went after Traficant for a second smear attempt (after the failed first) to deal with his go-it-alone, eff-all-of-you! attitude once and for all..with their well-oiled ducks in a slick, single feathery row, –in terms of a hand-picked judge+prosecutor+jury&location=(?); still, they had to get creative! even more creative than this writer, fcol! in fishing for a crime to prosecute on him, uniquely! out of a grossly polluted ocean filled full with so many bigger fishes to try..so,SO many. Traficant could not have possibly made himself a more tempting and juicier target for the perfidious other people – his counter-parts – lining their pockets, in exchange for selling out dear America..Lady of the Swamp? For good measure, add a count of conspiracy for each charge, to get a max-few-years-sentence..lengthened to life. Yeah, Capone him..why not? But, –but,BUT? no named co-conspirators?? disallow the defense calling up material witnesses? give the jury bogus instructions, in violation of standard legal procedure?? essentially, throw Jim in a knife fight with his hands cuffed to his belt? Oh well, that’s politics.

Those of us who loved Jim are vindicated in our unqualified love for the man..by the naysayers, the abusers. Yes, love, something most of his detractors know little about! Both Jim, and one other former non-politician, residing in the sweaty, oily crosshairs of the obsequious D.C. establishment/untermensch and known to all, –and who actually made it to the white house! against all odds, only told one completely overlooked and bona fide lie each..by those keeping abreast (and a giant!): Jim got out around 2009, opining, in his first post-prison interview, –approximately, 1) “Give the guy a chance, I think he’s doing okay so far..” and the other candidate, nearing the end of a long and contentious, historically dominating campaign v. the knuckle-draggers, for the top job coming in..as the outsider’s outsider, said, in ‘016, to the press, something about, 2) “..being probably wrong about the birth certificate, that it was after all, alright..probably.”, (something like that) which strikes me as bowing to an obsidian calf for the political convenience; bend a little but what the hell! who of us is perfect? Well –

I had a friend from Youngstown. He grew up there. And he shared some brutal facts about life, living, swimming in mob culture. The old Youngstown tune-up was a term well understood among locals..like everyday here’s 4th of July! And Steve said, when I aksed him – concerning Traficant, whom I’d recently come to admire – about stories being circulated alleging a cozy relationship between him and shady local underworld dwarf’s, Steve had said, (after a moment’s reflection, and heaving a notable sigh ), “He’s no choir boy..” Then we went outside in the sunshine and he offered me a giant gagoot, fresh from his vegetable garden..and gladly received!

So here’s the top reasons we’re supposed to believe Traficant is the worst criminal genius to scratch&dent our dear mother earth’s crisply baked apple pie crust..since Lex Luthor first hit the funny-papers of Metropolis’s own home town rag,

THE DAILY PLANET, there..

1) The congress said to; 2) The Vindicator said so; and 3) the FBI, DOJ, and all the local mafia families agree Traficant’s a crook and pathological liar..and a stain on the human’s.

First I’ll take congress (soliloquy): What a bunch of pathetic poodles they truly are! a smouldering, literal smelting-pot of tiny, creepy, bio-unfriendly ne’er-do-well’s obviously birthed from some newer, braver world’s highly elite hatchery complex, an industrial wasteland peppered with lab-coats&clip-boards&spec’s reflecting monitors, fluttering about vaulted shelving, stretched to the interior skylighted heavens, chock-full of oxygen-fed embryonic, –sojourners! regulated, bubbling in scant light, gently stirring in jars-for-wombs on timers, in a scientifically-controlled habitat, collectively breeding a senseless, sexless, and adequate future federal employee pool..of nazioid delta workers, gamma’s, walking botualism’s (Himmler’s injected dna in the tinctures, for enhanced personality features), to the purpose of answering the job description, –to govern..over public education system-indoctrinated populace’s of media-grazing nincompoops, morons! utterly unable to see our bovine enslavements for the legislatively attenuated smoke, billowing over that whole capitol, mess-on-a-hill —

NEXT!

The Vindy (defunct local Youngstown affiliate of theFAKENEWS)..Everytown, USA has its own Bertram De Schnitzel..the old wiener-dog, SCHNARF! SCHNARF-SCHNARF! These filmmakers choose Bertram to give his knowledgable expertise on Traficant, Bert..who built a crap career for himself, based on propounding tabloid type tales, parroting spurious impressions about the former Y-town sheriff. Who knows? some of them may even have the element of truth..but! after Traficant’s death, by whatever cause or causes, it is a fact the paper went belly up..sunk. Nothing more to sell, no more establishment sponsored Traficant hate-speech to keep it afloat. On the side of that, it’s the platform where I first observed the phenomenon of ‘the Troll’..seemingly, the truth warrior with no dog to fight, jumping in the discussion to correct our wrong impressions and queries, stemming from a cult-like faith in Traficant’s innocence; in opposition to an overwhelming, unified&obstreperous, and yet somehow anonymous g-man presence – a troll, troll with a user-name – determined to say..and have us believe polarly otherwise (add, and very condescendingly).

Reason #3..the fbi,doj, and their mob family ties: need we really have this discussion? Indeed we needn’t! Let he who is without sin cast the first payola. (When Jim was offered a plea-bargain in exchange for a reduced sentence he’d said..with conviction, “I’ll rot in prison before I’ll admit to doing something I didn’t do! Go ahead and lock me up.”)

James Anthony Traficant, Jr. – May 8, 1941-September 27, 2014 (Happy Birthday, Jim!) – served his time and got out; and wasn’t that a surprise! (for some it would seem) he actually survived. So what happened next..who knows? He barely rated getting an obituary about it that saw a speck of daylight (I wrote one). Did I say we love Jim? WE LOVE JIM! How could you not? unless you prefer the big bad wolf we call The Government. I believe James Traficant’s in a better place, a far better place with his precious saviour, waiting, with an eternal patience, to receive the rest of his family, and perhaps praying for us all. Time is winding down..where will you go, when you, like, –die? It’s Jesus for me. How about you?

Lovingly yours, Scrunch-i-licious!

Being in a war zone in the middle of The Pacific is like, sitting in a warm bath surveying an expanse of waters, surrounding..bar-of-soap at your command; white, unsinkable, the shape of an aircraft carrier, floating..flat, at least!

But it’s really not like that at all, is it? In the tub you can measure depths in inches vs. miles, and you know what’s in it, no doubt; whereas looking out from the flight-deck at the sun, flowing, over the water, an explosion of phosphorous ether lime embers, waving good-bye, you can trust in your wood-and-iron ocean home, her seaworthiness, and – in case of attack – her bristling defenses, handled with loving care by your brothers-in-arms, all the way up the chain of command to your captain; until the day you are literally blown out of the water by some..devil-worshipping sham sons-of-bitches who just got very lucky, very lucky, indeed. Another difference, as I mentioned, or rather, alluded to, is the fact that the ocean is a very deep and very wide place, inclosing manifold mysteries of God’s creation swimming in it at all depths – down to its engulfed canyons, rising, cathedral-like, nearly two miles below – attended by worshipful creatures, which like to eat..some of them, every day; and they do so, naturally, utterly without compunction, these, diners of opportunity..instant! Some of the great fishes come from near-complete darkness to the surface to have a look..at what’s what. Some of them sense a wounded prey, bleeding in the water, sucking in air to preserve his life, hanging by a thread..clawing, desperate; and that is something you won’t want to think about, looking out from the fantail of your great houseboat afloat, upon the awesome emptiness all around, peaceful, for the moment, with no extra holes in you, there’s..there’s your belly-button, standing at the edge of the deck, someday, like another day you may have experienced..imagining all the stuff in there that can’t be seen, except occasionally, –like when you are watching a pod of dolphins cruising along pleasantly, lightly over the seas; and suddenly it explodes! as a shark, huge as one of those smaller planets..like Neptune, shoots straight out of the water with some of the family in its fearsome teeth; and slips back down inside the glassy depths once again, a horrid phantasm, ghastly. And gone! until..but you needn’t think of that, when once you recognize there are more pleasant things to reflect upon; or, similarly, when an aircraft, a robot controlled one, suddenly appears..Kamikaze! flying straight for you, your ship, your mates..in much the same manner as a shark gliding in inexorably, for the kill. Don’t think of it! but rather, think of being home for Christmas, after the fighting’s over; and no more death, no more foul, poisoned air to breathe..no more bloody ocean. And you can have a hot bath, at your leisure. And hopefully you won’t take a direct hit! by a torpedo sitting there with your soap, and have to swim for it; and a man-eater won’t come up and bite your vital parts off! and you won’t have to worry about it anyway, because you’ll know what’s in the tub, it’s just water, just water..that came out of the tap, a few minutes ago. And it ain’t so cold it’s making you think severe hypothermia, and, “Can this really be the end?” In fact it was pretty hot when you got in and now it’s just pleasantly warm, steaming a little over the surface, soft wash-cloth, within easy reach. And you might smell pumpkin pies baking in the oven, visualize the turkey-skin browning nicely, in process of being basted, and cooked to perfection; hear, sounds, of childrens’ songs, and laughter filling the living room, teasing the cat..beside flickering flames of a fireplace a-glow, exhaling aromas of seasoned oak, mixing with a scent of pine; and tinsel..ahh!

Being in a war zone is okay..a bit rough, sometimes; but this here is sure a hell of a lot nicer. For sure. “Merry Christmas!” everyone.

God sent them (maybe). Sometimes they bring you a cat (sometimes, a real cool cat!) They are with you for life (sometimes). Their contribution of joy, into our lives is an inestimable thing, a gift of laughter..can trade cooking, share coffee. French roast, French kiss! living on the Riviera, –convertible sofa, that is! Friends..

We can go places together. Look at old cars, see my art-show..somebody showed up to produce me, one time, out of the blue, “You’re a genius!” (my friends always help with that..when that happens), either something they say, give me an idea; or supply just the right thing to make it really happen, –like an old TV in a blond wood cabinet, GE Ultra-Vision! for the art-gallery display-window, looking onto the street towards a Venice sunset; and the pedestrians..playing vhs-grabs of L.B.J. making a speech stretching to the top of the screen, wearing really small glasses on his elongated head, on account of the old vacuum-tubes and B-52’s flying over, dropping holiday greetings, for the Cambodians (kind of a rough edit).

A friend..the Ranch! a friend got us there. That place. Wow!! four hundred-and-sixty acres of it, looking across a plain to the 10,000 foot peaks of mountain at the west end of Death Valley (containing, farther in, the Castle of ‘Death Valley’ Scotty..now under the strict control of the U.S. Parks’ Services). So..but if you’re friends and lovers, then you get married right away, it’s simple as that; and hopefully, for the honeymoon, you get to go someplace as nice as that (the Ranch). Friends read your poetry and thoughtfully comment on it..they withhold harsh criticism, –until you’ve gone too far. Then you are put in your place..gentle, but firm. My friend did that for me. His garage was a work-shop. The house, inside, would have been the envy of curators of TV-Radio museums across this great land (wish I took some pictures). And he had a big old giant telescope..in the bedroom. It looked like Albert Einstein’s, something like what he’d have at the house..for Marilyn Monroe to look through. Sometime you forget to look up at the stars. A friend will remind you of that..a friend will. Also, when the pigs bust him, you will go and get that friend out of jail (even when it’s twenty-degrees out, ’round midnight). Sometimes, for a special occasion, friends will share a pair of O’DOUL’S’s by a roaring fire, to tip back for a toast, “Here’s looking at you, we’ll always have Paris!” a-and so on, and so on.

My friend, Steve – he saw I was kind of into it – so he aks me one time if I wanted an organ, a Hammond CV! with two full manuals..and tubes, the draw-bars and everything, –except the Leslie; but a monumental tone-cabinet they used with it when it was at the church, I suppose (it was installed in his bedroom and we went and got it). We used it to make a record at our place, there, –where so much happened in its hey-day there on the strip in Bear City, an album of my poems, we recorded, bee-ess’d into song-format’s..”Don’t you eat those sea-sponges, Buddy! those sea sponges..from the sea..you’ll get so fat, yeah,man! you will want to hide from..ev’ry-bod-ee..” (it was a sort-of blues; and made some video’s, too, to go with the music, Steve helped with that, too, –like the bathtub scene, shot in Apartment #3, minus air-tanks).

There was usually a lot of snow by Christmas. Steve and me, we never had four-wheel-drives, –to buy one, much too much money! we’d just chain up and drive. We’d share coffee, some mornings, pretty early, listen to jazz on the ‘mutt’ hi-fi stereo, piled, there, at the Fine ART’s Cafe, put together from random items arriving daily at the Senior Thrift..where we volunteered, heh-heh! then go out and fix problems with peoples’ TV’s..lot of times it was just bang on the ten-foot dish with a push-broom, knock the snow off that was getting in the way of their satellite signal’s, maybe have to do a re-alignment, too, from the immense weight sitting on it, overnight, making the dish go off-kilter, a little. Steve’d be out there by the dish with a wrench in his gloved hand squinting through dark-glasses at clouds parting a little, to admit deep blue skies showering light flakes, shouting, “Can you see anything?!” And I’d be going, “No, wait..yeh! a little more, a little more, –that’s it!”

At the Ranch there was no light at night at all, except of the heavens. And no Tee-Vee. It was heavenly. Steve shared that with us. He got us there..way,WAY out of nowhere! the Ghost Ranch, north up 395 toward Lone Pine..Independence. Nobody has seen this place (except a few of our friends..and, couple others, it was like, a private club, supplying the luxury of nature, –God’s country, Steve called it..and it was). There was a fair amount of snow there, in winter. Somebody finally bought it after they tried to sell it for a long,LONG time (years, part of a family estate..I fashioned a bridge of sorts over a wash, so we wouldn’t have to fix it everytime to drive in in the future, I named the bridge after Dick, the second owner of the place, who bought it shortly after WWII, –six years prior, the Clark’s had passed away..the original homesteader’s, laid to rest in front of a boulder, height of about fifteen feet looking over the meadow, presently used for target-practice..Death Valley out there, somewhere). You could go up and shoot guns. Anywhere, anytime. Favorite thing to do upon arriving was fill a fruit-jar with spring-water from the kitchen tap, go outside and pop off a few rounds. There was bears. You didn’t see them, just their poop, on the trail, morning sunrise. You did see deer, and quail and bobcats. And rats! lots of them. Rats!! (in the house). It had a fireplace and a wood-stove. And a standard WOLF range (with a huge griddle). And everything else. It was peaceful. So-o-o restful. At night we turn off the generator so as not waste propane..light candles. Morning sun-rays, coming through the kitchen-window by the sink with big, beautiful clean spring-water, piped in, from the foot of the Sierra Nevada’s, a fifteen minute walk. Our friend shared that with us. We were gonna move there; but instead, we just moved a bunch of shit up there and left it..left it for the next guys. With all the other shit that was already there. That’s all it is, finally. And Steve went to heaven. He’s with Mom, and so many others we’ve loved in our lives. When you get older, things start to happen, medically speaking. And God fixes us a lot, over the years, keeps us around, –but then at some point your number comes up. And that’s it. All that’s left is fond memories.

Steve was our friend. We’re still here, waiting, –hoping for something big. The Big Dipper. It reminds me of Steve, hanging up there. Steve shared one of his favorite Bible verses with me one time, from the Old Testament. I don’t remember (maybe it’ll come to me). Time is funny. Steve loved dogs, dogs, and old movies..and old TV-shows. And he loved the Lord. Our shepherd. He is.

Mystery: Bee-stingers; spider webs and snake-holes; gophers, birds’ nests..Mom’s cooking. Funerals (silence+sounds), the Big Dipper, –Q:how does one ever get up on a bicycle? (Dad will explain it)

Experiences of naked people, in the context of family; friends..the pornographic image (the dog saw me undressed..now, what?)

Sounds..in waking, and in dreams; or a combination of the two, joining a world with universes, as one. Types: a. natural; and b. man-made, 1) creative, as in music; and 2) accidental..such as the crackling’s a furnace makes heating up or cooling off, breaking in on dreams; or a whisper, in the ear, and music, being unskillfully made (affectionate whisperings’ music,MUSIC! to my ears).

Colours..inside/outside, –natural, i.e., halo effect on the retina – basis of motion-pictures’ illusion – burning violet purples on yellow, after staring at the sun, midday (outside of outside/outside the garage), and 2) art,ART! why art; 2 paintings, a.) modern, and b.) classical..Subject: a nude, which to ask for a date..Ingres’, or Picasso’s? What is light? “THAT IS LIGHT!” ~Confucious

Questions: Why does a bar-b-que get hotter once the fire goes out! (Is it hot in here to you?) Why do guys use chewing-tobacco? don’t they miss the smoke? and why does a candy-bar cost that much at the snack-bar?! and what about real estate and how does that work? The Prom-Queen, where’s she come from, and what for?

Environments, physical, and imaginary, to dreams! streaming, a swimming-pool, yammering, in sun’s rays, –on the deck, and underwater..dancing light. The wading pool, and the deep end; ancillary areas and items, the high-dive; chase-lounges, guest-towels, lavatories, et cetera, etc., vis-a-vis, the beach, at land’s end..a smattering of sun-bathers, sea of dark-glasses, floating, amid umbrella’s, tanning-lotions, transistor-radio’s, et al, plastic shovels, shouting, shrieks, Ha-ha’s, physical..pails full of sand-crabs and ocean swimmers, wave-jumpers..surfers and scuba divers exiting diverse realms..out of the locker below, wet! with diversities, where they breathe water, lugging tanks in and out of it; weightlessness; to hernia’s, meanwhile: a jet air-plane trailing smoke-signal’s insensibly, illegibly..Logic, and physics!

Events! of a political nature: Detonation of a nuclear bomb (pronounced nu-klee-ur, by the way), “Burn! baby, burn!” seen – usually – at second-hand for the general populations, dependent on media representations, of what happened, –to be understood (within a framework; see also presidential assassination, TV coverage..Kennedy’s, c.i.a.’s, &et cetera’s); wars..weapons technologies applied, global v. local (the Humanities); and campaigns for political office, i.e., shaking of hands, making speeches. Kiss baby’s..kiss! (Baby) Baby: “Gaga!” (gugu, tu-tu..Ta-ta, Baby!) The Arms Race: Where they have that and when’s it start? (How to enter, Har-har!)

Why’s Russia haters?/Why do we hate Russia?Russia,Russia!RUSHA?

Phenomenon’s: Bubbles in the bathtub – yours? why ADULTS ONLY get to go in night-clubs (and some movies) RATED X/NO SMOKING, –how come? because I said so!!!!!! Why the Police? and why do some gentlemen elect to smoke cigars? –seeing as cigarettes light so much easier. Why 101 STRINGS..why not just make it an even hundred?

Symbols: The Cross, swastika, –AIR RAID SHELTER..alphabet’s! (English only?) NO RUNNING/NO HORSEPLAY (why is everything always NO with them? non, –NICHT!)

ARE WE THERE YET..a trip to the principal’s office (wars and rumours of them)

Concepts of..Truth, beauty, –i.e., Bach: Sheep May Safely Graze, piping up on the pipe-organ (with 3 manuel’s), beneath spectral lines, wavy, unified, passing through sunlit stain-glass divisions of indescribable colour, specially reds..Psalm 23

“The LORD is my shepherd..”

I got up around 3:30 this morning according to my custom, turned on the coffee-maker, fired up a fire, and raised the blinds to look in on the stars. I’ve always been fascinated with the heavenlies, there’s no doubt of that..aks anybody that knows me; and space wars, too! I never pass up a chance to go see a good movie, –IT CAME FROM OUTER SPACE (yeah). So now the dog, having arisen from her chair and coming over to me, is very affectionate and attentive, according to her custom, becoming more and more alert, and entertaining the strong desire to play a bit (as evidenced by the proffering to me, of a rubber toy..submitted for my approval). Cats, dogs, everywhere! chew-toys, where they were not last seen..it’s easy to trip over them in the dark, spill the coffee. I had awoken, yea! I got woke! from the dream I had been having where we were in New York (or some place like to that) and the dog was parked on the street in a van, oh! and that takes me back to earlier in the dream, to the sequence directly preceding that, in which I was traveling by commercial jet..this is so weird! I never go anywhere involving the boarding of airplanes. There was some incident in the air I can’t vividly recall happening concerning space ships and even, even..space people?! But Bill Murray was on the plane with all of us normal mortals, and he noticed it too; and realized something had happened that nobody else seemed to know about, namely..well, we’ll get into that later (in case I forget, aks me about PLAN 9 FROM OUTER SPACE). But something he said – Bill Murray said – made me think that also, he seemed to be thinking back to an obscure snl sketch they did way back there with Lorraine Neumann and him (and others); and that she might have known something at the time, pertaining to now (and what’s-what with the dream..maybe even Frank Zappa was involved! I don’t know), but she wasn’t talking about it (then). So I said “Yeah..” (like AFFIRMATIVE) and got off the air-plane. Then we were in some kind of an old hangar, or barn, I don’t recall which, and individuals of unknown origins were uncannily trying to find people, or witnesses (who might have been hiding in the stuff in there, maybe some evidence, too), and with a certain urgency to it; and there was a sense of danger about them that troubled, –in the spirit, and that’s all I can remember about that part. So then jump forward to N.Y.C., in the street, dog in van, –some hispanics, or other kind of foreigners..man, wife, and daughter? drive up and they, apparently! are knowing about that our puppy is being made available, for adoption (we had only thought about it, actually) and want to see her because (she is maybe retarded and..) we’ve been discussing getting rid of her (dumping her, actually, on someone else, before it’s too late..or re-homing her, as they say nowadays, –anyway’s..). So I get her out and she’s a puppy again (she’s her adult, slightly runty size in reality), and she’s black (in the dream, she’s black, –she’s actually something like a golden retriever, dreams are weird, ya know?), and they get out their puppy, also, and it’s black, too –and they want ‘Honey’ that’s her name, Honey Bea, for a companion for their dog, the idea being that the puppies will keep each other amused, and busy – with play – so there’s less demand on the owners’ time, and energy’s with that..I guess that’s understood; anyway, in actuality, I don’t really want to lose her from our lives simply because she’s a meat-head and untrainable (always jumps up, with her claws outstretched). So I guess that’s when I woke up. From the dream.

And, as usual, I’m fixing coffee and stoking up last night’s fire with some paper trash, car-part’s receipt I think, and a little tinder..bits of ply-wood and 2-bi’s from Elizabeth&Cougar’s bus project (we’re really only a couple months out from Christmas, give or take, right after Valentine’s Day, so it’s still a little cold out there, around 5:15); and having done that (light the fire), and being a real stand-up guy that I am, I figured I’ll be nice to the dumb dog and take her downstairs, and around to the backyard so she can play a little, maybe even pee; when what do I see in the pre-dawn celestial regions, looking up there? Something weird! with precise, matching stellar magnitude (that’s a fairly exact scientific measure of illumination, by the way, in astronomical terms..you see I’m an educated fellow, having gone to city-college, and on more than one occassiio!) with other comparable twinkling things, I observed a strand of lights moving in the night sky, of a number of between fifty and a hundred – a mere guess! it was such a novel event I didn’t in the moment think to assess them closer and arrive at a more exact number – traveling in a very straight line, in relation to each other, parade-like, and perpendicular to our perspective, at an angle receding by dead reckoning to south by southwest from where I stood holding the leash staring dumbly in the dark, a mute beast by my side (perhaps I better had consulted, before stepping out into the lower stratosphere, here, the old, sage aburbecondita, for any forecasts concerning strange happenings in the nighttime skies..in daylight, of course, we can see them, chem-trails, –and here, just a thought: Are their purposes somehow co-mingled? difficult to know). A similar, though more easily explainable apparition commonly occurs at our rural location, off, to the side of a country road (by a fire department! Hmm..) which is simply the illusion of moving lights in the astral plane from reflections on telephone-wires strung, on telephone-poles, along the thoroughfare, occasioned by the approaching headlights of automobiles, piloted by people in a sort-of twilight zone, who obviously have no concern, whatsoever, about spreading deadly germs (or whatever), in public places, nor complying with direct orders from headquarters! and as such, instead, are continually,CONTINUALLY!! focusing all their efforts entirely on bent-nail ugly, self-centered pursuits involving capitalism’s, and U.S. Constitution’s and enumerated rights and so on, and so on..creepy individuals, who most likely voted for Trump..anyway’s,

Anyway, so I’m standing there looking at this, mm! supernatural..stuff, tethered to my dog at the end of her leash, –which is pink bytheway; but that doesn’t matter anyway because it’s night-time and you can’t really notice the color of it, anyway, and I’m thinking, “Gee, this is different.”, because elements present in the normal situation I described in the last paragraph, –or whatever you’d care to call it, were clearly not in evidence/don’t jive with what I am seeing now..ergo: 1) No cars and headlights; and 2) N0 geometric correspondences with telephone lines at any perceptible point in their perceived movements, –the ‘UFOs’s..for lack of a better label, uh-oh! I just labeled them, is, is that same as profiling? (“..he’s through!”); and, in a less direct and totally un-likely comparison with the situation, there clearly was no glass surfaces between us, and THEM! such as a window (or a sliding glass-door), to be causing the anomaly; so! I broke from standard operating procedure..of taking the dog through the gate into the yard – she’s a natural born runaway, and can’t be trusted off-leash, she believes in Never let the first opportunity to escape slip through your fingers..like stardust! plus, she’s probably going into ‘heat’ again – and yanked her in the direction of the other-worldly phenomenon, which, as we began moving in the direction, seemed to grow farther and farther distant from us in their travel. I followed, further out, towards the road, to be certain I was not seeing a reflection in the phone-lines, because, as I explained, that usually explains things, and I, well..I just let the dog back in off the front deck, she’s a..cold-dog! exact polar opposite of HOT-DOG..from the snack-bar! and she’s always very antzy, and always at the door moaning like ‘Lassie’ on the TV-show always did; and always wanting out..has to be let out. Dawn has broke about 20 minutes ago that makes. About every twenty minutes, that’s how long it is before she demands to be let out again, I never seen anything like her! Maybe that dream about the ‘aliens’ taking her was prophetic! Oh, well..

So we advance..on the mysterious lights – to the road – and as we do, the line of them starts shortening up, and they’re growing fainter and fainter; until finally they seem to fade out altogether leaving no trace of their having been there in the first place..Huh! By this time, we’ve walked along the side of the road to a dirt road that goes to a couple of houses nested by the side of the dry lake..beneath stars, still. I’m experiencing a certain disquietude, a kind of foreboding about..we are not alone in the universe. I took this side trip because I didn’t want to be noticed by any operators of approaching cars, illuminated by their headlights, –for whatever reason (probably psychological)..maybe because of what happened in that dream, with the mysterians searching for humans or whatever, in the old barn by the landing-strip, after disembarking the plane..with Bill Murray, –anyway! we’re there, me and the dog, off the side of the road, dawn fast getting here, and the cars, having gone their way..and their headlights! from our angle of observation at least, caused no visual aberrations to happen that might clear things up, and the space-ships – or whatever they were – have not reappeared. So, a little twitchy, I pivot on my heel, and there, 180 degrees from the vanishing point we have been considering – among other things – raining on another peak of near-distant hills, I see a falling star, a..meteorite (or meteorette?). It was a bright flash! with a tail, lasting about a second. So I guessed that’s a sign..of whatever. And we go back to the house. And nothing happened. And so now that’s what it’s like..like nothing happened. But..I’ll let you, dear reader, be the judge of that. Of what did, –or did not happen. Did something happen? I really don’t know. Maybe I’ll try and contact Bill Murray, through an agent, or somebody (space being?)..and see if he can shed any light on it, maybe he knows something. Ain’t dreams the darn’dest things? Watch the skies

“Yesterday! UF0’s was easy games to play; now, it looks as though they’re here to stay, O! I believe, –the-dog-wants-out..

Sudden-ly! outer space was where I used to be-e-e-e, now the mother-ship is gone from me..oh! I am just a lost e.t., –I am just..a lost e.t.”

~c,

ps: Mary told Nathan my story of what happened, and he said, “Ahh, that’s easy..it was probably nothing more than Elon Musk’s satellites!” (Oh.)

know-nothing east-coaster, strings getting yanked by rolling hoards of cheery globalists – time permitting – driving sloppily along on a satanic re-tread of a Abrahamic Lincoln..To the peace! (a project, of sorts)

Ahh! finally got to let go of some of that gas..for $0.00 cents a gallon by volume. When you had the hernias, and the related surgeries, –whatta mesh! you really miss having a straight digestive set-up, like you had as a youth, believe, you, me! Like..remember the contests? Then, you were in command..of your farts, captain of your own ship; and later, it’s catch-as-catch-can. But, as in all cases, once it’s voided out, –after the air chases around the mid-section awhile, it’s an incomparable feeling of accomplishment..gone the cramps! which gets us up to speed with current events: Titanic outcomes are shaping up; and of Biblical proportions, I might add.

So we had The Election. And that was fine; and then we had the results..and that was somewhat less than lovely. Now we’re where we’re at, heading for a debacle at the end of the love tunnel, –Tunnel of Love, at a dizzying speed! with old ‘Uncle’ sleepy, creepy..Snake-eyes! weepy, often less-than-candid ol Joe Biden at the helm; though singularly under-equipped for the task. Unlike his well positioned socialist socialite social butterfly predecessor of that party, –FDR, Joe’s poorer relations never connected him an opportunity to master the manly, elite art of sailing. Whereas Franklin D., the erstwhile war-time president, who deftly dumped America in a condition of bankruptcy in the actual world economy, back there in the great depression (from which we’ve yet to emerge); and who, on another occasion, just as casually, negotiated waters off New York, personally steering a navy destroyer through that busy harbor, teeming with commerce at near full-steam without a care while the command confidently took a break, –unlike all of that, Joseph Robinette Biden, Jr., with unmistakably elfin savoir faire, has got what’s left of the ship of state heading directly for a hairy fiasco, with Lady Liberty – torchily searching the cultural horizon – full-steam on a true collision course to mash-up her toes in a bloody pulp, there, at the pedestal. And when that happens she will topple, face down in friendly waters, populous with curious sharks circumnavigating the flotsam and jetsam..piped in since time immemorial by shi**y leadership, assuming no responsibility whatsoever for their heinous acts, stimulated by lust and greed. In the history only one man comes to mind who stood against the sure and steady erosion of our nation’s sovereignty by career opportunists, and that man was James A. Traficant, Jr., serious third-rail candidate for the presidency, –Davy Crockett style, iconoclast congressman, former sheriff of Youngstown, college star quarterback (and a serious draft-pick consideration by The Raiders!); and self-styled junk-yard dog! painted by the media, and his fellow legislators as a cheap, 1-D cut-out mafia hoodlum-tool, he wasn’t! but they said so, repeatedly, loading his very public persona with a cargo of lies, and half-lies and insinuations, –pure drivel! and featured it in all their broadcasts, on c-span and TV Elsewhere whenever it was deemed necessary to do so, by the handlers, to protect the status quo..drown his voice, –his legendary addresses on the state of the union, delivered by the immortal bard to anyone listening, after-hours, with the directness and accuracy of a butcher’s chops; and eventually, complying with whispered suggestions by the enemy, forces of darkness, the sell-outs, the Quisling’s were able to silence him for a season by sending him up the river on bogus charges, framed by the f.b.i. and d.o.j. lawyers, and arrays of operatives, –usual list of suspects, silencing witnesses who knew the truth – by blackmail! – applying the bamboo treatment to family members called to testify; and who! in all factuality it must be said, offered Jimbo a path to plea-bargain his way out of prison..in exchange for the customary admission of guilt, and certainly the imposition of a heavy fine; and of course, sweep it all under the rug..to which he said,

“I’ll rot in prison before I’ll confess to something I didn’t do! Go ahead and lock me up.”

We all know how that ended..that was then. It wasn’t until the November miracle of 2016 that we at last had a man in the White House – the first in a long while – who was willing to stand up to all of that, –krap-ola, and make that perilous political journey, inviting his family along for a jungle cruise, through the gauntlet of the D.C. sewers..for love of country; and a deep sense of gratefulness to God for his many blessings..assuming his true calling before our creator.

And now after those four wonderful/awful historical years, expeditiously restoring our national honor, and moral character as a people, making fair deals in a hostile, greenish environment, we’ve turned the corner from truth and prosperity, and immediately made an illegal U-turn, –four years too soon and by fraudulent methods with global co-op’s..back to their source, the father of lies. No one signed on for this trip, or, –or passage; but is the distinguished leadership ever belting out with their flatulences as never before was it heard in our history being a democratic republic..Fr-r-r-rap! An invisible ring of deathly gas surrounds the capitol ‘digs’ over hissing subterranean sewers, peopled by gloomy mutants floating paper sailboats of classified documents on the bilge..reeks to high heaven! do they not fear the coming wrath of God? I suppose not! at least not those four persons of the Apocalypse; and their indiscreet legions of close-knit cronies, crowing ca-ca’s echoings in the halls of congress day in, and day out..towing a stowage of 60 million murdered innocents, and counting. We’ve been given that number with authority, for what seems like eons now, and it never seems to want to budge to the next incremental million..does it? in spite of the statistic that came out just now, at a rate of around 200,000 mortalities, by mutilations and such, alive! with each passing day, of humans, fully formed..beautiful children! I guess it’s been decided by those who report such stuff 60,000,000 is a good number, conscience will allow that so we’ll just keep it there, that much blood of butchered babies on our hands is permissible..so long as you all bought your permits.

“WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE.” And so! getting back to daily business in the west wing, by now it’s I guess reached well beyond the number of ONE HUNDRED ugly royal commands signed by the hand that fondles the hairs of a youthful cadre of unsuspecting victims..mere kids, luckless enough to have experienced the gravitational pull of a top-level career Dee-Cee’r, well accustomed to having what he wanted at any given time along the path to Pinnacle..partaker of, and unwitting high priest to Eleusinian mysteries, –mysteries, too mysterious for his earthbound grasp of things, to adequately perceive..affected witless by the ravages of time; and blind to the fact of his voluntary servitude, and remittance, perhaps, of his immortal soul in the bargain, –all! beware. We must one day be judged of our actions and words by the living God, one and all. Is Jesus your savior? Our first responsibility is to God. Decide. For the sake of peace with him in this life, and for eternity ever after, decide. I think it’s adequate at this point, ’tis enough..I could go on, ad nauseam, about the un-holy acts committed by the leadership’s of our once great republic, snow-balling to the day of his returning, of even the so-called great ones – built on sands of history – in the name of justice for whomever..but this appears to be a good stopping-off-point. Good as any. You all fill in the blanks, –and me? I have a higher calling right at this minute in time..I have to take the dog out for her morning constitutional. See ya-all! God bless..

So I’m driving home, it’s after dark..and I’m all alone! and it’s white-out conditions, –just like, like typing a poem on dish here typewriter, banging away, knocking one out; and I hit the wrong key and make a mistake; or the whole sentence was a mistake; or maybe I should never have started in on the poetry-thing in the first place, and now there’s not enough white-out at Target, or elsewhere, in the known universe to fix it..and get it handled; so we won’t have to worry. And now I’m dicking with, with comma’s! and what-not (and the spell-checker doesn’t like my verbal appropriation of a common noun..Dick! oh well, he doesn’t like a lot if you know what I’m saying,SAYING! –by the bye my pronouns are: me, myself; and EYE). But anyway there I am. Worrying. So I got home by the way, but it was a real squeaker..snow falling so thick it looks like you could’ve slammed the car into a snow-laden tree and have it all fall onto your hood (and right before it landed, that’s what you saw in your view, in your windshield, driving, yeah! like driving through a frigid waterfall inna ice-forest..total white-out).

Now, next morning, I start the fire, pets come around for that and I make the coffee with a medium roast, just received, from the port city, Harrar Ethiopia through some roaster in New Jersey..by e-bay, named Abdullah, that I was not happy about, –the seller’s claim: “It’s our favorite around the warehouse.” Well it’s not mine! around mine..too! YOU drink that!! (it’s just totally lacking the earthy robustness, and wine-ey, fruity-nutty notes I crave, –no, coffee will never be the same like it was, pre-$tarbuck$ that’s for sure..got a poem about that, gonna share it sometime). Anyway cats are being belligerent, yowling at me, the dog wants out, the yellow-white, –dog, a golden. The storm quit happening now and stars are gently visible in cotton-candy skies as day is, too, breaking..soon. And so I tether her by her collar-ring and make the trek downstairs to the back-yard (cats can wait), and now I notice I’m forgetting to type some of the letters that are part of strings that make up the whole of words forming po-ems, gee! it really sucks when the poet is getting as old as his writing’s (so I see in all my reviews), and so I say It’s a good thing..yes! a very good thing there’s adequate stores of virtual white-out in this, ‘typewriter’ what-cha-ma-call-it, ah, mac-thing to at least, uh, make the effort to fix it so it’ll be handled..and I won’t have to worry. See how easy it was making a great poem?? (with a minimum of hassle). Well..I better cut to the chase, in terms of the poetry..poetry, it’s supposed to be short and to the point, so that’s where that’s at..anyway, –MY POINT!

We got snow and that’s all I’m seeing, and in through the gate into the back-yard goes the dog like flushing the toilet..followed by the poet holding the leash, –and what does the poet see? there, in the back yard. First there’s all this white stuff, about three feet of it, and then over there where the dog went there’s a little yellow spot in a straight line to ground, we may surmise, so, figuratively! with a little spade work..are poets still allowed to use whatever words they want? like, if I don’t like homonyms and I don’t want to use a homonym..even where it might be advisable, am I then a homonym-o-phobe? and would that be a bad thing?? (notice I popped the handy if/then proposition in there, basis for all ‘typwriter’ programming, get it,GET IT? yeah??) but, so..if I work a, uh, say a flat shovel on it, and dump some metaphor for ‘white-out’ upon it to cover the yellow snow..and make it all white again, –then we’re okay, right? or is the snow guilty because of its whiteness?? and what about the yellow? (ponder that) But, –I’ll get back to the main idea, which is:all I am seeing is snow..sort of like THE CAT..IN-THE-RED-CHINESE-COMMUNIST-HAT COMES BACK (from Red Square, comrades) except it’s not all pink like that, and virally spreading like..like commie-pinko-fags do, yeah! left-wing knee-jerk li-ber-al ones at that, in fact, –in fag’t. But that’s neither que’er nor ‘quare..as in E=mc..2 (‘quare). But leave us not go nu-Q-lur, here, on account of not mincing wart’s..Pul-leaze! (my producer’s pointing at his watch), –okay,

okay the poem! the poem! here ’tis..forget about the science it’s junk anyway (her goes):

I saw only the snow..’cause I looked only below; then, when I raise my gaze..high above the snow I see da moon, it looked like a giant ice-ball, hanging, bright! there, in all da gloom. And it made me think, thus: Since science-guys are always walking out all their square, way-out theories and ideas and stories and such, –then why? oh why! can’t a poet, too, –(like me) write it out! (his ideal of beauty) since poems are a form of reasoning you know why can’t a poet formulate cause-and-effect’s, just like the big boy’s do? A-D DO?? I’m only aksing! it’s just questions, so,So! as I go on..I’m going, I suspected, that since the moon, at about the winter’s solstice..in the scheme of seasonal trans-migrations, matches the snowy plain, in all respects (not just one): colours, textures, tones and timbres, et cetera,TIM-BER-R-R!! and I don’t mean to be a pain! but isn’t it just possible that the first cause of that snow-ballish moon – hung high in the sky like a EYE..looking at me!WHY? – was a giant meteor slamming in a Siberian desert, one cold, and very cold, icy summer morning..or thereabout’s, long, long ago..and the vul-can-ic heat, and all the other na-tur-al forces, they shmooped ’em a bunch of that ice and snow..and fire! yeah!! like wild horses, they had to go; and it got, it all..went up in space, you know? like shlepping a big, bleached, frozen lava-wax lump equal’s, –instant moon! (too soon). Well it’s all science anyways, so put that in your medical marijuana hash-pipe and sh-moke it! ya wanna? Lib’s?? humbug!

Steve’s cat, there

There was a man called by God to restore his nation to greatness. He had a heart for God, so God could use him to accomplish His purposes. The first thing that he noticed, following years of economic subjugation of his country by foreign enemies colluding with traitors within enriching themselves in the bargain, was the severe and desperate need of the people to be helped by creating jobs for them to earn a living, and have their lands returned – which had been used as collateral for loans, or, sadly! sold outright for a pittance – so they could work the soil, and once again be self-reliant. Assessing conditions, the man of God told these captains of industry to forgive the debts and return the lands so the people, long under financial oppressions by the entrenched wealthy and politically well-to-do, could have a path to meeting basic needs for themselves and their families. He told them if they would agree to do this they would receive the blessings of God; and if they refused it would not go well for them. The heels, feeling the injustices done, readily agreed to do what the man of God told them; but just to keep them honest, he had them sign a legal agreement to that effect. That project went forward, and the nation was strengthened and prosperity happened.

The next project God gave the leader-priest in short order was to repair and fortify the wall of the nation-state, which was in a pitiable condition, by design of certain enemies of those people, and collaborators, –their own countrymen! to render them defenseless against their depredations, handing leaders of corrupt empires a license to steal and do as they pleased with no deterrent..because of no defensible border. The man of God immediately set to work on the wall, and with God’s help, was nearly finished with the project ahead of schedule; at which time the profiteers and their cohorts discovered the status of the faithful leader’s work, and recognized the immediate threat to their continued stripping and export of the nation’s wealth. Their reaction was instant.

The representative of The People was busily at work supervising the completion of the nation’s defenses when messengers sent by the piratical evildoers arrived, bearing letters containing urgent demands that he immediately cease all work for the nation’s peace and security, and come meet with them on their turf to discuss vague issues, and special insider intelligence concerning his personal safety; but the man of God, seeing it as the win-or-lose opportunity that it was, disappointed them in no small measure by advising that his work was of supreme importance and must not be interrupted (God plainly showed him that the schemers, having no authority to command a meeting, were concocting fake news in hopes they might sway his faithfulness to God by fomenting fear, to cause him to fall in an act of disobedience, that would ensure his failure to complete the last details attending to the wall). It should be remembered that from the beginning of his leadership, the man of God took none of the just compensation for his work that was customary and perfectly legal for him to receive, but only resources necessary to sustain the men working in his administration, to fulfill the promises he had made. His work was before God, and pleasing God was more than ample compensation for this righteous and humble man.

The provocateurs, upon receipt of the reply by that nation’s no-nonsense re-builder, went into an unprecedented panic, seeing their cash cow being led swiftly to the chopping-block – and gossamer alliances about to be shredded – sent more open letters, warning him of imminent secret plots by scurrilous individuals, of a design to liquidate him, and again urging a hasty conference at a more convenient and safe location, for his benefit, so tragedy might be averted. Seeing through more empty threats coming from bribed messengers, and focused on his God given mission, the protector of his people tirelessly labored over the final details of restoring the wall, replacing the secure portals of entry, and reestablishing his nation, a well-protected state. His work there, was finished.

When news of this watershed development reached the ears of the foreign rulers and the cohorts, their chagrin was complete, recognizing that God alone had accomplished this mighty miracle, –their long-standing political and economic domination of that country tossed on the dung-hill of history, a beaten-down nation, once again made great..a force to be reckoned with. The leader had demonstrated in front of the noses of the heathen what one God fearing man, leading by example can accomplish. The next immediate task at hand was to review documents establishing who were legal citizens entitled to benefits, and, by statute, ensure the just rewards of kinship for their posterity. Who was that man of God? Read Nehemiah chapters 5 and 6, –if you want to know..Hint: It wasn’t Ronald Reagan (necessarily).