A Surreal Party
The cool Sonoran winter is gone
the equinox is upon us, tiptoeing
in like a quiet sneeze at daybreak.
Cora the Explorer, the lass with
The lease on charm that dazzles her
Cousins who love to play with her
boxes of Legos has nightmares
that creatures called Red Eyes run
through meadows painted by
Monet while a giraffe in heat
mates with the ghost of Liz
Taylor who was beastly cold
out of her grave. The Duke came
riding a black & blue stallion,
he showed his skill at twirling
his six gun that he put back in
his crotch while Dumbo did the
Lindy hop with a stripper named
Blaze whose hair was on fire.
Tender burns the night as Jean
Harlow made scambled eggs
over easy with hot salsa to garnish --
homemade of course--Prince Harry
preferred oysters while his date,
Rita Haywire, showed the crowd her
lucky bucket list. Downing some
Champagne was Calamity Jane,
slut-shamed in Deadwood with
one tit hanging out of her shirt
while she shouted, "See you varmits
at Black Rock when you folks
can sock it to me all night."
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Self-indulgence
3-30-2014
Poems are on their way to Eric and Jim Standford. Eric sent a poem and 20 stunning cards with examples of his photographs on the cover of each note. He has gone into business I think, hopefully, to supplement his income, now that he no longer has a full time job. He calls himself "The Monkey Mind Press." I sent sent more samples to Jim because he needs to see more of what I have been doing. Decided to tell him I was madcap surrealist who uses illogic and humor as weapons. The two of them are the first people to read my poems. I have no idea how they might react.
Skip was writing me every day for 2 wks than he dried up. He's funny dude, very idiosyncratic. He has has his own ideas about art and if it ain't funky it ain't art or at least not to be taken seriously. He gave the painting I gave him years ago to young Mike Pitt. Sharon's son. He didn't want me to know he did that. From that I assume he isn't that impressed with my work. It made me think of Scott Bell's comment to me when I first started made the turn in the early 70s. He called my work self-indulgent, a notion he got from one of his Berkeley art profs. Then this morning I read in the NYT Magazine an interview with Barbara Ehrenreich whose new book is titled Living With a Wild God. A big surprise coming from her, something she is aware of, too. It harks back to an experience she had when she had when she was 17, one that was "spooky" and maybe even "pathological." She never thought she'd write a memoir because she views them as "an exercise in vanity." She described her experience this way:"The whole world came to life, and the difference myself and everything else dissolved...it was a world in flames."She was honestly worried what people would say, particularly on male friend who she thought he might call her a "petit-bourgeois self-indulgence."However, the friend surprised her by saying the book would reach a lot of people with similar experience. "You are not alone." God, do I understand her dilemma. I felt in the quandary while I was still teaching. Fred Spratt led the way by thinking my work showed traces of pathology. Then I discovered James Hillman's books that said we can work with that condition and I believe I have. But my books have gone nowhere, maybe because they seem vanity-driven.
Poems are on their way to Eric and Jim Standford. Eric sent a poem and 20 stunning cards with examples of his photographs on the cover of each note. He has gone into business I think, hopefully, to supplement his income, now that he no longer has a full time job. He calls himself "The Monkey Mind Press." I sent sent more samples to Jim because he needs to see more of what I have been doing. Decided to tell him I was madcap surrealist who uses illogic and humor as weapons. The two of them are the first people to read my poems. I have no idea how they might react.
Skip was writing me every day for 2 wks than he dried up. He's funny dude, very idiosyncratic. He has has his own ideas about art and if it ain't funky it ain't art or at least not to be taken seriously. He gave the painting I gave him years ago to young Mike Pitt. Sharon's son. He didn't want me to know he did that. From that I assume he isn't that impressed with my work. It made me think of Scott Bell's comment to me when I first started made the turn in the early 70s. He called my work self-indulgent, a notion he got from one of his Berkeley art profs. Then this morning I read in the NYT Magazine an interview with Barbara Ehrenreich whose new book is titled Living With a Wild God. A big surprise coming from her, something she is aware of, too. It harks back to an experience she had when she had when she was 17, one that was "spooky" and maybe even "pathological." She never thought she'd write a memoir because she views them as "an exercise in vanity." She described her experience this way:"The whole world came to life, and the difference myself and everything else dissolved...it was a world in flames."She was honestly worried what people would say, particularly on male friend who she thought he might call her a "petit-bourgeois self-indulgence."However, the friend surprised her by saying the book would reach a lot of people with similar experience. "You are not alone." God, do I understand her dilemma. I felt in the quandary while I was still teaching. Fred Spratt led the way by thinking my work showed traces of pathology. Then I discovered James Hillman's books that said we can work with that condition and I believe I have. But my books have gone nowhere, maybe because they seem vanity-driven.
Monday, March 24, 2014
The Spear and the Lily
The Spear and the Lily
She: To understand frigidity in one self you need
To adjust your thinking to what it is. It is not the
Inability to fuck, nor being unable to permit
Penetration. Now I see it is the kind of thing
suffered by most whores who only once in a
While break through and actually feel what's
Happening.
He: Between the waters above and the waters below
A dark female wearing a black mask and a sinister air
And little else, her arms hiding her breasts in a gesture
Of false modesty, her hair on fire and flowing like a
River down to the funny edge of the world.
She: Self-deception is the black mask covering the eyes
I nowunderstad I have been dealing with my self as male
Not female. I fundamentally believe that women make it
Across the threshold of self-realization by themselves.
They need the male. Now I must marry myself and
And divorce men, men as authorities.
He: A shaman moonlights as a ragged clown backed by
The sands of times as an invisible cat sits on his shoulder
And whispers in his ear, "She loves me, she loves you not.
Advance with or without her." He lifts his fiery rod with the
Serpent curled around it as a court jester rolls the "Circle
Of Destiny" up the hill.
She: A stubborn woman won't listen to a man, won't accept
Him, yet she relies on him to accept her, to affirm her existence,
And to say YES! to what she does. But should he say
NO! he'll pay for it---by being castrated.
He: Last night I saw porn star Traci Lords, and I must say she
Is the epitome of a sexual performer. She made herself up as a gaudy
Geisha with slant eyes, overdone red lips, black dildo in hand
And whispering seductively into the camera about her"fabulous
Pink pussy." She called herself "your dream harlot." She's right...
She: Your sympathy for the female lies in your recognition of
The female in your self; your rage, hatred, and anger toward
The female lies in the refusal of equality in you of the male
In me---but the fire alchemy is the transmutation of those
Polarities into each other---your femaleness, my maleness,
My maleness into femaleness---into wholeness.
He: As Pierre Bonnard grew older the paintings he did of his wife
Marthe became more rarefied. If in the first stage she was a sexy
Presence, in the second she was an object among many objects.
In the final stage she became a soft luminous apparition, a
Gossamer creature who existed on the edge of illusion.
She: Hail spawning center of the universe, the river is torn and
Beaten with the desire of the male-female salmon; their shining
Light is merging with the light in the water. If the salmon can make
It upstream so can I to get pregnant and to give birth to a child.
She: To understand frigidity in one self you need
To adjust your thinking to what it is. It is not the
Inability to fuck, nor being unable to permit
Penetration. Now I see it is the kind of thing
suffered by most whores who only once in a
While break through and actually feel what's
Happening.
He: Between the waters above and the waters below
A dark female wearing a black mask and a sinister air
And little else, her arms hiding her breasts in a gesture
Of false modesty, her hair on fire and flowing like a
River down to the funny edge of the world.
She: Self-deception is the black mask covering the eyes
I nowunderstad I have been dealing with my self as male
Not female. I fundamentally believe that women make it
Across the threshold of self-realization by themselves.
They need the male. Now I must marry myself and
And divorce men, men as authorities.
He: A shaman moonlights as a ragged clown backed by
The sands of times as an invisible cat sits on his shoulder
And whispers in his ear, "She loves me, she loves you not.
Advance with or without her." He lifts his fiery rod with the
Serpent curled around it as a court jester rolls the "Circle
Of Destiny" up the hill.
She: A stubborn woman won't listen to a man, won't accept
Him, yet she relies on him to accept her, to affirm her existence,
And to say YES! to what she does. But should he say
NO! he'll pay for it---by being castrated.
He: Last night I saw porn star Traci Lords, and I must say she
Is the epitome of a sexual performer. She made herself up as a gaudy
Geisha with slant eyes, overdone red lips, black dildo in hand
And whispering seductively into the camera about her"fabulous
Pink pussy." She called herself "your dream harlot." She's right...
She: Your sympathy for the female lies in your recognition of
The female in your self; your rage, hatred, and anger toward
The female lies in the refusal of equality in you of the male
In me---but the fire alchemy is the transmutation of those
Polarities into each other---your femaleness, my maleness,
My maleness into femaleness---into wholeness.
He: As Pierre Bonnard grew older the paintings he did of his wife
Marthe became more rarefied. If in the first stage she was a sexy
Presence, in the second she was an object among many objects.
In the final stage she became a soft luminous apparition, a
Gossamer creature who existed on the edge of illusion.
She: Hail spawning center of the universe, the river is torn and
Beaten with the desire of the male-female salmon; their shining
Light is merging with the light in the water. If the salmon can make
It upstream so can I to get pregnant and to give birth to a child.
Friday, March 7, 2014
March 7, 2014...Putin's Gambit
It seems rather remarkable that we are once more on the cliff of another cold war, maybe even another Cuban showdown. After the revolt in Ukraine which brought about the exit of their corrupt president and the installation of a temporary government--they plan to hold an election in May--Putin stepped in, had troops from Russia march in to both Ukraine and Crimea, called the revolt "unconstitutional" and blockaded the Ukraine Navy so they can't put out to sea. Right on script John McCain and other Republicans are up in arms over this action by "Putin the thug." They are climbing all over Obama as a weak and ineffective leader, while Obama knows damn well that in a war-weary society like ours he can't call out the troops in a situation very far from our shores, or have the money to pay for another conflict half way around the world. McCain is just blowing smoke and trying to score some brownie points with some Republicans. He has to know his call to do something is not realistic.
As I see it, Crimea is already gone and I won't be surprised if Russia reabsorbs Ukraine too. There is a plurality of ethnic Russians in Crimea and if they follow through on that referendum in 9 days the Peninsula will be back in the fold. Ukraine is a tougher call, inevitably, because rebels want nothing to do with Russia, while the Eastern portion on the state is predominately ethnic Russians. The blood and culture go deep; it can't be denied or argued away. In short, Putin can make a better argument than either the President of John Kerry, as history and tradition on on the side of Russia. In fact, Kerry's comments two days ago, about the illegality of the moves that Putin is contemplating, is laughable when you consider what we did in Iraq, our war of choice not necessity, where we intervened in a sovereign state to control Iraqi oil interests, and our long occupation of the country. Right now I wouldn't guess what the final outcome might be but I'd say Putin has the better cards to play.
It seems rather remarkable that we are once more on the cliff of another cold war, maybe even another Cuban showdown. After the revolt in Ukraine which brought about the exit of their corrupt president and the installation of a temporary government--they plan to hold an election in May--Putin stepped in, had troops from Russia march in to both Ukraine and Crimea, called the revolt "unconstitutional" and blockaded the Ukraine Navy so they can't put out to sea. Right on script John McCain and other Republicans are up in arms over this action by "Putin the thug." They are climbing all over Obama as a weak and ineffective leader, while Obama knows damn well that in a war-weary society like ours he can't call out the troops in a situation very far from our shores, or have the money to pay for another conflict half way around the world. McCain is just blowing smoke and trying to score some brownie points with some Republicans. He has to know his call to do something is not realistic.
As I see it, Crimea is already gone and I won't be surprised if Russia reabsorbs Ukraine too. There is a plurality of ethnic Russians in Crimea and if they follow through on that referendum in 9 days the Peninsula will be back in the fold. Ukraine is a tougher call, inevitably, because rebels want nothing to do with Russia, while the Eastern portion on the state is predominately ethnic Russians. The blood and culture go deep; it can't be denied or argued away. In short, Putin can make a better argument than either the President of John Kerry, as history and tradition on on the side of Russia. In fact, Kerry's comments two days ago, about the illegality of the moves that Putin is contemplating, is laughable when you consider what we did in Iraq, our war of choice not necessity, where we intervened in a sovereign state to control Iraqi oil interests, and our long occupation of the country. Right now I wouldn't guess what the final outcome might be but I'd say Putin has the better cards to play.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
The Eruption at 3 A.M.
March 6, 2014
Mike is gone. Two weeks with him was a bit of a chore. I seemed to bring out the worst of him, I am not sure why. He kept calling me "Boy," as if he didn't understand its racial implication. When I told him to knock it off, he slowed up some but did not quit. I also saw what a bully he has inside him. Part of it is his size, only 5'9'' but a solid 205 and likes to throw his weight around. I met his new lady friend who was unimpressive: a club woman type, a widow who winter's in Tucson. After they went golfing she called him up and broke things off with him. His reaction was no sweat; it doesn't matter. If there was a deeper response he didn't show it. But I now feel I have a clue why two women left him.
He cooked dinner Tuesday night, his last night with us. It turned into a disaster for me. He made spicy curry eaten over rice. I had some reservation when I heard all that was in the sauce, so I ate a small portion to be on the safe side. It didn't help. At 3 AM I woke up with shit oozing out of my anus. I tried to make it to the toilet but I didn't make it and there were three more eruptions after that first blast. The brown uncontrollably flow lasted 2 hours which utterly drained me. My dear wife ran to my aid and hardly complained when cleaning up the mess. Neither of us went back to bed at 5 AM but within a half hour I fell asleep in my recliner and slept till 10:30. As a matter of fact I slept on and off for the rest of the day and that night I slept from midnight till 6 AM. But I felt OK this morning. (I heard from Skip this morning and he has the same problem I have with his gall bladder gone. "Wherever I go I stay close to a toilet.")
Other than that I reworked two poems all afternoon, "The Big Dream" and "A Pale Horseman Hiccups." It was about the 4th try with both poems.
Mike is gone. Two weeks with him was a bit of a chore. I seemed to bring out the worst of him, I am not sure why. He kept calling me "Boy," as if he didn't understand its racial implication. When I told him to knock it off, he slowed up some but did not quit. I also saw what a bully he has inside him. Part of it is his size, only 5'9'' but a solid 205 and likes to throw his weight around. I met his new lady friend who was unimpressive: a club woman type, a widow who winter's in Tucson. After they went golfing she called him up and broke things off with him. His reaction was no sweat; it doesn't matter. If there was a deeper response he didn't show it. But I now feel I have a clue why two women left him.
He cooked dinner Tuesday night, his last night with us. It turned into a disaster for me. He made spicy curry eaten over rice. I had some reservation when I heard all that was in the sauce, so I ate a small portion to be on the safe side. It didn't help. At 3 AM I woke up with shit oozing out of my anus. I tried to make it to the toilet but I didn't make it and there were three more eruptions after that first blast. The brown uncontrollably flow lasted 2 hours which utterly drained me. My dear wife ran to my aid and hardly complained when cleaning up the mess. Neither of us went back to bed at 5 AM but within a half hour I fell asleep in my recliner and slept till 10:30. As a matter of fact I slept on and off for the rest of the day and that night I slept from midnight till 6 AM. But I felt OK this morning. (I heard from Skip this morning and he has the same problem I have with his gall bladder gone. "Wherever I go I stay close to a toilet.")
Other than that I reworked two poems all afternoon, "The Big Dream" and "A Pale Horseman Hiccups." It was about the 4th try with both poems.
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