Clocks

I brought the clock back in from the garage today. I put it out there last winter because I got sick of listening to it tick. The sound of its blunt second hand goose stepping circles around the face bothered me. It still does. It's a cheap plastic clock I bought used for two dollars. It would be a better clock if it stopped all together. Nicer yet if Time stopped with it for a while so I could get off the train and stretch ... limber up ... flex my knee a bit.


I had a friend in Oregon named Joey, an old Sicilian fellow who grew up in New York City. Hard life. Killed a man in prison in a fight over a loaf of bread. Nice though. Joey wouldn't hurt a fly willingly. He paid me to clean his apartment just before he died. It was filled with clocks, mostly pendulum clocks, small ones, wall models, desk models, and a couple of grandfather clocks, all in a very tiny place. Joey was a dealer at an antique mall and found them on his rounds through flea markets, yard sales and second hand stores, but they we nice. He had an eye. The clocks were unsettling though because they all ticked very loudly and no two were set exactly the same. This was especially puzzling because Joey was a fastidious fellow, not one to miss the fact that each clock marked a different hour with its chimes or coo-coo. What made it even more strange was that during his last year I kept sensing that Joey was getting ready, wanted to die, nothing specific, just something about him and the clocks reinforced that impression. It seemed they were busy measuring, from their different perspectives, how much time he had left in an effort to synthesize a universal hour from all his overlaps and contradictions.


In that last year Joey had reconnected with an old lover from Paris, Queenie. He met her during the war when he was a deserter instead of going to Normandy. He went back to France determined to finally face the beach and the ghosts that had haunted him all his life but, although they hadn't talked for 50 years, hooked up with Queenie instead. She still loved him. They made plans for her to come to America and live with him. And the clocks. Instead he died. Pneumonia. Dead in a week. It didn't surprise me. Tomorrow I'm going to put that clock back out in the garage.







clocks normandy paris ghosts

Dirt bath party

Yesterday the little birds had a huge dirt bath party in the bird park. Nevada has excellent dirt for such things, powdery and light. There must have been 25 or 30 of them rolling around, doing flips, cartwheels and dirt angels. They had a great time. This morning again, it's business as usual. The first bird to arrive for breakfast is one, lone, very quiet magpie. She generally gets the first swoop at the goodies and today was no exception. Unfortunately, she even beat me to the park. I was in my office splitting open a few peanuts when she arrived. She came in low and fast, landed for about 2 seconds, looked around ...no peanuts... and took off. The peanuts are out there now, of course. Maybe she'll do a second pass.

Predictably, the next bird to arrive (he just left) is a single crow. He does the same thing every day. There are the peanuts, cracked open and spilled temptingly on to the ground. He hops along the fence, makes dive toward the ground , panics, pulls up and goes back to the fence, looks at the peanuts for a couple more moments, does another dive or two, then flies away, cawing like crazy. Too bad.

The next to arrive are the pigeons. Today, I put a little seed out for them. I generally just leave them to find the sunflower seeds the finches spill from the feeders but I suppose this morning I was making up for missing the magpie. Anyway, the finches and the black birds also also arrive at this point. The show is fully underway now, a little black guy is nibbling the nuts. For some reason, the pigeons never never touch them.

So, off to the gym. I seem to have hurt my knee overworking it a few days ago. It was pretty stiff after the drive to Oregon last week that when I got back on the recumbant it felt so much better, they call it motion lotion at the PT, that after the first half an hour, I did another and 45 minutes the next day. It's been popping ever since. I always over do things. Damn. I hope I didn't set myself back. They keep telling me that after this kind of surgery it takes up to a year for the knee to heal. No skiing this winter.

Dog's world

Here's a nice little video by a guy calling himself Raggedfeather that definitely lifted my spirits, something I much appreciated after focusing so much on the news for the last few days. Perhaps you will like it too. Nice handle, Raggedfeather. Anyway, for what's it's worth, here's the most soothing exerience I had all day.

It's a Dog's World

01:04

sweet raggedfeather

Party loyality, GOP style

Republicans had a feeding frenzy over Clinton's affair with a 22 year old woman yet they tolerated, even protected, fellow Republican Mark Foley's secret sex life with underage boys.

I wonder if the Gay Old Party will play their Blame Bill Get out of Jail Free card over this. Wouldn't surprise me. They've proven they have no conscience or shame and will do and say anything to avoid the consequences of their actions.













Rep. Foley Bill Clinton stay the course republicans moral majority

Cafferty: "What are we becoming?"

US Casualties in Iraq to date: 2,715 - Wounded: 2,950

What are we becoming?

Excerpt from Cafferty's comments ...

"President Bush is trying to pardon himself. Here's the deal: Under the War Crimes Act, violations of the Geneva Conventions are felonies, in some cases punishable by death. When the Supreme Court ruled that the Geneva Convention applied to al Qaeda and Taliban detainees, President Bush and his boys were suddenly in big trouble. They've been working these prisoners over pretty good. In an effort to avoid possible prosecution they're trying to cram this bill through Congress before the end of the week before Congress adjourns. The reason there's such a rush to do this? If the Democrats get control of the House in November this kind of legislation probably wouldn't pass.

You wanna know the real disgrace about what these people are about to do or are in the process of doing? Senator Bill Frist and Congressman Dennis Hastert and their Republican stooges apparently don't see anything wrong with this. I really do wonder sometimes what we're becoming in this country."

cafferty war crimes act bush torture bill Senator Bill Frist Congressman Dennis Hastert republicans

Bunny's bad company

Roy mentioned that perhaps Bunny, who is nearly illiterate, turned to Uncle Monkey for help answering Pinky's letter o' love. Roy doesn't trust Uncle Monkey and thinks that's why she still hasn't received a reply. I don't completely trust Uncle Monkey either but I don't get the feeling he's malicious. Clearly he's indolent and full of bull but I think he's basically a harmless guy. I could be wrong. Anyway, I looked into it. As it turns out, Roy was on to something. Bunny has been hanging out with some shady characters but not Uncle Monkey or Ugly Bear. He's hanging out with Mr. Lee and that crazy monkey guy who wears a mask and cape and screams when he flys. Flipo. I managed to sneak some undercover photos of what's going on over in their "office". Poor Bunny. The guy's a total innocent in some definitely baaaaaaaaaad dude company.

The photos confirm that he got Pinky's letter. In them you can clearly see that he's holding her heart-shaped check box reply form. But obviously Bunny's not going to be getting help filling it out any time soon. Seems the main order of the day over there is spanking the local librarians who aren't keeping Mr. Lee supplied with fantasy books fast enough.

Babyhead.01

babyhead

Pinky's string of blue Tuesdays

Pinky's got the blues. She's been waiting for a letter from Bunny for a couple of months but he hasn't sent a word. Admittedly Bunny's a bit of a goof but Pinky is head over heels for him. She wrote him a letter a while ago asking if he would like to meet her but, you know, zip. She's been sitting in the letterbox waiting to hear back from him ever since. She even sent him a pink, heart shaped answer card with yes or no check boxes to make it easier for him to reply. He's nearly illiterate. I don't know what's worse, a rejection or being completely ignored. Rejection is certainly painful but at least you get an answer, a little recognition. And I hate to even mention this but the brazen Mdme. Rollo may be after Bunny and, being a hot cabaret dancer, she has no problem asserting, flaunting, herself. She expects to get what, and who, she wants. I hope she hasn't made a move on Bunny. He'd be no match for her. I feel helpless watching this sad little drama. They say that true love wins in the end but does it?

Saturday at the Roxy - equinox celebration

Welcome to the Roxy.

Friday night marked the exact moment of the Autumn Equinox (21:03 hours) and therefore the official beginning of fall so I'm celebrating the occasion all weekend. Unfortunately, although people have observed this event for thousands of years, they haven't done many videos on the subject. At least I only found a few instructive clips on equinox mechanics and a couple of excepts from horribly saccharine "new age" circles jerks. I'm hoping instead that you will help out this week by participating in the festivities. If you will be so kind you can kick things off. All you have to do is ...

pretend you are made of pipe cleaners and
DANCE
(Buttons A - F for music. I like F.)

Dance lasts 00:01 or up until your fingers fall off.

Now on to the main feature.
This video is one of the top five shows
in Channel 102's last screening...

Viewing the Defenders of Stan
05:00




It's seems only fitting to end with more dancing.
After all the equinox is a festive occasion.

Little Superstar

01:28

Autumn Equinox

Summer's End

Happy Autumn!

Boiling mud pots and the Golden Shadow.

Mt. Lassen summit

We took a new route home from Oregon today, California Hwy. 89 through the Shasta Cascade region. The road took us right by the base of Mt. Lassen, an active volcano with a summit of 10,500 feet. It is the only mountain in the Cascades besides Mount St. Helens to have erupted during the 20th Century. It was not only a beautiful drive but a way to avoid road work in the mountains and traffic in Reno and Carson City. I made a short video for you of one of the mountain's many boiling mud pots. Over the sound of the wind you'll hear the mud bubbling in the hole. Don't worry. You're not missing anything from this angle. You can't see anything looking directly into the pit because of all the steam.





Okay. That's it for tonight. Now I've got to rejoin my little band of friends currently gathering in Otherland's City of the Golden Shadow. Things are very tense there at the moment. I've only got a few pages left in the book out of a four part set but I've got volume two ready to go.







Boiling mud pot - Mt. Lassen








mt. lassen otherland

Think, damn it!

We're off to Oregon in the morning for a brief family visit. While I'm gone, Keith will keep you company. Now Georgie, you be a good lil' buckaroo and do like Keith says, apologize to the country.



John Amato posted the complete transcript of Olbermann's comments at CrooksandLiars.

Party party

A couple of photos from
Mr. Lee's birthday party the other day.

First it was work work work then play play play.

That thing is a flying monkey wearing a cape and a mask.

I partially re-opened the Bird Park today as Mr. Lee is nearly done with all his backyard projects. He has just a few more details left on the trailer, reattach tail lights, hook the breaks back up etc. ... and there's one last section of fence that still needs weatherizing but he did the bird park today... first. He's alwasy a very thoughtful fellow. As soon as he finished I hung up two feeders. A couple of little birds dropped in at dusk and they each had one to themselves. Tomorrow I'm putting out treats for the BIG PARTY.

George W. Bush, torture chief

As any intelligent person you are no doubt aware that right now President Bush is feverishly trying to legalize torture ... to cover his own sorry ass. My son did a National Guard rotation overseas not long age so this fraud's latest craven, grandstand bullshit especially pisses me off.

No matter that he's an idiot, as President of the United States, George W. Bush is ultimately responsible for the gruesome, ongoing torture of POWs in US prison camps wherever they're located. The fact that the Geneva Convention classifies torture as illegal has never stopped him but it's finally beginning to catch up with the bastard. Sane people are demanding Bush be stopped and brought to justice. Naturally Bush expects the Republicans ruling Congress to do what they always do, rubberstamp his actions and retroactively make whatever criminal thing he's doing ... legal.

If Congress goes along with this coward they are worse than he is. You can't put the toothpaste back in the tube. Passing Bush's pro-torture legislation would simultaneously sanction the torture of American troops. Abu Ghraib would a model rather than a national disgrace. Once again Keith Olbermann stands up to the madness. Thank you. My response is less measured but then hell has no fury like a mother's rage. If Congress does support Bush's scheme, I hope the fuckwits rot with him in the same very special hell he's already created for himself.








bush geneva convention detainee treatment act abu ghraib congress keith olbermann

Saturday at the Roxy - from Orson Wells to Salad finger and beyond

Welcome to the Roxy. Our host today is none other than 20th Century great Orson Wells - actor, writer, director, producer, artist, genius, alcoholic. His performance in the 1938 radio broadcast of H.G. Wells "War of the World's" the day before Halloween is legendary. Millions of people, the greater part of the nation, believing his simulated live news broadcast, panicked thinking Earth had been invaded by mechanized war machines from Mars.

Orson Wells acting out his famous
War of the Worlds radio broadcast
for Mercury Theatre on the Air.
(ARCHIVE PHOTOS, INC.)


Now a word from Orson

01:13





The News

04:11

The latest from Salad Fingers at Fat-Pie...
PULCE: The Good Times

over 5 minutes



And to wrap things up for today here's a new release from
Half Moon Theatre Company:
Wonderful World

roxy orson wells salad fingers pulch news half moon theatre

Bird park - 2 weeks later

It's cold now and still no bird park. This has gone on too long. The descendants of the dinosaurs are getting pissed.

The critique

I finally got the critique of the poems I entered in the Nevada Arts Council Artist Fellowship Program last spring. It took long enough. If you are one of the rare regular readers here you perhaps remember I was not awarded the $5000 grant but you may have been on the edge of your keyboard waiting for the judge's commentary to arrive. Well, probably not. I'd forgotten all about it myself. At any rate, in keeping with my dedication to truth and transparency here at the language barrier, I'm posting the panels comments (there were two judges), as is (including typos) just as I did last year. If nothing else, it's another item for the alien's data bank who cleverly gave us this technology knowing we will freely pour our hearts out into the void.

ARTISTS FELLOWSHIP FY07
LITERARY ARTS APPLICATIONS

Application Number 331
Discipline / Category Literary Art - Poetry


Panel Comments

Found these poems intriguing, mysterious. Especially liked "Skin Trade"


Some strong imagistic details: "an old man...gulping like a fish," the synesthesia of "leathery squeak," "dusty clods of petals and wax." These poems are strongest when centered in image; where rhetoric outweighs image, they become slightly less so. The poems are consistent in tone: ominous, detached. The poet should trust in his/her image making to convey this surreal landscape without the need for flatter discursive passages such as the opening lines of "Road's Eye View" and "Skin Trade."


Interesting since (their misuse of word) of mystery remind me of some surrealist French poems. The musically did not work for me. There was not much effort to create a song pattern that work as part of the package.


Stunning images very surreal, but at the heart surreal there is a process of uncovering a deeper reality, a deeper meaning. I'm not quite sure what the poems were cohesively adding up to. The language was inventive and creative thematically but not quite there.

"Discursive passages"? Okay. But "not much effort to create a song pattern that work as part of the package"? Package? As in word product? I'm glad these guys don't get it.