Peanutbutter fun

Goldie loves peanut butter.

and whenever she visits heads straight to the kitchen for a spoonful.



It's the treat that keeps on giving. She also likes cat poop, but has to rustle that up on her own.



Besides feeding peanut butter to the dog, I worked on the layout for "After Hours" about an hour and a half and quit before I drove myself completely nuts. All in all, not a bad day. Hope yours was as fine.

Dread and desire

I'm doing everything possible to avoid working on the layout for the poetry journal, both of them. The other day I decided it would be a good idea to do my own publication in PageMaker before I tackle Ash Canyon Review. That way I can work the kinks out under less pressure but here I sit blogging about it rather than doing anything. Okay, here's the deal. One half hour. If I do one half hour of layout today, it's progress. Otherwise, nothing. I wonder if I should do it before or after I get Goldie? Probably after. Otherwise she won't be able to be here very long today. Plus a little walk will do me good. Get the blood up. Clear up my aspirin-soaked mind. Okay then. Thanks for helping me sort that out. Come back later for another exciting chapter of Befuddled.

Raven's return

The ravens are back! I'm delighted to see them. If I were smaller, or they bigger, I'd love to hop on one's back and go for a ride. I suppose it would be better if I were smaller. If a raven were my size, we'd be a spectacle. Some idiot would probably shoot us down. Ravens are the most savvy and hard to photograph of all the birds that visit the Bird Park. This is the only photo I could get before my movements scared her off.

A special guest

However, as much as I love big birds, too many can make things more complicated. Sometimes the cawing and cooing even gets to me. And then there's the Lee Factor. There's already a delicate truce in the house over this . . . issue. I cut back to feeders and peanuts the first sign things start getting out of hand. The birds those attract are relatively quiet. But, for the moment, I'm simply celebrating the return of the ravens. Their disappearance last fall coincided with an article I read about Nevada being invaded by the West Nile Virus. It claimed that crows and ravens were especially vulnerable to the disease. Later I read that wasn't true but this is the first I've seen of them since but calving season. Undoubtedly they've come for that. It's a big deal here in the valley. Besides hawks, eagles, and ravens dropping by to feast on tasty placenta, bus loads of people stop along the highway to photograph the event.

Nice she dropped by. I like to think she remembered me.

It's a wrap

I did it! I winnowed my books down, got rid of the book case, filled a box for the thrift store, tossed a lot of junk, and put my office back together all in one day. I especially like the books on the shelf above the desk.

The best part is that I did it all in one day, thus avoiding Slacker Catholic Purgatory. The nuns used to tell us that the only difference between purgatory and hell is that hell is eternal and purgatory lasts one second less. Obviously they didn't know about nanoseconds or they would have happily shortened the gap.

My office has much better feng shui now.  Also I got the results back from my surgery. Benign. So yes. Today was a good day.

Confession of the Day 2.22.05

Perhaps no one will read this post for days. After all, only an occasional visitor happens by this outpost. Perhaps it will lie unread forever in the dustless bin of the blogosphere. Nevertheless I need to tell you, my hypothetical future honored guest, that today I am cleaning my office.

World to world

I admit that blogging is part of my deeply rooted pattern of work avoidance but, don't worry. I am exploiting that weakness. Being a recovering Catholic, by divulging my plans, even to a stranger, I'm intentionally triggering my Confession Reflex. The way it works is that once I confess something, I am emotionally obliged to mend my ways.

Hypothetical future honored guest

Otherwise, I torture myself. Naturally, every time I use this technique I run the risk of a tedious and draining round of the dreaded Catholic Guilt so I always weight the worthiness of my goal against the ever-pending backlash of failure. In this case, it's worth it. My tiny office is bulging with stuff, junk, litter and clutter.

True north

I've made progress against it but now I'm taking on the Wall of Final Resistance. From here on, I'm fist to fist with my personal demons. I will spare you the details. Today I get rid of some of the books. I know. Shocking! After all, isn't a writer supposed to be surrounded by books? Aren't books the true north of the writing life? But they're going. Some of them. Ash Canyon has a poetry library so I'm "loaning" some of my poetry books to it, though I have a feeling I'll  never get them back.

Goldie

 And I'll give them the book shelf.

H.S.T. / R.I.P.

Hunter S. Thompson wrote to provoke, shock, protest, and in general, piss people off. I loved him for that, even though his shotgun approach sometimes did more to obliterate than clarify what he chose to discuss. He did his job, his way. As a writer, he wasn't a watchdog. He was a watch wolf, flushing out the absurdity and rage that strangles us from the inside. I didn't read him for the facts. I read him for the truth.

Excerpt from "Kingdom of Fear" 2003...

"We have become a Nazi monster in the eyes of the whole world--a nation of bullies and bastards who would rather kill than live peacefully. We are not just Whores for power and oil, but killer whores with hate and fear in our hearts. We are human scum, and that is how history will judge us...No redeeming social value. Just whores. Get out of our way, or we'll kill you...

Who does vote for these dishonest shitheads? Who among us can be happy and proud of having this innocent blood on our hands? Who are these swine? These flag-sucking half-wits who get fleeced and fooled by stupid rich kids like George Bush?

They are the same ones who wanted to have Muhammad Ali locked up for refusing to kill gooks. They speak for all that is cruel and stupid and vicious in the American character. They are the racists and hate mongers among us--they are the Ku Klux Klan. I piss down the throats of these Nazis.

And I am too old to worry about whether they like it or not. Fuck them."

-- Hunter S. Thompson

There's a comment about his suicide circulating tonight that "he died most fittingly, in a gun fight with his most vicious enemy". If that's the case, without glorifying his end, I'd like to think he won— not by taking his own life, but living it as a transparent voice rising from his own, inimitable dark. And I love that his 3 million dollar funeral included his ashes being fired from a cannon.

Tides

I put the two black pens back in the cup. The green pen is still out but has moved. It is now laying in the small pool of light coming from the desk lamp.

Comma Coffee's Friday Open Mike Night

I thought I'd post a few photos from Comma Coffee's First Friday Open Mike Night. It's mostly music but several people have been showing up to read and there's a good audience. June, the owner, is a singer herself and she's smart. She lets people use the stage for free. She makes money on the kitchen. It's good for everyone. So, if you're in the area, drop in...read, have a cup of coffee and clap, clap, clap.

Hot spots and hot seats

Perhaps I put out too much seed.
LP is after me to cut back and I'm beginning to think he may be right. Since Plonk's friends followed him here, things just haven't been the same. The secret's out. I'm going to stop. I really am.


Bird fight.

In other news, Bill Cowee has really turned up the heat over this damn publishing issue. He wants everyone in Ash Canyon to publish. We are not going to publish ourselves in our own journal. We have to get out in the world the same as everyone else, via publications simply interested in the work, not merely publishing one's friends. I love Cowee for it, of course, but I'm lazy as hell and sending poems out is just one more thing. Besides, I do a zine so what do I care about having others publish me? Naturally the answer is, I want "them" to publish me if I want more than 10 readers. Zines are great but distribution is a huge job, one that is very easy to ignore, which I have. So I need a kick in the ass to get out a little further into the channel and Cowee knows it. I promised I'd have something ready by next Friday. Damn.

Friday night

My office is a mess. I pick up a piece of paper and move it to another part of my desk. A green pen rests precariously on a pad of paper. Two more pens lay beside the mouse pad. They are both black.

Deconstructionist History

It's her birthday today and I'm posting a few photos celebrating the history of the Deconstructionist. Happy Birthday, darlin'. Hope I haven't embarrassed you . . . too much.

Valentine for the Strange

I rather hate doing a blog. It draws me into revealing more about myself than I'm comfortable with. Why not stop, you might ask but I can't give you a satisfactory answer so I won't even try. That said, I want to share part of the lovely card LP made me for Valentine's day. He included what is now my new, favorite love poem and Valentine image. I'm sorry but I don't know who the artist is. I'd love to see more of their work. It's wonderful. The poem was written by Stephen Crane. He is best known for his novel, "Red Badge of Courage", but he also excelled at the short story and was a fine poet. Unfortunately he died young, 29 (1871-1900), leaving years of writing undone. His poetry was so unusual for the time that he referred to them as lines rather than poems. I call this one of my favorite poems of all time.

In the Desert

In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter – bitter," he answered,
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

- Stephen Crane

Street sign

Street sign

I'm the one wearing the hoodie.

Ash Canyon Poets

Okay, I just uploaded the website for Ash Canyon. It's not done but check it out anyway. Cowee loves it. He thinks I'm some kind of magician. Actually, he said "witch" but I don't care for that word. So many violent crimes have been committed against people, because someone accused them of being a  witch or pagan.

It's funny how delighted Bill is. I down play it but, actually, I enjoy his reaction. I'm excited too, and happy to do it. I owe a lot to Ash Canyon. Not only are they fun to hang out with, because of them I've written several new poems. I also set up a couple of blogs for Ash Canyon, but haven't done anything with them yet. I am swamped.

-----------------------------------------------

Postscript

Bill Cowee died of heart failure on October 16, 2009. We will always, always miss him. 
Obituary, Reno Gazette Journal

Bill Cowee
Comma Coffee garden
Carson City, Nevada
photo: Asha

 


Do Not Resuscitate


We must record the wishes
of our passing
the Advanced Directive,
not the killing of slaves
with their baskets of wheat and dates,
but absence of feeding tubes

or hand pumping our breasts.
Only the sipping of drugs
to ease the journey.
Let me go
into the great lake,
into my own time, my soul
wrapped in its swaddling
with the spices of my life.
My body like a reed
of its own papyrus
ink still wet
with the blessing
of having written.

~Bill Cowee, Carson City, Nevada 2009

-----------------------------------------------

The Ash Canyon website is currently on indefinite hiatus but the group continues. It currently meets from 7-9 PM on the third Friday of the month at the "The Bric" building located at 108 Proctor Street in Carson City, Nevada. map

More details about Ash Canyon Poets meetings.
Some of my own poetry can be found at AnnaSadhorse.

Birthdays and lesser events

I've got a ton of things to do but here I sit, fiddling around with flickr and blogging about what I should be doing instead of doing it. Really annoying. The most important thing, second only to breathing, is wrap and mail my daughter's birthday box. Mus'n't be late. No no. That would never do. Today, my sweet. Today I mail the rest of the gifts.


Birthday Girl (with floppy, gray ears)

I already mailed the main one straight from Amazon. Couldn't resist the free shipping. Always the cheapskate. All the more for my little darlings, I say. Anyway, the rest of the goodies have to get in the mail, tomorrow at the latest. Notice the little shift in the deadline? And this in only one paragraph. I am poison to myself.

But, as long as we're on the subject, I want to mention the website I'm working on for Ash Canyon Poets. I started working on it here but I'll move it to it's own address, ashcanyon.com, once everything is set up. With the second Juniper Creek Writer's Conference coming up this summer, Cowee agreed it's now or never. He is completely jazzed about it.

Also....he, Susan and I met yesterday to start working on the Ash Canyon Review, which we will publishing this summer. Now or never. It's not like I'm looking for more things to do but it's just time. The conference is going to be very good and Ash Canyon needs a journal and a website to go along with it. Simple.

So back to the schedule. Birthday box... oh and vote for your favorite blog (Deconstructionist) in the Hellman's Hottest Blogger Award contest.

Open wall

Open wall
Originally uploaded by a..

I've been using Hello for posting photos and will keep that account, but I just signed up for flickr as well. If one is good, two is better, right? Flickr's nice because using it doesn't require installing any software. I will be able to upload photos via email. The downside is that when you enlarge the photo, it takes you to the flicker page instead of just showing a larger image. Oh well, it's one for the road.

Paperwhite Gallery

My beautiful daughter gave me paper white bulbs for Christmas and I planted them just after the new year. They are now in full bloom and extremely fragrant and lovely. Sorry I can't share their perfume, but you can enjoy their delicate beauty.

Goldie and the mustangs

Goldie

Goldie has been staying with us this week because her humans are out of town. As you can see, she's a sweetheart. Also, she would make a much better president that George Bush who recently approved a bill rider making it legal to sell wild horses and burros to slaughterhouses. Until now, the BLM at least gave lip service to protecting them via their so-called adoption program although they "adopted" many of the animals out to slaughterhouses.

Now, the shit bag Republicans have made slaughterhouse sales legal. As their front man, Bush works the down home bit every chance he gets, but when it comes to actually protecting this country's wild lands and wild life, he shows his true nature . . . a dirty, rotten poacher in a business suit.

Nevada Mustangs, further victims
of Republican cruelty and  greed.

Florida Review

"The Florida Review" is accepting entries for its 2005 Editor's Prize in three categories: fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction. Winners in each category receive a $1,000 award and publication.

Entries must be postmarked by February 15, 2005. All submissions will be considered for publication and all entrants will receive a year's subscription to the journal. For more information, visit them here.

Slow motion adventures

One morning, we drove to a tiny village



on Mexico's west coast. Just behind us


a mother pig and her baby came sauntering down the hill.


It was a good day for a walk, a little snooze


and some exploring


but not too much.