Sorry to do this. Politics suck but it is the season and we must be informed. Our freedom depends on it. All it will require is three minutes and fifteen seconds of your time. Oh, and pass it along.


McCain's YouTube Problem Just Became a Nightmare




John McCain flip flop straight talk Real McCain

Louie Louie

Louie
Went for a walk in the desert with Louie today. He's a chow/husky mix out at the shelter. Another sweetie. And then Dixie and I went for a stroll. She's an older dog and noted as shy but likes women. Does she ever. She wiggled right up onto my lap and licked my face. But I'm worried about Capt. Jack. He's terribly, terribly thin. He's a great dog but been at the shelter for a year now. I don't get it. Perhaps people think he's sick. Maybe he is. I put a note on dry erase board about it but next time I went out there it had been erased. However, a decision was recently made to up his food to two bowls a day. Two bowls? WTF?! So dogs should only get hungry once a day? Do you only eat once or twice a day? How many Americans go long enough between meals to even get hungry? Arg.

Just sayin'

Just noticed I have a clump of dirt stuck to one knee and two long blades of grass stuck to the other. Excuse me a second. There. I've been out in the garden pruning stuff. Didn't mean to but I ruined a nice, moist green forest a bunch of potato bugs were enjoying this morning. I hate it when I do that. I like to think of myself as a good guy but to the potato bugs I was a really shitty neighbor.

I came in and read Don's post about his father's illness and the dismal state of health care in America. We just went through something similar with M. Lee's dad, pneumonia, a struggle getting him out of the house and into the hospital. He's home now and doing just fine, in case you're wondering but it could have been that jumping off place. Perhaps you've been there too. Without modern medicine, I'd have died twenty years ago from a staph infection. Ugly way to go.

In nature, sick, injured, or old animals are eaten alive or, if they're lucky, walk off, curl up and die alone. Maybe even in peace. And there was that time in human history when, if you were cool, you shoved off in your little boat to die at sea or vanished into the forest before you were too much of a burden.

But here we are, in the great US of A, and most of us don't have any health care, or very good health care, what to speak of universal health coverage. And we can't even opt for the boat. If only it were a political problem with a political solution. Personally, I want everyone to live and die in comfort, surrounded by loved ones. Everyone. Including animals. And I want to close the slaughterhouses, end war, abolish poverty, stop global warming. But I don’t think those are political problems either. Or a question of the Right god. Not really. If they are, we’re screwed.

The world about us

Did you know that ants never sleep and mosquitoes have 47 teeth? I sure didn't and, I must admit, find that information slightly disturbing. But here's an interesting tidbit for people, like myself, who are fond of the lowly snail. If you don't like them ... you know who you are ... better hold on to your chair. Snails have over 25,000 teeth.

Snail teeth
Or so I read this morning over at PurpleSlinky.

Kerouac reading

Nice mix. Jack Kerouac reading from Visions of Cody with Steve Allen on the piano dubbed over the opening to the Woody Allen 1979 film, Manhattan. I like it better than Woody's version which is way too in his head for me. Jack? Jack is heart.

Bad Mother's Day poem

It's Bad Mother's Day again. I had planned to do a wily post about it with another ironic video, this year even include a photo or two from the ol' family album but here it is, nearly 9 o'clock, and I'm just getting started. A good mother would have prepared the post before hand, started planning the video weeks ago, poured through the photos for just the right ones days, if not weeks, in advance. I thought about it. That's something. And I did this post before midnight. That's pretty good.

Okay. In observance of Bad Mother's Day, I will include a poem I wrote three or four years ago. It's part of a book I haven't finished yet. I'd look for something more appropriate but at nine I want to watch a movie so I'm kind of short on time and besides it is, in it's own way, about mothers or by daughters to mothers or daughters who later became mothers. Close enough. Happy Bad Mother's Day. Take heart. Your best may not be good enough but it probably could be worse.

CONTACT LANGUAGE – Page 1
excerpt from Book of Images, la obra inconclusa


Mother,
the inky
spindly cities
are in ruins
alphabets adrift
reconstruction impossible
the land is without refuge
a diameter without dimension
echo answering echo
emptiness consoling emptiness

I am writing you
from a crumbling church
where in its thick-rooted dark
I found a few others
by their heavy breath
snorts, sighs and whispered speech
and one by the drifting refrains
of her off-key devotions

otherwise only the rain
is true to itself
falling

it has also taken shelter here
just inside the door
falling

where an old man
hesitates between worlds
gulping like a fish

falling

on the brown-frocked monk
watching us both
rebar poking through
his scotch-taped hand.


~asha