Language itself is a barrier.
Long day in Reno. I thought I had an appointment with the knee doctor but there was a scheduling mix up and I have to go back tomorrow. I'll make a day of it if the weather's nice. We had a pretty good snow here last night, not in the valley but right down to the bottom of the Sierras. It's the first one worth counting this year. It rained here ... Oregon style. The 7am magpie was even late for breakfast but when we got home this afternoon I see someone scooped up the goodies.
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.
"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."
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.
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?
Welcome to the Roxy.
Dance lasts 00:01 or up until your fingers fall 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.
Orson Wells acting out his famous
over 5 minutes
It's cold now and still no bird park. This has gone on too long. The descendants of the dinosaurs are getting pissed.
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 APPLICATIONSApplication 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 somesurrealist 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.
9/11: Why did Bush sit reading "My Pet Goat" and ignore the news that the country was under attack? And why did he mire us in this trumped-up war on Iraq instead of going after Osama bin Laden who was the master mind behind 9/11?
The Bird Park is a sad place these days. The trailer is taking much longer than expected. It shouldn't surprise me how long a do-it-yourself project ends up taking but it always does. The bed liner is on. It looks great and now the only thing left is to paint the outside and Mr. Lee is doing the prep for that today.
Proud home of the Tonopah Muckers
World weary lama 
"The Last Picture Show"
Thrift shop
Outhouse
Miner's house 
View of Mizpah Hotel on Main St.
Polaroid of a guy drinking a beer
Back side of heaven
Wild hot springs a few miles from town.
1909
1911
1907
revisited again
Baby William's doll 
Unknown baby
