RWP: Overheard

WHO'S AFRAID OF ....

I'll remember ya, honey
think of it as a gift
I was lucky
yer a lucky bastard
yer the one that got away
in an empty and amorphous space
it became confusing
the lighting was different
windows, things like that
it had almost a documentary feel
of new things and old things
because you have new tools and you always want to explore
everybody couldn't help but notice
it's the kind of journey you go on by yourself
*laughter*
in those days everything was very exciting
they did everything before my time
unfortunately there was a lot of night
day, night, I learned, so now
I will pray for you
once we began to shoot
everything was dirty for whatever reasons
done with something you might find in the streets
I just simply
pictured things a different way


(I don't get out much. This was overheard during two hours of TV last night.)

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FANTASTIC!

So, an elephant never forgets? He mourns his dead, caresses their bones, and remembers where they are buried. He can learn to haul heavy loads and do circus tricks. But take a look at this "Self Portrait." It almost made me cry.

Self-aware? Deliberate? I think so. What do you think? I think we have no clue...as to what has gone on, what is going on, what will go on. We people are a self-centered bunch of f**kers at best, believing that our place at the top of the food chain makes us the most beloved of God. God is the God of elephants and cats and jellyfish and rosebushes and bees as well as of mankind. We are all beloved. All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful...you finish it now...while I go get a tissue.

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YAY!

My computer is fixed! I can pick it up tomorrow! (Not that my son Deadboy's hasn't been useful and appreciated in the interval). But, YAY! My other son Pix says that being without your computer is sort of like being blind....

This is my NEW computer, the one I bought at the end of December, because my old one had a total eclipse of the motherboard or something (and still contains about a thousand photos, all my genealogy stuff, and the last half of my novel, but, Oh well. Perhaps we can still resurrect and transfer most of that, I hope) and dropped dead. They had to send the new one off to CALIFORNIA to fix the little CD door thingy that refused to open. It took FOREVER, well, two weeks. But it's fixed, and back! YAY!

RWP: A Day in the Life of a Tree

(From an old Beach Boys album, SURF'S UP, lyrics by Brian Wilson and Jack Rieley--mostly describing Brian's life at the time...A Day in the Life of a Tree.

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To This End Was I Born

"To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world...." (St John 18:37)


"...and we have a knowledge that those we bury here God will bring up again, clothed upon and quickened by the Spirit of the great God; and what mattereth it whether we lay them down, or we lay down with them, when we can keep them no longer?...All your losses will be made up to you in the resurrection...."

--From a discourse given by Joseph Smith on Apr. 16, 1843, in Nauvoo, Illinois


HAPPY EASTER, EVERYONE!
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WHY?

WHY did Barack Obama sit in that church FOR TWENTY YEARS and LISTEN (or even NOT listen) to this old man spew HATE? Comparing this old hatemonger to his white grandma was a farce. This crazy "Old Uncle" is no man of God. I am really disappointed. Obama's past and continuing association with this bastard is more disturbing to me than the ex-governor of New York's four-year association with some pricy prostitute.

Come back, Mitt! You are looking better and better!

And, WHY aren't we all talking about the FALLON RESIGNATION instead of Spitzer's sex life?
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WI: Spellbound

I find myself spellbound by this translation:

Grey, Mouse, Candle Paul Colinet

Translated from the French by Rochelle Ratner

Grey, the depths, the labyrinths, the sleepingbags; grey, the patient stairs; sly grey, grey brain, mischievous brain, grey, granaries of grey. Grey, the week; grey, the attic window overlooking grey fields, heaven’s grey eye, the messenger on the grey horse; bullet music, the angel caught in his grey snares.

Mouse, clever mouse who smiles with tiny grey eyes which go cri-cri; pointed mouse, spinning mouse, twinkling mouse; mouse who dots the grey quilt; mouse who says oui with a little cry, in the heaps of folded grey.

Candle, it's a castle. Day castle, night castle, castle of mice; castle of cats; castle that sings, winged castle, song of wings. Circle of virgins, candle-virgins radiantly turning, with bouquets of eyes and velvet mouths. Lace-collared candle, fairy candle, candle of Orpheus, French candle greyed from mouse-nests.


from a French poet, sent to me by my son, Slick.

WI: Destiny

It began as such a small thing, like a policeman beating a nag. In the beginning no one thought that two murders in Sarajevo would have any effect at all upon the world. The assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, all of it precipitated by a piece of newsprint, a short announcement, a small note clipped from the paper: the Archduke of Austria would visit the city to direct army maneuvers in the mountains. Small things. Then, in Belgrade, at a small table in a small cafe, the small newsclipping was passed from hand to hand among terrorists of the Narodna Odbraba. A grenade was thrown. One grenade.

"I come to visit Sarajevo and they throw bombs at me!" the Archduke complained to the Mayor. Then, the Archduke's chauffer took a wrong turn, as simple as that. He backed the automobile to the precise spot where the road had diverged, where a Serbian student named Gavrile Princip waited with a pistol, an angel of death. The first bullet killed the Archduke's pregnant wife, Sophia, and her unborn child. A second bullet, to the heart, killed him. "Sophia!" he called out. "Don't die!"

But she was dead already. As was he. A dead German policeman killed four years afterward in such a small place as Okres Krupina went unnoticed. The Great War begun by a small means was finally over.


(From Pepek the Assassin)
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RWP: Pantoum

These pictures of ice on the car windshields were taken last week. Winter's not done yet! (Click 'em!)

ICE PANTOUM


Ice is braided against the air,
curled and roped like the girl's long hair
bright as frost,
in the hands of the boy who could take a dare.

Curled and roped like the girl;s long hair
are the roads that might take them anywhere.
The hands of the boy who could take a dare
are strong and fierce.

But the roads that might take them anywhere
are not straight but forbidden,
and strong and fierce
is the face of the sun, that won't let go.

Not straight, but forbidden,
they go nowhere. The day is cold.
The sun that lies, that won't let go,
turns the ice to a vapor that fogs the air.

They go nowhere. The day is cold.
The girl is gone. The sun is bold,
turns the ice to a vapor that fogs the air
in the hands of the boy who could take a dare.


(Egad this was HARD. But I tried. It's been a long time since I tried to conform--to patterns. I don't even know if this is close to what it's supposed to be. Non-conformist that I am. It's hard to find lines to repeat that hold up and to have the piece as a whole make sense. This was really HARD!)
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