“That was the only time, as I stood there, looking at that strange rubbish, feeling the wind coming across those empty fields, that I started to imagine just a little fantasy thing, because this was Norfolk after all, and it was only a couple of weeks since I’d lost him. I was thinking about the rubbish, the flapping plastic in the branches, the shore-line of odd stuff caught along the fencing, and I half-closed my eyes and imagined this was the spot where everything I'd ever lost since my childhood had washed up, and I was now standing here in front of it, and if I waited long enough, a tiny figure would appear on the horizon across the field, and gradually get larger until I'd see it was Tommy, and he'd wave, maybe even call. The fantasy never got beyond that --I didn't let it-- and though the tears rolled down my face, I wasn't sobbing or out of control. I just waited a bit, then turned back to the car, to drive off to wherever it was I was supposed to be.” 
― Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go

A Terrible Play Based on Last Night's Dream: The Unknown and Unrecorded Lecture on Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

Characters:

Benjy the Manchild
Matt
Dr. Langager, also referred here as Dr. L
Mariko
Andy
Chorus: consists of all of the MiraCosta College choir

Act I, Scene I

Setting: Dr. Langager’s car driving through La Jolla’s Prospect Street in which Mariko, Matt and Andy are discussing a brief history of San Diego's La Jolla Cove. The choir is caravanning (on their way to a venue at which they will be performing their most popular repertoire) and have pulled off the freeway to do some light shopping and eat.

Dr. Langager (driving through La Jolla): Which author lived in La Jolla when [the city] was first developing?

Matt: Novelist or poet?

Dr. L: Poet.

Benjy: (Moans loudly).

Matt: 20th century?

Dr. L: Mid-twentieth.

Matt: W.H. Auden?

Dr. L: No.

Matt: Stevie Smith?

Dr. L: No.

Matt: Gay or Straight? Man or Woman?

Dr. L: Yes, certainly yes.

Mariko: T.S. Eliot?

Dr. L: (Appearing to be distracted by a busy road). Yes, certainly yes.

Act I, Scene II

In the unknown classroom of the unknown university—Dr. L is lecturing a grad level course on Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Benjy the Manchild is moaning and rocking frantically back and forth. He is wearing the bottom half of Darth Vader's black mask.

Dr. L: Referring to section four of your text—the highlighted dialogue in your reference page—we encounter Harry Potter and Hagrid speaking of Voldemort’s recent actions after the shadow of the flying squirrel is cast on Harry’s arm.

Andy K: (taking copious notes) Yes.

Chorus: What is the significance?

Benjy: (Moans loudly).

Dr. L: This variation form discussed on Jan. 3, asserts itself here, in which a “theme is presented in a sequence of analogous but different settings,” to quote Frye, and Potter is no longer a metaphor of false rhetoric. This “world of false rhetoric,” Frye continues, “is a world where the imagination encounters no resistance from anything material, where the loneliness—please refrain from Benjy’s distracting moans—and alienation,” continuing ” of the mind, about which…” in this case, Potter, “speaks so eloquently [of], has consoled itself with pure solipsism.

Matt: A metaphor of false rhetoric?

Chorus: A metaphor of false rhetoric!

Dr. L: Yes.

Andy: Yes, naturally.

Dr. L: We certainly see other examples of this “pure solipsism” throughout the text.

Chorus: Throughout the text! Throughout the text!

Andy: About which?

Dr. L: Yes, about which there can be no further development.

------------End----------

Terrible heartburn today--need a Tums

I think the title says just about everything. I ate too close to sleep and too much of the fatty stuff--the perfect recipe for a night of acidic blitz.

 “L’amour Fou,” produced by French film maker Pierre Thoretton is a documentary that follows the relationship between Pierre Berge and fashion designer Yves Saint Laurent (mostly) before the designer’s death on June 1, 2008. It also follows Pierre Berge after the death of Laurent and his decision to auction off a good portion of the Paris estate. One of the common themes in the film is introduced in the beginning when Saint Laurent is reading his press release to the audience of photographers, journalists and fashionistas alike, is the theme of going through hell and back again. He references the great French poet, Arthur Rimbaud in his speech. I am including the entire English translation of his farewell speech. I’m sure that somewhere online there is a manuscript of his farewell speech in its original French language. So here it is (as far as it is translated correctly) this is not meant to be an allusion to the Mormon articles of faith (number 8) belief in the Bible “as long as it is translated correctly). The music score, although often somewhat repetitive, is very well suited for the tone of the film—often a bit nostalgic, somewhat melancholy, but always hopeful and representative of a grand and decadent lost paradise.

I think several series of images capture Berge walking out of darkened, empty rooms or spaces where once the belongings of he and his partner—the glorious statues paintings vases decorated the walls and marbled floors—where he is left with the only the glorious world around him. The opening shows footage of YSL sitting behind a table with what appear to be the microphones and recording devices of the press. I think it’s worth including the text in its entirety. A light stack of paper in front of him, notes scribbled or typed from his head, Saint Laurent delivers a final goodbye: 

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I have brought you here today with a great deal of emotion to tell you some important news concerning my personal life and my work. At 18, I was lucky enough to become assistant to Christian Dior, to succeed him at 21, and to meet with success my very first collection in 1958, 44 years ago in just a few days. Since then, I have lived for my work and through my work. I am very proud that women around the world wear trouser suits, tuxedos, car coats and trench coats. I tell myself that I have created the modern woman's {wordrobe. (pun on wardrobe)}, that I have taken part in the transformation of my times. Forgive me for drawing any vanity from this since I have for a long time believed that fashion's role is not simply to make women more beautiful but also to reassure them, give them confidence and allow them to assert themselves. Every man needs aesthetic ghosts in order to live. I have pursued them, sought them, hunted them down. I have experienced many forms of anxiety, many forms of hell. I have known fear and terrible solitude, the false friendship of tranquilizers and drugs, the prison of depression and mental homes. I emerged from all that one day dazzled but sober. Marcel Proust has taught me that "the magnificent and pathetic family of the neurotic is the salt of the earth." I did not choose this fatal lineage yet it is what allowed me to rise up in the heaven of artistic creation, frequent what Rimbaud called "the makers of fire," find myself, and understand that the most important encounter in life is the encounter with oneself. Even so, I have chosen today to bid farewell to this profession that I have loved so much.

What follows is a visit to the past—a time of excitement, blossoming love, a skyrocketing career (following the death of French icon Christian Dior). And then later we see the period of time in which Saint Laurent is affected by drugs, sex, and rock ‘n’ roll. Although I would have to mention that opera also plays a large part of lives of these men. There are several pictures Berge brings attention to featuring Saint Laurent and the incredibly misunderstood (and prima diva) Callas.

The first reverence we have to the well-known French poet Rimbaud is in YSL’s speech in the beginning of the film. He quotes him directly:

I have been through fire and and the gates of hell..” only to come out again blah blah blah

One of the elements that creates a mood of melancholgy, loss, or wh what have you, is the combination of the archival footage of Laurent and the beautiful music of Côme Aguiar who also composed for movie title  and 2002Primitifs. Whose soundtrack is  a lovely dedication hors d’ vouers. Lovely port o’ prince to the infamous jane dough Eileen rombinson….

A critic on imdb.com believes that Laurent is, beyond the genius, just a “snob with kind eyes”. I disagree. I think he was an ambitious, motivated talent who rose to the top because, in part, where he was at the time of Christian Dior’s death, and an eye for aesthetic bliss. I don’t think any of these qualties identify one as a snob. Besides that, I think the snob is self-conscious, fully aware of their own greatness (or perceived greatness). And carries with them a degree of the attitude, “I’m better than the rest of you, so I automatically deserve to be adored,” which of course typically leads to the opposite or the former. Such is the case with editor in chief of Vogue Ana Wintour, who’s presence is often sensationalized and revered, or just as often if not more, oozing of pretentious snobbery. I prefer, however, the term pompous elitist. Far from Wintour, I think, is Laurent. At least on the surface (and during a certain part of his life) there was an air of humility, “pathological” shyness, and less austere, more playful kind of personality. He is often seen smiling with a boyish chuckle that comes with insecurity or awkwardness. He was kind of a little geek when you think about it—until the later years when he had achieved so much success and developed friendships with a plethora of celebrities including Bob Dylan, Andy Warhol, and LouLou De La Falaise. Maybe that is when the music started to change. But I digress here somewhat. Editing is a bitch and a half.

Anastasia is on fire. Sears. Steak. The burning /smoking of shit piles. What is left but the stuff of manuer. Tell it to my heart, tell me I'm the only one. Is it love or just a game ? Tell it to my heart, tell me I'm the only one. Every time you call my name!! Sweet Amber Woods. We don't know what hapeened to her, but the last time we saw h
she is was in the back seat of the car waiting in the parking lot for her mom and adad to come back out of the
chick-fil-a during the counter-attack movemetn of the gays trying to defame the property with rainbow taileywakers and
dildo rainbow pie graffiti. but of course, but of course, when they returned to see the car emtypy who were they going to blame?
Not the jews. Not the arabs. Not the taliban. Not even the tv anchor who sleeps during the monochromoati applause
 applause but that tiny little lizard that screems screaming for attaention in that horrific ly appostryphy australian accent th e"Geico " Ceigo!!!! we will save you hundreds the
subliminal messages say over and over again. Why won/'t they get to somthing substantial everything its ok to be mispelled but there are rules of the game
that you have to fooloow if you're to win. What are the rules of teh game that one is supposed to follow if he is supposzsed to win the game ?
I don't know what the frules of the game are so why deon't you read them to me mr. smarty pants in the red jeans that you've purchesed from a bum in the northern parts of ssanta fe new mexico.
Santa fe new mexico? Where did that come from? I'll tell you where that come from? What was I sayint the other day about the reeds?
 I don't think you were saying much of anything about t the reeds. Yeah i was. It was abou tht e stone and the soup . The soup stone thikn off
thin of the ducks think of the ducks tno that's can't be ritht it wa thinkk of all the bunnies the bunny rabbits thiknk of the bunny rabits and the farm and the haves and have s nots.
Thats why I believe the gretatesty choice for the article couldn't be any tother than the great modern author who is readily unregc=nzied mr
orsen wells. shit that's not the right name. it was wass the tha tower wells. or Wells tower, That's it wells towdr. Too hard to type with dry fingers
after swimming the lapps in the pool watching on the back floating in black rubbery gear the stars or that is,
the one star that seems direcetlyu overhead a sil er punchline stuck in teh black paper of the foreverness
that splinter of creation a piercing faraway candlight that could, at any moment burst to eruption to blackness where
the sound and smurfs and hollahockadays are spun to inward bounds inward sucked to oblivian and
this is the star ... the elstrian marigold round. spinning little orb that rotates round and round
flinging its light as far from itself like the orcs and jaw=-breakers in the summer you suck on that jack-breaker until the tooth
breaks out that little operaticismsm is there such a thing wavering? That scould scout coult not take but the bend of the turn
where one is likelyto  bump the noggin or two or three two two three two two three two two
one or two?
How do you like your beans cooked, mrs? do you like them with lard or without lard/ I prefer them without says the dutchess in the royal purple
holiday suit with the cown nose looking down at the cancer patient with a bald head. that was when I remember
that sweeat amber woods is no longer in the back seat of the truck a doodle doo that crazy ass clown is not another pantomine
On July

FilmTalk

Kongen av Bastoy
Translates to "The King of Devil's Island"

My favorite quote (short but sweet):

"Escape is only a fantasy here."
--- Governor Bestyreren

Is he a hero or the anti-hero?

Started physical thereapy in the pool at the YMCA in Encinitas . I worked with a lassie by the name of November who is six and a half months pregnant –about t22 weeks, I think . Sometimes she holds the bottom part of her baby bump belly in the water as we walk across the bottom of the shallow end of the pool . She is freckled and has a raspisih low voice that makes me think she’s a lesbian mermaid. Will her newborn daughter sport a pair of gills and a couple tiny fins? You can imagine my anticipation. Imagine that, Imagination. She reminds me for whatever reason of a softball player—despite the obvious fact that she is more under water than above. In fact, far from dirt is she, though I know there’s a scoop somewhere to pick up her shit. Tight and compact, November tends to be a little rough around the edges. Her eyes have developed a distinguished set of crow’s feet—the words … you were supposed to be here at 9:00. Yeah, I’m late. Surprise surprise. Ad the mannerisms. The way she grabs hold o fthe side of the pool with whie knuckles but oh lord, the mighty dazzling ring on her finger the cut.. the rectangle cut with decorated by a peremeter of diamons dould those rocks all be real? HUGE giant colossal mammoth Blong. Reflection of the light above us, through the adjustable rotating moving sliding canoby aove us, se the kind of person who doesn’t show any theeth. I don’t think she smiled once. Not evem a hint of a smile—no conrers slightly moving upwards . Thisis the perfectionists showing thgouuh I think. Just don’t think about the odds of success you You don’t think about it when your’e in the studio wondering / working with Enrique.  Youre just doing it. And doing it well because you absolutely love it even when it gets difficult. When he says over and over and over open up , not quite. Give a true ‘oh’  Now was that a true ‘oh”? Ar you distoring the vowel? Look in the mirrowr and watch your jaw moving  DRAG QUEEN mouth he says. Saty away from the drag queen mouth, as I like to call it. But in the end its good work today, Matt. The entire hour is rewarding if not for anything else (thogh there are lots of something eles’s) for that moment of encouragement. That after the screaming and yelling and trilling and barking., that someone else recognizes my work—how how great it is, not how incredible it sounds, or how perhaps in the Met awaits  ( though it would be fabulously exciting and terrifying simultaneously that I have worked and dedicated myself for that hour to the best that I can. And focused are the task at hand. Good work today. There’s no you need to work harder you need to file thinaway . Just good work . the world words of encouragement are so desperately needed when feeling so incredibly insecure.  Confidence comes with experience of success and time again  are comes from the feedback of others too. The reinforcement of the mirror image. I project what I want you to see and what is frelected back to me from friends framily and loved ones idols , strangers and aquantances, that is relection the self of the projected image. I foret what thisis called in psychcology but I know there’s a name/term for it.  Kirsten we will call her is writing a book. Her hair is Rapunzel blonde and she works like a skinny bitch . But of course, she doesn’t come across that way. She is friendly—smiles with sincere eye sparkle and teeth. --- a perfect ratio of white and tooth show perspective. So we talk and talk in the coffee shop –sippipng the sea and iced mochas . I wonder, could those spider feet lashes be for real? And the things she’s sayint that I’m not allowed to talk ab out. – she seems so genuinely eager to spend the extra time to not cause increase the revenues of her practice (cutting costs does this too) but changing the way a very flawed system works firght now in the specifically California. We oth agree that legalized criminality “ is a fair way to describe the ways in which CEO’s of private health insurance conglomerates are paying the verry least in claims for the sick (and preventing any remotely unnessary claim) and capitalizing on the healthy. She describes the ways in which GMD a myriad of companies immediately cause her phone to light up in schizophrenic urgency after she has concluded an application for e-insurance. As it turns out, e-insurance is little more than a middleman alert system that says, “here! We’ve got a healthy one! Who can get to her first.” Following a bombardment of telephone calls from representitives of Blue Cross Blue Shield, Aetna, Kaiser and all the rest, she is sure that there is little more to e-insurance than a hired hit man. The victim? The healthy guy who has the pocketbook to pay for insurance. Privatelly or otherwise.  A mother of three ,Kristen or Dr. ‘Scrip, looks more like a sorority gal in her figure than the typical mousey type bookworm you expect nowadays in the office of neurologists and botanists. She’s wearing figure flattering denim and a paisley silk top that hangs off her boney shoulders and reveals a pair of perfectly voluptuous hooters.  Ssomewhere there is a raccoon running around without its tail.  When  a sixty five dollar raccoon fur Becca brush goes on sale, there are several choices. To buy or not to buy, that is the question. Of course, one must buy a raccoon fur brush if one does not already own a raccoon fur brush. Is there a rub? Nay, there is no rub. Except that there is. Aforementioned raccoon is some forest is looking at his exposed anus and wondering where the cover for it went. This stinky vile thing used to have a sleek and baby bum (excuse the pun) soft thicket cover. Where’s it go? I’m sorry for that raccoon. I really am. However, the brush is too wonderful, too soft, too thick and luxurious to spend too much time pontificating the ramifications of such cruelty. (this is only said tonguq and cheek) . I don’t know if anyone could be so callous, even Callas (who wore fur regularly in and out of the opera house). I’ve only looked back several times  on this little luxury. Speaking of, Pierre Berge and Yves Saint Laurent (how beautiful a name to type) finally reminds me of the resemblance. It is none other than the coiffed dandy, Mr. Austin Scarlett of Project Runway season One ( I believe) . I’ll have to look up the pictures to see the resemblance. But I assure you speaker of the hosue that there is more to the spyglass than the ant beneath it who burns in the summer sun beam, a ribbon of ghost smoke rising from his mass of leg, thorax and the ever twitching antennae cells. Not to be mistaken for cellular antennae.

The following is a post I recently published on Craigslist classifieds section:

 

 

Tutoring and writing services for students and adults who wish to improve their English speaking and writing now available. A "Teacher's Assistant" at the distinguished Nativity School in Rancho Santa Fe, I hold a BA in English literature from University of California Los Angeles. Additionally, I have over five years experience tutoring reading, writing, grammar, analysis and comprehension at many different levels. Some of the schools where I have tutored (both privately and professionally) include UCLA, MiraCosta College, and The Nativity School in Rancho Santa Fe.

 

The following are some of the items with which I typically assist:

 

• English grammar

 

• English literature

 

• proofreading

 

• poetry and prose analysis

 

• writing (both creative and technical)

 

• editing

 

• essays

 

• comprehension and analysis

 

If there is something you need specifically, contact me and we can discuss how I can help. I am accommodating and very often willing to work with you to achieve your desired goal(s) in a professional manner.

 

I work with many students one on one and also over the phone. It is not necessary to meet in person in order to benefit from my services. I am more than happy to edit your essay and/or provide feedback for your writing via email if this is what you prefer. Just let me know and I will do my best to offer a solution.

 

My rates vary depending on the type of work, education level (i.e. middle school versus university), and the amount of time I spend with my students. Please contact me through Craigslist to get a quote. Please include your grade level, what it is you need help with, and the amount of time you would like to spend (or anticipate spending) on your lessons.

 

The best way to contact me is by responding to this CL ad or emailing me at dmd1982@gmail.com.

 

If you have any other questions, feel free to contact me as well.

 

I look forward to making your life a whole lot easier!

Connecting the dots: Pynchon and 21st Century Muted Horn

Just finished the movie " " by Thierry Pierre? French guy who came to the United Sttes
to document some of the more well-known street artists such as shepard Fairey and
(also known as Space Invader") and Banksy (whose given name is not known). To hide
his identity *(assuming from officers enforcing anti-graffiti laws) Banksy
conceals his voice and body in a darkened room. the darth vader like voice has an effect sim
similar to darth vader binging herrableded in by white soldiers breathing through
wires and tubes and mechanisms strapped or nailed or adhered to his chest. the raspy
robotic voice speaks to the nature of a society that is part human and part robot slash
paranoid schizophrenic. Of course, the paranoia, in this case, is warrented, because
of the nature of his work. It is, most certainly illegal; however, the vast and expansive
body of his work from Paris to Los Angeles, to Italy to Russia, leaves an incredible mess
to clean up that neither the officers overseeing the "crimes" are able to delete or
get there hands around. They are most certainly like the packmen gobble gobbles who try
to follow packman and are only successfull if the yellow man makes a wrong turn-- is not
careful enough, and / or is trapped in a corner where he is inevitably gobble gobbled
by the ferrocious colorful authorities. in this case, however, both Banksy and what's his
name, the guy -- Shapard Fairey are intelligent, careful, and incredibly strategic.
the effect of which, to the observer, is quite poetic, graphicly pleasant and to some extent
an amazing feat of power against the massive "big brother is watching" type of politic. .
For the amount of "pieces" these two have created, (together it follows or shatters the million
number) it is interesting to note that it is not the police who are filing charges against
the two young men, but the Associated Press (allegedly) for allegations that they are
infringing on copyright. it is beyond me what this means for the associated press. I
would have to do some research innto what that means for both the associated press and
the men Banksy and Shepard Fairey. Additonally, I do not know what the outcome of theat
lawsuit is. Whether or not  they settled out of court is something I would have to look into.
furthermore, going back to the idea of hummanness and part media... we are far from the
vader days when man is part machine and part human. we are now in an era,  (enter Facebook, myspace,
and youtube,) where every single individual is, in part, a self created hyper-media
extension. An extension of the self into what is the cyberworld. but now, with both
Banks and the Invader, there is a movement away from the hyper-media somewhat (I'll get
to why later) that we are used to on YouTube, Facebook, and Myspace, Linkdin and
the like. rather, these two men nare moving back to the urban streets where actual
pedestrians pass buy with real shoes, actual backpacks, and an actual physicality to
their bieng. they are not, however, using the screan in front of them . The computeer
is only used as a device as a means to an end. in other words, the computer is used
as a tool--something that can be used to store information, and then replicate that
informatio via printers and presses-- to finally end up with a result that is on the
face of an empty wall of the building. People can touch it and a securtity gaurd will
not take notice of there tiny fingerprint. furthermore, other artists, or criminals as such
would call themp-- even paint over the piece, or add to the piece as if there is a
unspoken mutual understanding that what I do is a communal effort and in no way an act
of vanity or supremacy. shepard Fairey for expample, has taken (in the past) pieces of
his creations, whether framed or stretched out on canvas, under his arm and into
artgalleries bearing teh classic works of artists such as monet, and skillfully,
and carefully placed his own portrature onto the wallls of the pristine gallery.
It is fascination to note the publicity and attention he has created. the new york times
has written an article on him as well as the Los Angeles times. I'm not sure, but I think
his work has extended the scope of innternational lines. for whatever reaoson, he is getting
away with it. He has not been prosecuted to this date despite the fact that he repeatedly
vandalizes bare or not so bare cityscape walls, billboards, and retailers such as
Wally's donuts". I wonder if the wallys donuts took it down or if they left it up. I'm assuming,
that if left up, it is because their establishment now is ornamented with a piece of art
that is gathering the attention of art collectors and curators alike. what was once
an act of vandalism, for shepard Fairey, is an act of creation-- an extension of
his identity. Does he have a Facebooik? A Myspace? Twitter? Probably not. IF he does,
actually, I'm going to look that up right now. As far as I can see, there is no Facebook
page foro the Space Invader. What does come up, however, is the game itself. Repleat with gorgs shmorgs
and splogos. At this time, there are exactly two thousand eight hundred and forty seven
people playing. People who are sitting in front of a screen, much like muself at this moment
and manipulating electronic signals left and right, up and down. I don't really know-- I've never
played. But that's what I imagine it to be. Similarly, Fairey and teh mysterious
Banksy are leaving a trail. The trail, and this has been documented in several sources,
forms what now seems like a modern alien crop circles that has left many people puzzled
and questioning the creators of the markings. Similarly, both Banksy and Fairey
are seen by few, if anyone, at night-- during the act of creation. When the sun rises,
somewhere, somme old brick wall is graffititd  with the face of Andre the Giant. Another
billboard somewhere in Los Angeles shows off the pretty new face of Mr. Brainwash, ,repleat with
tinker-toys gun in hand--a fuck you to the establishment that so powerfully seems
to control our thoughts and actions and behaviors. I believe that this is part of the
appeal for the artists--the glorious, momentary thrill of power. doing what yo uwant
when you want to--regardless of what authorities say. Regardless of what authorities do.
Disneyland, was a close call though, it seems. Pierre, after staying behind to filmthe
remains of the guamtamino bay instillation, found himself at the mercy of four mickey mouse
securtiy officers. Who knew disney had an interrogation room? So the paranoia continue:
at night these guys slip through the darkness of the night, avoiding cameras, avoiding
security, avoiding people who "look like" they might report supiscious activity. That's what I thought
it would be--and at times it is. But at other timmes you see the boys or rather each
one respectively working in dickies uniforms, sporting orange reflection vests, and they look
like theyre doing exactly what they're supposed to be doing. On closer inspection though
it is clear from the marks or their work, they these are not men assigned to clear up the mess
of graffiti, but the boys themselves creating it. Over a million "sites". If you follow
the trail of the marks or "sites" one will discover that they are involved in the art piece itself.
Once every mark has been followed in its specific location (ie. Los Angeles, New York) what is
left is a blueprint of a little pixilated alien body representative of the 1980's
video game. the spectator traces the marks, matches mark to mark as if connecting
dots, and finally, without being aware of it, is part of the piece-- is, in fact, an
accomplice.

lanceleaf dudleya

Lanceleaf dudleya or lanceleaf liveforever is a fleshy herbaceous perennial growing to 24" high from a short, erect caudex, with a basal rosette of pale green, lanceolate, glaucous leaves that are acute to acuminate-tipped, usually curved upwards, and from 2" to 8" long. The flowering stems bear smaller scalelike leaves that are alternate and sessile-clasping. These stems are stout and pinkish to reddish. The flowers are on terminal, slightly coiled clusters on pedicels 1/4" to 3/8" long. 

Lanceleaf dudleya or lanceleaf liveforever is a fleshy herbaceous perennial growing to 24" high from a short, erect caudex, with a basal rosette of pale green, lanceolate, glaucous leaves that are acute to acuminate-tipped, usually curved upwards, and from 2" to 8" long. The flowering stems bear smaller scalelike leaves that are alternate and sessile-clasping. These stems are stout and pinkish to reddish. The flowers are on terminal, slightly coiled clusters on pedicels 1/4" to 3/8" long. Each flower has a five-cleft calyx made up of deltate-ovate sepals and five pale green elliptic to oblanceolate petals that are waxy, tinged with orange-red, and slightly fused at the base. Lanceleaf dudleya is very common on dry and rocky slopes to 3500' in coastal sage scrub and chaparral from Santa Barbara and Kern Cos. to northern Baja, and in the desert mountains, blooming from May to July.

Lanceleaf Dudleya: The "Live Forever" flower

Lanceleaf dudleya or lanceleaf liveforever is a fleshy herbaceous perennial growing to 24" high from a short, erect caudex, with a basal rosette of pale green, lanceolate, glaucous leaves that are acute to acuminate-tipped, usually curved upwards, and from 2" to 8" long. The flowering stems bear smaller scalelike leaves that are alternate and sessile-clasping. These stems are stout and pinkish to reddish. The flowers are on terminal, slightly coiled clusters on pedicels 1/4" to 3/8" long. Each flower has a five-cleft calyx made up of deltate-ovate sepals and five pale green elliptic to oblanceolate petals that are waxy, tinged with orange-red, and slightly fused at the base. Lanceleaf dudleya is very common on dry and rocky slopes to 3500' in coastal sage scrub and chaparral from Santa Barbara and Kern Cos. to northern Baja, and in the desert mountains, blooming from May to July.

Turkey Chili

Prep Time:
15 Min

Cook Time:
55 Min

Ready In:
1 Hr 10 Min

Servings (Help)

USMetricCalculate
Original Recipe Yield6 servings

Ingredients

• 3 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
• 1 1/2 pounds ground turkey
• 1 (1 ounce) package taco seasoning mix
• 1 teaspoon ground coriander
• 1 teaspoon dried oregano
• 1 teaspoon chili pepper flakes
• 2 tablespoons tomato paste
• 1 (14.5 ounce) can beef broth
• 1 (7 ounce) can salsa
• 1 (14.5 ounce) can crushed tomatoes, or coarsely chopped tomatoes packed in puree
• 1 (7 ounce) can chopped green chile peppers
• 1 medium onion, finely chopped
• 1 green bell pepper, diced
• 3 medium zucchini, halved lengthwise and sliced
• 1 bunch green onions, chopped
• 1 cup sour cream
• 1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese

- I add one can of kidney beans, one can pinto beans, and one can mixed chili beans

Directions

1. Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a large stock pot over medium-high heat. Crumble turkey into the pot, stirring with a wooden spoon to break apart as much as possible. Season with taco seasoning mix, coriander, oregano, chili flakes, and tomato paste, and mix until meat is evenly coated with seasonings. Continue cooking, reducing heat if necessary, until turkey is well browned.
2. Pour in beef broth, and simmer to reduce liquid slightly, about 5 minutes. Add salsa, tomatoes, and green chilies, and continue cooking at a moderate simmer for ten minutes. Adjust the thickness at any time you feel necessary by adding water.
3. While chili is still cooking, heat one tablespoon of oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Cook onion and green bell pepper, stirring occasionally for 5 minutes, or until onion is translucent and bell pepper is lightly browned. Add onion and bell pepper to the chili, and continue cooking at a very low simmer.
4. In the same skillet, heat the remaining tablespoon of oil over medium-high heat. Add the zucchini, and cook stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes, or until lightly browned. Add the zucchini to the chili, reduce heat, and continue cooking 15 minutes more. Again, adjust the consistency with water as needed.
5. Ladle chili into serving bowls. Top with sour cream, green onion, and cheddar cheese, and serve.

A Poem for the Leopard Princess

Expensive Mistakes


One repaired pop-up sprinkler head
Three prickly pear bushes and one eucalyptus tree
An hour’s worth of cable towing to remove a cheap jeep in mud
One snapped cable (and (almost) one life-insurance policy)

Seven plastic doo-hickeys that hold the jacuzzi cover
(They were removed and replaced improperly—let’s not talk about it.)

 A basket of pillow covers—
Not-so-white after a faceful of nightsweats shmere the makeups off.

Replaced keys-- lost in the fountain
Replaced shoes-- see above.

A ten day stay at ten-thousand a night
May 25th: Cranial Hemorrhage
I missed your wedding
(Most expensive of all.)

 Costumes:

1 Nurse
1 Marriachi
Two Power Puff Girls and one furry pimp
One red Mercedes Benz
One dent
(Oops! We’re not listening! We’re not guilty!)

Two bounced checks, Nordstrom of course!
1 for me, 1 for you
Nantucket Sand for me, a lighter shade for you, and
Bronzer for two.

Two lollipops and one black Cat-O-Nine Tails
Five pairs of sunglasses washed away at sea
"La Playa Negra," of course, of course!
Aloe and Vera for steamed lobster and crispified peeling skins
Fortified and la de da da
Between you and me, a bottle of gin
Fortified la de la da

Tickets:

A ticket for illegal parking
A ticket for speeding
Another ticket for speeding
A ticket for flying off the road
A ticket for not using the dog's seat belt…

And yet another ticket for speeding.



A ticket for "I-didn't-see-a-stop-sign.”
(Believe me, ‘twas covered by trees.)

A ticket for not "clicking it."
A ticket for your thoughts
A ticket for cell-chat-phone-talk --- I had to make a call to Golden, CO
Just cuz I gots the blues.

Someone got arrested at Encinitas Beach
'Twas Dr. Kush in the parking lot with a lead pipe!” says I.
"Dont you worry a wink, Mr. Officer Shat; I believe, in my bag, there’s a card for all that."

Expensive Mistakes in Provo:

 A trip to Rite Aid to pick up a
"First Response Rapid Results!"
Just to be sure, and
A tank of gas for cruzin' the highlands
Squealing and squalling, "We found her!"
"We found her!"

Always, for always just one soda orange,
For shakes on the go just a coffee with cream,
But Sundays are different; we eat as we please,
In the kitchen of Ram Bam—meats, taters, and cheese!
So many mistakes, so many repairs,
But it’s hard to believe
It’s more than just shared.

 Just us—witty you, funny me.

A burger for two, a shake and some poo (baggies for chandler)
A can of spray for a pesky knat
A tube of "goo" (be gone, be gone, I say!)
A replacement Spalding for a donkey piñata
Over the cliffs of the cove
Lost undies and one spilled horchata!

'twas worth the cost, oh Love, my Love!

 (But since the recession,
Maybe we can find some inexpensive mistakes at Marshall's;
We can always tie 'em up in pretty pretty wrap.)

none that I can think of

Its not until later that I realisze the beats of the drum that were coming from the neighbors party wrere like the sound of his footseteps coming down a hallway that echoes fror miles and that those footsteps that are coming down the hallway will inevitably lead to the door screeching open and screaming ompen and the words open open open  this door up now open it up open it up get out of there come out now come out now and I am pmy heart races as my hands shake and aI hold as still as  can because if I move if my arm of or leg or nhand moves a it moves at all, somehow I will be brought back into te present moment where instead, right now, right now, as I am siting with my hands and feet and clenched and my hands are held together tightly, right now I am allowed to go somewhere else in my heaehead, I am allowed to thing of a wallpaper that is cso neutral that there is absolutely no thought that goes iinto ait it is just the eyes watching the paper and the paper where it curls is something tsomething that my eyes are fixated on so tightly ound wound so inextricably around that tiny spot where the paper is curled bak and how the fleur de lys is repeated over over over over over and over again along the lines in crossword puzzle movmotion that somwhow, for a  sa second and then some seconds after that, some more seconds after that, if my hands shake and suddently I beome aware of the shaking if suddenly I becomeaware of the shaking then at some point, at some point I am forced to hear that yelling, the screaming, and the knocking the pounding on the wooden door so hard that the door shakes, and the bibrations are so hard that they make my heart stu they make my heart and my words and my thoughts all stutter tso that I am forced to re clench my hands and stare ahead and then I stare at the bleached white twowels how they are so white except for a small patch of yellow copper sandy y dyellow beans poopopcorn yellow oil where they are not so white, where they are not white and I know that somwhow this brings me back to the shaking hands and the stuttering head, my head is so clear sometimes and then all of a sudden I can feel my heart and it drums againsg the cartilage of the ribs and it pulls thmy shoulder sforwards in its weins are arteries that force blood at paces so face, the freeways, the freeways they spin, oh jesus I’m dizzy now I’m dizzy why can’t he stop poundin g the door, is he smasmashing it down swith a hammer? Is he going to break through like the guy on the shining with an ax and then pear through with sucer eyes like the dog win the movie that one movie with saucer eyes that grighten and widen my own auntil they are so big that the lids disappear and the black of the iris pulls through the white, and wsoon there is no more white, there is only the toweles and the orchids and the cupborards of the kitchen and the lightbulds lightbulbs of the ceiling with which are white too and the columns of the door that are mathematically engineered to lok so white that the brain only sees white and that means that there is nothing that is black except for the back to black [Amy Winehouse died the day before this was written, on July 23,2011]]  where the iris kind of bleads or melts like a dye like a Chinese [Japanese] liquidye that goes out of the pupils and through the whites of the ey and it spread blike spilled china ink out oand out and out and out COME OUT OF THERE TNOW I’M  GOING TO KILL YOU GCOME OUT OF THAT ROOM UNLOCK THIS DOOR NOW , THO OH MY PLEASE DODONT KNOWCK THE DOOR DOWN.  He’s oing to know the door don and the a showvel is going to splinter the wood and the eyes are saucers the eyes are sacuers and the djaddlkf ta;kldffjfjsad;flkfjd af;kfjeifkc, v the figers are not moving a I mean they coant stop moving bther is so much puling there is so much force behind the thoughts that the body compensates in rigid motions of send sned sned fire fire fire fire the message of pure chemical fear is shot through the blood and the footsteps come closer closer closer and that way I can almost feel the ryrhthms of the ethe feet that are at any minute minute going to yank [wrench, chicken-bend, smash, ]] the door open the light will flood in and the small pieces of light that surrounded the door will be absolutely gone, and then there will be white and screaming that something I did was so wrong that I am bein screamed at anow I am being choked , I cant breathe because I’m coking for some reason I ded something that means I’m choking in the bathroom because the footsteps mean the door and its handle is going to twists it is going to twist and shake and quivere and pull and squeak and sd- 40 until th kingd dom the kindgowm of god is wreching the thunder and lighting through the clouds and thre storm begins begins to fill the tub and the bathroom bloor is so wet because the rain in  inis coing down throught the ceiling and the faucets are closed but dripping and soon the dripping turns to pouring my and my head feels dkind of dizzy dkind of dizzy ind of dizzy and my stomach feels like its going to re throw the things that are in it which is I don’t donw, something that wasn’t so great because it was too great and something that is made to be too great and too perfect somehow in my head doesn’t make it perfect, it sateras sit starts to look really ugly. It starts to look like a sterle scalpel the sterily is white, and the sheets are white and the feet that climp clom p patter pitter stopmp tromp through the wooden brick and marble hallways are louder like drubms the drumbs of mmahler the mahlers drums the cotton tick pitter pick is pounding against the old skin drums of the old drums made of the skin of cats that wawas also used on the PRINCE these oare the prnce tennis rathackets that at once once they workd we wer hitting the yellow green balls that aren’t white, they aren’t white, but they smell like chemical romance, and that smell is relesed when the pin pulls like the grenade, the grenade is pulls and then the racket is pulled pbakc and the grenade drops onto the groudnd the grenade drops to the gournd and it falls towed the grean towards the green that is not clay it is not white and it is not grass, though I wish so badly that it were tgreass because that way the grass willl hold my skin inside of it and I can lok up at the skies and my eyes will wander freely without the black or the iriss meltingng meliting like the ink of the pen that spears them so that I can watchit the cloudn and leave my heart that beats with the sting and an ache away I can put it away in a box for a while and it can stay there so it doesn’t have to hurt so badly the body doesn’t have to pull on the shouldings on the heart, and in the feet in the toes in the ear,s it  at it alls pulls and its cant relese until someone says its ok oit ok nothing is going to hurt you right now, its gjust white is it not going to hurt iyou. Bu tht egrenade dor flourescenet green that smells like chemical romance issinks instantaneously into the tennis courts soft ground and the head is spillsspining oh my god I am so dizzy I am going to faint my head needs to stop my head needs to release and go between my legs so that I don’t thrown  up throw up all over the tennneis oucourst and tehn I pull the cat racket tennis mallet back behind my back and pull it forward so that it strikes the grenade and the grenade goes into the air where it is airborne and thereis a sense of the body releasing because I know I’ve hit the ball and it hasn’t oh my god its going into the hands of the net, falls trapped intot he black sucked down and falls, bounces into the hairs of the court and I am sentenced.

His racket snaps. It snaps as it cracks against the ground after he up chucks the beautiful metel egg oar. It snaps  and it makes a popping sound like breaking bone. Bone is breaking because the cat hyde is pulled so type it collapses, and the inkn in the eyes drips out of the soupy dish and into the cradle of the white, where it is no long a small dot but a pool of lake water dripipin because the darknesss of the lake is deep and the ocean water is full of life, but mostly because all I can hear is what is wrong with you/ why are you such a wussy ?  you’re not even trying…. Do you want to go back? Is that what you want? You want me to take you back? Let’s go. The voice seems calm but it feels as if the veins are going to explode into firewords of blood platelettes. I am terrifred. Fred is not funny now, but that is what I want to hear, hey there its fred,

Oh there’s greg and the net and the broken rackette that is left behnd sunken bitter and sour and repulsive twisted and mangled half in half stuck nail head out where the head meets the eye of the garbage hole. hAnd the hole is black the hoel is stinky like poisen garbage rotting oranges and putrid snails slime and the beer of the regurgitated homeless man whose beard grows ever so sweet like mice meat like the tails growing from the lids of the eyes, the sour fuming alcohol mushrrom and green provolone, snot, uric acid, uranium, dishwater that has been found in the apartment of a murder crime. And the body is in the garbage there with the man who sleeps, who rests his head who cradles is body in newspaper, where are you? The lines of the coke are not coke but the lines of the metal racket, thgouh it would be poetic if it were wood. Its would be softer if it would be wood so that when it strikes my side, my collar, the inside of my knee, the pain isn’t so explosive. The pain is white, and the fire piston fire flies engine reffed and sparks igniting popping light bulbs, buzzed cut filaments gone dark and the grenade was launched poured stick thrown fired and tossed until the town is beaten balk. Black. But still the sheets are white and the towels are bleached, and the linens are wrapped in noisy celephane plastic sheets that could just as easily cover the dead. But its all white, and when its all white there is nothing to take the eyes away from the white, and all the white takes over the sour, the red, the fuscihia , the sandalwood, the chemical romance, the battery acid, the liquid nitrogen sending its wicked steam vat treasure cloud into the blazing fire skin. Burn you wretched wart a thoughsand a thousand thousandth time over so that the frozen dot on the tip of the thumb where the blood blister forms and the bruise of the impact is love. When does love feel like a frozen blister thmb tack? When its in the heal of the foot. When its stepped on so many times that the stepping becomes the foreshadowing of the breaking down of doors, the pulsing of an aching art, and the flinch of the head, the ears, the shoulders when my name is said too abruptly. Be brave yoou little wussy. Be brave you little wussy. You’re oing to have to learn how to be brave. Welcome to the real world. Welcome to helllll…. This is you’re world now,. You’re world is going to be my world. … or at least.. at least the world I wanted you’re going to manifest destiny…. Oh man oh dear god ar you crying? Why are you crying? Why are you being such a god damned baby? I’m so sorry . I’m so sorry I put a hole in the ten thousand dollar painting. I didn’t mean too. I was just playing. I was just playing. I was just trying to be a boy. I was just tying to be a boy a boy in a house a boy who runs a boy who is rosy checked and freckle dusted, but I pulled the ruler too far back and the ripped the canvas through the skin. I don’t want you to see me cry. Yo’re gonna have to learn to be a lot braver. Did you take anything. Listen to me? Did you take anything?

No.

The door is going to smash open and the veins are going to ignite my throat will squesse with heavy cream sin hands until air is gold precious fuel for the highest grade Beamer. Don’t touh that. Shit. I’m late. Don’t’ tell you’re mom what we talked about. Tdont tell your mom what a scumbag I am. That’s a direct quote from someone. Why are you driving so fast? You’re scaring me. No. you’re hurting me because my throat needs the air. The throat needs the sky and the leaves of the trees, and water and friends, and the scent of bravery. But mostly the throat needs love. There is none here, this is scalding water on open wounds where there is salt that is supposed to heal but burns right through the skin until later in the night, later when I try to pull the sheets over, my side yellow jelly bellow underbea tightens and I’m stung by the garden army of bees. Please don’t let him in. The doors are poison. The white towels are poisen. The orchids are beauful killers. Tricky tacky theifs of life. Leaches of substance green to live a sunbeam. But the white only flashes momentarily and then there is a realization that my shoulders can’t move because the muscles are sending signals to each cell that that cells are in danger, the the skin is in danger, the skin is pink with the rising cost of blood temperature tincture of time cucumber nimbus clouds benaththe  hazel trees where the horses trot by and bring me back from where I dream, where I long to dream again.

White orchids delicately fall, draping themselves over the hedge of the granite-top/ granislab… by the sink, in the room where we sometimes watch a shownow. , in the room where white and black keys are touched to tucker a tune. Tough they grow for an inch for a mile, though they may wrap their leaching burning filaments around my throat until my breath is stuck… while that may happen, maybe, just maybe, there’s a way that I can tell myself that’s its not really going to kills me.  That whatever doesn’t kill me—the white, the broken cat rack line egg, the drilling of the magnificent doors, the ice cream the melting vanilla that leaves the beans behind, the milk, the veins that look like they’re going to suffocate me—maybe there’s a chance that someday my heart doesn’t have to run heated over bone drums. The reaction to pull the shoulders up towards the ears is instantaneous, but for some reason, tonight, I recognize that its just her feet. And she’s walking towards the door. But tonight she passes by and does her thing. Tonight is not all the other nights. Tonight, though it is ugly and screeching, and loud, and very much unwanted, it is very much, absolutely under no circumstance beyond time travel, anything other than tonight. Not the other nights. Not the other days, but the night that is.

Popping filament glow strings

Burn

Snap trap boobie clap ‘’ save us, save us, save us all.”

Tennis ball grenade is launched

And ready to play

Acid Reflux puke star

The dress of a fresh tornado

Dished to the strings

Pierced, pulled, released, the aluminum lid of pain

hisses like a drop of water on iron grill in flames to steam

pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

“how great thou art…. How great thou art.”

Its so dark tonight

The Viking hums D4

One of the lightbulbs popped dark snapped to black

Fur – beast—noble – snack—loving tail beating hare stare-fixed horse-wide  eyed with the smell of meats… just now steady breath has found his place of rest

quote from Arabian Nights-- also used in the movie Never let me Go.

From Basrah we sailed, day after day, night after night, over the sea, visiting island after island, and land after land, selling or bartering our goods at each. One day, after some weeks of sailing out of sight of land, we saw an island in the sea with such fair greenery that it appeared like one of the gardens of Eden.

-- Arabian Nights

poem in progress; feedback welcome

 gELATO

this journey is colored lapis sunset swirl   (PATCHY, MARBLED, SWIRL)
with a hint of mint
smells like seaweed, OYSTER pearl, GRAPEFRUIT OIL AND SALT CRYSTAL.

I want to walk the rain wet stones in a slicket-slacker
puddle packer
trapeze a river ice tide chunks
turn the wooden handle on the manual ice cream machine
So that we can eat and have our cake too.
Dangerously. Before the dry rot of the wet preserves.
mmmmm. cherry drops, and apple pies in shops with local paint
from mr. mcGruff

In the outside the dogs bark and sniff shrub trees
Maybe they're onto something tasty
like a hare or peanut butter and jelly burrito.

the past is a graying tooth
a little sickly, but strong-boned
It wants to cling to the gums with white flash roots
PING!
A drill smokes as it spins into a crease of tooth canyon.
Animals with tusks: 
Out Out!

Sugar pill-slips spill on the linoleom, and several spots of cream too.
I taste a strong will.
A living one that wants to exceed transformation.
Won't you come with me dear?

the bait is out there, or is it here?
I cannot feel a buzz
the benzocane is cheeky
and I cannot see the sun


torential storms pull from a silver pocket nook book
a recipe which has burst into LEMON/ CHERRY.. SPOOLS/ DROPS
falling lightly upwards a moon
That is where... metal clipped jazz feet provide the beat forms.
"shirley Temple, PLEASE."
"Surely you can't be serious," HE SAYS
like a graying tooth, a little sickly, but strong-boned.
click tap tap click tap tap click tap tap click tap tap
tip tap tap tip tap tap tip tap tap
"Oh jeez, i just want this damn thing to pop out."



A jungle of monkey mint
I want to go there
with you, my friend.

Now pour the chocolate in a dish, drop a clown sized scoop on top,
Banana on bottom, cherry on top
Its cold out there and delicious like home-made gelato.
won't you share with me my dear?

Hot as an Iron pot on FIRE!

mary weather and the turtle oeove who ate thwith the gold spoon of the sphynx from the egyptian martiar mr tyeland truster who was also a band leader in the castle fo vaieries . I cannot stand that mr castleshooter said the yojg man who had jst recieved his badge in honor of fighting the trust war. trust that that seems to be somthing that comes ourt of the clostet a lot these day.s there are the villains, the criminals with brown mstashes and seedy brown yeyes and the whites sheets with the bleached stains of being let too long in the red bucket beneath the sink sinking the wahle beneath the bluye tide of consiousness he comes up to get a breath of eair but oh my! the sharks are too close this time and the baby cokc whatle wahale what do you call it? the baby shore comes close to the underbelly of the great blue thing that sink or swims depending on the climate of the day. But to day no oanother day. a woman in a yellow hat with a yellow canariy at the top shrieks1!!! Oh my god! what is happening to that great big piece of meat. He is being devoured by the orcas who circle and  ircle in the geometric shape of tides. they prepare the feast for martyrdom as the baby watches the mother pap? or father mum?protect and discect. this is the reality ofthe world of waters. the water for worlds and the worlds of the elephant. welcome and sit and watch and attempt to be still still still with a lingering note of harmonic sixths that goes for several minutes and queitly disapeers throught the halls that begins with the tiniest of sounds in the throught twhere there are two tiny wet little snail folds that vibrate so silently it almost is invisible. But you canfeel it. You can feel the air when it massages the inner lining of the throat when it is too early in the morning, or too late in the afternoon. There are pepples in the lining of the throat at this time. Drink plenty of water without ice. Don't chew the ice, jst appeal for the absence or sbsince tha absinthe of the ice. And the water will heal . the rocks will discharge into smoke and ash that cough up through the teeth and tounge where they away they go into the air to be taken in again with the lungs another groggy day where the smoke fills the sky pink . Orange they eat it raw and it smells liek orange and grapefruit oil which is beautiful becuase they said they said that this particular whale of an oil flesh brings joy joy joy! of joy illimited where the man watches the crow sing and squeel but really all the gray and darkness that seems to be in the garden of smoky leaves and broken swings are really just the beginning to the imagination where one can see past the wall, if one really focuses hard enougt. I saw it. I saw it when tapping the forehead on the lover sitteing skiwampus away and angular him at his left and I at the right where perpendicular meats the crow. and tapping tapping tapping I told. the ways were too close to image. But close your eyes I say, close the tired eyes and find the loosely gartered ring of repose. there you will travel through the vibrations (ought there to be anohter word for this wave of something)? I wonder. there I say, there you are, amid the cathedrals and dandles resting and bumping on the kneee of consciousness. Rest and look forward where you can imagine the shells of barnacles and the wet juicy triangles going through the tunnerls of the mind and the body becomes so heavy that the arms are carrying the world as well as two purple weights of two pounds each on every inch on every square inch they pull attached to rope that has ben yearned of white haired ladies in the southern states, claiming they have taken threads through old singer manufactured arts where the needle goes up up down down in a balanced rythym of precausiounary tension. They will weave you a fortress. But now allow the colors of the spectrum that you know and do not know pervade you. Forget about the stairs and the noise that goes long before the drop down town history where the boy spins in a feathered boa and the others sip their jingle juice. I am not meant to be as crass as one might say I am. But Peter. Thinnk and do not think. Listen to the tapping of my finger.
She screams! The orcas are contaiminating the water with BLOOD! Stop it oh stop it! she looks around whre there is no one but eyes that watch the scene. Swimming and closing in they bring in the weight of the water which has come from the deepest coral and highest sun. Shining down on stripping pieces of flesh and rubber blubber, where the babe is not safe, for the mother has been swallowed whole. But not really, just piece by piece. When you are save you are not safe, for the orcas are hungry in their tummy tim toms. Cannot they find a little scrap of weed seed smoke? I purpose they connot. Forthe laws of the vial are secret as the graves from which the birth are taken in. And the grasses of brown summer color are not growing but taking in the rays of the suns. Vibrations.
Focus now on the sound or the feeeeeeling your throat is making when you allow the air to penetrate and the lungs pull in pull in push out, let out.
There is the calm. There is the rage. But the colors that you have been taking in since the eyes relieved themselves of the silicone plastic rubber cheese melt, you can count on them now. they may looks like lines or geometric patterns of triangles squares or circles or even the tailfin of the orca. You know that even this looks lie a triangle, my peter. there you wil find, once you have traveled far enough, the mathematics of race, the mathematics, of the sun, and the mathematics of the percy wetty shetty shelly fish. Where the red fern does not grown, but numbers spring to the sky. She screams again!!! Blood Blood Blood in the wake!!! in the wake there is blood, blood there is in the wake!!!! Do not wake, but sleep now, my peter  my peter, when there was a time we stood against age old stone that had been crafted from raw hands mayble slave people withtheir skin unprotected by the spfs of the ancient golve glove. and the faces are only protected by the sheen of the rim. and the head is bend over the back facing the god of son, wishing for the sweat to become clean as the peak of everest. The snow will melt into summer. We will drink again, peter. we will taste the snow caps! But now, maybe now it seems she screams because she feels the plight, the sound, the vibrations of terrror because the sea is blood, the sea is blood. But look past and you will sea the horizon peter, and there, where the horizon meats the heaven ward, there the spirit is free, there the body of mum and the body of papa will meet with a great shadow of force and teh web of mathematics will cling to each its own point of connection. See? Where? There. where the skiy is line. The sky is line. Tap Tap Tap Tap softly I tap the forehead where, the softest note of sea travels through the nasopharynx and the bones of the tip of the ice nose berg head. foreshodowing! Foreshodowing what is to come. !!! There may be the blood of the sea, or the ringing of bells. Bells ring through the nose. The rose blooms foreward as the eyes foreword the silence in chaos. What what ? Can you not see the spiraling bells of methematics? See the sheells, the caves beneath leonard that once were rivers beneath the survace of the layers of rock. William Hill I call upone the eithgth lord of caves. Do not find your abandonment, but release the noise, and find teh turning of shells. You, there will my peter be lifted and taken to the shores of horizen. Where there is no end, but end is now. For there is no eternity but that which is the ever present Now. Look peter. Do you see something you have nevr seen before ?What are you doing to me you crazed duck lick goose knob? How could I ever harm you? For all the sitting conversations of the past and teh brilliant future of pink shadow gold dream where the turf meets the surf. Ride them bloody waves! Surge of surf, mind of matter, matter of surge, surf of mind. the tunnel of wake, as the earth beneath the blood waves shuffles, quakes, where the shodows of ablatement turn to dandles. The pocket of the ringles the circular order of the pringle shell turns the widening gyre, the birth can meat agian together. The joints that we thought were borken are no longer separate but repaired in the welding nickel soldeirng steal! She screams the weaves are blood the weaves are blood. But the day has past and teh sun is sleeping. The whale is gone, the baby rests against the paper skin of the sea top without its mom. Still the baby breathes. Water as dust appeals and sprouts as inverse rains toward mother sky. As the sun also rises, the blood, another day shall disappear.
Peter. Are you there?
silence.
but the movement of sound is felt, not heard.
Ah! To sweetly watch Neuschwarnstein, and taste the infinite air of stars in the trees! You and I, together we go.

alas a furious joy!

Remains of the day include a snuggie, a marbled snail of Arabian decent and  a yellow feathered turtle bus. Reduced to a shimmer, the fuzzy spreckled con man entered the swamp arena underneath the groung. The party had begun three nights earlier but it continued underneath the confines of swere sewer systems and caves. One could hear the band from three miles away but I didn’t actually see them until I passed by the pillards underneath the freeway where stampedes of unseen cars flew by sounding more like a train than a car. But the band screamed into microphones hailing the demons of our time and looked at the black haired mongoose who was dressed as a pirate and he looked back at me and winced. What? I didn’t think that anyone could be the one to talk. After all, the pirate was holding a jug of jin and in the other lanky fingers a jug of smelly old wine. A woman who had been talking to a portrait on the wall that had been spray painted in cans of fumey fumes. Oh to be able to describe the walls of the interior space of those sewers. We couldn’t see. It was too dark and the night blanket was around everything but the other side of the world, which was certainly warm enough from the sun. “abandon all hope ye who enter here” was markered on the curvature of the tower beam, and I held my phone up to the paint to ssee the details and I thought of American psycho first and how the book begins… but then dante and his little masterpiece, which by the way, was taught in a circular classroom where desks were not separate but attached as an elongated table where chair met next chair next door. An Italian man talked with a heavy berry rico bacon accent with the I’s and the ahhhh… I couldn’t understand most of the words that came out of his class, so of course, I dropped it. And danta can wait for another day when an Italian man doesn’t have a blazer with an orange sticker with an upside down smiley face. I wondered about that sticker and what it meant, and I wondered that night as I passed through the first of four caves of the sewer . this was a new inferno. It was an inferno of younger people with cans of spray paint and eyeliner, drums, and screeching voices echoing through the underearth... I miss the tunnels. But it stank. Someone said that we needed to be careful of our steop in other words to follow the path of the papercard stock stepping bores and the slippers of suede and sheep skin were wet and crapped on and I thought I heard the scratching meat sucking of a large mouse rat canoon. Oh a canoo would have been very appropriate for me. There is nothing more appropriate than appearing at the band within the depths of the sewer in a green canoe.  Make the cameo with a canoe with its markings on the side KCUF 999 oh but that would be cliché I must say. Drumming hip dip and swing a rythym, trashing the trashed thrashing the thrashings of society, where only the blackened eyes of the boys can see what’s coming . And really there is only one thing coming and that is the wave of silence that happens when time stop momentarily like in the matrix where neo is slip sliding bending backwards with the devils demon trickster pollywoop gymnaccrostics. Silver streak of starlight where the 3^rd rock from the sun comes tumbling down to a place where there will be a gentle divot in the land of the kutra people. Within the trees within the vines the old ruins of falling stones and lakes that are deep within the bark and brush thick with lime. A colorful bird with twitching wings cocks his head and cries,  “there are no more people left to imitate.” The crow, thought it is not a crow but an imitation of a crow dressed in the featheres of the cockadoodle doo to you parrot dice. I wonder with a shake of the wrist with the paradice stike midnight where the sound begins again screeching drumming beats through past roar and helter skelter. And I hold my camera against the walls where someone has painted a name that I don’t recognize. Sydney Marinus. And for the first time I remember the boy who stood staring at something and thinking everything and not aware of the thoughts but comepletely lost in the bliss of lost consciousness. Painting the bloom red, Sydney cuffed the back of the railing. A small rain bagan to fall inside the “crossroads” colored walls where everything is clay and the ashes of the buried bones. Those were the only ones left that anselm could use. How could he use anything but these. These were the stories, layers and layers, foundation against foundation where plaster, rock, limestone, rock, twigs, teeth and bone-dust complemnt an elephant skin fooring. Looking down at his pumps, he releases the founding fathers bones bones bones everywhere bones with no more land to roam but the land of the stolen fathers. Complacent in his moment, Sydney attempts the impossible; he is reclining back, straight backed and head 45 degrees against the graine. There he stays momentarily where he is allowed to stare at the movement of ceiling and floor, rain and muddlewords slipping down painting lane. It looks like the drippings of water plugs slipping sliding down shower glass, and sometimes, when one cries, a water-wet sticky-proof skin of many shades. Many different feet will touch this ground. If not another like it. Oh Sydney don’t stop your brigade. there are flags to be posted on moons and planets, stars and the pink stones of the kaleidoscope.backwards falling, the lids of the eyes- his thinnest skin – lower lash downwards. Look up look up the great work begins mr. marinusss. This is his epiphany. What is the great work? You  see it in front of you. You have seen it in front of you all your life, but the eyes weren’t able to tell the brain the right signals and so the feet just kept walking, the arms kept moving and over the years, you learned to do what you do best; imitate life. There is none other than imitation is there mr. marinus yourself? What is happening the 45 degree angle where his  heels connect the floor point laser-like a light the weeping paint rain. A guard pulls a flashlight from his belt. A skylight pours a gritty glow patch and sends a flash of camera blink against the higher jaw bone of the temple. Lightning. My denim is wet and wild. A Diesel would like to be a truck, but no, now a pair of American pants important from italy I mean imported from italy. What is the shirt you wear mr. Marinus does not move he is a photograph in time a quake of consciousness. Seagulls, caught in the blister, wings pulled down and some pulled heavenward nearly collapse with the power of the lens. Surveillence. From which eye am I going to be seen today?  The third eye, perhaps? The one we don’t know enough about but marunis today has painted in read against the top of his nose where the creases have appeared aafter worrying about the morning milk and cream for the cat, the afternoon lunch our when ther is never enough time to finish the clockwrk. But somehow there is still that prity of thought where the river of flow just goies and doges goes and dgoes, and goes, folling a carres of the shirt when the wings of the tail collar used to blow, a shuttle now takes the a passenger to the scene of the crime. Awake AAwake AwakeAwake. Back to the canoe hwhere we will paddle hard against the river against the lapping pools. There wwe will watch a the walls painted graffitteid clowns and battle cries, monster mash, lettered hearts with initials plus other initials. The walls become the heart ad the the eart becomes the walls but they are concave and splendid in their low brow kind of way. And now one can say , not even the king of Frankfurt, no one cn say that the lowest of the low are exempt form the crime. Because there we were, and if nto a can a paint, a brush with oils, a finger spread with the metallic of sea shor e mercury. Dripipping and it continues to drip drip drip . the bones wit the bones will soak into the elephant skin earth and will regenerate the m color ful monkeyblume hanging from the stem. Upside down upside dow. Falling still, Sydney inwardly pulls, browns like butter in tephloon pans. Pulls in, browns pulls in, he disappears. The guard turns to the moa lisa emblam, the wing of the griffin coming out from her shoulder blades. I will not be albe to let this slide says the officer of the law that watches the paitings day and someof the night looksback towards the e entrance where the glass revolving doors are being replace with new ly aquired hanging beads. Hanging beads. As the arm ofas the arm of the yellow black parking woodie collapses, so too does the meter, the kisok itself. Crumbling like the cities only revealed to some under earth under sand water bearing worlds where the green of life can breeed freely, where the green of life can make what it need to make. The seed. . and the guard, tas the guard the guard, as the placeholder in time – Gettyperceptuman—collapses. At last the gaurds  stands above a pair of sneakers and pima cotton, where all that’s left is the seed.

Farmer meets a punk, treacherous sling, put away your arrow, I put away my seed.

Away with the tunnel, the youngins of the sewer world away. 

Cherry Coffee Cake

I found this recipe from "Lifelines", a patient newsletter published by DaVita. It looks tasty, but risky.


Ingredients


1/2 c unsalted butter; softened

2 eggs

1 c granulated sugar

1 c sour cream

1 tsp vanilla (extract?)

2 c all-purpose white flour

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

one 20 ounce can cherry pie filling

Preparation


1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2. Using a mixer, cream butter, ceggs, sugar, sour cream and vanilla.

3. In separate bowl combine flour, baking powder and baking soda

4. Add dry ingredients to creamed butter misture and mix well. Pour batter into a greased 9" x 13" baking pan

5. Evenly disperse cherry pie filling over batter.

6. Bake for 40 minutes until golden brown.

Helpful Hints:


Substitute blueberry or rasberry pie filling instead of cherry if desired.

Cut into 12 servings instead of 24 if you need extra calorie.

Lower sugar options for those with diabetes include using sugar substitute for baking instead of sugar and using low-sugar cherry filling.

note from matt: you may want to have your heart checked after eating this if you don't already have heart issues.

bland steamed white rice

What if after the ultrasound I took a noodle vein and wrapped it around the round turning thing on the edgwick sinspter mobile and then took that noodle wein and spun it through the wiring where the needle goes up and down up and down so so so fast it goes it bounces and it whiiirs like a little engire engine as the fparetns foot goes down and up down and up the foot stool controls the spaghettic string oops I meant noodle but that’s the noodle there is only one so that the noole goes from the spinster to the orooof he just barked and then he did a little fart like that bee I used to think about mr pinkerton h=and how his bee wings went so quickly it only took a slow motion capturing cameria to get a glimpe of one second of the mr pinkerton looked out over the sea of waes and the fresh hives he had wanted to taste that fresh honey bunces of oats. No just honey real spun honey that reminds me of a storry said that caterpeller dressed up in a caterpeller suit. I’m thinking of a man with a mustache and bifocals that has a mustache and the lens that goes from his eye to his ear, this bifocle hass a toune aoh no wait I want it to be, I ai magically take the wand in my lef t and right hands oh no fingers I mean because the fingers are the ones that type and we go back to that man with the mustache and round brown eyes with the oracle from an ayeeye to an ear where there is a fleshy hearing aid that one has to adjust with a tiny little earglass screwdriver – the ones that are so baby cute you just want to eat them. That makes me think about how if a small corn on the cob were to mate twith the ring a ling the eyeglasses would not be there a baby ? I thiknk so what would the baby be but a little chicklet that comes in a plastic abox. You know whats funny I thnink about foood so much a strawberry a kiwi a lemon a n orange but can I thnkk abou something else? Yes, the first thing that comes to mind is a little squirrel with a befriend that carries a small acashiew in his satchel . he sings a little toon that tune that goes something like, when my cashiew was a little baby nut, it did not taste so cut. It had to grow it had to grow so that the ut left lost its leaves and dropped the leaves to the starch floor wood. And then when the ahsiew surbibed the fallDont we all! Yes survive the fall! And hand in hand they went no looking back some natural tears they wept but wiped them soon  and then said, I want to go back to the little garden. I m not goinna let that little demon angel kcik me out of my homeW this is our palenstine. You gae us a gift, jesus. Why did you want to tkake aay a good thing. Someone sometwhere is holding up the wriknkled fitty fist and thaking an index finger to indacate a motion of disapproval. And to that I say. You , I can with you certainly sympathize. I can understand that but once there were two pictures that had a crow and a cock with orchids and the like with bits of chiken snaps. But on the speaker wen about this and that about theravenous merceez beans that had been falling from the sky in april there was a dry spring… and april for sure is definitely NOT the crueles t month. In fact, I rather like april. It kind of got a little glow going on and the owls and the larks are twitterpated and su h so that the branches of sycamore trees are smiling and the painted gold yellow pink and lightitsh bluoooo hare all smiling from here to Nebraska which is a place Ib’ve never ben but when I sthink about Nebraska in the winter I think about a country place like with snow and ide and rouds and a brown wooden farmhouse with a porta potty that is definitely not attached to the house. The pillars, the pillars they are leaning the wrong way. I’ll fix that. Take the tape measurere son tand hold it up to the pillar at a nintely degreee anle so that the piller stands at a perfect ninetly u degree angle at the sound of thw whistle