Skip to main content

Posts

poem: I loved thee well, analog robot fog.

I loved thee well; I loved thee true-- forestalled ambitions at the knell, so much else, to ignore, or to do. If as my father, me you saw, you would also love me well, but remind me so much of my flaws. If I had a megaphone, a plastic yellow mouthpiece at my beckon; all from the quaint ingenuity, of a man dictating from the between the walls of his home: of a man of pale fog-colored obscurity speaking thoughts that were none but his own. Or if I were Dave Ramsey, or Alex Jones. If I spoke my truth-- would those words ring your ears; would any of it seem comprehensible to you? What if I were a brown-eyed ewe, who without the wisdom of her years, forsook her own eyes to have hers turn blue? A homosexual who owned a logging company-- once, me: knees-up, him: with his cool hand in my mouth, spoke of things I should do; By experience many worlds in betwixt and between, but nevertheless, his searching, longing spirit calling out,  he had spoken, lost on me, his own truth. Would my truth be b
Post a Comment
Read more
Recent posts

Through the speculum of indeterminance and self-governing variable notions.

There were, as it was, a cultural "push-me, pull-you" of alternating times of various bits of yelling and generally exhibiting ire, a dissatisfaction, and we observe, it came from the fringes of both sides. Therefore I infer the middle has purchase, and thusly, that middle of the road, which satisfies none entirely, is the very happiest medium to keep the body eclectic from ripping itself apart. I was registered in the ICANN Domesday book as perhaps, just a "user", not an exhibitor, per se, not a demonstrator of any particular idea, but holding to one American tradition in its complete entirety though its sometimes threatens to break my jaw: the common good.  Not the Southern Baptist code of social conduct, nor anything from the thinktanks of California universities, but what promotes the common good, and we remember that "life" and "liberty" were enumerated in the founding document quite before, and superscript to the "pursuit of happiness&
Post a Comment
Read more

On Passion and Purpose.

 
Post a Comment
Read more

Gratuity and gratitude in an ungraceful, ungrateful age: quasi-romance.

"She came to me like a friend she blew it on the southern wind about a love that was sure to end now my heart has turned to stone again..." - Jeff Lynne She was, my woman, my friend: my confidant, my security blanket, and sometimes even, my chew toy. There was said a 15% gratuity on service employees; I violate her dubious variagated sensibility with a roll of nickels. From others: why not use another denomination?  Quarters? Dimes? Nickels, I says.  It was 3 cents for the service, and $1.97 in donations for the various hangers-on, the buying of fast food or mixed drinks, or whatever it was that kept her mental meter spinning, and me of a certainty, whatever it was she was on about, she would see to it. I hoped she would buy toiletries with the money; Dollar Tree oven cleaner or something, something in the form of toiletries, feminine care, genuine General Motors parts, not to have Mopar on the General Motors frame, genuine dealership starters and wiper blades, branded stuff,
Post a Comment
Read more

Faulkner's "abrogated" and "inviolate", a literary pendulum of the spirit Old South.

  Faulkner's Pendulum is comprised in this avid Faulkner reader's brain in two words, which contrast, like "bad" and "good", but hold to the literary pretense of Faulkner's artful scribbles. Inviolate and Abrogated This is to say, strong or withstanding, as of the Southern spirit, or in contrast, old and forgotten, ala the old Southern "Rebel" spirit; Faulkner wanted to hold onto the best of those attitudes, not discarding the entire lifestyle, but retaining some of that charm of the old South .  One had only to note the admittedly depressed status of blacks in Faulkner's novels, save for one child, who was, in childhood, held as the equal of the young heir of the estate.  So one bright point in a plethora of Southern novels. As to the women, the spirit, not the maidenhead, the iron survival instinct of the woman, her sex drive, her admitted stubborn intent in the face of all the world around them, such as in Sanctuary, with Temple Drake,
Post a Comment
Read more