...and they lived happily ever after. Smith & Lady: poets, artists, photographers & adventurers.
Our relationship was forged to the soundtrack of Yoko Ono's magic,
frenetic, love-laden song, "Walking On Thin Ice." ( play song )
Archive for January, 2009
Friday, January 30th, 2009
see what i can see – foto by smith
Going down the mountain to see the sea and jungle. Maybe coverse with a parrot, get my fortune told by a swamp toad.
new future in me, new me in future.
dark knight of the soul – foto by smith
Thursday, January 29th, 2009
40 pounds of bottled drinkable water – foto by smith
Looking at a foto of John Updike’s white bushy eyebrows and white head of hair I told Lady I wish I had his eyebrows and hair. If I had pure white hair, I’d look like a real poet – yup, if I had his hair and had my hanging left testicle removed, I’d be in business, could write a poem anytime. He’s dead now and doesn’t need them, so maybe I can dig him up and arrange a transplant.
But then if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
Besides there are other concerns going wrong or vague or different or not at all.
One of my two main instruments of art outside my talent, my eye and my luck is my Casio digital camera, and it is acting up. Sometimes won’t take a foto unless you press the shoot button down for 2-3 minutes steady. Other times it won’t focus, and its lost its super-macro up-close focus ability which limits a lot of my shots because like Star Trek, I shoot were normal humans never go. These cameras seem to last about 2 years for me and then go fug-bucky. Perhaps because I carry them around in my front jeans pocket and they absorb dirt and dust in their little sensitive crevices.
My second major art device is my laptop upon which I write, process, upload, download, research, and kill inordinate amounts of boring time. Its power cord has cracked and without warning will switch to battery – and believe me, on a Dell Inspiron B130 laptop you do not even want to be on battery power – the two hour battery lasts less than 40 minutes and it overheats the computer as well, burning your lap and suddenly shutting down the laptop. In my book, Dell = garbage = rip-off = bad product. Right now I’ve got the power cord falling down against the break so the wires mostly touch, and as long as I leave my laptop on a chair, never move or jostle it, and sit before it as an uncomfortable supplicant to its insensitive godhood, we have a working relationship.
My third art implement is my body, which seems to be pain central.
My fourth is my mind, and it appears to be fine, as long as you don’t listen to what my friends and acquaintances have to say about it.
Anyway, I may be disappearing from the web without warning if my power goes. Ordered a new power cord 2 weeks ago but delivery through E-Bay and mail in Mexico are both nebulous entities.
So if I go, I go. Don’t worry, you’re not off the hook because even if I go, I’ll be back.
And all this equipment uncertainty is minor compared to the Quantum Indeterminedness of our leaving this sunny paradise called Mexico after 15 months to move back to Cleveland in 5 weeks. From sun to gloom, color to gray, hot to cold, poor to poor. After living outside the USA for 3 years, Lady and I have become different people, better people, and the US has become a much worse country, so who knows but The Shadow what the F will be.
Seize you on the downsize. This has been Smith reporting once again from the tarnished silvered underside backside the mirror.
tile poem by Lady & Smith – foto by smith
Wednesday, January 28th, 2009
the 2 of us – foto by smith
Went to bed at 11. Woke in the dark and listened to my various body pains and looked toward the hallucinogenic white time light fuzzed by my bad vision – it looks like a monster or demon or bottle until I squeeze my eyes just right and see it is 1:11. Get up, relieve myself, toke, go back to bed.
Wake up, see 3:33 shimmering at me. Get up, toke, go to bed.
Wake up, see 4:44. Don’t get up, don’t toke, don’t sleep. Wait for 5:55. Don’t sleep. Wonder what will happen when I see 6:66. See 7:00 instead.
Now it’s morning and I hurt and ache and yawn and wonder why the why. I feel broken, flash on my poem:
The doubting vessel
Sours water, ruins wine
The damaged vessel
Holds its token
Service, beauty, duty, time
The one excuses
The other uses
Which in fact the finer find
The better bitter
The lesser greater
Truth is action, action prime
Here are some dawn words my woman wrote our 1st Xmas together…
Your heart-battered love,
your battering heart,
slow volcano sputters
I live, I love
I live, I love–
After 20 years of quiet nights,
dark nights, just you &
your laughing art–
your shelves accumulating dust,
and now this woman come to
lie down under your dawn,
your dust, this Christmas
morning is with this woman
your fingers wet
her swollen vulva, your
abrasive chin on her
warm freckled skin
your shaved head,
shadowed eye sockets
form of man
couple – foto by smith
Tuesday, January 27th, 2009
across the street from our roof looking north – foto by smith
A wise woman once wrote:
Most people think of a rock as
something stationary on the ground.
There is a rock in me
that makes me go.
I was bewildered
by the mystery of my ambition.
That’s when I found this rock.
This rock won’t break up,
and it doesn’t respond
to my questions.
This rock just says
“I am a rock”
and it makes me go.
ghost walker – foto by smith
Monday, January 26th, 2009
pole gal – foto by smith
sidewalk girl – foto by smith
window woman – foto by smith