...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 February, 2016
Monday, February 29th, 2016
Status Report 187
It’s good to have a porpoise in life
helps in having a whale of a time
unless you winnow your minnows.
Sometimes dark takes the mind
getting through gets heavy
gets hard, gets weary
no happen, no stuff
it goes in cycles
that’s why there’s sleep and wake
night and day
hunger and satiation.
Today is an almost bedtime day
a day of wait to sleep and wake
hoping sleep will wake without.
More pun tomorrow
less sucking bone sorrow
soar more like an arrow.
– Smith, 2.29.2016
Saturday, February 27th, 2016
Status Report 186
I used to work in the land mines.
That’s where all this land comes from.
I dug it up.
I’d go down long tunnels of nothing
hunt for something
return to light and sum bring.
But my write of life laws and flaws
brought no applause
– Smith, 2.27.2016
cop stop from 3rd floor window
Friday, February 26th, 2016
one small step
Status Report 185
Got the act, just need the action.
I’m smart enough for it to be a problem
but not smart enough to make it pay.
Unfamous I fumble my future
suture to suture to further unfind
I’m not a main user.
I want it all, and then some, plus 10%.
Seeking mayonnaise mind
I look into my head and find boketto brain.
There is no me outside my head
rather strange out
I no longer hear myself.
Like to get to know me
but I won’t talk.
Follow the star and the three wisemen.
I will be lying in swaddled clothes
with the asses in the mange.
– Smith, 2.26.2016
Boletto is a Japanese word with no English equivalent meaning staring off in the distance at nothing.
Got stoned on grass and took my one lorazepam relaxant pill before my MRI yesterday and fell asleep during the middle of it. When I jerked awake inside the machine, I was unsure where I was . . . all I could see was a glowing unfocusable translucent milkiness of unknown depth and the dust on my eyeballs floating somewhere between me and milk which was further confounded by the strange loud clunking mechanical sounds surrounding me.
Reminded me of my confusion waking in the elevator in 1984. Was working 60 hours a week programming computers and I got stoned and went in at 4 a.m. to get a head start. The computer stuck between floors, so I called the emergency number and was told it would be an hour before the guy could get up, dress, and drive in, so I lay down on the carpeted floor and went to sleep. When I awoke still stoned, I looked around the strange box I was lying on the bottom of and tried to decide where I was. Suddenly a panel in the wall opened and a guy motioned for me and we stepped across the elevator shaft to the next elevator which took me up to work.
Marvelous mind fuck.
Thursday, February 25th, 2016
Bree Zlee Zlee, who is living in an ex-brothel in Paradise, Kentucky, featured my creative existence in her EFFITS UNDY underground blog yesterday > http://effitsundy.blogspot.com/2016/02/homage-agent.html
Status Report 184
Sitting in comfort of silence
sipping first sip of black coffee
honoring unrisen sun
which will not be seen
through raingray overwarm winter
Awaiting 5-hole handmade red cedar
pentatonic Native American flute in D
to arrive to sing new song with old notes
It is here
Find my corner
sit in shadow
practice broken tune
Reset tomorrow sun
– Smith, 2.25.2016
The middle flute arrived today. I can noodle about on the small pocket flute but ain’t got no shake. Lady gave it to me last birthday. The long flute on top is a bass, Lady gave it to me for Christmas, but my arthritic hands can’t handle the hand spacing so I’m waiting for warmer weather to loosen them up to try again. The middle flute is tuned to D and arrived this morning for my birthday in a couple weeks when I turn 70. I can already do better on it in less than an hour than the other two.
I’m a 3-flute piperman . . . now, where’s the rats?
Going to have an MRI today. Doc says my nerves are strung too tightly down both sides my body, wants to check my neck. Told him if he was putting me in the MRI again, he was going to give me something to make me feel less claustrophobic. So he prescribed one Lorazepam pill which I’ll pop an hour before walking nine blocks to the hospital on my broken knee.
Here’s the poem from my first MRI.
Industrial Symphony 35
They wedge me in the MRI
surgical shoulder ache in pain
start to roll me into machine as I inquire
“How long will this take?”
My mind cramps,
don’t like being trapped,
don’t like this,
know the panic button in my hand
CAN NOT BE USED
and then Industrial Symphony 35 starts
bleep blap boop
duck duck duck duck duck
baptist baptist baptist baptist
whirl screech scrack scream
groan jerk jerk jerk growl
whappa whappa whip whop
blurp bloop bleep
chick chick click click chick chick crik
ruha ruha rumble rumble row
shudder shake shake shiver
herk quirk murk blurt
scrape jerk jerk jerk scoop
dive dive dive
start again different order
worthy of recording for hard music market
loud loud loud
I trap my trap fear
breath slow, deep
say Buddhist chant
start counting one thousand one
roam levels of hell
until “You doing ok?”
“Ten minutes more.”
rise through purgatory
“Three minutes. You’ve been very good.”
one thousand one one thousand two
hit one thousand one hundred fifty
“Done, be right in.”
But thanks for the symphony
if not the memory,
and may you never ever hear it.
Tuesday, February 23rd, 2016
Status Report 183
Restless leg syndrome
creeps up my body to my brain
till I don’t want to be aware
not here not there not anywhere
just sleep deep through flocking sheep
wake late in sun of shine divine
wrested from leg drain
and human unkind
– Smith, 2.23.2016
Lady K’s is adding clay molded to look like beehive honeycomb wax to a mannequin head that used to be in one of my sculptures. Not sure where she’s going with it, but the journey is already mighty interesting . . . looks like a Mother Nature version of the Borg, using organics rather than machines . . . the Bee-org.
Monday, February 22nd, 2016
Status Report 182
Abel offered burnt meat to God.
Cain offered cooked veggies.
The smell of flesh was sweet unto the Lord
not so the vegan course
so Cain cried “You want dead animal, God?”
and bashed Abel’s head in.
“Here’s your meat.”
– Smith, 2.22.2016
Sunday, February 21st, 2016
foto of our beehive with Miles the Wonder Dog by Tim Green
Status Report 180
We lost the hive
lost our girls
Went from 10,00 bees
to 70,000 bees
Our first year beekeeping
ends three months short.
Dumped our first batch of 10,000 bees into our first hive last April 21. Those three pounds of bees grew to 70,000-80,000 and gave us 120 pounds of honey . . . and a lot of hard work.
They were fine last inspection. Now the hive is dead. They have plenty of untouched honey, so it’s not a food problem. The winter hasn’t been very cold, so that’s not it. Lady wrote that “It was probably from Nosema, a parasite that causes bee diarrhea. We saw that there was diarrhea around the top entrance of the hive. I think that they were more susceptible to dying from the cold because of Nosema.”
Now we have to burn the honey frames, take a blowtorch and scorch the inside of the hive, order another 10,000 bees with a queen for the spring (around $140) and try again.
I feel sad. Lady feels worse.
Status Report 181
One last dying bee clings to Lady
riding her back inside
foto of our beehive by Tim Green
Friday, February 19th, 2016
the Irreverend Smith & his beloved Lady presiding
Status Report 179
Block the bright
Keep the shades down
I shall sleep away this light
Recharge for wear of war
prepare for wise
in daily lie
– Smith, 2.19.2016
Thursday, February 18th, 2016
Song of Corporate Alley
I worship the gods OhByGosh and ByGolly
One’s rather rash, the other quite jolly
Neither asks tithing except initial teething
Both entail writhing with a bit of reeling
One comes from Heck, the other some Heaven
On wrong side of track with odds uneven
With their Holy Gulpees and Thin Wafer Stew
They purge your sin while cleaning out you
And putting on pounds while weakening spine
Making it easier to swallow the official line
Of there’s no wrong, it’s all to the good
Now handcuff your hands, put head in hood
Trust us to muster the checks and pays
It’ll be good long as you do what we sez
For oh by Gosh by Golly is now official volley
As we walk through The Corporate Valley
With corporate race run all night long
due date due date
– Smith, 2.18.2016
Wednesday, February 17th, 2016
Status Report 178
Mother Nature’s nipple and Poppa Time’s lime
sometimes get their pickles slathered up in slime
stretching interstitial stitches saving nine
A fistful of silly is a sought full of sigh
as we willy nilly crawl through this cry
peopling our steeples with the unrealized
The lone train moan in our valley of night
comes from many a was unwanted
furthur down the line
– Smith, 2.17.2016