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...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 December, 2009

Yuyu Music

Wednesday, December 9th, 2009

I’m digging these collaborations between Yuyutsu RD Sharma & Peter Ball:

> Mules

> Sagarmata

> Temple London

> Spacecake Amsterdam

> Gorepani

> Gopol

> Latino Love

> Little Paradise Lodge

> Dublin

> At Forty You Die



Tuesday, December 8th, 2009

‘We need to get some more money to travel.’

We have a problem here: our little kitty cat.

‘We’ll kill her. We’ll eat her. Some tribespeople used to eat their enemies to absorb desired traits.’

They used to eat their hearts for courage. I get to eat her purr. No, I’m going to put her purr in my pocket so I can take it out and listen to it when I need it.

Whaddaya think, my pretty little kitty cat?

‘Whaddaya think!?! We were talking about eating her.’

Whaddaya think, my tasty, tender little kitty cat?

Remember your cat, 3PO? He wouldn’t travel with us, so I told you we’d kill him and eat him so we could take him with us. But we’d start with his tail, so that he could join the meal and be part of the consumption.


sweet innocence w/ twist

Tuesday, December 8th, 2009

fun – foto by Smith

Here’s some sweet innocence with a dark twist to make up for yesterday’s police state bummer blog.

I’ve blogged it before, but it’s worth another giggle. Besides, it was mom’s favorite of mine.


It hurts to be a teddy bear
To sit alone, unused
No longer wanted anywhere
Just left alone, confused

I’m tossed aside to lie in here
This dank and musty chest
The dampness serves to hide my tear
The dark to mock my past

Not always thus, this has been no
I was her fair haired toy
She loved me once, I pleased her so
I shone, her chosen joy

Yet here I lie in darkest net
Her love for me did end
My love for her she deemed forget
She found a stranger friend

And now the stranger she does mold
And twists him through the air
While in this chest my heart grows cold
Alone and frightened, bare

– Steven B. Smith, 1964

big fun – foto by Smith


no praise taze craze

Monday, December 7th, 2009

When I searched Google for “police tasers”, I found two-million-five-hundred-and-forty-thousand results. Here’s a 25-slice sample for your consideration.

Cops Taze Disturbed, Unarmed Naked Man to Death for “Walking Toward Them’

Texas Police Shoot Dog and Then Taser Dog’s Deaf Elderly Owner For Failing to Obey Command

Merced police used Taser on unarmed, legless man in a wheelchair

Police Taser Man Suffering Diabetic Seizure, Charge Him with DUI

Alabama Police Use Taser On Deaf And Disabled Man

Police taser pregnant mother in the back at her kid’s baptism

Police Taser Pastor Helping Driver in Traffic Stop

Utah Police Taser Driver who won’t sign ticket

Ohio Police Taser Man After He Runs Into Burning Home to Save Sister and Friends

Chicago Police taser 82-year old woman at home

California Cop Tasered 81-Year-Old Disabled Man Three Times

Cop Tasers 72 Year-Old Granny

Teen Killed by a 37 Second Police Taser Discharge

Cops Taser 14-Year-Old Who Wouldn’t Drop Game Boy

Cops Taser Student Running Naked Through High School

Cop Tasers 11 Year Old Girl at Elementary School

Cop Tasers Minor Five Times for Not Getting Off His Bike Fast Enough

Cop Tasers 10 Year Old Girl for Refusing to go to Bed

Colorado cops say Tasered 10-year-old boy was out of control

Cop Tasers 10-year-old Girl Who Wouldn’t Take a Shower

Cop Tasers 6 Year Old Kid

Cop tasers kids during ‘Take your kids to work Day’

Idaho police sodomize man with Taser

Police Taser Runaway Sheep for Blocking Traffic *

Police Officer Suffers Spine Fractures at Taser Demonstration

Besides tasering sheep, they tasered a kitty cat, and they tasered AND handcuffed an emu. Is this treating animals as humans? Or humans as animals? Or are the animals the police? Beastiality wears a badge.

don’t be a baby-bitch (be a big-bitch) – foto by Smith


mutant monkey me and penciled neck geek

Sunday, December 6th, 2009

rain Lady – foto by Smith

One of my newly harvested news headlines is “WOW! Monkeys Can Recognize Their Pals In Photos”.

This reminded me of a study I read 30 years ago in which the scientists taught a monkey to sort a stack of fotos of apes and people into human and monkey piles. Later the scientists added the monkey’s own foto and when the monkey came to it, he added it to the human pile.

Another legendary study was a group of monkeys were put into a room, then a scientist looked through the keyhole to see what the monkeys were doing without any humans in the room. When he looked through the keyhole, he saw a monkey’s eye looking out at him.

I wonder what they’d do with mutant monkey me.

I stopped toking a week ago because daily sips of ganja makes me forget my nightly dreams and I wanted a dream status update to see how my head is doing.

Tonight I awoke at 1 a.m. with dream shock. In the dream, Lady and I and others were in a hostage situation with the bad guys getting badder. The leader was threatening to hurt me unless the authorities caved in, and I told him he’d best back off and let us go. He laughed, said he was going to hurt me and just what was I going to do about it. So I shoved a pencil through his neck and watched him die, both of us in shock at my totally unexpected action. And then I snapped awake. It wasn’t a nightmare – I felt no fear – it was more an “I don’t have to put up with this-shit” feeling. There wasn’t any premeditation or if-he-does-this-I’ll-do-that sort of thing; it was simply instantaneous call and response. Lady’s and my life was endangered, so I saved us.

Went back to sleep, but then Lady awoke at 2:30, got up, made her coffee and breakfast and started working (she creates web sites for her mother’s company).

I lay in bed 30 minutes smelling the coffee, trying to get back to sleep while my mind raced over our evolving style of life until I finally gave up and got up with 4 hours of sleep. Came out, had my own cup of coffee and talked awhile; then she said she was going back to bed – after she’d had two cups of strong pan coffee. So here I am at 4 in the morning with a cup of serious caffeine running through my veins, tired as hell, and unable to go back to sleep.

Our life is getting odder. Lady starts thinking of going to bed around 6:30 at night. Last night she lasted until 7. I go to bed at 11 or midnight. She gets up anywhere between 2:30 and 4 while I wake at 7. Some nights there’s 12-13 hours between when she goes to sleep and I wake. The other 11-12 hours of our day together, she basically works, Facebooks, surfs the web, or we do chores. I can’t talk to her while she’s web designing because she concentrates so completely she doesn’t hear me; and if I do get through, it’s obvious I’m interrupting her work flow and she’s torn between work thought and me.

It’s getting to be like living alone, only with another person I have to work around.

So I shut down into alone node inside my head, and sometimes when she’s ready to interact, I’m in screen-saver mode and no longer quite interactive.

I’m an anti-social natural-born hermit who has become hooked on a her who is frequently elsewhere in cyberland even though she’s physically here. Sounds like a techno country & western song.

Now I wonder if these early morning hours are her private time and she went back to bed because I interrupted them. I remember my father used to get up at 5 in the morning so he could sit in silence in the pre-dawn darkness and sip his coffee and be alone before he went off to lay brick, block or stone. A few mornings I got up to spend time with him until I realized this was his time and stopped (he was polite those few mornings, talked to me and all, but I could see his heart wasn’t in it).

Things are changing for me. my body hurts more up here in the cold and humidity, I’ve lost enough teeth lately that I can no longer casually eat, my first winter in 4 years is shocking my system, I no longer have enough of my own money coming in to live in America, I’ve lost 7 pounds in the past 8 days, even my Google searches have stopped working and freeze up my computer, etc. I wonder if I’m caterpillar in cocoon becoming butterfly, or life form being slowly wrapped in shroud.

Whatever. Life is process. My job is to finish our book, get it published, make more art, write more poems, take more fotos, blog as near daily as possible, support Lady anyway I can, somehow get more money coming in than goes out, and see what flows down the line.

I have no doubt Lady loves me (though don’t know if she actually likes me anymore, especially since her absence and life back in America are making me crankier and harder to be around), but she’s going through her own changes and has her own growth needs which I need to support. I’m thinking some of this is the inevitable cost of the 27 year age difference in our May-December romance marriage. Different folks flail different strokes.

Life’s a beach twixt wet and dry
leaving me to ask what’s next, and why

life – foto by Smith



Sunday, December 6th, 2009

I read an article yesterday. The headline was, “Wow! Monkeys can recognize their pals in photos!”

Which reminded me of a study I’d read three decades ago in which a monkey was taught to separate photos of monkeys and humans into two different piles. But when he came to his own photo, the monkey would put it in the human pile.

This confuses me because the latest article said there’s never been any proof that monkeys could recognize two-dimensional images. So, this either means the new scientists don’t know about the old study, or the old study’s an urban legend. Me, I come down in the side of the ignorance of the new scientists.

“Where do you put your picture?”


“I would put mine in the monkey pile.”

– – –

If we could somehow make a mattress out of living cats and then get them all to purr at the same time, we could lie down on this pile of soft fur and be slowly vibrated to sleep.

Plus, it’d be warm. It’d be warm, vibrating, soothing furry sound. ‘Course there’s a drawback. I don’t know what it’d cost to daily feed this mattress and what about the defecation?

“You’re always thinkin.”

Yeah, but never in real time, real life, real money. It’s always absurd, other side of the mirror shit.

Smith & Lady



Saturday, December 5th, 2009


truck or plane
I can’t tell which

refrigerator computer fan
a universal hum

rafts of cars
push road on the river
of the highway
out the window

the cat
licks a comment juicily

private grooming
in the moment of our
domestic knit

Lady K



apartment arrest and weight loss

Friday, December 4th, 2009

inside car looking out – foto by Smith

I’m going to try to regenerate some firm flesh around the tooth my dentist ineptly loosened.

I’ve done one “maybe” body regeneration according to dead mom, and did a definite regeneration last year down in Mexico when my thumb tendon was damaged and I lost my ability to bend my thumb. It took three months, but I made it work again.

The “maybe” regeneration comes from almost-dead mom telling me I was circumcised back in 1946. Told her she was mistaken because I still have my skin hood. She insisted I was circumcised because it was on the hospital bill. (Did she misremember? Did she confuse me with my dead brother Jay or my dead brother Cat? Did the hospital bill for it but not do it?) So I asked my professional curmudgeon-poet-friend Jim Lang to ask his doctor friends where he works if foreskins can grow back, and they said it may be possible, while the online community seems to think otherwise.

So I’m going to attempt tightening my loose tooth flesh by using just my mind.

The tooth was firm when I went to the dentist last Saturday to get my broken tooth pulled; I know this because: 1) I had a dental checkup three weeks ago at the same office and they found one upper front tooth was loose but the rest were fine; and 2) I was constantly touching the broken tooth for the two days before they pulled it and the tooth next to it was not loose. The dentist had a hard time pulling it, kept jerking it back and forth and sideways while slipping off with the pliers smashing into my other teeth making me fear for more broken ones. And as soon as he was done, he casually said the tooth next to it was loose and I’d soon lose it.

Reality seems to have turned nasty on me lately. With the newly lost pulled tooth, that leaves 9 on top, with two of those loose and most the rest not lining up with any teeth below so basically I can’t chew – I’ve lost five pounds in the last six days (which is cool; want to try my no-chew few-teeth loose-teeth weight loss diet program?).

To add insult to insult to injury, this morning we tried to go out to have some soft pancakes for breakfast, and COULD NOT GET OUT OF OUR APARTMENT; the rod that works the deadbolt lost its connecting screw so the deadbolt wouldn’t unlock. By the time I disassembled it and finally got the door open, it was too late to go because Lady had a work appointment. So now I have to go out, buy a new deadbolt, and hope the installation instructions are clear enough for a mechanical malfeasant misfit such as myself to install.

Normally I’d ask our landlord to fix it, but he’s the drummer for the math rock heavy metal band Keelhaul, and they’re on tour in Europe for a month.

In addition, this is my 4th day of voluntary stonelessness, and my mellow level has fallen to zero while my edge is extra (it takes me 3-4 days to rebalance once I stop stoning). It’s as if reality is trying to drive me back to grass, but it ain’t going to work because I’ve decided to stay straight until I start remembering my dreams so I can judge how healthy my mind is lately (daily stones mean I don’t remember my nightly dreams . . . finally this morning I remember a few fragments of last night’s dream – it was about taking art fotos, so that’s good). I’ve been down since we returned to the States and I’m trying to turn myself around. Doing more creative work, exercising, and smoking less or not at all are three of my plans for lifting myself out of this depression.

To top off my misery index, Lady and I had a nasty tiff over money miscommunication last night, which my flakey brain that believes a dozen incompatible things all at the same time half thinks is what caused this morning’s deadbolt failure, even though there’s no obvious direct cause and effect. Not only did last night go badly, but after midnight when we were sleeping, a sandwich guy kept ringing our doorbell to deliver a sandwich to the person who lives beneath us who either wasn’t home or refused to answer her door. Seems she and we have the same wireless doorbell product and when either bell is pushed, both ring (so I’ll be buying a different brand of doorbell today as well).

A final disappointment is really shallow – I’m a Stephen King fan, have read all his novels and find 25% of them to be better than most the serious literature I’ve read, with his other 75% dependable mostly enjoyable time-killers. The past two days I read his latest 1,074 page Under The Dome and came away depressed. It’s a nasty book about nasty bullies and brought me neither joy nor insight. The only other even nastier novel I’ve read by him was Dreamcatcher, which he wrote while in excessive pain recovering from the car that smashed him to pieces while he was out walking.

There’s more of course, but this is already too much of more than enough.

This world is Maya (illusion), and since this it is the it it is and we all create our own reality, I gotta do some serious soul searching so I can get back to being able to walk on water.

So now you-all can chant, “Hey Smith, you want some cheese with that whine?”

(Actually, maybe I do; cheese is usually soft and I could gum it to death).

PS update – emailed my landlord and he just called from an underground subway-turned-club in Germany and said he’d call his wife and she’d install a new lock because she was a freak and good at that kind of stuff. So I guess I don’t have to see how good I am with the “manly” mechanical stuff today. This is good because I am a fine un-man.

~ ~ ~

Zen over Zero

Dog week later in mourning kitchen pouring
Coffee into my veins with a dull cup
A daze of morals and Moses
Whines and Rosicrucians
It’s raining cats and gods
And I am a fine unman

– Steven B. Smith

outside car looking in – foto by Smith



Thursday, December 3rd, 2009

Smith is a creature of nature, of authenticity, a natural, a genius. He follows convention only if it happens to flow naturally with his movement of the moment.

I am a creature of planned action, a hack, a grind, a thinker. I study rules of etiquette of other cultures. I study conventions. I move under a invisible grid of memorized regulation. Were you to look inside my mind, it would be like looking inside the Terminator’s head, with a green grid of data overlayed across everything, and bulleted options for dealing with the moment.

I constantly perceive myself and Smith in catch-22 damned don’ts damned do’s.

“The artist does not have to explain herself,” Smith says. “Just say what you want to say.”

What I want to say is to explain myself.

I am at times so gauche that I avoid talking or looking at people. When I talk too much, I fear I’m a topper, a scene-stealing queen, too precocious, too precious, or a clumsy maniac. It’s easier to not communicate rather than risk foot-in-mouth syndrome. But when I don’t talk, I fear I come off as brute, coldly cool or willfully obtuse.

My self consciousness is stifling. Lack of communication is causing me to close up to much on all fronts and stagnate. I’m trying to improve my interface with the world, trying to open up and become more sociable and normal, or at least in live less in fear of what words may wring, and to forgive myself rather than suffocate under my constant self-rebuke.

Much of my agony has to do with over-thinking, over-complicating things. An example of my obsessiveness: I’ve been thinking of our guest, Yuyu and our car seating situation. I got in the back seat of our car whenever we’d drive places, because it’s difficult to get in the back seat of the car, so I didn’t want to make him suffer it. Also, the front seat is the coveted position in US culture, so I wanted him to have the coveted position because he was our guest. Initially he offered to sit in the back seat. “Oh no,” I said. “Please, you can sit up front.”

Then I remembered that ten years ago I was hosting some Chinese men, and at that time I learned that the back seat of a car is desirable in many Asian countries.

So I explained to Yuyu why I offered him the front seat rather than have it appear that I was insufferably rude. I told him, “In our culture, the front seat is coveted, so this is why I’m sitting in the back.”

But then I worried that well, maybe since I acknowledged that the back seat is coveted in Asia, that it was rude of me to continue to use it. I’d cycle through this worry every day, but I decided that it was best to leave it where it last stood rather than try to clumsily explain myself and make everyone feel weird.

On and on I can go. Never ends!

Typical of the kind of iterative, acrid analysis that eats up my time and mind. My girlfriend says I try to inhabit the mind behind the eyeballs of everyone in the room.

Lately I theorize that actual talk with hoo-mans is the way to get through problems, and if I can’t talk without rusty toads falling out my mouth, at least I can write.

I’ve decided propriety is context-sensitive. Propriety changes on the instance of particular corners, and I aim for calmness, to walk around these corners as they happen rather than work out a convoluted policy, my “thou shalt nots.”



Wednesday, December 2nd, 2009

According to the initial news report, Tiger Woods crashed his car, lacerating his face. It was a 27 mph accident while leaving his driveway, and his wife rescued him by taking a golf club and smashing out the rear window of the car.

And as soon as I read that, I said, ‘Bullshit.’ It does not add up.

Now, a week later, it turns out Tiger’s got two or three mistresses, and his wife found out, and she wasn’t rescuing him, he was escaping from her wrath.

So the unblemished Tiger Woods has finally been marred. Whch is cool. He’s human. Just because he’s the richest athlete in the world doesn’t mean he can’t be human.

. . .

Did you ever watch Family Ties, the TV Show?

“I don’t think so. Is that the one with Michael J. Fox?”

I think so. Anyways, the mother on the show has admitted she’s gay.

“Uh huh. Why does that interest you?”

One of TV’s perfect mothers is not heterosexual.

“Not to imply that being hetersexual is being perfect, or homosexual imperfect.”

I don’t care if she’s gay or not. People have to find their own happiness. I just wonder why she waited so long to mention it. What happened in her own life that she should mention it now?

. . .

In other news, Karl Rove approves of Obama’s Afghanistan policy. So now we know it’s wrong.

. . .

“I do remember you saying bullshit about the Tiger Woods thing.”

Oh, as soon as I read it I said, “Bullshit.” It didn’t add up.

None of it adds up. There’s no logic in there. I mean, think about it. It’s 2:30 in the morning. Your husband gets in the car, drives down the driveway at 27 mph…

“That’s pretty fast actually.”

In a driveway that’s pretty fast… and crashes at the end of the driveway. So his wife says, “Well, I think I’ll grab this golf club and go back there and rescue him.”

How much damage can be caused at 27mph anyways? The facts do not flow.

The police tried to interview him three times. And he refused three times. So you know what they did? They gave him a hundred sixty dollar fine. If you’re gonna lie, at least make it believable.

Smith & Lady


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