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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 June, 2010

Father’s Day Aftermath Mashup

Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010

“We like to say that the ideals have no basis in scientific reality. But actually, they are here, a priori.” Puppet decides 90% of stuff is a bowl of spaghetti, 9.5% of stuff is good stuff, and .5% of stuff is bad stuff.

 

the seven dwarfs and the reindeer

Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010

balloon Lady – foto by Smith

Lady sez we are the seven dwarfs between the two of us — she’s Sneezy, Sleepy, Dopey, Doc, Happy and Bashful while I’m Grumpy. I guess we all have our roll/s to play.

The nine reindeer are a whole different matter. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Comet, and Blitzen all sound like folk having to go to the bathroom real bad, or else descriptions of how long it takes them to climax (or reach premature ejaculation), probably while dry-humping Cupid and Vixen. That leaves Donner and Rudolf off in the corner all alone playing god knows what reindeer games together.

It’s enough to make you wonder what goes on up there in the North Pole during those long dark months-long nights, what with Mrs. Claus and the elves and all those shrink-wrapped kiddy toys. I bet it takes a real long time to wash-up after. I wonder how they get all those toys back in the wrap-shrink. Might be best to disinfect any Santa-left goodies come Xmas morn.

Now if you toss the seven dwarfs and endless elves into the nine reindeer sexual situation and simmer slowly, the psychological and physical positional possibilities are absoperversely endless, a completely comic cosmic karmic sutra.

It buggers the mind.


hole man – foto by Smith

 

bridge past present particle

Tuesday, June 22nd, 2010

old bridge – foto by Sue Albrecht

Have data, will travail.

My sister Sue sent me a foto of the old bridge across the Spokane River down by Nat Park. This is the abandoned bridge I used to tear apart and throw into the river whenever I got angry. Back then there was a lot of wood and if you could climb around the barbed-wire barricades at each end, you could walk out on it. I see from this foto there’s no wood left. Of course that was 50 years ago I was doing this.

In 1960, an older boy named Bob (who taught me to steal from unlocked cars when I was 14; I returned the favor by teaching him to steal the entire car) and I snuck into Nat Amusement Park when it was closed and stole a large black & white bird from its zoo and took it beneath this same bridge, built a fire, cooked it, and ate it. It was half raw so we’re probably lucky we didn’t get beriberi or end up in some strange cult of greed like the Republican Party.

Here’s part of The Bridge (chapter 3 of Criminal – A True Tale of Armed Robbery, Stolen Cars, Alternative Art, Mainstream Poetry, Underground Publishing, Robbing the Cradle, And Leaving the Country by Smith & Lady).

My Spokane Washington neighborhood was near the curve of the river behind Saint Luke’s Hospital, in West Central. There was a railroad bridge that rose hundreds of feet above the river behind the hospital. Down on the river near the amusement park was an older, smaller abandoned bridge that was blocked off.

Once when I was 14, Pappy said, “You can’t watch Twilight Zone anymore because you’re weird enough already.” I thought of striking him, because I was taller than he was. Instead I skulked to the abandoned bridge to rip things off and throw them in the river. I’d climb around the barbed wire blockage onto 200 feet of personal playground and rip a rotting plank from the floor, throw it fifty feet to the river below and watch which way the currents carried it away. After it was gone, I’d rip up another. I worked my anger on that bridge for three years, leaving huge gaps in the floor.

The blocked bridge led to an abandoned military base where I’d prowl its empty buildings to collect odd objects and ponder the scars of their histories. I took Playboy there to beat off in the abandoned barracks.

One day I walked across the high, long wooden railroad trestle behind the hospital where I looked down 500 feet to the Spokane River and the small houses in the valley below. When I was halfway across the trestle, a train came. I couldn’t outrun it, so I climbed below the track and braced myself. The train smashed the tracks six inches above my head, its noise beyond imagination, the wooden trestle shaking insanely. Car after car of hellish fury tried to shake me off. I wrapped my arms around a cross beam and held on for my life not knowing up, down, in, out, simultaneously scared shitless and ecstatic.

Later, walking along the top of the concrete railing of the main bridge downtown balancing as if on a high wire hundreds of feet above the river, a cop came along and blared his siren, scaring the heck out of me. I jumped in fright, and didn’t know which side of the bridge I’d come down on until I hit the sidewalk.


Cleveland bridge Ohio – foto by Smith

 

time slide

Monday, June 21st, 2010

t-shirt after 5 years wash n wear – foto by Smith

The t-shirt above I bought in July 2005. The designer/seller told me the graphic design on the front was delicate so I had to wash the t-shirt inside-out to protect the design. I immediately went home and washed it multiple times right-side out hoping to start the decay. The foto above is what it looks like now after five years of heavy wear and wash in ten countries on three continents (washing machines in Mexico and Morocco were especially hard on clothes).

The t-shirt below is a replacement shirt I bought last week from the same guy at the same stand in the same exact location of the park across the street from the West Side Market. Five years later it’s still $6.98 and once again he warned me to turn the shirt inside-out before washing to protect it. Fool – little does he know I’m buying his product specifically for it defects.

Time is big. I am
small, am but shank of shadow.
Yet no me, no Time


t-shirt brand new – foto by Smith

 

We are free to be gods in our universe

Sunday, June 20th, 2010

Puppet rescues damsel in distress, talks to dead squirrels about kitty cats, rescues a worm, acknowledges fringe thoughts.

 

early morn super heroine

Sunday, June 20th, 2010

beginning of end – foto by Smith

Yesterday during Lady’s early morning five-mile run she saw a new white Cadillac car furiously burning between two brick warehouses. I suspect it was burned either for insurance purposes or to destroy evidence and was torched between the two brick buildings because nothing except the car would be destroyed. The local folk told her another car was torched in the same place last year. Lady ran and pounded on pre-dawn doors until someone called the fire department who arrived three minutes later.

Today during her pre-dawn five-mile run she came across a woman who woke up confused in back of a tavern and couldn’t find her way back home so Lady walked her home. I don’t know if she’d simply had too much to drink last night or was date-raped drugged.

Addendum – as I blogged this, I got a call from the Cleveland Police wanting to know what Lady knows about the disoriented woman. So a half hour after Lady walks the woman home, the police call. I’m leaning more heavily on the date-rape theory. When Lady returns from her run she can call a policeman who was very polite to me on the phone.

Such dark thoughts for this beautiful Father’s Day morning.

Lady’s morning runs have becomes more than mere exercise – they’ve turned into puppet video recordings and crime adventures, and she’s become a quiet super heroine.

I wrote this poem sixteen years ago and came across it last night. Seems to be even truer today.

Eco Syphilis

This earth rolls old through fading sun
as all partake of all
yet few return from feeder’s lure or feathered palm
interest on said sin

Let other purse our sloth rehearse
refresh without refrain
for fascists flee from failed fight
to worshipped imagery
which doubted doubles pain

When tables turn
most mock concern
and ramble on in shackles
dogs of dust neglecting trust
entranced by past disasters

Since truth be known
by no known tome
until enhanced and factored
let’s be done with rough rerun
membrane’s sour remorse
pre-paid replies
defacto lies
return our lives to act/or.


God’s house down where Lady runs – foto by Smith

 

tortoise to the rescue

Saturday, June 19th, 2010

turtle – foto by Smith

I’ve been taught bad things about reptiles – they’re cold blooded, selfish, and when they grow up they turn into lounge lizards or politicians.

Then of course there’s the limbic brain, also known as the reptilian brain, the early primitive part of our brain which decides basic issues like fight or flight, feed or fool around.

But I saw this video where one turtle went out of its way to help another turtle. And yes, turtles are reptiles – I looked it up. I went searching for the video so I could blog it and couldn’t find it anywhere until I typed in tortoise instead of turtle.

The video is titled “Heroic Tortoise Saves Friend With Ridiculously Heartwarming Act” and can be seen at huffingtonpost.com/2010/06/14/heroic-tortoise-saves-fri_n_611564.html.

In it, a tortoise is on the right side of a tortoise on its back that can’t get up. The tortoise slowly walks around the front of the over-turned tortoise, examines the situation, then slowly walks into the upside down tortoise, putting the lower edge of its shell under the lip of the flipped shell, pulls its head in, and slowly pushes the inverted tortoise right-side up, whereupon they very slowly walk off together.

There’s no benefit accruing the savior tortoise except companionship, so I’m not sure where survival of the fittest fits in here. This keeps up, I’m going to be finding that snakes and spiders and bankers also have compassionate feelings for others.

I looked at the surrounding terrain in the video and there’s no reason whatsoever the tortoise could have turned over accidentally, so I’m assuming the camera person did it on purpose for the footage.

Whatever, I’m just blown away at seeing one animal help another for no reward, and amazed at the logic the tortoise used. It knew it had to go around to the higher shell side, it knew to put its lower shell edge underneath the flipped shell, and it knew to pull its own head in and use its body like a tractor to right its companion.

Perhaps if we replaced our corporate CEOs with tortoises, the world would be a better place.

I thought turtles were tortoises so went and researched it.

Tortoise dwells on land; turtle in water.
Tortoise lives 80-150 years; turtle lives 20-40.
Tortoise is in Reptilia class; turtles are Sauropsida.
Tortoise large domed shell; turtle flat streamlined shell.
Tortoises live mostly in Asia, Africa; turtles Africa, America.
Tortoise has short feet with sturdy bent legs; turtle webbed feet with long claws.


not a tortoise – foto by Smith

 

Car Fire

Saturday, June 19th, 2010

Puppet wants more “me time,” decides to become a cougar, encounters car fire & muses over its character, karma & truth.

 

No Loitering

Friday, June 18th, 2010

Puppet thinks arrows are more meta than door hinges.

 

crazy sane

Friday, June 18th, 2010

tow away – foto by Smith

“You are the most present person I know.”

I used to be past participle until I underwent pluperfect perplexions and entered pre-present perfect.

“You I think I’m crazy?”

If you’re crazy, you’re crazy in a crazy world, so that’d make you sane because it’d be insane to be sane in an insane world.

I’m sane in a crazy world which makes me crazy because my logic no longer computes in an insane asylum system. I am One-Eye in the Kingdom of the Blind, the final magic rationalist remaining, the lone lover of logic. I should be worshiped as the Sole Sane in this Land of the Crazed. But am I? No. Not one bit.

“I worship you.”

You do? Does that mean I get collection money? Incense? Burnt offerings? I want burnt goat on high round alters please. And foreskins. Give me your first born’s foreskins. They’re quite tasty fried crunchy with a bowl of mime Jell-o. In fact I like them so much I’m going to have penises genetically altered to grow fiveskins instead of fore, make them bigger and bigger so the foreskin becomes larger and thicker, so large in fact the penises become third legs. Boy will that change the pants industry. And the third-leg penis will need some covering to protect it from the sidewalk which’ll help the shoe industry. Of course guys’ll sound sort of funny walking because it’ll be this step-step-thunk, step-step-thunk each six steps. This’ll give guys driving cars new possibilities because there’ll be a foot for the clutch and a foot for the brake and the leg-long lingam left over available for gosh knows what — signaling turns, wiping the front window, perhaps putting it around your honey holding her close and sticky as you drive along singing a song about your two feet and a penis.

And to keep things equal gender-wise we’ll elongate the female clitoris into a third leg which will revolutionize ballroom dancing and open the options for which limb the slit of the skirt exposes.

We have the tools – all we need is vision.


ppl – foto by Smith

 

 
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