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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 August, 2010

head music

Tuesday, August 17th, 2010

consciousness – foto by Smith


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“I prayed for a bicycle until I realized God doesn’t work that way. So, I stole a bicycle and then prayed for forgiveness.” – Emo Philips

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Gertrude Stein: “There ain’t no answer. There ain’t going to be any answer. There never has been an answer. That’s the answer.”

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“Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.” – Mark Twain

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“The only true wisdom is knowing that you know nothing.” – Socrates

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Oscar Wilde – “Disobedience, in the eyes of anyone who has read history, is man’s original virtue.”

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Satchel Page – “Don’t look back… something might be gaining.”

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“If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading. “- Lao Tzu (600 ~ 300 BC)

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Adolf Hitler – “Anybody who sees and paints a sky green and pastures blue ought to be sterilized”

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George Carlin – “Those who dance are considered insane by those who cannot hear the music”

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“A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.” – Lao Tzu (600 ~ 300 BC)

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“Myths have a life of their own. They wait for us to clothe them in flesh.” – Albert Camus, Prometheus in the Underworld, 1946

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And the most hilarious quote of the week:

“The feminist agenda is not about equal rights for women. It is about a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism, and become lesbians.” – Televangelist Pat Robertson in fundraising letter, 1992

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subconscious – foto by Smith


my wife has always been strange

Friday, August 13th, 2010

Lady August 1st, 2010, in Public Square at Daniel Thompson Memorial reading – foto by Smith

This blog is too long — six pages and 3,000 words — so I’d quit right now if I were you.

Unfortunately it’s the condensed five year love life loop story of Lady and I and is absolutely fascinating.

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My wife has always been strange.

Lady and I first took up September 2005. Early on, as we left the studio one evening, I stopped on the second step down, turned around level with her, looked her in the eye and said “Toll stairs, for your crimes and punishment.” She smiled, leaned forward and gave me a kiss.

I kept it up — in odd descending places I’d go ahead, then stop and turn when we were the same height and say “Toll stairs” and get a kiss.

After weeks of looking her level in the eyes, I realized there were several distinct Ladies I was dealing with, multiple women in one body. It was as if I were dating a bevy of B-movie beauties from 1940’s films — one would be the spunky girl reporter, another the funky funny best female friend, and then there were the troubled stranger, the ever helpful hopeful secretary, the wounded urchin, the slinky seductress, the beatnik chick, the maybe untruthful enigma, the mysterious ma’am, and more.

Some of these personae were accomplished with hair, make-up and clothes; others by mood and emotion; many a mixture of both. Often times it was sheer playfulness on her part. These weren’t assumed roles either, unless I’m much more naive than I think, but differing aspects of herself.

I called her my ever-changing B-movie film noir star, and she laughed.

She was sleeping with at least three other men when we started: a crazy psychologist who wouldn’t let her take her own underwear out to his island home because of his germ and smell phobias, a schizophrenic poet artist who is basically a good man, and a certified psycho who joked he was thinking of kidnapping her and keeping her captive in his closet.

The psycho started stalking her after she dropped him for me, threatened to kill a random stranger before killing me to prove his love for her. He began showing up at every poetry event we attended, usually causing us to leave due to Lady’s unease. At one reading where we stayed, I took a couple fotos of him and he became enraged. We still have a crazy tirade he wrote to his mental health handlers and gave to lady to publish about wanting to blow up his mental health agency and maybe killing folk and explaining why he wasn’t really stalking his female psychiatrist even though he kept showing up at her home. I got so I would scan the terrain everywhere we went, looking for him. I was mentally prepared to kill him in self defense if he attacked because that is the only way to stop his kind of crazy.

Later at our last art show before leaving the country, her odd psychology professor ex-lover showed up to see and feel superior to the ape who took his part-time mate away.

Her third poet artist ex-lover I see all the time at poetry readings, and he’s still a good guy, gentle and authentic.

Except for the physical danger from her stalker, none of this bothered me.

I took in all this stark strangeness and started calling her Kafka’s Lady. As we became closer and I became more used to her inner darkness, this changed to Lady Kafka, then Lady K, and finally simply Lady. She’s still the strangest person I know, but friendlier nicknames necessarily flow from familiarity.

But we need some background.

Lady had taken up poetry in 2000 when she was 28, then left her husband in 2002 to live with an older married fireman poet. That lasted two years, then she moved out and started staying with girlfriends and/or three new lovers.

During her marriage she had gained weight due to a fast-food husband and her fast-food life consisting of years of driving between full-time work and college after work to graduate as an electrical engineer. She eventually reached 300 pounds. After she took up poetry, she also started E-Diets and serious jogging and in the five years before me lost over 160 pounds. During all this she became depressed and went on Prozac for a year.

She also became bulimic. The six months before we began, she was so miserable she was trying to kill herself by throwing up ten, twenty times a day, hoping to either die from lack of electrolytes or else get thin enough that someone would love her. So in certain ways, I was her last chance. She says I saved her life, which is ironic because she also saved mine by getting me to have my voice box cancer removed.

While walking through the 2005 annual Rainbow Tribe Gathering with her poet friend Wendy Shaffer, she realized all the strangers they met would smile and nod to Wendy but ignored her due to the stress anger unhappiness showing in her face. She resolved to change, find a better way to be, and thought she’d start with me.

I did not want a relationship at this time, or for the twenty years previous for that matter. Except for three one-night stands with an artist friend of mine 15 years before, I’d been voluntarily celibate for twenty years because after going with artist Masumi Hayashi and artist-model Anita, I realized there was no such thing as free sex, that sex without love and respect and affection eventually gets boring and wasn’t worth the work and emotional hassles involved.

My doormat literally said GO AWAY, and the words were facing outward to whoever was at my door. Most folk respected my anti-social hermit-hood, but not Lady.

Months earlier she had seen fotos of my studio online which showed art and cultural chaos from floor to ceiling and wall to wall, like “something out of Bladerunner” she said. She asked to see it so I gave her one of my “Go thee and suffer less” cards from my mythical The Church of Not Quite So Much Pain & Suffering and suggested she stop by. It wasn’t a romantic ploy of “come up and see my etchings” because I knew she was going with the quiet fireman; besides, I was safely in my 20th year of celibacy.

Months later I get an email from her. I invite her over, not knowing she’s broken up with the fireman and is now literally sleeping around with three or more others, moving from place to place each night while having an extended base at a girlfriend’s where she keeps her cat and stuff. She asks what foods I like so she can cook for me. I tell her food doesn’t interest me all that much, it’s just a chore that needs to be done to refuel. She says fine then, she’s not coming over. This makes me a little interested so I write back “That’s too bad” and drop the whole thing.

Then Mother Dwarf dies, and we need more background.

After my brother Cat took a hand gun and blew his 30-year old brains all over the back of his pick-up truck in Las Vegas back in 1987 and my father Pappy died 18 months later from missing him, I’d had to move mom in with me because she only got $400 a month from Social Security and I couldn’t afford to keep two households going on my paycheck and still continue with my heavy drinking and drug use. But after 16 good years of her living with me (15 of them with me sober) and our becoming best friends and artistic collaborators, she collapsed on the floor in late 2004 due to bone infections in her legs and spent the next nine months bouncing between emergency rooms and physical therapy homes, until finally getting back home June 2005, only to die with me holding her hand seven days later.

I wrote nine short non-fiction pieces collectively titled “Lab Rat, the quantum collapse of Mother Dwarf Smith by Son of Dwarf.” It was some of my best writing — stories on my slow serial suicide by alcohol and needle; my brother Cat’s suicide and me keeping his ashes in a temporary cardboard cremains box for 18 years; about Mother Dwarf’s dying and how I disposed of Cat’s and Dwarf’s ashes on the rocks of Lake Erie; and about my sister who had some cult help her recover bogus “lost memories” of mom and dad and grandmother and grandfather sexually abusing her during Satanic rituals when she was four to eight years old, — an accusation which broke Mother Dwarf”s heart, especially when sis said “Don’t ever contact me again unless you’re prepared to admit all this.”

I have trouble understanding how sis could live with our folks for so long and not recognize what exceptionally good decent people they were, people totally incapable of even imagining such sins, much less doing them. But that’s her problem; she’s invested twenty years of her life in these lies and can’t afford to see the truth — it would make her responsible for too much pain. I know it’s all bullshit because I’m four years older than she is and I was there. I know she still believes it because after 18 years of silence, she contacted me last year via the internet. We have a polite relationship online because she’s my blood, but it can’t really go anywhere because we have to tiptoe around her delusion.

After I posted my nine stories to much acclaim, Mark Kuhar of Deep Cleveland invited me down to Border’s Book Store to read “Lab Rats” at his monthly reading, and Lady emailed me asking for a ride down. I was probably the only poet in our group who didn’t know she’d broken up with her fireman friend, so innocently said yes.

The reading was a success; and after we drove back, she accepted my invitation to come up for a pipe. I didn’t know she didn’t smoke grass, outside a few teenage tries; and since I always smoked, she walked into a virtual wall of marijuana.

For hours we talked as she sat unmoving in the chair, higher than she’d ever been but hiding it so well I had no idea. At first I figured she was merely too stoned to leave, because I had very good grass. But after awhile I saw she had ulterior motives and realized unless I wanted to get into an extremely sticky situation, I’d have to outwait her and give her no sexual or relational openings.

Finally she saw I wasn’t going to make a move and stood up and very quietly simply said, “Don’t you want to hold me?”

I almost said no because holding leads to touching and kissing and fucking but thought that reply rather indelicate to a young woman who seemed so open and vulnerable, fragile even. Besides, she was cute and I hadn’t held a woman in decades.

We held, and of course kissed. And my hands roamed. I asked her just what she expected out of this and she replied “Experience,” which I could understand and live with. Finally I said if she were too stoned to drive she could stay over and she said fine but we couldn’t have sex since she was involved with three other men. This relieved me no end, let me off the hook, and we went to bed. After awhile she said it was too hot and took off her blouse, bra, and jeans, whereupon I said “O no Lady, the panties go too,” and that was that as they say in the trades.

After she left next morning, I reread her half book of poetry I had. She and Charles Potts had shared one of Bree’s Green Panda Press books, and my sculptures had been used as cover art for both of them. I was relieved to see she’d written some extremely good poems, such as “Special Creatures”.

We met again that afternoon at Russ Vidrick’s monthly open poetry reading; and although I was treating the whole thing as a one-night stand, as we dispersed she asked if I wanted to see her again and my sex said yes.

In our first two weeks I explained to her I could not love her, would not love her, did not want a relationship, that we had nowhere to go not only because she was 27 years younger than I but that I no longer believed in either love or relationships because Masumi had killed that in me.

I also explained I was probably a symbolic replacement for her bio-dad who had abandoned her, which actually was kind of kinky. I had a heck of a time trying to balance my morals and honest talk with my lust and affection.

After hearing her story of basically being used and abused by men, I made a compromise deal in my mind and decided I would simply be her temporary safe harbor, give her shelter and comfort while she bailed and repaired her battered boat, and then she’d move on and I would have had a guilt free sexual adventure with an attractive young intelligent talented lady. By doing this I would also show her not all men were complete assholes (though most I must admit are).

I knew I was in trouble when I realized how very good simply holding her felt; I am not a hugger or toucher, and the way she made me feel caught me off guard; it felt like recharging my batteries. After two weeks I gave her a key to my place. At four weeks she and her cat moved in. At five weeks we decided to sell the place and move to Europe.

And then our troubles and joys began – her stalker, my throat cancer operation and eight weeks of torurous radiation, her bulimia, my nose polyps removal operation — all mixed with our giving away all my stuff and fixing up the place to sell so we could travel, and publishing the last issue of ArtCrimes, and Lady taking up art and being in our last two art shows, and multiple poetry readings, and six newspaper articles on our way out of the country. As Dickens once wrote – “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

We were married by a Wiccan Witch six months after we began, but it only took that long because she was still married to her first husband so she could be covered by their health insurance and had to get divorced.

Eleven months after we took up, we left the country, spent 14 months living out of backpacks in north England, London, Amsterdam, Croatia, Italy, France, Spain, Morocco, and then England, France and Spain again before returning to the U.S.A. with the intention of moving to Chicago to establish ourselves in the art and poetry scenes there. But back in the States we got nervous with the Cheney Bush Beast devouring the Constitution in their illegal occupation of the White House, and we didn’t really like the cold after having lived on the Adriatic and Mediterranean seas and in the African heat for 14 months, so we took off for 15 months in southern Mexico, a mile up in the Sierra Madre Mountains in Oaxaca where we finished the book we were writing.

Eventually she had a full-blown bipolar breakdown down there when we combined magic mushrooms with her previous mind problems and my nastiness and we came back home to Cleveland last year so she could be near her family and friends for comfort and support. Of course family and friends and the financial stress of living on little in these expensive States add their own stress so everything’s still in a state of daily flux financially and mind-wise.

But in four weeks, we will have been together five years. I had lead a pretty spectacular life in my previous 59 years of legal and illegal adventures before her, but I must say these past five years with Lady have considerably raised the bar. At the very least I’ve lived in ten countries on three continents over 31 months directly because of her. I now have a memoir written because of her insistence we could and should write it. And I’m totally in love with someone besides myself for the first time in my life. Plus being an artist poet writer publisher web designer living with another artist poet writer publisher web designer partner ain’t a bad way to go – it stimulates the mind and heart and creative juices.

It is still strange because I’m a foot taller than she is, as well as three years older than her bio-dad, four years older than her mom, five years older than her step-father, and 27 years older than she is — in fact I’m five years closer to her grandmother’s age than I am to my wife’s, which would make me your basic dirty old man if this weren’t all her idea – she chose me. People think she’s my trophy wife, but she claims I’m her trophy poet husband. Besides, trophy wives require fame, power and wealth, and I’ve none of the above.

We still have problems of course. It is much more expensive up here, there are more emotional demands from family and friends, and her bipolar breakdowns aren’t made any easier to repair because the cost of the medicines and counselors up here which might help are beyond our no-insurance healthcare-less reach.

Anyway, that’s the basic five-year loop of our life together, extremely condensed for our readers to digest. Except for the first 10 months of our relationship, all the rest has been blogged in 1,927 entries on, complete with over 4,000 fotos.

There’s more of course (there always is), but this is enough for now.

early us, 2005 – foto by Smith


the beatnik goes on

Thursday, August 12th, 2010

2nd chance – foto by Smith

Most every time I count my pulse now, it is steady, 60 beats per minute, with no skipped beats.

In Croatia December 2006, Lady lying with her head on my chest suddenly said, “Your heart’s stopping.”

What do you mean?

“It goes beat beat beat beat, stop, beat beat beat, stop.”

I listened and she was right. Scared the hell out of me.

I figured it had to do with drinking two pots of super-strong Croatian coffee every day along with chocolate bars, toasted peanut butter honey and butter sandwiches, cookies, cashews, and almost no water.

As always my solution was “Let’s wait until tomorrow. It’ll be better then.”

I drank a lot of water, and it was.

But it came back and we walked to the bus, road 30 minutes from the fishing village to the 3,000 year old city of Pula, walked to the hospital emergency room, and for $37 got a doctor, a nurse, an EKG, and the emergency room services. They told me I was healthy, and not to worry unless it got under 5 beats before each skip.

I cut down coffee, candy, cookies, cashews, drank a lot of water, but basically for the next couple years my heart beat anywhere from five to forty beats and then would stop once.

One time in the Pula library I couldn’t find my pulse at all (because I was doing it badly), had a panic attack, ran into the men’s room and did a bunch of fast toe touches to get me going again, which just made my already anxiety-attacked rapidly beating heart go that much faster.

The scariest though was in Mexico during my hernia operation. I was awake with a spinal block and could hear my heart beat over the audio speakers. Every now and then the sensor would slip off my chest and the beat would stop and the doctors just kept on talking and cutting until the nurse came over and hooked me back up. But the rest of the times I’d hear my heart beat real fast erratically 5-7 beats then stop for two. Scared the hell out of me. It was one long unbearable operation where my mind would tell my brain “I can’t take this anymore” and brain would answer “hold on, you have no choice.” It is those moments that I literally ‘endure’ as I hold myself together second to second to second waiting for something to break.

I was in a lot of pain after the operation and the doctor gave me some very good codeine pills that worked quite well for a couple days, until I took my pulse and found I was down to two beats and a stop, two beats and a stop, and again I got scared, stopped taking the codeine and got my heart back up to 5 or 7 before each stop. I got to the point where I figured if I got 12 beats before the skip, I was doing right fine.

But what I find weird is we’ve been living back here in the U.S. for the past 17 months and my heart beat has essentially returned to normal. It’s odd because I find life to be much more stressful up here because it’s faster, more expensive, we’re driving at 70 miles per hour all the time, and people often have an edge of aggression to them.

And yet my heart here is happy, beatnik-wise anyway. The Croatian doctor thought my arrhythmia could be a symptom of stress, and maybe there is a stress in living in lands where I don’t know the language, customs, or rules, or even how and where to find anything we need to buy. Once in Krakow I bought a bottle of mouthwash which was displayed next to the toothbrushes and went home and gargled with it — it was bubble bath. Believe me; you do not want to gargle with bubble bath. Turns out the Polish word for mouthwash is also bubble bath and car oil. Guess I was lucky it wasn’t the oil.

But now I’m back in Cleveland, in the Land and County and City of the Stress I Know, and my heart has relaxed, started beating properly again, most times.

Go figure. Maybe it’s just because my body is back in the poisons it knows and is comfortable with.

Lady’s modified t-shirt – foto by Smith


why is my banana backwards?

Tuesday, August 10th, 2010

basket case – foto by Smith

Philosophical Perambulations

I harvested these enigmatic, Dadaist, Monty Pythonesque headlines from online news services this past year. I have to – it’s my job – I work in the Headline Mines for the Head Line Mind and it’s against Company Regulations for me to mine or mind my own business so I search seek section and select these slices for your humorous and philosophical perambulations.

This particular batch solves nothing, but boy do they suggest a lot.

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Reality: Who needs it!

Darkness: The Lap Of Creation

Truth Has No Religion

Are We Hard-Wired To Suffer?

It’s a Jungle in There: Our Brains Are Not As Evolved As We Might Think

Top Scientist Argues Gravity Is ‘An Illusion’

Is The Universe Merely A Statistical Accident?

Some Scientists, Evangelicals Agree: The End Is Near

Scientists Inch Towards Finding ‘God Particle’

Illinois Man Changes Name To ‘One Nation Under God’

Finding Passion And Purpose In Suffering


Is Consciousness The Center Of The Universe?

Do You Have A Drunken Monkey Mind?

Scientists Say Plants Can ‘Remember’

‘Smart dust’ aims to monitor everything

How You Frame The Problem Is The Problem

Why Saying ‘No’ Is Saying ‘Yes’ To Yourself

Why ‘Good Enough’ Never Is

Why Building A House On Rock Doesn’t Mean Rain Won’t Fall

Why You’re Alive And Can Never Die

Why Counting on Apathy May Not Be Enough

The World Is Changing, Are You?

why is my banana backwards? – foto by Smith


page 2 of comic book smith

Monday, August 9th, 2010

page 2 of comic of My First Armed Robbery – art by Blue7, words by Smith

Here is the second page of the comic book Blue7 (aka John Mann) is drawing of my true short story My First Armed Robbery.

As I said about page 1, I love it. I love the heck out of being a comic book character.

Blue is planning on turning three chapters of my memoir into a comic book called Criminal? – The Life and Times of an Honest Man.

Page 1 is below for those who missed it.

page 1 of comic of My First Armed Robbery – art by Blue7, words by Smith


the sexual aspect of lady k’s missing comic

Saturday, August 7th, 2010

comic art by Lady K Smith

The last two pages of Lady’s 4-page comic How We Hooked Up were missing online due to a bad link.

It’s been fixed, and now includes the sexual aspect of our first evening.

Anyone interested in the salacious detail, here you are:

How Smith met Lady K

Here are her other three comics. If you enjoy, write and tell Lady WE WANT MORE COMIX.

On Spirit vs. Mammon in terms of Place

The lizard police are real, and they live under Cleveland’s Tower City

Numbers don’t lie

comic art by Lady K Smith


i slap you in the face with my glove of gauntlet

Friday, August 6th, 2010

Blue7’s cover for speculative comix of my memoir – art by Blue7, Lady K, & Smith

The response I’m getting on the first page of Blue7’s speculative comic book of the story of my 1st armed robbery is phenomenal. Folks are leaving comments saying genius, brilliant, and that for this they’d need a LOVE button instead of a LIKE button to express their feelings.

I agree. I think Blue’s art and approach is absolutely brilliant — I can see exactly why he’s a successful Hollywood storyboard artist. And my words ain’t bad either.

This is a speculative comic he’s doing, done for free by a talented friend in hopes of helping me sell my memoir.

I’m getting tired of the total lack of response from 90% of my inquiries to potential literary agents and publishers and the polite disinterested form letter rejections from the other 10%. If they’re that dense, maybe I’ll bypass them and publish the book myself via, or print 500 copies out of India via our Nepalese poet friend Yuyu. I love it – Lulu, or Yuyu. It’s an omen.

At least that way we’d have a chance of it gaining sales via word-of-mouth because I’d gladly stake my future on what individual readers thought of it, and I have enough of a friend/fan base that we could probably sell 100 copies. If 50% of them liked it enough to convince a friend to buy it, and 50% of them felt the same, etc that’d be 200 books sold.

Plus I know enough cultural media figures and writers around town to get a few articles and reviews and I could advertise in the alternative newspaper and sell a few more at readings etc and we could conceivably end up selling 300-500 books, which would be major bait for a major publication.

Plus this way I could control the look and flow of the book, include some fotos and collages. And I’d put in Blue’s first page of the comic and some of Lady’s comix and we’d have a right fine cultural shindig to bait the bigger budgeted publishers.

It’s an interesting, unusual, dark, funny, underground, outside-the-barcode story I’d read myself if it weren’t already my life. It belongs to the school of Hunter S. Thompson, William S. Burroughs, and Jack Kerouac, which has no end of possible customer base.

And it could lead to finding a real literary agent and a major publisher.

I’m still going to try a few snail mail inquiries and check out a few more independent publishers and some of the classier university presses, but if I don’t have something concrete by Lady’s birthday this Xmas Eve, I’m putting it out myself.

Screw the dunderheads.

And praise be to Lady who created the whole project, who insisted after hearing my stories that we had a book in there. I dismissed her idea but she went ahead anyway and gathered the material and created version one in Croatia in December 2006. When we returned to the States in fall 2007, she insisted we go down to Mexico to finish it up proper. And we did.

She created the project, gathered the first draft together, passed it to me to edit — and so it went back and forth for ten rewrites each. The final four rewrites I did myself because I know the time line and intricacies needed to finally make it flow all the way through.

Lady also created the cover art and sprinkled my art and fotos throughout as chapter headings. She is one cool lady. Glad she chose me. My first 59 years before her were spectacular, both in ups and downs and adventures illegal and not, but our five years since have raised the bar.

A few friends read version 12 (12 rewrites ago) and liked it, and it’s way better now. And when we read from it at readings, the response is always enthusiastic.

So, sometime in 2011 the book comes out. Right now it’s titled “Criminal – a true story of armed robbery, stolen cars, alternative art, mainstream poetry, underground publishing, robbing the cradle, and leaving the country” by Smith & Lady.

I’m curious how you all feel about that title and would appreciate feedback. Blue7 in his speculative future project to turn it into a seven chapter comic book is using the title “Criminal? The Life and Times of an Honest Man” which I have to admit I like very much as well. His speculative cover art for the memoir comic is above. The round assemblage on the cover is an old art piece of mine, while the color fotograph is a foto Lady took in Marrakesh, Morocco in 2007.

This is it folk. The book’s coming out within the next 12 months unless I have a lot of actual money in my hand and a promise from a publisher. Right now it is 326 pages, 103,484 words and I would hope to sell at $20 or less.

I’m tired of fluxing around with the feeble-minded and the clueless in “Jeff Herman’s Guide to Book Publishers, Editors, & Literary Agents 2010“.

I’ve got the goods, and I’m going to prove it.

Thank you Lady, thank you Blue, and thank you reality for the life I’ve lead (although there could have been a little less pain and a bit more money along the way).

Criminal cover by Lady, art and foto by Smith


comix smith

Thursday, August 5th, 2010

comic of My First Armed Robbery – art by Blue7, words by Smith

Blue7 is turning my true short story My First Armed Robbery into a comic. In fact, he wants to turn my entire unpublished memoir (Criminal – a true story of armed robbery, stolen cars, alternative art, mainstream poetry, underground publishing, robbing the cradle, and leaving the country by Smith & Lady) into a comic book — the seven most significant events in it anyway — using multiple artists.

This is the first page so far, and I love it. I love the heck out of being a comic book character.

I got hooked on being a comic book character when Lady started doing comics of our conversations in France in 2007.

We met Blue7 in Krakow in 2006. He was the leader of the garage cabaret rock band Urban-Jellen Test, and he had Lady and I help open a couple of his concerts reciting our poetry. Some of our fellow openers were a Gypsy violinist, an avant-garde cellist, and a folk singer.

Getting up on stage in a thousand year old stone dungeon-like basement of a club in the old Jewish Quarter of Krakow before a rock audience and reciting my poetry is one of my highlights in life.

Blue had worked on dozens of movies in Hollywood (see list and links below) before getting discouraged by America after 9/11, and he sold his house and took off for a couple years to live in the mountains of Thailand to paint before deciding to go to Poland to start his first rock band, which is where he met his wife Magda.

A year later they stayed with us for a few days in the walled-city of Essaouira, Morocco, before they headed on down to explore South Africa.

The third place we saw them was last year at the annual Rainbow Tribe Gathering in the mountains of northern New Mexico. Lady and I were walking along and there was Magda making jewelry and Blue painting a sign.

You can’t make up this kind of synchronicity.

Blue and Magda are currently back in Los Angeles and he’s working on movies again trying to get enough bread together to go on another adventure.

Blue7’s comic site is

Lady K’s four comic strips are at
I love Lady’s comix, as does everyone we’ve met. I and they wish she’d do more of them.

Here’s a short summary of Blue’s listing (InternetMovieDataBase) of the movies he’s worked on.

Art Department:
1. Cowboys & Aliens (2011) (filming) (concepts/boards)
2. The Smurfs (2011) (filming) (storyboard artist)
3. Iron Man 2 (2010) (storyboard artist)
4. Superman Returns (2006) (concept artist)
5. The Missing (2003/I) (storyboard artist)
6. xXx (2002) (storyboard artist)
7. Men in Black II (2002) (storyboard artist)
8. Clockstoppers (2002) (storyboard artist)
9. We Were Soldiers (2002) (storyboard artist)
10. The Fast and the Furious (2001) (storyboard artist)
11. Bedazzled (2000) (storyboard artist)
12. Stuart Little (1999) (storyboard artist)
13. Random Hearts (1999) (concept artist) (uncredited)
14. Message in a Bottle (1999) (storyboard artist)
15. Godzilla (1998) (storyboard artist)
16. Mimic (1997) (designer/storyboards)
17. Star Trek: First Contact (1996) (storyboard artist)
18. The Long Kiss Goodnight (1996) (storyboard artist) (uncredited)
19. Species (1995) (effects designer)
20. The Specialist (1994) (effects designer)
21. The Getaway (1993) (storyboard artist)
22. Cliffhanger (1993) (storyboard artist)

Visual Effects:
1. Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian (2009) (visual effects artist)
2. Species (1995) (visual effects designer: Boss Film)

Animation Department:
1. Species (1995) (animation director)

Production Designer:
1. The Basement (2005/I)

Director, Writer, Producer and Editor
1. The Girl with a Tail (2001)

For a much fuller film resume, check out

And you can sample his Urban-Jellen Test music at

Blue7 and Magda at Rainbow 2009 – fotos by Smith



Thursday, August 5th, 2010

When we worry, we’re trying to grab onto the theoretical sinking anchors of the future, and we’re trying to pinpoint everything, match the wheel of our mind against the wheel of the universe. But actually, we are *not* matching the wheel of the universe if we’re not living in the now.



Thursday, August 5th, 2010

I dreamt I had a child, an animatronic child. Smith & I fell in love with him. Smith rubbed his shaved head against the synthetic skin of our child’s head. Looking into our child’s eyes, I could tell he was sentient, the depths of things perceived and revealed like a human.

One morning he went from gooing and gaa-ing to full blown language. “You’re a military project, aren’t you,” I asked him.

“You have nothing to worry about from me,” he said.

“Well, you have nothing to report,” I told him. “We’re liberal, but we’re lazy.”

Once all that was dispensed with, our child revealed more and more strangeness. He showed us a movie about the first animatronic project produced by the military, which was this plastic robot bear.

I began to have difficulty understanding our child. He opened a pda of some sort on which he revealed wiggling equations on which he was working.

He put an earpiece in my right ear, one in his left. “What are you listening to?” I asked. It was a high pitched eerie sound that streaked by and faded out.

“I’m listening to electrons scream,” he said, and turned up the volume.

It hurt my ears, so I took out the earpiece and wondered about the direction this super sentience could take.



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