Now I Get Me Up to Wake

Coffee going to getting me going
Coffee going to honing my get
Coffee pure liquid speed flowing
Caffeine bit of bounce in my bet
COOOOOOOFFFFFFFEEEEEEEEE
yip yap and YaHoo
COOOOOFFFFFFEEEEEEEEEEE
zip zap and zone
Coffee is drug is all legal
brings me up to where fine flux is flown

– Smith, 11.28.2014

Down Line Time

In bed awake
Bitterroot Rocky Mountain
mid Idaho panhandle
1950
dark without within
unfit for tribe
trapped by family
imprisoned in flesh
the train wail rising up valley
muted mountain madness
promised elsewhere unnear
not now not here
not knowing when I grew up
and tried to get out
they’d demand a ticket.

Six decade down the line been done and seen
two-third cross country
three continents
ten countries
uncountable
and the muted train wails from the Flats now rising
like midnight Miles magic
no longer soothe with promise
but pause with premise . . .
and reminisce.

– Smith, 11.24.2014

Inner Animal

My spirit animal?
Well I’m sleazy as a weasel
sly like the fox
tricky as coyote
brave like a chicken
straight as a snake
hungry like the wolf
cuddly as a porcupine
sneaky like raccoon
pretty as a platypus
lively like the possum
melodious as a raven
sweet like the skunk
rich as a church mouse
complex like spider’s web
sane as a loon
tame like tiger
the cart before the horse
the straw that broke the camel
china shop bull
swine before pearl
compliant as a mule
but bottom line deep inside
I’m Bugs Bunny
(though most see Pepé Le Pew).

– Smith, 11.17.2014

Our calling card says:

Go thee, and suffer less
The Church of Not Quite So Much Pain & Suffering
the irreverend Smith & his beloved Lady presiding

The church popped into existence in a stream of consciousness letter 17 years ago.

First 8 years it was just me and Mother Dwarf. Then mom died and Lady came and we were it for 4 years until MandyCat joined 5 years ago and upped our count to three.

Here’s the church segment of the letter.

Creation Myth

Me?
I had bad ant blood within
but nurtured my grasshopper core more
these 30 yrs past Mother Mary coming with me
multiple orgasmicly in the green green grassijuana.
And old rabbit dead died in vain in vein when I became
the central sum son n sun tent tenet n tenant
of
The Church of Not Quite So Much Pain & Suffering
where I sing the song Six Sins Assorted
sporting pearl for spine.
Swineless. Spartan. Shrine.
But, my me mine.
Look!
Up in the why…
Vaster than a greedy gullet!
Stranger than local motives!
Able to leap sheep in a single bound!
It’s…. just Smith
at all your loco malls petit mals seizures xtra
bogus points for mass deception
for the iniquitous are ubiquitous
and that is entirely too many vowels for me.

– Smith, excerpt from Letter 1997, 4.25.1997

Creation Mist

Whole bunch of what-if maybe theories
on the how what why where when
of us, this, that, everything, nothing,
imaginary numbers, what’s normal,
what’s warm, what’s real, what’s what.

Such as we’re all holograms
pre-programmed and pre-tuned
and proof lies in the low rumble static
left over from the enchantment.

Or we crawled from mud to sea to land
to be one in evolution
to which I say
“Are we not men?” “We are Devo.”

Then there’s the six day magic act
creating questionable design
which in the beginning was word
but now’s just plain weird
and really not working all that well.

Of course there’s the no-causers
with their no beginning
and no end in explanation.

Some say we fell from the sun
as we reached for the moon
slowly eaten month by month
then regurgitated into three kingdoms
each with its own bell
which oozes into sometimes heaven
sometimes hell.

Raven talks one tale,
coyote cons another,
trickster and night ever close
with one swallowing the other.

Add in the earth divers,
chaos creation,
emergence,
the black hole spark stars,
random adaption,
the purposeful fade,
the ever expanding or soon to collapse,
men as birds and women as water,
plus the endless mirror worlds,
parallel dimensions,
alternate escalations,
the mobius becomes Sisyphus bound,
and zounds we go round again.

Yet what the why don’t matter fly
cuz we still gotta try
to pay the rent
change the diaper
see what’s spent
avoid the crapper
take next step
and next and next and nexter
until final chapter.

Blood still drips
tears still fall
babies always stumble
adults often appall.

So background screed matters
not at all.

– Smith, 11.15.2014