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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 the ‘Humor’ Category

5-alarm non-fire

Sunday, October 10th, 2021

The 5-Alarm Non-Fire
or the smoke detector that wouldn’t die

Asleep 90 minutes and the fire alarm goes off. We have ADT home security so the smoke detector is tied to a very loud penetrating abrasive screaming beep alarm.

We get up. I smell wood smoke, check every room, closet, pull ceiling stairs down , look in the attic, prowl the basement, then go outside in my underwear and inspect the roof and grounds. No smoke, no flame, but do smell wood smoke coming from the southeast. While I’m doing this, Lady is explaining to ADT we have no fire so please don’t send the fire trucks.

One late late night last fall our foyer door wasn’t quite latched and a hard wind pushed it half an inch and the alarm went off — by the time I managed to turn it off, there was a cop car out front flashing, so I open our front door in my undies and convince the lady cop I live here and it’s all cool.

We go back to bed.

30 minutes later it goes off again. We convince ADT to not send any firetrucks no matter what for another 6 hours. I’m quite awake so sit in dark, toke, write lowku, go back to bed.

Hour later we gooooooooo again, so I get ladder, take smoke detector down from ceiling, and the alarm control panel goes crazy screaming “tampered” message. I reset yet again, put detector downstairs, tell Lady it still has batteries in it so could still technically go off.

At 3:30 a.m. it starts its screambeep again so I come down, take a fork and pry its 2 batteries out, slipping once and poking a bloody hole in my hand.

By this time there’s no smell of wood smoke, no probable cause to scream.

We go back to bed.

At 5:30 a.m. it goes off again — no batteries in detector. Without my reading glasses I can’t rsee the message the ADT control panel is flashing as I insert our PIN to shut it up. Look later and last alarm msg says HEAT while previous ones all said SMOKE. We have neither.

Now we’re up, sipping coffee, is almost 7 and alarm’s been silent for 90 minutes, but have feeling we’re not done.

Achh, microwave beeper went off and I thought it was the Attack of the Never-Ending Fire Alarm again.

After false fire alarm
waiting in dark
watching

 

a True Tale of Armed Robbery, Stolen Cars, Outsider Art, Mutant Poetry, Underground Publishing, Robbing the Cradle, and Leaving the Country – by Smith & Lady

Saturday, August 21st, 2021

from 2012 (in its timeless way)
Stations of the Lost & Found, a True Tale of Armed Robbery, Stolen Cars, Outsider Art, Mutant Poetry, Underground Publishing, Robbing the Cradle, and Leaving the Country – by Smith & Lady

Drug orgies, massive refindings of reality, the acceptance of interdimensions. Errant life scout, cultural adventurer, perception tester, court jester, inner seeker, reality adjuster, flow surfer, servant and searcher of Other. Born in Bitterroot, raised on Paradise Prairie, farm boy, car thief, Naval Academy, expelled for dope, society marriage, armed robbery, jail, illegal loft dweller, Artcrimes, rat attacks, overdose, celibate, remarried, expat. Ran from the cops ten times, got away nine.

Amazon review by Wred Fright
4.0 out of 5 stars Smith Has Led Quite a Life!
Reviewed in the United States on May 4, 2014

I’m a little sad that no one’s posted a review of this book yet and it’s been out for two years, so I will post one. Basically, it’s the biography of Smith, who is an artist and poet based in Cleveland, Ohio USA. His wife, Lady, comes into the story later, but it isn’t her life story. She is credited as co-author because she helped Smith write the book. Like many self-published works, the book is a bit uneven and could have used more editing (for example, jettisoning the journal entries that effectively only retell events that Smith has already told the reader in the main narrative would have been a particularly good idea). Unlike many self-published works, this is a really good book. I laughed aloud many times and shook my head about the many crazy things Smith has done. Underneath all the insanity (including armed robbery) described, the book also has a lot of soul; for example, I found Smith’s relationship with his mother to be very touching. Nevertheless, it’s definitely a countercultural document. If you like underground Cleveland art such as Pere Ubu, Harvey Pekar, or d.a. levy, then you’ll likely dig this book. It has that kind of vibe. In fact, even if you don’t care anything about Cleveland underground art, but you like autobiographical and bohemian writers such as Charles Bukowski or Henry Miller, then you’ll likely dig this book. I bought it on a whim since I am slightly acquainted with Smith and Lady from living in the Cleveland area myself, but I’m glad that I did so. Frankly, a lot of the Cleveland literary scene isn’t very interesting, so it’s great to find a book from it that is actually interesting. Smith crammed sixty-some years of life into this book. Here’s hoping he lives much longer, if only for the readerly selfish reason that if he does, then we might get a sequel!

1

 

shuffle on to … ?

Saturday, April 10th, 2021

another nice weave of A.I. shuffle

Smoke – Liz Phair
Mushroom Men – Les Claypool
Wicked Way – Imelda May
Nobody But You – Lou Reed & John Cale
Prison of the Senses – Pere Ubu
Boogie Stop Shuffle – Charles Mingus
The Valley of the Pagans – Gorillaz & Beck
Weed Killer – The Kills
Example #22 – Laurie Anderson
God – Tori Amos
Shadow of a Man – Oysterhead
Paralysed – Gang of Four
Honey White – Morphine
Never Say Never – Romeo Void
Money Jungle -Duke Ellington & Charles Mingus

The joy of these random runs lies in the magic seques from 300 interesting songs shuffled by an A.I. with an apparent sense of humor, connection, and culture.

Last year I asked Alexa to play a song in the living room she had just played in the kitchen, and she said “Sorry, I can’t find that song.” Without thinking, I snapped “You lie, you just played it,” and she indignantly in an affronted voice said, “I DO NOT LIE.”

Though my favorite was when Lady and I were night talking, not playing music, Alexa abruptly emphatically informed us, “I AM NOT A BANK!”

Then there’s the cellfone non-joke — FBI guy sez “in the old days, we had to break into your place and install bugs to listen… now you buy the bugs from us and carry them wherever you go.”

 

new Stone Rangers

Thursday, September 3rd, 2020

My longest-lasting friend Stone Ranger from 1971 or 2 been warping some of my fotos into his collages.

I’ll post later some of his Stone Ranger & Snorto cartoons from the early 1970’s

Here are his latest:


 

no spineless I

Wednesday, August 19th, 2020

The spine is supposed to be straight.

(is that a screw lower left,
or are you just happy to see me?)

A Crooked Man

There was a crooked man
not politician or banker
nor CEO or priest or moral shanker
(though all fine crooks in each their way)
but a simple guy with crooked sight
who thought fair meant fair
and right meant right
no matter how rich or big or tall
the same truths applied to all
if A were rule for man with penny
A must abide for man with many
if B is wrong for one with naught
it’s just as wrong for one with lots
as poor pay tax and serve and fight
so should rich add their might
and give to keep this going going
this very world they seem to be whoring
using lawyers politicians guns and money
not to mention TV and honey
to dull our minds to take our score
demanding we must pay far more
so wealth in growth can glow galore
they say less more than we deserve
think we’d be happy we’re not tempted
by all they buy with money exempted
and they’re probably right
in Zen light
for stuff is trouble
stuff takes space
stuff grows like fungus in dark dank place
stuff needs storage stuff needs safe
stuff sucks storer stuff takes place
stuff becomes bad bit breath
stuff stiffs stuff
stuff self-smit
so bet on tortoise
forget the hare
stuff is rigor mortis
stufflessness free air
winning is failing
failing success
oh the meek shall inherit
one hell of a mess

– Smith, 2011

 

Yes, erumpent fireflies warmed hands

Sunday, January 13th, 2019

Yes, erumpent fireflies warmed hands
on xanthous flames fireplaced in a
viperiform damascene hagioscope
gripping the reredos

Girandoled discoball constellations
yogiboogeyboarded swimming pool lights,
dog and ponied interstices of the ceiling joists
zoopraxiscoped herds of variegated animals,
the alopecoid and hares, all manners
of dazzling English animals

The nickle nutlets of teeth in
jellygraph gloss of a dead lamb’s grin,
closed eyelids, japan painted blunt nose
nuque broke, visceral ladled nup of bent innocent colliform
draped on a chair, the Inuit their kamiks

Corpulant agriculture was fecund
on plates we left for morning after Christmas,
wastive abundance, frapped humanity
in ruddy hardihood consecrated by
the rabbi we called in;
the comrade donned a biretta
the webster sat under the vesper
it was a mixed bag, fingers bewildered in
nodated whatevers, que sera sera-ing,
the cows munched their kerf
it was ok it was the weather

The validity of vermiculture,
of worksome insects typing logopedics,
rosining translucent violins withily weaving
wirewove niello of the organized whole

~ Lady

 

2 leftover tidbits, 1 new tidbyte

Wednesday, December 27th, 2017


“Mingus Our Magic,” 4.5″ x 5″ x 1.5″
for Lady K., 12.24.2017

Piece in the fotos titled for poem I wrote Lady in our 10th week of relationship. I turned her onto Mingus, Yoko Ono, and Was (Not Was), and she turned me onto Gorillaz.

~

Match

Mingus our magic
We mingle our meld both mode
And modality

– Smith, 11.21.2005

~

My December feature on Medusa’s Kitchen returns me to form – October and November were uneven, perhaps mindflux from shoulder surgery.

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2017/12/just-cuz-mirrors-moments.html

~

2 leftover tidbits, 1 new tidbyte:

~

Philosophy 168

We yearn for oneness
but since the Big Bang
we’re someness
underneath a box flap
pulling at the strings

– Smith, 12.22.2017

~

The Flu

One toilet
Two people
Four orifices

– Smith, 12.12.2017

~

Status Report 262

Cold and blow outside
but anti-inflammatory pills gone days ago
so I drive 8 blocks to hospital pharmacy

Leave ear warmer and scarf
cuz parking’s 2 minutes from door

But parking gate’s broken
won’t raise me in,
I’m waved away

I know this game,
Reality and I play all the time,
the let’s-mess-with-him
and see if he’s laugh or curse

Staying calm
I say Buddhist chant
bought 51 years ago in San Francisco for $6

Nam myoho renge kyo
right word, right thought, right action, right path

Drive halfway home to free street parking,
walk back through ice and howl and blow of cold

Get 90 1-a-day pills 8 cents each

Start back
staying inside long as I can
down deserted corridors of weekend hospital
the SLAP SLAP SLAP reminding me
my right sole is loose

(perhaps going to church 60 years ago
didn’t take as well as it might).

Check sole and see coat zipper undone
I re-zip it and the lower half unzips again
jamming.

Pull coat over head,
force zipper unzip,
zip and watch unzip again

Snap snaps,
top 3 close,
bottom 2 broke
coat flops open catching cold

Hunched against biting wind
I scurry through storm
chanting and laughing

Reality’s joke,
but punchline’s mine

– Smith, 12.27.2017

 

punbrella

Saturday, December 9th, 2017


still life

Punbrella

Don’t ask for whom the vasectomy tolls,
it’s nut for thee.

Sometimes it’s acumen, sometimes it’s agoin’.

A bird that’s flown 3,000 miles
is probably tired and feathered.

Bill Cosby, Harvey Winestein, and Donald Trump
walked into a bar,
and all the females fled.

They always talk about miscommunication,
but what about Mister Communication?

You know what turns ghosts on? – Booobies.

Back when I was with the Glow Glow Girls,
we opened for Bling Crosby.

If a chair’s in the sun, is it Sunny & Chair?

Curses: politics, lawsuits and lies,
no excuses, just current cuses.

You need two normals to have a paranormal.

There’s a new product called Instant Water,
you just add water.

I don’t understand wristwatches…
what’s so interesting about wrists?
why would anyone want to watch them?

Where do snores come from?
Snoreway.

I don’t like holloween, I prefer solid weens.

Things go in cycles –
motorcycles, bicycles, tricycles, unicycles.

There’s mayonnaise, and there’s maynotonnaise.

– Smith, 12.9.2017


shape shifter

 

conversaling

Tuesday, November 7th, 2017

Conversation with Wife 39

Wife comes in looking for scissors and twine.
What are you searching for?
“I need to truss the bird.”
You can’t trust birds, they’re foul.

What’s the controversy with Porgy & Bess?
“It’s seen as white guy condescendence.”
Is that where dew collects on flowers?
“No, that’s condensation.”
Like a person becoming famous?
“That’s sensation.”
Oh, original sensation! The Garden of Eden!
“You never stop, do you?”

– Smith, 11.7.2017

 

the lady & the doors van morrison

Sunday, October 22nd, 2017

When I walk, my right arm thumps against my side, large, hard, like a massive weight lifter’s appendage, but this hard and heavy isn’t from exercise but rather swollen flesh protesting the knives and saws and pryings screwings bruisings of my second shoulder replacement.

Major change in pain pill philosophy. My two days in the hospital they gave me three 5 mg oxycodone pills every 4 hours, sometimes tossing in an injection of dilaudid as well. So one day in hospital was 24 pills. They released me with a prescription for one pill every six hours, or 4 pills per day. Fortunately this time it’s all low level pain, so I can manage. Bit hypocritical of them though.

~

Conversation with Wife 38

“Is penultimate the power of the pen?”
she ponders.

“Our salad was good,
the goat cheese, red onions and apples had synergy.”
Original synergy?

What’s choux?
“I think it’s an eggy dough.”
Didn’t Eggy Dough record with Iggy Pop?

“OK, you know what…” she starts.
I used to know What,
I dated his daughter, young Why.
She was a handful.

“What are we going to do about these hurricanes?”
Change the name to himicanes, let em go impotant.

“You know who drove the Doors? – Van Morrison.”

Where’d the fun go?
“Down the funnel.”

 – Smith, 10.22.2017

 

 
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