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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,
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Archive for the ‘London’ Category


Sunday, August 10th, 2008

foto by lady – smith in brandt gallery basement wings


“My first crush was Tinkerbell.”
  “I could be your Tinkerbell.”
   “I still find her sexy. I imagine her flying just below my erect penis, hitting my glans with her wings.”
   “I think that flutter wing on stick would feel good, maybe as good as a little raspy kitty cat tongue. I’ll flutter your butter, Baby.”
   “Churn my chime?”
   “I’ll purr your porridge.”
   “Rhythm my rhyme.”


“Tinkerbell would be kinda frustrating because she wouldn’t have orifices big enuff for you.”
   “Back then I didn’t know about orifices, so it didn’t matter. She could always give me a wing job. Besides, how do you know she doesn’t have orifices?”
   “Not large enuff.”
   “That’s OK. Some days I have a really small dick. I’m gonna reduce myself down to my essence, compact myself, reduce myself down to an mp3 file. I’ll still be me, this tall n all, but I’ll be compacted into a lot lighter. I’ll only weigh 17 pounds, which could be dangerous in a wind storm. So you’ll have to keep a leash around my neck to keep me from blowing away when we go somewhere.”

smith n lady


mothball 1

Monday, August 4th, 2008

medium moth on our roof terrace – foto by smith

i’m reading our two years of blogs looking for stuff to steal for our projects, and this one made me smile. it was a good day.

Sunday, August 27, 2006, London, UK:

i nodded off on the subway. awoke to see old nun standing. first thot i should give her my seat… soon as i decide no, the church has taken enough, the subway speaker announces “next stop angel.” person across from me gives the nun her seat. nod off again. open my eyes and there are 2 nuns. kept my eyes open after that so they don’t multiply. they kept glancing at my agent of chaos t-shirt, then up at my face, whispering.

on hampstead heath, little boy’s big ball went into the pond. i tried to make it come back to shore with my mind. it did. happened second time, so i did it again. 3rd time it went in, i saw the boy did it deliberately, so i didn’t. ball didn’t come back. suddenly crazy italian lady pops in front of us saying they were making fools of us letting the boy knock the ball into the water… they were making fools of us by having us take her picture… told her we hadn’t taken her picture, she said i know … asked her who they were, she said whoever. as she walked away she repeatedly called us stupid stupid stupid. 20 minutes earlier i was taking a picture and she walks into my frame. i stop and say i’m sorry. she frowns and goes around the other way – where lady’s taking a picture and she walks into her frame. she glares at me and says you’re trying to irritate me. she walks into our movie and decides we’re in hers.

later, sitting on a bench in the woods, we watch an earthworm crawl 3 feet, then begin to burrow into the earth at our feet. i’d never seen an earthworm going into earth before. it would push in, pull back, pulsate – then push, pull, pulsate… over and over and over. earthworm earth sex.

walking back to the underground, lady notices there’s mostly stuff to eat for sale… then adornments for surface beauty… then alcohol – no culture. basically food, baubles, booze. she mentions the tabloid papers here show bare breasts and ass, but in america flesh is frowned upon… in america you can kill and show horrendous violence, but can’t show flesh.

probably show earthworm sex tho.

large moth on our bedroom window – foto by smith


new issue “GIVING IN” CITY ZINE NOW ONLINE & IN PRINT features many well known poets

Thursday, July 31st, 2008
G I V I N G   I N
T H E   C I T Y   P O E T R Y
I S S U E   2 2

did you know that darwin didn’t even know that chooks couldn’t see the blue iridescent feathers of the roosters that he presumed to think were a basis for his selection theory?

allow me to react to such nonsense with a few words about domestic silence. mediocrity is to oblivion what sound is to wind, and to further unravel such simple distractions, note first the blue iridescent feathers of the rooster, and ask yourself or anyone for that matter, who snaked the sun from the rainbow’s heart?

from Evolution is a Burning Blunder of Hot Hair by Andrew Boerum

The City Poetry is an underground zine which focuses on Cleveland writers and artists, but it also features well-known contributors from all over the world. Its poems and art are typically surreal, irreverent, madly political, beautiful or sublime. Warning: contains mature content.

View the complete issue online at, buy it in print here. *
This issue features Joe Balaz, Marcus Bales, Richard Biscayart, Andrew Boerum, Kimberley Diamond Bones, Bree, Adam Brodsky, Michael H. Brownstein, Eli P. Cimota, Melissa J. Craig, Jesus Crisis, Danilee Eichhorn, Z. Guadamour, Jim Lang, Jack McGuane, Michael Salinger, Darryl Salach, Eric Shaffer, wendy shaffer, Yuyutsu RD Sharma, David Smith, Lady K & Steven B. Smith, Wanda Sobieska, l-j stockman and George Wallace. I apologize for inadvertent omissions.

All are called to stand up
for this over-inflated establishment,
this store that had unwittingly morphed
into a universe in its own right—
self-sufficient, fully-fledged, and indisputably functional:
a model microcosm to our own imperfect world;
an island unto itself; a high-voltage bubble of commerce
that had boiled over the top,
frothing into some hyper-charged
cash-and-credit force field that trapped its contents
within a finely-tuned matrix
of creeds, rules, and regulations, which formed
a new and complete set of guidelines for existence,
apocalyptic bylaws and all.

from To Wal-Mart by Wanda Sobieska

T H E   C I T Y   P O E T R Y   I N   P R I N T

Starting with this issue, I am pleased to make The City Poetry available in print at

Full color version, perfect bound spine. 42 pages. This issue is available at cost.

$10.83 plus shipping *

> purchase issue 22 here

* Disclaimer: I have not yet reviewed a proof of this. After I get my proof I will update this page to let you know how lulu did with the printing.


the ecstasy of consumerism

Friday, July 4th, 2008

Cemetery offerings in Oaxaca, photo by Lady

This visit to the States has been nice for us. Weird, tho. Some prices have skyrocketed. Went to our local coffee shop and they’re selling cookies for $2.00. When we visited 7 months ago, the same cookies were $1.25 or $1.50. We settled for two teas for $3.75. Crazy! At least the tea was fantastic. It came in open ended tissue bags which were stropped to the top of the cup with a stick. My bag had delicate little purple flowers in addition to the green tea.

We loaded up on THINGS yesterday in a kind of ecstasy of consumerism. We went to a dollar store and I was totally astonished by what’s available. Tho food’s expensive, THINGS are not. I think these dollar stores must be spoils of the empire. It would be too outrageous for the pillagers of the planet to outright GIVE us the loot, so they sell it to us for a token price. Anyways, we saved a bunch of money stocking up on toothbrushes, floss, aspirin, deodorant and plastic toys that we’re going to use to make collages. If we bought the stuff in Mexico we’d go broke because Mexico doesn’t have dollar stores.

Then we went to Target to get cheap durable underclothes and shoes. We wandered the electronics section and I was amazed that they’re still trying to sell DVDs. I wonder if anyone buys anymore, or if they all download from the Internet. There were two aisles in Target devoted to ipod accessories. I’m looking for a microphone for my ipod so I can record street noises for collage but couldn’t find it. But I’m just amazed at how quickly technology is changing and how they get all these new products on the shelves.

We wandered over to the food section in Target, and I saw more spoils of empire. Huge quantities of chocolate for sale, for cheap. I don’t know how it is possible for the lizard brains of people to NOT buy all this cheap chocolate. No wonder so many people are so very heavy here. (I’m so glad I got myself outta that bind – I used to weigh 300 pounds.)

This has been an interesting experiment so far. We got a rental car, and we’re noticing how convenient it is after two years of carlessness. But the car has the feeling of being a time machine, and all this store stuff is a time machine, because this certainly ain’t sustainable.

Candy aisle in Target, photo by lady


what the ?

Wednesday, April 23rd, 2008

down front of our apt from 3rd floor – foto by smith

posted remains – foto by smith

wrestling poster – foto by smith

wall hole – foto by smith

caution, building in bad shape – foto by smith

poster remains – foto by smith


super saturation

Thursday, August 30th, 2007

foto by smith

colloidal suspension super saturation lack of downtime blues.

our last full day here was a full day of work. since we’re renting a friend’s place, there was the 2 hour walk to the supermarket to replace staples of theirs we’ve used, washing dishes, doing laundry, mowing back lawn, scrubbing up, vacuuming, putting back the furniture that lady had moved so she could make art.

then there’s the ritual (40 times past 13 months) of packing our backpacks. it’s weird, but when 2 people stay in one place more than a few days, they accumulate stuff – people are stuff magnets. since we can only take what fits in packs our backs can handle, there’s always throwing away to do – pans, silverware, clothes, books, pillows, antique leather coat inherited from stylish dead granny, boots, wooden chess sets, original art, street trash found objects, blankets, sheets, food, fans, heaters, tents, camp stoves, sleeping bags, incense . . . ad-cost-nauseum. stuff gets easier to toss each move. first lesson learned last year was you have to want something a lot to carry it on your back up stairs and down country lanes.

and finally, disposing the last of the grass. a pleasant task here on friendly street.

foto by smith


art neon dark

Thursday, August 30th, 2007

foto by smith

pack today. leave london tomorrow. spend 4 weeks in mediterranean sun in southern france. fly to 8 weeks in cleveland ohio usa where this all began. read poetry repeatedly. go to lady’s first one-woman art exhibition. move to chicago, start life anew in one place for a year or two or three. figure out what all this means. ponder who we are. finish up a manuscript or three. shop em around.

london as people was special this time around. london as city less so.

it’s at least 10 degrees fahrenheit warmer where we’re going – sun there will replace the chilled damp gray of here. maybe that and the fact this journey is almost over will lift my mind. lady’s worried about my lack of inner bounce, my brooding of late. one would wonder how anyone on such a magic journey could be less than ecstatic, but we’re starting our 14th month of continuous world travel, and i began running down in month 9 – helped along by food poisoning in madrid on the way to morocco. i find i don’t like being homeless. and after 3 months in morocco, everything else seems pale – which is a hoot because i found morocco one of those situations you can’t live with, and you can’t live without… everything’s older, more exotic, and life’s more immediate. of course the constant stash of black moroccan hash helped.

part of my problem is i’m super saturated with adventure and exotic experience, part of my problem is i need safe base place of our own to recharge, part of my problem is the constant temporariness of always packing up and moving on, part of my problem is me being me. as lady keeps saying, “wherever you go, there you are” – or as lucifer puts it in paradise lost, “myself am hell.”

i’ve seen a lot of life, a lot of the world, a lot of different ways of thinking and seeing and being on this journey. i am indeed fortunate. now if only i were happy. sometimes i wonder if perhaps i’m used up. but usually i realize it’s just a lack of downtime, lack of time to process the incredible, abundant input, lack of time to recharge.

the silver lining in all of this is lady k – through all the heaven and hell of continually moving on, she’s constantly there for me as friend, lover, companion, collaborator, and wife. i’m a lucky man, in more ones than way.

and there’s of course more silveries besides: we’ve put so much along the way into our creative wells, our life data banks – lived behind the old iron curtain, lay in the sun in the south of france, watched pink flamingos stand one-legged in the mediterranean, trained across spain, lived 3 months in morocco.

without lady walking into my life 2 years ago, none of this would have happened. without her, i’d still be sitting in red and green art neon dark before my computer screen listening to meat beat manifesto and sending out yet another endless batch of shameless self promoting emails while waiting to die or become famous (is there a difference?).

foto by smith



Wednesday, August 29th, 2007


I remember a complete feeling of being in the moment. That all accounts were paid up, that there are no responsibilities, or that the responsibilities were enjoyable. Freedom. A rapture of thought, creativity, “what if” and “ah so this is so.” A new discovery, a new thought each day. No psychological addictions. Goals within reach or just had. Working the juice out of getting there and being here. Faith that the authorities were intrinsically benevolent, just a little ideologically flawed, faith that progress was being made on all fronts. Hope that there would be no more war, belief in “just” war.

As I become better and better, some become worse and worse. To know people and to be with them for a while and to watch things happen to them and to inevitably disappoint them is to feel pain and give pain. To live is to contribute to pain and to know this is irreconcilable with a single moment of perfect happiness. Maybe I can achieve perfect happiness by a transcendence of the political and personal scope of things, or is this magic thinking?

I want to know people who have become happier as they’ve grown older and more experienced. I want to know people who are happy even as they suffer repeat discrimination. People who forgive and continue to love those with whom they’ve grappled. People who have faith that they were loved without condition. I want to know people who think things and do things and teach things because they like to think and do and teach. I want to find happy people who are not oblivious.



Wednesday, August 29th, 2007

foto by smith

a good evening last night – lady cooked dinner for 5… the 5 consisted of 2 teachers, 4 poets, 3 artists. due to the fine conversation and the late hour, i had no time to blog – so here’s my unused leftovers from the past.

clicked on wikipedia’s definition of “underground” and got this beauty: Perhaps the best way to define it is a quote by Frank Zappa: “The mainstream comes to you, but you have to go to the underground.”

claud cockburn – “never believe anything until it is officially denied.”

Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Olmert denied reports of a planned coordinated offensive in which the U.S. would attack Iran and Israel would hit Syria and Lebanon at the same time.

The top 1% of income earners — those Bush calls his “base” — saw their average pay increase by $146,000 last year. (Yes, that’s just the increase.)

Noam Chomsky – “the only thing I ever get irritated about is elite intellectuals, the stuff they do I do find irritating.”

i’m reading “The Intellectuals And The Masses – Pride and Prejudice among the Literary Intelligentsia 1880-1939” by John Carey (1992). h.g. wells and d.h. lawrence wanted to kill off all brown, black and yellow people because they were spoiling the beauty of the intellectuals’ view and were causing commonism to creep into the culture. ezra pound and t.s. eliot agreed with hitler’s fascist master race ideas. intellectuals back then felt common folk should not be educated, in fact should be killed because they were diluting the intellectuals’ world and creating garbage with their suburban existence. they also felt intellectuals should rule, and be given free food and money to live. it’s sad to see what folk i once respected actually thought.

foto by smith


blog bog

Tuesday, August 28th, 2007

foto by smith

2 items of blog clarification:

the 3 fotos which were my last blog do have have meaning – which is:
foto 1 = the way of the flesh (tiger and half eaten dead deer)
foto 2 = the way of the spirit (flower & sun)
foto 3 = it is up to us which of the 2 we choose (human hand)

in my blog before last, lady thought my statement “there is no other side” depressing.

maybe, maybe not. i said there is no ‘other side’ because once you get from here to there, your there becomes here, your other side becomes this side, and you begin again.

the end of our 16 months traveling will be chicago – the other side of this journey. but once in chicago, we begin anew creating a new home, a new poetry scene, a new art scene, finding new utensils, new furniture, etc, so we start over with there as new here, with that side now this side.

it’s always going to be this side trying to get to the other side… it’s always striving today for a better tomorrow – but bottom line, it is always now and you are always here. so be here now as ram dass said. as long as you are alive, you’re living, and living ain’t easy… interesting perhaps, but never effortless. no matter what you’ve done, there’s more to do. you’re always a work in process, and the process is called life. you’re done when you’re dead – maybe.

Damaged Good

The doubting vessel
Strong, unbroken
Sours water, ruins wine

The damaged vessel
Holds its token
Service, beauty, duty, time

The one excuses
The other uses
Which in fact the finer find

The better bitter
The lesser greater
Truth is action, action prime

foto by smith


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