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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 ‘Photography’ Category

Feb 2020 Smith/Medusa

Friday, February 18th, 2022

9 poems 10 fotos month 75

The sun shines again for us in the Kitchen, with Smith and his poetic graffiti catching our eyes and rocking’ the walls. Thanks, Steven! Always a pleasure—and a wake-up call.” – Kathy Kieth, publisher/editor Medusa’s Kitchen

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2022/02/on-edge-of-thrum.html

 

u got time, i got rhythm rhyme shuffle . . .

Monday, February 7th, 2022

u got time, i got rhythm rhyme shuffle . . .

Jesus Walking on Water – Violent Femmes
If You’ve Got the Money I’ve Got the Time – Lefty Frizzell
Law (Earthlings On Fire) – David Bowie
Trailer Trash – carolesdaughter
Fantasy Island – Clinic
Never Say Never – Romeo Void
Because The Night – Patti Smith
Beezlebub – Beats Antique w/ Les Claypool
M – Music I – Inside C – Curved E-Entrances – Terry Riley
Lost Highway – Hank Williams and his Drifting Cowboys
The Collector (and the Art Mob) – Terry Allen
Eternal Consumption Engine – Primus
Bow Legged Daddy – Maria Muldaur
Deep Dish – Ani Difranco
Restin’ Bones – Primus
Backlash Blues – Nina Simone
Don’t Go Home With Your Hard-On – Leonard Cohen
Bleach Blonde Bottle Blues – Larkin Poe
Bang Bang Boom Boom – Beth Hart
Rehab – Amy Winehouse

 

who knows where the shuffle goes . . .

Friday, February 4th, 2022

who knows where the shuffle goes . . .

Janitor Of Lunacy – Nico
Oh Lord Don’t Let Them Drop That Atomic Bomb – Charles Mingus
Torches And Pitchforks – Cracker
I Saw A Cop – Jill Sobule
Salivation – Terry Allen
Wild Side Of Life – Hank Thompson
Moanin’ – Art Blakey
Sun and the Moon – Clinic
I Walk The Line – Johnny Cash
Dissolve / Reveal – Tom Verlaine
Top Floor, Bottom Buzzer – Morphine
Peroxide Beach – Sloppy Jane
Walking In The Rain – Grace Jones
Rumble Of The Diesel – Les Claypool
OD’d In Denver – Bill Callahan & Bonnie “Prince” Billy
Eyestalk (Gurkaran Waraich) – Love
Chinese Mike – Tuxedomoon
Wet Dream – Wet Leg
Tits On The Radio – Scissor Sisters
Jesus Was A Social Drinker – Chuck Prophet
Bedbugs & Ballyhoo (Transformed) – Echo And The Bunnymen
Piano Sonata No. 1: III. Allegro con brio – Steven Beck
You Will Never Work In Television Again – The Smile
Different Trains: After The War – Steve Reich

 

Frankenstein Earphone Radio

Monday, January 31st, 2022

Bill Gates by Critters Buggin, 1997

LOOK AT THE PICTURE!!!
See the skull, the part of bone removed,
the “master-race” Frankenstein radio controls,
the Brain-thoughts Broadcasting Radio,
the Eyesight Television,
the Frankenstein Earphone Radio,
the Threshold Brainwash Radio,
the latest new skull reforming to contain ALL Frankenstein Controls,
even in THIN skulls of WHITE PEDIGREE MALES!

DEADLY ASSAULTS, even in my yard with knives,
even bricks and stones,
even DEADLY TOUCH TABIN or ELECTRIC SHOCK FLASHLIGHTS;
even remote electronically controlled around-corners-projection
of DEADLY TOUCH TARANTULA SPIDERS
or even bloody-murder “accidents”

These hangmanrope sneak deadly gangsters,
the judges the police
trick, trap, rob, wreck, butcher, and MURDER the people
to keep them TERRORIZED
in Gangster Frankenstein earphone radio slavery

Look up and see the Gangster Computer God
concocted NEW FAKE STARRY SKY!
The worldwide completely controlled deadly degenerative
climate and atmosphere through the new world round
Translucent Exotic Gaseous Envelope

You are a terrorized member of the “MASTER RACE” worldwide
4 BILLION eye-sight television camera guinea pig
Communist Gangster Computer God MASTER RACE!
You’re LIVING, THINKING mad, deadly worldwide
Communist Gangster Computer God SECRET OVERALL PLAN:
WORLDWIDE LIVING DEATH FRANKENSTEIN SLAVERY

~ ~ ~

Critters Buggin used a portion of one of Francis E.Dec’s rants as lyrics for Bill Gates on their 1997 album Host.

Critters Buggin is a Seattle, Washington rock, jazz, funk, punk, ambient, electronic band (1993–present) — they’re strange, all over the place, and have at least 9 (to me) fascinating tunes.

Francis E. Dec 1926-1996) “was an American lawyer and outsider writer who was best known for his typewritten diatribes that he independently mailed and published from the late 1960s onward. His works are characterized by highly accusatory and vulgar attacks, often making use of conglomerate phrases like “Mad Deadly Worldwide Communist Gangster Computer God” to slander people, groups or companies that he believed were engaging in electronic harassment against him, and gained a cult following from the mid-1980s onward due to their comedic incoherence.” – per Wikipedia (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_E._Dec).

 

bit of a scuffle shuffle . . .

Friday, January 28th, 2022

bit of a scuffle shuffle . . .

Handcuffed To A Fence In Mississippi – Jim White w/ Morecheeba
Another Man Done Gone – Odetta
New Sensations – Lou Reed
Female Jesus – Johnny Dowd
Ain’t Nobody’s Business If I Do – Billie Holiday
The Destruction Of The Superdeep Borehole Tower – The Mountain Goats
Bedbugs & Ballyhoo (Transformed) – Echo And The Bunnymen
Piano Sonata No. 1: III. Allegro con brio – Steven Beck
Backlash Blues – Nina Simone
Boots Like Emmy Lou’s – Janis Ian
Mother’s Rope – Lightman Jarvis Ecstatic Band
Death Came A-Knockin’ – Ruthie Foster
Letter From Abroad – John Cale
Moanin’ – Charles Mingus
In C – Jean-Louis Matinier & Kevin Seddiki
Music For A Found Harmonium – Penguin Cafe Orchestra
To Zion – Digital Underground, Shock G & Solo Piano
Like A Freight Train – John Hiatt
Addicted – Amy Winehouse
Ghost Town – The Specials
Chills & Fever – Samantha Fish
Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy – The Andrew Sisters
You Will Never Work In Television Again – The Smile

 

Where does the red brick go?

Wednesday, January 26th, 2022

Where does the red brick go?

My 76th feature past 74 months . . . the usual 9 poems, 10 fotos.

“Smith is here today, telling us about his Lady and the dog and the cat and the house they have in Cleveland. He tells it in true Smith fashion—little snatches of what he calls LIFE (the good and the bad and the mostly in-between). Thanks for your visit today, Steven—always a pleasure!” – Kathy Kieth, publisher/editor . . . send her some stuff, she posts every day.

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2022/01/where-does-red-brick-go.html

 

who knows shuffle . . .

Wednesday, January 26th, 2022

who knows shuffle . . .

I’ve an hour or so at night after Lady goes to bed when I sit in the dark, gas fireplace lit, ask Alexa to shuffle my Diogenes playlist, and toke, wandering my mind looking for laughs, lessons, and lowku.

Enjoy the marvelous, unexpected segues as much as the songs sometimes.

Strong Feelings – Dry Cleaning
Kill Your Mama – Alicia Keyes
Buzzin’ Fly – Tim Buckley
Add It Up – Violent Femmes
Grow Mama Grow – Dominique Fils-Aimé
Long Gone Lonesome Blues – Hank Williams
New Sensations – Lou Reed
Rich – Yard Act
Tell You Girls – Roma di Luna
The Syncopated Clock – Leroy Anderson
New Speedway Boogie – Beats Antique w/ Clint Maedgen
I’m A Long Gone Daddy – Ernest Tubb
Buckethead – Meat Puppets
Palm Of My Hand – Mama Lucky
Sinnerman! – Nina Simone
Sex And Gasoline – Rodney Crowell
Strange Love – Slim Harpo
Backseat Nothing – The Del Fuegos
You Never Know Just How Good You’ve Got It – George Jones
Intermission – Meat Beat Manifesto
Walking On Thin Ice – Yoko Ono
Peroxide Beach – Sloppy Jane
Happy – Danny Elfman

 

sorta slinky shuffle . . .

Tuesday, January 25th, 2022

sorta slinky shuffle . . .

Woke Up This Morning – Vinnie Pauleone & The Ba Da Bing Orchestra
Oh No – Wet Leg
Fucking Fucked Up – Miley Cyrus
Only Happy When It Rains – Garbage
1961 – The Grassy Knoll
The Caravan Moves On – Charles Lloyd
Open All Night – Bruce Springsteen
Trucker Beak – Critters Buggin
Shut Up And Drive – Shawn Colvin
Bloody Mary Morning – Willie Nelson
If It Wasn’t For Bad Luck – Ray Charles & Jimmy Lewis
Lost Highway – Hank Williams
Brand New Cadillac – The Clash
Fuck Your Acid Trip – Modest Mouse
Beezlebub – Beats Antique w/ Les Claypool
Wield the Spade – Oysterhead
Karmacoma – Massive Attack
Doors Of Destiny – Beats Antique w/ Micha & Leighton
Better Times Will Come – Janis Ian
Solo Dancer – Charles Mingus
Nature Boy – Nat King Cole

 

the WTF shuffle . . .

Monday, January 24th, 2022

the WTF shuffle . . .

Money Jungle – Duke Ellington, Mingus, Max Roach
Don’t Bogart Me – The Fraternity of Man
God’s Back Pocket – Hellwood
My Medicine – Snoop Dogg
Jazz Police – Leonard Cohen
Detachable Penis – King Missile
Law (Earthlings On Fire) – David Bowie
Fuck That Guy – The Dirty Knobs
Blue Monk – Thelonious Monk
Chase – Spindle Ensemble
Kitty – Ruby and the Rednecks
India (live 1961) – John Coltrane
Eyestalk (Gurkaran Waraich) – Love
A Mother’s Rope – Lightman Jarvis Ecstatic Band
Ain’t Nothin’ In Ramblin’ – Bonnie Raitt & Steve Freund
Asbestos Lead Asbestos – Meat Beat Manifesto
Luciferian Prayer – Morfiouz
I Am A Man That Worries – John Mellencamp
Thrills – Cake
Panic – No Doubt

 

5 Falls + 1

Friday, January 21st, 2022

5 Falls + 1

Well, wife ain’t crushed, and I’m not broken, maybe . . . though yesterday’s +1 seems to have my knee doing a swollen grapefruit impersonation, and one rib shrieking every sneeze or cough.

Many a fall in my life, but past two months seeded a bumper crop.

Cleaned our roof gutter, and as I stepped over the garden fence, my toe caught in chicken wire and I slow-mo fell forward, which gave me time to notice my head heading toward the raised paving bricks.

Hit head and knee hard. First thing I checked for head flesh gash. When 10, I jumped a low block wall and landed on a block behind it which cut my leg in a bloodless V down to sun-bright bone, which in fascination I touched with my finger, amazed how white and shiny it was. I expected to touch skull.

Had head blood, but no gashes, so checked knee. Couple years ago I broke my kneecap and the bone didn’t knit, so kneecap’s held together by fibers, and if I knelt on it, I’d be in eye-tearing pain for weeks. Luckily I hit just below the knee so again spared major damage.

Then two weeks ago a cold snap froze the water running across a Metropark path, then dusted it with snow, so I’m walking the dog an hour before dawn, looking for deer and fotos, writing poems in my head, and — WHAP — foot hits snow-dusted ice and I’m on my back on frozen gravel, in the dark, on a seldom-used path, in considerable pain, thinking it’s too cold to be lying here, let’s see what works, and slowly rise, functional.

Fall 3 is the scariest. Sitting here reading, I hear a thunk 3 feet to my right, look over and see black cat blur racing away and think “oh, she knocked something over,” and then brain freezes trying to understand why the 40 pound ceiling fan is lying on its side on the floor in front of Lady’s chair. The fan had broken away from the cathedral ceiling and crashed into the easy chair in which she’d been sleeping half hour earlier. Had she been there, she’s dead or broken.

Reality really tried with sneak-punch 4 & 5. Snowstorm hit 3 days ago, and I shoveled for hours, safely. Then took the garbage and compost out. At the garbage cans I looked at the 50 foot of snow drifts between me and the compost pit and decided to drop it in the trash instead . . . but then my brain says no, that’s not right, the 8-Fold Path preaches right thought, right action, so I walk through snow, step on an icy flagstone and smash to the ground on my right side. This is hard. Seriously painful. Slowly see what works, manage to rise, decide to dump compost in trash after all, take one step and step into the fish pool that’s totally covered in snowdrift, and smash even harder on my left side, pain overwhelming, knowing pain this intense means bad news because no way you can hurt this much and not be seriously damaged.

I begin to see what works, turn on my side, unsteadily rise, slow-step into the house, and tell Lady I have to sit a bit before I can check if I’m broken. And I’m not. Only damage besides bruised muscles is a 9 inch blood scrape down my right forearm, and a 6 inch blood scrape down the left. Pain is so great I feel nauseous.

The next day is fall free, and I’m exhilarated that I’m alright, absolutely astonished.

And then . . .

Yesterday morning I’m carrying my toasted bagel on a soon-to-be broken plate as I walk through a dark room where our 120 pound golden labrador is lying unseen right in the middle and I smash chest first into the floor, managing to turn my head so I land side-skull instead of face first.

Smashed my never-healed broken knee, which looks quite grapefruitish now, and I bone-bruised or cracked a rib. A cough brings sharp pain, a sneeze tears. Had many a cracked and broken and bruised rib in my time so know you wait them out, hold the rib tight when you sneeze to reduce pain, and take smaller tokes so you don’t cough.

These falls are more worrisome because I have bad bones — osteoporosis.

Before fall 6, I told Lady I was writing this up as Five Falls, and she said better watch it doesn’t become the 8-Fall Path, which brings me to the humor here . . . I decide to do the “right thing” as I see it for the 8-Fold Path, and I get hurt. Something doesn’t gel.

So there, it’s written as 5 + 1 . . . this means no fall # 7 allowed. Time to stop this ridiculous sitcom, the Gods have their portion of laughter.

One odd thought is I’ve been slowly losing weight past year, for no known reason, going from 165 down to this morning’s 149. Since I’m doing these falls from my 6′ 3″ height, those extra lost pounds probably help hurt me less.

Another fleetflash thinking is the film Final Destination where some young folk get off the plane that’s going to crash, which irritates Death, so he hunts them down and kills them one by one . . . spose reality is trying to fall me into quietude?

Maybe it all goes back to Eve and the Snake. Or me on the make.

Half horror, half slapstick, whole Smith.



Lady’s chair, ceiling fan fallen

 

 
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