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Monthly Archives: November 2013

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This is a poem and an image addressing that aspect of reality and/or literature some call “layering”– several things are going on simultaneously, and as your focus shifts your perception of reality changes though reality itself doesn’t. In the image a flashlight shines through a stencil of the number 10, superimposing all or part of the 10 on four aces. That is one way to Ten an Ace.

Calliope is one of the nine Muses. The Muses are goddesses of inspiration in Greek mythology, daughters of Zeus, ruler of the gods, and Mnemosyne, who personified Memory and from whom the word Mnemonic is derived. The other eight Muses are Clio, Thalia, Erato, Euterpe, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Urania, and Melpomene. If you’re a Terpsichorean you have probably correctly guessed that Terpsichore is the Muse of Dance. If you’ve ever ridden on a Calliope, and are unfamiliar with Greek mythology, you have probably incorrectly guessed that Calliope is the Muse of Music. Given another guess about who is the Muse of Music, you might go for Polyhymnia. But that’s also incorrect, or at best only a little bit correct.  According to Wikipedia, Calliope is the Muse of EPIC poetry and Polyhymnia is the Muse of SACRED poetry. So who is the Muse of Music? None of them or all of them. The word Music is derived from the greek μουσική, pronounced something like “moose-ee-keh” and translated as “art of the Muses.”

“The calliope crashed to the ground” is a line from “Blinded By the Light,” written by Bruce Springsteen and performed by Manfred Mann. Lots of layers in that song too. One line was quite controversial, but I’ll let Wikipedia tell it: “The most prominent change is in the chorus, where Springsteen’s ‘cut loose like a deuce’ is replaced with ‘revved up like a deuce.’This is commonly misheard as ‘wrapped up like a douche (the V sound in “revved” is almost unpronounced, and the S sound in ‘deuce’ comes across as ‘SH’ due to a significant lisp).’ Springsteen himself has joked about the controversy, claiming that it was not until Manfred Mann rewrote the song to be about a feminine hygiene product that it became popular.

I love it that no fewer than three of the Muses are designated for Poetry. (Erato is the Muse of LOVE and/or SEX poetry.)

So why Ten an Ace? The answer is derived from the punchline of a dirty joke (technically, though, it’s the answer to a dirty riddle. This post is joked with inconsistencies). The answer is Because We Can. And not just Canners can.

I could go on with this post forever but I’ve got to Layer to rest…[unjustified grin]

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I’m embarrassed, but not quite ashamed, to publish this one. It was done in haste and the drawing is crappy, but the idea is OK and the pun, though I say so myself, is elegant.

Here are the words:

Motivations vary. Some will give it tooth & claw
Even laying down a life for Flag & Ma & Pa
Money, bragging rights & buzz are ways of keeping power; breathe our last & always there’s a whiff of sweet & sour

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I keep trying and missing with Spoon-capture. A spoon can be a wonderfully reflective surface, or it can be a real mud-dog, depending on a lot of drawing choices. Before the year is over, though, I think I’ll have a good one.

Here are the words, followed by a couple more spoon studies.

Sacred to our folklore is the sacrificial lamb
Poisonous the notion lives are set upon a trammel
Overlooked the making active use of déjà vu
One must wonder what we’d change to make it non-ensue
Never going backwards means that everything is news

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Here’s to Tim Curry then and sooner. His sheer talent and brass helped make THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW not merely a cult favorite, but part of the matrix of the Mainstream–an astonishing feat, given the homophobic culture it was created in.

Alas, the media reported that he’d had a major stroke last May. And Lou Reed, another out-there genius, has died. The passage of time is ever scarring, and scary.

This page came to be because last month I did a quickbunny page just to do a page, and the acrostic happened to be TIME WARP. I’d intended to publish it today, but could not find it. So, “Well, why not do a page on Tim Curry?” So I did. So THEN I found the TIME WARP page. And since my Canadian friend Michel Lamontagne had admired a post wherein I combined 2 and 3D, I repeat, with an old, baggy-wrapped self-portrait sketch of mine that is apropos because it’s sort of like the Picture of Dorian Gray now:

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Words to the first one:

Concupiscence compel’d the Dr. so
Unglaublich hijinx did seem apropos
Recumbent S Sarandon lets him ski
Rococo-outre suits him to a T
Yet he’s pre-served his equinimity

Words to the second:

Those who reap B4 they sow
If away but get Samoa
Milliseconds from afar
End unweaving-unpluck’d harp

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This page was twinly inspired by the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam and by my wish for a good night’s rest for my Girlfriend, Denise.

Words:

Come we to see the fall of Dusk benign
And on a slumbered Dream-repast we dine
Lash-fluttering & rest: a night’s success
Mementos that the sainted Martyrs bless.

Good night, my dearest Denise…

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This is a genuine 15 by 15 diagonally symmetrical crossword puzzle, constructed by my genuine self after two days of tribulation. It is now seven minutes to midnight, and I’m determined to publish today. If it is too hard to read, please let me know and I will transcribe post-publication.

Here’s a clean grid for solvers:

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I wrote the poem below in the waning hours of 2012. At the time, I was able to work, seeking work, but unable to find suitable work–the Economics 101 definition of Unemployed. Now I’m working full-time and have gallery space in the Village of Oak Creek to boot. I just finished my shift and have an hour and a half to put to some use before I open the doors at the Village Gallery. How this poem suits me now–better than when I wrote it!

if i’m going to be depressed, reaps, i’m taking you with me

i was walking down e. tonto in sedona, solo, but then the grim reaper showed up to walk beside me.

 just a social call, it said.
(you thought the reaper was a he or a she?)

 ok, i said, my voice connoting annoyance.

 yeah, it continued, because you’ve been dwelling on death again lately.

 well, reaps, i rejoined, you would dwell on death too if you had a heart that keeps spontaneously leaping around,
and if, further, you had a history of heart disease in your family,
and you’re in the health insurance donut hole, and the doctors will have little incentive to save you,
and your dad died at the san francisco age of forty-nine of

(fibrillative drumroll please)

massive myocardial infarction,
and you’re fifty-eight and more overweight than your dear old dad was at shuffle-off,
and if you had enough imagination to realize that even a billion-year lifetime
is a mere keratosis on the flesh of eternity,
and ownership of physical flesh is an increasingly losing proposition,
hardly an in fee simple arrangement,
and one unfine day the flesh will either be incinerated, or a feast for lower-order creatures, squatters all,
and…

and i was alone once more. the grim reaper didn’t want to hear any more.

good riddance, i italically thought to the cosmos.

 but i was mocked in italic echoish audio:

you wish.