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Monthly Archives: June 2016

2016-06-15 08.57.46

“Sad news, Juanita–I’m moving away.” When I said those words to Juanita G, stellar cook–make that Chef–for The Hideaway West, my heart dropped. My dreamlike move-in-progress had finally become real.

So I had yet another of the best damn breakfast in town (said the Host/Cashier of Matt’s Big Breakfast), and before I left I got my first-ever hug from the lovely Juanita, and the above selfie. And now we’re Facebook Friends.

“You should’ve told us earlier. We would’ve saved some boxes for you.”

“How about I come by about sixish?”

“OK. We got a beer order coming in.”

I sure will miss her. And with only two months on the existing lease, who knows–maybe I’ll come back. Her smile is worth it. Her superb cooking is a bonus.

Here is an exploration in distillation, minimalism, irony, and association. It’s also another baby step in my quest for proficiency in oil pastel.

The first acrostic, “fecund second,” describes six rich actions that may take place in a single second. The second, “spin it minute,” is of six words, all nouns, that I am 100% sure have never been strung together in this order before. Reading them aloud in their order imparts, at least for me, a sense of a mysterious narrative with a lot left out. The first two words imply chaos; the next two pairs of words, “intersection nosferatu” and “integument testosterone,” have the same number of syllables, implying order. The last pair match stress syllables as well: inTEGument/testOSTerone. With minimalism details like this make a big difference.

fecund second spin it minute

fecund second

facing the Fates
echoing miracle
calibrating the cosmic
unraveling intaglio
nesting in the Moon
defining vagabond


spin it minute

spasm
potpourri
intersection
nosferatu
integument
testosterone

 

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Strange things are on the up. A wrong-headed man has opened fire, his targeted victims members of the LGBT community. He happens to be Muslim. A wrong-headed man running for President accuses his probable opponent of wanting to do away with the Second Amendment, which I will undoubtedly slightly misquote from memory as being, “A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed.”

Yin and yang. Straight and gay. Gun-toters and gun-law-touters.

Bisexuals are said to “go both ways.” At least one of my best friends on Earth is bisexual. At least one other is homosexual. Any others are keeping a low profile, and who can blame them?

Lassie was a girl-dog whose movie and TV portrayal was often made by a boy-dog. Collies have concealing fur.

The folk song “Did You Ever See a Lassie?” Has another verse, unknown to most nowadays, that starts, “Did you ever see a laddie . . . ?”

My card advocates staying home and traveling afar at the same time via our E-Ticket ride on the Planet Earth. Since the Sun hurtles toward the Sagittarius constellation at 60,000 mph, the pattern the Earth makes through its tiny subsector of the galaxy is a marvelous slinky-shape, enhanced by the subslinky of the gravitational tether of the Moon. YouTube has video of this, and it is a joy to behold.

Here are the words to the messy double acrostic, made, I hope, more sensible via prosification.

Hie thee away to another land. It will be strangely fey and grand. By this time tomorrow Earth will go Headlong through a spiral arc–yes or no? Elliptical pathways in centric array respond to the pull with a hip, hip, hooray. Telemundo, tell Alice, then it gets intriguing: Nest nesting in travel and you will be singing.

Among my poet friends are two that I found quote worthy today. Shawnte Orion says, “These poems aren’t just going to reject themselves.” With that profound adage as his watchwords, he’s gotten his poems rejected numberless times–but also, increasingly, ACCEPTED by increasingly prestigious journals.

As for Victoria Hoyt, with whom it’s been my pleasure to talk for hours about poetry etcetera, a shift of word-emphasis in the five words “Poetry is like a code” yields two quite different thoughts.2016-06-09 08.58.23

eradication and reconstitution and awe

reverence and blasphemer’s sand dollar

rotomontade and melodies of grandeur on grand piano

outstanding stamina/splinter

revivals and the age of alexander

“Temper, temper,” we say of someone who flies off the handle/gets Pee Oh’d/indulges in rage. But “temper temper” may be advice, when the first Temper means “serve as a neutralizing or counterbalancing force . . .”

temper temper 06052016

temper temper

ten-second counting is the best
emotion checked with time & geste
marshmallow mellow pick & strum
permits this chum not be a chump
emergent calm need not be rare
reject the raging growling bear

. . . or lion. Lamb it up today, Friends!

The Third of June rolls by again. That makes 48 Thirds of Junes since the song “Ode to Billie Joe” came out in 1967. And Bobbie Gentry, born Roberta Lee Streeter, is said to be living in seclusion in Los Angeles. If alive, she is 71 years old.

She once owned a piece of the Phoenix Suns, but hasn’t since 1987. She never told us what the girl and Billie Joe threw off the bridge,  but said the real meaning of the song was about nonchalance and indifference, a family talking casually about a seeming suicide while not realizing the fellow’s girlfriend was right there at the table. (That does seem downright Faulkneresque, if not Kafkaesque, to me.)

Anyway–I was a fan. I watched “The Bobbie Gentry Happiness Hour” as few others did. I think “Ode to Billie Joe” is a classic. And I imagine many will remember her, this Third of June . . .

2016-06-03 09.49.46

2016-06-02 09.45.13

In Love of a Brother (part 1) I promised transcription and annotation. Here goes:

Love of a Brother x 3

Lo & beholden, the Sun may absorb
One of your handicaps 2 trot
Vivaciously–and breathe
ENERGY into Another

Brian spent a lot of time in the Phoenix sun with his cardboard sign. Once I was driving and I saw him on an island. We had ten seconds or so of good conversation, then the traffic demanded I go. I gave him a ten-spot to help him through his day.

Look at a once-called Ozob
Once a scruffy panhandler
Verily & forsooth
Endgames are a bother

Brian acquired the nickname Ozob during school. It is Bozo backwards.

Last fortune cookie said Life Is A Verb
Out of the mouths of cookies oft comes Favor
Viceissitudes lay low my bro
Eternal as delayed Godot
Obstruction’s a real bitch
Forceps & clamps to the fore
And verbalize LIFE for my brother

I was solo at China Chili, where Brian and Mom and I have been known to go, it being near Mom’s house, a few days ago. My fortune cookie said “Life is a verb.” It really did. Shortest fortune I ever got, and one of the most cryptic. I apply all its force to Brian’s upcoming surgery . . .

Finally, today I tried to settle down and sum up Brian in as few words as possible. Foremost to mind was the fact that he is a widower, and his deceased wife Lira, a true sweetheart, was the love of Brian’s life.

Lira’s man–Ozob
Outlaw–storyteller
Vagabond too
Empathetic host
Often in Dutch [trouble]
Fighter with a cause
A true Survivor

Today I went to help my brother Brian with yardwork and carport/shed hauling. I yelled at him when he pitched in to the point of reaching as high as he could to clip some branches on the small tree. I lectured him about trying to be a player/coach when at this time he needed to be just a coach. “When you coach a softball team, you can’t go out in the field with the guys,” I said. (Brian had been a Little League coach–a good one–some years back.)

Later I apologized for yelling at him. He said it was OK and I was right and he needed to keep in check.

The thing is, Brian is going to the hospital for cancer surgery next Tuesday. He has an IV port in his chest that has been there since his chemotherapy a couple of months ago. Most of the available veins–aren’t.

Brian has been to Hell on his own dime via street life, incarceration, and hard drug use. This century he has trekked back out of Hell heroically, and gives a lot of credit to the faith-based service organizations Streets of Joy and Victory Outreach. He has even (miraculously!) stopped smoking, giving up a habit he’d had since his teens.

But now, the malignant mass having had its growth stunned and stunted as much as possible via chemo and radiation, the docs are going in to remove the mass, and part of Brian’s body with it. And he is far more calm and collected about it than I am.

It is rectal cancer, the same thing that claimed our grandfather back in 1987. Brian knows exactly what he’s in for, because he was Papa’s caregiver in the last four months of Papa’s life.

It is possible that Brian’s long stint of living on the edge has  helped prepare him for this next challenge. It’s also possible that he’s just putting on a brave front, but I doubt it. I think I would know. I’ve known him all his life.

And I love him. He is a great brother. He would do anything for family, including me. He is especially generous to the homeless. All are his brothers and sisters.

But this brother is having a hard time with this harsh reality, and has turned to creative expression as a means of coping. You’ll see some of the chaos of panic in the card below . . .

IMG_20160601_161627

Part 2 will include transcription and annotation. Meanwhile, Brian has given me permission to ask all who read this to pray for him. He believes in the power of prayer, and I believe in the power of Brian plus prayer. Friends, please pray for my beloved brother Brian.