Archive

Monthly Archives: July 2019

20190724_215856

Jokes, fables, and anecdotes share a crucial element: the Setup. A situation is described, and the listener/reader has a little time to imagine where the story is going. Then another crucial element, the Punchline, throws its punch, and the reader/viewer/listener gets moved or otherwise transported.

The three setups I did all depend on words meaning more than one thing. George Carlin was given a setup by an interviewer who asked, “What do you think about the dope problem?” Carlin responded, “Yes, definitely, we have too many dopes!” At that time in the linguistic history of American English, “dope” meant both “drugs” and “stupid person.” In 2019 the joke wouldn’t go over so well because “dope” is now mostly used as an adjective and means something like “good and cool and awesome.”

So Setup #1 is a baseball bat wearing dark glasses. Then the eye goes to the caption “Blind as a Bat.” There are more than one kind of bat, and the one made of wood is even blinder than the one that flies.

“Duck Blind” is both a place where hunters hide and make duck-noises to try to lure ducks to their doom, and…a duck who happens to be blind.

Setup #3 was my most ambitious, and consequently my least successful illustration. There’s a myth that profligate masturbation can cause blindness. So I imagined an equivalent of Kafka’s Gregor Samsa who pleased himself one time too many and woke up the next morning to find that he had metamorphosed into…a window blind.

But the punchline to the “Three Setups” here is that the three setups had much less to do with story- or joke-telling than they had to do with Drawing Practice. I had felt so guilty that I’d spent so little time on my “Motor Cycle” card (see previous post) that I decided to do at least a solid hour’s additional drawing. Mission accomplished, and then some!

2019 0723 scattered crowd

(Originally published in Facebook group Poets All Call, in slightly altered form, earlier today.)

the scattered crowd

the glow of their smartphones
lights up their grim faces.

they have ceased making eye contact.
all they make is screen contact.

they think they command the screens
by tapping them with their fingers.
but the screens are in command
luring and warping and sucking
independent will
from b i l l i o n s of souls.

so cute
how dare he
I WANT IT
search “nude
busty redhead”

alarm
notification

turn ad blocker off
or die

20190723_064845

I have two mantras, one for my Artwork and one for my Life. The Artwork mantra is “The next one will be better.” The Life mantra is “My life is not yet over. They comfort and spur me.

Life Not Yet Over

Longingly we wayward go

If we look we see & love

Emptiness can wait till later

2019 0722 chopped sonnets

It is 5:42 PM on Monday, July 22, 2019. I have finished the drawing above but I have not written the sonnet that goes with the image. I haven’t even conceived the sonnet, except for the acrostic and the vague notion that since the title is “Chopped Sonnets” there should be some disjointedness to it. So my challenge, and what I’ll devote the rest of the post to, is to write the sonnet in such a way that the image enhances it, while following the sonnet form of fourteen lines in iambic pentameter, Shakespearean rhyme scheme of abab cdcd efef gg. (May have to settle for near-rhymes since there will be different end-letters.) But if I ever calligraph the sonnet it won’t be in the image. I may try to make the calligraphy work with the image as the second panel of a diptych.

chopped sonnets

consolidating dance and thought is chess
conquistadores shifting ebbs and flows

hop, skip, and capture, give the king distress–o
hung royalty thrills groundlings ever so

our couple wants to dance the checkered plain
own conquests of dexterity and sheen

push pawnlike through the midground yet unslain
promoted on the eighth rank to a queen

perhaps they’ll then diagonally bite
pawns of the enemy, then pirhouette

en pointe across and check and bait and sleight
entangling lesser talents in a net

disdain and competition mongst the pieces
define the omnivores with exegesis

It’s now 6:32 PM, Mountain Standard Time. Not sure I’m happy with the sonnet, but am 100% sure I’m happy it is done. πŸ™‚

2019 0722 mass sieve

Mass Sieve

Matrices β€’ fleur de lis
Anaconda β€’ bonhomie
S
upersaturation β€’ Luv
Semipermeable Dove

As with many of these, it started with a pun. Massive became Mass Sieve. But a moment’s thought yielded the question: What IS a Mass Sieve? Mass is all the wavicular activity in matrices of the four forces of the non-apocalypse that brings everything to be. We could think of the sieve as that which is not mass but acts on it: gravity, the two nuclear forces, and electromagnetism.

My word choices came from a desire to have rhyme, reason and meter to them when read aloud. “Matrices” comes from a chapter in a math textbook: the chapter title was “Matrices and Determinants.” As I recall, it is a means of solving algebraic equations involving polymonials. A simplifying method, putting the coefficients in an array and doing…some calculations along the…diagonals? Geez, I used to KNOW all that stuff. Time humbles us.

“Fleur de lis” is to get the line to end with an S yet have the end-sound be a long e. Anaconda–I just love that word. It means a certain snake, and the word is long and rhythmic, just like a snake.

I love “bonhomie” too. It’s good luck that it fits.

“Supersaturation” is from chemistry class. Dissolve salt in water. The solution is saturated when no more salt will dissolve. But heat up the water and you can get more salt to commingle with the now-more-energetic molecules. SUPERsaturated! Put it in the fridge and crystals will form.

“Luv” is an alternative spelling of Love that came out of the late 60s of my youth. I had already discarded candidates like “Kiev” and “Asimov” because syllables. “Rev” and Vav” and “Lav” weren’t as good as “Luv” because a) fourth-line rhyme would be clunky b) the anachronistic aspect of “Luv” introduces the dimension of Time, and no cosmic force may act if it has zero time in which to act.

“Semipermeable Dove,” the final phrase, just feels magic. A Semi-Permeable Membrane is the mechanism for oxygen exchange and other vital functions, enabling life itself. The Dove is a worldwide symbol for Peace. Mass In; Peace Out! πŸ™‚

2019 0721 rose rose rose rose

In the Boy Scouts, and in a human-relations camp called Anytown that I attended in June of 1971, there was a campfire song, and it’s especially compelling when sung as a round. There are at least two fine versions on YouTube, and I invite you to go from this post to a search for the video version of “Rose Red” to enhance your listening pleasure.

It has changed over the centuries. In its original form the word “marry” is short for “by the Virgin Mary” and means “yes indeed” or “of course” or “you bet.” The word “an” is an archaic way of saying “if.” “Thoult” is a contractual form of “thou wilt.” Isn’t that lovely?

“Rose, rose, rose, rose,
Will I ever see thee red?”

“Aye, marry, that thou wilt,
An thoult but stay.”

I have quoted three other Rose songs, one made popular by Nat King Cole. The Grateful Dead did a sort of sequel. But long before that was “The Yellow Rose of Texas,” which like “Rose Red” has changed over time. For its curious history see Wikipedia.

I was tempted to excerpt Dorothy Parker’s acid poem “One Perfect Rose” on the card but a) it’s not a song b) I ran out of room. (It can be argued that I had ALREADY run out of room–this is one crowded card!) But here we are in the non-image portion of this post, and herewith as a special feature is the final stanza of Ms. Parker’s poem:

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it’s always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.

Lastly we come to the quadruple-acrostic I composed for the image:

rose rose rose rose

river, share a rarer mirror
only show soupΓ§ons of cheer. o
slip downstream to see with sighs
every petaled fettled prize

 

“In my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me/Speaking words of wisdom/Let It Be…” Paul McCartney

“Nada, nada, nada, nada.” Ernest Hemingway

20190719_050616

If Death gives me a ghastly look of uttermost disdain

I may take my immortal soul upon an Astral Plane

No Immortality’s too sure for us to be remiss

Necrology may get ourselves a sudden freakish Kiss