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Tick, tick, tick. The Deadline Clock is inexorable. The Glendale Juried art show will cease accepting entries at noon on Saturday, January 3rd. But I and my entry or entries (max: 2) must be there by 10:30am or sooner, because I and my Sweetheart must be miles away by 11:15.

Here is a work in progress, and it has a LONG ways to go–and that’s not counting matting and framing. (Faithful blog readers will recognize it as compositionally similar to “Spectral Sanctums,” but words have been excised and the ubiquitous Spoon added.)

back to the drawing board 010115

I may not meet the dreaded Deadline, but it’s great to be using the drawing board for something other than a dumping ground for stacks of papers and other impedimenta.

Wish me luck, Friends!

Snow is falling here in Cottonwood. Earlier I had made up my mind to drive to the Village of Oak Creek to retrieve a CD a friend had burned for me, which I’d foolishly left in my drawer at work and forgotten to take home. (In my defense, I’d had an unexpected 12-hour shift…) But the falling snow convinces me, with little experience driving on snowy roads, to stay in the warm and cozy. I’ll get the CD tomorrow, and put it in the truck before my shift begins.

The moral of this non-story is that sometimes the best thing to do is no thing at all. Thus this page:

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Now let us be quite candid
Uplift & have & hold
Then we’ll be even-handed
Hubraics countermanded
It does no good to scold
Nonaction is an unflipped coin
Gong yet unbashed an unboinged boing

Cosmos Combos

C: configures space&time: speed of light is C
Oscillations play the temp–atoms dance allegro
Silver’s born in nova’s cosh…pressured, stars go Boom
Matters dark & otherwise; Womb to Zoom to Tomb
Off on hyperbolic jaunts! Conic secs by Lego
Seen through a galactic lens, we are but debris

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This post is inspired by Stephen Bishop’s song “On and On,” taking its title from one of its lyrics. Two other lyrical sections of the song are also quoted.

The song has stuck in my head for nearly forty years; I like it but it haunts me. I like the rarity of a man singing about a man crying who is not the man himself.  I also like its singer/songwriter, Stephen Bishop, who was billed “Cool Guy With Guitar” in the landmark comedy ANIMAL HOUSE. He was the one whose guitar was smashed to pieces by John Belushi’s Bluto, who handed the severed neck back to him with a sincere but I-had-to “Sorry.”

Toss Up My Heart words:

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Though they’ll have Tito Puente there’ll be an empty seat at Hialeah
Of the 600 outmunitioned almost all died in Crimea
Such odd haphazard history may have you ask What For
Seek ye serendipity becomes my soul’s retort

See Where It Lands words:

Swollen willows weep–it’s offal
Section Eights have FILLED Golgotha
Every time stuff hits the fan
Each soul tries to understand
Evanescence–drifting sands

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I’m finally free of that albatross of a Manuscrypt [sic] for a while–sent it off just before noon. That also means I’m free of the blog-posting restriction I imposed on myself. So this is a celebration. POS can stand for any number of things–Point of Sale, for instance. Sybil has come to mean “crazy multiple-personality person” in recent years. It? IT is what IT is. Ease is what we all non-strivingly strive for some time or the other, and this is the time for this guy. More later. Over & out for now!

001Here is the consummate environmentalist. She fearlessly spoke out against the profligate use of pesticides, which she wisely renamed “biocides,” and her successful battle against the propaganda and dirty-dealing of such as DuPont was the single most important factor in the creation of the Environmental Protection Agency. Thanks to Wikipedia, YouTube, and any number of environmental websites on the Internet, her passionate voice may be heard instantly by anyone with computer access. Her message is just as timely as it was in 1962, the year of publication of her Silent Spring, whose title refers both to the loss of birdsong due to pesticide collateral damage and the potential Earthwide silence should the rapists of Mother Earth continue their fell practices.

I am working on a double-acrostic poem and page on her which will be the final needed ingredient for my manuscript of Natural Distractions, the poetry/image collection that I’ve been working on every day. Here is the work in progress:

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ETA on the completed manuscript, and with it the completed Rachel Carson page, is tomorrow morning. Upon its completion I’ll convey it to David Chorlton, a fine environmental defender in his own right, for editorial assistance. Stay tuned! [determined smile]

This morning Denise told me something that inspired first the acrostic bookends and then the words within them. This page and this post, therefore, are dedicated to her, with my love.

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Throwing guidebooks in the trash
Rids us of the “have-to” cache
Useful more to sense our aura
Eminent as one adorer
Safe within that two-souled breast
There will grow our Fearlessness

There are some words that seduce the poet through ululation. Ululation is one such. Then there are uvula, Pavuvu, Honolulu–and alula.

An alula, also known as a spurious or bastard wing, is a substructure of the bird’s wing that when flexed changes the airfoil of the wings, raising the pressure differential of upside and underside airflow, which helps prevent the bird from stalling. My first encounter with this word was as a teenager reading Robert A. Heinlein’s “The Menace from Earth.” His protagonist, one Holly Jones, resident of the Moon, liked to fly using her top-of-the-line Storer-Gulls. Controls encircling her thumbs allowed her to flex her alulae.

When the happy mashup of Honolulu and a peregrine falcon showed up on my radar, I could not but celebrate with this page, which is really a celebration of the word alula and its plural alulae.

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falcon alulae

flight is pull & swoop & hula
atmosphere the crafter’s tool
lift her over honolulu
climb with her into the cool
oft aloft: the sky’s bathsheba
never stall–“thumbs” up, meine liebe

My first Life Drawing class was in the Spring of 1973. My eighth or so was sometime in the early 2000s. Outside the classroom there were a few occasions, and today I found an unfinished drawing circa 2010. I believe the model was Valley-local legend Crystal Cruz. Shoplight lighting and a skeleton made for a good erotic/macabre ensemble.

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Bone Fire

Balderdash & one naïf
One in love with fluffy Fifi
Neither wishes to demur
Either’s ether’s too unsure

Fire & Bone

Flimsy limb & leg of lamb
IED goes off & Wham-O
Rip a tide & keep it keen
Enter Now & make the scene

This celebration of Charcoal in its various forms was done not in charcoal but in pencil. Without proper charcoal paper, charcoal, a real chamois, at least two kinds of eraser, and fixative, it is unwise to attempt a coherent charcoal drawing.

I here galorify Charcoal with three acrostic poems and one drawing of four Charcoal incarnations:

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Charcoal I

Carbon & gum arabic
Have a vine & dandy go
Add your dark and scarabic/A
Righteous DARK’ll Rock & Roll

Charcoal II

Could be it’s a stick with colic
Half a shadowed calico
Anti-talc or -tapioca
Rich rococo cocoa local

Charcoal III

Crackled screeches: cacophonic
Half a circle makes a halo
And a matador’s veronica
Robbing feedlots of a payroll