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Tag Archives: Fantastic Four

broth and bhoy

June 2, 2026
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Beef broth, orange and yellow peppers, diced sweet onion, stew meat,Yukon Gold mini-potatoes, coarse kosher salt, fine-ground black pepper

one hour on high and the potatoes were still hard and woody. two and a half hours and the onion was caramelized and the potatoes were softish but firm.

with each successive bowl the broth became more agreeable. even the meat softened and chewing ceased to be a chore.

the ingested broth is becoming a part of me. of course it became non-broth as i ate it; became an acidic slurry and was enzymed and shunted over finger like absorbers,

and its warmth dissipated delightfully, euphorically;

and a search was sent to my brain;

broth. comic books.

and it turns out that in the comic book

Fantastic Four

Stan Lee

had an Irish doorman think about Ben Grimm,

The Thing,

some wistfulness including the phrase

“…what a fine

broth of a bhoy

he would be.”

even in my tweens,

though i loved comics and read them voraciously,

i thought Stan’s characterization of the doorman

hackneyed, a rather god-awful caricature.

the storytelling was superb, though,

thanks to the plot-assists of illustrator Jack Kirby.

..

I have digested the broth to the extent

that i am now partly former broth,

and have integrated the search

within my pop-culture continuity,

and so now am ready to face the day

with a bhoyish smile.

Bein’ Free Is Hard Work

August 8, 2015
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The title of this post derives from the splendid, brutal novel Cool Hand Luke. Luke and his fellow fugitive Dragline are on the lam from prison personnel and their vicious, man-hunting hounds. Drag says he knows where they can get ahold of some nice, [generously-bosomed] country gals. Luke avers that they can’t be messing with women when they need to be making good their escape. “This bein’ free is hard work.”

And so it is. For me to be free of the matrix of indebtedness, ancillary guilt from being subsidized, and the various life-sucking distractions this evil world constantly proffers, I’ve taken a small, no-Internet-access apartment and a full-time, low-paying job that I can leave at the end of the workday without it following me. I’ve worn out my shoes to the point of harm, and then got a new pair that abraded the flesh atop my Achilles tendon into hamburger. I buy my toilet paper at the Family Dollar and my dollar-ninety-nine breakfast burrito at the QT.

But life is good. I had a wonderful day yesterday, my daughter Kate calling to ask for a guitar lesson and/or a movie (we saw the execrable FANTASTIC FOUR, knowing it would be bad, because that’s how we roll), and afterward, by prearrangement, I spent the night on the living-room couch of my ex-wife, getting the best night’s sleep I’ve had in many days. And today I had a quick and convivial lunch with the sweet and steadfast Joy Riner Taylor, and tonight we’ll be out on the town, not too lavishly.

While I was at Joni and Kate’s I saw one of Joni’s houseplants–she says a schefflera–in a planter I’d made a long time ago; I didn’t remember exactly when, but guessed ten years, then curiosity compelled me to hoist it up high and read the underside (I sign and date almost all my ceramic works). Sure enough, I’d done it in 2004. I was delighted to see it doing what I’d made it to do.

schefflera 080815

Bein’ free has been such hard work that my artwork and poetry have been nearly nil of late. (I put in eleven and a half hours of overtime last week, and public transportation and pedestrianism also take their toll.) But, Friends, I am finding my feet. Expect more from this source, well before the end of this month.

No Words But These; or, The All-Important Title

September 23, 2013
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Image

This is one image. It might be a thousand different works of art, in a quality range from squalid to splendid, without changing a pixel. It all depends on what I call it.

“What’s in a name?” Shakespeare asked. “What’s in a name? that which we call a rose/By any other name would smell as sweet.” But it does matter. Soldiers will fight wholeheartedly for Operation Just Cause; they may balk at putting their lives on the line for Operation Extensive Collateral Damage or Operation Get People To Hate Us.

A person goes to the art museum, sees something like the above image hanging on the wall, ten feet high and eight wide, and needs a clue. The first place to look for a clue is the title card down and to the right (though the REAL first place to look is the Artist’s Statement, if any). “Moon and Sea.” Ah, that helps. “The Battle Over White Sands.” Okay–got it: visually similar to contrails. “Behold! A Distant Star!” –If this were the title, much would depend on whether the viewer was a fan of Silver Age Marvel Comics in general, and Fantastic Four #37 in particular. If a fan, the image will be enhanced by the memory of the sinister Skrulls softened by the admonishing Anelle. (Alliteration inspired by Stan “The Man” Lee, natch. ‘Nuff said!)

“Tendrils Yearning.” “Tonal Delicacy #937.” “Blue, 1998.” “The Deconstructed Ant.” Give me a day and I’ll give you a thousand titles, and a thousand different experiences. But the two titles at the end of that long list will demand much of you:

“Call It What You Will”

“Untitled”