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This morning I retrieved an unused sketchpad from upstairs and began a new page. There were three different-sized things on the dining room table and I used them to make three circles on the page. I sketched face in the uppermost circle intending to draw a world-weary author, female; it evolved into what looks like a slightly feminized version of Roy Thomas of comic-book legend.

At this writing I’ve surrounded the circles with three acrostic poem spines, “Morning Borning,” “Toe Tag” and “Customer Feedback.” Some dark grittiness seems to flavor the draft of “Toe Tag.” (I’ve just finished the ultraviolent and remarkable Cruddy by Lynda Barry, and just watched the quite-violent In a Lonely Place starring Humphrey Bogart. Cruddy paints a gritty, dark picture of a young person’s dysfunctional life; In a Lonely Place paints a gritty, dark picture of a talented, sought-after writer with a maniacal temper. Both were well worth experiencing but at intervals flat-out unenjoyable.)

I will probably try to finish this page as soon as I can and then move on to a new one, more simple, less busy, less dark.

cookie subverses

the cookie is not sentient

the cookie is inanimate

all it took was ingredients mixed

with expedience

sheeted and baked in the oven of what

     but we say that the cookie is good

     and we think it in some way benign

..

and the cookie sheet cools on the counter

and the fat man renounces his diet

seduced by aroma he

verges on coma

his ethos devolved to a riot

     his fate is no question

     entwined with digestion

Image found via search on “Nebula”

naught need caught freed lot

we were nothingness and then we coalesced

from nova to planetesimal to moms and dads to us

..

then we had need after need

air water nutrition shelter love purpose

..

we were shanghaied into school systems

some thrived in captivity some were warped

..

we were freed when we were graduated

or let slip

..

now we do not tempt fate for fate is indifferent

but we wonder what place we hold

and what will happen

and how long we have

..

My endeavors as a pencil artist have been fraught with stutterstep start-stopping. It is only when I get stubborn that, rusty and arthritic as I am, I put in enough time on a single drawing to get beyond the teeth-clenching frustration and into some true joy, building tones and feeling the image stir with life.

This drawing was only supposed to take a day or so, but I kept hesitantly scratching at it, almost throwing it away a couple of times. Now the graphite is finally beginning to cooperate, and the path to completion has clarified. Three or four more hours ought to do it, maybe, depending how the erasure phase goes.

Glad to be back yet again. Here’s hoping the next few days see a new, different drawing well started.

Image courtesy of WordPress Free Photo Library

absolutism absolution

there is a central limit

and eke a second law

and if your headlights dim it

may not be due to flaw

..

the circle has no endpoint

the oval has no teen

the hyoid has no bent joint

some pintos never bean

..

some mountains are not rooted

some fountains come from pens

some woodwinds are not fluted

and ifless elses thens

perambulate in limbo

and percolate unbidden

a truth is falsehood’s shim though

and most fine sites are hidden

Oaths

I pledge my effort to this day;/May zero lassitide dismay.

I affirm that I will do my utmost to seek truth for the rest of my life.

There are sources of joy beyond impulse satisfaction, and I will value the former more than the latter.

Every person is distinctly different from me, and I will do what I can to respect that difference.

I swear with all my heart I am not done.

I’ll Tell You the Truth About Love

(A response to W. H. Auden’s “O Tell Me the Truth About Love”)

A poet named Dubya Aitch Auden

Once asked for the Truth about Love,

Untarnished, unsoiled, unsodden?

We hope and pray heaven above.

I think of a Hepburn named Audrey,

And then of another named Kate,

Who prove that Truth needn’t be tawdry,

And that Love is both wild and sedate.

..

So I say, late lamented friend Dubya,

That the Truth about Love is elusive.

Sometimes Love may seduce and then club ya

Sometimes Truth is not gladness-conducive.

But the Truth about Love is it’s needed,

And can beckon and cure the uncouth,

And the Truth is it’s lovely when heeded,

And is much that I Love about Truth.