This page has an image that is mostly text. I debated whether to leave it all text, in the spirit of Corita Kent, peace be unto her, long may she wave, and rest in peace, but at the last moment intuition had me put a short-skirted brush-and-palette-wielding Babe in front of the wall of words.
Here is the cryptically spiritual text:
Sassafras: a sacred tea
Tunes an active outcome: C
Rice: a sacred orchid sac
As we EAT nae NEEDE nor LACKE
TEMPEST and its celebrants
Arts essay as Shepherd shunts
I would like to apologize to Wildebeests both blue and black for the short shrift this page gives them. I started this page some time ago, and then it sat around like a half-eaten sandwich, the bread getting staler by the second; I just wanted to get it done and enjoy a day off with my gloriously goddesslike girlfriend. So the page has good sketchy drawing, but words so crapulous I won’t trouble your attention by transcribing them.
Have a great weekend, wildebeests, and thanks in advance for your forgiveness.
You want Justice in the courtroom? Good luck with that. Usually Justice–or Injustice that does you-the-client more good than Justice would–comes at a price few can afford.
But in the world of make-believe, of For Entertainment Value Only, justice is well served by these two gents. They almost always get the REAL bad guy, or bad gal, to confess in time for the cute wrap-up.
Several of the people I grew up with are lawyers now. One of them went off the rails, costing him his marriage and his health. No further details forthcome; he might sue me.
I know a man who’s argued before the Supreme Court in the mostly-vain hope of keeping his death-row clients from being executed. He does this in spite of the fact that his own father was murdered. (Talk about principles being acid-tested!)
I know a woman who gave up practicing corporate law for the sake of defending the downtrodden. That decision has probably cost her hundreds of thousands of dollars so far, and she’s got at least ten years of career left, if she’s “lucky.” Crazy world, ain’t it?
I also know a fellow art student who went to law school and DID take the corporate track; his estate-planning practice probably nets him more income than any ten of his fellow art classmates, including me. Crazy world, ain’t it? (But he worked, and works, harder than any ten of his fellow art classmates–EXcluding me, this time.)
Here are the Perry Mason acrostic words:
Prosecutors? Smoke ’em if ya got ’em
Exhibit G comes thanks to Paul & Della
Relevance is tested with objections
Recall the witness who’s a real Bozo
You think he’ll walk? Wake up & smell the ōzōn
The Ben Matlock:
Bumpkin in the courtroom
Bet he can’t be beat
Exhibit G creased Tyler’s skull
Entered breaking never dull
Evil mistress, crooked Doc
New NOT GUILTYs are in stock
You see, WTF stands for something else as well…
Here are the words to the acrostic:
Wagon trains of happenstance’ll roll your spliff
WIN the Lottery & die: A lucky stiff
Willful resurrection takes us past Hell’s cliff
Soooo–WTF is Willful Resurrection? Ending a major bad habit and starting a major new habit is one example. If we manage it, we are reborn.
My daughter Kate, bless her born-in-the-90s heart, is polytheistic. She acknowledges the existence of David Bowie and Eric Clapton, and she acknowledges that both are God. So when I started sketching Mr Clapton, I naturally thought of her, and I chose an acrostic I thought she’d like.
Here are the words:
Elect acoustic, they say ‘G
Enter unplugg’d ecstasy–O
Excellence in modal D’
Even-handed normal C
Riffs that Weep & Seep & Wail
Reggaed sheriff rockful Layla
It’s a slow hand yet with pep
Indicates a Badge is kept
Cream, Blind Faith & Domino
Calypsodic Wisdom’s sown
Alas, as the gender-biased Bible has it, Man born of woman is born to trouble, as surely as the sparks fly upward. And humans are born with an acquisitive urge. See a penny, pick it up, and all the day you’ll have good luck. But a Birdie? We want to pick it up, to take it away from its harmony and minding-its-own-business life, to HAVE it, because we are predatory and foolish.
Here are the words to the acrostic:
Blimey ‘n’ sis boom Ah
It pays to be snatchy–tra la
Raddled, the Budgie’s o’erdrawn
Do let’s consider what’s SPAWN’D
I grew up in Glendale, Arizona. During my entire childhood I only went to church, any church, about a dozen times. Yet the Southwestern American ambiance filled my head with certain Christian-based religious notions, including that of angels and devils. I regret not being a sufficient world citizen to be as familiar with other beliefs. I’d love to be able to do an equivalent of the above page with, say, ringing-true Hindu archetypes, for instance. We’re all stuck with our upbringings, even if we renounce the ideas behind them.
In the illustration accompanying the poem, Mister Devil is poking at Mister Angel with his trident and tauntingly asking, “Who’s your DADDY?” Mister Angel replies, “Well, I’ll be Damned–YOU are.” My notion is that Lucifer, eons ago, sowed some wild ectoplasm; further, celestial beings can access all their eons-long memory perfectly, but there may be a bit of lag time. So Mister Angel cast his memory back to when he was an angel-pup and found that the Devil himself had sired him.
If you think that’s far-fetched, it’s not even close to the weirdest of the “facts” about angels and devils. Just ask Jacob, first member of the WWF–or was it his opponent?
Here are the words:
BAD-MOUTHING is Alive–indeed a
Euphemism NEEDS a feeder
DRAINAGE dries a cul-de-sac
Emptiness lacks Bacharach
Visiting the pic’d Corrida
Ink and haemoglobin lead-in
Leave your heart at home if bleeding
Emphasis beyond the pale
Douses HOPE; delivers NAIL
On the first of June I sat looking for the last time out the garage door of a place I and my girlfriend had lived for the better part of a year (she for the better part of two). I started this page there. I finished it just now, June 13th, 2013–so under my signature I effaced the “1” of “1 June 2013” so that it is now “June 2013.”
There is a poignance to moving away from a nice place. It is gently heartbreaking.
Here’s the words:
Wise folk: always packing, says the guru who says Om
Evangelics: benedictively will pray-to-go
Sometimes: matters clarify with change of P.O.V
Optimist: Excelsior! The Realist: we’ll see
What does Disaffected mean? Resentful of authority. Rebellious.
What does disaffectedness have to do with these three pages? It’s subtle. Chairs can be tyrannical, yet if they’re “perfectly good” we balk at spending money for a new one. The sketch of indigenous lifeforms came to be when my supervisor at work suggested I design a mural for the dining room, based on the local flora and fauna; I’m flexing compositional wings to produce good reporting of such while at the same time using inset spots and some text to make it not just any mural, but mine. As for the t.e.n.m.i.n.u.t.e.p.ag.e, I’m rebelling against my own compulsivity–I wanted to get the page done quickly and get on with my life. (It took more than twenty minutes to do the ten minute page, though. Irony writeoff, anyone?)
CHAIR TAKER words, correcting two spelling quirks:
Cushioned comfort is a much-sought treat
Heaven-set as crackers & Velveeta
Appetizing as a charry steak
Itch-reducing as a backscratch rake
Relaxation & recumbance near
Renovate your cubicled career
And here is the other set of words:
the art critic’s cosmic untruth doth drip
then random tenebration makes him mutter & flip
his trouble: being Heinlein’s Jonathan Hoag
enduring mortal manhood when forever is in vogue
One with Clay, Image and Text 