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My grandmother unintentionally stymied and stumped me time after time with the simple question, “What do you know for sure?” She left us in early 1979; if she were here now I would still be stumped, but might glib it off with, “Well, Gran: A long time ago…there was this BIG Explosion…”

Over fifty years ago Robert Heinlein wrote a Russia-critical article entitled “PRAVDA Means TRUTH.” He and his wife Virginia had just returned from the Soviet Union; they happened to be there when American spy pilot Francis Gary Powers (no relation to your humble narrator) was shot down, or otherwise forced down, over Soviet airspace. Heinlein took it upon himself to write an apologia (emphatically NOT an apology; rather, a defense) of the US spy mission Powers was conducting, and of spying as a way of leveling the Cold War playing field. The title of the article was meant ironically; Heinlein scorned the idea of anything remotely approaching truth in (the Soviet newspaper) Pravda.

To his credit, Heinlein later acknowledged that it is hard to find truth anywhere, including Time Magazine. But he’d written his article in the heat of the moment, after what he regarded as shabby and hypocritical mistreatment by the Soviets. (Interested parties may find the article in Heinlein’s Expanded Universe.)

Anyone heard of the Pentagon Papers? Great. Anyone know what was IN the Pentagon Papers? Me neither–but I cheated by looking it up on Wikipedia, which says that the Johnson administration lied to the American public and to Congress about the extent of our involvement in Vietnam and surrounds. Anyone surprised? Anyone surprised that the Pentagon Papers in their entirety–not just the juicy parts Daniel Ellsberg leaked to the New York Times–were not declassified and made available to the public until 2011?

Smithsonian.com has a great article entitled “Nine Historical Archives That Will Spill New Secrets.” Such is the nature of some sealed documents, that some of the information therein might embarrass people still living…

Here are the words:

Uphold the Law–some documents in escrow
Need secrecy to make U.S. securer
Delay, detain, denounce as Apocrypha
Encourage Need-To-Knowers to shut up
REPEAL the 1st Amendment as seditious

–And of course I suggest nothing of the sort.

Historical note: As of this writing a fellow named Snowden is fleeing U.S. jurisdictional space for having spilled some beans in a possibly-indictable way.

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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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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