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Today I had the Blinding Flash of the Obvious that Necklace subdivides into Neck Lace. Lace for the Neck. Hmmmm.

A lot of jewelry is displayed at the same place I display my ceramic wares, the Village Gallery, here in the Village of Oak Creek. I was putting in a four-hour shift last Monday and in a slow spell I sketched one of the necklace displays on the counter. Then in the middle of last night I surrounded it with an invented necklace, and put the double acrostic inside.

I think I finally “get” jewelry, a little. a necklace, or earrings, or waist chain, or anklet, or bracelet is sort of like a witch’s familiar, or talisman, or amulet, what certain English literature scholars call a Numinous Object. It makes a person more what they really are, in a quasi-magical way.

Here are the words to the acrostic inside:

Now Life has its Upside like tasty Felafel
Enjoyment of scents like Tabu and alfalfa
Consider for Ladies good taste unfrenetic
Knit-braided in metal: a lapis vignette

Here are the four words to the “feckless” acrostic:

Fanciful
Eventide
Causes
Kisses

“Feckless” means “unthinking and irresponsible.” Moral: don’t go outside the Neck Lace with this one, Friends!

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This is an example of a List poem. They are easy to write, and I wanted to take it easy today after straining my brain to beat the buzzer yesterday. They are also fun! I certainly had fun with this one, especially with the dastardly villain and the faint-hearted brassiered Bunny.

The words:

Dilettantish feelgood Doc
Echolalic tone-deaf Bach
Faint-heart Bunny in a bra
Eczematic registrar
Coptic cop who worships Ra
Teletabby rat fanatic
Indoor-outdoor carpet addict
Villain Rotten to the Core
ELVIS reft of pompadour

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Robert A. Heinlein wrote a book called THE MOON IS A HARSH MISTRESS and with it brought into the world TANSTAAFL, which stands for “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.” A few years later one of his disciples, Larry Niven, invented Ringworld, and with it the curse word “tanj,” which stands for “There ain’t no justice.” Hitchhiking, or “Hikehitching” as I’ve switcherooed it, doesn’t ever involve a free ride. Hikehitching costs time, dignity, and personal safety. I only did it once, and only because I was desperate to see my then-girlfriend. It was rugged and took forever, just to get from Glendale, Arizona to Tucson.

Here are the words to the acrostic (an explanation will follow):

Honk of Horn–hiroi, neh
Hostel? je te plumerai
Ipse dixit with Yoplait
If a lenser like Belloqc
Kidnaps vista’d lake or loch
Kudos to the eye-rich bloke
Eyeing endless roads, it’s clear
Enter prize eg Tangiers

“Hiroi, neh” is a Japanese phrase meaning, approximately, “That’s harsh, isn’t it?” I learned the phrase from the then-girlfriend I was hikehitching to.

A hostel is a cheap accommodation often used by hikehitchers.

“Je te plumerai” is a French Canadian phrase meaning, approximately, “I will pluck you.” It’s in the unbelievably violent song “Allouette.”

“Ipse dixit” is a Latin phrase meaning, approximately, “The thing speaks for itself.”

Yoplait is a brand name for a soupy yogurt, usually fruit-enhanced.

John Ernest Joseph Bellocq was a pioneering American photographer who took pictures of opium dens in New Orleans’ Chinatown, and prostitutes in New Orleans’ Storyville. He was quite the lid-lifter. The movie PRETTY BABY fictionalizes some of his exploits.

A loch is like a lake but localized. (I sure love building sentences like that.)

Kudos means “praise.” It is singular, but is as badly misusaged as “au jus.”

“Enter prize” is a cheap punnification of “enterprise.”

“Eg” is an abbreviation of “exempli gratia,” a Latin phrase meaning, approximately, “for example.”

Tangiers is an exotic place referred to by Bob Dylan in his song “If You See Her, Say Hello.”

I drew several hikehitchers, iconic, supernatural, conventional, ironically unneeding of transport (eg the passenger in the speeding car), messianic, and hickish (the cowboy in lower left). Not only do all of us, as Dylan has it, “Gotta serve somebody,” but we all want some kind of ride.

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This page contemplates both footware socks and the sock-it-to-me socks. Of the former, there seems to be a guiding principle: An inverse proportion exists between sock desirability and sock durability. The pair that looks and feels fantastic is doomed within days: either they will get an inoperable wound, or one of them will be lost to the Laundry Sock-Eater. The ugly, scratchy, falling-down-your-leg pair of socks will last forever. (I finally threw away a pair that were older than this century, though they were still good for several more years at least.)

This is the first acrostic I’ve posted wherein the title is part of the acrostic. I had to try it to know for sure that I didn’t like it.

Here are the words:

STATIONS of the Darned Satrap

Ozone & the jowls of Opar
Oscillate away below par
Corded-sandaled, Ararat
Couldn’t mash the drama flat
Kewpie DAHLS adore a journal
Knotting naughtiness diurnal
SUMMING as an Ogre summeth:
Socks away: the AXMAN cometh

Provenance notes: Line 1 is a variant on “Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar;” Line 5 has a pun on Kewpie Dolls, originally created by Rose O’Neill as an illustration for the Ladies’ Home Journal, later incarnated in ceramic form, one of which is in the time capsule from the 1939 World’s Fair; Line 8 is a nod to Eugene O’Neill and his “The Iceman Cometh.” To my knowledge Rose and Eugene were not related.

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I confess (or reconfess; my old brain is getting repetitive): I have voyeuristic tendencies. Left to my base desires, I would be a blatant Looky-Lou. Instead, I am a discreet Looky-Lou–certainly more discreet than what you see when you do an image search on Ogling, which I did as part of research for this page.

People like to watch, but people also like to be civilized. It is a tug-of-war.

Here are the words to the double acrostic. NOTE: in my younger days I pronounced it OH-gulled. I now pronounce it AH-gulled.

hooded glances may disturb as much as cast or stye
aspirations and implied intent provide the why
wanton feral human WANTING makes a mind to boggle
knowledge of the Ogle-force demonds that IT be ogled

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The invention of the Post-It has made the creation and curation of Refrigerator Art Galleries a fairly common practice, at least in my crowd. And refrigerator magnets–either the kind that hold paper to the reefer door or the sticky-fronted kind you can adhere your image to–make presentation an ever-movable feast.

Last June I co-featured at Caffeine Corridor, and gave gift bags that contained one refrigerator magnet each, and each unique. Here is the all-at-once:

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Justification of time & expense
Eerily jars jurisprudence/defense
Whispered eternity “Put on the dog
Enigma’d existence is radiant FOG
Leave E.L.E.G.A.N.T.L.Y”–with disciples agog

This jewel is under construction.

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Here there is not the usual poetry, but rather a celebration of tonality in graphite. It is also celebrates that the original Ampersand design hippogriffed the e-t-c of Etcetera.

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Lynda Barry is a hyperaware, grit-dealing, truth-wielding patron saint of misfits. I have been an adoring fan of hers for over 15 years. (So have Tom Robbins and Matt Groening.) I hope to fill the right side of this work in progress with a poem worthy of her, but that must wait until I finish CRUDDY, her illustrated novel. I started the book when my daughter was eleven or twelve; she’s 23 now. The book slipped through my fingers, back to its owner, Marty K, way back then; he has reloaned it to me. Stay tuned for completion, followed by completion.