
Gift/Life
Gravitation/wherewithal
Intuition/wisefolk III
Free expression/Goofy Golf
THAT’S what Spirit/means to me

Gift/Life
Gravitation/wherewithal
Intuition/wisefolk III
Free expression/Goofy Golf
THAT’S what Spirit/means to me

Bête Fete
Bent the Dreams that Stuff’s made of
Être Catherine Deneuve
Topicality made treat
Enter Prizes tout de suite
Mercies/Heavens
Morrie hadda get a trach
Eleanor a Bellyache
Roger took a cuppa Tea
Clementine eschewed TV
Ivan doesn’t want to see
Evangelicals unseen
Send us all beyond our means
And Jacques Prevert in the poem “Chanson” (“Song”) said both “We love and we live” and “And we do not know what is life/And we do not know what is love.” Actually he said both <<Nous nous aimons et nous vivons>> and <<Et nous ne savons pas ce que c’est que la vie/Et nous ne savons pas ce que c’est que l’amour.>> The English version of his quotation is my memory of how I translated it back in 1974 in a second-year French class conducted by Gene Eastin at Glendale Community College. I was a different person then, but my fondness for Prevert’s “Chanson,” which I have just reread, remains.

wet is life is tears says pierrot
and you drink n Ford n wade n go
tasty one day brackish next–who knew
each a cosmos-splash on peak or shoe
raindrop dew or flowing sewer

First to demystify the title: decompressed, it is “You want to know what is REALLY going on? Are you SURE?” And a good look at the image reveals the title as well.
Would any of us want to know, on a level approaching omniscience, the nature of Reality? Scientists seem to strive for clues and answers along those lines. But it would take a fearless person indeed to cast aside presuppositions and wishes that things be a certain way, in exchange for unwished-for glimpses of Truth.
This is relevant to me now because, in my country at least, mythmaking propaganda is on the rise. It is not confined to a political party or a religious or nonreligious belief. Algorithms seek and find an individual’s way of thinking, and the exploiters who designed–or purchased–the algorithms then capitalize on that knowledge. In my own case, my internet feed sends me unasked-for “Art events in your area” information, and links to liberally-biased news items abound. The phrase “echo-chamber effect” describes this phenomenon well.
It is insidious and is dividing us. Since it also unites us into special-interest tribes, it is also well-nigh irresistible. So when I think of the questions I have posed, I get these answers:
Do I REALLY want to know what’s going on? Only when my thirst for true knowledge is greater than my fear of being uncomfortable, or horrified, or devastated, or suicidal.
Am I SURE? Paradoxically, I am more and more sure that it is dangerously self-destructive to be sure about almost anything. It is important, though, to choose basic precepts upon which to behave and act. So:
Harmlessness is a virtue. Hatred of fellow beings is poisonous. The most valuable currency is Quality of Life. The most valuable consideration is the use of one’s time while alive.
A few corrolaries to these basics are:
Black lives matter. Love of living creatures compels Goodness and Mercy. Every precious moment is an opportunity. Self-awareness is vital to self-improvement.
Peace be unto you, my friends.

I have not played chess for a long time. At my best I wasn’t very good. But Chess is great subject matter, 2D or 3D. When I was heavily into ceramic sculpture I made several chess pieces with human heads and sometimes limbs; and I made at least two chess sets. I’ve wanted for a long time to draw or paint all the moves of a chess match in comic-book panel continuity, warping the board and pieces with each move to show the drama that was going on. But that is a MAJOR project and will have to wait.
Life and Chess overlap in the realms of Conflict, Positioning, Caste, and Planning. With chess AI proving sufficiently good to defeat chess grandmasters, it has become apparent that the ability to exhaustively review all possible moves “checkmates” ingenuity and intuition. Perhaps we will be humbled enough to move on to endeavors that are not combative. Therein lies Peace On Earth, my friends.
Life & Chess
Loose astringents may be styptic
Tight dual portraits form a diptych
Friend turned foe may grip may seize
Even with bewobbled knees
& find looseness holds the keys
Notice the mistake I made in line 2. I forgot the second letter was an I, and looking at it thought it was an T, the base of the L doing double-duty as a crossbar. It’s an easy fix–change “Tight” to “Inked” and it even makes more sense, although we lose the dichotomy from line 1’s “Loose”–but let’s let it be. It’s Human.
Seriously!

I haven’t decided whether to disclose the reasons I am leaving, or save them for a novel. Stay tuned!
fixative
there’s this stuff
most art supply stores have it in aerosol but some have it in liquid
(for that you need a mouth atomizer)
(sounds science fictiony!)
the stuff is called fixative
its purpose is to preserve and smudge-proof artwork while still permitting additional progress
thus “fix” in this sense is to fix in place
and not to repair nor to (chiefly Brit.) set an appointment time
nanotechnology and pattern-recognition software may some day permit a more magical fixative
that would, in a manner analogous to auto-tune,
alter a drawing to eliminate mistakes of proportion or perspective
i certainly could use some of that now!
my latest drawings suffer from the lackadaisicality that comes with being knocked off-plumb lifewise
(and so this text is unaccompanied by an illustration)
better yet, give me some life-fixative
i shall spray it on my soul and be nobler, kinder and more interesting
or give me nothing and tell me to stop whining
like the irredeemably white-privilege fix-wanter that i am,
and that i ought to ACT AS IF my soul had been thus sprayed;
in short, to man up
hey, thanks for listening!
i feel more fixed already.
Today is my 61st birthday.
The title of this post is also the title of a picture Billy Crystal made about the 1961 major-league baseball season and Roger Maris’s 61 home runs, which broke the record set by Babe Ruth by exactly one. Maris hit it on the last day of a 162-game season, whereas Babe Ruth managed his 60 in 154 games. Similarly, here I am, still alive and well after 61 years, but with some shame and much loss.
Yesterday I got an early birthday present from my daughter, this framed 2003 photograph of me and my best friend, Bill:
Life changes us. About six years after this picture was taken, Bill took ill with his final illness. Two years later my marriage ended. And this year I lost both a Sweetheart and the community we lived in when I moved back to Phoenix. But on the positive side, the double chin I sport in the above photograph has been greatly reduced. I also have real Joy in my life–my steady and sparkle-eyed girlfriend, Joy Riner Taylor.
And: two days ago my ex-wife offered me a glass of wine, which I gratefully accepted. And: more than five dozen people have Happy Birthdayed me on Facebook, and the day isn’t even half over. And: my former sweetheart texted me with the hope that my wishes come true.
And: five minutes ago I spoke to Tom Sing, best man at my wedding and one of my oldest friends. He and I have overlapping philosophies, and like minds, and hearing from him made my day.
This afternoon there will be a karaoke event on the occasion of my birthday, and it will no doubt provide fodder for my next blog post. Till then, Friends, may you enjoy your own Great Human Adventure.
time never runs out
at worst it runs down
and that not in our lives
life is running out into the rain
it’s cold turning to steam in two hot hearts
it’s connected by hands and driven by feet
careening down a getting-slippery winding ribbony road
life is running out of money and turning to long walks
and then losing the weight that had hung on grimly for years
life is wrung out at the end of an exhausting day
life comes back to the raddled form with nourishment and touch
life is like the tide that changed its purpose
life is sometimes no more than an inside tap on an eggshell
but life is running out
life is on the wane
but this–this thusfar–will always have happened:
all these joyful awarenesses,
all these i-see-you-how-nices…
and that must matter
and every tomorrow is another happenchance
we might be recklessly righteously courageous
we may be timid and await a better other chance
we might savor a favorite might shun the undone
if you got this far
life has not run out
i tell you the instant you read this
congratulations
i see you
how
n
i
c
e
the hatched egg
does the hatched egg
exist?
once
it was all egg.
then
its confines harbored
a being
that in days
instructed by genes
used its new beak
to escape.
so
is
a hatched egg
an egg?
part of it
walked away as if on stilts.
the rest of it
is dried albumen
and calcium deposit.
shell,
not egg, plus
chicken,
not egg.
remnants
of egg
and a living,
fuzzy
miracle.
but there is
in the miraculous human mind
such a thing as a hatched egg.
the hatched egg is Renewal.
the hatched egg is The Resurrection
and The Life.
we fuzzy chicks,
recently renewed
and sticky with the amniotic drippings
of what harbored us,
stilt our new way out
and into the world.
sometimes we save our shells
in our scrapbooks.