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save the lama 2019 0218

Here is an “alternate Universe” version of a thing I did just shy of five years ago. It was in pencil and little of the acrostic poem was done. I made a copy of it, did some more peripheral drawing, inked it up, and added the complete (if occulted) poem and spot color.

Here is the poem, hidden lines and all, and acrostic line breakage disregarded for clarity:

Save the Lama for the Drama

Sown, when our flags and hearts are at half-staff
And self-appointed enemies would laugh
O, vested interests give pause. What for
Each involvement spawns esprit de mort
The Tragedies of living make us sigh:
How often pain seduces us to die.
E’en worse: to odd destruction we are led.
Lo: then more pained apocalypse ahead
Or altered consciousness or Disser A
Make head-in-sand-impostures take their aim.
A LOT of Aitch Why Pea Oh Ex Eye A.

Note: Aitch Why Pea Oh Ex Eye A spells Hypoxia, a condition of not enough oxygen delivered to the brain, inducing symptoms of blue-faced hallucinations.

20181206_071133

This was all done under the influence of a severe toothache, but I am happy to say the work was engaging enough to distract away the pain for awhile. Now that the work is done the ache is back in full force; but I earned this toothache, and I own it. –The heck with THAT phony-baloney posturing–I’m going for the Oil of Cloves pronto! 🙂

family & vortex

famine & color TV
anthem & o sole mio
migraines & 4 on the floor
insight & clever retort
lattice & tree felled by axe
yelling & time to relax

Note: I have a dentist’s appointment for 11:30 this morning. Please wish me luck!

carborundum on withered flesh: a long day,
and the latest surprise guest is in the lumbar region,
driving pitons into vertebrae to climb the lower spine.

the wrongnesses have been like the plagues of egypt.
monday was spike-headache day, tuesday the closure of left nostril lane,
wednesday the night of the thousand urinations,
thursday noise sensitivity, friday eyeleak, and now
tiny adventurers are scaling the coccyx and points north.

ah, but it is good to be alive.
ah, but it seems to be less good each day.
ah, but there is always a kiss or a good meal just around the corner . . .

childhood saw its maddening chickenpox, its horrible stomachaches,
its flesh-abrading spills and sprains.
in retrospect, it was old age prep:
this hurts. enjoy that the hurt will fade, since you are young.

the old man enjoys
oases of good and painless feeling,
and he hates whining, especially his own,
but sometimes the carborundum wins a fall.