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Still Life with Choppers, Burrito, and Salsa Bowl

Attention K-Mart Shoppers¹

The Blue-Light Special², Choppers,

Is Aisle Five–and Neat-O³

We throw in a Burrito⁴

With bowl of Salsa Rojo⁵

Très chic⁶, Tré Cool⁷, très Boho⁸

A feast of contrariety

In Southwest High Society⁹.

..

¹ Kmart was a supermarket chain popular in the 20th Century. It still has an online presence but aside from Miami and Guam the brick&mortar empire it once was is gone.

² The Blue Light Special was a Kmart flash sale that lasted as long as a rotating blue light shone and twirled.

³ When I was ten in 1964 “Neat-O” meant fun, groovy,desirable. Its etymology might owe something to the Beatnik era.–“Daddy-O” for instance.

⁴ A Burrito is a tortilla encasing anything from beans and cheese to chile-marinated meat. Spanish for “little donkey.”

⁵ The two major salsas are salsa rojo (red) and salsa verde (green).

⁶ French for “quite fashionable.”

⁷ Nom de guerre of Frank Edwin Wright III of Green Day fame.

⁸ Short for Bohemian, loosely meaning “unconventional.”

⁹ Needed a phrase to rhyme with Contrariety.

..

Endnote: the “Choppers” in the photo are a 3D-printed cast of my upper and lower left back teeth, made to enable casting of a molar crown in the upper.An oblong scanning device was manipulated around that sector of my mouth by a dental tech.

[photo by the late, beloved Karen Wilkinson]
smallmouth grunts 101412 - Copy

vitals

born 22,147 days ago
not dead yet

no fire in the belly right now but some rumblings

there was a writers conference at phoenix college yesterday
jana bommersbach read from her book about a woman unjustly lynched
beth kendrick described an exchange with her editor that led to rewriting; “the jell-o had set”
(personal: crystal gkill may be the subject of an acrostically poetic page)

five miles of walking in the warm afternoon led to a pre-sick feverishness
muscle spasming after bedtime led to a bad night’s sleep

hope has been a slowly rising variable for the last three weeks
(some wonderful spikes; some awful troughs)

judging from pre-campaign-trail shenanigans the country will continue to be run by baboons

…ellipsis…

life is good and wretched and huggable and golden and sewagey and puzzling and careworn and unblessedly existential

Here’s a “digital remaster” of some trick photography I did a few years ago, of my younger brother Brian and me in the 20th and 21st centuries.

briangary

Since this picture was made Brian has put on a few pounds, and I put on a lot of pounds and then lost a few. We’re both a little grayer, and a lot groanier when we get in and out of chairs. We get along great and we love our Mom but we wish she’d dial it down a little. And we love each other.

The term “sweat equity” is used to describe a homeowner’s labor applied to the improvement of the home owned. The hope is that all that elbow grease increases the home’s value.

Our bodies are the homes of our souls. When we go to the street or the gym or the trails and sweat up a storm, the hope is that all that racing heartrate and laboring lungs will increase the value of our dwellings of flesh.

My fitness has been up and down this year. My latest bloodwork indicates that my non-diabetic status is hanging by a thread, my “bad” cholesterol is rotten to the core, and my triglycerides are getting too big for their britches. Consequently I’m trying to be good again. So far I’ve gone to the gym every day in November. After today’s workout I took a phone-camera picture of my soaked T-Shirt, and combined it with text, tweaked it some in MS Paint, and here’s what I got:

sweaty equity 111014

Friends, I’ve backslid before. I’m sure many of you have been there as well. Let’s keep our yo-yos up for good this time!

This beautiful light display was on the ground by the truck Denise and I were getting out of, in the parking lot of the Cottonwood Recreation Center. I would have liked to have drawn this. Instead, it’s a Found Art Object. The concept of Found Art was originated by Marcel Duchamp most of a century ago.  Now I am one of its promulgators, and happy to be so.

hubcaplight 100214

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Today the weather was bright and lightly breezy and good for a rejuvenative, meditative hike. Up Schuerman Mountain Denise and I went in yet a Further Adventure Of Denise And Gary.

Most of the way up I asked Denise to pose, not for a picture I would post, but for a photo source for a drawing I would make and post. Further up she took a photo of me at my request. I post both the drawing and the photo to reveal the vast difference between the one degree of separation from reality of the photo and the two degrees of separation from reality of the drawing. (In my drawing’s defense, the background is a different part of the landscape than the photo.)

 

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this road is quail run
its nearness and parallelitude to mighty mingus mountain is here evinced

the ridge of mingus has been powder-sugared by flurried snow
and is hugged by the fleece of post-precipitative cloud

the cloud once turgid is now a mere bone of its erstwhile self
and i an oaf with a megapixel-challenged phone camera do not do it justice

but it the rainbone insouciantly hugs and floats on
and given a choice i’d take a moment to be it
rather than a practicing oaf

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First let me hasten to say I am not suicidal. The title derives partly from Ben Franklin’s POOR RICHARD’S ALMANACK aphorism that “Nine of ten men are suicides.” And Ben is one of those proverbial People At The Dinner Table that I would have if I could have six of anyone who ever lived over for dinner and conversation. (Other possible candidates are Dorothy Parker, Li Po, Texas Guinan, Rex Stout, Maya Angelou, Sally Rand, Groucho Marx, Nick Drake, Isaac Asimov, Jean Toomer…it’s going to be hard to narrow it down!)

Though I’m not suicidal, I’m not taking reasonable steps to extend my life. Currently I’m about 70 pounds overweight. I don’t smoke or drink or drug or gamble, but I’m a man with a past. So by Ben Franklin’s yardstick, unless I drop a few dozen pounds and some of my less life-enhancing proclivities (recreational sleep deprivation, for instance), I will be one of the nine out of ten.

But I so long to live! But it must be a life whose quality includes full mental faculties and not too much pain!

Last night at Balboa House, a monthly East Valley poetry event hosted by my friends Debra Berman and Joe Montaño, I performed the following poem, which I will submit as fulfillment of the title of this post as my Suicide Note, Draft #817:

the old and the lonesome
November 15, 2013 at 11:59pm

less than fifty years ago people cared what she thought
commented when she changed her hairstyle
speculated excitedly when she made a vague and coy remark
about a fellow thespian of the opposite sex

now she sneaks a cigarette in her room at the independent living home
and waits for a phone call from a son or a friend
as tears slide here and there and sighs abound

she hasn’t changed much on the inside
but people care so much about the outside

slowly she acquires citizenship with this community of castoffs
the old and the lonesome whose dreams were realized but never replenished

one morning she canes her way to the lobby
scans the sign with the changeable type

9:30 TRIVIA TIME
10:00 FITNESS
11:30 LET’S CROCHET
1:00 PET VISIT WITH GILDA & NAT
2:30 VAN TO DOLLAR STORE
3:00 AA MEETING – UPSTIRS GREATROOM

she feels mild contempt for the sign’s update person and his “UPSTIRS”
she feels bereft of meaning
she goes back to her room and looks for the remote

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It’s over a hundred years since le Cubisme made its first appearance, spearheaded by Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque, with perhaps a precursive boost by Paul Cézanne. The movement purported to offer a different way of looking at things, by chopping up the image with different views of its subject. Then came Comic Books, which chopped up the page with different slices of represented life. Now comes the self-aggrandizing Gary W. Bowers, who presents the same subject at slightly different viewpoints and times, thanks to camcorder technology and nifty photo-editing software. (Andy Warhol gave me a precursive boost with his image multiplicities. Thanks and RIP, Andy!) New Cubism lives!