A paper from my class

From the desk of Elizabeth Cady Stanton: A letter never sent.


To the Honorable Frederick Douglas -

I am honored and pleased, dear sir, to have made your acquaintance this past July 20th and to have heard you speak enobling words of support at our convention for the rights of women in Seneca Falls, New York. I thank you for your eloquence and encouragement in our ongoing struggle to be equal participants in the elective franchise.

Too long have the voices of women been silenced in matters that require the strength of numbers, be those matters about the ownership of property, profitable employment, the pursuit of education and intellectual nourishment, or the struggle each of us makes for confidence in our own power, self-respect, and willingness to lead a life of independence.

My steadfast husband Henry and dear friend Lucretia Mott (her husband James you remember of course presided over the second day of the convention) had faith in all of the resolutions I proposed, save that most important one regarding the right to vote. They believed that that motion went beyond the boundaries of prudence. And until your response, ‘right is of no sex,’ I believed that we may have faltered in our cause. But your response helped sway the convention to pass this resolution. As a fellow reformer and courageous soldier in the cause of abolition, you are all too aware that our disenfranchisement can only begin to be undone when our voices are heard and accounted for in the vote. Your voice, heard and accounted for this July 20th, helped to persuade the Seneca Falls convention to pass all of the resolutions found in the Declaration of Sentiments. It is our mutual hope, our shared dream, that every man and woman of every race and creed shall one day soon be heard and accounted for in the assemblies of men. In echoing the righteous words of our Declaration writer Thomas Jefferson and living heroes like your self, Mr. Douglas, the voices of many fortify as one. Though we may hope to see the results of change and reform before the end of our mortal lives, we can be proud to walk the narrow path of freedom, making broad the way for others to follow. Too long have the voices been silent in matters that require the strength of numbers. Too long have the voices been silent.

With sincere admiration and gratitude,

Elizabeth Cady Stanton

I saw this article in the Rolling Stone while flying out to Seattle last week, and then again on D. Joseph's page. A good article, all about being a Marine in Iraq.

Yeah, initally I stood (and marched) in opposition to the war in Iraq, mostly because I wasn't effectively convinced by the WMD story, because there are other motivations at work that we are not publicly aware of, because of my concern for our troops, and because the occupation after-bits are a soggy seat we must sit in on the blustery ride home. I still maintain a respect for different cultures, and for our troops, but I have been convinced that Saddam, as Matt Stone and Trey Whoz-his-face say, is more evil than Satan.

Up until Friday, I had a theoretical / academic / network-television-Tom-Brokaw-watching distance from this whole Iraq thing. Then it became much more personal for me. Friday night after the Sondre Lerche / Ed Harcourt show at the Club Cafe (it was good), I geeked out and played my own songs on the street. After about an hour of playing, three old friends of mine from grade school and high school happened by and insisted on dragging me off to Mario's for some beer. Jon lives up the street from me, but the last time I saw my buddy Mark, a Marine veteran from Afghanistan and Iraq, was maybe five years ago. It's probably been even longer since I saw Matt, who's in the Coast Guard. And as the night went on and we had fun, the reality of what has and could've happened occurred to me. Matt, patrolling the coastline, was probably not in so much jeopardy as Mark, but somewhere in there, in the landscape of terror and fear propagated by the mass media, was a real war that my buddies were part of. Now they are back, obviously changed, but seemingly none the worse for wear. That really put a lot of the stupid stuff in my own life that I've been tangling with into sharper perspective. Thanks fellas, for the wake up call, for hanging out, for the beers and thanks especially for your service to our country.

Hey Kids !!!

Have any plans for next Saturday (6/28/03)? Looking for a fun night with lots of entertainment? Come to the Millvale VFW to see Me and Marty (billed as Louie and the Humans, even though we don't have any Madge-esty) play a set of original tunes and other good stuff! Follow this link for the address and a link with directions:

http://www.jambase.com/search.asp?venueID=25454

5 bands, only 3 bucks! This is a benefit for the VFW itself. Lineup is: Nebulous, 4SP, 2Rock2, Louie and the Humans, and Big Brother In Law. The show starts at 6 PM and we should be going on 7:00 PM. I think we go on either right before or right after 4SP. So it looks like you should get there like around 7:00 - PM to be sure to see us.

Come check us out, you know you want to!!!

Josh has a link for this rag, which, funny enough, Kurt introduced me to while visiting in Seattle. Kookiest part? Seeing in print some random 'found' stuff that I remember seeing tacked up on a restroom wall here in Pittsburgh. Yeah, kooky.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh . . . I have returned from my much needed vacation!!!

Seattle was beautiful, and it was great to see Kurt. I had pretty good flights out and back, but I am not an early morning airport person. Especially with security stuff (sigh). Anyways, I had a good trip, got to see Emma Rose and Shawn Kirk as well. They both (and Kurt too) send their love to the Pittsburgh folks.

I had some good Italian food, tried some Ethiopian food for the first time, injera is a strange kinda bread. Sorta like pita/pancake/with-some-kinda-tart-flavor, but believe me it was good food. They give you a platter with all of your food on it, and the injera is like your dish and utensil. Pretty cool new dining experience for me.

I got to see a good bit of the city and University district, but I think my favorite part of the whole trip was hiking in the mountains outside of the city. Talk about nature's majesty! And it was kinda cool to walk on deep snow in June. Kooky!

It was cool to see Kurt and a few of his friends to play out at the Pioneer Square Saloon as well.

I was just a little cranky today to start with, as I think I'm long overdue to get out of town. That's THursday and I can't wait. But anyways here's what pissed me off today:

I finish one batch of journal work, go get some new ones. Figuring I'll get lunch while I'm out, I set my journals down, sit under a tree and eat. I'm minding my own business, figuring that a sunny lunch under a tree will lighten me up a bit. And as I'm finishing, I'm ignoring basically everybody (maybe that's the problem, ignoring folks?) and daydreaming. So these three turd-burglars walk right by a coupla feet away and one of 'em says, "What a great day to find someone having lunch under a tree with their books and kick their ass." Ok, so I ignore them and they walk on by, but what the FUCK? where do people get off? all I can say is those three turd-burglars are punks. And punks are bitches. AHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrggggggh . . . .

An excellent weekend:

Friday: send-off dinner at Cafe du Jour on the 1200 block of Carson St. for Carolyn Madden, she's working in Australia now. Then some busking. Want a little outdoorsy patio dining place that's casual, intimate, reasonably inexpensive? Cafe du Jour . . . just one note: it's BYOB.
Saturday: a little gardening, planted some tomatoes my sister gave me, some peppers, some squash, some lemon balm and sage.. the flatleaf parsely my roommate mike planted appears to have come back. amazing. Then Dan Brown and his wife Erin treated me to the beer taster thing at Penn Brewery, it was awesome, thanks guys. Afters, we went for drinks at a coupla bars and then got breakfast.
Sunday: Kennywood Park with Tony and Kathy, courtesy of Roseanne. I hadn't been in three years, so it was way fun to go rollercoastering again. Thanks RO!

It's become apparent that my concert-going is following a certain trend: I go to see the openers more than the featured band.

Case example: last night I went to the Blue Rodeo show at the Rosebud. But I'm infinitiely unfamiliar *before last night* with Blue Rodeo. I'd only heard of them. To be expected, they have an alt country/rock-country sorta sound. They're front man/lead singer is a shot of Dave Burke whiskey, dropped in a pint of Donnie Osmond Lager served up in a frosted beer mug (does frosted beer mug adequately describe Canadian Country/Rock?). But anyways . . . I did hear of Sarah Slean, the opener for Blue Rodeo. In fact she's one of my favorite female vocalists. She's got a beautiful, sweet, sounding voice. Maybe a bit of the Edith Piaf? I dunno ... some kind of classic voice that is beautiful, sweet and so sad sounding sometimes but always witha ring of the old soul. I think Edith Piaf had the old soul sound. I would thoroughly enjoy hearing Sarah and Rufus Wainright doing some kinda duet, on some kinda old Depression Era sounding songs ... oh yeah, they're both Canadian so who knows? It could happen. Anyways, as I understand, Blue Rodeo, who does some cool songs (Railroad is a great one), is a well established band in Toronto. They tend to pick up an artist who is up-and-coming and then let 'em air out and sun on the line. This apparently is what they're doing with Sarah Slean. I like her crazy chord changes and time signatures, too. Definitely into the more complex music structures sometimes. And she must be doing something right, cuz I heard her stuff before Blue Rodeo.

All this talk makes me think about the days of peeling 2-ply paper, settling bags of potato chips and setting the elevator buttons crooked . . . ahh, good times!

Here's another story about a Picasso piece from the NYTimes. It reads like an art history novella or something, but it happened just this week in NYC.

Sarah Lentz did a great job Friday night at the Club Cafe. keep up the good work, Sarah!!!

Tim Colbert's piece in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette about visiting Seattle to see Todd Kriedler directing August Wilson's "How I Learned What I Learned."

I saw the movie Wrong Turn with Marty last night. I don't recommend it to anybody. Especially for those of you who go climbing in WV and stuff.
Marty and I (and the rest of the theater) were thouroughly grossed out. I thought it was gonna be the tight-sweater-girls-in-the-woods slasher movie, and it kinda was cuz there were some cute chicks in the movie ... but it was far, far, far grosser. DeepWoods, WV, Inbred, orc-looking, cannibals lay traps for basically any and everybody. Gave me the serious heebie-jeebies ... I don't recommend it. Only movie I've seen where the whole theater got up to leave before the end.

On the positive tip, Ro gave me a free pass to go see it. Thanks Ro!

O

My friend Sarah Lentz is in from NYC to play a show at Club Cafe tomorrow night. Sarah rocks out on the piano, and has a full band with her. Here's the email with the details:

Hey friends,
So I am set to play Club Cafe with my band tomorrow! (Friday). There have been some discrepancies on time and price, but the dealio is this:
Club Cafe, 56-58 South 12th Street
Friday, May 30th (tomorrow!)
doors at 9:30 pm and show start at 10 pm (but might be doors at 10 and show at 10:30)
Cover $5 (but may be $7)
412-431-4950
www.clubcafelive.com
I think the Tribune Review has a blurb about me in it today. Check it out, and someone save me a copy!
If things do get started a little later I'm sorry! We have to quickly load in right after their early show.
I hope to see all of you there. This is a big first for me playing in my hometown with a back up band. It reminds me of my college senior recital..... ;)

***************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
I went to see Matrix Reloaded last night with T Carra, and without giving any details away, I can say there's a cliffhanger ... oh yeah and Carrie-Ann Moss (who's a Canuck, who knew?) is still way hot.

hey, check this out: It's totally the kinda funny shit you want to read everyday.
Some fav's? Check in on Your Roommate Day, Car Wash Girlfriend Day, and Save Somebody's Life Day, and who could forget Don’t Put Your Kitten Into A Cardboard Box And Toss The Box Out The Window Of Your Moving Car And Onto The Grassy Median Of A Highway Day!

A Man of Strong Convictions and Talent

An interesting article in the NYTimes about Pablo Picasso, and how the pre-WWII French gave him the shaft. It explains when asked why he never became a French citizen, how Picasso came to say, "I am a Spaniard, and will die a Spaniard." So why stay in France? Politics, for one, a strong belief that Franco sucked and the pre-Franco Spanish govt' sucked, Picasso didn't want to align himself with anyone sympathetic to Hitler.

I'm learning that playing music for an audience is much more than just singing some song lyrics and playing some chords. I mean, yeah, you can do that (and who hasn't done that?) but there is something else that goes into good music. It's ethereal, intangible, perhaps even ineffable, but no it's not inaccessible.

It's definitley related to the Great Unspoken. It remains to be seen how that fits with Cracking the Cosmic Egg.

"A lot of the time I feel kind of limited vocally. I can hear it in my head, but I can't pull it off. I'm restricted because of my range. I just don't have that kind of voice, that kind of range -- you know, like even Emmy has, or like Joni Mitchell. When I first started out those were the voices I wanted to sound like. Eventually, though, you have to come to terms with your limitations, which, in turn, become your trademark." - Lucinda Williams, as she told the Journal of Country Music

So here's a couple minutes worth of cool photos to peep.

Ok, so this is the cool/wierd/thrilling/distinctive thing about the web and especially the blogoshpere: I see a blog name, click on it. links to another, click and BLAMMO you've suddenly found a photo series of one of the most beautiful girls in the world ... as best I can tell, she' s Brazilian.

New York Times has a bit on a girl rap trio and their song Cameltoe

My favorite bit: { Listeners agreed, Star said, but many had one question: "What's a cameltoe?"

A good question, although answering it requires a certain tact. Cameltoe is slang for a fashion faux pas caused by women wearing snug pants; the term suggests a visual analogy. The song is a cautionary tale, intended to help victims — help them, that is, by ridiculing them — into recovery.

The song's lyrics explain the condition more forthrightly: "Girl, that gotta hurt, take some time and adjust/ Can't you see people staring and making a fuss?" }

From Exit Stage Left, This is comforting, like receiving the postcard in the mail that you have to go see the dentist soon:

The Total Information Awareness program now under development by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, or DARPA, will henceforth be named the Terrorism Information Awareness program.

It's not supposed to be used for certain purposes, like dossiers on US citizens, but how long until it does become that? I have as much faith in that as I do in the temporary taxes that come into effect.

From The Ground Zero Folks, RE: PATransit and our pal Ed Rendell:
If you haven't voted yet today, please do...

And the UltraViolet Loop advisory board asks that you please be aware
of tomorrow's important hearing regarding Port Authority transit
decisions.
Thanks to the Save Our Transit crew for the following info...

ATTENTION BUS, TROLLEY& ACCESS RIDERS!
It is time once again for the annual public hearing to pick your
favorite way to:
KILL OUR PUBLIC TRANSIT!

In order to balance their operating budget the Port Authority wants to:
Eliminate all Sunday service, Eliminate all Holiday Service, Reduce
Saturday service to Sunday levels, Eliminate all service after 9PM,
Eliminate entire routes, increase headways for other routes and of
course increase the base fare to $2.00.

On Wednesday, May 21 between the hours of Noon and 8 PM, we get to go
once again to the Convention Center, downtown and tell the Port
Authority just what routes and services we want them to cut for us this
year. Oh yes we also get to give our opinion about the third fare hike
in three years. Isn't this FUN? Too bad that after just a few more
years there won't be anything left to cut.

Actually, it ain't fun. THIS STINKS and if you hate it as much as we do
then go tell 'em so on May 21.

It is Governor Rendell who cut funding for public transit operations
this year back to what it was in 1994. Many in the State General
Assembly then voted for the Governor's public transit cuts. They are
responsible for this! They need to hear from us. We have till June 30.

Contact Gov. Ed Rendell at 225 Main Capitol Bldg., Harrisburg PA 17120
Call 717-787-2500, 412-565-571 or 1-800-932-0784

Call Stephen at 412-361-3022 to find out who your state representative
is.

SAVE OUR TRANSIT
No More Service Cuts! No More Fare Hikes!

A very good weekend overall.

Friday I met Caroline and Co. at the Tonic bar downtown for her Aussie happy hour send-off. Nice little bar, some cute waitstaff and bartender folk. Very cool bar for the young hip crowd. Oh yeah, something was up at the Federal building, which is caddy corner to this Tonic bar. That was a bit wierd, watching the live news broadcast about the Fed Bldg being evacuated because of a bomb scare, and being right across the street from it. Fortunately nothing happened. then I hungout with Jim and Ro and Tim at the Rumshakers.

Saturday was cool. I played guitar for this girl Valentina's afternoon birthday party at the Rex. Then I worked the CD table for Calliope at the Leon Redbone show. Which meant I got to see the show afterwards. Thanks for the hook-up, Jolene and for the hot-tip, Madge!!!

Very sad news, June Carter Cash wife of Johnny Cash died at 73 yesterday.

Did anyone see the eclipse last night? I checked several times and only saw clouds.

There should be a full moon tonight,with the added bonus of a Full Lunar Eclipse (courtesy of Engel/Bannan page ). Let's hope ther is sufficient clear sky for checking it out.

Leon Redbone is in town this Saturday night at the Carnegie, but tix are like $30 and $75 bucks. I'd so love to go see him play again, but the last two shows I saw were $15 and free.

Wassup ma Jiggas?

A word I invented: Noggage: stuff you put into your noggin.

Kooky dreams last night, in three parts:

1: I dreamt about my friend Delia, partly I suppose because I watched Scotland, PA last night with Maura Tierney playing the part of Pat McBeth. The two (Delia and Maura Tierney) remind me of each other, for one I guess because they have that smooth-smokey kinda voice, and they resemble each other. Chris Walken rocks in the movie by the way, and Andy Dick is funny too. Anyways, we sat and talked in my dream, Delia and I, about life stuff while we watched TV. It was good and insightful, as talking with Delia typically is.

2. Then I dreamt about going on a road trip to see a dinner show somewhere in Canada. My Canadian friend was going too, so we carpooled. We got there and were supposed to get all dressed up, but were in our pajamas. Then we got all gussied up and they still gave us pajama seating which is apparently floor seating in a bed. Comfortable but wierd. Imagine going to someplace like Mattress Discounters to see a concert or musical dinner theater in a made bed. So as we're watching this show, it was like a musical theater thing, some guy who is a knife-guru-sort (kinda looks like Stanley Kubrick there on the left with his beard) approaches us and says he is supposed to do a bit in this show. He immediately takes a shine to my friend. Well that's cool she says, but I think she's a little freaked out by the fact that this guy has like a million different knives, and in the middle of this mattress showcase concert space, has decided to give us a special knife-guru sideshow.
We suggest that he wait until he can go on stage so everyone can see his show. They of course never call him up to the stage to perform, so as we're leaving he follows us all the way back home and in the front yard, says now I'll show you my whole show. He opens up several suitcase-looking attaches filled with knives of all sorts, chinese throwing stars and the likes, and starts up this cyclone of swirling shiny metal, like a angry swarm of metallic bees. Then he tells me to stay away from my friend, that he has claimed her for his show, and that he merely needs to nod in my direction and I'll be sliced up like a honey-baked ham. I said, "Whatever, there's consequences for that kinda stuff, buddy..." I pick up a broad sword and a giant iron spear that I find laying there amongst his stuff, and stand my ground. My friend was, needless to say, a bit freaked out by this guy. And like any good dream sequence, sorta like flipping the channels to see what's showing here, the channel flips and shifts to more strangeness...

3. I dreamt about moving into a dorm-style living space in the Brew House. There were mostly college kids and artist types living there who were cool, many of us were more or less forced to move there. And then there were some annoying freakshow people who I spent half of my dreamtime trying to avoid. They were badly dressed clowns, trying to pass themselves off as cool people, but of course they weren't. They rode around on rusty bicycles, dressed like very colorful street punks wearing cheap makeup that was sloppily applied. Just really bad clowns. Oh yeah, and they thought it was funny to try to give people injections with hypodermic needles, so they'd follow you through the stairwells, through windows, up onto rooftops, whereve you'd go, trying to stick you with a needle full of who-knows-what. I woke up as they were pursuing me and I exited a stairwell into daylight.

Word of the Day for Tuesday May 13, 2003 from www.dictionary.com
comity \KOM-uh-tee\, noun:
A state of mutual harmony, friendship, and respect, especially between or among nations or people; civility.

comity of nations, noun:
1. The courteous recognition by one nation of the laws and institutions of another.
2. The group of nations observing international comity.
In Athens last week, E.U. leaders offered a picture of comity as they formally signed accession treaties with 10 new members.
--James Graff, "Can France Put a Cork In It?" Time Europe, April 28, 2003

Despite the image of civil-military comity during World War II, there were many differences between Franklin Roosevelt and his military advisers.
--Mackubin Thomas Owens, "Sniping," National Review, April 2, 2003

Short-term initiatives in 1919 became longer-term strategies for bringing the two pariahs, Germany and Russia, into the comity of nations.
--Kenneth O. Morgan, "Lloyd George and the Lost Peace: from Versailles to Hitler, 1919-1940," English Historical Review, June 2002

Everyone hopes that Saddam Hussein will honour his agreement with Kofi Annan and that Iraq will be received back into the comity of nations.
--Marrack Goulding, "A wider role for the UN," New Statesman, March 13, 1998
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Comity is from Latin comitas, from comis, "courteous."

I am currently enjoying Jen Bannan's book of short fiction stories, Inventing Victor, and the tales therein. Pick up a copy and check it out.

Damien Rice was in town, anybody get to check out his Club Cafe show last night or hear his in-studio bit at WYEP this morning?

"Be good and you will be lonesome." -Mark Twain

I dropped my lunch
I fell down the stairs
I got a hunch
Somebody cares

I know what I want
I know that I shouldn't
Cuz you have a heart
Even if I didn't

Continuing Education:

Indeed there is still some semblance of order inthe world. It goes like this: the very attractive blonde chick who occasionally appeared in the halls of my building, who more and more recently has been seen dressed to the 9's (imagine a remarkably hot chick on a weekend night) on any given day of the week, who as far as i knew was happily married, had got a divorce. it begins to make sense. see, i don't really know and never spoke to this girl, but she would be casually pleasant. smile, ya know or nod. i knew she was married. simple. hot married chick. smile, nod, but just mind your own business. but then the clothes changed, there were inquisitve looks that lasted longer than normal, followed by a flirty smile ? was she looking at me? i dunno, but a definite change had occured. so married folks are like off limits but dang, i was wondering what is she doing? is she really married still or ever? and i today i learned, yes she was, but not anymore. ahhhhhhhh... oh yeah, and she's finished her degree work and is off to NYU. major bummer... but at least i know what was going on was really legit, and not some other thing.

Funny Stuff about crushes from the Viceland:

WALKING ON THE PHONE
I know you want to sound relaxed and busy with other stuff, but calling her from your cell phone while you walk has the opposite effect. I once called this girl Jasmine while I was walking down six flights of stairs and, though I thought it would come across as busy-guy-who-can-only-catch-up-on-phone-calls-while-getting-to-the-train, it came across as psychotic-pervert-who-likes-to-jerk-off-when-he-leaves-messages. Apparently her roommates saved it forever and would smoke pot and laugh their asses off to me going, “He ey ey Ja ah ah sm sm sm ine ine, wha at s u up?” and so on. When I finally went over there, they were staring at me with bug eyes going, “Holy shit, that’s the phone guy!” Anyway, just stop by the dumpster next time you’re leaving a message. You don’t need to be breathing like that.

A thought or two or you fellow bloggers, and anybody else who may enjoy it:

To while away the idle hours, seated the livelong day before the inkslab, by jotting down without order or purpose whatever trifling thoughts pass through my mind, verily this is a queer and crazy thing to do!

—Yoshida Kenko (1283–1352)

If you liked that, you may like where it came from, a site called Aporia.

aporia - Wonder and amazement before the confusing puzzles and paradoxes of our lives and of the universe. Socrates and the other ancient philosophers tried to evoke the philosophic spirit in young men by awakening their aporia, not by simply providing answers to these puzzles.

Keep in mind there is no particular audience for this poem (ie, no intended or beloved, but it sounds cool). I found this on another blog. It sorta reminds me of this one time I wrote an erotic poem (sorry the poem is now gone with the girl), and it actually produced the desired effect. Now the problem is finding a solution to this, which is about scholarly pursuits but fitting enough: Nothing is bitterer than a long dwelling in potential. Nothing shows better what disconsolate gloom may derive from an incessant postponement of the deed (Giorgio Agamben in his essay, The Idea of Study).

The poem:

Imagine a Kiss

Looking into your eyes
Drawing you ever so near
Even that doesnt feel close enough
I want your body to crush me
My body heat feels so elevated
So hot to the touch
I can hardly draw breathe
The need of you is so fierce
Consuming my very soul
Until we make contact
You startle me with your passion
Your lips crushing mne taking me by force
When my will so unsure
We connect soul to soul
Heart understanding without communication
No words are needed
They are simply unnecessary
Pleasure exploding thrugh my body
Rocking my world making me dizzy
I am lost in your shadow
Trying in vain to clear my senses
Our bodies rspond to each other
Our own primal need so clearly shown
You are touching me all over
Your lips bruising my skin
Leaving invisible trails down my body
I rest my head next to your heart
Trying to still the chaos in my body
You bring me to the edge of heaven
Showing me a promise of what can be
When I let you make love to me
This is how I imagine our kiss

Talk about loving your work like an 'ugly stepchild' . . . What a freakin' bleak piece this thing is! {see below}

Reflections in the Lobby

You ask me now to tell you,
So listen, I speak the truth.
I swear I'll fight with all I have.
Against me there's no proof.

I was born here I don't know when.
Mother passed away when I was born.
My father was a drunkard.
I don't remember him.

They always used to shout throw, throw, throw
But I just took my time.
They got angry when I did that.
I never paid them any mind.

Nobody could run as fast as me and I never did look back.
I ran and ran 'til the surroundings were not familiar any more.
Never talk to strangers, they used to say.
"Good child, now go to sleep - for tomorrow is a busy day.

I woke up in someone's lap
I couldn't tell you who,
Dusk was falling quickly.
The bearded man comes too.

T'was a toothless woman sitting there.
Everyone looked strange.
My thirsty throat was burning
With longing lonesome strains.

Now you come to me in your fine coats
And your fine English curses you!
There's God above who knows all
Who will surely deal with you.

But I am speaking of myself
What now will you do?
Let my sins go with me
Or take a dead man's curse with you.

I am borrowing this from somebody else: One because ti's true, Google is the best, and two he used the phrase 'too cool for school.'

Google is the best search engine, but the guys at Google think they are too cool for school. You can choose dozens of different languages to use with Google. Some are silly languages that are just dumb:
Klingon
Swedish Chef from The Muppet Show
Hacker
Pig Latin
Elmer Fudd

Thanks to everyone who came to see the show Saturday! It's always nice to have support from your friends. Next time, I'll try to have a bit more advance notice, so folks can plan accordingly. It's tough going in with less than a week's notice, and tougher when you're competing with Pearl Jam. Word is that they did a good show.

The Flaming Lips put on a good show yesterday. A sorta last minute thinger for that show. A band from Columbus, OH called the Sun opened, and Sparkle horse did a short short set as well. Metropol, although hardly my favorite venue to see bands, wasnt' as bad as it can be. Thankfully their sound guy was good. Holy crowded, though . . .

Today is absolutely perfect outside! That temp where you can go shorts and T-shirt, and not roast. I took lunch under a tree and watched the bees do their thing . . .

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." - Ralph Walso Emerson

The semester is over... I enjoyed this last class (The Uses of Literacy), but it kicked my ass. I thought I knew how to read, I thought I knew how to write, and maybe that was the part of the point of the class: to show that there is always going to be room for improvement. Don't get me wrong, I liked the class, even though it was challenging for all of us. I found out again, that ther'e much more that I don't know than I do... and at least in knowing that I don't know something, I'm a little bit further along, right? So yeah, I have a bit of a break now.

Dingus Day Was Lovely.

It was warm for once, and just when it was starting to get cold last night, everybody in our entourage was ready to pack it up and head out. They played the Ring of Fire Polka, replete with horns and accordion, that always warms everybody's soggy hearts. The one bartender, well, I'm thinking she's from Cleveland and proud of it, she was there again. The smoker-haven by the bathrooms was full, ahh the comraderie of the smoker haven, almost makes me wish I was still a smoker. There were a couple of old babas, sportin' the babushkas, head down and all bent forward with their slickers on. One old lady had goggles. Mad props to everyone who went, but mad props to especially to the babas for being brave enough to hold up that tradition.

Wishing all a very merry Dingus Day!!!

From the Coal Speak Dictionary: Dingus Day : The day after Easter Sunday. Men would chase women around with buckets of water and the women would hit them with switches. From a viewer: this tradition began in Poland, and involved pussy willows. "Ed. note: 'hit them with switches'? What's up with that?" The way we do it here is kinda similar, minus the pussy willows and perfume, ohhhh and uhmmm minus the follow up Tuesday. Ladies, you're invited to begin establishing one, but I wish you good luck. It's probably easiest to go tit-for-tat on Monday and call a truce for Tuesday. Besides dishes and crockery can get pretty expensive ...

bloggidysnarf

No one gives anyone a chance anymore, we all just look at the outside and don't think about the inside
I'm as guilty as the next, hide behind a veiled pretext

try to make a note of this feeling
trust me her eyes said
her smile said it hurts sometimes
her shoulders strong and proud
and then there's love
**************************
i wished i knew what to say or to do
so i smiled and looked at a bird
maybe it's different now maybe it's the same
last year it was somebody else
if i do or if I don't
it it doesn't matter
I probably will I probably won't
******************************
i could give but i never believe
i got my own but i need something that's different
and what do we do with our mistakes
do we just throw them away?
or are they dreams of what i am or what i was?
well don't give up your dreams

bring an umbrella if it might rain
you must finsih now, just try to remember
you know who's in charge? you are

What is this, Crazy-talk ?

First things first, Doctor do no harm.
Take your time, walking in the sun
When it hurts, she'll sound the alarm
Soldier with a never fired gun

and what did you think when they pelted you with eggs and ink?

high flying leaves blowing in the breeze
nettles that sting and bumble bees

never look back

the flip side of happiness is the standard: a frolic on my own
what would you say if that was you?
look to your left now look to the right and look straight ahead
there's no one around it's all in your head
never look back
two bananas turn black
never look back

stand up tall you know you are proud
just don't you forget how you felt when you were down

perhaps the closest experience to hell is that of being abandoned by someone you thought loved you
everyone has to wrestle with why
just take your time
pressing magnolia petals in the telephone book
never look back
two bananas turn black
never look back


after you've taken a drink from the cup
you'll see everyone and everything is pointing up

Here's something kinda cool about economics and stuff.

Word for the Day from Dictionary dot com . . . it's Dot Com!
tmesis \TMEE-sis\, noun:
In grammar and rhetoric, the separation of the parts of a compound word, now generally done for humorous effect; for example, "what place soever" instead of "whatsoever place," or "abso-bloody-lutely."

Examples of tmesis:

If on the first, how heinous e'er it be,
To win thy after-love I pardon thee.
--Shakespeare, Richard II

His income-tax return, he remarked, was the "most rigged-up marole" he'd ever seen.
--Frederic Packard

In two words, im possible.
--Samuel Goldwyn

Tmesis is from Greek tmesis, "a cutting," from temnein, "to cut."

********************************************************************************
I'm figuring something out, something that in order to find the answer, you must first ask the question. I'm figuring out how to ask that question.
Question asking is an important element, and I'm practicing that more and more. That question asking practice is important because once I find my answer, I think there's gonna be a lot more questions. Part of what is involved: think about what you are thinking, how you are thinking it, and why you are thinking it.

Today's theme: Something in the Air

Knife throwers: Good luck finding a replacement. It's a job I'd never want . . .

A seminal thought: It's occurred to me that the spunky smell on some streets in Oakland and South Side is not from some public pervert who just moments ago had a moment . . . but it's the dogwood trees. This past week they've been in bloom and releasing their pheromones. Some folks aside from me have noticed it. Tony's college chick neighbor was saying: "Yeah, it smells like cleaner or .... " All of the trees that his block is lined with are dogwoods it seems. Maybe you had to be there, but it was funny. I guess all life forms share a large amount of the same DNA so maybe it's not surprising that our reproductive scents may be similar. I was thinking, this dude, whoever he is, sure is wound up. I'm glad it's just mother nature.

Saddam Hussein still at large, missing, whereabouts unknown. We have no DNA sources to look for his trace remains in the rubble or ruins. But his statue is down, symbolically he's overthrown, and he's pretty well ousted in every other sense of the word. We may see hima gain, though. who knows?

Speaking of rubble and ruins, I saw the tear-down production of an old warehouse-type building last night. It served as the backdrop for the players at the Valhalla open mic in the Strip District. Ya know how some performers will have a movie playing behind them? Well, there was no movie, but the cranes and big diggers and falling bricks and building chunks filled the tall windows behind the players in the bar area of Valhalla. Pretty cool looking. My guess is the building is gonna be replaced by the new expansions of the Heinz History Center.

I played a coupla standby originals and a new one I just learned this weekend: When You're Loved Like You Are by a band called Of Montreal. They're not from Montreal, their from Athens, GA or something.

Oh soap box, how do you stand to bear it all?
Pardon me while I step on you. And soapbox?
I'll try to keep you in the scholarly realm of open air,
And not push you behind the pulpit over there.

This story about some angry and misguided woman protesting Fred Rogers' life and work was brought to my attention from Joe's blog, and I feel compelled to comment as well.

The miasma that these folks purport to be the truth has some obvious flaws. How unfortunate that some people cannot see these flaws, their flawed logic.

1. Fred Rogers' television show was/is for children. Themes relating to sexuality are not for children. We should protect the innocence of children. Grave topics like divorce and death merit a child's attention, because they unfortunately are part of life that a child may experience. But the distinctions between hetero- and homo-sexual relations are not appropriate for a figure like Fred Rogers to address. I imagine this is why he never did a show about it.

2. Hate is not the same as love. They are different things. Both demand a lot of attention, but different kinds of attention. God loves all of his creatures, all of us sinners, including those who choose to hate. That's some powerful love. It is sin He chooses to hate. Gay or not, God still loves you. Simply put: Love the sinner, hate the sin... These folks are missing that point. One needn't look further than the web addy: ww.godhatesfags.com These folks have hate in their name. How unfortunate.

In a make-believe (had to use the term) dialog between Matt Shepherd and Fred Rogers in Hell (oh, they condemn Mr. Rogers to Hell), these folks, suggest that if Shepherd had read his Bible, he'd recognize "the lies that Mr. Rogers sold." Hmmmm . . . if these same people read thier Bible as well, wouldn't they know the familiar passage:
Do not pass judgement, that you may not be judged; for the way you judge you will be judged and with what yardstick you measure you will be measured. But why notice the splinter in your brother’s eye without taking notice of the beam in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, Let me extract that splinter from your eye, when there is a beam in your own eye? You hypocrite! First get rid of that beam in your eye; then you will see clearly to extract the splinter from your brother’s eye. (uh-oh, sounds like a carpenter...). (Matthew 7:1-5)

I'm not saying, "Hey everybody, go be gay!" I'm saying don't hate people. It's easy to point out flaws in other people, but tough to treat a person with love and respect despite their flaws . . . it's a two-way street man, and that's what it's really about.
As a good academic, I cite my sources. As a bad poet, please pardon me if I pushed my soap box a little far.

I had a kooky dream last night: Paul McCartney was doing a tour or something that brought him to Pittsburgh, and he kinda got all confused or something, because he came over to my house and brought like seven of these bizarre hollow frame looking guitars (I've never seen anything like them, kinda like funky suspension bridges, but guitars . . . ) then my mom shows up and offers to make him a pancake breakfast if he decides to stay the night. So he and I start talking about writing songs and stuff, and he shows me some stuff on his funky guitars. I tried playing one but it was a little awkward at first. Poor guy though, says when he's on the road and gets really tired and lonsesome he starts thinking about Linda and misses her. Then he bucks up and says let me show you this song I like to play, I'm sure you've never heard it before. And it was some old song that he played since he was a kid, and i had never heard before, but then he got sorta confused again ... I think we were up all night talking about stuff cuz my mom came down and started making pancakes, and then I woke up. :)

What a good day today has been, I'm pretty lucky to have 70 degree weather like this... for my birthday. :D
I had lunch outside under the trees by the library. I would've thought to publish something about birthday announcements and stuff, but I didn't think about it until the end of the day of course. So what exciting things do I have planned for my birthday? Tonite I'm working on a paper, my birthday present to my future-self one could say. . . although I could be doing worse things, I suppose. I hope the fates will distribute some birthday warmth over the next few days.... that'd be cool. Thanks to all you well wishers! :)

Ahhh the weekend. where does it go?

This was a pretty good weekend overall. No complaints to register. Friday, I went courtesy of Christina Indovina to see a WYEP member show at the Rosebud. It was my first one: Alexi Murdoch and Joseph Arthur headlining. Joseph Arthur? Kinda looks like Curt Connolly from a distance, especially in physical gestures and temperament. Difference is this guys is pretty tall, like 6'4 or something, and I doubt if he'd show you a good Slalom in your living room... Both cats, Murdoch and Arthur (yeah and Connolly too :D ... ) are pretty good, and I wouldn't have ever encountered them save for this exposure, so thanks Christina. Afters, we played out on Carson St. and of course all the men-folk beamed when they saw a girl playing guitar out on the street. One highlight was the one drunk guy walking over as we finish a song who says, "Play some Hendrix." So I needlessly oblige him with the opening of 'Hey Joe' to which he says, "No, play some Hendrix." "Ah yesss," says his buddy, "that's Hey Joe." "No, play some Hendrix." And that's the South Side late Friday night, you gotta expect that. On the positive tip, there were two chicks walking by who gave us a nod and says one to the other, "See that? That's why I love the South Side."
Saturday was some crazy karaoke at Eli's. Ain't nothing like Chris Rudolph singing Wooly Bully. Believe you me it was slick. :) Sunday I played the Tango Cafe coffee shop open mic, sans mic. Pretty informal but fun. I think I'll have to go back again soon.

Short sweet and in the realm of reality today.

Tell the truth. I'm a bit unnerved, like everybody else I suppose, by the political state of things. It's coming down to some necessary upgrades for all of us. ie, we need to buck up and keep moving. It's the way life works right . . . ?

Ok, 'nuff of the stuff we all know. Friday night I played with marty on the street. it was cool, eye opening for us both. You get a different / bigger crowd with two of you out there, and Weekend nights are different from weeknights. For anybody thinking about doing it prepare yourself for some fun, some hecklers (notmany hough, most folks are really supportive). but be ready for someone who wants to show you a song on your guitar, but can't . . . remember, shit how'd that go, oh wait there's this other song, oh I forget. . . . Long and short, be bold with your guitar, hold on to your guitar. We met a cool chick from a radio station, she really liked hearing us play. she came back to hear more.

Saturday was wierd/cool. I saw city of God, a Brazilian movie about slum life in Rio de Jainero . . . I need to go see Bossa Nova. Too many violent depressing movies aobut Brazil. It can't be all bad, right? i mean how about that joao Gilberto ? then we went to the Tango Cafe down the road in Squirrel Hill. cool little coffe shop. Defintiely authentic Argentinians there, too.
OK, Jay Keenans' last show as director of Red masquers: the Dresser. Good Show! Good Job Jay. thanks for all of your work and service and encouragement for those of us who wanted to know what is to be an actor.

I dreamt of a wedding last night, they say that means something's gonna die
And what with a war waging now, I guess I needn't wonder why
Can I get a witness?

The story for today: Pulmonary Function Test or How to Do A Lot of Nothing and Get ALL Jazzed Up . . .

This morning I awoke around 8:30 to Michael Stipe piping about something we should all be doing or not doing, I dunno which one it was. I had a PFT (Pulmonary Function Test) for 9AM at the hospital. I brush my teeth pull some clothes on and go over to the hospital half awake. My script (doctor-talk for prescription) said I had to go to the 3rd floor, so I do. I find the place, ring the buzzer, sit and then wait. no reading material on the table, save a coupla brochures for Sleep Studies and some religious tracts, one in Portuguese. Kooky. A lady comes out and greets me, then a dude and both invite me to wait another minute. The lady comes back out, tells me she's wrestling with the printer and she's waiting for a maintenance guy to fix it.
"Know anything about printers?" she half-jokingly asks. "The printer's not jammed, it's just acting up." I suggest she unplug it and try again. And that works.
"We'll have to comp your test," she jokes. There are some other things she's got to fix as well, so I'd best go get some coffee downstairs cuz it'll be 15-20 minutes before she's ready. So I go back home, make a cup of coffee, field a call from the mechanic who says my car inspection IS going to be expensive, it's just a matter of how much money now. Heading back over, I have my coffee mug with me and return to the 3rd floor. They redirect me to the lobby area to register. Aren't I pre-registered? Yes, but you have to register and check in. Ok . . . this means waiting another half hour. While waiting, a hottie pharm rep walks in the front door and disappears. I finally get my registry interview form signing stuff, and then back upstairs. The hottie pharm rep rides the elevator up too. Where'd she come from? AMAZINGingly beautiful . . . I nod and smile, just a polite acknowledgement as I'm sure she must get hit on ALL the time.

Back on 3, they take me in to the little office and get set up. For a PFT, you breathe air into a machine: regular breathing first, then a big forceful breath push, and then they have you hyperventilate into the machine. You get so light headed . . . The guy running the test was pretty cool. More like a coach than a clinical guy, so it made for a more pleasant visit. After the initial battery of tests, he administered albuterol ( a broncho dialator) through an inhaler. I don't use my inhaler at home very often, just on an as needed basis. Albuterol is chemically similar to caffienne and he gave me a lot. more than I use even if I need it in a bad way. I know i sound like a junkie. He says, wait five minutes for that to take effect, I'll be back. I looked out the window, completely tweaked. He came back and we did the second battery of tests. Then of course the printer fails, and the power cord trick fails too. No lung function printout to put on the fridge. Dang! so they say no sweat, the insurance still gets billed. As I'm leaving, this guy from my old neighborhood walks in. Growing up there were three blonde girls, one in my grade, who lived up the street from me. Their dad is a doctor and I guess he works in South Side hospital. We said hey how are you and stuff, and then it was off to work. Yeah and then crossing the parkign lot, too, was the hottie pharm rep. :D
Yes, I'm all jazzed up on caffienne and caffienne-like stuff . . . but I think I' m starting to settle a little now. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh . . . :)

Here's a story from a month ago or so ... I was reluctant to share it, but then changed my mind.

My Puerile / Senile Rant: This isnt' pretty . . . Ever have one of those days where there isn't anything too too bad that happens but you feel shitty all the same? That would be yesterday. Work was OK, nothing exceptional. So it was neutral. Then I go to tutor. The 500 is a human sardine can, sans mustard sauce. Although this lady was telling me that some guy almost huked before he made it off the bus so . . . anyways, it was crowded. On the upside of that ride, halfway there, there were three college coeds who the driver let squeeze on (I was at the very front of the bus), and it was kinda like coed Neopolitan Ice cream: a blonde a brunette and a redhead, all cutie-pies. So being squished between them made the ride a bit more tolerable.So I get to tutoring. I made some good progress with my tutee, and he says out of the blue: "You look really old." Mind you, this is coming from a 12 yr old, so I imagine ! 23 is pushing the limits of something, let alone 28. But then afterwards his mom says, "You're like the Granpa who says: Come hear and sit down, you're gonna learn something." Which is I guess why I'm there, and it's a compliment sorta, cuz my guy is learning stuff apparently, but I'm not even 30 and I'm a grandpa? HUH?!??!?! what am I senile? anyways . . . so then I go to play racquetball, and that was super frustrating, but at least it worked out in the end. So ... I get home ... all bent, and I wanna go for a beer. Yeah, i'll go for like one beer. it's 11:30, so I'll be flying solo, kind of a given. Everyone is already home, ready for bed or soon to be. I think, i'll go to Dee's cuz maybe I'll see someone i know there. and I step outside and think, no it's a bit far, there'll be nobody I know there. Everyone is already home, ready for bed or soon to be. So I wander over to another local bar. It's a bit busy, but there's an open stool at the far end of the bar, and I sit. "Iron City" says, I. Then I start watching Letterman. On one side is a lat thirties couple, all googly with each other, which is cool. And next to me on the other side are two women and a guy: all 3 are in their mid to late forties (Who was just moaning about age?). They look local. I assume two of the three are a married couple or something. And they're talking about whatever. I'm watching Letterman. This guy on the show is doing bird calls, and it's funny funny funny. The dude with the two women rolls around to see what's funny. He;s standing behind me... like right behind me... wierd, but whatever, the TV;s at angle so ... I lean forward. Then I'm about done with my one beer, about to shake out when the bartender and these three are like "you got a beer coming." "No, I'm good thanks." These three are quite insistent that I stay for another beer. I have hardly spoken to them . . . wierd ! . . . so I shrug, say 'OK, thanks." An they go on talking about whatever. I sip my new beer and keep watching TV. Some hottie blonde actress comes on, and she's funny. starts talking about leather outfits . . . the dude says, "LEatHEer OUtfiTS? well Well WELL ... " and looks at me and then his friends and smiles. Awkward feeling of "you've-been-bought-a-different-beer-than-you-thought" washes over me, feeling increased as dude, stands behind me, and is now sorta leaning against me ... I lean forward and away from him. And it becomes apparent what is going on. "Friendly-local-guy-out-with-wife-and-wife's-friend beer" is revealed to be "I-think-you're-cute beer." How naieve am I? how unawares like clueless little boy (hence the puerile) am I? I dunno. So I finish my beer, nod and say an expressionless thanks ... " and I leave. I mean, it coulda been worse right? So on the way home i see my neighbor friends, Mike and Tammy. ! I say hi, I tell 'em aobut my naieve beer, and they giggle, and they tell me they were at Dee;s. "Oh I'm surprised you weren't there, all of you're friends were there. It was fun! :P . . . yeah i guess it coulda been worse, but i jsut had to rant.

Huh . . . sounds like I got some stuff to work out, but that there's hope and promise ahead. Now if we could only say the same for the rest of the world, US foreign policy and international relations. Seems like there's a lot of stuff there to be worked out. As many folks are saying, looking outside the US for your news seems to be the best approach . . . even the Canadians who back us on so many things aren't with GW . . . they'll help us fight terror in the Gulf and elsewhere, but no help kickin' out Saddam. We've got a sticky wicket folks . . .

I tried posting this earlier, but of course it disappeared right after I tried to post it. Quite fitting somehow ....
I woke this morning from a dream. As the weather was warm enough to leave the windows open and sunlight lit my room this morning, it was late May or early June in my dream. Definitely later in Spring. I was portaging a canoe thru the shallow bits of a stream and then pushed it on out into deeper waters. Fitting enough as I look back, it was possibly a snooze bar dream, so pushing back into the water of the subconscious seems quite appropriate. In real waking life, this lake is formed from a stream and I know it well from canoeing there often. When I would go, it was often shallower in some parts, shallow enough that you could see the tops or dorsal fins of the carp in the water. It was usually muddy too. As I wend my way along in my canoe, a stranger, also in a canoe and wearing a red cloak that hides his face accosts me. I politley acknowledge hima dn then try ignore him, but he persists, almost as if he wants to fight. I push myself away from his canoe with my paddle and head from the stream area out to where it's deeper lake water. The carp clear out, and there is an alligator making his way towards me. So I turn to head back into the stream where I figure I am safer. The gator nudges my boat and goes on his way. As I head into the stream where red cloak is waiting to meet me again. As he sidles up next to me he persists and I push him away with my paddle, he persits more and I poke him in the belly with my paddle. His legs and pelvis remain fixed to the seat, but his torso falls off and over into his canoe, revealing machinery and wires. My vanquished nemesis is a red cloaked robot, and paddling past him, I awoke. Kooky, methinks ... and this is what I found in the online dream dictionary stuff:
Spring To dream about spring is a sign of fortunate undertakings and cheerful companions.
May To dream of this month denotes prosperous times and pleasure for the young. Do not be discourage.
June Will have good earnings but must rely on own good judgement. Avoid rivals.

Canoe To see a canoe in your dream, represents serenity, simplicity, and independence. It is also a reflection of your emotional balance. You are moving ahead via your own power and determination.
Lake To see a lake in your dream, signifies your emotional state of mind. If the lake is clear and calm, then it symbolize your inner peace. If the lake is disturbed, then you may be going through some emotional turmoil.
Stream To see a stream in your dream, signifies that you will come upon a flow of fresh and profound ideas.
To see a frozen stream in your dream, indicates that your emotions have grown cold and hardened. This may reflect your hurt feelings which you need to confront and deal with.

Carp To see a carp in your dream, indicates that you need to put aside your pride and ego and not let it get in the way of friendships and relationships.
Alligator To see an alligator in your dream, signifies treachery, deceit, and hidden instincts. It may be a signal for you to take a new perspective on a situation. Alternatively, the alligator represents healing powers and qualities.
According to biblical interpretations, an alligator suggests that leviathan is king over the children of pride. (Psa 74:14, Job 41:1, Isa 27:1)
Chase To dream that you are being chased, signifies that you are avoiding a situation that you do not think is conquerable. It is often a metaphor for some form of insecurity. In particular, to dream that you are chased by an animal, represents your own unexpressed and unacknowledged anger which is being projected onto that animal. Alternatively, you may be running away from a primal urge or fear.
Cloak If see a torn or ragged cloak in your dream, signifies a separation between you and a friend or lover.
Adversary To dream that you are confronted by an adversary, signifies that you will defend any attacks against your interest.
To dream that you overcome an adversary, denotes that you will escape the effects of some serious disaster.
Red This is an indication of great passion and sensitivity in your emotional relationships.
Robot To see a robot in your dream, indicates that you are going about life in a mechanical and rigid way. You have lost the ability to express your feelings. Alternatively, a robot may symbolize the way you view your working life.

Happy St. Patrick's Day . . . !

Thanks for the tip Chris Rudolph! Speaking of Freedom Toast

A Poetry by e e cummings - As Freedom Is a Breakfast Food

as freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
--long enough and just so long
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame

as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald men's hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
--long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets wail by children stung

or as the seeing are the blind
and robins never welcome spring
nor flatfolk prove their world is round
nor dingsters die at break of dong
and common's rare and millstones float
--long enough and just so long
tomorrow will not be too late

worms are the words but joy's the voice
down shall go which and up come who
breasts will be breasts thighs will be thighs
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
--time is a tree (this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough

[Poem: "as freedom is a breakfast food" by e.e. cummings.

The last time THis happened didn't World War I start?

OK, well before raising the alarm and cranking the cat's tail, I must admit circumstances were different, but still, aren't there more deserving people of that out there?

Word for the day: inculcate (verb) -
1. teach and impress by frequent repetitions or admonitions
Synonyms: instill, infuse

For those of you who are fans of Cat Power, see the links part of this page, or click Morning Becomes Eclectic :

Cat Power
The very charming Chan Marshall of Cat Power performs her dreamy songs and a couple of classics on electric guitar and piano for Morning Becomes Eclectic listeners at 11:15am.
Aired Thursday, February 27, 2003. [MORE]

So I'm finding that the compromises in life are ever present. And some of us are cat-like in the sense that we often land on our feet . . . or we're lucky. I can't tell which I am, but things are sorta working out.
I played the Rex last night, and went second-to-last in the run of folks. There was one even more persistent fella who played after me, so mad props to him.
I was feeling sorta pantsed before leaving home and going out to play, and when I signed up I was #18 on the list. Ok, so everybody gets 3 songs, few folks play shorties like I do (ie songs under three minutes), so figure that's at least ten minutes a pop, plus like five minutes interlude, for intro, applause, "Am I plugged in?" "Shit, I have to tune!" and the like . . . 15min * 18people = 270 min / 60min = 4.5 hrs . . . fortunately they started before I was there, and some folks got up and left, so I didn't wait for as long as that ...

It was like after 1AM when I go up. I was about ready to concede, but then some of the folks who were playing before me had already conceded or left rather, so they call me up. I wanted to play this new song, but didn't think I'd remember the lyrics. I was totally hazy. I say, "I'll play just one, well maybe two, cuz I'll need a warm up song." My pals Marty and Madge and Ray the talking drum man, are chanting "3! 3! 3! 3!" I didn't think it was in there. And then they came out, not perfectly, but out they came. The songs, in a relaxed (how else do you play after a few beers and sitting for a few hours ?) tone that I was pretty surprised to hear. Huh . . . but what's most important was the enthusiasm the audience gave me. All four or maybe five of them were brilliant, and as one guy had said earlier in the evening about the small audience (the audiences are typically small) you may be little but you're noisy and that's what counts.

So I had to wait a little while to play, but it was all worth it in the end. Sometimes you have to not have something to know what you had. I'm learning that in several arenas. But let's stay in this one: as one guy from Denver visiting family here in town said last night after he played, "this Rex theater is great. We don't have anything like this in Denver, so enjoy it while you can!"

Oh, something else I'd learned, forgotten and relearned from all of this experience: Save your enthusiasm for the stage. What I mean by that is, if you enjoy somebody;s work (acting, juggling, fire-eating, music) let them know while they're on the stage with your applause and cheers. Afterwards, if they're not super-saturated in a conversation, it's nice to say, "Thanks for playing, I enjoyed your work." Same thing applies for any time after when, maybe even days after, you see this person: "Thanks for playing, I enjoyed your work." That's nice cuz it means you remembered and it really did make an impression. But if you see somebody in a car out on the street after 2AM, you may freak them out a little, or surprise them to say the least, if you spring up to the window pointing and shouting "DUDE, YOU ROCK!"

Don't do that. That;s bad form. That person will take that action differently from how you probably intend it to go. Trust me.

"We cannot expect that all nations will adopt like systems, for conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth."
John F. Kennedy

"The time to repair the roof is when the sun is shining."
John F. Kennedy

"The relationship between the soundness of the body and the activities of the mind is subtle and complex. Much is not yet understood. But we do know what the Greeks knew: that intelligence and skill can only function at the peak of their capacity when the body is healthy and strong; that hardy spirits and tough minds usually inhabit sound gods."
John F. Kennedy

"If art is to nourish the roots of our culture, society must set the artist free to follow his vision wherever it takes him."
John F. Kennedy

"The life of the artist is, in relation to his work, stern and lonely. He has labored hard, often amid deprivation, to perfect his skill. He has turned aside from quick success in order to strip his vision of everything secondary or cheapening. His working life is marked by intensive application and intense discipline."
John F. Kennedy

"The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie, deliberate, contrived and dishonest, but the myth, persistent, persuasive and unrealistic."
John F. Kennedy

"A full scale nuclear exchange, lasting less than 60 minutes... could wipe out more than 300 million Americans, Europeans, and Russians, as well as untold numbers elsewhere. And the survivors - as Chairman Khrushchev warned the Communist Chinese, 'the survivors would envy the dead.' For they would inherit a world so devastated by explosions and poison and fire that today we cannot conceive of its horrors."
John F. Kennedy

"Peace is a daily, a weekly, a monthly process, gradually changing opinions, slowly eroding old barriers, quietly building new structures."
John F. Kennedy

From Dictionary dot com . . .

Word of the Day for Tuesday March 4, 2003
votary \VOH-tuh-ree\, noun:
1. One who is devoted, given, or addicted to some particular pursuit, subject, study, or way of life.
2. A devoted admirer.
3. A devout adherent of a religion or cult.
4. A dedicated believer or advocate.

When she held out her hand to receive the glass, she had more the air of a full-grown Bacchante, celebrating the rites of Bacchus, than a votary at the shrine of Hygeia.
--Pamela Neville-Sington, Fanny Trollope

Perhaps most amazingly, votaries of "diversity" insist on absolute conformity.
--Tony Snow, "Lifestyle police: Enough already," USA Today, June 10, 1996

It must be remembered that undisguised atrocities on a stupendous scale. . . would be too strong for the stomach of even the most brutalized people, and would tend to bring war into discredit with all but its monomaniac votaries.
--"The Idea of a League of Nations," The Atlantic, February 1919

Votary comes from Latin votum, "vow," from the past participle of vovere, "to vow, to devote." Related words include vow and vote, originally a vow, hence a prayer or ardent wish, hence an expression of preference, as for a candidate.

Synonyms: adherent, devotee, supporter. Find more at Thesaurus.com.

This lady is from Holland and she does some excellent art.

And the word for today: sirocco . . . it's the name for any hot wind from the desert, but more specifically a wind that originates in the Sahara and blows across the Mediterranean wherein it it picks up moisture.

From Dictinary dot com -
Word of the Day for Friday February 21, 2003aggress \uh-GRES\, intransitive verb:
To commit the first act of hostility or offense; to make an attack.

Nagaraj can never bring himself to aggress or fight back, but he is capable of a delicious malice.
--Julian Moynahan, "India of the Imagination. . . ," New York Times, July 15, 1990

The hand . . . is the most versatile of organs. Through its agency we lift, pinch, squeeze, explore, feel, learn, discriminate, repulse, caress, aggress.
--F. Gonzalez-Crussi, "The Hand," Washington Post, July 19, 1998

A master of drawing, Rico Lebrun, discovered that "the draftsman must aggress; only by persistent assault will the live image capitulate and give up its secret to an unrelenting line."
--Annie Dillard, "Write Till You Drop," New York Times, May 28, 1989
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Aggress is from French agresser, from Latin aggredi, aggress-, "to approach, to approach aggressively, to attack," from ad-, "to" + gradi, "to step, to walk."

subtle (adjective satellite) -
1. faint and difficult to analyze
"subtle aromas"

2. working or spreading in a hidden and usually injurious way
"glaucoma is an insidious disease"; "a subtle poison"
Synonyms: insidious, pernicious

3. be difficult to detect or grasp by the mind
"his whole attitude had undergone a subtle change"; "a subtle difference"; "that elusive thing the soul"
Synonyms: elusive

4. able to make fine distinctions
"a subtle mind"

From Eric Boehlert's Salon article on Clear Channel, and the possibility / plausibility that they can become an even bigger (as in multi- ) media monopoly:
"When one company dominates an industry, it can leverage its monopoly power in all kinds of unpleasant ways, both politically and economically. Does anyone really want what happened to radio to happen to TV, or newspapers, or cable television?"
Something akin to Disney buying out Gannet . . . and then we have our own Mickey Truth and our own Mini-Truth ... uhmmm ... hold on a second, George. That sounds familiar ...

A word I discovered in the dictionary (while looking up a different word) researching a paper I'm working on:

crissum (kris em) - n., pl. crissa (kris e). Zool. the feathers or area surrounding a birds cloacal opening. {N. Lat. < Lat. crissare, to move the buttocks during intercourse.}

Just goes to show that everything's done under the sun and well documented for some time now. We don't even have a term for that in English . . . crazy Romans.

Education will broaden your horizons

I just wrote a buncha crap that I thought was witty and clever, and it was really crap. Just goes to prove that writing is and always will be a task that requires revision and patience. Walk away from it for a moment and then come back. You may change your mind a thousand times. I started writing in the first place because I made a decision and didn't change my mind. Because I made a decision and stuck with it, and though the doubts were all there, the rewards were even better, and made it worthwhile.
I decided to play a new open mic. No big deal, right? I've played three: the BBT, the Rex, and Club Cafe. All have their own charms... but I ventured into the Shadow Lounge last night to check out their open mic. I know a coupla folks who told me they played there. So, last Thursday I poked my head in to see what it's about. The guy gave me the scoop: open mic Wed., bands and groups stuff Fridays. There was a subtext there, but I didn't glean all of it's meaning until last night when I showed up at 8:30. Two guys sitting at the counter, one works there, maybe the other guy too, but he looks more like a regular. This is a smoke-free coffeshop venue with BYOB policy. There's some hip-hop flowing in the background music, and I ask about the open mic.
"Yeah, you're kinda early but it's tonight. It usually doesn't start till 9. What do you play?"
"Mostly originals, but a few covers. I don't really know how to classify myself aside from that." He nods and smiles, I order a spiced-apple drink, sit and start reading a magazine. A third guy shows up and starts talking with the two guys at the counter; they all know each other. I assume there will be a sign - up list, an EmCee / Host and they will say, hey, you can sign - up and folks will trickle in.
After forty-five minutes, a few more folks show up: three college age kids. They nod to everybody and sit off to the side. About half an hour later, a girl and her date come in. I walk up to the counter, get a second drink and ask about the open-mic again.
"Oh well you can play whenever, it's really just you, " and he smiles. So I say how about now, get my electric guitar out and he hooks me up to an amp.
Music fades out and find myself sitting on a stool in a big big room, with six people. See, when you play solo guitar, or guitar by yourself, I should say, it's you and a guitar. No rhythm section, no drums, it's pretty cut and dry. The three colllege kids pull up chairs and sit waiting.

"Hi my name is Matt. I'm gonna play some originals, maybe a cover. I'll start with the first song I ever wrote, My baby doesn't Love me Anymore" It occurs to me as I start into the first line, playing and singing, that I have in effect walked into a roadside bar in Texas with Hank Williams, Jr playing (not Hanks version 1.0 or 3.0, there's a difference there, believe you me), asked to play some songs and then I bust out a tweak scratch with me and my beatbox freakystylin' some'in some'in. Uhhh ... but in reverse.

The place is quiet, and then the golf clap and and a smile in the corner and I continue.
"This song is about how my love life sucks," and play 'Another girl I met along the way.' Golf claps.
I play "I Don't Know" (the 'Jet Aeroplane' song as some know it). Golf clap, and heads turnign over looking like, uhmmm I dunno. Hard to say, but kinda like, is he done yet?
"I'll play this last one, and then turn it over to you guys. It's called "Don't Go Sayin (that you love me)." And after that, there was applause, hmmmm. OK, so ther'e glad i'm done. well they sorta sat there and while I'm waitng for the guy to come unplug me from the amp, I figure I'll just provide the instrumental background ... and play the Kumler BossaNova bit.

"What's that called?"
"YOu got words for that?"
"I want to try something . . ."
And I step away from the mic, one guy starts a free style lyric about chillin' with his buds the day after a party. it's like Sunday afternoon chill music, he says.
Suddenly ther'es a drum kit uncovered, and the three are rotating on the mic while I lay down guitar bit. Then the drum gets the kabosh and some pre recorded beats come out. Kooky! We played until the beats switched over to some seventies sorta stuff, with a disco backdrop, and then I unplugged. I can't cut it with a full orchestra and beats and stuff ... Dang . . . somehow that fits! I'm not claiming suddenly to have flow and mad skillz. But how did it work? The trick is listening, hearing and playing with your heart. Oh yeah, and don't forget about respect. Always be respectful. Enjoy your music and let everybody else have fun too.

MUCH THANKS to everyone who came out to see the show at the Rex Saturday. :D And much thanks to BJ O'Malley and Louie and the Humans (Madge and Marty). It was great fun.

If you missed out, don't worry: I'll try to let everyone know about future shows.

Ok, here is somebody who either is shut-in (ie under mental health quarantine, the dude looks pretty young) or just bizarro person. My favorite part is the injury section.

At least he's not looking for a Tinkerbell, or for someone in the United States to share 10% of his $30,000,000 with . . .

For a peek at what some of the show's like, you can visit Louie and The Humans and get a bit more info as well. :D

Hello gentle reader . . .

Saturday Saturday Saturday Saturday Saturday

February 8February 8February 8February 8February 8
This coming Saturday (not tomorrow but next) February 8, there's a show at the Rex Theater (1600 block of Carson St. in the South Side, across from Nick's Fat City) you should come see:

The Acts are as follows:

Louie and the Humans (country rock)
B.J. O'Malley (acoustic singer from Cleveland)
Matt Dunegan (a little country a little rock n' roll)

Doors open at 8 PM, music begins at 9PM:

So I'm like the opener guy, I guess I get like 30 minutes of songs? something like that, ya know a brief set. But it'll be fun... :)

I have no idea what B.J. O'Malley sounds like, but I have heard she's good. And then Louie and the Humans play, and they do some cool stuff, no doubt. I may help out with some backin' stuff (vocals?).

Anyways, I encourage you, so strongly encourage you, to come check the show out. Their bartender's pretty cute . . . :D

Today's Poi -em . . .

The Ball Poem
John Berryman

---------------------------------------------------------

What is the boy now, who has lost his ball,
What, what is he to do? I saw it go
Merrily bouncing, down the street, and then
Merrily over--there it is in the water!
No use to say 'O there are other balls':
An ultimate shaking grief fixes the boy
As he stands rigid, trembling, staring down
All his young days into the harbour where
His ball went. I would not intrude on him,
A dime, another ball, is worthless. Now
He senses first responsibility
In a world of possessions. People will take balls,
Balls will be lost always, little boy,
And no one buys a ball back. Money is external.
He is learning, well behind his desperate eyes,
The epistemology of loss, how to stand up
Knowing what every man must one day know
And most know many days, how to stand up
And gradually light returns to the street
A whistle blows, the ball is out of sight,
Soon part of me will explore the deep and dark
Floor of the harbour . . I am everywhere,
I suffer and move, my mind and my heart move
With all that move me, under the water
Or whistling, I am not a little boy.


From Collected Poems 1937-1971 by John Berryman, published by Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Inc. Copyright © 1989 by Kate Donahue Berryman. Used with permission.

If you are bored or thirsty, you can play this game tonight . . . suffice to say, I don't think I'd ever want that man's job, and alcohol comsumption can be justified by / from anything.

Some days we long for human coversation, not really about the heavy issues and not about fluff, but about what? Human conversation . . . sharing experiences . . . yeah, I think that's pretty decent material. I had some experiences over the weekend that are well suited for conversation, but they have to sit for a while and steep in the conscious (or unconscious ?) mind for a while and they have to cool a bit before they're ready to serve. Lest they scald your tongue and leave that little flap of dead skin hanging from your hard palate (that's doctor talk for the roof of your mouth). As some of you may or may not know, there was a bunch of political activity here in town (South Side and Oakland) over the weekend. And the weekend in town was cold and wintry . . . kinda my take on politics: it's cold and wintry, but as it comes back each year, it must be necessary.

SO . . . where is this going? At the moment, in the direction of inquiry. The events of the past weekend raise many many questions. We should ask questions, and seek answers. As Socrates (thru Plato?) suggests, a life unexamined is not worth living. We should ask questions about our world and about ourselves. Plato goes on to say, we may not ever discover ‘truth’, but we improve ourselves in the process of trying. And as one site that goofs on the corporate motivator poster series also suggests, There are no stupid questions, but there are a lot of inquistive idiots. Ahhh . . . theres a bit of a barb on that point, eh?

On that note, I will invite you to start your inquiry afresh with these simple questions: who? what? where? when? how? I hope you find these questions good for generating a dialogue with yourself and with others. Some days we long for human coversation, not always about the heavy issues and not always about fluff. Human conversation . . . sharing experiences . . . yeah, I think that's pretty decent material.
.

Since there seems to be much discussion of many topics these days, here are some ideas (on loan from an academic journal, and no I don't hink there's a relation to Bert or Burt, although both father and son did writing of their own) about how to publish a paper, and thus write a piece that's worth reading/writing/publishing:

Bacharach (1989) What is and is not theory

* Make clear what you are adding to the knowledge base.
* Avoid argumentation by citation (Jones’ found tha tX, Smith found that Y, thus we predict that ..). Building hypotheses from past results is not theorizing. As Plato suggested, we may not ever discover ‘truth’, but we improve ourselves in the process of trying.
* In the absence of results, a series of results may simply reflect the idiosyncracies of a particular data set. A lack of theory means there is no way to draw generalizable conclusions from the study to inform other contexts.
* What is the theory that makes me think A and B are related? If you cannot answer this question, the paper is not publishable.
* Position your paper in the journal you are pursuing. How does this paper (and your sources) contribute to an ongoing discussion? (Simply stated, know your audience)

These are just some ideas for those of you who think or write, or will be thinking or writing, and wish to share your thoughts without sounding like an imbecile.

nar·ra·tive
n.
A narrated account; a story.
The art, technique, or process of narrating.
adj.
Consisting of or characterized by the telling of a story: narrative poetry.
Of or relating to narration: narrative skill.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
narra·tive·ly adv.
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The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition. Copyright © 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Published by the Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

di·a·logue or di·a·log ( P ) Pronunciation Key (d-lôg, -lg)
n.
A conversation between two or more people.

Conversation between characters in a drama or narrative.
The lines or passages in a script that are intended to be spoken.
A literary work written in the form of a conversation: the dialogues of Plato.
Music. A composition or passage for two or more parts, suggestive of conversational interplay.
An exchange of ideas or opinions: achieving constructive dialogue with all political elements.

v. di·a·logued, or di·a·loged di·a·logu·ing, or di·a·log·ing di·a·logues or di·a·logs
v. tr.
To express as or in a dialogue.

v. intr.
To converse in a dialogue.
Usage Problem. To engage in an informal exchange of views.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Middle English dialog, from Old French dialogue, from Latin dialogus, from Greek dialogos, conversation, from dialegesthai, to discuss. See dialect.]
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
dia·loguer n.
Usage Note: In recent years the verb sense of dialogue meaning “to engage in an informal exchange of views” has been revived, particularly with reference to communication between parties in institutional or political contexts. Although Shakespeare, Coleridge, and Carlyle used it, this usage today is widely regarded as jargon or bureaucratese. Ninety-eight percent of the Usage Panel rejects the sentence Critics have charged that the department was remiss in not trying to dialogue with representatives of the community before hiring the new officers.

Source: The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

Click on the links to the right, right? for KCRW and give a listen to the band Kinky . . . good stuff.

"I said, 'Permite moi,' and lit her cigarette. Our acquaintance began in smoke, but it stirred up a great and permanent fire between us."
- The Colonel speaking about Mdme. Blavatsky. Who are they? two kooky cats, who rocked in thier own freaky deaky way.

Yesterday's Fortune Cookie: It's time to explore all those new interests.

Last night's dream: I dreamt of a big cathedral like building, and inside was a bit of crumbling stuff, not like stale crackers, but like crumbling edges of winding staircases. You could look out the windows of this place to see that you were many many stories above the street level in a big city. Funny how in dreams you realize your supsension of disbelief must be at play . . . the setting was impossible! And so were the characters: goth and semi-goth superheroes (of course they're in this gothic cathedral in a major metropolis), so imagine Batman meets David Bowie meets LOTR elves? I dunno . . . they were meeting there to help an injured heroe, and this injured heroe died. Meanwhile, the enemy was outside, trying to spy on what was going on inside, but becuase he's so big and bulky (sorta dragon like and awfully noisy, not making for a good spy), and gives off this evil presence sorta thing you just feel in your gut, he wasn't too effective as a spy. So I helped move the injured comrade to a corner where he could rest, and the beautiful heroinne appeared, said something poetically profound (as super folk will do) about injustice and justice being served, and then flew out the window, presumably to face the enemy or draw him away from this place, and the fallen comrade died. Nobody wept, but we were said, for he was a good hero as heroes go. and then the Batman meets David Bowie meets LOTR elves guys said some stuff about about injustice and justice being served, a plan and then my thoughts, which were kind alame, like, I dunno, i'm wondering where I'm parked and where my kkeys are, cuz they're not in my pocket . . . and shrugged. See i didn't have any superpowers or any idea how to fight the fight. And I awoke.

So here's what the online dream folks say this all means: POWER
If there was a feeling of an outside influence during your dream, take it as a warning of a plot against you. Pay attention and you can figure out who's behind it.

CATHEDRAL
To dream of religion is a prophecy that you will soon feel contentment and achieve inner peace. Being aware of God or Jesus are particularly good omens. You will triumph over adversity. If you speak to or pray with them, true joy will be yours. Dreaming of the Virgin Mary is often a warning of betrayed confidences. Seeing a chapel is considered an omen of good fortune. Dreaming of an angel means you will be happy in love, filled with peace and a sense of well being. But bear in mind that the actions and setting of religious dreams have a great bearing on their meaning. (See also Church, Cathedral, Prayer, Clergy, Rabbi.)

DEATH
This is usually a good omen. Dreaming of your own death indicates the end of financial worries or illness. If you spoke with someone who is dead, you will soon receive some good news. Often, dreaming of death is a prediction of a birth. And if you dream of the death of a friend who is far away, there will be a wedding.

I dunno I guess if you look at yesterdays stuff, maybe it makes sense?

Congratulations to Allison Burke and Lucy Skye (Dave Burke's sister and brandy new niece) May God bless you both with peace and health !!! Click above and go check out some pictures!!!

It's cold outside, and hopefully warm inside, if only in your self. These are the days when sleep is a friend and a lover. We are drawn to sleep and are loathe to leave her.
She steals beside us in mid-afternoon and early evening, whispering close, "Remember when we first woke this morning?" And the satin sheet sheen is in her smile. She is fresh like a young woman's perfume. I was just with sleep if only in my thoughts, and I hope she will return when I smile in my bed tonight.

I hope you can share some warmth with someone tonight, warmth is good food when cold days like this come.

So thinking of sleep and the company we keep, I'd like to share a poetry or two: the first for those of you who are bored, sleepy or in some similar space as I, that space that winter days bring . . . the second for those who watch and listen close.

The Waking
Theodore Roethke

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

Theodore Roethke, from The Waking, 1953


Conversation
Louis MacNeice

Ordinary people are peculiar too:
Watch the vagrant in their eyes
Who sneaks away while they are talking to you
Into some black wood behind the skull,
Following un-, or other, realities,
Fishing for shadows in a pool.
But sometimes the vagrant comes the other way
Out of their eyes and into yours
Having mistaken you perhaps for yesterday
Or for tomorrow night, a wood in which
He may pick up among the pine-needles and burrs
The lost purse, the dropped stich.
Vagrancy however is forbidden; ordinary men
Soon come back to normal, look at you straight
In the eyes as if to say 'It will not happen again',
Put up a barrage of common sense to baulk
Intimacy but by mistake interpolate
Swear-words like roses in their talk.

In Roberts, M. (1965). (Ed.). The Faber Book of Modern Verse. London:Faber and Faber. (p. 250 - 251).

CLEVELAND : was fun. The Warehouse district is pretty cool, in fact I prefer it to the Flats. We went there (Flats) for dinner at the Rock Bottom. It's just a bit more relaxed, maybe a bit cleaner in the Warehouse Dist., though, it's sort of like South Side meets Shady Side, and then place it downtown. My buddy Steve turned 30, we hung out (his sisters and some of their friends) in a place called the Blind Pig, and then went to the Funky Buddha. There's some nice folks there in the land of Cleves. There was the celebrity look-alike thing working pretty hard: their friend Jeremiah looks like Chandler Bing (Matt Perry), Meredith who looks like Monica (Courtney Cox) but with chiseled cheekbones (and no their not dating so far as I can tell), and Ann, who is a lawyer ... and not Icelandic, is a no-kidding dead-ringer for Bjork. My only beef on the trip? O-DoT has planned some funky roadwaqys around Akron. You have to get off of Rt. 76 to stay on 76, and then it turns into 77? What drugs or chemicals or Raeilian cult practices were these people doing when they designed these roads? Anyways . . . it's good to get out of town, and also to give Dee's Cafe a little break.

The circuit of open mics continues, and is still lots of fun.