Mile Marker Zion

[SadLuckDame]

Likes them mingo, all 3, but the first is the first to catch my attention. It reminds me of ice-fishing. Intense. Thank you to you.

[the mingo]

Thx 4 lookin' dame. I see over on your log you talkin' 'bout winter. Winter to me means the coffee in my cup gets cold quicker. Means I keep the house warm too. If I can keep the house warm when the snow is flyin' then everything else can go to hell in it's own fine fashion.

[the mingo]

So I'm almost ready to take a shower thinking 'bout walking the neighbor's land yesterday takin' photos. Everywhere I looked there was somethin'. No gunslingers though. No gunslingers in the woods. Just in my head. They arrive with me and leave when I leave.
Truth is I don't know what they're doing in my head either. I've asked them but they won't talk to me. They think I'm a train or somethin' ? They can just get onboard go to wherever they're goin' and not say a word between time? Their ticket buys them silence maybe.

I want to meet Sandra Cisneros. She's not in my head I think. She's a real person. Wrote that book by the name of The House on Mango Street. She wears cowboy boots, Spanish style. All color.

I want to meet Salma Hayak too. But I got to win the lottery first. I think I can meet Sandra Cisneros without money. Maybe a few dollars in my pocket. But Salma Hayak ya gotta be flush. I mean FLUSH. Lottery flush.

With Sandra Cisneros you'd smell the wind in her hair.
With Salma Hayak you'd smell gunsmoke.

That's how I see it anyways ... but I could be wrong on both accounts. Its happened before.

So now to the shower. These gunslingers been ridin' my train for awhile now. They could use a shower too. Next time I try to talk to one of these guys & I get ignored I'm gonna slap him upside the head with my ticket punch. You only get one life here to live and you might as well take every opportunity to make it a doozy.
Get good.
Get gone.

[SadLuckDame]

Some days I just don't know what I'm doing anymore. Lost direction.
Some days I don't know what Jack's doing either or the magician or especially the catfish. It's just blank like winter. I'm froze. Can't be in the heated house much.

[the mingo]

I have days like that all the time. Mostly they come during a busy period. Sometimes right in the middle too. I've come to understand that they mean a recharge is in order whether I want or need one or not. Nuthin' I can do 'bout it neither. It's been like that with writing for a couple of weeks now. I've been painting my ass off but writing ?
Nada. Big fat zero. Until this morning. Had a bit of a spark. Got out & around on the site. I don't know what Jack is doing either. He's posting alright but a lot of it is links or ongoing jazz that is not open to riffing. I think I made a straffing run in his direction earlier today somethin' 'bout dyed red hair and the word "sexy" was involved. I ain't seen the catfish. Last time I checked she was heading over the ridge to go dancing. I almost went myself.

[SadLuckDame]

mingo, this is a piece of one of my older olders your first picture (out of the three) reminded me of. You zapped me there, it amazed me. Thanks for doing that and helping me talk.

And once there,
she'd walk circles
around a foggy pond;
frozen solid.

Deep below the ice
lived a catfish,
whom in warm months
would surface
to greet her there.
She of golden hair
that dangled to cover
her face,
leaned to peer his waves.
They'd sigh hours together
while daisies swayed
and breezes whispered sing songs.

The catfish saying only,
"We shall sit quietly and wait,
till the moon bows admiringly
over our meeting place."

But tonight there was only
the thick ice, and she beat her fists
on the cold surface,
failing to crack it open.

[the mingo]

"older olders" I liked that. The poem too. Now I see better what you were saying 'bout the painting you liked. And you're welcome.

[SadLuckDame]

All dolled up. Can't win against a red head. I noes it all well, too. My little sister is a fiery firecracker. We won't hear a peep from him till the red head walks out the door. Guess it'll be links for weeks to come?
Writing for all the women in the world right now. Me too.

It was a bingo bango, mingo. A good whack on the ice and I was ice-skating a figure eight towards your cracked iced picture. Beautiful how the minds work. I'm glad you'd done that one.

[the mingo]

Me too, Dame. I have fun with these things.

[the mingo]

Convenience store/gas stations are mystical entities. The other day I was walking out of one of these after getting cigs. I saw one of the cashiers walking back from making the dumpster run. He was pulling a cig from his shirt pocket. As we passed I said "Hey! You've no time for sloth." Then I continued across the street to the donut shop for coffee. My sloth knows no bounds.

I've never fallen asleep on my feet though. None of my ancestors had horse blood in their veins.

The mounted warrior has a large place in the history of many peoples. Genghis Khan comes to mind. Him & his horse hoards overran most everything. Geneticists now say he left his DNA all over the place. Slept with everybody it seems. One in ten people now on the face of the globe carry his DNA imprint. The slut.

On our own continent the Souix, Comanche, & Cheyenne horseman come to mind. Don't know if Crazy Horse, Quanah Parker or Roman Nose left their DNA all over the place. Apparently no one has studied this so I can't say if they too were sluts in the Khan fashion.

The Horse Lords. I've read recently that the indroduction of the horse wrought great cultural changes among the peoples of the plains especially. Before the horse history says these folks were agriculturalists for the most part & matrilineal. After the horse the warrior comes to prominence & patrilineal ways top out. Before the horse it was rabbits, prairie dogs, waterfowl, & fish for meat. After the horse everyone is chomping down on buffalo.
Man as the provider of much meat began to find a new place, an important place in both family & tribe. Hunger became cyclical instead of common. New social & religious systems had to be invented almost on the spot. New myths too. All because of a horse.

Then cars were invented. Everyone is mounted now. Everyone is a warrior. The road movie became the new myth. Especially in America.

I have to go get cigs & gas now. It's four miles away. I'm mounted. I have a Jeep.

[SadLuckDame]

I'm curious if men with very good genes (or considered as such or they consider themselves as such) have a higher internal desire or drive--naturally--to spread their seeds more so and more thoroughly than say a man whom has a poor set of genes? Do men with poorer sets of genes have less internal sex drive or less driven to likely slut?

[the mingo]

Don't know Dame. I've known men who could & didn't. I've known others who did whenever wherever with whoever. I don't know if it was drive, good genes, bad genes, personal conduct or moral code.
All too many things in play. Good question.

[the mingo]

Well I'm kinda up in the word bed but I'm not sure what's happenin' cuz I just come back from sleep and seems an orbit to me but I bet the worries are still here. They rise into action like pronghorn antelope ya know.

I saw pronghorn antelope once not in a movie. Montana? Wyoming? Utah? Maybe New Mexico. I don't think it was Texas. Northern Arizona made a big impression on me. Imprinted me with itself like one of those petroglyphs you find there. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I look just like a petroglyph staring back at me.

I've tried to take photographs of this but none of the cameras I've used have enough depth. Or maybe imagination. This has led me to the conclusion that imagination is invisible by virtue of passing great quanities of pure light. The kind of light that existed before the creation of the sun & the moon.

You be dealing with some mighty shit when you step into imagination's realm.

Bring up the textbox. This is America. Many things are possible. The rest are probable.

Lyle Lovitt said it well. "If I had a boat I'd go out on the ocean, and if I had a pony I'd ride him on my boat."

[the mingo]

At the Edge of a Crow's Wing

She appeared against a raster background
but her vectors were the shores of the forests
That's where you meet her
right at the edge of the trees
____________________________________________________

Infinity was invoked. Eternity was sought after. But the whole thing was entirely ad hoc. For a long time I was stuck there while she sucked her thumb behind her walls & pretended this & that. The night I broke out she heard about it & caught up to me down by the river. She put her hand on my arm & said, "Where you going, Love?" "Anywhere between here & nowhere" I answered. She said "I love you" I said "Bye".

[the mingo]

I could be a fat man dreaming a flower. Or moss seeking to cover a rock. Or a movie. Which is it, a film or a movie? Just keep writing because the ocean is growing as if never before but don't think the dinosaurs are coming back cuz they ain't. I would have liked to have had a trilobite for a pet though but that ain't happening neither. Next? O yes I remember now. But it's too late. All the usual. Bring it on Meek cuz television is dead & from its wooden-spoked ironshod wheels held fast by the creeping earth I will sing a song of all the things gone by. A song to wake up to in the ancient fashion of the Algonquin tribes of the eastern seaboard long since gone. A song of war devastation disease & renewal. A viewing pleasure of the unjaded for the unknown. Pocohantas reaches out to touch me and I can't speak of how misplaced her vision might prove to be. It's easier just to let her touch. But I never would have let her be buried in Merry Ol' England the way they did her cuz she was too smart for that. I would have let her know the Nazi's were coming with their pockets full of bombs. But there were no bombs where she came from so you see what I was facing. I would have told her I would be married 384 years & two days after Virginia Dare was born & 744 years & two days after Genghis Khan died yet what would have changed ? It was easiest just to approach the table the way it was laid. Not knowing is part & parcel of the many misunderstandings commonly called knowledge. Besides her hair was beautiful. She feasted on duck & fish & her eyes were dark the way the forest gets dark long before the sun sets. I was done with knowledge the moment I looked up from the rabbit I was cooking & saw her watching me from the other side of the creek. In that moment I wanted nothing more than to save her. She spoke to me then from where she stood. She said: "Come over to me & bring your rabbit, Come. Come." I understood then, finally! She wanted to save me too.

Yes, it was easiest just to let the whole thing just spool out. To eat the cake as it was served. To be a fat man dreaming a flower.