A long day's journay into spam

[short timer]

Day six or seven I lost count
I even lost what it is I am counting from
Six days or seven days since what?
Since I realized just how stuck I am here.
It is a day I search for poetry

"A poem is an emergency"
William Stafford
You Reading This, Be Ready

Day five?

Day five since what?

Since I realized what a fool I am again.

How much she hates men

Well with a father like ours can I blame her?



Oh Well.
I still have a flair for the obvious.
I read an essay about I. B. Singer
The author called him "a god haunted writer"

Essay
Why Sisterly Chats Make People Happier
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/26/healt ... ef=general

I read the papers
oh boy
The English Army won the war
no better enemy

Day one

Ruth Bader Ginsburg I love you.

I was set free! I dissolved in the sea, became white sails and flying spray, became beauty and rhythm, became moonlight and the ship and the high dim-starred sky! I belonged, without past or future, within peace and unity and a wild joy, within something greater than my own life, or the life of Man, to Life itself! To God, if you want to put it that way."

Long Day's Journey into Night

Act 4

Divinely Distracted

I used to like Spam

I liked that greasy taste on my lips

reminded me of J. B. Ballard's Empire of The Sun

I open another text box as if the answer lies within it

As if I am going to write my way out of this

As if I was not powerless in the grip of what has gone before

As if there is going to be a happy ending

and insanity will stop

But I think maybe I am just trying to hide from the truth on the end of my fork.

Short timer
please short timer

set me free

turn me loose
while I am still alive.

The baby left today
it is going to be a long two days
and on Monday she won't be back

Here we are all
waiting for
a good word

a lucky break
And I am thinking he should go with her
He needs to be away from us.
Lost
Lost
A short story by I.B. Singer.
Lost
Lost
so god dam lost
only more words can save us now

I will sleep on them.


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


Day Two

Isabella Rose I love you.

still sitting here stunned at what has happened.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

they say a boy's best friend is his mother's diamonds

ah me what is a poor boy to do but dance
I used to dream about sailing my sloop to ireland

oh yes
galway girl

Day three
she says it did not occur to her to forbid the mother from taking her child with her because this is her legal residence

sometimes my sister makes sylvia plath seem like shirley temple
the quiet death of microbial wishes for happiness
trembling karmic keyboards of suicidal Jews
marking time in operatic spasms of precognition

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

day three
and then there are her children

from joan crawford to shirley temple
a better analog y than plath to shirley temple

women and children first
thinking about how bitch women can be to each other
they know each other so well I suppose.

precognition
when fears manifest
I have to remember
they are just my fears
best to not mention to anyone here
such a strange phase I am going through
I shall be released
when she is

every day another oppurtunity missed
Tomorrow another day
I look forward to another sunrise

flat tires
and baby gone away bl ues
sufficient unto the da y

><><><><><><>><>><><>>><>>><
Da y four


the sun is high
and so am I high
I slept through the sun rise
and at ten am the day is hot
the remains of today
loom like a c ustard pie
























































































































































































































































Deleted reply to SDL reposted here on day seven or eight because I decided to get s toned. I stay stoned for a month while I was moving, it was not something I wanted to think about in my right mind.




had to retitle this one again

I think the orginal title was 'spam'

which i changed to 'an old fuckting fool looks at seventy'
which is listening to a jimmy buffet song about A pirate looks at forty'


i think the orginal title might have been WIP
I did not want to lock it, that don't work

but i do it because the only reason i do it the only reason i lock a thread is because i know it will morph and i hate to edit a post after someone has replied to it. only women should do that. men should fall or stand by their word.

Ha
Listeninngg to a short history of ireland on BBC this morning
don't fuck around with them galway girls
they will run you through with a battle axe

sorry what were you talking about
BABY HEARTS

oh baby its a wild world
fear sows it seeds
it takes a fearless heart
>><>><><><><><>><<>><<><><><
i have to keep editing
i up to day three
above

paste
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

they say a boy's best friend is his mother's diamonds

ah me what is a poor boy to do but dance
I used to dream about sailing my sloop to ireland

oh yes
galway girl

Day three
she says it did not occur to her to forbid the mother from taking her child with her because this is her legal residence

sometimes my sister makes sylvia plath seem like shirley temple
the quiet death of microbial wishes for happiness
trembling karmic keyboards of suicidal Jews
marking time in operatic spasms of precognition


paste
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

day three
and then there are her children

from joan crawford to shirley temple
a better analog y than plath to shirley temple

women and children first
thinking about how bitch women can be to each other
they know each other so well I suppose.

precognition
when fears manifest
I have to remember
they are just my fears
best to not mention to anyone here
such a strange phase I am going through
I shall be released
when she is

every day another oppurtunity missed
Tomorrow another day
I look forward to another sunrise

flat tires
and baby gone away bl ues
sufficient unto the da y



_________________
I am not a veteran of the South East Asian War Games

http://www.landscaper.net/short.htm

[SadLuckDame]

What has happened, Jack?

When we wrap our finger through
Isabella Rose's curled luck,
on the edge of everything
and we know hope seems lively
by the look in her eyes
new, all baby blue new
and beautiful,
we wonder at how we could ever
get to be so dark
after spending a moment with her
in our arms...
dance a full circle
always can be happy in an ending
and then the beginnings,
love living life
knowing you, baby heart.

[short timer]

If you could love my sister, you'd be Jesus in disguise.

[SadLuckDame]

I can love, Jack
maybees it seems doubtful, but that's just cause I'm careful
or not easily trusting. I do love a lot of people though, even if I don't much show heart.

We should become artists
and all our troubles are worth the trouble, cause artists love trouble.

I had so much I wanted to tell you,
then today I thought I could see if you knew any good movies to watch.
I'm mellowed, I was climbing the walls.

[stilltrucking]

It hurt when Isabella Rose left with her mother. That was the one thing that made it seem worthwhile


It is pretty spooky. She blames me still for her unhappiness, she blames her mother, her father, but I am blaming her for mine. So there I am. I knew it was crazy to move here but what could I do. I could not say no.

Fucking altruism. I am keeping the faith Dame. It will all work out to the good if I keep the faith. .

Heretical as I am.

Good movie?

I watched about three this week end. I can't recommend any of them.

How about a good book. I would like to read this one again.
I am sure vonnegut was proably being satirical when he wrote this dedication to his novel The Sirens of Titan, but even so I like it. I want to believe it.

[SadLuckDame]

I do need a good book, it's good to see stilltrucking again.

Reading The Winged Serpent An Anthology of American Indian Prose and Poetry. I want to delve deeper into medicine women, I want to be some type of spiritual healer or striking towards those spirits of loved ones I'm drawn to dream with.

If I can go there in my sleep state, if I can touch intimately and encourage a healthy spirit, spring up the fruits or something that seems a medicine woman might do when her head lays at rest and the rest of the world is from physical reaches, but her spiritual strength knows no boundaries...

I'd try to be an opened girl, a vessel lady, a traveler who's free enough, to allow a greater to use me, possibly, to bring by the 'heal you under a fully gorgeous moonface', under a galaxy twinkling, with water carrying language to waters far off, or to your Irish Sea and to a secret pond my friend meets by, where communication can take place unlike the rather boring communication with my boss, where I can kiss my teacher man our two spells spelling out my gratitude, but not only gratitude, also a give and take, just an interest there to show my interest.

Morning rambling, I know.
It was my fall asleep thought,
which is likes a first thought
only more vulnerable with a sleepy state of mind. lol

From this book, reading last night...The Winged Serpent An Anthology of American Indian Prose and Poetry.

"The Maricopa shaman who is about to practice a cure sings his songs, which he has received in dreams, in the first place in order to gain strength himself. The cure itself is secondary and additional. It further seems as though healing power was believed a quality inherent in all song, the inseparable essence of melody and word.

In describing dreams to me [says Dr. Spier] the song was always mentioned first, as though that was the most significant element. The curative powers which the dreamer acquired...were sometimes mentioned as adjunct to song.

Which only proves again that song, at least with the American Indian, hardly exists as a pure art form: it always serves an end.

-Among the Fox we find the same attitude toward song as a life-preserving means. Said Owl: "Well, now I shall tell you about this which we sing. As we sing the manitou hears us. The manitou will not fail to hear us. It is just as if we were singing within the manitou's dwellings...We are not singing sportive songs. It is as if we are weeping, asking for life..." Michelson, The Owl Sacred Pack of the Fox Indians

Think of me as wanting your best health
and to prolong your life, if I'm in want to do
or at least to not sit stagnantly by,
try whats I may.

Important to keep by and by,
a teacher mans are the best.

O.K., I'm embarrassing myself by being so forward,
so unlikes me.


Sleep well, u,
some day you might get
more than you can do with,
it'll be in Spring.

Sleep well to baby girl,
to baby hearts,
to the rippling loots
and circus gents,
to lonesome doves
and to my letter writer.

[stilltrucking]

good night dame

[SadLuckDame]

We are haunted,
I found a ghost
and I got spooked

wake me up
if you gets this message

just need an old battered ship
and go to sea

where we bees the spooky

missed my chance
miss my fish

it feels like winter

alls going to ice,
make me think hot sand,
mr. u.

I want warm whiskers
tickling my hand
and he pours the wine
saying to us
such friendship,

my lady of situations.

Look this way
and blow off winter,
sandman.

[MrGuilty]

Hey U

I tore out a page here
a ramble about something that I censored out. I am trying to remember what it was. Repression is some sticky shit. Something about wondering how old Henry Miller was when he died. I think I saved it to my hard drive.

.

I will search for it and re-post it.

It was kind of embarrassing
Sounded too much like self pity maybe.

I been seriously t hinking about shaving

[SadLuckDame]

What will you shave, not your head I hope. Oh! I shouldn't bees so mean, but I'm drunk on green teas.

I remember reading what you'd deleted except I can't remember all of it
other than laughing 'bout Henry Miller and thinking I wish I knew him.

I have the side effect of sleepiness all week long, hop into bed by 9ish, hope for the best not to let the week disrupt or disturb my you know what...and it's not too easy to laugh them all off day long, but by weekend I forget there was even the week, I just pretend by then I'm like usual and by usual I mean what I'd always been.

Spent last night reading a hyper-link novel, some good stuff to entertain.
Kept thinking...'wait, this wasn't here last I'd read.' and away we goes.

To bees a friend of Jacks.
I went to bed thinking it,
then following that up with,
"I hope he thinks of me as his friend, geez, I hopes he likes me and maybees he hates women, but he still might bees my friend, even if he..."

[zero_hero]

I find it especially difficult to close my eyes, if I've found myself in a dull mood(those particularly emotionless and boredom ridden days), I couldn't do it until exhaustion finally closed my eyes, then there was no release for such a playful way for my soul to heal up and happily so during my dreams. Anyway, I'm just rambling. If it's the only way to have the love I seek, then I go to it and meet it in the Ennui or the pond, if I must, at least I'm honestly happy and not at all worried if I don't suit the normalcy or what society appreciates. It's mine, it's mine and that is more important to me.

I still sleep pretty fast, a legacy of the road. Seldom toss and turn, I did a week or so ago. Takes a certain discipline to sleep fast. Lie flat on your back and keep your eyes closed and let your mind drift so blind.

Here is the deleted post,
I guess I saved it
Doreen is right about that.

Ah Dame those Jewish women that owned my ass when I was just a little Jackster, they made me feel so good. A long time till I could see women as a rose is a rose.

Shaman got to heal themselves first, I think
Then they gather strength.
I started out wanting to be a healer, twelve years as a pre-med student.



Turned on a movie tonight I thought it said The Devil Wears Prada, but it was The Devil Wears Nada. I was watching this woman having a really good time, and wondering wear the heck is Meryl Streep in this movie?

How old was Henry Miller when he died.

Stilltrucking is a short timer Dame, I can't crying about the leaving.
But I could use a small vacation. Trying not to give all money away.

Well you know I always liked the bit from a John D Mcdonald novel.

"A friend is someone you can say any dam thing to and still remain friends."

Pretty much all I think about is escape these days. Hard to think about what is in store for me here. I was so afraid I was going to wind up homeless again. Which is what usually happens when my sister calls me to move back to texas.

No car, my motorcycle is busted, I am powerless feeling here.
I want to get that bike on the road. A couple of hundred bucks in my pocket and head down to the coast for a couple days. Speaking of feeling powerless I don't mind the thought I wont be walking around "with tented pants" again but I don't think I can live with out some pleasure, some sensual sensation, I have become polymorphously perverse in my dotage. From the inside out. I dreamed about the adult diapers the other night. And I think about the devil wears nada and ocean breezes.

self pity
but truth be told
I am glad that it is over
I know how a menopausal woman must feel.

Freud that dirty old man, spoke of children being polymorphously perverse. Their sexual pleasure not localized in their genitals yet. I wonder how much time he ever spent with his infant children?

I am going to take my motorcycle to the shop, I dont have to fuck to live, but I got to ride.

All of human history turns out to have been generated by a distant civilization for the sole purpose of getting Salo, as our alien is known, his missing part. Vonnegut uses farce in telling Malachi's story in order to undercut traditional understandings of God, religion, and the notion that humanity is at the center of the divine narrative. I must confess that I am baffled why so many religious people find this disturbing. I'm a devout Christian myself and secure in my faith, and find Vonnegut's account of the meaninglessness of life and his depiction of the Church of God the Utterly Indifferent to be comical rather than threatening.


http://www.amazon.com/Sirens-Titan-S-F-Masterwo

[SadLuckDame]

Now I remember when I read it, it put erotic thoughts into my head and Jack Kerouac and nothing pleasant to speak of in that dream anyone wants to hear, when they read the visual image words, but hey, it's real dreams, guess that's it, real erotica emotions involved and all of it. I'll have to add the dream in the dream thread, was to do with my best friend's father, an old man, surgery scarred knees to boot.

Yes, Henry Miller. I crack up about it.
If I could be an Anais type, and if I were to know Henry Miller! but then I do, my own Henry Miller type, a substitute possibly is what another may think, but to me it fills the same make, simulates exactly and designed to me. What could be better, maybees not even Henry Miller's ghost, maybees not even Henry Miller himself, if he were the living breathing Henry.

[stilltrucking]

Interesting book.

The History of The Devil


Interesting video

The History of The Devil


How far have we come from the Salem witch trials?

Thinking about my dream lover. I never thought of her as a succubus. I never felt she was evil, I never feared her.

I have no memory of intercourse, just of the heat from her body. I never saw her face in the shadows.

Not about you not about me
We just be jamming.

[tinkerjack]

For some reason I keep coming back to this page
Maybe because it is coming so fast these days
I feel like Henry Miller's Uncle and Bukowski's father these days
But I slog on with my apostrophes