Bandit Notions

[the mingo]

Thx, Jack. I was not sure where to put it. Maybe Culture, Politics & Philosophy?

[stilltrucking]

any where you want it. but my gut reaction was poem, whatever else it is, it is poetry

a prose poem
a poem with out carriage returns

it is a tight little bundle of words, reminds me of the inside of a golf ball, all those little rubber bands wrapped so tightly

[the mingo]

Thx Jack.

[stilltrucking]

thank you for writing that

it was a wonderful bit of writing.

complex and wonderful

I wander in darkness, my choice, but it is good to keep in touch

now it is 1915 and the Lusitania is loaded with lies and munitions for war, Woodrow Wilson kept us out of the war boys, it is 1942 and the Nazi Pope is in the Hitler youth.

In Vichy France it was a field day for the informers, and the United States of America is the New Rome, the Jews became the Christ killers in the later part of the fourth century of the common era.

http://jcpa.org/article/the-origins-of- ... -semitism/

[the mingo]

Victim - word can be traced directly to the Latin victima means "person or animal killed as a sacrifice" - surprising choice of word going on here, especially in the context of "Murder victims" - to what, or more importantly, to whom are the victims of murder, simple or en masse, sacrificed to, for what, and why? Do we understand at all the gods we have chosen to court or, more frightening, already in service to?

[the mingo]

Hallelujah - that's a word that has always hooked me - i like it even better than cursing - if I ever write one clean sentence that word is gonna be in it.

[the mingo]

My pipes are froze. Been that way for a week. Not all of them but some. I can't get to the ones what froze because they go through the cellar wall into a crawl space. Now this crawl space has been broken into by animals who den up in there. I can get my Yew Nork ass in there but have no room to ward off bites from those animals that will wake up to my invasion.

So the pipes say froze until the temps rise enough.

Ya know it has occurred to me that compared to peace, war is a simple affair. Peace is always complicated. War has the virtue of being straightforward.

[the mingo]

Literature is a disease not easy to dismiss by sitting in secret. Too many are loud about dreams & loyal to luck. Others are adults who advertise by link & list, realizing that security is a sentence of death separate from a drop down menu. It is easier to eye the camel than to needle it. To sense & seize & send one must dive to the depth of the activist actor, the darling discriminator, and the doctor of do will loan you the distance to load lonely & look & listen. The universal is found in the local. Here is where the face of it all begins. and where one thing is made to taste like another. Every story sits across from it's own accusation, face-to-face like a seed.
Yes, the curse is of severe manufacture with dust before, dust during, & dust after. Drama & tale & story is how mankind is to spend its days. Writing was the firstborn child of language & language is the child of the need to have a place to hoard & spend story.

One thing for certain, there is nothing either laughable or pathetic about the phrase "it was a dark & stormy night..."

Storytellers are creatures made entirely of invisible stuff. They come full blown out of the regions where the wendigo dwell. They can raise the Titanic for a Jack & a Rose. The Last Exit to Brooklyn is just down a street in your town. Out in old plantation country Miss Jane Pittman tells a man "You don't know much, do ya?" On a dusty main street in a town called Refuge Black Jack Britten says to Sheriff Wild Bill Hickok, "Sheriff, your mother's a whore!" and Hickok, both guns drawn & cocked & aimed, in a voice of pure cold venom spits back at Black Jack, "I have no mother!" A French Chief of Police asks the American nightclub owner "What happened, Ricky, why are you here in Casablanca, what did you do? I like to think you killed a man but that's just the romantic in me."

...

[stilltrucking]

הַלְּלוּיָהּ

A good word for a one word sentence.


Sidewalk outside marked up with colored chalk, Isabella rose is doing her cave drawings in pastel greens and blue and pink, makes me want to thank G d for the children, something new, something different under the sun. So David and the Jews are cursed by G d, first time I heard that. Must be true I heard it on public television.

My head is in the music this morning

When the word was Thunderbird



G d bless the boys who make the noise on 16th avenue

[stilltrucking]

I must have been posting when I you posted this. Did not read till after I posted the above.

Literature is a disease not easy to dismiss by sitting in secret. Too many are loud about dreams & loyal to luck. Others are adults who advertise by link & list, realizing that security is a sentence of death separate from a drop down menu. It is easier to eye the camel than to needle it. To sense & seize & send one must dive to the depth of the activist actor, the darling discriminator, and the doctor of do will loan you the distance to load lonely & look & listen. The universal is found in the local. Here is where the face of it all begins. and where one thing is made to taste like another. Every story sits across from it's own accusation, face-to-face like a seed.
Yes, the curse is of severe manufacture with dust before, dust during, & dust after. Drama & tale & story is how mankind is to spend its days. Writing was the firstborn child of language & language is the child of the need to have a place to hoard & spend story.

One thing for certain, there is nothing either laughable or pathetic about the phrase "it was a dark & stormy night..."

Storytellers are creatures made entirely of invisible stuff. They come full blown out of the regions where the wendigo dwell. They can raise the Titanic for a Jack & a Rose. The Last Exit to Brooklyn is just down a street in your town. Out in old plantation country Miss Jane Pittman tells a man "You don't know much, do ya?" On a dusty main street in a town called Refuge Black Jack Britten says to Sheriff Wild Bill Hickok, "Sheriff, your mother's a whore!" and Hickok, both guns drawn & cocked & aimed, in a voice of pure cold venom spits back at Black Jack, "I have no mother!" A French Chief of Police asks the American nightclub owner "What happened, Ricky, why are you here in What happened, Ricky, why are you here in Casablanca, what did you do? I like to think you killed a man but that's just the romantic in me."

Wild Bill the boy with two names, William Williams, last time I saw him he scared me me made me sad. Our trucks sitting side by side at the dock in Dennison Texas. I am sitting in his truck we just chewing the fat he pulls out a fith of whiskey offers me a swig, takes one himself suddenly I realize he is drunk on his ass. My memory blank after that, repression. I have read that the creator knows the intentions behind my intentions. Never killed, but if a man can commit adultery in his heart, he certainly can commit murder too

So much malarkey about devils and demons and monsters, a fellow said of the french collaborators in Vichy France "these were normal people"

[the mingo]

"These were normal people" - brought a smile Jack, trouble of normal people is that they can scare the shit outta ya at any given moment. Ha!

[stilltrucking]

Stuff I am grateful for, Calvin and Hobbes and Mingo's Lingo.
Thank you for writing.

[the mingo]

This cracked me right the hell up

[the mingo]

the bird bites the black
and blames the bleed
on the blind
or whomever

Moses was monumentally stupid to think of begging off the summons of the Holy One of Israel. He tried to make the play stick though not holding even one good card. I bet you he messed himself when all was said & done. Goes back to Adam who tried to run the same slick shit in an even un-holier fashion. When God confronted him in the garden and
asked him what he had done and had he eaten from the tree God had told him not to he first blamed God for the situation in which he found himself and what blame was left over after that he put on his wife. Needless to say this used up his stock of blame and left him nothing to blame himself with.

Not the best choice of ideas in the Presence of the Holy One of Israel.

Do-wacka-do.

[the mingo]

o man first thing today I was ganged on by syllables! Only had just gotten into my coffee next thing I know it's war! My full body armor was packed away in the closet and these little cheesedicks always know how to pick their shots. Once they figure they can take you it's always a 'fessed-up mess. Gives ya pause I can say.