Saturday, April 30, 2011

Google of the Damned

I realized what a millstone Google has become, what an albatross, when I thought back over the enigmas, events, non-events, improbabilities and tidbits of surreal hopefulness I have most recently Googled.

This list would include:

1. "recreational activities of unicorns"
2. "People who have been killed by rainbows"
3. "If you drop a multivitamin on the floor and can't find it, can a superpowerful insect develop?"
4. "the lifespan of a clipped toenail" (again lost on the floor, presumably to be used as a weapon by the vitamined-up bug)
5. "animals and insects that resemble Lady Gaga"
6. "has anyone been charged with date raping himself or herself"
7. "did Buddha have a masseur or masseuse?"
8. "erotic attraction to snowmen or snowwomen"
9. "who invented the snowbunny"
10. "how common was cursing among caveman"
11. "numbers between 0 and 9 which have been forgotten"
12. "the longest recorded 'sorry, wrong number" conversation in history"
13. "stalked and killed for dialing a wrong number"
14. "the i.q. of dust bunnies"
15. "people who disappeared attempting time travel"
16. "people who wrote love letters to popes"
17. "the funniest cartoon by a caveman discovered"
18. "who made the first ass xerox?"
19. "annotated history of the snowbunny"
20. "fear of alphabetical order"
21. "greatest supererogatory act in the history of mankind"
22. Google Image Search: snowbunnies
23 Google Image Search: condor in condo
24. Google Image Search: baby eating rat
25. Google Image Search: Lady Gaga penis
26. Google Image Search: Google Image Search
27. Google Image Search: "too much time on his hands"
28. Google Image Search: neolithic girls gone wild
29. Jersey Shore and beliefs about the afterlife
30. Google Image Search: unicorn penis
31. "stalked by a unicorn"
32. "Was Shakespeare really 1,217 people?"
33. "the world's first famous last words"
34. "world record for bloviation"
35. "Bjorkphobia, Bjorkphilia"
36. "pleasant dragons"
37. "Pre-Columbian Columbus"
38. Google Image Search: erectile superachievers
39. greatest achievements of sleepers
40. "child speaks only in lolspeak"
41. stores mentioned in the Bible
42. "Noah's Ark waterslide"
43. online emergency room
44. bots who have been sued
45. bots charged as accessories to murder
46. worst April Fool's Day jokes ever
47. Google Image Search: David Byrne in Walmart
48. Bermuda Triangle toys
49. Pitcairn Island online
50. Buy meerkats cheap

Friday, April 29, 2011

I Knew of Many of These Deaths

But not a few were surprises to me just now.

So sorry to see Ai's name here.

And had no idea George Hitchcock was still alive! Love that one anthology of surrealism he did. Always wondered if Robyn is a relation of his. Might explain a lot lol.

I remember grieving when I heard Scalapino's name. And Clifton's. And Salinger was an early love for me as a reader. Orlovsky was a delight.

This is from the Biblioklept site.

An Incomplete List of) Writers Who Died in 2010
by Biblioklept

J. D. Salinger, 91, American author

Howard Zinn, 87, American historian

Barry Hannah, 67, American novelist and short story writer

David Markson, 82, American writer

Harvey Pekar, 70, American comic book writer (American Splendor)

Tuli Kupferberg, 86, American poet, cartoonist and musician (The Fugs)

David Mills, 48, American author, journalist and television writer (NYPD Blue, The Corner, Kingpin)

Dick Giordano, 77, American comic book artist and editor (Batman, Green Lantern)

José Saramago, 87, Portuguese novelist, playwright and journalist, Nobel Prize winner for literature

Lucille Clifton, 73, American poet (Blessing the Boats), Poet Laureate of Maryland

Robert Dana, 80, American poet, Iowa poet laureate

Rajendra Keshavlal Shah, 96, Indian poet

Tibet, 78, French comics artist

Mary Daly, 81, American radical feminist philosopher

Knox Burger, 87, American editor, writer, and literary agent

George Leonard, 86, American writer, editor and educator, pioneer of the Human Potential Movement

Robert B. Parker, 77, American detective writer

Laura Chapman Hruska, 74, American writer, co-founder and editor in chief of Soho Press

Stephen Morse, 65, American poet

P. K. Page, 93, Canadian poet

Bingo Gazingo, 85, American performance poet

Kage Baker, 57, American science fiction and fantasy author

Ralph McInerny, 80, American philosopher (University of Notre Dame) and mystery author

Erich Segal, 72, American professor, author (Love Story), and screenwriter (Yellow Submarine)

Carlos Montemayor, 62, Mexican writer

Violet Barclay, 87, American comic book artist

David Severn, 91, British author

Colin Ward, 85, British anarchist writer

William Tenn, 89, American science fiction writer

Liz Carpenter, 89, American feminist author, press secretary to Lady Bird Johnson (1963–1969)

John Eric Holmes, 80, American science fiction and fantasy author

Ai Ogawa, 62, American poet, breast cancer

Patricia Wrightson, 88, Australian children’s writer

Matilde Elena López, 91, Salvadoran poet, essayist and playwright

Elena Schwarz, 61, Russian poet

Ella Mae Johnson, 106, American social worker and author

Miguel Delibes, 89, Spanish author, journalist and scholar

Sid Fleischman, 90, American children’s writer

Bill DuBay, 62, American comic book editor, writer, and artist

Henry Scarpelli, 79, American comic book artist (Archie)

Alan Sillitoe, 82, British writer (Saturday Night and Sunday Morning)

Jan Balabán, 49, Czech writer, recipient of the Magnesia Litera award

William Neill, 88, British poet

Carolyn Rodgers, 69, American poet

Peter Orlovsky, 76, American poet

Leslie Scalapino, 65, American poet, publisher and playwright

Peter Seaton, 67, American poet

Judson Crews, 92, American poet

Hoàng Cầm, 88, Vietnamese poet and playwright

Donald Windham, 89, American novelist

Bree O’Mara, 42, South African novelist

Robert Tralins, 84, American author

Ruth Chew, 90, American children’s author

Randolph Stow, 74, Australian writer

Arthur Herzog, 83, American writer

Peter O’Donnell, 90, British writer

T. M. Aluko, 91, Nigerian writer

Kovilan, 86, Indian novelist

F. Gwynplaine MacIntyre, 62, Welsh science fiction author

Allen Hoey, 57, American poet

José Albi, 88, Spanish poet

Andrei Voznesensky, 77, Russian poet and writer

Vladimír Bystrov, 74, Czech writer and translator

Suso Cecchi d’Amico, 96, Italian screenwriter (Bicycle Thieves)

Tom Mankiewicz, 68, American screenwriter (James Bond, Superman)

Iris Gower, 75, Welsh novelist

Jon Cleary, 92, Australian novelist (The Sundowners, High Road to China)

James P. Hogan, 69, British science fiction author

Michèle Causse, 74, French lesbian theorist, author and translator

Vance Bourjaily, 87, American novelist

Patrick Cauvin, 77, French novelist

Sir Frank Kermode, 90, British literary critic and writer

Ludvík Kundera, 90, Czech writer and translator

George Hitchcock, 96, American poet and publisher

Jennifer Rardin, 45, American author

Edwin Charles Tubb, 90, British science fiction author

Micky Burn, 97, British writer and poet

Belva Plain, 95, American novelist (Evergreen)

Bärbel Mohr, 46, German author

George Cain, 66, American author

Claire Rayner, 79, British author

Alí Chumacero, 92, Mexican writer and poet

Monica Johnson, 54, American novelist and screenwriter (Lost in America, Modern Romance)

Philip Carlo, 61, American crime author

Adrian Păunescu, 67, Romanian author, poet and politician

Dmitry Gorchev, 47, Russian writer

Richard Stanley “Dick” Francis, 79, a British jockey who later wrote crime novels about horse racing


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Monday, April 25, 2011

Sweet Continuance

Too gifts arrived from writers in today's mail to cheer me.

My friend Celestine Frost has edited a marvelous anthology of children's poetry (soi-disant)--she picked great poems for readers off all ages! And an editor from St. Paul sent me his beautiful, oddly-formatted mag to invite me to submit once again. I once had been a regular contributor back when I lived in the apartment where I lived before here....and possibly when I lived in my Mom's house. This mag has been around a while!

I look forward to reading these and discussing these both more at length.

Frost's anthology has wonderful illustrations by Brian Cronin and came out from AARP and Sterling.

I see there is a rave appreciation by Maya Angelou on there should be.

Frost has included such disparate greats as James Wright, Richard Brautigan, Jonathan Swift, Lewis Carroll, Marianne Moore, Christina Rossetti, Lorca, get the idea.

It's a classy production, beautifully bound and thick and with full-color illustrations, and I'm sure this came out in a huge run, so I'm happy to think this book will be lovingly recycled by "newer children" for generations.

And I'm especially touched by the lovely inscription in Celestine's hand and love seeing the date 2011 after her hand.

Vive la Frost!

Likewise on the letter from my editor friend in St. Paul!

The branches bend but they do not break!


I Woke

I don't really have nightmares, or any I can remember, but I did have one just now. I was doing battle with demons (five of them, no less) in a kitchen, no less. They had actually managed to set my one arm on fire and it hurt!

This was probably because in the dream I had gone to this ENDLESS darkly-themed film fesival, most of whose films were in Italian (and I understood them perfectly) but the art students who comprised the core of the audience kept insisting these were films by Fellini. They weren't.

The odd thing is that every film began shot from the POV of a man running in the rain who was running under the undercarriage of an old jet (circa early 1960s) taking off. Nobody knew he was under the jet but himself and it was a struggle for life.

The music was wild throughout these movies and I'm fairly certain it was Ligeti, except dream-Ligeti.

The Italian art students had this thing about taking off most of their clothes in this dark movie hall composed of rickety chairs and pushing them en masse towards the front of the stage.

So between movies or when you were leaving (the theater remained dark) you had to search for your coat, socks, shoes, etc.

It was an orgy of bedgraggled clothes.

I remember being upset about being separated seemingly permanently from a good belt and coat and finding myself having to shoplift shop. The dream had me ending up with some student's somewhat ratty camelhair.

And then I was waging war with demons while (cooking?). My fear that I will need to take over the kitchen is my greatest fear of living alone?

Or is my fear more of real demons.

Difficult Time Periods

Above: How I visualize the interviewing process going...somewhat as this exchange between Miss Havisham and Pip.

We all have them.

It appears I will be living alone in this house in the near future. Well, there will still be Dru. And my stray kitteh visitor.

But I am going to need to advertise for a housemate. Male. Female. Young. Old. I don't care. Preferred non-smoker. Non pet-owner With the obligatory references. Can't have cat allergies as I have cat. Non-serial killer strongly preferred. A no on those who turn room parties into house parties or who partake of illegal substances. Sorry, I empathize, but I can't go there. There is a a washer but the drier is a green process I can explain to you. It is not a machine.

Dating or mating is fine if it can be contained as a "housemate phenomenon."

Would prefer solitary Shaker woman 80 years of age who manufactures those hat boxes but what are the chances.

There are two thousand and some square feet I think I don't know. Five bedrooms but four good ones (one is an add-on more suitable for a college kid or something).

One and a half bathrooms.

House used to be haunted. But sorry to say that went kaput. It's now a normal house.

Heats up nicely in winter and cools down nicely in summer.

Negotiable rent but I will undercut everyone else and this is a safe neighborhood and busline accessible if you are a poor darling without a car.

I am eccentric but not nosey, friendly but not officious.

I realize this is the WORST spot to advertise something like this...yes I will find the site where the students and au pairs look and post there too, but I figured I'd say it here first.

If you're some crazy person I no longer talk to but once did, please don't even consider asking.

The answer is no.

There was going to be a big screen t.v. but I am told that is leaving.

So we can stare together at the space where the big screen t.v. was.

Or maybe do crafts there.

I do have a plan with which planets are going to take the place of the big screen t.v. so we can call that The Greenery or The Orangery or something pretentious.

Thus I am preparing for widowhood.

I'd say spinsterhood but I'm still sort of optimisitic.

Inquire for room and lodging within at

Stabling available for horses/teams but only Hobson's Choice.

Stealth Bisexuals

Belated Happy Easter.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Short Short Story

He made sure to buy his mistress the same extremely expensive perfume he gave his wife for Christmas. Sometimes, when he arrived at their apartment imbued with the scent from a romp with his mistress, he would grab his spouse's perfume bottle and playfully atomize, coating his wife and camouflaging himself. Then he would grab her at these times, and fall backwards onto their big bed while holding her tightly as she giggled and squirmed and as her inner olfactory detective grew intoxicated and stupid.

She found this boyish playfulness charming.

Only when she was on trial for his murder did she finally suss out the true meaning of this repeated "erotic ritual."

And then she laughed.

Out loud.

In the middle of court one afternoon.

And that whore had dared to wear the same scent to court even.

The accused could smell its frumptiousness from where she sat.

Short Short Story

"We will have to hurry. And no perfume."

I Had a Dream

that went on forever. I slept twelve hours. The dream was trying to be helpful by writing some of the funny yaoi book I'm trying to write now.

The book/dream began with a bunch of Japanese schoolgirls playing The Lord of the Flies on a playground.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

LOL friends are the bestest

My friend Beanie on LOL made this LOL for me today...

I was touched!

This is because I say in my profile I'm a garden gnome in Pennsyltucky.

Hence the caption she put to this.

She is a fellow Pennsylvanian but I'm not sure where.

The cat sort of looks like the stray cat I'm feeding and in the process of adopting right now.

But he's much younger than this cat. Less whiskery too.

Hangin owt wiff our Bud, WilliamKeckler!

Show Me Your Teeth

I would like to make a film that was only two hours of looking at different people's mouths. The mouth is prepared for war. In so many ways. Not just in that Francis Bacon painting, primate warfare way. Even immunologically, your mouth is prepared for war. It fights AIDS and everything else off. But those teeth. In profile. When you are screaming. Or biting. Why do I think of Christian Bale's mouth first? Because he has such a frightening primate dentition. Or knows how to present it that way. I like mouths. I wouldn't want to be a dentist though. But to film like 200 random people...their mouths. That would be fun.

Stealth Bisexuals

I would like to write a book (sociological study) on stealth bisexuals. I have to admit I find their duplicitous psychology fascinating. I mean men of course. All it takes to turn a woman "bisexual" is a camera. Well, not even that. Attention. Sorry. The truth hurts. Trust me, I know. It hits me like a Mack truck. Every day.

Disney Should Make

Disney should make an animated musical about two male seahorses who fall in love while they are pregnant together. They should sing a bunch of love songs under the sea and the bestest song of all would be when the hundreds of babies came pouring out of them. This would free them up to be handsome SKINNY gay male seahorses in love. But have the wives of the gay seahorses find better-suited matches so there aren't any frustrated hetero viewers. And the two gay seahorses should be played by Adam Lambert and Justin Bieber.

Confessions of an Animal Hoarder

Even I
would find it


if I ended up

and looking/sounding
like Bette Davis

and everyone
would just assume

AIDS because
of those

mountains of cock.
And I'd have

to disabuse them:
"S'Lyme Disease!!"

The Queen of the Underworld

The Queen of the Underworld
has jokes.

She sent stray cats
to save me from cock.

I still get
to cuddle with strangers

when my husband's
away at night.

But now I fear
fleas and ticks.

I feel my brow in fear
of a different fever.

Lyme Disease.

For a Young Queer

You plead virtuous.
Please, son.

I know your relationship
to cum is like Paula Deen's

to butter.


The only thing
I let in my bed
besides Lee
that has balls
is a stray cat.

So I don't think
I qualify as gay


Fake butter.
Sham salt.

And now penis


I read Deepak Chopra
because I am trying to free my elf

Cruising Guide

Mail comes from Degenerate, scary, 10 years older than they say.*

Yahoo. Old guys, even more degenerate than AOL, constantly in chatrooms and obsessive cammers.

Comcast. Rednecks. Beer bellies small, medium and large. Some cuties if you like the plaid and deerstalker type.

Gmail. Young dudes. Hotties here.

Blackberry. Young dudes but also creepy businessmen sex addicts and truckers at the Holiday Inn.

Hotmail. Trash. Just total trash.

Work email. Total sex addicts.

Earthlink. WTF? How do you still have email dude?

*Yes, I'm on AOL lol. I pay 12 dollars a month though. Because I had a major bitch fight with half of India once (their c.s.) and I managed to get this sweetheart deal in exchange for an agreement not to sue.

Spring and Rut and All

I should go outside with my camera and scare young men by taking their picture.

Because they are already shirtless.

In April.

You just know the deer are fucking all night long.

Visit My Mexican Shrine!!

I am not stabled by light
Evidently, I am neither a starveling nor a curlew
I don't lactate
I've a soft spot for fuckwits
I would like to be the Madonna

of all the human lint in the universe

Other than That

It's a beautiful spring day!

The minotaurs are out and about.

And taking off their shirts.

Look at that wife beater!

"the space in these is the right direction yadda yadda and something something no one will admit until you die"

I have a REALLY FUCKING ANNOYING conceptualist dung beetle commenting my boxes and (s)he thinks (s)he has a read on poets and the stupid fucking betises that usually pass for their consciousness.

Unfortunately for this little darling, I actually know when something i write sucks (doesn't mean I won't blog it anyway for the sake of blogging). As that poem you thought was the "right direction." But actually wasn't. Those lines sucked.

So when you left that "poor Chatterton" type comment in the middle of the night on that post, you totally wasted your time.

No, I don't buy into any of the Romantic myths. So soz. But. Your comments are getting nowhere.

Yes, I might be mentally ill. But I know when someone is fucking with me. And doing a very poor job of it.

And you suck.

All future comments will be vaporized (after I laugh at the fact that you clearly have no life if you're leaving these).

I might be on disability but I can say I NEVER in my life...NOT ONCE...left annoying comments anonymously on anyone's blog

When I have been an asshole it has been in a very public way.

Grow a pair.

And you're in New York City.

Aren't there like things to do there?

To keep people like you busy?

There is nothing more tiring for an alcoholic than to babysit another alcoholic.

I will drown you in the bathtub and tell your mother you slipped on the soap.

And then I'll finish your drink sitting on the tub's edge. How's that for mean?

You're probably fifty years old. So. These. Things. Happen.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Describes how i feel perfectly tonight

A Diva

is a female version of a hustlah.

Just in case you live like under a rock.

And didn't know.

The Sky Was All Yellow

"And Deathstar is spelled D-E-A-T-H-S-T-A-R. Isn't that right, Darth? Darth? Darth?"

On the Beloved's Immortality

A butterfly "is okay" with being stabbed by light
"I need something from you," a flower says
"I need you to rub those butterfly ankles of yours all over me"
What a slutty flower! you think but get excited
And a star hushes you
Hush now

A butterfly is shown a timeline
That timeline is rigorous evil rigorous
"ohfuck ohfuck ohfuck ohfuck!" says the butterfly

It knows the timeline's impossible

So the butterfly is clearly malingering now
It pretends asleep on a gracious branch
While it does something useless with its showoff proboscis
On a branch wintergreen in hottest summer
Cools the butterfly's "sort of mind" down
You are that cooling wintergreen

To my mind you are like unto a sweet malingering

You hush me
My radio of need I carry to the beach
But late in evening
A nude butterfly listens to the stars

The butterfly slips and says "just bring a wineglass"
While it stares at the ocean breaking
Ocean takes a phosphorus poll over and over
exhausting for plankton, nekton & krill

Ecstatic travel has tired the butterfly out

The sea speaks then to the butterfly
Says, "You have mesmerized me with your brazenness..."

The sea speaks like an episode of Star Trek
It is very disappointing

Age approaches the butterfly on the street
The butterfly vacillates between the ethereal and Nevada
It's probably hopeless

The butterfly has nostalgie de la boue
The mistake is believing in human diagnoses
It overhears some flower saying to another
"Let down your zipper and your fond desertion!"
As they leave that beach forever
Clearly relationship trouble is everywhere in the Kingdom

Still, this butterfly would like to say to one particular flower

"I have your soul and miss only your eyelashes..."


"It is bountiful / to be scared / by your hush"


A small bird goes for testing
It is unrivaled in fear
The bird is addicted to the lottery
The lottery of human beings is a lot
It is a lot to have on your plate
Whether you are "a human bean" or "Frances Bean"
Don't you think even God gets tired
Of you counting all the abortions
out loud to reach glory?
Of trying to help you get to sleep?
Pretending life fits in your sonnet's toaster?
A small bird gives Jewish testimony
Over and over in a funny accent
The bird duly confesses it loves to watch
Snow falling on asbestos of forgiveness

"I Just Wanted You to Know"

Last night I dreamt about you.
You saw through me with your little carrot lantern.
I drove a little car like Stuart Little.
I think I parked in the bushes next to your Dream House
And you said without looking, "I can still seeeeee you.."
From inside your garret room where you snorkeled.

You told me you were too air water fire earth for me.
You snorkeled men a great deal, often with impunity.
I was lonely in my Stuart Little car like James Dean.
Why wouldn't you sext me? (I have used the word "dreamt.")
You were too proud with your little carrot lamp.
I wanted to smash it. Like Cupid and Psyche.

I grew notorious like algae in the sea of books.
Notorious, but not like you with your little carrot lamp.
I was just happy my feet didn't turn to horn
As you predicted when you lifted my bush that time.
You are too proud in your minotaur shoes.
You need someone to bring you down. And I just might be the creep.
The Continents are cut-ups
Buzz there is holding holding
I collect tiny insects rehabs

It is Pei humorous exoskeleton

grafted to Punchinello Gehry alcotourist mind

Water has been "kept" falling

billions of years

No one to catch it
It is important to imagine a Tree
the canopy must be ancient
green godlike like childhood running
not like a clock inside

0 comments arrive in the Mesozoic

creatures are forming themselves

without social criticism

other than being eaten

although Uttar Pradesh
visits from Uttar Pradesh
was it under duress?

If a Burning Bush goes mad
will it still keep talking

Animatronic Burning Bush
is like government

anointed with the nonsensical
Loki manners
spring who makes a parenthesis

(maimed soldiers are taken
to swim with dolphins in Florida

terrible godlike indiscretions
you have for friends
are aliens

Reboot is Gaga horrible

Blink the forest near

the Wolf knew too well
by now
the smell of packing it in

in the fairy tale

excised from the childhood edition

Three Korean masks
say something terrible

the idea of a house is unhealthy

how will you ever beg again

surrender like the Sun to Gertrude Stein
surrendering to the Sun
in the bathroom this morning

I can't really gather it

1.) Deploy clouds

The three Korean masks are a win
because they are an idea
resident in a false headed house

Image what must be
like childhood running green down a leg

2). Do the mountains laugh or scowl



a horrible fill-in-the-blank drag queen

will have Godzilla emotions

be ancient green like childhood running down

and on a madman there is often sometimes oftimes a burning bush

without a patent

a draft of a Burning Bush

spring makes terrible godlike indiscretions
just like your language my alien friends

the tongues

the liens

death will require new charms

the smell of packing

abandoned lovers

and stars

a house this morning strays past my door

a creeping house like a vine like a native myth

or star

the three Korean masks say something terrible

Gertrude Stein runs away with the idea of a house

that proved so dangerous

how do you beg inside a house * you will stop begging

this is so unhealthy

like Manila Luzon the drag queen

the Godzilla of drag queen emotions

as here in the Egyptian wing of the museum

dark and shadowy

filled with bisexual students

we find a plastic face melting in a taxi

carved in sleek black diorite
My alien friends
Whelp clouds like Watteau     distractions


Share to TWITTER



The terrible blinking

slowly gives way

to the vegetable stare
I'd make a horrible
fill-in-the-blank     blink
the forest of possibles
slowly gives way     to the other one
Deploy clouds like Watteau     distractions
ice creams      Escaping death
will require new charms and technology
the Wolf knew you too well

the smell of packing it in
i can't really gather it
but i suppose      i wanted a reef
of the inexplicables for a house
this morning     stray at my door
the three Korean masks     say something terrible
Gertrude Stein     sun in the bathroom
Surrender     is a funny win
The idea of a house      proved so dangerous
how do you beg      inside a house


you will stop begging

this is so unhealthy

like Manila Luzon the drag queen

the Godzilla of drag queen emotions
there is a holding      holding
i collect tiny statues      humorous
holding the lute of nothing
no one to catch it     read to us
It is important to imagine a Tree
the canopy     must be ancient
green like childhood      running down

not like a clock      outside the classroom
Someone visits      from Uttar Pradesh
did they laugh?      did they scowl?
did they arrive here under duress?
Why do you talk on and on     a madman
Because I am a bush     and it is spring
I am anointed     with the nonsensical
which is liberation     :i find manna
in the Loki manners     spring makes
terrible godlike indiscretions

just like your language     my alien friends

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Missing the Boat

"YAY! The Flood is over!  Let's throw a party!! Hey, didja hear? Nobody saw Mr. and Mrs. Unicorn on the Ark!"



Are Cats Sociopaths?

Here is a list of traits of sociopaths.

How many of these apply to cats?

Scary, huh?

•Glibness/Superficial Charm
•Manipulative and Cunning
•Grandiose Sense of Self
•Pathological Lying
•Lack of Remorse, Shame or Guilt
•Shallow Emotions
•Incapacity for Love
•Need for Stimulation
•Callousness/Lack of Empathy
•Poor Behavioral Controls/Impulsive Nature
•Early Behavior Problems/Juvenile Delinquency
•Promiscuous Sexual Behavior/Infidelity
•Lack of Realistic Life Plan/Parasitic Lifestyle
•Criminal or Entrepreneurial Versatility
•Contemptuous of those who seek to understand them
•Does not perceive that anything is wrong with them
•Only rarely in difficulty with the law, but seeks out situations where their tyrannical behavior will be tolerated, condoned, or admired
•Conventional appearance
•Goal of enslavement of their victim(s)
•Exercises despotic control over every aspect of the victim's life
•Has an emotional need to justify their crimes and therefore needs their victim's affirmation (respect, gratitude and love)
•Ultimate goal is the creation of a willing victim
•Incapable of real human attachment to another
•Unable to feel remorse or guilt
•Narcissism, grandiosity (self-importance not based on achievements)
•May state readily that their goal is to rule the world

Read more:

Hermit Exhibitionism

"We have no secrets  in this house, young lady."

Kitteh Einstein

E  =  m  c  squared


My Stray Kitteh

My stray kitteh visited for the first time in the daylight!

He NEVER showed his face once before.

But it was raining.

So now I think I am his rain shelter.

He was on the porch when Lee arrived from the store carrying bags, came inside and had lunch (usually "lunch" is served at midnight) and then after I tended him, dried him off, did the usual tick check and all, he went over and curled up on Lee's lap and went to sleep.

On Lee's lap.

I am the one who has been feeding him, tending him, all that stuff.

But I think he's a smart cat.

He already knows he has me in his pocket. And he noticed Lee was the one getting out of a car carrying fardels of nutritional goodness.

He probably already has me marked as a cat-loving derelict, a crazy cat lady in process.

He left after a nap of an hour or so, so he wasn't that terrified of the rain I suppose.

Or is he working his "circuit."

I have to say no stray cat in the neighborhood has any degree of paunch.

But this one's getting there.

He's also elongating in a most disturbing fashion.

He's getting to those snaky lengths that only some cats achieve.

When he stretches out on our living room floor it's a bit frightening.

He really doesn't purr much, which freaks me out a little.

As though he might not be a true cat but an automaton with fur or something.

What cat doesn't purr?

And can you trust one who doesn't?

What if he is the feline equivalent of a sociopath or something?

Oh who am I kidding?

All felines have some degree of sociopathy.

It's what defines cat, to a degree.

But pet owners love tiny little sociopaths whom they know they can overpower.

It's the birds who have to do the criminal profiling.

Not us.


Adolf Hitler  makes a brief comeback.


No, Nokia isn't home. This is  her grandmother. Can I ask you a few questions about her?

Monday, April 18, 2011


I saw it was Ryoji Ikeda Day at DC's blog.

So I found him on YouTube and liked this.

Op art always does it for me.

And the aural works in a similar fashion.


I hope this poor girl gets better.

She should just drop out for like a year and totally hide.

It might work.

"Lindsay, you look  Rehabulous!"



The unicorn. The OUIJA board.

Can combine with sex.

There are ways the world stays young.

You can be complicit in this.
The world's youth. You can.
I suppose there's a divinity
in horsepower all by itself.

Young men are in the bars tonight
all horsepower,

all divinity.

Her Story

I love skeletons
childhood up

in thrift stores.
I am moved

by their hands,
the jostled notes

of a music box.

the threshold.

and sudden coo

of a woman
wrapped in hair.

there is

no history.

it's a white

Like Dollops in Glossop

To be free of love,
that most comfortable cage
of the many models available
on this Planet of The Cages.

To be a beast,
oh a dragon or a kitten;
either is omnipotent
in its imaginary mind.

It is a whim, a tsunami.
A game of exes and O's.
O dot com is now O dot co.
Why? The opposite of a monk

is a fox. And the luckiest fox
is the one who never met Aesop
or a counselor of any other kind.
The best way to be in love is blind.

Paul Messier on Le Violon d'Ingres

Lecture Series, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, DC, USA, August 6, 2009

Materials & Techniques of Man Ray's Le Violon d'Ingres

Paul Messier

Part of a “surreal legacy,” photographs by Man Ray have been shrouded by suspicion since his
death in 1976. The custody of key prints, negatives and stamps used by the artist over the
course of his career have roiled the market; most famously in 1998 when the discovery of a
large group of fakes attracted worldwide press coverage. Within this context, the exhibition of
notable print belonging to New York collector Roz Jacobs of the iconic Le Violon d’Ingres at the
Pace/MacGill Gallery in 2009 provided a unique opportunity to research Man Ray’s papers and

Le Violon d’Ingres first appeared in the surrealist journal Littérature edited by Philippe Soupault
and André Breton in June, 1924. The print used to illustrate Littérature, remained in Breton’s
collection and was eventually acquired by the Pompidou in 1993. The “Breton” print is unique
in that the f‐holes on Kiki’s back are hand painted. By contrast, the f‐holes in the Jacobs print
are rendered photographically. Though Man Ray asserted the Jacobs print is an “original,”
there are no accounts of this print prior to its exhibition at the Bibliothèque Nationale de
France in 1962, the same year Roz Jacobs acquired it directly from Man Ray.
Research on the print involved an assessment of the paper reflectance, texture, mounting, fiber
content, inscriptions, stamps and remarkably large size (48.3 x 37.5 cm / 19” x 14.8”). Methods
of fabrication, focusing on Man Ray’s darkroom technique, were also examined and
documented. Primarily through paper fiber analysis based on Paul Messier’s reference
collection of photographic papers, the Jacobs Le Violon d’Ingres was found to be consistent
with papers made in the 1920’s, thus eliminating the potential for production in the 1950’s or
‘60’s – a period when Man Ray actively began making prints for the nascent photography
market. Through comparison with other prints, this research also discovered that the Jacobs
print, reproduced through one or more copy negatives, is the source for nearly every other
print of Le Violon d’Ingres found in collections worldwide.

This project provided a powerful demonstration that though photography is a reprographic
medium there are nevertheless singular prints possessing unsurpassed aesthetic and cultural
value. This presentation is based on an essay that appears in The Long Arm of Coincidence:
Selections from the Rosalind & Melvin Jacobs Collection published by Pace/MacGill Gallery in

1 Conservator of Photographs, Paul Messier LLC, Boston, MA 02135, USA, 617 782 7110,

After Ingres

Botero sort of has one fat joke he's been working his entire life.

I was looking at some Ingres paintings (I had a dream visitation by the painter) and saw this and have to admit I cracked up.

The Reason You Have a Government is to Protect You

"We're getting credible intelligence now The Easter Bunny is not a threat."

One Post

One Must Always

appreciate precision.

Or is that Mr. Ashkenazy?

Either way, the former Mrs. Spielberg is delightful in this film.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Imani "Legend of a Cowgirl"

Imani "Legend of a Cowgirl": "Imani may have gain some success with 'Legend of a Cowgirl' but find out what this former One Hit Wonder is doing today in this exclusive clip from 40 Greatest One Hit Wonders of the '90s."

Len "Steal My Sunshine"

Len "Steal My Sunshine": "The 1990s were packed with one-and-done stories, and we're counting them down in 40 Greatest One Hit Wonders of the '90s. Watch this clip about Len's hit song 'Steal My Sunshine.'"

Craig Mack "Flava in Ya Ear"

Craig Mack "Flava in Ya Ear": "Craig Mack's 'Flava in Ya Ear' was not only one of the hottest songs of the 90s, it also helped launch the career of the Notorious B.I.G. See the story behind this One Hit Wonder in this clip from '40 Greatest One Hit Wonders of the 90s,' airing Sunday, April 3 at 9/8c!"

VH1's 40 Greatest One Hit Wonders of the 90s

I admit I watched this whole thing today.

Some good songs. And then just some of the funniest damn songs.

Like this one.

How to Make a "God Hates Fags" Smoothie

I have had many people ask me for the recipe for my "God Hates Fags" smoothie.

I'm happy to say it's a very simple concoction to whip up, almost as easy to whip up as a homophobic frenzy.

The general theme is that of the hated rainbow whose colors are often used on the angry signs favored by hate protestors. We simply have to remember Mr. Roy G. Biv when making the smoothie!

R is raspberries. Best fresh and not frozen! Raspberries remind us of the loud raspberries hate protesters make when police back them up the required distance from other citizens or when they hear displeasing Supreme Court rulings.

O is for oranges. Add only a few as oranges have a somewhat intoxicating strong flavor. Somewhat like sin. And especially sins involving satisfying sex. Like gay sex. Very satisfying gay sex.

Y is for yam. It's best if you cheat and just use some canned candied yams. This is going to put you in sugar shock. If you are diabetic or a Mormon or something you might want to skip this ingredient. It's probably proscribed. Somewhere in Leviticus or something.

G is for grapes. Grapes can be sour grapes since many hate protesters are gay men with a bad case of sour grapes. Since they can't have gay sex. Since their fellow family/cult members watch them like a hawk 24 hours a gay day.

B is for berries. Blueberries are the best for antioxidants. Antioxidants repair cellular damage. Such as the cellular damage you might have sustained while having good satisfying but somewhat rough gay sex.

I is of course for ice cream. And in honor of the hate protestors, this should only be vanilla. Like their sex. Which they don't really have. Well maybe incestuous sex since the only people godly enough to have sex with would be other family members who belong to the same hate cult church you do. But of course this would be sex through a sheet with a hole in it. According to the hate protestors, this is the ONLY thing of worth Jews have contributed to Western Civilization. Hole in the sheet sex.

V is for valerian. A wonderful calming herb. This would so benefit the hate protestors if they could get a little of it into their bloodstream. Along with a healthy dose of Prozac, Ativan, Ambien and whatever else you can find.

MIX FURIOUSLY IN A BLENDER the way the hate protestors mix into crowds at the funerals of dead serviceman who gave their lives for their country and speak abominations.

Put on a crown of thorns. Barbed wire from Home Depot will substitute nicely if you can't find any thorns.

And drink your "God Hates Fags" smoothie!

Be sure to make enough smoothie for an angry mob.

Freeze the rest and put it in your deep freezer--which we know is capacious enough to hold provisions to feed an army....since you're obviously a survivalist who believes the End of Days is at hand! :-)

From Miranda Seymour's Nonpareil Biography of Mary Shelley

"As his bones shrivelled to ashes on the shore, Mary's relationship with Shelley was already being judged. No precious relic was brought back for her from the funeral pyre. This was the age in which, without photographs to be fondly framed and cherished, fragments of the dead were invested with the value of talismans. Byron's choice, the skull, fell to pieces in the flames. Trelawny burned his hands in seizing a fragment of the jawbone; Hunt took another. The heart, or the part of the remains which seemed most like a heart, had failed to burn, while exuding a viscous liquid. Trelawny snatched it out; Hunt requested and received this rather special relic of his friend. When Mary asked if she might have the heart herself, Hunt refused to surrender it. At some point shortly after this, Mary remembered them sitting together in a coach and quarrelling bitterly; it took a reproachful letter from Jane Williams to Hunt to compel a surrender. The heart was rediscovered after Mary Shelley's death. Wrapped in silk between the pages of Adonais, it had lain inside her travelling-desk for almost thirty years."


BROS    ARE THE NEW            MOM.

Dru, or as I Have Taken to Calling Him, Druhemoth

is being a little biotch.

I woke up and Lee was still sleeping.

Once I wake up, Lee has about a forty-five minute "sleep window" before Dru decides Lee has slept enough and begins keening outside the closed door of the bedroom where Lee is asleep.

I always run and feed him. He's not starving; Druhemoth has the accent on the second syllable, as in behemoth.

So it's not the food or lack of it. Dru finds it a bit distasteful when I feed him, since Lee usually does this feeding before leaving for work at night. So he'll actually stand at a distance and glower at me sometimes as I serve the food, as if I were taking food away instead of giving it.

Again, my (generous) behavior must not be in conformance with a set of inner dictates that Dru has mentally set up as "the way things should be." Probably the Queen has nasty crotchets like this about the running of Buckingham Palace, which is really just a glorified cat food bowl--if one thinks philosophically about figureheads and how they live off the largesse of a larger, tolerant "feeder."

Tonight, I even "airlifted" Dru to the food, sarcastically carrying him as though he were in the rope hoist of a helicopter, and setting him down with his face about four inches above the food bowl newly filled with succulent gravy-covered something or other.

I had that funny image of one of Kliban's helicopter cats as I carried Dru in this manner. Sidenote: I always get miffed when an LOLer cribs a funny Kliban line for a caption. Plagiarism is rarely amusing or enlivening, unless it's being perpetrated by a politician or snooty academic, one who has just gotten caught in a very public and embarrassing manner.

And Dru has dry food available to him at all times. But of course you can imagine his disdain for dry food. Kibble. Army food at best. It probably does taste worse than hardtack.

So the eleemosynary "moved up" dinner time complete with conciliatory waitstaff was not good enough. Dru apparently has a mental timetable by which the rest of us must live our lives.

And the cry he makes, which I imagine he thinks sounds quite plaintive, is actually ridiculous. Dru is not a meower. I think it has something to do with damage he sustained from the felinke leukemia of his kittenhood. He has a warped, strange meow.

This is not even a meow, this wailing, keening thing he does. It does give me images of Dru as the Cat of the Baskervilles, since it does sound more like a ghost canine than anything else.

Oh. Also. Before this Druhemoth began pestering....

I read most of a book of short stories in a McSweeney's volume in the tub.

The best piece by far was Neil Gaiman's fanciful take on and recasting of the Phoenix of Helipolis myth.

Most of the others were far too cloying, even though this issue was designed to be a romp of children's stories and pseudo-"children's stories."

Even children have standards.

Not taking Ambien has improved my mood, my balance and my chances of survival.

I'm only now getting the most glorious ecchymoses from my tumble into the cat sculpture of many days ago.

I wanted to tell Lee if I suddenly died of a heart attack or something today, he would end up charged with murder.

Because the coroner would probably be convinced I had been a victim of serious abuse.

I have purples and yellows of the most glorious variegation all over my back, my one forearm, and a surprise sunset-like bruise surfaced yesterday on my side.

It does have a Carib prettiness to it.

I sort of think of it as a relaxingly intoxicated Jimmy Buffett sky floating over a yacht, one of Mr. Buffett's many pleasure-barges.

I'm sure there's some annoying conceptualist out there (several?) who practices bruise art, using his or her body as a canvas.

There are probably several.

Conceptualists are like ants. There's never just one.

If you see one, you probably have a serious hidden infestation.

And Every Few Months

I have to look at this again.

Because it is probably the single most interesting thing I have seen on film in the past ten years.

William Forsythe

William Forsythe is one of the most interesting artists on the planet. Bar none.

More from Sadler's Wells.

Thom Willems does the music as usual.

This is an earlier piece...the Houston Ballet.

I posted this some time back with different dancers, from the Sadler's Wells production.


One senses this piece is exactly what Nijinsky would be choregraphing in the 21st century.

From "The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude"...

"Enemy in the Figure"...

Another production of "in the middle, somewhat elevated"...this one from Greece, I you can see these performers lack the scissor-like savagery that the other performers have...which seems right, because it matches the music's savagery of the best pas de deux composed in my lifetime I have seen...when performed as the Greek perfomers go all mou...yuck...

Ballet Dortmund..."In the Mood"...diverse choreographers...

"self meant to govern"...Frankfurt Ballet...


I have this kitteh book I want to be writing right now. But I'm pissed. Because I had the perfect name for the main character, a cat criminal profiler.

And I forgot it.

And I've tried every trick in the book to remember it, because I want the character's name back.

It's true I have the scenes I need to write first in my head, but I don't want to start without that name. I'm stubborn.

My stray kitteh is driving me nuts.

The past few days of really nice spring weather he didn't even show up.

And today with the horrible non-stop rain (such a deluge it caused flooding everywhere) and wind...he showed up.

So I brought him inside and dried him off with paper towels and for the first time after he ate and all he did NOT want to go back outside.

He just looked out there like "You're crazy."

I am so worried about ticks or fleas but I checked him and the treatment must be working. He's due for another application in a a week.

But he's so scrawny.

I tried to get him to settle in with me on the third floor so he wouldn't mix with Dru (he can't until he gets his feline leukemia booster and shots) but he freaked out behind the closed door on the third floor. He doesn't know that room and it was too sudden I guess.

He's fine on the first floor and he's even slept on the second floor in my bedroom with me before.

So I got frustrated with him and kicked him back out.

Then when Lee was on his way to work he saw him crying at the front door of the house one street back where the people sort of take care of strays (but I don't think they take him in).

So now we think that is his "home." That would explain why he is still so much like a stray cat.

So I will need to go talk to those people soon and find out the deal. I suspect they will be grateful if I take him off their hands.

I kept checking if he came back (it was so brutal with the rain tonight though not that cold at all really) and sure enough he was back in the middle of the night.

I figured he was safe so I just took him into my bedroom and he behaved perfectly...went right to sleep when I did.

I vacuumed my bed when I woke up and checked but there is nothing.

I had already checked him several hours ago...gone through his fur and I'm satisfied that strong stuff has done its work.

He might have ear mites (I did see him scratch his ears earlier) but nothing is visible from the outside at all.

I sense he wants to be adopted. He's not committed to being a stray cat all all really.

But where was he the past few days.

I thought I was off the hook because he didn't show up and didn't even touch the food.

It's driving me a little nuts.

But who the hell would let him outside on a day like today.

And he is still so scrawny.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Only Shitty Seats Left Already


Peter Jackson

The line is actually, "Isn't it ironic... all you wanna do is smoke chronic."


Welcome to our familial estate. And may I present my father, Elderdude Bonks, The Younger.

Ambien is Dangerous

I have to watch it with Ambien.

It hits me so fast.

I've hit my head more than once.

And the other day I fell down some stairs and into a metal cat sculpture.

My arm got gashed up and my back has a nifty rose tattoo across the middle.

Don't think I damaged any bones. Nothing hurts but the skin when I touch it.

That shit is serious.

They aren't kiddin about the eight hours.

And then I take the generic of Ativan so that factors in.

Thank Goodness I don't drive anywhere anymore.

This is so karmic. Because I laughed like hell when Lauren fell down those stairs on American Idol. And I LIKE Lauren. A lot. It was just a kneejerk laugh.

And within days I sounded like an overexuberant percussion section when I did the reverse header into the cat sculpture, which obligingly gonged as it kicked me back to the stairs.

Plus, this stuff is making me depressed. I rarely get depressed. Well, I do. But not suddenly and deep.

I was blaming it on Miranda Seymour's so plangently rendered life of Mary Shelley (and Shelley and their contemporaries too, of course) but I don't think it's the admittedly wonderful prose...or the sadness of 19th century life amid constant early death.

I think it's the fuckin Ambien.

But what sleep.

When you have sleep problems as I do, and you get a drug like start quoting all those bad 19th century poetic lines about nepenthe, and poppies, and oblivion....

Slit the poppy and let it bleed black.

That's good sleep.

Steampunk Willie

Walt Disney wisely hid his All Male-Nazi-Mouse-Porn epic from America. But Hitler watched it 300 times. Without Eva.

Little Plastic Cocktail Monkeys Visit The Louvre

Love Monkeys

Love Monkeys by William Keckler
Love Monkeys, a photo by William Keckler on Flickr.

This photo of mine from some time back was invited to the group Little Plastic Cocktail Monkeys.

I had no idea there was such a group!

Here it is: The Minkeys.

There have to be a bazillion groups for troll dolls and Gummi Bears (other Gummis, etc.).

But I bet this is the only group for "little plastic cocktail monkeys."


Tuesday, April 12, 2011

You Die. Mad at Me.

What can I do with this?

When Mary Met Shelley.

You are not a sailor.

You ridiculously drown in lightning.

You die mad at me.

This colors my entire life.

I oversee the burial of your heart.

Which funnily doesn't burn.

You are a child of scorn.

I buried myself under you repeatedly.

Except now. I have decades to live.

I will go to old.

Everyone hates you. They elevate me.

I become your apologist.

I am dating you long after you are dead.

I am trying to be winsome.

Even as my skin thins, turns to paper.

And do I love you still?

Of course I do.

But you do not speak.

You died.

Mad at me.

Think This is Depressive Side of the Bi

Polar thing.

My 85 years old mother tells people I am "bi-polo."

Which I like.

What is getting done? I noticed floors more. Cleaning. This stray kitteh doesnt really need me. A bit of a relief. He's huge now thanks to my feedings. I scrubbed tubs. I cleaned floors.

I got in the tub and read Miranda Seymour's Mary Shelley biography and cried and cried tonight.

It's so sad.

Constantly the need for money that's not there. The men being assholes and reproducing and the women trying to keep the children (especially girls as they get older) safe.

It's exhausting and impossible.

And Mary turning herself into a sacrifice for the long-dead Shelley, crucifying herself to make him (the lifelong athesit) a Christlike figure.

And always her poor father pomouthing and seeking subsistence (all begin when Shelly posed as the saviour....Shelly spent most of his short life posing as one thing or anothter...)

And yet these two (mary and shelley) were totally committed to freedom and the free future...there was a great shared didn't keep itself contained to two bodies only though...that's the difficult part....

but Mary's parents were both so invested in the most extreme Enlightenment love and all that...great in theory when you're in your twenties...but as time takes its tolls it's so funny how philosophies get edited....

Some of the scenes are just too plangent. When Mary escapes horrid England back to
Europe and begins finding those who were there in her childhood....

Those scenes really get me.

When she's looking for traces of her (dead in childbirth) mother and father and their union and anything she can remember when things made sense....

There's the greatest movie here but no one will ever make might as well be shot in Almereyda's black pixelvision....because so much of it is shadows chasing shadows....

I admire Mary's final magestic old age.

Because someone survives anarchy. Someone has to be the adult.

Right before he or she dies.

And she does it so beautifully.

And yet I want to touch her and watch her break into a million fragile beautiful pieces, which is the truth she cannot tell anyone.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Oh Thank You God

The sky went from a clear blue day to an El Greco sky to a Vlaminck now.

So it's gonna rip its sides and rain down.


There goes ten degrees off this insufferable heat.

Unless we get the summer post-rain curse...where the humidity just makes it stickier and worse.

Probably it will go cold as Pluto after nightfall anyway.

My stray kitteh needs me less now so he shows up when he feels like it.

If he even is stray.

But he insists on coming in the house more.

Keeping his options open, I guess.

So Many Things Have the Weird Pathos Now

So many things now have that pathos for me that I experience when I return in memory to the night when I adopted my first hamster. I don't know why I have begun returning to this memory. But it started like a year ago and every few months the memory extends further, I can see more of that glorious night my mentally ill mother drove me to that store which of course no longer exists to allow me to do what I wanted to do for some time. Adopt a hamster. My hamster came from Hummelstown. In between Hershey fantasy and reality. And I keep focusing on the litter in my memory, which back then was chlorophyll green litter (don't think they use it anymore) and the aquarium and where the aquarium went in the living room (!) when we got her home. And the tiny plastic house the hamster had inside the aquarium for additional privacy. Yellow house. Red roof. And how ecstatic I was. The beginning of having hamsters as pets for almost ten years. But that first hamster. And that first night. And my mother's fragility. And the green green chlorophyll. And the little house inside the house. I don't know what it means. Or why. I guess it comes with aging. The turning back on details.

The Single Fact in Steelton Most Likely to Convince Me That Many if Not All of My Neighbors Are Actually Space Aliens

I kid you not, but when you drive down Front Street (our main street) you pass a business with a little sign that says "HUMAN HAIR AND BEAUTY SUPPLIES."

And the head of the human woman is rendered very crudely in the illustration. As if the alien didn't really quite know what we look like or had no practice drawing us.

I should take a photograph of it.

It's very scary.

It totally makes me think I'm living in the middle of V.

The proper HUMAN name for this store (as any human knows) would be "HAIR AND BEAUTY SUPPLIES."

They probably also say "We would like some human pizza" when they call Domino's.

Our Motto in Steelton

is "One City, Many Peoples."

Or "One Village, Many Oddities."

I forget. Something inclusive like that.

It takes a village. To really make you hate villagers.

I'm joking. I don't hate anyone here.

But I have to say there is a RELIGIOUS GESTURE WHICH MOST PISSES ME OFF here in town.

When you drive by the church of a certain religion favored largely in distant parts of the word (hint: they brought the medieval bromide of beheading back into popularity in the 21s century via the internet) you read the following in huge letters on the side of their place of worship:


So there. Christians and all the rest, you JUST GOT SERVED.

So motherfucking rude.

So much for the spirit of Bahai, the spirit of interfaith tolerance.

I used to think the Yard Marys of Steelton (every second yard has a bathtub half buried in the earth with Mary in the center of it) were funny.

But now that I am a Maryist and of the Cult of Mary, I find them very consoling.

If she's good enough for Sir Paul, she's good enough for me.

And I do so dig the Intercessionist Catholic "if God says 'No' and damns you, Ask Gramma" approach.

And that end zone sneak around patriarchal religion getting the Earth Goddess Mother back. I approve.

So I'm down with Mary.

I have lots of Marys in my house.

From all over the place. It's one of my favorite things to find at flea markets.

I would love a life size Mary in my living room, but so far that's out of my price range.

I suppose I could steal one from the Met.

This is why Italian men consider their mothers saints--and yet want their wives to be whores in the bedroom.

This doesnt happen as often as Italian men would like, so I think this is why so many of them are bisexual by default.

The Poor Get Shafted Again

Every fuckin year now we go straight from winter to summer. It's ridiculous here today. This upstairs room is like a sauna. And I had a space heater running like three days ago.

It's straight from exorbitant heating bills to exorbitant a.c. bills.

I swear they did "go make the weather."

Remember when we used to have IN BETWEEN seasons.

I believe they were called autung and spang. Something like that.

It's been so long since I've actually seen those seasons I've forgotten.

Anyway, Enjoy your Spang.

All 1.5 days of it.

I Saw Red Dragon in the Middle of the Night

I loved it when Ralph Fiennes ate the Blake painting in the Brooklyn Museum.

Ooh sorry. Spoiler alert! Too late!

That was a wonderfully creepy scene.

I actually read two of Thomas Harris's books from this series and enjoyed them. I remember realizing how dramatically they alter his books when they adapt them--especially Hannibal Rising where the whole (huge) subplot with evil Mason (a thinly-veiled Dupont?) and his sister was just jettisoned. Was it the fact that the evil pedophile was handicapped and that was too un p.c.?

Anyway, Red Dragon kept my interest.

I didn't know the story beforehand, so it was fun to try to figure it out (hate to say I figured it out in the first few minutes of the film). But I still enjoyed it.

I had to laugh every time Ed Norton's forensic psychologist/criminal profiler character would talk to himself aloud in the process of ratiocination.

I talk to myself all the time. But I'm crazy. So it's that funny movie convention where they have to show thought processes. But they overdid that a little.

Norton was good and he was sexy even with that doughy body. I kept asking myself does he have a gay porn stache or not, because the golden color of his facial hair kept me from ascertaining the answer.

Emily Watson was really brill in this. I hadn't seen her in a while and had forgotten what a fine actress she is. She had studied the eyes of the blind very carefully because she never wavered with that convincing physical aspect of her performance and her psychological subtlety was dead on.

Ralph Fiennes is a very sexy man but he plays creeps all the time so it's hard to get too excited by him.

His Blake tat was awesome.

But the scene where he exposes himself naked to Philip Seymour Hoffman just had me laughing like Hell. It was so ripe for parody. It was just one of those scenes that without stirring, uber-dramatic music swelling behind it would have everyone giggling.

And he didn't stay true to his cleft palate. Sometimes he talked with it pronounced (in scenes where it was being discussed) and in other scenes he discarded this completely.

The whole psychological damage bit with Fiennes' character vis-a-vis his mother was such a rehash of Psycho it was almost plagiarism. And weak psychology. Castration complex again in the movies? Puh-leeze. Freudianism is so dead. Serial killers don't need castration complexes to kill. We now know through cognitive behavioral studies that a lot of these paraphilias that drive serial killers come about when violence and sex are mixed in those formative erotic imprinting years of adolescence and even pre-adolescence. That's one thing that killers like Dahmer demonstrate. Yeah, the "why" is still elusive. But the "how" is starting to come clear.

There were holes in the script you could drive a parade of Hummers through.

Norton and his family would have NEVER returned to their Florida home once the address was known by Lecter (who could easily manipulate any number of killers to dispatch this family as a favor).

Any decent FBI agent would have figured out from the git-go that the killer could see the houses from the inside. The movie gave that away in the first few minutes.

Ralph Fiennes character would never have been given access to that Blake drawing in the presence of a single curatorial individual...he would have never been given access at all. He would have had to have been a significant Blake scholar or someone of similar reputation and trustworthiness.

And the "murder teeth" Fiennes' character puts in to bite his victims to death. He just slips them in. You can't do that when you have full dentition as his character does. That makes no sense whatever. Those fuckers would be slipping and sliding all over the place and would have no traction. That was just dumb.

The book Fiennes' character designed (with a Blakean sensibility) was so graphic designy it was practically flaming. It looked like so many pretentious magazines. Only in movies like this (and Seven) do killers have such a killer sense of design. Get real.

Edward Norton was off for me in a number of scenes. I think he had problems with the whole genre fiction thing. Probably he's above that. I just get the sense he didn't really respect the material completely.

Emily Watson's character would have succumbed to smoke inhalation in the overwhelming firepit of a burning house she was in. Only in the movies do flames burn that clean.

One could go on and on.

Anthony Hopkins was actually what you expected. He reprised the role he made so famous perfectly and brought a lot of comic relief to the bleak subject matter.

Harvey Keitel was like Generic Cop. He plays Generic Cop a lot. I'm sure he got a nice paycheck for being Generic Cop.

This movie didn't do as much with Blake as the other book and movie did with Dante. One senses Harris was more intrigued by Dante and better utilized the minds of those scholars whose help he acknowledged in the front of that novel.

But then maybe that's because Lecter is the Dante scholar and Fiennes' decidedly more primitive psychotic is the one obsessed with Blake. His interest in Blake and Blake's imagery is not scholarly. It is psychotic.

There's a scene where Fiennes' character takes Emily Watson's blind character (who loves animals) to a veterinary clinic where a sedated tiger is lying on a gurney. The staff allows Emily to pet the beast and listen to its heart. The scene goes creepily in a direction where Watson responds somewhat sexually to the beast. I wondered at the time whether the book might have been playing here on one of Blake's most famous poems ("The Tyger") or if the book drew parallels in that scene. As I said, I never read that one so I don't know. The scene was interesting, if again implausible.

The movie is sick, goofy fun I guess.

I didn't pay for it.

So. I liked it.

I Love the Dot Group

I was pleased to see I had a piece accepted in the . group on Flickr.

I don't submit a lot because I have such respect for the aesthetic of that Flickr group (which is one of my absolute favorites, right up there with Poladroid France).

The piece she took was of a shell bracelet my Mom gave me like two years ago in a box of less expensive jewelry she no longer wanted.

But I couldn't bring myself to sell the pieces because of the memories.

So instead I occasionally photograph them.

And the abalone inset bracelet (which has a beautiful 20s deco feel) I scanned with my scanner and then turned it into a negative and played with the fine-tuning and then it had just the hint of depth of field I wanted around the object to give it a spooky sense.

And I sent it with only one other piece and they took that one and not the other one.

And I was very happy in the middle of the night.

Because I had had a bunch rejected lately (they were probably right).

It's one of the few groups where the works really lend each other a gestalt--because the largely monochromatic tilt to the aesthetic and the theme of a single isolated object, person, etc. gives the group the feel of a carefully put-together magazine.

This sense is lacking from most groups on Flickr. My favorites always come across as online magazines, without saying or doing anything to prove it.

And the editor (have to call her or him that) is very careful in choosing what pieces to place side by side and along the same line...creating pages of photos which have the gestalt I'm talking about.

I respect that group.

Many Flickr groups are wild, fun and offer the unexpected.

But few have a focused sensibility. Pluralistic inclusionism is fine. I love it.

But sometimes there's the other thing.

That's the mojo behind aesthetic movements, be they literary or fashion.

That's the horrible snobbish truth.

But if you have all worlds at once, then it's okay.

One world just chose to be focused in a certain manner.

That's my story anyway, and I'm clinging to it.

I Must Be Old, I Remember Alanis Morrissette

I remember when Alanis Morrissette sang a song about all these ironic things and called it "Isn't it Ironic?" Except some of the things weren't ironic. So what. It's a freakin song! And then Tabitha Soren, who had just graduated high school or something, lectured Alanis in absentia to tell her what irony was and wasn't. And then Courtney Love said that Tabitha Soren looks like the annoying upright locked-position girl in every American high school that smells like pee. And then Scott what's his face from Party of Five, a straight man playing a gay man in the very funny movie, Go, said to his gay lover Jay Mohr (also a straight actor) "Isn't it ironic?" while they were shopping in a grocery store, I think in the milk section, because they were dodgily playing mind games with each other because each (rightly) suspected the other of cheating. Later, it turns out that they were cheating with the same guy (unbeknownst) and this is revealed to them by the only fat girl in the movie, who is only allowed five seconds on film to reveal this and be fatfully gleeful and wicked, somewhat serving the same purpose as the fat girl on Glee. It could even be that same fat girl except time would have had to have stopped. So maybe it's the fat girl's mother. Because unless my memory is playing a replacement game, it seemed like the same girl. Is that because all fat people have the same series of chins and facial topography tends to a monotonous sameness as the features expand? In any case, this is an argument that fat is genetic so fat people cannot do anything about it. This is the way the world is recycled. I only ride my exercise bike one out of every three days that I should do it, so while fat is not growing further on me, it is not really decreasing. But like all fat people I have secretly grown fond of the fat parts of me as well as the less fat parts, which is probably a sign of decent mental health. Though my head is filled with pigeons. (This has been scientifically diagnosed.) If you are reading this you may actually be a pigeon. You might not be. But there's a good chance you are. I remember Alanis. And I don't give a fuck what was ironic or what was not. I don't remember anyone bitchin bout "Ain't No Mountain High Enough."

Comedy Goddess (and Craft Maven) Amy Sedaris

Shows you how to make "Potato Chips."

Don't forget the Scotch-tape.

And "Cattail Magic!"

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Abe Meme


Did you know I was a master debater?  Oh grow up!      I said DEBATER!


Ironically, the LAST THOUGHT I had was....



You spoil me.

(Thank you for both of those today!)



it's a white


This Loufrani Guy is Unfucking Believable. What an Ass. WALMART is too.

The smiley, or happy face, (☺/☻) is a stylized representation of a smiling human face. It is commonly represented as a yellow (many other colors are also used) circle (or sphere) with two black dots representing eyes and a black arc representing the mouth. “Smiley” is also sometimes used as a generic term for any emoticon.

The variant spelling "smilie" is not as common[2], but the plural form "smilies" is commonly used.[3]

PopularizationThe first Unhappy face recorded on film can be seen in Ingmar Bergman's 1948 film "Hamnstad". Later on, in 1953 and 1958, the happy face was used in promotional campaigns for motion pictures 'Lili' and 'Gigi', respectively.

First Use of happy Face in a Campaign for the film 'Lili' in 1953The Happy face was first introduced to popular culture in 1958 when the WMCA radio station in New York ran a competition for the most popular radio show at the time, 'Cousin Brucie'. Listeners who answered their phone 'WMCA Good Guys!', were rewarded with a 'Good Guys!' sweatshirt that incorporated a happy face into its design. Thousands of these sweatshirts were given away during the late 1950s, and soon after, Harvey Ball, an American commercial artist, was employed by an advertising company to create a happy face to be used on buttons.[4]

In 1972, Franklin Loufrani introduced the happy face to a European audience, giving it the name "Smiley". On January 1 the 'take the time to smiley' promotion was launched in the French newspaper 'France Soir'. The Smiley logo was used to highlight all good news so people could choose to read positive and uplifting articles.[5]

The graphic was popularized in the early 1970s by Philadelphia brothers Bernard and Murray Spain, who seized upon it in September 1970 in a campaign to sell novelty items. The two produced buttons as well as coffee mugs, t-shirts, bumper stickers and many other items emblazoned with the symbol and the phrase "Have a happy day" (devised by Gyula Bogar) which mutated into "have a nice day". Working with New York button manufacturer NG Slater, some 50 million happy face badges were produced by 1972.[6]

In the 1970s, the happy face (and the accompanying 'have a nice day' mantra) is also said to have become a zombifying hollow sentiment, emblematic of Nixon-era America and the passing from the optimism of the Summer of Love into the more cynical decade that followed. This motif is evidenced in the era of "paranoid soul" such as "Smiling Faces Sometimes" (released by The Temptations in April 1971, and by The Undisputed Truth in July 1971), "I'll Take You There" (The Staples Singers, 1972), "Don't Call Me Brother" (The O'Jays, 1973), "Back Stabbers" (The O'Jays), and "You Caught Me Smilin'" (Sly and the Family Stone, 1971).[6] The origins of this was parodied in a famous scene from the movie Forrest Gump when Forrest is on his multiple jogs across America, and wipes his face on a T shirt given him by a struggling salesman, and on the shirt, as if transferred there by Forrest's face, is the image of the happy face, whereupon the man gets his idea. The happy face was also seen on a van in a scene from Mork and Mindy, the van driven by men who kidnap them.

In the UK, the happy face has been associated with psychedelic culture since Ubi Dwyer and the Windsor Free Festival in the 1970s and the dance music culture that emerged during the second summer of love in the late 1980s. The association was cemented when the band Bomb The Bass used an extracted smiley from Watchmen on the centre of its Beat Dis hit single.

The smiley is the printable version of characters 1 and 2 of (black and white versions of) codepage 437 (1981) of the first IBM PC and all subsequent PC compatible computers. For modern computers, all versions of Microsoft Windows after Windows 95[7] can use the smiley as part of Windows Glyph List 4, although some computer fonts miss some characters, and some characters cannot be reproduced by programs not compatible with Unicode.[8] It also appears in Unicode's Basic Multilingual Plane.[9]

Licensing and legal issues

A satirical use of the smiley at the 2010 Rally to Restore Sanity.French journalist Franklin Loufrani registered the iconic smiley face image as a trademark in France in 1971 (despite the undeniable proof of its much earlier existence), and he created "The Smiley Licensing Corporation, Ltd." to sell, license, and advertise the smiley face image in the United Kingdom and Europe. In 2001 the name of Loufrani's company was changed to SmileyWorld, which has managed to register the symbol in over 100 countries (not including the USA) for 25 classes of goods and services.[10]

In 1999, Harvey Ball belatedly formed his own "World Smile Corporation" and began licensing his particular rendering of the happy face to fund charitable causes.[11] Profits are distributed to charities through the Harvey Ball World Smile Foundation, which also sponsors the annual World Smile Day Ball started in 1999 to encourage "acts of kindness."[12]

In 1997, Franklin Loufrani and Smiley World attempted to acquire trademark rights to the symbol (and even to the word "smiley" itself) in the United States. This brought Loufrani into conflict with Wal-Mart, which had begun prominently featuring a happy face in its "Rolling Back Prices" campaign over a year earlier. Wal-Mart responded first by trying to block Loufrani's application, then later by trying to register the smiley face themselves; Loufrani in turn sued to stop Wal-Mart's application, and in 2002 the issue went to court[13], where it would languish for seven years before a decision.

Ironically, Wal-mart began phasing out the smiley face on its vests[14] and its website[15] in 2006 anyway. Despite that, Wal-Mart sued an online parodist for alleged "trademark infringement" after he used the symbol (as well as various portmanteaus of "Wal-," such as "Walocaust"); and they lost that case in March 2008, when the judge declared that the smiley face is not a "distinctive" mark, and therefore cannot be trademarked by anyone—and thus, Wal-Mart has no claim to it[16].

The Loufrani vs. Wal-Mart case was finally closed in March 2009, when the judge dismissed Loufrani's claims to any rights on either the generic smiley face symbol or the word "smiley," noting that both had become "ubiquitous" in American culture long before Loufrani's initial trademark application.[17].

These two court decisions effectively ruled the smiley face (as well as the words "smiley face") to be in the public domain, at least within the jurisdiction of the United States. U.S. court decisions have no effect in other countries though, and Loufrani's SmileyWorld continues to claim (and enforce) trademark rights in much of the rest of the world.