Island of the Tonal

poems and poem things

2012-02-12T05:53:00.000-08:00

my friend writes beautiful poems
reducing moments
into revelation...

like this...

"Superior cloudwork to the east.
Light rain, sun, hard rain, mist.
Two gods appear on the beach
contending over the corpse of a blue crab."

and this...

"We spread the blanket, setting our place at the banquet.
Chaos, outer garment of divinity,
embraces our quaint squalor."

whereas i
well
write stuff like this ...

the machine gun chattered
the .50 cal chugged
the M1 cracked
the .45 pistol popped

the boy shot the .45
hitting the bulls eye every time
impressed the instructors told him to do it again
but he froze up
and was all over the place
the instructors shrugged
and walked away
the boy muttered
those guys are killers

reducing moments
into... what?

changes

2012-02-11T12:37:00.001-08:00

everybody changed

hack lost weight
looked tough
chewed tobacco
grinned
and ran the platoon
because the regular army sargent was lazy
and hack become the best platoon sargent in the company

every morning hack and boy walked around the barracks
smoking
in hack's case also chewing
discussing the day
hack always laughed
thought the boy was amusing

gerald was another product of rural georgia
he had a flat slavic face and would one day break the boy's arm
he lost weight
becoming preternaturally strong
preternaturally quick

the boy himself gained thirty pounds of muscle
and discovered he could walk
all day every day

and the big black boy neither lost nor gained weight
but stared the white boys down
using his hostile eyes and angry mouth
like he did from the first
and one day behind the barracks
with no one else there
he beat the shit out of hack
who pushed him once too often
all hack would say
his face a mask of cuts and bruises
laughing
was that guy is damn quick

shooting

2012-02-09T11:09:00.000-08:00

the machine gun chattered
the .50 cal chugged
the M1 cracked
the .45 pistol popped

the boy shot the .45
hitting the bulls eye every time
impressed the instructors told him to do it again
but he froze up
and was all over the place
the instructors shrugged
and walked away
the boy muttered
those guys are killers

soup

2012-02-09T10:10:00.000-08:00

two days in the field
practicing basic unit moves
this squad advancing
that squad covering
running through the woods
wet and cold
flopping down on soggy leaves
crawling along gullies
pushing on

until
at the end of the first day
in looming dusk
the mess hall trucked out soup
and somebody in authority gave the boy a ladle
telling him to serve it up boy
and he standing in the rain
served it up
his fellow soldiers
appearing in the gloom like shades

slopping hot soup into sopping mess kits
the boy spied two big pieces of ham
floating on top
determined
making sure nobody was looking
he reached in with his filthy hand
and grabbed a chunk
stuffing the scalding meat into his mouth
then noticing a ring of grime floating where the ham had been
he stirred the dirt into the soup
so nobody would see

new year's eve

2012-02-05T06:10:00.000-08:00

an old man walks
past a mix of renovated and run-down victorian houses
each different with its own history
down an empty street
(of living people not ghosts)
trotting down wooden stairs
to get coffee from the girl who is beyond beautiful
he tells her we might all be hallucinations
generous with her attention
she laughs and flashing a brilliant smile says the coffee is real here i'll punch your card so at least you can start the new year with a free cup
he is back on the street
with three others
downtown on new year's eve
an older black man
who says hey brother
a younger black man
who eyes him with wary regard
he eyes him back
and a man hauling chairs from his pickup
to the antique shop
who says hi
past temple emmanuel
lovely and simple
perhaps grecian
back in the historic york district
to be greeted by a woman teetering on the roof of a cute bungalow
sweeping leaves
he yells that is steep
she says yes but a necessity

amber skin

2012-02-05T05:57:00.000-08:00

she came at him with a fierce grin
kneeing
choking
moving like a cat
and he grabbed
her smooth cat muscle
one hand on her back and shoulder
pulling her over
into him
the other hand pining her arm
striking her mat with his knee
again and again
her amber skin
beaded in sweat
her wet black hair (with a little gray)
brushing his face
waiting her turn
to take him apart

in the moment

2012-01-31T15:08:00.000-08:00

("now they often call me speedo but my real name is mister earl..." - the cadilacs 1956)

sometimes i have the urge
to nail piggy
(my fast little car)
to let her scream
my raging surrogate
mad
the tach redlining at 6200 RPM

and sometimes i do

sometimes i have the urge
to taunt a big redneck
some tough guy
to see where it goes

i might yet

sometimes...

everything collapsing
into now
into the moment
no past no future
live or die
it doesn't matter
in the moment

(every morning brenda drove the 56 buick she called speedo 90MPH down highway 74 and she was so beautiful the cops just grinned and waved )

episodes

2012-01-29T06:42:00.000-08:00

I shouldn't be writing this. It might expose too much. But writing it might help me. And reading it might help somebody else.

I have been having "episodes." Starting 7/26/10 there have been 26. As of this writing the last one was 1/28/12 - yesterday.

Episodes are when something - maybe seizures (pseudo or real) - happen while I am asleep and wake up with more-or-less temporary memory loss. Episodes are like brainquakes with preshocks and aftershocks. I have variously described the aftershocks as...

deja vu (snatches of memory and/or emotion associated with waking, sleeping events - most very old)
panic (when emotions seem to turn inside out - no good language for this - panic sometimes associated with odors, visual perceptions - I find myself bothered by kid's TV shows and this morning a female jogger wildly flinging her elbows behind her back struck me as funny, sad and disturbing.)

Preshocks are sometimes like looking at the world through breaking or melting glasses (words don't work for this).

The first episode occurred in Altoona PA on day 13 of a driving tour to Nova Scotia. This is what I wrote in my travel blog.

"This morning at 4:00 AM I woke from a dream that seemed more real than this Hampton Inn, the trip, Altoona PA. Leaving the dream was like leaving an unremembered life and for a long uncomfortable time I could not remember where I was, what I was doing. The dream - which might have featured a woman - seemed to be the better place. Looking at a Cracker Barrel receipt brought me back."

I have seen nine doctors, one counselor, and have taken three different seizure medicines (one medicine stopped working, one made me suicidal and last one is still ongoing). At first the episodes were thought to be sleep apnea. I had two sleep doctors, and two sleep studies (one with an EEG). Nothing significant showed up. An overnight O2 study also did not show anything. I was on a CPAP machine but I stopped that in Fall of 2011. A particularly bad episode/panic attack in May 2011 sent me to hospital (MRI, EEG done there did not show anything). No EEG done anywhere has shown anything significant - including a 3-day ambulatory EEG ordered by Dr. Sinha. The Duke MRI did not show anything.

As of this writing, there have been seven visits to Duke - two visits with Dr. Strittmatter, one visit for MRI/sleep deprived EEG, two visits with Dr. Sinha, two visits for the ambulatory EEG.

Every doctor I asked about Alzheimer's said, no that is not it. Physically except for some joint issues I am in the best shape in years.

So.

Aside - My daughter the scientist/chemist thinks my symptoms match PTSD. That might fit. My wife of 48 years died seven months before the first episode. And the night before the episode I saw a young woman who looked like my wife when she was young and beautiful (although she was always beautiful - not fantasy but fact).

Here are further efforts at descriptions and metaphors.

Deja Vu - Feeling that something sensed now (an image, odor) maps to something from the past. It might be a fragment of a dream or waking event - or an emotion associated with event. If an emotion, it is always truncated down to anxiety. (My normal background state is vague anxiety.)

Panic - Panic is what I feel when I am being turned inside out. It is as if sensations are not properly buffered - as if my inside connects to the outside in odd ways. My inside is outside. I panic when I am about to be overwhelmed by sensations.

Earth Quakes/Jelly Quakes- My brain is like jelly with structure. A seizure shakes the jelly, affects the memory accessing structure. It is like an earth quake - a jelly quake. When the quake settles down most (but all memory) becomes available again. However, aftershocks continue. These aftershocks affect some connections between sensory input and memory - causing exaggerated responses. Episodes/quakes are also preceded by preshocks – brain/mind seems to skip a beat. This also induces panic.

Short Circuits - Temporary amnesia episodes are caused by short circuits in brain - which cause electrical surges to temporarily overload some memory pathways. Aftereffects are lesser short circuits which do not destroy pathways, but reduce resistance to data/electrical flow.

silly

2012-01-28T09:03:00.000-08:00

Clamoring over rocks on top of Pinnacle I saw a teen-age couple nestled in a sheltered spot out of the wind. The boy had long silly hair. The girl was poking food in his face. Mouth open, he looked like an eager dog.

I moved further up where the wind howled even louder. Thirty or so miles away South Mountain hugged the horizon. I tried to call J to see if she could hear the wind over my cell phone but she wasn't in. I called Yancie who was in.

Going back down, showing off for a couple coming up the mountain, I stumbled jumping between rocks. But I got back on my feet before they saw me.

At home I had an episode.

So who is silly now old man?

(Ev and I decided I am silly - which is OK with me. And the boy with silly hair. Nassim Taleb says that dignity is an expensive virtue.)

moments

2012-01-22T06:11:00.000-08:00

(in bed awake
deciding whether to get up
or just drift)

drifting

what if someone asks
"what are your favorite places?"

there were moments

when bob and i
drove down a dirt road
through a dripping forest
over the edge of a mountain
fording creeks
seeing wives
gone
in mist

with brenda
in the night
in the heat
beside an open window
finding a breeze
to cool her skin
shining smooth
in moonlight

sitting
in the little harbor dive
across the bay of fundy from nova scotia
dipping french fries in gray gravy au jus
then walking up a hill to the hotel
footfalls lost in silent fog

seeing both ends of I95
almost getting killed
in miami
with bill
his mercedes
and the porsche
closing at 140mph
twitch swerve twitch

walking into a playboy club in st louis in 1974
seeing a bunny playing snooker
where
in the spirit of the moment
i played three games with her
at five bucks a pop
beaten every time
my money stuffed
in the decolletage
of an unsmiling girl
with a rabbit's tail

drifting

krav maga on the pinnacle

2012-01-18T10:14:00.000-08:00

Maybe this is bragging. Maybe I will break my artificial knee tomorrow. But the hike up the Pinnacle this morning was odd. I wasn't too surprised to find myself moving a little faster, not minding breathing hard, even trotting some coming down. That's the result of krav maga. But I was also able to "see paths" on the trail, where to step over, on and between rocks and roots. These paths just jumped out from the background. I suppose that is also krav maga. Weird.

Harris Teeter Rant

2012-01-14T07:58:00.000-08:00

(See PS at end from friend J regarding the realities of WalMart -vs- HT shopping.)

I had another Harris Teeter rant last night at the Thinking Men's book club meeting. It wasn't a full blown rant. There was no spittle. But toward the end my voice did shake with righteous certitude and social indignation. The Men looked at me with embarrassed wonder. And Don the sustainability scientist who spoke to us - he's Hal's father-in-law - seemed a little disturbed.

As before, I ended up accusing my friends of being well-off (e.g., able to shop at Harris Teeter) and out-of-touch with the less well-off who must shop at WalMart. I implied as one who lives off highway 321 in Gastonia that I am more in touch. I didn't mention that near my parking spot at the historic Ashley Arms apartments is a Lexus sports car, a 7-series BMW, and a Lincoln Town Car with a low numbered license plate.

What prompted the rant was Don's argument about locally grown, organic foods. He said these products are a viable alternative to products grown by big industrial farms using genetically modified seeds and pesticides (produced by Monsanto and others). My contention was that the local products would be more expensive (the sort of stuff sold at Harris Teeter). I proclaimed, in an ever more shrill voice, that most people live close to edge and would chose the cheaper alternatives at WalMart.

Now, the next morning, reflective and calm, I stick by my main points.

Solutions geared toward people with significant discretionary incomes do not work for people who are barely getting by. Educated taste buds, aesthetics, and ethics are unlikely luxuries for people on the edge. And - based on my unscientific observations - there are more and more people on the edge.

Liberals - people like me - are fond of making statements like "if people would only just do....", "we should do..." etc. People, especially in this country, don't like being told what to do. Exhortation only works on those already so inclined. Human nature is not especially frangible. Free-will is complicated.

The ever-escalating pursuit of efficiency (self-service this or that) reflects energy degradation and scarcity. We are doing more with less. Developed regions suck order and cheap products from undeveloped regions and transport disorder, entropy, and waste. According to Thomas Homer-Dixon in the Upside of Down and Paul Gilding in The Great Disruption this can't go on forever. As we adopt more and more extreme efficiencies we become more and more complex, more and more fragile. At some point there will be a Fall/Collpase/Pulse/Disruption. A Black Swan will happen. However, and this is the upside described by Homer-Dixon we can learn from this event (perhaps we become inclined to listen to exhortations). We can come out better on the other side.

But maybe I am just jaundiced and old.

Here's my web site on the issue...

http://edge-apocalypse.blogspot.com/

PS - J says this...

"People who shop at WalMart don’t realize that they aren’t getting the best prices…. At least in terms of groceries. I’m an expert when it comes to grocery shopping, and here’s the deal. Harris Teeter has weekly specials and they double coupons. If you shop the weekly specials it’s way cheaper than WalMart. For example, boneless skinless chicken breast might be $3.50 per pound at WalMart and $4 per pound at HT, but every other week HT has theirs “buy one get one free”, so you get it for $2 per pound. The same thing goes for shrimp (which is often “buy one, get two” free – a phenomenal deal), frozen meals/veggies, and lots of other stuff. HT doubles coupons, so you can buy staples and condiments (e.g. ketchup, flour, sugar), bread, rice, pasta, canned goods, etc with a doubled (and sometimes tripled coupon) which brings the prices well below WalMart prices. Between coupons and sale prices I often get things free. As for produce, some prices at WalMart are better, and some aren’t. Once again, the specials come into play. For example, a couple of weeks ago HT had all kinds of apples (very good quality) for 99 cents per pound. Their normal price might be $1.49 and WalMart might be $1.39. I have to admit, there are some good deals at WalMart. I love their ethnic foods selection, and they have some okay generic brands. The generic brands at HT tend to be better, though. Anyway, that’s just my two cents worth about HT v. WalMart. And the neighbor that I walk with (who is a very savvy shopper (due to her husband’s having lost his job) agrees."

"I personally think everyone should shop at produce stands (with local stuff) in the spring, summer, and fall, and eat winter fruits and frozen veggies in the winter. The produce stands provide much better produce, and in the case of Port City, much better prices than both WalMart and HT."

yaweh

2012-01-06T14:17:00.000-08:00

(thanks dawn)

immanent

in dark matter/energy/whatever (making up 95% of our universe although nobody knows what it is)

in quantum entanglement (when separated stuff communicates instantly despite einstein's prohibition and all the inherent problems)

in the wave particle duality thing (where Schrodinger's Cat is both dead and alive in a superimposition of all possible states)

in a multiverse that goes on forever

yaweh

not human in word or deed

not caring - not not caring

not loving - not not loving

the ultimate unasked for freedom

get over it

gauss vs pareto

2012-01-02T10:52:00.000-08:00

(metaphors abound)

contrast

the world according to johann gauss (of the 18th century)
where billy graham
ward cleaver
lawrence welk
and the golden mean
fit neatly under a bell curve
where those who work hard get ahead
and rugged individuals stand tall
and god loves us all

with the world according to vilfredo pareto (of the 20th century)
where luck counts
where the rich get richer and the poor don't
where rewards are concentrated at the fat end
of a curve sloping one way only
reflecting connections of this with that with this
in feedback loops
that generate surface complexity
from inner simplicity
and there are no averages
and black swans reign
and god...
well

brain plates and quakes

2012-01-01T08:05:00.001-08:00

like continents on physical plates
we float on plates of history and genetic predispositions
subconscious stuff
organized in complex layers
connecting perceptions thoughts and feelings
in symbols and metaphors
down to the physical substrate
the gray matter itself

as we think (and dream) the plates move
side by side
(or extending the metaphor - up and down, back and forth)
sometimes sliding
sometimes sticking

sometimes when the plates stick too much
and release too fast
we have a brain quake
things break
metaphors get mixed
history gets lost

and for a few days there are aftershocks
when feelings remap
reconnecting in moments of deja vu
turning inside out

He looks so easy
He looks so clean
He moves like god's
Immaculate machine
He makes me think about
All of these extra movements I make
And all of this herky-jerky motion
And the bag of tricks it takes
To get me through my working day

(paul simon - one trick pony)

People Quakes

2012-01-01T07:11:00.000-08:00

(from work in progress "EDGE of the Apocalypse")

Perhaps people could be regarded as having psychological plates - like the earth has tectonic plates.

People plates correspond to likes, dislikes, desires, fears. Everything that makes a person. Just as tectonic plates slide around in response to pressures - some from within some from without - people plates move around. When the plates (either kind) slide past easily the crust remains undisturbed. When there is friction, pressure builds up until finally released as an earthquake (or a person quake).

Stretching the analogy...

Both types of plates float on a fluid inner layer (mantle, subconscious). Sometimes the inner layer erupts into the surface (as volcanoes, dreams, fits, blurts, poems). The inner layer not only supports the plates, it is a source of destruction and construction. It destroys old plates and creates new ones.
Stretching the analogy even further...

The power of the inner layer comes from energy within which comes from energy without - gravity, dark matter, dark energy, cosmic biology, cosmic history - who knows. So long as there is energy, the inner layer stays fluid and the plates continue to move. The inner layer supports, destroys, and rebuilds.

But after a time - billions of years or seven decades, the energy runs out - or has been so altered by entropic flow to be unusable. The clock quits. The plates stop moving, crack - turn to dust.

The system dies.

Then the whole thing falls back to a universal center, explodes and does it all again.

(According to some theories.)

ten in the morning on new years eve

2011-12-31T09:45:00.000-08:00

walking
past a mix of renovated and run-down victorian houses
down an empty street
(of life i mean not ghosts)
down wooden stairs
to get coffee from the girl who is beyond beautiful
i tell her we might all be hallucinations
she laughs and flashing a brilliant smile says the coffee is real here i'll punch your card so at least you can start the new year with a free cup
back on the street
with three others
an older black man
who says hi
a younger black man
who eyes me with wary regard i eye him back
and a man hauling chairs from his pickup
to the antique shop
he says hi too
past temple emmanuel
back in the historic york district
to be greeted by the woman sweeping leaves off her roof
i say that is steep
she says yes but a necessity

loving entropy

2011-12-30T08:35:00.000-08:00

i love entropy
it makes my favorite metaphors

you've got your basic thermodynamic entropy
where things wind down
lose heat
and order
maybe in the process
do deeds for good
(or ill or for no reason at all)
which makes nice end-of-the-world stuff

and there is information entropy
the measure of randomness in a message
the potential for surprise
and black swans
in other words
that which cannot be encrypted
in an algorithm
which makes..
hell i don't know
beginning of the world stuff

shrinking

2011-12-28T07:12:00.000-08:00

I am so old.

One of guys from Hickory says they are all glad I come.

The other hits me in the face with a mat.

My perception shrinks to a point.

Just the sting.

Later I hit him back.

We laugh.

Christmas Eve Morning - Chronologically Ordered - Otherwise Random

2011-12-24T11:33:00.000-08:00

(Nothing depressing here I think - although have a compulsion to write in sentence fragments - feels safe, like walking with hands in pockets.)

Bojangles on Garrison
Old people sitting alone or in small groups, joking about Christmas. Some not talking. A handsome woman with biker tattoos works with paper at her table. A cheery old man with a cane stumbles by. A pretty girl hands me biscuit and stuff - wishes me Merry Christmas. Something transcendent about her. Maybe she is the mother of God.

Firestone Mill
Riding back across town, I go by old Firestone/Loray Mill.

My Army Reserve unit (1962-68) was down the street. We could see the lights, smell the chemicals, hear the clatter. We marched in a parking lot, led by one NCO or another - including poor old Buck who looked more a soldier than any of us but had no sense of timing. I think this is where the strike took place in 1929 when somebody got killed. My stepmother who was living in Shelby and teaching in Belmont drove by, saw the National Guard troopers.

Crowders Mountain
Naked trees expose backbone of mountain, surrounding mountains - vistas. Finches flutter, motes at the edge of vision. Images shift. I see a split rail fence that is not there - just two dead trees. Leaving trail, I stumble up different slope to Pinnacle. What if I get lost? Coming back down encounter a grandfather and little girl. She tells him about gum stuck to tree. I mutter soto voce that I will eat it. He laughs. She regards me with that "aren't you an idiot look" that I prize in ladies young and old. She has Shirley Temple hair.

god stool

2011-12-22T13:10:00.000-08:00

(written almost a year ago - when I was constipated - not exactly a poem thing, but in that spirit)

Havingwritten about guns and death and Southern Glory I'll write about bowelmovements - the production of feces. Only Wolpert wrote about that and he got alot of abuse for it. But he was right. It wasn't scatology. It was fact.

Considerthe gut. Our opening to the universe - where the universe enters us, where weprocess the universe and leave behind whatever we can't absorb. A mouth. Ananus. Food. Waste. That's all the universe sees. The rest is mere accouterment.

Colonoscopiesare performed by priests in green smocks. Giving the universe a peek - so tospeak.

(Butperhaps I'm obsessed. I haven't had a satisfactory bowel movement since beforeDec 21, 2010. I imagine myself slowly filling up with impacted shit. My cellsswollen with mad scat. Freedom becomes an explosive movement - an eruptionleaving me clean, empty - a barely perceived floater in the eye of god.)

Everyroom has many elephants sitting in every corner daring us to see them - tospeak their unspeakable names (dare we whisper the words in polite society - dodo, pooh pooh).Youngpeople don't know about all this - would recoil at it - cannot imagine thatthis lovely woman, that lovely woman (and perhaps to be fair this and thatlovely man) are simply Guts moving through the space time continuum.

(Oddly theholy grail of science is the GUT - the Grand Unified Theory that explainseverything. Perhaps the "strings" in string theory are tiny cosmicguts - processing the universe. Perhaps the physical universe is god stool -what's left over after all useful information has been extracted. The entropyof excrement.)

My father used to get stopped up and go the hospital emergency room toget "blown out". Apparently he made friends with the people whoworked there. They didn't check him in or anything, just blew him out and senthim home. A grand fellow - my father.

entropy

2011-12-16T05:23:00.000-08:00

the second law of thermodynamics
provides the most useful metaphors
there is a sweet old lady
who lives down the hall from me
who dances
with her little dogs
spinning alone
beneath the quarter moon
fingertips extended
into entropy

glory

2011-12-14T08:08:00.000-08:00

when allie confessed it was a lie
that there were no drunks
in the back yard

no robbers

no need to rescue she and the rest
was i angry because she tricked me
or
because there was no need
to beat up bad guys
to go down
in a blaze of glory?

communion

2011-12-13T13:21:00.000-08:00

(several women indicate that i have become a bit depressing perhaps not worth the effort)

nevertheless...

67 years ago - 67 cycles ago
not far from the beginning of time

in the "baltimore years"

in the little playhouse
in the half light
half as tall as we would be
i marveled at her
until the boy burst in
stealing
my prized possession
- i swear to god -
i think it was a coca cola crate
impelling me to leave the playhouse and the little girl
to abandon hearth and home
to pursue holy war
and holy hell

until my mother standing at the kitchen window saw
her five-year old warrior
and administered
the appropriate lesson
on his naked butt

(but not really learned mother - after all, i am my father's baby boy - although you tried, didn't you ?)

and before or after
i faced a boy
(the same boy?)
in a communal circle
on a bed of trampled thorns
in a wartime gethsemane
of beaver board houses
bringing him down
feeling the impact
in my own small soul
searching for a coup de grace

and speaking metaphorically about cicadas
the little girl
more lovely now
wrote...
"At 71 cycles I look
through molded pane
withdrawing parts
casting off
buzzing for communion"

protective units

2011-12-11T11:10:00.001-08:00

at 9 am
stepping between rocks
like small heads
rising into pools of light
i heard a nice voice
announce hello,
a youngish woman in black tights
warning me that she
and three large dogs
protectively arrayed
in an alert circle
were moving past
down the turn back trail

i said you've got a pack
she laughed
and said there was one more at home

a moment later
i passed an old couple
like mr and mrs einstein
sitting on a bench
eating bagels and cream cheese
their little dog
underneath
all eyeing me
friendly enough
but like the woman
contained in
a protective unit

last book?

2011-12-10T13:13:00.001-08:00

wandering books-a-million
with a cup of dark roast
seeing
science fiction
literature and fiction
romantic fiction
political fiction
philosophical fiction
billy graham fiction

myths
but not for me
not any more

like it or not
i might be beyond my myths

krav maga testing

2011-12-10T12:42:00.001-08:00

Testing for level II krav maga. One older guy yelled and threw up after expending a final burst of energy. Not me. Not yet. I am not there. What makes us do this? It seems crazy.

assaulting mr. poetry

2011-12-08T10:17:00.001-08:00

One of Evan's classmates assaults "Mr. Poetry".

adventures and misadventures

2011-12-04T16:50:00.001-08:00

among saturday's adventures
and misadventures
the best was scaling
the steep dirt bank
behind ashley arms with allie
grabbing handfuls of grass
racing up and down
until our pants
were covered in dirt
and we could not breathe
after which we sauntered into the fancy little shop beside rodi's
where the elegant lady laughed
at the absurdity of it
and was about to give us some chocolate
left over from a party
when my phone rang

(riding behind the tractor in the dark around the cleveland county fairground
disappearing into black pools between the infrequent christmas lights was not so bad either)

box

2011-12-03T10:01:00.001-08:00

sitting in the sun
on the front steps of ashley arms
sipping coffee
not crazy yet
pleased
with all the steps i had climbed
the banks i scaled
the shadows i boxed

then i looked up
from myself
to the church across the street
where
four gray men
walked a casket
from a curb-side hearse
and i wondered

what is it like

in the attractive box
six days before brenda died?

stark bifurcation

2011-11-27T08:11:00.000-08:00

leaves

leaving

expose

the stark bifurcation

of trees

and on the other side of eighth street

two

twist across

the white sky

rising
falling
dancing
reluctant

to separate
to join

earth

to end

and the pretty woman

wearing sunglasses and a raincoat

walking her little white dog coco

smiles hi tom

her voice

throaty and southern
assuring me
yes we will get coffee

and the albino doberman

who belongs to the other woman

and is her life

(she says)

roars a pale warning

with ev at le mans

2011-11-25T05:05:00.000-08:00

ev and i pretended

to race

the riding lawn mower

and the golf cart

at le mans, sebring and the nurburgring

chasing

phil hill, stirling moss, juan manuel fangio

and old friends bill, johnny, larry, and doane

(one of whom is gone; one of whom is going)

i taught ev to say le mans like a frenchman

screaming through the house

LAY MON

ev won most of the races

beating

as he said

me and the other old men

agreeing

he would get the money and the trophies

and i the girls

i took ev's cousin jason

out on the country road

in front of paw paw bills

and let the wrx scream

like a creature

far gone

into madness

the boy sputtered cool

you are a funny old man

and this morning

in the new apartment

in the last dream of the evening

one of the old men

sang a hymn

i had heard before

knees

2011-11-19T13:03:00.000-08:00

we sat on a sofa

her knees turned toward me

a friendly barrier

placing her out of harm's way

(she would have said it was so she could see me)

and we laughed

and talked

and i

experienced deja vu

remembering

other knees

and folded legs

some 50 years ago

tic-tac etiquette

2011-11-18T14:19:00.000-08:00

Ev wanted another Tic-Tac from his sister Allie, but refused to thank her for the two Tic-Tacs she had already magnanimously bestowed on him.

I said, "It is what one does."

Without hesitation Ev commented, "Or one doesn't."

deer tracks and golf balls

2011-11-15T07:59:00.000-08:00

trotting ahead

ev vanished

in the half light

and broom sage

here

then gone

a shadow running through

an unseen door

reappearing on the other side

(we were looking for deer tracks and golf balls in the field behind the krav maga school)

we found

a golf ball

half buried in the crusty clay

like a perfectly round head

and casts of two toed hooves

some big

some smaller

maybe made by a doe

and in the woods

beyond the field

behind a wall of trees

we imagined

the deer family

watching

waiting for us to leave

while people fought at krav maga

ev freaked

2011-11-13T07:01:00.000-08:00

Old Ev saw this and freaked. Said I had plugs in my head and it scared him. I told him it scared me too. He was OK when I covered it up.

doane

2011-11-12T06:04:00.000-08:00

wilson said doane is in the hospital

in providence

(where genie lives

another unwitting player

in my mythology)

doane and i go back

almost to the beginning

when we were one or so

before wwii even

and i was living in the little house

with the white picket fence

in shelby

which is and shall forever be the center of the known universe

my mother said

i bit doane on the back

drawing blood

(indicating that i was perhaps a bad baby, and infant adherent of krav maga)

then five or so years later i jumped off the barrel at his house

and cut my foot

and might have died

had not one of the lutz boys taken me in his pickup to the hospital to get sewn up

and we rode our bicycles down

the creek

behind my house

to the pumping station

on the first broad river

where climbing the rusted rungs to the top

we saw a bloated dog corpse

floating below

in the shadows

and across that creek

we scrambled up a hill

beyond all people

where encrusted in the loose dirt

shards of mica

glittered in the fall light

and he stayed at my house when his brother died

and i stayed at his house when my mother died

and we found a box of dynamite in the outbuilding of the farm

and we ventured into the old lead mine

where my father had worked 50 years before

and doane fired a little .25 automatic

that went

pop echo

and thumbing from shelby to west palm beach

a man bought us lunch in a rural dive

(which in my mind's eye seems situated in the side of a hill)

and we got stuck in savannah

standing on the side of the road

where a little black kid bopped by at nine then again at midnight

laughing hey white boys what you doing where you going

until finally doane

talked two teenage adventurers from south carolina

into driving on to florida

convincing them

there were good jobs in miami

and doane married sue

and i married brenda

and we all grew all up

Ev said...

2011-11-10T16:24:00.000-08:00

I looked after Ev while his mother and sister went somewhere. When I walked he in, he greeted me, "The good times never end." Then after they were gone and I was picking up some broken glass he announced that I was going to the playground for dead people and he would come play with me.

Frankenstein Buddha

2011-11-09T10:36:00.000-08:00

Hard to say where Ev was going with this.

Allie and I See Tired Woman

2011-11-09T06:01:00.000-08:00

Driving Allie to her fourth grade classes at Piedmont Charter School, we often pass a young woman walking on the sidewalk toward downtown Gastonia. She is blonde and pretty with a trim, somewhat thin body. Her hair is is usually pulled back in a pony tail or a bun. I have wondered out loud where she is going. Allie always says she doesn't know. I have suggested that the woman might be a waitress in one on the diners downtown.

This morning we saw the woman again. She was wearing a coat. The sun was just coming up, creating patches of bright warmth through which we and the woman passed.

I said, "She looks young but she seems tired, worn out."

Allie nodded. Apparently she had been listening to me all along. "Yes. Maybe she smokes."

Allie's grandmother Brenda, whom Allie resembles, smoked and once burned a patch of carpet when she dropped a smoldering ash near her O2 line lying on the floor beside her bed. Allie always wanted to see the scorched carpet.

None of the men at the halfway house across the street were out yet.

(Allie sits beside me a pensive smile on her face staring into her upcoming day.)

AULDBRASS

2011-11-06T12:14:00.000-08:00

Auldbrass is a plantation by Frank Lloyd Wright near Yemassee SC.

Auldbrass is open for two days once every two years. Bob's daughter Robin got us on this year's tour.

What struck me about Auldbrass and Falling Water (where Bob and I visited on way back from Nova Scotia) is how ordinary the "modern" designs seem from a distance. Wright was copied by everybody in the 50's and 60's. But close up where you can see the detail the places become works of art - sculptures. Design themes like the Auldbrass angles are repeated throughout, in both interior and exterior. The structures become ancient and new - timeless.

Below is from Wikipedia. Pictures appear after that.

Auldbrass Plantation or Auldbrass is located in Beaufort County, South Carolina, near the town of Yemassee. The name is a variation of "Old Brass" which was the name given to the farmland and the local river landing. The earliest records from the farm are dated to 1736 when the farm was known as Mount Pleasant. An industrial engineer, C. Leigh Stevens, joined five parcels of land together along the Combahee River to form the plantation.

The main house, stable complex and kennels were designed and built by Frank Lloyd Wrightfrom 1940–1951. Wright is credited with changing the name to "Auldbrass". The plantation was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1976. It was purchased in 1986 by film producer Joel Silver after Donna Butler, a FLW real estate appraiser, convinced him to restore it. Auldbrass Plantation is an extraordinary example of historic preservation and is very rarely open to the public. Tours benefit the Frank Lloyd Wright Building Conservancy.^[2]

Auldbrass detail. Art deco piece hanging from eave channels water off roof. It and roof are cooper with green patina. Angles are repeated in walls and roof. Interior hallways are narrow with walls angling in toward top. Entering open space is like being liberated.

Robin and golden chicken. (Current owner, Hollywood producer Joel Silver - Matrix movies and more - has four Oscars on display in main house.)

Ask not for whom the bell tolls...

Bob and Robin at main entrance. Introduced here to design theme repeated throughout.

Supposed to be hippos somewhere. Zebras have a bad rep. Lots of animals.

Yrs truly under tree - guest house in background

Seeing camera horse assumed pose.

I speak to horse who appears to be expecting something.

En Route Etc

City Hall in Somewhere, SC. Typical of interesting structures on back roads to Yemassee.

Armory in Columbia SC

Penn School near Yamassee SC - Bob says MLK wrote "I Have a Dream" speech here.

Dusk near ocean out from Beaufort SC

on the pinnacle trail sunday 11/6/2011

2011-11-06T10:38:00.000-08:00

i encountered...

a lovely blonde woman

and a lovely german shepard

who got between us

and roared

i said "she's just doing her job"

the woman smiled, "good girl, good girl"

a fit looking man with a gray beard

down from a higher place

while i stumbled over boulders on top the pinnacle

exploring where there is no trail

admiring painted trees

spilling over the horizon one way

lapping at the shore of south mountain the other way

he encouraged me to

climb some rough spots

saying it got better

on up

i said next time

not wanting him to see

my crawling style of climbing

a frowning

middle age man

with strands of neat sweaty hair

struggling up

and trotting down

a foul fellow

who nevertheless

responded to my greeting

a crowd of twenty-somethings

who laughing

made me want to laugh

i nodded and

a pretty girl said hello sir

an older couple

stopped to breathe

near where the pinnacle trail gets steeper

he wore a bandanna beneath his cap

she touched his arm

we exchanged hellos

the fit man

running past me going down

as sure-footed as a goat

he turned and grinned "have a good day"

i yelled as he moved away

"you too"

the autumn light

cuts like occam's razor

old ev's existential angst

2011-11-02T10:04:00.000-07:00

abandoning his sofa and warm blanket

where he had been

sipping milk

and watching

two

anthropomorphized

bears sleeping

under sheets

in the desert on tv

getting ready for pre-school

putting on

pants and shoes

old ev said, "i am afraid"

"of what?"

we asked

"i am afraid"

he repeated

"everybody is"

i told him

and we got in the car

where i sang

old dog blue

until ev laughed and cried and indicated that i should shut up

then when we picked him up

following

mothers and fathers and grandmothers and grandfathers

down the hall

of the educational building

skipped sideways

and said "i am ok. i stayed on green and did not hit anybody."

to which

i replied

"good job buddy."

(existential angst

the naked soul hanging from a different point-of-view)

unstuck at nursing home

2011-11-01T10:28:00.000-07:00

going down marietta street to yancie's

past the nursing home

(whose residents i once said seemed stuck

to which ev

looking at the wild eyed people

lost

on a patio

in random wheelchairs

root bound

dried up

daffodils

replied, "until they are dead")

we saw an ambulance

and rescue truck out front

shining clean

parked crooked

flashing red

yancie observed,

"someone has come unstuck"

Nonlocality, the Greek Debt Crisis and God

2011-10-30T13:14:00.000-07:00

Early this morning on NPR's On Being I heard a Buddhist Monk who is a scientist (and reported to be the happiest man alive) who speaks with a French accent mention the nonlocality/EPR/entanglement paradox in connection with globalization.

To which you might ask, "Who gives a shit?"

To which I would answer, "Possibly no one."

Nevertheless...

In quantum physics there are two schools of thought regarding when very small things get their properties.

According to Niels Bohr and the Copenhagen School small things don't have properties until you observe them. They exist in a "superimposition of all possible states". They are both waves and particles. Until measured, they are not really real.

Albert Einstein didn't like that. It smacked of events without causes. In 1935 he and scientists Podolsky and Rosen (the EPR guys) proposed a thought experiment in which the parts of a decaying atom are measured in such a way as to violate basic aspects of quantum physics (Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle). Also because the measurement of one part's properties instantly determines a sibling's properties - no matter how far apart they are - the prohibition against information exceeding the speed of light is also violated.

As it turns out Einstein was right - but in a way he probably wouldn't like. The EPR paradox has been proven to be real.Small things remain entangled no matter how far apart they are separated. According to John Bell and other scientists, any theory which includes elements of quantum physics must include nonlocality - the ability of instant communication between particle pieces. It is if time and space don't exist at the quantum level.

Reality has been split into the Big and the Little. Little stuff assembled as Big stuff obeys the laws of classical physics. It doesn't (until recently anyway) exceed the speed of light. Little Stuff individually obeys the laws of quantum mechanics and acts in some ways as if it is part of One Big Thing - which, if you are so inclined could be God - or really Big Stuff .

It might be a stretch to equate nonlocality with globalization and the Greek debt crisis - or maybe not. Maybe at some level all that's connected too. The failure of a loan in Athens might result in a layoff playing out in Peoria.

losing myself

2011-10-30T09:36:00.000-07:00

young men yelling

on the pinnacle drove

me down

to the ridgeline trail

where i tripped

and in a moment of exquisite pain

strained my large butt

muscle

then i drank some water and

ate a power bar

sitting on a rock

lifting my head

seeing the sky graduate from lighter to darker blue

imagining space

empty black

an illusion

filled with

invisible energy

still hearing one of the young idiots

yelling

like a monkey

or a wolf

then further down the trail

i met an oriental grandmother

quiet

serene

tireless

cute

wearing a red hat

her extended family

trailing behind

then further still

i talked to a

fifty one year old man

with four motorcycles

two gray triumphs

a motoguzzi

and a big bmw

on which he toured

the us and canada

i said it had also occurred to me

to do it

losing myself in the great heartland of america

leaks

2011-10-28T09:12:00.000-07:00

the left lobe

leaks bits of me

into the entropic flow

which i perceive

as weirdness seeping

through psychic

cracks

esse ist percipi

as the old bishop

said

salvation

2011-10-22T07:58:00.000-07:00

waking up not well

my head unscrewed

leaking shit and stuff

i went on to

krav maga

testing for level 1

with my friendly fighting pals

banging mats with all we had

exercising

till we dropped

redemption in a breath

salvation in a strike

fist, palm, elbow, knee

WUSAI! - which Woody said meant "How's it hangin bro?"

(sweet gentle Woody whose black belt was faded gray)

halloween mask

2011-10-21T15:25:00.000-07:00

despite the pain in my left buttock

walking into town to meet J for lunch

i tried to move down

into my center of gravity

and stride

not stroll

passing

busy bankers

laughing young programmers

and pretty women

in suits

and fuzzy boots

lunch was nice

we talked

of then

and now

and laughed at

old amusements

leaving town

on tryon

i saw a man

with sad eyes

and a back hole

where his mouth should be

(facial surgery i presume - maybe cancer)

who

inexplicably

nodded

and at home

looking down on the parking lot

from my fourth floor balcony

i saw another man

wearing a big-brim cap

which i

momentarily

mistook

for

a halloween

mask

of munch's

the scream

i was tricked by my downward perspective

William Blake, from Songs of Experience 1794

2011-10-18T12:13:00.000-07:00

The Tiger

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Oscar's Smile

2011-10-16T14:55:00.000-07:00

Trader Zen and The Girl From Ipanema

2011-10-16T07:54:00.000-07:00

I spent some time yesterday morning with old friend WPM who lives not far from where the girl from Ipanema and other such beauties hang out now. He spends half his days trading stocks and the other half writing stories and working on a couple of book-length projects. He told me that his trading trick is to get a feel for certain stocks and buy and sell those. He might own a stock for hours, days or months. He says that not all stocks lend themselves to this intuitive method - he stays away from the ones he can't "feel".

Talking to WPM I was reminded of Nassim Taleb, the trader philosopher who wrote The Black Swan. It is one of the books I have paraphrased in my own book-length project EDGE - Paraphrasing the Apocolypse.

Here is the introduction to the Black Swan section of my book. It seems to fit what WPM was saying....

Introduction (to Black Swan)

Nassim Taleb is a man on a mission. Like the Ancient Mariner, he seems compelled to tell his story. However, instead of being cursed by a dead albatross, he is plagued by black swans. They lurk unseen (and unseeable) in the corner of every room, waiting to peck us or preen us without warning. They are the blindsiding beasts in the phrase attributed to Kurt Vonnegut but really authored by Chicago Tribune writer Mary Schmich in June 1, 1997 article entitled "ADVICE, LIKE YOUTH, PROBABLY JUST WASTED ON THE YOUNG"...

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 pm on some idle Tuesday.

The Black Swan describes a rough sort of trader zen - an eightfold way (more or less) for getting by in a world beset by black swans.

These are the eight ways:

The world consist of two overlapping realities. One, that Taleb calls Mediocristan, is orderly and predictable. Events here fit under a neat bell curve. It is dominated by the mean or middle. The other reality, that Taleb calls Extremistan, is wild and unpredictable. Events here are controlled by a so-called Pareto distribution. It is dominated by infrequent events of high magnitude - black swans.
The world is much more of an Extremistan place than we like to imagine.
We pretend the world is orderly and predictable (a Mediocristan place) because orderly and predictable is what we do as humans.
Extremistan is unfair.
Extremistan is exciting.
The best way to get along in Extremistan is to:

Be where positive black swans happen (the Hollywood hopefuls hanging out at Schwab's Drugstore had it right). Learn to recognize good luck; when it occurs, run with it.
Avoid neighborhoods where negative black swans hang out.
Constantly tinker to see if something good bubbles up. Don't worry about being seen as (or being) outlandish. Modesty is an expensive virtue.
Mistrust experts who claim to predict the future.
Find tricks to cultivate hope.

It is better to be broadly right than narrowly right but broadly wrong.
The most unexpected (and the grandest) black swan is you.

Aside

Many other people have noted how reality does not fit neatly under a Gaussian bell curve. Taleb's mentor Benoit Mandelbrot was one of those. They all describe the difference between the head and the long tail of the Pareto curve. Taleb is taken with the randomness of the distribution. This is Taleb's "truth" – that we are at the mercy of random forces, even though (to Taleb's consternation) we pretend otherwise.

Rita - October Fog

2011-10-15T10:55:00.001-07:00

Rita wrote this in reaction to my duke thing...

The older I get,

The more time folds in on itself.

All the things that happened before

Come straight to the surface.

The city in the October fog,

warm breath on my face,

and all the plans.

Some days it's hard to move

For all of the fucking heartbreak.

getting my head examined at duke

2011-10-15T04:06:00.000-07:00

a cute phrase

"getting my head examined at duke"

speeding north on I85 in the fast lane

stopping for coffee

and a pee

at the truck stop

with showers

and lines of urinals and antiseptic stalls

and the game room

whose machines

sit unplayed

bleeping, flashing

in the half dark

commiserating with a man at the coffee pots

who confused said

"is it just me?"

to which i replied,

"no - it is all of us"

then back on the road

oddly

at ease

having my head examined

inside the mri machine

inches from my nose

face covered with a cloth

bathed in waves of cosmic energy

breathing

and out

remembering the young woman

coming into the waiting room

her gown not closed

revealing a smooth back

remembering Brenda's lovely back

and the triangular scar

lower down

where her father hit her with his belt buckle

remembering the drunk her mother brought home one night

sitting at the table

where i flattened his nose

marveling at how much

more damage

i could have done

if i had known

then

what i know now

dreaming

while the mri machine banged on

we've got our themes

don't we?

the best way to get along in extremistan

2011-10-13T11:04:00.000-07:00

Paraphrasing Nassim Taleb - the Black Swan dude...

Be where positive black swans happen (the Hollywood hopefuls hanging out at Schwab's Drug Store had it right).

Learn to recognize good luck; when it occurs, run with it.

Avoid neighborhoods where negative black swans hang out.

Constantly tinker to see if something good bubbles up.

Don't worry about being seen as (or being) outlandish. Modesty is an expensive virtue.

Mistrust experts who claim to predict the future.

are the libertarians correct?

2011-10-12T13:02:00.000-07:00

I hate writing this and hope I am wrong.

But what if the Libertarians are correct? What if Ron Paul has a fundamentally valid point?

I have always believed in an active central government - righting wrongs, protecting the helpless, promoting fairness. Given the number of idiots loose in the land consolidating power and control in one place seems like a good idea. It never occurred to me that through our rules and regulations we have created a highly connected, complicated entity that is ultimately quite rigid. The system seems robust. But what happens if one part fails? (Say the legislature?) Does the whole thing come crashing down?

Next day...

OK here are a couple ways I am wrong.

Does anyone think that unregulated drug companies, driven by the safety standards of the most cost-cutting member of their industry would not compromise their own standards - thereby jeopardizing people's lives? As imperfect as it is, the FDA at least ensures minimum quality.

What about the environment? Does anyone believe that companies forced to compete with short-sighted polluters would not resort to the same standards in order to survive? As stretched thin as it is, the EPA prevents the most egregious assaults on nature.

Response to Bill's Post

2011-10-11T11:49:00.000-07:00

Regarding african violets...

Bill Moore wrote this in a recent post:

"I hide in the back wicker-laden room where lesser guests are sometimes assigned. There is no one at the small French peasants' table. I'm on the floor's straw mat rug, shelling pecans from a large porcelain crock. In the window across from me I can see a slice of the ocean. Her collection of african violet pots line the windowsill. The west suns hits here late in the day, and all the plants have long since expired."

I see an african violet that has not yet expired. It is just over the top of this computer screen in a little pot in the window that overlooks the Ashley Arms inner courtyard (rain falls past the brick from a featureless gray sky and rattles down long gutters).

My violet belonged to Brenda and before that to her mother Isabel or maybe my stepmother Letha - or maybe both of them. Several times since Brenda died I nearly let the plant go, not bothering to feed it from the big milk jug, the water laced with nine drops of african violet food as per Brenda's instructions. But since moving I have managed to keep up the schedule and the plant seems to be coming back.

Like Abuela Amy's room for lesser guests, my brick room gets the west suns.

tectonic plates and people plates

2011-10-08T10:25:00.000-07:00

I wonder if people could be regarded as having psychological plates - like the earth has tectonic plates.

People plates correspond to likes, dislikes, desires, fears. Everything that makes a person. Just as tectonic plates slide around in response to pressures - some from within some from without - people plates move around. When the plates (either kind) slide past easily the crust remains undisturbed. When there is friction, pressure builds up until finally released as an earthquake (or a person quake).

Stretching the analogy...

Both types of plates float on a fluid inner layer (mantle, subconscious). Sometimes the inner layer erupts into the surface (as volcanoes, dreams, fits, blurts, poems). The inner layer not only supports the plates, it is a source of destruction and construction. It destroys old plates and creates new ones.

Stretching the analogy even further...

The power of the inner layer comes from energy within which comes from energy without - gravity, dark matter, dark energy, cosmic biology, cosmic history - who knows. So long as there is energy, the inner stays fluid and the plates continue to move. The inner layer supports, destroys, and rebuilds.

But at some point - in billions of years or in seven decades, the energy runs out - or has been so altered by entropic flow to be unusable. The clock quits. The plates stop moving, crack - turn to dust.

The system dies.

Then the whole thing falls back to a universal center, explodes and does it all again.

(According to some theories.)

WalMart - Early Sat Morning 10/8/11

2011-10-08T06:00:00.000-07:00

in the gun sales section

i saw

a young black clerk

and an old white man

huddled head to head

fogging the glass display case

near a carbine style .22

with a pink plastic stock

when a clattering buggy

closed in from behind

i moved to one side

passed by a frightened old lady

muttering to herself in the cat food aisle

an old man my age riding an electric cart

in the soup section

offered a cheery hello

another old lady came mumbling by

while i examined the sugar content

of power bars

at the check out line

a lanky blonde wearing

a nascar cap

preceded me

driving as i discovered in the parking lot

a loden green nissan exterra

with a bicycle on top

choices

2011-10-05T12:12:00.000-07:00

Who would you rather be (or have been) - Einstein, Nelson Mandela, Mark Zuckerberg, David Hume, Jean Paul Sartre, Max Planck, Princess Dianna, Eleanor Roosevelt, Mother Teresa, Jesus Christ, or Jason Bourne?

Non-Linear Fights and The Great Disruption

2011-10-04T12:37:00.000-07:00

Doing the umpteenth edit of my summary of Paul Gilding's The Great Disruption, I was struck by the similarity between something in the book and something said recently by Ryan Hoover at krav maga. Hoover, who reminds me of Legolas, the deadly elf in Lord of the Rings, told us that most real street fights end in a few seconds. Nobody dances around doing fancy martial arts moves. The prepared person closes, finishes it (which in krav maga means the other person is headed for the hospital or the morgue).

The fight is a change of state - thermodynamically speaking. Energy is released. The system becomes simpler. Entropy increases (and peace ensues).

Or - viewed another way, the fight is a non-linear event. It doesn't gradually build and gradually end. It gradually builds and suddenly ends. Plotted on a chart the timeline would not be a bell curve but something that goes up slowly and comes down fast.

In a similar vein, Gilding and other writers note that climate and societal collapse do not always evolve slowly over time. They are often caused by non-linear feedback loops. Just as a real fight can feed on anger then explode, climate and societal change can feed back on changes within until suddenly there is a change of state.

(For example arctic ice melts, exposes dark water which absorbs heat which accelerates melting which exposes more water until one day there is no ice and maybe the Gulf Stream changes course which paradoxically - and quickly - causes a new ice age in the upper latitudes. Or the Outer Banks wash away. Or - in another example - the events behind the Arab Spring gradually build until suddenly a man immolates himself and Hosni Mubarak is no longer president of Egypt. )

As Nassim Taleb says, Black Swans happen

However, the climate change black swan and fight black swans are different in one critical way.

Black swans that lead to fights can usually be avoided. Don't go in empty parking lots late at night. Stay out of bad neighborhoods and biker bars. Be aware of escalating anger - your own and other's; don't let feedback loops happen.

According to Gilding the climate change black swan cannot be avoided - it has already happened. Like the unfortunate soul facing an inevitable fight the best we can do is stay loose and strike first.

string of snot

2011-10-03T09:58:00.000-07:00

listening to him snuffle

i was teaching

ev to blow his nose

one thumb here

the other thumb there

but i neglected to teach him to wipe

the resulting string of snot

which horrified

the little guy

later he announced, "i don't like you"

monster trucks at cleveland county fair

2011-10-01T08:07:00.000-07:00

testosterone

and tribal

affiliations added to air

already saturated

with

popcorn

kettle corn

and

country girl's

sweet perfume

DO YOU LOVE FORDS?

DO YOU LOVE CHEVYS?

DO YOU LOVE DODGES?

DO YOU LOVE DALE?

ANY CURRENTLY DEPLOYED SERVICEMEN (OR WOMEN) PLEASE STAND UP

ANY VETERANS PLEASE STAND UP

ANY LAW ENFORCEMENT PERSONNEL PLEASE STAND UP

the master of ceremonies yelled

reading from his script

finger checking off items

voice cracking from the strain of his enthusiasm

(the moving finger

having checked

moved on)

NOW RISE FOR OLD GLORY

we rose

the flag fluttering across the infield

in the first cool night of fall

old glory herself

almost lost in the background lights

(oh say can you see against the ferris wheel's red glare)

i placed my hand

over my heart

and thought to smirk but did not

(how much shit have you seen old girl?)

after which

the four monster trucks came out

like pro wrestlers

on steroids

(big bodies small heads)

performing orchestrated moves

sliding around

jumping junked cars

which getting flatter

facilitated further moves

throwing up dust

settling over the midway

like red-neck rouge

fun

making a lot of noise

but ready to break

at any moment

a helicopter flew back and forth selling rides

allie screamed and waved a checkered flag

evan screamed and rolled a little monster truck

and randy and i went out on the midway

walking through the swirling dust

watching red-tinted children

appear and disappear

like excited ghosts

to get coffee and french fries

(walking into the stands i tried to tell yancie about the time i came here with my father 60 years ago when the track was bigger and the stands smaller and we stood near the wall watching the differential of a race car bouncing toward us in slow motion stopping just before crashing into the stands - not remembering until now the other time when a driver flipped and got his head caught between the track and his car)

arts thing and loretta the pit bull bitch

2011-09-27T13:55:00.000-07:00

wearing my new knit shirt

and jesus sandals

i went to an arts thing

in downtown gastonia

pretending i was someone

sitting on the floor

beside the pretty woman

who put on the event

chatting up the

man who would be mayor

i was grand

leaving in a lull

between rain showers

i saw

a parade of new drops

bouncing toward me

down main

while on the near horizon

a cloud

touched down

i went home

when the power went off

at ashley arms

i yelled down to debbie and coco

who yelled back up

and cheered the

return of light

i went to bed

the next morning hiking up crowder's

with yancie

two pit bull

bitches - yes

trotted up

the trail

behind us

(yancie heard them snuffing)

the friendlier one

(yancie called her loretta)

smiled

and licked my hand

we went back

they ranged around us in the woods

returning

always

like ghosts

the ranger tied up loretta

she licked his hand

BOOM Man

2011-09-25T14:42:00.000-07:00

I don’t think any white person ever knew anything about Buster. Milton might have, but he never said.

Two people of color claimed to know something. Black Barbara (not White Barbara) who was a shift supervisor at the DQ said that he lived in the Light Oak community, in a tool shed behind the house of one relative or another (Brenda guessed that it was his sister). That makes sense because he had to live within walking distance of the Dairy Queen. He didn't drive and I don’t think anyone would have been brave or crazy enough to give him a ride – except maybe Brenda or Frank.

Woody, my karate instructor - who was black, said that Buster had been mixed up with a woman or alcohol (or both, I don’t remember) and went crazy. Woody also noted that Buster had been a successful mechanic and was really smart.

Maybe so. But like other white people, I had a more romantic notion. I figured that Buster had suffered an Apocalypse Now experience in Vietnam. He seemed to be about the right age, perhaps in his mid-forties at the time. And he had the look of a warrior, especially when he wore the butcher knife in his belt.

Of course, all we knew was what we saw - a tall skinny black man with sharp features who sat by himself, a stack of tattered car magazines laid out on the table in front, talking to himself or the magazines, occasionally making BOOM! noises.

He started coming in the mornings and afternoons when there weren't too many people. Even before he said anything he attracted attention – with his peculiar loping stride and glowering indifference to the people around him.

Brenda was the first to spot his other anomalies. Leaning over, she whispered to me, “Is that man talking to himself?”

I hadn't paid any attention because his voice blended into the general background noise. Heeding her warning not to stare (and thereby be rude) I quickly glanced at the other table. There was a man speaking to no one that I could see. I could not make out the words; he spoke in a low mutter. But I could tell that he seemed angry. I don’t remember if he made the BOOM! noise then or later.

After discovering that Milton would ask him to leave only if the BOOMs got too loud he came at night too.

Neither Brenda nor Frank ever seemed afraid of him. I was, especially when he wore the butcher knife in his belt. However after a while I got used to him and looked forward to the reaction of other people.

For example, one Sunday afternoon the church people showed up when both Buster and Dino, who was also crazy, were present.

(Dino used to walk around town in a Superman cape, screaming and jumping, and engaging people in religious conversation. From a distance he resembled a mischievous child, but up close, his face had fine lines and his smile wasn't right. Occasionally, on Sunday afternoons, he was dropped off by a relative at the Dairy Queen. He always ordered two hot dogs, specifying in a loud mechanical voice how they were to be fixed. He arranged the hot dogs side by side, opened his mouth wide like a snake, picked up a hot dog and ate it then did the same thing with the other.)

That Sunday, Buster and the church people were already present when Dino arrived.

Buster was at a corner table, quietly thumbing through his magazines. The church people were laughing. As I recall the women wore flowered dresses and the men wore suits.

Buster made his first BOOM! noise just before Dino ate ate his first hot dog so that by the time the church people turned away from Buster they saw Dino with his mouth agape. I don’t recall exactly what they did, but in my mind’s eye there are expressions of concern and dithering activity.

I was also there when Dino had another encounter with church people. It was after Wednesday night service, probably in the summer because the place was packed and customers were lined up out the door.

Buster sat at a table surrounded by people from Bethel Baptist church. He had his magazines and was muttering but wasn’t making BOOM! noises because he knew Milton would not allow that when there was a crowd.

We were at the long table in the back not paying any attention when I noticed that one of the church goers was actually talking to Buster. Although by this time we exchanged nods with Buster I had never actually seen him in conversation with anyone other than himself. But there was an earnest pink faced young man leaning in close to Buster, seeming to lecture him. I was afraid Buster might pull out his knife and slaughter the good people from Bethel. But he just sat there, smiling, tolerant, as if he appreciated the attention.

gray haired woman with chiseled face

2011-09-25T06:31:00.000-07:00

this morning at 7:30

walking into walmart

i was offered a buggy

by a tall

friendly woman

(six feet at least)

with steel gray hair

and a chiseled face

then

back

at the apartment

i met

an old lady

in a blue dress

with white trim

and a pretty smile

i said, "going to church?"

she said, "yes i am"

51 years ago

i flipped

a red

corvair coupe

brenda called little lulu

end over end

sunday morning

after taking my sister

to her friend's house

they were going to beach

i think

but everyone is gone

now

i can't ask

(i first went around the long sweeping s-bend at 60 then thinking i could do better went back at 80 - swoosh - swish - one moment filled with grandiosity the next peering upside down at a squashed roof and smelling gasoline from the leaking tank just in front of me)

sunday morning can be a dangerous time

cute little round woman

2011-09-24T15:54:00.000-07:00

I went to the grand entrance to get my mail (there was a new Scientific American and Blue Cross Blue Shield summary). The somewhat spooky man in front of me spoke to the cute little round woman just leaving, asking her how she was doing.

She said, "I don't know; I am doing all right. It never changes."

I snorted and she half grinned.

Mr. Bob is right; weekends are the worst. Just look at the shit I wrote today.

leaky boat

2011-09-24T14:54:00.000-07:00

The conscious is linear looking for cause and effect, this before then after that - this in that but not the other thing.

The unconscious dreams. It is episodic, branching, recursive, chaotic, timeless, symbolic.

The conscious is like a leaky boat floating in the unconscious, twisting in its currents, bailed out every night - sometimes sinking.

beyond

2011-09-24T14:45:00.000-07:00

clouds

high and low

overlooking

my apartment's

inside courtyard

high going right

low going left

eclipsing the sun

now separated

revealing a patch

of blue

and a silver lining

beyond

triplet of opacity

2011-09-24T12:04:00.000-07:00

Next three poem-things (phrase stolen from Nassim Taleb who might have stolen it from somebody else)...

although

walking around

sea of shit

although

2011-09-24T11:43:00.000-07:00

each inside

his or her

own

skull

and skin

are technically

irrevocably

alone

although

sometimes

together

it seems

otherwise

although

sometimes

it does not

walking around

2011-09-24T10:57:00.000-07:00

i died

when brenda died

but

still walk around

flirting

with other men's wives

sea of shit

2011-09-24T10:55:00.000-07:00

consciousness

is a leaky boat

floating

on a sea

of subconscious

shit

and

sometimes

the boat sinks

although

to be fair

it isn't all

shit

Michal - Israel late sixties

2011-09-21T13:19:00.000-07:00

Black Swans and Grandiosities

In their pictures they tended toward hippie with long hair and bell bottoms. They were nice looking.

Both were in the Peace Corps. She taught in a private girl's school near Ismir Turkey and Henry worked in a tourism office in Ayvalik, 151 kilometers north. Both towns are on the Agean. I have seen photographs of the pretty dark haired girls in Michal's school. They seemed to love her (although Henry says it was more complicated than that.)

Henry was sick with the flu and did not go Israel. He was also worried about recent terrorist activity. But Michal went. She always did. Perhaps this time it was because our mother's name was Parris and that is sometimes Jewish or maybe - more likely - she just went.

She was accompanied by another woman from the Peace Corps, They flew from Ismir to Tel Aviv (or Haifa I am not sure).

They slept on the beach that night. The next day Michal went into a grocery store for food. She walked to the back to get yogurt from the dairy counter. Then she remembered the jar of jelly she wanted to bring to Henry. On a whim she returned to the front of the store rather than wait for the yogurt. She was picking out the jelly when the bomb went off in the dairy section. All the glass in the store blew out and in moments sirens were wailing. Several people in the dairy section were killed and wounded. Michal would have certainly been one of them if she had not remembered Henry's jelly.

Oddly for a few minutes afterward, the cashiers still rang up groceries. People seemed oblivious to what had happened. I don't know this for sure but I expect Michal paid for her jelly and left.

philosopher fighter

2011-09-21T11:12:00.000-07:00

the philosopher fighter

showed us

how to choke people

and my large

white haired partner

(who might have been a cop)

squeezed my

carotid arteries

with an arm

as big as a ham

then the philosopher fighter said

this is for fun

and fitness

avoid ego

fights

and the need for self defense

(unless you are a cop it should never ever happen)

but if it comes to it

(black swans do sometimes shit)

distract the bad guy

with placating talk

and supplicating gestures

while moving to one side

then hit him

on the side of the jaw

as hard as you can

and run like hell

(if you do it right he won't get up)

shapely legs and a fluffy pomeranian

2011-09-20T13:19:00.000-07:00

walking back from lunch

past the new apartments

off south boulevard

in downtown charlotte

i saw a pretty oriental woman

with shapely legs

and a fluffy pomeranian

she

the woman

not the dog

(hell, maybe the dog too)

dismissed me

with regal indifference

prompting me

to announce

to yancie

and the others

"haughty oriental woman walking white dog"

and when yancie cringed and said

"she heard you"

i said it again

then laughed

(mad or mad?)

and looked to ev

who darted here

and there

for validation

tie 1965

2011-09-18T12:15:00.000-07:00

Black Swans and Grandiosities

I worked in the Celanese application development labs in the basement of the big office building just off Park Road. Although I wore a green uniform with "Tom" on the front of my shirt and some days returned to Shelby with lint in my hair, my grandiosity was accepted.

A patent application had been filed on one of my more worthless ideas. I wrote reports for the group - given that I could do it and many engineers didn't want to. I represented the company on a pilot project in Cohoes NY testing a new pillow stuffing material developed by Fiber Industries, the Celanese affiliate I had walked away from four years earlier.

I knew nothing about pillows. It was a grand time.

(Machinery hummed clattered clanked. Pneumatic doors whooshed. There was a tart smell of varsol. Some women wore their uniforms tight, put on a lot of makeup, did their hair in elaborate coiffures and moved gracefully between the rows of looms and spinning frames.)

One day I was asked to join a meeting on the third of the Park Road office building. Other than when going to the second floor cafeteria, any business conducted upstairs required a tie. Not long before I joined the company in 1963, green-shirt technicians were not even allowed in the cafeteria.

I still cannot recall what went through my mind the next day when I stood in the closet I shared with Brenda looking at the ties draped over a clothes hanger.

(We had lived in the house on Blanton Street with Brenda's mother Isabel since 1963 when Curtis dropped dead of a heart attack at a high school football game. While I debated about ties and dreams of grandeur, Brenda might have let the 14 cats in the kitchen, feeding them from two giant platters so each cat had room . I was peripheral to the cats. Isabel might have had an early morning shot of vodka, which lent a certain wiggle to her trips down the long hall.)

I was probably scared. But I figured that Celanese management would not know what to do with me.

I was right. When I wore the tie the next day nobody said anything. Nor did anybody say anything the next day when I showed up again in the tie or the next day or the day after that.

My life changed. Grandiosity paid off. Although on the books I was still a "non-professional" and would always be one because I did not have a college degree, I was given engineer's work. By the time I left in 1968 I was in charge of the hosiery knitting lab (although I knew nothing about hosiery) and had my own technician (who was a hosiery expert). I traveled with the dignified Franklin McCain whom I would learn in later years had been one of the one of the original Greensboro lunch counter guys.

(After Brenda died - on December 9, 2009 - I also learned that Genie, the Woman's College student who joined Frank on the third day of the sit-in, was the same little girl I had known in Baltimore in 1945. I stayed overnight at her house in Providence on the trip with Mr. Bob to Nova Scotia.)

pretty woman

2011-09-18T11:48:00.000-07:00

a pretty woman

with white hair

sometimes spiked

a beautiful mouth

sad wary eyes

(at least when she looks at me)

and a nice white dog

she loves jesus

and the marines

and whereas

i respect both

i love neither

a pity

cut shoe 1946

2011-09-17T09:29:00.000-07:00

Black Swans and Grandiosities

We were living in Shelby in the little white frame house my father built on Lee Street beside Howard Suttle's store. It was across from the potato house where Howard kept Irish and sweet potatoes where it was dark and smelled like dirt.

I had walked up Lee Street and down North Morgan Street to visit Doane Hulick.

(A few years later, after Doane's baby brother Billy died of leukemia, they moved across the street. The fine crazy Logan girls lived next door to the second house. Betsy and I were both born on August 25th 1939 six days before Hitler invaded Poland. My mother always thought Betsy and I would get together.)

I was wearing nearly brand-new shoes that Doane's mother had given to me because they did not fit Doane. They were the best shoes I had ever owned, brown leather and very solid. The bottoms were still shiny.

We were playing in the garage behind the house. Beyond the garage was the broom sage field burned by Wilson, Doane's other younger brother. The fire department had to put it out. I remember little Will banished to one side, seeming humble but still proud. I have a picture of Doane's mother Grace standing near a clothes line with a basket of laundry. She has a wry pretty smile.

The garage smelled of engine oil and insecticide. Shadows and stuff loomed in the back. Doane jumped from a barrel to the hard packed dirt. Dust flew up. I jumped too, full of bravery and grandiosity. I landed on a bottle, heard it crack, felt the edge cut through the bottom of my new shoe.

We examined the heavy broken glass. It glittered like a knife.

I leaked profusely.

I was sorry that my new shoe was ruined, that I was no longer grandiose.

Sloshing blood I walked down the drive to the road. Doane tried to stop me. But I was determined to go home.

It might have actually occurred to me as I stumbled down the sidewalk that I would bleed to death and become one of those children.

But Jim Lutz was outside working on his new furniture store. Picking me up, carrying me to his pickup truck, getting blood all over himself and the cab he might have said, "Boy, what has happened to you?"

He took me to the hospital where they sewed me up as I howled in exquisite lively pain.

And I did not even die although Billy and a number of others did.

the same roads

2011-09-16T07:33:00.001-07:00

from lunch with steve
past the airport
i would not have known
48 years ago
when i started
the first of many long commutes
the first to celanese
near where south park would be
where steve is now
in lulu
the red corvair
(brenda named cars that she liked and cats regardless)

twisting
behind runway three
turning
down a road i would have kown then
haunted by my own ghost

haunted before
by me now
and me from intevening years
by all the jobs
and people
and random thoughts
and dreams of grandiosity

the same kudzu grows on the side of the road
the same truck repair place
maybe the same trucks
rusted hulks
half digested by the kudzu
the same steel fabrication company
the same twisting turn over the railroad track

i dropped piggy into third gear
and accelerated over the bump
getting light
getting air

steve told me about philosophers who could will themselves to stop breathing

god immanent

2011-09-12T17:02:00.000-07:00

god immanent
in all i survey
the flowers
the trees
the cats
the old black guy riding his bicycle up the street
my atoms
the space between my atoms
the space between that space
your atoms
the big bang
the big band
the steaming pile of shit
deposited
by oscar
the wonder dog

Bill's Gone

2011-09-11T07:38:00.000-07:00

Bill's gone and I'm feeling a bit mortal.

I'd call him from his parent's graveside in Sunset Cemetery. Once I called from inside the old wrought iron fence where his grandparents are buried. He liked that.

(Always afterward I'd visit my own dead folks. It was on one of those walks that I decided to get a plot for Brenda and me - even though we are or will be fly ash. I like to imagine a day 50 years from now when the elegant Allie and the solid Ev visit our place and think about the inscriptions I had carved - "Always Beautiful", "Sometimes Grandiose".)

Bill had the nickname "Bird" in high school. I don't know where it came from - maybe grammar school (I expect he went to Marion school). He wasn't the best looking guy. He was small, spoke with a speech impediment and had various illnesses. But he was smart and he was brave and fierce. Once he took a tour of the US - by himself - on a bus I think. He did not back down.

I did not see Bill much after high school. He ended up in Marietta and only came to Shelby for occasional visits. We got back together after our wives (and the wives of Bob and Charles) died within a month of each other. In the following year and a half Bob and I went down for several visits.

On one memorable trip Bill set us up with women - a nice older lady for me, an attractive younger woman for Bob and a crazy woman for himself. (Later after there were round-the-clock CNAs I became intrigued with the agile Miss Angie, Bill's weekend nurse.)

On another trip we went to Booneville Mississippi. It was supposed to be named after Bill's mother's people - Boones who had settled this area. Bill said that although Shelby might be one center of the known universe (or a center of one universe - it wasn't clear) Booneville Mississippi was the center of his known universe.

First we went to the Booneville chamber of commerce where we were greeted by a large cheery woman (whom Bob said would have done well running a finance office). She sent us up the street to City Hall. There we met a nice lady who rode with us to the cemetery. (Or maybe she drove a city pickup truck - I am not sure.) Both Bob and Bill claimed the woman misread my intent when I asked her if she was the town sexton - that she was startled by the "sex" part. But she was able to locate the graves of Bill's Boone ancestors. After that we had lunch at the town diner. By this time the word had gotten out and we were treated like royalty - Bill the ancestor of the town's founders and his two loyal retainers.

One day of that trip we rushed down from northern Mississippi to Oxford to visit Faulkner's house. The docent, a pleasant young man, held the place open for us. We repaid him by peeing in Faulkner's front yard (it had been a long hurried drive).

There might have been one or two other trips to Marietta after that. Bob called regularly and in the last weeks called nearly every day. Conversations became increasingly labored. At the end we were going down one more time - neither one of us looking forward to watching someone else die but willing to do it.

But Bill beat us to the punch.

Pigeon Poop

2011-09-10T04:54:00.000-07:00

perplexed

pigeon parents

pace

in pigeon poop

on my balcony

four stories up

whispering in pigeon talk

to offspring pigeons

hiding under my grill

who

reluctant

to take that leap of faith

off the edge

whisper

Sarah Margaret Stream of Consciousness

2011-09-04T10:26:00.000-07:00

Transcription of letter from Sarah Margaret to Frank and Margaret - all of whom have passed away - as they say.

Dear Franklin and Margaret,

Thought I would write you a few lines.

Im Invited to a Bridle Shower for Jill Pruett Doris Granddaughter.

I talked to Lillian last night, and She said Grandpa Hyndman was a Shoemaker.

Lillian said all my Mother and her Mother knew to do was to go to church.

Martha & Winfred Groves is out of town. They are celebrated their annersity.

Sunzanne is cleaning up My House getting ready for Danny. She took the curtains down and washed everything on the beds. I have 3 Bedrooms.

Suzanne brought me 2 Hot Dogs up last night. She will be going to church tonight. She is going to have Hamburgers tonight and chicken Tomorrow Night.

They had a Dinner for her Pastor Sunday. It was his birthday. She Brought me a hot dog and all kinds of Sweets.

Richards Daughter has 2 jobs. He has gone to feed the cattle.

The Girl that cooks for one of his friends sent Steak, Potatoes, corn, and Brocklic & carrots over here Sunday Night. He eat Supper with him. His Wife left him.

My Blue Cross & Blue Shield wont pay for my Medicine. I guess its Because I Smoke.

My right leg has been giving me a fit. Dr. Dean gave me a Salve to go on it.

Lillian had her Mouth operated on. She can't wear her lower teeth.

Dougs Insurance didn't pay for Suzannes Hand. She works every day. You can see yourself in her floors.

We put in 3 pumps. They worked here all day last Sat. Suzanne bought the pipe. They hooked me on to Ronnie. I've got more Water pressure then I every had.

It's about time for the Mail, so I guess I had better close. Tell Franklin to Write me.

Love,

Sarah Margaret

Oscar the Homosexual Clothier

2011-09-03T10:37:00.000-07:00

With friends the other night in Shelby for a "gallery crawl" - walking past the place where Loy's Men Shop used to be (it's now an upscale restaurant with sidewalk tables), I tried to explain Oscar the homosexual clothier. But I couldn't do it in the time available. I have to remember not to force even moderately long explanations in such ADD moments.

So...

From the 1950's until the 1970's and maybe the 80's Loy's was where Shelby men got expensive clothes. It's where my dad went when he started making money in the building business. (I remember a brilliant yellow linen sport coat which I sometimes borrowed.) It's where the fashionable young men of the mid-50's - my high school years - obtained their finest garb.

What made this odd - although nobody at the time seemed to think it especially strange - was the proprietor of the place. Oscar was a homosexual. - or at least he fit the stereotypical homosexual image of the time. A short fat man with a crew cut and horn rim glasses, he minced, swished and occasionally swooped.

People must have known what Oscar was or seemed to be. My contemporaries knew. A number of the popular boys at Shelby High worked summers and holiday's for Oscar. Other boys joked that these guys got their pegged pants and v-neck lamb's wool sweaters for free by performing certain favors - or allowing Oscar to perform certain favors. But the jokes were almost obligatory, never really that vicious. And the boys who worked for Oscar defended him, said he was all business.

People liked Oscar. He was an established member of the community. He went to church (with his mother) and at restaurants (again with his mother) was warmly greeted by the town's movers and shakers.

I never really understand the town's relationship with Oscar until I had lunch the other day with my friend Leigh. After I told her the story, she said with the certainty that some women have in the face of an obvious truth, "He was one of their own. That was it. He belonged to the town."

And thinking about Dino the man who wore a superman cape and leaped, and Buster the man who made boom noises I guess that must have been it. (Perhaps my uncle who maintained guns for the Phenix City police and shot a bothersome youth in the ass was also protected by his town.)

And perhaps it doesn't make any difference.

Raging Déjà vu

2011-09-03T06:25:00.001-07:00

two wood screws

loose

in the dark

at the bottom of a kitchen drawer

behind the plastic bags

make me

uneasy

it makes no sense

memories ooze

like suppurating wounds

or wildflowers

growing in cracks

(so vulnerable to being stomped, pulled, sprayed)

Brenda filled

her kitchen drawers

with screws

and stuff

and the house

with cats

and bric a brac

Sunday morning - 8/28/11

2011-08-28T07:15:00.000-07:00

sausage egg and cheese biscuit

at bojangles

served by a dignified dwarf girl

old men in caps driving foreign convertibles

in walmart

a shaved head man

with an earring

and outside

a boy smoking a cigarette (it smelled good)

and another man

with white hair the size of a basketball

and a santa claus beard

and a nice looking older woman

nice day

so far

walmart on sunday morning

yes there is that

earlier i wrote an email in which i acknowledged

i am an ass

and said

i am sorry

kitchen in the morning

2011-08-27T06:34:00.001-07:00

three knives

crusted with chocolate birthday cake

four silver forks

also crusted

(one extra because last night after getting home late from the book club where we argued the end of the world i did not even bother to use a knife but just stood there forking out drying chunks from the still tasty remnants of my life's celebration)

and one french fry

which Evan missed

after I made him pick up

those he spilled

Brenda and cat

2011-08-15T12:52:00.001-07:00

I am haunted by a lovely baleful eye.

Black Widow

2011-08-14T09:27:00.000-07:00

I picked up a 4 by 4

from the wet pile in Yancie's back yard

to create a raised spot

to temporarily store

my punching bag

which I have named

Hubert The Heavy Bag.

I was about to get another post

when Yancie said,

"Look there is a black widow!"

And there it was

a little dancer

on eight dainty legs

a mother

guarding a pearly egg sac

about the size of

the her own

shapely abdomen.

I started to move the post

but Yancie said,

"My children play out here."

and handed me a heavy limb

she found under a tree.

Agreeing with the

necessity

I struck once,

missed,

turned the 4 by 4 over

exposing the little dancer

and struck again

and again,

smashing her

into unrecognizable pieces.

Yancie said, "Of course there are others."

I answered, "Of course."

Ethical Lapse on Crowder's Mountain

2011-08-09T12:23:00.000-07:00

I was on the Ridgeline Trail coming up to the intersection with the Pinnacle Trail when I heard them squawking, screeching. I thought - God, kids. Up to that moment it had just been me and the breeze, and the gnats and the birds.

In a few minutes I saw little groups and individuals straggling out of sight in both directions, maybe 500 feet. No adult to be seen, only young people 11 or 12 years old. Several girls lingered at the intersection of the trails, one sitting on the hard packed dirt, another bent over. I felt smug, superior, an old guy in better condition than these unruly children. But I didn't think anything was really wrong. These were kids after all; they should be able to walk forever.

Walking past I said cheerily, "Hello ladies, how's it going?"

One girl looked at me ruefully and nodded. The one sitting on the ground a lovely little ebony princess who may have never walked more than a mile or two in her life, frowned up at me as if to say, "You are not cute old white man." As I went by, I heard her say to somebody, "I am not going to be able to do this."

I muttered mostly to myself "It will get worse."

A mile or so down the mountain - long past the squawks and screeches, I started to worry. Where were the adults? What if these kids really were in trouble? What about the little princess who even in distress had managed to dismiss me with a withering look? What about her? I could have shared my water - they had none. I could have showed them how to do the monk's walk that Steve had shown me, moving so slowly that it is impossible to get winded.

That sort of thinking occupied my mind for another mile until I moved to a section of the trail that is accessible to ATVs. That is where I encountered the Park Ranger driving fast up the mountain. He responded to my wave with a nod, not taking his eyes off the trail.

Even then I didn't believe anything had happened. But I did when I heard the helicopter - and at the remote parking lot filled with emergency vehicles where a rescue squad member about to head out on another ATV told me that some kid had "fallen out". I said that I had seen them but did nothing. He smiled and said, "Not your fault."

As I write this nine hours later I still don't know what happen. Leaving from the main parking lot I saw more emergency vehicles, sirens and lights going. I assume it wasn't like the time in the army reserve when I was a drill instructor at summer camp in Fort Jackson and an entire squad of trainees "fell out" from the heat and another helicopter flew in.

That time I did something. This time I didn't because the little princess made me feel foolish. I should have sucked it up.

Note: Yancie just called. The Gaston Gazette had an article about the incident. Apparently only one boy passed out due to the heat. The little princess must have refused to continue - too smart to kill herself in this pursuit.

Visiting The UUs

2011-08-07T11:53:00.000-07:00

Seeing myself urinate

at the Unitarian Church

in the wall-wide mirror

of the unisex bathroom

(no distinction here between men and women)

trying not to see

my baggy eyes

and thinning hair

and other

wispy stuff

Seeing old liberals

parade past

finding seats

smiling

as cheery as Baptists

Seeing Leigh

deliver a service

on movies and UU principles

confident

funny

the best thing

I've ever seen in a church

(the opening hymn was As Time Goes By)

Seeing the woman beside me

in the pew

seeing her form-fitting white pants

and crossed legs

and bright diaphanous top

and smooth brown arms

and sun glasses perched just so

on long

jet black hair

(hiding her face like a habit)

seeing when she turned

frowning at my curiosity

or something

that she was maybe 35

not 25

and maybe bothered

bending over

when the service didn't require it

rocking a little.

I thought...

"What is your story?

Why are you here by yourself,

in this place of hoped-for

hope?

Are you real?

Are you eaten up with irony

and soul disease

like dry rot

so that you seem lovely

and intact

but

if touched

fall into dust?"

Friday 8-5-11

2011-08-05T13:44:00.000-07:00

Up and down hills

breathing

easy

the bone-breaking

expanable baton

in my pocket

past well-tended bungalows

with Little Red Riding Hood roofs

and a mansion

with a faded

church van

out back

that is home to vines

and a grove of trees

growing in the gutter

And a black boy

with bulky biceps

said hi

and an old black man

responded to

"whas up?"

with

"aint nuthin up"

and asked me

to read the label on

a weathered jug

of Prestone anti-freeze

and tell him the time

And Yancie had coffee waiting

and Old Ev showed me a monster dump truck

and it started raining

bullets

just when I walked up

to the apartment door

And I went to Shelby

and bought a plot

in Sunset Cemetery

not far where I lived in 1951

and Brenda and I rode motorcycles

and she hurt her back

pulling her bike up

a pile of dirt

And I bought

a pre-paid cremation

package

from Cecil

(who calls me "cuz" because his mother was a Weathers)

that is good all over the world

with Bob in Nova Scotia

and Steve

in Vietnam

and J

somewhere down town

And I went to the

where Lyn caught me up

with the family

and in the bathroom

I saw a note that said,

"I wear panties every day"

maybe a little gnarled

2011-07-30T10:09:00.000-07:00

Belching

scrambled eggs

and livermush

fried crisp

in fat

at the cafe

at the center of the known universe.

(allie and evan would have smelled it and complained.)

Walking past the

worn

rock steps

where jimmy carter tore

down the

red brick

junior high

and erected tennis courts

for an unknown elite

where in 1952

i first saw brenda

and her cousin carol

coming home from the rodgers theater

one saturday afternoon

(having seen a cowboy movie)

and i

barely sentient

knew

(without knowing)

the exquisite

perfect

girl

would be

back

and

god help her

maybe

in a moment of prescience

she knew

i was

and we were

(or was it someone else? i don't think so).

Walking

past the place

where john mcclurd

blew out his brains

with an hierloom colt

(warning - keep old pistols away from depressed people)

and i set

the start

of a novel.

Entering sunset cemetery,

the epicenter

of the center

stopping

at the old hendrick family plot

to call bill in marietta

(and his nurse angie)

bill is dying

getting weaker

by the day

he said

but calm

at peace

having entered another plane

i told him

about frank

who

not long before he died

laughed

and whispered

that he

had entered a

transitional period

then calling bob

because i needed

to tell

somebody

and he knows

us all.

Maybe a little gnarled now

a little twisted

coming back to Gastonia

down 74

crowded by a man

in a dodge durago

i let the wrx go

beginning to scream

briefly touching

110 miles per hour

i expected

the steering would get light

and delicate

like a forget-me-not

but not the warm air

blowing out the vents.

Carmen's Poem

2011-07-28T15:49:00.000-07:00

This, regarding one of my conditions...

Your experience was inspiration for more "Very Bad, Forced Poetry."

The reason

For the lesion

Was simply treason

By a body

Season after season

Losing cohesion

I find that losing cohesion can be a good or bad thing. It all depends on how you look at it and what you're trying to avoid. And, I always say, if you're going to have an ailment, make it an interesting one.

Ashley Arms Hallways

2011-07-27T16:29:00.000-07:00

I expect to see the kid on the big wheel from The Shining...

allie loves justin beiber

2011-07-21T14:46:00.000-07:00

In her words...

Momy and pawpaw do not like Juistin beiber but I love Justin Biber and mam maw Joe. Justin Beiber is a cutie pie. One thing is that I have a friend named audrey, and she wants to kill Justin. So, she thinks that I do not like Justin beider but she is wrong I like Justin bieber.

steve's metaphor

2011-07-21T07:17:00.000-07:00

doc said

lesion

was like erosion

on underside

of skull

where

brain

(like wounded slug)

was

wearing though

pushing

into

cavity

trying to

escape

head

mr. bob's metaphor

2011-07-20T12:37:00.000-07:00

they opened a flap

and drilled my head

it was

like lifting

the lid

off the ark.

Mr. Bob said he heard

the noise

in Fort Mill

a whooshing

escape

as the old

air rushed out

past

doctors

(who knew what was going on)

and

anesthesiologists

the noise repeated

as new air

spilled into my

empty hole

filling

with

the smell

of eucalyptus

weekend poem thing

2011-07-18T14:14:00.000-07:00

While deja vu raged

between losing

memory

and getting my head

drilled

Bob and I went to

Marietta

to see Mr. Bill

not far from the Big Chicken

and the fancy

diner.

We came down for

a few days;

Mr. Bill is dying

more or less.

Saturday

we went to the diner

for lunch

Bill

Bob

and Angie

the weekend CNA

(she is a widow who moves like a dancer half her age)

and me.

At 2:00 PM

people were still lined up

arguing with the

boy

about who

went next

(not knowing that

it will likely be

Mr. Bill).

Later

Bill and Bob stayed

at the house

and Angie and I went to Publix

where I watched her

dance down aisles

getting groceries

for supper

(Brenda could also dance in stores and once I saw Julia elegantly hop across a puddle).

Later

we took Bill

to the cemetery

the three of us tugging

his wheel chair

across the soft grass.

While Bill talked quietly

to Ritsa

and Bob stood

in respectful

attendance.

Angie

and I

admired the pond

and ducks.

Back at Bill's house

Angie fixed

supper

and I encouraged

Bill's

ex-Army

neighbor

the old Colonel

into

telling stories about

Vietnam

about Mi Lai

and mini-cannons

and Model 1911

Colt 45 pistols

then

after the ancient warrior left

I bent my

head while Bob

gave thanks.

At 10 PM

walking down the ramp

in Bill's garage

past a somewhat

scarred

Avalon

I found my hand

lingering

on Angie's

smooth

back.

The next morning

Bob fried liver mush

and I scrambled eggs.

Everybody hugged

everybody.

As we drove off

in Bob's big Land Cruiser

Bill and Angie

stood beside the

Avalon

waving goodbye.

Bill was sad.

Angie smiled

a little.