Beer and some Shade and not to be Bothered by the Mosquitos - and oh Yes a Little Breeze would be Nice - Thank You Lord!

It has been disconcerting to the little dog to be spending all this time at the lake cabin – it is used to my full attention – now there are other dogs and other people and it gets left  a lot out in the boathouse by itself. And when the day warms up it doesn’t like the out-a-doors. It went for a boat ride yesterday and kept hopping up onto the railing. I suspect that it wasn’t aware that the shiny surface of the water was incapable of supporting it’s weight and I didn’t want to jump in after it. The first two days it was content to hang out – but now it just wants to sleep when the day gets hot. I have been drinking up all the beer and must make a run into town today and replenish the bar. Its time to head back into the woods – but Memorial Day is approaching, so we must wait. Yes, little guy - we'll hit the road again soon, just stick it out for a couple of more days. My sister says he sounds like a duck - he does that when he is hot and wants to go inside, I said.

Most people’s political ideal … is not to participate in possible glory, but to be left alone – Stanley Kauffmann – The New Republic (Feb 4, 2010) p23

We are now into the mosquito season – you cannot escape them, but this is much better, spraying on the DEET. Shall we go get some firewood? Gather up some dead wood fallen out of the trees, huh Dog? Nice doggy. Trail Dog has come back with a stick in his mouth.

Once, after circling in turbulence / then skidding on the runway, / ‘living room’ took on new meaning. / I put my feet up on the Ottoman - Stephen Dunn – What Goes On: selected and new poems, 2009p185

Gotta move on – no trails here for dog and I – we stroll beside the highway – and there is no shade here in the afternoon either

We do not pray to what is the evidential; the exact is not an object of worship – E M Cioran – A Short History of Decay, 1975 p21

With each tide of rising hope
     Comes a new terror
The tides get higher and higher
     As the climate warms up
The fear that it would spawn
     Would become it’s own terror
But denial is nine-tenths of the truth
Hunker down and wait it out
     This rising of aspirations

I must have two souls; the empty one that aches to be filled, and a dull, fat one. – Stephen Dunn – What Goes On: selected and new poems, 2009 p132

I watch young girls’
     Tight asses – how
     Young you ask?
And the little dog
      Licks his red pecker
      Slurp, slurp
I think he’s still a virgin
I ponder whether she is
      Also
      Yes, it was that tight

Chaos? Chaos is rejecting all you have learned, chaos is being yourself – E M Cioran – A Short History of Decay, 1975 p41

Life on the Dole

A room with two soles
      An upper and a lower
Two of six faces that formed a cube
There values are one and
      Six. The wall with the door
Is number five and that with
     The window  bearing the  number two
Which leaves the walls of the
      Conjoining rooms which appear as a 
      Four and a  three
I live in that room (and he
      Pointed to wall number four)
And I chose that one, I said
      Pointing to the opposite wall
And a tiger sprung out
      From within it
And struck him dead
      Such is our luck
      I'll take his room, I said,
Instead

The old man / took his teeth out / from the water glass / and cut himself / a little sausage. // As a boy / he had been in such a hurry / to get older. / Now he felt younger / than ever – Carl Rokosi – Amulet, 1947 p29

Buy this Time
Buy and Buy


Right time
Wrong time


Quality time
Real time


Clock time
Time clock


There is time on the clock
Every tick has its time


Time to get down
Time to get up


Downtime
Time’s up


Time to go
Estimated arrival time


Time of your live
Out of time


Tell time
Keep time


Make time
Run time


Time change
In no time


Good time
Bad time


On time
In time


Long time
Short time


Time after time
Each time


Time before time
The end of time


Busy time
Playtime


Game time
Tea time


Anytime
Some time


Leisure time
Harvest time


Time share
In the spirit of the times


My time
Time ticking away


Time aware
Time to prepare
     Bye and bye

Corn is whizzing from the / ground. You are sleeping / and day starts its lipstick. / Where do we go from here? / Blue irises – Joseph Ceravolo – The Green Lakes is Awake, 1994 p38

A MeWorld
       Is
A MacWorld

O fish, Am I / the bumblebee in the sun’s chase – Joseph Ceravolo – The Green Lakes is Awake, 1994 p37

I take the L line out to 15th and Transvaal and then walk up Transvaal and down again to the West Portal. I wind up at a place called the Manor Coffee House . It’s an old fashioned diner - Linguela sausage with scrambled eggs, an English muffin and coffee. First I check out the condiments and specifically their selection of hot sauces - how many do they stock in addition to the original Tabasco: green Tabasco & Crystal) then the other condiments including mustards (Chinese, American yellow and Dijon) and catsup (served in bottle or squeezable plastic). Here it is red Tabasco, Heinz catsup in a bottle and a very yellow mustard. The portions are of a reasonable size and the service is quick. Men eat at the counter spread out like birds on a wire. The women and children occupy the booths and outnumber the men. The décor consists of a selection of panoramic photos of  old San Francisco.

There are fresh baked pies on a shelf behind the counter. Two have wedges gone. One is a cherry. There is an old-fashioned punch button cash register with mechanical pop ups showing the price being rung up and a spring loaded cash drawer that pops out with a ring upon a sale - tinga-ling swoosh cling. Math is performed on a hand calculator. The cook is visible behind a long narrow slot. Another fresh baked pie just appeared. A bell rings and the waitress picks up a plate from off order partition. Behind the cook is a sink with a shelf over it that is stacked high with white plates.

The fruit pies bulge with goodness and overflow their tins with toasted brown crust.

There is a black & white (mostly gray) ‘fog’ picture hanging over the food service counter from which the waitress had just retrieved the plate. The fog is visible in the glow of two auto headlamps, four lampposts and the porch light. The are seven tiny yellow electric light bulbs providing the glow. The frame is made to resemble the frame of a TV picture screen. The word ‘Brassai’ in gold letters appears at the bottom left corner.

Economic writing carried to its extreme is algebra - Olkowski [Derrida]

Modern life is a fractal landscape
No matter how much you dig
     It all looks the same

Being lost in focused intensity can be an addiction – Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht – In Praise of Athletic Beauty, 2006 p55