In the nameless midwest a puppy encounters a force he doesn’t understand.
Music: “Evil Ball” by Sinoia Caves
At what point in your life did you realize that you’re probably never going to be as healthy/attractive/happy/etc. as you once were? Did you have the presence of mind to realize it at the time? Or have you somehow avoided this altogether (i.e. you’re under 30)?
I had my doubts at 30, but now I’m pretty sure I’m officially on the decline. Nothing drastic, but it’s like when you realize your new car isn’t a new car anymore. Except you can’t save up for a new one, or even take out a foolish auto loan.
Sign up early, if you want a spot; these pants fill up fast!
The Wayfinder Experience in Your Pants
Unlocking the Life Force in Your Pants
The Marks of Our Existence in Your Pants
Say “No” to Stress in Your Pants
Storming Heaven in Your Pants
Compose Yourself in Your Pants
Trees & Ecosystems in Your Pants
Frequencies of Healing in Your Pants
Enter Through the Image in Your Pants
Dreamgates in Your Pants
Leap of Perception in Your Pants
Timeless Loving in Your Pants
Even the humble dung beetle, its life spent barely an inch above the ground, pushing balls of waste, steers by starlight.
“Dung steered by the stars,” as my longtime friend Steve said.
Or, as Oscar Wilde wrote in “Lady WIndermere’s Fan”:
DUMBY. I don’t think we are bad. I think we are all good, except Tuppy.
LORD DARLINGTON. No, we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
With David Bowie’s “Star Man”. Et cetera. 2007.
“Yeah! Me, too!”
Please do me this one favor and watch all of this and you’ll be glad that you did.
Monsters! I’m David Bowie!
How are you feeling?
In need of cheap lodging for perhaps 4-6 weeks. Have access to same for period required. Physical conditions rough but livable.
Note: Premises likely haunted.
Question: Is this wise?
Miracle Jones, the pearl of Texas, tosses a Bruce Lee poem to the youtube gods…
You are caramel and hot wax. I am a new wool sweater with a bull’s eye on its back. The ladder in the yard climbs high into the air and I go up, up, up. I’m afraid to look down. The ladder stands unsupported as if it’s a flagpole. I remove bandages until the fabric coils like snakes, but nothing within is wrapped except old air. A woman in line at the deli complains: “My feet are killing me and I can’t stand for very long because it hurts my back.” I suggest she should wait instead for service at the shoe store. Strangers don’t appreciate it when you’re trying to be helpful.
Rust. Irony can be found in iron itself. The carpet is not made of felt; the gray fibers are compressed years of fur, soil, and traffic. We organize a backyard BBQ and everyone brings potato salad. All of the potato salad is contaminated with e coli. What are the odds of that happening? You negotiated a 30% discount for your new tattoos but the artist used beige ink exclusively. Beyond normal expectations, we got it right! Unfortunately we are unable to locate, recognize, or analyze the data.
Midnight. One more night without sleepin’.
Watchin’. ‘Til the mornin’ comes creepin’.
Green door, what’s that secret you’re keepin’?
It’s true. AND: I did it in a dream the premise of which was: THIS IS NOT A DREAM.
You know how you have those dreams? Those other dreams? You realize, “Wait! This is a DREAM!”
This was not like that. THIS IS NOT A DREAM was the foundation of the dream.
My friend Charlie is assistant manager of a small grocery/deli/”sundries” store catering to guests of a Midwestern resort and nearby residents. This week a customer phoned his store, claiming that the chuck roast she’d purchased had not in fact been handed over with her other purchases and requesting that it be delivered to her home.
Charlie’s store does not sell chuck roast.
Delivery, he explained, was impossible because (a) there was no chuck roast available for delivery and (b) only two employees were staffing the store.
The customer returned the following day to pick up her chuck roast.
Charlie asked whether, if this happens again, he might phone me with a request to deliver a phantom cut of imaginary chuck roast to the woman’s home. I consented, adding that I might even volunteer to prepare it for her. Commandeer her kitchen, imaginary chuck roast in hand, and act out the preparation of Boeuf Bourguignon in the manner of Julia Child.
Sheila Ryan: The Imaginary Chef.
This must be The Place.@ The Place instagr.am/p/LHKs1ukKYc/
— Mark Matienzo (@anarchivist) May 27, 2012
So sorry, ring-tailed feral cat, that I scared you out of your place in the dumpster in the shed. Please come back.
— Sheila Ryan (@Cirinda) May 27, 2012
I built a house all around this day. I inspected the lumber piled in the lean-to, pulled stacks of boards from the moist blackness, planed and trimmed quarter-sawn planks, and checked decades-old Southern yellow pine for squareness and warp. No less than one hundred spiders perished on account of my actions, and for that I’m sorry. Read more
For your pleasure on this Weed Day, 2012. Stuff Smith: You’se a Viper.
Sure, Elmo loves you, but when’s the last time Elmo held anyone’s hand on the threshold of eternal night?
Almost used the word “aplomb” in an email. Time to step away from the keyboard, Frank, and pull your head out of your ass.
— Frank Chimero (@fchimero) February 22, 2012
She was skinny, quick-witted, disarmingly unprofessional, alternating between stand-up patter, bardic intonations, and the hypnotic emotional sway of a chanteuse, and she was sexy in an androgynous way I hadn’t encountered before. The elements cohered convincingly; she seemed both entirely new and somehow long-anticipated. For me at nineteen, the show was an epiphany.
Springtime 1976, I was living in the cinderblock building on the glorified median strip there where they split Highway 13, and one day I went over to this one girl’s apartment, she lived right by the guy who dealt me speed, and she said, “Hey, you know who you remind me of? You remind me of Patti Smith!”
Gave her a possum grin I’m still grinning.
Related to stuff we’re talking about.
They looked so young, the four college students who sat down and ordered coffee at the Woolworth’s lunch counter in Greensboro, N.C., on Feb. 1, 1960.
Legal challenges and demonstrations were cracking the foundations of segregation, but a black person still couldn’t sit down and eat a hamburger or a piece of pie in a store that was all too willing to take his money for a tube of toothpaste.
Those four freshmen at North Carolina A&T College — Joseph McNeil, Franklin McCain, Ezell Blair Jr. and David Richmond — sat until the store closed, but they still didn’t get their coffee.
But that day helped spark other sit-in protests — led by young people like themselves — that spread throughout the South in 1960, energizing the civil rights movement. And the Greensboro Woolworth desegregated its lunch counter later that year.
It wasn’t the first time that food, or the lack thereof, figured large in the movement.
How do you deal with the unbearable rudeness of strangers? I’m serious, here, guys. It’s starting to really affect my life.
It could be anything — the guy who cuts you off when you’re clearly waiting for the men’s room, the guy who switches to the fucking right lane after he sees the “right lane ends 1000 feet” sign, the elderly couple who really ought to know better than narrate through the entire showing of The Artist (even after you finally yell “hey” after he says “he didn’t do it” – BANG!), the woman who starts doing her makeup next to you on the train, the omnipresent imbeciles yelling into thin air (oh, they’re on the phone).
I’m thinking of never going to another movie again (damn kids nearly ruined Red Riding Hood for me), or moving to a cabin in the woods. I’ve been checking Craigslist for jobs, but so far, nothing.
4. Walk with the devil
Old Delta blues players referred to guitar amplifiers as the “devil box.” And they were right. You have to be an equal opportunity employer in terms of who you’re bringing over from the other side. Electricity attracts devils and demons. Other instruments attract other spirits. An acoustic guitar attracts Casper. A mandolin attracts Wendy. But an electric guitar attracts Beelzebub.
(From WFMU’s Beware of the Blog. Via Brian Beatty.)