More random stuff

Omni-mnemonic - 1. A word I made up 2. the name of my new band 3. an adjective imbuing an object with the ability to remind us of everything all at once!

Interactive poem snippet #97
(you fill in the blank)

The slope of his shoulders
like crested dunes,
slip faces eroded,

and
bare boned buddha-
like
(blank)
in repose

*

Shaved my beard day before last. Well, part of it, anyway. The old wolf's gray beard bottom.

Was left with what was alternately described as "the molest-ash" (a molester's mustache for the uninitiated) and meth dealer couture.

I'd left the sideburns long and pointy - sorta mutton-chop-esque - and with them flowing, unbroken, into my mustache, thought I'd look a bit period, and/or steampunk.

This, apparently, was not the case.

Here's a somewhat flattering pic of same. Blurry and dark helps:

And yeah, those are hipstamatic-ized cellphone pics, mimicking the colloidal photo process. Photo above was snapped as I caught some hot chic randomly walking through my living room necked, btw.

Is this a great country or what?

Speaking of colloidal photography:

1. Think I'd like to do that*
2. Here's some links to a coupla peeps I found online and me likey:

    a. this one
    b. the other one

*Not that I'd ever do something to actually make this happen, like say, go somewhere and be so instructed. The universe will, no doubt, provide such an opportunity as deemed necessary. This has worked so well for me in the past.

Untitled Poem

PART 1

I think
the things

we think

think us;

like raindrops
cast from clouds

bejeweled and sparkling
(in blades of light)

we
fall
upon
the earth's
fissured skin,

accumulate
in ruts & crevices

and
soaked
up by the loamy soil,

with roots
and mitochondria
co-mingled,

succumb

and in the darkness

sleep

(azured skies
and honeyed light
beckoning).

Yet another installment of the universe in my head

a.k.a. Mental Colon Blow

(Apology to follow)

Hey.

Saw Frank last weekend and it was a hoot.

This is a movie about a guy who wears a paper mache head.
And he's a musician.

Okay "hoot" may be a misnomer, but enjoyable?

Way.

For me anyway.

I should mention for my "half-tempted" friend, not so much.

(and as these words are typed I hear a pseudo-subliminal rumbling sound - distant, rhythmic and beguiling, like drums or ants marching or dwarves singing under the earth - building louder and clearer til the mumbled rumblings erupt in croaked, heavily trebled words:  

"…THERE'S a JUMBLE in your HEAD! YES - word JUMBLE in your HEAD!"  

Only it's more like an experiential jumble, really, with everything trying to come out all at once. Omni-mnenomic*, maybe? Like that Kurt Vonnegut Jr. book - where he experiences different events in his life simultaneously - Slaughterhouse 5? All very zen, btw, with each point of the river separate and yet connected {and are these pertinent ponderings I posit -or- just another attempt at self-aggrandizement or even mental masturbation?}… 

{sound of record screeching to a halt} 

Holy Poop, peepahs! We gots ta get back on track! 

{sound of dogs ears flapping while shaking its head}  

Where was I? 

Oh yeah, time jumble. But we'll get back to that.  

There's a rythym to things, after all.) 

But why this movie?

Because the ramblings of a madman are revealed in the light of truth and beauty.

Hunh?

You know…  like how a single strand of shag carpet - magically imbued with the universality of human existence - can represent loneliness and/or stoicism.

All you gotta do is put an idea into words, create music random and atypical as the lyrics, and then play with fervored virtuosity. To be frank, that is.

Easy, right? :)

And, yeah, there's some narcissism involved (surprise!). After all, it wouldn't resonate without a certain sense of self-identification.

"Half-tempted" and LB paid me the compliment of my life, saying I reminded them of the guy.

"The guy who sucked or the other guy?" I asked.

The other guy, as it turns out.

So there's that. Plus I can't get the last scene out of my head (and it's been days now):

As Frank fumbles his way back to a semblance of sanity - no, more like peeps thru the curtain of sanity at the lights of hearth and home (which, for him, is the band and his music) he starts muttering something about himself and the sh*t-hole honky tonk where he's found them, something like: 

"Dirty wall paper and the fumbling digits of his fingers…" 

Which feels like a look into the dirty corners of his mind - until - he's handed a microphone and the  mutterings evolve into a mantra, then a verse, which builds in intensity, until with tears in his eyes he looks up at them and sings, resplendent: 

"I love you all.   

I LOVE YOU ALL. "

To which I can only retort... "ditto."

AFTERWORD - All apologies for the previous blather, gentle reader - in particular, the 1st parenthetical paragraph above leading to nowhere. But there's been this log jam in my head of late - with the key log elusive (a single log, that when re-moved, frees up all others)** and previous to now it's all been "Log Jammin!"***

*"Omni-mnenomic - say that three times fast. And yes, I just made this up.
**Key Log - a concept once gleaned in one of the Dune books by Frank Herbert. Don't know if it's an actual historic term, but sure feels like one.
***Log Jammin'- fake porn from The Big Lebowski

Postpartum Sum Up - Frank is the "Jack-in-the-Box" guy putting his existential crisis to music.
Alternate Title to this Article - "The Importance of Being Frank"

feet
awash in
faded
light,

faintly,
saintly
in
repose...

plastic flowers in dying light

Dem Bones

Down Mexico Way

Effing with my Phone Cam on the Mexican Border