Saturday, December 30, 2006


He was down -- frozen there in a trance- till darkness fell,

and suddenly...

Something Mike Tyson said in a interview? or documentary? a long time ago, when just in his early 20’s, has stuck in my head all these years. While he was watching footage of old fights from the early and mid 1900’s (in order to learn from past masters)- his interest, at one point, turned to the crowds of fight spectators in those films. With a tone of wonder, Mike said something like, “look at those people- most- if not all- are dead now...” Yeah- so- whatever- just a morbid fascination- just a realization that we're not here forever.
Though, I guess it's a good thing to realize--for if we believe contrarily that we are immortal- many of us would never get anything done- or at least not try too hard to. ("Why do today -when you have forever tomorrows?"). I realized the mortality deal early on- but I’m more dim than not- I often put the “pro” in procrastination- though I hope to have many more years to fight it [procrastination]. But maybe there is such a thing as reincarnation- maybe we keep coming back up from the ashes until we reach Nirvana/Heaven- and thus, maybe all living things are Phoenixes.

Mike Tyson is not a dumb man- however, everyone has a bright side and a dim side- his dim side often knocks him out. Mike was arrested and booked into a PHOENIX, Arizona jail this past Friday Mike in Phoenix. I'm rooting for his bright side to come out on top in all of this. Happy, Bright, peaceful New Year to Mike, and to you all!

NewYear'sResolution#1: I will try not to babel so much here in the new year--- or should #1 be, "I will not procrastinate!"?.
I guess everything's confluent.

Monday, December 25, 2006


Peace Offering?

If we imagine...- ?
Happy New Year - Peace.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006


Later that year- a Christmas version:

My girlfriend in college once recounted to me the parting scene of one of her
trips home. She was going through a bump in life, and went and spent
the weekend with her parents. Upon driving down the driveway to return from
this trip- her mother waved and called to her. C stopped and rolled down her car window to see what her mom wanted- and her mom just said, “C- God helps those who help themselves.” I always wished that saying were, “God helps those TO help themselves.” Most of the time- getting the damned ball rolling is where help is needed most--- once it’s rolling- the momentum, like a Godsend, will largely help take you the rest of the way.
Well- hope there’s a God. Guess I often need help in seeing the light.
Did I incorporate the word "help" enough?
Sos anyway- before I start making sense- I'll stop here.

Merry Holidays to all-

Monday, December 11, 2006

Abstraction is a mask for reality?
Reality is abstract-

One ?possible? reality for this is really sick: I've seen people on the street blow their nose by closing one nostril with a finger, and blowing- whooosssh- splat on the sidewalk goes their mucus. So this is my impression of someone whose face ran into something, and is using the above mentioned maskless method of blowing his nose (maybe a connection to my invention post?). Also, I used liquid mask/frisket in the piece to mask "mask". Also- paint itself is a mask. Yeah that's it.

Mask your mouth and nose when sneezing or coughing- use a tissue or your shoulder-- not your hands they say... and, of course- use a tissue when blowing thine nose. Stay well everybody.

Sunday, December 03, 2006

The following stanza was first thing that popped into head when saw this week's word, "might":
"For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: "It might have been!"

Might be kinda melodramatic- but...

John Greenleaf Whittier
"Maud Muller"
Maud Muller, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadow sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But, when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast, --

A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade
Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow, across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

"Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught
From a fairer hand was never quaffed."

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles, bare and brown,

And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!"

"He would dress me up in silks so fine,
And praise and toast me at his wine.

"My father should wear a braodcloth coat,
My brother should sail a painted boat.

"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,
And the baby should have a new toy each day.

"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor,
And all should bless me who left our door."

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,
And saw Maud Muller standing still:

"A form more fair, a face more sweet,
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.

"And her modest answer and graceful air
Show her wise and good as she is fair.

"Would she were mine, and I to-day,
Like her, a harvester of hay.

"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,

"But low of cattle, and song of birds,
And health, and quiet, and loving words."

But he thought of his sister, proud and cold,
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love tune;

And the young girl mused beside the well,
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.

He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow,
He watched a picture come and go;

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red,
He longed for the wayside well instead,

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms,
To dream of meadows and clover blooms;

And the proud man sighed with a secret pain,
"Ah, that I were free again!

"Free as when I rode that day
Where the barefoot maiden raked the hay."

She wedded a man unlearned and poor,
And many children played round her door.

But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain,
Left their traces on heart and brain.

And oft, when the summer shone hot
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot,

And she heard the little spring brook fall
Over the roadside, through the wall,

In the shade of the apple-tree again
She saw a rider draw his rein,

And, gazing down with a timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
Stretched away into stately halls;

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned,
The tallow candle an astral burned;

And for him who sat by the chimney lug,
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,

A manly form at her side she saw,
And joy was duty and love was law.

Then she took up her burden of life again,
Saying only, "It might have been."

Alas for maiden, alas for judge,
For rich repiner and household drudge!

God pity them both ! and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: "It might have been!"

Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes;

And, in the hereafter, angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away!