Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

Live in Space

2012-01-27T23:20:00.000-08:00

Because you already do...

My Junk Mail

2012-01-24T18:13:00.001-08:00

The following text arrived in my junk mail at work today. I liked it.

Democrats, were you listening last Thursday, when Newt Gingrich laid into debate moderator John King for raising concerns about his fidelity? You should have been. You would have seen the future. Please note that Mr. Gingrich was not angry at the liberal media for doubting his explanation for his dalliances with the young ladies, but rather, told the moderator that he had no right to raise the question at all. Ever. Period. Please note that Newt is a standard-bearer for the party of personal morality, the party that preaches that bad behavior in the bedroom will lead to America’s ruin. And yet, even with this focus, Newt somehow convinced voters that it’s perfectly fine to kick your wife to the curb and expect us all to smile and say it smells like roses.

An amazing performance, Democrats. You’d better be watching. This is the man who personifies that essential Republican virtue, the ability to turn the tables of indignation against anyone who dares to say no, sir, no sir, what you did to your family does not smell like roses. Yes, Democrats you have met your nemesis. This is the man who, as President, will look into the camera and tell us, with heavy heart, that Iranians possess weapons of mass destruction, and that America is tasked with the difficult burden of bombing them into the Stone Age. And when it turns out that Iran wasn’t as missile-bound as all that, Newt will indignantly throttle the Democrats, the journalists, and all the boogeymen who came in for such a tongue-thrashing last Thursday, to the sound of mass applause and the fawning of commentators. Yes, Democrats, we’ve all lived for three years under a President who has quietly chipped away against our economic problems, lowered our taxes, turned around the automotive industry, killed Bin Laden, and all this with the fanfare of a man getting up on a regular workday and heading for the office. But where’s the fun in that? What’s the appeal of a President who doesn’t even pretend to be God’s Anointed Messenger? BORING!

But now, the fireworks will really begin, the same fireworks we saw in 2003 under That Other Republican: Go ahead and ask Newt, and he’ll happily inform you: “We are living in the End Times.” What does that mean? It means America must wage a final struggle against Islam, usher in the closing of the Age, and thus, fulfill Biblical prophecy. Do you think Mitt Romney could sell us that? Mitt Romney, who, whenever he talks, knows that you know that he knows that you know he is lying? No, only Newt Gingrich can assume the proper somber gravity, don the mantle of George W. Bush, and convince us that we must once more, soldier up in some faraway land of Allah and start shooting.

Go ahead. Take a deep breath, summon some courage, and publish this.

Neela Bannerji

No deep breath, no courage, but I am happily publishing this message!

***

The Refusal of the Call

2012-01-21T10:48:00.000-08:00

i saw visionary sights
moons reflected, perfect nights
the ocean sleeping serene and clean
the stars all majick jumping beans

to the sea in early morning
i was each day quite newly born
into the waters, cleansed and clear
arising from the waves, no fear

sleeping in the noonday sun
playing catch upon the run
the temple had no hold on me
i was inside eternity

that was a time of eden
that was a time of freedom
that was a time, a time all mine
that was a time so long ago
after breaking all the locks
looking inside my treasure box
the gem, the jewel, the heart of hearts
was something hidden at the start
that was time, a time all mine
that was a time so long ago

a prince of paupers, an errant knight
who turned away from the good fight
i ran away and left it all
my own refusal of the call

you cannot lecture the old men
you cannot make them young again
the best thing that you may yet do
is love someone quite near to you

there are children at the gate
they all run off, though one may stay
if there is wisdom, take this one clue:
be kind and listen, don't be rude
the child at the secret gate
just needs a hand, this is your fate

that was a time of eden
that was a time of freedom
that was a time, a time all mine
that was a time so long ago
after breaking all the locks
looking inside my treasure box
the gem, the jewel, the heart of hearts
was something hidden at the start
that was time, a time all mine
that was a time so long ago

a prince of paupers, an errant knight
who turned away from the good fight
i ran away and left it all
my own refusal of the call

Depoe Bay

2012-01-17T18:34:00.000-08:00

the family gathered near the water
with their shoes held in their hands
sand between their toes and daughters
the sun was setting on the land

they'd come to set him free forever more
scatter remains at the end of day
they had driven to the silent shore
and set him free past Depoe Bay

(chorus)
goodbye father, goodbye darling
goodbye to you my friend
after spirit has departed
only ashes in the wind
we have gathered at the end of day
to set you free past Depoe Bay

the harbor ain't that much to see
not very big and rather plain
the bridge above a shadow now
another ghost lost in the rain

a note is clenched inside his hand
one he wrote so long ago
no one left to which it matters
and nowhere left to go

(chorus)
goodbye father, goodbye darling
goodbye to you my friend
after spirit has departed
only ashes in the wind
we have gathered at the end of day
set you free past Depoe Bay

sometimes thunder stops the heart a bit
sometimes wind comes rushing by
sometimes it's all so beautiful
sometimes it ain't a lie

(chorus)
goodbye father, goodbye darling
goodbye to you my friend
after spirit has departed
only ashes in the wind
we have gathered at the end of day
to set you free past Depoe Bay

Human Head Found in Hollywood Hills

2012-01-17T17:37:00.000-08:00

According to unnamed sources the human head is polling third in South Carolina. Truth, that.

This Game is Done

2012-01-13T18:26:00.000-08:00

there's no grace in the after life
it is broken and full of strife
all the angels are high on crack
all the devils are talking smack
and the children who used to play
seems they've chosen to run away
this game is done

it strikes me as somewhat odd
people pray to the bronze age god
if they knew what was really in store
they'd find out that their god is bored
and for all that they really gave
nothing was ventured and nothing gained
this game is done

bye, bye for now
bye, bye tonight
this cave is empty
this game is done
it's time to run

in the rapture the chosen rise
into the stratospherical skies
to the edge of the milky way
where there's nowhere left to pray
seems their buses are out of gas
run on fumes from a distant past
this game is done

i found god on a submarine
trimmed his beard and was looking kean
he pretended that i was a fool
but damn he was looking cool
he said something i didn't catch
and then opened a deadly hatch
this game is done

bye, bye for now
bye, bye tonight
this cave is empty
this game is done
it's time to run

there's no grace in the after life
it is broken and full of strife
all the angels are high on crack
all the devils are talking smack
and the children who used to play
seems they've chosen to run away
this game is done

If the house that you love is gone

2012-01-08T20:31:00.000-08:00

if the house that you love is gone
if the dreams that you had were wrong
if apologies run on too long
you might just as well be a bird
and forget all your fancy words
just remember that spring will come
if the house that you love is gone

***

Go Away With You

2012-01-05T19:20:00.000-08:00

i was raised on the wrong side of the battle
i was raised on the rocks
i was raised with people made of metal
rusted petals in the sand

i was thinking it might be nice to laugh
i was thinking nightly
i was thinking of the photographs
little fractions of the past

hey, away now, now it all goes
hey, away now, hey away now
it all goes, it all goes away
if i play my cards right
if i make the joker smile right
if i play with all my might
i will get to go away too
go away with you

i was driving in the winter rain today
clouds have serious business
i was driving in the endless gray today
everything was under glass

i was missing another opportunity
i was missing you
i was missing what you do to me
you really know just how to kick my ass

hey, away now, now it all goes
hey, away now, hey away now
it all goes, it all goes away
if i play my cards right
if i make the joker smile right
if i play with all my might
i will get to go away too
go away with you

i was raised on the wrong side of the battle
i was raised on the rocks
i was raised with people made of metal
rusted petals in the sand

i was thinking it might be nice to laugh
i was thinking nightly
i was thinking of the photographs
little fractions of the past

Happy New Year!

2011-12-31T10:33:00.000-08:00

Run Like Me

2011-12-20T21:40:00.000-08:00

set me loose from the ancient spring
watch me run in the breaking day
hold my heart in the rays of the sun
i am riding until i'm done

see me now, to the side of light
a mere wisp that rides away
turn around and see the world
hold out your hand and touch the pearl

life is green and life is brown
right side up and upside down
would you break it to fit the mold
you burn your fires yet you are cold
the fires burn
yet you are cold
my eyes are dark, my legs are strong
i run like a river, down to the sea
run like a river
run like me

the days are dying into the west
and yet i ride before the storm
none can catch this winter beast
the trees are still, they sleep in peace

set me loose from the ancient spring
watch me run in the breaking day
hold my heart in the rays of the sun
i am riding until i'm done

life is green and life is brown
right side up and upside down
would you break it to fit the mold
you burn your fires yet you are cold
the fires burn
yet you are cold
my eyes are dark, my legs are strong
i run like a river, down to the sea
run like a river
run like me

***

Elongated Nerves Gesturing to the Riverbanks

2011-12-12T17:25:00.000-08:00

Smile, Mom, Smile

2011-12-05T18:19:00.000-08:00

My mother, the cellist...

Smile, sweetheart, and play inside the music of the spheres...

Alayne Sylvia Abbott Armstrong
September 1st, 1928
November 26th, 2011

I will love and miss you forever...

***

This Man From the Ocean

2011-12-04T20:28:00.000-08:00

a man walked up to me, covered in brine
he smelled like a fish and sang auld lang syne
when he was finished he spit and he swore
this man from the ocean, not rich and not poor

i asked him if weathermen had messed with his head
if storm fronts and fog banks had left him for dead
he rolled in newspaper and pretended to sleep
his eyes became black and he whined like a creep

i asked him, respectfully, why do clouds burn
and why do the seagulls take all the terns
he opened his mouth and disgorged a hook
"if you want the answers then please buy my book"

a man walked up to me, covered in brine
he smelled like a fish and sang auld lang syne
when he was finished he spit and he swore
this man from the ocean, not rich and not poor

***

My Parents' Front Door

2011-11-29T07:28:00.000-08:00

this is the door that lead them into daylight
they ran around and then returned in dark night
this is the door that closes
this is where we say goodbye
this is the door that lead them into daylight

Robert Mandeville Armstrong 11-10-1927 to 2-5-2011
Alayne Abbott Armstrong 9-1-1928 to 11-26-2011

The salt doll walked into the ocean, and became again
what it was all along: everything...

The Seagull Regards the Sea

2011-11-25T07:05:00.000-08:00

there should be a word for it
when the seagull regards the sea
when the wind is gentle
when the light is brightly beamed
just as you are, so perfect
the sea, the wind, the sun and gull
all of them together
the life in full

***

Wolf Door

2011-11-23T06:35:00.000-08:00

some people cry about the wolf at the door
but the wolf was there long before
it was a place that he walked by

***

Vivaldi Sings to Thee in Autumn

2011-11-16T20:23:00.000-08:00

Falling

2011-11-14T20:22:00.000-08:00

we are arriving at the gate
as the leaves fall all around
there are pirouettes of gold
there are reds like formal gowns
there are humans in the sounds
they are sinking in the ground
like the leaves in autumn's dance
death becomes the last romance

the gates of iron are so cold
the locks are broken and serene
these things open in the dark
just as promises careen
there are humans in the sounds
they are sinking in the ground
like the leaves in autumn's dance
death becomes the last romance

we are not the other ones
we are not beyond the sun
we are not always in spring
we are not just anything
we are falling
we are falling
we are falling, then we're done

in the forest is the hut
where the monkeys count the days
where a calendar is coins
where the moon is just a phase
there are humans in the sounds
they are sinking in the ground
like the leaves in autumn's dance
death becomes the last romance

i was hoping for a trip
to the desert rocks of yore
i would climb into the sky
i would open up the door
there are humans in the sounds
they are sinking in the ground
like the leaves in autumn's dance
death becomes the last romance

we are not the other ones
we are not beyond the sun
we are not always in spring
we are not just anything
we are falling
we are falling
we are falling, then we're done

***

What's That Piercing Sound?

2011-11-13T17:43:00.000-08:00

Why, it's Charles Pierce writing about Wal-Mart Torquemadas. And you thought they were merely the stuff of myth and legend!

***

Whither Now, Ye Withered State?

2011-11-12T15:28:00.000-08:00

To occupy or not to occupy: that is the question...

If you're not sure, then go ahead and occupy and find out where your passions lie...

***

For My Father

2011-11-10T07:19:00.000-08:00

just like shadows on a wall
just like vapors in the fall
just like dreams that vanish at dawn
we are the answer to a call

everybody gets to die
everybody gets a piece of that pie
the universe just sighs
we are the answer to a call
the all in the all in the all
we are the answer to a call

we're not quite what we think we are
we never were and will not be
we are something of a mystery
no different for you and me

at the end there is silence
at the end there is a reaching hand
do not look too far up or hidden
this is far from all our plans

everybody gets to die
everybody gets a piece of that pie
the universe just sighs
we are the answer to a call
the all in the all in the all
we are the answer to a call

i am not sure what love is
it is something beyond words
i think it says don't worry
we fly away like birds

do not fear the rising ocean
do not run from the tide
we are the stuff that dreams are made of
there is no place left to hide
left to hide

everybody gets to die
everybody gets a piece of that pie
the universe just sighs
we are the answer to a call
the all in the all in the all
we are the answer to a call

just like shadows on a wall
just like vapors in the fall
just like dreams that vanish at dawn
we are the answer to a call

***

Robert Mandeville Armstrong
Born November 10th, 1927
Died Februay 5th, 2011

Tat tvam asi

***

mother at the end of day

2011-11-07T22:06:00.000-08:00

she rides the years on her special bike
with a bell and mandolin
there's a basket and a silver charm
she is riding in the wind
all the people stop and wave hello
she's a special little girl
when she turns around there's no one there
she must live inside the world
she must live inside the world

i can see her near the tidal pools
the sun is shining on the sea
golden locks with eyes like pearls
inviting starfish up for tea
the sun sets like a movie star
roll the credits, time to go
she feels the sand between her toes
it is all she'll ever know
she feels the sand between her toes
it is all she'll every know

the mother at the end of day
flying kites and chocolate pies
delicious mysteries of life
we are fading in her eyes
we are fading in her eyes

her car becomes a rocketship
dodging meteors in rain
the freeway just another trip
there are sparks down memory lane
she parked above the western moon
the water catching beams of light
she's forgotten her own living room
she cannot go out at night

i saw her eat a tangerine
i heard her laughing in the dark
when i returned she wasn't there
no more room on Noah's ark
the flood will bear us to the top
we will wait inside the haze
there is but one who will listen there
mother at the end of day

the mother at the end of day
flying kites and chocolate pies
delicious mysteries of life
we are fading in her eyes
we are fading in her eyes

she rides the years on her special bike
with a bell and mandolin
there's a basket and a silver charm
she is riding in the wind
all the people stop and wave hello
she's a special little girl
when she turns around there's no one there
she must live inside the world
she must live inside the world

***

Sun on rain on glass

2011-11-06T20:46:00.000-08:00

and the sun is like a glitter queen
burning glass upon the sea
the waves will fall down from the sky
they will wash away most everything

***

Sunday Answer and Call Tango

2011-10-29T21:33:00.000-07:00

when i get down, and i mingle in the misery
i am drowned in the saltine factory
i look up at the dark coat of the hacking foreman
he's on a bender, changes gender and looks at me

when i am drunk, i wander in the graveyard
when i am burned i toast the newly dead
when i look up i see a doctor high on benzedrine
he's on a bender, changes gender and looks at me

(change)
it's not that the weekend is sacrosanct
you can break it like a piggy bank
it's not that the precious days are poorly spent
it's just that, damn it Louise, i'm so weak in my knees
that i cave under, and then i plunder the awful depths

when i am high i giggle like a monkey
when i am low i speak the buffalo
when i look up i see a doctor huffing
he's on a bender, changes gender and looks at me

when i leave work, i drive inside the eardrum
i spit and hum to the human tangerine
then i blackout, and vanish in the ether
i'm convulsing in the poisoned cavalcade

(change)
it's not that the weekend is sacrosanct
you can break it like a piggy bank
it's not that the precious days are poorly spent
it's just that, damn it Louise, i'm so weak in my knees
that i cave under, and then i plunder the awful depths

(secondary change)
i'm aghast at the children in the courtyard
i'm taken aback at the morbidity
i'm appalled at the hideous departure
the ground is covered with their latest revelry

when i get down, and i mingle in the misery
i am drowned in the saltine factory
i look up at the dark coat of the hacking foreman
he's on a bender, changes gender and looks at me

when i am drunk, i wander in the graveyard
when i am burned i toast the newly dead
when i look up i see a doctor on benzedrine
he's on a bender, changes gender and looks at me

(change)
it's not that the weekend is sacrosanct
you can break it like a piggy bank
it's not that the precious days are poorly spent
it's just that, damn it Louise, i'm so weak in my knees
that i cave under, and then i plunder the awful depths

***

The Obvious Must be Stated Again and Again

2011-10-28T07:23:00.000-07:00

The Back of the Flower

2011-10-26T21:12:00.000-07:00

Aim High and Let the Arrows Fly...

2011-10-24T13:29:00.000-07:00

After the Funeral

2011-10-23T14:08:00.000-07:00

after the funeral the family said bye
they climbed in a pumpkin and flew in the sky
they guarded the candle and carved out the eyes
no one they knew was the least bit surprised

they headed to heaven but landed in hell
they stumbled outside and reeled from the smell
they wanted their mother, their father to tell
the what and the where and the why they all fell

monsters and masters all lie in store
all lie in store, open the door
masters and monsters and dear little drones
gods and the furies are out skipping stones
bring out the dinner plates, bring out the jam
set me a table and carve up the ham
don't let the squealing touch on your bones
masters and monsters and dear little drones

the ceiling was fire, the floor was a grate
the chairs were all made of twigs carved of fate
the dinner was excellent for those but dead once
the spiders, grub beetles fashioned the shunts
don't let the squealing touch on your bones
masters and monsters and dear little drones

monsters and masters all lie in store
all lie in store, open the door
masters and monsters and dear little drones
gods and the furies are out skipping stones
bring out the dinner plates, bring out the jam
set me a table and carve up the ham
don't let the squealing touch on your bones
masters and monsters and dear little drones

the host sent regrets and a bottle of blood
the family was withered, their jokes were all duds
the family was made into poison on crops
the walls became janitors with foul smelling mops

after the funeral the family said bye
they climbed in a pumpkin and flew in the sky
they guarded the candle and carved out the eyes
no one they knew was the least bit surprised

***

Light is Reflected, Dark Like a Dream

2011-10-22T20:35:00.000-07:00

light is reflected, dark like a dream
colors from rainbows that are ripped at the seams
nothing is permanent, anchors aweigh
the many sweet memories will all fade away

i had a paradise, i had a place
light as a feather floating in space
where do you look, to find where you are
when you are such stuff as found in a star

don't try and stop it, don't be a fool
laugh at the water, a sparkling jewel
cling to the vapors, hold on to the mist
sleep like a baby and follow your bliss

Your mythology is not sacrosanct like my mythology

2011-10-18T19:31:00.000-07:00

We don't need no new latter day updates
We don't need no god control
No funny planets in the cosmos
Hey, preacher, leave that stuff alone
All in all we're just the children of the fall

"Occupy Poland" a Big Success According to Hitler

2011-10-18T07:15:00.000-07:00

Occupy Portland Pics

2011-10-16T21:37:00.000-07:00

I took Chauncy for a walk in downtown Portland, Oregon yesterday. He has a tendency to lunge at people on bikes, people on skateboards and other dogs, making taking photos a challenge. The people who were at the two "occupied" parks were very low-key when I was there (between 4:00 & 5:00). There were tents, and people milling about, and lots of talking. That being said, here are a few signs of the times, circa October 15th, 2011.

Not far from the occupied parks, the specter of a religious icon was reflected in the cool, blue-gray glass of an office building...what does it mean? I submit that it means whatever you'd like it to mean...

***

The Grapes of Ganesha

2011-10-15T12:01:00.000-07:00

October Sky in Portland, Oregon

2011-10-11T21:43:00.000-07:00

If You Do Nothing Else...

2011-10-10T21:24:00.000-07:00

If you do nothing else, read this column by Paul Krugman.

There is a very obese and demanding infant who is freaking out...because addicts always freak out if they perceive a threat to their fix!

Image by mjs, taken at the La Brea Tar Pits in Los Angeles, CA

***

Happy Anniversary of Your Birth, John Lennon

2011-10-09T10:39:00.000-07:00

john and yoko, dancing by the water
moments no less perfect
no less divine

Luna's Crooked Grin

2011-10-06T21:52:00.000-07:00

Goodbye to Summer Part IV, you crazy dog!

We Are Occupied!

2011-10-05T20:41:00.000-07:00

My Little Shout Out to all the Protestors, from Wall Street to Seattle, from Boston to Los Angeles, from Portland to Washington D.C.: Yes! Yes! Yes!

***

whatever it was

2011-10-03T21:19:00.000-07:00

whatever it was that you were waiting for
ain't waiting for you no more
whatever it was that made you unsure
has surely gone out the door
whatever it is that brings you here
that keeps you from lying still
bottle that something in a jar
and offer to pay the bill...

Goodbye to Summer Part III

2011-10-01T14:04:00.000-07:00

"The grin in the bones of the ghost of the tree..."

Goodbye to Summer Part II

2011-09-28T21:14:00.000-07:00

you've been tossed, you've been jostled
your neck is askew
your stomach is upside down
and you're turning blue
but none of that matters
none of that stays
summer was paradise
the nights and the days...

Goodbye Summer Nights

2011-09-26T21:02:00.000-07:00

Waterfront Blues Festival, July, 2011

On the Road in Oregon

2011-09-20T17:54:00.000-07:00

On the Drive North the Passenger Looked to the East

2011-09-17T16:07:00.000-07:00

The Sunlight Came in Through a Measurable Door

2011-09-14T07:28:00.000-07:00

the sunlight came in through a measurable door
that opened on water and danced at the shore
the beams were but particles I caught in my gaze
that turned and returned in the form of great waves
it's a certain uncertainty, a past made pluperfect
for what had transpired led to different verdicts
an absolute fuzzy, a gray apparition
indeterminate forms, a quantum perdition
if "a" is not " b" that is all fine and dandy
when "a" is not "a" I reach for the brandy
for Science is not, at it's ultimate core
a place where the facts become metaphor
where meaning meanders, where evidence flounders
where logic and reason are left to sand-pounders
results must be tested! beware of rank sophistry!
and though life is elegant there's no testing poetry!
unless, to be fair, you have walked on that path
where Euclid and Escher take turns with the math
where Alice descends with animals feral
and dodges the facts laid out by olde Carroll
but I fear that I stray from the points on the compass
and lessons are tossed as we frolic and rumpus
Science, dear Science is not weakened in light
nor does it seek ridiculous fights
can you imagine, when sitting with friends
picking a conflict with Spinoza's lens?
or shaking a fist at the stars and the moon
while performing autopsies on the cat and the spoon?
subject and object, the yin and the yang
went out with Einstein and came in with a bang
but where to go now, in theory and thought?
and what is the point, when surrounded with rot?
that is the secret, that is the glory!
when faced with the lie to give lie to the story!
and seek not to win in a joust with a fool
the subject and object are not in a duel
Science is not circumscribed by the narrow
and space will but bend the straightest of arrows
subject and object, particle, wave
the ultimate truth or a game 'fore the grave?
you are a particle, you are a wave
nothing is spent for nothing is saved!
and if you are anxious, if the floor starts to give
fear not the uncertain, it's how we all live!

***

The above rhyme was my entry for the 2011 Charles Prize for Poetry Contest hosted by The Examning Room of Dr. Charles. From the website: "An award will be given to the writer who submits for consideration the most outstanding poem within the realm of health, science, or medicine." Deadline is September 30th, 2011.

***

God Let's Atheists' Calls Go Straight to Voice Mail!

2011-09-12T20:20:00.000-07:00

According to someone at the Oakridge Assembly of God, if a non-believer calls the Lord, He who is the Alpha and Omega of Ultimate Reality will not answer the phone--He used to let it just ring and ring but now it goes straight to voice mail. Yes, God's got caller ID and He loves it, and can't for the life of Him figure out why He didn't embrace it sooner. When asked why an omniscient deity needs Caller ID to learn the identify of a given (atheist or not) individual, He stormed out (and I do mean stormed out) of the interview and went to go darken counsel at an indeterminate location. Okay, He went to a bar*.

A brief bit of background about Oakridge: it is a small logging town that didn't have a backup plan for when the logging industry began to lag, and has an undesirable combination of low median income, high unemployment and difficulty with Windows programming to the tune of $420,000 missing from the city coffers. Perhaps God would tell the good people of Oakridge where the money is, if only a true believer would call Him!

Remember: atheists don't know where the money went! Stupid atheists!

***

*Two glasses of Pinot Noir are enough to get Him singing in Latin. Awful, really. Embarrassing and awful.

***

Tea Party Offshoot Throttles Great Britain

2011-09-10T18:06:00.000-07:00

Friday, dear Friday, How is it You Merit?

2011-09-09T20:15:00.000-07:00

friday, dear friday, how is it you merit?
your name oft intoned like a magical ferret
and girls go all dreamy, and boys go robust
thinking of friday as wind? it would gust
for friday stands fierce, a great barrier
between the mere weekday and more is the merrier
a bulwark against the the bleakest depression
a place where one's fantasies can exclaim and hold session
for Friday was once the day we got paid
and with enough drinks we dared to get laid
and music was blaring and light was on fire
and girls with their skin, and their hair brought desire
for why did the monkey work so very hard
and walk up to strangers and offer his card?
and gather bananas and show off his butt?
to get some young cutie to sleep in his hut!
and though this can happen on monday or mid-week
the drama of it came upon friday's peak
a joint, a beer, a shot and a smoke
one last game of pool and one last tiny toke
but when you looked up, the hour had passed
and the girl that you fancied had exited fast
and suddenly saturday walked in like a duck
all soggy and goofy and shit out of luck
so just a reminder, for romantics all yearning:
keep your eye on the prize and use all your learning!

***

Rudy Giuliani's Impression of Groucho Marx

2011-09-06T19:40:00.000-07:00

Groucho Marx once said that he would never join a club that would accept him as a member. Perhaps digging the irony implicit in such an observation, the former mayor of New York City, Mr. 9/11, the savior of the Big Apple, his Royal Rudy Giuliani states that he will only run for the highest office in the land if the GOP is really desperate. Giuliani does not appear to get his own jokes, i.e. that the Grand Old Party would have to be desperate to get his Rudyness--the plus side of his blind spot has kept his laugh lines to a manageable number.

***

Lydia, in the World x 4

2011-09-04T11:01:00.000-07:00

Ron Paul's America: Let it Bleed

2011-09-01T21:02:00.000-07:00

As part of America's #1 Addled Muppet Ron Paul's plan to keep government out of governing, I offer up the Backyard Fracas Pulverizer as an example of how meddlesome government should just let America beat the shit out of itself, end of story. I bet 6'5" 35 year-olds everywhere will agree: bam! bam! bam!

***

Note: If oxygen-intolerant knuckle-draggers cannot be trusted with democracy, they really, really can't be trusted with libertarianism. There ain't enough fans for that shit to hit...

***

Ferocious Luna

2011-08-28T22:33:00.000-07:00

A Toast to Summer

2011-08-27T16:51:00.000-07:00

got a mean headache
my knees are weak
it's hot in the bedroom
had to take a leak
went down to the bathroom
and stared at the bowl
i'd like to toast those moments
that make us whole
a toast to fire
a toast to pain
a toast to way too much
of burning rain
a toast to summer
it sure is swell
raise your glasses together
and burn up in hell
and burn up in hell

when you stand at the toilet
one thing is clear
you can go a whole lot
when you drink lots of beer
but now i am older
drink one or two
as to what purpose
i haven't a clue
so raise up your bottle
up to the sky
let's have a toast, now
and one heavy sigh
a toast to fire
a toast to pain
a toast to way too much
of burning rain
a toast to summer
it sure is swell
raise your glasses together
and burn up in hell
and burn up in hell

get off to bed friend
stumble on home
sing to the crawdads
dance with the gnomes
trip on a garden hose
fall on the ground
sleep in the driveway
you might just go down
deep in your cranium
the merchant of dreams
is wearing a fright wig
and leaving your team
but let's have a toast now
inside your head
let's raise up the bottle
if you are not dead
a toast to fire
a toast to pain
a toast to way too much
of burning rain
a toast to summer
it sure is swell
raise your glasses together
and burn up in hell
and burn up in hell

My Madrona!

2011-08-26T01:13:00.000-07:00

South of the Siskiyou Mountains they refer to this sexy tree as a "Madrone" but up here in the Pacific Northwest she is "Madrona!" Regardless, she is one sexy thang...

Summer Part II--Cool, Clear Waters Edition

2011-08-22T21:05:00.000-07:00

Lake Tahoe, August, 2011

Crater Lake, August, 2011

Luna P. Jammas, Hills Creek Reservoir, August, 2011

Summer

2011-08-21T12:01:00.000-07:00

The Opinuary Column--Special Knee to the Groin Edition

2011-08-12T01:22:00.000-07:00

The Opinion "Eventually, America's politically active conservative Christians will run out of things to be breathtakingly stupid about" has died from complications arising from COPD, congestive heart failure, emphysema, cerebral hypoxia, obstructive bowel disorder, pericardial tamponade, aortic aneurysm, pneumonia, heat exhaustion and acute logorrhea. The Opinion had no exact age, but was believed to be old enough to drink and cry during sex.

Born in the fever dreams of 17th Century Europe's most spastic pilgrims it left home with few material goods and came to the New World, killing natives who had somehow avoided being bored to death by the newcomer's theology, a theology that posited (paraphrased) 'A loving but sometimes moody god has a special covenant with a tribe of Semites, and He gave them rules and miracles and a nice chunk of real estate, and yes, He also killed millions of people from time to time, and then He had a change of heart and had sanitized sexual congress with a virgin, from which union was made a super-baby who grew up to be a blood sacrifice as part of a new covenant, a messiah who will one day return to the earth and beat the ever-loving shit out of anyone who doesn't buy this extremely serious historical narrative.' This tale from the Abrahamic Middle East had the beauty of being a sequel that reserved the right to keep the really violent action from the first part in its hip pocket, ready to be wielded at a moment's notice. As a matter of historical fact, it was only due to a rather tricky, last minute maneuver at the Council of Bishops in Nicea, Italy in the 5th Century A.D. that the nascent church was able to ban the consuming of popcorn during Mass, thus burying religion's true function as disposable entertainment.

Be it Rick Santorum's obsessions with bodily fluids, animal sex and the rise of civil rights among uppity human beings who believe and live differently than he does, to Michelle Bachmann's admiration for a belief system that would hold the Dark Ages as spiritually superior to the Renaissance, we have modern day champions of atavism and knuckle-dragging in all their fists-raised, tongue-speaking-and-wagging glory. Want a President who thinks Jesus should run the government? Rick Perry is your man! No jobs, a bloated military budget, banking institutions bludgeoning the nation to its knees? No problem: pray to the offspring of a Bronze Age deity, who will disapprove of whomever you disapprove of--He's that good! Want to have an adult conversation in the United States about the history and role of religion as mythology in world culture? Die, damn you, die!

A Celebration of Complete and Utter Bullshit will be held at the altar of Occluded Reasoning sometime this Fall, as in the Fall of Man. Memorial contributions may be made, because that is the nature of memorial contributions.

Arrangements by Mortaljive.

***

Bound Down

2011-08-07T11:10:00.000-07:00

there are words in paradise
that people use just like an axe
these same folks parade all day
quoting useless facts
sometimes thoughts rise above the sky
and break on through the clouds
releasing all the endocrines
and stirring up the crowds

looking down the avenues
receding in the vapors
we remark the lack of stars
as we barbecue the neighbors
someone spilled some chemicals
upon the afterlife
it's suddenly evolving
get used to all the strife

bound down, bound down, bound down
heading to the ground, ground
ground, ground
sound, sound, all around
sound, sound
in the afterlife
bound down, bound down, bound down
heading to the ground, ground
ground, ground
sound, sound, all around
sound, sound

miscreated misanthropes
stumble down the halls
jupiter is howling
while playing with his balls
the flora and the fauna
righteous in their quest
formed a new alliance
pray that you will be their guest

cuz' they are:
bound down, bound down, bound down
heading to the ground, ground
ground, ground
sound, sound, all around
sound, sound
in the afterlife
bound down, bound down, bound down
heading to the ground, ground
ground, ground
sound, sound, all around
sound, sound

biochemical structuring
caught inside the lair
atoms multiplying
while DNA is squared
ghosts and angels crumbling
no one conducts the choir
heaven goes to hell again
and tells stories by the fire

cuz' they are:
bound down, bound down, bound down
heading to the ground, ground
ground, ground
sound, sound, all around
sound, sound
in the afterlife
bound down, bound down, bound down
heading to the ground, ground
ground, ground
sound, sound, all around
sound, sound

there are words in paradise
that people use just like an axe
these same folks parade all day
quoting useless facts
sometimes thoughts rise above the sky
and break on through the clouds
releasing all the endocrines
and stirring up the crowds

***

I wrote these lyrics today, Sunday, August 7th, the occasion of my 53rd birthday--so it goes.

***

Morning Glass of Water

2011-08-06T10:00:00.000-07:00

Brake Light Reflection & Greenery & Stones

2011-08-05T22:45:00.000-07:00

Abstracted Abstraction Abstract

2011-08-01T17:47:00.000-07:00

Bandwidth

2011-07-29T19:56:00.000-07:00

Hawthorne Bridge, July 4th, 2011

2011-07-25T21:27:00.000-07:00

For a brief time on the 4th of July, just before the fireworks display, pedestrians were told to leave the Hawthorne Bridge--the prevailing wind, one theory goes, was such that it would blow the fireworks at the people crowding the bridge. The folks who were lining the bridge for a good view of the show were told to leave by police, soon after they were allowed back, then were told half-heartedly to leave again, then finally were allowed to stay and watch the fireworks fired from the barge now stationed in the Willamette River (halfway between the Marquam Bridge/I5 overpass and the Hawthorne Bridge). Before the issue was settled, when the crowds were still massed at either end but not on the main expanse, I took a quick digital image of the deserted bridge near the movable deck, something I would not otherwise have had the opportunity to witness...so it goes.

***

Your Own Personal Jesus!

2011-07-23T10:02:00.000-07:00

Blow It Up and Blow it Down

2011-07-19T20:30:00.000-07:00

it's a dusty and a dirty little mannequin
it doesn't move, it will never, ever dance again
in the corner with a magic tinderbox
it will strike a match and burn the rocks
burn the rocks

it's a billionaire on his heap of gold
he seeks a cure, stop his money growing old
take's his army to the drugstore
he just wants a pharmaceutical land war
land war
land war
a holy land war

blow it up and blow it down
bring it on and have a seizure
on the ground
you're a soldier in america
crank it up and blow it up
and blow it down
ah-hah
i had a seizure in the noonday sun
ah-hah
i think i'm coming on the ground
oh yeah
coming on the ground
G.I. Joe just shit his pants
worker bees and deadly little army ants
the only thing my bosses ever fear
is if i turn around, turn around
is if i turn around
and send them off to hell

a talking head smells like a rotting fish
a fairy queen just puked on your last wish
the sun is burning sand into your skin
this is the entrance into the skeleton
the skeleton

this soldier walks into a bar
orders a beer and pours it on his scars
asks the crowd just who is this enemy
takes a knife and then finds you and me
you and me

blow it up and blow it down
bring it on and have a seizure
on the ground
you're a soldier in america
crank it up and blow it up
and blow it down
ah-hah
i had a seizure in the noonday sun
ah-hah
i think i'm coming on the ground
oh yeah
coming on the ground
G.I. Joe just shit his pants
worker bees and deadly little army ants
the only thing my bosses ever fear
is if i turn around, turn around
is if i turn around
and send them off to hell

it's a dusty and a dirty little mannequin
it doesn't move, it will never, ever dance again
in the corner with a magic tinderbox
it will strike a match and burn the rocks
burn the rocks

it's a billionaire on his heap of gold
he seeks a cure, stop his money growing old
take's his army to the drugstore
he just wants a pharmaceutical land war
land war
land war
a land war

blow it up and blow it down
bring it on and have a seizure
on the ground
you're a soldier in america
crank it up and blow it up
and blow it down
ah-hah
i had a seizure in the noonday sun
ah-hah
i think i'm coming on the ground
oh yeah
coming on the ground
G.I. Joe just shit his pants
worker bees and deadly little army ants
the only thing my bosses ever fear
is if i turn around, turn around
is if i turn around
and send them off to hell

***

The Fall of Water

2011-07-17T08:36:00.000-07:00

from a virgin spring
water given to sustain mankind
it falls, descends, is pulled down
only to rise again
and rain down upon us

we are almost 70% water
the oceans, the rivers, the lakes
the streams--this is our portion of life
our truth, our source, our essence
the water falling is us
the water rising is us
the messiah of the self

take good care of the water

You Just Gotta Cut and Run

2011-07-15T20:04:00.000-07:00

anybody seen my boy
anybody seen my black and white
he started howling two days ago
now he's out of sight

anybody seen my baby
anybody seen my girl
she went to buy some groceries
i think she left this world

why is everybody leaving?
why do we have to go
ain't no use in believing
sometimes you gotta know
you just gotta cut and run

you gotta cut and run
run like the dickens
you just gotta run
you just gotta run
beat it on out of town
you gotta run
run like the dickens
you just gotta cut and run
you just gotta cut and run
you just gotta cut and run
you just gotta cut and run

i saw an old man crying
his face was wino red
his eyes like busted mirrors
his wife was oh-so dead

i heard that there are tigers
who hide in dreams at night
they are prowling there forever
until the time is right
until the time is right

you gotta cut and run
run like the dickens
you just gotta run
you just gotta run
beat it on out of town
you gotta run
run like the dickens
you just gotta cut and run
you just gotta cut and run
you just gotta cut and run
you just gotta cut and run

everybody is the same
everybody's different
deciphering the clues they find
forgetting all the hints

the sun is burning everything
that starts to get too close
come on baby, climb inside my heart
we can practice being ghosts

why is everybody leaving?
why do we have to go
ain't no use in believing
sometimes you gotta know
you just gotta cut and run

you gotta cut and run
run like the dickens
you just gotta run
you just gotta run
beat it on out of town
you gotta run
run like the dickens
you just gotta cut and run
you just gotta cut and run
you just gotta cut and run
you just gotta cut and run

***

Shifty Louise Poetry Corner

2011-07-14T20:22:00.000-07:00

oh, the mind, it keeps on reeling
while i relax in the debt ceiling

Waterfront Blues Festival 2011

2011-07-09T19:57:00.000-07:00

No time lately to post, but here's a few pics from last weekend's Waterfront Blues Festival at the Tom McCall Waterfront Park. Live music, delicious ale, falafel and perfect weather--we also donated many cans of food to the Oregon Food Bank. Not a bad day, by any stretch!

Lucinda Williams was not at her best on Saturday night, but what can you do? We still had a great time!

Center of the Moon

2011-07-07T18:06:00.000-07:00

somebody somewhere was talking to me
the words were crawling with misery
slow and dull across the floor
until the words went out the door
they ran away into the street
i stood right up, got something to eat
and now
well, i gotta find my keys

found a twenty and got some gas
drove off in search of my past
i reached the edge of my memory
somebody somewhere was talking to me
how the hell can i ever escape
ain't no pearls in the pearly gate
and now
not sure i care

shards of glass from the silver sky
busted blood vessel in a broken eye
scars so old they're fossilized
god is a monkey in a cheap disguise
i just got to drive and drive
gonna drive away to the center of the moon
here we go
center of the moon

i saw a girl in a bathing suit
ass like a melon, so damn cute
skin like a sin in the after life
nails were sharpened like a carving knife
i tried to kiss her in the sun
now i'm bleeding, on the run
just now
i can't come back

found my keys in the frying pan
picked 'em up, burned my hand
had to start it with a little wire
i'm a burning flame, fully on fire
watch my smoke just above the haze
nothing lasts, nothing stays
gone, gone, gone

shards of glass from the silver sky
busted blood vessel in a broken eye
scars so old they're fossilized
god is a monkey in a cheap disguise
i just got to drive and drive
gonna drive away to the center of the moon
here we go
center of the moon

somebody somewhere was talking to me
the words were crawling with misery
slow and dull across the floor
until the words went out the door
they ran away into the street
i stood right up, got something to eat
and now
well, i gotta find my keys

shards of glass from the silver sky
busted blood vessel in a broken eye
scars so old they're fossilized
god is a monkey in a cheap disguise
i just got to drive and drive
gonna drive away to the center of the moon
here we go
center of the moon

Kandinsky Bursting in Air

2011-07-05T20:56:00.000-07:00

Portland, Oregon--July 4th, 2011...the photo reminded me of the artist Kandinsky. There, now you know.

In the forest, dark and deep...

2011-07-04T13:54:00.000-07:00

Fine, Be That Way...

2011-07-02T08:01:00.000-07:00

Purple and Blue

2011-06-29T18:30:00.000-07:00

...from the backyard...

The 9:31 Conspiracy

2011-06-27T21:50:00.000-07:00

It's out in the open now. No more hushed whispers or furtive glances. It's 9:31, America. What's next? 9:32? Stay tuned...

Out for a hike with the dogs

2011-06-26T17:06:00.000-07:00

We went out for a hike with the dogs on a trail near OHSU. The Marquam Nature Park is five minutes from downtown Portland--one steps into the forest as quickly as one can park a car. Check out Friends of Marquam Nature Park for more details...

a snail on the trail, over hill and over dale

the woods are lovely, light and green

consider the rocks of the wall, neither do they toil nor do they grin

donna and dogs take five after the hike

****

Backyard Mini Mystery in Blue & Green

2011-06-23T21:24:00.000-07:00

Summer Solstice in Portland Oregon Fun Facts

2011-06-22T20:46:00.000-07:00

The View From My Backyard

The sun set in Los Angeles, CA at 8:09 p.m. on June 21st, 2011 (longest day of the year in the northern hemisphere). The very same sun set at 9:03 p.m. in Portland, OR.

Everything is relative. Even the setting of the sun...

***

False God Found to be the Real Thing

2011-06-19T09:55:00.000-07:00

Ganesha, Lord of success and destroyer of evils and obstacles, pictured here before speaking at a TED Conference in San Francisco, California.

NEWS FLASH: A can of biblical-sized worms has been opened and all the worms are wriggling at top speed towards god knows what in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho as members of the Kootenai County Constitution Party have taken offense to a statue of the Hindu God Ganesha being displayed in their fair city. Quoting from the group's website

My first sighting of the statue was four days ago. As I drove past the corner of 6th St. and Sherman ave. I immediately recognized the statue as the visage of a Hindu deity, the name of which escaped me.

At first I was stunned. How could the idol of a foreign god be erected in a place of prominence on public property in the middle of a Christian town in a Republic founded upon Christian Common Law?

It was too outrageous to be believed.

It is not known if the author of this first hand account was hospitalized after his shocking experience. But while he may have intended to put an end to public displays of "false gods" his plan took an unexpected turn Friday when it was determined that Ganesha is in fact an actual God, bona fide as they say in the parlance. The real deal. He be dat. I know this to be true because I read it in a book. End of story.

Members of the Kootenai Constitution Party have yet to comment on this latest development, but their case will be difficult to prove in a court of law. A spokesman for the group was at a picnic and could not be reached for comment. A local artist has volunteered to respond on behalf of the group with a public display of his piece entitled "Artist's conception of a conservative Christian's response to metaphorical symbolism"

According to the Hindu religion, Ganesha is the Lord of success and destroyer of evils and obstacles. He is also worshipped as the god of education, knowledge, wisdom and wealth. In fact, Ganesha is one of the five prime Hindu deities (Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva and Durga being the other four) whose idolatry is glorified as the panchayatana puja.

Now what more proof could someone possibly demand without putting a strain on the evidence of their own version of a god? By declaring that Ganesha is a "false god" but having not one iota of proof to back that assertion (the bible is opinion, not proof) have the Christians of Kootenai County painted themselves into a dialectic corner? Will Yahweh/God/Jesus/Allah survive this theological conundrum? Oh, cursed Constitution Party! You have killed Jesus! Happy now?

Christ Jesus, God, King of Kings, refused to comment on this story. Not so much as a single tweet. Zilch. Bupkis.

***

Day of Fathers

2011-06-18T22:12:00.000-07:00

the summer solstice is near
the blue-white light of portland
lingers in the entryway to night
and clouds give way to rivers
and rivers run wild

my father came to me in a dream
only to die again
i kissed his forehead
and said goodbye
and clouds give way to rivers
and rivers run wild

Sauvie Island Breakdown

2011-06-16T17:40:00.000-07:00

We went for a bike ride on Sauvie Island around two weeks ago--the first sunny weekend day in about 72 years. It was gorgeous, and I rode like an amateur, but we did a 12 mile loop regardless, and ended up eating frozen treats not far from the bridge that connects the island to Hwy. 30. As I get older life is still beautiful, it just hurts a little more.

An old truck stands just outside the entrance to a farm/nursery on the island

God's windshield

We listened to song birds, and watched them dart among the trees

The sky hovers, pauses, continues

Mt. Saint Helens meditates on impermanence...

Special Added Bonus: Mystery at the End of the World!

A Wet Cat

2011-06-14T22:07:00.000-07:00

Greta, who turned 18 in May, has a bath in the kitchen sink...and the earth continues to spin in the vastness of space....

Steve Earle Double Shot

2011-06-13T13:35:00.000-07:00

Steve Earle reads from his book "I'll Never Get Out of this World Alive"

Back in May, Donna (aka Mrs. Jivester) went with my-own-self to listen to Steve Earle read from his first novel, "I'll Never Get Out of this World Alive" at Powell's Books Cedar Hills location in Beaverton, Oregon. The book is set in San Antonio, TX right around November 22nd, 1963. The main protagonist (Doc) is a defrocked doctor/junkie in his early 50s who provides medical care for the prostitutes and druggies who inhabit the poorer section of town--he also performs abortions, followed by runs to his supplier for his junk. For added amusement he has conversations with the ghost of Hank Williams, who though spectral is real enough, as far as ghosts go. I have a deal with my Mrs. to read the book aloud to her, which slows down my progress but what can I do? If Hank Williams can be a ghost, I can at the least give vapors form, making word-angels out of the air that had recently resided in my lungs, and all in the company of my lady.

mjs, who is mortaljive, who is Frank, with Mr. Steve Earle

Donna with Book Reading Swag

Last Friday night Donna and I went to the Steve Earle & the Dukes concert at the Crystal Ballroom--we had never been to this McMenamin's landmark venue, and enjoyed it very much. This was just the group's second stop on a tour that goes on into Autumn, and I can only wonder at Earle's ability to keep his voice from going into the ditch--he drove it through song after song, and though his range is not wide its force is deep and long. The audience stood up for the duration of two encores, and Earle obliged with wonderful music, some new and some more familiar.

The interior of the Crystal Ballroom is roomy, with a floor that is a combination of retro ballroom and fun house mirror...

Steve Earle and his wife Allison Moorer

He also took occasion to speak about issues close to his heart, making special mention of the great Corporate War Machine our nation is beholden to, and why he still has optimism in the face of powerful, vested forces who wield power cruelly for profits. His wife, the comely Allison Moorer, moved about the stage as gracefully as she could, being as how she was wearing steeply arched high heels--she played a variety of instruments, even taking lead singer duties while her husband had a break. I would like to hear her bust out more (she possesses a powerful voice mostly held in check) : she is demure to a fault, but when she let her leopard out she really came alive.

Allison Moorer

Earle sang a plethora of material yet still did not put too much of a dent in his song catalog. Years ago he could have gone the way of Townes Van Zandt and destroyed himself with booze or heroin or what-have-you but instead got "in the program" and has fought for his sobriety with determination and pluck, and a creative fire that burns brightly to this day. Besides being a talented writer, accomplished musician and actor (he has a small recurring role on Treme on HBO) he is also an outspoken critic of the death penalty (his "Ellis Unit One" can be heard on the soundtrack for Dead Man Walking) and can stand in front of an audience and speak knowingly about Emma Goldman and Joe Hill, about the crushing effects of corporate dominance on labor, and how this struggle is an ancient one--and one worth fighting for. Yes, Steve Earle did sermonize a bit on Friday night in Portland (a city he praised for having taken some measure of control of its own destiny) but he put on a hell of a show, ably backed by the Dukes (including The Mastersons) and I for one am grateful he didn't buy his grave too early in this world: by the looks and sound of things he's still got a whole lot of gas left in his tank.

Here's a link to another review of Friday evening at the Crystal Ballroom. If you get a chance try and see him this tour--maybe he's coming to a city near you.

***

Punked in Portland Part IV: Where Have All the Beavers Gone?

2011-06-07T02:28:00.000-07:00

Donna and I moved to Portland in the spring of 2008. Three years later the Triple A Portland Beavers were gone. Coincidence? There are no coincidences. So what to make of this? There is no joy in punkedville, the mortaljivester has struck out...

I will admit that I didn't get to a Beavers game in 2008 or 2009, but in 2010 my partner in crime and I did go to a Beavers game, and stood in line forever for a beer, and sang and yelled our way through 9 glorious innings of "whatever." We looked out toward the left field wall, squinting for the Max Line that runs behind it, a hip and spare choo-choo, the kinetic ark of some child's imaginary city. A sleek mass transit über toy, it looked like Christmas morning and the 4th of July to me: a native Southern Californian, I was used to Dodger Stadium, where trains aren't allowed and cars are waved in like returning war heroes and then, after the game is over, dismissed like cows that no longer give milk--Dodger-blue milk. But not in Portland: in Portland and the comfy confines of PGE Park! The weird building with exhibitionist windows in right field! The vibe that howls for the sake of howling! There is something quaint and reliable and fun and funky in the city of Roses, Stump Town USA! And Beavers, man! Not clitorally-topped labial temples, no, actual furry, buck-toothed Beavers! Though I love the female form I had never outright applauded a beaver until that July 31st night in 2010, and I vowed to applaud beaver whenever I saw one, but without throwing dollar bills at a gyrating business woman. By September the team that called out to me was done. There is no joy in Beaverville, fucking soccer has won out...

Now that the Beavers are gone crustaceans have gone wild in Portland...

Deals had been made by moguls who breathed rarified air far beyond the lungs of mere mortals, and a fella by the name of Merritt Paulson (son of Hank Paulson) had replaced the grand old game with soccer, which I should enjoy but just don't. Soccer looks healthy, which is a complete turnoff--and by the way, if I wanted to watch two hours of somebody struggling to score I could just look at the highlight reels of me in my barfly days (if the silver nitrate films haven't disintegrated yet). I have fallen out of love with baseball a few times: strikes, Rupert "Lizard Alien" Murdoch owning the Dodgers, Frank "Parking Lot" McCourt owning the Dodgers, a Raider-Nation mentality among the fans (read "drunk and thuggish")--I am my own personal pussy when it comes to crowd behavior. I don't like fights because, as an ex-bartender, I feel it is my job to break the imbroglios up, and if I don't break up a fight I feel cheated. Double bind, I think. You shouldn't hafta gotta.

Down in Eugene ducks are worshipped and even hunted

Our friends took us to a Keizer-Salem Volcanoes Double A game a couple of years ago, and it was great fun. Like Little League but bigger, and like the Big Leagues but littler, we enjoyed a warm night yelling at young men in baggy clothing and cheering on the home team. The mascot for the Volcanoes is known as Crater who looks like a cross between mescaline, pajamas and an abnormal accumulation of cerebrospinal fluid. But no matter: it was fun, and with the Beavers snapped shut I will no doubt be headed down Interstate 5 for some good, clean volcanic fun.

The world is over-heating and almost out of gas. Our belief systems are locked into petrified legends, our politics mere varnish on unfettered larceny and greed, the marketplace of ideas a whorehouse for corporations, and in the middle of it all the slightly funky, at times depressed, marvelously misbehaving, creative and somewhat besotted furry river critter known as Portland trundles along, not chasing down fly balls but scurrying after the elongated vowel that comes with Goaaaaaaaaaallllll!!!!. It could be worse, which is an asshole thing to say. You could be dying from cancer and someone could say "It could be worse" and you might weakly ask "How?" and then someone kicks you in the groin--to that I say "it could be worse." How? You could get hit in the balls with a baseball bat. You could look it up.

p.s. My neighbor has season tickets to the Portland Timbers games. Just sayin'...

UPDATE: I forgot to include one of my favorite parts of going to a ballgame--beer! I'm a cheap date these days--two ales about does it. Mmm...

***

Yellow Haze, Golden Vistas

2011-06-05T22:15:00.000-07:00

We went out to Sauvie Island, and my wife graciously lent my camera her sunglasses for a look at the world through her eyes...

Mini Mystery Remains Unsolved

2011-06-02T19:15:00.000-07:00

Two more examples of Mini Mysteries can be found here and here.

How to Build a GOP Presidential Candidate

2011-05-30T21:58:00.000-07:00

Actually, that's for a female Republican candidate...

Punked in Portland Part III: Oh, Portlandia, Where is thy Spring?

2011-05-29T09:40:00.000-07:00

Our Portland Backyard in Winter

Full disclosure: I was raised in Southern California where we officially had two seasons: green and brown, with green being from February to May or June, and brown covering all the rest. The hillsides of Los Angeles and Orange County served to remind what the season was, a condition which overall didn't really matter except as a kid we had to go indoors earlier in the winter. We did not have snow, we did not have especially colorful autumns, we did not have tornadoes or flooding (except occasional flash floods in the deserts, which also had brief but often beautiful springs). The seasons went like this: "Brown/late-sun" followed by "brown/early night" followed by "green/not-so-early-night" followed by "green/more-day-light" followed by "brown/play-outside-until-8:30-at-night." Once every fifteen years or so we'd have a cold night in the 30s or a hot night in the 90s (or even low 100s) depending on what color the hills were. The Pacific Ocean kept us cool along the coast, and reasonably temperate when winter frost attacked inland.

Winter Sentries--Hillsboro, Oregon

Flash forward: having moved to Portland, Oregon in April of 2008 I can now state with no uncertainty that Spring in the Pacific Northwest is actually a version of Seasonal Apartheid. To wit: flowers do bloom (just a bit late this year due to the cool, even-wetter-than-usual spring) and birds start singing and the the Home and Garden Stores position tons of mulch and cow dung near their entrances--these are all signs of spring.

Loser--a helpful reminder, lest an individual feel too comfortable in this world

A flowering rhododendron

Outside my office window, Rhododendron (I pronounce this word as if it were a Japanese Monster: ro-do-Den-Dron) is blooming in a chorus of colors, the neighbor's tulips sit perfectly in rows like precious drinking cups crafted by pixies, bamboo shoots are finally coming in, the dogwood tree has had its orgasm of color and is putting on its leaves, the wisteria displayed a fragrant purple and white lullaby, the better to coax me to slumber, but I am having none of it. The spring that sings is a "separate but equal" phenomenon: the plants and the bees may partake, but the humans are kept huddled beneath gray, crying skies, water falling to earth in a seemingly endless cascade of discrimination. Or to put in another way: we humans sit at the back of the verdant bus while the flowers and fauna ignore us utterly, unless we protest, at which time we are accused of being uppity.

A wall taunts me in Multnomah Village

Wisteria is just so damn sexy...

And that's the crux of my lament: like children peering into a candy shop that will not allow us inside, we bear witness to an almost virtual spring, one of color and joy and renewal, but soggy and wet, not really for us to revel in, not for us to share. We humans up here go out all the time in this condition, to the parks and restaurants, concerts and the like--we plant vegetable gardens in the backyard, take our dogs for walks in the woods. We make the attempt to live our lives quite fully, even receiving from Nature a few, non-consecutive days of sunshine to keep us from going mental. But don't kid yourself: in our neck of the Pacific Northwest we drink from the Humans Only fountain of spring, and though it tastes like heaven we are not to linger there too long, for we will most definitely get soaked.

I'm ready for my closeup, Mr. DeMille...

Wisteria, Dogwood and Friends

Punked in Portland Part I can be found here. Punked in Portland Part II can be found here.

Disclaimer: my tongue is in my cheek, hiding in my mouth, lest it wag too much.

***

Lydia the Cat

2011-05-28T15:52:00.000-07:00

Lydia sits and waits for you
but will not tell you what to do
if you cannot figure it out
Lydia will start to shout

Face the Music Like You Do

2011-05-25T22:09:00.000-07:00

the prayer cards show the virgin
and her heart of mighty god
young forever in her perfect haze
she is more than you can see
she is love within the light
she is shining in the endless golden rays

there is jesus in his robe
looking something like tom joad
the sacrifice of dust among the grain
he holds his hand just like a friend
he promises to see you again
you can hear his laughter in the rain

look around and get a clue
face the music like you do
everything that's gained is one day lost
here's a secret i can share:
you cannot cling to what's not there
though you try to buy it at all cost

six carried his dark wooden box
up the side of the muddy hill
set him on the straps upon the bars
the preacher said the words he knew
the rain knew just what it should do
soon enough we headed for our cars

i went to be with family
we sat inside eternity
we talked about the man who had gone
we laughed and cried and sang a bit
the sun was setting in the west
all that we can do is carry on

look around and get a clue
face the music like you do
everything that's gained is one day lost
here's a secret i can share:
you cannot cling to what's not there
though you try to buy it at all cost

the prayer cards show the virgin
and her heart of mighty god
young forever in her perfect haze
she is more than you can see
she is love within the light
she is shining in the endless golden rays

there is jesus in his robe
looking something like tom joad
the sacrifice of dust among the grain
he holds his hand just like a friend
he promises to see you again
you can hear his laughter in the rain

look around and get a clue
face the music like you do
everything that's gained is one day lost
here's a secret i can share:
you cannot cling to what's not there
though you try to buy it at all cost

***

Punked in Portland Part II

2011-05-17T20:41:00.000-07:00

Punked in Portland Part II: in which my wife and I found ourselves in Portland, OR--and I do mean found ourselves. Allow me to explain...

Donna and dogs at fountain, Tom McCall Waterfront Park

Joan of Arc, Portland, OR

During the winter of 2008-2009 my wife Donna and I settled into our new digs in Portland--I had gotten a job the previous July (and managed to keep it) and Donna was continuing to get work in TV production back in L.A. Well, the L.A. work began to wear on Donna, it began to wear on me and it began to wear on the tires of our car, which had to make 1,000 mile journeys to Hollywood when it wasn't making 1,000 mile journeys to Portland. We were being punked by Donna's career, which was, frankly, beating the shit out of her. As a Production Designer, Donna experienced too many long days, too many shifting alliances, nebulous promises, producer edicts, forward thrusting back stabs--and that was just at the Craft Services table. By the time of our move to the Land of Beavers and Ducks it was time for her to try something new, but the cache and money of television production were better than just about everything else she felt she might be qualified to do. Like an addict, she knew she should quit Hollywood, but she could not do it alone.

Chauncy likes the Pacific Northwest

Time passed in 2009 on into 2010--our lives were tense and Donna was tenser. Donna's sister and father were facing major health issues, my father was on his way to the vanishing point, we missed being close to our families at a time when they could use our help--Donna ended up spending a lot of time with her sister, who went through hell and came out the other side, Donna helping as much as she could, keeping a brave, optimistic face which melted into tears when she was beyond the line of sight of her family. Like any good spouse who is there for his or her partner, I thought my beloved was fucking gonzo. But guess what: the worse things got the closer we became, the more we discovered each other and clung to each other, perhaps for fear of drowning. And this being Oregon, I mean fear of literal drowning, i.e. being waterboarded by god. Ain't no fucking metaphor when you have record setting rain everywhere you look. March's name should be changed to "Wade." June of 2010 wasn't busting out all over: it was leaking like a sieve.

Mt. St. Helens, located north of Portland, Oregon, is an example of punking writ large...

So, to race to the finish: having moved to Portland to try something new Donna and I found something not so new: each other. She panicked and I held her. I drifted and she brought me ashore. We still can't pretend to have an identifiable plan, but we have each other, and that's pretty good, considering. I am running out of time tonight--back at work early tomorrow, the cats need their boxes cleaned, the dogs have to go out one more time to pee on the lawn. I wish I could give this writing project more of myself, but I have a play to write (I've avoided this about as long as I can stand) and who knows? I may even get to explore this town in the way that it deserves. There is a vibe here that says "Do it, fool." I like that.

Even if Portland is smirking at us wee mortals, I respect it in a soggy, beleagured sort of way. And when it comes to punking, there are far more noteworthy punks going on in the world--for instance, that phony pizza delivery to bin Laden in Hey Abbottadad, Pakistan will no doubt go down as the Greatest Punk of All--LOL! bin Laden thought it was a porno! Punked! Free chicken wings my ass!

It has been said that Jesus was going to move to Portland but at the last minute started cracking up and headed for the desert. As if.

Stay tuned for Punked in Portland Part III: No Spring For You!

Rhododendron

***

At Least It's A Nice Day

2011-05-15T13:47:00.000-07:00

The Tomb of the Known Mortaljive

2011-05-14T09:57:00.000-07:00

The signature image of Mortaljive was taken back in the 90s--I do not recall the camera except that it used some quaint little method of retaining the image--ah, yes, it was known as film. The tableau of the man in the chair, staring ahead as a large Buddha head rested in his lap, with a male and female bowler on either side of his throne, was displayed in the niche above our fireplace in our Atwater Village home, a home located 15 minutes from downtown Los Angeles. This 3-D mandala, with as its center the man in the comfy chair, lightly gripping his coffee cup, seemed to say everything and nothing about this life, and for some reason I found that agreeable--still do.

Alas, the man and his chair were shattered during a party over a decade ago--a couple of children could not resist playing with it, and soon thereafter it lay in ruins on the slate threshold of the fireplace. A few years later some other forgotten mishap occurred (something dreadful no doubt) and all that was left of the tschotske was the mask of the once comfortable and seemingly content little man. This tiny head now rests inside a hutch in the dining room of our Portland, Oregon home, forever looking up from its place of rest in the alligator ashtray, an ashtray that proclaims "Daytona Beach" in a cryptic font. I quit smoking for good a few years ago and so the little man head should be relatively safe in his ceramic tomb.

Bless thee, little man head! Dream a sweet dream inside your silent crypt!

p.s. The two bowlers and the Buddha head seen in the iconic Mortaljive image are doing just fine, unmolested by time and the random, spastic hands of little children.

Punked in Portland Part I

2011-05-09T20:49:00.000-07:00

Punked in Portland Part I

My wife and I moved to Portland, OR three years ago. Our reasoning for this move seems, upon closer inspection, awkwardly nebulous, so when asked why we moved here we like to say that we had always lived in Southern California and were looking for a change, insofar as we were tired of being warm and happy. Eyeing the Four Cardinal Points we could have moved to A. Catalina B. Drug Cartel Estates in Baja C. A combination retirement/firing range compound in Phoenix or D. The Great Pacific Northwest. We chose D. We wanted to rent a house up here but we had too many pets (shh…five dogs and seven cats at the time—now, would you rent to us?) and so used a home-equity line of credit from WaMu to put a down payment on a house in SW PDX, all the while renting out our cherished Los Angeles home. Hey, if Portland didn’t work out we could always move back…except the market dipped horribly, we could not possibly hope to make our money back on the Portland home, not to mention that WaMu went bust and we had to sell our home down south due to rising debt. Our first Punking in Portland was not really a Portland Punking. It was a pan-global, multi-national, humanity eviscerating casino gambit, and boy was that fun.

Our initial April in Stump Town was actually “My First April” in Stump Town: while my wife was working in production in L.A. I took care of getting our new home in order, taking the dogs out for walks, tripping over cats and looking for work (as a response to having grown attached to food and shelter). Portland was cold to this California native, with lows in April of 2008 in the mid-thirties (I remember wishing I was still in my mid-thirties), and what I really needed at the new house was something to hold the logs in the two fireplaces, so I went to a local chain hardware store and asked a kindly employee if there were any fire grates in stock. I was told by this employee that fire grates were a “seasonal item.” Pause. I answered “It was 35 degrees when I got up this morning—what does seasonal mean, exactly?” The young man smiled, and shortly thereafter I could tell by the way I no longer saw him that he had left. I was alone in a hardware store that felt 35 degrees was a state of mind, a Seasonal Condition. That was my Official Punked in Portland #1.

The punkings piled on after that: looking out our living room window we saw cars routinely running the stop sign outside our home. Now, the joke about my home state was that a California Stop meant merely slowing down before rolling through a given intersection. I found that up here there was a corollary Oregon Stop Rule: when rolling through a stop sign in the Beaver State one should do so while complaining about Californians—it feels good and looks exciting. I’d say that cars running stop signs was one of my pet peeves, except I already had too many pets, and was pre-emptively punked by myself on that one.

Other punkings ensued: one article we read said that there weren’t many thunder storms in the Portland Metro Area—our first July here we enjoyed a booming attack from the cloud gods, so profound that Rudy, our German Sherherd Cattle Major Burns-mix had an anxiety attack and tried to hide in my shoes. Some months later, in Autumn, we were told, nay, assured that it sometimes snowed here in the hills but that the snow didn’t “stick”—in December of 2008 we had two weeks of snow “sticking.” I looked deep into the eyes of those who had misled us, searching for the giggles behind the masks—many Portlanders feigned innocence but I knew better. Note: the best part of that two-week stretch of snow was watching cars run the stop sign hoping to get up the hill, only to start sliding backwards down the hill, like drunken otters. Good times.

Part II of Punked in Portland to follow…eventually.

Special Additional Punked in Portland Super Duper Extra:
Punked in Cannon Beach!

***

Business as Usual

2011-05-09T17:41:00.000-07:00

it was business as usual
perfectly normal and beautiful
pretty much natural I think I can say
so why not say it?

the dogs were barking in unison
wagging tails and toothy grins
every day is so wonderful
when you're howling at the sky
it's just what the doctor ordered

business as usual
business as usual
just incredible
a feast for the eyes
saying yes to the ineffable
most distinguished euphorical
it was business as usual
the business of happiness
step right up and walk on in
save your misery for the morning editions...

no fear, no sense of urgency
no cost, it happens to be free
we can dance with a host of cliches
and impress the judges

we can walk like musketeers
one for all and you for me my dear
perhaps tap dancing on the moon
is what the doctor ordered

business as usual
business as usual
just incredible
a feast for the eyes
saying yes to the ineffable
most distinguished euphorical
it was business as usual
the business of happiness
step right up and walk on in
save your misery for the morning editions...

happiness is a polarity
with the highs are clarity
and the lows are mostly medicated
feeling kind of sedated

elation must be celebrated
jubilation venerated
existence is vindicated
if only for a short while...

lights
camera
action
the moon is full on empty nights
ah, the actress
ah, the actor
let us dance like maniacs

it was business as usual
perfectly normal and beautiful
pretty much natural I think I can say
so why not say it?

the dogs were barking in unison
wagging tails and toothy grins
every day is so wonderful
when you're howling at the sky
it's just what the doctor ordered

business as usual
business as usual
just incredible
a feast for the eyes
saying yes to the ineffable
most distinguished euphorical
it was business as usual
the business of happiness
step right up and walk on in
save your misery for the morning editions...

***

i saw an old man today

2011-05-03T19:35:00.000-07:00

i saw an old man today
he had been in the hospital
weakened, sick, unable to walk, facing darkness
his voice a whisper, like dry paper

his daughter came to see him
she, along with her husband
came to give love and attention
to talk about little things
with modest hope, with careful grace

it was the husband who went back to the house
to find the old man's wife dead on the floor
just the two of them, and then infinity
he drove back to the hospital, where
he took his wife aside and told her the hard news
next, he told the old man what had happened
what he had seen
that she was gone

five days later the old man was transported by medical van
to the funeral home
he entered in a motorized wheelchair
and made his way to the viewing room
he could just see her over the quilt
the body of his wife
her face red, her hair in a silent, cautious wave
he told me he wanted to hold her hand
and for around ten minutes that was what he did

the old man returned to the medical van
and rode the hydraulic lift
the medical technician fixed the straps
and secured him to the floor
they drove off, back to the hospital
such heavy things for hearts to hold

old men with wives now dead
familiar faces now in sorrow's way
old men who tremble in loss
old men, like silent wolves
take their turn on the moon
old men sit very still in the shadows

***

Osama bin Laden Killed by Poltergeists

2011-05-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

Eighteen Minutes to Reality

2011-04-30T15:47:00.000-07:00

The Monday After

2011-04-25T22:19:00.000-07:00

after the fella rose from the dead
after the cave was clear
the wind in the canyon ripped and roared
but there ain't nobody here
no
there ain't nobody here

they say that a deliverer cheated death
that he and the father are one
it's not really cheating if you are god
just in case you'd better run
yes
you might just better off run

stomp your feet on the bones, me lads
smash and crackle and grind
ain't nobody in the dust no more
at least none you can find
lads
at least none you can find

he pointed to heaven with a crooked hand
and cried to the circling crows
they wheel and cry in the shattering sky
enough to curl your toes
lads
enough to curl your toes

it's a hard life in the broken town
and harder on the farm
a fella come through with a wicked smile
with a heart like a necklace charm
lads
a heart like a necklace charm

stomp your feet on the bones, me lads
smash and crackle and grind
ain't nobody in the dust no more
at least none you can find
lads
at least none you can find

bring the children to the edge of town
and stand them on the hill
sing to the one who died for us
it will give him such a thrill
lads
it gives him such a thrill

where is the martyr upon the cross
where is the saint of the soul
he vanished into the misty mist
and left behind a hole
lads
he left behind a hole

stomp your feet on the bones, me lads
smash and crackle and grind
ain't nobody in the dust no more
at least none you can find
lads
at least none you can find

after the fella rose from the dead
after the cave was clear
the wind in the canyon ripped and roared
but there ain't nobody here
no
there ain't nobody here

Buddha and the Blanco Bunnies

2011-04-21T21:28:00.000-07:00