Encouragements For Planting

Excavate the Caucasoid @ Sein und werden

2012-01-16T13:49:00.000-08:00

The Caucasoid science paradigm is the trans human modern paradigm. Hence we say, THE CAUCASOID IS A SYMBOL OF THE MODERN meaning a substitute of itself for your own culture, your own language, your own values, your children and your family.

This leads to the overwhelming question regarding the demolition of the native: WHERE HAS THE GENERIC CAUCASOID NOT CONDUCTED CULTURAL WAR TO PRODUCE THE MODERN? Here

Faerie History of the World / A Faerie Tale Fro Gromets

2012-01-12T14:37:00.000-08:00

The thing has many titles. Faerie History of the World meant as fiction like Gulliver stumbling on an island civilization too big or too small. Faux fiction, fake non -The Severed Head - Reversal of Fields-The Madness of Artilect 1.0-Too Sacred Ground - The Bloody Theory of Divine Light - Godzilla From Another Plane...composed live for the fun.
here

New Jargon Horrors of the Obesity Wars @ Danse Macabre

2012-01-06T05:19:00.000-08:00

here

"More on Pismith," just not here, which you might know explains how the "i" in Psmith got in dogmatika, Mortuus defunctus, 11 Mar 2009, occurs below:

"Since last writing Pismith added a “i” to its name, trying to distinguish itself from Psmith, its founder, discoverer. The “i” signifies a healthy addition to its nationhood. You remember that it was a species discovered by Jergen Psmith at his own expense and effort, but as will happen he was more and more displaced by his creation. You will also remember that Pismith was a being that grew a shell to protect itself from its enemies, who we at this point take simply as a given, though they can be specified later. Anyway, after it grew the shell the thing didn’t fit, either because it was too small or Pismith grew, which is also likely. This caused the protected inner parts to bulge out unprotected. Dr. Jergen gave his baby anti-diuretic meds to shrink the soft parts back, which worked, but also resulted in severe irritation to the shell lining which affected Pismith’s brain. “Too much, too little, when can we get enough,” Pismith began to rail, partly from the irritant, partly from its own contrary nature. It must not be much fun to be a lab rat. The upshot was that Pismith began to pee with its mouth. Is this as distasteful to me as it is to you? Yes and no. I take it symbolically and not just as an ordinary confusion of orifice. Pismith became famous for its uric speech, as you know, but it went further and this explains why it changed its name, because it turned its kidney also into a new kind of brain. You could see it coming. Those unevolved beings who still speak the old way should well suppose this is not an analogy to themselves. For one thing the Pismith has both a peptide mind and a posterior heart. Perhaps you can go biology.com to find out about it. I’m more interested in why they didn’t have much hair. All of this is beyond dialysis, as it were, but it always helps to explain the freakedness."

Jonah's Childhood @ Orion Headless

2011-11-23T10:30:00.000-08:00

To get below when all the universe is streaming, especially corn above the shoulders deserts to the street, dancing out of the flood, I met the gardener and the story of the world the way it comes waking in a room at dawn here

Sue SmOOke @ Gobbet

2011-11-10T05:39:00.000-08:00

How many came? We’re taking census. A syndicate implies the body gone. Wagons and tricycles biked up to windows, trains for Meet the Press at dawn. What did those bandits at the massy door, Maginot! Fffliedersehen! bicycles (agents never stop swarming) round the cold room, The beef? Plop! Cold door! Plop! Chickens hung on hooks, Quack-cluck! packed, blame housewife who can’t remember roast under veil, loin on claw or in the fat self, veal. Yeah here! Red Riding OOk here.

Playdate @ Unlikely 2.0

2011-11-03T06:49:00.000-07:00

HERE acts are evidence that fantasy is real. Three assassins, Comprachicoes of the culture itself, Cho killed others, Eleuricia was killed for others, Rimbaud assassinates poetry. Assassination of society, to take a view of many heads. The context specifies if the italic speech is Cho Seung-Hui of Virginia Tech, Central American liberationist Ignacio Ellacuría, S.J. or French nihilist poet Arthur Rimbaud. See here Cho as victim. Virginia Tech culture here. The entire Divine Comedy of Suffering here. The big pic in progress here.

Review of PL3:HSTBIS (Planet 3: Help Send This Book Into Space)

2011-10-11T14:44:00.000-07:00

Research into extraterrestrial intelligence taught by elephants with "frontal lobes hung down between their eyes," space flight " taught not just for free-fall sex," a "New Zero Element" "discovered in a Nazi brain" like a Joseph P. Farrell time warp, but before. The Intro says it should be put in orbit around the Earth, "embossed in some permanent medium like asbestos." On the cover is a space ship taking off through the ethers. PL3, that is, earth is now behind you here

OOks!

2011-09-01T04:33:00.000-07:00

Sue SmOOke @ Gobbet, November 2011

POP Head BOOk @ Gone Lawn, Autumn 2011

Three Big OOks, Danse Macabre, November 2010

The Dame of Guapa Pop, FRiGG, Summer 2009

Invisible Giants, The Dream People, Issue 31, Spring 2009

The Remains of Lit and Und on Shunt, elimae, June 2006
The WOOk Yap Is Coming, elimae, April 2006

Guapa Susan, elimae, February 2006

The Divine Comedy

2011-08-05T06:47:00.000-07:00

The Divine Comedy Reviews
Inferno

Purgatorio

Paradiso

at Goodreads

First Internet Poem

2011-06-21T05:49:00.000-07:00

When
the Lord of All
descended into flesh here

The Planetary Bulldozers Are Coming!

2011-06-19T17:55:00.000-07:00

HERE

New World Orc-ers

2011-06-01T05:48:00.000-07:00

Orcapoi Review @ elimae. This "essay" was RECOMMENDED AT THE RUMPUS for "its ability to make your day better!"
Etiology of Orc Flaming@Orion Headless
The Armors of Ummim@Full of Crow
More on Pismith@Dogmatika, Herbal Cures of Orc Tongue@Ghotti
An Anthropology of Orc@elimae

Orapoi Review @ elimae

2011-05-05T08:11:00.000-07:00

It represents a series of attitudes and prerogatives that dare to define a new reality utterly different from that ordinary one of caves and holes and black blood. Orc has gone global, and while it looks like a man, it is no more a man, as classically defined, than it ever was. Please allow us to forego at this time saying exactly what is a man. Change the appearance and you change the life. Not so, but it seems so. here

The Shout of Tom Goar @ elimae

2011-05-01T19:06:00.000-07:00

I felt a chill / Shattering blast of a trumpet whose time has come. What the higher walk in the kiln of yourself here

Help in the Steps @ Orion Headless

2011-04-26T15:50:00.000-07:00

This story appeared also November 7, 2011 @ FictionDaily.

He believed in Beowulf when scholars did not, scholars and dragons. Up and down, up and down, the mere churned. If you doubt everything you have no story at all. As to being able to recognize the error of his ways, his inability to control himself, did he have to grow back his arm?" here

Balalabamm! @ G(o)BBeT

2011-02-22T07:09:00.000-08:00

This proverb of the paranormal Balaam is the perfect motto for poets who like angels can get an ass to braying. As to ass thought and its circumstance, along side Balaam’s tromBALALABAMM is playing.

Ceramic

2011-02-01T14:51:00.000-08:00

Geronimo, Chuang Tzu @ the Herberger Balzac @ Wunderkammer
Gypsy Art Show here Mad Hatter here Animal Wilderness here
Subliminal Interiors here

Human Medicine and the Spirit of Wilderness @ Sein und Werden

2011-01-19T07:53:00.000-08:00

"The ambiguity of the world of spirits to a people who have no gods is that power and money mix up an argument about consequence and cause and make literature a potion out of it." from Human Medicine and the Spirit of Wilderness.

ETIOLOGY OF ORC FLAMING @ Orion Headless

2011-01-18T09:05:00.000-08:00

"The Orc body is white mottle, spindle shanked. Which is why it grew a shell to give it hide. The shell outside went under rib as leathery scute, an overlayer skin. This lasted until it peeled and left it naked. Or not, for nobody has seen it. Further decadence of this world is perused in many places. Avert eyes from the flash or from revulsion. " This is the fifth Orc placement. I would stop writing this stuff if I could figure out what it is about. here

The ones before it were Ummim, Pismith, Herbal Cures of Orc Tongue (defunct) and Anthropology of Orc.

THE ARMORS OF UMMIM @ Full of Crow

2011-01-11T05:43:00.000-08:00

"They had magical properties akin to the urim and thummim when it walked with giants on the earth, which supposes memories were retained of its expulsion. Spirits with bodies, bodies with spirits, the upper classes still believe them. It was a shock to the establishment when first dug up and the shields displayed. It argued something had been missed." The Armors of Ummim here.

New Year Greetings 2011

2011-01-02T05:42:00.001-08:00

Since blog stats began in June this year many hundreds of people identified by country, from Russia, Netherlands, Luxembourg, Denmark, Brazil, UK, Indonesia, Moldova, Lithuania, Germany, Japan, Taiwan, Canada, Slovenia, Poland, France, Portugal, Ukraine, Latvia, Turkey, Italy, Venezuela, Japan, China, India, Lebanon, Australia, France, Austria, Israel, Iceland, Chile, Serbia, Spain, South Africa, United Arab Emirates, Mexico, Guadeloupe, Bulgaria, South Korea, Sudan, Malta, Belgium, Singapore, Finland, Hungary, Sweden, Hong Kong, Iran, Kuwait, Sri Lanka, Honduras, Romania, Philippines and the Isle of Man have viewed these blogs. You immensely dignify these proceedings with your presence.

May the Lord lift up his face to you.

The Ship of the World @ The Planet Formerly Known as Earth

2010-12-01T15:00:00.000-08:00

Before he's cast on South Beach late

Throw this outcast into space.

Save the ship lest everybody drown!

Jonah in the belly is The Ship of the World.
Also Global Cure and Pony.
Kahuna here.

Three Big OOks @ Danse Macabre

2010-11-17T10:27:00.000-08:00

Three Big OOks Free Here.

Gypsy Art Show

2010-09-16T15:56:00.000-07:00

Gypsy Art Show Sensations, three pastels, Arches, Superstitions, Canyon de Chelly, and two photographs.

Several Mash Mishaps @ Mad Bunker's Mashup Review

2010-06-27T12:26:00.000-07:00

DemBots Turned UberBob. Ubstitious be and not be bots believe two nots make three! Mix-Mashed here and there

JFK in Costa Rica.

2010-06-22T18:12:00.000-07:00

Here. A Photo Essay of President Kennedy's Visit to Costa Rica, which text appeared as Sky Shadows @ Jack.
All photographs below © copyright from distribution, commercial exploitation of content, transmission, or storage in any other website or electronic retrieval system without express written consent.

JFK in Costa Rica

Magnify with a click and double click.

"When JFK visited San Jose March 18-20 for the Alliance For Progress, the volcano Irazu erupted. It took the ash some time to fall, but when it did the streets were coated each morning with gunmetal dust. His motorcade down Avenida Central through hundreds of thousands of people compounds in my memory with Easter of that year, a month later, when from early dawn I walked the streets and photographed the immense parade preparations, the crucified Christ carried on the shoulders of people with the Virgin and St. Joseph" (Remembering José Donoso).

San José was later blanketed with black volcanic ash that erupted the day President Kennedy toured the streets. At the base of the wall is written Viva Calderon Guardia, a president of Costa Rica in the 40's.

The extraordinary part of the President's reception in San José was the motorcade down Avenida Central. In those days security was light.He rode in a convertible with a motorcycle escort and about six vehicles in all. It was a beautiful day. People waved American flags with huge enthusiasm. The crowd lined both sides of the Avenue, half a million people contained on the sides by police and guards.

"The outpouring of affection moved the President, you can see the elation on his face, but more so smiles and joy on peoples’ faces. So the volcano was erupting and the president was streaming in the firmament, decorated with crepe. It was the celebration of a lifetime, but Good Friday was coming and Holy Week, tradition of a thousand years. The Kennedy visit and processions of Good Friday blend together, its statues already burnished. The alabaster skin rose over the shoulders of the crowd like the road to Golgotha. I exchanged glances with the Mother and Joseph. The same face appears in the Lady Chapel of the Glastonbury ruins who above the altar holds his arms wide. But backs were ready to bear their burdens, and of course later in town they said the volcano was an ill omen" (from Sky Shadows).

The face of the man who appears under Kennedy’s arm during the motorcade has bushy eyebrows, a black mustache, a beard, a kind of top hat. It is not Lincoln. The President’s face is framed by the American flags they were waving.

Secretary of State Dean Rusk walks to the podium. The embassy held a reception for the President to greet all the Americans that afternoon in the ambassador’s residence, a large white columned affair.

The Ambassador's residence.
The President speaks.

"A cicada begins to sing two weeks before Semana Santa. They lose their body weight while singing. It signals high seriousness. Driving a car or motorbike on Good Friday is discouraged. Some communities throw nails in the streets to prevent it. The President’s caravan down Avenida Central three weeks before had to go twenty miles an hour to keep from being overrun by two thousand young men in pursuit. The embassy held a reception for the President to greet all the Americans that afternoon in the ambassador’s residence, a large white columned affair. Hundreds of Americans attended" (Sky Shadows). After he spoke President Kennedy left the porch and mingled with the crowd.

This was the street after the motorcade passed

The Parades of Semana Santa

The President's visit and processions of Good Friday blend together. There were even more people out city wide for Holy Week, all close up, the parades, the embassy, the floats, the processions that went 15 miles from San José to Cartago, some people walking barefoot. I started walking early Good Friday at dawn to every barrio of San José.

The statues were carried in reverence, as in a vocation. A girl half the size of those around her wears a red scarf, (below) a son in a blue shirt holds onto his father’s hair..."head scarves of women walking with the floats, faces of police protecting them, impassive ushers carrying the images on poles, the Holy Mother’s gown embroidered in gold with vines and flowers, the faces of children in cradles at her feet.."

The Holy Mother’s gown embroidered in gold with vines and flowers, the faces of children surround her in cradles at her feet.

The dozen or so slides lay dormant in archival sheeting more than forty years. The head scarves of women walking with the floats, faces of police protecting them, impassive intent ushers carried the images on poles. This man seems an advance guard.

"Priests in white surplice lead the float of the Savior. Corn plants embroider his robe, garlands of pink lilies and roses at his feet, a diadem on his head. Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die seems to be the message The cross on his left shoulder is enameled in black with inlays, the heads of the priests are bowed, arms folded. A Cardinal in red walks between. A girl half the size of those around her wears a red scarf, a son in a blue shirt holds onto his father’s hair."

Priests in white surplice lead the float of the Savior.The cross on his left shoulder is enameled in black with inlays, the heads of the priests are bowed, arms folded. A Cardinal in red walks between.

Guide ropes, wires. Caps with the guard's badges. Corn plants embroider his robe, garlands of pink lilies and roses at his feet, a diadem on his head. Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die.

There were more sky shadows in that journey, mirroring the surface.

"I count myself the fish who took the hook and was caught, Jonah who turned the light off and watched his pupils dilate in the dark. For among people all different I left on this first exploration without the help of God. But even in the sea, darkness dawns. I went natural and when it was done got spit back up. It is dark in the fish where I was made a poet. As they flee the sky shadows above so this fled from me when I did seek. Following this pursuit conceived in the secret place at ten, I would have caught tropicals in the Amazon. The colors that swam in those pools later attracted me to mudslip and turn. But clay does not ask, why have you made me thus? Fish, butterflies, flowers, it could have been stars. As Melville says in chapter one, “the great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open.”

Street after Irazu.

Betty Blog

2010-04-29T07:52:00.000-07:00

Toward the end of National Poetry Month Betty Blog has my poem News.

For the city of heaven

you had to have rain

before it got near.

Noah town was

beginning to set

when Moses said

Jesus was outside town

And Abraham and Angels

were flying around.

Futhark Flowing @ The Lifted Brow

2010-04-21T11:15:00.000-07:00

"Draw a circle around Iceland east. Go south at least to Britain, then to Rome... I wrote to salmon, trout and otter, bottom creatures on their bed, crab and coral, sea poems in pens, starfish armed a decade, a dozen arms that fold, the hands that bend...I wanted him to know the image of himself as far as he could see the land...we went to mires and fens, brown moss mats that covered bed rock, our office up East Finnmark...where the snow lies late under eaves of willow and saxifrage...Futhark, Futhark, I would call from miles out or up...we were pens to write the flowing."

Futhark Flowing in August in print, (used to be) online!

On a Chicago Bridge: Talk @ IsReads

2010-04-01T09:21:00.000-07:00

Chicago

Stillwater, OK

The Baptism of Wallace Stevens @ elimae

2010-03-01T11:41:00.000-08:00

Stevens climbed up to the cross in death. A chorus appeared round his bed. Hopkins was the priest, administered to one who didn't even believe in the muse. That's a lot to bear. Not believe in the muse! Stevens said: "I am myself a part of what is real, and it is my own speech, and the strength of it, this only, that I hear or ever shall" (60)." here

Merry Christmas

2009-12-25T04:03:00.000-08:00

Big thanks and smile to whoever posted the Christmas prank under People and Community at Kosmix: "Mr. Reiff is the man Mr. Reiff is the coolest English teacher of all-time." Great Christmas present. [looks like they sold this site to WalMart]

Taking Down the Elder @ Jack

2009-12-20T06:16:00.001-08:00

Extinction of the Classics and Mountaintop Top Removal Mining - Best of 2009

Higher Critics Lead to Biological Extinction. In mountaintop removal mining, first in the mind, then in the mountain and dry gulch, extinction myths succeeded the blowing off of classic tops. At the time the buffalo were decimated, 19th century gurus blew tops off classical texts, to substitute their own reconstructs. This implosion, debasement, demolition and strip mine of cultural authorities, Torah, Plato, Psalms, Iliad, New Testament, Lao Tzu justified the destruction of the natural world. At the same time Graf and Wellhausen were killing Moses white hunters of the Great Plains killed ten to fifteen million buffalo. You can judge classic extinction here.

Pancake Syntazz @ Vulcan

2009-10-22T18:10:00.000-07:00

"The good was evil the evil was good,

The boy in the hood,
The cow and its could,
Dead meat of food.
Is a burger spiritual outside the meat?
To such uses high mind is put.
Hunt a really good spiritual burger.
Smell a cockcrow bourger.
No chicken patty slice of pungent air,
A burger that will satisfy
till alchemy dawn sprinkles gobbets of sun,
A brink of a burger in spiritual pawn.
A bourgner, burgher, burfger, buffgeefer meat.
I told you spirit worlds ruin the physical!"

O Pancake Syntazz here (66-71)

See also maybe Legends of the Fall and This Meing, Mooing, Mewingmuling Song.

Borges' Escape @ Sein und Werden

2009-09-28T15:30:00.000-07:00

Borges has escaped at Sein und Werden here

"The wise take eternity in measure. Readers of Borges stay in the normal, not press to the eternal Milton in his dreams, Blake in his musing, Yeats in his raving...This is what he told me, "I wanted to be Borges, I who was Borges!" Always, after invoking the self, return. Everyone experienced in the loss of life knows the restoration of the commonplace is the greatest gift of all."

The Dame of Guapa Pop @ FRiGG

2009-07-28T14:48:00.000-07:00

"Nobody connected Pop’s disappearance with Dame Belcher’s purchase of a walk-in freeze. Presumption credits that the Dame, Turk’s second spouse, had too much brew the night that Myth got shanked and smoked. That was three full years before Susan entered the same. For all they were nice folks. Goats populated piles of debris..."

The Dame of Guapa Pop

Journey to Pennsylvania @ Historical Review of Berks County

2009-07-07T07:21:00.000-07:00

The invitation to hold the Historical Society's Spiritual Outlaw Dinner at the Annual Egeneologist, with their historical counterparts, arrived with copies of the Historical Review containing Conrad Reiff's peccadilloes and Mittelberger's outrages in "Journey to Pennsylvania." These remarks were prepared in advance and are available for a song, here. Otherwise the hand of Gulliver shepherds through Oley Pennsylvania with Least Heat Moon, Muhlenberg, Baumann, Whitfield, Boehm, customs, obsequies, wills, charges, counter chargers and organs of the 18th century. Be there.

"Journey to Pennsylvania," Historical Review of Berks County. Summer, 2009.

Jerusalem Blake @ elimae

2009-04-15T07:01:00.000-07:00

Jerusalem Blake
Giambattista Marino Rubino del Sur;
translated by AE Reiff

This letter, translated from the Spanish of the scholar Rubino del Sur, replies to a letter he had received telling of the holes Blake gouged in the plate of his Jerusalem when it was not given its due, and of other poets like Hopkins who burned or destroyed their work. In fact only five copies of Blake's long poem were ever printed, and this privately in Blake's house by himself and his wife. Only one copy, filled with the most extreme illustrations, was ever truly finished and colored. No other text exists in only one finished state, but even that was marred by the passion of the artist. here. More Jerusalem here.

Invisible Giants @ Dream People

2009-04-06T08:09:00.000-07:00

"In feedlot libraries and slaughterhouse universities, which is consumed is not merely seen. it is the mind not the flesh the monoploid eats."
"Invisible Giants" @ here

A Spiritual Tour of the Grand Canyon @ Jack

2009-03-20T04:44:00.001-07:00

"Leo got down on his hands and knees, put his “paws” on the table surface of a rock beside him and tilted his head back like he was going to howl. He had put on a costume too, a skin with a head like somebody’s lost rug. His mouth was open. Saliva dripped off his tongue. Words blended into cries and moans. Like a coyote speaking English and a rooster starting to crow all at the same time. Then he spun around a couple of times. Everybody’s in a daze. The fire is throwing shadows off faces. One minute it’s like he disappeared, then the next he’s back in a new costume. Branches come out his collar and go up over his head. It sounded like there were yips and caterwauls. He’s stuck his neck way out now, shakes his head back and forth. The dudes have their mouths open too. He stretches his arms out with his head and lets out a long whistling cry." here

Native Texans (1984) @ elimae

2009-01-30T10:11:00.000-08:00

Alta Niebuhr was the first to say it should have been called A Philosopher Looks at Plants. She provided copies to her herbalists. That's when Brother Lynch wrote to her and said it humanized botany more than he could have dreamed. Dr. Blackstock said it read like a novel. An editor at TCU press said she had hoped it would have had more philosophy. The heirs of these folks, if they had any, could refer to fictions about herb s or subscribe to Human B otany. Croton, equisitum, milkweed, mullein, pennyroyal, horehound all appeared in native plant newsletters. It was perilous. The day the ms was typed a stranger appeared at the door who had a manuscript of her own and wanted me to tell her what I knew. She had read one in the Newsletter and had a book contract with Texas Monthly Press, wanted to know everything about native plants! Native Texans was enthusiastically greeted by two regional Texas presses and canceled.

Hedeoma was the way I wanted to memorialize Carroll Abbott, for the whole thing was due to him, and Henry Burlage and Alta and others. Saint Coop printed an introduction. "If you were to take one plant with your immortal soul into the afterlife, then Hedeoma (Hedeoma Drummondii) would meet Amaranth. Medina County is starting a Hedeoma Dude Ranch. Aristophanes wanted thyme planted on his grave, but if you can get yourself planted in some Hill Country field you can have the superior Hedeoma. Albertus Magus claims drowned bees can be revived by the fragrance of the inferior pennyroyal, M. Pulegium, and that if you rub it on the "belly of any beast it shall be with birth." The use of Hedeoma in this way would shortly make so many beekeepers and mothers of us all that we would soon be drowned in milk and honey."

By way of explanation, the sun shining on herbs in jars on a window ledge in Chicago at the home of a friend of Jack Dodds caused this out of nothing. Within a year of migration to the Texas hill country that fragrance produced a desire to grow herbs, which compassed the hills in their seasons, at that time well outside Austin, and affected with rock walls, pumpkins, retama, red bud, limestone, sheep, pot studios and screened porches, reading Edith Sitwell in robin migrations and the click of the equinox in hammocks under oleanders, under chinaberries, on roofs, and childhood from the hills of western Pennsylvania made it continuous if episodic.

Out of these herb jars came also A Calendar of Poems and its counterpart, Restorations of the Golden Age in New World Discoveries, but the peaks of roofs were coming over hill tops, so I moved into town. If you call it destiny it is inescapable, so after moving closer to the city, living in Hyde Park, I came one day upon the Experimental Drug and Herb Garden, four acres of herbs and medicinal plants fallen out of favor and cultivation with its proprietor, the College of Pharmacy. Amazed to discover this vestige of pharmacy's past by accident, and after much nay saying about the possibility, for the place was all but closed, Henry Burlage, Dean Emeritus, concocted an encounter with that present Dean to the effect that the place would remain open with himself as the Director, I the horticulturalist. The joy of this venture lasted three years and involved all sorts of trials and encounters, but when friend Henry took his last trip to the ER the end was in sight. The property was deeded back to the UT in trade for a new pharmacy building on campus. All these matters engaged the herb and native plant people, Carroll Abbott among them, who more or less founded the native plant movement in Texas, being an ex-politico, but who subsisted on sales of native plant seeds and bluebonnets with his Texas Wildflower Newsletter. These were days when Ladybird Johnson was active.

Further access to hill country land, explorations over the Edwards Plateau, visits with Carroll, walking up and down rivers and always growing plants, hungry editor that he was he had often solicited articles for the Newsletter. But who ever does what's in their best interest? These invitations fell fallow, but even after moving to Dallas to pursue something that would pave the way for a medical career invitations kept coming. Carroll by this time had contracted cancer, which he movingly wrote of in the Newsletter that I still read, but one night I dreamed of him in such a woebegone state, depressed, in the dark, ashen, that I couldn't stand it, and instantly started writing that first piece, Equisitum, followed by Croton and Prickly Poppy and a whole flood. He printed the first two in the last Newsletters. My whole intent and purpose was to make him laugh. From what he said it worked. So I finished writing this, called it Native Texans (1984) as a joke since these plants are universal here

A Poetical Reading of the Psalms of David (1985)

2009-01-26T14:04:00.001-08:00

This book forced itself on me when I was trying to teach a literature class at Bishop College, Dallas. The texts came late that semester so students brought Bibles in place of that assigned, which began with selected Psalms anyway, and early chapters of Genesis and the last of Job. Still waiting books, the peaks of the messianic were explored, 2, 8, 16, 23, 24, 40, 41, etc., that stuck up like mountains from the textually landscaped valleys and plateaus below. This topography had an appeal anyway from before the birth of our daughter who was carried into the sun of the alleys of Austin in her first year, up and down singing Psalm 8. The vibrations induced sleep. Psalm 8 had been an ally in early semesters at Bishop College in a first lit class composed of juniors and seniors. They had put off taking it and expected to emerge unscathed, but thought a new teacher might complicate their lives. After explaining the psalms were sung antiphonally I chanted Psalm 8 in full voice. It may be Psalm 23 followed. It sounded like a voice from a minaret at dawn.

Eventually learning to teach, to prepare materials to base a class on, it was no stretch to continue writing at home at three AM after the books arrived. This resulted in a manuscript in about three months called A Poetical Reading of the Psalms of David, considered as poems with poetic research, finished the day before our first son Aeyrie was born, made available then in proof. Those literature classes also produced Between the Bath and the Body's End: Socrates Breaks the Decorum of Death, investigations of a "Shakespearean" Psalm 46 and the Season of Troy's War. Some of Poetical Reading circulated. Mystical Quarterly rejected a take, but one of its referees, Elémire Zolla, translated it into Italian as Pianta celeste o stella terrestre: il retroterra biblico nel rapporto tra piante e stelle and published in his Rome journal, Conosceza religiosa (1983). Psalm 1 occurred as "New Species" in Epiphany (Fall, 1987). A second effort with Psalms 8 and 16 at MQ was accepted, but that editor wrote a year and a half later to say the magazine would fold. Publisher Peter Lang offered to do it whole, but wanted $1500 subvention. It was then put under the tutelage of Maimonides and meditative reproduction begun. A few copies remained of the original in softcover proof at $20.

More Extraordinary Than Ever Can Be Said. Introduction

Demonots

2008-10-02T08:12:00.001-07:00

Demonots

They are called Superstition dEmoNots from thRee

Rules of order in the philosopher HEgel, a dialectic

Known as the Golden SupErstitions, but in reverse.

Their third order is at the top, called Man Who Is,

But hypothetically, for demonots do not believe

In Such a being. The closest expl anation they give iS,

Is Is, Is ? Which is to say, Is, Is not. They believe in

Not Being. Since dEmonots disbelieve the third order

They substitute it with the SEcond, Man Who Is Not.

This man sayS, Was, Is, to deLve tHe metaphysic.

Second order initIates engage the science of nem-

Esis. They conceive the Piscean bully a savior, the

Aquarian TYrant a brother, the ScorpioN iconocLast a disciple,

the LeonIan recluse a stAr. It shows ironic self-AwareneSS.
A spider Caught in a web, prevented by itself From

Being itself, they Achieve a brotherhood of the im-

Perfect. TheY are not what others think theM.

They arE not what they're Supposed to be.

They are not wHat th ey think themselves.

In Topsy - turvy, Not Man Who Is, of the First Order, a

Demonot unDerclass, Took the second and substituted

Itself. This Not-Man Concocted a PretEnD OrDer that

Said since the Second Thought itself unworthy, it must

Be For Who Would know be tter? So the First Substituted

ItseLf for the Second and Pretended to Be the Third.

The flag upside down is a signal of distress.
Please view in Mozilla Firefox
This text first appeared in elimae

Then it appeared in Mad Hatty Bunker

Uberstitious UberSubs
They call the Uberstition Boobs Demobs in Fools of Ardor

by the great Phil Heg, a trifectic superlete called Golden Soups

in verse, the Man Who Ubernot, also called Do Not Believe.

Such BE the closest we can come to is, Is Is, Is? Which is to say, No, Not.

We bein' Not be Demo-bots believe the Sub-stud Man Who Not.
Two nots make three. First once the dude packing,

Then Second Indubiate scientists conceived the super boob,
a Pisean Eggwardian trumpet bro, a Superblast IconAnt

Disbo Lone Star recluse. There mo. There bes and not bes

Iconic wig. A spider vented Otherhood. Be nots achieved
a perp InPerp, what others think Top Turve, but not.

Not Man Coo, but not supposed. First Emanant
not class submitted stud, no unconcocted orb which Said

pretend the second thought Un-worth, for who would not

know be? Ha, ha. So First uptooted right and ended Thud. That Ud.

Do it in Firefox.

Elsie Marley the Cat on Cuthbert's Head @ Jack

2008-02-03T12:00:00.000-08:00

Elsie Marley the Cat, at Jack.

Old Hereford Cemetery

2008-01-10T15:01:00.000-08:00

Henry S. Mack. Old Hereford Mennonite Cemetery. Record of Tombstone Inscriptions: Old Mennonite Cemetery of the Hereford Congregation of Mennonites. Bally, Berks County, PA, 1934. In progress here

Flight

2007-11-01T07:54:00.000-07:00

I want to conduct a history of living beings in flight, natural life, qualities of elements I see symbolically everywhere. Jimmy is an artist too, I saw his portraits of himself stuck in the ground mire of being, as if he doesn't know the difference between that and air. The water must cleanse him. He will say you don't have to read it. I reply you cannot fly and be mired. I want to fly toward the sun and be consumed.

White Mountain Deep

2007-10-31T18:07:00.000-07:00

It might be the sky but it might be the wind, leaving the tent at night in the cold and then not for long. You don't get up or have to to hear the coyotes.

They are howling in the range of cross riffs and minor notes. But the stars are interminable. I wade through the night like it's chest deep. Turn, restless, turn again. Left side, right side, back, hope to get escape with dreams, wake minutes later, there is no watch, but if you can get beneath it all, like the covers, the sleeping bag, the red Hudson's Bay blanket, the shirts over feet frozen at the bottom of the tent, then the wind can dance its pile drives, strokes of mountains leeward and that can be the dream.

The wind shakes the tent, shakes the aspen high up, descends. I wait to be lifted off the ground, figure to figure out something in the event, but then it blows off, new meaning to zephyr, Hermes, blow wind, crack, new meaning to the wind of Pentecost shaking the house. It shakes the mountain now, the elk feel it, don't cry, or can't be heard. The wind extinguishes everything but itself. I know the power of fire and flood, but air is not benign. It blows the elk, coyotes and bear to shelter. It doesn't blow the stars. Under the tree I play them back on the closed eye screen. They are bright now. Orion rises late in fall. I count on it to bring the dawn, figure it is maybe three AM, which gives hope with an air mattress and a foot warming wife who accepts them into her thighs.

What does the foot that gets to Nirvana say to the one behind?
"Just one more step."
What does the foot in Nirvana say to the one behind?
"There's no pain hereafter."
What does the cold foot say to the hot?
"Remember me."

What does the hand say to the foot when the cold foot hotfoots it into the warmth?
This goes on through the middle of the night. The stars, red Antares stares at the mountain. The meadow to be alive in gold is dark. All is light. All is bright. The shadows of dawn, the chow's ears, the smoke of the fire, coyote song, elk breaking notes over their knees for the fire of dry aspen, even the lonely men in their pickups who patrol the back forest where we have gone to escape the pipe lines and blasting, are asleep. They can't see an elk in the wood but our boys track them, manage not to get gored by the climacteric of want. The want. The eye patch. The meaning of cold. The burned savage trunklessness that lies fallen from fires a decade ago.

Connect and Disconnect

2007-10-08T07:50:00.000-07:00

Silence of the disconnect. They used to say turn on, tune in. Pierced by the piercing of streets, days strayed, slept in this tune. Tuned in to what? The instant thought that says look, the handheld array. Then comes the boom, a wreck of tons of steel. Cars collide inept. Silence is not quiet. There are two. The one above the boom and the one within the thoughts that deafen. Then there is a silence that makes three.

When you lay upon your roof at night and hear the roar, see the aura of lights, it sounds like a savage celebration just far enough away. You know the two states, yourself on the roof and the maelstrom below. Descend and you will not remember the one you left. Boom, the two are one, the roof disappears. The disconnect makes separate states appear only from afar, separate from the flare. It is Las Vegas, Vanity Fair vs Solitude, Silent Thought. Thoughts are noisy enough as it is. Drown them without noise.

The two states are like the soul come to communion, come with cares, sounds, thoughts, at the best, the highest part of the connect, dreams, plans, intentions, not that the worst are left, they come too but why give place to them, they're the same as hopes and fears. This is the state of the connect.

Only disconnect! Disconnect from sound and dreaming, wondering, staring, surely by now the cell is off, Ipod still. While Beethoven is playing his Opus in A and VanGogh tramping down daisies in a blue field with a yellow sky, disconnect. While the UN is streaming live video, forests are burning, ER's are teeming, what's in front of your eyes? They are closed. The ears cannot hear. You forget yourself.

"Into the Wild" Parent-Child Crisis

2007-10-01T15:52:00.000-07:00

In Into the Wild director Penn has a moment occur before our eyes as the boy's eyes in death cut to an imaginative reunion with his father and mother with the imagined query "whether if this reunion happened would they see the same thing I do (as he dies)?" This is all ironic, since Penn shows that the boy poisoned himself by using the wrong plant and because he couldn't cure a moose he had killed, these together cause his dementia. Abstracted these are ignorance and weakness.

Ignorance and weakness describe the young, which is all the more ironic since the body was discovered in the middle of August by moose hunters, adults who knew what they were doing, but two weeks after the boy died. Keeping the boy alive is a history of parenting, it is being in the right place at the right time. He was not. Penn says in his interview that this victim of himself had thus reached the wisdom of middle age, that is, he got to the level of Sean Penn one supposes, but it is all talk that he learned that happiness is sharing with another person. He didn't learn it. He didn't do it. He went to live in Alaska by himself, away from his family. Learning is changed behaviour. These are just words, no realization of being. He died alone.

To make us feel better about it, that all is not sacrifice and deprivation, the film is also about twirling in the cosmos. The boy raises his arms at least four times, twice on top of the bus. It looks like a substitute for praise. He is worshiping the universe? Con trails show in the sky, again and again, his answer to "prayer?" But the repeated images of the gold wristwatch on his arm are saying, "I may be a hippie, but I'm holding on to my watch." Time and material are not wisdom. Wisdom is knowing you don't know. Who said that?

In this romance at the end he wants to cross the creek to go home again, but it has become a river that traps him "in the wold" (Anglo-Saxon). Survival instincts need health and strength, prudence and a care for detail not the high skeptic. So many others are blamed for our own misery. Why not blame yourself? "No," the class said, "it was my dad."

Maelstroms come with a context and change of scene, these children found dead in their rooms at night OD'd, boys siphoning gasoline with a vacuum cleaner who receive third degree burns over 40% of their bodies, rear ending cars in front of them in the right hand lane when they check their cell phones. The noise in their heads, the bottom-deafening depth charges that steal their consciousness as they turn those who love them into deadly rejection for the gifts they have been given. There is no silence here but noise. It is media generated. One goes to China, buys a dress, is kidnapped through a door in the dressing room and has her kidney stolen. It is the noise. They are unaware, ignorant and weak.

Another drives downtown with a friend, listening to Itunes from the garden of Eden on the box. All is one. We are safe. Two "immigrants" approach at a light, guns drawn, pistol whip them. These are the true events happening around the boy I protect. Med techs inoculate for bacterial meningitis from shared spit, but not for late night texts in bed, vid games, emails and photos of the flesh. Listen to baseball, a radio or read, but make your bed offline, silent.

Here is a postscript on parenting. We have pretended we didn't know how. But we do. Compare it to a neighbor who runs a limo company and fills your parking lot with his overflow. Your lot is not posted. It has never been. One wants to operate on a neighborly basis. So go over to communicate this, but met with calumny, put up signs real fast, contract a towing company and see to it cars get towed. Guess what? They don't park there anymore. That's respect. The way to demand respect for boundaries works in the real world and in families. Idiots run the psychology department. They are afraid you will “alienate” your children but so if they are injured they get to treat them and if they die the psychology department gets even more money. Stand up. If the children don't like it they can let you know. You can be tested. After all, mortgage rates won't rise. You can make thousands, millions on your home so don't hold back. Buy now, save later. This means die now, pay later. Another take of this on The Road.