Preparations are under way to switch media. Before the end of the week I should be posting a new drawing done either in ink wash or monochromatic (or nearly so) watercolor. Meanwhile, I’m trying to be less heavy-handed with pencil. My hope is that by the time I get to Washville I’ll have a steadier and less hammish hand.

As has happened before, I was merrily rolling along with this drawing, filling in value-stripes and making up the acrostic poem as I went, when the playlist in my head suddenly went mid-song to “Stop! In the NAAAAME of Love!” by the Supremes. I emerged dazedly from the creation-fog to look, really LOOK, at what I’d done so far. Soon I concluded that further fill-in and acrostic line composition would yield a visually weaker image. So I Stopped in the Name of Art, love in my heart and relief in my soul that another couple hours’ work need not be done.

However, after scanning the image and color-enhancing it, I wonder if something else is going on in my devious mind, laziness- and/or impatience-based. So I’ll have my cake and eat it too, reserving the right to resume work on, or do a remake of, this image in the future. I’ll also, though I love one-liners, complete the acrostic poem here below. (Here below: a new oxymoron! [smiles])

Ethery Energy

Entangled emissions transform what we see
Then grapple diffractively giving a damn
How skeinlike the photons in warp & woof spree
Evicting electrons with quantum-leap hammer
Revolts of the voltages keying in G
Yield patterns of randomness nonsenselessly

See also, via Internet search, “Double-Slit Experiment,” which regards diffraction/interference patterns of electrons fired one at a time through one of two slits, and prepare to be increasingly blown away the more you “understand” it. For me the light-play when a single electron seems to interfere with itself is understandably ununderstandable. “Photoelectric Effect” is a good other place to get non-clues. [smiles and shrugs]

Thirty years ago today, August 19, 1984, I took 4 hours, eight minutes and change from my non-busy schedule to finish my first marathon. It took about two and a half hours to go the first 17 miles. Then both of my calf muscles cramped when I stopped to relieve myself, and the last nine miles took a little more than an hour and a half, though it seemed a few years longer than that.

Today I looked in vain for the photo of me crossing the finish line, but I did find an ink-wash drawing I’d made of my friend Elizabeth Carson Manley that same year, and an aquatint intaglio print I’d made about half a dozen years prior to that. They and the marathon fill me with pangs of loss for what I used to do readily and now no longer do at all. Here is the image duo, with mild color enhancement:


On a brighter note, one thing I did badly if at all back then was Versify. Today I Versified with pleasure and satisfaction, thus:


deviation from the mean
takes you to another scene
going from the mean to kind
tends to from the norm unbind

deviation from the norm
may make words or actions form
if you want a pit to warm in
get invaded by a norman

deviation from the narrow
lets you feast on other marrow
wider belt’s alleviation
makes for further deviation

words in some concatenation
spark a primal fine elation
use your bean bin bong boon lean
get your wordsworth be unmean

NOTE: William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge published Lyrical Ballads in 1798, which jump-started the Romantic Age in English literature. Here’s more on him and that: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Wordsworth

NOTE: William the Conqueror invaded England from Normandy in 1066, slaying King Harold and changing world history.

I’m left-handed, but every seven years or so I do a right-handed drawing. It builds character. It also gives one more empathy with people who have cerebral palsy or Parkinson’s or any other disorder that countermands a brain’s instructions to the body.

Here is the page:


Here are the words:

The DNA [or ancestry] lacks DAR [Daughters of the American Revolution]
It fits the life curves like a sari
Gave a sculpted bird a wing
Hit a drive like Vijay Singh
Thrashed that NMSQT
Yet another mystery

Vijay Singh is a pro golfer. The NMSQT is the National Merit Scholarship Qualifying Test, which I took in 1971 and achieved a raw score of 147, highest in Glendale High School’s Class of 1972. I did not become a Merit Scholar, though. [sad face]


lovefalling syndrome

it is called falling in love

could be a lagoon to swandive into

could be the fall from single-celled grace

could be a meteor

burning through sky


could be a rumor

delicious enough

to take on reality


could be

a season

that sought balance

not hot nor cold







off a

















Here is an unsigned, undated page I did a few years back. It is almost entirely of Richard Feynman quotations, though I do acrosticize the question/word Truth? with “cut and dried? without a doubt? straight from the horse’s mouth? undeniable? forsooth? aye & begorrah?” because if Professor Feynman taught me one thing, it is that Doubt is essential for seekers of Truth.


The quotations:

“Poets say science takes away from the beauty of the stars–mere globs of gas atoms. Nothing is ‘mere.’ I too can see the stars on a desert night, and feel them. But do I see less or more? The vastness of the heavens stretches my imagination–stuck on this carousel my little eye can catch one-million-year-old light. A vast pattern–“

“For a successful technology, reality must take precedence over public relations, for Nature cannot be fooled.”

“Science alone of all the subjects contains within itself the lesson of the danger of belief in the infallibility of the greatest teachers in the preceding generation . . . Learn from science that you must doubt the experts.”

“I can live with doubt and uncertainty and not knowing. I think it is much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers that might be wrong.”

“Shut up and calculate!”

“Physics is like sex. Sure, it may give some practical results, but that’s not why we do it.”

“Listen, buddy, if I could tell you in a minute what I did, it wouldn’t be worth the Nobel Prize.”


Why are we INtrigued? Because something is left OUT. Know all–no intrigue.

Fortunately for this poet/artist, the double acrostic form necessitates leaving a lot out, especially if there’s a rhyme scheme and meter to follow. If the words puzzle you, think of them as a dream, or a labyrinth escaped.

Intelligence at random yields a kaftanned kangaroo
Neuropathy may be purposeful and blind a looky-lou
Theology makes room for both with concepts to concoct
Retention of tradition hostilizing home & bloc
In English we say What the F___ but others start with shto
Gee willikers: your OMGs resist with every ohm
Upanishady dealings bid us base desires encase
E-stringing us along an index finger on a bass


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