“Remember who you are.” So Mufasa, the Lion King, admonished Simba, heir to his throne.
Packing up my belongings, deciding what to keep and what to toss, I found the boxes containing the shirts I’d kept from the footraces I was in, mostly in the 80s and 90s. The first one was the MetroChallenge 10K, October of 1982. More than fifty others followed, most memorably the 1984 San Francisco Marathon.
Tomorrow is the Sedona Marathon, whose ancillary events include a 5K. I’d intended to enter the 5K but the onus of “heading up moving out” (see previous post) makes the 5K out of the question. As it is I’ll be leaving a day later than I’d originally planned.
But there is a 5K in my future, and then a 10K, and then a half marathon, after which I’ll decide whether or not a full marathon is beyond my sexagenarian reach. That’s part of remembering who I am. There’s nothing like the finish line of a footrace to make me feel capable–and I don’t get to the finish line without being on the Right Track.
Another part of remembering who we are, that gets less talked about, is remembering our mistakes and failings. I’ve got a bagload of failings and a boatload of mistakes. The cooldown after a workout will be a good time to reflect on those. “Go, and sin no more,” possibly the greatest advice to be found in the Bible, is also the hardest advice to follow–but let’s try, Friends!
gossamer slipt on her sweet lyrish hips & it set a silver mood
enter distractions & traffic infractions on 8 trucks & also a scooter
next is their exodus & Ah alone at last–alas romance seems to elude
tendered apologies render’d her all at ease now for the crackers & Gouda
less from the strategists more from the magic-kiss’d wishing to circumvent DOOOOOOM
you on the pedestals–we bid you cease menace to us so please/kindly get clue’d
heading up moving out
is a chore
and much much more
must be plucked
and boxed and loaded
sighs and tries
and some embraces
one will leave
yet leave his traces
Alas, my Sweetheart and I are parting ways. I load up a few things today and the rest Sunday. It is a time of some vulnerability and much reflection.
Here is a rare foray into panelized cartooning, which I will dedicate to a blog-follower of mine with whom I’ve traded quips over the front desk where I work. His initials are BS, and that’s no BS. BS, I trust you’re a BLAZING SADDLES fan. Hope so, anyway–it will make this cartoon of mine instantly gettable.
Thanks to Mel Brooks, on whose coattails I’m riding for this one. Mel, you’re the greatest.
Confession: I drew this in about fifteen minutes using a graphite stick and the seat of my pants. I then almost used a bogus meant-to-intrigue title, “Unavoidable Implications,” with the intention of having people see things that weren’t there. Well, I’ve been Phony-Baloney before with such fudging, and I may well be again (I only hope it’s not as cut-and-dried Phony-Baloney, though), but not this time. This is a tone study, and it emanates as if chiming, so “tone chime” it is.
For better or worse, here is the final version of a drawing I’ve been working on for more than three weeks. It is based on an illustration accompanying an acrostic poem, “Spectral Sanctums,” I wrote late last year. (Interested? Here is a link: https://onewithclay.wordpress.com/2014/12/30/spectral-sanctums/ )The illustration was of a smaller scale, 8-1/2″ x 5-1/2″, and had no cutlery nor stoneware on the placemat. This one’s 22″ x 30″, the largest-scale drawing I’ve made since the 80s. Here’s a photo Denise took this morning of me holding the drawing:
My working title for this drawing was “Homage to Bruegel.” Pieter Breugel the Elder had painted landscapes and peasantry and then let you know what was REALLY going on via the title; thus “Landscape with the Fall of Icarus” has the requisite elements of ploughman, shepherd and fisherman vying for attention while poor doomed Icarus’s legs are all that can be seen as Icarus plunges into the sea. Analogously, I have a fork in much smaller scale off the placemat and seemingly on a different trajectory than the place setting. It is meant to compound the “what’s wrong with this picture?” incongruity of a dinner setting against the Cosmos.
But Denise instantly upon seeing the drawing came up with a title that I like much better, so “God’s Dinner Table” it remains.
some look glum but aren’t
some look grim and are
some reveal and some conceal
and some are just so far
saw a mad one shuddered
saw a doll admired her
squint in the mirror makes clearer and clearer
age always makes us look tireder
changing with weather and shadows
moods and events lifestyles races
what a kaleidoscope much more than i’d a hoped
fashion or freak show of faces
Tonight PBS took us to the New York Metropolitan Opera and a performance of THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO. You don’t need subtitles to be able to tell there’s a whole lot of Silliness going on. And yet Figaro and his antics have been gracing stages worldwide for more than 200 years. So I find to my considerable comfort that Silliness and Staying Power are not mutually exclusive.
Here I’ve done something quite Silly. The title’s two puns, there’s a Pathet-ically obscure reference, a human Mickey Mouse wears Mickey Mouse ears and a tie festooned with Minnie Mice, and there’s nothing but name-dropping in the lower right hand corner. But: there’s tricky asymmetric balance. There’s a pulse in it of letter size variance and oddly “coincidental” alignment. And there’s a relaxed unforcedness to it that implies an omnipresence of freedom. There’s subtler stuff I won’t describe but I hope will be discovered. So it exists and I deem it worthy of a viewer’s attention. A few days later, though, I may well wonder what the Hell I was thinking . . .
there’s no such thing as the Pathet Lao
howbeit Romeo where art thou
yet SPICE invigorates sweet & tart
mercator fibs but o boy can he chart
enticed inducements wave & dart
tandy, jessica/novak, kim
ian, janis & hendrix, jimi
elfman, danny or elfman, jen
This post/dispatch is being generated from a hotel room in Flagstaff, Arizona. The image suffers some by being neither scanned nor photoedited; but since it covers some unpretty truth, perhaps it’s so much the better.
Guys had shop and girls Home Ec
Astrophysicists went tech
Anthropologists did Mecca
Artists felt the figures beckon
Modern work’s on shaky decking
Miss a paycheck reap the wreckage
Endtime horsemen’s horses nicker
Sumup: All are born unemployed. Some become unemployed. And all eventually have unemployment thrust upon them. The silver lining is that we are more than our jobs, and meeting the challenge of learning that fact yields a far more spiritual reward than “Pay to the order of…”
Using the problem-solving compulsion of a materialistic Westerner, it is easy to demonstrate the sound of one hand clapping. One needs only clap the four fingers against the thumb pad and hand heel. It sounds like the underwater applause of diaphanous tail fins. (No, it doesn’t. Maybe the emerging koan is now “What is the sound of underwater diaphanous-tail-fin applause?”)
At any rate, yesterday I started a doodle, got what I wanted from it, and abandoned it. Today I was looking at the pomegranate tree by the driveway and lines metrically near-identical came. I unabandoned my doodle and added a title and the two lines to it. The result is a quasi-koan, though I’d love to hear arguments that it is not.