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Monthly Archives: June 2016

It is the last day of the month. It is my personal superstition that to do things on the last day of the month is to increase the probability of their occurrence on other days. (This also applies to the first day of the month.) So I have cooked and cleaned a little, and, though my heart wasn’t in it, having received two reminders of things over and done with, I’ve created this minimalist acrostic/image card. Abs is for abdominal muscles; Orb is for that “cold-hearted orb that rules the night;” Ent is for that singular creature of J.R.R. Tolkien’s invention, a humanoid partaking of a tree.

An allotrope is one of at least two arrangements of the same atoms in differing array. A burden is represented here as a pack mule loaded down with another’s possessions. A sailboat is often delightful.

Watson and Crick were the scientists who found that DNA, the stuff of life, was double-helical in form. Even Linus Pauling, supernally brilliant as he was, didn’t deduce that.

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I have a feeling of deja vu. Have I done this acrostic before?

 

In these parts, if you say “Figures!” it means “Obviously, that was going to happen!” But in Artland, Figures are human forms represented by some sort of expressive medium as pencil or paint.

I love to do sketches of the human from in various attitudes. It figures that on my day off, I would relax by doing this.

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spoilsport 062916

I hope I haven’t spoiled the sport of the man who’s holding the fish. I would be hypocritical to denounce fishing. I’ve enjoyed fishing myself, though it’s been years. But thoughts occur, and with them seeds for more, such as the many ways Spoilsport might be interpreted. Spoils sport: To the victor go the spoils. Spoil sport: a mutant fish’s putrefaction. I the Spoilsport, tainting a happy moment by taking sides with the fish. The fish the spoilsport, not going along with Survival of the Fittest. The fisherman the spoilsport, ending a creature’s life on a whim. Th’ gods the spoilsports, creating such somebody’s-gotta-lose-here situations.

spoilsport

snag yourself a smallmouth Bass
place its fate within your grasp
oleo a pan with goo
in the cove with boat at moor
LIKE & tweet bon appetit

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YUM factor

You have eaten ambrosia, naif
You have tasted buffets at Vee Quiva

U have been in the dark in a new story arc
U five-star near & far till u like to infarct

Mastication verbatim–will U take ye bait? O
Mayhap a tomato au gratin won’t scar

I work for a restaurant. We provide made-from-scratch meals as part of a dining experience intended to relieve, fortify, and empower the bedraggled traveler. We charge airport prices. Overwhelmingly our diners think it’s well worth it, judging from the repeat business (“Laura on Thursday,” for instance) and wonderful comments our diners make on their way from our place to their flights.

Today I ate a breakfast brioche prepared by Bertha’s Cafe. The grill marks on the bread somehow made the sandwich taste that much more exquisite. Cooking is an art, not a science.

Here’s my artist’s conception of Toni, who when I started at Matt’s was so welcoming, calling me Baby and making me smile. She has consistently won the hearts of diners as well, who have gone out of their way to forward compliments to our management about her superb service and professionalism. Ask her how she’s doing, and she’ll tell you “I can’t complain.” Truth is, she could, but she never does.

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fields epithelial and fallow
e
levate onward, windborne
a
nd though unpossessed of persona
t
here is a seeming d e l i g h t
h
opping hastening hopscotch
e
ven a waltz-rhythmed dance
r
aising the sight of the Viewer

Epithelial cells comprise feathers.

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“Cold Reading” is a method of fakery by purported psychics. The late, great Orson Welles did his share, and here describes both how it is done and how it is dangerous for the cold reader, who starts to believe the power is real:

 

And here are my few words, acrosticizing the subject:

Cast a spell to curl the hair
Oust some devils on a dare
Listen for the lost & bad–a
Daughter’s message 2 her dad

001

Here is the first page I’ve done since I moved to my new place. Much of it was done on the drawing table sketched in lower left. I do so feel more at Home, using my table.

The three acrostic takes on Home come from my recent move, my years of weight struggle, the tragedy in Orlando for which flags are now being flown half-mast, and that grab-bag feeling one gets when a lot is happening at once. But, for once, this page is not a dashed-off, gottagetitdone thing. I spent three days on it, and I hope it shows.


Awry Left Home

Avoirdupois and sleekness match
When you’ve a KEY and not a latch
O running Wafflers may make scream
Yet Value’s not in Hits nor Meme

away from home

a child lifts a stufféd pooh
whilst parents wonder what to do
as youngsters out for fun take aim
you need a someone whom to blame

Well Come Home

We go and cause the world to laugh
Enjoying Moo-Cow and Giraffe
O Laughter is a Marvel! I’m
Laugh-loutish till the end of TIME

. . . my own personal time, that is. “Steel in my heart, and laughter in my breast!” quoth Rostand’s Cyrano. 🙂

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This is my drawing table, a gift from my parents on a Christmas sometime in the early 70s. It has been in Arizona, in Glendale and Phoenix and Cottonwood and the Village of Oak Creek in Sedona, and it has also been in Las Vegas, Nevada. I almost gave it away to someone for no other reason than that he had his stuff on it. I almost threw it piece by piece into the dumpster by my last apartment, faced with the prospect of having to U-Haul it to my new place. (I have just moved out of one apartment and into another one.) I am SO GLAD that luck and good sense and friendship conspired to keep it mine.

The lamp vise-gripped to the right edge of the table was part of the Christmas gift, and it works like a dream still. The stool and the fatigue mat were gifts from my former sweetheart Denise, and my gratitude to her continues. The banjo to the left of the table was another gift from my parents, and I gave it away once, hoping it would be well used; alas, the guy I gave it to never used it, so I took it back. (Alas, to this day I cannot play it.) The painting on the right is a superb nature study of butterfly and reflection by my dear friend and Confidante, Gen L (or E, depending). Another gift, and I am so grateful to be so gifted, and so egomaniacal to suggest that that has a double meaning. (I will play the I’m Just Kidding, Folks card if asked.)

But a crucial gift that keeps the table mine is of time, elbow grease, and the use of a magic red Pick-Em-Up Truck from my TRULY gifted friend, Russ Kazmierczak, Jr., creator of AMAZING ARIZONA COMICS. Russ and his truck moved my possessions entire from 35th Ave/Northern to 29th St/Indian School on two consecutive days. Russ offered me this help some weeks ago, when he found out I would be moving. When I took him up on it, he proved his rarity by cheerfully agreeing, showing up cheerfully on-time-or-early as agreed, co-muscling my stuff and Tetris-ing (his verb) it into the bed of the truck, and shlepping it to where it now belongs. Russ is a keeper, as his wonderful girlfriend Randi well knows. (And vice versa, as Russ well knows.)

So here’s to continuity: of Friendship, of Creativity, and of Love, of companions along the way past and present. Life is as good as we take it.