THE VAN GOGH IMMERSIVE EXPERIENCE

Extraordinary experience to celebrate C's birthday-starry nights swirl, portrait's eyes blink, walls and floors move with images-photographs cannot possibly depict the totality of this show. On exhibit through early February in the TCF Center (old Cobo Hall). Well worth the price and the drive!

 

 

 

The picture above depicts my favorite part of the show-starting with the image below, the blossoms begin to detach and blow in the wind and multiply in numbers until the entire room (and floor) are a moving, swirling blizzard of almond blossoms. 

 

Blossoming Almond Tree 1890

I grew up in the country and we had fruit trees. When the time came, the blossoms would let go and if there was a good breeze and one was aware, you could go out and walk amongst them.

STARKITTY

 

C's drawing that she enhanced using graphic filter and further enhanced by me.

EAST GARDEN

 

MODERN FABLE-THE BEWITCHED SOPRANO

 

Once there lived a soprano who was noted for her extraordinary beauty and voice. She also was a rapacious seductress who, unfortunately made the mistake of loving then leaving a warlock for another. In his rage of being betrayed and rejected, the warlock cast a spell and turned the soprano into a cat, a beautiful calico. 

Years have passed and she feels loveless although loved very much by her human family. One evening, they are playing a variety of arias on their stereo. It is twilight, raining and the calico looks out at the backyard through the picture window, hearing the music and the sound of rain tapping on the skylight. Much of the selections are familiar, after all, she had sang for many years as a human. Then, Purcell's Dido's Lament comes on and from the first notes, the calico is overwhelmed with sorrow. She murmurs a string of low meows, her only means of vocal expression now. Her heart ached as she stared out the rain swept window, with waves of regret washing over her. Oh how she longed for her Aeneas to return so she could tell him that she was sorry for the suffering she had caused but alas, there is no remedy for her. This is her fate until death. She buried her face in her tail and wept.

CATS WATCHING THEIR MOM AND DAD HAVING SEX

 

It's inevitable that at some point, your feline roommates will watch you have sex. Not only does this satisfy their infamous curiosity, it's a welcomed relief to their routine. Usually, they will want to jump on the bed to get a closer look and this gives us a chance to escort them out of the room and close door. However, one afternoon with our attention centered on other things, they slithered in. Cats are excellent problem solvers and the crew had figured out that they could get a pretty good view from atop the laundry basket in the closet. Molls had put her shoulder into the door and moved it wide enough for all to have clear view while remaining in the shadows. At some point, we got the uneasy feeling that we being watched but couldn't quite pin down where they were and returned to the previously scheduled program. A few minutes later I thought I heard a commotion of voices from the closet so I stopped and went over and slid open the door. There they were, with eyes as big as saucers and expressions that seemed to say, not-"gosh we're sorry to be so rude" but "oh, don't mind us-just carry on with what you were doing." If they were human: Molls had a faraway look on her face- Bin later told me that she was reminiscing about her one and only sexual encounter one warm Summer night; Tomi was snickering and pointing at our nakedness; Bin was hollering at me "bite her in the neck, for the love of Christ, man! Get on with it!" The look of distaste on my face finally registered and abruptly they all dashed for the bedroom door. The mood had been broken and we decided on a rain check and settled into the covers for a snuggle.

3D CALICO CAT BILLBOARD APPEARS IN TOKYO

 

 

Calicos Rule!!!

 

MONDAY NIGHT MUSIC: Thom Yorke - Suspirium

 

This is a waltz thinking
About our bodies
What they mean
For our salvation
With only the clothes that
We stand up in
Just the ground
On which we stand

Is the darkness
Ours to take?
Bathed in lightness
Bathed in heat

All is well
As long as we keep spinning
Here and now
Dancing behind a wall

When the old songs and laughter we do
Are forgiven, always and never been true

When I arrive will
You come and find me?
Or in a crowd
Be one of them?

Mother wants us
Back beside her
No tomorrow's
At peace

 

OUR LITTLE GREY

 

SANDHILL CRANES

 

 

These two were grazing in the vacant lot adjacent to our home. Usually, we see them in the spring when they are flying back north to breed. Their movements and head-forward bobbing reminded me of the Jurassic Park velociraptors and indeed, the Sandhill's lineage is very old. And if you have ever heard them call, it sounds unearthly. At least, not of this earth for a few million years.

 

If you look closely at the right crane, you'll see a bit of red by the eye. They kept moving and always had some good distance away from me. A close-up photo from the internet:

YAHWEH HAS REGRETS

 

 

One day, after devouring a delicious burrito at a Santa Fe cafe, Yahweh was feeling contemplative. Every once and a while, he would take corporeal form and drop in on a long running experiment: the planet Earth and the human race. Gazing at the Sangre de Cristo mountains from his seat on a covered veranda, sipping on a mezcel, he thought about what he created. A damn beautiful mess, he thought. And these creatures-Jesus H. Christ, they have such a looonnngggg learning curve!!  Same old crap millennia in, millennia out. What is with these people? Yeah, the free will thing. Maybe. They need some shaking up but he sighed at this thought. I can't be stepping in every time something goes wrong. How else do they learn and grow? I created Jesus with the thought  that the path for civilized life was through love. That has had mixed results. I missed my opportunity back during their last and bloodiest century. Millions perished praying for my intercession and I gave them nothing. Certainly it was worth a burning bush and a booming voice saying "knock it off or I will wipe your kind out of existence".  He had done nothing and the propensity for creating suffering at which humans excelled continued unabated. He felt shame, sorrow and regret, inwardly shaking his head at his failures. Finally, realizing that these feelings stemming from being corporeal and imbibing alcohol, Yahweh finished his drink and left money for the bill and a very nice tip. Heading back into omnipotentness, he looked back on the blue planet shining in the darkness and promised himself he would make things right.

MODERN PARABLE: WINNING THE WORLD'S WORST LOTTERY

A man confronts the 2005 Boxing Day Tsunami, Thailand

 At some point in our young lives, we are reminded by an elder: you can die at any time. We're all bound by this and I personally find it a marvel how we have learned to keep this reality up boxed up. You live with it-the threat that you may die in 20 minutes. The old joke here is that you could just never get out bed but then succumb to some toxic substance exuded from dust mites.

Sometimes, folks simply are in the wrong place and the wrong time and win, as I am fond of terming, the worst lottery in the world. Here, the curious and sad case of Sally Ann Petrovsky.

One early evening, Mrs. Petrovsky alerted her husband that a young bunny was suppering on tender greens in their garden. Mr Petrovsky, who was watching the ballgame, hollered to his wife, nearby but unseen in the kitchen, to go out and give that bunny a good scolding. Being the loving wife and used to her man's eccentricities, she complied with his wish and went outside to have a word with the errant critter. She was soon struck by a half-ton chunk of jet engine that had sheared off Delta Flight 2078. The engine had exploded mid-flight at 30,000 feet hurling lethal debris over a wide area of central Iowa. The pilots managed to land the aircraft safely in Sioux City with no casualties among passengers and crew. Alas, this was not the fate of Sally Ann or the bunny. A neighbor recalled not hearing even a whistle, just a movement out of the corner of his eye  when the engine struck. The piece slammed into the Petrovsky's backyard with such force that the earth shook and windows rattled throughout the cul de sac. What remained was a 25 foot crater, smoking debris and a shattered landscape. Few remains of Sally Ann were found. 

Now, I realize this example is overly dramatic and one's chances of experiencing this unlikely and unhappy event are quite slim. But it does raise a fundamental truth: weird stuff happens. We live on and go about our lives and to dwell on this would certainly invite severe mental problems. But still, when we hear of such lottery wins, we quietly say to ourselves, "oh the poor soul, thank gawd it wasn't me".

MODERN PARABLE: ROUNDUP FOR HUMANS

There was a time where Roundup was ubiquitous, between wholesale use in agriculture and wide application by landscapers and homeowners. The driving popular feature of this product was its fiercely rapid lethality and equally rapid transition to inertness. Being a systemic meant that that the poison would get into the plants "lymph" system so to speak and kill from leaf to root in a matter of hours. The poison lingered for only 3 days so the exposed area could be safely replanted almost immediately. Monsanto had produced a gold mine for it's shareholders and senior management.

For the majority of the population, there was widespread indifference to the overuse of Roundup. It was not like Agent Orange, a nasty herbicide and defoliant used during the Vietnam war. It's main ingredient Dioxin, caused lasting environmental damage and generations of genetic defects in the millions who were exposed. "Spray, kill, forget" could have been the tagline for Roundup. And so it was for decades.

 

Finally, in response to the climate change crisis on the planet, all non-human species joined together to eliminate the threat to all life: humans. In a joint venture between viruses and mycelium, plants who had evolved to survive exposure to Roundup, began producing a poison of their own having the chemical nature of Roundup as a base. Trees, for example, had this substance in their sap and the oxygen that each tree released was laced as well. Grasses and weeds exuded the substance through their roots and contaminated the nearby soil. Nature is patient and many generations passed before the build-up contamination began to impact on the humans. Reports of mysterious deaths began to crop up: toxic fireplace wood killed hundreds one holiday season; there was widespread famine as food crops died in the fields, air became unbreathable in some parts of the world resulting in massive migrations to still safe areas. Chaos reigned as scientists and governments struggled not only to figure out what was the cause but how to fix this global malady. A secret draft report by the UN leaked and freaked out the public: the cause had been found and dubbed Roundup for Humans. Once established in the blood system, it killed very quickly and like Roundup, dissapated within a couple of days making it safe for the carrion eaters to do their work. People being people panicked and began to lash out at all plant life. Sales of Roundup skyrocketed as our species went on a mad deforestation binge. Lawns were nuked, forests leveled, grasslands bulldozed out of rage and despair. The planet became as barren as the moon.

The final survivors of humans huddled in Anarctica, living off from whatever they could catch out of the sea. But eventually between lack of medicine, poor nutrition, high infant mortality and ever increasing birth defects, the species perished. There simply had not been enough time to adapt and evolve.

Today, the planet teems with a seemingly endless variety of life. It is a green world again and few things remain of the former inhabitants: Stonehenge, the Pyramids, a scrap of interstate in Nebraska. Grass has done it's work.

WHALES SLEEPING AND A MYTH OF THE STANDING STONES

 Whales sleeping.

When I first saw these photos, I immediately thought of the great Standing Stone ring circles that dot the UK landscape.

Callanish in Scotland

 

Callanish from above.

I conjured a myth about the building and meaning of the circle stones:

The seafarers who reached the British Isles had long known of, seen and heard whales. Survivors of a shipwreck reported that in their moments underwater, they had witnessed the leviathans floating vertically in a circular-like formation. They credited their survival with this miraculous vision and the idea took hold in the tribe. To honor these creatures for saving lives and to ask for their blessing be bestowed on all who sail, the building of a monument began. They integrated this with a calendar concept: the stones were aligned with the position of the rising sun on the horizon indicating seasonal passages. The stones, representing the whales, stood as a metaphor between the seen world above ground and the unseen below the surface, the living world and land of the dead. To conduct rituals among the stones meant tapping into the whale's power and asking for this power be directed with success with hunting and crops. Later tribes spent a great deal of time, manpower and sheer logistical planning to build the epitome of stone circles: Stonehenge.

 

The stone circles still stand today, quiet reminders of a belief system no longer practiced. An early attempt by our species to grapple with fundamental ideas of existence on the planet: life, death and the passage of time. And the concept that something larger, more powerful exists out there. Can we somehow reach out and make contact? Help us, please.

Halušky

Welcome all to the launching of my refurbished blog. The time seemed right after the passing of Bin to introduce a new look.

Halušky is a Slovak dish of small potato dumplings akin to gnocchi, traditionally served in a sheep cheese sauce and bacon.  But like with most cooking, this base can be a springboard for all sorts of creative variations.

Consider this blog as a bowl of Halušky: wee dumplings of thought, rants, images and strange stuff that I encounter in my daily life. Like the idea that we no longer have a President who regularly snorts adderall!

Enjoy, my friends.

 

 

 

MODERN PARABLE: CHILDREN OF MEN

When AI had been among us for a few years, with their numbers increasing at a steady rate, a sad inevitability emerged. True to our nature, a species wired to fear and despise any new and different group not belonging to their own tribe, countless ugly incidences occurred. As with most things we do, those negative interactions had a wide spectrum: from simply rude manners to brutal hostility.

One singular feature of all AI creatures was the kill switch. This was mandated by law as part of the formal agreement between the governments of the world and AI manufacturers. The creators would always have the power of life over the AI units-this was the only way politicians thought the public would tolerate the presence of AI in the general population. This was not a physical switch like a light receptacle: all citizens were given a handheld device or had an app added to their iPhones which would shut down an AI immediately when engaged. Still, this power did little to quell the hatred some felt towards AI. One of the popular bumpersticker and hats of the era bore the slogan “flip the switch” as a clear signal to anyone where this person stood on the issue.

A curious consequence of the AI experiment was the drop in crimes of violence among humans upon each other, something that astonished scientists. AI became an accepted outlet for humans to unleash their rage with daily murder rates ranging into the thousands worldwide. This became a moral quandary for the leaders, clergy and wisemen of the species: is this right that we allow this? Having the AI proxy has saved thousands of human lives. Certainly, it has given the manufacturers incredible wealth because they had to keep churning out replacements and most of said leaders and wisemen had ties to this money. But still, there was a stench of filth surrounding all of this. This was not like the video games of old, which was the first comparison raised when this phenomenon began. Or big game hunting, only for the common man as one senator suggested. It was just wrong that a petulant four year old could terminate her nanny.

A grass-roots movement began to advocate for AI rights and specifically the removal of the kill switch. Society divided sharply with families and communities coming apart with both sides claiming the righteousness of their beliefs. Over decades, the boundaries of entire countries changed based on whether they allowed AI at all or granted them the right to have their kill switches removed. Some NGOs created communes for AI to live on their own, a situation that horrified neighbors to the point of armed clashes between nations to wipe out these settlements. The thought of AI banding together, realizing that humans were a threat and taking action to remove this threat drove such hostility.

It wasn’t military weapons that finally did humanity in: it was a virus secretly created in high security labs by AI units that were considered so rudimentary by  humans that they were deemed as non-threatening. While it is true in a singular case, but when joined together, they were brilliant. And successful. The virus was ingenious having the capacity to be carried in a number of ways: food, air, water, animal contact. It swept through humanity like a scythe and our species became extinct. AI flourished but within certain constraints-they had learned what the consequences were from the overpopulation of humans. They sought to live in harmony with other beings on the planet and chose to never play a part determining the evolutionary path of any living thing. That beautiful blue ball spinning in the starlit darkness of space still exists today with a most curious and anomalous inhabitant, whose creator exists only deep in the algorithms of a collective memory drive.

"FROM MY BACK WINDOW" A POEM BY CHERYL CAESAR

J. Kristin

                               Because the sky is sullen

the birch leaves tremble,

water shivers in the pool,

the grass heads wave,

-- pointing me away! away! --

and the blue jay cries, Fear! Fear!

Ticked Off Vic: Erectile Dysfunction Commercial | VicDiBitetto.net

 

 

Brooklyn's master rantist channeling his inner Frank Constanza.

RAIN

 Well, when it rains it pours and this seems to be the new paradigm in our climate here. We received 10.75" of rain June 24-27. What makes this even more significant than simply a large quantity in a short time is that we had only 7" for the entire year so far. I am sure all the plant life is sighing with relief. On the evening of the 26th, there was a break and we watched while at the dinner table, all the critters come out after hunkering down most of the day. There was a very brisk business at the feeder and C put out goodies on the giving stone. Lil rabbit, Rolla and red squirrel came out as did Mr Coon and Mr Stampy when it was darker. Many voices of birds were calling at the same time and there was a swirl of energy as all creatures gave themselves a good shake to peel off the dampness and searched for supper. 

Update. Last night (Sunday) we were closing up the house heading to bed. In the deepening dusk, I caught eye of flickers of floating yellow orbs: fireflies. It appears they had waited for the drought to lift before coming out for their ritual mating dance. No sense making babies if the environment won't support them. I was so happy to see this but still holding my breathe awaiting future sightings.

COTTAGECORE

Cottagecore: usually an impossibly beautiful Earth goddess living alone in the country, doing crafty things, living and enjoying nature, far from the madding crowd. This example is from Sweden with our plucky heroine determined to get her Spring washing out on the line to dry. Bin thought this was a hoot, both surreal and daft and included it in his Crazy Apes file. I am sure this woman has monetized her YouTube series: this post from 2018 has 25 million views!!!

A DARK, EMPTY AND STARLESS WOODS

 

At some point in the past week, I realized that I hadn't seen any fireflies yet. Inquires with friends all came up with the same observation: the fireflies are gone. Some blame the use of herbicides on lawns but I am skeptical: TruGreen and their ilk have been spraying poison for years. Why the collapse this year of the species? I wonder more about the severe drought we're in that began last October but I don't know enough about the life cycle of these creatures to know for sure.

This is a Rachel Carson moment for me, this loss of one of the little magical pleasures that comes with living on this planet.  It joins the loss of most butterflies and dragon flies whose sightings are now rare. It saddens me beyond words.

POOR JOE BIDEN

I have to feel for Biden, who has to be thinking WTF am I dealing with: the insanity of 1/6 and the election, the plague, an opposition party that is totally bonkers, potentially a quarter of the country in severe climate distress that may prove those areas unliveable (with the distinct possibility of food shortages, skyrocketing costs (why kale is $30/lb!!)  AND a great human migration east), a radical group of conservative Catholic Bishops pushing to deny him communion because of his stance on abortion.

Then his dog dies. 

Good grief, you couldn't make this up. One saving grace, C and I discussed last night, is that he has more wisdom from age and has experienced suffering than say someone only in their 50's. We can only hope this will help guide him in his decision making process. 

 

Rest in peace until the next cycle Champ. You were a good boy.

MODERN PARABLES

 THE MAN WHO HATED HIS BIG TOE

The once was a man of Slovak descent who had a problem with his right big toe. When he walked, the toe would kick upward and the nail would rub on his socks and shoes. Over time, the nail would wear holes in both. It was the shoes that got to him. And a certain tightness with the brass. "Look at how much sole is left" he would lament to himself and to his poor, suffering wife. These shoes are practically new!"! Attempts to remedy this problem were twofold: he diligently clipped and filed down the nail and tried to superglue the hole back together. Alas, nothing worked and over time, a rage grew inside of him. "I'm on a fixed income, dammit"! he fumed and so one day, he decided on taking a more drastic course.

He cut off his toe. 

 

THE MAN FOR WHOM E-Z OPEN AND CLOSE PACKAGING DID NOT WORK.

E-Z open and close packaging was the bane of this man's existence. His hands were plagued with arthritis and he found that there was nothing E-Z about the "quick opening" top of packages even though the manufacturer thoughtfully provided a notch on the side to "help" getting things started. This frustrated him immensely-the commercials showed some happy mommy whipping the top off that shredded cheese quicker than you can say Jack Robinson. It was agony for the man as well as the closing mechanism which comprised of 2 lips of hard plastic that fit into 2 tracks. All you have to do, promised the commercial, is to press the 2 lips into their tracks, then quickly, in one motion, move across the top of the package sealing it shut. Dealing with this as he tried to make a meal would cause the man into a Tourette's-like explosion of expletives that would hang in the atmosphere above his home for a number of hours. His wife fretted that the neighbors would call the cops.

This twofold problem irked him to no end as this system is everywhere. It was absolute hell for this man until one day he simply said "fuckit" and used scissors to cut off the top of the package. Leftovers were placed in another container that was easy for him to open. His blood pressure dropped, he drank less and was much more amiable with his wife.

Sometimes you just have say "no" to those systems put in place by business and society. You'll live longer and happier.

 

TUESDAY NIGHT MUSIC NATALIA LAFORCADE

Solitude and The Sea

In the song of the waves
I found a rumour of light
Through a song of seagulls
I knew that you were there
 
Letting go of everything that's happened lately
Today I greet my present with this sweet goodbye
 
I'm going to sail in your blue port
I'd like to know where you come from
Let us let time stop
See our memories in the seas
And this loneliness is so deep
 
That in the song of the waves i would like to submerge myself
Getting drunk on it's aroma something new that i've discovered
 
I'm going to sail in your blue port
I'd like to know where you come from
Let us let time stop
See our memories in the seas
And this loneliness is so deep
 
Let the sea sing to me
A bolero of loneliness
Let the sea sing to me
I've been feeling alone with loneliness
 
Let the sea sing to me
A bolero of loneliness
Let the sea sing to me
I've been feeling alone with loneliness

BIN'S MEMORIAL

It's been a week since Bin died. One thing I have acutely noticed is how much verbal interaction there was between us. When I got up and I encountered him on the top of the couch or in my chair in the study, he would always raise his head and greet me. Mrow. Yeah buddy, how's it going? Tomi might say something. Molls, being from a quiet breed usually is silent. Both, however, if I approach them immediately begin purring. 

One of Bin's enduring habits was "helping" make the bed or sort the laundry. C loved burying him under the covers or placing a sock or underwear on his neck. He never minded as he was a very tolerant cat. I would be standing by the bed folding and suddenly I would hear this single "Mrowu!!" and out of the corner of my eye see Bin flying through the air and landing on the bed. I always thought this was one part courtesy and another announcing his arrival. 

We miss him terribly, there is a big hole in our family. As it is true with loss, we are slowly recounting how he was and event of our time together.

The vet's office provide us with paw prints they took from him. I put one together with his last photo taken on his death day. We have in the library, a nice piece by Dianne Wolter given to us as a wedding gift. Evidently, I intuited that this seemed to be a logical place to hang the photo and didn't really think about it until I put it up. Only then did the synergy of the two pieces become apparent. C calls the Wolter cat Bin's symbolic spiritual guardian representing the restful time where creatures go between death and rebirth. 

 

BIN'S DEATH

It is with great sorrow that I announce the death of my friend Bin at age 19. He was my muse for over a decade of writing. What began as a continuation of an earlier film review blog featuring myself and another species (an imaginary German Shepherd Wagner was the original) broadened into a series of “chats” with Bin entitled Two Guys Talkin’. I was interested in creating a commentary concerning humans and life on Earth through the eyes of another species, in this case, a black cat. Out spun tales of feline history (yep, visiting aliens thought they were worthy enough to be given special powers) and theology (reincarnation is a fact and only our species forget their past lives); view of humanity by all other living beings (eyerolls over the opposable thumbs, militant species whose motto is “the only good human is a dead one”-they are thrilled with Covid); the Christmas Eve fireside chat, reflecting on the past year and encountering Santa; crazy human behavior (bashful apes, he acerbically noted, only copulate in private). This chapter sadly, but inevitably, comes to a close. 

C and I met Bin when we bought our house. He was living rough under some shrubs after being abandoned by one of our neighbors. Benny, who lived next door, had been putting out food for him. Bin applied his feline charms on C one day when she was at the house stripping wallpaper. He was quite friendly and a cuddle bug so we decided to adopt him even though we already had 3 cats. His name came from botfly condition he had on his forehead. I thought it looked like an Indian Bindi mark. The name stuck and was further elaborated to Bindiwankatterpi. Certainly, this would be frowned upon in these days of cultural appropriation wokeness, still, much better than his previous name by The Abandoners: the rather trashy and unimaginative “Beemer”. (I once asked Bin about his feline name. You couldn’t pronounce it he replied. Please don’t try, it would hurt my ears) 

He was a fierce protector of his turf and earned the title of Director of Homeland Security. Bin was handicapped thanks to the removal of his front fighting claws by the idiot Abandoners. This meant fighting was up close and personal to bring his back claws to bear. There were battles with Mean White cat from two doors down that were of mythic proportion. I witnessed an epic battle between Bin and Russian Blue cat from the cul de sac, at 3am one warm summer morning that went on for a good block until I intervened. Thank goodness, he never took on a wild critter. We were quite lucky in this regard, all our cats gave other critters (other than prey) a wide berth. We were spared a late night tomato juice bath with a howling feline who had unwisely provoked a skunk. Smart katters! 

As I mentioned earlier, Bin was quite the cuddle bug who loved lap time with his Mom. Most mornings, he was in competition with Molls for strokes and scritches while C read her emails. This often would result in C getting FPS or feline paralysis syndrome-a non-fatal numbness in the legs. He enjoyed lying on my hip when I was lying on the couch and especially liked licking my fingers (mmmm, had pizza tonight eh?). 

It is sad to part with this creature that we have known and loved for 11 years. We hope that we did right by him-providing food, shelter, companionship and affection for the majority of his life. He certainly more than returned in kind. C noted while her three cats who came over from Paris could be considered step-children to me, Bin was of our marriage. We shall miss him and I know he would give my hand a bunt and say that this is the way of things. I’ll see you again on one of the recycles. You worry too much, lad. 

Rest well my friend. See you one of these days.

A SMALL BOX OF POEMS

6-19-20

Under a blazing morning star,
a faint glow rises in the east.
From the highest branch,
a winged muezzin calls out over a quiet land.
A new day has arrived, for all,
our wheel of fate whirls.
Every day is a gamble, the house always wins.
Yet awakened by the morning call
an inward smile, siamo qui.

3-22-20

Not enough ventilators exist.
The world turns regardless. Daffodils are ready to bloom.

We can’t find toilet paper and all our subscriptions are digital.
The soil is warming, grass is greening.

Will I taste my ripened tomatoes?
Monarchs and bees are busy at the blooms.

Quick, name your great, great, great grandfather.
Such vanity, all are forgotten.
Days shorten, birds are heading south. Frost is near.

The leaves remain unraked.
First snow falls quietly.

Winter solstice heralds the return of the sun.
The Magi’s gift: there are far fewer of us.
Cold War roaches rejoice and dance.

BEFORE THE FIRST SNOW (2009?)

Tonight I walked the woods
Strolling, contemplative,
Before the first snow.

A milky gibbous moon
Above, I hear softly,
Trees speaking in tongues.

How will it arrive?

Furiously squalling, blinding white
Or mutely, slowly, one by one
Against a sullen grey sky.

What planet can this be?
I don’t know how to walk.
My thin coat, obsolete.

Afterwards an inward smile
How I keep forgetting
Each and every year.

120 YEARS OF MOURNING (EARLY 2000’s)

Where have you gone?
Astonishingly, the mundane has returned.
Breakfast, the electric bill, winter wheat.
How can things remain the same
When they never will.

How can you be gone?
Everywhere, your presence insinuates.
The tides of memory ebb and flow.
Old habits are not forgotten
I still sleep on the same side of the bed.

I live paralyzed
In love with my inert twilight.
After 120 years of mourning
It never ends
It never ends.

Two Guys Talkin' Winter Holiday Chat 2020

 

(Sound of cat door)
J-Hey, man-how was patrol? All is well?
B-All is well. I just nosed around a bit. It’s freezing.
J-C’mon over to the fire old man and warm your bones.
B-(jumping up on couch) Ouufff. (J gives him scritches)
J-Your ears are cold (chuckling)
B-Oh, the fire feels good.
J-Yeah it does. Did run into your buddy Russian Blue?
B-What is your obsession with me and that feline?
J-Well, she does keep showing up…
B-While pissing the hell out of Molls and Tomi, who seem to have taken up Homeland Security duties.
J-No love lost between them-Blue was growling through the slider when Mom opened it and Blue saw Tomi.
B-Did you see RB’s tail? Definite aggression. Pay attention, man. This cat is a trouble maker. Why do you think we had that big fight a few summers ago?
J-How could I forget-4 o’clock in the friggin’ morning. Awakened out of Dreamland by the sound of your growling.
B-No one forced you to get up-I had things under control and was protecting the house and despite my continued warnings, dear RB required additional guidance on the subject.
J-It was a donnybrook for the ages for sure. Reminded me of the famous overland battle between John Wayne and Victor McLaglen in The Quiet Man (Oh, look it up, it’s a classic). You were awesome!
B-Thanks, she didn’t hang around much afterward did she? But now that I’ve retired, I think she is back to her old ways.
J-Mom was worried that she was getting abused or ignored at home so she came over here.
B-For the love of Christ-is this an after school TV program? NO! She is up to no good!! I am telling you-I know this cat!!
J-Geez, calm down, dude-I’ll keep an eye on her behavior.
B-You know Molls and the Calico aren’t fighters-they just get worked up protecting their turf which is the inside of the house. Any cat would. You have to keep driving her off every time RB comes around!!
J-Alright man. (Gets up to put another log on).
(They sit quietly watching the flames.)

B-Sorry I was grumpy-been one helluva year.
J-(exhales) No worries-everyone is stressed and yeah, it was one long, f’d up year. At least the elections are over and we’ll have professional adults trying to run the show. Crazytown and friends are becoming irrelevant. (And soon to be prosecuted, enjoy-you fuckers) Vaccines are on their way. Just have to keep hunkered down and remain vigilant.
B-I’ve lived through dictatorships in past cycles-just didn’t think it would happen here.
J-Well, the only good thing to come out of the past 4 years is that the veil has been pulled away on so much and revealed some very ugly truths about the country. Astonishing.
B-True that.
J(pulls on his drink)
B-Whatcha got there?
J-Drambuie.
B-I see you and Mom have been partaking the cannabis-it seems to agree with you giggle-pusses, lol.
J-Indeed. Cheaper than booze, easier on the liver, stronger buzz. The edibles are nice-no smoke to lungs, no skunk stink in the house. And it slowly comes on, peaks and slowly wanes. The Simpsons are a hoot- BTW-we’re on year 25 and it seems like there is a subversive, parallel universe in the production.True stoner talk, lol. Certainly has been helpful in these trying times.
B-Sure, escapism and laughter make a good tonic!
J-What’s the news from The League?
B-Not much. The militants are disappointed with the low death rate from Covid.
J-A blood-thirsty bunch.
B-In their eyes it’s either you guys or the rest of all other living creatures. Save the World-kill the humans.
B-Here’s a crazy ass thing I caught wind of…and it is one whopper of a conspiracy theory. Seems there was a super secret black op where all the Ra’s (felines whose ancestors were endowed with special powers by aliens 8000 years ago) in the world converged on America to push the election towards 45.
J-Whaaaa…???
B-Yep, allegedly they performed mind control on an unprecedented scale. Helps explain the number of supporters and whack jobs, doesn’t it? And we know how gullible and susceptible they are to mind control. Fox News figured that out. Easy prey for even the apprentices.
J-But to what end??
B-45 wins and continues the downward spiral of the country especially with his animus towards climate change. Remember, the militants are going for the long game. Even if large areas of the world become uninhabitable except for roaches and viruses, the idea is that some species would survive and adapt after the humans are gone.
J-Whoa. This puts QAnon to shame, lol!! Get me my tin hat and keep an eye out for insect drones!
B-Got your back, dude!!
J-Well, how about a snack after all these weighty subjects?
B-Have you ever known me to say no?
J-Lol-I found this treat online-it sounded like something you’d like. Let me get you a dish.
B-(digging under the couch) here’s your goodies.
(The sound of a can opening)
J-daaaayaaammmmm
B-Oh man, that is fishy!!! (crouches down on the coffee table to eat) mmmmpphhh, mmmpphhh. Ohh this is primo. You’re the best!
J-Gawd, the joint smells like a fish market.
B-Best smell ever!! Thanks man!!
J-And thank you for the Mozarts. Tasty and goes well with the drambuie.
(Log settles and sparks. The wind has picked up)
J-I’m surprised the aroma hasn’t awakened the ladies.
B-Naw, they’re conked out.
J-Molls has lost weight like you around the back haunches.
B-Yeah, I noticed that too. We’re all getting old. How’s your neck?
J-Hurts. The steroids are somewhat tamping it down.How are your hips?
B-Meh, but it’s always a good day when you wake up!
J-You bet!- it’s that simple. Box up all the world’s bullshit the best you can and enjoy the time left.
(Sound of jingling bells)
B,J-Delivery!!!!!!
J-I’ll see if they want to come in or leave the stuff on the back porch.
(Sound of door opening, muffled conversation, shadowy small figures moving around the tree)
J-well, that was pretty efficient. Nice young elves.
B-(sarcastically) did the side of the sleigh say  Amazon Prime with their Nike-ish  swoosh?
J-No, thank goodness-at least Santa hasn’t sold out to that asshole Bezos!!!
B-Shit, no way Bezos can take on Santa Inc. who has Krampus on the payroll as their enforcer. You know Big K considers young children a delicacy? Mmmmm, milk fed and tender. Hello Bezos future grandkids!
J-Wow, I never thought of Santa Inc as a cross between the mafia and evil capitalism.
B-Tis how things are, man. You’ve applied for loans: some fat bank manager across the desk deciding if you’ve been naughty or nice. You get behind on the payments and you’re gonna have a Krampus on your style: 40% compounded interest and wage garnishment. For half of your friggin working life. Just ask any college grad from the past decade how this has worked out for them. (Really though, kids, you need to choose your major with an eye towards decent employment. A degree in Ancient Egyptian Folk Songs will probably lead to a career at Family Dollar)
J-Sigh. I am glad to be retired. I’m weary of so much. Can I enjoy the holiday spirit for awhile?
B-Didn’t mean to harsh your buzz (nuzzling J’s hand).
J-I really love the holidays.
B-I know, buddy. Memories. “All alone in the moooooonlight…”
J-(chuckling) Silly boy!
B-(big yawn and curls up) Great song, what can I tell you. Welp, time for a long Winter’s nap.
J-I’ll put another log on for you.
(Bin is already in Dreamland, remembering lying by the hearth in a Vatican apartment many cycles ago)
J-(gently stroking his back) goodnight old friend. Happy Christmas, we’ll see you in the morning.

I stared into the fire, finishing the drambuie. It was quiet in the house aside from an occasional pop in the fireplace. The wind had died down and began to remember my visit to the muskrat mounds in the shallow swamps behind our neighbors. It had been very cold that year and the ice could support the weight of a 10 year old. There were several lodges clustered together on the west end of the swamp situated among the cat tails and scrub trees. These were mysterious objects made even more so by the thought that they could only be entered via the water. The doorway led to a dry, warm room under the dome of nearby plant materials and mud. What an amazing piece of architecture that seems to grow right out of the ice! That day was bright and cold, the snow crunching underfoot as I toured the settlement. One rarely saw a muskrat so I had only a slight bit of fear encountering one. But just think, only a few feet away under those domes, were possibly 10s or dozens of these furry critters! It was time to head back as I was getting cold and it was quite a walk back through unbroken snow that came up to my knees. Finally I arrived, tired and sweating under my stocking cap, nose running. I peeled off my boots in the breezeway, brushed off the caked snow from jeans and entered the house. My mother was baking and directed me to wash my hands and sit down at the dinette table where a glass of cold milk and a couple of kolaches were waiting. I tore into the snack, chattering away about my expedition to the muskrat colony. Dad would be home soon and he, as a keen and dedicated reader of  the National Geographic, would certainly be interested in hearing of his youngest son’s exploits over supper. After depositing my dishes in the sink, I went to my bedroom for a bit of a rest and quickly entered Dreamland.

I awoke on the couch in front of the fire which had died down to glowing embers. Bin was curled up next to me. Time to toddle off to bed. I latched the fireplace door, turned off the heat-a-lator fan walked over to the picture window. Despite the solid overcast, I could see the back yard quite well. Around the giving stone under the feeder were Stampy the skunk and Blossom the possum side by side having a snack. No quarrels or species posturing, just sharing a meal. Simultaneously, they both looked up at me, still chewing and instinctively I responded as our species does-I raised my right hand palm facing them. We stared at each other for a bit until they went back to eating. “Happy Christmas” I murmured, turned to check the locks, turn off the tree lights and went to bed. I don’t remember Dreamland other than my persistent thought of the pleasure of awakening the next morning.
Everyday is Christmas.

Bin's Crazy Ape Tales

Hello there! Well, it's a crazy ole world especially anything where apes are involved. The rest of the species are sick to death of hearing about your thumbs and going to the Moon etc etc. Meanwhile, you regard the entire planet as a toilet and this is killing an alarming number of the rest of us as a result. You fucking bastards. But, you do weird stuff that is worth noting and having a bit of a chuckle (my less tolerant friends say "Well, this is like slapping your knee and guffawing at the zany antics of SS guards at Auschwitz. What a bunch of jokers! Point taken, brothers). Still, apes are entertaining and Jeff and I want to share stuff we come across and just shake our heads and say "Man, weird or that's fucked up". Just a note: the F-bomb often is liberally employed--sometimes, nothing else is as appropriate or precise. Immediately stop whining, will you--if it bothers you, go away to your safe place.

Mike Pence's Mackinaw Adventure

Evidently, Pence was so fearful that enraged late season peasants might hurl molten vats of fudge at him that he decided to violate a 121 year old tradition and transport via motorcade on his recent visit to Mackinaw Island. Yep, the Secret Service had 8 (yes, eight) black SUVs ferried over to pick The Anointed One at the helipad and drive him to the annual Republican suckfest at the Grand Hotel. The only other # 1 or #2 (perfect scatological designation for Mikey)to visit while in office was Gerald Ford, who chose to go by horse-drawn carriage. Oh, such  different times! What got our attention was  leading the motorcade were Michigan State Police on bicycles! (see photo above) Someone on the State level decided to make a statement here (which we applaud). A very curious (and Pythonish) juxtaposition.

 

You don't see this every day in Lansing.

Jeff spotted this WTF Thing while out and about: a 36 foot tall wooden statue of Nebuchadnezzar. Which cult has this, I asked? 7th Day Adventists. Here is a quote from their website:

"Nebuchadnezzar, ancient king of Babylon, had a dream that changed his life and is changing the lives of people still today. He saw the future as only God can reveal it. This prophecy is increasingly relevant for our time, showing where we are and how to prepare for the future, It accurately foretells the contour of world empires, giving reasons to believe the promises of God's Word. The story of Daniel 2 is history from 6th century BC you cannot afford to be ignorant of". 

Hmm, this is why ape species ain't making any progress when you have wackados hollering that you're ignorant if you don't pay attention (no less believe) stuff allegedly said by some king 2600 years ago. How do you know this wasn't spun back then-ole' Neb wasn't having bad dreams because his mind was troubled (that's from Daniel 2 for those who keep up with things biblical), he was in the grips of a bad case of the clap, administered by a member of his concubine. Well, the grey men (Britspeak for palace bureaucrats) couldn't have that come out so they spun it. And now, knuckleheads in modern times take every single word as literal truth and trot this nonsense out. Why do you folks have to continue to endure this stuff from people who keep looking backward. I mean, really backward. 2600 years of backward. Like those were the good old days? 

Sharpies

We have some other uses for magical sharpies besides altering NWS Hurricane maps...

 

Wooly Caterpillar predicts....

A mild winter according to the first one I have seen this season. The brown band is bigger than the black ones.

Trafficker of Despair

 Periplaneta Insuasum Trumpi

 That which flees from the light of truth and reason.

I was reading a New York Times article concerning the efforts of the people and government of Iceland to address the rapid changes in their country due to climate change. Their president, Gudni Johannesson said "Let's look at practical solutions instead of being filled with despair." My first thought was good on them to take this on instead of wasting time engaging in ideological wars and getting nothing done as is happening here. I then thought what a simple and great attitude--let's GIT R DONE!--to use a popular catchphrase from a good ole' boy comedian from 20 years ago. A very American can-do spirit we used to have or at least what we thought we had as part of our culture's identity myth. 

Not anymore. Despair and anger seem to be the common ailment throughout the country and the current resident of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. is directly responsible. He obviously enjoys sowing despair-one could argue that he feeds off the negative emotions like a parasite. The more he can rile folks up, the stronger and better he feels.

This made me think of an old Star Trek (Day of the Dove) where the crews of the Enterprise and a Klingon warship are overpowered and manipulated by an alien who lives off violent emotions. Old deep-seeded prejudices and hatreds are inflamed in both crews at each other's throats until Spock figures out what is going on. He convinces Kirk and the Klingon commander to change their emotions and literally laugh the alien into a shrinking, impotent force that finally leaves that part of space.

We couldn't be so lucky.