The Message Column

chores

I went to San Francisco some years back so that years later (right now) I'd be able to have some intersting stories about me waasting my dimes on the silly street where it's not really easy to juset meet and greet without some expectation of some other view of hte world. the angry tourist. Whatever. It can be a mean place if you meet up wtih mean people. But often they are just so darn nice. Like it was long before the current festival of long time past, the new-est-tocracy arrived and then the streets (those streets of San Franny) started seeming a little bit . . . meaner. Before that the annonymity of being in a big city absorbed me and I wondered around there blissfully unaware of the hard class distinctions of money and power. Sure I knew where 'nob hill' was, because I'd read about it. And I heard references to it. And I knew that San Franny was all about money, because that was the purpose of it. It was the glorious 'Golden Gate', not called that because of a bridge. The gate was the entrance to the great big Bay. Hence the title 'city by the bay'. In any case it was a Sunday and I was trying to make the best of being in teh big city and trying to make my way to places where I could freely wonder and collect images, which was my main obcession at the time. And so a nice San Franny person was there and I was like, cool, someone to talk to and they explained to me about a certain house and how a certain very famous person (who wrote a book about the tradgedy of loosing her dear son to addiction and mental illness), lived in that house but that the . . . .dunt dun dawn. . . lady who lived there before the famous novelist lived there was a woman who lived to an extreame age (I think he said 103, but maybe it was 109) and oh, how happy it was that rich and famous novelist (with a tradgic public story about her family) lives there now because the old woman from before never did anything at all to fix the giant mansion up, or to renovate it or anything.

My take on it was that, well, if you don't live in a constant state of dusted renovation, then maybe you give your lungs a break. You aren't getting fumes from toxins of dies and clothes and outgassing varnishes that never seem to loose 'that smell' or you paint a room and you still smell it two years later. Old paint. Out gassing. Maybe the old woman was right and that her life style of 'let it rot' was actually the correct one. So now famous novelist lives in here beautiful home (and it is a beautiful home) and she keeps the place nice.

In any case: my point? That it is Springtime and time for cleaning and donating. It's time to get rid of the stuff that you 'might' use, but it's not really that good to look at, it will still work but the aesthetics of it are off. Ten years outside in the rain and ice and those old plastic pots are just about ready to be melted down and reused. I like to preserve the plants that are growing in the pot, so I useusally try to get the soil out in one big lump and position it to fall so that the new growth will keep growing. But you can't save every little clover seedling. And though most of them won't survive the few that do will give a nice show of shamrock flower. It's beutiful in the Spring even when there isn't that much rain.

In years past I've boughten seed and not planted it. This year I'm planting old seed and 'seeing if it will grow'. Most of it does as long as it was kept dry. So I've got marigolds, zinnia, bacholer's buttons, nosturtiums, and peas already fairly well along. I planed peas by the chain link fence hopiing that, maybe, it'll get covered over with blossoms sometime mid July. Let's just see. Then maybe I can be having some fresh peas. If the rabbits don't get them.

Two days ago a giant racoon trotted through my back yard in the middle of the afternoon. It headed towards my neighbors shed, which, perhaps, it may, beneath the shed, live. I'll keep my eyes and ears open.

And rabbits look at all the new planting as a feast. A rabbit will eat a flower gleefully and it's just tough that you spent five dollars for it. Cute, yes. But not really good for a flower garden. But, you know, the world is for them, anyway. So if they eat my flowers, Oh well. And if they eat the peas that might grow? How rediculous of me to worry about the peas that might grow and what might eat them other than myself.

Ya, yard work. It's something to do. And it's really something that you give yourself as a task. And so, as I've said previously, it's best not to make too much of it. Because you can plant ten thousand seeds. transplanting ten thousand seeds? Not so easy. Irrigating all of that? Fighting off squirills, badgers, varmits, and curious wonderers? Well, no fighting. Not here anyway. So, it's something to do. And I like taking pictures of it all. But I don't want to give myself too many chores because I know that there are only so many that I'll actually accomplish, with that and this website, and everything else.

          






way up high
 in those tall branches
  those crows
   make a nest
    next to the sky
    where you don't wanna phuke with them
  their domain
way up high
   in that timber
       those jays
         make nests
          squack all day
           fuss
           for the fight
            mimicing crows
way up high
     on that moutainside
      a solatary
       hermit thursh
        might make it's home
         and you might go there
          and maybe hear him
           crying sadly,
            all alone
like the wonderer
 way up high
  alone
   on the mountainside
    where just forelorn birds
     would make a home
way up high
 where the ravens fly
  those crows
  that make their home
   they'd be flying higher
    and diving lower
     really scary
      
way up high
 where eagles fly
  they'll write a song
   and play it long.
    who will sing it strong?
 
 Some times a poem
  is not so pretty
   even though the words
    seem to be
     seemingly singing gleefully
      way up high
       on a steeple side
        steeple glow
         in the evening snow
          way up high
           on a mountainside.


PTL
 
 

When he was worked up
he worried how she would respond
the truth is something that they use like coins
they only show it when they are paying for something
and they never actually give it over
it's all a cuff,
duff diff, loose liff,
laugh
gaff.
 
 
Buddy doesn't care if his songs mean anything
he kindda thinks that they probably do.
If you have to play something, play something beautiful.
That's what he's decided to do.

 
 

hover above images for a modification effect.

editing takes time.

🌃🌍🌑 🌃🌍🌒 🌃🌍🌓 🌃🌍🌔 🌃🌍🌕 🌃🌍🌖 🌃🌍🌗 🌃🌍🌘 🌃🌍🌙 🌃🌍🌚 🌃🌎🌑 🌃🌎🌒 🌃🌎🌓 🌃🌎🌔 🌃🌎🌕 🌃🌎🌖 🌃🌎🌗 🌃🌎🌘 🌃🌎🌙 🌃🌎🌚 🌃🌏🌑 🌃🌏🌒 🌃🌏🌓 🌃🌏🌔 🌃🌏🌕 🌃🌏🌖 🌃🌏🌗 🌃🌏🌘 🌃🌏🌙 🌃🌏🌚 🌄🌍🌑 🌄🌍🌒 🌄🌍🌓 🌄🌍🌔 🌄🌍🌕 🌄🌍🌖 🌄🌍🌗 🌄🌍🌘 🌄🌍🌙 🌄🌍🌚 🌄🌎🌑 🌄🌎🌒 🌄🌎🌓 🌄🌎🌔 🌄🌎🌕 🌄🌎🌖 🌄🌎🌗 🌄🌎🌘 🌄🌎🌙 🌄🌎🌚 🌄🌏🌑 🌄🌏🌒 🌄🌏🌓 🌄🌏🌔 🌄🌏🌕 🌄🌏🌖 🌄🌏🌗 🌄🌏🌘 🌄🌏🌙 🌄🌏🌚 🌅🌍🌑 🌅🌍🌒 🌅🌍🌓 🌅🌍🌔 🌅🌍🌕 🌅🌍🌖 🌅🌍🌗 🌅🌍🌘 🌅🌍🌙 🌅🌍🌚 🌅🌎🌑 🌅🌎🌒 🌅🌎🌓 🌅🌎🌔 🌅🌎🌕 🌅🌎🌖 🌅🌎🌗 🌅🌎🌘 🌅🌎🌙 🌅🌎🌚 🌅🌏🌑 🌅🌏🌒 🌅🌏🌓 🌅🌏🌔 🌅🌏🌕 🌅🌏🌖 🌅🌏🌗 🌅🌏🌘 🌅🌏🌙 🌅🌏

🖐♥♥Love♥♥🖑
♥♥🖑Cops🖐♥♥


      🖐♥♥Jesus♥♥🖑
     🖐♥♥ is the♥♥🖑
🖐♥♥ life and the ♥♥🖑
♥♥🖑🖐Resurrection!♥♥🖑🖐

hover modifies the back ground for the page.

this image selector div is for the page body background

hover modifies the back ground for the column.

this image selector div is for the column background

     oh those
     
     
spin me a yarn neon
spin me a yarn neon

   write the letters all in different colors
   
 Done That!
 
 Alright, today we have some Shakespeare!
 
 

way up high
 in those tall branches
  those crows
   make a nest
    next to the sky
    where you don't wanna phuke with them
  their domain
way up high
   in that timber
       those jays
         make nests
          squack all day
           fuss
           for the fight
            mimicing crows
way up high
     on that moutainside
      a solatary
       hermit thursh
        might make it's home
         and you might go there
          and maybe hear him
           crying sadly,
            all alone
like the wonderer
 way up high
  alone
   on the mountainside
    where just forelorn birds
     would make a home
way up high
 where the ravens fly
  those crows
  that make their home
   they'd be flying higher
    and diving lower
     really scary
      
way up high
 where eagles fly
  they'll write a song
   and play it long.
    who will sing it strong?
 
 Some times a poem
  is not so pretty
   even though the words
    seem to be
     seemingly singing gleefully
      way up high
       on a steeple side
        steeple glow
         in the evening snow
          way up high
           on a mountainside.


PTL
 
 

 
 
 And they spin as well, spin me a yarn!
 
 

Bindy buttons
 found them in a dig
  hung them in a mueseum
   that costs a lot to heat
    and to cool
     it's just too cool
      they hang there for a while
      as if meaning is important
       and no dust dare to get inside that box that they made
        and make us look at inside,
         pretty buttons
          bindy little braclet case but repurposed for buttons
           hanging
            on the wall
             of a mueseum
              like dead butterflies
               if the girl
                who used to sew buttons
                 sowing buttons
                  was thinking of butterflies
                   of back in Germany where they made
                    these buttons,
                     or of torquoise
                      down in the Navaho Highlands
                       she might have gotten herbs from which to make a dye
                        you'd
 take a little bit of white mud, paste, color, color of turd
  color of precious herb
   mud
    and rain
     building a building only when it rains because your world is made of mud
       mud in your heart
        mud
         in your rain drain
          estuary of unkindness
           straight into the mind
            of the deep river forest
             spirit of the night
              forgetfulness of
               rabbits
                and
                 sound of the thunder
                  everyone is always
                   run away run away home I'm
                    collecting souls and
                     I don't want you.
                      run away run away home I'm
                       lost in lonely tidelands
                        filled in and made appartments
                         for people who don't know that they
                          are living in a filled in swampland,
                           estuary,
                           secondary
                           secondary
                           dream.
                           
  If you see that many colored skyline
   like a drapery that someone finely embroidered
    and it's ineveitible
     she's their lady
      the maddamme
       dame of the dame of hte dame of the doyeen dame of the doyeene head
        dame of the dameiest dames
         but only in a dream
          doyeene.
          Only in a dream
           doyeene
         only in a dream
          doyeene.
          
          

In Wicked Need of an Edit

🚛 🎓 🎔 🌀

Political and Media Inanity

Truck-u-later

"You'll have your war and eat it too." it seems she says.

I wrote some stuff but thought better of it. It needs to be edited and the weather is too nice to sit here and do it properly. So . . .

OK, enough of this.

May 19, 2015

We sure do need a billion dollar idea.

. . . well . . . 
     Truck-you-later!


Praise the Lord for his unfailing love!

  Praise
   the
   Lord
  for his
 unfailing
   love!

  Praise
   the
   Lord
  for his
 unfailing
   love!

  Praise
   the
   Lord
  for his
 unfailing
   love!

  Praise
   the
   Lord
  for his
 unfailing
   love!

  well, nothing more here today.