we wonder why the universe exists at all. i think that's what started this poem that just popped out yesterday while i was baking in the sun at venice beach. first day back on the boardwalk was otherwise uneventfull. no wait… my friend came by and took me out to dinner at our old favorite, "mao's" restaurant. we had a fine meal. i met his friend from turkey, belgin, i think was her name. it's an amazing thing to me that someone who has only been here for about …
these we said on a dark day in my black car staring at
reflexions of neon in windblown puddles
a jumble of inappropriatenesses
and no apologies for the darkness
mousey girl so shy
cacophonic walking by
doesn't know catwalking
in quiet shoes
in the garish streets of night
corners turned in helpless fright
sneakered predators drool
on mouseys scent of hoyden cruel
two pairs of rapt raptors
engines of disastrous danger have
disgorged their hate and anger
and not a solitary soul
is witness to her role
as victim ten lies crying
her gentle soul now dying
and all because of loud shoes
sorry no picture. got one in my head but haven't done this painting yet. …
this fullfills my obligation to accept the tag.
the exerpt from page 123 is scanned. if i were going to type that much, i'd rather type my own writing.
from the book
independent people by halldor laxness
life under primitive conditions in iceland
i can only tag one person moontan.
http://my.opera.com/Moontan01/info/ i hope i don't forget to tell him. …
just a week after my plea for help from the world in the form of the 'artist's relief fund' paypal button somebody sent me a cashiers check for $1,000. i was so happy. i was giddy with relief. it turned out to be a forgery the bank said and it bounced. it came with no note about what it was for. i'm so glad i didn't draw on it or i'd be in big trouble now.
i am dying to get back to painting again really.
back to the drawing board
going back to the boardwalk
to see if i can find any nuggets of gold
or nougats of art which bump up
against the bow of my ghost ship
it's a lonely cold world of greasy meanies
and madmen and no less mad women
in the drift of a strong current …