The sky is full
Of gray matter.
Big thoughts
Rain down.
Drop
By drop.
The earth licks
Them up.
Swallows
Every word.
Baby flowers
Hang their heads.
Wet and yellow
In the wind.
Over there.
Between
The
Chiseled
Stones.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
The Morning Like All Mornings
There is this sound
Of grandmother's chair
Back and forth
On tired boards.
She holds her coffee
To her mouth
With shaky hands
And slurps.
I sop
A piece of bread
In a sloppy plate
Of syrup
On the floor.
I watch her
Scratch
One wrinkled foot
With the other.
This morning
Looks
Like a rainy day.
The sky
Is tangled
And the moon
Is long gone.
The sun and clouds
Will have their way
With me again.
The old woman shrugs,
"We're gonna have
Some weather."
Was all she said.
She runs her fingers
Through my hair,
And wipes my mouth.
We laugh
As the rooster
Starts crowing.
The swing sways
Lonesome
In the wind.
It wants me to play
With it again.
The wet grass
Is squishy
Between my toes.
Of grandmother's chair
Back and forth
On tired boards.
She holds her coffee
To her mouth
With shaky hands
And slurps.
I sop
A piece of bread
In a sloppy plate
Of syrup
On the floor.
I watch her
Scratch
One wrinkled foot
With the other.
This morning
Looks
Like a rainy day.
The sky
Is tangled
And the moon
Is long gone.
The sun and clouds
Will have their way
With me again.
The old woman shrugs,
"We're gonna have
Some weather."
Was all she said.
She runs her fingers
Through my hair,
And wipes my mouth.
We laugh
As the rooster
Starts crowing.
The swing sways
Lonesome
In the wind.
It wants me to play
With it again.
The wet grass
Is squishy
Between my toes.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Big
I was bouncing up and down
In my VW bus.
Richie Havens was on the radio.
"Here comes the sun".
I was so happy.
Dancing in my seat.
Some girl passed me.
She slowed down
Beside me.
She looked my way,
And shot me the peace sign.
She was bouncing up and down too,
And nodding her head.
I had no idea who she was,
Nor did I know who I was.
But then I had this other feeling
We were both in the middle
Of something big.
In my VW bus.
Richie Havens was on the radio.
"Here comes the sun".
I was so happy.
Dancing in my seat.
Some girl passed me.
She slowed down
Beside me.
She looked my way,
And shot me the peace sign.
She was bouncing up and down too,
And nodding her head.
I had no idea who she was,
Nor did I know who I was.
But then I had this other feeling
We were both in the middle
Of something big.
Black Holes
There is a black hole in the land
And another in my door.
There's a black hole in the window,
And a black hole in the floor.
They look like missing people -
The one's who went away.
They are ghosts, I guess.
And I confess
I see them every day.
And another in my door.
There's a black hole in the window,
And a black hole in the floor.
They look like missing people -
The one's who went away.
They are ghosts, I guess.
And I confess
I see them every day.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Way Things Ache, Sometimes.
The way a body
Is lowered into a hole.
Yet, you are but a child.
But, you know something
Has changed,
But don't know what it is.
And, even though
It seems forever,
You don't know
What that means.
You are still innocent.
There was a 21 gun salute
And planes in the sky
Dipped their wings.
And your own father is crying,
As you sit on his lap.
I've lost more than one love.
And wondered why
I'm living.
People get hurt
By all kinds of things,
I guess.
Some get over it,
Some go under.
Right now, I am floating,
but, watching the clock.
It is ticking out....
What's left of me,
Years later.
Is lowered into a hole.
Yet, you are but a child.
But, you know something
Has changed,
But don't know what it is.
And, even though
It seems forever,
You don't know
What that means.
You are still innocent.
There was a 21 gun salute
And planes in the sky
Dipped their wings.
And your own father is crying,
As you sit on his lap.
I've lost more than one love.
And wondered why
I'm living.
People get hurt
By all kinds of things,
I guess.
Some get over it,
Some go under.
Right now, I am floating,
but, watching the clock.
It is ticking out....
What's left of me,
Years later.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Ripple (...on still water...)
Well, good blog-friend Owen (Magic Lantern Show) just posted a video of Jerry Garcia, so I thought I would show some dead-head solidarity and post this one too. Counter-culture solidarity was what the Grateful Dead invoked in their audiences. This tune, called 'Ripple' is one of my favorites. It was written by Robert Hunter, and Garcia put it to music. It first aired as the flip-side to a Grateful Dead anthem, 'Truckin'. If you listen to this a couple of times, you will wind up humming it all day long. That's a good thing. Thanks for the reminder, Owen.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Some Notes On What It Is
It is the time the sun shines
On your mouth.
That period of sunrise and sunset
In the slow blink of your eye.
The time it takes
The earth to revolve once
On its axis.
Midnight to midnight
On a hotel bed.
The naked lunch
Of noon to noon
On some celestial body.
Something other
than heaven or hell.
It is that active principle
Of burning.
That brilliant display
Of heat
And the light of combustion.
It is torture,
trail, and tribulation -
A feverish condition
No colorless
Transparent liquid
Falling from the clouds
Can cool.
It is the transparency,
It is the luster
Of such.
It is all the people here.
It is the ground.
The land.
The country.
It is the soft,
Granular,
Crumbly substance
Of the human body.
The human concerns.
The worldly matters.
The hole
Of a burrowing animal.
The opportunity.
The era.
The life.
The time.
The turning on an axis
Without thought
Or provision
For the future.
On your mouth.
That period of sunrise and sunset
In the slow blink of your eye.
The time it takes
The earth to revolve once
On its axis.
Midnight to midnight
On a hotel bed.
The naked lunch
Of noon to noon
On some celestial body.
Something other
than heaven or hell.
It is that active principle
Of burning.
That brilliant display
Of heat
And the light of combustion.
It is torture,
trail, and tribulation -
A feverish condition
No colorless
Transparent liquid
Falling from the clouds
Can cool.
It is the transparency,
It is the luster
Of such.
It is all the people here.
It is the ground.
The land.
The country.
It is the soft,
Granular,
Crumbly substance
Of the human body.
The human concerns.
The worldly matters.
The hole
Of a burrowing animal.
The opportunity.
The era.
The life.
The time.
The turning on an axis
Without thought
Or provision
For the future.
Monday, February 21, 2011
The Trade Off
For me, having grown up in major urban centers such as New York City and Chicago to live now in rural southern nowhere has involved numerous trade-offs. I do live mostly free from the incessant roar of airplanes overhead, the sounds of thick traffic, commuter trains, police sirens and screaming ambulances. There's not much hustle and bustle out here. There are sounds of animals in the distance, chirping birds. cows mooing, horses snorting and whinnying, chickens crowing. Nights of cicada and frog symphonies, the occasional owl.
But now and then I do feel an ache about the urban life. The museums of every kind, the architecture of the city, its sounds and smells. The diversity of people and talents. My childhood days of field trips to the art museum, the museums of natural history, or of science and industry, notable concert performances, and film. As a kid it was easy to adventure all about a big city. My parents had no idea. I could trade empty pop bottles for dimes and nickels and be downtown in a flash, hopping buses and trains.
I even got kidnapped once by a stranger in New York City. Luckily for me, he freaked out when I started talking about who my grandfather was. A New York City Union Boss. So, he turned the car around and dropped me back in my mid-town neighborhood. My grandfather did, in fact, cruise the neighborhood for several days on the look-out for a late-model green four-door sedan. Between him, and my uncles, there is no telling what might have happened to that guy, had they found him.
Just the other day, I was reminded of the trade off when I learned via on-line snooping, that my son (currently out on an international tour) had just seen Christian Marclay's U.S. premiere of his film, The Clock, at the Paula Cooper Gallery in New York City!
OW!! I would have loved to see that. It's a thing I will miss, or only know in vicarious ways now. One of the trade offs. At least, I do have the internet to try to keep up, but it's not the same as being there.
Today, on Mything Links, I feature some information and video clips of the very interesting multi-media work of Christian Marclay. You might find it interesting. And, if you are living in a large urban center, perhaps you will have an opportunity to see some of his work first-hand.
On Christian Marclay, 'The Clock', and 'Guitar Drag'.
....................................................................................................
But now and then I do feel an ache about the urban life. The museums of every kind, the architecture of the city, its sounds and smells. The diversity of people and talents. My childhood days of field trips to the art museum, the museums of natural history, or of science and industry, notable concert performances, and film. As a kid it was easy to adventure all about a big city. My parents had no idea. I could trade empty pop bottles for dimes and nickels and be downtown in a flash, hopping buses and trains.
I even got kidnapped once by a stranger in New York City. Luckily for me, he freaked out when I started talking about who my grandfather was. A New York City Union Boss. So, he turned the car around and dropped me back in my mid-town neighborhood. My grandfather did, in fact, cruise the neighborhood for several days on the look-out for a late-model green four-door sedan. Between him, and my uncles, there is no telling what might have happened to that guy, had they found him.
Just the other day, I was reminded of the trade off when I learned via on-line snooping, that my son (currently out on an international tour) had just seen Christian Marclay's U.S. premiere of his film, The Clock, at the Paula Cooper Gallery in New York City!
OW!! I would have loved to see that. It's a thing I will miss, or only know in vicarious ways now. One of the trade offs. At least, I do have the internet to try to keep up, but it's not the same as being there.
Today, on Mything Links, I feature some information and video clips of the very interesting multi-media work of Christian Marclay. You might find it interesting. And, if you are living in a large urban center, perhaps you will have an opportunity to see some of his work first-hand.
On Christian Marclay, 'The Clock', and 'Guitar Drag'.
....................................................................................................
Sunday, February 20, 2011
The Beginning of the End
Today, I have posted photos from the Linton Casket Company's last show. I hope you will pause to view these, as the story of a five year project begins to wind down...or perhaps, unravel is a better word. The Beginning of the End.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
On the Origin of Verticalism
What's with the ladders
in the back yard?
Are you keeping something
from me?
You're not supposed
to go up.
You are supposed to go forward.
Wait a minute.
At least let me hold the ladder.
Did I ever tell you
you have really nice legs?
Why are we up in this tree?
with all the leaves
and everything?
And the creepy snake.
And what's with this fruit?
It doesn't taste bad,
actually.
Oh, wow!
E=MC squared!
Let's make babies!
I love this garden,
but, the drapes
have got to go.
in the back yard?
Are you keeping something
from me?
You're not supposed
to go up.
You are supposed to go forward.
Wait a minute.
At least let me hold the ladder.
Did I ever tell you
you have really nice legs?
Why are we up in this tree?
with all the leaves
and everything?
And the creepy snake.
And what's with this fruit?
It doesn't taste bad,
actually.
Oh, wow!
E=MC squared!
Let's make babies!
I love this garden,
but, the drapes
have got to go.
Friday, February 18, 2011
One Desert Night
It was a place.
It was a blossom.
It was the flat belly
of an Indian woman,
delivering her skin
of garnet tattoos
south,
gullied brown.
I want the universe
to hold my pants up.
I want a buckle
of inlaid coral.
Snakes striking
from beneath
a galactic rock,
shooting spikes
of blue stone
night
into my gut.
Her cupped hands
of silver fingers
fed me.
Oh God,
I ascended your neck
and stood,
looking up.
From here on out
it's impossible.
I tore my sandal
descending,
I buried them both
in the sand.
I rode a dark pearl
down a long chain
into town.
It was a blossom.
It was the flat belly
of an Indian woman,
delivering her skin
of garnet tattoos
south,
gullied brown.
I want the universe
to hold my pants up.
I want a buckle
of inlaid coral.
Snakes striking
from beneath
a galactic rock,
shooting spikes
of blue stone
night
into my gut.
Her cupped hands
of silver fingers
fed me.
Oh God,
I ascended your neck
and stood,
looking up.
From here on out
it's impossible.
I tore my sandal
descending,
I buried them both
in the sand.
I rode a dark pearl
down a long chain
into town.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Linton Goes to Town
Today's post is a photographic scroll through a colorful variety of rustic and neo-rustic woodwork produced by the Linton Casket Company, as we began to peddle our wares in the city. I hope you will check it out!
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Groovy Dancing Girl
( I play this whenever I want to make it rain. I figure if anybody could, she could.)
Texas Eye Candy
My post today on Yesterday's Myth is of a vintage souvenir postcard portfolio of San Antonio, Texas. The 22 images shown all display that 'dreamsicle' colorization so popular in an earlier era. Click here for a peek.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Lost and Found
From the world of lost photos, I have posted three family portraits from the early 20th century on Yesterday's Myth. Scroll below that to view an illustration of 'The Actual Value of a Great Man.
Music of Another Way of Life
The Inuit peoples of the Canadian Arctic, and in Greenland, have a long tradition as a hunting culture. Inuit women, while their men were away on hunting expeditions would entertain themselves in games of throat singing.
Throat singing was typically performed as a duet. In a way, it was a friendly competition to see which woman could maintain an improvised vocal rhythm longer than the other. The two vocal rhythms would interact with one another.
The women face each other. One begins by voicing inhaled or exhaled sounds in a short rhythmic pattern. The other fills in the gaps with another rhythm. In some instances, the women would stand so close to one another that the open mouth of one became the sound box or resonator of the other. These vocalizations would continue until one of the two women 'falls out', either losing the rhythm, or breaking into laughter. An evening of throat singing was viewed as a game. The one who lasted longest was the winner, as various women would step up to challenge the winner of the previous round.
Here is an interesting example. (Double click on image to go full screen)
Throat singing was typically performed as a duet. In a way, it was a friendly competition to see which woman could maintain an improvised vocal rhythm longer than the other. The two vocal rhythms would interact with one another.
The women face each other. One begins by voicing inhaled or exhaled sounds in a short rhythmic pattern. The other fills in the gaps with another rhythm. In some instances, the women would stand so close to one another that the open mouth of one became the sound box or resonator of the other. These vocalizations would continue until one of the two women 'falls out', either losing the rhythm, or breaking into laughter. An evening of throat singing was viewed as a game. The one who lasted longest was the winner, as various women would step up to challenge the winner of the previous round.
Here is an interesting example. (Double click on image to go full screen)
Monday, February 14, 2011
Love Stories
Today is a good day to take a look back at some couples of a by-gone time on Yesterday's Myth.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Mystery of the Egg
"Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" Some might say the question itself leads only to circular reasoning. It might be fundamentally expressed this way: "Which came first, X that cannot come without Y, or Y that cannot come without X?" Nevertheless, the question has been thought about over the centuries, and argued in many ways. I personally think the egg came first. But not because the Easter bunny brings eggs. Mostly, my position is based on a probably over-simplified understanding of mitosis and meiosis. Recently, while pondering all this, I had a revelation. I decided to be a chicken farmer!
Several years ago, I bought this 70's era Commanche trailer, and dragged it into my back yard. Ever since, I have wondered why! It's not really roadworthy anymore. Just trying to tow it into the yard demonstrated that to my satisfaction. And now, it suddenly becomes clear. It is because I had this unconscious desire to be a chicken farmer. This trailer is meant, practically divined, to be a chicken coop!
So this will be my spring project. Since I have never been a chicken farmer, I won't begin initially with eggs. I'll begin with young chickens. Laying hens that can provide eggs for my perusal of the ultimate question, and then, ultimately, for my consumption. So, I hope you will stay tuned for Dan's adventures in chicken farming, the art of chicken whispering, and, the mystery of the egg.
Today's Post
Today, the story of the five year life of a wood-working co-op called the Linton Casket Company continues. My effort on that site is to eventually have a whole document of that interesting period of time. This current post features photos of some of the work exhibited in our very first show, Raising The Hammer.
Friday, February 11, 2011
My 15 Minutes of Trailer Trash Fame.
Well, I just put some notes and photos together of a time when I lived in an old trailer in the middle of a very posh up-scale community. Check it out, if you like at Mything Links.
Linton Casket Company Update
A few photos showing how we began to build momentum toward doing shows of our hand-made goods. The post is called
"Linton Gets Oranizizized...(or something like that.)"
"Linton Gets Oranizizized...(or something like that.)"
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Today is My Sister's Birthday!
We are a year apart in age. And we currently live within a few miles of one another. During the past decade we worked closely together at the daily challenge of helping our mother through her decline into Alzheimer's and Parkinson's. I don't know that either one of us could have managed this on our own. But, together we somehow managed to keep mom out of the nursing home until her final year. Sis is a multi-talented real go-getter who has always managed a warm and cohesive family front as well as a multi-faceted career. She only gets fidgety when she runs out of things to do!
SO TODAY I AM WISHING HER A VERY VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!
(I have posted some snapshots of us as children on Yesterday's Myth. To take a peek at those, click HERE)
SO TODAY I AM WISHING HER A VERY VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!
(I have posted some snapshots of us as children on Yesterday's Myth. To take a peek at those, click HERE)
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
More Cabin Fever Follies
Once again we return to Dan, sitting on the couch in front of the coffee table, watching Kill Bill I and II, which has been playing continuously on his DVR for three consecutive days now. Seeing something move out of the corner of his eye, he pauses the movie. His toy cowboy is trying to steal his toy dinosaur! He springs into action.
"You are mine all mine now, you big fat dinosaur!" the cowboy mutters with a sinister gravelly laugh.
"What the....? This giant cow pie is getting all over my new boots!"
"Oh, no! "It's a trap! I'll get you Mythopolis, you dirty low down, mangy, egg-sucking dog!!
"Damn, I can't get my gun out of my holster! The blob has swallowed my arm!"
"You'll never get away with this Mythopolo...gub...glupph...glyphopolis...blub..."
Glub! Glub! Dying dinosaur moans!
Bubble...blub...ooze...splurt.
Burppp!!!!
Dan returns to his movie. It is right at one of his favorite scenes. "Bang bang. He shot me down. Bang bang. That awful sound. Bang Bang. I hit the ground. Bang bang. My baby shot me down...."
Tune in next week for another episode of Cabin Fever Follies!
"You are mine all mine now, you big fat dinosaur!" the cowboy mutters with a sinister gravelly laugh.
"What the....? This giant cow pie is getting all over my new boots!"
"Oh, no! "It's a trap! I'll get you Mythopolis, you dirty low down, mangy, egg-sucking dog!!
"Damn, I can't get my gun out of my holster! The blob has swallowed my arm!"
"You'll never get away with this Mythopolo...gub...glupph...glyphopolis...blub..."
Glub! Glub! Dying dinosaur moans!
Bubble...blub...ooze...splurt.
Burppp!!!!
Dan returns to his movie. It is right at one of his favorite scenes. "Bang bang. He shot me down. Bang bang. That awful sound. Bang Bang. I hit the ground. Bang bang. My baby shot me down...."
Tune in next week for another episode of Cabin Fever Follies!
Redemption Song
Playing for Change is an organization devoted to connecting the world through music. Here, they edit and montage a number of artists from different parts of the world performing a singular tribute to Bob Marley. (NOTE: Double click on image to go full screen. You might have to double click twice....I'm not sure why?!)
More about Yesterday
"What really happened to Earle Larimore?" and "The Dawn of the Puppeteer" are two new posts today on Yesterday's Myth.
Monday, February 7, 2011
The Child in You
Recently I went to Shrinky's site and was delighted by a childhood story she tells there. So much so, I re-posted it on Yesterday's Myth. But, since I couldn't copy the photo, nor the wonderful way she formatted the tale, I would encourage you to read 'Rituals' on her site here: Shrink Wrapped Scream.
(It was just so interesting to me how the story calls up one's own childhood.)
(It was just so interesting to me how the story calls up one's own childhood.)
Sunday, February 6, 2011
A Couple of New Posts.....
On Mything Links, photos of living and working in New Mexico. Click on: "Of Big Birds, and New Mexico Living."
And, on Yesterday's Myth, "What Do People Look Like?"
And, on Yesterday's Myth, "What Do People Look Like?"
Saturday, February 5, 2011
New Posts.
"A Few of the Many Who Helped Linton Happen" (see Linton Casket Company)
"No, Her Name Wasn't Joyce" (see Yesterday's Myth)
"No, Her Name Wasn't Joyce" (see Yesterday's Myth)
Friday, February 4, 2011
A Shameless Promotion
Blog world is so fascinating. You get these glimpses into other people's lives. Their art. It is so enjoyable to see. It refreshes me. And then, some people blog about the issues of the day. It is interesting to me how these kinds of posts don't elicit much response. It is like there is a fraternity of let's pat ourselves, and one another on the back. (It gets to be like How to Stop worrying, and Love the Bomb) I don't get that. I like to post about stuff I do, have done. My own little ego trip in the blogosphere. But there is a lot of shit going down in this world. Some people blog about issues. So, I am doing a plug here. When I get up in the morning, and have my coffee I go to The Eighth Dimension to see what Dee has posted. He seems to keep up with stuff going on while I am busy in my self absorption. Check it out. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Be there, or be square!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
What is Art?
In '79, another artist and I hung out together a lot in San Antonio. We went to El Mirador every Saturday and had 'caldo soup'. And we talked about what art is. It is a big subject, of course. Much bigger than our individual lives in a small period of time we try to own. We gravitated toward an idea that art is not a noun. It is a verb. That art is a way of looking at life, living life, acting in some true way. Art is a verb.
I rented an empty building to use as a studio. At one time it had been some kind of photo processing lab. It was two stories tall. On the second floor, we discovered a pile of neon letters. The remnants of the former business's signage. So, we played around with these. And we came up with a sign of our own. We hooked up the wires from one letter to the next, and hooked up a transformer to light it. This is what we came up with.
Art is a state of mind. A way of seeing, and being. A way of acting. A way of living. Along the way, expressions spill out as objects. These might be doodles, drawings, paintings, sculpture, photographs, songs, poems, novels. They may take many forms. All such forms are artifacts. Evidence of how a life was lived, somehow apart from, and yet, tuned into, other stuff going on at the time.
I rented an empty building to use as a studio. At one time it had been some kind of photo processing lab. It was two stories tall. On the second floor, we discovered a pile of neon letters. The remnants of the former business's signage. So, we played around with these. And we came up with a sign of our own. We hooked up the wires from one letter to the next, and hooked up a transformer to light it. This is what we came up with.
Art is a state of mind. A way of seeing, and being. A way of acting. A way of living. Along the way, expressions spill out as objects. These might be doodles, drawings, paintings, sculpture, photographs, songs, poems, novels. They may take many forms. All such forms are artifacts. Evidence of how a life was lived, somehow apart from, and yet, tuned into, other stuff going on at the time.
Time for" Cabin Fever Follies" Again!
Welcome once again to Cabin Fever Follies! Tonight, we return to "The Winter of Dan's Discontent", Chapter Six. It is 3am as the scene opens with Dan once again, sitting on the couch in front of the coffee table. He is watching 'The Shining'....again... ....for the 14th time. He glances down to the coffee table.......
Dan: "Oh! Hi, Toy Kitty! Are you playing with the silly putty again?"
Kitty: "Purrr....purrrr....Meyep!....purrr...."
Dan: "Are you making something?"
Kitty: "Meeeyep!"
Dan: "How creative!"
Dan: "Are you making a present for me?"
Kitty: "Mew'll ssseee!"
Kitty: "Mew Myike it?"
Dan: "Hmmm...What is it?"
Dan: "Let me see. Oh, how nice! You made a happy face for me! Thanks, Toy Kitty!"
Kitty: "Mee..yer Meee...yelcome....purrr.....purrr..."
Dan: Do you see what I see, Toy Kitty? Does it look like Mr. Happy Face is growing fangs?"
Kitty: "Meeyikes!!"
Dan: "Oh look, Toy Kitty! Mr. Happy Face is morphing!" (morph sounds)
Kitty: " Meow!?"
Dan: "How cute! Mr. Silly Putty ball is balancing on your head!"
Kitty: "Meow?"
Dan: "Oh no! Mr. Silly Putty ball is trying to swallow your head!"
Kitty: "Meowww!!!! Meelllp!"
Dan: "Oh no! Mr. Silly Putty ball, what have you done?!"
Kitty: (muffled) "Meowrph...meorph...mrphhh..."
Dan: "Alas, poor Toy Kitty! I knew him, Horatio, a kitty of infinite jest..."
To Be Continued.
Dan: "Oh! Hi, Toy Kitty! Are you playing with the silly putty again?"
Kitty: "Purrr....purrrr....Meyep!....purrr...."
Dan: "Are you making something?"
Kitty: "Meeeyep!"
Dan: "How creative!"
Dan: "Are you making a present for me?"
Kitty: "Mew'll ssseee!"
Kitty: "Mew Myike it?"
Dan: "Hmmm...What is it?"
Dan: "Let me see. Oh, how nice! You made a happy face for me! Thanks, Toy Kitty!"
Kitty: "Mee..yer Meee...yelcome....purrr.....purrr..."
Dan: Do you see what I see, Toy Kitty? Does it look like Mr. Happy Face is growing fangs?"
Kitty: "Meeyikes!!"
Dan: "Oh look, Toy Kitty! Mr. Happy Face is morphing!" (morph sounds)
Kitty: " Meow!?"
Dan: "How cute! Mr. Silly Putty ball is balancing on your head!"
Kitty: "Meow?"
Dan: "Oh no! Mr. Silly Putty ball is trying to swallow your head!"
Kitty: "Meowww!!!! Meelllp!"
Dan: "Oh no! Mr. Silly Putty ball, what have you done?!"
Kitty: (muffled) "Meowrph...meorph...mrphhh..."
Dan: "Alas, poor Toy Kitty! I knew him, Horatio, a kitty of infinite jest..."
To Be Continued.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Moving Right Along..........
I have two posts today, neither are on this site. On Mything Links is an account of
Provincetown, the Portland Gale, and Susan Glaspell.
On Yesterday's Myth the post is entitled" The Remarkable Susan Glaspell".
These two posts are obviously related, and each one links to the other, so you can start with either one. At any rate, I hope you find this glimpse of another person and another time, interesting.
Provincetown, the Portland Gale, and Susan Glaspell.
On Yesterday's Myth the post is entitled" The Remarkable Susan Glaspell".
These two posts are obviously related, and each one links to the other, so you can start with either one. At any rate, I hope you find this glimpse of another person and another time, interesting.
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