Visiting the Personality Cafe

wordsmith, beat out the keys upon your digitizer of thoughts
find some way to make the amorphous feelings get some root
that cur dog that barked at you when you offered it water
it drank it but only after you put it down and got back
getting closer only made it angry and afraid

all the old despair of ever understanding what cannot be understood
of gunshots to the head in a polar vortex moment when time ceases to be linear
rattling back at me as if it were a chained hammer come back around to swing at me again
the dust of a decade has settled on that relationship
the divorce has hardened me and the absurdity of human behavior
is in sharper focus and I don't like it any more then than I do now
even if I am sometimes entertained by it

wave on wave of emotions that I had rather not have
shocking moments of events unplanned and surprises unforeseen
there is no measuring the strangeness of this life

what if we do have an emotional intelligence?
what if machiavelli had it too?
the carnival barker surely does
and so the other temptations of this life
hoyt axton wrote the song and steppenwolf played it
and my sentiments are the same
though I won't name it in polite company
playing them like a fiddle, toying with their feelings
is a hard harvest 

I will stop thinking about it pretty soon
some other thing will come to interest me
but at the moment I would really like to know
and that means much more reading and testing


somewhere in my gut I am not sure I ever will
but it might prove useful along the way

hand of doom

Run rabbit run.
And take the sparrow with you.
Tell the snake to crawl away lest they also fall under my scythe of raining death.
Oppenheimer sat down beside the glass sand
of atomic apocalypse
and he cried
at the work of cunning minds and skillful hand. 
Fear of the yawning chasm 
overtook his heart staring at the chaos.
 All they told me to do was make grass green. 
They didn't tell me about tater beetles and sarin gas.

Beisbol and dust.

Sometimes we get the call

fate hands our task to us

and we go and do it

that there is Joan Miro, dog barkin at the moon he is

and so credit is given and well deserved

climbing Jacob's ladder up and down

we go

we exist here and now

barking at the moon

yep

fun too

I had to go steer the elder father figure on to the house

he's in there sleeping in my bed

whilst i play at words and make things dance 

because I am still not ready for sleep

it is my turn now

to burn the midnight oil

to be the one awake 

in these late watches

It is mine to find the tickets

to make the way before us

get the hats, buy the beer and find food 

he can glad hand the kind officers watching the crowd

and whip their ass with nonsensical stories of fifty years ago

I still think it is a good thing for the FoFo to embrace the social network

same as the scientist 

you mfers better get a clue

the politicians that mark your wages and declare laws before us

had damn well be aware of us

and if you choose to ignore them

that is on you

It was nice that my team won tonight

but they are hamstrung and wounded

this is a season of trying to sort through the debris

to find what can be kept and saved for next year

my time with my dad might be short

and the hours I have with the pre-teen daughter 

fly before me

seize them all

never again willingly 

dear god deliver me from ever ever

walking away 

when I have it in my power to stay

time is fleeting

and the wheel doesn't roll back around again

very often

there is the now

use it

seize it 

it is what we have

Poke Sallet. Phytolacca of many species

Tony Joe White "Polk Salad Annie" 1969

Words change. Sometimes they become obsolete in the terminology of the linguist. Sallet as a food is one of them. Sallet is not known to the Chrome Dictionary. I wonder if it is in the Merriam-Webster. Nope. I stopped down and commented on it. This is what I wrote 

 No, it is not turnip greens exclusively. Or any greens for that matter. It is an obsolete form of salad. My 1971 Compact OED includes it. A Dictionary of Archaic & Provincial Words, Obsolete Phrases ..., Volume 2 By James Orchard Halliwell-Phillipps maintains it was obsolete in 1852,"Sallet. A salad. Hall." but I would maintain that it is still used provincially in the American south to this day but typically in regards to Phytolacca americana though we all know salad can be any collection of greens. As it is understood today and particularly in regards to poke it is a cooked green as opposed to a fresh one. Polk Salad, Poke salad, poke sallet all refer to the same food. Tony Joe White recorded Polk Salad Annie in 1969. Thinking of poke as our typical fresh salad green has caused some at least apocryphal tales of folks suffering from shall we say gastro-intestinal distress?

I did however find it in the Urban Dictionary.

poke sallet

The term poke sallet is an old Southern term for the cooked young leaves of the poke weed. Sallet comes from Middle English and refers to a mess (another Old or Middle English term) of greens cooked until tender. The term Polk Salad is a gentrified way of referring to poke sallet, and I'm afraid it reflects our inferiority complex when it comes to standing up for our Southern terminology. We are not making a mush of Polk Salad; actually, we are being true to our English ancestors who settled here a long time ago.

Some folks around here always add a little molasses and fatback to the water when they cook their poke sallet. That's the traditional way.

Don't you just love Tony Joe White's song Poke Sallet Annie?

by Flem Snopes July 12, 2008

Sallet is another variation for the spelling of salad, archaic, obsolete and I am among the people on the planet that wants to call this dish by this name. I am hard-headed sometimes. Everybody else calls it salad which has led to some unfortunate dining experiences. Despite its reputation as poisonous there is no reason to avoid this plant. Euell Gibbons called it the 'Cadillac of greens'. There are festivals held in its honor. This song was written with an acceptance of it as a normal, everyday part of the diet. It was even the subject of a dissertation in 1757 at the University of Pennsylvania. If you have access to that work, I sure would like to see some of it. Perhaps Google can be of assistance....

A little background first I suppose would be in order. Poke has a couple of different names, but the varieties are essentially the same. Phytolacca is the Genus. That much is straight forward, they haven't decided to change that part yet. 5.5+ million hits and here are the first five for Poke Salad: Wiki Wild Pantry Don't Eat Poke Salad Annual Poke Salad Festival and Cooks/Recipes for Poke Salad

AUTHOR(S): Callahan, R.; Piccola, F.; Gensheimer, K.; Parkin, W. E.; Prusakowski, J.; Scheiber, G.; Henry, S. 
TITLE: Plant poisonings - New Jersey. 
YEAR: 1981 CITATION: MMWR Morb Mortal Wkly Rep, 30(6), 65-67 [English]
FDA #: F07132 
ABSTRACT: Within a 2.5 month period in 1980, 27 New Jersey residents were poisoned, in 2 separate episodes, by eating wild plants. The poisonings were serious enough that 21 persons sought medical care; 4 were hospitalized. Pokeweed poisoning Passaic County: On July 11, an outbreak of gastrointestinal illness related to eating pokeweed leaves affected campers in a large day camp. Initial reports indicated that the outbreak was limited to a "nature group" whose members had sampled a salad made with this wild plant. The group, comprising 52 campers and counselors, had been offered pokeweed salad prepared from young leaves picked, boiled, drained, and reboiled that morning, a method that reputedly ensured the plant's edibility. Sixteen (31%) of the 51 interviewed met the case definition (vomiting accompanied by any 3 of the following: nausea, diarrhea, stomach cramps, dizziness, and headache on July 11). Nine others who were not part of the nature group also had tasted the salad; 5 (56%) of these became ill. Of the 21 ill campers, 18 (86%) experienced nausea, 18 (86%) stomach cramps, 17 (81%) vomiting, 11 (52%) headache, 10 (48%) dizziness, 8 (38%) burning in the stomach or mouth; and 6 (29%) diarrhea. Persons became ill .5 to 5.5 hours (mean 3 hours) after eating the pokeweed. Symptoms lasted 1 to 48 hours, with a mean of 24 hours. Eighteen persons were seen in local emergency rooms or physicians' offices. Four of these were hospitalized for 24 to 48 hours for protracted vomiting and dehydration. Food history analysis was done for all 60 persons. Salad was the only food item significantly associated with illness. Twenty (43%) of the 46 persons who ate pokeweed became ill compared with 1 (7%) of 14 who did not eat it (P .01). Moreover, for those who ate the salad, illness was associated with eating at least 1 teaspoonful compared with less than 1 teaspoonful (p=.02). Vomitus analyzed for 7 persons was negative for Staphylococcus aureus. 

There is disagreement about edible parts, season of edibility, and methods of preparation of pokeweed and even about whether the plant should be eaten at all. Indeed, the camp counselor in the Passaic outbreak had been preparing pokeweed salad for many years without apparent ill effects. 

and this

Jaeckle, K. A., Freemon, F. R. 1981. Pokeweed poisoning. South. Med. J., 74: 639-640.

Just google it. It is a book link and Google frowns upon taking whole sections of print from their stacks. 

 and this

In Vitro Antioxidant blah blah blah

What I find fascinating about poke is that it is considered either a green of the highest order or a poison. There is no in between for most people. The scientist sees it differently. They throw things at various and sundry cells just to see what happens. Every PhD had to do a dissertation and every researcher needs something else to research. It was probably a given that they would try this plant out.

I suspect this was one of the early plants that the Euro encountered when they came over the Atlantic. I would venture that it was among the foods served at the first Thanksgiving dinner. There are festivals in celebration of this plant. As cited in from the Poisonous Plants link I did finally manage to find a case of poisoning from eating the greens, but the counselor did not suffer any ill effects nor did over half of those that consumed it. I have eaten it for years. It is delicious. I did not find any citations of poke sallet poisoning in the festivals celebrating it and I sure would love to see the actual case notes from that Passaic case. The other citations I found from the Canadians referred to somebody making a tea from either roots or berries. There is evidence of this plant being used by herbalists in lands other than America. It is cited in "In Vitro" as being used in Iran. There is also a citation in the Canadian link to turkey poults and hogs being poisoned by it, yet its typical vector for being spread around an area is defecation of the seeds by various birds. It is ordinarily found where a bird will perch after consuming the berries and defecating the seeds. I wonder if their system is less likely to break the seed coat and the turkeys more likely to which would release more of the toxin than just the fruit part itself.

This is just skimming the surface some. I might come back and add some more to it, but I have wanted to get this blog entry finished for a while. It deserves some more work, but I have much to do today and I am already being lobbied to get my butt in gear.

Tales of the Red Dog, continued

Three and three makes six

five minus 6 and it is a negative numbre

I got that much

past that. I sort of got lost

I will never forget the day

when i stood at the abyss of mathematics

it was a proof that took up the whole bard

the board was truly full

in the middle was an Epsilon

what the hell does that mean!? 

seriously Bertrand! 

what do you mean by taking 400 pages

to prove 1+1=2?

70 years the calender says

I don't know what it all means

I will never know

i sure hope not anyhow

I can see the flowers on Flanders Fields

I don't have to smell the stench of death

to know man died there

History and time out of mind

you and me and the roll of the dice

yes, i think He does roll dice sometimes with the universe

or is it just us?

rolling our own bones

this existence is what we make of it

I so dearly want to touch as much

as I can reach and then some

there is no tomorrow promised to me

blood, sweat and tears

that is promised to me

this life 

there is no relenting

oh that's silly, yes there is

the rhino boy who saw his mother die at the barrel of a poacher

finds a womankind to lay his head upon until he can sleep again

the communistic socialistic yankee down in mississippi 

finds a song on his banjo to sing

and there in the road

hate is surrounded by a song

and it turns away

is the tree still there?

wisteria in the wind

I owed her so much more than I ever gave
I miss her terribly sometimes
somewhere I know she gets a glimpse of me
now and again. I hope she is busy taking care
of all the other people she touched
All i got was a wink from far away
it hurts sometimes, but is ok

He's one of the first I want to see if I ever get there
They tell me I am him or was once
Parts of me woven into the fabric of my DNA
but my environment and his are different

Good gosh Omighty I miss him too
coffee and cigarettes and the grunt of a tractor
the smell of grease and diesel, taste of dust
stories, stories I could tell
and never even make a mark upon the surface
stone cold memories of me and him

Gone. One day or one night we go.
there is no recourse. it is the rending of the thread
we go. we go to wherever we have chosen
I can't make time go back or forward or sideways
it just is. we only get so much of it. We are here
and then gone, like the whiff of wisteria
floating in the wind, passing through our minds
we are here and then gone
and only memories and the deeds of this lifetime
leave their mark upon us and the now
that is and ever will be
make the most of that now
we only get one of them

Moving On with clenched fist and perhaps a bit of hope

Emil Nolde.
Woodcut
"The Prophet"


















I kept my cool this day
and it was not easy on St.Padric's day
No, indeed it was not
I had had a bellyful of lies already
the last one was worst than the first
do not put the words of the snitch into my mouth
I did not say them
come to me honestly and put some truth in there
if it is still in you
I might still talk to you
as it was I fought off the itch in my fist
and the holler in my soul

No longer will I be your hourly slave to dismiss
as the wind is too cold for you to bear
neither will I wear your colors
no, I remain here a fortnight for those fellows I have fought alongside
you sir can go suck up to some boss somewhere up the food chain
your predicament is no cause of mine
neither will I aid you in any way
what you have made is your own

but you never saw it
never saw it coming did you?
loud cursing I heard but not in my ears
have they come to roost for you?
those birds of carrion

what comes after I am gone is not for me to concern myself with
I will keep working as I did before
from the very first day I set foot on the property
I'll leave with better than I was given
because I earned it
and it wasn't yours to keep from me

the words may come back to you some day
if the sleep escapes you this night
it will find me in a few minutes
for the adrenaline has worn away
john barleycorn has done his job well
even if we did throw clods upon his head
he pushed them back and struggled up
waving in the wind, shining and shimmering in the sun

fare thee well my fellows
hale and hardy I pass by as a ghost in your midst
not long for this place said the short timer
glad tidings and will you someday some time
I might call you
give me your number and your name
for I go on from here
what you make of it all
that is up to you

in the shaking of my self
i kept the words in my head
when the last lie was worse than the first
quivering in anger I kept working
it was fight or flight
and I kept my head down and did not look him in the eye
or else all hell might break loose
professional demeanor, salute the uniform and not the man
if he tells me he is tired of hearing my voice
or seeing my face
I will be glad to go on from there
but there is so much to do
and we are so far behind
I don't think he has a choice in the matter

Shocking tales of life and liberty

Not really. Most of life is no more than what you make of it.
I got here same as you. On my own two feet.

That is called a tease. It got you in the door didn't it?
Seen a man called Fat Albert
BIGGEST MAN YOU EVER SAW!
beaten down old boy. Felt sorry for him
in his sideshow tent
I guess it is a lot like that
that chick up there on the stage
shaking what she got
trying to make a buck
she don't want to fuck you
she just wants to go home and smoke a bowl
and go to sleep after she has some dinner

Don't go see the judge before lunch
or late in the afternoon
all he will want to do is put you off if he gives a damn
or throw your ass back in jail if he doesn't
if they let you give him a Snickers
maybe, just maybe his blood sugar will cause enough synapses
to click well enough to see mercy

me? I'll settle for another taco and maybe some better days
a boss who isn't so full of shit it isn't rolling out his ears
and cannot bear to hear the truth
until he tells you he doesn't want to talk any more
good. I didn't want to hear your crap any more either

So long. It's been good to know you. Bye, Mr. Pete.

"Weavers Rebellion" Kathe Kollwitz

Pete Seeger died early this morning I suppose. Sometime in the wee hours of the night the old man slept. I shall miss him. Certain people form part of the overall landscape in our lives. Though our lives might only be connected through some work, they still form part of our lives. I grew up listening to the Weavers. By the time I came along in 67 his trouble with the government had passed. He was no longer under threat of incarceration. An avowed leftist, but not without regrets for his naivete in regards to Stalin, he was still a patriot and served his country in war as well as peace. He went to the South Pacific as a mechanic at first, but when they discovered his banjo he was promptly put to work entertaining the troops. He grew up a privileged life but the condition of humanity was in his songs. Much like Kollwitz took the plight of the working class people who lived in her time and made art, Pete gave them a song to sing. Pete was man of his moment and bore it with humility. Consider the triad of Guthrie, Seeger and Lomax that met in 1940. I don't think it is a stretch to say that during that meeting  parts of rock and roll and parts of country music and parts of protest politics  were born. This renaissance of American Folk music (which isn't really ours to begin with but are bits and pieces of other places we brought here) had its birth in this meeting. The Kingston Trio, the Weavers, Peter, Paul and Mary, a thousand marches and songs of protest, a million people and a million voices time and time again were born in those days. The haters did not know it was coming for them. The song of millions. Surrounding their hatred with hope of song. 

This troublesome gift of art. 

I don't suppose it is necessary to go through his entire biography: of how he was a communist and marched with MLK.  Unashamed to be called a leftist, he did not plead the Fifth and would not snitch on his friends. The history is well documented and the transcripts are available. I'd rather talk about his humility and the gift of song. 

I have looked once or twice to see who said "Let who will write my country's laws, only let me write her songs." I think Pete understood that idea. He certainly reinforced that concept in the American consciousness. When he told MLK he needed a song and "We Shall Overcome" was at hand it was like water on a thirsty tree. That song and songs like it have been and continue to be the armor of protest. Sung in capitols and streets they protect and embolden the protester. They enrage and confound the hatred. While Woodie Guthrie's machine declared it killed fascists, Pete's banjo surrounded hate and forced it to surrender. 

Johnny Cash explaining to Pete how he wanted him on his show. This is 1970. It took some doing on the part of Mr.Cash to get him on there. 

I see troll comments will probably appear for the man today. I don't think they will be worse than what he heard in marches before. I expect he had that word on his banjo for a reason. He understood how music affects people and taps into their being. I think all artists realize that. Their effort is to do that for you and me and everybody on the planet. In Pete's case it was awareness of your world.

 Of the plight of our fellow human beings,

 of solidarity in the face of hatred and oppression,

 of peace instead of war, 

of life and its precious existence.

 I would like to think his songs will live on for many generations to come. That the ideas expressed in them will continue to influence the singers and songwriters yet to be born. I consider him one of the gifts of human beings to each other. There won't be many like him in our history, a bard of the ages. 

halfway past the label

If the words do not come to you
do not force them

I had to learn that. Many times over. So much crap tossed in the flames or the virtual trashcan.
Maybe this passes muster. perhaps it survives. We'll see come tomorrow.

When did we stop giving a shit? When did I stop paying attention?
was i too busy in search of fun? Trying to wrangle my way back to the triangle.
or just another buzz?
I get in the truck and pump out my CO2
I go hose down the world and cry at the butterfly
get the hell out of here! go away!
I am death and the reaper
fear me

Cut loose again. Not sure why. Garbled replies and it is probably me.
shrug. Keep going. This ain't it. No rest for the wicked.
and the very next day I get messages and messages replied
no please no. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
perhaps this is it. Just me on the road.
keep working and the words come when I don't expect them

Is there a day of reckoning?
Well, when is it? Can't say eh?
Carry on then. Let the wicked carry on with it.
Let the good continue to be good.
I'll just try to muddle along.
See you there. Maybe. If I make the cut.

A thousand songs and a million tears
are not enough
a picture of ten thousand words
is but a glimpse of another soul
friends of pixels and oceans away
souls out of time and in my mind
they are part of me

Pieces of Me. 2

Heard it called islands in the stream
and ships passing in the night

how are you to describe and put forth the explanation?
of the meeting of two humans
in the proximity of now
the big now. the is was and will be
tell me how you do it.
still wrestling with it over here

I hope you don't expect me to explain it all
I surely do not know
this is all a big mystery to me
a never ending search for data
a mine that never plays out
more research is needed before I can surmise
some sort of answer
of how I like you and you like me
and how it ought to be
what is the good?

He drank hemlock
I heard John was sawn in two
how many monks beheaded in search of truth?
If I stumble and If I fail
may mercy find me
I tried and keep trying
what else can the iron do in the fire?

I was there and she was there
the her that is and is not me
where was I?
was I hearing this or did I imagine such things?
NO, this was real
I was there. I remember it.
what does it all mean?
I am still finding it.
there is no end.
good.
Keep going.

A Declaration of sorts

Be it known to all interested parties or those ever so disinterested but on the contrary somewhat bored enough to muddle through this rambling declaration I am no longer a single man.

Well at least in the sense that if I went on a date with a female other than the one whose bags I loaded in her vehicle yesterday and said goodbye to this morning before she took off for a week in Houston and Austin she would likely exact severe retribution. So in that regard I am no longer in charge of some things in my life.

Like dressing myself. Those worn out old blue jeans? Probably makings for a purse or some sort of other craft project. Broke down old boots? Replaced. New cologne that I have previously never seen or heard of? Check. Shaving even though it is just an ordinary old Friday and the fanciest place we have to go is dinner? Done.   I accept these things because I am generally incapable of dressing myself in a manner that is fit for public viewing. I am very likely to keep wearing jeans that have seen their better days five years ago. Shirts with one or two burn holes in them? Still good. It is a good thing women find something tolerable about men because otherwise we would still be living in a cave and eating meat on a stick, perhaps quivering from the kill and while that is fine for oysters and perhaps some other meat, it is generally a good idea to scorch the hell out of the bacteria that is likely to be lingering on my preferred protein sources. So, all in all I accept the fact that I do need a handler. Probably 2 or 3. No, make that four, I have a sister too. Between my mother, daughter, sister and now girlfriend it is less likely that I will turn up to some event wearing clothing that should have been donated, no sorry, burned or otherwise disposed of.

That said, this is going to take some adjustment. I am not used to finding tools in a state of complete disarray. Neither am I accustomed to finding .22 long rifle shells rolling around in the bottom of the tool box. That was cause for a discussion of the concept of rimfire ignition and the relative ease with which they would penetrate said toolbox and the ensuing trip to the hospital if it found meat on its wayward path. Since she has recently moved into new digs I found myself helping out with the unpacking. This continues to be a work in progress. I have managed to thin out the stack of boxes that were sitting on the porch and store them properly in the shed/barn. Hung one shelf, a couple dozen decorative doohickeys and one rod for hanging clothes in the laundry room. I was somewhat dismayed that the sockets had been summarily dumped into a vase, but they do in fact exist and I will give her credit for that. Considering that she was making a hasty departure from a particularly bad relationship I count it in her favor that she had the presence of mind to load them at all. I can overlook the pink hammer that would fold under impact with anything more resistant than a tack. I can disregard the seemingly endless supply of wind chimes which I affectionately call clang-bangers. The 682 items in the bathroom, the closet full of nothing but coats (on the back porch to boot) and the shoes....I swear I might have an even ten pair of shoes, which is not enough for this week in Houston if you were to ask her...all these things are par for the course. I expected it and would have been nothing less than shocked if it were any different. It is however going to be an adjustment. In my wildest imagination I could not have foreseen the need for 14 t-shirts for a one week trip. Oh right, morning and evening. The idea that one might wear the same t-shirt in the evening for more than one day? Unthinkable. Yep, some adjustments are in order.

When I afford myself a moment of introspection of finding or rather being found by someone I wonder at what sort of meandering path it was. I do not know the odds of meeting someone from 20+ years ago on that wild assed world wide web. Facebook has indeed made it simpler to do so, but that is by no means a guarantee. Further, even upon finding one another, the timing for a relationship has to be right. It does not do for one or both to already be in a relationship. I am not the sort of man who goes after someone when they are in a relationship; good, bad or meh. I didn't before and I am not starting now. When she first found me a couple of years ago we were both involved. I kept my distance and said hi and howdy when it was called for but I made no attempt at reconnection, in any capacity. Then one day I received a picture of myself in the inbox. After a bout of raucous laughter I immediately posted it as a profile picture. Sweet memories of ill-spent years in college. Not so sweet for my mother though and she began to inquire of its origins I had to throw up the Heisman and say," not so fast woman, you really really do not want to know." Little did I know that my response to the maternal figure was going to be somewhat misread. The next day after some rounds of liquid bravery were consumed at a girlfriend's place she sent me another note asking if I was mad or somehow offended. Typical of me, I was scratching my head and trying to figure out what the hell I did wrong this time. At least I knew enough to say, "Mad? Why would I be mad at you? That was great! If you are talking about my comment to my mom, that was me throwing up a road block before she ventured off into dark woods she did not want to enter."

"Oh. Ok! How have you been?" and so the interrogation period began.

As I said this was a request to say something, a few syllables at least, about where I stand and what I think about it at the moment. She particularly wanted me to mention the wretched pink hammer and the shocking fact of bullets in the toolbox. I included the part of my inability to dress myself properly of my own volition. It is undeniable and symptomatic of my existence as male human being.

That'll do for a start.

Broken dreams

whiskey in the jar o

because you know she drank me easy

Dreams of me when i was young

dreams of me when i was there in full regalia

80 years ago before i parted light

who was the atoms before I was borne?

some they like a fowling

some they like a fishing

and some they like to hear the cannon balls a roaring

me? I like sleeping

especially in her chamber

i had dreams, good ones they were

i had them in my hand

and like sand they slipped the gaps

not sick and not well

said  i was the philosopher farmer 

weeded and wedded to the land of ants

go f yourself bitch

i gotta go work today

blood, sweat and tears are my share

the music follows me around

strains of what i once knew

it calls me and beckons hard

come to us again

please

we miss you

i can feel it, i can hear it

on the border

right over there on the other side

come on horse, let's go home

I had dreams of youth

believe it or not

and some i smashed with my very own hands

others died of their own accord 

tomorrow rises again

yet another day

of sweat, hours and perhaps some blood

the band played on

Dilapidated Road Hazard

I have the oldest truck in the place
it should have been taken offline
about 5 years, 2 transmissions repairs
and untold gallons of gasoline ago

I go where they tell me to
and then wonder why they can't figure
if they send me here and there
the other stuff I am supposed to do
doesn't get done
no, we didn't skip those spots
we haven't finished yet
yes sir, will have him there tomorrow
provided he doesn't have to be
somewhere else

Utility man
put me in the field wherever you want me to play
I can pitch if you want me to
or out there in the field
I really do not care
that is all on you
but remember this
if another team comes calling
offering a better deal
adios muchachos

I really don't particularly give a damn

has to be one of the best lines ever
he is walking out
where will I go? what will I do?
frankly, I don't give a damn

best fucking  line ever.
will brace myself for the onslaught..

here,

have a flower

it's chenille

look, I did not make you

or me

I did not wire your harness

nor mine

all i can do is deal with what I have

here

and now

what? you thought it would make sense?

as if you or I would make some 

semblance of reason together?

not so 

no

not so dearest friend

best we can do

is muddle along

2+2 = 4

it took him 400 goddamn pages 

to prove that

i shit you not

That is Shoeless Joe

I think he was a pretty good guy

in retrospect, after all is said and done

after nemesis found the hubris

i still think he is ok

there was a day

long ago for you and me

but in regards to time

why it was yesterday

was a couple of men that walked in that liquor store

or was it a store of stuff

who knows?

grantland rice and ty cobb

back from augusta

with bobby and the boys

there was joe

behind the counter

grantland said to ty, turn here and we will find him

and so they did

give me the bottle up over there

ring ring ring

Joe? aren't you gonna say somethin?

Ty. I wasn't sure you wanted me too

and Grantland wrote it all down

If i ever live to be a thousand or nearly so

same as Methuselah

I will never understand

I am a dolt

a fool

no better than a bump in the road

all i have are a few mumbles

pictures 

and words from somebody else

don't look over here (past oblivion)

don't look over here (past oblivion)

just say you never met me
safer that way.

at nearly a quarter to 2 what did you expect?
shall I find Waylon and Willie this time of night?

tadao said to tear down the wall
the wages were sttttttttrong
so he did
get me that jackhammer and get to it
luis, i could sure use a burrito

it still looks like a drill bit to me
no matter how phallic

grasses waving in the wind
been there
and she got mad
while she talked to some random human
i watched the airplanes fly in and out

aint none of my concern
if your mustang burns
still over here

No more hurting people. Peace.

that is what his poster said.
tears well up.
sounds so damn simple from the voice of a child
wearing his jersey of the wheel of a hub of Boston Bruins
missing a tooth
does it really matter where he was standing or what he was doing?

yeah why


why does it happen?

candyland

what brings us here?
is there an invisible sun?
wrestling with the existence
I want to know what makes people kill boys like this
or why we have to send out drones
I guess it was cheaper to fly in  by wire than send men in
and a duffell bag of a bomb with a cell phone to activate it.

I don't want to have to think about these things!

It makes me think back to the day of 911
that morning
I think of it again
it wasn't that long ago we remembered ten years in Iraq

complacency said the Senator from KY
it is difficult to restrain the anger




 I know that face
and the sun is set to rise
dear god, let him rest well
even if he who made him die
can find no place here to lay down

i want to cry out
this just ain't right

half-hearted misgivings

there is a coal on my shoulder
someone make it go away
with a knuckle and a fist it might
too tired to care

my thunderbird
drives like a dream
slide over here and let me put my arm around you
going too fast
make them have wings

i was here
and then I was gone
you kept on moving
that was to be expected
I sincerely hope it all went well

earl breaks it down for me
scruggs he's gone too
the possum isn't or wasn't nearly as photogenic
as chesney and dr dre
save me from what might be

no, no, no, I will still be over here
with what I have in hand
qwerty at the ready

seventy years ago
over there in Berlin and
where were they?
hurt me all the time
allll the goddamn time
i hope you know this will go down on your permanent record
oh yeah?
did i happen to mention I was impressed

i forget for what 8 was for
kiss off

at the sound of the grinding gears
i fired it up
don't stand too near
you might wear some of it home
hauling nine thousand gallons


where is the paradise?
i think you lied
it is not here or there
there is just the now
same as it ever was

it flew away
and I ran away too
every time I closed my eyes
fare thee well

life goes on and the wheel breaks the butterfly

I cannot help it. Life has a way of moving on.
you can stay put if you want to, but the rest of us are moving on

lying underneath stormy skies
she said the sun was set to rise
this could be paradise

no, i think not. this is just me and you and a bunch of rain
paradise is over there somewhere
we ain't found it yet
but, please be sure to tell me when you do.

there are few sure things in this life time
death and taxes among them
sure as the summer is hot in Texas
 winters are cold in Russia
the grass keeps growing
and rust never sleeps

time marches on with or without us
you can try to stand athwart the ridge of progress
and say "Stop!"
be about as effective as that viking standing at the shore
you just keep on telling those waves to stop
see how much they listen to you

I say shine
shine and burn hard and bright
use whatever fuel you have at hand
be true, be honest and be your own self
it is who you are after all

Atrazine 4L, Triazines, Scott's Bonus S, the EPA, water and your big tree.

I spray and spread a lot of chemicals around. I am good at it. I know which ones work on what plant and how and why and when to use them. It is a dark, arcane realm that I do not always like to inhabit. I am heavily regulated and closely watched. I have been inspected more than once and my presence on a job site can cause more than a little bit of controversy. I accept this. I recognize and applaud the Tx Dept of Agriculture and the Environmental Protection Agency for their efforts to keep me on the narrow path. The TDA man said my records were exemplary. Peachy. As long as I pass, fine by me.

Why exactly do we have to keep such exacting records of wind speed, temperature, registration numbers and amounts of product used? because this shit kills things. Dead dead dead. 

I had to spray wildflowers yesterday.
I did not like it.
It was kinda sad to hose it down with 2,4-D. But, I had to.

Not only that I put out one of the triazines which are now on the target list of chems the EPA is concerned about. Why are they concerned? Water. They are getting into the water system. Time for some links. Brace yourself, this blog is likely to have some ponderous links. From the USGS report

Results showed that large amounts of triazine herbicides and their degradation products were flushed into streams with runoff. Much of this transport took place during the first runoff period after application of herbicides. Subsequent runoff tended to produce lesser concentration peaks. Herbicide detections in larger Midwestern streams tended to be seasonal with higher percentages in spring and early summer and lower percentages in fall and winter.

The upshot being in the last couple of years, the EPA has decided that we should not apply this class of  herbicides in the vicinity of water (let's make that 50 ft shall we? yes let's! oh and a bunch of other restrictions too!) and that includes things like ditches, creeks, ponds (natural or man-made) drains or other water moving thingamabobs.

I have a really strong feeling it is violated constantly. Scott's Bonus S contains atrazine, a triazine, it is heavily marketed in different areas than where this study was conducted, the Midwest (hey look Amarillo, you are now part of the Midwest!) farming areas. It works and is relatively inexpensive, but it moves around a bit too much and also has a rather long half-life, some variations lasting up to 230+ days in the soil. How many homeowners this weekend will apply this stuff right next to the creek that flows through their neighborhood? Time to get a label. Yes, I read the damn label. Regularly. The very first thing that jumps out at me is what turf you can use it on and where it is sold. This is stuff specifically for St. Augustine. You cannot use it on bermudagrass or bluegrass. But, wait there a second you told us this class of chems was used up in Amarillo and I know it is too damn cold there for St. Aug!  Yep, you are right, so where is it coming from? This one. Atrazine 4L What crops does it mention regularly? Why that would be corn and sorghum. And where are those crops typically grown in the US of A? That would be the Midwest, including but not limited to Amarillo.
Now, let's get back to our homeowner friend. Did he or she read the label? Did they see the part on the Scott's one about not putting it out under trees or shrubs? Didja? Better check it again, the fine print, under restrictions and other shit you ought to know about. Not the big fancy advertising they paid good money for, no the teeny tiny writing the Feds make them put on there or some lawyer said they better because we have been having to pay off entirely too many people. They don't run that disclaimer on the ads I hear on my radio station or the ones that run on my TV. Nope, no mention of the water restrictions concerning this product or the damage it can cause to your great big Post Oaks. Y'know that one your wife liked so much that this house was the one she picked? Right, that one. No, he really doesn't say anything about that on the commercial does he? I guess they figured it wasn't a particularly good selling point. Now how they can sell this stuff at Home Depot without some mention of water(other than the standard boilerplate) is beyond me. If you have a wide expanse of St. Augustine lawn without any driplines of shrubs, trees or other ornamentals within the area, go for it. If you are like the thousands of homeowners with great big established trees don't say I didn't warn you.

There are no trees in the corn field. Those that might have been there a century ago were long since rooted up.
I suppose this is a plea to read the label of what you are using, whatever product it might be. Read it and understand it. Get past the fancy adverts and read the important stuff at the bottom.