S.B.T. 364

some ideas shoot like comets 
you cannot miss them the burst is sudden
and the tail long  
with forever arc memory - 
but they sweep the atmosphere
in just a few seconds

people still talk about when halley came in 1910


 

S.B.T. 363

Holiday Mood 

- Music by The Apples In Stereo -

animation by tipota

S.B.T. 362

north south east and/or west

you can do it, 

i tell myself 

while in black and white

a peter lawford 

scene

is centered 

on the screen
frrrossssty

pinacolada,

sweet and tasty 

nice and mean

(jewelled luxury
in the chatter

morrison-huxley-

yes, no 
matter...)

S.B.T. 361

activate

"just click there'" he says, pointing to a yellow banner. ear to ear we sit, the screen is oversize, it's 'buddy system' in more ways than one. partly because we have our feet here and our brains elsewhere. and partly because the more the merrier, two can eat as cheaply as one, and so on. one person combing their hair is one thing, two doing the same is entirely different

'masked and anonymous' is on tv in the next room, but as i said, we aren't in the real world any more, so here we are. and this thing is all about binaural beats, and brainwave entrainment, and it is being offered for free. hmmm. but what the heck, i want to see what it is, so i click.

a space with the phrase 'enter full name' above materializes. it feels weird but i enter the name. it feels peculiar, like i'm signing a paper that drafts me into the navy or something. most of the time you can type in a nickname but this one wants the full scroll stretched out. now, in the navy, i'm commissioned to do highly sensitive data retrieval, and I have to deliver these proprietary materials to uberpowerful luminaries whose names I can't repeat or I will be dismissed. from the planet, i mean. because it's too easy for them to get away with murder or whatever. it's midnight on a bridge in the valley. the moon shines over the river. i hold my camera up close to my trenchcoat, and ask that "i wonder who else is looking at the moon?" question, but only in my head because if a tree falls in the forest and nobody hears it, did it really fall? ha what a question. a surefire A-plus on the test if they're all that way. a question even squirrels and night birds could answer if you knew how to ask. this is an example of what the space of perception has in store when you have a job like mine, a navy-data-liaison job. there are stakeouts on lonely bridges and docks, in random parking lots and isolated warehouses always on the blackest echoing nights 

below that bar is another required info box with a "your primary email address here" salutation. this is really getting bizarre. cuz that is like a repeat of all that i just typed. and it's also an affirmation of identity. the same accident rarely happens twice, statistically, to one individual that is. i mean forget about war and politics. this is just me here, with my buddy, acting as one. we are giving up the ghost, we are entering a mysterious realm, we are stuck on the top of the ferris wheel in a little red swinging bucket

blink. 

"Thank you!" it says "You will be receiving a confirmation email. Please check your mailbox shortly."

damn creepy if you ask me. which you didnt.

S.B.T. 360

mint chips

"just hope everything is ok" she said sweetly smiling, glancing downward. 

the cash drawer pings open, "a typical spring-loaded function," i thought, as she wrapped my 'all natural' bittersweet chocolate bar in brown paper. as if anything could possibly be unnatural. 

inside the drawer, rumpled and flattened in dark corridors the cash is segregated by denomination, separated by walls. the hundred dollar bill, benjamin greenback, cries out to his son, "50 clams bill! where are you son?" "i'm here, pap! i'm ok, the restraining bar is loose. there's just two of us in here, me and this guy jack" "i'm alone here, son, i'm fine too, i just wish we could be together" and so on, all the way down to tiny wailing baby dollars. squeezed together like sardines, shoved thoughtlessly into seedy orphan housing, never seeing their mothers again. and they are given new names, such as 'buck' and 'moolah'. a 20 dollar bill is almost always a mother with at least one teenager in the house and a few toddlers.

she has to make dreadful sacrifices every day.

the change boxes at front are jingling. house pets and roaming creatures. it's tragic.

what a system, i thought. inside a child's piggy bank, a money clan can stay for years in familial commune, until the walls crack open one day, and someone ends up in another drawer, at a candy store with a bunch of strangers, crammed together in a temporary holding bin. sometimes they are jailed, without any offense, in locked boxes in a vault. it's terrible the way it happens. and nobody even cares.

"oh yes, it's fine, i mean the chocolate-covered samples were wonderful. mint chips. pineapple. coconut. all very tasty, thanks."

S.B.T. 359

popular belief

who cares

about the genus/phylum of the rare woodland lady's slipper, 

or that varying hues of hydrangea can be controlled with alkali

what the difference is between shasta and daisy

not that these things have no importance

but latin and designer names are a lot of iou and sometimes wise

i just cant handle it

so, if you want to communicate these floral importances ami

use color scheme and shape, 

'pink & white bulbous and vast' 

'deep rose multipetal curling' 

'layered yellow stripe-like petals splayed from a cushy brown navel'

ok?

S.B.T. 358

a deer story

it's supper time and though you aren't hungry

you acquiesce because there are others who are and it's on the table

and they are expecting you and you dont realize how stressed you are because you are numb

"what? what is this?" she thought, her mind still slowly churning away from sleep. "it isnt what, well, i, i could swear...last night i was sure... i mean it, i knew it was..." 

she was stuffy from nightwind pollen and there decided not to even try figuring out how things could become much better than what was deemed possible yesterday, even though what was expected is much less charming than this odd surprise, any essence of miraculousness still eluded her sensibility and she just went over to the sink, tore a paper towel from the stick, started the morning coffee

the nonchalant reaction, to the agent and assistant behind the 2-way mirror taking notes o' jectively, was unexpected.  "what strange creatures," thought TM, who typed: "subject does not like - alert - subject does not seem to like o/n express best case scenario"

"Now what?" said TM calmly.

"What are we supposed to do now? We can't force it, what with the quality of the stored data in place." They looked at each other, one of them sighed.

"The only way comrade, is to wipe it all and rebuild." 

a few minutes, and the coffee was ready. she could hear the last sputtering gasps of the machine, and her chosen cup for the morning was the bone china megamug with a bevy of cats in pastel, neutral tones, and she was holding it, pouring in the cream first, then the hot black bubbling coffee over it and it smelled very very good. she was standing there in her robe blandly looking at the top of the stove taking her fourth sip when she heard the birdcall and spun around toward the window to see a baby redwing and a chickadee dancing outside on the deck railing a few feet away. that sight elicited several more quick sips and a sudden bing! of alertness that found her looking around in puzzlement at the mysterious unexpected object on top of the ironing board, and remembering what a deer meant in an old hindu rama/sita fable, with a bass note randomly punctuating a rhythm of doubting thomas refrain "is this really happening?" and then the chorus "like, duh, what's right in front of your eyes?"

S.B.T. 357

neil harbisson hears color and eats songs

S.B.T. 356

the ubiquitous message of the klock

"sempeternity of applied science 

technology and click globalism has created a new language

for the humans

this sound language has a wide range of dialects.

fanning feathers, rainbow spillage, spry eyes, grotettes,

kung gong padded footsteps, mobile vacuform inyerface,

and many many more"

with long fingers it taps out a pause on the table


steam fanning laser feathers,
sound rainbow

they move gently i notice 

but i cant image the aura 

of erupting evidence

(it keeps appearing disappearing)

beneath the glitch

(unexpedited) by persistent rhythm and 
clever mimes in whiteface

zipping up the magnolia costume

in season and times again

to fit within limitations

whatever size semper fidelis information

was gathered on eternity 

the coconut globe

S.B.T. 355

and now the fruit-basket

 a lifeform-

based on some polymer

element i had no reason to know

it appears to be delicate, ephemeral, 
the skin glistens like jelly and the eyes can smile 
while there are no lips, it has almost a turtle's mouth.
the mouth begins to move, it opens

"i see U -
greetings earthling! U r enchanting....helplessly
making fuzzy sounds in variable timbre -
but U r wild. U show what we find to B tummytumtumtump
which cannot B X-play end, but mostly basically essentially U r wild.
so i have drawn, from available alchemy,
with kind regard, while expecting to gather a measure of control,
some sweetness and gratitude, allahkazzahm

you will find melons and tangerines on the doorstep, 
pretty little beans for the darling human to eat"

 before i can think, it vanishes


either or not, 

it occurs 

between the 3rd and 11th dmns

in the bcs it spans 16 levels,  tho 14 are

enough for discernment, 

and it will antimaterialize

according to las leyes del mundo

as per frequency shifts

echo callings, 
liquid metals

----

footnote: ghost peppers

ghost pepper rates 855,000 on the scoville scale

tabasco sauce rates 2,500-5,000

ghost pepper, hot stuff!

S.B.T. 354

encounter

they came to 'visit', again. i sat entranced, easily sipped the noir, the dark edge folded around a cylinder.

on the brownish sunny days you can't see the blue couch, it is submerged in complementary shadow even though the glass panel is only 4 1/2 feet away and we are in daylight. the color disappears like smoke/ you were bouncing on it this morning when you haphazardly noticed unmistakable blueness, but now it has thinned to sootpaper as you walk past toward the 'hallway'.

why dont you go out and check the trees, he calls from the kitchen. i'd like to, i think, except for the lightning and reservoir of raindrops all around the hutch. 

they are watching, i can feel their eyes on my back as i lean forward, lift a ghost pepper from the dish and put it between my teeth, rise to my feet and swallow.

i made a run for it, but i didnt get very far, the water was too deep for my slippers and the laundry is half way across town. oddly arrhythmic flashes of light pop behind the 'clouds'.

the first time, i had the feeling the skin on my back was impossible to shelter from salamanders frighteningly gentle split tongues, but it passed. as it happened this time, they only lingered for a few minutes. i'm sure they saw the dread in my pose and quickly scanned the foyer for any feng shui, finding none, they took some notes  - the ladies in the elvis movie look like ventriloquist dolls, the black coffee's been sitting all day, someone heard the word Tuskegee at least three times recently  -  and left.

encounter

S.B.T. 353

i own my anger

i tell u without regret

 it is volatile

it may not be safe

what the f r you doing there?

if you are gazing 

into the caldera

when the 

melted rock starts rolling

in the stone and steel furnace

there shimmering white hot

alexanders sarissa spear 

flares piercing thru the vent,

burning a path of shrieks

and words like granite boulders

 ablaze with molten lava

tumble in an avalanche

* * *

* * * * * *

* * * * * * * * *

*      *    *      *

*      * * *      *

*      *      *      *

*      * * *      *

*      *            *      *

S.B.T. 352

paul squires was a rare person, a creature of delicacy and aplomb, who balanced architecture and magic with words, poetry of the people, a unique and supremely intelligent and perceptive mans 'music'. mr. paul squires was a beautiful human being, unlike any other, whose wit and insight might seem to have vanished, yet if you recall his politic and politeness, he surely deserves a "Sir" salutation on the anniversary of his passing two years this week.

at first one clung to the hope he was still there, formed a rationale to interpret and digest the tragedy, held onto the now-irreplacable tenets he left in sensitive and/or bright and/or colorful messages and missed his encouragement, which can be recognized now as his teaching on how to make the most of the creative spirit et al. i miss the ability to access his astounding mental library on all things writing-related, and now remember up close and/or from a distance, either way one remembers.

it started as a world-still-sleeping sunny morning and now the reedy wind is rippling through the leaves of the big oak, and the weather report is predicting severe thunderstorms as they might come up suddenly without warning, just like that, in the middle of a pleasant summer day.  i just changed "in the middle of this pleasant..." to "in the middle of a pleasant...", in effect, a precise example of the detail pauls teachings alerted my senses toward discovering. alerted and altered forevermore. 

he was something special. 

gingatao

S.B.T. 351

what if i always thought in mathematical terms - for instance a fractalistic viewpoint or position. 

or being fracktalistic on the ground straddling two worlds, a good thing imo - it's always heartening to consider other worlds.

like the idea of parallel universes appeals to my sense of balance

cuz otherwise what is all the suffering for, at least for a place where everything went right all the time,
or most of the time.

that place might also have it's notorious wrong events or entities just the way once in a while something really good and important happens to everyone all at once no holds barred except of course if you dont want it (they weave into the fabric of life but stand out embedded pearls and gemstones just the way good news does).

say the balance of having st. therese of the flowers here, would be having hitler there. but alas there is also here. now i'm blundering - first someone who existed on earth for a short season, like a flower, and then someone who lived way too long. that would only be the first iteration - 'first' and 'then' are terms only useful for sequence since time is not linear while language and thought can be but lets say, not for long

Yoko Ono , Sean Lennon on Jimmy Fallon 13 July 2012


\

S.B.T. 350

long purple shadows cast by boulders. a silver flute plays chopin inside the top of my head which is a cave, there in the distance, with bats ratcheting. deep red velvet pain, the color is like blood, but at least it is alive, it is red. this fabric, so luminous, alluring, is untouchable. it is draped in a room painted by vermeer, carefully crumpled into a circle by little feet of cats, arranged in a brass ring basket, shaped like a crown, plumped with goose feathers. and the room is in some castle in the clouds.  only the delft geographer could imagine what all these things are for. for susan where you once were, is no more, unsettled scattered across the landscape of a hollow place where a friend is laid to rest.

S.B.T. 349

weeds

heavy metal clippers, 

dark green hoses

soil-soiled lime-green gloves,

prod the crumbled earth with love

creeper vines will reign no more!

free the ash and roses! 

as wilderness reveals its core

in secrets it discloses

we see a family of weeds, 

who squeeze between the silver shoots

of wheatgrass where the roots take hold

around a clump of trees and fruits

_

how tall and proud the weeds once stood

before i shook them loose

they offered no resistance

i gave them no excuse

they laid their lives down for the cause

of quince and tiger lily paws

for sweet perfume to trail and rise

from petals perched by their demise

ah, good weeds go to heaven

S.B.T. 348

i used to make jokes of the sharply observant kind. i grew up doing it. it came, i think, from having noticed my mother's fierce intolerance of bacteria on tiled surfaces and all that lysol scent had an effect on me. 

i would probably call them "bummer jokes" - tipping toward some unspeakable something, maybe foundational from every place of quiet or place of fear, which responds in some way to the need of the now moment. something you would never think fast enough to hold back before it got out. a way to gain an edge and facilitate structure-comprehension, a subject i think should be an educational requirement. not sociology, psychology, political science alone, but something bigger that teaches about structuring in general. "the mathematics of structure" so a person can begin to develop rational discern with all the crossweaving that goes on. continuously. one needs to work up a sweat doing daily structure-leaping exercises and construction chores and get them all done. because you never know where the dragnet falls next.

it wasnt kosher to joke about having creative block in the sculpture class, i was just doing my thing, but sheesh, they gave me such dirty looks!  ok, admittedly, i hunched over like quasimodo and flapped bat wings when i said it, it's possible the largest share of communique' resulted from that

i stormed a dylan concert once, walked right in w/o a ticket because i had an american flag wrapped around me like a sari and so they must have thought i was in the show. if anybody had tried to stop me or especially put a hand on me including gate police, i would have screamed "hands off the flag you treasonous

fool!" and if that didnt work "rape of freedom!" even tho wearing the flag is actually illegal, not one cop even reached for me.

haha

i know i know but cmon my act was worth the price of the ticket

S.B.T. 347

red sunset

 delicate birdcall summon s

light - 

ethereal butter

spreads smooth

over the ledge

calling out   .   moving in

leaning on the low clouds

drifting

a strikingly subtle phase

just before dark 

origin turns a face

to the wind

lullaby

albumen print

my eyes are as sharp as they used to be the old fool muttered

i havent lost much twinkle, poking the fire patch

this is the pilgrims way of cooking chicken he said, 

bespectacled, stirring the pot

at least the revolution was exotic, in a chilly way

if only we sipped chardonnay bliss

fully instead of sharing soup

it takes years to describe them, from the denizens

of the night, citizens, warriors, the occasional intriguing tapdancer

but this one you were my teacher, 

the laughing one, the happy hotai

in the fashion of green disney demons

with golden intentions

amplified through a sheeps horn

tiny piglet giggle

how is it sir i said, that you can do that

unravel, not clip, the ends