Sunday, October 14, 2018

hopes dance best on bald men's hair

  • I've not tried mead though I see it in MOMs, shelves of it, never thought more about mead until I needed to watch a Bud Light commercial before I could post the youtube below last night.
  • A kind and benevolent king walks into his castle mess and orders free Bud Light for all his guests, but one Resistance member asks for mead, autumnal mead, mead the new Volvo, the mead-drinker placed in the stocks, Dilly Dilly.
  • Earthgirl away painting, I did a long loop by myself at Little Bennett, joined for two miles by

  • Chance. He adopted me in the high meadow of This or That Trail, walked with me two miles to where his owner picked him up, Chance's orange collar sharpied with phone number.
  • Chance seemed a good guy, well-fed and happy, the owner, what do I know, I could put words in his brain and call it a short story, but all unhappy families....
  • E.E. Cummings born 128 years ago today, more poems here.
  • While I'm delighted I'm not nagged by moral imperative to post this song as once I'd be, I'm also not embarrassed to post the obvious and never will be:

[as freedom is a breakfastfood]

E.E. Cummings

as freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
—long enough and just so long
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame
as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald mens hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
—long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets wail by children stung
or as the seeing are the blind
and robins never welcome spring
nor flatfolk prove their world is round
nor dingsters die at break of dong
and common’s rare and millstones float
—long enough and just so long
tomorrow will not be too late
worms are the words but joy’s the voice
down shall go which and up come who
breasts will be breasts thighs will be thighs
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
—time is a tree(this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough


  1. Not often that Chance apprehends you, and you know that absolutely to be a Fact.

  2. 1)speaking of e.e. cummings - one of my favorite poems of his is 'i sing of olaf' - and so i was a bit surprised to read today in wikipedia

    Cummings was politically neutral much of his life until the rise of the Cold War when he became a Republican and a supporter of Joseph McCarthy.

    2)and speaking of freedom as a breakfast food - obviously the most american breakfast food is a boxed cereal - but is it corn flakes - or wheaties - or even cheerios?

    3)and now for something substantially different - yesterday i found out that former african-american (now swiss citizen) tina turner (birth name anna mae bullock) appears on youtube not only performing a number of rock and pop songs [my favorite is 'it's only love' with bryan adams], but chanting in the background in a very relaxing 2-hour video of outdoor scenes

    Tina Turner - Lotus Sutra / Purity of Mind (2H Meditation)

  3. i came across this while looking for something else

    “Forgetfulness,” by Billy Collins (b. 1941)

    The name of the author is the first to go
    followed obediently by the title, the plot,
    the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
    which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
    never even heard of,

    as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
    decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
    to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

    Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
    and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
    and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

    something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
    the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

    Whatever it is you are struggling to remember
    it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
    not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

    It has floated away down a dark mythological river
    whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
    well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
    who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

    No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
    to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
    No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
    out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

    “Forgetfulness” from Questions About Angels, by Billy Collins, 1999.