This is a skinny little post, in hopes that the apophthegm "you are what you eat" might nicely adjust to "you are what you write".  Zmz just recently found out that old worries about high blood-pressure were well and good, but distracted from the real concern: very high cholesterol from eating all this rich Earth-food.  He immediately re-joined the Order of the Carrot (you can too):

http://www.theorderofthecarrot.com

His colons, as you can see, are still functioning very well, thank-you-very-much.  He has quite taken to a little spinning disc with sound pictures etched in, which can be found on the electric web here:

http://yellowjacketavenger.bandcamp.com

Zmz still thinks of music as having a physical aspect, like one of those saucers journeying to new worlds simply by spinning, or Mr. Young's silver seed, or Mr. Morrison's Crystal Ship.  The Achilles heel is Achilles' shield in this scenario. The former becomes the latter and vice versa when the latter fails to protect the former. The idea spins round and round like the many-pictured protective disc from the old Greek poem which, for all its beauty still could not act as proof against death.  When we go, we may bite the dust, but the dust devours us soon afterward leaving us very skinny, indeed.

See you in the future, dry bones!

Just a little worm-hole journey away, but time is relatively fleeting. Never enough time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=qL5SXTJ3e_A

Here is the original by Sun Ra, via YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=ugv_q8vQYq4

more space pop.

Just a quick link this time, friends and foes:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZOSum8M8kM



Off to sleep among the stars now.

Last night I had a dream,
A garden party with Radish Moran,
In which I wore your dress.
At the end of the night
People were jumping from the stratosphere
And floating down to us from above,
But you were unimpressed,
I failed to win your love.

It's time for another cartoon:

Harry hasn't any job, but he has an interview lined up. He's afraid, what with the recent cut-backs by the incumbent governing bodies, that there will be no safety-net to catch him if he just says "fuck this" and decides to become a full-blown street-person for a while. He has caught a number of powerful waves of lethargy on numerous friends's couches over the recent months and saved up a bit of dosh for a closet-sized space in a cramped rooming house. Harry hopes to be able to start fresh, salt some cash away month by month, and become a regular, upstanding member of society.

Well, sort of. When he's being honest with himself, the only time he takes this sort of initiative is when he's this close to going under. For some reason the idea of desolation on all sides, with just happy Harry in the midst of it all, balancing there like a busker before the gaping jaws of the public, is more in line with his idea of living than being gainfully employed and plucked from the tree of bachelorhood too soon by the out-stretched hands of someone's biological clock.

Only a few minutes before he's out the door and selling himself to the manager of the pet-store chain at the corner of Ogden and Fitzwillard. He's pretty sure that's where he's going. Christ, better double-check on that, Harry m'lad. Good God, the next bus is in five! Harry squeezes a dab of toothpaste onto his tongue, grabs his hat and heads out the door.

Wrote this to a very good friend of mine. She responded positively, but mentioned that she had to go eat dinner. I vomited. Here's the scoop:

i wan mak an interes thing.

it wood be perpetual glitch-makin tech.

you'd wear these glassis them look like inuit sun glass

and they'd be glitchey camras

so ereything you seed wood look like glitchy vidyos

and you cud internact wiff it by wearin a gluve that wirelesslee sent message to them glassis

no buttins, you's jus press a finger to palm in ordert selec somefin in your vishuns

and i wan mak this cuz vidyo gmeaz are stale an dumb now.

they need to innerac' whiff real world and distort an mek fun

but i will never mek these fun thing to mek million bullion cuz not with that attitude u won'!

unnerstan?

Hello, dear Sam!

How have you been keeping?  The darker days are nearly upon you and your hemisphere.  Now may be the time to consider the Tarvu religion. I will include a link for you at the posterior of this post (post-post, essentially "post scriptum", but I'm being silly, you see).  You have eaten of the turkey, roots, and gourd: the symbolic final meal before the on-set of hibernation. Be glad of the season!  The harvest has been plentiful.

I found an old poem of yours that I am posting here as well. I had a difficult time considering your implied metaphorical comparison of this pride of un-pride, and the pool of stagnant water left behind in the tread-marks of a forest harvester. Maybe you are inverting the order of reference. The weird palindrome makes me think so: pride; un-pride; stagnant water (un-pride, the world as it is, for better or worse); harvester (human pride). But I liked the inclusion of a religious and occult sensibility, and the confusion of both with pride and un-pride. The midge is collecting blood in an indiscriminate way, as is the plaid-shirted lumberjack.

It may be that you have had difficulty expanding your poems beyond a verse or two. Why are you always trying to be so pithy, anyhow? Can you write something for me that is self-absorbed, long-winded for the sake of words, and just plain fun? I'd like that. Well, that's all for now. Be well!

There is pride in endeavouring

To have no pride at all

A diabolic iloba ida 

Following a fall

So a stagnant pool of water

In uprooted forest’s wake

Will spawn a teeming multitude

For our bloody sake.

http://www.tarvu.com/givil.html