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It thumps like a sound but it flails like a word [Nov. 22nd, 2010|04:32 am]
Chroma IF
[Tags|]
[N/P: | American X the have-nots]

with what infernal cheek
feel the forked tongue split
choose your favorite side of it
lily-livered lives next to neck-or-nothing
gimlet eye boring holing the flooring
left feet fumble the brow-beetle
nervous tic tackling hat trick

now carry the tune
to this tin ear
hear the claws out
the wings appear
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dance lesson [Nov. 22nd, 2010|04:21 am]
Chroma IF
[Tags|]
[Current Location |tibia, limbic]
[N/P: |Gustr]

it's a lot like learning to be left-handed.
in this case I cannot go out and ask the nearest left-handed person how they would do such a thing because no two people dance alike.
What I am doing instead is well, first I wait until nobody is looking, then I get a good dancing song on my ipod, stand out on our patio and dance a little bit with holding onto the table; then I stop and try to get my right leg to see how to do what my left leg has been doing for a long time.
Or thinks it has been doing. maybe it misses dancing so much it thinks it was a star because it dreamed of this once.
I have learned a thing or two so far: the legs demand a sacrifice!
no, waitaminute, that's someone else. The legs demand that my hands switch also.
I can do this.

t'other week I was in the city to visit Mesila as it happens. I traveled around and came upon a wonderful couple dancing their asses off right by a nifty back window that was open perhaps for that very purpose. I went around, counting doorways and constructuction materials, and came to a place I'd dismissed earlier that night as wine-and-cheese-and-they-don't-want-me.
It was still wine-and-cheese, and I may always regret not sticking around long enough to find out who the band were. Woe!
I scarpered. went back around where the cool people were, and I watched them dance.
eventually I noticed that the woman was missing a footy.
I said "Oh my goodness, you're missing a footy!"
She asked her man, smiling and sweating during a pause in the dance, "what did she say?"
He beamed into her lovely face and said "She said you're missing a footy"
She turned to me and rolled her eyes just a little and said "yeah, that's what the wheelchair's for"

Oh.

here's the math:
if I cannot run, I'm gonna wanna die: I may not do so: please don't ask me why but it just isn't allowed right now.
pppttthhhpt. hmph. well, shit.

-If she can do it, I can do it too.
Dancing lessons. i figure her for about 120 soaking wet; I'm a good bit bigger so I'll need to carry myself most of the time.
if I do this properly, I can kiss my own hands, dropping tears and waving truly frightening teeth of gratitude.
fuck that, I can do that anyway...
...see what I mean?
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Writer's Block: Unplugged [Nov. 22nd, 2010|04:07 am]
Chroma IF
[Tags|]
[N/P: |C+C Music Factory]

For how much money would you be willing to spend a whole week away from the Internet, TV, and mobile phones? Would you suffer withdrawal pains?

I'd do it for the week's pay that I'd miss and a tank of gas.
Pain without tissue damage is like reading a cocktail napkin upside-down; no big deal.
TV ugh; never liked it. Internet I can live without, and cell phone if I am not working I don't really need it.
Where do I sign up?
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what do you do if you cannot run? [Oct. 25th, 2010|07:09 am]
Chroma IF
[Tags|, , , ]
[Current Location |here]
[N/P: |veil sloe semen]

it's a lot like learning to be left-handed.
in this case I cannot go out and ask the nearest left-handed person how they would do such a

thing because no two people dance alike.
What I am doing instead is well, first I wait until nobody is looking, then I get a good dancing

song on my ipod (which is well worth the money I paid for it)and then I stand out on our patio

and dance a little bit; then I stop and try to get my right leg to do what my left leg has been

doing for a long time.
or thinks it has been doing. maybe it misses dancing so much it thinks it was a star because it

dreamed of this once.
i have learned a thing oe two so far: the legs demand a sacrifice!
no, waitaminute, that's someone else. The legs demand that my hands switch also.
I can do this.

t'other week I was in the city. I traveled around and came upon a wonderful couple dancing

their asses off right by a nifty back window that was open perhaps for that very purpose. I

went around, counting doorways and constructuction materials, and came to a place I'd

dismissed earlier that night as wine-and-cheese-and-they-don't-want-me.
It was still wine-and-cheese, and I may always regret not sticking around long enough to find

out who the band were. Woe!
I scarpered. went back around where the cool people were, and I watched them dance.
eventually I noticed that the woman was missing a footy.
I said "Oh my goodness, you're missing a footy!"
She asked her man, smiling and sweating during a pause in the dance,

"what did she say?"
He beamed into her lovely face and said "She said you're missing

a footy"
She turned to me and rolled her eyes just a little and said "yeah, that's what the wheelchair's

for"

Oh.

here's the math:
if I cannot run, I'm gonna wanna die: I may not do so: please don't ask me why but it

just isn't allowed right now.
pppttthhhpt. hmph. well, shit.

-If she can do it, I can do it too.
Dancing lessons. i figure her for about 120 soaking wet; I'm a good bit bigger so I'll need to

carry myself most of the time.
if I do this properly, I can kiss my own hands, dropping tears and waving truly frightening

teeth of gratitude.
fuck that, I can do that anyway...
...see what I mean?
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Neither invisible nor silent [Oct. 19th, 2010|05:25 am]
Chroma IF
[Tags|]
[Current Location |United States, California, Petaluma]
[N/P: |apocalyptic trance ritual]

I had someone ask me today what 'equanimity' meant. I am used to being asked such things but not at all used to the asker really wanting to know.

"Well, uh." ...
..."well, you've been to school! Think of your latin, equi- well, there's equal, and equation... ..there's animosity, and amine, and amity... and ity is , well...something that be like something...?" but it didn't matter that I trailed off because by that time he'd gone 'Oh..'.
If I helped explain to someone who will use the information what 'equanimity' means without having to sock him one, and if he uses this important information or does not use it, I can sleep knowing that i gave somebody something they might be able to use.
If it's dick i want, and I often do, I can get all i need here at home.
I suppose anyone here could if they cared to : but as you know, this is not the point.

As soon as i find out what the point is, I will tell you if I speak english by then or have a tongue besides that of deity with whom i will be responsible but not now, i am too busy being alive.


this is some of the odds and ends I shared with my new friend this evening.

he did not shrink from me. he tried to but could not.

do you all know how long it's been since someone stopped to pass the time o'day and bump gums with me?
......whooo..
i'm an easy person to fascinate but that won't make me shut up.
i am not ashamed to stand up and holler for what I want.
it matters little in that case what lil ole thing it may or may not have between its legs..
I dunno about anyone else, but I can tell you that my God does not even *know* what you have between your legs that's been bothering you all your life or not bothering you and you wondered what was wrong with you.......
just set that down at the crossroads, yes, THOSE crossroads.
Ah.
So.

here is a youngish fellow well-possessed, by which I mean if I played this song for him he would listen, suck the good out and spit out the dross out of my sight, so as not to upset me needlessly.
That is what it is all about.

I learned something once and I used it today: what else can one ask? ...
oh, plenty, but that's another story...
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(it ain't) Writer's Block: (it ain't that either) Dynamite with a laserbeam [Oct. 18th, 2010|11:12 pm]
Chroma IF
[Tags|]

Is there a specific song or band that makes you yearn for the past?


With my whole heart and soul, etc.? No.

There's places-times?
I would not mind visiting again, there are people I'd do all sorts of astonishing things to spend some time with again, but sometimes if I go out on my back porch and turn off the lights, and listen to the night, some of those people come 'round and say hello and listen politely to what happened to me that day or week, and am I ready to miss out on the future? I can't. I got responsibilities. I love old home week just as much as the next one, but yearn is a very, very strong word: 'yearn' is like 'long' :it's something one does toward death.

But ya, in a way: I think about it a lot. :)

I hope this answers your question

/M


NP: Bron-yr-Aur Stomp/Brooklyn girls by train
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Ashtrays, how Quaint! [Sep. 23rd, 2010|06:14 am]
Chroma IF
[Tags|]

...I may as well have been shopping for a buggy whip or a coal-scuttle, but I did eventually find something that can be MADE into an ashtray even if it was meant for a spoon-holder...

You would think that Volvo, a company renowned for Safety, would have put the driver's ashtray someplace other than *behind the gearshift*. But wait, there's more- it is also a shallow plastic trough and it's in front of the fusebox, so that one cannot check the fuses without flinging ashes all over the car. This, though silly, does not bother me too much because it's my car and I smoke, and if I really minded having ashes on my clothes and smelling like cigarettes all the time, well duh, I wouldn't smoke.

This is a human factors engineering error, though, so I yanked the thing out. Now it sits next to the emergency brake. I don't like having anything but a door between me and the fusebox, but I can't yank out the gearshift and that's that.

However.

I should not have to look DOWN, taking my eyes away from the road, to put my fucking cigarette out.

The passengers have a lovely ashtray, conveniently located and constructed with actual metal.

Perhaps this is Volvo's way of encouraging carpooling; I could be picking up hitchhikers, and instead of sex or money I could demand that they sit in the back seat and put my cigarettes out for me. You think I'm joking? How long does it take a three-year-old to get behind a vehicle moving backwards? I've seen some in action and that is just the kind of thing they *live* to do.

It's not a big surprise; they are penned up all day as we were not. We were allowed normal educational activities like falling out of trees by mistake and trying again, digging in hundred-year-old dumpsites, catching bees, making bows and arrows and shooting them at each other (pointing anything but our bare hands was FORBIDDEN, but as the eldest I deemed this okay-but-don't-tell, it was only a stick of grass, jeez...; crawling through several dozen yards of storm drains, dropping headfirst (my brother, not me) from the rope swing at the swimming hole in the Musconetcong (or was it the Raritan?) thumbing our collective nose at the POSTED:CONTAMINATED sign...we had practical, wholesome ways to experience risk and would *never* have dashed into the street the way I have seen little kids do here. A car was a big fast machine,a useful tool like the tractor or Daddy's deer rifle, not a game piece or a toy.

This is why *parking lots frighten me* especially around here. Nodding off on 880 at seventy miles an hour, while an undesirable event, is not as scary as going to the grocery store at six o'clock on Saturday in Petaluma. People are friendlier here, but they don't do things the way my mother did.

One grips one's child by its hand when walking in the parking lot. One does not let go, no matter how it screams and struggles; one does not give in to laziness or misplaced guilt feelings, and one lets go only when inside closed doors. These people have taught their children to be more afraid of Guys With Beards than they are of Cars.

Falling asleep while driving on a freeway would (did) make me STUPID, and if I smashed myself against a wall or became involved with the undercarriage of a semi, this would be really bad and my loved ones would cry, but I would retain most of my good name.

If little Diddy Doody or baby Pancrase double-fakes his mother and rushes my car successfully I'll be sorted out as EVIL by fiat, no matter what happens or how slowly I was driving.


~~~ The only way I could redeem myself would be by slitting my own throat on the steps of City Hall(if I actually hurt anyone) or little Smackdab's parents' front lawn (if no one was injured) on Halloween when nobody would believe I was actually doing it until it was too late. I would of course have to have my own sutures on hand and some booze to pour onto it, but I could do that.~~~


In the meantime, Since I am not EVIL, have no plans to become so and little chance of success if I tried, I have purchased a handsome ceramic probably-a-spoon-holder which I intend to velcro onto my dashboard where I can SEE it when I am driving.
It says "forol lord of the forol cock domeotic Bauiyaid forol sooster cock sooster' and features a chicken, a male of course. One can surmise, deduce what the writing on this thing is meant to say, but only 'cock' is legible at first glance. Who could resist such a marvelous piece? I laughed my ass off, and paid two-fifty-plus-tax, a bargain if I ever saw one.

Now I just need the epoxy and the velcro, and then I can thumb my nose at suicidal Toddlers and their neurotic Parents while puffing madly at my American Spirit and leaning on the horn.

America! Ain't it great?
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The Feast of the Thoracic Surgeon [Jun. 27th, 2010|06:05 am]
Chroma IF
is June 28th- on that day in 2008 I almost died and was saved by surgical intervention. Everybody who loves me may want to cheer or something like that.
She seemed pleased but like she did this every day. She probably did.
"Thank you Dr. Regal"
"we didn't think you were going to make it for a minute but you just rallied"
"Yeah, I guess I did. When can I take a shower?"
"Today, when you get home. Make sure you dry off really good and put on clean clothes."
I loved her for that too.
'Thank you Dr. Regal'



--- There are four boxes to be used in defense of liberty: soap, ballot, jury, and ammo. Please use in that order. ~ Ed Howdershelt ---
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Writer's Block: Lucky pants [Mar. 6th, 2010|05:43 am]
Chroma IF
[Tags|]
[N/P: |cziltang brone]

Do you have a lucky or unlucky piece of clothing? If you have a lucky garment, when do you wear it and what sort of luck has it brought you? If you have an unlucky piece of clothing, why do you keep it? Do you ever wear it just to see what happens?


lucky shirt! green linen. really loose weave so it's comfy. I got it in the men's department of Nordstrom's. It cost a fortune- $40.00. Shortly aftar that I got my first job right out of tech school(the job I had for ten years) while wearing it, and I also got the house I now live in and the job I now have wearing it.

how could I know fifteen years ago that it would be money well spent? 'twas the only thing besides my magic suit (also cost a fortune) that looked like Office/Interview and was also Comfortable and even Attractive. I mean, I like it. Still. I save it for special occasions though, it may have to last another 15 years. My Gigantic Pile of Consumer Debt keeps on working for me to the tune of one 9-month certificate and one green linen shirt- the rest of it was for things that did not last.
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seems like nobody tells me anything anymore [Jan. 20th, 2010|07:01 am]
Chroma IF
[Tags|]
[Current Location | here]
[N/P: |"dirty white boy"]

except would I please shut up- which makes me think maybe they did tell me and I wasn't listening.
I was going to squawk about not having known that John Peel was dead until now. I came but lately to youtube but have found it an amazing vein of Goodness Knows What.[digression available by appointment]

Of course if you are reading this, you already know that. I suppose you also knew John Peel was dead. Is.
I am not mad. What would I have done differently? Not a damn thing. Lafferty, now, I found out he was dead less than two years after he actually was- I had wanted to write him a letter and tell him how much I'd loved his stories and how there could never be anyone remotely like him in 1000 years. If you have not read 'Land of the Great Horses' or 'Thus We Frustrate Charlemagne' or 'Continued On Next Rock', go and do it as soon as possible.

I guess I have death on the mind recently. Not my own, that was postponed a couple years ago, thank you Dr. Regal. I am alive to go outside and smoke half a cigarette, to have another glass of wine, to peer into the storm and wonder what I would have to wear to go out running in this and not be thought to be much more insane than I actually am.

My father is dead. I knew this would happen but it caught me by surprise anyway. He was so sick for so long that we couldn't get much talking done. now I see that not much is an awfully long way from never again. even in the same room, as close as I am to my keyboard, what did we do? I admired his eyes, a gorgeous golden-brown with lashes like a llama and wondered why I'd never noticed; made sure we still had the same forehead (we do), and fumbled with the fork, scandalizing H., who asked had I never fed *anyone*?

well, with my fingers, but with a tool? no, not anyone who couldn't feed themselves, no.
eyes were rolled. not in the least my dad's. Fortunately it was really good lasagne (H. made it) and to this day and any number of days to come I will swear that my father shot me a look. I can't explain it right now- it is helpful to remember that this man could move only the fewest parts of himself. So when I say that he shot me a look, I think I am on to something.

Shortly after that I was dismissed to my great relief. My feeding skills were sadly below average for my gender-age-and-station and I was obviously pining for a smoke besides.

I saw him the next day, then never again.


There are probably as many kinds of dying as there are of living now that I think of it.

I have no wish to shake my father by any part one might be shaken by- it's always my mother I wanted to shake anyway.

If nobody tells me anything anymore (and I no longer maintain that this is the caes)
maybe it's just not as big of a deal as it used to be?

methyl, ethyl, propyl, butyl, amyl...

fuck! The cats! I've got to go and feed the cats. Everyone else has been rained out and are probably quite rightly concentrating on finding themselves a place out of this insistent wet and if they needed my help they would ask.

The cats do not speak English and they don't know where I live.

My course is clear.
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