big sky

gotta love Wanda

Wanda For President

thanks to everyone who sent me this pic

hangen'

Seems like i haven't written a post in a coons age. how ever old that is. one of those euphemism's from my childhood that my mother always tossed about. I hated it when she did that. all that hokey shit she came up with. and now, here i am, sounding like my mother, looking like my grandmother, and feeling like I'm ready for my next incarnation.

I've been hangen' over at myspace. simple stuff. not to much thinking involved. just a flash in the pan and then I can stay on the boat for weeks and never write a thing. so has become my life right now. just don't wanna get off that warm boat.

My job went from 2 days a week to 4 days a week. one would think wtf??? 4 days a week should be cruzen' but.... it;s just a reminder that the hcv is alive and kicken ass on my liver. which in turn takes it;s toll on every other organ in my body. including my brain. brain fog. not so bad. But people that know me, it's really noticeable. i can look back on this blog... shit it's really disconcerting.

das ist abar shada. another one of those euph's

a movie

What is the question?

Poverty, it's just to big of a subject to write about. I'm poor but I do get by on a tiny little retirement. and I can still work a very part time. the bills get paid. somewhere in the not so distant future I won't be able to work and my tiny little retirement isn't gonna cut it. And who knows the way the economy is tanking right now if it will even matter. I don't own a home. I choice I made. I really feel bad for the people that invested in one with shaky balloon payments and a wish and a promise. The only ones coming out of that meltdown smelling pretty are the executive turds at Fannie May and Freddy Mack. Hope their golden parachutes land in the ocean.

But what about real poverty. The kind we don't even know in this country. The kind found in countries like Haiti, India, Afghanistan....I don't know what the answers are. I'm not even sure what the questions are. As I knock thru life trying to get by, I don't even know what the answers are for my self. but it certainly does put my life in perspective when I think beyond my nose. And to keep from slitting my throat I just stay in the here and now,and do the best i can to not cause pain and suffering to others.

what do you have to say?

Blog Action Day 2008 Poverty from Blog Action Day on Vimeo.

yellow

doga

After a year and a half the new dog park's grand opening is tomorrow. I bet it's gonnna rain.

Lucy Blue got a new necklace

My little friend

Warp Cat

I miss dog energy in my space. I've been looking at all the dogs that have crossed my path in this life time. Still miss my Girlfriend dog. I go visit Pete the stray and his sidekick Big Lu. They still love me. but its just not the same.

Life is good though, the most beautiful baby in the world is about to make her grand entrance soon. Although I am not a main player in that adventure, I get to watch from a great box seat. The X_bf (granpa) and I seem to have a good working relationship. As long as I don't have to SEE him to much.

And I have a current bo that is beyond anything I could have dreamed up. His job keeps him way to many hours and I'm still emotionally sketchy so it works out. No matter what, the interaction with this "silly boy" is what got me through one of the more funky times in my life. I say bravo to that.

so life, as usual, waxes and wanes. Dog's or no dogs. and Lucy Blu is her own little independent planet. She doesn't even need a sun to revolve. She spins out at warp cat. So I think I'm gonna make a tomato pie as found on Judy Bluesky's blog.

Some times I feel like a motherless child

I'm really tired tonight. Just tired. I could make a list I could tell u all about it but I'm just to tired. like drib tired. So many things happened today - bland - joyless - my life flowing down the side streets hitting the storm drain lost forever. salton sea - wet. not being replaced fast enough. someday just the bottom left - cracked - won't be back. but tomorrow's coming in on the early train, i'm always amazed when it shows up on time with the flag of promise snapping in the breeze like a mad terrier.

inspiration drizzles down

hee haa

spiderman

My tatoo

Show Us Your Ink! Brickfish

the tour guide wishing us a fond fairwell

Faye Canyon

I hiked high so I could see the wealthy veiw. poetry was read in the canyon to the melodious meandering of a native american flute. a bobcat had walked the trail below not so long ago. maybe he was still in the neighborhood.

No to Palin

Friends, compatriots, fellow lamenters,

We are writing to you because of the fury and dread we have felt since the announcement of Sarah Palin as the Vice-Presidential candidate for the Republican Party.
We believe that this terrible decision has surpassed mere partisanship, and that it is a dangerous farce on the part of a pandering and rudderless Presidential candidate that has a real possibility of becoming fact.
Perhaps like us, as American women, you share the fear of what Ms. Palin and her professed beliefs and proven record could lead to for ourselves and for our present or future daughters.
To date, she is against sex education, birth control, the pro-choice platform, environmental protection, alternative energy development, freedom of speech (as Mayor she wanted to ban books and attempted to fire the librarian who stood against her), gun control, the separation of church and state, and polar bears.
She has no real preparation to become the second-most-powerful person on the planet.

We want to clarify that we are not against Sarah Palin as a woman, a mother, or, for that matter, a parent of a pregnant teenager, but solely as a rash, incompetent, and all together devastating choice for Vice President. Ms. Palin's political views are in every way a slap in the face to the accomplishments that our mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers so fiercely fought for, and that we've so demonstrably benefited from.

First and foremost, Ms. Palin does not represent us. She does not demonstrate or uphold our interests as American women. It is presumed that the inclusion of a woman on the Republican ticket could win over women voters. We want to disagree, publicly.

Therefore, we invite you to reply here with a short, succinct message about why you, as a woman living in this country, do not support this candidate as second-in-command for our nation.

Please include your name (last initial is fine), age, and place of residence.

We will post your responses on a blog called 'Women Against Sarah Palin,' which we intend to publicize as widely as possible. Please send us your reply at your earliest convenience*the greater the volume of responses we receive, the stronger our message will be.

Thank you for your time and action.

VIVA!

Sincerely,

Quinn Latimer and Lyra Kilston
New York, NY

mailto:womensaynopalin@gmail.com

**PLEASE FORWARD WIDELY! If you send this to 20 women in the next hour, you could be blessed with a country that takes your concerns seriously. Stranger things have happened.

911

American Life in Poetry: Column 181

Stuart Kestenbaum, the author of this week's poem, lost his brother Howard in the destruction of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. We thought it appropriate to commemorate the events of September 11, 2001, by sharing this poem. The poet is the director of the Haystack Mountain School of Crafts on Deer Isle, Maine.

Prayer for the Dead

The light snow started late last night and continued
all night long while I slept and could hear it occasionally
enter my sleep, where I dreamed my brother
was alive again and possessing the beauty of youth, aware
that he would be leaving again shortly and that is the lesson
of the snow falling and of the seeds of death that are in everything
that is born: we are here for a moment
of a story that is longer than all of us and few of us
remember, the wind is blowing out of someplace
we don't know, and each moment contains rhythms
within rhythms, and if you discover some old piece
of your own writing, or an old photograph,
you may not remember that it was you and even if it was once you,
it's not you now, not this moment that the synapses fire
and your hands move to cover your face in a gesture
of grief and remembrance.


American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright © 2007 by Stuart Kestenbaum. Reprinted from "Prayers & Run-on Sentences," Deerbook Editions, 2007, by permission of Stuart Kestenbaum. Introduction copyright © 2008 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

new post old picture

joB WAS alot of this, that, and the other, dressed with owner idiosyncratic behavior tossed over the top like vinegar. hmmmm. I'm working the rest of the week. no POETRY. bummer. next week i work wednesday and saturday. better.

Oak Creek

sunset crackling
reflecting on the placid
pond of rainbow trout

September 16th

in the stars

A month ago I first time ever entered  a poem in a contest. I got my first rejection yesterday.  Coolio.  It was a rather nice rejection.  One of those it just isn't right for our rag but do enter something else soon things. It was free so what the heck.  Feedback is priceless. Then  at an open mic this week that I read at, I won a $25.00 gift certificate to a sponsoring restaurant. "Who me?" I said.

I appear to have drawn some dissenting feedback on my rather bland blog.  It's not really what I'm going for here  and usually I try to stray away from those heated tidbits that draw controversy.  But some things are just are so glaringly bizarre I just can't help venting my humble opinion. And I am always open to hearing the random takes of others so I guess it was my lucky day.

I also got a neat little side job taking wild west photos at a local restaurant.  One of those period dress up deals.  It takes a bit of costuming knowledge, some photography skills, and an ability to do touch up stuff with photoshop. And it's part time. Now how cool is that.  And I get to dress up cowgirl style.  Wonder if they will let me ware my 6 shooter?

And the whipped cream on the coco was; few weeks ago I snapped some shots at a poetry reading and sent them out to the poet, just a freebie on my part.  I just like to take pictures and the lens I was using (100mm fixed focus) produces such rewarding photos. The poet in turn gave me a chrysanthemum clay bowl he made.  Such a kind thought.

What do you think?  Bonaroo week or what!

  

 

my thoughts on sarah palen

.....I think hockey mom is great. it's all the rest of that crap she packs around with her in lieu of the experience she really needs that scares me. gun rights are good, Ok to kill each other or that moose in the back yard. I would really want to be armed if some sociopath decides to victimize me. Fat chance with my big mouth. And rape victims can bring children into the world with half the genetic makeup of the deviant that violated them. And she (our rape victim)will never forget that crime of violence every time she looks into her child's eyes. Right on.

e-mail from a friend

These incredible photos of a White Bengal Tiger named Odin. Odin is six years old and 10 feet long from tail to nose. Odin lives at a Zoo in Vallejo, California, near San Francisco. Odin was hand-raised at the zoo. And after he was weaned, his British trainer Lee Munro discovered his remarkable skill. When a lump of meat was thrown into a pool of water, Odin would happily dive in after it. 'He makes a funny face - and it's actually to close his nostrils to stop the water from going into his nose.' Not all big cats enjoy the water but for Tigers from the hot climate of South-East Asia it's one way to cool down. 'Plus they hunt in and around water. They're an ambush predator so they wait for prey to come down to the water.' When you actually see him dive underwater he looks so graceful,' 'Odin loves the water and he loves food,' he said. 'Not all big cats will dive and swim underwater even for meat treats. 'Munro said tigers were the most powerful swimmers out of all land-dwelling animals. Tragically, within our lifetimes, zoos might be the only places left to see these magnificent animals. A century ago there were about 100,000 tigers in the wild. Now there are just 2,500 adults, with the Bengal variety almost extinct. None has been seen in the wild since the last white tiger was shot and killed in 1958. White tigers are the most rare. They get their white color from an unusual and extremely rare genetic combination.

monsoon

and yet another Canyon de Chelly

the darker petroglyph's are Anasazi and the lighter ones Navajo. the hogan is also Navajo. I just love the cow. Unfortunatly, this picture doesn't really show the Anasazi 'glyph's very well. This is near White House ruins.

something to ponder

"People are dangerous. If they're able to involve themselves in issues that matter, they may change the distribution of power, to the detriment of those who are rich and privileged."--Noam Chomsky

More Canyon de Chelly

Juniper berries

conquistadors

There they go

you hear them

cruising down the alley

those shady young men

in their custom cars

boom boom boom

box

bigger than the back seat

baggy low rider pants

pockets full of felonies

waiten’ for a chance

lucky branded, tattooed

black sunglasses

you can almost smell

the south side summer

like a fire burning in their soul

a soul that got kicked to the curb

long before their birth

blue teardrops dripping down

stiletto sharp cheeks

watering

a heart of skin deep ink

on their iron chiseled chest

indelible Guadalupe no protection

for these midnight conquistadors

of unleashed passion

Don’t you see them?

aren’t they beautiful?

like jaguars

phantoms of the night

the stick people are at it again

poetry salon in Sedona, Arizona

reading reading read
work, listening, writing, comments
=
grand finale show





at Cafe Zelo Cosi


Clock wise: (sort of)

Carl Weis
Burt Cisneros
Sondraya
Gary Every
Shotsie Gorman

...and there were many more poets but my camera skills were lacking that evening. I was trying hard to listen to the show, watch the crowd, and prepare for my reading. Would words really drop out of my mouth, would those words even resemble what was written on the paper? Would the alliteration snarl up in a ball and get stuck? Would those metaphors confound and shrink into just a pile of stupid words? Would the audience find my visions too shocking? And in the end only a tiny little voice spit those edgy parables out. Where in the world has that tiny little voice been all my big mouth life?

My friends "The Kids"

aren't they beautiful?

I found my cat

She's been on the lamb since July 5th. Found her this morning in the dry wash by my house were the coyotes live. She was happy to see me as the Monsoon has been hitting us hard the last few days.

horse ears

The horse and I

The first thing we did when we got to Canyon de Chelly was to walk down 1 & 1/2 miles to the canyon bottom. And, of course back up. The next day we did a half day jeep tour with a Navajo guide. I was most informative and quite beautiful. Our guide had lived in the canyon all his life (probably 60 + years) and had been guiding the last 29 years. The one thing my friend Gary noticed was lack of chirping birds. At alot of the stops people would come out of their hogans with jewelry for sale. Well you know me. I also bought a sand carving. Most of the sandstone pieces were done in acrylic. They were of the petroglyph's mostly.

On our last day we decided to do a 2 hour horse ride. We had been over to the stables the night before and checked out the prices - reasonable. OMG what a treat. Our Navajo guide was female for one thing so she had a bit of a different slant on things, such as the importance of matrilineal clan for identity, marriage and sex prohibitions, hospitality, and cooperation. And the best thing, we could hear the sweet songs of the local birds without the roar of the truck engine. Next time I think the 8 hour horse ride is in order.

P.S. these 2 photos were taken by Gary Every.

best western

ruins

Me...

...just having too much fun

coffee at the canyon

www.changingwomancafe.com

spider rock

She chose the top of Spider Rock for her home. It was Spider Woman who taught Dine (Navajo) ancestors of long ago the art of weaving upon a loom. She told them, "My husband, Spider Man, constructed the weaving loom making the cross poles of sky and earth cords to support the structure; the warp sticks of sun rays, lengthwise to cross the woof; the healds of rock crystal and sheet lightning, to maintain original condition of fibres. For the batten, he chose a sun halo to seal joints, and for the comb he chose a white shell to clean strands in a combing manner." Through many generations, the Dine (Navajo) have always been accomplished weavers.

road trip

I'm going to Canyon de Chelly Monday. I'm so excited I can't sit still. Not that that is any thing new, but my life has really taken a swing back into the uncharted waters of spontaneity. Single and spontaneousness. I'm going with a friend who is as into this as I am. I believe there lies the key.

cat movie

and sometimes the picture has so many stories, one might get as lost as Alice in the rabbit hole.

some pictures just
don't have a story

some days your the cat and some days your the....

coyote.

peering into 56

more magic

magical mystery tour

silent grey sliver

squawking metamorphosis

heron moving on

shit sandwiches

Tonight, as I chatted with my friends about our grievous situations(glad to know I'm not the only one)I could feel the release of all the tension that has been inundating my life for awhile now. Nothing real profound, more like a gentle cool breeze on a warm day. Or maybe a warm breeze on a cool day. What ever. And I remembered when I was so sick I couldn't get out of bed the blogs would give me that feeling. I could almost get sappy here if I haven't already. But I think where I am going with this is pretty simple socialization can make those shit sandwiches go down just a little easier. And then living in a place that looks like this helps.

chatting with charles

I've been so obsessed with my wicked life I have been neglecting my e-mail buddies. so here dear Charles is your most revealing e-mail,weeks late, and me with out my mink coat.

Is writing trying to kill me?

my life before I’m a famous novelist

by Charles P. Ries

Writing ... why do I need you? A hobby for sadomasochists. I got another four rejections yesterday; that makes 150 (on my first book)—so far. Maybe 150 literary agents know something I don’t? Is it time for a new hobby? One I can play without agents? Maybe I should start spending more quality time with my girlfriend?

But then there are those days when the sun shines and I dig out from my blanket of rejection ... when I feel the inner steel of patient, relentless persistence ... when I jump out of bed and say, “My work doesn’t suck. I just need to find one agent who loves me.” And on those mornings I prance to my computer with hope in my heart and I query onward! I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and gosh darn it, some agent is going to love me! So today I sped past my 190th query with confidence in my new and improved manuscript that I’ve been working on (in its many forms) for eight years. Truly, writing is not a destination, it is a journey.

Dear Diary, I’m giving up writing and joining the circus. Yes, I will leave it all: the paper and pens, the publishers and agents who can’t love my inner fantasy, and I’ll join the circus. The make-up, big nose and fancy pants will help me overcome my feelings of obscurity. I will create an identity grander then my literary art. I will have something worth writing about. I will marry the fat lady, she’ll give birth to a midget, I’ll learn to swallow swords, make friends with a contortionist, turn my pens into pretzels, and finally live like a real man.

I have become a student of the query letter and kick-ass synopsis. (Eight years of practice makes us good at something.) Anyone who thinks this business is about just good writing needs a group intervention. “Charles, we all love you, but we are here to tell you, you have a problem. You have lost sight of reality. You will never be published! We’re taking your pens away. Please put your pen down slowly. You need to get a life!”

Life! Schmife! I have something better then a life, I have a novel! It has everything: love, mysticism, folly, resurrection, laughs, and the guy gets the girl. It’s a moneymaker; I just know it.

Dear Diary, I have been re-evaluating my existence. It seems I have been created to work, go to the gym, drink Starbucks non-fat, no-whip, extra-hot mochas and obsess about my writing. I’m a do-aholic; flawed for sure. People born under the sign of the twin fish are pathetic, restless dreamers. I’m having doubts about the quality of my writing. I got four rejections yesterday. One day God will run out of rejections, and bingo—I’m in. I just have to hold out. But to make things worse, recently I’ve been haunted by visions of a muse wearing a black, full length mink coat. Mink really gets me going. She’s been following me everywhere—even when I scrub the kitchen floor, feed the birds, vacuum the house, and feel pathetic about my writing. There she is, in mink. Scary how she haunts me, loves me. Me, unlovable, useless, pathetic me. Yes, poor pitiful me.

Yes, pain and rejection are often the food of rambling prose poems that we called our “journal” in high school. But then we all rose above high school angst and heartache and turned it into art. We became writers. We left the comfort of secretive journals for the adventure of rejection. Yes, rejection. It’s not quite cancer. But the other day I got a letter from a publisher telling me the manuscript I’d sent her wasn’t avant-garde enough for her. Why didn’t she just send me a letter bomb instead!

Dear Diary: I’m not avant-garde. I knew it! Maybe I’m a closet Republican. I guess it doesn’t matter that I wear blue jeans, black t-shirts, write poetry, and have a goatee. Elaine suggested I start to view myself as “Nonvant–garde” and build a movement around nonvant-garde poetry. I love Elaine, eternal keeper of my diminishing confidence.

We make chicken soup out of chicken shit until the gravy train arrives. I recently wondered aloud to a friend, “Am I the guy who is thinks he is creating art, but who (after waking from a dream) realizes he has been banging his head with a lead pipe?” The Aztec high priests gleefully ripped beating heart after beating heart from the chests of their faith-filled followers after convincing them (talk about true believers) that this life was just a dream (easy for a high priest to say). So is my hope of writing fame only a dream? Is my persistence just an addiction to an impossible goal?

My girlfriend, Elaine accommodates my periodic writing crisis like Mother Theresa. She hugs me and says, “Look Charles you could have worse obsessions than sitting around endlessly writing funny, weird stuff. You could watch the ESPN Sports Classics channel and drinks beer all day. Who cares if you ever get published?” She’s right of course – she’s always right; but the other day when I got e-mails from two agents (TWO!) who wanted to see the full manuscript of my novel. I danced with eternal hope. I pranced anew to my computer ready to continue creative battle. It only takes one person to believe - just one person to open the door for a manuscript to be sold. How could I ever have thought of giving up writing to join a circus? But... maybe an Aztec High Priest! I could get it going with ceremonial dress of feathers, gold and turquoise. Sharpen my sacrificial knife and invite a few agents over for dinner.

____________________________________________________

Charles P. Ries lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. His narrative poems, short stories, interviews and poetry reviews have appeared in over two hundred print and electronic publications. He has received four Pushcart Prize nominations for his writing. He is the author of THE FATHERS WE FIND, a novel based on memory and five books of poetry — the most recent entitled, The Last Time which was released by The Moon Press & Publishing. He is the poetry editor for Word Riot (www.wordriot.org). He is on the board of the Woodland Pattern Bookstore (www.woodlandpattern.org) and a member of the Wisconsin Poet Laureate Commission. But most of all he is a founding member of the Lake Shore Surf Club, the oldest fresh water surfing club on the Great Lakes (http://www.visitsheboygan.com/dairyland/). You may find additional samples of his work by going to: http://www.literati.net/Ries/

well shit

The cat hasn't returned, my back is so bad most of the time I just stay in bed, I'm trying to put together a budget that includes rent, cell phone,and internet. Actually that works but the food has to go. Food stamps think I have enough money to eat, said get rid of the cell phone but to be on the transplant list I have to have one. And the internet is the most fun I could ever have for $31.00 a month. One good thing, my car is paid off.. wahoo.. sure looks pretty in that same parking spot its been for weeks with no gas to go anywhere. But I can walk, always a delight when L1 and L2 have severe arthritis. Goes well with the not eating thing too. Mostly I miss my cat but being she gets it about being a ferrel and she can count her lucky stars she won't have to worry about having kittens to care for, it really is just my selfish desire that gets in the way. I know how to be a ferrel too, and again it's just my selfish desire getting in the way of pitching a tent. I'm not really sure where I got the idea I need to have all that crap in my life that costs so much to house. Hmm my brain is starting to rock and roll again. Gotta keep that hope card in view. Just sure do wish I my laptop had more than 2/3 of a screen. Hauling around a 40 lb monitor just really zaps the portability factor. Well until next time, as Dale Evens would say,

Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.
Who cares about the clouds when we're together?
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.
Happy trails to you, 'till we meet again.

Some trails are happy ones,
Others are blue.
It's the way you ride the trail that counts,
Here's a happy one for you.

Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.
Who cares about the clouds when we're together?
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.

Happy trails to you, 'till we meet again.

just so much

I moved into an male gay friends house last week. I'll spare you all the asinine shit that makes up the jist but it did end up in cops and a back ache.

Then I moved Lucy over to my new house and all seemed to be going well until she disappeared on evening when I wasn't home. We think she fell out the window with the bent screen. I have been so blue and grief stricken.

I had a cat disappear for 10 days once and made it home. theres always a ray of hope.

I've been making necklaces. I think they are quite charming but that doesn't constitute a sale.

today would have been hunter s. Thompson's b'day hand he not blown his brains out last year.I thought I'd throw this in, pulled of Garrison Keillor show:

In 1971, he published his most famous book, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, about a trip he took to that that city, how it almost drove him crazy, and his realization that idealism of the 1960s had disappeared for good.

He said, "I haven't found a drug yet that can get you anywhere near as high as a sitting at a desk writing, trying to imagine a story no matter how bizarre it is, [or] going out and getting into the weirdness of reality and doing a little time on the Proud Highway."

That's my man. * >())))))

*>)((((((

I never was much at ASCII art

Well the shift has started. I'm moving in with one of my good friends from where I used to work. After Lucy Blue gets her stitches out not to mention the cone. He has 2 cats ya got to know there will be some cat snits goin' down in the beginning. They are both boys so it should work it self out toots sweet. They don't get much more cute then little ole' Lucy Blue. At least thats what I'm hoping. I am gonna have to leave Pete but he's happy here. As soon as I can though, I WILL find a place for my whole furry family. Funny how he knows somethings up. Hangen' close. It's so sad but I just can't stay here any longer. Done is done. Packing is really overwhelming me. Maybe I should have a bond fire.

here's a funny little fellow I happened on during a back country walk