Holding on To My Story
My Story was hard to come by. Nobody told it to me. I’m not sure that I am glad that nobody told me my story, or my father’s or grandfather’s story. Ours was not a story telling family. I became a historian because of stories and story telling. Stories are very important to me, especially now that I am forgetting more than I am learning. I am not near as good a story teller as I would like to be.
I use the blog format as a tool to help me remember what I am forgetting, and at the same time, improve the quality of my writing in a public forum, where perhaps my stories might be read and commented on.
I began blogging regularly on Open Salon in 2009. I finished a graduate degree in 2011 at 54, and began writing in 2012, mostly about the decades I spent trying to make sense of a complicated place. The history of Monmouth County is my obsession. But, as circumstances would have it, I am not there, and have not been there except to roam around a stranger mostly since 2011.
My family history is a mystery, mostly. Other than public records, there is almost no information about my family anywhere. I know a few stories, but there are no facts or documents to support or prove even those. I might just as easily create a colorful version of my family history to pass along to my children and grandchildren, but I feel obligated to stick as close to the truth as possible, which means that that as far as generations before mine, I have little to add beyond the public records that I am sure they will easily access, should they become curious.
Perhaps no story is better than a story that might run counter to the myths and legends that have been created to bind a nation that has real problems with history. I am sure that my family, like many others, came to the United States for reasons that they wanted to leave behind. We were not told this to be the case as children. We we’re told nothing at all. I am pretty sure that my parents knew very little about their parents, and what they did know they did not tell us. I don’t think my parents liked their parents very much.
As a historian and a social scientist of sorts, I have spent a lot of time thinking about my family and American Culture during the twentieth century. I know that my story begins with these people who I know far too little about and that who they were was shaped by American Culture more than anything that had came with their families from Europe.
I was very lucky to have had half a century to live in one place, and for most of that had access to the property I had lived on since seven, which was only a few miles, if that, from where they were living before I was born.
For most of my decades there I was most concerned with place, not people. I was not keenly interested in people. I was interested in the rivers, bays, ocean and estuaries of Monmouth County, and the creatures that lived in them. I was also interested in the people who had lived here for thousands of years before the Europeans, far more than I was interested in the people that I had no choice but to see everyday.
My primary goal as a blogger is to work out stories of a past that I paid far too little to while it was passing by, and some. Blogging helps my writing, and my story telling. Im holding on to my story for as long as I can. When all else fails, there is always the story.
1,734 total views, 1 views today
06/26/2019 @ 2:36 pm
My primary goal as a blogger is to keep from punching some people in the throat. Your goal is more noble than mine, but I will enjoy my failures anyways.
07/03/2019 @ 8:11 pm
I’m sticking to it.
04/15/2021 @ 2:40 pm
Already
June only, the begged for rain aftermath’s humidity as though fancy, comfy language for a faster typist, one who knows where the young bluebirds live, where they think they hide, too muggy for the fare, the sea discouraged, its white worn waves perpetual, as deeply a praying head raises toward the arm’s length horizontal ordinary summertime as though leveled by an aquatic fixer of the universe, the plight of cool water, the machines chained, bolted to hollow, silent decks steaming off with tomorrow’s weather as news, a disappointed man would triangulate then even torch-cut steel plates, toward the blinkered edge of nippy-toe remorse, the same destination, blonde demure mermaids, tattooed butterfly rumps, where the buttock folds to the long legs of youth, there is no bad synonym for taut, nor redux wheelie delights, howabouta chocolate dipped ice cream, and mad dogs foaming up about the mouth, with snarled cruel lips, sewn by the leaps and bounds of wayward hounds, a pleasure cruise for the sweet spot of youth, girls in robin’s egg blue sequined gowns, a heavy watch caught on the desk telephone, near the bold screen where the lime has invaded the coconut, too late for an artificial sun, know that in the multiplex of your soul, fuck it, I was there that late afternoon hours before dark when you tore your index finger on the twist-off Heineken bottle, then sought refuge by beating the gambler at his own matrix-tough interleukin, those mornings when the Minotaur whispered all language, talons upon his shoulder afore the hula-hoop spectacle, a great chorus, a finale over the dust bowl, versatile thundering rockets which shined exploding like an ancient column and burst beyond the far sky vista of the trembling child, look mommy here comes the fire, that same timorous terror, the earth now commodities’ yo-yo, yin-yang whoosh whoosh bang bang the language a dinosaur, the mud, the oil and the sweetest suck of cinema.
12/04/2019 @ 11:32 am
MO-JO Haiku
what does
the poet
know
etymology
of bill spike
that tow-hued
tyke
brush cut
shadow near
monolithic spheres
fallen older
heroes
portent that
cloud image
a peculiar sound
two
iPhones
mate
I think I know
{LO;}
once upon a time
where the
heap king
SAT
adroit time-zone
MIC Brats
perpetuity
Romeo
under
bowler
only crows feet
creased
early hour
to search
rice cakes
~apprehensive~
sweet crunch
a scent of love
my white cat
gone to thistle
kitchen table
knowledge
indelible
as the waif
of burnt hair
throw in glistened
bayonets,
jim
go now
follow that echo
forget that ping
allow song
Sunday choir
too much
glare
ice
wet yellow chalk
Maybe feed
Finnegan’s Wake
letter to number
12/18/2019 @ 9:22 pm
GADZOOKS!
HOPALONG-BOOTS!
03/10/2020 @ 12:16 pm
What! Now you’re off with the Space Force.
‘…I go flyin’ so high…’
I’ve captured several ‘drone-down’ aerials of the Allen-Bradley four-faced clock precisely as it springs ahead…but no, please do not PM me with any quantification of ‘how many leap years in a light year’. ‘…that was somebody else…’ And sure, Beulah and the Hallelujahs are pensive as all get out…!
LO;}
03/13/2020 @ 2:16 pm
Hi LO;}!
Still ain’t May and my-O-my I could fess the curbside and darken the complexion. And with the exacto Harley shades I’ll assume moviestar
countenance for walking along the road—
Today’s’CODE:
SEQUOIA
(missed the debate; running late)
yeah yeah yeah WHAT THE FORK!
GLORIA
GLORIA
GLORIA
…that whitewalled Hudson navy-blue glinted purple past dragging burlap sacks…not far those magnolia buds soft as my beard breathed wet with rain…gun grease he thought head first into that old familiar silence…his tight sleeping fold total darkness…just maybe a caged bird would help…as he could set it free. Don’t be afraid. Be paranoid.
At once requiring a random flip: The Arrogance of Power.
03/15/2020 @ 12:59 pm
SO’S sensoryoverload conjunctive or consumptive?
Sardonic hattrick to COMIC. Or’es it CMIC…?
Regret any discombobulation, RBJ…and/but/no then again…
I don’t suspect Barabbas was in charge of nail sterilization.
My hope is that U continue thinking in terms of the ABC Islands, good shipping crew are along the way and have agreed to rebrush the hull despite my well-dated machismo riff that the gals ought option tartan skirts.
So I’ve been tippsy since St. Patrick’s Day 1967
…pass IT…
:&:
{——THAR SHE BLOWS——}
03/25/2020 @ 4:10 pm
C
O
D
E
^* ” *^
WHO doesn’t thinkBOBBY BARE whence 500 appears…? Mr. UMP X’s his arms: raining hard in Frisco, no?
Lime green WI Badgers hoodie—you? Obligatory baggies (no hammer loops).
Head’s in MS. Sing it, bring it RBJ.
Company xpected: RS VP wet suits only.
?not to sound like the left over half-back with TBI {spanferkel ! LO;} b ut wouldn’t seven (7) ft. be SAFER THAN six (6) footsies?
Hart
Lake Como, WI~USA
03/27/2020 @ 6:39 pm
George Carlin & Richard Pryor Carson Tonight Show 1981
6,554,883 views•Oct 20, 2016
I haven’t had this much fun-fun-fun since I inflated the soccer ball with a foot pump.
$50 to the MACC if you cross comment—my VGF.
I am. Picturing an inverse U walk through with ‘some-type’ of LIGHT.
Line up. Walk through.
Sound would of course BE
TOKENS.
jpHart
53206
MKE, WI
(ain’t no red states ain’t no blue state’s we’re the United States of America)
05/06/2020 @ 5:28 pm
So ‘yam
that faux
Finnegan’s Wake
reader
I can still hit
the ground runnin’
I might not be a smart
& LO;}
I know one thing
The North Pacific is walkable
S000 RBJ
.;pray tell:
Howl high can you fly
Imagine, please,
my
predictable
string
seven
quest
marks
larks
ark
N0thing trite
’bout the night
Flower Moon
dew you know
’bout sugar
pie honey
bunch
all that stuff
back as far as
Naked Lunch
Know
I AM
>>right here
~~secure~~
RADIO
3,000
jpHart
(photographing the vacant
AMTRAK DEPOT
MKE
++++USA+++
09/05/2020 @ 11:04 am
JP: Me was long ball hitter with bad hamstring…last shot got me crawling to first. Never had a glory day past cap league…tagged out at home on a standing triple…would have stayed there if not for the coaching. Mostly got hit catching little league tossed bats…never swinging away…consistently getting singles suited me. But for fun smacked the long soft ball pick up games lots of times. Shit, it’s good to see your stuff in my junk email…which I was checking to see if the Lions wanted me to cook covid pancakes today. I guess not. I’m hardly looking at Open Our Salon For Good face book page due to foul moods and lettuce growing…now done.
05/29/2020 @ 12:51 pm
Ms. M. Lee UW-MKE & me in conference.:
I took leave with a wavering warped sense of much to do with the revolution being televised.
Chided (deservedly so; comparative journalism) red-faced back to the TUX.
High noon Antietam-like regulars, mug klub, candle lit clean porcelain. Who’s it? Caroline soooooooooo yoga-buffed.
Really rather obstinately I boinked the dust off orals.
REFUSING TO THUMB NAIL FROM: MSNBC TO HABITAT FOR HANNITY
No way clay!
No mam!
Finally defused the donnybrook (overdue respect) garnering a solar-plexus deep laugh from Monica going: Professor, I was a first mover on the gargantuan flat screen….
Oh?
And I don’t want to break it!
So have you finished Goebbels’s Diary?
All sorta oddities-parallelisms for gosh dang sure.
Yeah.
Who else do you know (besides two guys LO;} that would coffee-ring Jon Meacham’s ‘The Hope of Glory.’?
Don’t let’s not get started on Ferlinghetti’s diet….
Same seal-deal: WHY HEAVY WATER ELEMENTS has never been defined on Jeopardy.
Where else can one get 3 outta 5 and lose?
MGM Grand? Circus Circus?
Hey how in the tarnation is Beulah?
Thinks I. am. burnt.
Too many requests for Ike & Tina, no?
Sad sad truth, yes’em..
You’re not going to go beyond Jerry Lee Lewis’ rendition.
Whoa…I know I know…when he asks for Coca-Cola.
Sure…full circle to man’s inhumanity to man.
Two parties and one market….
Coins? Commodities? Itsey-bitsey-spyders??
I can getche a deal on squid ink.
flown over?
flown the frack over!
Boom.
Boom!
Whatever became of your ‘Overwhelmed in the House of Simon’?
Hey if you’re old enuff to remember Ted Mack and the Original Amateur Hour~~~
Simultaneously: YOU PROBABLY SHOULD BE TAKIN’ A NAP.!
SLEEP!
TRAVEL~ING MAN!
Dude, send me DOWN the fare!
Yep: please please me….
08/08/2020 @ 8:07 pm
Hart: it’s RBJ …my first visit back in over a year. I’ve been busy! I finished my fifth book, stayed alive, saw a third kid get married, and became a grand parent for the third time!!
I look at my face book blog…open our salon for good, about once a week now. Stop by!
08/18/2020 @ 2:25 pm
RBJ~
Hello old friend!
I’ve applied @
San Jose Motors~
minute X minute
toward midnight~
one good deed per
carpe diem~some
blues harp work LO;}
08/23/2020 @ 5:53 pm
BASEBALL POEM
Silver winter light turned his mind to song makes me want to go out and buy dental insurance.
Of course I played Doc Severinsen’s MacArthur’s Park, the ’77 Jack Jones version-the television clip-not feeling this Gods Spell—good, well, hot, dank:
(since) I got the swing away sign from the 3rd base coach in 1965; the conjunctive wind at
X + Y knots on my cotton cloth numeral shoulders from due west just as the Rawlings’ horsehide must have found the sweetest song-like spot between the trademark Louisville Slugger
& unblemished blondie tip of the 34″ stick.
Between 1st and 2nd he sped past the blessed wind danced up inverted oft hot June turf far out high-over left-field’s green grass. Even his sun-glassed parents, that colored early summer ~~~ spectacular stasis of suspended love, awe, WHOOSH that updraft spent, sailed the ball ever higher—strong calloused hands over brows—they pointed electromotive gasped-WHOA-all those people on those weather-worn bleachers… bent right up hailing whistling on their feet: where’s it?
How high?
The boy pussyfooted 2nd base, spun, danced-hopscotched-prancing backwards the glint of the pillow’s cleat at 3rd POOF W I D E — running faster than the yelling; faster than sunlight.
Vertical that leap of pony league steel spikes.
Atop the vinyl plate, those timeless dents of victory!
#
09/16/2020 @ 2:33 pm
RB~You mentioned your what’s IT 5th Dimension Book. Pray tell of availability. I’d been a tad more than laconic of late…a best seller T shirt:
WEAR THE MASK! IT’S NOT A BLINDFOLD!
Beulah & me had had ‘trip of a lifetime’ again to Flanders Fields including the better part of a fortnight in a around the Vatican Observatory; looks like my plans fell through~~~ LO;}
Exquisite jumbo orange sun: click-click-click westward quickly setting faster this September than that proverbial alabaster dove. No doubt many here among us ought focus on raging fire inhibition/control/douse. Minimally arms’ girth ice and baking soda balls to airdrop…already geese mysteriously V south/southeast like such choreographed magic too high for shadows. Such high flight.
Yet the finches curiously beak with beadish black eyes at the screen door.
Lest the red bull does not lose its way.
O yeah that’s the sound RB …
0 don’tcha know …
09/16/2020 @ 4:51 pm
Sorry you don’t know much about your family history. I’m fortunate enough to know some but I also should have asked more when I had the chance. I had far more chances than most, at least early on. There’s a home movie, unfortunately the silent kind, of my first birthday. In the video in the apartment are ten people I was genetically descended from. An eleventh was alive but I don’t think he was there.
01/03/2021 @ 10:28 am
Kosh…thanks for reading and commenting. Sorry for delay, I am remiss, with no good excuse for not promptly returning calls, texts, or following direct orders. Happy 2021!
09/25/2020 @ 3:02 pm
:Fresh H 2 O Worth More than Electoral Collage:
Frozen sun-white crystallized steaming vapors fled and wafted from the Great Lake as its creaked heaving cantilevered ice shattered into geometrical continental shards as the sun rose, its repressed arc suspended spinning heatless during an epic final quake erupting tangential sharp wicked rays splitting staid cliff rock, exploding ancient petrified trees into slivered smithereens; the ice fortress emitted crackled electrode blue lightning–the Great Lake sub-zero zone itself ejected form: an aloft Florida now hovered looming shadow obscured, gone opaque when (seen through frosted verdant goggles) frozen tear-eyed observers–metal statues–fell to knees, into the angry swallowing void just as a volcano blew up, the inferno an asymmetrical poetry, penultimate fickle caromed cosmic game, like anarchistic language, a descriptor defiance, a vast alphabet of nothing strangling, smothering thought, the night a harsh, silent oblivion.
Hi RBJ
~~laying out my winter clothes here in the tool & die capital of the world; how’s the shore?
10/18/2020 @ 1:06 pm
Attempting to focus and a thrush zoom/thuds Gloria’s westward plate glass…POLL PEACE
my fingers do the talking. Rained early. Not far compass arrow true due NORTH radar pronounces white-blushed snow…Where’d Yeats or J. Joyce be if Grammarly were superimposed? Would words fall asunder? Will the neon jacketed rescue crew surround me with heated blankets? And you sir, are you okay? Seasonally down shifted your clutch popped as fast a sunrise/sunset; graceful as silence? The week begins. Our Sunday choir—tried and true—now a shake-rattle of stained glass…03 NOV 20 shall pass.
Fear no evil. Psalm 23, land ‘0 FREE!!
jpHart
(forming chapbook: Rain Man Aloft)
10/18/2020 @ 2:34 pm
So how’s IT for too ‘too much confusion?’ Climb the family tree I see.
PSEUDEPIGRAPA (to the best of my hazed recollection) ’tis most likely misspelled. We was just Cub Scouts and father and me were at odds as I’d been trying to convince mom to sunlight-streak
my auburn hair and had expressed some affectation for impersonating Elvis. He’d clocked extra welding time and had surprised me with a hand-wrought Rawlings baseball glove (whoa that web). We’d crossed the street and, you bet snow still dabbled that spring over the soles’
green grass, yeah, ‘Now get me your FAST BALL!’ he’d yell, hands on knees…glove center that smack resonated McArthur Park. A young woman behind her twins in a stroller turned the babes asleep and, waving she cheers, ‘Yay! Lou Burdette! Hey! Warren Spahn!”
In awhile ‘Stranger on the Shore’ from the AM kitchen counter radio sung low and dad winked watching mom fry pancakes and smelt: “Working on his curve…bullseye fast…my palm hurts…!”
RBJ: MILLE GRAZIE! THIS ONE’S FOR YOU!
11/25/2020 @ 2:21 am
Dr. Hart! My brain quit a month before the election. Quit face book and tequila..moved to Twitter, central coast pino and home made masa tortillas…Avila Beach. Sixth book…ALOS sputtering along as my third crop of lettuce grows outside the doublewide. I know the way to San Jose, three hours north. Say hey kid, and be safe out there! Twitter me @C2CFree!
12/11/2020 @ 7:35 am
Tasmanian devils claw their way back from extinction
By Elizabeth Pennisi | Thu, 10 Dec 2020*
7th Inning Stretch soon RBJ Oyeah0
Trepidation as I c/n recollect that EP
movie when he boxed & obviously
I am not going to challenge my
dot org waterpik which translates
to waterpark tricky and sticky and
default Beaujolais
Grand Dad’s Bluff
we swung on that grapevine
and no, I’ve no idea
how many chairs on a
Greyhound
*New Science
Also
0!rueing Martin Buber and de-liver-ing $25 to the Hunger Task Force whilst I am blinkin’ through Bat 21 aha! and grotto get down to the perfecto venue for the what i’s IT? …
Merry Gentlemen Star 3 : of, relating to, or using calculation by numerical methods or by discrete units ten (10) !OTR! No doubt Bethlehem NO. INN + ROUND. Maybe the
John Lennon Peace Plaza
soon, soon IF i can pic up
my Schooner myomy
~~~JPH~~~~
cracked & dry
wondren Y
12/14/2020 @ 4:02 pm
UNDERSCORE FOR OVERSOUL
She knew him as T.ext
and he drove a red Metro
she, a truism, paid for petrol
each T.day
they had sex
she taught him
the two-step
he went to golf
while London slept
he walked alone,
no dog
no drug
no alligator
no swing stick
for polo
never alone
a simple flirt
a penguin solo
on his shirt
rolling crazy Janay
no Bart,
no Burt,
clean laundry tomorrow
love in the dirt
no Scotsman
no kilt
blue pills
eternal thrills
evermore carnations
on the sill
no lilt
no wilt
then old boots
on the hill
*jpHart
—>9 DAYS NEAR St. Petersburg<
12/19/2020 @ 11:11 am
robertbjames@c2cfree
Dr. Hart, son of Sunoco, The Way Of an 🦅 Eagle, don’t you know? The hills of Avila’s sweet spot screaming out to condo builders looking for an easy trick…or trap, maybe. A sick coyote bent his head in broad daylight. Big King Tide and waves ate the beach, but we were talking crapola on the bluff above…she had cracked him with his own putter before she punched him in his earlier broken jaw. Such is Bakersfield love at the beach. I made mahi and feta with sautéed onions and roasted diced tomatoes over spinach. The lettuce has stopped growing, but still alive, so far freeze free. Got the Xmas Prosecco under wraps, and 21-30 count frozen raw shrimp too! Locked down above a beach town pecking away. Best to the ladies!
12/20/2020 @ 2:07 am
Progress
Nothing fraudulent nor faux toyed roid void reflexive rehash like glimpse news my goodness it’s Beulah. Songstress bayou blues. Gauzed tattoo of baby shoes. Laces to be eyelidded rem-defied of distant dreams of midnights crossed as I toss my coins. All was lost.
Bill fast-forwards occidental speed typing Cap-Tel. Thick books genuine second looks. A forward hue. Thin thistle afterglows. I shall not score this with snows. What’s that phantom approaching wrapped in an inverse beehive? Start and finish, the asparagus most burnt, like last daylight’s spinach. Flaxseed in the bag, no ergonomic deck chair to rock and reel, the belted fillet knife, big bow dip, that sound and scene when he’s staked for whip, an all hours fire, crackle and ash wail, that fundamental color, his own eye bruised, don’t hit me no more boss…nothing out there from this cooler, discipline requisites that continuum 100 opposite of zero 10 tens another departure, maybe chin ups like a Seal. Buffed but no big deal. Foolish Hart. Dust to dust. Late winter seventy-five. Dirty as that dozen, sound glints, metal clink punctures, 1963 vile fatal juncture. 13 yearlings perimetered the park alert as moist topsoil from a silver-tongued shovel. That clearing where cherry pink and apple blossom white fought the good fight wrong side of eternal night. Where’s I? Riderless horse, backward stirrup. There’s rhyme somewhere. The watermelon truck with bursting bulged standards cracked dry forest green scrabby-scrappy peeled paint the pilate huge fruit bounced open get a knife from the meat department why does he leave it running he’s in the cab no he went to the can dozing don’t go in there. Kathy’s Clown from the drywall frame office radio. C’mon guys we open at 9:00 get the carts! Just boys broke into Ol’ Man River. Sticky or slick too handed belly full melons into chrome carts. Bluetail flies vacant eyes like torn thumb nails. Raucous the seeds like black-eyed peas. Sweet as youth. Soon they had that chrome cart train jamming aisles 1,2,3,4 outside arrow straight beneath the roof reflexed in smudgeless plateglass. Back in the alley another Marlboro Hart spoke with the driver who wore a tattered Razorback cap then without word they watched a neighbor hitch his tag-along aqua sloop to an Oldsmobile wagon. In awhile it was first hour and coach Milton full cheek whistles.
Just boys drilled on dive rescue facsimiles before those butterfly sorties. Final scrimmage freestyle good clean water and deltoid fans,
Once he caught his breathe for no reason he whistled ‘River Jordan’.
12/28/2020 @ 6:13 pm
It’s coming from the silence
On the dock of the bay
From the brave, the bold, the battered
Heart of Chevrolet
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
*!8*—-WOW—-Leonard Cohen—-please call home—-kNOW that we got the VOTE AGE down
*!8*—yeah—surely it was command error (what the swell) all that Agent Orange…yes yes he’s my friend dos…no no no no…being good…something about…FOOD PYRAMIDS yramidways…outtakes from William Howard Gass’ Life Sentences ? TBA: bouncing emoji … right on: audio T.S. Elliot FROCK— all right when — at last a sitar — more than a duality of purpose…porpoise…shall type on through the storm !8 diamond plate sparkle the moon rather a crowded cheese rush 16 tons alas a shark may peace be with you L0;}nardCoherence(ellipses)
a Frolic Neapolitan Shark hungry albeit clueless neither noir joust a splinter from ether or the 12th of a pure page precedes proceeds popcorn poll roll baby roll post comment *!8*
01/02/2021 @ 8:30 am
foo-oot! Trust you’re fine RobertBJames. Now if I could toe the line here for OM and Gloria. As much as I lub my employers’ tasks from the master (yet at my age I AM tOo SENSITIVE!) she zooms moi allowing until midday for a production line ready prototype of a paper mache kitchen recycling bin along with a raw material estimate. Parameters are knee high, narrow and DYI replicating with no more ‘pulp-weight than the Sunday Times.’ School the others & enable ’em to blend ’em 4-5 per batch up in a washtub. Only Gloria would be nostalgic for those garbage compactors. I simply nod subtly puffing my home-rolleds now and again exhaling through the nostrils. Thinking: holy battery disposal! It’s 2021 and I’m compliant to !f8! geterdoneyesterday orders from my square-rimmed employer while she magic wands a ruby cigarette holder! I didn’t get a chance to let her know that I tore the hamstring as I slipped off the big silo after
mounting a brand new stars and stripes—sunrise on the 1st. OM she reported had had a profuse hacking episode during a handball battle with the eldest granddaughter. We agreed
that news editors ought limit all these subliminal visuals of those long stick nasal swap pokes
for Covid-19 drive throughs. And why are we always seeing hypos stabbing deltoids betwixt new car commercials?? Heck way back in ’69 during basic training introduction thousands of GIs lined up for countless shots from those pneumatic pop guns. Hey we got to drink fruit punch for 20 minutes…! Then race a 440 when it got hotter than a junkyard black dog…hey butt deep
cross country ski ready trails all over the world hereabouts. Just that dame Gloria is incensed with plastic bag recycling. For sure back yard sessions, forever sublime! Sincerely my wish is
that the shore exceeds your great expectations. Like if fiction is dead, reality is not far away!
Peace all around my brother!
01/03/2021 @ 2:47 am
Found this email in junk, on a hunt for 🦁 Lions club correspondence, missing due to political affiliation, me thinks. Not right to them is wrong, due west of Bakersfield. I’m shark tanking my moving bin lettuce crates…maybe we put the papier-mâché thing on steroids and get a twofer? A rare rain left some of my arugula backstroking before bailing…but no freeze, 64 degrees high today got a little sun burn after mandatory yoga. The vineyards behind the sycamores floated a fog early, as Bighawk showed up for a nap atop the biggest one right on schedule. Bighawk pretends not to be hunting the feeder by landing with his back to me, but I know better.I see little piles of finch feathers often enough. My turkey tetrazzini was great but for the old noodles, and my holiday lasagna fed us both Xmas and New Years…boss woman’s work place killed 20 in recent weeks, she been spared since April due to aging out…best bet is that Trumpers on staff carried covid in for the kill, as masking and distancing are not a Bakersfield thing, two hours west, here near the Diablo Canyon, north of Vandenberg AFB, south of Salinas. Fresh parsley and cilantro spiked organic omelets…coming soon. Big waves at the beach, and all them folks polar bearing in the froth…no casualties. Picked a lemon for the boss woman’s guacamole, I think. I don’t put lemon in guacamole…ran out of Bob’s organic masa, so have not tired out the new cast iron tortilla press from Bezos yet. I’ve been flattening them with the twelve inch all clad skillet …now 16 years old and still shining, but decided to step up with the 16.95 press….splurging. Crapola, it’s almost midnight…best to the girls ….keep them carts rolling, Dr.Hart!
01/03/2021 @ 6:38 pm
Giant Gogol Say Compose
d/n laze u u-d plied Hobgood not far joints with them L.O.N.Emedics sky rockets fuse ‘n shoulder roll ack back/IIIi’d bin snuggled down / Patricia Cornwell THE SCARPETTA FACTOR [tennineeightsevensixfivefourthreetwoone]That’s IT! IF those candles hadn’t been scented back at MATC…brick cream city brick…or if the tank on that Ford wagon w/n have flamed GoGoiliest dimly lit lamps westward take good care of my baby ascendant pale blue ass-end heavy chrome. ABCDEPFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXyZORRO tango chitty/\chitty bong bong. FRACKin 1/2 NELSON!True Snuff. b Fleecing typos & faded hypos symbiotic bit x bit. You now I leafed. Tarnished boot toes. bTwo footing the wide pedal. PUSH. Cigarette cellophane stuck to that Frye Sole. Pathetic culvert fire. STENO can but pinkly rimmed U got to me reeling RBJ x!x RBJ x!x 0!Kkate! As one wildcat to another wildcat: Bears in the briar. Gordy and Neal on the porch with paper bags. Open I spoke.YEAH I AM ON YOUR SIDE THATS IF < time clocks and GPAs have done more damage (I was goin 2 flash CAP pistols. Just boys had those LSD white strips with red dot musta bee*Z*gunpowder trace. Mossly ace! Adderall 'huff shouldered DUSTxDUSTxRACE-RUST summer SALT. DO NOT TRY THIS IF ITs Drizzling. EYE DROPS FROM THE DARK NIGHT i was hoping IT was a lie in weight. Here's the man-o-man SCRIPTzzzzzzzzzzzzz@proxmirelee: 1,812 pithy pages A KNEE HIGH PARLOR BOOK OF RAINBOS. how hi? Too high for the kids table;ontheotherplan did u hare the 1 about Shirley Temple WHAT IF U KNEW HER…ditches and redux. :&: then their was whoChina Doll still frame you could hear it on intranational flat screen I remember I remember
THE CITY
MACED
Chavez-photographed with R.F.K. in March,1968,
during a fast-grew vindictive even paranoid, his later years. […]THE NEW YORKER, JULY 27,2020 {L0;}
01/03/2021 @ 6:57 pm
!FRANKENSTEIN!
I HOPE THERE’S NO BATS IN THE CHIMMINEY SUSY Q & MARY ROSEY CHEEKED ‘RIVED
AND I-D BRUSHED THE SNOW OFF AN ABSOOOOOOO-LOOOTIN YULE LOG LO;}LO:}LO;}
01/05/2021 @ 4:32 pm
[…] I’m gonna make a brand new start of IT […]
[…] AI is a slow motion read for me as well […]
[…] Convenience: trace paper, Etch A Sketch[…]
[…] 3 Days in January: toto sails?bowlinkpin […]
[…] Joe Biden: GENIUS! DJT cruel unusual(:5thAve?(:
{LO;} *off base due to failed mixologist test;
confused black Russian and pink squirrel.
Tell the teacher we are:)*(3 conductors so4th!
Elton John – Razor Face
01/05/2021 @ 4:49 pm
Merry Clayton – Wikipedia
01/05/2021 @ 7:17 pm
Capsule Learning
Jack Nitzsche, Red Phone, White Cross, Rape Murder,
Look what, who, when where how, quality control.
oo here, deep purple, colored son, dead of night, incorrigible
[”’] every synonym has its antonym{L0;}
umbrella tips/\ sunken ships; caricature on tractor manic manikin? Xmas vignettes: plate glass
relic salt of the earth plastic particulate in the sea what value workers disbelief blame the hate @:
Five dead in ‘targeted attack’ at Capital Gazette newspaper in …
what’d we want?
pure water
what’d we get
purple rain
*agent said, […] all insurance was 72 hours from insolvency
[…] during hurricane Katrina […]
Protagonist, “Darling…reach out!”
KEEP BUSY!
Not far there’s households trying to keep warm with only a four slot toaster!
The wind is high out tonight.
(Lettuce not mice words. Last exit to .ORG)
seven (adj., n.)
answer arm arrive ask bad blood body boy breaks breathing broken calling child closing cold
coming COUNTRY crazy crying cup dark dogs door dreams drinking driving ducks eat edge
Eskimo everything explain eyes face falls father feel follow furs gentle girls give God goes ground hair hand hard hate head hollows ice igloo keep lady land late laughs leave let lie
light live looking miles moon morning mother move naked
Big brother spell checked HATE to hat
jpHart
Machine buffing floors at the Eagle Eye!
PLANS FOR DRESS LIKE AN ASTRONAUT.
(all together: looks like my plans fell through […])
Swoosh! Earlier within One Dimensional Man I found the BLUE/RED
articulation for The Matrix. However this early darkness slouched me toward
bubbler Beth’s whirlpool. Ampersand (look.down.upon.me.Jesus)
whatfool? Odes a guy do with tHAT bail of non-heat emitting squiggly light bulbs?
01/07/2021 @ 9:55 am
fas·cism | \ ˈfa-ˌshi-zəm also ˈfa-ˌsi- \
Definition of fascism
1often capitalized : a political philosophy, movement, or regime (such as that of the Fascistic) that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition
2: a tendency toward or actual exercise of strong autocratic or dictatorial control
early instances of army fascism and brutality
— J. W. Aldridge
Other Words from fascism […]
In light of today’s surreal headlines I’ve pasted Merriam-Webster’s definition of fascism.
The editorialist in me suggests that POTUS ought be lured to the Tomb of the Unknowns
then have the guards help invoke the 25th Amendment. And the cabinet would then straight
jacket insane Commander In Chief. Learned that the dead protestor is Ashli Babbitt, 35, a four
tour USAF veteran. Godspeed, honey. We’ll be free, won’t we? Also, I fear that a punch or two
were pulled by the thin blue line allowing the mad throng of would be school shooters, white supremist et. al. low IQ exhibitionist, would be TJ McVeigh(s) Anthony Warner(s) KKKers, self-absorbed anarchists…curious too what the DEF CON (is) (was). How dare I ast!
No doubt Vladimir Putin smirked during his elbow jerk Na Zdorovie.
Need I mention there must be some kinda way out of here?
Avicii – Wake Me Up (Official Video)
01/16/2021 @ 1:54 am
Dr. Hart….10:13 night stalker documentary a comforter after Lawrence OD all week. Calla Lilly full bloom, record highs, no rain. Leftovers…and the dregs of Pinot bottle from last week. Telstar kids from payload jive with JPL occultists…leaving Bezos behind, lost in space…to space. The microbe rules the two legged world down here in peon land. Might be left over 🦃 turned tacos tomorrow, as I am achin to crank up the tortilla press two Saturday nights in a row…with permission from the yogini. Got an avocado looking good too. Got a cilantro plant still hanging on out there for pico. Space force that. Telstar kids …looking at big west coast breakers, Dick Dale playing on public radio …me ah-yeeing out the window over the creek. Grace is reality, and DC is not here where Black in Black plays at 10 am on pirate radio, Wednesday’s. Here is Diablo Canyon fallout, and the whole double wide shakes after launch. Rocket 🚀 fuel, nuke dust, bad water…keep the extra wealthy above and below, cancer freer than Texas on the Pacific. Telstar kids…no nanno tech, us, barely transistor even. Duck and cover kids, not properly wired for fascism…now too old to remember anything but the sound of prop fighters and bomber formations of crises long past. Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear? God knows! I feel different…better, even, this week. Happy Birthday MLK.
01/16/2021 @ 12:11 pm
“Day By Day” ~ Godspell (1973) – YouTube
01/16/2021 @ 3:01 pm
“When your Daemon is in charge, do not try to think consciously. Drift, wait, and obey.” — Rudyard Kipling — HB.R
Stealth – ink – sonic + awed neck strainin’ Ducksters RBJ! Kinda sortin’ the fort 1/2 the night. I am $um such a ‘an English Major! Why’s IT most tip-petty-top-CD-TENers devour the rough front third of the ALPHABET? My Johnny Cash at Madison Square Garden is empty (release with tickets torn in half (left) indoor cover) hey I know I could origami all hundred and six on a what’s?IT? quarter inch PVC arm$length potable pipe has it they do not scratch but are subject 2 Ian Flemingish kung foo utilitarianism in event my sleep study Straw Dogs reflex exits animation with whatRthey batteringbattlegrams. Unsweet dreams! They take your soul if U let them….FLAMINGOS!! Now I’m enraptured with that M 1 experience alongside the thistle CHI N/W tracks on perimeter. KENT STATE ALERT ALERT ALERT cychohological Schick therapy &/or and shoulda-oughta kept that lion’s claw tub. Old Home Town. HELL i am indisposed! Threads R US Carpettorian Troubadours 2flights down are rollin’ rollin’ rollin’ & Tammy texted saying THE GAME IS TODAY not TOMORROW. vat D hell You’d think my StarRust liaison woulda given me a heads-up. Jesus she’s supra security above and beyond the NSA. Maybe I should just WARHOL the squirrel trio out here racing flyin’ everything but jumping jacks amidst the winter branches. OiNO! Maybe seek and find that short-short about Grant & Lee jawing boning on the porch (–) all those ants upon their boot(h)s. I feel blue. And so do U. Curious if B. Mann settled down? Allow me to note wow the great Tom Cordle returned and i kid you not Toyota named a car in Mr. Cordle’s honor. Magination sets in! Wondren if you hear from G. Justus? The answer my friend? OM and Gloria texted me from Seattle’s Space Needle: EMPHATIC WTF? I go: MTA […] that VIRAL denote chuckling meme not Wimoweh. [I so envy Garth’s 1962 cap] Fine’: Lee: Don’t be tryin’ those sit-ups in any CAT SCAN — amazing that the breathalyzer guise didn’t improv a COVID (what’s it today?) DASH 91? inhale puff out test…test…2,3,4 really makes you wonder maybe torn asunder HEY?
01/17/2021 @ 2:10 am
Dr. Hart 10:29 …ate the avocado for lunch, after mandatory yoga. Three vultures circled playfully above, early…Rank is a smell, they know me well. Close but still moving enough to look straight up at my black brother birds convincingly alive, if not fully awake. Opened the new Pinot, after Telstar Kids review of this thing of ours…the 600 busted on the toe of the boot. Big Night. Got this. 82 degrees at the beach packed like midsummer…planted cilantro, and noticed gopher back from winter vacation early. Lettuce 🥬 still alive, sunflower 🌻 blooming. Drifted back to 1982, and the Octopus administration’s arrival in Monmouth County’s command and control MCI vs T, or propulsion v payload, or skull and bones. VP, always, Alexandra, now Aberdeen, or below, but not by much. Haven’t been to Frank’s for Black Forest Cake in half a decadence. Who beats the feds harder than Md. ? Far away now, Cal Tech…and Hubbard, Crowley, Fancy Nancy…Rose Bud, Grover Mills, Mercury Radio…INHERENT VICE, Major Tom…to easy to spin dry rot, marathon man, Harris Tweed, Maxwell, Epstein, Trump…downward 🐕. Realty is grace, all else is the vortex. Little Dipper. Twitter…C2C Free.
01/17/2021 @ 2:06 pm
Dr. RBJ—how’s it gone on…? With me: plausibly 2 clever x half. Shadows follow me. Certain dawns set me free. How fast? I caught (read) the mention of Pannier via Powell and haven’t played Chinese checkers probably 64 years, though a history of gunpowder no shucks would have all the cliffside crags where whatsit the index nail of God sketched the rocks (smirk) and rolls. Sleeping on the job allows 33% of time for fun; fast lane has pros and cons no kidding — for sure I missed the entire goat meme, and disdain the lack of ‘answers’ apropos Albert Einstein’s mixing mingling of plutonium with WMD. And I ventured to type, ‘Carpe Diem, guise!’ (what? all the dear ladies have stopped typing aloud?) and then about 25 minutes into Jonathan Capehart, there was a ‘new’ commercial pitching CARPE DEODORANT. So is the word premonitory? Or ’tis it a delusional [redline] delusionary rationalization re: silver lining of nicotine caffeine antihistamine (NCA). Awkward premise: favorite things, songs. Words: LIBERTY BREVITY MOBILITY. Didn’t whoa-cate date of publication of ‘Me and Bobby McGee’….Seriously makes me wonder if any high flown futuristic retrospect (circumspection?) would reveal a ‘stronger’ poetic e.g. FREEDOM IS JUST. Perplexingly enuff cautious polite criticism ought project PROGRESS which dishearteningly has (along with enhanced velocity) conspired to connotate an ‘dropdeadyesterday’ flesh and FLASH CARD buzzard-ward [the astute word I knee-jerk off the frayed cuff is SUBLIMINAL] manifestation of rejuvenation of the failed systemic of Communism. Acrimonious mutually assured blight and monsoon velocity firestorms afore purple rain — high tides and plastic jugs in the props. Howitzer ever:
Premier Putin did provide that glimpse-photo-op excursion wherein he and his favored geologists soil sampled permafrost…and yet I do suppose that what’s the cagey bee nowadays? And yet I do suppose
the Russian FSB devotes expensive resource filming of all those book titles shelved in the wonderful great room libraries we keep seeing behind zoomed experts. Can we for the love of God focus on MUTATION?
Learning:) Dr. RBJ….I suppose I’ll spin some Dr. Hook — please allow the trivial yet dadblamed footnote that Janice Joplin’s ‘Me and Bobby McGee’ nudged out Otis Redding’s ‘Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay’
as incredulous stat-keeping on posthumous record sales. Sad the sustained irony of limitless mobility when you’re GRATEFUL albeit assuredly DEAD (::sigh::) LO;} Let’s make the story GO. Tell it sir!
01/18/2021 @ 11:58 am
Dr. Hart: Every day is MLK day, here in the doublewide one hill east of said bay. Texas on Pacific. Poor Otis…dead and gone. Telstar Kids, Bourne to run, horseflesh for fodder…corp or cannon. Beach packed like July fourth, yesterday. Esoteric Hollywood dense with speculation and snitch-like delusional thinking. Still, the siren calls me south to JPL, Cal Tech, and All That Jazz. so far I resist, but book 6…post Pensacola provocations of 2014, and now a VP best since Gore ? How can I knot drift over the grapevine to joke with the combine about fornication, animal husbandry, broccoli cutting, noodle making, and Zinn? Telstar kids revised American narrative…darest I peck great? Truer…truthier version of origin. Wilderness balderdash! Columbian transfer…corn for smallpox, and the like. Inherent vice, Naval dentistry, Kesey, Vonnegut, Bradbury, Carson, Heller…Hitler, Kissinger….Snowden, Bromden…choreographed by Flossy. Being there…Chauncey Gardener like to watch, FOR SALE! But not cheap. No suh! Not Cheap. Service is an art form today and every day. I had the blues, Jersey Blues; customized, lobotomized, synthesized, just to make the skin brown enough for Hollywood, or Rio. Too close to the sun, for too long…swan song. Or just more yoga bliss, above the fray,stay? The luxury of choice, recognized. Grace is reality. MLK was not a racist, or deluded hater. Service is an art form, and grace IS reality.
01/18/2021 @ 3:16 pm
Dr. James
UT
UT
UT
{7}IKE DREAMERS DO {LO;}
single* (adj.)
Meaning “consisting of one unit, individual, unaccompanied by others” is from late 14c. Meaning “undivided” is from 1580s. Single-parent (adj.) is attested from 1966
assassin* (n.)
1530s (in Anglo-Latin from mid-13c.), via medieval French and Italian Assissini, Assassini, from Arabic hashīshīn (12c.), an Arabic nickname, variously explained, for the Nizari Ismaili sect in the Middle East during the Crusades, plural of hashishiyy, from the source of hashish (q.v.).
Beulah and the Blue Bloods have hooked up with Gloria and OM in the Canary Islands.
IF my luck had been just right…pulp the scion of Boswell! They chanted elbowing with
Kurt’s kin. O I found that $84 Hunger Task Force check book markyang s/read: whisper I NG
either this (nobody stays in one place) fist bumps + the water! In R. Buckminister Fuller’s
Critical Path (St. Martin’s Press) Lord Help US! page 143. Shot heard roundup the world?
Joannie B. and George H. (I thought theY had keys!)~( relax max batter up COME THE
FLOOR sweeping ram-mam-rap-sis-BOOM-bah don’t trip on the threshold I wanted to yodel)
My best to do my duty. What if God were one of US? George beams.
Rustbelt untakeabull by the horns hoot and holler! Cold emanates from their hats plaid scarves and gloves.
I’d be done already if I could find the turntable.
Need to decathlon with:
Chopin Poet of the Piano
(#3 side one — Ballade in G minor, Op.23)
We’d planned a concentrated stained glass homage image of the Great Lakes for the balcony.
Well all mine immediates were and remain Groppi Lib-ER-als….
Why’d U follow Here Comes the Sun with Taxman…? I asted big G.
Synergy! Shy: Poe Lit ticks! PollyAnnA polymaths. All ‘yas! MICdaKnife!
O! Kool Aid sent a legal-beagle-ish form OK back. Expressed % in mine cranberry powder!
That’s the only envelope you’ll ever C–git past….JB joined us near the whiteboard. She’d been
back turned entranced afore the Sandy Hook poster…she pivots to the powder room…mascara streak.
Rejoice Halleluiah yeah the strings are so what…?
Happy for awhile?
Happy go lucky?
You’d think they’d have prioritized the infinity pool…by now.
Gloria kept reduxin’ all my tedious deep exhales….bit x bit…exasperating. They both want journeyman expertise (hart not hoit) like that Miley Cyrus ‘Look what…you know that whirlpool…
they’ve done to…my song….’
Cool, waaaaaaaaaay!! Howdy U just synced Miley with my Bangladesh….
01/20/2021 @ 5:15 pm
Abraham * Martin and John *** Dion
01/20/2021 @ 8:11 pm
sOMa* Gloria & OM screened over a STILL suntanned full mouth kissing through a creampuff.
I’d frozen steam and 50 and more ice flows lakeside east of the Calatrava (such a fine sight 2C)
attired as though set for Ice Station Zebra. Satisfying and delicious! I replied, whiffing my Johnny Depp Dior Sauvage, like in a world that’s so cold; you’ve got soul ol’ buddy you sure do.
I am yet note-nursing the balance sheet due to my failed Good Night Irene tour co. as the convention Democratic National Committee prudently went dark….0! I’d an interesting retrospective tutorial with Mentor (we’ve more in common than Old Age Denial (O.A.D.)) She’d gone droning on @ my ‘once in awhile’ annoying penchant to ‘pret😛nsishly not vet yearn multisyllabic ‘your deluge of obscurantism’. Generally open to reportore, I bought a round of ob la goots (there were only 3 of us megaphone distance apart) and explained well, what the Florentine! I’d finally rolled up my paper route tips and got genuine Red Wing half boots and the very next morning like yesterday Ernest Hemingway committed suicide in Pocatello … ID. Mentor retorted: Ask not whom … so it sticks to me…brevity. NO! Thesaurus. YES. And those mystical eyes of his with all that blasted game…endangered…I mean REALLY. Like from REMORSE to REJOICE, no? At least polish your ‘Waiting for the Cat Carver.” & boxing glove that gotta get ten to go beyond JD Salinger what’s it? Rise High the Moon Beams? OK OK we’re like fresh air and solar shingles some days ‘aye? Someday soon? SOMEDAY SOON!
About 120,000,000 results (1.09 seconds)
Post prom exuberance here and now, RBJ. We’d strong southerly wind frozen droplets sunlight
brightened steady pristinee Mr. Haymaker tranquil due SW…very loud…Future Starts Here …Essential Doors…Mits ok ok ok I’ll shake the doormats! Existential Doors Hits.
01/21/2021 @ 5:33 am
Dr. RBJ,
Any plans for Ferlinghetti’s 102nd birthday? 24MAR21?
Wit all due accolades wouldn’t Lawrence Ferlinghetti be the greatest Rolling Stone cover evR?
Greatest Poets
William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Homer. Many know Homerus by Homer, and he is responsible for the literary works Odyssey and Iliad. …
Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849) …
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe* (1749-1832) …
William Blake (1757-1827) …
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
*I actually mispronounced Goethe as ‘GO-THEE’ during a Graduate School oral xm’! O!Swell eye rolls and suppressed compassionate smirks….3rd gear…wow MS Amanda Gorman😎like we got’em go get’em LET MY PEOPLE GO!! Young lady is to the discipline:ART of POETRY as Lee Iacocca was to Ford. Everything’s comingn’ our way….At last! Peace is for real and not just a ‘pented-up demand’. Today’s wish is that we get a copy of Lorien Pratt’s ‘LINK’ to JRBJ CICheif & VPKH.
And off the ‘chilly and cold’ cuff: your thoughts, kind sir, what about a flying saucer-ish drone hovering over the North Pole ?? and howabungalow that Ruby Bridges Kamala Harris image?
OFF-TOPic: Did you know that an inexpensive blue bulb converts certain fine print to dayglow?
Dr.RBJ: it would be wonderful if you’d grace us with a redux of your Bell Hop memoir….such a
day President Obama reappears with snow in his hair…give me a ticket to an aeroplane🎈🎈🎈🎈 + ninety five more!
PEOPLE WE GOT THE POWER
01/22/2021 @ 4:33 pm
Baseball legend Hank Aaron has died at the age of 86
Trending with Babe Ruth, Vin Scully
Palmed my thumbs upon the blue news. Four + Four…hey clotheslinehomer. Aaron @ the wall!
Earl Gillespie stood too the mike knocked thump and behind Terry and me in the right field grandstand extension paper cups of Pabst spilled that elbow to elbow warm Sunday like lions we roared thrilled you webbed it grass side that green cushion….hands on knees: man on second you alert and focused bent forward HENRY HENRY the crowd up and down chants! At last as big as life you waved almost imperceptibly that knothole bright sunny day.
You couldn’t tell. These long 3 o’clock shadows—It’s in the wrist, our common blood.
Hank Aaron’s final homerun, 755, on July 20, 1976
Mr. Aaron: Godspeed!
We are FREE because of THEE…
01/24/2021 @ 11:43 am
My baseball days were more Mays than Aaron. The. Kid from Rumson, not Basie’s Red Bank. We had our backstop propped up on the old man’s sport fisherman, which never saw the water unless the tide came up high enough to wet the pitchers mound. Close but no cash meant no splash even in the sixties. The backstop was the landmark, a symbol of our downfall in painted wood planking for all to see, to some, but for us it was home plate, even when submerged, behind which was the kitchen door from which cats would fly from my mother’s underhanded free throw. We played more than we watched or listened to games bedded down at dusk on long summer days, down river and across the bay from Yankee Stadium, where there now runs a ferry to from the Highlands, not six miles from the house on the Shrewsbury River the Bellhop Of Asbury Park stumbled into for cold food on hot humid nights. The apnea and snore, was evidence of the core, and more. For me it meant secure in all 🧢 s. Dirt poor, or so we thought, but things were never as they seemed, down river from Fort Monmouth’s secret laboratories, and just a few miles south of Don Vito Genovese’s HQ. The Bellhop skipped and jumped between the money, mob, and top secret proving projects like a wounded frog, but all we saw was failure to thrive, as we moved down the food chain towards the bottom he nor my mother had ever seen, being rebellious rich kids…raised on propaganda and privilege, placed into this quagmire for reasons unknown to themselves or the six kids that hid from them in the marsh grass between the house and the river. Military Industrial Complex? The Great Santini of route nine was slowly sacrificed on the alter of the deluded so that the six could be initiated into stackable bales to meet the billeting needs of the very core or the corps. Fresh Blood, vetted from conception to serve at the direction HR…up or down river contracting, without knowledge or consent. Born…in the USA, the Bellhop’s brood became fodder for future fascist forays. Yes, I hit the long ball, hard, soft, tennis, or whiffle from home plate, where a homer landed on Waterman Avenue, still damp at times from a moon tides rise, on that bluestone, unpaved, over filled estuary. I knew privilege…first hand, with shaved heads and shared bathwater, food stamps, and state lunches in one of America’s wealthiest town swamps…known as the ghetto to the kids from higher elevations for generations. Now, gentrified beyond recognition post Sandy, especially. The boat is gone, the fort is gone, Don Vito is gone, as Kushner buys up the County, as fair and square as ever, no worse, no better. Oh, Henry.
01/24/2021 @ 4:48 pm
___RAW___
confrontations with Street Peter
spuriousness sans profanity
nicotine statistics disposable spleen
baby oiled bright deep sky bright light
inspiration Ike a deep Alexis breath
nearby factory-fumes mirage:
HELL work in progress
redundant pissant monocle magnified
A,H BOMB: beneath silk flag strings
a person suspended
in Liberty Bell Pivot
mirage: HEAVEN ice picked translucent ICE
shush with no pain[…]365 Earth Days
ascendant drops drip upon the lane slick
gleamed black ice: renewed mire statistically
road rash that steeple in view
UT 0Zer0 LUCK
double parked truck
vroom + rooM!!! zygotes
PEACE SIGNUPON THE MOON
redefine
monsoon maybe tomorrow tight fists once upon
the minute x minuteman hand
black the bowler;
raggedly raged
the knocker’s cuff
oil-foil wrapped raped
thud that DSM 3
thumps the porch
as though mother lode
stop flashin’ on that TJ cavity check
nEVER so swell with EVERGREEN
substitute ‘hark’ for HELL
your chicken barn floors
once upon bare feet
‘peck’ pounds dire sounds
numb nebulous souls
acupunctured upon the trapdoor,
footprints on tactile white fresh paint
uFO boats now crank the roses
tinged hereon the float
n O * O wanderlust just that
google wants my birthdate
busy being born fate
or was it an Afterthought,
slings, arrows shivered empty quivers
calves livers catfish more content
albeit frowning:)(:
dem’rep antennae
doze/zone silver-waved
rivers
fEELING?
/\EELING/\
eye must confess:
a fluid skeletal festival
that yellow cotton dress
not far $rapid$ royaled
>>>)0(<<<<
yeah rock of ages
lean so keen
strangers with redux dreams
yep stark white pages
it is a wrap
i am sterdam,
hot thermal
noir bulletproof
another petition
for audition
purr dish shun
minus shun
multiple suns
sung-the-song
faux free
scarlet sparrows
escalating toward
out-0-site space!
bounce that ball!
amazing asterisk
oUR Epcot elation
in the ghettos!!
redux renegade
me-me syndrome
geodesic dome
buffalo ribeye
[Dr. RBJ
{LO;} yours today rank$ right ^THERE^
with Dylan Thomas'
'One Warm Saturday']
thanks!
01/25/2021 @ 5:32 pm
HEY Dr. RBJ!🛒
Countries ranked by life expectancy
#Country Life Expectancy (both sexes)
Hong Kong 85.292
Japan 85.033
Macao 84.684
Switzerland 84.2590
more rows (keep your hands on the wheel!)
Life Expectancy by Country and in the World (2021 …www.worldometers.info › demographics › life-expectancy Russia 72.66 years (2018)
USA 78.54 years (2018)
What is the life expectancy in Brazil 2019?
Japan 84.21 years (2018)
….sincere thanks for your allotted little grey boxes hereupon….I’m shopping for an angel investor for our Afterthought, LLC and meanwhile my Papers are Us (collegiate level editing)
attempts to keep the teeter-totter quid per quo I mean what the flamboyance! Let it snow let it snow let it snow. I can be such an errand boy sent by grocery clerks
🥽LO;}👓
01/25/2021 @ 8:28 pm
About 136,000,000 results (0.82 seconds)
As the snow flies
On a cold and gray Chicago mornin’
A poor little baby child is born
In the ghetto
And his mama cries
‘Cause if there’s one thing that she don’t need
It’s another hungry mouth to feed
In the ghetto*
*—-lead stanza […] IN THE GHETTO
Elvis Presley 1969
Mac Davis rejuvenated 2009 — ?
Poignant, no?
Hey Dr. RBJ💜 often fail, you know?
Jimminey Xmas!! THAT’S ALOT YEARS
🛒🛒🛒🛒
0! Perhaps 6 JAN 21 was our darkest hour 🛒🛒🛒
01/26/2021 @ 12:27 pm
Iris Bulbs, Winter Shelves
dart and fart pollinate flit!
hummingbird don’t fly away
faster than James Dean
nest at will, hollyhocks
miniature claws for hooks
columbine, yellow roses too
quick beauty for thine beak
deep the nectar spiral such vector
to seek…blink…dodge flutter flirt
whoa zig-zag hoovered stasis
lavender emerald red as rose
lush rolled hills of clover moist
ferns precise proud sunflowers
tulips wave thistles stick spring
rain how high that seaside tower
01/27/2021 @ 4:37 pm
S-HE C-HE—fandango! don’t quiz me on CS Lewis (smirk) SC south Carolina nothing C/B finer
She SD : Mayday no maybe: coquettishly … tonight on a plane…tomorrow…tomorrow on a train…
magic carpet made of steel. Hive no words, no ray, no winters day…U do not haff’ta drive all the way to Bowling Green for your warming ‘clear’… u’V’e got to work right here…! Like consternation in Constantinople? U mean that ‘Dialogues of a Kite Painter’? You won’t go beyond Chagall: The Red Gateway ~1917…maybe put on the life guard helmets and twang out
Walk Don’t Run
02/04/2021 @ 1:46 am
Dr. Hart $$ Hit page 100 today, in book 6, seven months in. Lettuce submerged in last week’s yearly rain of a 🦶or better. Picked what I could like out of a fish tank…cold pale leaves, but mighty clean! A late January harvest! And now spring is near near near, as the hummingbirds work the rain bent bushes silhouetted on the fogged glass inside the crapper. Ate two oranges out of our drought injured tree; thick skinned, but not too sour. West of Bakersfield, their Avila Beach is still split down party lines, both two white and right for this unrepentant back in black clam shucking Jersey export, just happy not to be shoveling snow, as the squirrels eat my hibiscus 🌺 leaves until there are too few to count…and more babies on the way from the looks of them. Not tree squirrels here, but hole diggers…nesting beneath the one giant palm tree that is now to tall for me to easily reach the dead branches. The whole damn property is tunneled with gophers, skunks, fox, rabbits sharing the escape routes. Deer eat roses, and coyote eat the deer…mountain lions and even a bear come by now and then. Halibut for sale 10 bucks a pound whole fish, direct from fisherman covid special down on the pier. Live crabs too. Deep pockets in their Teslas lining up for this, no vaccine yet for us under 75. Food in the fridge, and no place to be. Daskalos my usual Thursday of Magus working the magic twanger, incognito as Don Vito’s emissary to the Cypriot two car diner on route one in Oceano, about fifty miles below last week’s washout as seen from space, even closer to Vandenberg AFB, who’s launches rattle the windows of the doublewide, sometimes. Missed last week due to deluge, but 6:00 news praised the lord for new drainage that kept always flooded route one dry, not just high as usual in the old river bed next to the tracks. Oceano…strange even by California measure, tomorrow there I go, now that Lompoc is too far.
02/04/2021 @ 6:58 am
Dr. RobertBJames (you & MS James r really in Davos aren’t you✔ers by the sea? I had intended to haiku x12 2021 JAN FEB MAR APR MAY and so forth but Mr. Rack charged & clanked his window image simultaneously with the wailed wind sheer like whispered whistling of the tea pot hoot flute and I almost packed my duffel rather than explaining to Gloria and OM. Wild night! No broken glass … Here’s a nostalgic glimpse LO;}
‘Back-ack-ack. I’m thinking you’ve done some diving. I haven’t, but this strikes me as real. The rush of images and internals had me along for the ride – looking out and in. This one passage is so visceral and startling it could, I believe, as Norman Mailer said of some of Burroughs’s work, shock-heal cancer: Great foam spit shrouded the corners of his flubbering lips spraying skyward. His nose dripped and cold blood sparked his eyes. He yelled motherfucker and his left ear popped.’
Chicken Mãâàn
MAY 22, 2010 02:28 PM
I don’t disagree that this is a great moment in Western pulp fiction, the repartee of it, no, to answer your question. Don Julio is my only risk, stopping bullets with the peace sign the other, I’m off now, toward the light, where clowns spin on pinwheels, the trains on time, the kids all fat and sassy being kids, some drawing, Picasso, Anne Frank, Topsy the Mammoth freed and I’m gone, out there re-heating the chicken rice soup, as likely to fly as a one-winged butterfly, a weary word warrior, pal, I fly, the slave alone at night with caught breath, that catatonic gone devilishly fast through the gauntlet of 1,000 sticks, chased down the crowded stairway just ahead of God’s ball bearing, that ain’t nothing, and on cloudy days, I say, the people are lonelier without shadow.
J.P. Hart
MAY 22, 2010 05:39 PM
Ya think DB Cooper had a jump shot like this? Your writing is like being on a Tilt-A-Whirl on Coney, reading trash scraps kicked out by the Saturday sandstorm as they snap across your snout. The Daily News, I’m in a JP state of mind. The richest hot cocoa on the OS roach coach.
Damon E Walters
MAY 22, 2010 09:42 PM
02/05/2021 @ 5:05 am
Dr. RBJ should I write fiction here? Pendulous poems? Here’s an poli-sci essay, amigo
(🎈x99)
A Message to Dolphin Democrats: Change Has Come!
An illustrative rather ‘odd’ flown over near Western strip of states have unsurprisingly been a constant for DJT: a six state swath from ND south through TX with a ‘given’ of 89 electoral votes. Otherwise, since 2016 the sanctity of the democratic process skews a wallop of popular votes to the Democrats.
As such: *(sourced: CNN and NYT)
2016
HC 65,853,625 pop votes 48% 232 Electoral — DJT 62,985,106 pop votes 45.9% 306 Electoral
2020
President Biden 81,283,361 pop votes 51.3% 306 Electoral — DJT 74,222,960 pop votes 46.8% 232 Electoral
Dems: 147,136,986 REPS: 137,208,066 The people have spoken! 9,928,920 popular vote mandate(s)
Electoral: 538 Electoral: 538 Tied! hey hey what’d know ‘dat Electoral College gotta go!
Mentioning all of the above as a rude haz-mad like GOP ‘strategy’ of disinformation and convoluted corruption led to an inexcusable usurpation of our sacred democracy culminating with an anarchistic violent, murderous attack 6 January 2021 upon our Congress. President Biden’s decided victory has been besmirched by surreal lunacy along with an incredible deluge of cyber driven attempts at deception. There’s a torrid glimpse-like subliminal persuasion of lethal propaganda wrecking havoc upon our American experiment. Clearly DJT’s adolescent narcissism perpetuates a crazed subculture hell bent on denying reward to legitimacy with felonious ‘sore loser’ ‘or else’ banana republic like amateur power mongering opposed to our life, liberty and pursuit of happiness. And subsequent lynch mob manic behavior which detracts and delays our ‘all hands on deck’ urgency of quashing the Corvid-19 pandemic. There’s a cruel and unusual penchant to foist a stalemate of imperative progressive ideas. It’s 2021. We hesitate with hunger insecurity. We don’t focus on street mayhem. We ‘debate’ sane gun laws incapable of curtailing mass homicides. We pretend that climate aberration and diminished polar ice caps and rising seas are not obvious glossing over of the empiricism of accelerated, succinct meteorology as though the message of pollution and lethal consumption of poison water must into perpetuity lick the boot soles of corporatocracy. Whatismore, we’re at a vulnerable precipice of thinly disguised ‘other’ superpower manipulation persuasions and proactive control. We must know wrongs and intervene righting wrongs and take back the future. What don’t Trump’s true believers understand?
How’d the known system allow DJT’s appointment of our ‘acting’ UN Ambassador?
02/11/2021 @ 11:17 am
Dr. Hart: Eight ball says elefino. No aqualung for this one, or sky diving or any Fleming imagined voyages to the edges of empire. Growing lettuce, stirred…not mistakenly serving the monarchy, or mob. Ignorance is intentional. If you can move them west, that ain’t proof enough, no sir. There be a wolf for every so many square miles, or hell to pay, Raytheon5, my last draft…of bicoastal disordering and gulf coast 2013 ending, without admission to late life PhD program in Monterrey, is not Ord, or the Salinas Steinbeck knew. Nor is color coding for morons or the Californiacation of the planet going to fly any better than Britannia tuning the fork, sea to shining sea and some. Here at Disney HQ’s work from Rome, Davos, or Plato’s Retreat recovery pogrom for lost boys, Peter Pan remains the wash basin at the mustang ranch, until further notice. Our star, Esnor, John, chipped by a putter, calls from Old Monterrey slammer, unanswered. But Bakersfield Bond, likes the chow there better than San Louis Obispo’s clink. So Esnor is google worthy and in, pending trial, and I am a man down, down here, where Texas on the Pacific bleeds north of Encino, and Pasadena where the Snowden’s of yesteryear sold out to the Chinese for fair market value. Two sea, or not to sea, after plan 🐝 got whacked. I’m fine with cinema. My medium was Weldon, back in Jersey, which will soon require hard hat divers to explore the shore I knew. Asbury Park, and the gag factory have gone to organic mushroom farming, who am I to argue? Inherent Vice like grips me as I peck out page after page of covid tinged 2014, in book 6, as I wait for my doses of government hooch, already disappointed there will be no quick end to the confederacy of dunces, even though I know there can be no movie without them, the others…the Globetrotters have to have a beater team to better. Without Hitler, how badly does Churchill ferment? Trump has pulled all bonesmen out of history’s pooper, and for that even Ronnie Raygun’s racist roots will fade to black, as the broom comes with fairy dust to deep sleep La La land, until the new owners ketchup to Tarrentino,
02/11/2021 @ 3:57 pm
Doctor RobertBJames🥽
Land ‘O Lakes coldest lower 48 and I was down that hot caravan borderline PM with plainclothesman Montes. Pressed with foolish grin as causality-focal was a fine wired ash tray/Lord her hair in sunlight./ See chrome Imogene Coco hot-buttered-rum on diminished steno. Breathalyzer and alto sax-o-phone and assuredly the oxygen mask hit my shades when HE right-juddered quasi-whipped-leashed staring @ vertical how’s the story gone? Emp OS sable poe-toot? Barking dogs saliva wedged coffee ringed tray db. just knew pro-grimmer #2lead pencil last spear of the picket. WhatchaalrightmacalliT theoretical🎟s roll-baby-roll.
TOP 25 QUOTES BY GARY SNYDER (of 84) | A-Z Quotes…
ear-liar in the morning crew crewed at the R HOUSE banister ABBA-like with what those fly-zone East St. Louis bunt signals. Certainly huge craft miraged shimmering down down near Tulsa. I led on Dinah Shore USA rolled rolling nearby loudly two lane awesome 99 degrees and higher with that fine-tuned bibliography blunt #s with rAWhide. Running BARITONE. Wing-window-wind. Here and nowadays the candy-colored clown nods forward in the extrusionplastic COPACABANA Ismaeel tray. Tramps like soaked soggy plastic yellow strapped bales—50 galleons—to imply BundleScreech hath a script-to-doo-dah blue velvet labyrinthine with a retina scan at every hedgerow niche cranberried corner. Sure the basic arithmetic would grant $50M x 11k and erase the angst…Big Roy (AMX) solar-plexus-glassed best medicine in his heavy stratosphere🐱🚀 rocker at my Robin William’s mock…much todo (Brylcreem moist behind mine wounded ear). I was the last to get a new chair. & O so LO;} Minnie OH the only survivor wh0’d rout-cite Ted Hughes. Such a long long time ago. Penultimately the boss had a classic in his casket. Red Stripe booklark. Chapter and verse. The tow-haired tyke got so scared trying to cover his ears BANG what’s IT 3 times 7 or from era to era 7 X 3. Rays of a beautiful sun. Hilltop arm-sweep: !ESPANA!
02/11/2021 @ 5:55 pm
Extraneous to adore interiors when one lives on the roof or under the bridge. Hence allow the visUal echo cool Vishnu smarts with URBAN SILO:} in deprived zip pity dew dah areas with token dispensed neat postal-like boxes with goodies: less heave-ho late hOUR drone serviced solarized mechanization. Maybe zero radius jeeps for those sequestered. Plausibly DIS would cad-cam the vestibule wind-breaking the approach and egress less distress. Scrumptious! Round the nutritional clock dock…morning noon and night! Free smoke alarms too! The resources are there, here everywhere. Each square mile on the grid mile x mile minute x minute meme x meme. Mascot scarecrows maybe shall be. As natural and HUMANISTIC as dexterity is to embroidery. Silent night blue and reflective. Beacons of hope like landside lighthouses. Fog horns: high noon and midnight.
02/11/2021 @ 8:08 pm
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 910111213141516178902122232425 26
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
16 21 20 4
20 6 21 6
36274110
twenty-four
Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev
A Sportsman’s Sketches (1852)
02/12/2021 @ 2:51 pm
heywashup Dr.RBJames
Curious if XPOTUS shorts the $. He appears to have peaked over there in New Delhi. Real personally I can’t imagine where all the HumVees were during the failed insurrection 6JAN21. Hell I don’t know how many meetings I missed when too often 40′ to an hour’s worth of sand-hued Humvees commandeered the CNW RR crossings rollin’ rackety all day through MKE from Oshkosh.
I kid you not. You can hear the whistle blow. Hell that one time my Rivera ran out of gasoline and we missed 7/8’s of L Gaga’s Don’t Cry for Me Argentina. Sugar Pie and me just scored a MT of Love on RIOT (in and around the lake) [don’t try this at home] with mojo discretionary denarii from sale of our Henry Fonda shirts. S&P could pitch sour kraut to a Laotian. Even if it’s too cold for her fish nets. Also, just had a whoeBgone image of XPOTUS yelling FIRE at earth’s core. Too cold for a cot in the wilderness, buds.
02/12/2021 @ 4:09 pm
🏸_____________________!_____________________🏓
What part of RECIDIVISM don’t these Spencer Tracys understand?🤳
02/13/2021 @ 7:31 pm
plumbers plumb
writers write
can’t have one
without the water
02/14/2021 @ 6:51 pm
————————————————————————————————————————
Boxcar Full of Books
________________________________________________________________________
we may: contrive controversy
all be; vowel counters: of quid pro quo – 5 – Michael Moore’s peace sign, rumble seat waves: Studs Bear cat burgundy/cream
stars; Lincoln Project – 4 – strong winds
receptors; fine print desk jockeys 1st desk near mail drop, postcards from 1962
within; alternate MAD BULL labyrinthine
seamless: Shelter twenty-three
nefarious; cloth banners give and take take take of elbow ache
cosmic; association holograms aloft
scheme: tooth paste selection for cartoon star glint…no shelf life on the Ipana…
best quest; never hopeless! green drapes part at the PIC-VIC lodge
he guessed: dodge any elevator sneeze
jousting: Zone, Egypt does not have the desalinated H2O, no melting snow for the fencers
toward: darkness
asymmetrical: dago dawn
suppositions: turn key algorithms
if a canary: perches observantly
feather: of cut ink
flees the: lilac hedge
wing: protractor as chrome knuckles
is it less: than an answer back
tranquil: color of rails
than our man: sun tanning on concrete step
on a bench; line in the sand were the driftwood watches
when it wasn’t: wave rolled
— quite dark —
existential: foot prints
raindrop: eights aside
upon cherry bud: winds spiral
replete blossom: laughing vortex
our eye: bargain
upon the twig: emerald ash borer
sway: it mite be a door someday
to and:
froe: figment of imagination
fast yet: tender wail
slow: like wind through that brass ring of thee I sing
02/18/2021 @ 4:22 pm
Last Supper, Last Kiss
Baking Soda, Vinegar
*Egregious too how #45 and Rush got on Roseann Barr
& no I ain’t got my shot however it means somebody else dID
The Sci-Fi aficionado in me visualizes ubiquitous candy-like drops as vaccine.
Magic is not a /ˌnän ˈsekwədər/
Last month vid-news spoke with grandma all alone on the sidewalk, West Chicago […] she toting a tag-a-long grocery cart […] said that she did not know if she could get the shot alone 1/2 mile away back at the drugstore because she’s ‘all alone since her grandson joined the Marines …’ And the eclectic interview was awhile before all of this shoulder-height snow-ice. My observant guess is she mayn’t be cyber-savvy and maybe has a dormant jackknife phone. She’d a better coat and plaid headscarf. O yeah white clouds and indelible memories. Maybe there was a train whistle…I characteristically flashed back on LB Johnson’s War on Poverty.
02/20/2021 @ 11:05 am
Dr. Hart: Open Our Salon For Good! Gone Girl, gone and done it seems. My FB plays are not spiked by phony baloney monk masqueraders these days, as I am out of the office. Neither there or here my interest in sm wanes. Overdosing on others errors and omissions, guilty only by association, I hold the high ground less than half way up this Indian Hill.
02/20/2021 @ 2:06 pm
FEBRUARY 14, 2010 3:06PM
100 Minutes
He would stand and pedal and ride with Andrea — the water from her yellow bikini bottom saturated the wide vinyl Schwinn seat, her padded top pressing his shoulder blades like mysterious succulent secret mounds of wonder, her innocent nipples maybe as pinkish/red rounded as large as lava-colored watches’ little faces — they would race on only after drinking the cream soda sharing the bottle mouth to mouth, hers coquettish and full allowing red evidence real cute on the glass bottle sculpted lip, and then round the corner to the beach building’s angled shadow, the shadow trapezoidal, the girl, the boy, the minnow bucket and the lake flashbulb diamond bright-glinting them especially the bicycle spokes, as the helicopter’s the helicopter’s the helicopter’s the helicopter’s the helo’s that horrendous thmpthmpthmpthmptthptthmptthmptthmptthmptthmpthmpthmpthmptthptthmptthmptthmptthmptthmpthmpthmpthmptthptthmptthmptthmptthmpt-ing drew them around again beach side back into or actually swallowed them whole into the sunlight and the chopper, a vintage / refurbished army chopin-poppin lumbering hoovering resting then thundering s-l-o-w-l-y and as clever as a dragon fly it continued flying just above the breakwater granite line of massed humongous boulders and geometrically sliced stone faces here and there etched with house paint: oval-led cartoon eyes and truncated crude Disney characters, like wa-bah-tooB while the southeasterly wind wafted, well you try to say it she said covering her ears, Rudy puts on wraparound mirrored shades to better oga-bah-lucka her cleavage (you could see sand: like salt on the white part of celery, where you sometimes find black fly-speck soil, just atop those beautiful breasts, and she knew what she was doin’ squeezin’ her palms over her wet blonde- hair-covered ears, he thought do not touch, hooking his thumb in his watch pocket next to the hidden dimes) she wrote: MCMLXIV with a pen from her beach bag, a cheap ubiquitous British pen not taking the top off of the plastic stick, in the deep wetness of the sand where the whitecaps vanish to bubbles she had written 1964 out there on that crowded beach and with his finger Cohen scrawled a heart getting her last name and then RC over AMA while behind them young men kicked sand dervishes making tippy-toe catches of a florescent green football and children without shirts wearing upside down sailor caps sucked their fists or swung by their arms beneath and out from rotund women who wore bulged shower caps right before the lifeguard squawked from his stilted wooden tower NO BIKES ON THE BEACH and then walked over to them telling Rudy in a nice way, the sun-blocked white nose and opaque green sunglasses and white helmet saying there’s no fishing, either; Andrea wanted to lie and tell him that her daddy golfed with Barry Goldwater but she just said we’re going we’re going teach me to fish Rudy and then both helped push the bike on its balloon tires, the moist sand obscuring the black rubber and even as deep as where the spokes mated those tiny oblong screws into the chrome rims, they worked the bike back toward the road finally finding Andrea’s older twin sisters one of whom lay on her tummy, the spaghetti thin bikini line already invisible wow thought the boy taking his hand out his pocket then ringing the chrome bell how do you do’s he’s gonna teach me to fish and the sister sitting omy God crossed-legged flossing her teeth then crumbling the string in her hand, then putting the floss-wad as big as a cat’s eye marble into a Dentyne wrapper saying by three o’clock nonchalantly pretending to read again through sunglasses a scarred-up paperback entitled ‘Native Son’.
02/21/2021 @ 2:09 am
Dr. Hart: Called to mandatory yoga, so could not fill the quota, or get to where I was going after digesting the correspondence, all before coffee, halfway up Indian Hill, behind the firehouse, in the doublewide with the two plastic pink flamingos guarding the hill behind the fuerte avocado tree that has not bore fruit since I yanked endless feet of watering plastic from around the place half a dozen years ago. 2010, I recall the hellish last class of my MA, locked down in a tiny seminar cell with 10 kids less than half my age. Poor lighting and hard metal chairs, bad air…for over three hours of horseshit. Not what I was thinking about this am. Best class was Edison’s Laboratory, not an hour from campus. Rolled up the mats and pulled out a tall chair for a short haircut, then vacuumed and swabbed the plastic wood flooring that needs a deeper cleaning than I gave it before checking the lettuce that is not doing too badly after near drowning. Now in 2014, in book 6, remembering the foot the coast guard carried off the pier, in February of that year. A small plane blew up just off shore. I was up to my ass in bi coastal binging…with the Obama tail wind, south of Stanford, who had just got Booker in NJ. Making him California’s third Senator. Nobody in NJ knew that I was their native son, back in Newark for Booker in 2013, a whole days worth of poll counts in the Ironbound, rain soaked. I did not stay for dinner as I was due at the Molly Pitcher, one f stop above the fully BRACed Fort Monmouth, where we put the con in contracting up until 2011. Signals shutter, but I stuck with optical telegraph, 1813, from right where Springsteen got busted a few weeks ago to NYC, preventing a British Invasion perhaps. Shots were fired from shore to man o war, for sure. My home town, was just a bit up river, halfway to Fort Monmouth by water from Sandy Hook. Me and the Billions are gone now, not that California needs me or the money, but Booker seems to be shaping up nicely, in spite of his Stanford rearing. I trust NJ ‘s way. The Tao of Blue Coats, on both coasts, C2C. Fearless Optimism. It don’t cost a penny.
02/21/2021 @ 3:06 pm
Dr. RobertBJames!
No doubt there’s more parkas in the Aleutians than Plano. I see APPLE split?
Hope not into fire and ice. Maybe catfish on the table ’round midnight. Maybe treetop sonic boomer jets pole to pole simultaneous circumventing the equator—dunno if sound generates heat. Blame it on calculus-phobia. Just espied flatbeds balanced with Generac moss-colored equipment rolling down to the sea. Rumble-ramble-jingle-jangle; perhaps Bonfire of the Vanities would proffer afternoon delight. In a world that’s so old. Soon to be 2/21/2021 hashtag nine–warm wine! Stars at night as well. Thought I was the only one raging on empty…
Since 1983, the prison custody population has increased 329%. In 2018, there were 151,213 people in the Texas prison system. of state pop….My buds and blossoms at Old Jeans & Beans spiraled a ‘where art thou’? missive albeit the quarterback was misconstrued &I xylophoned ‘Fool on the Hill’ with square-footsie-sucked navel held breath: ‘ol man winter exhalin’, and jokingly replied (rhythm & bluesy): I don’t disambiguate that Franklin halves ought be mirror-like whereas ‘in the event-of-an-emergency’ one could glint the sunshine, be found safe warm dry make rye…make no never-win […] that pitch ‘n toss heads or tales—good reading lamp: that yellow submarine sea bottom racing (perspective: dark eyed white whale) {…} HEY RBJ right here and now we’d might come too close to ‘TWO BROKE GIRLS’ {:::III:::} this is why you watch … the report made Alex Witt weep … our souls to keep. This is why you watch. Old hometown looks the same. Premise our fathers who art very well well well maybe at a plexiglass gameboard (tight buds!) their yeoman’s fists semaphored try-try-trying plausibility
to ‘aid and assist’ Professor Karl J. Friston cure schizophrenia. Have we forgotten Uncle Tom’s Cabin? May your titles be something other than waves, RBJ. This delight I don’t know if I’ll pickup a new Sonic brush or fit some of those Geo-defy Atletico shoes. Someday, yeah!
Here’s another: a corn nym: BMW: Bezos, Musk, W (President GW BUSH) perpetuity! 📐
02/26/2021 @ 10:49 am
Dr. Hart: Supreme Allied Commander gets dosed today. Big tent operation up the 1 at Questa, 2300. Tension higher than the Diablo Canyon grid, or before a Vandenberg blast off, here at mission control. Scrapping the schedule is nothing I do willingly unless so ordered from above. So it goes, 106 times in Slaughter House Five, and will also today from Indian Hill. Noise has forced us to Squeeze Me, read, Hiaasen, out at the dog beach. I had to give Esoteric Hollywood a rest…, and not pecked a page in ALOS since Tuesday. Guilt is not my strong suit, even the lettuce is neglected. Time to hit the Spyglass, rushing it to avoid further disciplinary actions. Will obey all speed limits en route.
02/26/2021 @ 7:59 pm
Dr. RobertBJames
Beulah is back with the Tindered Spirits and I knocked my head gong downstairs though I thought like an ace…right where the peace sign stencil…haloed blue light…free ATLAS…the kids chanted…o key doe KY down…stairs…beneath dem ‘ol soft shoes…that 1962 Brooklyn cap atop yellow pages ‘neath beagle-eared /Crying of Lot ’49/…tall tales and bulged deep water water inflatable whale. Sugar Bear with a little-finger-nail smite of bubble gum right on his Achille’s heel…that highway STiLL glassed of not Laverne and Shirley but 9Selma + Louie9 right there afore Rusty Warren’s IN ORBIT
WWCT!!
mysteries:
Alfons “Fud” Candrix (July 17, 1908, Tongeren – April 11, 1974, Brussels) was a Belgian jazz saxophonist and violinist. Candrix got his start in his brother Jeff Candrix’s orchestra, which toured western Europe and Morocco.
And grandma Mary’s hope chest with my saddle pants as well as that mailroom matador’s cape embroidered EH…gone for pedicure IF my BOOMBAs evah* get here…too late for me no doubt…
FUCK I think this salt-rusty gradP’dP’ling hook is from OzL0;}
hey DrRBJ
TGIF
`~’ho-ho`~’
h🕶 two🕶 O
*
!🥎~NINE results were found for evah…tries men’s souls? Ladies of Calcutta~🥎!
02/28/2021 @ 11:00 am
Dr Hart: no sense complaining about lost words, anywhere. The Great Yogini got her dose at Questa, rickytic. Nurse flown in from snowy chi town to administer all day in one of fifteen bays. It was near seventy and 🌞 sunny. That señorita did not want to back to the land of Lincoln, ever. Cut some green onions to zip up my pico, which topped of the celebratory post vaccination nachos, last night after the revived Yogini directed mandatory yoga and house keeping. I finally got a few pages in ALOS, too. Indian Hill’s HOA rules are being hammered to death …even after 400 on Saturday. I don’t hear a thing over the water and dryer I share my closet office and side door to the double wide with, but the Yogini hears all. My cherry tomato 🍅 have sprouted from the fall corpses the gopher’s teeth timbered one green limb at a time, now potted above ground. I could pick lettuce, or plant more, but when I get my shot, I am heading east with or without the Yogini’s close supervision…leaving no hands on deck to crop watch. The Red Rocket needs serious service to make a xc dash, but maybe Joe bucks will cover some of it. Will the highways be jammed with broken heroes, flush with Yankee dollars…?
03/04/2021 @ 2:45 pm
paging DR RBJ
Old Farm Road
‘If God is Your Co-Pilot, Change Seats’ the roadside church sign
white/black welcomed passerbys, you kept your sunglasses on the
map on your knee, I dwelled on opacity and distractedly thought
how you wouldn’t buy me that ‘Kid Rock’ Sinatra-ish maderas
accented Glen Plaid fedora, substituting the long roll of Sweet Tarts as
penance for my hurt look when you demonstrated the pewter necklace
pendulum penis, operated by pulling a string toward erection: ‘I got
a little dick at Harley Fest’, at least we’re out of our chairs, I
noticed earlier, the Jung Nursery, often, usually in the wrong lane,
finally on the right side of traffic into the WAYSIDE —>, first truncated
armory, its granite walls of CCC sweat, two women in tight jeans, color
of rain slicked asphalt, striding toward those razor wired walls,
striding toward it, aberrantly, quickly, a perfect sound system, at least
to my tastes, too loudly, The Theme from Midnight Cowboy, smugly
entertaining (brakes are cheap headlights brighter than the recurrent sun, the storm rolls from the NW: an eyelid of summer, not as before and ephemeral as Magnolia of last May, but this was it, we’ve joined, and your relaxed meditative pleasuring is all I require)
the travelers, or irritated, the wayside travelers, contingent with
multifactored interpretation, the futility of mind reading, as I’d been
burning fog lamps, moving the July rain: 75 miles an hour: through the
green tunnel, corn seven foot, reflections of the boy blonder than pale
Scandinavia, hole in his heart, the umbilical cord thing(y), brave little
fishermen we all were, they cut and broke him, 7 hours later, they’d saved
him, had him standing
walking wailing in tears the next day, the heart removed, fixed,
preserved, mended, replaced just so, and he pointed to his wounds,
(it’s repeated by master storytellers) as he touched bruised piercings,
punctures and life-giving lines of rejuvenation, saying OUT OUT OUT, and
they—the nurses and night watchers fighting tears—they taught him to
say, I am a very brave boy, we spoke of others, counting four, no, that
makes it five kids in my arrested adolescence who’d been saved by such
surgeries, throughout my diminished time; if we’d quantify it: we’d have
only a fraction of the cost of one fighter craft to end all wars, you’d
possibly disembark, a solo mission, finding humor in plump woodchucks,
acorns assured to leaf clusters, to penetrate warm earth, to mate,
deftly splicing odd images of primary advertisements for corn syrup,
inventing software to highlight duplicity, I’d smirk in particular when
lightening wrapped 360 degrees almost as though it were a new horizon-
even CROWS, I note compassionately, can be tricked, with advanced
sociology removing garbage cans from the oasis, take your trash with you
no garbage on site, if you’re looking for garbage you’ll find it, you began
not trusting my faculties when I detailed how I invented rock videos,
especially when all the cars sync, everything moving times more than
four tires, eighteen tires, mud flaps, bright red at dead nostrils of heavy,
fallen deer, racoons miles apart lie immortalized by Bridgestone, Royale,
US Rubber, Yokohama, Michelin, Firestone
etcetera
down the road I say,
now you even got like, for each state, fifty
grandchildren cast to resemble turtleneck swaggering beatniks who
pointed west, east,
emphatically you denounced my penchant for word pictures
insisting on quietude, I’d fight to preserve something or other,
Americana opening like a sunroof, you’ve so much you said and
I heard you you didn’t think I’d hear
occupied as you were with the Paul Bunyan thighs of panting
bicyclists: horizontal buckets of rain he’d taken on a forgotten similarity
of weathered lore, yo a fisherman made of brass, even his balls are brass
I thought you were going to stop all this homage Koi/Soy to dead
rockers
I’m going back someday.
===================================================
O’ freaky old lady I almost forgot
===================================================
Old Farm Road would be about spontaneously sighting a ‘good’ omen far from the beaten highway: you’d want to photograph the chestnut mare and palomino pony: heads down in the soft rain on grass as green (greener than the lenses of those pilot’s glasses you found touring Louisiana Superdome). Embarrassingly green the grass, those horses … as I idled past thinking of some off-the -cuff Jerry Rubin remark about how the best photographs are never taken, maybe the grass was green as a frog’s back-as green as the green of a bag of turf blend builders, then, idling, the road curved to a hill and lightening filled the day. Someone flicked a blue light switch suspiciously /synchronistic, flashbulb brilliance like that jam of worshippers, in The Doors, after JM was ,”more than two hours late [sic] mace in his eyes….” WOW I gasped when I saw it!
It was (is) a fresh coil of barbed wire on a fencepost, looped almost like a rusting crown of thorns, resting on the wet, red faded post, almost like a peace sign. It’d been there all along.
03/07/2021 @ 4:00 pm
8*8*8*8*8*8*8*
HAIKU ALPHA
*8*8*8*8*8*8*8*
Albatross no loss
Atlantic crossed white wave toss
Asleep a sailor
Cat rests: sun warm stone
Chipmunk faces no fancy rhyme
Chattering wind chime
Dolphin dives cold, deep
Daybreak silver wild, sunlit
Dreams another leap
Eloquent wind
Easy light, old the sun burnt face
Ecstatic grey sky
From out of nowhere
Fromm, Eric, walks dusty road
Farouche the night
Gators slept, tight eye
Gape beneath thick wet eyelid
Gargantuan tail
Haiku so sacred
Hidden meaning countless ways
High season low night
Iridescent dawn
Idle trout, fierce drought, sun bleach
Idyllic warm wind
Jaybirds unlike words
Jabber joust jibbed jangle
Jaybirds old sky blue
Kaleidoscope spin
Kale, tomato, cornflower,
Kinetic nature
Lonely butter churn
Lion roars, boars, shanks of ham
Lilac, pasture, light
Money homily
Matriculation awards
Mountain snow, bright, cold
Nothing means zero
Notables still argue place
Nothing you see held
Oxen struggle on
Oxen, wooden yolk on neck
Over mud, green cane
Plow horse on dry dirt
Plovers flit along field edge
Powerful night rain
Playful raindrop plop
Panglossian paradigm
Proper, perfection
Quintessential storm
Quirky Arcadian sun
Quality: cloudy
Random flood water
Rapid river roars raucous
Raven steals frog, flight
Seven fingers still
Severed three, one full old hand
So five, now then seven
Stultification
Stalagmites spike sandmen, snails
Stale strata, dark cave
Tamarack footprints
Timorous squirrels squint spring
Tremendous sunlight
Unified voices cried
Units marched bent forward
Upon fog, distant
Victorious end
Victory was took, lost rook
Valiant, vigil
Westward came the wind
Wayfarer sipped tart wine
Wanderlust, moonshine
X other brand name
Xanadu homage ignite
X Ray, x marks spot
Yellow, the wet rose
Yelling, a sound, a loud screed
Yearning for silence
Zebras fled, rust bled
Zodiac sun signs, no flame
Zero, zig-zap, zilch
03/11/2021 @ 2:35 am
2014 we were still putting in pages on OS, Dr. Hart. Now I am 123 ALOS, back east in Red Bank…2014. A to Z, and back. Where is home? Real fish in the river, and a Navy blimp. Signals crossed between engineering engineers and putting the con in contracting. Telstar kids, Dr. Hart. Raised on war-bucks, bread and butter pickles, and government acid. 2014, post Pensacola 2013, riding the north bound silver star from Palm Beach to Alexandra. Strange Days, nights, at the Molly Pitcher’s Soft Parade. Old Crows turn the tricks, tricked, one stop below Union Station. Vandenberg, 48, or Dulles 49, The dates elude me…before I was born into this thing of theirs, wave ruling radar, scoped out like anchor line. 2014, after the foot was walked off Port San Luis pier, bagged and tagged, coast to coast, sea to sea, the sun showed up in that late Jersey February. The tourists were down from NYC, in their new Cadillacs. The Freedom Tower was nearly open, and visible from my home town’s bridge to the beach, just as the two were, from where I saw them rise and fallen. 2014 is not tragic, but no picnic, even with the best therapy the company could buy, finally, as they say, better late, but even with a steady practice, progress was slow, if at all observable to the untrained eye…five more years, perhaps before The Telstar touch down, but not until well after James beat Navy and Army in 2016. The Telstar proof in the pudding, for all the marbles. Now it all seems so unimportant so I struggle with 2014; even with the new kids in DC, this is still Texas on the Pacific.
03/11/2021 @ 5:43 pm
DOCTORROBERTB.JAMES!
Barehand hands here and now. Fine crystal vestibule bowl (ROCK ‘0 AGES) hades you’re a first responder (we pick-up an hour) no theatre Indy round, Glide: the blues they’re playin’ listen to what they’re sayin’ — Catch-22 and me as though I’d maintained the core-strength and meniscus apparatus to sway kick (we were helmeted Eagle-Scout dropouts) stepped out theming CATS L.A. sweet-petite. That defense end 1st heel wounded. Jesus his momma wailed
then younger bro succumbed to the dark force. Here and now the vestibule treats miniatured Kit-Kat entre’ ~ egress as though toned optimistically. And me all tennis-elbowed red lined. Faded like an old WWII movie. That head-phoned radioman. Nowadays time accelerates. When I was just a baby. She was GONE already. Angelic asleep–tranquil her smile at peace upon the keyboards. GONE any load stone rolled FREE. Going places I’ve never been. Golly Mary and me dashed and dared a city. Nowadays 45’s pickets are not a railroad. Redux you investigations are worthwhile. No glass was broken. You’ve got soul, and everybody knows. Wild wonderful polymorphous controversy. No time for ennui from mine booth. Hence: the six (6) word tragedy: YOUNG SOLDIERS ON A YELLOW BUS
LO;}
Yeah sure I’d rather type than listen,. Right now: we were so head-over-heels with snaps and cotton candy and she’d an ill-advised transcendence on a slant-line and an arena breath-caught. And instant darkness. Proof in the rice. Upraised letters: epic architecture. Some call it sleep. Conjecture and truth be honest : I am an actual photographer albeit radical radio waves are not sight.
DAYLIGHT REGARDS!
jpHart
💮🆒☮
03/11/2021 @ 5:55 pm
Frankly I do not know if I should pickup a new Sonic toothbrush or a carton of American Spirits.
03/11/2021 @ 7:57 pm
A Sonic toothbrush will create a buzz but not give you one.
03/11/2021 @ 10:59 pm
Solar molars…motivated to pay-go for whitener…glint and sparkle…like charm w/o harm.
jpHart
…born from LO;}
03/12/2021 @ 11:19 am
Naval dentistry…does it beat the shit out of flogging? Asking for the cabin boy.
03/12/2021 @ 8:25 pm
Wi-Fi connectivity in Kankakee semis and colons conjunctions unbound hair halo wisps Ike’s rump metal detectors perimeter of the city dump deepfakes and yet Richie Havens sweat how very many roads fella in the jump suit with the Fields rack-sack had some made in Japan lute I’d a hatful of subterranean codes pink toward spring fling ZZ’d redlined space bar ain’t far now I need lean pecs rollin’ with the flow such a wink ‘n nod no angel born in hell, mind you as Frankie sayeth he wanted a pure book * i go all pure blank white pages and jovially we shadow boxed like fisher kings as time and fog stood still while big Ray turned the soles of his feet just so they say sitting is the new smoking so I leave my coughing nails across the room just like a movie albeit one big show, fast and slow aware that it’s time to go that RAINMAN ALOFT 10 on yet 10 off designer lightening that grid surrounds the XXO such a squeezebox when Jesus washed and you Dr.RBJ ghost to coast perpetual motion youplaythegame and pretend ether* so yon-a-bout
*2.
LITERARY
the clear sky; the upper regions of air beyond the clouds.
‘No one to blame’ See ‘ya soon…that marble bench arm’s length: near the eternal flame.
Alright already you know it sounds like Moe:
Curtis Mayfield & The Impressions – It’s Alright (August, 1963)
03/25/2021 @ 11:04 am
Dr. Hart: Built the cold box for year round growing, gopher free with my Biden bucks. Picked some lettuce from the plastic bins, soon to be retired as the big box gets filled with stolen soil. 52 more cross tour loads to go….I’ve got three screen covers to keep the bugs out on top, neighbors think I’m thinking pot crop. More like 🌶, but who knows? The writing suffers as outdoor projects and spider solitaire…eight decks …slows ALOS to February of 2014 Red Bank, NJ’s Molly Pitcher Inn. No whales spotted yet.
03/25/2021 @ 7:19 pm
Dr. James,
The Green Door
by Jim Lowe 1956
__________________________________________________________
Who am I to pick up sticks, let alone help Carol King with a glass slipper, it ain’t me, Gloria (Western Union) instructs I must hoard postal boxes, she’d swift-stroked WWII Spam, OM (glib an itinerate meteor) hails and rocks favors insistent on soot-free trailers ‘sale or let’, round the hairpin, kids redeemed a juvenile fox—tunnel warm—could not take the cold—ensnared, the trap from the 1930s, rusty-rank, skeletal then spaded deep sadly ‘neath – two – century aged Sycamores what are they fingerling roots, so I speechlessly stew-bummed again saw an aerial of that elephant’s graveyard: zoom upon doom abiding my raison bran with halfasperandhalf at hand for extended use X dates so I shouldered burlap 50lb. baled rice, I seldom use a bascart and shop free at last when I am hungry, fast and slow, assuredly we found the piano bar—fresh Real Leather jacks, Mauritius Island bright cherries for the eyeteeth froth and tropic cloth as gargoyles leapt, justified right margins: verbotene liebe, clueless how the dancing girls survive. Hey the writing works suffers and dies. We saved some there’ll never be another Johnny Cash from our pilate scale foam steel-tipped globe longest dank yard dart game selling, Lord blue jay feathers, cruel as a winter’s night, poet’s plight. Pilots how fast? Soon afore this New Year. If cross-bows could sew, less carbon-mono dust last weeks mound crust of snow, three eighty three, his left fingers numb, I thought I was still here ///+////
03/27/2021 @ 6:09 pm
Dr. RBJ a/k/a Doc Holiday:
We’re gonna have a party‼ U say when
I’ll say HOWL
{refined ‘ap-olo-bees for my recent redundancies with:
albeit plethora & honky Dooreanne & the band shall
$WAY
like zoom-room-
stich in time
1 single dime
L☢;}
(off to C the WHY-Z-ART)
04/01/2021 @ 11:22 am
Dr. Hart: Got back to ALOS pecking, after picking all wintered over 🥬 lettuce, formerly submerged. Slowly filling up cold box yet, have tiny tomato plants from last years gopher downed cherry bush, ready. Meshed the bottom of new box to keep the gophers out. I think 16” of dirt over the mesh will suffice. No research to support this assumption. 2014 Red Bank…finishes with a spreading of mayonnaise drenched chopped salad across the laps of two tourists who decided to throw the container out of the brandy new Caddy in front of me on a sunny urban Jersey February Sunday…with NY plates. They closed the windows but forgot to lock the doors. Lettuce 🥬 Chavez ever grow his own? ALOS nearing midway, now back in Pismo Beach, greeting international visitors drifting off “The 1” for a touch of Texas on the Pacific ( my own name for north of Vandenberg south of Salinas) where Bakersfield goes to the 🏖 beach. Billions in war bucks and toxic strawberries proudly marketed from just above Oprah’s enclave…where Sideways was filmed. A collision of Wild West , wine tours, and surfing lessons opened wide the Chinese well to do eyes, now trickling back after Trumps snubbing compounded by covid stopped the steady stream of selfie stick hordes north south or south north seventh day adventures with or without the Vegas Grand Canyon extension most in the know Pacific rim visitors opt for. I haunt the 1 looking for Another Roadside Attraction, south of Big Sur, north of Guadalupe. Still no whales this year.
04/03/2021 @ 3:33 pm
Doctor(givemethecure)RBJANES!
Like Doc Seversen’s theme from Rocky!
Cardinal chicks first inhalation 👁🗨0doors L☢;}
WOP dat haymaker near green acre, sky mocker wet towel snap, semblance near twine, IF credits much slower: another Poet in clover as GS must strum despite the slum, high hopes
hula jewels hectic hoops, not one geodesic tent, Lord Almighty it’s lent+what you see: Chapman atlas pays that rent cupola’ hats: whom in tarnation would juice a bat? Whitman’s gauntlet, near the skeletal choo-beams who tracks, exasperation/\how much alerts, antique cans of Squirt, 50/50 subterranean notes, French Bikini for whom ought work with Fruit of the Room, the sky-mansion show of it, Bullies on the duh Rite, Ballerinas’ plight, end of the night, LEFT…HUH! tweak my nOM-de-plum my goodness Merriam Nude! Nunzio Sinatra: (sneeze) Crime and Punishment flat back cold cold floor…hey why’d Jill and Joe name the house doggy Major Tom?
Waiter,,,! What’s this mulberry bud doin’ in my Caesar’s? Tore a pec, bought the yellow swan, won a trip to Luxemburg…but had the thimble on…and missed the details…Beulah’s back with the Dragons, Best Peter, Paul, and then along comes STUCK in the class four’s CD and Guantanamera ! So much depends upon moon visibility June 3rd as well as wounded names of babes asleep post RFK’s,…[sic] ‘How bad is it?’
She sad: ‘I’ve 0’Tool lineage…’ Up against the kitchen sink, across all those goodies, I kid you not a caged lynx, so I could only muir-myrrh Rose in Spanish Harlem. Dude: NEGENTROPY is not an eighth-grader’s vortexed vocabulary…living life in peace…is—more than a Clanycianclue — our water in Flint so overdue…!
jpHart
(sanding the mahogany hot tub afore midnight and I’d best ‘git Gloria’s cosmetic apples afloat ASP: article Sarah’s Plover, fine meme startling reflection…atoll howl sweat…toward stage left…speed and ice cold disc inner ear Milner’s brew like snow angel’s with those Irish babes, Ocho Rios in the hot sand as hot as walking on the sun. Blue Nun, black nights to be REALLY?
She justified unforgettable good golly wallaby A&P supermarkets proaching Nassau. Dean Martin on the headphones as well—mile high this morn, sir, great day hash-tag eight prone hoLLy-holy fluoride!)
04/06/2021 @ 10:35 am
Dr. Hart: Gonna Fly Now. Heard it live Maynard Ferguson 1974. Still recovering from dog fight at beach. I jumped in to unlock the locked jaws of a pitty who had been assaulted by a ball of fur, off leash. Only fools rush in. There was no getting this attacked dog to let go of its attacker. I’m on the ground with the two of them, when a guy with a Princeton U visor starts punching the pitty in the head over my shoulder. Then he finds a rock and starts hitting the wronged animal. The pitty took about four hits to the head, inches from my face, before letting go of the furball to perfectly snap on to the wrist of the rock wielding idiot, who decided to swiftly retract his mauled limb from the mouth of the grounded pitty. There was blood! The pitty recovered his first target 🎯 and went on until he had enough, releasing his aggressor for the second time, with my face just a few inches from his massive jaw. He shook off his collar and held his ground, looking at the freaked out rock swinger who was now backed up farther enough to satisfy him. I got the collar on him, and hardly got nipped. The pitty’s owner was too weak to do more than hold on to the leash, having endured a colon resection two weeks earlier after a year long cancer ordeal. Having a rock hitting a dogs head inches from mine is hard to forget, but when the wounded man started threatening my life …well that hit me harder. Still, had me and the dog from Salinas, obviously a trained killer, not a year ago rescued by the recovering animal lover, not been on good terms in his mind, my exposed throat would have been easy pickings. Fuck Princeton anyhow. Such is life here in Texas on the Pacific.
04/06/2021 @ 10:36 am
Still no whales.
04/15/2021 @ 1:36 pm
Comment by catch-22 on May 31, 2019 at 2:49pm
came here to support this comment.
James emmerling: just wanted to share some old news, for comfort’s sake – the lilacs have joined powers with the peonies and irises to hold up the sky for now. Makes for a fine day for fresh molecules.
hola, hart. You’ve got me tilting my head toward the kaleidoscope again, already looking for starlight.
…all my memories🐎
04/07/2021 @ 4:12 pm
There’d been a dampness through the legs up off the concrete for several days now. The weather map again swirls with layered snow squalls. And a massive blizzard. Fast sea air approaches and flails wet snow to dry ground its opaque white wall ferociously blown straight across the TV weather map as high as the highest mountains and spiraling with the velocity of missiles and then vastly tunneling sky-high air burrows blown west to east horizontally unstoppable and mightily.
Elsewhere blown apart homes lay splintered as dark-dawn tornadoes ravaged swaths of mayhem, the hell-hound howled, roared force of deep merciless night caught many folk asleep and then exploded roofs and flew off its own way spinning horses, cattle, goats, chicken coops and tractor trailers and cars and silver SUVs as well as delicate linen that the women had kept clean and folded for decades.
Cellar doors creaked open to a nature zone. Cold rains fell. Translucent black wisp clouds swept ugly and forlorn eastward toward the winds and orange electrical fires where there was no daybreak, the clouds as evil as twisting bevies of manic birds. Familiar merchant signs lay thrashed and giant trees had catapulted from root balls — the forest had lifted and tossed wild up, down, then randomly strewn, a tossed quiver of multi-ton arrows fallen. The weight of the devastation,of the clobbered buildings, broken beams and red barns smashed midst fallen winter trees, the rain-sodden pastel insulation, earth-hued littered shingles and thousands of broken walls, and swollen tumultuous raging waters ripe with bobbling dead animals quit the night — now all gone silent.
Without hesitation the traumatized folk interviewed said they’d rebuild.
2
He’d been a lonely kid and never ate well. His hair never looked right so he shaved it off with a K-Mart clippers, then looked at himself in the horse collar mirror. He liked the dark clothes, and usually thought what to say to Josie only at night before sleep caught up to him as he dozed in the glow of the black/white muted war movie. His mind was that jungle, that sharp-edged crumbled brick corner where he’d lurch forward spraying his BAR in a reckless sweep of bullets that would wretch him backward before he’d crawl over broken glass and rubble with his sidearm and never give up.
He carried bullets in his black jeans and never talked to anybody about nothing like that. He never initiates conversation, and wondered what texting was, his old man never helped him out with a fancy phone, with a car, or cash really, never helped him and didn’t even like him.”Who’d you call anyway, sumya queer goth buddies?”
He found a stash of dumb waiter weights beneath the workbench and put them in a bucket and worked out alone curling the bucket in fierce repetitive sessions, mindful to count his reps and balance away from the weight of the bucket, then he’d change arms, often losing count, ultimately with his right arm ever-so slightly larger than his left arm, the arm with the indigo outlined yellow/orange leopard.
Last summer he sweated his ass off with an antiquated smoky mower, did lawns whenever somebody called from the note cards he’d thumb-tacked at the IGA and over at Jerome’s Sticks and Stones Ace Hardware.
An older guy he knew who lived in an abandoned ice cream truck when it was warm, and then left town when it was cold, Qdoe, he said his name was, just Qdoe…always good to share a doobie with for a few bucks…showed the boy a defensive fighting stance and where to hide in the junkyard. Qdoe talked about combat but the boy never understood which war the bearded usually gaunt, bedraggled older guy spoke of.
Qdoe bought the boy two guns…knowing he’d keep his mouth shut. That day down by the creek the boy and Qdoe split a twelve pack of Falstaff. Then pulverized the cans with shot after shot of plinking target practice until the boy was half-way good at hitting the cans.
Even running and screaming the boy and the deranged aged vagabond got a little too good as they charged the red and white cans–at one point the boy swiveled then rolled to his right and fired dead center into a heart with initials carved into the skinned dank face of a beech tree.
Predictably those interviewed after the shooting rampage said that they didn’t know him, until Josie (looking down and to one side) Josie said that he was always polite, quiet…something was bothering him though, can’t believe this happened, you know what I mean? He wasn’t my friend but I loved him, you know what I mean?
3
It was too warm for January. There was no snow cover. Minute buds oozed sap beads and what normally would be dead winter brought a gorgeous thaw-day blown in on a giant continuous swoop of fresh southwestern desert breeze. Sniffing squirrels tentatively yawned then stood on haunches like yard ornaments, wide-eyed, confused, gnawing castoff pecan shells, sniffing lava rocks.
“Wanna sneak around. I’ve got the key”, Melanie said to Sandra.
“Whoa, like you betcha bitchin’! Let’s cruise over to the park. Christine’s home too!”
“We’ll have to divvy up and pump in some gas…I don’t think she writes down the mileage.”
They’d all cut school. By midday Melanie and four BFF girls snuggled into the old Taurus wagon that had new brakes and better tires and was washed and spray-waxed just last Sunday. Melanie’s mother had purchased the car for her. And now with a learner’s permit she imagined herself a natural driver. She was several months away from her real license. Maybe it was the spring-like fascination in the dead of winter that filled her with strange optimism and confidence. Couple more years of ‘Boring High’ then far away to any college she’d choose. Or off with Rachel and Bobbie right to Hollywood and Vine. Malibu fucking Beach, she sure knew it would be so good. She could not wait. Smarter than all get out. And the boys. She sure knew it. Just marking time and today,bummin, singin and laughin her tush off. Lettinit all hang out.
She could even parallel park on Main Street. Readily she obeyed when mother scolded her to keep the volume low on the sound system. Melanie had noticed that her ride had a slight sway on expressway ramps, but otherwise the proverbial family wagon would be hers, tuned and clean, and Roberto said he and Jason would pop in the shocks for nothing, like whenevah, sure, no problem, if she’d just buy the parts.
Blasting the radio, she playfully jolted the car almost rocking its nose up and down. She screeched the tires as she pulled away from Roxanne’s.
“Hey Hon!”
“Whatsapp Girlfriend?”
Melanie kept to the side streets before finding the countryside as the girls handed around and sipped vodka from a silver flask. Melanie said no thank you as she moderated the volume down midway on the radio.
Melanie again said no thank you as she moderated the volume down midway on the radio. She shouldn’t have taken her eyes off the road. There was an ever-so-slight rise and on the other side of it everybody screamed just as it became horribly certain that a young woman on a large horse pranced on the highway’s yellow lined edge was maybe only a foot out from the gravel shoulder. With her left hand with all her might and best reflex Melanie jerked the pink-fur covered wheel as fast and hard as she could. As hard as she could she yanked left.
For an instant the old wagon crazily swayed but then skidded on its side — apparently the undercarriage ripped through the horse and rider— and by now the car slid on its roof at a terrible hellish speed streaking sparks straight away then angled ahead to the gravel on the other roadside where the flattened roof left the asphalt and caught and scrapped the dirt and toppled the car upright with the passenger doors flapped open before it pivoted airborne on its driver’s headlight and then– grotesquely balanced for a second–it clattered and somersaulted at least twice before the old family wagon landed sinking on its wheels upon the cold water of the cattail marsh.
The woman and horse down and the girls in and out of the car.
Within the fiery smithereens the medium loud radio sang on, “…o who’s to blame…”
While a startled pair of wild geese from a pond now muscled winging low over the treetops, off toward the sun.
04/08/2021 @ 11:34 pm
Dr.RB JAMES^
Ex post facto caught the woody words. Socialized howls. Abrupt crumpled moonshine grin. Family forest emojis at rail. Roosevelt Rustbelt no offers. Serotonin syndrome. Lightsaction Filmic limerick. Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates—Robbins’ ball of fur, Sinbad’s alligator glossed shoes, St. Peter’s trapdoor, piper cub wheels atop cloned pine, thumb rules, rhythm-rhyme traps tap dance caps, Bernie’s mittens parallel the frozen box dinner isle. I plinked Moon River. Paper tips, teaM ice cream cocktails, white trench coats, fog horn harmony. It’s: Hey! where’d we go. Not: Haywardwego. Universal plots, sky pilots. Beulah & Bebops rained out in Flint MI 0′ MI yours of lore: pugnacious; can’t remember when I ate. Op for a sentence break. Ball of fur—hoot owl nest—forward observer.
All games covered. 70 Jacksons for the May Queen. Or bright alto — refurbished pads — painted kites splentriffic—floribunda fandango too! Could be worse at least it’s not April 1st. True: found a Hamilton in my pocket Gideons. The Asimovian reflex right now: 111 minutes
just about midnight. Aye! Rhymes are not thought crimes. May peace be with you.
04/15/2021 @ 8:25 pm
Dr. Hart: I saw it coming. Emmerling. I pitched an ode to James, preechy, maybe. But I knew. I knew. I knew. I gave it a shot, because I felt it coming…too much too fast. I had read him…and many others for half a decade, not daily…you too. But Emmerling, after the move, I knew. Who was (am) I ? Yet, Dr. Hart I knew, and tried…to ode some sleep eat and exercise vibes that way, for naught. I prefer farce. We get what we get. No bullets in my pocket, or fur on my steering wheel, just beat from route one, or as they say here, “the one”…Thursday’s I drive down to Oceano, you know? To put on a show. I take a shot at it, and that’s that. Doing Jersey is hard ten years out. I’m beat. I have to deal with it. Hiho silver, Hiho silver, Hiho silver…the Cyprus mix, and then Goldfinger Theme, but we all over Indonesia…and all over my head, past Maui, anyway. I can’t visualize the China Sea. I know. Starting the 60 day countdown to XC, in the crosstour, now high mileage.
04/17/2021 @ 2:47 pm
Dr.RBJ
…singing L☢;}…