ceremonial

ceremonial, originally uploaded by allen_bramhall.

21st century

21st century, originally uploaded by allen_bramhall.

whirled view

whirled view, originally uploaded by allen_bramhall.

Jesse Crockett's Flickr

looks like I cannot switch to beta Blog, because this blog is too large. I imagine some Blogger (GOOGLE!!!) inspired disaster awaits. whatever. so anyway. we actually made a trip to the mall (not far) to look at the mall in its post Christmas mallness. Beth's idea, just to see how the economy is doing. didn't even leave the car. this is part of the fascinatingness of Christmas. Beth wanted to see if the parking lot was full. it was. not overfull, but you'd have to search for a parking space. just checking under the great big hood. I love doing this, watching the world on its energized mission. we've pared Christmas down to a big ass tree, a party, and some calmly procured presents. I mean the work part. the celebration radiates as its own. sometime in November, for instance, depending on mood, I start playing Christmas music. I can envelope most (but not all) of the secular stupid stuff (not "Santa Baby", not certain other crass vehicles the titles of which I have no energy to lift up for display). I feature older stuff, renaissance and medieval. plus "Drummer Boy". wandering thru the mall is a pleasure, only mildly avaricious (the Apple Store!!!). sunday, when we were at Barnes & Noble, I saw a book by Ed Viesturs, an Everest and high altitude veteran. he'd been on Daily Show recently. I looked longingly at it but chose not to succumb to the wanting urge. next morning, Erin's present turns out to be the very same. score! that's what I like about Christmas. not that whole Wii presposterousness. I write about these shopping adventures because I don't think poetry allows limits. I think poetry includes seeing. Olson (his birthday is tomorrow) brought to me, maybe not to you, an inclusion. that poetry isn't a restricted, bonded place, but welcomes questions and attribution and theory. that history, or science, or crackpot ideas are poetry too. seeing how Coach bags work their way towards young hands is interesting to the point of magic. what did Jung come up with, active imagination. well now, think of the manner of your dreams, the ridiculous conjunctions and strident oddity. the diurnal and the phenomenal, how do they differ? poetry is possibly exciting, potentially involved with the numinous, the extended, the daily, the morally brilliant. my friend Ezra closed off, and you can see the fearsome smallness in the picture I linked to earlier. not to say we all don't have batch files of stupid running rampant, the point is to recognize a few of them. Beth was at the garden center, where several small children stood in front of an inflated Rudolph performing Rudolph's song impromptu. at the point where Rudolph's exclusion from reindeer games was mentioned, one youngster added "because he didn't wear underwear". brilliant. the Poetics list currently murmurs with the MLA buzz, and I can see meeting up with names on books you've read or wish to, but the academic clog and freeze up would discourage me. the poetic probably doesn't want to isolate or barricade itself. leastwise, that's my working proposition. the limitations sort of kill us, do they not? well, that's my present rumination. I'm not trying to freeze things.

I just got comment box spammed, so I looked to check my settings. lo, I discovered a bunch of comments I hadn't read before. I apologize for setting it so that those comments never appeared. I appreciate pretty much whate'er anyone contributes, not counting those arriving via mindless machine influx. I also, in trying to make those comments reappear, apologize for apparently stupidizing those comments into some blogger netherworld. I swear I hit no delete button.

interesting photo of Ezra Pound (whose name comes up frequently in crossword puzzles). taken just after St Elizabeth swallowed him up, he looks sorely distressed and confused. it's not to whitewash the antisemitism, for which, I daresay, he paid more than most antisemites, but I find this a singularly compelling picture. you see a kind of earnest intention to pull everything together, to study and understand. you also see him overwhelmed by the effort. it's sad in the way any boundary such as race, gender or culture is sad in its determining (limiting) effect. I mean at heart I think there was a brilliant sincerity to Pound, but the weight of that um hubris just warped it all. it's not up to me to make karma evaluations of Pound but I will say there is much to admire in his work, amidst all the screwed up blah. in sooth, we have to be kind to all our heroes, for the human steps that they still take.

my loved ones sleep on Christmas morn so here am I. I don't wnt to hang out on the net today, but Christmas music is playing, tree is lit. we went to the mall yesterday, with some shopping aims but also to enjoy the spectacle. it's fun to wander around, look at things, take it all in. we got there around noon or before. plenty of parking available. Sears is a surprisingly quiet box. it feels like they don't want to be too busy there. as opposed to being outquicked by Target or whatever. I've noticed that the music has been uniformly low octane at Sears. Sinatra sang, if I recollect, "Silver Bells", giving it his most I don't give a shit inflection. his lack of sincerity was never a problem, part of his roguish charm, but musically it sounded like greengrab symphony. some few musicians make Christmas music like they mean it, but it is a genre of avid hackery. we muddled thru cds and dvds for Erin at FYE, big anime sale. these entertainment stores are up against it what with the internet, both legal and illegal. we entered KB Toys, a crass place that I would normally avoid. we had our reasons. I can understand, and yet. it is next door to EB Games, an electronic game paradise which oppresses me, all these stupid, violent, lubricious graphics on those stupid, violent, lubricious games. folks at KB Toys were in who gives a shit mode. the last time at the mall we visited Coach again. the music there wasn't nearly the echoing thump of Abercromie and the Other Name, but it certainly aimed towards young market. the product hasn't been aimed youthward, however, only the marketing has. which is wise: teach them to appreciate your wares rather than guess what their taste is. wisdom there. I didn't see much register action at the Coach store, tho all the store people were busy. at Macy's however the Coach bags were moving. now I can't remember the name of the designer but I liked the bags from this one more than Coach. Beth tells me that there's no question that Coach does things in a 1st class way, including lifetime warranty on the bags. teens were purchasing bags. we got some camera accessories at Ritz camera. a hatless Santa entered the food court and said hi everybody. I think it was the mall Santa, dressed in an elegant green coat (looked Victorian), but he was treated more like a weirdo. no Santa, I don't think you're a weirdo. passing thru Sears, by the way, it appeared they were dismantling Christmas displays. near Santa's picture taking factory a tired looking fellow sat talking on the phone. he said, the little rat is in line to see Santa. still doing a box office business there. across the road we entered he holy ealm of Barnes and Noble. which was jumping. a cop is outside drinking a Starbuck's brew. a year ago Beth and I went to the mall, I think the day before Christmas. it was packed to the degree that it took us an hour to make a circuit round the mall, without finding a parking space. space was a difference maker then, certainly, but there was tons of room yesterday. B&N was about normal. B&N did what Whole Foods does in times of crush: station someone at the head of the checkout line to facilitate a smooth flow. we did indeed stop at Whole Foods for a handful of things. tweren't so busy really. we have our Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve. I made a cake, inventing a n orange sort of frosting for it. Beth did a roast. while it cooked we watched our bit of swag from the day, Pirates of the Caribbean. the 1st one. it's a fun movie. not having any expectations the 1st time I saw it, it was a wonder. one doesn't expect the flaky performance that Depp gave. the 1st one at least managed to keep its confusing elements under control, unlike the sequel. the cat has now decided to sample such of the dog's breakfast as the dog has chosen to save till after walkies. light enters the sky. I shall now perform walkies. Merrie Christmas, however you take your pleasure.

saw the 1st half of Breakfast Club, which I aint never seen before, amazingly. tho having lived thru the 80s (it came out in 1984, I infer) I absorbed a degree of it. beginning with that song by Simple Minds, which I admit to still kinda liking. I didn't realize or had forgotten that John Hughes directed. for a while there he made just about every movie in which an adolescent, pre-adolescent or post-adolescent appeared. I can recall some were okay in their way, and some just functioned on the strength of formula. speaking of which... the opening credits wheeled out the five central characters. let's see if I can memory it all up: Molly Ringwald was the pretty in crowd girl, Michal Something Hall was the dork, Emilio Estevez was the jock, Judd Nelson was the hood, and Ally Sheedy was the eccentric introvert. it is true that school divides into such factions, but perhaps with more blurring round the edges. the five must spend 8 hours doing nothing in the school building as pennnance for misdeeds. which strikes me as an unusual way of dealing with problems. a school official, after all, must come to school to oversee. that school official is a Captain Bligh-like asshole. his pugnaciousness is better suited for employment as prison guard but I'll leave his career choice at that. bad guy Judd is the main instigator, asking direct, offensive questions and stirring the pot. everyone gets their chance to orate about life as a teen, and Hughes makes sure everyone is juxtaposed with everyone else, for purposes of dramatic tension. zowee. I was taken by how acting class the whole movie was. Ally Sheedy with her hair covering her face, squeaking inexplicably, seems perfectly inarticulate in a seriously autistic way at one point but later is asking probing big life questions of Emilio. the kids are so knowing and so stupid at the same time. condensare. and don't forget the hijinx. Erin put the movie on, somehow with the idea it was a funny romp or such like. no, more like a hunk of phony tearjerk for the cheap seats. anyone seen any of the actors lately, or Hughes himself? it's like the 80s wouldn't let them go.

yesterday was our anniversary. we went to dinner in a restaurant in Concord, yes snooty old Concord that was in Thoreau's crosshairs. afterwards we drove around a little, because some people have taken to decorating their homes with lights and whatnot, which is rather fascinating to look upon. well, were we surprised to see luminarias (bags with lit candles inside) lead into the woods near the river. and further, a bonfire could be seen. actually, what 1st caught our attention was the number of cars parked by the river. also, the sound of drums. where were people going? natch we had to find out. Beth put it together, a druidy, pagany thing going on. well don't that beat all! it so happens I LUV witnessing sacrifices, they really make you stop and consider things. (just kidding). we walked to where the luminarias began. someone was there photographing a standard which showed sun and moon in a yin/yang sort of configuration. Brother Sun and Sister Moon. the guy told us that he'd heard of this gathering before but had never seen it. we followed the path in. coming widdershins was a couple with a baby carriage. the path was uneven with roots and rocks. I'm not sure there was a baby in the carriage but there was a large drum. in a clearing we found a group of maybe 20, men and women. all of whom were in their 50s: retired hippies!!! I mean, you bet. 6 were gathered with guitars singing a country blues. others were clustered talking. I don't know how pagan the festivities might've been, could as well have been a reunion of Deadheads. things were breaking up. the fire was beautifully set up, a campfire really but riproaring and lovely. the people ignored us. the photographer had made his way in and was taking pictures of the people and of the the sun standard set up nearby. I felt like an outsider because I'd dressed in a tie just to prove to Beth that I can still do it. I probably looked like The Man. that Beth and I were married on Winter Solstice was intentional, so this little celebration felt natural and right. neither Beth or I was brought up religiously. I attended a Unitarian church with my parents. nothing religious about that. you can't get too excited about being non-committal, and so the Unitarians floating along in mildly liberal satisfaction. when I learned about morris dances, the Golden Bough, etc, I got more interested in things pagan, tho I've never like joined and circles or whatchacallit. Easter, for instance, attracted me more when I could connect it to fertility rites. so anyway, our hippies friends apparently make it an evening every solstice. the juxtaposition with staid Concord aint lost on me. the area of the gathering was held sacred, so I've heard, by native Americans. the colonials, natch, determined the land was a good place to pasture cows. so anyway, a clear cool night, the river roaring by at whatever the very least speed a river can move and not be a pond. Beth and I finishing off 6 years together, a time that, honest to god deserves a book to be writ, if either of us are strong enough for that. and we're lucky as anything.

Beth and I shopped a bit yesterday. 1st, late lunch at Panera, where I had onion soup in a carved out boule of sourdough. the French have made it law that a croutons must be part of the onion soup experience. included with the soup: a nice hunk of bread. must have more bread, must have more bread... 1st stop was L. L. Bean, with a specific item in mind. when I went to Franconia College, in northern nowhere, New Hampshire, it was considered a big adventure to drive all night to Freeport, Maine and hang out at the Bean store. at the time it was the only Bean outlet, and it was a sumptuous all night store, to accommodate hunters and grass-inspired hippie types. I never made the trip but a fellow at school would frequently remind me of the time we drove to the store. I'd tell him that I had never made the journey and, with appropriate baffled pause, he'd reply, really, are you sure? whenever the store was brought up, my father would intone the store's slogan: L. L. Bean, the best I've ever seen. he knew the store when you could meet the famous L. L. hismelf. it seemed like a friendly, fresh store but we were there only long enough to learn that hand crank flashlights that can charge cellphones were out of stock (for a friend). so a trip to The Mall became necessary. at the front of the Discovery store, someone was stationed with the charge of greeting customers and playing with toys. previously, said toy was a flying saucer, a radio-controlled fan provided the aeronautical oomph. this time it was a radio-controlled dinosaur. it was a high energy, constantly moving toy that sharply resembled the perpetual motion terrier pup we came close to adopting, the Terrierist. the Apple store continued to look hip. psst, we got something for Erin. Brookstone, another store full of gizmos, actually had the cellphone charging handcrank flashlight. I got new earphones for my measly half gig last year's iPod Shuffle. sigh. at Circuit City, I gave them my computer so they could add memory. I was told the chips can easily be replaced. last week I opened this machine up and removed a chip, just to see what up. I thought I got it back in but when I restarted my computer it reached a point then went blue screen then out. that sort of thing discombobulates me, even tho I managed to poke at the thing to set it proper, so I was happy to follow the recommendation of letting a greenshirted tech guy perform the operation for a financial consideration that I considered worthwhile. I remained at the counter while Beth applied peeled eye to televisions and cameras. a tv was on behind the counter at which I waited. the show was oook I forget the name, a celebrity news round up that rounded up the tidiest tidbits of essential info, which were exploded via electronic magic into once key areas of my brain. a full nelson was applied to my brain 1st off in seeing Lara Spencer as one of the "reporters" on this show. I think she killed off the bouncily enthusiastic twins on Antiques Roads showmaking them get their own show. the point is that this Lara Spencer, seemingly cool and snooty, has PBS cred, and hadn't ought to, under any circ, be on a celeb news ooze, where haughtiness is reserved for, you know, Gary Burghoff of MASH fame, and not pandering celebrity news show hosts. I mean really. the big story was of Miss USA almost being dethroned by Donald the Trump for having partied somewhat underagedly. there was a press conference in which a heated Trump and a mortified Miss USA paid public pennence, altho perhaps they spelled it correctly. the Trumpmeister barked out that the miscreant must go into rehab, which he made sound like a punishment rather than an assistance. if she doesn't shape up, we'll be seeing a new Miss USa, and you know how rocky it can get when there's a change of Miss USAs midterm. I hope it doesn't come to that. there was a shocking story about Britney Spears getting onstage at some club and doing a strip tease. apparently she kept her clothes on, which I guess is the shocking part. unfortunately I cannot recall more news items but I know they were equally captivating if not more or less so.

ready for the jam bands

, originally uploaded by allen_bramhall.

I appreciate when poets write about their craft, the inklings of curiosity and the so forth that moves the writer, in this instance Shanna Compton. I could tell a different tale but no reasonable competitive basis exists. nor, I should add, am I or anyone going to save poetry, however much one might sneer, erupt or defy malfeasance in the poetry biz. neither shall poetry be killed. in saying this, I don't want to indicate that tales of Christmas trees falling down are not of the poetic. if I need to defend myself. which I don't.

since you're not doing a whole lot (reading this blog), you probably could spare a moment to read the latest at Antic View, or assay my latest pix at Flickr. links are conveniently to the right, but use the left side of your brain for best results. I like how I flounder around with Jeff Harrison's percipient questions (Antic View), and I take total credit for the weird wonders that walk onto the viewing field of my camera. elsewise go see how Jimmy's dealing with the issues, that could be important too.

we had a party saturday night, our Christmas party. I didn't get to bed till after midnight. at 4:00, hello kitty advocated that I rise. a feeling of numbness made me refuse. at 5:00, however, I woke out of habit, and was awake enough that I just got up, tho tired. what did I see in the living room? why, the tree reclining on the floor. of course I had plenty of energy. I proceeded to remove all the ornaments and lights that weren't smithereened, a slow process. not to exaggerate, but it was a sort of Katrina moment, seeing things so messed up. in sooth, it wasn't quite so bad. our collection of ornaments includes some sentimental items from both Beth and me, plus our gaudy new haul. some of what I had are/were literally more than 100 years old, tho for the most part ratty looking items. we have since sawed the trunk again and set the tree up. decoration will occur anon. I did the dishes then went to bed for a short snooze around 10:30. the tree probably wasn't securely set in the stand the first time. the mystery is that the cat never showed up for breakfast, an amazing neglect of his inborn duty. his 1st and 2nd Christmases he took to climbing into the tree but he hasn't done that, being a husky fellow, the past couple. so we don't think he knocked the tree over. possibly the tree fell when he was in the room, thus scaring the bejesus out of him, but Beth thinks he was on the bed the whole night. Beth's niece is visiting us, but our cat, Mowgli, accepts her. he doesn't accept a bunch of strangers in his home as we had the night before. so maybe he's in a pout about the incursion of strangers raiding his abode, but that rarely causes him to miss a meal once the coast is clear. anyway, this afternoon we went to Orchard House in Concord, home of the Alcotts. instead of the usual tour, like we had of the Old Manse on the 4th of July, they had a presentation. each room of the place was hosted by an Alcott family member. that is, Bronson, Marmee, Louisa Mae, etc. it was a pleasant, different approach. Concord had a snootful of idealistic, iconoclastic thinkers back then. hard to imagine now. the town has always been well-heeled. as recently as 15-20 years ago, it still had a working class element to it, mostly due to its farms. today it just wants to go mcmansion, altho it remains a pretty little town. just snobby as shit. after our tour we had dinner then took in a couple of extreme Christmas homes. you know, with mucho lights. one of these displays is excessive, no question, but with a certain amount of taste. the other is kitsch to some power I have yet to compute. illuminated Santas up the wazoo, including Homer Simpson as Santa, the Grinch as Santa, Mickey Mouse as Santa. I took pictures tho I doubt they can give any sense of the wonders. if that 2nd house could be deconstructed, woo hoo, it'd have something to say. a couple years ago, the lights on the roof spelled out SUPPORT OUR TROOPS, for the particular benefit of planes leaving and arriving at the nearby airfield. so now i shall take a look at pictures and then reclaim the sleep I missed.

Jim Happened, Once

control is organized into bits of jim. this jim falters like any other. this jim goes like a trip over to a sodden green field where so much happens in springtime. now the field turns grey. the grey redeems by closing in. bits of jim spread to transform: honk honk, that aint happening.

but wait mood, wait for time. and the piercing cry of lately, steams windows freely and then you gone. stare at the jim till not so fierce or free.

makes a burning study, says our jim.

a jim is rectangular.

a jim for once, with all the ploys attended.

then further jims, as motion towards resolution (like we all) yet tossed about stutter.

control is the jim byword, which stays insane.

sane isn't such a big drop either, of course.

just returned from a dawn walk with the dog. the cat's sitting by the tree. a length of garland has been detached from the tree and stretched out a bit. the cat looks like pride in the undertaking. because no one asked him to provide this service, he offered it free. anyway, segue, listening to Christmas music on an internet radio station. currently it is the Waitresses. it is really amazing the amount of Christmas music that gets produced. and the attempts to make it "new". blues Christmas, jazz Christmas, heavy metal Christmas, hahaha. Martha and the (what are) Vandellas sang a classic, I forget which. you can hear highly professional studio musicians hacking thru a crisply dull arrangement. not to besmirch Martha, whose voice sounded nice. some years ago Neil Diamond had a Christmas special. Neil had to alert us that tho he is Jewish, he sill likes Christmas songs. it's okay, Neil. ook, now BB King and John Popper are bluesing out some nonsense. um, Popper's outmatched vocally. can't wait for those pointless triple speed harp runs. anyway, whatever Neil's strengths, and I'm not clear on those, he's really not exactly a dynamic performer. he sang "Little Drummer Boy". oh jeez, this is what I get for listening to the lyrics: "they call me backdoor Santa". Willie Dixon wrote that one too? reminds me of the world's ickiest Xmas song: "Santa Baby". which consists in invitations to Santa to come down my chimney, sung in a breathy Betty Boop voice. anyanyway, back to Neil. he was vocally challenged by "Drummer Boy", sought the easy way out with a near spoken phrasing. the pa-rum-pum-pums had him baffled however. he had a pained expression each time he intoned the syllables. why am I saying pa-rum-pum-pum-pum?. why indeed. at some point, Neil sang with a boy's chorus. some televisional genius thought that Neil should interact with the boys. no doubt Neil read off the teleprompter PUT HAND ON BOY. he did so in a mechanical, cold way that was kinda creepy. well, now I've got "Frosty the Snowman" sung by Fats Domino. what a stupid ass song. and yoiu know those 8' bubbles with Frosty and Santa, teamed up to outcute lesser decorative insights. a place down the road apparently only runs the pump at night, during the day their inflated display lays in a deflated heap in the ground. Santy!!!. yow, why am I listening to Billy Squier and his "Christmas is the Time to Say I Love You"? last night, to offer one more crack insight, a gaudily decorated house and yard did it all. HO HO HO in big letters on the side of the house, Santa and teammate Frosty waving to passersby, candy canes, reindeer, and a full manger scene. secular and religious blended in an assertion of silly seriousness. die for our sins, ho ho ho. anyway, Karen Carpenter is making my heart pump quickly singing abut a child who will bring us goodness and light. ho ho ho.

thank goodness we went shopping yesterday, I was getting nervous about missing Christmas. didn't really Christmas shop. I needed an externl storage unit so that maybe I could backup my files. that sent us to Circuit City. there was an ad for either CC or BB (Best Buy) in which a man and woman enter the store and suddenly the man goes wild-eyed with all the glittering electronics and bounds off like a puppy. I feel a little like that. it all looks toothsome. Beth stared at a flat screen tv that looked like a good deal. I got 60 gigs of storage, which is pretty good as my hard drive is 40. hip hop music played over the sound system in the store. admittedly I haven't listened much to rap, which I don't merely offer as evidence of my fogeyness. I mostly know rap/hip hop from novie and tv background music. auditory signal of urban cred. which reminds me of a Budweiser commercial starring Jay-Z. I mean, that's one way I see of losing cred: hawking Bud. Erin meanwhilst ogled cameras, which was his aim. he's as much interested in video as stills, plus constrained by budget. there was a metallic red camera, small too, which I didn't even pick up but still felt envious of whoever might own it. my camera's rather small but it's blocky in its way, and it looks like a camera. I want a camera that looks like a rocketship, don't you? we walked out of CC without more damage than the storage unit, which legitmately features in the category necessity. CC is actually across from the mall. the mall itself seemed quiet. Erin and I went to Ritz camera while Beth got caught in Crate and Barrel's tractor beam. Erin quizzed the people there then we went into C&B. well, no, Erin went to parts unknown. sales staff a little testy at C&B, not unreasonably so. Beth got some eminiently needed garlands for the tree. then... we went to a music/video/whatever store to find Erin. along the way the cart people lunged at us. one time it was a young man and woman trying to attract us to something. the image of a moray eel darting from its rock niche comes to mind. another time it was 2 young women at maybe a cosmetics thingie. they both remained seated on their stool, which is a funny image when you think on it, like they didn't want to expend too much energy. the opposite of that manner of drawing in is Abercrombie and Fitch (and/or Finch). the loud insistent dance music and the dark store front simply pull people in. a black hole. there's a women's clothes place with a lime and apple green decor that is extremely pleasing to my eyes at least, I'd want to go there. as opposed to the toy store, which is just super garish and bright. oh, in the entrance of the Discovery Store, a store person was radio-controlling a flying saucer. it had a fan that pushed it off the ground. dazzling! perfect for driving the cat crazy. somehow we found Erin again, went back to Ritz to procure his camera. then home. Beth annoited the tree with garland (we got the lights on yesterday... when I say we I mean Beth did, Beth has patience that I can't conceive), Erin set up his camera and I set up my storage drive. then take out Indian food, then an evening of putting ornaments on a fir tree in our living room. I also took pictures. Erin regarded his duty solely as getting a photographic record of Xmas 06, and plus too playing with new camera. well, today, harrumph, I just put the kibosh on the cat getting his morning exercise with an ornament. he's cleaning his foot now.

puppy of the apocalypse

puppy of the apocalypse, originally uploaded by allen_bramhall.

btw, anyone know if I should commit to beta Blogger? I tend to jump willy nilly, seeing a finer world in the upgrade, but in sooth that's not necessarily the case. has Blogger, or should I say GOOGLE, replaced old errors and screw ups for crisp new ones???

I stuck Ben Friedlander's Flickr account in my list of links. notice that I've segregated the picture sites, which is an effort of hopeful organization that can't bode well. Ben posts family shots, and ones from his youth, and a lot of personal stuff, but also much other types. including notes written to his wife (grocery lists, even!). what I labour to say is how interesting it is, the possibility of these pictures, and these gosh darn public publishing sites. I know I can't maintain a comprehensive listing of such like so what I will post can be considered intimations. Alli Warren, Brandon Brown, Stephanie Young all post personal photos, to the extent that you can envy the swell poetry times they have out there on the left side. I also like Jesse Crockett's photos, which I have to link to. but like I said, I'm not the one to maintain anything called comprehensive. I haven't even gotten around to producing my own flood, just the merest trickle.

we've been watching the Everest series on Discovery the last few weeks. I'm quite fascinated by Everest. strictly armchair interest. I once climbed Mt Lafayette in New Hampshire and reached a panic point when I got above treeline. it's only a 4000' peak, a hike, but I had a strange feeling of vulnerability. the sky seemed too close, and it felt like I could fall into it. no sheer drops or anything, it's not a scary mountain that way. tho at the summit a thunderstorm could be seen heading towards, necessitating a scramble down. I had to push thru that panic, but when I did, I felt okay afterwards. so I suppose I shall not be standing next to any 10000' foot drops anytime soon. a somewhat ragtag bunch heading up Everest. a super fit asthmatic, a climber who'd lost both legs to frostbite, and a biker who'd suffered 2 major crashes, thus carrying a lot of metal inside him. the leader of the expedition is an older man who leads from base camp, keeping abreast of weather and news via computer. doing so for the very good reason of being clearer minded at the lower altitude. the assaults on Everest that occurred 10 years ago, which Jon Krakauer wrote about in Into Thin Air, saw the leaders of 2 expeditions, world class climbers both, stuck near the summit during a bluizzard, which they did not survive. both made questionable decisions. even Sherpas suffer edema up there. the asthmathic wanted to climb sans oxygen but a one day delay at high altitude proved too much and he had to come down. there was an md along, who I understood as the expedition's doctor, but he pushed on to the summit, which made no sense to me till I got that he was just another paying client. waiting to learn if the biker and amputee make it. think of Mallory up there in his wool tweed, hauling huge oxygen tanks. whew. and you get to the top and bejesus if you have any sense you run right back down. all the descriptions of such climbing are ridiculous in so far as the cold and lack of oxygen so terribly take their toll. everyone loses appetite, coughs their brains out and so forth. it's a funny set up because Sherpas climbed to the summit to set ladders and ropes for the clients. which doesn't make the climb easy but certainly eases things a lot. anyway, the man for whom the mountain is now named, I mean the English name of course, pronounced his name with a long e.

103rd section of Antic View is up, as is the 6th installment of Captain Element. not forgetting apocalyptic puppy pix at my friend Flickr.

Beth had to stop when she saw a neighbour walking a terrier. she had to meet and greet the dog and talk with the owner. it was a Welsh/Irish terrier blend (which doesn't mean mucho to me, dogs are dogs for me, I'm not real subtle beyond that). the dog just lept about as Beth talked with the man and petted the dog. the man offered that she was more than he could handle. he said he was 80, which was not evident. the gist of this was an offer by Beth to maybe take the dog, an idea that the man took seriously. a day or two later he left a note at our door saying he would be willing to let the dog go. talking with him on the phone Beth learned that he'd come by earlier with the note but couldn't bring himself to leave it. but then came back. we've got an elderly dog (husky/German shepherd compote), and a cat, so we don't need another, but Erin's been looking for a young dog and and and. but that and is opposed by some practicalities, and as we thunk on it, we realized we couldn't take the dog. Beth was totally smitten by the dog, which is an energy bomb of Everest magnitude. I see why the man felt overwhelmed because the dog is young and full of energy plus she needs a lot of attention. not the best dog for an older person on their own, though the man seems hale enough. we pondered how the 3 of us could work this dog and recognized that we couldn't work it. so we had to say nay. Beth and I went over this evening to tell the man. we were there an hour. he's a widower who recently moved here to be closer to his daughter. the dog was in constant motion for the entire time. I had my camera and took some 60 pictures, of which about 5 are in focus because she moved so much. not only that but lunging at the camera. we really would like to take the dog, and the man was amenable because he liked us and we're nearby. we offered to help him with walking he dog and in finding a home for her. he said a few years ago this dog might be feasible for him but now he needs one that requires less attention. pets can fill a lot of vital space. our own dynamics are such that the terrier would have been a stress. alas. I'll Flickr up some pix.

working out the details but I'll be doing a showing of paintings next month in a small gallery. it's associated with my master's project. January 20. I'm much excited and will detail further as facts arise. I will show a great deal of work, as much as I can fit into the space. woohoo.

whenever I think of the Poetics list, I think what a waste of time. and what a super waste of resource. people used to post poetry on the list, even Kari Edwards, now mourned, and Jeff Harrison, and Alan Sondheim, of course. others too posted regularly. but this collaborative bushwah downgrade hit and hit hard. wah wah wah, posting stuff I don't want!!! nice of Geoffrey Gatza to make Edwards' Having Been Blue for Charity available for download at his Blaze Vox site. it looks like a good dose of her work, which I have not read much of.

blimey, I gotta do something about my typos. I'm motivated by a need to get things done quickly, that seems to be burned into me concerning blogs. well that's no excuse. sit back and enjoy my new resolve.

we didn't manage to get to the Demolicious reading with Ulla Dydo, whose name I have previously misspelled, peccavi. I was very interested, because I am tantalized by Stein but honestly not well read in her work. it occurred to me, hey, Amazon could maybe perhaps possibly have some Stein available. and true enough, so I shall get Making of Americans, and I dunno what. Stein's funny because she's well known yet I don't think well read by people. the Autobiography and Three Lives seem to be popular, and Picasso, and Tender Buttons has an esoteric following. I think you have to hunt for the rest of her oeuvre. Dydo has done major scholarly snooping into the texts, so, too bad we missed her. Jack Kimball has been such a yeoman about attending readings locally that I can assume he'll have a write up, and if so, that it'll be thoughtful and useful.

I've been reading Down Spooky by Shanna Compton. urg, I don't have the book handy and can't remember the publisher but you can get it here. I'm not really prepared to say why you should, but you should. my brief encounter so far is positive. perhaps my vocabulary's doing something to me, because I note a technical effect for which I haven't worked out the articulation. I think I see this same effect in Stephanie Young's work. almost surreal but not weirdly so, the unexpected terms and word choices. both writers intone situations, emotional loci, that shine with a clarity without falling into simplicity or definitiveness. emotions are neither simple or definitive, they blur into each other. I like how the terms in Spooky surprise and perplex yet make sense. I was thinking there was an oppositional energy evident but I don't like how oppositional connotes. an understood other arises in these poems, but I don't mean so much against as just situated, as in: there. tell me if I'm making sense. partly it's a matter of address. as I've said afore, I guess in comments about S Young, even, I like 2nd person plural, its generosity, its fluidity, its slide. I've only just gotten the book, and have been scanning and skipping around. I note that the poems gather momentum as a whole, that their drive is united rather than discrete. they show a considerable calm polish. I've enjoyed what I've read and should underline that point (comme cela): these are poems to enjoy the way you enjoy, say, Frank O'Hara: deft, amiable, you know what I mean. I also, as a writer meself, want to figure out what she's doing, how her poems bloom as they do. so treat what I write here as hypothesis. the adventure follows. that's all I aim at in any of my "reviews".

okay, so I'm like, here it is, another part of Captain Element

we saw Borat last night. lots of fun, bring the whole family. indeed it was pretty funny. the matter of taste and the appropriate does come up. I'm probably pretty fuzzy on that topic. I don't think good comes of touchiness, but I also believe in a moral or ethical rigour. when I saw Michael Richards pop his cork, I saw flop sweat. he desperately grasped the possibility of street edginess to save him, if that's how you want to quantify it, and it played unnaturally. Borat certainly locates right in the mess of things. Borat is comfortable in the midst of that risk. it is interesting to see when Borat goes over the edge for his victims. at the rodeo, it wasn't when he said Bush should drink the blood of every Iraqi, it was when he sang how Kazakhstan is the number one country, with the best potash in the world. and the party at Secession Drive doesn't get ugly until the black prostitute that Borat invited showed up. but others, like the sweet Jewish couple (from whom Borat and his producer cower in terror) or the auto school teacher, are pretty accepting. as a movie it gets normative a few times, like the tender moments with the prostitute and his boring dark night of the soul after his producer leaves. the scene in which he and his producer fight nude rides on an exceeded sense of slapstick. do I want to see Borat and his hairy and obese producer wrestle sloppily in the nude? can I look away? the movie goes awry because of lack of movie making vision. those normative moments, for one. and is it supposed to be cinema verite or not? supposedly he's being filmed but there are moments when apparently there is no person manning the camera. Comedy Central had a promo show a while ago for the movie, which I saw. not long movie, so it turns out I saw a goodly portion of the flick beforehand. I never saw Ali G, so I'll be letting Youtube fulfill that necessity. I've caught, so far, Ali G interview Dr Norman Chomsky, in which Chomsky doesn't have the footwork to keep up with the joke. Andy Kaufman should be getting some residuals from Sacha Baron Cohen.