You Come, Too

Boys in a Pasture Winslow Homer (1874)

It is late at night or rather early in the morning:  floors to mop, windows to clean, carpets to be swept and shampooed.  Mondays are always dreary days for most of us.  We all need a little tranquility, a shower of serenity, and the warmth of peace especially on a Monday morning.  Here is an Invitational from Robert Frost.  It is one of my all-time favorite poems, and I loathe an awful lot of poetry.

Although I was born and grew up in the city, I spent most summers in the country mostly in Appalachia when many of my kin still live.  My cousin and I used to spend the day tending cows and sheep in mountain pastures.  It is a good walk and a pleasant time.  You come, too.

Crossing the Pasture Winslow Homer (1871-1872)

Finnegan’s Wake

bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!

Isn’t that a longy mouthfully of a wording come from the mouth of himself and he all wax poeticizing  along the riverrun allus longy the lively day and he cock of the world.

For parody you cannot do much better than one of my favorite Irish short films.

Saint Patrick's Day

For this first time in many, many years I did not play on Saint Patrick’s Day.  I used to belong to a ceili band and was the “baby” in the band with the next oldest player twenty fine years my senior.  I was singer, and played guitar, penny whistle, bodhrán, and sometimes keyboards.  Many of them have passed on and the rest are no longer performing.  But here is a little ditty recorded ten years ago “recording studio” in a garage on the hillbilly side of town.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day.

Join Marilyn and Read

Some James Joyce

Rick Santorum Stunning Win

Rick “Torquemada” Santorum just won big in West and Central Nod.  Of course, the news media have called it a stunning defeat, but that is because they don’t live here.  The only stunning thing about the win was they let that cult member Mittens escape without a southern spa treatment of hot tar and a limousine rail ride out of town.  Holy Christ on a Crutch is it going to be fun times in the fast lane now. 

Ladies, you want birth control? All you need is an old fashioned pear.  Yes Jehovah's own tree blossomed this all purpose fruit.  Ole Ricky has just the variety for you:

Are you some deviant, queer-boy, daffy-dill, homer-sexual.  The same device is a guaranteed cure if used liberally.

Oh yes, oh yes, it will be a hot time in the old town tonight.  Nod has never been the exuberant.  The Carney-Ville and Jesus Freak Shows will roll into town early this year, no doubt.  Spin the wheel and take your chances.  Yes siree, only a quarter a spin and a winner every time.  Win yourself one of the new set of Nod Trading cards.  Toss some rocks at the adulteress in the stocks – three rocks for a dime and a winner every time.  Then there’s the fill the clown balloon with water.  First child to bust a clown wins a prize.  Come on kids, it’s fun.  Turn in a sinner for Jesus and collect all five of the first edition of Ricky’s sure fire get a criminal to confess trading cards.

Selah.

Bosses Ought to Clean Up Their Own Messes

My boss is a bulimic pinhead – no really – she started her career as a feature attraction at the Coney Island Human Curiosities show.  She has advanced since then of course.  One cannot become head custodian without some significant cannibalism along the way.  She is however, obsessive about her stick figure and so purges after every human flesh feast,

Now I am completely sympathetic to the mental condition of bulimia and understand the obsessive desire to upchuck in the office and take giant, runny laxative induced craps in the middle of hallways.  I just think it is only fair that she has to clean up after herself.

As it is, I have to trail after her with a bucket in one hand,   mop in the other, and a can of Industrial strength Lysol to maintain a minimal inviting  atmosphere for the customers.

Skull and Cross Mops

Nod is about to cut educational budgets with a lumberyard saw.  This is all done to fund corporate tax breaks and cash incentives for entrepreneurs. Among the services first to go is janitorial.  So I return to the battle of the bilge tomorrow with no certainty of still being employed in a month.  I plan on introducing the boss to the fine homeopathic practice of leeches. Lots of them.  Let her clean up the puke, mop the floors and scrub the urinals – or better yet slice and dice away and see what happens when the geniuses who keep the place clean are gone.

Those moronic, stick neck, turkey-jowl, runny gummed, myopic, back-biting, horses asses couldn’t brush their teeth with any style much less cleanse an entire building.  I can’t wait to sit and watch as the wastebaskets spill over, the gutters clog, and the restrooms start smelling like the back side of a warthog with a terminal case of dysentery.

Fugacity

The poet, by an ulterior intellectual perception, gives them power which makes their old use forgotten, and puts eyes, and a tongue, into every dumb and inanimate object. He perceives the thought's independence of the symbol, the stability of the thought, the accidency and fugacity of the symbol. from The Poet  by Ralph Waldo Emerson in Essays: Second Series (1844)