I awoke to the sound of birds today.
Okay, it is snowing right as I type these words yet it was still a nice introduction into the.. hmm.. conscious world: to hear some of those O's and E's swirl and do loops of all kinds in that whistle way that really only a bird can maneuver.
"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, design a building, conn a ship, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve an equation, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects."
Robert A Heinlein.
"Bamble Bosckle Bibbivo, Spipple." "Don't tell me things like that, not now." The truck window then rolled up and the person who introduced himself as 'Blarghh I'm Crow' drove off not particularly in what anybody would identify as a straight line.
Actually that is far from what occurred but it is more interesting. Basically it was just, out of and in the space of nowhere which is what we refer to land left untouched and full of places where growth can occur; 'nowhere.' The truck stopped. There was a beer in his front cup holder immediately identifiable. He said some things that were questionably assholish but the persona could have been met from mere intoxication so I just raised my eyebrow. Get along to get along, but also: take no guff from the smell of a skunk weed militant.
This was some sort of invasive species I detect because not more than three minutes later as I continued to walk I saw and heard another nearly identical truck stop by me only this time it was blue rather than red. "Spipple, Bamble Bosckle Bibbivo. " "Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow.
"You're telling that story all wrong."
"Oh, you think so.. Well why don't you go and tell it then, Mr Correct."
"Okay, Start here: He didn't say 'Spipple, Bamble, Bosckle, Bibbivo,' He said
'Spivvity Spivvity Babambo Bingo' and the second truck was green."
"Yeah in your world maybe... But we can both agree that it was getting rather questionable, how these potato-shaped people with beer in their front dash and strange spatterings kept driving by, right?"
"Hell yes it was eerie but lucky for the interested we come to find out that it was just some made up musing in a blog post."
"Oh, okay great. So in argubility of either laziness or the suggestion for the reader to muse the continuation of events or to just fracture it all together we just allow the story to cease anyway, right?"
"Right."
First, you wouldn't consider a ferret in sneakers and a hat to hold a proper argument like that in any regards but if you did, in fact, find yourself present as a ferret recites his own account of a potato-like man reciting a rendition of "Spivvity Spivvity Babambo Bingo" from the window side of a truck it would definitely be something to take excitement upon rather than to jeer.
So turning a long walk into an amusing story where photographs serve as the backbone will take over from here.
These are rather quickly approached photographs; They're simple and rushed through. Breaking away from, (even if for only several hours) cabin fever shock was delightful.
If you would rather read about Phil Donahue instead, now is your time to do so. Only you can arm yourself with whatever information you think is necessary for your sole travel (ergh.. soul travel?) If anybody asks you how many Emmy's that Mr Donahue has received in his lifetime, you will be at a confident and proud advantage to tell that person "Nine. He has won Nine Emmys." The void we may fill with information can be fed with talk show trivia. I will however be comparing the head of Tony Orlando to a rock formation very shortly, though.
Beavers>>Way Right. Somebody's jeans in the stream. << Way North.
Foibles were filled up into one pot and burnt until there was no hot water left and in a basket there were forgotten aspirations left by baby boomers. But they weren't babies and they certainly weren't booming any more. Some of them wandered off to become deadbeats and some of them ranked high to become dead beats. The rest didn't care or mind that children weren't being struck with strict punishment for beginning sentences with 'But' as long as the ass-end still remained in the rear.
Fossil Brain Pt II. Highway=Behind the camera lense. Fate=A long trust jump to the banks.
Asked what he wanted to be, young Siggy thought hard and responded in such a determined claim that he shifted his pointer finger to the skies if only the classroom ceiling weren't between the way.
He said "I want to be in a lifetime where I'm not asked a godamn fucking question where I decide what opportune permanent menial task I am going to perform while I still have puberty and tonka trucks yet to get through!"
"It's a..umm.. Well let me put it like this. It's a docking station between dreams. There's this weird funnel where the dreams squish and splatter down.." Obviously upset with her struggle to explain it, she stood up and stretched her arms, cracked her knuckles.. "Okay: Each day could be as fresh and re-shapable as a dream, but like some whirlpool that gets a leaf caught, we form this repeating motion where the expectation to limit done messes up that steadiness."
"Wait.." Bosco intervened.. "Are we talking Maple leaves or oak leaves here?"
"Doesn't matter, Bosco.. Damnit, we should've just gone with that Donahue route instead."
"What?"
"Nevermind."
<<40 miles that way:Airport near bird sanctuary. ^9Miles up:Civil war graves, rusty barbed fence, Salamanders in summer.
If you zoom in you'll notice this looks just like the face of Putin.
Here:
Check it out for yourself, the resemblance is uncanny.
How much we take seriously tugs at the opportunity and bad joke to know what we can leave jokingly. Southwest:Telephone poles and mailboxes with little ducks on them.
And when you turn your head a little to the side.. No, not that way, the other way.. Yes, that way.. Yes, it is Rikki Lake. Amazing.
There are old posted signs in the lost lands of "wheren'd'fook" and where some of the names have faded you can write "Creature of the Black Lagoon" or "Bigfoot." Taping werewolf masks to trees is probably a bit harsh, though, maybe.
Here is the legendary Tony Orlando stone. No more need be said.
This photo actually resembles Michael Jordan. Jumpman!
15 minutes backward:Turtle pond, Coyotes at night, Pile of 40 tires. 50 minutes forward: Old telephone booth buried under dirt but it's harder to notice nowadays.
Stretch your tendons before walking up that hill to the right because it strains you like spaghetti (hah hah hah) if you do not.
If the subject was being what you want to be, we can trace the opposite of what we see as a guise. The disillusionment of the 'sturdy' platform starts to dismantle when it grows clear that one of the most respected or sought after 'fancies' that makes our hearts throb and wallets pucker is to be an actor. The idea is that being an actor is the biggest accomplishment or who you want to be with the most is obviously well known.
But an actor is somebody who pretends to be somebody else.
For the most part, we strive after becoming, or sleeping with somebody who is constantly someone else.
Who decided the roles is another 'thing' but that's like arguing 98s over 86s.
Is 'reach for the sky' a plea for horror, dismay and surrender or hope, aspiration and solitude?
I'm not sure. Reach for the sky, m.f.!
We go up for quit a ways. A fat horse would become skinny if we relied on horse and buggy. Or it would die and you'd plummet backwards quickening and quickening.
Brooke Shields. Hey, they weren't seen in the same place at once!
500 feet further: More hill. Chipmunk runs up a tree. Frog burps but 'can't hear it.
Peter Rabbit is waiting for the gardening season. Citizens ass is waiting for the end of tax season. Elmer Fudd is waiting for the gardening season. NYers are waiting for the red lights. Dock Yawner, the ski-masked antagonist, has a wrist watch waiting to be smashed.
Hills, pitch black, bicycle some years worth of nights ago.
Textures
Dogs yalping along the way.
Woodpeckers are out. The same family of them as seen in "Paige" travel tree to tree. There's a quite huge one that is very photo loathing.
Turn a silo into an apartment or a trumpet.
Squint and turn pine branches into cacti.
Poad. Doap. Opad. Dopa. Pado.
"When I steer up I want to be an apple tree so in summer shine bird beaks'll scratch my little minds."
Reach for the sky.
Kiy whole on the skye.
Edit of the image directly above.
Live, wind, from different circuits.
**
*
The PC sounded and vibrated like a runaway washer/dryer appliance down interstate 81 after the cartoon
character Jeffrey the Wily infamously smashed up pieces of the roadway with a sledgehammer in early AM.
Despite those circumstances, trying to work on a 'relaxing' piece of music and video while only
seeing fragments of frame rates during it's construction is in itself a strenuous practice of the nerves,
much like trying to force watermelons through a coin slot and then trying to speak coherently through
the crackled phone system nearby a bowling alley where the bowling pins are filled with nitroglycerin.
Now I'm not exactly sure how I feel about it. 'Gave it the most I could as for the circumstances of
this fridge with a viewing screen and 512 MB of Ram (oww.)
Fortunately all the teeth-gritting will be propelled into the non-music of the MASS CONFUSION
(re-actionary) video. (Re-Action as in taking all of the frustration/alienation of a consumer society
and pointing it into one block of creation.) 'Not exactly healthy to 're-act' (Dillute) rather than act
(Create/grow) but neurotic muck builds otherwise, much like how Jeffrey the Wily goes frothing mad and
attacks the highway as a means of release.
The, ummm, song is from early 2011. The video pieces are remnants of what weren't used around the time
of putting together Paige's Dragonfly. This all seems vastly boring to assume anyone would want to read
about. Who the hell knows what they're doing? Those that do not plan.
** These images from "a walk" have been added to the "Part Four" gallery.
