Vote or Get Leprosy

Vote or Get Leprosy

10.27.06 thurfri

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> 

Mon un et seulement pal putatif,

 

Vote or get leprosy.

 

One is, one supposes, with you and all the others, on the fulcrum of history, the cusp of history, a new constellation fraught with gigantic meaning, the blood, the song, the champagne in the blood, the sorrow as long as the shadows of late twilight.

 

On est, un suppose, avec toi et tous les autres, sur le point d'appui de l'histoire, le tranchant de l'histoire, une nouvelle constellation chargée de la signification colossale, le sang, la chanson, le champagne dans le sang, la douleur aussi longtemps que les ombres du crépuscule en retard.

 

There are signs, portents of import. Twenty-two bright white cockatoos facing West on a telephone line along Foothill Expressway far above the dusty green olive trees lining the center of the road. “Are they doves?” “No. Oh, ye gods, they are – they are little white parrots! No, cockatoos. They have that pointed crest. It must be a sign.” “It is obviously a sign.”

image
                                                            travelblog

 

Il y a les signes, augures et présages significatifs ou dangereux ou merveilleux. Vingt-deux cockatoos blancs lumineux faisant face à l'ouest sur une ligne téléphonique le long d'autoroute urbaine de colline loin au-dessus des oliviers verts poussiéreux rayant le centre de la route. “Sont ils des <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />colombes?” “Non. Ah, dieux de ye, ils sont – ils sont de petits perroquets blancs! Non, cockatoos. Ils ont cette crête aiguë. Ce doit être un signe.” “C'est évidemment un signe.”

 

 

Then in the early afternoon waiting at the stoplight on El Camino Real at Shoreline next to the garishly pink Baskin and Robbins ice cream store – in the cup of the red stoplight rested a pigeon. Truly. It was clearly a sign.  Fate is moving the markers along the grand three dimensional board. The answers are already arrayed if we could but attend and translate. Fewer children would have their arms ripped off and their bright eyes blinded with the white phosphorous which does not stop burning until it reaches the bone. So it matters. Vote or get leprosy. Does it matter, however, to the butterflies?

 

Alors dans l'après-midi tôt attendant au feu d'arrêt sur le EL Camino Real chez Shoreline magasin à côté de Baskin et de Robbins de crême glacée d'une manière voyante rose – dans la tasse du feu d'arrêt rouge a reposé un pigeon. Vraiment. C'était clairement un signe. Le destin déplace les marqueurs le long du conseil tridimensionnel grand. Les réponses sont déjà rangées si nous pourrions mais être présent et traduire. Peu d'enfants feraient déchirer leurs bras au loin et leurs yeux lumineux être aveuglés avec le phosphoreux blanc qui ne cesse pas de brûler jusqu'à ce qu'il atteigne l'os. Ainsi il importe. Votez ou obtenez la lèpre. Importe-t-elle, cependant, aux papillons?

 

Entonces por la tarde temprana que espera en la luz de parada en el EL Camino Real en el litoral al lado almacén del helado chillón rosado de Baskin y de Robbins – en la taza de la luz de parada roja reclinó una paloma. Verdad. Era claramente una muestra. El sino está moviendo los marcadores a lo largo del tablero tridimensional magnífico. Las respuestas se ponen en orden ya si podríamos sino atender y traducir. Pocos niños hicieron sus brazos rasgars apagado y sus ojos brillantes ser cegados con el phosphorous blanco que no para el quemarse hasta que alcanza el hueso. Importa tan. Vote o consiga la lepra. ¿Importa, sin embargo, a las mariposas?

 

 

As one asked each thing to gently tend the beauty and the innocence of Baldar, missing only the unmenacing mistletoe, I will go ask them, the butterflies, in my dreams, if it matters to them? The great silence is a great drum about to be struck.

 

Comme on a demandé chaque chose pour tendre doucement la beauté et l'innocence de Baldar, s'ennuyant seulement du gui sans menace est-ce que, j'irai les demande, les papillons, dans mes rêves, si elle importe à eux ? Le grand silence est un grand tambour presque cassé.

 

…………<^>…………

……..……<^>………..…..

If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005..2006 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.blogharbor.com  

6 Cane . Ben . Reed . East . tzol 253 . 10.27.06 fri

817 days/2y2m25d left/1478  

ffwofw666§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g;

mozart..9.77g 

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

………….<^>…………….

Agog agog

Agogagog

   It’s very hard not to church up oneself, to stay astonished. Agog. Or at least startled. Perpetually startled.

   One’s own churchy silt and tarnish are as insidious and pernicious as the monolith <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />fatherlode Church. Re-new, re-feel, raw it up. Put your finger in the socket of the universe. Sluff off your own hidebound tedious kneejerk views. Nail outraged theses on your own thick oak doors. Kick your own cult figures in the rump. Kiss the alabaster cheek of Liberace (or whomever you automatically disdain). Love – Gulp! – Karl Rove. (Only for 5 minutes! For the sake of raw and ringing truth + fairness. Then you can despise him with cleansed hate, polished loathing.)

   Our own Us + Themism is aegean-stablely silted up and encrusted with personally ancient ordure. Any wrath you righteously hurl at them ought boomerang fiercely against your own self-satisfied complacencies.

   Unbesmirch your own black kettle, to be honest and fair. We be so damn cool and they be so damn tepid + tedious. Look at the temple of your ipod. When was the last time you heard a pet song and ran screaming in pierced pain from the room? Is beauty still an icepick to the center of your brain or is it all become audio wallpaper, background musak? Dare we disdain their annoying or poisonous codifications oblivious or, worse, proud of our own? How overweened are we? that is a question.

image
                                                             bluedonkey

..

Odd little proustian vignette from Vie de Moi. I have a little inner medicine pouch of  phrases and tidbits that have been leitmotifs along my life – little delights in the dedark. “Swear that life is good brother – it leaves more time to live” from Cary’s definitely icepick The Horse’s Mouth, a book every artist or desirer of the vivid ought read. “The benign indifference of the universe” from Camus’ The Stranger. “Unquenchable enthusiasm” from some story I read in high school. “Universe in a grain of sand” and “tyger tyger burning bright” from the divine Blake.  “[Properly perceived,] one leaf would suffice for eternity” from Camus. These dear fortune cookies are like Frodo’s vial of elf-light in the stenchy dark of Shelob’s den of dread.

   Over the years I wanted to find the exact place of  the quote from Camus. I knew it was when the protag was in his cell the dawn before his execution looking out the high small barred prison window at the last sere leaf hanging on a bare tree limb. As he is to die shortly, he realizes that properly perceived, “one leaf would suffice for eternity.” This was a secret hub of my whole electric perception wheel, the center of my life’s work to see and re-see and love it all unbearably. It was my mantra and my motto. I described to someone that scene of the prisoner looking out the window and realizing that “[properly perceived], one leaf would suffice for eternity” if not daily surely weekly for forty years.

   I rooted through the book in a few used bookstores along the way and even eventually did a Google book search for 'leaf.' Nada. Finally last weekend, I bought the familiar Gilbert translation of L’Etranger for two dollars & fifty cents and set out to read every word. I did. My “one leaf would suffice for eternity” isn’t there. To the very last page, it could have been there. Mais il n'était pas là. But it was not there.

   How did I latch on to something that wasn’t there? How did it drive my days for a lifetime? Why was I so sure of the whole scene, the whole meaning? The scene isn’t there either. The meaning of dawning coal-to-diamond intensity was lurking there, but not this one sere precious leaf igniting and accompanying a lonely eternity. The marrow devotion, the doggéd daily optimism, were not there. The knight for light under all circumstance wasn’t there.

   How much of the rest of my life didn’t happen?

…………<^>…………

……..……<^>………..…..

Note: There are a number of cultures who don't do plurals or superlatives by adding an 's.' or an 'est.' They do the word twice — therefore agogagog. 

…………<^>…………

If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005..2006 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.blogharbor.com  

7 Alligator . Imix . Turtle . East . tzol 241  10.15.06 sun

828 days/2y3m06d left/1467  

ffwofw652.§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g;

mozart..9.77g 

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

………….<^>…………….