Pungsnotded

Sad day

Today turned out to be a sadsad day. At 69, Evel Knievel passed away today. We lost a real hero, one that will never be replaced. A daredevil before all this technology and reality television, was force-fed down our throats. He will be missed and never forgotten.

Add comment November 30th, 2007

Not it.

I have a box of red wine in the fridge.

But I cannot find my copy of True West.

Someone get a copy and come read it to me.

I will make Spaghetti.

Tim Gunn?

Add comment November 27th, 2007

Seven Mottos

The seven mottos of the seven sages of Ancient Greece

1. Know Thyself.
2. Consider the End.
3. Whoso hateth suretyship is sure.
4. Most men are bad.
5. Avoid extremes.
6. Seize time by the forelock.
7. Nothing is impossible to industry.

Add comment November 25th, 2007

7 Random Things about me.

1. When I turn off the last light at night, WHICH, I usually absolutely refuse to do, but if I do, I must have at least one foot touching the bed.
2. Nothing will ever make me happier than laughing with my children.
3. I think a beer and a brownie is the best late night snack ever. I also, chew gum, while drinking beer. People seem to think that is strange.
4. I hate wearing pants. Skirts and dresses are fine, but for some reason, pants make me feel like a dork. (more than usual)
5. I drive using both feet. One for the gas, the other for the brake.
6. While I will spend an entire day, trying to understand Buckminster Fuller, I quite often forget basic math, like multiplication facts.
7. I have always, always wanted to find a baby in a basket, on my doorstep. Just open the door, and a little baby, in a basket, just sitting there, cooing at me. No pregnancy, no stretchmarks, just baby in a basket.

There you go, 7 random things. I was tagged, so I tag whoever happens to read this. No tagbacks, infinity.

1 comment November 21st, 2007

What’s that like?

It’s like a big cold tree

And this is who you are.

And this is all you know.

And the Morton Salt Girl is singing with the band,

and your sister sleeps soundly, dreaming her

14 year old dreams, and you decide,

she must wake up, and skip off

with you to steal flowers, and she does.

It’s like waking up on blue carpet, that

matches some your Grandma had

years ago.

You wake up, and there is a giant empty plastic half gallon

Not half full, but all the way empty.

It’s like dying your hair with cleaning products and vodka

It’s like refusing to wear your leather coat in the winter.

Just dragging that coat behind you, like a pet.

Because a sleeveless shirt is enough to keep you warm

when you are surrounded by people you love.

Who love you.

Who like to laugh.

Who watch your back.

As long as you need.

It’s like the family on Earth extends beyond blood.

Beyond common sense.

And we all play and run around and spin.

Together.

With bruises and black eyes.

And spraypaint.

See you next time.

1 comment November 18th, 2007

Prayer to Apollo

My Dearest Apollo, Apollon, Appollon,

You were once such a moral outstanding example that you were worshipped on the 7^th day of every month. Let us pour some out then, and recognize your greatness for what it is today. You are known and identified with the Sun, and even lesser known, and represented in central Illinois, surrounded by cornfields.

I never realized this until later in life. We had an extended weekend with an art opening and some beautiful music for 2 long evenings. My most vivid memory is swinging around very fast and missing a pole by not so much, going very fast. That was one happy joyous weekend, and I was one very drunk and obnoxious Betty Ford wife.

On Sunday, there were a few of us left, and we did not want the weekend to stop and we decided to extend the weekend by one more day. We drove out a ways, and saw your image standing there, arms extended. Glorious. We walked around you, squinted, lay on the grass, saw the sun set over and through your 16 foot form. Surrounded by cornfields, this was the most amazing thing to discover; standing, exalting.

That was about 7 years ago, things have changed. Life is such an evolution, by the time you stop to consider these moments, it is history.

Thank you for the Light, all Light. Thank you for the ability to squint and change a landscape, making things closer and further away, dust shining in your beams. Thank you for warmth, for glaring, and turning Winter into a joke.

Thanks for the Music, oh man, the Music, without it, how would we all place these memories, out accomplishments, our declines. For letting us feel it, making us shake, move us, energy for our souls.

Thank you for the gift of Prophecy. Too often we may choose to ignore the signs, the stirrings deep inside, as if we had some sort of control, some sort of choice. The things that we forsee, they are not always the happy things, help us to know what to do with them, something I have yet to learn.

Thank you for the gift of Healing. We all carry pain, all of us. Especially those hardened from years of turmoil. Make us all heal, and rid us of our scar tissue. We have to stop wearing the Hate, like a badge and get over it. We have all been broken in some way, let’s help each other and be the first to make ammends.

Save us from the plagues. People judging, restricting, creating a Frankenstein army of ancient pagan ideals and their greed. We need a solid intuitive oneness to fight this disease of ignorance and pride. Save us from the restrictions, the borders, the censorship, the racists and the wars. Help us Apollo, wake up each morning and chew through the restraints.

Xoxoxoxoxoxo and light, lyres, and love right up to Zeus.

Add comment November 18th, 2007

Lessons I have learned the hard way

Catharsis in the woods    There has been time wasted. This time had to be wasted in order to understand. To really want something you must start with nothing. The problem occurs when you decide you do want something and you have no idea what that something is.   There is a danger of sliding into a deep dark hole. There is a danger of wanting to get there so quickly that the mission is aborted. We can all rise up, above this.   I am through with all this wasting of time. I am done with the thinking about it. I believe that we all have abilities inside of us, and we need to express them.   Do not be a cog, taking energy, ideas and being a waste of space, no affecting change no nothing. Change happens slow, never forget Turn Around Norman, turning so slowly no one can see.   This is not to say that there is no true collaboration. These occur, and they are in some ways even better than a solitary art. They must be entered into cautiously. But when energies combine, we all know that beautiful explosions can occur, leaving us with a piece in time.   Let’s resolve to use this energy whether it be solitary or consolidated. Use it and show us the reflections of your world. Let us write songs every day Dolly Parton-style. Let us build without plans and risk the materials, We can all write, but do not be vague. Let’s be direct, let’s just say it. Get it out there.   Roger Miller wrote all of his lyics on scraps of paper and then he smoked the ones he did not use. Let’s smoke them. Let’s get together and scrap the ideas that aren’t going to make something. Forget about it, but keep coming around. Keep thinking of them. Do not make a circle that leads round and round. Straight up, baby, straight up.   26.2 Miles baby! Because we have defeated the Persians.

Add comment November 16th, 2007

Because I like it.

I like to party.

Somebody play some music. John Cage, quit playing the toaster. Go and dance. Buckminster Fuller is tattooing my thigh, explaining to me what he is drawing as it burns, up up up. Erte is snorting cocaine off of the table, where Angelina Jolie dances around, wearing a bedsheet with bloodstains, and Alan Turing has broken into our safe. He counts the bills, and gives us the secret code, that unlocks everyone’s heart.

 Stiv Bators comes in, with clean laundry for everyone, and we all put on a slip. Someone has brought us a bottle of Early Times, but it is balanced up there on top a large rusted piece of metal. Impaled up there is a homeless man who plays harmonica, and this does not slow down the music, but his drool is slippery, and people are slipping and tripping, and running down the stairs. I lay my head back and way up there on the ceiling is a sticker that says chicken, and indeed, chicken would be a great idea.

In walks Tim Gunn, with a bucket of KFC and we eat and smile and our faces are greasy. Tim Gunn has a hanky and Shepard Smith will tell us the news. His hat blows away, and we write on his head with Sharpie markers. He looks at my toes, and I look at my toes, and I am standing on this geodesic dome, and there is some clanking away, and we are all spinning and spinning, and wondering when the hell Johnny Cash is going to show up.

Add comment November 14th, 2007

Best Friends

1 comment November 13th, 2007

Prayer to Dionysus

Add comment November 12th, 2007