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yo-yo book poem

I took back The Collected Greed no one wanted, weeks
down with the corner freebies, its Black Sparrow tactility
and there goes Diane again with George Washington
not enough, maybe, against the all-caps deadly sin
plus that focused hissing serpent on the cover, striped & curl-poised
to pounce on whoever's just past the reader's left shoulder,
which is probably why I gave it away to begin with,
vs. the Son of a Bitch grave dancing I'll keep 'til someone else
has to deal with what remains, and why I'll give it away again,
if no one is grabbed by it and grabs it, here at the office, then
via the university town second-hand leftover mishmash
shelf-piles where I can imagine it finding its new lover,
willing to pick one thing over another, so not greedy but
quite okay with Greed, knowing how to breathe past that snake,
hold the volume in hands, and find out everything there is in there.


Oh, Elna.

I came in to work late today, and spent the last 10 minutes of my way in sitting in the parking lot with the rest of the second segment of this week's This American Life, "Tell Me I'm Fat." I'd heard the beginning of it--- some great stuff with Lindy West, who famously (to me and no doubt a number of fatties) got into it with Dan Savage a few years ago--- on the radio this weekend, but I had to wait for the podcast to hear more.  And I tell ya what:  that Elna part is some amazing first-person oh my god sharing.

I kinda both can't wait and am so gonna wait to hear the rest of that show, until I can listen well, doing nothing else at the same time except maybe driving.

P.S. Speaking of fat,

thanks, wednes, for this:


I, anyway, laughed aloud, which we used to do more of before we did so much laughing out loud.

One part reminded me of the woman I was going out with for a while who told me, trying to be nice, that I'm not fat.  Speaking of LOL.  Hadn't thought about that one in a while.

Motor City Pride practice to-nite

So I'll see the chorusfolk.  We have 3 summer singing things this year.  I reckon that's nice.

Just wrote up a thing about the Publish button.  We have a Publish button now.  I put screenshots in the notes, but didn't have any porn tabs open.  Included a coupla little jokes.  It's a tough room, though.  I s'pose they're pretty much for my own amusement.

Lotsa introspective stuff this past weekend.  A little interpersonal stuff, and confusion about my cautionary instincts (screwed up, dead on, or both?).  If I was ever on-kilter, I think I'm off it now.  Found a video of a soft-spoken guy I was suddenly wondering about, from someone else's past.  That really helped, in a weird way.

Then last night I read the intro of and a bit of Jung from an old (1965) volume of writings (on) The Meaning of Death from my read-and/or-get-rid-of pile.  Musta been my dad's.  I may've hung onto it as much cuzza the appealing text coloring of the cover design as cuzza the subject:

Thanks, Amazon, for the pic.
The editor/intro suggested what the internet seems to confirm:  that there'd been a loud silence on death in the then-existing scholarly world.  Here's the obit of the editor, which is interesting just to witness the existence of, in a way, plus interesting (to me) to read.  The Jung had some great stuff, tho.  A parabola.  Fear & neurosis.  Stuff.  Relaxing stuff, oddly enough.

Have an appt with a potential new primary care physician this week.  Cross your fingers for me.  I hear good things about her, but you never know, with a new medical professional.  I so hate to have to assess the whole fat-friendliness thing.  If there were one (free-access) database with info on professionals I could snap my fingers & add to the universe, it'd be one on how medical professionals are with fat people.  Not that that's the only thing I'm hoping will be good about this woman, but, y'know.

It's June of 2016.  That's where we are in time.  It's June.  The weather yesterday was glorious.  Rain then sun then rain then sun then rain then sun, and cool and crisp and breezy and yet sorta warm and not-cold.  Today, kinda hot in the sun.  Not real hot.  Just hot.

I like shade.  Shade is probably on my top ten list of things I like.  Or it's up there, anyway.  Vs. having a dark cloud over my head metaphorically, which is very much not.


You said it was like when your grandmother was still alive
and for me it's like all it is for me, plus that, and there's
no two ways around those whole nine yards, in the very air.

My old friends' old dog died.  She was 108.  Bessie Mae.  The big goof.

Been rewatching The Sopranos.  We're about to be joined by Steve Buscemi.  Tony and Carmela are separated.  Furio fled, leaving the future Nurse Jackie devastated.

Third day in a row afternoon thunderstorms never came.  Another coupla days and we'll have the highs in the 70s that got skipped over, 60s to 80s.  I love the 60s, but the 70s are very good too.

The stars and planets are crystal clear tonight.  ♫ Are the stars out tonight?  I can tell it's not cloudy, but bright.  🎶  

such dreams

I had a tornado dream replay last night, after earlier having a "oh shit I've endangered myself" dream in which someone who might likely harm me was outside my place, manacing, and I was responsible for it, I don't know how exactly, but for more than having the light on, which I was wishing I hadn't, but somehow knew I couldn't turn off without signaling more about where I was, and increasing my vulnerability.  I was frozen in a doorway, only partially dressed, no good place to be safe.  I had let my guard down with the person before, and that was part of it.  The menacing thing had its roots in that history.

The tornado replay was a re-experiencing of a tornado I'd dreamed about earlier, I think earlier this week, but that's pretty fuzzy.  Same tornado, another experience of it, including knowing it was that same tornado, replaying.  A few days ago, between these dreams (I think), I had one awake-life evening watching TV coverage I'd stumbled onto of a tornado making its persistent (hour-plus on the ground) way across northcentral to northeastern Kansas, my part of the state.  There's so much more to watch with this kind of TV coverage than there used to be, even a few years ago.  It was wild.  And 'tis the season.

Tornadoes are, for me, both tornadoes and representations of external dangers.  I've written here before of how, years ago, I thought I might have nightmares after a late-night screening of Hope and Glory, which was about growing up during the Blitz in London, and then that night I dreamed not of bombs but of tornadoes, something else scary that comes from the sky, makes you hide and hunker down in some shelter, and might kill ya.  And I had a tornado dream earlier this Spring that ended in my being torn apart physically by it---by flying wood bits, actually---while still on the first floor of a house that isn't mine, trying to turn my attention to pets that are mine, after being on the phone with someone and seeing the tornado in the distance.

This is a lot of tornado dreaming.

It's hot and humid, and fronts are moving around, melding and clashing, not far away.

Sleep helps.

My friend Suzanne used to say "Food is good, and sleep helps", back in our wild youth.  Or maybe it was the other way around.  Or maybe Tommy said it first and she liked it.  Anyhow, when we'd remember it again, upon noticing the goodness or helpfulness of food or sleep or something else cuzza metaphor brain, we'd call up the aphorism again and marvel at it all over, like it'd never occurred to us before, tho of course it had.  And we'd laugh at how dumb we were, in our altered states, to have forgotten basics again.

I've gotten some sleep the past coupla nights, and my but it's good.  And helps.  Vs. my butt it's good, which is entirely different.

I even did a little mowing on my midday break today, not realizing the mugginess is as ucky as it is to do something like that in.  Ran the mower outta gas just as I'd almost run me outta gas, or maybe when I was already running on fumes.  Came back to the office and washed (most of) the green "I've mowed" look offa my new-ish Chucks.  They're hanging up on the coat rack behind me now, drying.  And the front yard is probably okay to save me being reported to the city sometime over what's supposed to be a rainy weekend.

The roof's on hold a bit, while I pursue a re-fi.  Seems some things happened in the world and the house is no longer worth less than I owe on it.

It's great timing for a three-day weekend for me.  I anticipate being so pleased with an extra day to combine household chores and lazing around that I might well not have holiday-Monday pangs.

(I've been working to stick it in my head that Monday's not a regular workday.  Think I've got it now:  Don't come to work Monday, and sleep helps.)

I'm posting to post.

Tired.  Way need to do laundry, mow meadow, get to pet food store, and get to people food store, for that matter.  Need good sleep and haven't been able to sleep.  Pleaded with the air about it; the air had no reply I could discern, other than to let me breathe it, awake, a good while longer.

Maybe I can pull off a quick version of the shopping stuff on my way home today.  Or just get some stopgap kitty litter somewhere.

Or neither.  Maybe neither.

I could drop into a stupor right now, but that won't be true at 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m., 4 a.m.  Or maybe it will, tonight.

:/ ... :(

black cloud.jpg                                           



When I re-do my work schedule, I should make my Tuesdays start at, like, 10:30.   Or later.  Like 2:00 would be sweet.

Gonna have to mow soon.

Green things are getting greener and taller and bushier all over.

My work neighbor has a serious case of the multiple yawns, but so far I haven't caught them.  Does that yawn contagion not work as much when there are many yawns as when there's one?

Found out our office visit co-pays went up this year, and to a whoppin' 40 bucks for in-network "specialists", which are defined as anyone who's not your primary care physician or a pediatrician.  Since my doctor retired I don't have a primary care physician or a pediatrician.  Shall I work on my childishness, to qualify for a pediatrician?  I feel like having a tantrum about this co-pay thing, and our healthcare system in general, so that's a head start.

The tulips bulbs I planted late last fall have turned out to have been viable, despite their shabby-looking condition.  There were two varieties, so I did a cluster in the middle with one sort and a ring around them with the other.  It seems the inner circle is on an earlier magical-nature schedule than the others, though.  But that's okay.  It's all better than the prickly bush I hated that was there before, and that I channeled lotsa turbulent emotion into removing (along with lotsa muscle).

tulip combo for lj.jpg

Any more I often seem to have mixed feelings about Spring.  It's happening again this year.  What can I say.  Not much, I guess.

Flowers are pretty, however.  Flowers sometimes are very quite pretty.
... at the Visual Thesaurus site an article (containing articles) that sort of accidentally pointed out to me how Nellie Lovett and Sweeney Todd bonded over delighting in making each other laugh with wordplay.

Looks like the Putting On a Show committee is going to go along with the assertion (that Tracy feels the same way about) that we should make our question for the audience in this show grammatically incorrect, on accounta the off-puttingery of "whom".  Just now I'm thinking we could put a little disclaimer on the back in tiny print that sez yes we know it should be "whom" but we're being wrong on purpose, just in case you were wondering, you quibbler.

Speaking of the boss, she's not in today.  Neither is The Boss.  Not too long ago I saw The Boss.

I can tell I need a break from this synaptic sinkhole, quicksand, sandtrap, thang.  Habit.  Pattern.  Also I'm hungry.  Hey, maybe it's a blood sugar thing.

An old question of Grothendieck involved in which cases a certain \subseteq is an equality, when we're talking general ringed topos and multiplicative sheaf, you know, all bundled up with torsion parts and obstruction classes.  That kinda biz.  Torsors.  Who the hell knows.  It's (CW-)complex.

Rain, slow and dreary, off and on, all day today.  sprig5 missed all-day socked-in rain when she moved out east from Cincy.  She missed the chili, too, I believe, and a number of other Cincinnati things.  I think of her when we have such a day, and I appreciate it more, having taken in what a thing it is to appreciate, quite apart from the agronomical, in its all-day slog gray slow wet -ness.

I'm gonna eat something now.  Then Brauer and Grothendieck and Hornbostel & Schr\"oer (Jens & Stefan, resp.) (of D\"usselfdorf & Wuppertal, irresp.), as laid out by Flores, Ram\'on J.  All the while half-pondering (not Mrs. Reagan & Mr. T but) Mrs. Lovett & Mr. T., and new thoughts on the stuff of people stuff S. Sondheim laid out for us there.

I am so tired this afternoon.

It's draggin', and I'm draggin'.

I just wanna eat supper and go to bed.  But I suppose I'll stay up long enough to be disappointed by election returns, and then be awake half the night again, cuz I seem to have joined some sect of some bizarre cult that believes in sleeping during the day and not during the night.  I mean, I guess I've done some time with that sect before, in streaks, at various times in life.  But I would like to break away from it now.

Been reading a little of Epicurus.  Epicureanism is pretty cool.

I'm gonna drag my draggin' butt home soon.  My dragon butt will just have to stay here for the night.  I'm too tired to drag a dragon butt all the way to the car and then into the house.

I Have

I Have

my Mr. Stadium shirt
in my pocket
a poem for
Poem in Yer Pocket Day
no one will ask after
in my thumb
infection pain I soak
every several hours
in hot salt H2O hoping
not to need a doc,
doc, dock, doxicology, wait what else have I

a pause to walk to the water cooler
frozen noodles nuking in the chamber
a semi-emergency appointment soon and
way too much left way too long and
a fight not to take it out on,
wail on (as they say, of beatings), me

and more muscles than not
dull warm whispering sore
from yesterday's
having quite overdone it

and knowledge and thoughts foisted on me

and an aversion to endmarks

and somewhere way down-slash-in
such love as I cannot tell you


the day gets weirder

Driving back from pup (who's happily suffering no apparent deleterious effects of coat lining consumption) I passed someone on the other side of the road at the new bridge near the stadium who'd either broken down or pulled over right to the curb, just as the height of the bridge, and seemed to be talking on a cell phone but circling more than pacing, and then MAYbe (was I imagining it, in my mirror?) moving to climb onto or over the little wall.  I went ahead and called 911, and went through a weird series of questions in which I was unable to characterize (I think) her or the vehicle in categorical categorical terms.  Then felt foolish for having made the call.

Worst case, they send a car to a stranded motorist, and it's maybe not 911-worthy.  Still, I told Bert about it when I got back to the office, on accounta I just wanted to tell someone.

Of course now I'm telling you.  But you're not here.

I was in touch with a gut instinct against suicide.  Like if that's what she was up to, somebody oughta stop her.  Even though it's obviously none of my business.

That bridge isn't that high.  People survive higher, lots.


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"What was once thought cannot be unthought."

-- Möbius, The Physicists

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