8th Grade science....

Toward a Grain of Sand at a Blithe Spirit

"Toward a Grain of Sand at a Blithe Spirit"

Any bowling ball can
figure out a financial spider, but it takes
a real razor blade
to seek a mating ritual. If a surly pork chop dances
with a boiled grizzly bear, then

the tape recorder around a stovepipe dies.

Now and then, a judge near a tripod borrows money from a minivan defined by the bottle of beer.

Another financial photon,

the umbrella, and another

somewhat polka-dotted CEO are what

made

America

great!

A submarine is South American.

Any vacuum cleaner can organize a rude cloud formation, but it takes a real tornado to bury the pompous polar bear.

Now and then,

an almost tattered
movie theater pours
freezing cold water on a satellite

beyond some vacuum cleaner.

Indeed, a briar patch takes a peek at the hairy squid.
A slyly self-loathing microscope self-flagellates, because a photon related to another insurance agent operates a small fruit stand with a plaintiff.

The warranty

ceases to

exist,

and the carelessly impromptu tornado ruminates;
however, some pompous scythe buries a paycheck beyond a bottle of beer.

If the food stamp over a mortician finds ice on the spider, then a jersey cow around the insurance agent reads a magazine.

When you see a scythe near a
traffic light, it means that a chain saw trembles.
Now and then, a prime minister finds subtle faults with the warranty.

A blood clot is resplendent.

Furthermore, a carpet tack

starts reminiscing about

lost

glory,

and a tripod often throws a wedding dress

toward a grain of sand at a blithe spirit.

Via Kwistin at Spoems.com

(Spoems are poems derived from spam.)

These days Gmail filters spam out of my inbox, before I ever see it..... well, most of it.
But, in the old days of spam, I often though there was something poetic about the computer-derived chopped sentences that were placed there, to confuse early spam filters into thinking the message was genuine.
It seems I'm not the only one. Spoems are-:
"Spoems, or spoetry, are "spam poems" written using only the subject lines from spam emails. Some spam doesn't need any help, being inherently beautiful, but typical spam poetry is composed in the form of a haikus or even a limerick. This is Spoetry at its finest.
An alternate form of spoetry is written simply by inserting punctuation and line breaks in the spam message itself. This alternate form (also known as "Limited Verse Spoetry") is an exercise not in creativity as much as in having an eye for the unexpected."
(these lines are from spoems.com)

Here Comes the Snow Again

Via ??? I forget where I found them. Sorry, originator, I failed to save a note of your link.

Romeo's Tune. Steve Forbert.

In 1980, I bought Steve Forbert's album, 'Jackrabbit Slim', this is one of the tracks.

ne.

Meet me in the middle of the day
Let me hear you say everything's okay
Bring me southern kisses from your room
Meet me in the middle of the night
Let me hear you say everything's alright
Let me smell the moon in your perfume

Oh, Gods and years will rise and fall
And there's always something more
It's lost in talk, I waste my time
And it's all been said before
While further down behind the
masquerade the tears are there
I don't ask for all that much I just want someone to care
That's right now

Meet me in the middle of the day
Let me hear you say everything's okay
Come on out beneath the shining sun

Meet me in the middle of the night
Let me hear you say everything's alright
Sneak on out beneath the stars and run

Oh yeah, oh yeah yeah, oh yeah

It's king and queen and we must go down
now beyond the chandelier
Where I won't have to speak my mind
and you won't have to hear
Shreds of news and afterthoughts and complicated scenes
We'll huddle down behind the light and fade like magazines

Meet me in the middle of the day
Let me hear you say everything's okay
Bring me southern kisses from your room

Hey hey, meet me in the middle of the night
Let me hear you say everything's alright
Let me smell the moon in your perfume

Oh now, meet me in the middle of the day
Let me hear you say everything's okay
Let me see you smiling back at me

Hey, meet me in the middle of the night
Let me hear you say everything's alright
Hold me tight and love and loving's free

Um... Yes... um...

I'm back. Haven't quit yet.
Happy new year.
Yes thank you, I did.

I'll think of something to say eventually.


Oh. Yes.
Whilst randomly browsing and stumbling I keep bumping into sites where self proclaimed 'experts' on blogging tell me how to do it, how to drive traffic to my site etcetera.

Firstly: There is NO SUCH THING as an expert on blogging.
The act remains undefined, and each of us can interpret it in our own way. There is no right and no wrong way. Affirm your right to the anarchy of the internet, refuse to be ruled and fooled.
Yes, I have to obey certain protocols, or blogger will delete me. Pzzzzzzt!!!
But that's it.
Traffic to my site?
Why should I want thousands of visitors?
OHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Yes, the 'expert bloggers' are driven by revenue generation, adsense, and the like.
Well this is not a money seeking enterprise.
For money, I do 'work'.
This?
I'm not sure what this is. I only started a year ago. Ask me in ten years time. Not work anyway.
If it was work I'd feel obliged to post every day, respond to comments instantly and give value for money. As it is, I post when I feel like it, respond to comments if I remember to, and give?
Who knows?
I'm no judge of my content.
I just post whatever comes to mind and hope you..... (mythical reader) enjoy at least some of it.
I do like a little dialogue occasionally, and have encountered persons I may never meet, but nonetheless think of as friends, through this medium.
Regular visitors are a select bunch, some of them communicate occasionally, others?
Well there's somebody who keeps coming back to the same post, from Australia..... Buy the record, dammit!
And somebody in Ulan Bator who likes poetry.
I picture you as living in a ger, and dressing like Genghis Khan..... whilst surfing the internet on your satellite connected laptop.

Dancing Barefoot

she: is benediction
she is addicted to thee
she is the root connection
she is connecting with he

here I go and I don't know why
I spin so ceaselessly
could it be he's taking over me...

I'm dancing barefoot
heading for a spin
some strange music draws me in
makes me come on like some heroine

she: is sublimation
she is the essence of thee
she is concentrating on
he, who is chosen by she

here I go and I don't know why
I spin so ceaselessly,
could it be he's taking over me...

[chorus]

she: is re-creation
she, intoxicated by thee
she has the slow sensation that
he is levitating with she ...

here I go and I don't know why,
I spin so ceaselessly,
'til I lose my sense of gravity...

[chorus]

(oh god I fell for you ...)

the plot of our life sweats in the dark like a face
the mystery of childbirth, of childhood itself
grave visitations
what is it that calls to us?
why must we pray screaming?
why must not death be redefined?
we shut our eyes we stretch out our arms
and whirl on a pane of glass
an afixiation a fix on anything the line of life the limb of a tree
the hands of he and the promise that s/he is blessed among women.

(oh god I fell for you ...)

Patti Smith; this was originally on her 1979 album, Wave.... (which is my favourite of all her offerings). This version appears to be off Jools Holland's show, 2002.

umm is it just me... separated at birth: Patti Smith-Tom Petty?