Bandit Notions

[the mingo]

when I bring up Wordpad I then shrink it and it goes to the bottom of the screen with a little sign that says Document-WordPad...had a vision of that on a headstone, no name or dates just - Document-WordPad ... dead bird meat parties all over the land today ... gotta get the kayaks in the cellar so's they can hibernate the winter out like reptiles or bears ... ain't been in them since October anyway ... heavy cream in my coffee - time to slide the storm windows into their fixtures... got a choice on the third of December between a Xmas party or a funeral ... I can see it now, too cranky for the Xmas party & too happy for the funeral, what's a man to do with life?
-

[stilltrucking]

it is a heavy responsibility being the crown of creation, to be made in the Image of G d.

My cat often sits and ponders what he should do with his life. I wonder if he is an exceptional cat, a philosopher king cat?

I have traded in the mystery for a pocket full of good intentions.

leave word in the dust where I lay
a tombstone like Cheops

and a destiny for the ages
but I dont always get what I want

Singing "ride me down easy"



I am not right, so I would probably go for the funeral.
For some reason I dread going to christmas parties. I know how to act at a funeral. But I am not good at faux christmas cheer, I never feel anything like christmas till christmas day. The best christmas's I have had were spent alone over the road, I loved the stillness at midnight when not even a truck stop lot lizard was stirring.

[the mingo]

truck drivers all over the world try to be like american truck drivers - except in france - in france they try to be like french truck drivers. sometimes i drive a poem like it was a truck.

[the mingo]

I just patched up a hole in the wall with duct tape. The hole was made by the landlord couple of months ago. Now it's winter.

i just dug an old toothbrush out of the trash because i need something to clean off a raccoon skull. A toothbrush is perfect for this.

chicaboom chicaboom.

[the mingo]

51 degrees in the sun
shoes casting shadows
in the shade of the house it's 29 degrees
can you hear early December going hahaha?

memories with all the flesh dried right off of them - sometimes it seems to me that poems are an excuse against immediate moment ...

several days ago a man was seen to remove his shoes and then take a running leap, clearing the rail on the utica street bridge and into the turbulent waters of the Oswego river below - they are still looking for his body ... either the catfish are happy or the seagulls and coyotes will be when the body washes up on the shores of Lake Ontario east of here ...

it's not the demons outside that will get ya ...

[the mingo]

the defective cognition of dreams do correlate with the cellular and molecular neurobiological buffalo bings of semi-sedentary addictions to chains & other forms of freedom that local inhabitants manipulate to get through days & nights. This goes right along with shopping and memories of a car accident in the year 1957. The sound of the impact seemed HUGE in the night.

things exist due to curiosity.

curiosity has racked up a cat or two but the building of cities changed not a thing.

Stash. Ya gotta keep your stash together. A man without a stash is just a pile of crippled jello.
Women do it too. They find things and stash them in plants. This starts young. The only criteria here is you have to be human. That's it. Human.

Mystery exists in the absence of knowledge. Questions exist in the presence of knowledge. We are all walking the ledge. Hell, we sleep on it for that matter. Sometimes we turn over in our sleep and fall right off of it never to be seen again. Goodbye Charlie's got the blues.

Sex is the means dreams use to keep themselves going. What's love got to do with it? Well, that one has certainly kept me busy for sure.

[stilltrucking]

bandit notions
good night irene
sometimes I take a great notion

watched a guy wash up on the beach in ocean city maryland in august of 1974 the summer Jaws came out and Nixon resigned.

A poem is an emergency for some

thank you for the poetry mingo

I do not have an ear for music, tone deaf, tune deaf, they say that poetry is born out the spirit of music. I do believe in music, I believe in music

there is music in your language
I think
sometimes you leave me wordless
that above was too wonderful for words
it almost burnt my eyes I read it so fast

[judih]

agree with Jack. yes.
all of the above.

except the funeral. i don't know how to behave at public displays of death or of massive joy. i'm not too good at public, unless i can show my private self.

[the mingo]

jack & judih -

Thx you two - really liked your line Jack - "A poem is an emergency for some" - leapt off the page at me and began to bitch slap me until I grabbed it by the neck and threatened it with a broken pepsi bottle. Whew!

i used to listen to music constantly - it was my boon companion for many years, not so much these days. I like to listen to this and that when i get the chance. I like the odd thing these days, from jazz to drums from classical to mendicant flute music.

judih - i'm with you on not knowing how to behave at public displays. You said, "i'm not too good at public, unless i can show my private self." Same here, I avoid these things unless put up against the wall by circumstances...or somebody's heart is on the line.

[judih]

or somebody's heart is on the line.

that particular 'or' gets me every time

[stilltrucking]

"Poetry is an emergency. It's a desperate need to say how things are. A need that never goes away." —Stanley Kunitz

Sorry I should have said I was paraphrasing

[the mingo]

yeah that one gets me too, judih.
Jack, sooner or later we all paraphrase - can't be helped, you were still right on what you said & thx for passing it along.

[the mingo]

this poem is experimental
i'm going to crash test it

it's amazing how far you can bend a word out of shape & not only out of shape but also mess with placement & timing & it will still function as a carrier of images. I mean there is a coyote looking out at you from this group like they were a bunch of grass at the edge of the woods & his story is that ice age travelers from Europe and ice age travelers from Asia met up on the continent of North America & together became the Indians. This is all being based on a genetic marker in DNA. Politics will find a way! Absolute Glory Be !
You can trust to DNA more than to the researchers. Footprints in the dust. Long gone daddies in the USA.

Righteous potent shit, man.

this poem is experimental
i'm going to crash test it

[the mingo]

you can only wear your brains once
then they start to leak

[the mingo]

When the woman of the lodge gets angry with me she begins by raising her voice & she gets agitated and body language gets added to the mix as the process heads for party level histronics. I help this along by looking at her & saying, "Are we having a tit-rant, my love? O! ya better duck, me hearties, the French & the Indians have landed! Let me tell ya, she starts calling me names - I mean the nouns really begin flying around here & I'm in my glory.

Anger should never be avoided - never - it has it's place in the scheme of things & should always be given it's full range of expression the same as any other artform so I encourage it to keep the "silent treatment" from getting a foothold. I hate that mode. I would rather have gunfire & bombs than the silent treatment. Anger is fierce and sudden and then it's over and the whole scene has been purged of poison. Anger is King Leonidas before the Persians, the silent treatment is Jack the Ripper.

At any rate love is a real strange bird at the human level.