I Atom Nun (Mountain Letters Times Ten)

o main nut

i noun mat

u am in ton


o unit man

unit moan


o u tin man

u not main

u on a mint


i am no nut

i atom nun

Red Granite (Updated)

Only a couple of miles north of downtown,
only a block away from Lake Michigan,
there is a skyscraper faced in red granite.

Seven hundred north Michigan Avenue.

The first dozen or so floors of the building
always have been dedicated to shopping.
Always it’s been called the Chicago Place mall.

Big money stores for the beautiful people.

I’ve eaten lunch in the mezzanine courtyard.
I’ve window-shopped with the beautiful people.
That is, I looked in the windows while they shopped.
There is a Saks there, but I never witnessed
Winona Ryder being beautiful there,
shopping, window-shopping or that other thing.
And now I never will. The mall is closing.

The shops are shutting down. The building owners
are converting to condos and office space.

Death, the monster snake, coils around the granite
and the beautiful people flee to Oak Street,
Ohio Street or the Water Tower Place.

The red stone building is like a mountain peak
north in the Magnificent Mile mountain range
but Death, the monster snake, is something larger
coiled around its summit. Death, the monster snake,
devours mountains and brings death even to rocks.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .



The Year Winds Down #2: Buying Junk


Dark days for Michigan Avenue mall

A NOTE ABOUT REALITY:

Okay, this is something like an extended ‘Oops.’

I wrote this post based on my memories of the great mall at 700 N. Michigan. When I lived on the north side of Chicago and worked on Michigan Avenue, I used to visit the mall a couple of times every week. It was my favorite north Michigan Avenue mall. I couldn’t afford to buy anything from any of the stores, but just walking through the place would remind me of the kind of world I wanted to live in and the kind of people I wanted to move among. (I haven’t accomplished either, yet.)

Anyway...

At the start of January I read the news story about the Chicago Place mall having troubles. For weeks I’ve wanted to post something about the mall because I spent so many pleasant afternoons walking around the place. This morning I put together today’s post. However, when I was looking around the ’net for photographs I began to suspect I may have mis-remembered a few points. [coughs]

It’s been many, many years since I visited 700 N. Michigan.

I walked past the place a few months ago when I attended at the Karen Kilimnik exhibit at the MCA, but then I was rushing around like a madman because I was parked in the Water Tower Place and it was costing me $20 for a few hours parking.

So, here’s what’s been bugging me:

First of all, the skyscraper that is associated with the mall I think is actually set back half a block from the mall structure itself. In the photograph at the top of the post, the building at 700 N. Michigan Avenue is the building with the pointy top just northwest of the Hancock Building.

Second, when I look at the mall’s current directory, I see there are eight levels, not a dozen.

Third, the current directory doesn’t even list a mezzanine. (I suspect I was mis-remembering the second level as the mezzanine. Either there used to be chairs and a restaurant there on the second level or I just got some wires crossed in my brain and was thinking of the eighth level as the mezzanine for some reason.)

Fourth, the facade of the mall structure and the skyscraper behind it might be something like pink marble and not red granite. (I don’t know why I associate the Chicago Place mall so strongly with a dark red granite facade. But I still do, even though I recognize the pictures of the building with the pinkish facade. I suspect that a smaller building either immediately north or south of 700 N. Michigan must have a dark red granite facade. I’ll have to check it out next time I’m up on the near north side.)

Sorry about all that!

I try to get details correct. And the fact that I titled today’s post “Red Granite” when the red granite I was thinking about apparently is on a completely different building really makes me frown.

But I’m not going to take down the post.

“Hardly Anyone Visits; No One Stays”

Yesterday I posted a little about Mount Shasta. Mount Shasta is in northern California. At something like the opposite end of North America, at the very north-east tip of Canada, there is a mountain range called the Torngat Mountains.

More than just being at the opposite end of North America, the Torngat Mountains are opposite Mount Shasta in another way as well.

Mount Shasta is part of the whole northern California scene. People take vacations there. Corporations sponsor retreats there. Even people like UFO buffs make pilgrimages there. Mount Shasta isn’t just part of civilization, legend has it that the mountain is a fountainhead of civilization, carried over through some great catastrophe from the ancient past.

The Torngat Mountains are on the Atlantic coast, far north and almost impossible to visit. They are wild. More than just being outside civilization, they have witnessed civilization come and go.

In the Nineteenth Century, there were settlements just south of the Torngat Mountains. Inuit people. Christian missionaries. Outposts of the local government. But over time the conditions were found to be so harsh, maintaining supply lines so difficult, that one by one the settlements relocated farther south. The area returned to the wild, reclaimed by polar bears, wolves, caribou and other wildlife of the tundra.

The Torngat Mountains saw civilization approach, over-reach itself and withdraw.


*


A little more than a decade ago newlyweds George Van Sickle and Stephanie White sailed a small, seventeen foot open boat [!] north along the coast of Labrador and visited the Torngat Mountains. They spent almost two months on the journey. During that time they didn’t see even one other sailboat.

The topic of open boat cruising is interesting in itself and I may someday return to it. Both the topic and the activity. But today I just want to post some of the thoughts of George and Stephanie as they looked back on their visit to the Torngat Mountains:

... Several days later, leaving the white Torngat summits behind, we anchor in front of the abandoned village of Hebron. Until the 1800s, the Inuit lived in small semi-nomadic bands along the coast. Moravian missionaries arrived in the Nineteenth Century, bringing a modicum of European culture. The Inuit came to live in the several mission villages established on the coast. During the 1950s the mission and the government found it too costly to supply these small, remote communities, so everyone moved south to Nain. Hebron was the last village to be abandoned, nearly 40 years ago.

A bull caribou eyes us as we wander through the decaying wood buildings. A rusted windvane records the date: 1832. The cemetery is overgrown by tundra vegetation, most of the graves marked by wooden plaques, long illegible. A few are inscribed stone, and we find Stephanie’s family name of White; on another is my mother’s family name, Cook. We speculate about the lives of these people who once thought, spoke, and toiled at the remote edge of this northern sea.

Perhaps, all along, the lure of Labrador has been the spirit of the Torngat, drawing us to this solitary coast. Poor Torngat, he has the caribou, the polar bear, the wolf and raven. But his people are gone, moved away south, and he is lonely in his icy Arctic mountains by the sea. Hardly anyone visits; no one stays.

The afternoon breeze promises an easy spinnaker run to the south. Behind the barren islands guarding the harbor, a parade of icebergs dot the blue horizon. Even in this cool, brief radiance of summer, there is a long, cold loneliness here. We head back to the boat to pack our gear. Surely, it is the Torngat that we came to see.

George Van Sickle
writing in, “Spirit of the Torngat”
Sail Magazine, May 1996

The Hidden Princess Of Mount Shasta

So I’m a hobo
riding the rails. On a freight
San Diego way

I share a boxcar
with Paris Hilton decked out
in shabby chic threads.

She eats my croissant.
I finish her German wine.
She’s bound for LA.

Me, San Francisco.
I’m teaching Paris to sing
“Just Like This Train” from

Joni’s Court and Spark.
We think we might both change plans
and continue north

up to Mount Shasta.
Paris wants to run a con
on the New Age types.

They still have money.
Paris says she can teach me
to keep a straight face.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


Mount Shasta


Lemurians and Mount Shasta



“Just Like This Train”

Elena Called A Let

This cartoon isn’t really a standalone cartoon, it’s just a page from my sketchbook. I’m posting it because I like it as much as a real cartoon.

This started as a sketchbook pencil drawing of Elena Dementieva. I’ve mentioned a few times that she’s my favorite WTA player. [I talk about her here and here and here.] Right now Dementieva is having a great run at the Australian Open. Many people think this might be the year she wins her first grand slam title.

So I thought it would be fun to draw her.

Of course, I couldn’t just draw her, I wanted to do something funny, even if it’s only in my sketchbook for myself. So I thought it would be cool if she was playing tennis and had to deal with tennis balls that suddenly turned into cans of Beanee Weenies . . .

I did a pencil sketch and I liked it. So I inked it. I added the caption using a plain old BIC ballpoint pen. When I decided to post it I added just a bit of color using one of those Winsor & Newton pocket watercolor sets.

Incidentally, it made my watercolor brushes very happy to be out of the closet and getting some use again. For the last few weeks I’ve been doing acrylics and I don’t use my watercolor brushes with acrylics. Even though I only used one brush for the cartoon, they were all dancing again.


Maybe it will bring Dementieva luck!


She’s the very best WTA player who’s never won a grand slam and she really should win the Australian Open this year. And she is my pick for the most interesting personality in sports. Someday I’m going to do a post about her tribulations in the tennis world. She’s been in two or three grand slam finals. In the spotlight, when she’s had the opportunity to win big, she hasn’t just lost—she’s lost big time. She’s played so badly that she embarrassed herself. But the remarkable thing about Dementieva is that she’s always pulled herself together and gotten back into competition. She won the gold medal at last year’s Olympics. She can be the best player in the world. Or the worst. She’s very, very interesting. And she doesn’t quit. I really admire that.

Chimeras: Slackers And Droodles To The Rescue

A chimera to a paleontologist
is a fake fossil made up from bits and pieces
selected from real fossils of various kinds.
Large profits can be made trading in weird fossils
and reputations can be made studying them.
Large profits can be made trading in fake fossils
and reputations can be ruined describing them.
Chimeras, it’s believed, always have been found out.
Sometimes high-tech analysis finds tricky flaws.
Sometimes flip-sides of pieces are discovered, whole.
Teams have been fooled but never the field over all.

That is one of the very few advantages
to having a dozen or more people living
inside my head with me: They check each other’s work.
Three or four of the fragments of me might get fooled
but there are always dissenters, contrarians
promoting alternatives to the assembly
of slackers gathered together behind my eyes
making neuron scrapbooks, grey matter collages,
cerebral found art, cognitive droodles and stuff
designed to one-up all the other slackers’ stuff.
It’s a complex mess but some order emerges.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


When We Meet Monsters


Droodles


“Unearthing the Dragon”

— An odd non-fiction account
of the discovery of fossils
of feathered dinosaurs. There is
an interesting discussion
of a recent chimera incident
that fooled some reasonably famous
figures in the paleontology world.



Conscious Realism


Society of Mind

Looking To Fall Into The Bear’s Spirals

Out on the back porch
my telescope is set up.
So I am ready.

I’ve often looked for
Ursa Major’s galaxies.
I’ve never seen them.

Even on clear nights
skies here south of Chicago
are bright. Bad seeing.

I’m hoping one night—
maybe cold, maybe windy—
skies will be magic.

Out on the back porch
my telescope is set up.
So I am ready.

Just seeing something
sometimes somehow makes things change.
I want things to change.

The galaxies near
the Big Dipper are millions
of light years away.

Far as far can be.
I want to be far away.
I’m looking for change.

Out on the back porch
my telescope is set up.
So I am ready.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


As Far Away As Can Be


No Time, No Distance

Bride Of Muskie Light Switch

Wisconsin is not my favorite state but someday
I might return to it. Far north in Wisconsin.
If the place were a color-by-number fill-in
all the numbers would turn out muskie green and grey.

The Chippewa Flowage. Muskie hunters at play.
I usually fish ultralight but to win
the heart of a hungry muskie I’d ditch the thin
four pound test line for ten, keep my drag loose and pray.

There is a state I hope never to return to.
There is a state I’m sorry I was ever in.
There is a state I wish I never learned about.

It’s a muskie state, too. I was the fish. Hooked through
my jaw. Played. Netted. Landed. Filleted. Cooked. Bitten.
Chewed. Swallowed. Half-digested. Then vomited out.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -



Muskie Light Switch


Chippewa Flowage

A Spaceship That Sparks

If I had a spaceship—I mean a real spaceship
with what science buffs call a reactionless space drive
capable of accelerating at 1G
for hour after hour, sometimes day after day—
I would tweak with the drive to make my spaceship spark
just like the silly-ass spaceships in Flash Gordon
(I mean the black and white Flash Gordon cliffhangers).

I like the idea of a spaceship that sparks.
I don’t know exactly why. I do know that if
you accelerate at 1G you can travel
from Earth to Pluto in only about two weeks.

I’d go sparking, flashing through the outer system.

I’d find some water ice out there around Pluto.
I’d make a raspberry snowcone with leftovers
from the time when our solar system was forming.
Then I’d come back to Earth, sparking all the way home,
and post pictures on my blog of myself eating
the snowcone with Pluto visible behind me
through the spaceship’s viewport. If someone commented
that the image was very good Photoshop work,
I’d say, “No, it isn’t. I flew out to Pluto
in a spaceship that sparks and I made that snowcone
from ice that was primeval. I mean primeval.”
The person would say, “Yeah, sure.” But I wouldn’t care
because I’d be planning to spark my way to Mars
to get eye-to-eye with that Cydonia face.

Anna Kournikova Epistemology

Bernadette’s Mirror: Landslide

Bernadette’s mirror is a mystery to me
and Bernadette is a mystery to me, too.

Bernadette’s mirror is a thing doing its thing,
reflecting me and reflecting everything else
and reflecting Bernadette, too, who’s not a thing
but who’s reflected and watching the reflections
with me, thinking about the reflections with me.

Bernadette’s mirror might remain a mystery
but if I compose my beliefs in words just right
Bernadette will smile. Then she will tell me the truth.
Then I’ll know the truth. Then I’ll be able to move.

Like a landslide, I’ll kiss her, rocks tumbling downhill.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


Bernadette’s Mirror: Strata

Bernadette’s Mirror: Eroding

Bernadette’s Mirror: Fossilized

Bernadette’s Mirror


The Fossil And The Paleontologist

Fossils Never Run Away, But

Bernadette’s Mirror: Strata

Bernadette’s mirror is a mystery to me.

Reflections are colors making shapes making scenes,
scenes that arrange themselves one against the other,
burying each other, juxtaposed, like strata
of rock enfolding millions of years, being time.

I feel the reflections from Bernadette’s mirror
enfolding me, coloring me and shaping me,
juxtaposing me against the strata of time,
being before, being now, being yet-to-come.

I can’t move, all bent out of shape but looking through
the strange folds around me, penetrating me, too,
strange colors reflecting from Bernadette’s mirror.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


Bernadette’s Mirror: Eroding

Bernadette’s Mirror: Fossilized

Bernadette’s Mirror


The Fossil And The Paleontologist

Fossils Never Run Away, But

Bernadette’s Mirror: Eroding

Bernadette’s mirror is a mystery to me.

I’m staring into it. I cannot look away.

All the mysteries behind me are so ugly—
so endlessly hopeless and so fucking ugly—
that turning away, turning around, turning back
isn’t even something that I wish I could do.

I don’t think I’ll understand Bernadette’s mirror
regardless of how deeply I look into it,
how desperately I think about what I see,
how creatively I compose beliefs in words.

I cannot look away. I wouldn’t if I could.

I’m a rock, eroding, thinking about the wind.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


Bernadette’s Mirror: Fossilized

Bernadette’s Mirror


The Fossil And The Paleontologist

Fossils Never Run Away, But

Bernadette’s Mirror: Fossilized

Bernadette’s mirror is a mystery to me.
I’ve looked into it and now I can’t look away.

I wonder: Is this the Medusa myth for real?

I’ve seen Bernadette’s mirror. I’ve looked into it.
Motion, now, is something else, like a distant place
I once visited but can never return to.
Movement, now, is just a thing that I remember.

I am stone, now, in front of Bernadette’s mirror,
something like hypnotized but more like enraptured.
Watching. Lost among the reflections. Fossilized.

I’m a museum piece, now, to the world outside
the reflections I see in Bernadette’s mirror.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


Bernadette’s Mirror


The Fossil And The Paleontologist

Fossils Never Run Away, But

Bernadette’s Mirror

Rocks And Water And Weather And Stars

Blue water cruising
reduces a person’s life
to rocks and water

and weather and stars.
This rock, North America,
has been a good rock

but I hear whispers—
water and weather and stars—
and I believe them.

The Fossil And The Paleontologist

“Evolution,” the fossil said, “is the process
that gets me out of this rock and put on display.
Do you think you found me? I made you walk this way.
You walker, you walking thing with hands, I confess

paleontology is my game. Do you guess
science is a human game, fleshy brains at play?
The affinities here where you chip rocks away—
mind, Grail quest, love, sweat, seduction—they’re my success.”

The paleontologist didn’t recognize
his thoughts, as if plain words had a new, strange grammar.
He looked at the hammer in his hand, his hand, gloved.

He felt links break, felt terror, felt stone cold surprise.
The paleontologist put down his hammer
and walked away from whatever it was he’d loved.

Fossils Never Run Away, But

No one asks fossils if they want to be collected.
In fact, it seems they do not. They hold fast to the rock
as if clutching the rock, pulling away from hammers
and picks and cleaning brushes. Fossils seem to cry out,
their stolid silence itself begging, “Sanctuary!”
But sanctuary is never granted. Hammers fall,
picks bite into surrounding rock. Fossils are chipped out,
wrenched from the ground where they’d passed
    thousands, millions of years.

No one asks fossils if they want to be collected.
They’re itemized. Counted. Catalogued. Studied. Displayed.
They become parts of our world. They were parts of the world.
No passionate young men and women will set them free,
return them to what people call the natural world,
restore them, wild stone, fragments of the wild, to the wild.
The wild is still there, the uncollected collection.
Are we looters? Does the wild want back what we’ve taken?

It’s safe in museums. There isn’t much erosion
turning something living turned into stone into dust.
There’s something like immortality in museums.
The museum-state. And no change-of-state forever.
The museum is the wild as the wild never is.
Arrested. Stopped. Defined. Ordered. Arranged. Unchanging.
When no one’s looking fossils never run away, but
no one asks fossils if they want to be collected.

Diane Wakoski And Batman

1. Watson and Holmes


“Come, Watson, come!” he cried. “The game is afoot.”

“No. No, thank you. Sorry, but I think I’ll pass.”

“We must catch the Kentish train. Hopkins awaits.”

“No. You go without me. I’m done with this stuff.”

“But look at this note. I’ve already deduced—”

“I’m sure that you’ve deduced wonderful things. But
my heart’s not in these mysteries anymore.”

“A young lady’s in trouble, Watson. We must—”

“Everyone’s in trouble, Holmes. Go. Do your thing.
But I’m done. I’ve got my own troubles to fix.
Go, Holmes. Good luck to you. But, please, just get out.”




2. Diane Wakoski and Batman


I’d rather be Claude Monet than T. J. Hooker.
I’d rather be Erica Jong than Charlie Chan.
I’d rather be Diane Wakoski than Batman.
I’d rather be Andy Warhol than Lew Archer.

I don’t want to see folks get away with murder,
don’t want to see the triumph of an evil plan,
but I would rather live for making what I can
than live for crushing the dream of some mad dreamer.

Over the weekend I didn’t save a young child
held hostage by the Joker spreading anarchy.
I didn’t make the world marvel at my true grit

when I tracked down a mad scientist running wild
and foiled his scheme using his own technology.
But over the weekend I did write this sonnet.

The Coolest Superpower

Well, after talking about it for a long time, I’ve started out the year with a cartoon done with acrylic paint, rather than colored pencils.

Once I buckled down and started doing it, it was fun.

I did this first as a graphite drawing, just like Unfinished Cartoon #1. Then I lettered the caption using a Pigma felt tip (1 mm) pen. (It’s a felt tip pen, but a small, round point not a chisel edge. I tried to use the point something like a brush pen.) Finally I rendered the colors using Liquitex Basic paints mixed with glazing medium.

Right now, that’s my favorite medium: Acrylic paint mixed with glazing medium. If you dilute acrylics with water, they become runny and hard to manage. But if you dilute them with glazing medium, they become as transparent as watercolor or ink (they work milky but dry absolutely clear) and they remain thick and easy to work with.

So, I’m thinking I’ve kind of turned a page here, I’ve entered a larger world—I’m actually working with real paint and real brushes now instead of sticks of color.

(Of course, I realize I’m still working in a silly-assed, mixed-media way by rendering color on top of a graphite grisaille, but the end result is something I’m happy with. And it was fun to do.)

2008 Complete Index

December, 2008


Wednesday, December 31, 2008 -- Night Songs And Whispers #1: Songs

Tuesday, December 30, 2008 -- Egyptian Queen, Grace Slick, Beyond Apollo

Monday, December 29, 2008 -- The Creature That Ate Britney


Friday, December 26, 2008 -- Cognitive Blur #4: Supergirl

Thursday, December 25, 2008 -- Cognitive Blur #3: Britney And The Crow’s Song

Wednesday, December 24, 2008 -- Cognitive Blur #2: Tea And Extinctions

Tuesday, December 23, 2008 -- Cognitive Blur #1: Librarian Bond Girl

Monday, December 22, 2008 -- “What Is It About You, Lana?”


Friday, December 19, 2008 -- The Year Winds Down #3: Shirt And Tie

Thursday, December 18, 2008 -- The Year Winds Down #2: Buying Junk

Wednesday, December 17, 2008 -- Amy Winehouse In The Sea Of Crises

Tuesday, December 16, 2008 -- Clana, Lexana: Loving Lana

Monday, December 15, 2008 -- Cheerleaders: They’re What’s For Dinner


Friday, December 12, 2008 -- Know

Thursday, December 11, 2008 -- Wabbit Twacks

Wednesday, December 10, 2008 -- The Year Winds Down #1: Michelle Wie

Tuesday, December 09, 2008 -- Souvenirs From Wisconsin

Monday, December 08, 2008 -- Young Belinda And The Old NFL Camelot


Friday, December 05, 2008 -- Muskie Light Switch

Thursday, December 04, 2008 -- Heaven From Hell

Wednesday, December 03, 2008 -- Unfinished Cartoon #1

Tuesday, December 02, 2008 -- Fluffy And The Three Stooges

Monday, December 01, 2008 -- Monster Lizards And A Young Woman’s Mind


November, 2008


Friday, November 28, 2008 -- Why Did Beethoven Cross The Road?

Thursday, November 27, 2008 -- “I Am The Villain Of The Story”

Wednesday, November 26, 2008 -- Lost In The Analog

Tuesday, November 25, 2008 -- Doris Day Day

Monday, November 24, 2008 -- Lindsay Lohan, Al Gore And World Peace


Friday, November 21, 2008 -- Paris Hilton And The Kennedy Assassination — 2

Thursday, November 20, 2008 -- Marginalia And The Kennedy Assassination — 1 & 2

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 -- Light Bulbs And The Kennedy Assassination — 1 & 2...

Tuesday, November 18, 2008 -- Paris Hilton And The Kennedy Assassination — 1

Monday, November 17, 2008 -- Hayden Panettiere And The Kennedy Assassination


Friday, November 14, 2008 -- Alchemical Suspicions Of Beauty Without Terror

Thursday, November 13, 2008 -- Defying Nature In The Parking Lot

Wednesday, November 12, 2008 -- Boys And Girls And David Hockney

Tuesday, November 11, 2008 -- Comics And Movies: Thoughts From Art Spiegelman

Monday, November 10, 2008 -- “Kari Loses An Underwire From Her Bra...”


Friday, November 07, 2008 -- A Few Moments With Owen And Dodger

Thursday, November 06, 2008 -- Through Trees And Clouds, Beauty Without Terror

Wednesday, November 05, 2008 -- Browsing Election Day

Tuesday, November 04, 2008 -- Dead Butterfly Flapping

Monday, November 03, 2008 -- This Is Lisa Randall. Not Lisa Randall


October, 2008


Friday, October 31, 2008 -- Halloween On An Inclined Plane

Thursday, October 30, 2008 -- The Darkness Inside The Wolf

Wednesday, October 29, 2008 -- Leptons, Quarks, Gauge Bosons And Britney Spears

Tuesday, October 28, 2008 -- Sharks From Beyond Space: Sky As Shoreline

Monday, October 27, 2008 -- The Hortense Lament


Friday, October 24, 2008 -- When We Meet Monsters

Thursday, October 23, 2008 -- Monster Snakes And Sexy Tee Shirts

Wednesday, October 22, 2008 -- Broken Windows From A Day In The Life

Tuesday, October 21, 2008 -- Stars. Clouds. Us.

Monday, October 20, 2008 -- How Pluto’s First Moon Got Its Name


Friday, October 17, 2008 -- Saving Lucy

Thursday, October 16, 2008 -- Wine And Cigarettes And Children’s Art

Wednesday, October 15, 2008 -- Water, Clouds And The Alchemy Of People

Tuesday, October 14, 2008 -- Some Outer System Notes

Monday, October 13, 2008 -- The Butcher Knife, The Pit Bull And The Shotgun


Friday, October 10, 2008 -- Galileo And Neptune

Thursday, October 09, 2008 -- Ode To The Concept Of Cotton Candy

Wednesday, October 08, 2008 -- Paint Brushes Have Nightmares And Sometimes Dance

Tuesday, October 07, 2008 -- Monster Bears And Knitting

Monday, October 06, 2008 -- The World And The Supervillain’s Nightclub


Friday, October 03, 2008 -- The Center For Backyard Astrophysics

Thursday, October 02, 2008 -- The False-Color Moons Of Filipe Alves

Wednesday, October 01, 2008 -- 2008 3rd Quarter Index


September, 2008


Tuesday, September 30, 2008 -- Never Having Kissed Amy

Monday, September 29, 2008 -- The Almost New Moon In Black And White


Friday, September 26, 2008 -- Sometimes The Stars Move Backward

Thursday, September 25, 2008 -- "The Ancient Art Of Knowing The Sky"

Wednesday, September 24, 2008 -- Frustrating Skies: Neptune At 50mm

Tuesday, September 23, 2008 -- And Now A Musical Interlude With Judas And Jesus

Monday, September 22, 2008 -- Ode To "Smallville"


Friday, September 19, 2008 -- Oh-Oh. If Cats Could Fly (The Poem)

Thursday, September 18, 2008 -- Oh-Oh. If Cats Could Fly...

Wednesday, September 17, 2008 -- The Tache And The Touche

Tuesday, September 16, 2008 -- "A Vaguely Fantastic Truth"

Monday, September 15, 2008 -- Rendering Golems


Friday, September 12, 2008 -- Hunting The Storsjoodjuret

Thursday, September 11, 2008 -- Petting Katydids

Wednesday, September 10, 2008 -- Endings And Beginnings

Tuesday, September 09, 2008 -- The Unfinished Image

Monday, September 08, 2008 -- Keeping A Vampire As A Pet Always Ends Badly


Friday, September 05, 2008 -- Ashes To Ashes

Thursday, September 04, 2008 -- The Word Monster

Wednesday, September 03, 2008 -- Primal Forces Of Nature

Tuesday, September 02, 2008 -- The Old Gypsy Woman Said Dirt Is Coming My Way

Monday, September 01, 2008 -- What Is Love? 5 -- Godzilla


August, 2008


Friday, August 29, 2008 -- Charles Moore Goes To Saturn!

Thursday, August 28, 2008 -- Never Once Harmed By Anyone

Wednesday, August 27, 2008 -- Avril, Yes; Beyonce, Christina, No

Tuesday, August 26, 2008 -- Twilight Language—Decapitations, Bigfoot And Psychopathic Movies

Monday, August 25, 2008 -- After Dark


Friday, August 22, 2008 -- A TV, A DVD Player And A Cloud Somewhere Above Me

Thursday, August 21, 2008 -- Hanny's Voorwerp

Wednesday, August 20, 2008 -- Bigfoot Update (Cops Lie?!)

Tuesday, August 19, 2008 -- Hollywood Makes Psychopathic Movies?!

Monday, August 18, 2008 -- Michelle Wie And Bigfoot


Friday, August 15, 2008 -- Deviations and Norms #1: Numbers

Thursday, August 14, 2008 -- Not Britney, Not Even Mischa

Wednesday, August 13, 2008 -- Wrinkled, Lined And Flabby (Reprise)

Tuesday, August 12, 2008 -- The Big Machine On The Table

Monday, August 11, 2008 -- Plum Island Monsters


Friday, August 08, 2008 -- The Picture Manifold

Thursday, August 07, 2008 -- Wrinkled, Lined And Flabby

Wednesday, August 06, 2008 -- Crying (A Loose End)

Tuesday, August 05, 2008 -- Petting Butterflies

Monday, August 04, 2008 -- Grim


Friday, August 01, 2008 -- Checking Out Mirror Neurons At The Grocery Store


July, 2008


Thursday, July 31, 2008 -- A Fluffy Update

Wednesday, July 30, 2008 -- Hell Is The Eclipse Of Art

Tuesday, July 29, 2008 -- Grousing And Werewolf Grousing

Monday, July 28, 2008 -- The Black Slip: A NASCAR Mystery


Friday, July 25, 2008 -- "The Fountainhead" Versus "The Phantom Of The Paradise"

Thursday, July 24, 2008 -- My "Year Of The Cat" Fantasy

Wednesday, July 23, 2008 -- Beethoven On Gilligan's Island

Tuesday, July 22, 2008 -- A Painting For The Pope

Monday, July 21, 2008 -- Devouring Memory


Friday, July 18, 2008 -- A Thirty Year Old Mushroom

Thursday, July 17, 2008 -- Fireflies (Not Synchronized) In My House

Wednesday, July 16, 2008 -- Frank Frazetta's Pencils

Tuesday, July 15, 2008 -- Vic Mizzy

Monday, July 14, 2008 -- Friday I Visited A Haunted House (A Befuddlement)


Friday, July 11, 2008 -- Decades

Thursday, July 10, 2008 -- Trouble At Yerkes Observatory

Wednesday, July 09, 2008 -- Losing Cool

Tuesday, July 08, 2008 -- Rogue Blossoms

Monday, July 07, 2008 -- Monster Types


Thursday, July 03, 2008 -- The Harp-like Strings Inside The Piano

Tuesday, July 01, 2008 -- 2008 2nd Quarter Index


June, 2008


Monday, June 30, 2008 -- Rerun: In The Realms Of The Unreal Right Here


Friday, June 27, 2008 -- Pink Floyd Laughter

Thursday, June 26, 2008 -- Haunted

Wednesday, June 25, 2008 -- “A Concept That I Felt Was Right”

Tuesday, June 24, 2008 -- No SOB

Monday, June 23, 2008 -- Sparrow And Moon


Friday, June 20, 2008 -- Relentless

Thursday, June 19, 2008 -- Diagnosis

Wednesday, June 18, 2008 -- Doctors

Tuesday, June 17, 2008 -- The Underlying Theme

Monday, June 16, 2008 -- The Autographic Value Of Photographs


Friday, June 13, 2008 -- The Act Of Making Was The Prayer

Thursday, June 12, 2008 -- Unicorns

Wednesday, June 11, 2008 -- As Far Away As Can Be

Tuesday, June 10, 2008 -- The Cusp Of Chatting

Monday, June 09, 2008 -- Wildflowers Out Back


Friday, June 06, 2008 -- Half The Zodiac

Thursday, June 05, 2008 -- The Moon In The Evening Sky

Wednesday, June 04, 2008 -- Sheldrake: Orchestras To Planetary Systems

Tuesday, June 03, 2008 -- Sickness

Monday, June 02, 2008 -- Change


May, 2008


Friday, May 30, 2008 -- No Time, No distance

Thursday, May 29, 2008 -- Libra And The Light Polluted Sky

Wednesday, May 28, 2008 -- Libra And The Alchemical Sky

Tuesday, May 27, 2008 -- Cocos Keeling Is Calling

Monday, May 26, 2008 -- Brian May—Old News But Good News


Friday, May 23, 2008 -- Mars Almost In The Beehive

Thursday, May 22, 2008 -- Let’s Go To The Library And Scare Ourselves

Wednesday, May 21, 2008 -- Open Clusters And Colorful Doubles

Tuesday, May 20, 2008 -- The Season’s First Monarch

Monday, May 19, 2008 -- Spring Planting And A Beehive Update


Friday, May 16, 2008 -- Horoscopes Without Dates

Thursday, May 15, 2008 -- Whispering On The Moon

Wednesday, May 14, 2008 -- Pumpkin Mars In The New Myth Sky

Tuesday, May 13, 2008 -- Terre Battue

Monday, May 12, 2008 -- Bad Kites (Recruitment Literature)


Friday, May 09, 2008 -- I Am Here

Thursday, May 08, 2008 -- A Jamie Update

Wednesday, May 07, 2008 -- Orange Lindsay

Tuesday, May 06, 2008 -- Like A Monster

Monday, May 05, 2008 -- Astronomy And Impressionism


Friday, May 02, 2008 -- Break A Leg

Thursday, May 01, 2008 -- Dobsonian


April, 2008


Wednesday, April 30, 2008 -- Mainstream Violence And Women

Tuesday, April 29, 2008 -- A Short Ode To A Quick Sketch

Monday, April 28, 2008 -- Checking In With The Gods


Friday, April 25, 2008 -- “Boat Names” and Pilate’s Question

Thursday, April 24, 2008 -- My ‘Driving Miss Shelly’ Story

Wednesday, April 23, 2008 -- My Litter Box Story

Tuesday, April 22, 2008 -- My Eric Von Zipper Story

Monday, April 21, 2008 -- Just Got Back From Feverville, Kansas


Friday, April 18, 2008 -- If Beethoven Were A Fish

Thursday, April 17, 2008 -- One Degree Of Richard Brautigan

Wednesday, April 16, 2008 -- Something Strange Here, Something Almost Magical

Tuesday, April 15, 2008 -- Alone In The Dark

Monday, April 14, 2008 -- Three Recent Monster Movies (Plus One)


Friday, April 11, 2008 -- Where’s Polonius? — And ‘Trixie’

Thursday, April 10, 2008 -- Where’s Polonius? — And Jasper Johns

Wednesday, April 09, 2008 -- Memories As Sacred As Stained Glass

Tuesday, April 08, 2008 -- Beard Talk

Monday, April 07, 2008 -- Where’s Polonius — And The Real Emma Peel


Friday, April 04, 2008 -- Rocks And Mirrors: Scenes That Never Return

Thursday, April 03, 2008 -- Looking Back At Butterflies From Atlantis

Wednesday, April 02, 2008 -- Politics, Philosophy And Hillary Duff

Tuesday, April 01, 2008 -- 2008 1st Quarter Index


March Archive


Monday, March 31, 2008 -- My Alyson Michalka / Giant Clown Hammer Fantasy


Friday, March 28, 2008 -- Expeditions (500th post!)

Thursday, March 27, 2008 -- Today, Tomorrow And Yesterday

Wednesday, March 26, 2008 -- Jeffery Camp On Gwen John

Tuesday, March 25, 2008 -- My Two Favorite Monster Snake Movies

Monday, March 24, 2008 -- Me As A Supervillain Without A Supervillain Fortune


Friday, March 21, 2008 -- The Abandonment Of Meaning

Thursday, March 20, 2008 -- Fine Art, Pop Art And Andy Warhol

Wednesday, March 19, 2008 -- Big Reductions At The MCA’s Karen Kilimnik Exhibit

Tuesday, March 18, 2008 -- Closed Until Further Notice

Monday, March 17, 2008 -- Thoughtful, Troubled, Terrified Of Myself


Friday, March 14, 2008 -- Diane And The Can Of Squid (5 of 5)

Thursday, March 13, 2008 -- Diane And The Can Of Squid (4 of 5)

Wednesday, March 12, 2008 -- Diane And The Can Of Squid (3 of 5)

Tuesday, March 11, 2008 -- Diane And The Can Of Squid (2 of 5)

Monday, March 10, 2008 -- Diane And The Can Of Squid (1 of 5)


Friday, March 07, 2008 -- Water Soluble Oils On Plain Unprimed Paper

Thursday, March 06, 2008 -- “Lizard Man” Returns?

Wednesday, March 05, 2008 -- A Typical Day On The Road To Utopia

Tuesday, March 04, 2008 -- I The Titanic Strike A Neon Iceberg

Monday, March 03, 2008 -- How To Tally A Sorted List


February Archive


Friday, February 29, 2008 -- I’m Looking At A Photo On A Page

Thursday, February 28, 2008 -- If I Could

Wednesday, February 27, 2008 -- Confused And Weary

Tuesday, February 26, 2008 -- Rose Serf

Monday, February 25, 2008 -- The Difference Between Flowers And People


Friday, February 22, 2008 -- Three Oldies But Goodies (Annotated)

Thursday, February 21, 2008 -- Marisa Pretended She Didn’t Notice The Cartoonist

Wednesday, February 20, 2008 -- A Woman Always Knows

Tuesday, February 19, 2008 -- Stacy Wanted To Cry

Monday, February 18, 2008 -- Keira Knightley Is Hiring


Friday, February 15, 2008 -- A Paddy Chayefsky Valentine (Part 3 of 3)

Thursday, February 14, 2008 -- A Paddy Chayefsky Valentine (Part 2 of 3)

Wednesday, February 13, 2008 -- A Paddy Chayefsky Valentine (Part 1 of 3)

Tuesday, February 12, 2008 -- Goblin Universe Love (2 of 2): Christians

Monday, February 11, 2008 -- Goblin Universe Love (1 of 2): Clouds


Friday, February 08, 2008 -- The Muse Ship

Thursday, February 07, 2008 -- There’s Nothing Beethoven Could Do To Help

Wednesday, February 06, 2008 -- Ellison’s “Shattered Like A Glass Goblin”

Tuesday, February 05, 2008 -- Polaris In The News And Out

Monday, February 04, 2008 -- Susan Always Tries (Pencil Cartoon & Bonus Cartoon!)


Friday, February 01, 2008 -- Snow Day!


January Archive


Thursday, January 31, 2008 -- Pluto And Beyond #3: The Golden Age of Outer Solar System Studies

Wednesday, January 30, 2008 -- Pluto And Beyond #2: The Ecliptic

Tuesday, January 29, 2008 -- Pluto And Beyond #1: Clyde Tombaugh

Monday, January 28, 2008 -- Lost Pieces


Friday, January 25, 2008 -- The Landscapes With Figures Of Berthe Morisot #5

Thursday, January 24, 2008 -- The Landscapes With Figures Of Berthe Morisot #4

Wednesday, January 23, 2008 -- The Landscapes With Figures Of Berthe Morisot #3

Tuesday, January 22, 2008 -- The Landscapes With Figures Of Berthe Morisot #2

Monday, January 21, 2008 -- The Landscapes With Figures Of Berthe Morisot #1


Friday, January 18, 2008 -- “Liefde Baart Kunst”

Thursday, January 17, 2008 -- The Curse Of Loch Ness #2 — Heidi

Wednesday, January 16, 2008 -- The Curse Of Loch Ness #1 — Tess

Tuesday, January 15, 2008 -- My Five Celebrity Pencil Cartoons (Annotated)

Monday, January 14, 2008 -- Women And Captions


Friday, January 11, 2008 -- Why I’d Make A Terrible Rock Star

Thursday, January 10, 2008 -- Eagle Inn: Top Ten Nonsense Anagrams

Wednesday, January 09, 2008 -- Chiaroscuro Poses

Tuesday, January 08, 2008 -- Something Magic, Unknown, Daring Me To Know

Monday, January 07, 2008 -- Faux Mischa Dreams


Friday, January 04, 2008 -- He Drew Her, Then . . .

Thursday, January 03, 2008 -- Noli Me Tangere

Wednesday, January 02, 2008 -- 2007 Complete Index

Night Songs And Whispers #2: Whispers

At midnight I played
“Auld Lang Syne” and sang along
as I played guitar.

The New Year listened
while I sang, studied my face.
When I was finished

the New Year whispered
something to me, then vanished.
Night. Songs and whispers.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


I’m not going to discuss here
exactly what the New Year
whispered to me but
it will almost certainly appear
someday in a future post
because it was good
Impossible Kisses stuff