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Which Way?.

Tongue touched by the biting wind Caressed by flippant leaves

Visitation

Such was the fierce and troubled wind It blew the spirits of my friends Across my mind

The Lily and The Mirror

On the bleached pine table A cold faced mirror stood An icy smooth speculum Framed in a foreign wood.

Hope

In the busy whisper of morning

Set Up

THOSE HURT IN LONDON 07/07/05

When that awful silence falls The guilty shamed The innocent appalled

A Day at the Hospital

All ready feeling guiltily as hell, I thought, thank God here is another person I can talk too.

Who Speaks for the Albatross?

The weather matches the location and my mood.
Cherry

Who am I?

Who am I? I picked lowslop because I'm tired (low) and because I just finished the dishes after having my mother over (slop). It wasn't always this way. I'm 52 so "always" is starting to mean something.

Places Alone

When was the last time my bare shoulders inticed someone into wanting?

Autumn Song

Ah, those emerald ephemeral days, they pass with seasons! The early autumn months where greens have reason to convert to gold. A trace of blood imbues the speckled scene with thought like dabbled shades of sadness,

Crash and burn

As you look closer you realise that there is not one pattern, but patterns within patterns, and twists and turns like infinity sweeping back across the sections, making new connections across old markings. Sometimes treading the same path time and time again, and sometimes adding new colours, new twists, new directions. It is beautiful, exquisite. It is orchestrated by a hand and a mine far greater than yours, and it is indeed your life.

Long Goodbye to Stephen Chambers

Warm beer, rosary beads, clutched for nothing but comfort. This knotted man is undone. Nightly. He two steps the boardwalk, as if dancing to Basie. Memories thrumming his head, a persistant moth.

Chances

Tiny lifeforms Alien planet

Larry and Mick Buy Too Many Onions

'How many onions?' said Larry.

Larry and Mick Enter a Elastic Band Flicking Competition

The tension was palpable. The contestants stood waiting in line to be called up to the rostrum. Elastic bands were stretched. Prayers were whispered. Dedications to Pagan deities were recited. 'Fancy a yoghurt-coated raisin?' said Larry. 'Don't mind if I do,' said Mick. Larry and Mick munched on yoghurt-coated raisins. 'What is this place we've entered?' said Larry. 'Let me just get the flyer,' said Mick. Larry had another yoghurt-coated raisin. 'Don't eat all those yoghurt-coated raisins,' said Mick. 'Sorry,' said Larry, as he offered Mick another.
Cherry

Larry and Mick Enter a Jumping Competition

'What are you doing?' said Larry. 'Practising for the Jumping Competition,' said Mick. 'By raising and lowering your eyebrows?' 'You can't run before you can walk.' 'Fair enough.'

Collusion

Donear Museum has a lot of paintings of the old masters. Sometimes a painting is put up for sale. When this happens there is a great rush to buy it. Very recently a work of the nineteenth century artist Tagore has been put on sale. A lot of people have expressed interest. Applications are being processed. In the meanwhile the procedure involved in the sale has been started. Initially, the painting will be sent to an art valuer. Since the painting is exceedingly valuable a lot of care has to be taken in this matter. The curator of the museum removes the painting from its frame with his own hands. He packs the painting in a special tamper-proof box. He then loads the box into a van. The van is locked by the curator himself. A trusted man drives the van to the valuer's office. He, however, has no access to what is contained in the van. At the valuer's office, the valuer himself unlocks the van with his key. He removes the box containing the painting on his own. The painting is returned in the same way after its price has been determined by the valuer. Thereafter the price is communicated to the chosen customer. Negotiations commence thereafter and with time the deal is closed.

"the sun, now her crown"

ornamental jewelry, he loans nightly, twinkles against the ebony backdrop of his symphony, she arches like the crescent moon...

mid August 05

This is my first journal entry in quite some time. I accepted a job writing real estate ads for TV. I trained for two weeks in my hometown of Klamath Falls. Then I moved to Portland, a much larger city in our state. I arranged to stay for nearly free at the home of my dad's best college friend, Rich. I would get up early in the morning and walk about 1 1/2 miles. Then I would take a long bus ride downtown. At the job, I would write these narrow-minded real estate ads. Now and again, there was an opportunity for creativity, sometimes cynical but sometimes genuine. There were some factors that displeased me about the job; they often expected me to work over 8 hours a day. Perhaps worst of all, they had me voicing half of my own scripts. Admittedly, I originally volunteered to do this out of vanity. But the way I speak is far from enunciated and it soon became an unwanted responsibility, one which I couldn't withdraw from. So I quit the job; I simply walked out at my lunch hour. Some of the people at the job were decent people and this left them in the lurch.

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