At some point down the street there lived a threesome of grown bros that were Civil War reenactment enthusiasts. As though it wasn’t good enough the first time around. They were the classic, happy, Santa/biker ZZ type, w/ a home full of dusty American antiques + a ready musket leaned near every window. no kidding. The booby trapped barb wired back acre was decorated w/ litter + half organized w/ destitute VW parts, (we where expecting?) W/in that motley pile + wonder weeds, there stood a heavy black cannon they fired off every Fourth of July.

i imagine other neighbors knew the date + time + moment of the annual explosion. On the expectation of it hurrying willy-nilly to hold down the urns + nic-nacs, keeping the piano in place as in the scene from Mary Poppins when Admiral Boom blasts the canon on-the-dot.

There were gun shots shuttering over Oakland that would ring every New Year. As though everyone let loose w/ a hidden weapon + then, once over + concealed again, eyed each other suspiciously from then on. Starting one minute till w/ the final sound-off at five minutes after midnight. i’m sure, since then, the Vulcan motley units have become rather gentrified to a degree. When we lived there the inhabitants were working artists + artistic spirit types converting it into the groovy space we are allegedly known to occupy. Yet, as time passed it was inevitably commandeered by the popular yuppies w/ bigger bank rolls + small children. We looked on their actions as the courtesy of patrons instead of a hostel takeover. Whoa, where have i gone...

Anyway, yes, New Years Eve at the Vulcan ... of course most of this was during my white-out phase so i could be way off in recall. Also what goes around, again, so it could be totally trashed + on it's way back up in repeat by now....hey, Mark you think your murals still grace the Vulcan Thai Café?

 Words are indeed my second language, but, becoming an ever more closer second. i do believe it is easier to misinterpret written word far more than spoken, since the tone is left up to the reader. This makes for some lively, + sometimes misdirected comments. One thing is certain, though, everyone gets their say so on paper, or in this case, on the unlined screen. Even if it ends up being an unread paragraph for a nonexistent audience. 

There's a touch of the zen in writing. 

There is an artisté whose art took the physical form of post card invitations to art opening extravaganzas around the world. Each of these A6 pieces of chrome coat had the back story of a months + hours of processed art + the promise to inspire even the hardest of aesthetics. 

+, of course, there weren't any shows to open. 

i am hard to impress. Easily charmed, though.

Funky: The quality given to a person, place or thing having the ability to be unusually interesting unexplainably pleasing + entirely unique all at the same time.

Also: A groaty smell.

Oh yea, + that restless place between being blue + over-it.

You can’t make time, but you can create more space.

i’ve never been fond of costuming ripped tee-shirt play.

Though i do like those 100 seat houses + the idea of not being that far from outside.

Lucky for me, i never wanted to be a stage actor. i am afraid of the dark + old never have the knack of walking off in blackout between scenes.

...His theater experience was noteworthy in that he tried to forget it. He hadn’t had a clue he couldn’t walk offstage in blackout between scenes. The glow tape on the back sides of the larger prop furniture did not inform him enough to exit gracefully. Footlights came back on (too soon) and the audience noticed him squinting, looking horrified and trapped against the back wall, up stage, edging himself along toward the wing. That evening had been opening night, and the people didn’t know the play would develop into a tragedy. They laughed nervously as the wall crawler faltered out of the set.
Haunted by this memory...

An actor turning around between speeches is the same as three dots, an ellipses in the air.

Church is much like theater. For those of you feel differently, let me remind you of the facts. Going in the front door you are greeted, + become aware of the see + be seen aspect of the place you are in. The collection of money is taken sooner (or later) + you are handed a program + maybe a candle to light. Someone is there to help w/ finding a seat in the house. As the lights adjust, you are asked to be attentive toward the stage or soap box where you my or may not be asked into audience participation. Glance at the  your handbill to confirm.

One usually exits w/ an enlightened feeling. Granted it may be spiked w/ cathartic or pathos taint but it will be an uplifting elixir of life-changing life-lasting ability, or disappear after an afternoon visit. Or, maybe not. 

Finally, you would never shorten the name of a holy person, just as you would never nickname an opera principal. You just don’t call Sparafucile, Sparky.

You see someone on the street, and essentially what you notice about them is the flaw.  -Diane Arbus

The surface read is sometimes not the most interesting. Often it is our own subtext that is the best part of a story. But we need to be catapulted toward those inner comments.

You may have heard warnings a million times, you may have imagined danger in a thousand details, but just try to recall a saying someone asked you to remember in the face of instant danger, just before getting struck by lightening or bit by a snake...

Squat and go up on Your Toes!

Red on Black Okay Jack, Red on Yellow Kills a Fellow!

+ i know, it will take a few moments to pull up the mental index card of the crash position, when i'll only have a jiffy to assume the posture.

It is forbidden to enter the public garden carrying flowers.  - Jean Paulhan Les Fleurs de Taebes

Often, the less there is to justify a traditional custom, the harder it is to get rid of.  -Mark Twain

Carving is easy, you just go down to the skin and stop.  -Mickey di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

... + then try to work through remembering the Court Jester mnemonic rhyme to which chalice holds the brew that is true.

Even with only two, i can occasionally feel like mother Hubbard + not know what to do. Having one of each means sooner or later i’ll come up against every combination of gender joy, toil + trouble. i’m broiled into thinking of how to get ‘Drew excused from the draft, even though it's ten years and a WW away. i’m hoping that the refusal to spar in Karate class + walking out on two (so far) violent adventure flicks will count toward a C.O. status when the time comes. 

Drew + i where talking about following rules:

-If you look suspicious try not to say bomb at the airport. 

-If your going to speed while driving try to have your paperwork up to date. 

-If you are going to harass someone in another country try to know how to apologize in the native tongue.

The subject turned to temperaments of young friends. It is easier for ‘Drew to understand black + white filling in the mid-tones as they come up. If someone is not civil even after you try the mirror method, think again. You can make as many excuses as there are people. Bad day, up on the wrong, toothache. Remember the fact you already know, sometimes folks aren't in a phase, they are just that. A person you can’t take probably doesn't want to be taken.

i bet you also have those ideas, that you just can't not do.

 

 

You can't say that civilization don't advance, however, for in every war they kill you in a new way.  -Will Rogers 

The art of war is simple enough. Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike him as hard as you can, and keep moving on.  -Ulysses S. Grant 

War is a cowardly escape from the problems of peace.  -Thomas Mann 

It is well that war is so terrible - otherwise we would grow too fond of it. -Robert

E. Lee 

War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children.  -Jimmy Carter 

 The quickest way of ending a war is to lose it.  -George Orwell 

Sometime they'll give a war and nobody will come.  -Carl Sandburg 

I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.  -Albert Einstein 

A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five.  -Groucho Marx 

-unfinished works from -Chance Neglected

Life is pretty simple: You do some stuff. Most fails. Some works. You do more of what works. If it works big, others quickly copy it. Then you do something else. The trick is the doing something else.  -Lenny da Vinci

Drew + Chloe have a go at the Vitruvious Man.

First names i'm fairly good at knowing. Last names need to be indisputably visual. i have made it my business, throughout life, not to know anyone. i'm not attesting to anti-socialism, but to my non-socialization. i don’t consider myself naive, as i am probably in the second half of my life. But it has only been recently realized one could talk to strangers + they would decently talk back. i had seen this done, my mother being a champ. She would get off the phone after 20 minutes of conversation just to say it was the wrong number. But i had always imagined if i talked to an unknown someone they'd get a far off look in their eyes as though they were in State Fair,  start singing, turn + walk away. The rules change the reaches, as Le Guin says.

It is good to remember ... all is fleeting.

87 

The apartment's kitchen was situated inside what used to be a walk-in closet. The Fridge door opened only half way, as it was wedged in + the stove edged out of the door frame. If there had not been a barred window, making it seem expansive as you looked out over the gray rooftops, it would have seemed you were cooking in a closet. We worked okay, side by side Kyle + i. Since he was so much taller than me we used different elbow space.

He had to have that credenza. That damn piece of furniture. We hauled it 16 blocks uptown from the salvation army. This huge buffet counter thingy, resembling a moose — as long as a coffin, heavy + on high spindly legs. you know, that thing from th e'50s that store china + linen for fine dining. We trudged it, stumbling, having to stop every 20 feet or so. i remember someone passing with the quip, Why don’t you put a handle on the top to carry it? To the cop we pretend it wasn't ours. (What credenza?) When it got so late we discussed using it for an overnight bunk bed on the street. We fibbed to the door-man by saying a friend had won it. Up the freight elevator ... i'm reckoning it’s in that apartment on 208 W 23rd street today still. It would be fun to know. i carved a note on the outside back of the drawer for posterity.