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My attempt at poetry.

She asked him how that made him feel.
The women who tore his heart from him.
You will never get that from me again my love.
Silently walking away from her.

I have information that may lead to the actual capture of a troll.
Are there rewards offered, substantial enough to keep me in fine standing in a fairy tail kingdom such as this. If you want the info You can find me at the local Inn sitting at the darkest corner grabbing comely barmaids and slapping Wenches

I so adore this!

(Written by an Irish Monk in the 9th Century)

I and Pangur Ban my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at:
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.

Better far than praise of men
'Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill-will,
He too plies his simple skill.

'Tis a merry task to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.

Oftentimes a mouse will stray
In the hero Pangur's way;
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.

'Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.

When a mouse darts from its den,
O how glad is Pangur then!
O what gladness do I prove
When I solve the doubts I love!

So in peace our task we ply,
Pangur Ban, my cat, and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.

Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade;
I get wisdom day and night
Turning darkness into light.

Yes it is...I don't know how and what for Jesus suffered...I really don't know.
Osho, a real suffering of Jesus, in modern times, I don't know why he suffered.
But now I know the truth and I know why they suffered...

What a character! Bold, unambiguous pursuit for pleasure, vivid imagination and lot more. Everytime I watched this movie, it appeared as though something left behind unexplored.


The famous or infamous scene (interrogation@pubic hair), I am reproducing here, is ranked 3rd. in my view, far behind the other two.

"Abstraction" opens up the prospect of an art that, following in the footsteps of pure philosophical inquiry, perhaps symphonic music, and certain expressions of spirituality, finds in geometry not only the new vernacular of the era of industry but also the secret language of the psyche or of our world, or rather, the psyche as the world; an art that is "abstract" inasmuch as it has withdrawn from the realm of appearances stands in the pursuit of something anticipating the noumenal.
At an exhibition of Russian art was Kasimir Malevich's unmistakable, iconic 'Black Square", that perfect and immutable monolith, that palate-cleansing cipher which admits nothing but its own abstract purity. But as one comes closer, one discovers actual variation. This is not the mathematical gesture of flawlessness that is expected that most people assume. This is messy, blotchy, rather painterly with rough-hewn edges yet remains black and just as bleak as anything without an unfolding future. It is death on display.
What is abstraction? A utopian realm of pure form; a universality of expression, of emotion, of thought; the hue of an infinity; a glimpse into the spiritual structure of nature itself; the culmination of thousands of years of human aesthetics...
A fear of life; of death; the loss of empathy...an escape from nature, a form of ecocide through willful ignorance; the incestuous victory of the single-minded logic freak...the fatal flaw of Western civilization.
The evolution of western aesthetics is one of a creeping abstraction; a turning away from the natural world.
Modernism gave birth to abstraction in a fit of dread, a paroxysm of fear born in the unpredictable dead of night, in the threatening wilderness, in the aftershock of a world war. The Futurists, the Constructivists, the Bauhaus, all of them were ruled by the tantalizing image of standing victorious over the corpses of trees, the sterile mountains, and a sun becoming dimmer, To tame an insane and corrupt world, they had to perfect it with logic. To tame art, they made stringent rules to follow.
This mind-set still rules over us. It doesn't need to be . Design doesn't need to be terrified, precious, idealized or sanitized. It can be visceral, messy, chaotic, anarchic...We can move on from the modernist impulses to always conform.Conformity is anti-human at its core....

I like water paintings :) they are beautiful

The title is a musical phrase my nephew uses when he jams with all his childhood buddies. He's lived in Pasadena, CA all his life (50+ years) in the Black neighborhood. The majority of his friends are Black and if you think you will never meet anyone famous your mistaken. His "playground" is full of musicians that boggles your mind!

All this conversation with my nephew came about when I told him that I had run into my old pal, Broken Fingers Malone" here in Bullhead City just recently. Broken Fingers and I jammed some 40 years ago in the La Puente/Pomona area of L. A. County. And I recounted this in an earlier blog titled "The Second Coming of Broken Fingers Malone".

Our memories go way back to a time when R&B and Soul was the music. I'm talking Otis Redding, James Brown and the likes of Carlos Santana. These were the tunes and bands of choice to play in clubs. We had a great band and we were once scouted by an agent that walked into this club we were playing and wanted to sign us to a contract to play in Las Vegas in the casino lounges. It was never to be.

My conversation with Broken Fingers was a kinda loose plan to "get together"!! Two days later I got a call from my pal and we jammed together that Saturday night. His talent centered around a Gibson electric acoustic guitar. When I arrived at his "pad" I walk into his studio and there was the old guitar of long ago. I looked at it and remembered. They were the thoughts of an old man playing music in the past and encountering the musical instrument that spawned those great memories.

Broken Fingers new talent was now his keyboard. He sat down and started doing some original compositions. They were what I always loved. Latin Jazz fusion. It was like meeting an old date. An old love, as it were. Broken Fingers talents have always amazed me. We cruised into a soiree just like old times. I swear it seemed like 1966 popped into his studio and our brains and bodies shifted to 25 y. o. once again. It was worthy of a Ray Bradbury short story where that stuff happens.

The night was filled with soft boleros that just seemed to make our hands glide on the piano keys and the congas. The congas I used that night were Jazz LP congas. The kind Louis Conte uses. Hey, I thought I sounded like Louis Conte. And it was like the 40 years that escaped from our music pal life suddenly rushed in. It was like it was never gone.

I mean, what are the chances that your going to run into a friend 40 years later in a remote area of Arizona where the the lizards are kept busy escaping Road Runners and the Colorado River swiftly sails by in a trance like swiftness cool and astoundingly clear.

We will jam again tomorrow night and a report will come forthwith!

At times am really unhappy its seems next to hate for my self, I know that one day God is going to make me shine so bright that its almost blinging to see, i know that things take time and that the Lord is and will always be by my side. Its hard have confidence and am trying my best to keep my head up high i've done things in life that i wish others will never do. My rock my hope my everything my God he has faith in me and me in him.