foc#3

dumb:  I was looking in the papers today, there's a battle of the bands..I think you two should sign up
tweet:  for what?
dumb:  why to be in the battle of course, you can do it, you're tops
fred:  we'd need amps for people to hear us
dumb:  use the guys you go on after, just leave 'em up
tweet:  they don't do it that way
fred:  besides, there's some kinda entry free, yes?
dumb:  taken care of, they want ya and the band you follow is Ash Corps
tweet:  really, Ash Corps?
dumb: signed and sealed, all you have to do is deliver
fred looks at tweet..
Fred:  'what's the catch??
tweet:  there's a catch I know there is
dumb:  no catch, you only have to be there to follow in after ash corps, you can use their amps just plug your stuff in and sing, any ideas on that one
fred:  a fine little ditty come to mind
tweet:  which is?
fred:  remember last summer when we were at the beach and this girl walks by us wearing that ruffly red bikini top with the green bottom and you said she looked like a christmas present
tweet:  yeah and you said for who?
fred:  and we mde up this song about her walkin' by us

and I wish I was with Santa's girl
watching her fill stockings with the kind of presents we all wanna have
loading them up with the dearest of thoughts and the tenderest of words
and the sweetest of kisses and so on and so frth until I explode
watching her walk by
just
watching her walk by

she's a dear little thing
as sweet as them come
in her santa suit she's soooo cute
just walkiong on by me
she's a dear little thing

tweet:  that was a fun one
fred:  we could do it
tweet:  let's practice..now when is this thing?
dumb:  oh, in about an hour
fred:  are you serious?
dumb:  that I am..sandwich??

ethics on the fourth of november

it's 7:31 am and there has been a storm here in Phoenix where I am visiting my daughter's family and hopefully getting to see my oldest son at some point...well, I guess I did see him for a moment when he picked me up at the airport.  He dropped me off here on
Concho Circle and drove off again.  Said he had to get to work at the Hyatt...
T here is an election going on momentarily.  In Phoenix it is the proposition that marijuana be legalized for recreational purpose.  Last night Grandpa Phil was supposed to give me a toke off his vape wherein he has medicinally prescribed marijuana.  I have used it for years but never have been legally prescribed it because ...well, because...
There really isn't a dark underbelly with marijuana like there is heroin and cocaine.  Right now that's apparently the missing sequence with my older son, that he's out there with his light sword chopping up the known universe of unfriendly trade worlds (read Ashton Kutcher Gwyneth Paltrow for emphasis) and has created an existence for himself outside the rest of us with his own ethic of November 4, which was my mother's birthday always.  It still is because she still lives though not in any kind of quality of life because in 2006 my dad died and she would gladly have gone along with him only she gave him his last breath, from whence he was unable to rally.  He died in her arms.
So with my daughter and her family there is this great aggregate of goodness and light, we're all in it and it persists with healthy little grandkids and a durable husband figure that takes care of wobbly doorknobs and occasionally scratches his balls in public so we can all see.  It's healthy and glowing and successful and comfortable and even their dogs can grow old in peace and quiet, even if they're confined to the backyard most of the time.
I take them for walks when I'm here because I grow fat on the good food and induced idleness from which I find it difficult to escape.  Last night I got a new supply of novels for the last days here and for the plane ride back to my sodden existence on the Olympic Peninsula where it has rained for over a month straight.
Yes, I am straight and marijuana has made me so.  The experience of a marijuana high, albeit not a great word 'high' it does give one the clarification of the world in which he lives.  I say clarification because of where I live, what I see there, and what I see here in the great metropolis of Phoenix/Mesa...the cement city in the desert where last time I visited I was thrilled to find a catfish population in the storm drains...signs of life I took that to be.  At home at OP I see flocks of seagulls, eagles cawing in the trees, chirping, chattering, deer in the forest, coyotes, your occasional random black bear...and of course, the neighbors.  Plenty folk can't deal with incessant rain.  Myself I take it as a time to worry about  how MUCH it's raining and will the house withstand this new onslaught.  I am on the 'puter, like now...I paint, I read good novels and watch good film...still working on The Seventh Seal which I didn't know was the allegory of the Swedish knight crusader coming home to the Black Plague..oh yeah, I could go off on this tangent and compare the black plague to the effect of marijuana culpability, but the truth is if one's spirit is allowed to enhance itself legally when all this time it has been corraled behind the knowledge that one shouldn't do this because it is illegal to do so and its source and product is gotten to one by devious and no doubt corrupt means..well, the use of it prescribes that one engender that part of it as well, until wherever one goes, one is allowed to be marginal without faith in a hereafter that jail is not so bad a place if one has gotten too much of a whiff of the corrupt aspect...
I had always thought marijuana was illegal because it was just that: an eye opener.  One could look at one's surroundings and see for oneself wherein the corruption lay...that there was the secret butt society at work, people who were actuall dogs sniffing one another's asses for the latest scoop on society...we're seeing that in spades in this presidential election: we'll be delivered up the giant sludge of poop on election day and we'll have to sort through that for four years...I won't even say I have a HIllary sign in my window.  According to the grand margin, HIllary should be in prison.  It's the Trail of Tears to me, Clinton's home state and the ethic of what it means to be Cherokee.  Does he even acknowledge his heritage?  Do I?  I want to...but my forebears are busy buying time for the corrupt master race shouting out for the other guy: the businessman...
Meanwhile, I got on here this am to talk about the reason marijuana should be legalized in America and that is because we need this collective consciousness as a people to make the quantum leap into our future.  We are bound to discover new worlds to enhance our genesis with a rainbow collective that finds new worlds, with the First Peoples being the first to arrive there..we need this because of India and Southeast Asia, the dictatorships that ruled till now in the Siberias where I think only animals should exist...where Korea and Viet Nam will call the shots and decide who goes there and they shall only be beast when they do...it's the only way...it's what I think God wanted for us when he died on the cross (JeSUS that is..) there's a little religious spice for you, you have to have your own faith like I have mine, a true ache in my heart to be with my family and miss my son as well...and my spouse wheverhemaybe whomever he shall be whatever may come in this day...understand that a heightened consciousness does mean anything but the awareness that we live in a free society ...weall have to do our part...ask Dana/k

here with go with November 2nd

I liked that phrase from the other blog 'sexist fraud of a man'..what a good description of Dt...AS in alcoholic tremor 'dt'...representative influence thereof..the same...and yet this 'chip' guy from 'fixerupper' shows HDTV...exactly how to promote the real guy...someone you could love and marry...someone who is 'the man'...he's the definitive persona of the masculine integer and to capitalize on that in a political arena is to directly assimilate the Grover Cleveland ethic of making America 'great' again...while in that time the landmass belonging to the native american population went under the knife one thinks in this time it might be what we don't even consciously have yet 'the worlds beyond this one' like the moon for starters he's going to purloin it all off in the interest of capitalism???is he?  is that not the gadfly HIllary telling him to acknowledge there are women as capable without testicles to corral the american society?  he's not liking it for sure but to attack at the kneecaps and put out posters 'hillary for prison'...perhaps the lot of us with signs in our windows urging one vote for her 'HILLARY'...we should probably wear stripes from now until election day reflecting the casualty of that ethic...j.ail/JZ...hmmm that was one of the characters in Blue Bistro the married man, like DP is baby daddy and baby momma has his stones in her pocketbook...
something like that have to reference my sementec logic portal to get a biscuit on it..hmmm
I think that's it though..the big challenge my ovaries can defeat your already deflated nards...I like the british term bullocks..and so 'bull' it is, as Grover would say..
good character from Sesame Street 'grover'..lives in a garbage can..
grow 'ver'....hard to understand underlying ethic of today's political stats...was easier when Glover was fielding the composite, this time we've got the fallout from the UN exposure lending credence to a bankrupt socidety represented by a comb over/k...can't find mine...what I got's so thin...yes, he has a certain sexualness gthat's so creepy in representative form (republican) but chip and fixerupper is the cool guy he really could be...get 'er done man because you ARE the man...kinda what we need while HIllary would be a demographic statistician to eliminate the last crumbs of a bloc that never sholda been and thank god Bowie came home...we'll see how that goes, antagonism isn't going to cut it..twank the arensals for history..wear a feather for Jesus and the new way...believe in yourself and then go out and vote for whomever...remember men ARE sexy just as they are...seekthat and you shall find the answer...one curly chest hair away from being relevant as a woman...that's the missing link..the synapse of an orgasm..male or female/k

birding

ann marie came in highly tranquilized, she does this..and told me that she's got an in with the birders' that there'll be a twenty for costs if I sign up to 'watch' birds once a month...well haven't I been doing this? think so...meanwhile, belly is really in the way and I thought tim was coming over

what goes with tortilla soup??

feeling kind of like a little snack, could do some cherry pie but not sure about that as well..nothing in the freezer to thaw, decisions decisions, wonderful few days with the actor group substituting for real family and car troubles going and coming though woke up this am 4 15 and just had a make up nap for that it's all good, driving to the hinderlands i wonder will I ever get it right I suppose I will, things dusty and unattended ecause I've been elsewhere and the marketing for tortilla man is as good or better than I would expect, so I gues it's back to the drawing board to see what's what and as far as introversion well, that's the name of the computer age, we're all on our own pc/cell phone tower, whatever..aren't wee??

goin' fishin...

we used to tell a dumb joke about two deaf fishermen walking up opposing sides of the street...both the men carried fishing poles slung over their shoulder, caps with fishing hooks, a lunch, etc.  as they slogged along they called out to one another: "Hey, you goin' fishin???"
we'd always say 'get it?' and of course we did because being that both men were deaf, they'd be saying that all the way to the fishing hole 'hey, you goin' fishin?'...well..I didn't ever see the pointlessness of this joke until my freshman year of college.  We studied Camus...who wrote about the optimization of lassitude, something I wasn't up on as an eighteen-year old college student.  There didn't seem to be enough hours in the day.  There still doesn't.  While Camus reflected on the beinglessness of being, I was thinking about how to make it through the first semester of college.  I had a work-study position with the head of the civil engineering department.  The money went directly into my tuition account, meaning that the college had let me into their school and they were going to expect me to work to pay for my studies there.
After being with the civil engineering department for a while, I figured I should have gotten a job in the cafeteria, where I  could eat to  my heart's content and be full for a change.  I never did that.
One day around Christmas Break, when we were full of the notion that we were going to go  home for the holidays and receive major presents, it began to snow.   It snowed for a night and t hen it snowed the next day.  It snowed and it snowed.  It began to look as though we might not be going home for the holidays after all.  During this time, my comrad Hummel left me his car key and flew off to the East Coast to spend the  holidays with his father, Col Hummel.  He entr usted me with the safety of his 1962 Impala, a white beast of dubious tires and starter, conditioned for the road with over three hundred thousand milles on 'er, purchased in installements for three hundred dollars American, only missing the chenielle bobbles that then went with every decent Hispanic mobile that could crank itself up and down (yes, they were doing that back then too)...The Impala's keys were lost on a Sega tray at suppertime the day before we were due to pull out of t he campus and head  home.  There were four of us going.  Two were being dropped in Aberdeen, one in Forks and one a little closer to Clallam Bay.  My father was picking us up in Forks and driving us to our house as I did not yet get my drivers' l icense and did not get it  until I was nine months pregnant with my first child, Hummel Jr. (the third...)  That was a little later one.  On this adventure the tire on the Impala went flat upon arrival at my parents' home and stayed that way until Hummel Jr came to collect me just after the new year1969.  The snow had somewhat abated by then, I'd had my tonsils out over the holiday and so was unable to join my four brothers sliding down the hill by the house, succeeding in getting popcorn kernels stuck in the stitches in my throat, I gloomily watched the boys flying down the hillside.  In hospital overnight for t he procedure, I'd woken up with a frantic four-year old boy who was my roommate for the night, finding myself unable to locate the bedside response button I walked the little boy into the darkenend hallway in the hospital ward, croaking for a  nurse.
Hummel came to collect me, we got the Impala running again, complete with better tire and off to school we went.  Th at summer I visited  him in the balmy weather of the East Coast stepping off the plane in wool knee socks and quilted jumper, I soon learned what halters and cutoffs were for and stuck with them for the rest of the summer.  Once off the plane, Hummel took me too  his old neighborhood where all the kids were wearing ties and getting into their parents liquor supply.  "You only have to be 18, we're all seniors, we're just about there, it's ok," was their litany.  I was 18 so I had a beer.  It wasn't that great, kind of bubbly and sour, I wasn't impressed.  Boone's farms was better I thought, more like Koolaid than that other stuff.  The kids were all wearing ties, playing poker and all of them had parents working for the CIA.  At the time, I didn't think much of that information, my dad was still working on his civil engineering license, I worked with a guy he absolutely loathed.  I found out later the man had been a prisoner of war during WWII with the Japanese at Bataan.  So much for pleasant personalities.
These CIA kids were something else.  Not only were they anticipating being 18, they had a brother who was 19 and he provided the wheels, the beer and the drives into the big city for pub crawling.  It was a fun summer of late night adventures in the steamy jungles of the metropolitan area, coupled by day with door to door encyclopedia sales and dry goods vending where I found out how AfroAmerican people lived in houses that were one room with outdoor toilet and electricity but no fans.  There were lots of flies in those places.  The encyclopedia people looked like a lot of Arabs, as we called them, carpet sellers my mother said, civil engineering students my  university enrolled (those there were) and I didn't no beans about the mideast so I was unaware of what ramifications the door to door sales of some kind of encyclopedia termed 'reference programming' was going to make impact wise and how I could earn a living doing so (I didn't, I quit when I was told by one customer that I was doing the 'work of the devil').  I came home quite penniless from my summer in the East, it's kind of been a theme of mine ever since.  I went back to college that fall with fifty cents and then about twenty five years later there was a band by that name...
My mother didn't want to let go of any of the family funds for my college expenses like deodorant, shampoo, socks, underwear, what have you.  Instead, she said I'd just have to get a job.  "I have a job," I said.  I work for the head of the Civil Engineering Department.  "All my money goes to my tuitiion!"  They didn't give me any of it for things like Tampax.  I couldn't get a job off campus because I didn't have a bike or a car and the nearest places to find work were just that far away.  It caused me the sort of stress that I still feel today...where to scrape up the next dime to have enough to get a donut...
    

have to run out the door

find the writing, got to the birthday for Barbara...