That and messin with Facebook....
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obeedúid~
06/july/09

Michael the Lion had more stains on his clothes than Robert had ever seen. And the more Robert stared, the more some of them began to look like Lion's heads. Michael started to speak again.This pretty much sums up what I have been after these past years. I now know that I am a rich man, with a rich past, but I lost my vocation along the way and I'm not sure which way to go. Kinda counter to what is being said here. Maybe that's why I feel so lost.
"I have serious things to say about people tracing their family. The reason we want to discover our ancestors is a strong thing. 'Tis as strong in certain ways, if you'll forgive me, Father, as prayer. Here's what I'm saying. If I said you're forty years of age, and all you know about yourself is that you were born, say, over the hill there, in some old bit of a house, you've nothing to go on. You've, like, no bank account. I mean, what was there before you, your father and maybe your grandfather? Thats as far as you can go, God help you, for you're a poor man.
He had caught Roberts attention, as much with his passion as with his ideas. Robert leaned forward, trying hard as he had ever done to concentrate and retain.
"A poor man." he repeated.
"Yes, Father, a poor man. A very poor man."
The Lion hit his arm of his chair with a thump- and Robert did not start in fright.
"A very poor man, because supposing you did not know who you were in the long-term backwards- and suppose you knew that in the long-term backwards there was a wonderful sportsman or artist or a woman famous for her piano playing in your family- well, you'd go forward in a different mood, wouldn't you? And you'd want to know, were you any small bit like them, wouldn't you? And if you were- well, wouldn't that lift your spirits? Those are the benefits of the past."
The Lion grabbed his glass and sat forward.
"Father, if we don't come from somebody, we're nobody. If we don't come from somewhere, we come from nowhere. And if we don't know where we came from, how do we know where to go."






Today was abysmal. Nothing worked. I wasted most of the day resurrecting my computer. Silly me, I thought I might like to have a background behind my blog. Little did I know that the free program that said it could do it for me had built-in Keystroke Shadow tracking that I had no control over. When my Virus program quarantined it it also quarantined Microsoft Explorer. Now I don't use Explorer and I never will; but you can't run a Windows computer without Explorer at least running in the background. That's just the way those sneaky bums at Microsoft set things up. Either you do as you are told or your Computer is D.O.A.

I started by attaching the spacer/bumpers by aligning them and stacking the sheets of glass until I had enough surface for the text of the poem. I ended up with 10 layers but I may add a layer on the top or more than likely the bottom for effect.
I'm locked down. The shades are drawn. You may not enter the room while the red light is on.
I'm starting the first Pneumatic Thoughtform Poem stencil today.
I discarded my old Photography Darkroom equipment some time back so I had to make do by purchasing a red party light from the hardware store.
I'm not so sure what the temperature of the room is going to be like tonight, when I reach the point of exposing the transparencies.
The Air conditioning is based in the kitchen and circulated by ceiling fans.
Exposures are being made with the door closed.
Maybe I'll loose some of this love handle I've been cultivating
;)


The events that were soon on top of him:
He somehow finds contentment
among the neo-Lethean foliage
for all his purchased pains
by every woman's temperament
in a cistern of hearts
The chill in his bones
is matched only by the love
handle around his waist
that waited half a century
for his metabolism to slow
If he no longer reaches
the topmost bough
this is yet to show
whether or not he has
thirty years to go
and maxims to meditate
while walking barefoot
through the marble dew
as he will never have enough
of women's love
so must settle
while the body settles
for children's gratitude
a burgeoning belly
and the extravagance of breath.
18/may/09
