The new year is rushing in
Washing away yesterday's madness
Washing away hatred
Washing away bombs
killings and murder
Washing away, pounding into sand
All the the beliefs that
sent one man against another
Washing away anger
anger...so stained with wrong
Washing away those stubborn
hurts that cling like burrs
Washing away the wrongs of yesterday
Lay down sorrow and revenge
and let it go...let it be
Wash it away
Let us try a better way, brother
Lets start clean and new
Let the New Year wash it away
Oh stubborn, stubborn beliefs
Set in stone, that also crumbles away
...Linda King
Monday, December 28, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Ocean Beach at Sloat
The sun is setting over calm water
A dog chases a ball into water pools
Surfers are catching their last ride before dark
Teenagers are frolicing in slow moving waves
The sun is at the horizon
One can looking into it's yellow eye
At this hour and see infinity
With mutted protective rays all around
The sky is a pale orange
I hear the calm humming of the ocean
And breathe in the fresh salt air
Ah, yes, so full my lungs happy with oxygen
The yellow ball sinks to a strip
Tiny clouds sparkle like gems above
A black winged bird crosses through
The ocean now silvery blue/grey hums and hums
Happy dogs sniff by and are released to run
They weave down the rocks and frolic wildly on the sand
They chase a third dog barking happily
Lovers kiss at the point of the hill
A muscluar surfer removes his wetsuit
A mother strolls by with her baby
Wet children are wrapped in towels
One lonely surfer meditates on his board far out
Three brave swimmer splash each other
Pink bottomed clouds appears
They look like a blue-eyed dolphin with wings
I must do my stretches and omms
...Linda King -ll/2/09
A dog chases a ball into water pools
Surfers are catching their last ride before dark
Teenagers are frolicing in slow moving waves
The sun is at the horizon
One can looking into it's yellow eye
At this hour and see infinity
With mutted protective rays all around
The sky is a pale orange
I hear the calm humming of the ocean
And breathe in the fresh salt air
Ah, yes, so full my lungs happy with oxygen
The yellow ball sinks to a strip
Tiny clouds sparkle like gems above
A black winged bird crosses through
The ocean now silvery blue/grey hums and hums
Happy dogs sniff by and are released to run
They weave down the rocks and frolic wildly on the sand
They chase a third dog barking happily
Lovers kiss at the point of the hill
A muscluar surfer removes his wetsuit
A mother strolls by with her baby
Wet children are wrapped in towels
One lonely surfer meditates on his board far out
Three brave swimmer splash each other
Pink bottomed clouds appears
They look like a blue-eyed dolphin with wings
I must do my stretches and omms
...Linda King -ll/2/09
Thursday, October 29, 2009
NEMO
This is the updated poem that Gerry read on her blog. I am practicing my computer skill to see if I can actually move this poem from desk to my blog, a skill I don't know.
NEMO
(This poem was based on a young artist/paint, Everett Reuss who went into the canyons around my home town of Boulder, Utah and he was never found. Only his burro was found and the name Nemo scratched on canyon walls. The stories caught my imagination.)
In the ledges and the canyons
In the hollows and the creeks
There is a ghost of a wanderer
Lost and alone
He went into the canyons
For adventure to seek
But he never came home
He never came home
It was Nemo
Nemo who loved the silence
Nemo who loved wind and colors rare
It’s the ghost of Nemo
Who still wanders there
Nemo who disappeared without a trace
I believe he chose to stay
And his ghost among the canyons race
Nemo is for the sad and lonely
He can entwine your sad heart
When the whistling winds
In the canyon starts
With Nemo you can fall upon your knees
And cry out the grief in your heart
He will dry your tears
With a warm gust of desert breeze
Nemo knows
He knows the beauty of sadness
He knows of silence
Nemo know of death
He walked that trail
And it will be told always
In the crying canyon wail
The dark depths opened
And took poor Nemo
The black clouds blotted out the day
High ledges towered in triumph
As rumbling floods swept him away
Where they chose to lay his bones
They keep a secret still
It’s told in the dove’s sad mourn
Or the jaybird’s jabbering trill
Nemo rose that same day
A rainbow was his face
In it his artist colors play
And through that arching rainbow lace
Nemo, the painter
Nemo, the writer of verse
Who inspires everyone
Whose thoughts with death immerse
When you are in the canyons
For an hour or a day
Turn your thoughts to Nemo
Let him have his say
He will comfort you in sorrow
He will lift your spirit low
He will raise your eyes
From the canyon depths
To see he bright rainbow
Keep your eyes on the rainbow
See God’s promise there
When your eyes are on the rainbow
Your heart can not despair
When you look at the rainbow
You, too, may see a face
It may be the face of a loved one
You thought had left no trace
Nemo is lost when the rainbow’s gone
He’s found when it arches the sky
Nemo became a mystery
When life and death he tied
Nemo’s the name he gave himself
Nemo that means “No one”
Night shadows remind one of Nemo
The last glimpse of the setting sun
Nemo is lost and “No One” is lost
That’s how it will always be
Nemo lies close to the open heart
For each man to look and see
Nemo in the canyon
Nemo in the arch
Nemo in a jutting peak
Nemo in a fiery sunset torch
…Linda King - 1962
I did it. I have been trying to do that stupid little step ever since I started my blog. I think I have it mastered. Ann, if you read this here is the copy of Nemo that you asked me for. I suppose this might work on a e-mail as well. This poem was written way before Bukowski and Peter laughed at my rhyming poetry. I told them I loved nursery rhymes...still do.
NEMO
(This poem was based on a young artist/paint, Everett Reuss who went into the canyons around my home town of Boulder, Utah and he was never found. Only his burro was found and the name Nemo scratched on canyon walls. The stories caught my imagination.)
In the ledges and the canyons
In the hollows and the creeks
There is a ghost of a wanderer
Lost and alone
He went into the canyons
For adventure to seek
But he never came home
He never came home
It was Nemo
Nemo who loved the silence
Nemo who loved wind and colors rare
It’s the ghost of Nemo
Who still wanders there
Nemo who disappeared without a trace
I believe he chose to stay
And his ghost among the canyons race
Nemo is for the sad and lonely
He can entwine your sad heart
When the whistling winds
In the canyon starts
With Nemo you can fall upon your knees
And cry out the grief in your heart
He will dry your tears
With a warm gust of desert breeze
Nemo knows
He knows the beauty of sadness
He knows of silence
Nemo know of death
He walked that trail
And it will be told always
In the crying canyon wail
The dark depths opened
And took poor Nemo
The black clouds blotted out the day
High ledges towered in triumph
As rumbling floods swept him away
Where they chose to lay his bones
They keep a secret still
It’s told in the dove’s sad mourn
Or the jaybird’s jabbering trill
Nemo rose that same day
A rainbow was his face
In it his artist colors play
And through that arching rainbow lace
Nemo, the painter
Nemo, the writer of verse
Who inspires everyone
Whose thoughts with death immerse
When you are in the canyons
For an hour or a day
Turn your thoughts to Nemo
Let him have his say
He will comfort you in sorrow
He will lift your spirit low
He will raise your eyes
From the canyon depths
To see he bright rainbow
Keep your eyes on the rainbow
See God’s promise there
When your eyes are on the rainbow
Your heart can not despair
When you look at the rainbow
You, too, may see a face
It may be the face of a loved one
You thought had left no trace
Nemo is lost when the rainbow’s gone
He’s found when it arches the sky
Nemo became a mystery
When life and death he tied
Nemo’s the name he gave himself
Nemo that means “No one”
Night shadows remind one of Nemo
The last glimpse of the setting sun
Nemo is lost and “No One” is lost
That’s how it will always be
Nemo lies close to the open heart
For each man to look and see
Nemo in the canyon
Nemo in the arch
Nemo in a jutting peak
Nemo in a fiery sunset torch
…Linda King - 1962
I did it. I have been trying to do that stupid little step ever since I started my blog. I think I have it mastered. Ann, if you read this here is the copy of Nemo that you asked me for. I suppose this might work on a e-mail as well. This poem was written way before Bukowski and Peter laughed at my rhyming poetry. I told them I loved nursery rhymes...still do.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
ALL ABOUT LOOSING IT
You haven't seen me on my own blog because I start to write on my computer and without warning it crashes. I have finally found out by having it happen more than once, that my computer crashed when he refigerator goes on...or today the people upstairs got up and they must have turned something on. Everything upstairs and down is hooked to one circuit. As I type I have unplugged my refigerator so that it doesn't go on and wipe out what I am saying.
This is progressive San Francisco where the old building have not caught up with progressive ideas, where old road have pot holes that will ruin your tires and your shocks. Where the telephone man couldn't hook up the phone because it caused one more thing on the circuit. Where it took a month to get Direct TV, instead of next day like the advertisement tell you.
Where healthcare has billed the government for $30,000 worth of tests without giving the patient one treatment. Where politicians keep fattening their pockets as they cut services to the homeless. And since I still have hope of a cure, I don't want to bite the hand who might make me well, but I am full of doubt as I weave down the street, a drunk without a beer, my numb hands and feet always cold. And when I read about my healthcare company making 23 billion dollar profit in 2007, I'd like to see the figures for this year. Insurance companies are always on the top list of profiteers. Ofcourse they need a lot of money, to pay all of those lobbyist they have in Washington D.C.
Can it be that Captitalist greed has become the norm and the Golden Rule has long been thrown out of practice. The Stockmarket, Politicians, the Banks, the hospitals, the Healthcare system, Corporations, almost everyone practicing greedology. We think nothing of not paying our taxes, if we can get away with, for what is the government doing for us? They steal from us with promises they don't keep and we steal from them. Healthcare tries to steal from the Government because they know that no matter what they summit, they will only get a part of it. Keep it high and you might get enough. They steal the health of the poor with tests after useless tests, while their sickness rage on, so that they can keep billing. The Stockmarket knew people had a nest egg they had been saving little by little for years. They figured out a way to steal it, with the IRA...politicans and lobbist working with them. They wanted that nest egg and the people on the job couldn't even choose they own stocks. The Mortgage company employees thought nothing of writing false earning reports so they could earn bigger and bigger pay checks on larger loans and they knew the government insured most of it. And the Healthcare companies helping with medicare for the government...profited like greedy pig in a bucket of swill. And what about me, they wanted to appraise my house for $280,000....sure I'll take it, my little $600 a month SS won't take we anywhere. Why not... rotten wages for a waitress had been $2.13 for years and years and years ...Plus tip, ofcourse. And people are worried about communism where people actually take a fair share. Pigs in the bucket of Capitalism want to go on practicing Greedology and that is why banks are cropping up on far away islands where nobody will ever be able to get their hands on...the hand out money or other untold profits.
As over 85 thousand people have seen death in the middle east, I wonder if greedology and profiteers on guns, oil and war machines are not wanting this war to go on and on and on. As America seems to want to be the only country who can threaten with nuclear weapons. America...come on...This is America....lets forget about all this and go make some money.
This is progressive San Francisco where the old building have not caught up with progressive ideas, where old road have pot holes that will ruin your tires and your shocks. Where the telephone man couldn't hook up the phone because it caused one more thing on the circuit. Where it took a month to get Direct TV, instead of next day like the advertisement tell you.
Where healthcare has billed the government for $30,000 worth of tests without giving the patient one treatment. Where politicians keep fattening their pockets as they cut services to the homeless. And since I still have hope of a cure, I don't want to bite the hand who might make me well, but I am full of doubt as I weave down the street, a drunk without a beer, my numb hands and feet always cold. And when I read about my healthcare company making 23 billion dollar profit in 2007, I'd like to see the figures for this year. Insurance companies are always on the top list of profiteers. Ofcourse they need a lot of money, to pay all of those lobbyist they have in Washington D.C.
Can it be that Captitalist greed has become the norm and the Golden Rule has long been thrown out of practice. The Stockmarket, Politicians, the Banks, the hospitals, the Healthcare system, Corporations, almost everyone practicing greedology. We think nothing of not paying our taxes, if we can get away with, for what is the government doing for us? They steal from us with promises they don't keep and we steal from them. Healthcare tries to steal from the Government because they know that no matter what they summit, they will only get a part of it. Keep it high and you might get enough. They steal the health of the poor with tests after useless tests, while their sickness rage on, so that they can keep billing. The Stockmarket knew people had a nest egg they had been saving little by little for years. They figured out a way to steal it, with the IRA...politicans and lobbist working with them. They wanted that nest egg and the people on the job couldn't even choose they own stocks. The Mortgage company employees thought nothing of writing false earning reports so they could earn bigger and bigger pay checks on larger loans and they knew the government insured most of it. And the Healthcare companies helping with medicare for the government...profited like greedy pig in a bucket of swill. And what about me, they wanted to appraise my house for $280,000....sure I'll take it, my little $600 a month SS won't take we anywhere. Why not... rotten wages for a waitress had been $2.13 for years and years and years ...Plus tip, ofcourse. And people are worried about communism where people actually take a fair share. Pigs in the bucket of Capitalism want to go on practicing Greedology and that is why banks are cropping up on far away islands where nobody will ever be able to get their hands on...the hand out money or other untold profits.
As over 85 thousand people have seen death in the middle east, I wonder if greedology and profiteers on guns, oil and war machines are not wanting this war to go on and on and on. As America seems to want to be the only country who can threaten with nuclear weapons. America...come on...This is America....lets forget about all this and go make some money.
Friday, September 4, 2009
HEALTH CARE AND STILL LAUGHING
It's a good thing I have a sense of humor. After trying to get help for 10 months... in America, I didn't have enough money for private insurance, I finally, after going to emergency twice in Phoenix...moved to California after forclosure and got on MediCal.
Trying to find out what is wrong with me, I got two cat scans after I told them I didn't need another...as they didn't find anything the first time. After two trips to emergency and the hospital, they said it was not a stroke, not my heart, not diabetes, not HIV, not allergies, not my back and not my head. They have billed medicare and medical for close to $30,000 and I finally, finally, finally after almost a year they sent me to physical therapy.
This is my treatment...in therapy (I am quoting for the sheet)
1. Toy objects in Beans (and Rice there) Find them, match them with eyes closed
2. Move coins or pen around with hand.
3. Small squat holding on 15-20 2 times a day. Practice balance, feet shoulder wide apart then closed, count to 30. 2 times a day.
This is a good example of how the hospitals are milking medicare...and mediCal. They might have thought of these small exercise first? It's almost a joke. The MRI which took about 1 1/2 hour, alone, was $23,000. Can this be right? $860.00 of that was Pharmacy. I guess that was the shot..$22,479 was the rest. Are other people's MIRs this high? If a government healthcare system passes, they will have to hire as many watch dogs as they do medical staff to keep it honest...and they should have them for medicare as well. I read a letter saying healthcare in Canada is bad and this person would be happy to buy insurance, but what about the millions of poor people who can't afford to buy insurance. They can't even find a job. I am for socialized medicine. Insurance company can't be trusted either. If anybody did anything for me it was the chiopractor or a massage therpist which should be part of medical plans. The chiopractor showed me a spur on my spin shown by Xray that the nureologist did not even mention..from the MRI. I still have numb hands and feet. My balance is still off. The redness of my finger tips comes from inside. After $30,000, they don't have it right. I know, it's my body.
But, Mother Nature in her infinite wisdom has healed me....somewhat...by time...or I have got used to being numb. I haven't fall down this month, well, only once and it might have help me. It could have thrown my spine back into place. But, I will play with my beans, toys, pens and coins...after all somebody is paying, it's the least I can do. I have already squated my squats ***Shaman or Witch Doctor. anyone?
Trying to find out what is wrong with me, I got two cat scans after I told them I didn't need another...as they didn't find anything the first time. After two trips to emergency and the hospital, they said it was not a stroke, not my heart, not diabetes, not HIV, not allergies, not my back and not my head. They have billed medicare and medical for close to $30,000 and I finally, finally, finally after almost a year they sent me to physical therapy.
This is my treatment...in therapy (I am quoting for the sheet)
1. Toy objects in Beans (and Rice there) Find them, match them with eyes closed
2. Move coins or pen around with hand.
3. Small squat holding on 15-20 2 times a day. Practice balance, feet shoulder wide apart then closed, count to 30. 2 times a day.
This is a good example of how the hospitals are milking medicare...and mediCal. They might have thought of these small exercise first? It's almost a joke. The MRI which took about 1 1/2 hour, alone, was $23,000. Can this be right? $860.00 of that was Pharmacy. I guess that was the shot..$22,479 was the rest. Are other people's MIRs this high? If a government healthcare system passes, they will have to hire as many watch dogs as they do medical staff to keep it honest...and they should have them for medicare as well. I read a letter saying healthcare in Canada is bad and this person would be happy to buy insurance, but what about the millions of poor people who can't afford to buy insurance. They can't even find a job. I am for socialized medicine. Insurance company can't be trusted either. If anybody did anything for me it was the chiopractor or a massage therpist which should be part of medical plans. The chiopractor showed me a spur on my spin shown by Xray that the nureologist did not even mention..from the MRI. I still have numb hands and feet. My balance is still off. The redness of my finger tips comes from inside. After $30,000, they don't have it right. I know, it's my body.
But, Mother Nature in her infinite wisdom has healed me....somewhat...by time...or I have got used to being numb. I haven't fall down this month, well, only once and it might have help me. It could have thrown my spine back into place. But, I will play with my beans, toys, pens and coins...after all somebody is paying, it's the least I can do. I have already squated my squats ***Shaman or Witch Doctor. anyone?
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Poetry
Of Two Minds
It is the strong, working
Physical men I love
The construction workers
The utility workers
The truck drivers
Those men working
In the fields
The cowboys
The lumberjacks
The steel workers
The factory workers
The farmers
Driving bailers and rakes
Or plowing the ground
Yes, even the plumbers
And electricians
I like fishermen and hunters
....But then again
I crave those men
Who write poetry and songs
A man who paints
or sculptures is devine
And I adore all who play
or make music
Guitar players turn me on
Saxophone players I want to kiss
Drummers and their beat I desire
Dancers are most wonderful
I love a man who reads
Torn between mind and muscle
I am hopelessly of two minds
...Linda King 8/06/09
Bird's Eye View
I am circling myself
With fluttering wings
I fly around and around myself
Examining my consciousness
Deciding what thoughts
I want to keep or discard
Which ones I want to
Rearrange or move
What desires I want to explore
From above I can see
The uselessness of
Fear and self doubt
I see I stick pins in own myself
I can see an expanded picture
And can change direction
Change attitudes
Change a life...my own
It has been happening, lately
Just flying high above myself
Yes, now I can see
...Linda King 8/06/09
It is the strong, working
Physical men I love
The construction workers
The utility workers
The truck drivers
Those men working
In the fields
The cowboys
The lumberjacks
The steel workers
The factory workers
The farmers
Driving bailers and rakes
Or plowing the ground
Yes, even the plumbers
And electricians
I like fishermen and hunters
....But then again
I crave those men
Who write poetry and songs
A man who paints
or sculptures is devine
And I adore all who play
or make music
Guitar players turn me on
Saxophone players I want to kiss
Drummers and their beat I desire
Dancers are most wonderful
I love a man who reads
Torn between mind and muscle
I am hopelessly of two minds
...Linda King 8/06/09
Bird's Eye View
I am circling myself
With fluttering wings
I fly around and around myself
Examining my consciousness
Deciding what thoughts
I want to keep or discard
Which ones I want to
Rearrange or move
What desires I want to explore
From above I can see
The uselessness of
Fear and self doubt
I see I stick pins in own myself
I can see an expanded picture
And can change direction
Change attitudes
Change a life...my own
It has been happening, lately
Just flying high above myself
Yes, now I can see
...Linda King 8/06/09
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
DREAM REALITY
Seth, from the Jane Roberts channeled Seth books, is the only place I had read that our dream are the true reality and our lifes are drawn out of that conciousness. It only makes sense as that is the part of us that goes on after death. I like his idea and it make sense, so, I will go along with it for now. Everyone in the world, including my sisters, have wanted me to stop talking about my dreams, but they are so real and vivid...I just go right on annoying people with them...dreaming away. I started recording my dreams at 20 and have studied dream, mine and other peoples for almost 50 years. I am no amateur at this I only tell the ones I think are the most important.
I have gone back to movie scripts and movie making in my dreams. I was in a science fiction type movie and ask what it was and they said it was "The Tiregrabber." That is one of John Bennett's books. Another night, I was writing a script and making a movie that was at some old mission and all the women of the town who had nothing to do was helping to bring it back to what it was. They were growing gardens, finding old wall and fountains. It was shot somewhere in Mexico or New Mexico. At the end they men were all sitting around with a band and the women came in singing and then dancing...all wild, like we used to do in Boulder. They band called for more men and it seemed to end in a big finale with everyone dancing and singing...Men and women. This was a real feel good movie.
Last night I was doing my own stunts in a movie. It had something to do with finding out that my sister, Gerry, had actually slept with my old love Bukowski. I knew she was lieing to me about it and I knew it was a movie, so I went out and practiced again and again a stunt were I would be hit by a car and had to tumble over the hood in just the right way not to get hurt. I didn't start dreaming about movie making until I got to San Francisco. Maybe I should be working on movie scripts.
Some people think I should take a drugs to stop my dreams, but I believe that the dream world is passing along important information for the improvement of this world. We can get off track...going the wrong way, etc, but our dreams are constantly drawing us back to what we are meant to do or our true desires. Maybe my biggest desires lines in movies, I am not sure...or maybe some time, some place, I have already made movies. The probablity of what might happen is before me to bring to life.
In another dream I was talked to an old school friend of mine, Dell. He seemed to know everything about me and I asked now he knew and he said, my nephew Dan has set it all up on the internet for him. I was amazed. My sister, Margie, was in this dream and she had planted a orchard of peach tree. Each stick had a peach on top. When I woke, I knew this was a dream to do with Dale Barney because he was the one who planted all the peach pits and they all came up. His orchard had more peaches than anyone could use. This could be the link between the living and the dead. Dale and Dell, who had a near death sickness a year ago, and Margie who is kind of going through the end of Floyd's life. The peaches...the peaches...right how I am not sure. I might just be my symbol for Dale. My dreams gave me the symbol for Leo, a Raccoon. He used to call the mice raccoons. The symbols move the dream process along with greater speed, like a sign language.
I have gone back to movie scripts and movie making in my dreams. I was in a science fiction type movie and ask what it was and they said it was "The Tiregrabber." That is one of John Bennett's books. Another night, I was writing a script and making a movie that was at some old mission and all the women of the town who had nothing to do was helping to bring it back to what it was. They were growing gardens, finding old wall and fountains. It was shot somewhere in Mexico or New Mexico. At the end they men were all sitting around with a band and the women came in singing and then dancing...all wild, like we used to do in Boulder. They band called for more men and it seemed to end in a big finale with everyone dancing and singing...Men and women. This was a real feel good movie.
Last night I was doing my own stunts in a movie. It had something to do with finding out that my sister, Gerry, had actually slept with my old love Bukowski. I knew she was lieing to me about it and I knew it was a movie, so I went out and practiced again and again a stunt were I would be hit by a car and had to tumble over the hood in just the right way not to get hurt. I didn't start dreaming about movie making until I got to San Francisco. Maybe I should be working on movie scripts.
Some people think I should take a drugs to stop my dreams, but I believe that the dream world is passing along important information for the improvement of this world. We can get off track...going the wrong way, etc, but our dreams are constantly drawing us back to what we are meant to do or our true desires. Maybe my biggest desires lines in movies, I am not sure...or maybe some time, some place, I have already made movies. The probablity of what might happen is before me to bring to life.
In another dream I was talked to an old school friend of mine, Dell. He seemed to know everything about me and I asked now he knew and he said, my nephew Dan has set it all up on the internet for him. I was amazed. My sister, Margie, was in this dream and she had planted a orchard of peach tree. Each stick had a peach on top. When I woke, I knew this was a dream to do with Dale Barney because he was the one who planted all the peach pits and they all came up. His orchard had more peaches than anyone could use. This could be the link between the living and the dead. Dale and Dell, who had a near death sickness a year ago, and Margie who is kind of going through the end of Floyd's life. The peaches...the peaches...right how I am not sure. I might just be my symbol for Dale. My dreams gave me the symbol for Leo, a Raccoon. He used to call the mice raccoons. The symbols move the dream process along with greater speed, like a sign language.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Blogs getting Bogged Down
My blogs are not getting written because I can't get to the page where you write. This blog takes me everywhere but where I need to be. If I tell my friends to go to Vooman's Voice they come up empty...blank...nothing. The only way I can get there is because I have Vooman listed as a favorite. I finally get tired of fighting it myself and go watch a movie on T.V. Finally Mr. Blogspot will give me the right page and I don't know why, the next time I try to blog I have to go through the same thing. After about a half an hour, this page I am writinng on came up. I don't like it because it doesn't have spell check or grammer I don't know where to find it. I can't imagine it not having spell check. If I write my blog on the word processor this blog will not take it in this space from edit. Why not? Maybe there is a war between Goggle and Mircosoft or Yahoo. I hate war. By the time I actually get to the page to write the important blog I wanted to blog is old and seems less important. So for now I will only bitch a bit.
I have been to Petaluma to see Max and stayed the night. We went to Santa Rosa Fair that had horse races, but we went to the exibits and only 3 horse races. I am thinking of a fast trip to Phoenix to get a few more things I left in the house, but not sure now.
I have been to Petaluma to see Max and stayed the night. We went to Santa Rosa Fair that had horse races, but we went to the exibits and only 3 horse races. I am thinking of a fast trip to Phoenix to get a few more things I left in the house, but not sure now.
Monday, July 27, 2009
San Francisco International Poetry Festival
I have just spent the last four days going to the San Francisco International Poetry Festival. Which included the best poets from all over the world...Russia, Israel, Italy, France, The Philippines, Ecuador, Palastine, Wales, Austria, Sweden, Haiti, Zimbabwe, Bangladesh, Vioetnam, Nigeria, Mexico China, Nicaragua and USA. Jack Hirschman of S.F. put this showing together with S.F. Library and Friends of Poets, and many others. It was a feast of poetry so rich that you were left wondering if you could digest all of those words. I told my sister, I felt like I had not only eaten not just a piece of rich cheesecake, but the whole pie. I didn't hold up to the very end which was a closing party at 7:00 o'clock the last night.
I enjoyed so much the documentry on Jack Hirschman on the first night that, they said, had been six years in the making. It was called THE RED POET. It is a must see when it come out at theatres. This movie made me think there should be millions of men like Jack Hirshman to make a better world. They touched on the many areas of his life and left you wanting more.
The second and third night, at The Palace, each poet, of over 25 poets, read in their own language and the poems were displayed in English on the large screen behind him or her. Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Diane DePrima, current poet laureate of S.F started the reading the first night. There was many different subject, styles and deliveries... from shy, beautiful voices, humorous, antimated, angry, sad, touching, indignant to the final booming deliver of Jack Hirshman. As I said, a feast of poetry.
During the days poets read at libraries in North Beach, Richmond and The Mission and on the forth day they had what they called a Poetry Crawl going from Kerouac Alley, to Cafe Trieste
to Beat Museum changing poets every two hours. I spent most of my time at the Beat Museum where my sculptures of poets, Harold Norse, Lawrence Farlinghette, Jack Micheline and A.D. Winans are displayed. Jerry, the owner introduced me to so many people, that I can't remember all their names and he invited me upstairs to eat with the poets. I am going to add my head of Robinson Jeffers to my heads of poets there. Everyone needs to see Jerry collection of wonderful Beat memorabilia in North Beach.
Someone else will have to tell about the poets closing party. I am sorry I missed it now, but I had to go home, rest and digest.
This is one of the poem Jack read. When I told him how much I like it, he got it right out and gave it to me for my sister, Gerry. Somehow I heard this poem as being against abortion, but it is really about the children in the Middle East. I guess it is because my sister Gerry is always yelling passionately in much the same way about the aborted children. I should have known a man would not go up against pro-choicer like that.
I still love the poem... Very strong. And it could be about an aborted David.
THE CHILDREN
allover will remember
their legs their arms
the amputated spaces
will be nothing branded
into their little souls,
never to forget, Israel,
you shattered their vessels
with your gunfire, shit on
the word, said fuck you
to the fetus in the womb.
You not they pissed on
your own wholly unholy
tetragramaton, its letters
a fraud and a fake
I wish I could feel you
hand grenades in you mug.
I want to stuff dead children
into you eyes, lovers of learning
lies.
May selah be broken
in your mouth, may amen
never find chapter and verse,
may your food turn into
the gangrenous limbs of the
children you've felled
those little trees of sparks.
You've killed David over
and over, you star of death.
O aliyah, how low!
O victory of defeat!
O stones growing in
the clenches of fists
enraged,
against you,
you rattler of bones!
---Jach Hirschman
I enjoyed so much the documentry on Jack Hirschman on the first night that, they said, had been six years in the making. It was called THE RED POET. It is a must see when it come out at theatres. This movie made me think there should be millions of men like Jack Hirshman to make a better world. They touched on the many areas of his life and left you wanting more.
The second and third night, at The Palace, each poet, of over 25 poets, read in their own language and the poems were displayed in English on the large screen behind him or her. Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Diane DePrima, current poet laureate of S.F started the reading the first night. There was many different subject, styles and deliveries... from shy, beautiful voices, humorous, antimated, angry, sad, touching, indignant to the final booming deliver of Jack Hirshman. As I said, a feast of poetry.
During the days poets read at libraries in North Beach, Richmond and The Mission and on the forth day they had what they called a Poetry Crawl going from Kerouac Alley, to Cafe Trieste
to Beat Museum changing poets every two hours. I spent most of my time at the Beat Museum where my sculptures of poets, Harold Norse, Lawrence Farlinghette, Jack Micheline and A.D. Winans are displayed. Jerry, the owner introduced me to so many people, that I can't remember all their names and he invited me upstairs to eat with the poets. I am going to add my head of Robinson Jeffers to my heads of poets there. Everyone needs to see Jerry collection of wonderful Beat memorabilia in North Beach.
Someone else will have to tell about the poets closing party. I am sorry I missed it now, but I had to go home, rest and digest.
This is one of the poem Jack read. When I told him how much I like it, he got it right out and gave it to me for my sister, Gerry. Somehow I heard this poem as being against abortion, but it is really about the children in the Middle East. I guess it is because my sister Gerry is always yelling passionately in much the same way about the aborted children. I should have known a man would not go up against pro-choicer like that.
I still love the poem... Very strong. And it could be about an aborted David.
THE CHILDREN
allover will remember
their legs their arms
the amputated spaces
will be nothing branded
into their little souls,
never to forget, Israel,
you shattered their vessels
with your gunfire, shit on
the word, said fuck you
to the fetus in the womb.
You not they pissed on
your own wholly unholy
tetragramaton, its letters
a fraud and a fake
I wish I could feel you
hand grenades in you mug.
I want to stuff dead children
into you eyes, lovers of learning
lies.
May selah be broken
in your mouth, may amen
never find chapter and verse,
may your food turn into
the gangrenous limbs of the
children you've felled
those little trees of sparks.
You've killed David over
and over, you star of death.
O aliyah, how low!
O victory of defeat!
O stones growing in
the clenches of fists
enraged,
against you,
you rattler of bones!
---Jach Hirschman
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
BEAT MUSEUM FOR HAROLD NORSE
I went to the Beat Museum memorial for Harold Norse on Saturday. A.D. Winans, Neeli Cherkovski, Mel Clay all spoke and gave some interesting memories. Mel Clay had been at the Beat Hotel in Paris. He told stories about that place where Harold also stayed, with Ginsberg and other Beats. An older lesbian women, I did not catch her name got up and told how she saved Harold from a bunch of women once when he got up and read a poem about his sexual encounder with an under age boy. She praised his poetry, but at the same time got across her disapproval. It reminded me somewhat of Michael Jackson and his past history with children.
Jerry, owner of the Beat Museum, had my bust of Harold displayed up front. I wasn't going to read until I saw displayed on the wall a man that reminded me of the Grim Reaper with a poem that Harold's had written over the black cap in white. I decided to read a poem I had just written.
Death Visiting
Our first sight of Death
May only be that ominous black crow
That sits outside our window
Looking in with piercing eyes
It comes again, now in the corner
Just a face or a telling shadow
Somewhere...somehow
Death keeps showing up
Where we walk or have coffee
Death looking at us from
The window of a car
Stopped on the freeway
Slowly you know that Death
Moved into the building
You see him down the hall
On the patio, in the elevator
Soon you are saying hello
Walking the same street
Talking to the same people
One morning you are across
From Death having coffee
And you know, just know
Death will soon be at your door
Sitting in your living room
Looking into your closet
Sizing up your rooms
You sit and talk of dreams
Or others who have passed on
And you are not surprised
When Death takes your hand
Touches your head
Soothes your pain
Death says
He is a friend
And comes only
For those who
Have been calling
Those who need a friend
Death say he heals hurts
And mistakes of the past
That only death can heal
Death tell me he brings change
To a world that has become
A slow and boring crawl
You never imagine
Being a friend of Death
But it's comfortable
It feels right...the way to go
Now your friend comes
Almost every day
You are counting on it
...Your friend to knock
...To be there for you
And you wait
...Every day
Until Death come
...Linda King 7/12/09
I read this poem of Harold's
First Love
I couldn't keep
my eyes off him
Waking and before
sleeping I gazed
at his gray-blue
eyes that stared
with innocence
at me. I felt sad
for his soft heart
and long to warn
him of the loss
of friendship and
love. I couldn't
do it. He wouldn't
understand. The
distance was too
great between us.
He was 21, I was 81.
Of course it
happened not
once or twice
but again and
again. He lost
everything to
invidious friends.
With longing
I stared a my
young photo
with it's gray-blue
eyes, its innocence
buried in a trunk
for 60 years
Now I know
that it isn't love.
It's a blind date
with one's self.
Harold Norse
Jerry, owner of the Beat Museum, had my bust of Harold displayed up front. I wasn't going to read until I saw displayed on the wall a man that reminded me of the Grim Reaper with a poem that Harold's had written over the black cap in white. I decided to read a poem I had just written.
Death Visiting
Our first sight of Death
May only be that ominous black crow
That sits outside our window
Looking in with piercing eyes
It comes again, now in the corner
Just a face or a telling shadow
Somewhere...somehow
Death keeps showing up
Where we walk or have coffee
Death looking at us from
The window of a car
Stopped on the freeway
Slowly you know that Death
Moved into the building
You see him down the hall
On the patio, in the elevator
Soon you are saying hello
Walking the same street
Talking to the same people
One morning you are across
From Death having coffee
And you know, just know
Death will soon be at your door
Sitting in your living room
Looking into your closet
Sizing up your rooms
You sit and talk of dreams
Or others who have passed on
And you are not surprised
When Death takes your hand
Touches your head
Soothes your pain
Death says
He is a friend
And comes only
For those who
Have been calling
Those who need a friend
Death say he heals hurts
And mistakes of the past
That only death can heal
Death tell me he brings change
To a world that has become
A slow and boring crawl
You never imagine
Being a friend of Death
But it's comfortable
It feels right...the way to go
Now your friend comes
Almost every day
You are counting on it
...Your friend to knock
...To be there for you
And you wait
...Every day
Until Death come
...Linda King 7/12/09
I read this poem of Harold's
First Love
I couldn't keep
my eyes off him
Waking and before
sleeping I gazed
at his gray-blue
eyes that stared
with innocence
at me. I felt sad
for his soft heart
and long to warn
him of the loss
of friendship and
love. I couldn't
do it. He wouldn't
understand. The
distance was too
great between us.
He was 21, I was 81.
Of course it
happened not
once or twice
but again and
again. He lost
everything to
invidious friends.
With longing
I stared a my
young photo
with it's gray-blue
eyes, its innocence
buried in a trunk
for 60 years
Now I know
that it isn't love.
It's a blind date
with one's self.
Harold Norse
Monday, July 13, 2009
Collective Dreaming
I just finished a book called HEALING DREAMS by Marc Ian Barasch. Maybe I will stop dreaming so much now I am through with this book. I don't usually like dream books because they have a standard meanings for symbols in you dreams and I feel like each one of us may have different meanings for the same thing. You dream is so individual to you alone, that maybe only you alone can receive the true meaning. Marc studied dreams of many nationalities and came up with the similar dreams with all nationalities. He said many of the Indians have dreams sessions asking for leads and answers from dreams. One Indian girl had dreams of our planet loosing trees and then having no air to breathe. There was a suggestion that we all might try collective dreaming to save our planet....from global warming, over population, etc.
After the last chapter of the book I had a dream I was being healed and it was over a body of water. I think it was angels that had ahold of the sneer red cloth and throwing me up and down catching me. At the same time I was being sprinkled from above. They kept sprinkling and bouncing me. I was at loss to know what this met. Not drinking enough water...need to swim more...need to have more fun? I was happy to have a healing dream at the end of this book. Maybe more meaning will come of it. Maybe we should try to have some collective dreams to help our planet, our country, our government. If anyone wants to send me their dreams I will attempt to keep track of solutions, similarities and help. We should try for collective dreams.
Different night...I dreamed Artichoke. I woke up and thought...choke, choke, choke....something is being choked....what it being choked? Artichoke. Artichoke...Artichoke. Art... Art...that is it. Art is being choked. So easy these dreams. I know. My Art is being Choked. Okay.... I haven't done any good art for months. My poor Art.
After the last chapter of the book I had a dream I was being healed and it was over a body of water. I think it was angels that had ahold of the sneer red cloth and throwing me up and down catching me. At the same time I was being sprinkled from above. They kept sprinkling and bouncing me. I was at loss to know what this met. Not drinking enough water...need to swim more...need to have more fun? I was happy to have a healing dream at the end of this book. Maybe more meaning will come of it. Maybe we should try to have some collective dreams to help our planet, our country, our government. If anyone wants to send me their dreams I will attempt to keep track of solutions, similarities and help. We should try for collective dreams.
Different night...I dreamed Artichoke. I woke up and thought...choke, choke, choke....something is being choked....what it being choked? Artichoke. Artichoke...Artichoke. Art... Art...that is it. Art is being choked. So easy these dreams. I know. My Art is being Choked. Okay.... I haven't done any good art for months. My poor Art.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
MOVIES BEING FILM...AT LEAST IN MY DREAMS
The movie that my son and nephew made has not been sold, but a new movie was being shot...at least in my dreams. I was all night building set with Ron Nix on somekind of western movie town. This dream went on so long and with so much detail, I am sure, now, I am living more in my dream than in reality...or my dreams have become reality and reality is now a dream. I was not only helping to build sets, but I was acting in the movie as well. My whole wardrobe was given to me and I was deciding how to fix my hair. I was going over lines. The old log cabin in Salt Gutch was being used for some of the scenes, while other scenes were going to be shot on the mountains of Boulder.
Toward morning it seems I was coming out of a hole and I heard, "Don't give up, light is just around the corner. I looked up and saw light as if I was in a hole.
Later I came out of the hole and the light was so bright on everything I had to cover my eyes. I thought I had made it into a new land that had a different kind of light than the earth had. Everything was bathed in a yellow brightness.
Now if my dreams come true as they often have done in the past...there will be some more movie making going on in the future.
One woman I was working with told me she never dreamed. I said, "Well, just tell me what you want to know and I'll dream for you." She said, "We are thinking of going into a buiness with this other guy and I want to know if it is a good move." I ask my dreams to answer this and dreamed that a tree was planted in a little corner...and it was just too small a space for that tree to grow. I then looked up on the wall and a pieces of the wall paper was coming loose. When I looked at it there was a nest of cockroachs living under it. I told her the dream and they later found out that this guy had a bunch of bad credit and yes, the place they looked at for the business was way too small.
I accidently found
an opening
...and opening
to eternity
and just
came on back
inside myself
...L.K.
Toward morning it seems I was coming out of a hole and I heard, "Don't give up, light is just around the corner. I looked up and saw light as if I was in a hole.
Later I came out of the hole and the light was so bright on everything I had to cover my eyes. I thought I had made it into a new land that had a different kind of light than the earth had. Everything was bathed in a yellow brightness.
Now if my dreams come true as they often have done in the past...there will be some more movie making going on in the future.
One woman I was working with told me she never dreamed. I said, "Well, just tell me what you want to know and I'll dream for you." She said, "We are thinking of going into a buiness with this other guy and I want to know if it is a good move." I ask my dreams to answer this and dreamed that a tree was planted in a little corner...and it was just too small a space for that tree to grow. I then looked up on the wall and a pieces of the wall paper was coming loose. When I looked at it there was a nest of cockroachs living under it. I told her the dream and they later found out that this guy had a bunch of bad credit and yes, the place they looked at for the business was way too small.
I accidently found
an opening
...and opening
to eternity
and just
came on back
inside myself
...L.K.
Monday, July 6, 2009
DREAM - GET OUT OF THE COVERS
In this dream I went to see my sister, Margie. She was all dressed in a beautiful suit and that had a beautiful matching hat of the same material. I thought she must be going to church. She said she was going to take me over to Floyd's brother. She said Floyd's brother had left his wife and he and the woman he was living with had a baby that was close to a year old. We went there and they were laying in bed. Margie said, "They are so much in love they hardly get out of bed."
I held out my hand to the baby and she just took off walking to me. I talked to her and she started talking to me in long sentences, like kids don't do. "This is the smartest little baby I have ever seen," I said. The mother of the baby came out and she had a big blue birth mark on her face. I was curious about the woman that Floyd's brother had fallen so much in love with and was surprised at how she looked.
I was thinking....these Ence Brothers are rather wild.
Suddenly we were in Boulder and Gerry was with up. Dale Barney came up and Gerry started talking about the outlaws of Boulder. Dale went into this big act...acting out the part. Someone said they were afraid of him and Bruce and he just went into it... big time... trying to scare them even more. He said, "You sister, Gerry, was with me when we kill 8 squaws on the res...." I knew that had to be a lie. We were walking in this western town, like a movie set. I thought Ron Nix was there helping to build the set. I was wondering myself it that actually had been some murders. Dales daughter came in and seemed to be all mixed up in it as well.
These dreams are so colorful and detailed, I am wondering if I am not just running my own reels for the night.
Last night I had a very telling dream about myself. I had overslept and finding it hard to get up. I dreamed I was back working for Flo and she came in with a whole big bunch of people and I was suppose to take their orders. There was nothing to write on but some old covers. I took everyones order on these covers. When I got to the kitchen, I couldn't read any of the orders as they had absorbed into the covers. I thought I was going to get fired. I was trying to get all these hungry people to get up and tell the cook what they wanted. (Resturant dreams are my nightmare deams.) After I woke up in a panic. I thought... why Flo and Link, my old bosses? Then I realized my dreams were probably telling me to "flow and link" as on the internet. Out there they are waiting for me to "flow and link." ....Get out of the covers.
I held out my hand to the baby and she just took off walking to me. I talked to her and she started talking to me in long sentences, like kids don't do. "This is the smartest little baby I have ever seen," I said. The mother of the baby came out and she had a big blue birth mark on her face. I was curious about the woman that Floyd's brother had fallen so much in love with and was surprised at how she looked.
I was thinking....these Ence Brothers are rather wild.
Suddenly we were in Boulder and Gerry was with up. Dale Barney came up and Gerry started talking about the outlaws of Boulder. Dale went into this big act...acting out the part. Someone said they were afraid of him and Bruce and he just went into it... big time... trying to scare them even more. He said, "You sister, Gerry, was with me when we kill 8 squaws on the res...." I knew that had to be a lie. We were walking in this western town, like a movie set. I thought Ron Nix was there helping to build the set. I was wondering myself it that actually had been some murders. Dales daughter came in and seemed to be all mixed up in it as well.
These dreams are so colorful and detailed, I am wondering if I am not just running my own reels for the night.
Last night I had a very telling dream about myself. I had overslept and finding it hard to get up. I dreamed I was back working for Flo and she came in with a whole big bunch of people and I was suppose to take their orders. There was nothing to write on but some old covers. I took everyones order on these covers. When I got to the kitchen, I couldn't read any of the orders as they had absorbed into the covers. I thought I was going to get fired. I was trying to get all these hungry people to get up and tell the cook what they wanted. (Resturant dreams are my nightmare deams.) After I woke up in a panic. I thought... why Flo and Link, my old bosses? Then I realized my dreams were probably telling me to "flow and link" as on the internet. Out there they are waiting for me to "flow and link." ....Get out of the covers.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Dreaming in Hi-Tech
My dreams get more and more interesting when my life gets dull. Last night I had a long highly colored dream of both the living and the dead getting together, probably for the 4th of July.
I thought my sister Gerry and I were working as waitresses. I was going home and heard that my cousin Max Wison had stopped by were we worked, with all of his family. I told my sister to go back and also to bring my mother (passed on) as Aunt Elaine would be there (passed on.) I went back to the restaurant walking with my brother-in -law Pole (passed on) which was now almost full of Wisons, kids, cousins... everyone. I thought I was never going to be able to handle this many people. Gerry said she wasn't going to do it for $2.00 and hour. I finally just turned the whole thing over to the night crew. I suddenly saw Dean (my brother-in-law, who was lost) come running in, chasing one of the resturant workers. My sister was getting mad at his running around like that and finally she said, "I just want to know what is going on." (Aware he was dead and now young again.) I finally sat down among the living and the dead and was happy that my cousin had made the effort to stop by for this visit.
Next night... I deamed we were all going through all these clothes looking for the prefect thing for my sister Ann to wear. We finally found this beautiful flowing dress that was perfect and her husband, Tom, came out and he had on a suit that matched perfectly with her dress. I was exciting to see them going off to dance. I thought Tom was going to dance on his not so perfect leg for this event. (Maybe like ...So You Think You Can Dance...couples.) I remembered how they danced so well together when they were young.
Next night...Dream my sister, Gerry, and I were walking with a rather wild dark colored dog. We walked for a long time up a mountain until we were out of the city and then ...As we came over the top their was a bright orange hill, clouds and sunset it was beautiful in the distance (like heaven) but the trail went straight down. Gerry was just heading out down the trail...talking, not noticing how far we had gone. I finally told her we should head back up or we would never make it back. She turned around heading back up hill.
The colors and the length of these dream are what are amazing. My cousin Max is meeting right now in Boulder with his family for the 4th of July.....as well as my other sister, Ann and her family. Maybe I am just traveling along in my dreams. Maybe the living and the dead are always intmingled, if we could see them.
Again I dreamed....
I was walking down this street and their was a gang of hooigans come at me down the street.
Instead of meeting them, I used my old ability....I had always had it, to fly up onto the shed away from them. They climbed up on the shed and tried to catch me, but I took off flying down the street just over the heads of people. I realized I was kind of rusty as I hadn't flown for awhile. Some one called after me and said, "We just want a DNA sample. If you can fly, it must show in your blood and we can find other people who can do this too." I thought, I am not going to let them catch me until I practice flying some more and can do it better.
I thought my sister Gerry and I were working as waitresses. I was going home and heard that my cousin Max Wison had stopped by were we worked, with all of his family. I told my sister to go back and also to bring my mother (passed on) as Aunt Elaine would be there (passed on.) I went back to the restaurant walking with my brother-in -law Pole (passed on) which was now almost full of Wisons, kids, cousins... everyone. I thought I was never going to be able to handle this many people. Gerry said she wasn't going to do it for $2.00 and hour. I finally just turned the whole thing over to the night crew. I suddenly saw Dean (my brother-in-law, who was lost) come running in, chasing one of the resturant workers. My sister was getting mad at his running around like that and finally she said, "I just want to know what is going on." (Aware he was dead and now young again.) I finally sat down among the living and the dead and was happy that my cousin had made the effort to stop by for this visit.
Next night... I deamed we were all going through all these clothes looking for the prefect thing for my sister Ann to wear. We finally found this beautiful flowing dress that was perfect and her husband, Tom, came out and he had on a suit that matched perfectly with her dress. I was exciting to see them going off to dance. I thought Tom was going to dance on his not so perfect leg for this event. (Maybe like ...So You Think You Can Dance...couples.) I remembered how they danced so well together when they were young.
Next night...Dream my sister, Gerry, and I were walking with a rather wild dark colored dog. We walked for a long time up a mountain until we were out of the city and then ...As we came over the top their was a bright orange hill, clouds and sunset it was beautiful in the distance (like heaven) but the trail went straight down. Gerry was just heading out down the trail...talking, not noticing how far we had gone. I finally told her we should head back up or we would never make it back. She turned around heading back up hill.
The colors and the length of these dream are what are amazing. My cousin Max is meeting right now in Boulder with his family for the 4th of July.....as well as my other sister, Ann and her family. Maybe I am just traveling along in my dreams. Maybe the living and the dead are always intmingled, if we could see them.
Again I dreamed....
I was walking down this street and their was a gang of hooigans come at me down the street.
Instead of meeting them, I used my old ability....I had always had it, to fly up onto the shed away from them. They climbed up on the shed and tried to catch me, but I took off flying down the street just over the heads of people. I realized I was kind of rusty as I hadn't flown for awhile. Some one called after me and said, "We just want a DNA sample. If you can fly, it must show in your blood and we can find other people who can do this too." I thought, I am not going to let them catch me until I practice flying some more and can do it better.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
TO BLOG OR NOT TO BLOG
Vooman announced a blog and then immediately thought, ...Good God! I don't want to blog. I will expose myself and my, possibly, stupid thinking to the world, to ridicule, to laughter, to scorn. I almost wrote my first and my last blog. My last was going to me "My Mistake." After a few days, or has it been weeks, I thought...come on Vooman...you can't be that kind of coward...get out there and kick a little shit. Hell what can you do when you can't jog, can't dance, can't spend spend money (cause you don't have any) can't got out to dinner...What's left? Watch the tube that is 50% commericals?
Blog...blog...blob...blog. Who thought up that name? It sounds like someone walking in mud five inches deep. I've done it before when I was a kid and used to catch pollywogs in that muddy pond down in the field. It's the idea of an endless world out there that you can never get to the end of. At least a book has an end. You might start another one, but it does have an end. This internet has no end.
I will take it a day at a time, like AA. Like one blog at a time. I do not have to gorge myself on blogs or overdose on them. I will not make myself read one more and one more. So if I start this process slow...you will be patient with me. I am only Voomankind.
Vooman...That reminds me, I dreamed I saw a big hand come out of the sky and down on the beach, I took this to be the hand of God. People ran to the hand and started climbing it....almost to the elbow. I looked further on down the beach and it seemed people were flocking around a normal size person ...maybe a guru. I thought people were hungry for God....to swarm this hand like a bunch of ants.
A day or so later I dreamed water was falling over the edge to the beach like waterfalls all down the beach. So much water. I am only telling you these dreams because I will be weaving these dreams and what they mean, or if they came true, into my blogs. Sometimes I don't know what they mean for a week or so. But this is the Voo of me...so get used to it. Often times... my dream life is more active than my real life. My feet are getting a little heavy now...I'll blog on...tomorrow...or....
Blog...blog...blob...blog. Who thought up that name? It sounds like someone walking in mud five inches deep. I've done it before when I was a kid and used to catch pollywogs in that muddy pond down in the field. It's the idea of an endless world out there that you can never get to the end of. At least a book has an end. You might start another one, but it does have an end. This internet has no end.
I will take it a day at a time, like AA. Like one blog at a time. I do not have to gorge myself on blogs or overdose on them. I will not make myself read one more and one more. So if I start this process slow...you will be patient with me. I am only Voomankind.
Vooman...That reminds me, I dreamed I saw a big hand come out of the sky and down on the beach, I took this to be the hand of God. People ran to the hand and started climbing it....almost to the elbow. I looked further on down the beach and it seemed people were flocking around a normal size person ...maybe a guru. I thought people were hungry for God....to swarm this hand like a bunch of ants.
A day or so later I dreamed water was falling over the edge to the beach like waterfalls all down the beach. So much water. I am only telling you these dreams because I will be weaving these dreams and what they mean, or if they came true, into my blogs. Sometimes I don't know what they mean for a week or so. But this is the Voo of me...so get used to it. Often times... my dream life is more active than my real life. My feet are getting a little heavy now...I'll blog on...tomorrow...or....
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
HEALTH CARE HAS BECOME A JOKE
Since my hands first went numb last October I have been trying to find out what is wrong and get some kind of medical help and answers. I went to emergency thinking I was having some kind of heart problems causing the blood not to circulate to my hands. They determine it was not a heart attack and not a stroke as the numbness was in both hands. I was released and sent back to my regular doctor who referred me to a nurologist. When I called the nurologist the girl in the office said they were not accepting any patients without suppmental insurance. I had lost my job some time again and was in the process of loosing my house and there was no way of getting insurance on my meager $610.00 SS payment. I was afraid by the time I got help in Phoenix, I would already be out of my house. My daughter wanted me come of California and I could at least take the grandkids to school. When I went to SS in California they said I was not illegable for help as they were going to count my daughter helping me out with the rent as income. In the mean time the numbness kept crawling up my arms into my spin and the back of my neck. Finally they gave me a Medi-Cal card that would help. I moved in Feb. and now it was April. The appointment they gave me was June 3rd. Feeling like I couldn't make it until June 3, I went to a 24 hr clinic and was referred to a nurologist. Since Oct, I have been to emergancy twice, had a heart stress test, five doctors and three nurologist and have not had one suggestion on what to do about this. Just..."No it's not this, it's not that." No mention of diet or exercise suggestion, not one treatment. And they wonder why health care expences is astromomical.
My nurologist cancelled my last appointment as I need one more test an MRI before they could determine anything. An MRI that I probably should have gotten the first time I went to emergencyor the numness in my hands and pain in my back.
Delay, delay, delay making more expense and more money for hospital and doctors. I feel like all these delay will cause permanant damage to the nerves in my hands, which might have been fixed with more speed. I wonder how many thousands more are subject to his same kind of non-treatment. I feel like shooting myself... for the first time in my life I understand suicide.
I am hopeful they will call with the appointment for the MRI in five days like they said they were going to. If not I get to call back and call back trying to find out what went wrong...again.
My nurologist cancelled my last appointment as I need one more test an MRI before they could determine anything. An MRI that I probably should have gotten the first time I went to emergencyor the numness in my hands and pain in my back.
Delay, delay, delay making more expense and more money for hospital and doctors. I feel like all these delay will cause permanant damage to the nerves in my hands, which might have been fixed with more speed. I wonder how many thousands more are subject to his same kind of non-treatment. I feel like shooting myself... for the first time in my life I understand suicide.
I am hopeful they will call with the appointment for the MRI in five days like they said they were going to. If not I get to call back and call back trying to find out what went wrong...again.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Harold Norse-Poet Giant Among the Beats
Harold Norse died, age of 92, in his sleep on Monday Jane 8th. I first met Harold when I went with Bukowski to his place on Venice Beach. I remember them sparking back and forth with lively conversation about writing. I have heard him say he taught Bukowski to write. (which I doubted) I think Bukowski came away with his latest poetry book that day which I later read. Harold moved to San Francisco and I remember him in the Taylor Hackford film chiding Bukowski about "giving the folks a 20's show."
I decided to sculpture Harold on one of my many trips to San Francisco to see my daugher. He lived around the corner from the Abandoned Planet Bookstore, run by Scott Harrison who had a foundness for all these old poets, as he had Jack Micheline and others in the area. Scott gave me the space to sculpture him in the back room of his store.
Over the next four or five sculpture sitting I got to know Harold much better and he told story after story about his past. I didn't stop sculpturing, he didn't stop talking and I was sorry I didn't have a tape recorder on as he told more and more. He was wearing his wig at this point, which I knew and in the sculpture it looks like a wig. Later after he went into the care center, he abandoned his wig and let his bare head show.
When we went out to eat Harold stuck strictly to his vegetarian diet which probably contributed to his long life. Even though his memory began to fail in his last year he could still read his poetry with absolute clarity.
A few years later when his Autobiography, MEMOIRS OF A BASTARD ANGEL was published. I thought it was one of the most honest book I'd read of a life, a homosexual life. After that came a huge collection of his poetry IN THE HUB OF THE FIERY FORCE from the Thunder Mouth Press. No one can read this book and not see the force, rhythm. beauty of his poetry.
He used to worry that his publisher or his friends were stealing from him...maybe they were.
He grieved that he had not gotten the same fame as some of the other Beats, but I think he was a giant among poets and will not be forgotten. My sculpture of him sits in the Beat Museum in San Francisco. You can see it there or...if I can master a picture on my blog of it, I will.
Linda King
I decided to sculpture Harold on one of my many trips to San Francisco to see my daugher. He lived around the corner from the Abandoned Planet Bookstore, run by Scott Harrison who had a foundness for all these old poets, as he had Jack Micheline and others in the area. Scott gave me the space to sculpture him in the back room of his store.
Over the next four or five sculpture sitting I got to know Harold much better and he told story after story about his past. I didn't stop sculpturing, he didn't stop talking and I was sorry I didn't have a tape recorder on as he told more and more. He was wearing his wig at this point, which I knew and in the sculpture it looks like a wig. Later after he went into the care center, he abandoned his wig and let his bare head show.
When we went out to eat Harold stuck strictly to his vegetarian diet which probably contributed to his long life. Even though his memory began to fail in his last year he could still read his poetry with absolute clarity.
A few years later when his Autobiography, MEMOIRS OF A BASTARD ANGEL was published. I thought it was one of the most honest book I'd read of a life, a homosexual life. After that came a huge collection of his poetry IN THE HUB OF THE FIERY FORCE from the Thunder Mouth Press. No one can read this book and not see the force, rhythm. beauty of his poetry.
He used to worry that his publisher or his friends were stealing from him...maybe they were.
He grieved that he had not gotten the same fame as some of the other Beats, but I think he was a giant among poets and will not be forgotten. My sculpture of him sits in the Beat Museum in San Francisco. You can see it there or...if I can master a picture on my blog of it, I will.
Linda King
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Rhythms of Self
I feel the rhythms of myself
might twist and wave
like ribbons in the wind
really very free
to flow here and there
maybe even to be released
and float away
to the great unknown
I think this body
that I am how trapped is
is only squeezing me physically
as my spirit becomes stronger
reaching out beyond all
walls of human learning
to something bigger
something more expansive
I have always questioned
this nailed down world of fear
so trapped in old beliefs of self
so trapped in good and evil
so trapped in youth and age
but the mind goes exploring
And I am finding no end to this
Ever expanding self
...Linda King 6/8/09
I dreamed last night of this chicken that was having a fit with feathers all puffed up. The chicken was looking a a six lane freeway wondering how to cross the road. As she was all puffed up along came a big white limo on the other side a big hand came out and picked the chicken up and pulled into the car and the car streaked away into a tunnel.
Those from spirit have alway called me "chicken little" because of my temdency to think the sky was falling. I know that this chicken "fit" is my own fears of the internet. The six lay freeway probably represents that, but even though I don't know where I am going...surely a big white limo can't be a bad sign.
might twist and wave
like ribbons in the wind
really very free
to flow here and there
maybe even to be released
and float away
to the great unknown
I think this body
that I am how trapped is
is only squeezing me physically
as my spirit becomes stronger
reaching out beyond all
walls of human learning
to something bigger
something more expansive
I have always questioned
this nailed down world of fear
so trapped in old beliefs of self
so trapped in good and evil
so trapped in youth and age
but the mind goes exploring
And I am finding no end to this
Ever expanding self
...Linda King 6/8/09
I dreamed last night of this chicken that was having a fit with feathers all puffed up. The chicken was looking a a six lane freeway wondering how to cross the road. As she was all puffed up along came a big white limo on the other side a big hand came out and picked the chicken up and pulled into the car and the car streaked away into a tunnel.
Those from spirit have alway called me "chicken little" because of my temdency to think the sky was falling. I know that this chicken "fit" is my own fears of the internet. The six lay freeway probably represents that, but even though I don't know where I am going...surely a big white limo can't be a bad sign.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Numb Health Care System In America
I might as well try and type with these numb hands because, let's face it, my hopes of getting them fixed has turned to an all time low. They ask if I am depressed. Ofcourse I am depressed. My hands started going numb in Oct. and it is now almost June and tomorrow I am finally having some kind of test. When I look around I see people all over the place in worse shape than I am. And the baby boomer elderly have not even arrived yet. In these past months I have lost my house, had to move to California where my daughter has been helping me. I sadly, left my live-in love and my dogs behind. Getting a new doctor and help without a job or money has been a long slow, painful process, which I feel has probably done permanent damage to my hands, which could have probably been reversed if I had been able to get some help, therpy, medicine...something quickly. It would probably have cost much less money than what I am now looking at...the loss of my hands.This loss would be great for anyone, but for me, a sculptress, where I ceate with my hands, it seems a much bigger loss. No, I have not really made a living with my art, but I haven't stopped. I have continued to do one more picture and one more sculpture. America doesn't seem to love it's artist anymore than it's elderly or sick. Maybe this slow down, this drag on my health and my spirits will go on. Maybe it can't be fixed. Maybe these numb gloves I wear on my hands will not go away.Tomorrow I am hopeful that something will be found to reverse this problem and my balance, also, so that I can stop walking around like a drunk. Maybe it is life and getting old... our bodies decaying... not holding up. God knows I have done my share of shit work in America. Somewhere I got tired of holding up, even though the process doesn't stop. There is really no stopping on this conveyer belt of life pulling us ever forward toward death.The numb not-care health system will probably go on, as more people age, the population explodes, more pollution happens in our rivers, seas and food systems. The doctor make money when we are sick, not when we are well. Tomorrow...another looking into the tangled octopus we call a Health Care System.
draft
draft
Monday, May 18, 2009
Vooman's Voice
Vooman is not sure, now, if she wants to blog, after announcing her spot in the big bad, galloping blog world. Curling up with a good book that someone else has written might be easier than trying to extract my ideas from the sea of ideas floating just off my fingertips. Holybeejesus, never in th history of the world has the human mind been ask to take in so much. It is endless.
Vooman has been searching for truths for fifty years through thousands of book, after having a breakdown at twenty and I still don't understand truth and am even supicious of the word. I guess I have decided that truth is really around the corner. Truth is coming at us and if we lower our heads too long, we might miss it...or truth will fly on by, right over our heads...and it's possible truth has no wings.
Life is really some kind of a joke on all of us, only to be laughed at. Can anyone really make sense of all the nonesense undertaken by every class of people in the world, any government claiming to have the right way, or any religion expounding that they have the only truth? We need to be ready to poke holes in every philosophy, government or religion that wants to package us in their kind of wrapper, probably for their own use or profit.
It not that I didn't want to find truth. It's not that I didn't search relentlessly. It was just not to be found. I dreamed I had been hired as court jester for God, which gave me thought as I tried from time to time to come up with mirth for "God." Of course my "God" or "Goddess" (in quotes) does believe in laughter, unlike he Jewish God, Jehovan, who declared laughter a sin. I hope to make you, too, laugh from time to time. This is why I call myself Vooman... part voodoo, psychic, healer, woman, jester and mistake making fool.
What a Fool I have been to actually take serious those who told me supposed truths set in stone, even about myself. And I find that even stone is not solid. I know now...after working through my many fears that even death, where we are all headed, is but a flowing river to somewhere else. Please...as I dance along life's trails aned trials bare with me in song, poetry and laughter
Vooman
Vooman has been searching for truths for fifty years through thousands of book, after having a breakdown at twenty and I still don't understand truth and am even supicious of the word. I guess I have decided that truth is really around the corner. Truth is coming at us and if we lower our heads too long, we might miss it...or truth will fly on by, right over our heads...and it's possible truth has no wings.
Life is really some kind of a joke on all of us, only to be laughed at. Can anyone really make sense of all the nonesense undertaken by every class of people in the world, any government claiming to have the right way, or any religion expounding that they have the only truth? We need to be ready to poke holes in every philosophy, government or religion that wants to package us in their kind of wrapper, probably for their own use or profit.
It not that I didn't want to find truth. It's not that I didn't search relentlessly. It was just not to be found. I dreamed I had been hired as court jester for God, which gave me thought as I tried from time to time to come up with mirth for "God." Of course my "God" or "Goddess" (in quotes) does believe in laughter, unlike he Jewish God, Jehovan, who declared laughter a sin. I hope to make you, too, laugh from time to time. This is why I call myself Vooman... part voodoo, psychic, healer, woman, jester and mistake making fool.
What a Fool I have been to actually take serious those who told me supposed truths set in stone, even about myself. And I find that even stone is not solid. I know now...after working through my many fears that even death, where we are all headed, is but a flowing river to somewhere else. Please...as I dance along life's trails aned trials bare with me in song, poetry and laughter
Vooman
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