Vooman's Voice

REVOLUTION OF THOUGHT

2011-07-12T00:26:00.001-07:00

Records of war and death
Go back thousand of years
Man has never been at peace
He can never have peace
Without a revolution of the mind
First of all he needs
To lay down religion
Or at least think about it differently
Religion has cause more wars
Than all the madmen of the world
Your God or my God
Who is the best God
Who created the best God
Jehovah, Buddha, Christ, Allah
Is the God who wants
A foreskin really better
Than one who wants a clitoris
Better than a Monkey God
Or the Elephant God, Gnash
Or God hanging on a cross
Insanity fighting with insanity

Lay down religion for world peace
Let good sense prevail
Lay down prejudices
Lay down greed
Lay down love of power
Lay down the class system
Lay down politics
None of the systems have work
Not the right, not the left
Not dictators, Not Kings
Not Lenin, Hitler or Napoleon
We need a revolution of the mind
A revaluation of history
How many thousands of years
Must this go on
Before man wakes up, smartens up
And comes up with something new
Something never before tried
Lay down weapons
Lay down war planes
Lay down rockets, drones and bombs
Wake up world
STOP!!
Nothing was ever solved
By tearing down, destroying
Look at ancient Greece and Rome
Killing a race, a tribe, a nationality
Is not even possible
It was insanity of superiority
We are too many, too mixed
But starvation can kill millions
Murder and war has never worked
It will never work
Lay down your war planes
Lay down your love of oil, diamonds and gold
Lay down your strategies
Get off your adrenaline high

Only those who build, plant food
House and feed the people
Have peace in mind

We have computers
We can reach the world
We can have transparency
We can have honesty
We can have something new
We can have a world working together
We can use our minds
We can reason about how to
Actually achieve PEACE ON EARTH
Revolution of thought
A Revolution of the mind
…Linda King 7/11/11

REELING WITH WONDER

2011-04-28T19:23:00.000-07:00

Days are disappearing into
The deep fog of San Francisco
Disappearing days of wondering
Wondering if the Middle East
Can free it’s self from a dictator
Firing upon his own people with
Guns, grenades and mortars
Wondering if America can
Climb out of it’s credit hole
It’s unemployment, it’s
Homeless people on the streets
Wondering if Japan can
Clean up it’s earthquake disaster
It’s radiation and bury it’s dead
Wondering about the tornadoes
It's death and destruction
And the floods and fires
Wondering if cities and states
All over America can
Balance their budgets
And bring jobs back to America
Wondering when my son can get hired
Wondering when gas prices will go down
Wondering if there will be enough money
To make it through the month
Wondering if there is anything
One person can say or do
That will make a difference
Is it me, or is the whole world
Experiencing the same
Change shoved into our lives
Without relief from day to day
Leaving us all reeling with wonder

Leaving one to welcome the fog
With it’s clouds of white softness
To smother things into unreality
And soften the harsh realities of life
With it’s hard edges…coming to fast
..Linda King 4/25/11

A VISIT WITH MY COUSIN IN PETALUMA

2011-04-18T15:36:00.000-07:00

I spent the week end with my cousin in Petaluma, pictured with her dog. A couple of years ago, we went on a trip up the Oregon coast with this little dog, Butler. He has since died and I thought she would appreciate this picture of them together and the one I took of him alone. We left him tied while we went to eat and he was not happy. She loved this dog and I have never been able to send her a picture by e-mail. I mess it up every time. I'll try this.
It was just beautiful up north, but I didn't have my camera. All of the rolling hill are a emerald green with cows and sheep grazing. They do have happy cows up Petaluma way.
For our walk we went to the Cheese and Egg Festival and got many tasty bits of this and that. The next day we went to Sebastopol to the Flea Market and on the way hit on a great Estate Sale. We both found treasures, that we might never use. The drive up and and back was great with blossoms, green and spring flowers everywhere.
The baby lambs were nice too. On my way home the sky was filled with every kind of cloud you can think of...all in one sky, and as I neared S.F. the fog slipped over the hill and bled down the other side...beautiful. The bridge in fog is unreal too.

The other house, I drive by every weekday taking the kids to school. The clouds were so beautiful, this day, I stopped and took a picture of the house. This house would have been the entrance house of the Ingleside housing development which was built on the site of the old Ingleside Horse Racing Track, where my daughter has her house, and I thought my daughter, Carissa, didn't like horses. There is a circle of houses that go right around where the track it's self would have been. Carissa likes to run there. She's been a runner since high school and still keeps it up...pretty good.
I've had a hard time getting to my writing since Margie, my sister's death. It still seems unreal. I wish she had made it up here to see all this green after so much rain.

FLOYD ENCE AND HIS BELOVED RACEHORSES AND HOUND

2011-03-26T19:51:00.000-07:00

The photos I am putting up are of my brother-in-law Floyd Ence, his racehorses and dog. He ran racehorses at all the tracks in Utah, Golden Gate, Hollywood Park and Santa Anita. His dog "Whitie" seems to love these horses as much as Floyd did. He seems to be posing for me when I took these pictures. Margie loved the Utah races and went with him often. I went when I was in town to Beaver, Escalante, Panguitch, Cedar City, St George, etc. A Ence horse was often the winner. Floyd didn't Gamble, but I did and won some easy money because we knew his horses were a cut above most in Utah. Many of these photo are of the Mares who were having the colts. He had one little colt he saved in the correl from the wolves or something he was pretty beat up. All of his horse seem to love him and came to him to be petted any time he was in the fields at his Mountain Meadow Ranch. Just down from the ranch was where the Mountain Meadow Massacre took place. One of his friend died on the fence there shot by his own gun as he climbed he fence. It was a little spooky up there. I seems to hear moans and groans on the wind.

2011-03-24T20:16:00.000-07:00

DEATH IN THE FAMILY

2011-03-24T19:11:00.000-07:00

My sister, the nurse practitioner, died last night. It was unexpected. She had a another repair on her foot, the fourth surgery to relieve pain. They don't know if it was a stroke, a heart attack or a blood clot. I have been talking to everybody today, but I still can't rest. I clicked on her name, Marg, like I always do. I read her her last blog...maybe there was a clue? Then I posted a comment on her Blog site even though she is gone. We sister have been so close. They have always called us five peas in a pod...among other things. Over the years we have had such fun together.

Hi, Marg... I guess you are over there with LaRae now. At least one person is happy. You know,I am going to miss you so much. I could always come to your place and feel welcome, through all of your years. You and Pole could be so funny together. And there were those time when we all stayed with you at your Escalante house. I was your bartender at Star Hall and we put together some great dancing parties. You and Pole were always the best dancers. I, also, had great times with you visiting the cabin at The Meadows and with Floyd too. He loved that cabin. It should have been left how it was..well, maybe, just cleaned up the singles outside. The cabin had so many memories for him and his brother...and you too, as you drove back and forth up there for him so many years. You have been good to all our family, and all his family. I'm sorry I didn't call you again yesterday, but I was giving you a day. You nursed Floyd over and above the call of any wife or nurses duty.
You seemed more like the old Margie, after Floyd had gone to a care home. You probably over-did, after he left, getting the house cleaned, painted,and the carpet changed. You never did know how to be messy or say, "No," to a medical doctor.
I like our middle of the night talks. You were the only one I could call in the middle of he night. You were always awake when I called...the pain you said.
I know, now, that the dream about that Gangster, Joe Burns, was for you. He came and "stole" you away. When that black Gangster car drove way and I saw it going up the road toward Leeds, where Joe used to live (Or going to Boulder.)..I thought, that looks more like a Hearst than a gangster car. Joe knew that you always loved him.
Well, Goodbye, for while...say "Hello," to Mom, Daddy, Ray and all the rest of the family. We are going to miss you. What is Buddy,(the dog) going to do without you?
He is going to be so sad. I remember that great a big White Russian hound, that killed his own deer to eat, He loved you, too. No one would ever hurt you with him around. I'm glad I did your sculpture.
Your kids are Griffins. They might never stop crying.
Lov you, Sis....Linda, (the baby)
Love you.

LETTERS TO VOOMAN

2011-03-21T11:51:00.000-07:00

Since Vooman's alter ego has received questions by e-mail from "fans." Ha... I decided to answer the questions here on VOOMAN'S VOICE so I could.. Well...kill two jobs with one finger action. And let other people read, as well. Whose knows who don't know what about me.
"You are such an inspiration." ...(I wish I could inspire myself right now...)
"I am dumbstruck that so little is known about you, your early life in Utah and what made you the genius artist that you are. (I like that, I think it is the first time anyone has used the word "genius" on paper about me. It was in a sentence with "dumb," but "dumb" and "dumbstruck" are two different words. I am very sensitive about the word "dumb."
Lois Munoz is writing a film script to respond to caricatures created in "WOMEN," by the late and great, Charles Bukowski. Doesn't she know this about him? ..."I write 90% of the truth and the other 10% is an improvement on the truth." I am not sure that I can be too helpful as I have made a caricature of myself...here on VOOMAN'S VOICE, maybe long before that. But, one should respond to anyone who calls them genius...art genius..

Dear Lois,
In respond to your questions.

What was your first experience with art?

I came from Boulder, Utah, the most beautiful area in American. It's in the heart of Escalante Staircase National Monuments, where there is over 200 miles of scenic beauty.
My first art experience was with the gang who painted graffiti on the rocks. My older sister, LaRae, also an artist, was the leader of the gang. We painted a huge nude up there on a beautiful, flat, red sand rock canvas. It was a dangerous climb and we painted long, even though we had to hurry before any cars came by and we got caught. Nudes were not honored in Mormon country like they were in Rome. It, later, becane the favorite target practice of the boys, who, I think shot her boobs right off. When we went to repaint, we had to add a Bikini, but it was never as good as the first one. And the sign killed it, LAND OF ENCHANTMENT AND BEAUTIFUL WOMEN.

Who or what inspired you to create art?

After I got married and lived in Hollywood. I used to stroll, with my new baby, by this studio that had a little sculpture head in the window and admire it. I wanted to be an actress, but my husband had made me promise, I would give up that dream. He, later, agreed to let me sign up for a sculpture class. I found out at that class that I could catch a likeness better than anyone in the room. I have since had many, many dreams of sculpturing in past lives. One day while I was watching T. V. I jumped up scream, "Come and look. My sculptures are on T.V. I know I helped do those." It was some site in India. The sculptures ere buried in vines with monkeys all round. Russian, American Indian and Mayan art are, also, buried in my unconsciousness, as well. I must go to Rome before I die. I am thinking of sneaking off the trail to a cave in Boulder and sculpture in sandstone again, before 90.

Where did you study and who were your favorite artist?

I went to Adult School in Burbank, Calif. Milton Nickelson was the teacher. He used to do portrait heads at Universal City for $50 a head. He sculptured people from all over the world.
I took Ceramics at Dixie College at St. George Utah and found out I could not make a round pot...I could not. I told the teacher, "Don't give up on me, I am going to get a year of therapy and try again." He said, "Don't do that, the therapist are sending their patients to us." I, mostly, studied on my own. I am taking my first live sculpture class now, at San Francisco City College.
My favorite artist is, Rodin, even though he didn't treat women all that great..unless he was between their legs, at the moment. I saw The Rodin Sculpture Garden and Museum in Paris, it was great. They did have some of "her" work at his Museum. That was nice of him. See how the "she" is forgotten. Even I can't remember...and can't find her name right now. She got so frustrated, "she" destroyed her work...or most of it. That's why I can't remember. I don't like that. I was even against Saddam sculptures being destroyed....after all he wasn't the artist.

What traumas or acts of beauty fuel your creativity?

I had a breakdown in the 60's, which I wrote a book about called MAD OUIJA......still unpublished. My book about Bukowski,LOVING AND HATING CHARLES BUKOWSKI (the 70's)......still unpublished. On the good side, love is a good motivator. Bukowski and I wrote and created quite well together. He was always doing oil stick or chalk drawings for his books, while I sculptured. Of course, he wrote like a madman, so the writing was there too. He was the beginning of me doing portraits of writers and poets. I've sold about over a dozen of Bulowski's head in bronze. I suppose some of those fights we had, created some poetry.

Was your environment where and how you grew up, conducive to you becoming an artist?

I rode a Bus, an hour, morning and night to school and we got creative on that bus, so as not to get too bored with songs, talks, debates, discussions, etc. My oldest sister, Geraldine King, went away to school, but was the writer of the family and she wrote volumes. She is now blogging and working on her Autobiography. She has written so many plays and books I can't count them......still unpublished. She is pushing 79. She tried to make all of her sisters into writers. We had a little rag before Bukowski. It was called HALF N' HALF. In fact, I have one of his poem published in one of them. We were five girl and we trained to be cowgirls because my Dad had no cowboys and herd of a 1000 cattle to take care of. I still have a great love of horses. We partied and dance with great energy, too.
My nephew, Raymond Shurtz, is a playwright, song writer and poet in Phoenix. He has had great theater events with, one act plays, written by many writers including me, his mother Gerry, Brenda Edward, Gus Edwards and many more. Gerry has had original plays performed in Phoenix and Utah. He has had close to 25 original plays done. My mother was also a writer. THE KINGS OF BOULDER, being one of them, mostly self published. My sister Ann writes history and will have a book out this summer LET'S DRIVE, stories and maps of Escalante Staircase National Monumnent. My sister, Margie, wrote a book about her husband Floyd Ence of St George, Utah. My niece, Cheryl, put together a book, EARLY WOMEN SETTLERS, of Boulder, for The Hertiage Festival. I am going there this summer to...well,... build fence. My hometown is becoming a hide out for artist, writer. organic gardeners, musicians, and mountain pot growers,etc.
I managed to get two poems in REVOLUTIONARY POETS BRIGADE, San Francisco. I probably the laziest of the sister...spoiled baby. I did a heads of Jack Hirshman
A.D.Winans, Lawrence Farlinghettim Jack Micheline, Harold Norse and Neeli Chercovski of S.F. I am loving my live nudes the most right now. Oh, Oh, I've got to pick up my Grandkids from school.

98% Trufully yours,

Vooman
of VOOMAN'S VOICE

****All or part of my words or soul can be used...or published.
****Write,Dear Vooman, at your own risk.

REVOLUTIONARY POET BRIGADE CLEBRATES EGYPT

2011-03-02T10:49:00.000-08:00

On Friday I went to a party to celebrate Egypt's freedom from it's dictator. Everything is so up in the air in the middle east it might not be the time to celebrate at all, with rumored up to 2000 killed in Libya. I guess each country and people who frees it's self from oppressive rule can be celebrated. The party was held at Dottie Payne's new gallery space that is is in North Beach, about two blocks into Chinatown. About twenty poets read one poem each. We even had a woman poetess from the Middle East reading. There were some excellent poems. I read one poem.

NECESSARY COMMUNE-ISM,TRIBAL-ISM,
SOCIAL CONSCIOUSNESS FOR AN
OVER POPULATED WORLD

You see it is not about
A political party
It is about survival
A rational way of
Distributing the foods
Of the world
To the most people
So that greed does not
Eat up someone else’s
Fair share of commodities
It is a rational way
Of living together
For the common good
We cannot tolerate
Corporate greed or
Dictators of the world
Profiting off the poor
For their own
Selfish interest
Lining their pockets
With stolen monies
...Yes, they should be
Hunted down
And stripped of their
Power, jailed
Sent into exile
Accounts frozen
Treated as the
Criminals they are
The days of the
Powermongers are over
And their guns
Will rust along side
Their dead bodies
For the meek
Shall inherit the earth
And respect the earth
It’s plants, it’s animal
It’s environment
It’s people
For we the people
Will work side by side
Planting the earth
For the good of all
We will use the earth's
Gas, oil and metals
For the good of all
The animals
Large and small
For the good of all
A necessary reality
Yes, it is about survival
…Linda King - 2/21/11

At the party there was food and wine, a band played and many danced. It was a good night. Dottie was an excellent host. I love her new space where she will be having other events, art shows, etc. I had a great time even though I had been up since early morn and worn out and had to go home and rest. I had been to my Life Sculpture class, (five hours), which takes a lot of energy and then I spent the afternoon in North Beach visiting with other poets at Cafe Trieste, visiting at the Beat Museum with Jerry C. and even danced at The Saloon, before the party. The music was so good it drew me in.
I am still watching CNN to see what is going to happen in Libya and the rest of the middle east. It seems like a very unsettling time. Already the gas is skyrocketing.
I hope Qadhafi will step down without more people being slaughtered. He is an old warlord and crazy as well, so I don't expect it. It's worrisome. One man who worked for him said he had a lot of chemical weapons.
I had a dream where I saw the Statue of Liberty covered with people. It looks like one of those painting that are all people, but you don't know it's people until you look close. As I watched more and more blocks of people popped up slowly covering the Statue of Liberty. I took this to mean that more and more of the people of the world are going to be demanding their liberty. On the ground was a lot of fighting with some evil looking forces, but all the people on the Statue of Liberty were standing way above them, like they were going to be triumphant.

BUKOWSKI, LINDA KING AND SHEL SILVERSTINE AT SANTA CRUZ

2011-02-20T12:47:00.000-08:00

I am trying to learn how to up load pictures on my blog and they are all failing to come up. This one finally took, so I guess I will have to write a blog about my trip with Bukowski to a Santa Cruz reading that was for Prisoners in Mexican Jails. He agreed to go along if they would also book me. He need me to make sure he got home again alright. Allen Ginsberg, Jack Micheline and many other famous poets were reading at this event. I think we had been separated, as well, and this was suppose to be a "get back together" event. I remember reading, A Cock, my then semi-famous poem. The Berkley Barb wrote about me.

A COCK

What is it?
A Cock is nothing
But a cock
Plop, plop, plop
What's that?
There's nothing that important
About going up and down in and out
It can produce a few seeds
That can grow into a million babies
Who wants a million babies?
Who even wants one more?
The most important thing
It does is pee
That's hardly noble
A cock is nothing but a cock
When it's soft it looks like
An overgrown worm creature
When it's hard it looks like
An over healthy mushroom
Why men think it is so important
I'll never know
They want you to look at it
Pet it, kiss it, love it, suck it
Even treat it like it's got a mind
When all on earth it can do
Is go up and down, in and out
Shoot a little juice
Juice that isn't even tasty
Oh, it might have a few proteins
But you couldn't' sell it
Even to a health food store
And they drink everything
And the worst part
If that juice gets inside
It produces something like
The big Daddy it came from
Growing up thinking
The same way
...Mommy, look at my pee, pee
...It's hard, hee, hee, hee
...Even at the age of two

A cock is a cock, nothing more
...I might add, nothing less
..Linda King

I have to give credit of that last line to my friend Dave in Phoenix. He came up with that line. I added it later.

At this reading Bukowski got very, very drunk, insulted one and all including Ginsberg. I just had a new hair cut, and once drunk I don't even think he recognized me. I said aloud, several time, to myself that night as I walked around at the party. I am LINDA KING....not Charles Bukowski's girlfriend. When he fell down, I let someone else pick him up. I tried to enjoyed the drunken show. I turned my back on someone explaining what was happening to Bukowski in the bathroom. At the motel I slept in the chair. Bukowski demons were out that night. They don't make good bedfellows. It was close to the end for us.

2011-02-20T12:33:00.000-08:00

2011-02-17T16:16:00.000-08:00

BANKSTER, LIEYERS, ORGGAGE COMPANIES
INYOURPOCKETFORSURANCE, COUPERATIONS,
HELPYOURSELFCARE AND THE SHOCKMARKET

If BANKSTERS stopped stealing our funds
Charging excessive late fees
Charging more interest than
Your house is worth

If LIEYERS told the truth in court
And color didn’t land people in jail
If our HALL OF INJUSTICE weren’t fine factories
With people lined up a half a block long
Arbitrated to pay excessive fees
With no transparency about that money

If INYOURPOCKETFORSURANCE were not
Also, in the game to raise your rates
With the smallest infraction charged and
Laws making mandatory insurance everywhere

If ORGGAGE companies
Stopped adding compound interest to home loans
And charging outrageous refinance fees
And would, deduct house payments, honestly
From the beginning of the loan
If our lawmakers would put a cap on interest

If HELPYOURSELFCARE didn’t do unneeded tests
Inflating the bills for Medicare or Medicaid
Transferring your savings to their coffers
Until most ill people’s have nothing left
If drug company and hospitals didn’t overcharge

If THE SHOCKMARKET stopped inside trading
And pocketing your saving by phony IRA’s
Which are a gamble, as sure as the Rolette wheel
Many people having no say about their own money

Then maybe, just maybe, the common man
Could make it on even a minimum wage
With a small house to live in and saving in tact
And the American dream could come back
With Construction happening and jobs available

Forget about recouping anything from the COUPERATIONS
Capitalism has them in a strangle hold
They’re going to make money
No matter what country they have to do it in
USA people be damned. Only the devil may care.
…Linda King - 2/15/2011

2011-02-12T20:53:00.000-08:00

BANKS,INSURANCE AND THE AMERICAN DREAM

When I divorced in 1970
I couldn’t get a credit card
Even though I had money
In the bank from an inheritance
Everything had been
In my husband’s name
Finally one called First Card
Took a chance on me
Then came the years
Where every bank
Wanted everyone to have
Their credit cards
And we all paid off one card
To get another with cheaper interest
At least for 6 months
You could buy a house
If you had a down payment
The banks were already
Earning enough interest
But got more and more greedy
They didn’t want just interest
They wanted compound interest
added up by the day,...the minute?
Always taking their cut first
They didn’t want customers
They wanted slaves to the bank
Possibly lifetime slaves
7% become 10%
The 15% even up to 25%
Until you were paying
More in interest on the house
or credit card than money borrowed
or the price of the house
And getting even more greedy
Banks, along with the mortgage companies
Began approving house
For people they knew
Couldn't pay the payment
Let alone the escalating payment
Due in two or three years
And then, there was the $5000 refinancing
And the buy-downs and paperwork
That was half and inch thick
The normal man didn’t try to understand
He just signed, and signed and signed
What did he care he had nothing anyway
So how could he loose anything?
The Bank and the Mortgage Company
And the Insurance companies
Were all schemed to make money together
Flood, fire, earthquake, disaster
Insurance made mandatory
Of course, they paid Lobbyist
After all, aren’t we all
Working on the American Dream?
Then comes the time you walked away
From a house you have been
Paying on for twenty years
But never owned
Well a$30,000 home
Change to $59.000
And $59.000 to $83,000
And $83,000 to $135,000
It could have been $280,000
It was appraised for that
Mortgage approved, bank stamped
Now, we are all into GREED
Just like the banks…why not?
Just like our politicians, our courts
Like health care, unions, corporations
Doctors, dentist, drug companies
You name it…Capitalism
Running amok to any country
Who will take lower wages
And accept lower taxes
It’s the America way

And like the banks
I,too, wanted my share
I am getting old
My Social Security check tiny
So when the collectors call
Telling me what I owe
The house, now, in foreclosure
And my flood insurance in the rear
House insurance tacked on to the loan
Double/triple, plus, late fees over late fees
That can never be stopped
Everything is compounded
What can I say
I’ve been deregulated
Money has lost it’s value
They wouldn’t talk to me
Now I won’t talk to them

When trapped, being kindly, I say
“My dear, if I were to pay
All of those bills, late charges
And insurances you are asking me to,
You, darling, would be out of a job
Employment is, sorely, needed
In America right now. Thank you.”
And I hang up

THIS from a woman
Was never late until 2007
…Linda King 2/2011

PSYCHIC, DREAMS AND HUMOR FROM HEAVEN

2011-01-30T11:32:00.000-08:00

Psychic insight and dreams is something everyone has. It is just that some people believe in it a lot more than others do and some, like me, have been doing it a lot longer. I started recording my dreams and seeing if they were important way back when I was thirty. So I have fifty years on some people. I have to come respect the truth of my dreams much more than what I see on T.V. I gave my grand kids empty note books for Xmas to record their dreams. One of them says to me, "Grandma, I don't dream." I told her. "You dream, you just don't remember them."
I took psychic development classes for years at a Spiritualist church and finally developed, got over my fears and gave messages to people. The hardest thing to learn was to believe, yourself, the message and not lets others distract you by their disbelief.
There was an old psychic there who always started her message with, "I have a message for you from the other side of life..." She had this squeaky voice and I would go home and say that line in exactly her tone...making everyone laugh. I love a good laugh line and wanted to steal it, but I didn't. Nobody laughed when she said it. I couldn't help thinking...she's psychic, she'll know I am making fun.
I'll tell you a few of the messages, that I call hits before I get to current messages.
#1 (This was to a man I had never seen before.) Sir, I'm sorry, but all I seem to be getting for you is alligators. I know this is Phoenix and the desert and their are no alligators around here...but. that it."
He said, "Well that is good enough for me because I'm here from Florida and I know who that message is from. It is from my brother-in-law who passed away recently. His backyard backed up to the swamp and his favorite thing was going down and watching the alligators. He even built a bench down there."
#2 This is not all of this message, but I told another woman I saw a set of department store legs that are set up to display hose or shoes, etc. She told me that her friend has died recently who was paralyzed and had told her before she died that the first thing she was going to do after she died was get a set of legs.
#3 Another young man in his messaged I gave him a old hay rake and a man who had something to do with honey, maybe beekeeper. He shook his head and looked at me like I was out of mind.
I said, "Well, I am not it taking back, it might mean something later." After the reading he came up to me and said, "I suddenly realized the messages was from Mr. Honeycutt. He lived next door when I was young and I loved that old man and went over to see him everyday. Between our places was this old hay rack that I passed by to get there.
I call these kind of messages hits. I guess being a gambler I looked upon it like the horse races. You couldn't win every time...but I also found out the psychic wouldn't work to pick winners. I doubt that's what it was devised for. Even though, I have been given winners in dreams like a horse, Red, that paid over $80 to win.
I have numerous dreams every night, my family are sick to death of them, but they just keep right on coming. I have expanded to dream about the world. My crystal ball changes into a word map and I, sometimes, get a birds eye few of what is going to happen like a huge waves or islands where a volcano is erupting. I dreamed of a Pyramid a couple of weeks ago and I kept looking for something to happen in Egypt. And here it is..still happening.
I dreamed numerous times of earthquakes and destruction before Haiti. So when I start to dream about something bad happening, I get a little nervous.
When some one is going to die in the family, I see my Dad riding in with a saddled horse to take someone back with him.
I have animal symbols for everyone, so when they come into my dreams I know who they are. My daughter, a Pig, (she has a collection of pigs.)
I announced my daughter was coming home early from the Peace Corp because I dream a pig got on the plane. She did.
My son, a cross, (he's a church going man.)
My youngest son has been, a Griffie, (as he has his head in the cloud a lot.) He's been changing to something else. It's dangerous during changes.
A friend who died, a Bear, (he had a dog named Bear.)
My sisters a Swan...etc. etc. See how it goes. The amazing thing about dreams and psychic insight is that they get it through to you with such a sparsity of words. One image can convey so much.
Like a telephone Pole...coming at me from the sky. I said, Pole a dozen its before I knew it was from the brother-in-law, Pole,of course, from the other side of life..ha. I called his daughter to see what was going on. There had a birth in her husbands family, but I told her her dad was looking after her. Her husband was still out of town, when a cougar stash his kill, a deer, almost at her back door. He did it on her dad's birthday. This in my home town of Boulder, Utah. If a cougar comes to me, I will know who it is. Or maybe that will be my niece's animal sign. Tony the Tiger, (his nickname from school) is, naturally, a tiger.
Rather than deceased or dead, I have been calling them the undead...

I am tell you this because I am planning on adding a little dream box and messages to my Vooman's Voice. Like the one I had last night of a flash flood coming down a freeway. I jumped out of my car and climb a wall and headed for high ground. The guy behind passed driving to fast, right into it,cursing me as he went by. This was a warning, they will tell me later when and where.(Maybe) In the dream, I thought, I would be dead if I hadn't had advance warning. Some of the freeways in Phoenix look like canals. My undead sister ,LaRae, warned me about my driving only a couple of days before I drove into head-on traffic. I remembered the dream and knew...threw it in reverse and I backed up on a dime. (Whew!)
***warning, all reader much bear with my bad grammar, misspelled words, so S's, etc. etc. My computer doesn't speak yet and tell me what I have done wrong.

2011-01-29T18:31:00.001-08:00

2011-01-20T13:05:00.000-08:00

This photo was taken on my senior trip at Knott's Berry Farm. I was always half way in love with Tony Reynolds, but he always had another girlfriend. I think I fell in love at first sight at the school playground at the old elementry school in Escalante when I was about six years old. That old brick two story school that should never been torn down. It was historic. Aunt Nethalla helped get half of the historic building in Escalante bulldozed. She was cleaning up the town. I have always loved old buildings. I think Dell LeFevere and Janel Spencer look pretty good in the photo too.

2011-01-20T12:54:00.000-08:00

The photo was taken when my dad, Clyde King, was driving cattle probably to King Bench or to the Circle Cliffs. Much of the country looks like this in what we Boulder people called Down Below. I don't now how it got that name. Maybe the cowboys went through a little hell herding cattle in those rugged canyons and mesas.
Another rancher, Truman Lyman, had to get their cattle out of one of those canyon one winter during heavy snow. He said, "We only took the Lyman cattle, we left the King cattle and they all died." Since he later became a churchman, I felt like he felt a little guilt for leaving those cattle. Those trail were very dangerous and the cattle wild and unperdictable.
I drove cattle up the trail to King Bench and also drove them off the same trail. On old cow was so thristy and hungry, she ran out on the edge of the cliff to get a mouth full of grass and the edge broke off and she fell into the canyon, called The Gultch and died.
Daddy broke a leg on that same trail when his horse fell. My mom, Irene and I went down to pick him up. The men who had come to help went ahead of us. I ask how they got him out of there. He said, "After we put on a splint, we carried him off, four men...one on each corner of a blanket down the trail. Once down, we walked with four horses with him in the middle tied to each saddle with a lasso. We moved slowly up the canyon. It was not an easy ride for a man with a broken leg and horses walking in the dark." I remember we waited and waited a waited until they arrive about three in the morning. We load him in the back of the Power Wagon for another bumpy ride home...where they switch cars again to take him the 100 miles to the hospital where they could set the leg and put a cast on.

2011-01-07T19:44:00.000-08:00

BLOG THERAPY
Since I’ve missed my group therapy in Phoenix. I thought I might have a little Blog Therapy at least once a week. Anyone who has a problem can join and try to get their problem discussed. I think the most healing thing about group therapy is that you realize in group that you are not in this alone. There a lot of other people with problems as big or bigger than the ones you have. Somehow that makes you feel better.
I know there are probably a million or more people out there who have my problem and they just go get a facelift instead of face it. IT'S THE PROBLEM OF GETTING OLD. The face lift doesn’t help their skin or their elbows or their knees. I used to never notice the old, hobbling around, moan and groaning, but now I see them all the time. I wonder how come someone is limping or why someone else can’t get up from their chair.
I should have known I was trying to avoid old age when I took up with that man 20 years younger. That did me no good…especially when he didn’t want to walk in a room with me. Well, men do it all the time, it is still not acceptable in women …COUGAR TOWN or not.
I’m seventy and I still haven’t lost the desire to make love to a man that I adore and I still miss that one man and it has been over 2 years now. He kept me laughing, on my toes and looking good, but I did need this job in S.F. I didn’t think it was fair to him to be with someone as old as I am. And there was a small problem of him running out of money. He says he hasn’t found anyone else, but I wonder. I’ve had a couple of married men want to give me a sliver of their pie, but I don’t want that. There might have been a time I was willing, but not now.
Men my age, if they have money, are looking for women at least 40 years young. If they are broke, they are like me…looking depressed and not even on the prowl. That leaves the illegal men and we mostly don’t speak the same language. For the most part, their women are in Mexico, South America or China. They might have a job…I had one man come and open his wallet right in front of me …actually showed me he had money. Of course a man who really had money would never do anything like that.
I am just throwing this problem out to the world. THE PROBLEM OF GETTING OLD. Maybe someone has found a way to deal with this problem. I see happy older people out there. I think they are the ones who have mates. I see some laughing, joking...probably been drinking. I sometimes think…would I want to undress this falling apart body… in front of someone new, and I look good for my age. I wouldn’t even go see Cher. trying to look 20 year younger than she is. I don’t like that look. I want the happy, laughing contented look …satisfied like maybe she just got a little that morning. Help Anyone? Therapy Anyone?
I have a little exta problem and that’s having been Charles Bukowski’s girlfriend years ago. Writer or poets who admire him think…she would never go with me after him. True he was a damn good writer…but he’s dead. Other who have seen him think….Charles Burkowski’s, that man’s, ..not his discards. Wait a minute… it me who left him. …If she would go with a man that ugly there must be something wrong with her. And if they have read Bukowski…forget it. They’ve read about me.
The illegals don’t know who in the hell he is or can‘t read…thank God. I could go out a look in a bar or a dance place…but hell…I’m shot for today.

2010-12-09T11:19:00.000-08:00

VOOMAN’S VOICE

I have dragged myself out of my bed to face the world…to find my voice. I am Vooman and I do have a voice. I think I crawled under the cover never to come out because I can’t face this fighting world, a war on every front with people sleeping in the street and not getting enough to eat all over this freaking planet. Flood, fires, famine, bombs, fighting, murder are a weekly happenings. Somewhere deep inside you feel like you should do something about some of this despair, but know your are in no position to do anything. Hardly in a position to take care of yourself let alone help anyone else.
Not to understand, but wondering if there is any intelligent master over all this, I opened the Jewish Old Testament. And read war after war after war. It only made me realize how long this has been going on and how little chance there is that it will stop. Those bad boys back then were going out and slaughtering thousands and thousand in one day. God had no shame about marching these thousands and thousand of Jews into other people lands and towns and just taking over. No wimps in those days. David slaughtered thousands and Solomon slaughtered tens of thousands. Our little drones that only kill 15 or 20 people is nothing.
I really need to go back to comedy. I have become too serious. The Revolutionary Poets Brigade that I have joined is too serious for me. Too many problems on every front. And my 32 year old son can’t get a job. The jobs are in China, India or the Philippines. If I don’t post any blogs is because I am afraid I cannot said anything intelligent, funny, interest or of good report. Okay, I admit I don’t have the answers. I am getting one day older every day. There is no turning it back. My face is getting more wrinkles and I laugh a whole lot less. Give me a break. I think I should stop watching CNN. But I am addicted to what is going on. I need to know. Maybe this is something like heroin you need to go through withdrawal to get off news addiction.
I need to go to a withdrawal camp where you are not allow to get a fix of bad new for weeks at a time. Maybe I should start one. I have no pep or energy to pop this stuffy bubble I am in and have been in for weeks. Give me a break. Just give me a break. Let me get back to some fun, if there is fun still in the world.

CALIFORNIA ONLY 23 BILLION DOLLARS IN DEBT

How is it that California is limping along 23 billion dollar in debt. Everything seems to be running somewhat the same as always. There are still Policemen, firemen, schools, the tram is on the track. How can this be? Maybe the idea of money is only relative, maybe it is not real. Maybe 23 billion dollar doesn’t mean 23 billion dollars. When my money runs out, I can’t buy food, gas or pay the rent. What is this debt that shadows our lives. This is not suppose to be part of the American dream. America is suppose to get richer, live bigger and better in their pursuit for happiness. Is the 23 billions just part of our happiness…spend, spend, spend? Can we borrow more? Since we have the most artillery maybe other country are afraid not to loan us their money. It seems to me that the English had a better idea, they just conquered and took what they wanted. I have never seen so many treasures as those in Buckingham Palace. In the Bible, when you conquer you take the spoils. It is expected of the winner. When Americans win, they give, give, give to build back what they have destroyed. This is a crazy kind of war. We try to be the nice helpful guy and conquer at the same time. It is impossible to do both. The spoils of war used to go to the winner. Is this why we never win? We could conquer and make these places another part of USA, our land ….our oil. Who found the oil, who drilled for it, who built the processing plants?
With our country not paying back it’s debts, the states not paying back their debts, how come we the people need to pay our debts. These debts are certainly not happiness. I have not read one article of anybody who has any solution to this vast American problem. I don’t really expect anyone to come up with a way to allow anyone to spend more than they earn. The Government could take care of the lazy, the fat, the addicted, the crazy, the poor, the unemployed…if they weren’t trillions of dollar in debt. How was it that Bill Clinton actually brought down the national debt?? Maybe, I ,like everyone else, should go along with this fantasy…maybe it is like a Disney movie, it will all end up happy ever after in the end.

LOST IN A KALEIDOSCOPE

2010-05-22T14:00:00.000-07:00

Thursday night I was the feature reading at ANGER MANAGEMENT, a poetry reading at THE KALEIDOSCOPE. I realized, before we left my driver was drinking more than he should have been. I ask my driver to let me drive. I couldn't fire my driver as he was carrying the video camera that was going to record my performance. I tryed not to say much as I knew my driver had had a bad day. He had a conflict with the thief who is trying to steal his $100,000 movie. That could drive anyone to drink and possibly even out of their mind after working on this movie project for the last five years. He told me earlier that he was ready to move on...MOVE ON...ON,ON,ON!!!
We had a terrible time finding parking, but we finally found a spot. I gathered my poems and hurriedly made it to The Kaleidoscope, which was a full house. I was the first reader after the band played a few numbers. My driver headed to the bar for more to drink. He was the only one in the place talking loudly through the music. I tried to catch his eyes, but by then he had the attention of a beautiful brunette with long legs.
The band played their own music, which I thought was funny and original. The two singers were comic and good singers.
I was the first reader and had picked out what I thought was my best anger poems. I did alright until I got to the one I had just written earlier that day and I didn't have it under my belt yet and kind of stumbled and read it badly. They had told me 15 minutes and I had to cut it to 10 when I got there. There are many poets in San Francisco just waiting to read. I said, I had found it a little hard coming from Phoenix where there was a drought of poetry to San Francisco where that was a flood of poetry. I got some laughs and some claps. I was happy.
The poetry reading went on and Jessica read and she does performance poetry. I thought she did very well. Most of the poets only read one poem, but my driver,S. D., was getting restless. Poetry sometimes seem to get him a bit uinhinged. He feels like he is getting peppered by words like tiny bullets. He can't take too much, too long, especially when he had had to much to drink. Maybe he has not been subject to the written word long enough. His own words would probably entertain him more.
I agreed to leave at the half, even though I didn't really wanted to. I wanted to make a night of it...as long as I was there and I was the feature reader, but, I had had one other bad night with this same driver when he had too much to drink. I didn't want a scene.
We went out to our car, which I was sure we had parked on Mission between 24th Street and 23rd. The car was not there. We went looking for the car on other streets for the next two hours. My driver blaming me and I blaming him, as he was too blind in his state to see where we were. As it was close to midnight the vultures of the night started circling. When he was off on another street looking, I called and I begged him to come back to where I was as I was getting a little nervous with all of these circling vultures. Finally, we decided to go back to the Kaleidoscope and we, by luck, caught the anger manager on the way to his car. He gave us a ride back to my daughter house where we called the cops and waited another hour or two for the cops to come for a stolen car report. I had already called to find out if it had been towed. It had not.
The next day, after driving my grandkids to school, I stayed in bed for twenty-four hours, with my head covered, because I knew I had already caused my daughter countless tickets, towing fees and other San Francisco craziness and now I had lost her car altogether. I didn't have good dreams. God, I didn't want to get up again.
She came home from her trip across the big pond and for some reason her and her husband went down and started cruising around The Kaleodoscope. Somehow, they found their car on a different street South Van Ness between 23 and 24th Street.

Irene's Store

2010-03-13T19:48:00.000-08:00

Sorry, I didn't realize this poem for Hertige Women's Book
was not finished. This is the final version. I hope.
I make many mistakes, grammer, spelling, punuation, etc. I
need to fix. This should give the worst writer in the world
courage. L.

IRENE’S STORE

In the town of Boulder, Utah
My mom, Irene, for awhile, had
The only store for thirty miles around
She had everything in that store
That you could think of
Groceries, blocks of taste cheese
Levies, cowboy boots
Lasso rope by the foot
Cattle vaccine, pocket knives
Sweet’s candy and cookies
Bread brought by the mail truck
You could get gasoline by
Pumping up five gallons by hand
Then shooting it down to your tank
You could even get a tire
Fixed at Irene’s store
Or darn good instructions
On how to do it yourself
You had to break it down
By running a car next to the rim

Mama liked to have fun
And you could always hear her
Musical laughter ringing out
High above everyone else
I think mama’s laughter just
Made people feel good
And that’s why so many people
Stopped by to visit so often
From all over the place
Daddy tried to get Mama to
Take the doorbell off the store
So we could have one meal
Without someone coming to the store
But she never did and “Ding dong.”
Somebody always had to
Jump up and run, usually her

Mama was the first mayor of Boulder
So we talked a lot about the town
She helped get the first water system in
And we stopped scooping mice
Out of that old cement cistern
She talked Dad into giving the town
The spring from the upper ranch
For great tasting drinking water
That needed no chemicals
It’s still the greatest tasting
Water in southern Utah

Mama became the first president
Of the Utah Cowbell association
And even helped think up that name
She got bored with the Cowboys
Having all the conventions and talk
The Cowbells put out a beef cookbook
With some of my mama’s tasty recipes
Including Hunter’s Delight,…yummy.

The store was where
We helped Mama put together
Case machinery just outside the door
That she sold to the ranchers
Where we had to help Daddy
Put in a new motor in his cattle truck
Where she taught men how to
Sling gas barrels off a truck the right way
You had to roll and move the weight
Where we had to lock the door
To run and help the young heifers
Next to the store in the catchall
Have their first oversized calves
She had me run back to the store
For these great big sulfa tablets
While she held the cows uterus
Then she stuffed it and the pill
Back inside clear up to her elbow
Then she cussed Daddy for
Buying that great big Herford bull
The cows lived and word got out
The store was where the dog ran in with
Hundreds of porky pine quills in his nose
That we had to extract with pliers
Where, Daddy drank up all the Shillings vanilla
Stuck out his chin and challenged her
“I know you’re mad…hit me right there.”
Mama knocked him right off the porch
Where he lay flat on his back
While his buddies laughed
I thought he might get up and kill her
The store was the only place to be
When Daddy and his buddies
Were passed out all over the house

But best of all were those
Two tables filled with arrowhead
Where you could sit with a cold coke
Or a beer and talk about everything
We five girls were Mama’s helpers
Especially when she drove off
To show tourists the back country
Or went to Richfield for freight
We were often there starting
Or getting in on wild conversations
There were more things discussed
In that store than anyplace in town
Maybe in all of Southern Utah,including church
In that store we could discuss anything
With many a sweaty cowboy over from
The round up at the Government corral
Needing cold refreshments or lunch
We’d be quiet when Daddy came in
To guzzle straight down one small cokes
Then reach for another, real coke in those days
But I remember Daddy cussing a lot
About all the stupid talk going on

What chance did we five girls have
Growing up in a store like that
Everybody coming by to see us
Everybody talking about everything
Some adventure always going on
Always meeting somebody new
Teasing, joking, flirting having fun
Doing flips, walking on my hand
Getting ready for the dances
I think two of my sister even
Found husbands in that store
I know some of us are still
The biggest talkers around
Hoping to spread a few new ideas
Still looking for new skills or new truths
Fighting causes, or discussing things that should
…or maybe shouldn’t be talked about
And laughing all the time just like Mama
And still wanting to have that fun
We became fearless just like her
She let me climb the highest ledges
My other sister chased wild steers
Another one nursed sick people and animals
Right in that little store, just like Mama
My older sister launched forbidden subjects
We could debate with the best of them
And doing it still, when we get a chance
But I wonder about those “hot rocks”
That those uranium hunters brought in
That Mama used to let us handle
And test with her Geiger counter
Maybe that’s what wrong with my hand right now

I can’t really blame Mama for how I turned out
Restless, curious, seeking, adventurous. gambling
Looking for a cause, a party or laugher
Always wanting something wild and crazy
Just being raised in Irene’s Store
…Linda King 2/18/2010

GROUP THERAPY ON LINE

2010-03-05T18:56:00.000-08:00

I miss my group therapy in Phoenix and since it was free, paid for by the gambling Casinos who had to agree to this in order to set up their Indian Tribes Casinos in Phoenix. They knew they were going to make a lot more money than therapy costs...and it costs a lot. I blamed my gambling on them just to give therapy a try. They didn't know I started gambling clear back in the 70's when Bukowski and I used to head for the track. There is nothing like a horse running down the track to the finish line to make your forget the miseries in the world. I was the only "action" gambler. The other girls just sit with a one armed bandit and got robbed. Our therapist said action gamblers are the hardest to cure. They just need that action. If I wasn't so old maybe I could convert the action to running or skiing or something else to get my adrenalin rush. I would have been alright it they hadn't opened off-track betting right next to my house.

My therapist didn't say much, just listened. In fact, I was getting tired of driving all the way to Scottsdale just to entertain her with my stories. The Indians didn't pay for my gas. I often went from therapy to catch a couple of races. She knew and I knew I was never going to stop going to "off-track" two blocks from my house. She encourage me to go to San Francisco...someplace she has always wanted to live. She loved my poetry...Here I am. It's hard to believe I been here almost a year.
I didn't loose my house over just gambling. I guess it started when I wanted to see Europe after a free trip to a Bukowski eventin Germany. The money came out of the house. After the first "refi" it was easy. Kind of like sex. You want to do it again. Especially when they are telling you your house is worth ten times what you paid for it. It's like betting on the big six. It was a gamble. I saw Paris, Amsterdam and England. And then all of America went crazy. I knew the stock market gang was nothing but a bunch of gamblers...it takes one to know one. In their scheming mind they figured out just where some untouched money was...ah ha...it's in hard working retirement accounts. They really worked at converting those accounts to their gambling operations. Who has the money now?? A lot of IRAs are still going that way.

Maybe it not really the group therapy I miss, maybe I just wanted to tell those sad faced slot players I made it to San Francisco...maybe half transplanted...even though just yesterday, after a family upset, I had to fight with my steering wheel so it wouldn't drive to Golden Gate Fields...where, on Sunday, the hot dogs, beer and parking is only a dollar.
Now, I don't think it's just me, but everyone in the world needs a little group therapy and I might as well start it right here on VOOMAN'S VOICE. This last year has been rough, what with my numb hands, losing my home and hearth, my dogs, my lover, my dignity, my credit, almost my sanity...but it is all in your mind set. I made these hands do one more sculpture and it's a beauty.. Jack Hirschman. But I fell into a hole after it was done. Maybe I am afraid one of these sculptures is going to be my last. With all the rain, the sculpture started growing mold instead of drying. I thought for a time in was my own head growing mold. It's starting to dry now. I feel better...but all these earthquakes and people in so much misery has not made me happy. I dream last night that a giant wave had me and these houses right in front of the zoo tumbling out to sea. With my dream is could come true or just be my tumbling fears. I can't stop myself from finding out what is going on it the world. Let's face it the world sucks, America suck, our government sucks, the weather sucks "Humanity you never had it from the beginning"...as Bukowski said it.

The other night I fell into the lips of a man. It was easy and good is good, other than, I know it's the wrong man...but maybe their never was a right man or never can be a right man. Maybe that is one of the fantasies that we like to believe. Maybe marriage is a false institution that millions of people are captured in like prison when they are really wanting someone else, or sometwo or somethree else. Maybe my singleness is primo and I don't know it.
If anyone would like to join Vooman's Voice Group Therapy...men are welcome, I would be happy for all intelligent, wise or humorous voices that might make me believe there is still hope, happiness and humor out there...jump in and say your say. Scream your scream. Let us commiserate together. If you have a blog...a blogspot address. How can I go on living a blogless life. My sister, who is a mathathon blogger, is outrunning me everyday. My muscles are limp. Help!!! HELP!!!

Woman's poems

2010-02-19T13:36:00.000-08:00

.....
IRENE’S STORE
For awhile, my mom, Irene
Owned the only store
In the town of Boulder, Utah
She had everything in that store
That you could think of
Groceries, blocks of taste cheese
Levies, cowboy boots
Lasso rope by the foot
Cattle vaccine, pocket knives
Sweet’s candy and cookies
And bread brought by
The mail truck
You could get gas
By pumping up five gallons by hand
Then shooting it down to your tank
You could even get a tire
Fixed at Irene’s store
Or darn good instructions
On how to do it yourself
But best of all were those
Two tables filled with arrowhead
Where you could sit with a cold coke
Or a beer and talk about everything
We five girls, mama’s helpers
Were often there starting
Or getting in on wild conversations

There were more things discussed
In that store than anyplace in town
…maybe in southern Utah, including church
In that store we could discuss anything
I remember Daddy cussing a lot
About all the talk going on
Mama liked to have fun
And you could always hear her
Musical laughter ringing out
High above everyone else
I think mama’s laughter just
Made people feel good
And that’s why so many people
Stopped by so often
Daddy tried to get Mama to
Take the doorbell off the store
So we could have one meal
Without someone coming to the store
But she never did and “Ding dong.”
Somebody always had to
Jump up and run, usually her

Mama was the first mayor of Boulder
So we talked a lot about the town
She helped get the first water system in
And we stopped scooping mice
Out of that old cement cistern
She talked Dad into giving
The spring from the upper ranch
For great tasting drinking water
That needed no chemicals
It’s still the greatest tasting
Water in Southern Utah

Mama became the first
President of the Utah Cowbelle’s
And even helped think up that name
She got bored with the Cowboys
Having all the conventions and talk
And I remember that first
Worn out Cowbelle Beef Cookbook
That had some of my mom’s tasty recipes
Including Hunter’s Delight

What chance did we five girls have
Growing up in a store like that
Everybody coming by to see us
Everybody talking about everything
Some adventure always going on
Always meeting somebody new
Teasing, joking, flirting having fun
I know some of us are still
The biggest talkers around
Hoping to spread a few new ideas
Still looking for new skills or new truths
Discussing things that should
…or maybe, shouldn’t be talked about
And laughing all the time just like Mama
We became fearless just like her
She let me climb the highest ledges
My other sister chased wild steers
Another nursed sick people and animals
Right in that little store, just like Mama
My older sister launch forbidden subjects
We could debate with the best of them
We still like to have that fun
and doing it when we get a chance
Having those three day marathon talks
them most folks can't stand
But I still wonder about those “hot rocks”
That those uranium hunters brought in
That Mama used let us tests
With her Geiger counter
I can’t really blame Mama
For how I turned out
Restless, curious, seeking, adventurous
Looking for a cause, a party or a laugh
Some have said, "Wild and crazy."
….Just being raised in Irene’s Store
…Linda King 2/18/2010
　
　
　
　
DEAR MAMA
Hello dear, dear mama
How old you are, dear mama
How very, very old
You eat, you sleep, you wait
You wait for your
Return to the other world
You wait to return to
When you were young
And beautiful
And danced
The night away in
The arms of love
Dear Mama
Since you can never answer
It sometimes seems
As if you have already gone
Anyway in your mind
You are already there
Dancing away in some
Beautiful ballroom
And the next dancer
Is waiting
And watching you
Wanting their next dance
You, so lively
You, such a good dancer
You, with that beautiful laughter
Ringing like chimes
Over the top of the music

Can you remember
When the time comes
To dance away
From tired bones
And tired flesh
And a tired mind
That no longer obeys
Your command
Dear Mama
Dear, dear Mama
I thought of you tonight
Lonesome in your room
I thought of you this morning
And the delicious fluffy
Biscuits you used to
Make for breakfast
I thought of you when
I took a shower
And saw the rail
You used to hold on to
And I thought that
Someday I, too, would be old
My knees and joints
Refusing to hold me up
And I wished I had
My Mama for company
To kick around the house
To laugh or even argue with
And I grieved that I could not
Bring you home again
Dear, dear, dear Mama
Love,
…Linda 10/22/2000
　
　
　
　
　
THE UNSUNG WOMEN OF THE WEST

We’re the unsung women who came out West
We built our towns and made our nest
We had ten kids, we birthed in pain
Without a doctor or going insane
We got up early, he was still in bed
Started the fires and made the bread
We milked the cow, we fed the cat
Slopped the hogs to make them fat
We mopped the floors and cooked the food
And then we prayed to set the mood
We churned the butter and made cottage cheese
Picked he berries and shelled he peas
We grubbed the sage, we chopped the weeds
We hoed the garden and sowed the seeds
We squashed the bugs, we killed the weevil
We fought the blight and other evil
We dug the carrots and picked the ‘maters.
Shucked the corn and dug the ‘taters
We picked the fruit, we bottled the jam
We pickled the beets and cured the ham
We burned the trash and grubbed the thistle
Picked up the yard clean as a whistle
We planted the trees, shrubs and roses
Then bathed the kids and wiped their noses
We raised the chicken and cleaned the coop
Chopped off their head to made the soup
We made the quilts, wove the rugs
Knitted socks and passed out hugs
We sewed the clothes and crocheted lace
At the county fair we took first place
We shot the deer and dried the jerky
Baked pumpkin pie to go with turkey
The dogs we raised all knew “sig’em”
When they bit someone we had to lick’em
Into the barn we brought in hay
Stacked it high without no pay
We rode for cattle with our pack mule
We brand the calves and tagged the bull
We watered the fields and built sod dams
We nursed those doggie calves and lambs
We dressed as ladies with hats and curls
Charmed the men and giggled like girls
We talked in church and then, by gosh,
On top of that was the waterboss
We ran for office, helped the poor
Collected the funds from door to door
We taught the kids, went over their lessons
Took them to church to receive their blessings
We raised our kids to do what’s right
We made them share, we stopped he fights
We gave Grandpa a helping hand
Put him to bed when he could hardly strand
We helped birth babies, calmed the fears
Laid out the dead and dried the tears
For hired men we cleaned and cooked
Then at night we read a book
We filled the cellar to last all winter
Brought it up to serve for dinner
We curried the horses, trained the dog
We bucketed the coal and brought in logs
When it came spring, things went outside
We cleaned the windows, walls and hides
We papered our walls, moved the toilet
When something didn’t work, then we’d oil it
To do our wash we made soap from lie
We scrubbed, blued, wrung, then hug to dry
We wrangled our cowboy who wanted to play
Danced all night then worked all day
There’s almost nothing we can’t do
Inside, outside…night time too
As women go we are the best
The unsung women who built the west
By Ann Reynolds and Linda King…Sisters

2010-02-19T11:45:00.001-08:00

IRENE’S STORE

2010-02-19T11:28:00.000-08:00

EARTHQUAKE IN HAITI

2010-01-25T10:48:00.000-08:00

As a caravan of misery unfolds before our eyes
Shocked brains can not absorb such destruction
The earth trembled and rolled in waves
As Port Au Prince collapses
In a cloud of concrete dust
Crushed arms, legs, bodies and heads
Black injured faces covered with white dust
Bodies trapped with a piece of metal
A wall or roof sitting on others
Screams of pain come from the rubble
....And the moon darken the sun in total eclipse
Anderson Cooper, of CNN reports...reports
This child needs surgery
This woman needs blood
There is no food, no water, no medical supplies
Whole street are down in a massive tangle
No help, no doctors, no shelter
Thousands on the streets
This leg needs to be amputated
Work fast...the first 72 hours are critical
Rows of dead bodies line the streets
And a wall of faces spring up
People looking for loved ones
People begging for help to find a child
The orphans, what will happen to the babies?
The Presidential Palace is destroyed
The UN building gone and also many employees
The prison in rubble and prisoners free
The earth rolls again in after shocks...after shocks
Truck loads of bodies are dumped into a mass grave
Dr. Sanjay, of CNN, passes the night with the critically injured
When a medical team pull out for security reasons
And more survivors are released from the rubble
A girl of five is saved, but later dies calling for her mother
A 72 year old grandma buried in a church survives
A boy's head is bloodied by a brick slung in a food riot
The police kill two men, who lived, for stealing rice
A small black eyed boys if found
His haunting eyes tell of his 7 day ordeal
Everyone is wearing masks against the stink of rotting flesh
Help! Help! Where is help? Planes can't land
The ships can' arrive, the port is gone
Medical supply are sitting at the airport undelivered
The Red Cross hospital ship has not arrived
The outer towns have not even been looked at
People are dieing that could have been saved
With equipment, antibiotics and surgeons
Now many orphans are on a bus to...nowhere
Big eyed children, packed in together...are turned back
Their caretaker is crying
Don't leave by boat...they warn
The lucky ones fly out...some orphans are permitted to leave
Money! Can you give money? Donate...Please!
Twenty-seven million given in 3 days..many countries helping
Watch for fraud... and Clinton and Bush are working together
Obama pledged billions... Haiti benefits everywhere.
Call 90999 and $10 will be added to your phone bill
They need more...so much more..money, food, water, tents
How many dead? Nobody know..200,000 and counting
Bulldozers moving...Many unrecord, going in mass graves

How could this angry, polluted, buckling and dieing earth
Strike people already colored in so much misery
So hungery and poor to have already eaten mud cakes
Is this the earth we call mother?
Can a God rule all this?
Can a God rule this?
Is Allah..Is Buddha...Is Voodoo lost in the rubble?
Is Human slavery really gone?
Will the bribes and greed of the ruling class ever be gone?
Haiti is most corruption among nations
Will the rich see the misery of people in Haiti
And reach out to them... and the poor of every nation?
....An earth...A world calls for real change

Change has come to Haiti
The moon darkened the sun
The Mayans foretold of disaster
........Earthquake
...Linda King 1/22/2010

NEW YEAR RUSHING IN

2009-12-28T19:24:00.000-08:00

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

Ocean Beach at Sloat

2009-11-04T10:26:00.000-08:00

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

NEMO

2009-10-29T14:01:00.000-07:00

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.

ALL ABOUT LOOSING IT

2009-10-18T15:53:00.000-07:00

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.

HEALTH CARE AND STILL LAUGHING

2009-09-04T13:16:00.000-07:00

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?

Poetry

2009-08-06T10:26:00.000-07:00

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

DREAM REALITY

2009-08-04T14:36:00.000-07:00

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.

Blogs getting Bogged Down

2009-08-03T19:18:00.000-07:00

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.

San Francisco International Poetry Festival

2009-07-27T13:55:00.000-07:00

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

BEAT MUSEUM FOR HAROLD NORSE

2009-07-14T17:12:00.000-07:00

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

Collective Dreaming

2009-07-13T16:36:00.000-07:00

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.

MOVIES BEING FILM...AT LEAST IN MY DREAMS

2009-07-08T20:44:00.000-07:00

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.

DREAM - GET OUT OF THE COVERS

2009-07-06T12:32:00.000-07:00

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.

Dreaming in Hi-Tech

2009-07-02T16:26:00.000-07:00

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.

TO BLOG OR NOT TO BLOG

2009-06-25T13:43:00.000-07:00

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....

HEALTH CARE HAS BECOME A JOKE

2009-06-23T17:43:00.000-07:00

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.

Harold Norse-Poet Giant Among the Beats

2009-06-11T14:40:00.000-07:00

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

The Rhythms of Self

2009-06-09T09:05:00.000-07:00

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.

Numb Health Care System In America

2009-05-29T02:13:00.000-07:00

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

Vooman's Voice

2009-05-18T16:48:00.000-07:00

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