This Got Long, Sorry.

11:55 AM (4 minutes ago)

It would be nice, I have decided, if I could go to the grocery store to buy coffee and not be totally mind-fucked by the horrible sappy songs they are playing to fill the huge empty spaces above the aisles. Really, Sunday morning at the Ingles is frickin’ un-holy…regardless of what you believe.

Speaking of mindfucks: so, yeah TOTALLY addicted to caffeine. That is one thing I have figured out these past few days. Kids on vacation and coming back today and the house is nowhere near as spotlessly maternal and organized as I’d envisioned it being. I really was planning on getting a lot done. But, I ended up just holding the line. Doing the dishes…which were actually just coffee cups…one bowl that held a HUGE can of green beans (night before last’s dinner) if it were up to me I’d just eat cereal and fruit and nuts and cheese and bread. Actually, other than the kids’ leftovers, that’s about all I do eat. If it weren’t for the coffee and the cigarettes and the soda…as well as whatever chemical preservatives and plastic residuals are wreaking havoc on my tiniest inner workings…
Well, if it weren’t for all that…I’d probably be pretty healthy. I actually am healthy. Quite. See. Everything is in working order here.

It has been a productive time. A year’s worth of *wham* – a decade’s worth? – shit, has it taken me this long? I would’ve figured this stuff out a long time ago if I hadn’t been so goddam stubborn.

I think it is possible for me to not go to the big Ingles anymore. Between Amazing Savings and the Food Coop – I could walk for groceries. Not to mention the shit ton of okra and squash we have rising. Need to get out there today. It will be a good time – late afternoon, kids home.

It’ll be a rip for them, going back to school tomorrow. At least it is a half-day. Getting up early and going to the beach is more fun than getting up early and going to school.

They’ll be pissed for sure.

I wonder what my life would have been like if not for school? I’d probably be right where I’m at now. I never put much value on school…it was just something I had to deal with.

It used a lot of energy – that much is certain. I probably would’ve have already written at least a couple of books and learned encaustic painting and possibly become addicted to some dread intravenous drug in some European town…I’ve never been to Europe. I live here, I have two kids that will give me big, loud hugs when they get home. The girl told me she had strung grass through seashells to make a necklace, that she had “used all eleven!” She sounded happy and at ease in her big girl voice. Not worried and too young. The boy was a boy – distracted and gruff, but cheerful.

I can’t wait to see them. And I’m glad I put off all those extra-shine household chores. Got all this nonsense about brains and homes and point and purpose out of my system. Now I’ll have the energy to run around with them before we check to see how the asparagus beans and European pumpkins are coming along.

This is correspondence I have had with an unnamed ally – a ghost from Florida. Haha! Not really. Just some guy who knew my family way back and who has – it seems – an even better memory than I do.

Fascinating narrative voice – this guy, Unnamed Ally: Shipman, or as I have come to think of him: The Shipman.

I appreciate his rants quite a bit, not only are they relevant to my history, (he remembers!)
… he seems to have found himself a solid ground to walk on.

It’s been a strange year. No doubt about it. But, I’m being brave. I have no idea what will happen next.

I will get up from my place on the couch and I will go inside. I will turn on the computer and I will update the weblog.

I will listen to this song.

(you really ought to as well, unnamed ally: non-Shipman)

and this one.

I will brush my teeth. Again. I will finish touching up (i.e. Respraying) the gold kitchen floor. I will draw. I will fold laundry.

I will get my stuff home from the office.

All of this will happen at some point today. There is always so much to do.
Damn porch.

From The Shipman


I used to laugh at this stuff, now I don’t. We had eleven 9 year all star students in the class of 52 —— read that as having been attending Riley for 9 years. We are Pre-K to 5th. You do the math.


We’ll be lucky if 1 of the 11 graduates high school. To be honest, most of these guys will quit school before the 9th grade. The good news is that if they quit before the 9th grade (because they’re 16) the graduation rates of the high school will be maintained.




Oh sheet…..I just recalled reading in your (memoirs) your school hating, get me outta here era. Was that in Camden County? Good heavens Unheard of!


May 28 (1 day ago)

Creepy old drunk?

I’ma only 55!

I rarely drink anymore, but once a drunk always a drunk — it’s the code! I used to be weird, but evidently I’ve dropped down a class to creepy. LOL. No sweat, I can handle it. I’ve always been harmless, Ima a rather timid soul. The good news is that I’m under a near 24 hour a day watch by a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. She’s nice tho, we get along very well. She’s an honest-to-gawd, genuine, real McCoy Yankee Progressive. (She didn’t do hippie, Judy is earnest). I love her too much for words, even tho she is a a borderline-commie symp. I am even at this moment cooking a fine Pork Roast for her. It’s strange, my wife and just about all my friends are stone cold lefties. I’m pretty much a Knuckle-Dragger so evidently I can’t tolerate my own kind.

And yeah, if you want to publish what ever, go for it. Most of my crimes are beyond the Statue of Limitations. LOL Statue of Limitations, ha! I like it. Maybe get a new poem for that sucker by Emma Lazarus great grand kinder?

gimme your tired and your poor

Your quality, well-educated technicians yearning to breathe free

But pls, no messicans

And yes! His name was Gus! And it was an Octagon!

If it’s the same fella, Me, Gus and Bill were all stacked around the “living room” of the trailer one damn cold night.


I think I was tasked to get the newspaper in the a.m. TIMES UNION!

Walking from the trailer to the mailbox at day break on a cold morning is something we all should have to do everyday, we’d be better people for it I thinks.


(Current: At some point I replied to The Shipman’s assurance of not being a creepy, old, drunk dude from Florida with the following…)(Current: Sorry these letters are all out of whack chronologically. I can’t file for shit. Well, I could if I wanted to take the time to, deal with the challenge of…I am working up to a full-blown filing bonanza.

(I have over 300 drawings to sift through…I might end up liking perhaps 5 of them. Actually, I know I like more than that. I can think of 5 off the top of my head that surprised me so much in the process that they are actually quite dear.) (Should be interesting.)

Oh yeah – The Shipman…he is in Courier, I am in Arial.

Whew! Okay – sometimes it is hard to tell if someone is a genius or a lunatic. You seem to fall on the safer side of the line: whichever side that is. I am definitely publishing your excellent long letter. It is vital. After all, you seem to recall a fair amount as well…thus proving the inconsistencies in my proclaimed STEEL TRAP MIND! Ha! (Dude, that shit is rusted!) Yeah, I don’t drink at all. I am sort of phobic of drunks actually. Alcohol destroys humanity in ways we don’t fully understand, both acute and chronic – all realms. Anyway – it’s a heavy, atmospheric day here. A lot of thunder and heat lightning and a sky that won’t rain. My sinuses are all wonky. Headache-y. (As I was waiting for the car to be finished at the silly Firestone, I flipped through a magazine. Young Designer Tara Subkoff Survives Brain Tumor! (Huh?) The world is too full of stories! (Now, of course, I am worried about brain tumors.) I have got to go for a walk tomorrow. I don’t have a trailer or a dirt road or a mailbox, but I do have a small dog who has patiently been waiting for me to get off of the porch. I’ll take him for a walk. Email is like a contract, huh? Better get to walkin’! Thanks for being out there. I am proud to have someone correct me in my thinking! (Simple reminders of things like walking and stories do a fine job in setting me straight. Your correspondence re: S. Ga. sets me straight not just about the facts, but about the sense that noone remembers my life but me:) Do you want me to identify you by name, as in T. Shipman or Unnamed Ally Shipman – or whatever. I am very careful about how I integrate other people’s stories into mine. Particularly in this deceptively innocuous-seeming internet realm. I am a pretty isolated person as far as pop-culture goes and so I have to be extra mindful of how anything I might write here may be construed in this drama-obsessed, litigious soul suck of THE MACHINE! (The nice thing about declaring yourself as: not giving a shit anymore is that you have the freedom to use silly phraseology in ALL CAPS!) (Who cares!? Actually, I thought of a solution to the query posed by Professor in Pegged Pants, Dr. Blazak! Brilliant plan for passive undermining of THE MACHINE: Don’t Do Anything (that doesn’t, of course, feed your heart or your children in some true way…) If people just stopped buying shit – the whole infrastructure would crumble. I’m not an anarchist, not at all. I’m just a problem solver. And the only solution I have figured is that the best course of action would be a total tear-down of culture as we know it. Television and plastic should be banned! The funny thing is: Such statements sound crazy. However, it is so obvious to me the remarkable change in our cultural consumption patterns (said in the sense of consuming culture and consuming resources) – Got my tax return today! Reason #17 why I am not an anarchist: this money will carry me through the summer! The government has helped my family out plenty…we enjoy our running water! (And, lately, our groceries:/ Ah, it will all work out. It always does. Re: Shadowlawn. Sickening bad business and crooked developers from Atlanta. A father who, like mine, only wanted to insure that his kids would have something to leap off from other than an old rotting dock…well, the world eats people like us for breakfast. They did a full buffet on Shadowlawn. Bastards. I am the champion of forgive and forget. (Rites of Spring, mid-90’s emo-punk:) Next lyric: But I haven’t found a way to forgive them yet. Crooked business bastards from frickin’ At-Lanta! Ugh, I need some My-Lanta. (My stomach – actually, is fine. I am assuming. Not obvious evidence of it being anything other than a dream. I don’t think it was a dream. But, all measures of real world significance classify it as such. I am getting Cobra for my insurance plan.) (Note to self: actually do paperwork.) I will look at the pictures a little later. Too much squinting crochet plus crazy barometric sinuses = headache, for sure. Hope you and yours are well. Me and mine are okay. Kids at the beach with their father, me hanging in there at home. Also, going to the store tomorrow:) I will try to spend time in the garden…away from the handheld device!


An hour and a half until false-dawn, pretty much my favorite part of the day. Most of the thugs are safe-a-bed and everyone I’ll see at this time of the day I’ll know and they’ll know me, that’s comforting going to work every day. My last great impulse was just to *COUGH* walk away from driving. Cars and driving and the hassles attendent were taking up too much space in my head without paying any rent. Besides, I’m isolated enough without being in the steel cocoon. So now I walk and occasionally bike. Luckily school is only a mile away, the Winn Dixie less than that. I don’t have any kids at home and I have the time, so I walk. It was damn difficult to start, but now walking 3 miles to see Dad is nothing. It’s time to think and listen to my really neat-0 XM radio. I have to leave a little earlier to get places but like I said, I got time. I always carry a camera and have a good sized file of weird-shit-I’ve-seen-by-the-road. Including the famous 1 Shoe Phenomena.

So that’s what I did. I don’t push my lifestyle. but it works for me, for now. I suspect you may have made a few such decisions recently.

Getting ready to go to Winn Dixie (still in bankruptcy?) and see if they have any decent sweet corn.

Have a fine day.

BTW are you far from the Dixie Land boarding house? Bet that’s a weird place at Halloween.

May 29 (1 day ago)

Got some semi-sweet corn. I’ll boil them suckers and cheat with a little raw brown sugar. (Hey! I ain’t a purist).

I forgot to send this:

Probably not as much fun as setting free wild-wire birds, but tracking a book has a certain entertainment value. It’s odd, Germans just damn love this.


Thanks, Ally Shipman! (Sounds like a girl-next-door TV character:) Sitting in the front porch – watching the chickens peck the old boards. The small dog is sentient. Good dogs ask so little of us, don’t they? Yup. Definitely going to tie up some loose ends today. Drive downtown with a couple big garbage bags and some file folders and clean up my desk at the museum. It was a good run of rising to the occasion. When my brain lays down the law…well, it really lays down the law. The dang thing just won’t rise no more! (Haven’t been able to focus on finishing work for…well, the last quiet, crazy week. Ah well.) (When the desk is cleaned up, I’ll have freed up some space on the old harddrive. I’m de-fragmenting! Ha. Isn’t that a tech-y word?) (Whassa XM radio?) I really ought to figure out how to run stats on the weblog. I really don’t think that there are too many people who look at it. It, obviously, is not designed for public appeal. It’s not really designed at all. I have tried a few times to ‘design’ it – give it a focus…a turning point. ‘And then the lady declares some project or another and things suddenly make sense…” Nope. I get distracted, too many ideas and not enough editing. Which is, ultimately, a focus in and of itself. The unedited and unintentional seeking of consciousness. Thanks for sending pictures, by the way. They offer me proof that you are not a figment of the ol’ imagination.

Which, during times like these, is welcome reassurance. A world outside of mine!

I was, by the way, brilliant yesterday in a CFT meeting for Guardian ad Litem work. Sat and crocheted and actually listened and was – when I’d figured just the right thing to say to help this 16-yr. old girl who is kicking at the constraints of circumstance in a way that, ultimately, is mightily destructive to her…well, I said it just right and the eye rolling smirk just fell right off her face and I felt like a problem had been solved. I’ve been doing volunteer work for GAL for three years this summer. Crazy teenagers in crisis. I won’t quit them. I’ll figure out some way to dovetail my efforts in the direction of being a more effective problem solver for people whose problems have never really been their own doing. The hardest problem to figure is the problem of how to think about the circumstances of one’s life in a way that makes it seem not just do-able, but valuable.

Man, I have GOT to go to the store today! If only to get some chocolate soy milk so I can drink A LOT of coffee…frickin’ coffee, frickin’ headache. I’m too old to be the tortured ascetic artist, sitting on her porch in a cloud of handrolled tobacco smoke.

Besides, that shit is cliche’ –

Okay – getting off the porch now. ‘Cause that’s what my Unnamed Allies (all of you!) would want me to do:)

What is the Dixie whatever boarding house and why do you think St. Mary’s is haunted?

Take your time replying. Telling stories takes a lot of headspace. Enjoy your corn, your day.

Do you remember that sugar cane used to grow feral to the north of the pasture? Behind Rach’s greenhouse, by the dog cemetery, there was a HUGE cauldron that – at some point was used to boil down the cane. I think my dad gave it to Kelly (Current: made the last name anonymous though Kelly, RIP, wouldn’t care if I gave away his name. He had no pride, no shame, no hidden business. He did what he did and he did it true and well.)

Do you recall Cara Mae and her son (?) Kelly? Worked on Rach’s place, for years. Cara Mae at the house, Kelly on the land. My dad was still close with the family – in the way middle-aged white men are close with the old black men who worked for the family. Really though, Kelly helped raise my dad – those summers at Shadowlawn, when my dad was a kid. The “loss” of that land – not in deed, but in sense of recognizable place – has quieted my dad some over the past ten years or so. There are five acres left. The house is still there. Still theirs. Inhabited by the young adult son, et. al. of the family who bought up most of Rach’s place. Razed the pear trees, put in a pool. Yeah, we don’t talk about any of it much. I used to – when we lived in Charleston – drive down 17 (bless that highway!) and take the toddler boy to throw hickory nuts off the new dock. He seems to still remember, though he hasn’t been there in years. The girl was just an infant the last time we were there, before my parents finally threw in the towel and moved up to the mountains. She knows of Georgia only as stories – as something her brother remembers, but she does not. We tell the stories of my childhood and before: Fritz the Weimaraner (sp?) pulling the tablecloth off of Rach’s big dining room table, in pursuit of a turkey. Fritz eating a ham off of the counter in the old kitchen. Most of the stories are about dogs and food, it seems. Kelly Hubbard passed on a few years back. Wonder what happened to that big iron cauldron? Have a good day. Better get movin’ up here. I am lucky to have one of my favorite places in the whole world right outside my front door. Good ol’ porch:)


show details 7:56 AM (4 hours ago)

well, I said it just right and the eye rolling smirk just fell right off her face and I felt like a problem had been solved

Good for you! We all should be allowed the small victories from time to time. Wish this house had a porch, front back or hidden on the side. It’s got a brick stoop and that’s it. But that’s where I smoked in the am too. I never had the patience or hand-eye coordination to roll-my own, tho I suspect I would have learned in the last 5 years prices being what they are. Been about 10 years since I quit. I mean quit in the sense that I don’t know exactly where my tobacco products are and exactly how many are left. I still bum one or 2 a season from the TRADESMEN (ha!) who show up from time to time to deal with plumbing and electrical mysteries. I love smoking. I like standing next to people who are smoking, I adore 2nd hand smoke. heh heh For a real rush, do without for three weeks (and loose the physical addictional part) then fire up a Camel. Damn, now that’s high that can’t be beat. I miss the community of smokers, Dr, Lawyer, Indian Chief, Bandito and Janitor all gathered in some forgotten doorway in the rain, in the back alley, the small joys in being slightly prosperous and handing a total stranger a smoke, then saying keep the pack bro.

A paragraph. I have made one.

And another, just for practice.

XM radio is a brand (now the only) of Satellite Radio. Boat loads of commercial free you-name-it. Yes, Radio Prague is there as is NASCAR LIVE! 30 baseball games in season, Forumla 1 (I bet you don’t follow F1, ha! today is or was the Grand Prix of Turkey, I have it on Tivo) anyway, just an enormous mix of radio stuff of all kids. I listen to it when going somewhere, I mostly listen to news, talk etc. My music gene was evidently smacked by a cosmic ray when I was still a tadpole. Oh! You have to pay for it. My subscription was a gift from a favorite cousin, but I’ll likely renew.

De-framentation is indeed a techy term. Many times have I amazed and befuddled the masses with various defrag programs, to buy time while I tried to figure WTF was really going on, a variation of vatch der blinking lites, as it were.

I looked it up, it’s Dixieland — one word. You know, My Old Kentucky Home, O’ Lost, baleful mountains, this soup sucks, why is everyone so damn sick all the time, and why are we so poor, I need to be rich. You know, home of Wolfe, Thomas, giant literary and physically. It’s on Birch Street, which is evidently downtown. Visited there once 30 years ago.


I continue to consider the haunting of St. Marys. I can tell you it has to do with money, fires and Orange Hall and a malfunctioning elevator. I’m working on remembering and figuring it out.

(The vague grey type below has to do with people/times that are central to my heart. No story is perfect. Anything written here must be written true. These reflections on people who populated my childhood are written with honesty and compassion from the limited perspective of The Shipman, a perspective that I respect and understand, but it is still hard to imagine your life from the eyes of another.) (My family’s old, old history – really only a hundred years ago! Not long ago at all, but gone daddy gone…well, it’s worth looking into. However, these passages that I have published because they are important to my story – well, each of them would take at least a book and 1/2 to explain. And I have to go finish clearing off my desk!)

Yes, I remember Cara Mae and Kelly (I don’t remember a younger). Trying not to be flip and I barely knew them, but they were straight out of central casting. Heh, they were suspicious of new folk, and new white folk in particular. Your Dad used to tell stories of what he learned from Kelly (the elder?) good stuff. I seem to recall one of your Dads favorite books at the time was Robert Roarke(?)s The Oldman and the Boy which kinda fits in.

I vaguely remember being shown the cane patch. Are you certain the caldron was used for syrup making? If it was 5 feet across and say 3 feet tall it might have been used to make salt. I can’t recall if St. Marys was occupied during The War (heh heh), I know the barrier islands were, but if not, the tidewater creeks would have been an excellent place for a salt works. I suppose they might have been dual purpose? Not much difference in the process really.

And yeah, hickory nuts. Some of the biggest hicktory trees I’ve ever seen were between the dock and barn(?). Speaking of barn, there was some mumbling about getting a horse or 2, did that ever happen? If not consider yourself lucky, if it did, which bones were broken? I have later-in-life horse-hating stories, at least one of which involves a Summer Camp near Tuxedo on the Travelers Rest road. I’ve heard the area has been built into retirement and vacation places.Ah well. Lotta people, can’t begrudge it too much.

What happened to Shadow Lawn is kinda what I suspected. Fathers are like that, bless ’em. I’m glad your Dad wasn’t forced to make that decision, altho who knows, maybe he’d still be there, living off swampcabbage, crabs, mullet, sheephead, flounder and redfish. Which now that I type it don’t sound too bad. Except I left out the redbugs, chiggers, the mosquitos, the pygmy rattlers, the cane break rattlers and the late August heat, not to mention taxes. Ugh.

(More vague grey text:)(Skip.)

The only vague (and unrealistic) worry I had was that your Dad got title directly from your Great- Grandmother and was forced by whatever circumstances to sell. I only say this because (and I know you have hints of this, from reading your blog) *****edited********

Of course I figure your Dad would have thrown over half of Montana for your Mom so it didn’t enter into that situation.

And yeah Fritz the Weimar. He spooked me. Sucker could chop a gopher-turtle in half. I swear he always kept his eyes on me when I was in the same room (usually the parlor) with your Great-Gran. I was told not to make a quick moves and I’d be fine. Thanks for that Mrs. Moeckel, did I spell that correctly? Anyway Fritz made sure I always sat up straight and talked very quietly.

Heh, off to walk Silky and admire the cats.

Nameless Ally


9:28 AM (3 hours ago)

I learned this trick from another unnamed ally and it might help me focus enough to actually respond to your significant (and that is the only way I can think of it) correspondence… My first wave reaction is one of being knocked over, with salt and sand in my eyes. Kids come home today and it will be MUCH LOUDER…re-fragmented. I took advantage of their absence and went back to bed when I woke up at sunrise. I have missed only a few sunrises since becoming a mother. Oh yeah – the trick: ugh. Nope. That’s not it. I was going to copy+past your message and respond to the segments…but, damn – today I am OUT of coffee. I thought the empty Chock Full o’ Nuts was a full Chock Full o’ Nuts…scraped the ornate punch glass through the grounds at the bottom of the canister…got nothin’ but a few dry grounds and an unpleasant noise. Cigarettes taste horrible with just water. Smoking anyway. Got some newfangled mints that – if you eat three of them – deliver the caffeine of +one half a cup of coffee. I guess I’ll have to eat nine. Sick. No way.

I ought to quit smoking…but, I’ve done it soooooooo long… (with varying brands and degrees of indulgence…smoked three packs a day the years I was driving back and forth from NW to SE…if nothing else was learned, well – I figured out that I didn’t want to be a three pack a day smoker and that driving is only fun if someone is waiting for you at the end of the line of the map.

(Speaking of the nicotine rush after not smoking…tried that in college, quit for six months, ran everyday…spent one Sunday morning writing (don’t remember what I wrote) and went down to the con-venience store at the street level of my apartment on SE Morrison (629) in Portland and got a pack of Marlboro’s. Smoked three in a row and threw up. Felt sick and shaky all day).

Feelin’ pretty good this morning. Need some coffee, though. Got to finish cleaning my desk at work. Okay, better get off this blessed porch. A porch is good…the only problem is that encourages sitting. Yes, the Dixieland – still existed until a few years ago…right by the I-240 I think…now: budget condos. I haven’t ever read Thomas Wolfe. Look Homeward Angel may be an appropriate read this summer. Old Kelly was Young Kelly. The man was timeless – of course he was. Yeah, I get what you’re saying about central casting. People just try to be who they are supposed to be, don’t they? Saltworks! The original Saltville:) I knew salt had something to do with all of this. Yes, Fritz was a cat killer, for sure.

Okay – got to clean up, go to store, get coffee, bring home desk detritus (including EARLY pictures of Shadowlawn that I had put on my bulletin board…an ill-thought-out proclamation: look who I was, where I am from… And the afterthought in my mind was often, “what am I doing here?”

A dangerous question for the problem-solving inclined.

Please keep sending your stories. Nice paragraph, by the way. I’ll have to practice that:) I won’t edit any of your slightly off-color southern colloquialisms or vernacular spellings. Do you want me to add in clumsy-typing-lost letters or just copy+past excerptions straight for the world to read.

Not that the world will read it…but, who knows what mythic fish swims in all that brackish…

Any line cast will have ripples.

Alright – gettin’ some coffee. I’ll try to respond to your paragraphs (nice!) using the copy+paste/call+response method after I am legitimately caffeinated. Happy Sunday. Faith One last thing – given all the ghosts in St. Marys – is it any wonder I am haunted?

11:59 AM (32 minutes ago)

This just in:

I ought to quit smoking…but, I’ve done it soooooooo long… (with varying brands and degrees of indulgence…smoked three packs a day the years I was driving back and forth from NW to SE…if nothing else was learned, well – I figured out that I didn’t want to be a three pack a day smoker and that driving is only fun if someone is waiting for you at the end of the line of the map.


Back and forth from NW to SE? Was that the making of you?

I’d damn near kill to be able to do that just once. Like I said I don’t drive anymore in town at all. But man… I’d do that in a heartbeat.

Also LOL Portland. Stupid Band is Stupid.

Sorry. :)

Ima lousy traveler, I fidget and don’t like to get too far from my opthamologist and I tend to worry about the cats.

Ha! But I wuz meant to be a Conradian Adventurer, yep, indeedy I was.

I really want a quality Pith Helmet.

We are going to San Louis de Apalachee this afternoon, if the rains hold off.

Them Apalachee worriors were bad dudes and need to be thought about.

Because there’s all sorts of Memorial Days.

Which has to do with the haunting of St. Marys, it was a related tribe…. humm..

Later. This was much longer than necessary. I only meant to point out you missed a closing parentheses. :)

Unamed Ally hoping the sea breeze front don’t get going good til later.

I won’t edit any of your slightly off-color southern colloquialisms or vernacular spellings. Do you want me to add in clumsy-typing-lost letters or just copy+past excerptions straight for the world to read.

Do as you like, it’s your blog. Heh.

Just try to avoid entrapping me with any mention of felonies I may (or may not) have witnessed, caused, or allowed to take place because of my action, inaction, misfesance, malfeasance or nonfeasance and do by hold me harmless for any and all actions here-in listed except as disallowed by the Treaty of Warsaw, this hold-harmless clause will be be in force until waived by signee and all asignees unto the 7th generation.

There. I’m in the clear, do as you will.


Also if your design gene starts to kick up, and you have access to a real computer, check here:

A broken typewriter font — Casablanca Antique comes to mind, might be interesting to use with olde lettres.

LOL, in a former life……. um…. I was a cranky-creepy typographer.

My motto:

Leave ‘ye copy

And get ‘ye away.

Too many deadlines for someone past 35.

Ha! I’m annoyed that the default font on this mail client is some dawg of a San Seriff POS. Unreadable to most decent Americans and most of the former British Empire.

The 10 Commandments were written in Times Roman like the King James Version of the Bible.



No sweat, Carlson will hold the presses open an additional hour.

Whoppeee, bus station drop a 2 a.m. again.


Sorry, nasty flashback.


Later, have a nice Sunday, enjoy your kids and the porch and the pooch.

I have driven across the country 7 times (3 1/2 round trips…) twice entirely solo, often solo for portions, once with my mother (never again:) really
I did have fun, Mom? I still have the Bachelor’s Buttons we picked in La Grande, OR.) once with a person withdrawing from heroin (never again:/ really) and twice with a new husband, an embryonic son, and two dogs (NEVER, EVER AGAIN!) the open road was the most fun by myself, when I could space out and chain smoke and listen to the worst songs 5 times in a row.

I have crossed one other time (the last 1/2 trip) – Jacksonville, Florida to Portland, Oregon: Greyhound Bus, four days and vomiting from bus fumes in the station bathroom in Boulder.

July 2000. Almost a decade ago. I just had to get back out west.

Got myself a 69 dollar one-way fare. A seat by the window on the right side of the bus. I get motion sick if I ride on the left side of a vehicle. I think it has something to do with astigmatism and peripheral vision in my left eye.

When I bailed big, for the second (no third! shit, fourth! time in a year, it was a bad year, okay:)
…I had been planning – after the big grad school drop-out – to move back to Shadowlawn, build a small house by the river and just live really, really small. I had an interview for a good job at the community college, as an admissions counselor. I think community colleges are so hugely important. I was excited to earn 11 dollars an hour in south Georgia. Those were (and are still!) very good wages. I could work and write and draw and read and not smoke and run on hot sandy ground in the late afternoon and sweat every dream I ever had right out of me. We had the lumber already milled. Cypress. Just like the dome house.

In the end, I just couldn’t do it. I just had to get back to the NW. My dad drove me to the bus station and he told me it was okay, that they’d find a good use for the wood and that it was, really, okay.

and, lo and behold, it is:)

Current: Yup. That was a day + 1/2 of correspondence with The Shipman. Crazy, huh?
In addition to about a bajillion other words, written to myself and unnamed allies…

…here’s what else I did:

The Quiet Pink Elephant, Crochet Draft 1

Really, it’s an elephant.

“How human it is see a thing as something else.” – Don Delillo, Underworld

I realized I need to think about possibilities for a segmented,
seamed elephant. In the end, I actually think seamless – one long thread,
would be easier for me.

I am set on making a one ring circus in crochet. I don’t care who has done it or not done it…I’ve got to make this circus. I’ve just got to. (Very Earnest.)

Also: the various feeding and cleaning of the household and it’s multi-species inhabitants.

And re-spraypainted the kitchen floor gold. And cut a dress in half to make a cute sweater skirt. And watched a couple of mediocre movies, took a couple of naps, read a disturbing article about drug-fueled violence in Mexico. Forgot about the oil spill, felt bad and reminded self of oil spill. Oh shit! North and South Korea! Oh, the pregnant teenager who has dropped off the face the earth…okay, too much.

Watch this video on greenwashing – it is pretty funny, but also pretty sick…

it makes me want to buy nothing

I am on the e-mailing list for this online arts zine…their topic this month is WORK

I am going to see what they have to say to say about

the issue of


we spend our time and earn our dime.

Is there really anything to say?

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