Entry for 2017-05-28



Hellfire & Damnation
Entry for 2017-05-25

Ol rockin chair gonna gitchoo
Ol rockin chair gonna gitchoo
Suren hell lessen lightnin done hitchoo
At ol rockin chair gotcha gitchoo

Rockin backin you assen he tell you
Ol Pap raisin all kinda hell, you
Git whuffo you fall downdy well, you
Rockin chair shoe gonna gitchoo

Ol rockers back porchin, all baggy
Them rockers down knockers git saggy
Them roof leakin all over wets you
& Achoo! Ol rockin chair gotchoo

Here lyin Big Kingpin, a stature
Here lyin Big Yorkyankee catcher
Here lyin some famous ol lecher
Here lyin one Governew Hampshire
& here sittin ol babe, at ol bitcher
Why shoe, at ol rockin chair gotcher

Hello world!
Entry for 2017-05-24

Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

To Barbara, Who Forgets In Her Sleep
Entry for 2017-05-23

"I just remembered who I am!"
-- Anon.

me not remember,
to me are all
diminished banished
finished vanished
me not recall

Me? Memorize?
No lobe awaits.
No, to the wise
who lucubrate
those duties fall,
not me. And yet,
me not forget;
no, not at all

Forget this rule: you can't remember
any fact before you've thought it,
nor remember anything
until you've known and then forgot it.
This rule can change your life, so let it
be remembered. So forget it
Cathexis jolts
the nexus of
retentive dolts
who recollect,
just recollect:
reflexive reckoners
collecting flecks
of retrospect,
who cram for tests
and crave for dates
and worry lest
they'll make mistakes,
then make mistakes,
who dream of fame
and miss the bus,
who must explain
it all to us
in news reports
just out of date,
a dollar short,
an hour late,
a step behind
and feeling wronged
but never mind,
a retro rendezvous
with fate
will come along.
It's planned for
yesterday at eight
Barbara passes,
memory fails.
In baffled classes
pass the tales:
she prospers though
her teeming brain
has pulled the plug
and down the drain
great notions sink.
When Barbara snoozes,
what she thinks
she promptly loses

Feet by day
in wisdom's trough;
at night, away
it flies, aloft,
all traces gone,
all insights fled.
One instant on
yon fleecy bed,
sleep smiles upon
one fleecy head

The sun must set
if it will rise.
Who sleeps not
cannot open eyes

Events can only
be assessed
as gaps in

When time has slowed
and gods are bored,
events explode
and, Praise the Lord!
Creation's wrought
when things are boring

It follows: thought
must follow snoring

And all is well:
the eggs, the pods,
the walnut shells
the dormant sods,
the husks are veils
for bursting seeds

so memory fails
but Barb succeeds

Higher Loining
Entry for 2017-05-21

Excerpted from How to Become a World's Leading Authority (filed under "Articles")
Amateur research is no place for the faint of heart. But if you have the courage to plunge into it, I can suggest several areas that are ripe for conquest.
For example, what exactly is a loin? I always thought of it as the inside thigh. Butchers and the U.S. Department of Agriculture think a loin is something above the hips and below the ribs, in back. Milton, Shakespeare, and the Bible seem to have in mind something lower down, much more personal, and in front. Their kind of loin harbors future kings and issues "issue." A loincloth usually covers the biblical loin but leaves part of the USDA loin exposed; but, historically, soldiers who have girded their loins have tended to cover everything vulnerable. As long as professional linguists and anatomists twiddle their thumbs and ignore this muddle, the ancient paradox of the loin is wide open for an enterprising amateur researcher to move in and become the World's Leading Authority.
Notice that we are avoiding the overworked fads and clichés of scientific inquiry—fusion, DNA, antimatter, black holes, semiconductors, superconductors, cloning, nutrition, and disease—where researchers are a dime a dozen. The amateur must find fresh fields to plow.