Wednesday, April 16, 2008

MY NEW EYE or: ,U MRE RUR, if I am typing in the dark and my fingers are one place off on the QWERTY

You know what’s easy to do? Add up the years that you have lived.

1957 + 1958 + 1959 + 1960 + 1961 + 1962 + 1963 that was the year I lost my first tooth + 1964 I will never forget seeing the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show + 1965 + 1966 + 1967 + Oh who can forget the Monterey Pop Festival +

It’s really very easy but it is time consuming and it’s awfully easy to get distracted. I think I will go clean up my old photo albums and letters and drive a thousand miles to the beach and jump in the water and see how long I can float on top.

Monday, April 07, 2008


but not by me. More on this later. Love, Ricky


I dream of a special place where the horizon is black, and little white dots spring up from the darkness. The landscape is turned sideways, kind of ups and downsies, with thousands of film reels scattered about of green ogres from Scandanavian countries, wild boars that look like they could be friendly or deadly, fleets of deadly ivory-colored flying saucers racing to earth and finally–and most sweetly–a cadre of young children gathered around a dinner table from a hundred years ago and minding their manners and in a calm and gentle repose. Oh, also, I forgot: a flower–a pseudobombax–that looks like it was painted by Dr. Seuss. This very special place–this place that I dream of–that I desire so–exists only, I think, in my mind. And then, one day, I imagine that it will exist no more. Why? Well, I think the flower will eat it.

PART TWO: Have you ever seen a dream landscape that exists in your mind eaten by a blue flower that is a little queer looking thing? It is a terrible thing to behold. But it is the way of nature. The flower will eat the green ogre that escaped the wild boar that was running away from the ivory-colored flying saucers that meant no harm to the hundred year old children but still that frightened the hundred year old children, and then the landscape will exist no more, which is also a a beautiful thing, for it is the way of the natural order, if, I mean, you want to pretend it is and deny yourself your true dreams and destiny as well as, just for starters, the world’s. And if you do, afterwards, once the world is over and everything is the way it should be, it’s always nice to curl up with a good book and a glass of Sundrop sparkling lemon soda. O, Sabroso!

Friday, April 04, 2008


Through the magic of Adobe Illustrator Live Trace Function, I have been able to restore my 1999 sketches to their original clarity while preserving their inherent elegance and natural sheen.

Exhibit A (above) is an original restored sketch of famous French poet, Blaise Cendrars*. Restored here, he looks so alive you practically expect him to jump off the page and ask you for a sou.**

* A desperate French man, often down on his luck. Don't ask about what happened to his arm.

**French currency, ca 1789. Or an 'écus' or 'golden louis' ***

*** I know, funny, right? Imagine the fun you could have making a joke about women of easy virtue and golden louises. That would be fun, for sure, and easier than 'sou' jokes.****

**** A sou, again, French currency, a long way back. Not Southern Oregon University or the State Of the Union or this guy whoever he is for pete's sake:

Thursday, April 03, 2008

HELLO, IT'S ME said Todd Rundgren, father of Rex, in 1972

I couldn't decide between beads that looked like dice and beads that looked like anchors. The saleslady said that I would have to special order the beads that looked like anchors. "Isn't that just like an anchor!" I declared. I guess I should have said, "I have never been to the ocean" right afterwards because that way it would make sense that I said such a thing about an anchor, because, after all, having to special order an anchor in no way reflects the character of an anchor at all. Nor does an anchor, in any way, resemble a special order in general.

An anchor is made of iron, and is heavy, and if you twirl it around your head you could hurt someone, and, if you can twirl it around your head, you are very strong. Or the anchor is very small and perhaps you are not so strong. And there is a third possibility: the anchor is small and you are strong. In fact, this anchor really is pretty small compared to other anchors you have twirled. Oh, the anchors you have twirled.

Meanwhile, a special order is light, it's always light, almost as light as a feather, shaped like a piece of paper, with the texture and smooth, cool feel of paper, not iron and heavy, and it floats rather than sinks if placed in the ocean and it is filled with confusing numbers and lines and codes on it that only make sense to those who are in 'the know.'

When I think of being in 'the know' I think of certain gamblers and casino owners and Robert Oppenheimer and Dean Martin. Who do you think of?

I wonder about what happened to the boat that this twirling anchor at the end of your strong, steely arms was once attached to. I do wonder about that.

OK. I wanted to make a bead bracelet, and as quickly as possible. I want to go somewhere–that much is true. I think that I am now ready to go to Vegas–it's the only logical choice. It's time for a Dear Anchor letter. I am tired of the ocean and all its complex dangers. And let's face it–I do love a good pair of dice. Especially if they are black and white.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008


Fannie Farmer's middle name was 'Merrit"

Peanut Butter was originally produced as a health food

Something inside an iPod tells the computer what color it is

Spanish soldiers once believed that potatoes were a kind of truffle

Aristotle said that History is what happened, and poetry is what can happen

"Terminal Velocity" can be used to describe a salad dressing, a rate of acceleration, a trombone of some sort, a treasure map–it doesn’t really matter

Boxing gloves are not a good thing to wear when you are walking with your girlfriend

I didn't know that Goya was deaf

The terminal velocity of a penny is 64 MPH

My neighbor opens and closes her back door 342 times a night

Seriously – I didn't know that Goya was deaf

The two 'L's in the middle of 'hello' sometimes look like feet turning away from you

If your bed is soft, you dream about falling down rather than about punching people in the nose

Speakling of noses, SCHNOZZ may very well come from 'Shnabl,' which is Yiddish for 'beak,' - then again, it may come from 'nozzle.'

I think that Jackie Gleason and Art Carney were good friends and cared for each other, but I can't understand why Art Carney didn't tell Jackie Gleason to stop smoking six packs of cigarettes a day. Then again, maybe he did.

Goya wasn't always deaf. He got sick, and then deaf.

If you really love someone and you tell them that famed artist and director Julien Schnabel's really name is Julien Nozzle, they will laugh, kiss you, and hold your hand all the way home unless you are wearing a boxing glove on that hand, and even then, maybe still.

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