Sunday, June 26, 2011

Welcome to our spaceship, mighty Hercules

Posting becomes a herculean task -- how come 101 out of every 100 instances of this trope use the Augean stables? Our undead childish fascination with shit that our adult selves unthinkingly apply to annoyances sundry & spine-powdering because Amazonian girdles are too sexy for this song or my hat* or my cat**, I suppose -- not always when writer's block blocks the noggin, or swampy Helios melts my bad haircut into something worse, or [insert personal experience here].

*I don't own a hat, just a black hoodie of great personal value

**to determine which cat, roll d4
The second's a dead issue (the block, not the cat(s), I'd be a basketcase & not posting), the first's currently transient, from hour to whatever hour this ungodly one is ('tis one? spooky noochies) until a word or an image serendipitous or excavated with a detox purpose --
oh sure, you (not you personally, unless I mean you, you know who you are, don't you? Yes, yes, I hear you) use art to celebrate, you shiny happy oddity holding hands (was this blockquoting helpful? I wish to know because, gentle readership, I care)
out of a book (or the confounded computer screen; to satisfy your curiosity, a black background is real dark in the dark) sparks. The puzzle's deciding which incompatible pieces to jam together to-morrow & yesterday no jam to-day though it is now to-morrow, smearing firework cardboard in symbols esoteric, commonplace if I'm feeling frisky (read: blotto or running on a fucking third wind, a mistake never to make, oh, wait;
calm blue ocean
calm blue ocean
calm blue ocean) or, smartly, saying nothing at all, like this.

Whew. Pages bursting with text exist; half of them ascetic wheelie bus repetition that casually morphed into the lyrics of whatever song was in my ear forcing me to deconstruct like a dirty Frenchman; the other half standoffish stanzas; the third half scribblings most wretched including this new batch of the second half, but too often they're as revelatory
including this new batch of the second half x-raying my various systems & finding a malignant naiveté -- I'm afraid it's terminal -- no, he's dead, Jim
as that most famous popcorn flickish finalé. No seven-headed beasts, just radioactive lizards. Does this water taste funny to you?

Surgeon blogger's warning: don't attempt to operate heavy machinery or formulate coherence under the influence of insomnia.

Thus, the recent (& foreseeable) preponderance of the snapshot -- & the occasional bit of ponderous humor but I repeat myself -- these from Supermoon Storm of Doom a quarter fortnight ago or so not that you can tell due to obscure camera failings & the lack of precision Olympian thunderbolts. But they seem to fit where my gooey insides are at, hubris & cowardice fisticuffing over the opportunity to throw my sorry ass in Lake Erie so I can wake up, cool off.


ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

I support the use of blockquotes, and even the occasional font= tag.

You're blogging fast now.

Mary Ellen/Nunly said...

I prefer to think of writer's block as a symptom of too much information in the brain as opposed to no information in the brain. At least that's what I keep telling myself...over and over and over again.

if- that rap cracked me up (at least the first part of time to listen to the whole thing this morning). Reminded me of driving lessons I gave my kids...which is probably why they preferred to have their dad teach them.

Jim H. said...

So, when you have trouble coming up with original content (or are soused in the a.m. or are perhaps afraid to put up your own verses(!)) for your blog you throw up some pics.

Some pics.

Now I feel like a dirty Frenchman.

Can you really swim in Lake Erie? Can YOU really swim in Lake Erie?

susan said...

When nothing looks fresh and no ideas appeal, when Stymphalian birds cloud my view, I find some activity repetitious and benign to settle my distracted mind. I also enjoy reading a good book or perhaps even a bad one.

Sometimes I come over here to look at your pictures.

thatgirl said...

at least your taste was better than mine when I'd scrawl poetry to whatever I was listening to, realizing after the fact that a certain piece of teenage doggerel fit perfectly into the meter of a song by Bush (Gavin Rossdale, not Dubya). oh the horror.

Lisa said...

What susan said except instead of reading a book, I iron.

Tom Harper said...

Damn, I didn't think you'd have a post up on Sunday. Uh, a comment, think of a comment...

Nice to hear Corrosion of Conformity again. I always liked their combination of metal and southern rock; sort of a harder-rocking Allman Brothers.

Randal Graves said...

if, all you jealous punks can't stop ma dunks.

nunly, that's a great self-delusion, can I borrow it? "Oh, my brain is so full, that's why this sucks like the chupacabra."

jim, now you need to run for office and have affairs whilst screwing over former colonial possessions.

Yes, you can, when there aren't signs warning against toxic algae. Does doggie paddling count?

susan, hmm, I should try that bad book thing, then push the envelope by taking bad pictures of it. Outsider art!

thatgirl, COC makes me feel better about this adult doggerel.

lisa, no no no, you're supposed to read and make the kids iron.

tom, criminally underrated. A bit disappointed that Pepper's not going to be (as of now, at any rate) on the new album.

ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

So, what are we going to post tomorrow?

Ponder ponder.

(P.S. My blog's original porpoise was to post pictures, so I can always just stick to the plan.)

I mean stick to the plan.

thatgirl said...

People keep giving me weird looks as I'm driving around Clevelandstan listening to 'Wiseblood.' I think we're the only people who still listen to this band.

Randal Graves said...

if, hopefully, your plan comes together.

thatgirl, that's because, like Pee Wee, we're loners, rebels.

davidly said...

You could always surf until you find the obit of a long-lost friend, and write about that.

Dottie still doesn't know I'm alive.

davidly said...

Whoops, I forgot this.
Now my work is done.

S.W. Anderson said...

Randal, if you are tired (spring fever?) and see posting as a burden, you could post a note here saying you're taking the day off. Your loyal following, to a man, woman, exracorporeal being or what have you, would understand.

OK, you'd probably get some snark about slacking, but I figure you're used to a certain amount of that anyway.

The other thing you could do is enjoy some good, rich, strong coffee. Maybe with syrup-soaked pancakes and bananas, adorned with powdered sugar. Thus re-energized, who knows what creative flights your differently organized mind would take.

Laura said...

After you stopped quoting "Right Said Fred"... you lost me. :)


Demeur said...

Graves you swine (to borrow a phrase)!

You think you'll trick me once more to click on one of your ear deafening links? Ha I'm on to your game. Ain't going to happen. Read my lips.

Randal Graves said...

davidly, a fine suggestion. I better get some friends. After I watch Big Adventure one more time.

SWA, it's not (usually) a burden - I've the weekends for (usually) slacking on that front - merely explaining the recent glut of amateurish amateur photographer in lieu of verbiage but damn you, sir, now I'm really hungry.

laura, oh, what, too sexy to comment, too sexy to comment, like a hotel pillow mint? Yikes, that sucked.

Randal Graves said...

demeur, c'mon, man, it's not black metal, this time. Seriously, it's not.