Old school – NEW world

Bridging the gap . . .

Tag: poetry

the letter

Got a letter w/Heyday name
on return address corner
turned out that Heyday was the vehicle

. . . a request to submit
some my poema
to include
In
proposal to fund
anthology of writings
by Indians in Caliland.

u- u-u-uh . . .
well . . . why no one anthologize my stuff
alone by itself ??

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Maybe cos I don’t write about the “rez
fighting & drinking with John Wayne
or
maybe it’s Owens Valley Paiute/Pima ethnicity . . .

wha-a-a . . .

Paiute?
Pima?
Owens Valley?

Got no PhD

Don’t b’lieve in Cuh-lumbus
Or
Custer.

Don’t like “cowboys
or
dogs.

We dint dance no grass dance
No hey-ya hey-ya . . .

dint shot no buff-lo
got no horseback pony
no tipi
no feathers
no fancy buckskin beads
NO drum . . .

I’m not stereotypical Native American redman . . .
I no rezabayshun indun
I’m old hunting gathering aboriginal Great Basinindian” . . .

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NEUE dada . . .

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It’s the first day of “fishing season” here in eastern Cali-for-nigh-Ay the wind is blowing and there is new snow sur les montagne !! Who cares . . .

Seriously . . . here’s a new zine . . . content is from the 2CH BBSkanji translations, some dada influence and my acid mind . . . images are of the dummy paste-up.

Since I don’t read kanji, I was selecting blocks of text randomly, based on bits of English in the BBS thread heading.

Cover (open, front and back)

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. . . inside pages . . .

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Re: 8 pages . . .

Things you should know about my works:

1962 was the year I graduated from high school; June was a senior who initiated me into high school at my eighth grade graduation party (!); and, Junio 1986 was when the rough draft my first ZEEN was completed.

I use Translate, a translation app to flop English into Spanish and French . . . also Dutch and German.

For example: English-to-Spanish – phrases in English are run through the app and the Spanish translation is reviewed and translated back into English, reviewed and translated back into Spanish and back into English again. What I end up with is a phrase in English that when translated into Spanish will give a very literal translation of the original English phrase, but with “duende” as defined by Lorca.

O.K. Here’s the whole ZEEN . . . All 19 pages of text.

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Photos taken with my iPod Touch 5G, some cropping, exposure and contrast manipulation with the PhotoForge 2 app.

The NEW 8 page bible – the zine . . .

This started in the 1980’s . . . the era of Postal madness, adrift in the clamor of moving letters, parcels and machinery, moving whatever people wanted to send to relatives, businesses and the like, this included cremated remains of relatives in cardboard boxes that on more than one occasion were crushed and broken in transit, spilling their contents inside the canvas mail sacks . . .

oh shit, looks like all the “dirt” on the culling belt is somebody . . .!!

And the conveyor belt was stopped while we tried to recover as much of the gray sand as we could, and then looked for the sack that held the rest of the poor soul who had just been scattered unintentionally over the length of the belt.

Here’re some pics of the revival of my first zine . . . the photos are of the dummy.

Zine closed . . .

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Cover, front and back, open . . .

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The flagged text above was layered with previously printed text.

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The text below was printed over the text pictured above and overlaps some of the text printed on the first pass through the copier.

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Pics taken with my iPod Touch 5G, square format, HD mode.

re: the zine . . .

I made a few hard copies of the zine . . . there are a lot of changes in the second stat.e of the zine.

The zine “OVP in 21st Century” is a manifesto . . . the letters OVP are the first letters from Owens Valley Paiute, and with that said here’s the the second state of the zine.

Front cover . . .

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First page . . .

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Page 2 and 3 . . .

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Page 4 & 5 . . .

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Page 6 & 7 . . .

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Page 8

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womaninthemoon . . .

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Somewhere in the desert . . .

she lay down
in the dark vault
of
night . . .

she lay down
in the dark vault of night

(bajo los ojos de muchos
de los cielos. . .)

weeds and sand
tangled
in her glistening
black hair.

dinner at the Ritz . . .

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. . . the foodie in me . . .

I went to the Ritz-Carlton once upon a time . . . for the fabled “high tea” . . . my mistake, didn’t get high and the tea was just that . . . “tea” . . . WTF ?!

. . . been sittin’ under the table with that rabbit and the hatter too long . . .

I’m like George Thorogood who said “I drink alone, with nobody else . . .”

Part I

I shun high-class diners
cloth napkins . . .

I take white wine
with my chili dog . . .

Part II

Green tea
brewed for 2 minutes
in a Pyrex measuring cup
slurped
from thrift store
porcelain coffee mug . . .

alone
by myself . . .

Photo: a Cibachrome print by the author, circa 1980. Print image was generated from two Ektachrome transparencies sandwiched in an enlarger film holder.

deleted . . .

I just deleted . . . trashed most of the 2012 election crap that I posted on my blogs . . . there’s probably more dust in the corners, but I’ll get to that later . . . time to get on with MY life . . .

if you are writing poetry you need to look at Bukowski’s stuff . . . the typer manuscript pages on the Bukowski webpage . . .

I went down to Del Mar one year and saw Eddie Delahoussaye get kicked in the chest by his mount before he could get a leg up . . . I walked out to the parking lot, got on my motorcycle and went back to L.A. . . . the sound of that horse’s hoof hitting Eddie’s chest is still loud in my ears . . . thought he had just had his ticket punched . . . saw Eddie D. later at Hollywood Park . . . now jocks wear Kevlar vests . . . and unlike the candy-ass stock car drivers, jocks ride in the rain . . .

bukomputerkowski . . .

just finished reading a piece about Bukowski and his Mac . . . and I received in the mail a copy of some stuff I wrote back in 1983 or 4 . . .

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I was still “sticking the mails” and infatuated with the literary potential of copy machines for creating pages of images and poetry . . . sequentially degenerating visual information . . . making the word mechanical . . . exploring the “zeen” . . .

Some pics of “no . . . nothing

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I was using an old Smith-Coronatyper” at the time . . . you can see some “deleted” letters typed over . . . an option sadly not available with word processing software . . . takes some of the “character” away from computer generated text.

newborn . . .

togo song (veasz)

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squeak
grunt
and fart
as your body tenses
in sleep;

growing
green sprouts
seek heat . . .

eyes tight
locked . . .

innocent
behind
shuttered lids,

you
smile,

unaware,

cradled
on hearth
of my chest . . .

Composed for a new life . . . posted yesterday
here . . . different title, slightly different wording . . .

togo” is the Owens Valley Paiute term for “father of my mother” or “my mother’s father“; if the child had been my son’s, I would be the child’s “cuh nu” . . .