Wednesday, November 30, 2011


Awhile back I panned a Van Heflin performance from the '50s, and deservedly so, but after watching a B-flick cop story with Broderick Crawford, from the same era, I realized just how bad Van was, mainly because of just how good B.C. was...  The movie was Down Three Dark Streets, and was in the style of a Dragnet tale (though FBI, but still in L.A.), I'm pretty sure with the same narrator, and definitely with the same narrative style of voice over explication of the mundane.  The thing about Broderick is that he doesn't really seem to care about the product; isn't intimidate by what a piece of shit movie this is; rather, he'll crack a smile, or frown in a concerned way, and you're reminded of a real person - perhaps an uncle or a friend.   I shouldn't really say piece of shit movie - is always fairly interesting to see '50s flicks just for the time travel effect.  The backgrounds, the foregrounds have their own fascinations - it isn't someone's imagined version of history.  And regardless of the melodrama(s) - or the cheezy narration - it was well filmed on location and most of the actors were o.k. - Mr. B.C. of course being better.  Definitely not running from the taxman.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Person Man And Soul

She was a good person
That's something you might say.
Not perfect in any way.
(Well perhaps a shade above the rest.
Perhaps even second best...)

Man is flesh, and meat and gizzard,
Bone and orifice, optic nerve, bowel movements,
Urinary functions, food, sleep, dreams, wetness
and dryness, youth and age, itches and tickles.
Nothing perfect in any way.

Soul is God's tool,
Make us pray.
Soul is God's school
Every day.
And yet we know
We can but fail,
So soul is not perfect in any way.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

The Green King

The green king is dead.
The wind sweeps new golden leaves down my lane.
The wind rolls the skies in grey and weepy gloom
While I sit inside this room and ponder what to do.
While I sit inside this room and ponder what to do,
The dog dreams of hunts in golden fields,
Her paws claw the air, her eyes search behind closed lids
For prey that lurks in canine fantasy -
Her time will come - I think.
Her dreams make her blink, and sometimes she will growl or purr,
At things that are outside my world.
The king is dead; long live the golden king.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

The Big Bang!

Oh my god!
What did I do!

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Effluent Explosion

Tonite were I privileged to an effluent explosion from beneath my sink.  The pressure apparently arose from the disposal of garbage, and the plastic connection failed, and there flowed the effluent.

My old age overwhelmed me as I tried to address the problem.  To bend over, to stoop, to reach for unreachable pipes, all bore down on my soul and made me want to weep.  (Not to mention the pain associated with each and every movement!)

The Hoover Steam Vac sucked up the water, ... and then a towel or two, and then dumping what was in the sink, into another sink, and sink I did...  well, at some point I sat down, looked at the dog, and sighed.

Finally, I kneeled before the god that was my sink, and found the strength to fondle the coupling of the disposal to the drain, and there found the gasket askew and in need of adjustment.  Pleasant patience came to rescue the day!   And though I later collapsed in a fit of defeat, realizing how unfit I am to face such challenges, I at least was not killed by the calamity;  I get to live another day.