Popular melodies in the last of your mind

Hi boys & girls. I’m announcing a seven-day moratorium on the use of the word “LOVE” in this blog, in both text & images. This is to prevent boring & alienating both reader & author. After all, there are SO many more topics of interest to discuss in a forum such as this. Like…. ah, um, like…. erm…. turkey burgers.

These were made with heirloom tomatoes & fresh watercress:

And ART!! This was painted by the lovely Bonnie Beedles, which i purchased and gifted to Mom & Dan as a housewarming present when they moved away from Ventura. They lived a block away from this poker joint, on the Avenue. Home is where the art is.

I got my ’46 Royal typewriter tuned up and i’m pounding the keys again, and it has been benevolent these days, the poems still come, still a blend of good ones and less-good ones (as ever). None i can share tonight, as they all seem to contain (sooner or later) the moratorium word in them. But there are safety nets cumulating in a rectangle of sunlight on the living room floor and i get frustrated until i remember not to. There are shards of that in a world with not enough of that. But i’m not crying, i’ve been sort of smiling, and i am enjoying this life more (or at least as much) as i ever have, which is no small feat as the years roll by (yeah, they roll by and by and god how did we make it to 41% of a century?). So i’ve been sort of smiling. And i deserve such luck & miraculous grace. And if someone suggested otherwise, i’d happily sock them in the nose.

And i stopped at Butterfly Beach, my place, on my way home from Bako today. And felt the cold water and cold cold sand between my toes and remembered it between my teeth going crunch when i bit down, gritty, when i was a boy of 25. It still had the same effect on the toes but i don’t let it into my mouth past 40, at least not in winter. At least not without champagne to wash it down. 2:20 and the sun had given up, all was foggy. The sun doesn’t try too hard in late November. And a guy driving an 18-wheeler stopped (right there on Channel Drive high above the Butterfly shore below) and asked me if i knew where he could turn his rig around. I told him i didn’t know, and at that moment i wished i was sitting in front of a potful of hot tea, so i got outta there and made it home and put the kettle on the boil.

And wrote this.

And remembered you, and you, and you, and yes even you.

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