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Sunday, May 29, 2016

Whangdepootenawah AKA Trump


WHANGDEPOOTENAWAH, n.
In the Ojibwa tongue, disaster; an unexpected affliction that strikes hard.

Should you ask me whence this laughter,
Whence this audible big-smiling,
With its labial extension,
With its maxillar distortion
And its diaphragmic rhythmus
Like the billowing of an ocean,
Like the shaking of a carpet,
I should answer, I should tell you:
From the great deeps of the spirit,
From the unplummeted abysmus
Of the soul this laughter welleth
As the fountain, the gug-guggle,
Like the river from the canon,
To entoken and give warning
That my present mood is sunny.
Should you ask me further question --
Why the great deeps of the spirit,
Why the unplummeted abysmus
Of the soule extrudes this laughter,
This all audible big-smiling,
I should answer, I should tell you
With a white heart, tumpitumpy,
With a true tongue, honest Injun:
Pigboy Limpballs, he has Caught It,
Caught the Whangdepootenawah!

Is't the sandhill crane, the shankank,
Standing in the marsh, the kneedeep,
Standing silent in the kneedeep
With his wing-tips crossed behind him
And his neck close-reefed before him,
With his bill, his william, buried
In the down upon his bosom,
With his head retracted inly,
While his shoulders overlook it?
Does the sandhill crane, the shankank,
Shiver grayly in the north wind,
Wishing he had died when little,
As the sparrow, the chipchip, does?
No 'tis not the Shankank standing,
Standing in the gray and dismal
Marsh, the gray and dismal kneedeep.
No, 'tis peerless Pigboy Limpballs,
Realizing that he's Caught It,
Caught the Whangdepootenawah!

ambrose bierce

Saturday, May 07, 2016

body languish




if my arms are crossed, and i slouch, use your greater eye
to feel my state of disrepair, as i retire
back to a fetal position reserved for grown punching bags.
if i stroke my chin thoughtfully,
there is an ingrown thought curling back home like a willow,
weeping. when i collapse, don't read more into
that form of speech than a dance of chaos untranslated
as yet. my middle finger, and my pointer finger,
and my thumb all hitch rides when taken as significant,
alone. if my tongue's body language is tied,
you are the gordian knot, sweeping over teeth
ground smooth by grains and adding to smile wrinkles.
when my arms are crossed, and i hug myself
apart, it takes nerves missing to not feel you,
and it takes heart to let go. if i were strong,
i'd slouch straight into a lie, and carry earth's message
in countenance clothed in bliss. if i were any more human,
the animal of myself would shed or molt,
spin a cocoon to hide the scaffolding of a work in progress.
if it takes a hand under flowing water
to prime desert flowers once a century, sense blooms.



portland, oregon
5-7-16

Wednesday, May 04, 2016

Oregon for President Sanders, and democratic socialism



https://twitter.com/winning_mark/status/720317172644315137


Oregon's own becomes first U.S. Senator to endorse Bernie Sanders. He tells us why: JL