December 31, 2008 by p00ky.

To a Friend Whose Work Has Come to Nothing

Now all the truth is out,

Be secret and take defeat

From any brazen throat,

For how can you compete,

Being honor bred, with one

Who were it proved he lies

Were neither shamed in his own

Nor in his neighbors’ eyes;

Bred to a harder thing

Than Triumph, turn away

And like a laughing string

Whereon mad fingers play

Amid a place of stone,

Be secret and exult,

Because of all things known

That is most difficult.    

                                        w.b. yeats

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December 25, 2008 by p00ky.

in the depths of the worst financial disaster since the Great Depression, retail sales are reportedly off a devestating 2%. it costs nothing to stop the killing.

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December 15, 2008 by p00ky.

okay, another few beautiful inches of snow to hide the body parts, and within an hour of the snowfall, with less than an inch on the ground and no insidious freezing rain in the mix the freeways in greater portland were again littered with stranded cars and pissedoff drivers. 

Before the snow began an ODOT spokesperson informed the public that their proactive measures have been focused on the freeways and mair arterials with apologies that the sidestreets did not receive their attention…. Attention?  Does ODOT actually “DO” anything to mitigate the damages resulting from the first inch of snow on the roads?  Perhaps they pray? Think positive thoughts? 

And no, sadly, it is not the hills that take the fall.  Believe it or not, folks, there ARE hills in Montana and Colorado and even in the midwest.  Duh.  And somehow…. just Somehow the half the country that gets regularly snowed upon somehow manages to get thru the winter without roads and schools and essentially the whole economy shutting down. 

How do they do it???  How do cities and states and regions of this country deal with snowfall that makes portland’s look like dandruff without skipping a beat and without local news reporters exploiting endlessly the chicken-little routine for which they were apparently trained?

Golly…. i do not know how they do it!  perhaps ODOT should admit they are generally fucked and…. take a fucking field trip.

As an aside, and because this is after all a gay blog, think if nothing else how a remedy to the portland folly would serve to silence the whining cretins in craig’slist m4m longing for someone, Anyone! to “mitten manly” (sorry Dylan) at their door and relieve them for even a second of the consciousness of their pathetic existence.

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December 14, 2008 by p00ky.

 Yes, it covers up the body parts!

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December 7, 2008 by p00ky.

the original video to A Long December generally sux, so i opted for this one instead. i have an affection for Counting Crows… at least they presented posibilities as a band in the wasteland.

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November 22, 2008 by p00ky.

jackson’s song came on the radio last week as i was arriving at work. i wept in the parking lot listening.

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September 20, 2008 by p00ky.

the Traveling Wilburys…. extant in memory of the blue juanita.

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July 25, 2008 by p00ky.

Crimson flames tied through my ears
Rollin’ high and mighty traps
Pounced with fire on flaming roads
Using ideas as my maps
“We’ll meet on edges, soon,” said I
Proud ‘neath heated brow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.

Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth
“Rip down all hate,” I screamed
Lies that life is black and white
Spoke from my skull. I dreamed
Romantic facts of musketeers
Foundationed deep, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.

Girls’ faces formed the forward path
From phony jealousy
To memorizing politics
Of ancient history
Flung down by corpse evangelists
Unthought of, though, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.

A self-ordained professor’s tongue
Too serious to fool
Spouted out that liberty
Is just equality in school
“Equality,” I spoke the word
As if a wedding vow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.

In a soldier’s stance, I aimed my hand
At the mongrel dogs who teach
Fearing not that I’d become my enemy
In the instant that I preach
My pathway led by confusion boats
Mutiny from stern to bow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.

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July 18, 2008 by p00ky.

the announced closure of a number of starbuck’s “stores” prompted one portland channel to do a news brief on the event, from the perspective of an elderly woman recently moved to portland from west virginia.  in the piece the oft cited starbucks-corporate-wish was dredged up:  that the plastic place exists as the third world - the place between work and home.

she lamented near tears that the place was like family to her… that it was like Cheers, where everybody knew her name.

A little historical perspective, though sadly, as testimony to a fleeting memory, devoid of footnotes:  a nice essay exists somewhere out there by a source forgotten naming the pub as a kind of third world, precisely the reference mentioned in the news article and the mantra of starbuck’s corporate.  a place extant between the worlds of home and work.  a place, particularly in the british pubs, where people of all classes meet on a randomly regular basis to rub elbows and exchange stories and laughter and sometimes tears…. with tongues loosened a bit by a few pints served dutifully by the employees (who may also on occasion remind Bob that he might mind  his Ps and Qs lest the troubleandstrife put him in the dog house again).  the pub, in short, is truly a land unto itself, cultivated by the regulars and kept from the dangers of inbreeding by frequent visitors who are embraced and encouraged to share.

compare this dynamic and creative Other to the plastic isolating homogeneity offered thru the endless replication of starbucks where your day is fucking “made” by the recognition that the hired help remembers your name and how much cinnamon you like in your latte.  where you sit alone at a table sufficient to hold a laptop and a newspaper, and safely emerge grasping a corporate brand in a paper cup having bared your pathetic soul to absolutely nobody, and ready to face the world.

i contend that some independent coffee houses afford their patrons the experience of the “Other,” and recognize that the experience, whether pub or coffee house is largely dependent on the clientele.  I would sadly go so far as to admit that the very concept of the “Other” is relegated largely to memory, and further to drinking establishments distant from our shores.  that being said, at least the Potential exists for something more than a company mantra and logo.  if a clerk at starbucks calls me by name it holds as much meaning to me as the “have a nice day” at the bottom of a super-market receipt…. barring some deeper relationship:)  and the very fact that starbucks exists as portable pods littering the landscape, as examples of anti-humanity structures that serve the most superficial need of interaction, denies them any goddam right to proclaim themselves as the “other”…. and relegates those who find fulfillment there to the realm of the lemures (and lemurs) - the realm of the walking dead clutching a cup of severely over-priced joe to their starving breast.

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July 3, 2008 by p00ky.

i promise this will be the last post on the matter  (for now)

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