confusing issues of substantive articulation

joanna has left me a present at the visit center, along with all the books I loaned her or that she might have and evidently has finished with along with giving me a scarf and hat I've been moving the moldy hay to the low spots in the yard (back)...breathless with excitement over my landscaping effort, curious about having given the derelict my last twenty bucks for some roof attention and then..the car is messed up..I'm reluctant to pop in the new 30amp fuse that will perhaps get my heater motor running again, I shouldn't think there'd be a problem because it was repaired two years ago for about eight hundred dollars...anyways...taken a punch out of me having a disabled car...I am driving it from the house to the visit center where I am plugging away entertaining the roving few...a lady just in with car sic kness, kind of wanted to heave everywhere she did...and after the moldy hay what do you think?  that's what I think...kind of leery to get that going on...I guess they could import bobby smathers for the car repair but I don't think that's going to happen, I could wait till Monday and see if Gary F could have a look at it...he's song and danced me as bad as Fred Astaire about things motor I am reluctant to do this I could beg from JoAnn Willard, rightly so the corrective venture here would be listen to moldy Dylan Thomas who sat outside the visit center last night when I was walking the dogs didn't even get warmed up stayed in 'jerry's coat' all evening hovering over the      fire..which burned bright but wasn't that warm, still unraveling some pesky snarled yard another party rolls in and doesn't stop here it's from that book 'love medicine' by L erdich somewhere's around here that real name...the character Lipsha Murray who beats a different drum and talks resolutely about not knowing what he's really up to...that kind of thing...you know when you go down you want to go...meanwhile was hoping for a dose of what ails me. far as t hat goes water goes dangerously out of the radiator when the heater fan/motor isn't running
have put in the fuse, haven't not started the motor, keys still in the chair next to me under the lunch pail..where I've picked up another Twix to keep my nerves steady..this thing abou the mechanic well it unnerves me but it is what it is...I have a gift card from my son for fifty dollars that would help the mend but would be a small part of the cost of a new fan motor for t he beast..a better automobile is what I need I think but this one has been sturdy and reliable so far, I've been t hrough the 'catalog of husbands' and the only one not taken is actual r ussell himself...checked the radiator fluid wasn't draining away but t his heater fan issue escapes me..you'd want the kid to be right, no??
like I could pull all the weeds out of the garden fretting over what car repairs culd cost..and there goes Al Pelletier..late afternoon blushing from experience in nirvana...people out tooling
wanted to get down t he dirt and gritty there, couldn't work with the local fellas too bossy and irritating..kind of pushy mean don't know where their arse is headed sort of wastrel kind of nothingness t hat belies what curtain falls over it..so much to do, got a bit done today..planted the sprouting garlic, never found the cache
so I guess t hat would mean a thing or two...like the back hatch defroster fuse..a bit cold standing out there vacuuming and so on..if I have to take it to the shop I suppose I want to clean it up a bit...I think..like to know where the back end of the car f use panel is because defroster hasn't worked for almost a year and I think that's what it is..probably a lock on the website t hat spills out the  beans on the autoexecutor state I pilot...(and where's Joyce these days?)...so...somewhat between the spills of origin we have before us two vacuums from Kirby with all their parts and then some that have been dismantled before our very eyes as if we had any cause to wonder about that..I'd like to be specific..

referebces.references to @kamalopia....whatever the that means...

yep...on this little pastywasty machinie  here...have to select all and then delect before eyes get goings...how to tog TU men...mmhmmm... well, there's a great giant package of bloong felder munching down in the park parking lot just now, 49 tuns of blubber with a fairly reasonable attitude and don'tcha know he gots it all from myself...ho-pe this reads pretty good...he's like a giant cana tuna that one...I suppose I oughta taken a
brekkie here and go see what's up with the 25 cent people quarters being what they is...and how he rides himself around town in his mechanized bicycle that I fought with in the eveing got my knuckles swolled up...and there's a grape on my leg the size of Indiana...ouchie
now don't brag it says the mama cool..
well,  how do you get that fat Martian down here then I asks her
she says you're going to have to put up with limp...
for now...and so he goes trotting by as though he had just picked up all the males and tossed out the goff ones
goof ones...lives like the tin can module you just never know about this sharing thing do yas...
did we flatten him bubba?
hopefully barros is Burrows is me myself and eye...and that's the causal namia to it for certain oh I know it was larry's writing crew that got it down, he's the one said it owuld work...we'll make do with smaller portions won't we

where I'd like to be if time would let me

it's kind of strange how we work now..like our minds are alert and focused and we've just got to set down somehow an explanation somewhere either in this kind of media (published word) or a drawing or a melody (parts of a melody, practice of a melody),,former, latter elements do not work, these have to be unique, original transcendant things, ideas descriptions interpretations of what we few that claim art as our effort and reason to be..just want to talk ab out through these processes ...drawing..painting...strumming a guitar, tinkling at the piano...puffing on the tuba..looking out with our eyes on the world, like I'm walking the dog down the street and seeing all the cement everywhere sidewalks porches highways where is there room for life to exist except in these structures we call our homes, ranches mostly here suburban dwellings next to garden apartments that are mostly three stories with enough rooms for families groups individuals..with kitchens and bathrooms and garages and bedrooms and porches and yards and then there's the outdoors which has gone away in small packages to be found in trips to the farm reaches of where these places are with all the cement...not like at my home which has a back porch I built onto it where I can sit andlook out at the landscape and allow it to foster itself, morning glory circumscribing every effort I make to scrape the garden into what looks like a real cultivating process...the wild orange day lily taking up from the morning glory that which the out of doors does want - to spread itself everywher eand anywhere - was this what was wrong with Europe when the colonists arrived in
America?? that the cobblestones had taken over..is this the postnuclear age definition?  that the Berlin wall was underlining for us to understand what it was we must invite and thrive through?  what are our borders?  where do they begin, why are they there?  does a wild animal have something to do with this, what about native american culture, indians?  are they the standard bearers for the correct approach to demography/sociology?  in a post nuclear age?  do I have to be the definitor?  well..I don't know that I ...

LANDMINES

at last broshows up to deal with R in the boy's body...little control freak has two tvs on
cash rubbing his butt in the dirt again..mouthy
let's see how bro deal with it..
definitely a case of hide the salami..Dobe's apparently
guess he figures that's how it is..

rule of the bone...review

this was a hard one to read...in some ways it's supposed to be a defense of why people become homosexual...because this kid's dad is having him 'do stuff'...or did...also his reason for booking out of the family unit into some real scrappy housing with a series of human castoffs like himself.  I really wanted to poke around in the kid's head and extract the peripheral knowledge venues he was operating on, suspicious of everyone and everything because that's the cards life dealt him. 
Strangely author Banks (Russell) creates a very different sort of hero for this young man, a Jamaican Rastafarian named I man..who interestingly enough turns up in the same garbage can of a home where the boy has been staying when not elsewhere generating a pile of litter.  The boy has his 15th  birthday in Jamaica through a series of events that take  him from upstate New York to Montego Bay.  The vision quest his new Rastafarian associates provide him gives a glimpse into the ego the boy may achieve from his molestation experiences.  He's probably being assigned to a gay lifestyle but does talk about hot girls in the street about his age so maybe he's going to be arriving at adulthood not too confused by the lack of love in his young life. 
Banks' portrayal of this kid's street life in Au Sable, New York is very much a 1980's sort of portrait.  You can see the big hair and the bleached denim along with the significant exploitation of drug-induced states in characters such as the bikers the kid first lives with.  How does a child survive around such people?  From the parent to the roommate to the real dad, this boy gets nothing but grief and fear from being in the same room with any of these folks.  The only adult to actually interact with him is I man and it is only natural the boy would adopt the beliefs of the Rastafari in return for some sort of hope his birth wasn't a mistake.
I find it difficult to think the boy's mother is so detached from her son.  I do know, however, that in a case of molestation, the other parent is always unaware that something is happening to his or her child.  Her boy attempts to make a case for himself about his dad but the confusion of his emotions towards his mother, some underlying resentment that she somehow made this happen, override the effort.  The family unit is fractured beyond repair.
I hadn't read any of banks books but I wanted to know his style and so I have had my opportunity.. it's a good read, not dated at all by it's references to the late 80's, rather an interesting exploration of one young person's experiences on the road to adulthood.  it's kind of a chick book really, makes me want to give the kid a hug and bake him some cookies, give him a new kitten.. 

Corporate Seals...Donnie the Rump and the Metafarsical Premise of his Candidacy

corporate zeal...donnie the rump and the metapharsical premise of his candidacy ...

it's been a good day right up until I was told to keep my dogs out of the road by a supposed fellow dog lover (not)...the guy is a whiner bigtime, he can't have a conversation where he DOESn't whine..and I'm tired and cranky..but there it is...coulda been worse, I forgot to tell this yahoo I've been looking everywhere for the backhinge on my ancient rig and my best bet is go have him weld it...right..we'll see about that, these repairs take money, which I don't have as it's the end of the month...and I wasn't talking a out that anyways...I was loking at the little baby bonnet I just made for my granddaughter to be 'Maxwell'..and I repeat to myself the Beatles song 'bang bang maxwell's silver hammer came down upon her head, bang bang maxwell's silver hammer made sure that she was dead...'which I don't know what it means in terms of an anticipated birth...but my own monther is near that end of t he song situation, t he d word...and..well it just seems like bad luck to even talk abot it but then I'm kind of gravely with the people next store who were supposed to be buying my house and instead caused it to become foreclosed...so all the guys walking out of the place next door I should  consider them 'foes'...hmm?? probably
and that's Trump, the worlds biggest chump...he's not Donald Trump, he is donald the rump...
 I had a boyfriend looked just like that bugger...they coulda been twins...the boyfriend played football for the local team 'the Eagles'...and yeah he had a mother of his children baby momma thing going on for years but every time they'd have a spot I was where it was at...one christmas he duded up in a red velvet santa cap and a blender of candy canes and vodka (no clothes)...that was about as good as it got with that guy...pour one on and try to find his dick... which might go on all night depending on how much other substance the fuck had abused...it didn't ever get physical in a violent way but he sure could be a nuisance.you're so tried you're ready to plaster yourself over the wall paper and he's still trying to go at it...and there's no way to say honey, I can't find your penis, are you sure you've got one?
I imagine trump to be the same sort of sex machine...blow jo b...and hope he comes because if he doesn't you're in for it...
I'm serious these two motherfuckers could be peas in a pod they look so much alike...well actually my footballer was a rather ruggedly handsome dude but I think he was probably his most ardent fan...he got all his teeths pulled out shaved his head and started sporting a tattoo that said 'the man' like he was the only one (and they'd removed his dick when they put on the tatoo)  welll, you know, ten years into it he finally learned a little cunning linguistics to where he made me begin to purr just a slight bit but it was never a out anyting but sex with that motherfucker...I just know him and trump have a lot in common...he's be the worst weapon we could depoly with female operatives in t his country, ones powerful enough to give ol GP a run for their money...what a pain...we NEVER once had a real date, it was always about him needed a little 'attention'..which I came to understand was 'suck me off' that could take all night I always thought, buried in the hair of his weiner 'now I know how a male whore feels' damn is  he ever gonna get hard?  he'd be making these purring sounds like GP trying to run over a cat but he wouldn't get close to the edge for hours and when he finally did, well...he wasn't any heartbreaker that's for sure...I pity that baby momma who's got him back now...he says to me 'I wanna be with you"..and the next thing you know, he's right up there putting the barbequer on the deck and frying her burgers..the fuck...she's like all over him like jelly on peanut butter, I guess she's got strong muskles in her mao ffff...maybe...I didn't really get that about her, she works  hard, she's not real bright but hey he ain't stupid really, there's t he metafarcical situation with good ol Rumpindee Stiltstix...blasting on the Dave Lee Roth till it's burning down the house but nobody the wiser because it's far enough for anybody it don't matter, and who's play that stuff THAT loud?  unless they were an idiot to begin with, right?  you want things that LOUD where some fuckin' earphones, ya jerk!! never saw  him beatin on anyone and he did listen, but thing about an actual date where you have your clothes on and you go somewhere's special link dinner in town at Bushwacker or something?  never happen, I think we had maybe one or two dinners together but it was canned pizza at his place or I'd make somet hing and he'd have a spoonful which he was a fat guy so you wonder where'd t he twinkies come from...I mean really, a whole lotta blubber on that dude...often he told lme he loved me, which I'd believe  him and think everything gonna be ok...like a reggae song and he took off so fast to the baby momma chick I've been typin' with my eyes closed thinking I can face that fact and not wonder why it is we gotta tolerate such inhumane personal relations with one another...in fact, the whole time this was a goin' on, I comforted myself with the understanding I was his sex therapist somehow because when he moved on down the road to , back to, babyy momma (he has two sons) he never looked back, never called up whining saying I gave the t head ya da yada I mighta said at that point I'm sicka you but I didn't get the opportunity or haven't but I gotta say, when he'd look at me when we'd run into one another somewhere around here he'd look me up and down and I wouldn't have a stitch on, he was good at that...like very familiar, like 'I know how to fuck you....'
and yeah he did...but I never said I loved him, I once fell apart over a guy in just that way and he damn near drove me off the bridge but I recovered and even though I went on to marry I never felt that way about anyone in that way ever again...I got more realistic, like yeah sex is a big part of things but so is getting up when the baby scrfeams at 3 am and those are things make you say 'Ilove you' not that he's just made you come like burning a hole in the sheets...although that's good and I haven't had that in forever...well I  had it last night but it was a scene out of ghostbusters...kind of different nowdays when there's other people's flesh involved...there is sometimes but the buggers next door sell  him soon as he is out the door and you should see where they put him up when he gets back home...incredible...he's not a bad doodd..merely a variation on a recurring theme of wh's the latest asshole in muy life right?  this one writes an admirable facebook page but to find him in his own skin on a given day, like helping me make a pizza..well, you'd have to be totally stoked up with marijuana to be sure he was even there...and he WOULDN't be physically and that's nice how that works...but that's not the real meal deal and I say this about that, good ol Donald the Rump better make s ure a guy is a guy if he thinks he's gonna par sec my integrals in the voting booth, get it??

Callandret containment issues

Culhane Callendret did resolve the mystery of the floating feet while he was hoping to hook a great salmon out in the wild wild west of the northwestern pacific coast at Sekiu.  It turned out the currents were bringing the feet in from the Vancouver BC area although it was never really for sure if the feet hadn't been deposited from boats in the Strait of Juan deFuca which were carrying passengers who had their feet and were cutting off other feet or just feet in a bag with people who had feet throwing those severed feet overboard.
It turned out organized crime had gone into the feet severing business with the Pakistani community in the Vancouver BC area.   Culhane had narrowed the perpetrators down to a handful of weasels who extorted the businesses of Pakistani people in return for 'protection' against themselves.  People didn't really enjoy handing over their hard earned money for the purpose of not getting their feet cut off but there it was.   It couldn't be helped.  Culhane traced a pair of cycling Reeboks to a woman in the florist business who had gotten her salmon colored biking shoes from a retailer in Bellingham during a visit there from Vancouver.  One of the cycling Reeboks was found off Sekiu floating near the shoreline.  Culhane determined that Ms. Elani Jophetta had purchased the shoes and was a florist in Vancouver.  One thing led to another.  It was a sad day when Barnard Bolognollo was hauled in on the the missing feet charges.  Turns out good ol Barnard was in charge of a great pair of clippers that neatly sliced off the feet just above the ankle.  The rest of the body was then incincerated.  It was a particularly grisly process and one Culhane was glad to put to bed.