More Amour ~ With legs, hands, lips and ~~ The Kiss

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Okay, some sexy love fun is in order and, well, the photographs sing their own song. John Lee Hooker just ices the cakes. Hmm.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen high heels quite like the ones in the very last image of this video. Ladies, the last set of heels is all yours.  Homage to the sensual side of love–with a lot of legs. Yes,  a lot of legs. I think we have some idea of what appeals to this particular incarnation of “Irene Adler.” And to many of the rest of us.

Bang Bang Bang Bang ~ John Lee Hooker

Irene Adler·

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It ought to be easy to find a translation of a song’s lyrics, right? Not so with In The Forest, a Polish tune.  Apparently the words cause even modern native speakers some grief because this is not modern Polish.  Best I can figure is that perhaps there’s some questions about if the guy deserves what happens to him–and, the thought “shit happens.” You’ll have to watch to the very end to get that last thought via an image. At least that ‘s how I’m interpreting it right now.  It’s bit of a walk on the dark side of romantic relationships. Just a bit. Don’t be dissuaded from listening because you don’t know Polish and there are no lyrics. The images tell a very familiar girl and boy story. I have no doubt you will recognize it.

In The Forest ~ Warsaw Village Band

JARO Medien GmbH – Bremen

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I discovered Edna St. Vincent Millay in the fourth grade. What can I say? Great things in the school music and arts program–which also included The Highwayman of which a version also appears here and Poe’s The Bells, which does not appear here.

Love Is Not All

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

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Drive Elevator Scene ~ The Kiss ~ composer Cliff Martinez ~  Heads up, if you’re squeamish,  then stop watching for a short time, don’t stop listening or you’ll miss out, after the kiss while the music is in transition. If you have not viewed the film Drive, which is a truly great film, then I highly recommend it. Mary Poppins it is not.  That said, what would you do to protect those you love? Also, yes, Ryan Gosling’s character knows the man in the elevator is a hit man and he knows he has fatal intentions. He steps into the elevator knowing. These are not random acts. Everything has intention.  I cannot think of another film kiss that can compare with this one. If you can, I invite you to share it. Furthermore, there are clips of this scene set to other music by fans. I don’t know why they bother because Martinez’s score here is flawless for sheer emotive power in my opinion. Everything matters in this scene, every image, every look, every sound.

 PowerfulScenes

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What can I can? If you love poetry, then discover Neruda if you have not already.  Here’s just one sonnet why.

One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII

BY PABLO NERUDA

TRANSLATED BY MARK EISNER

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
[Online source: The Poetry Foundation http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179257]

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Before Sunrise Written & Directed By Kealan O’Rourke ~ A very lovely animated work about the dark finding light and the rest is transformation.

kealanorourke

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Opera imaginaire ~  Lakme Flower Duet ~ Opera that works for me. Perhaps it will work for you too. I love how this transcends all sorts of obstacles and barriers on multiple levels: gender, culture, language, nature, humans, media, music and spirituality. If you don’t get it, then, well, you just won’t get it until you do a few dances with with a spring wind scented with apple blossoms.

magermunson

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Oh My Love ~ Katyna Ranieri, song by Riz Ortolani’  ~  Oddly enough I cannot recall how I found this gorgeous piece.  I have heard of Ranieri. I have heard the song from some long ago time. There it was on the tubes of you and I was lucky enough to find a live performance by the very expressive Ranieri.

Mauro Piffero·

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Irene and Sherlock  Love Game ~ Vitamin String Quartet ~  Oh my, Sherlock is BACK! with a modern wonderful vengeance. There’s a bit of an homage to Sherlock currently on the sidebar to celebrate this delight.  I selected this one because of the violin.

LittlestVioletSeller

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The Highwaywman ~ Loreena McKennitt ~ Listen and read and imagine.

Xouliamas

Album: The Books of Secrets
Year: 1997

Lyrics by Alfred Noyes, abridged by Loreena McKennit

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
And the highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding,
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He’d a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark innyard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by the moonlight,
Watch for me by the moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way.

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand
But she loosened her hair i’ the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come at the dawning; he did not come at noon,
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o’ the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching,
Marching, marching
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at the casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement,
The road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
“now keep good watch!” And they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say
“Look for me by the moonlight
Watch for me by the moonlight
I’ll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way!”

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled by like years!
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it!
The trigger at least was hers!

Tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs were ringing clear
Tlot-tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming!
She stood up straight and still!

Tlot in the frosty silence! Tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment! She drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.

He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know she stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it; his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were the spurs i’ the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

Still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding,
Riding, riding,
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

~

~Bear:  LOVE    http://bearspawprint.wordpress.com/2013/12/13/music-themes-love/
____________________________________________________________
Eva:   More Amour — With legs, hands, lips, and The Kiss —            https://47whitebuffalo.wordpress.com/2013/12/13/more-amour-with-legs-hands-lips-and-the-kiss/
Eva:   What’s Love Got To Do?    What’s Love Got to Do? Musical Theme for Friday, the 13th of December 2013.
____________________________________________________________
Willow: ??     http://willowdot21.wordpress.com/
____________________________________________________________
Johnny: LOVE
http://johnnyojanpera.wordpress.com/2013/12/13/musi-theme-december-13-love/  ____________________________________________________________
Deborah: Love and Random Acts of Kindness: A Musical Exploration           http://myriad234.wordpress.com/2013/12/13/love-and-random-acts-of-kindness-a-musical-exploration/
____________________________________________________________
D.S. Nelson: ??   http://hatpaintladdersandwonkypooh.wordpress.com/

 

 

 

 

 

“Hell-O” or William S. Burroughs’ Prophetic Vision? : “Ah Pook The Destroyer” — Here, There, Everywhere.

Hell-O

I’ve had it

time to exorcise

little demons

churning, burning

time to vacate

braincase crowd

no pretty pictures

recycling old scripture

time to re-in-car-nate

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Heads up, potentially unpleasant, disturbing and harsh content in the following incarnations of “Ah Pook”.  If you’re offended by references to the ugly American in a depth beyond the references of Green Day’s “American Idiot,” then this post may not be for you. If you’re turned off by decidedly unattractive visual representations of tiny creatures, then this post may not be for you. If you’re upset by images of the human cost of warfare, then this post may not be for you. There may be other things in this post which may not set well with your cup of coffee or tea or high energy wake up and run fast in the wheel libation. Consider yourself forewarned before viewing. It is your choice to do so — or to cyber surf elsewhere. There are lovely images and music in the Myths and Colors posts which may be more to your liking.  You’re cordially invited to visit those blogcasa post rooms. I will not be offended if you exit this particular blogcasa room now or at any other point during your visit.  This is a housekeeping blog post–I’m sweeping out a few of the creeping critters which consume the warm fuzzy dust bunnies under the mental bed frame.

If you’re a fan of William S. Burroughs, then Enjoy yourself.

If you are not a fan of William S. Burroughs, then Enjoy yourself elsewhere.

Thank you for coming to this mind show.

Your patronage is much appreciated.

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Ah Pook The Destroyer

Error Industries

Computer animation of William S Burroughs reading “Ah Pook The Destroyer” from the album “Dead City Radio” © Island Records
Made with Blender 3D
The album:
http://www.7digital.com/stores/island…
Blender 3D:
http://www.blender.org/

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Ah Pook is Here

STUDIOAKA

AH POOK IS HERE – This 1994 stop-frame interpretation of recordings by the late William S. Burroughs, was crafted around a selection of tracks from the album “Dead City Radio” produced by Hal Willner & Nelson Lyon – and featuring music by John Cale.

AH POOK received Ten international film awards, was archived in the Goethe institute, and was part of the Burroughs retrospective PORTS OF ENTRY. AH POOK was also voted ‘BEST OF THE BEST’ at the 2010 Stuttgart International Trickfilm festival.

The Guardian review:
“Phillip Hunt’s gorgeous, grisly animation mates William Burroughs’s gravelly narration of Ah Pook The Destroyer’s death-dealing parable with music by John Cale at his creepiest. Hunt’s deliberate and disgusting illustrations of Burrough’s monsters of the mind are a revelation; delicately articulated puppets riddled with revolting detail. Turn down the lights, get out the headphones, and give yourself over to The Master’s ghastly visions and sonorous warnings (“The world cannot be controlled, except by accident”) for six gut-churning minutes.”
-Kate Stables / The Guardian

Director Philip Hunt
Producer Eddel Beck
Music Hal Wilner & John Cale
Produced at the Filmakademie Baden-Wuerttemberg
Distributor BFI & The British Council

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Ah Pook The Destroyer

Karma9800

This is a tribute to both William Burroughs and Hiroshima. It’s a video I have been wanting to put together for some time now and release on the day of concern.
61 Years ago to-day Hiroshima felt the atom split in anger. Today lets remember both Hiroshima Nagasaki which followed on the 9th August 1945.
Lets hope the lion never rages again.

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 Ever notice the difference a good broom makes when sweeping under the bed ?

William Shakespeare’s Star Wars plays nicely with Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Will AZ ban this yarn of The Bard? Hmm.

What’s on your bedside reading table at the moment? Hmm? Two books, among others, are on mine.  Let’s laugh and cry a little between the realities they each present. Oh yes, they both deal with the very real quest for freedom of the mind–the body, and the heart and soul of humankind. Which books free your mind?
~
William Shakespeare’s Star Wars, Verily, A New Hope by Ian Doescher
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http://quirkbooks.com/ShakespeareStar…

Return once more to a galaxy far, far away with this sublime retelling of George Lucas’s epic Star Wars in the style of the immortal Bard of Avon. The saga of a wise (Jedi) knight and an evil (Sith) lord, of a beautiful princess held captive and a young hero coming of age, Star Wars abounds with all the valor and villainy of Shakespeare’s greatest plays. ‘Tis a tale told by fretful droids, full of faithful Wookiees and fearstome stormtroopers, signifying…pretty much everything.Reimagined in glorious iambic pentameter—and complete with twenty gorgeous Elizabethan illustrations–William Shakespeare’s Star Wars will astound and edify Rebels and Imperials alike. Zounds! This is the book you’re looking for.IAN DOESCHER has loved Shakespeare since eighth grade and was born 45 days after Star Wars Episode IV was released. He has a B.A. in Music from Yale University, a Master of Divinity from Yale Divinity School, and a Ph.D. in Ethics from Union Theological Seminary. Ian lives in Portland, Oregon, with his wife and two sons. This is his first book.

Hell, yes, it’s a lot of fun!

Star Wars is about oppressed people fighting ?????? Come on….

What’s Shakespeare got to do with banned books in Arizona?  Hmmm….oh yeah, the oppressed…rebels, intellectual freedom etc.

More Banned Book Fun!
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Banned Books : Pedagogy of the Oppressed – Virtual Arizona
Arizona Banned BooksArizona Banned Books
Jorge reads a selection from Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Paulo Freire

Join us!  Add your one to two minute reading from one of the confiscated titles (see list below) #arizonareadout

Banned Books List compiled by Debbie Reese :
http://library.csun.edu/guides/arizon…

More of these banned books videos here –>> http://www.youtube.com/user/ArizonaReadOut/videos
Discover what some folks in AZ fear so much that they’ve banned these books from classrooms.
pedagogy of the oppressed by Paulo Freire
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~~~
Willam Shakespeare’s Star Wars
Quirk Books –>> http://quirkbooks.com/ShakespeareStarWars
Hey, I know a woman with the last name of Quirk….verily, I do!
~~
Pedagogy of the Oppressed
Bloomsbury Publishing –>>
http://www.bloomsbury.com/us/pedagogy-of-the-oppressed-9780826412768/
New site developing regading Pedagogy of the Oppressed http://www.pedagogyoftheoppressed.com/

Breakfast Special, #27, “Lily’s Coat”

Lily’s Coat

“Well, I’ll be damned. Hells’ bells! We’re not open for ten minutes and look who comes through Big Bob’s new door. Good to see you, Benj. You too, Patrick. How’s Nora? Your Dad? Everything good with the clan?” Stanley set up three cups of coffee, one for himself and the two men who were the first to come inside and currently the only people in Big Bob’s.

“Hey Stanley. You’re looking good.” Benj kicked the snow and rock salt from his shoes as he held the door open for Patrick doing the same behind him before crossing the threshold.

“What can we do for you two fine young fine men? Whatever you want. It’s on the house considering you’re the first folks back in here.” Stanley waved a hand indicating that the bar was empty of customers except for the two O’Mara brothers.

“Just a couple of coffees and sweet rolls,” said Patrick. He took a bar stool next to Benj and began toying with the salt and pepper shakers.

“Oh come on, you two can do better than that. You got a stomach bug or what? Huh?” Stanley poured steaming coffee into the cups.

“Nora stuffed us before we headed for Falls. Preventive breakfast I call it. In case we get stuck in a snow-bank along the way, at least we’ll be stuck with full stomachs.” Benj knocked shoulders with Patrick next to him as they laughed.

Stanley set two sweet rolls on plates for them. “That’s Nora alright. So what brings you two to our National Guard Disaster area?  Don’t you dare say it’s because you enjoy the scenery on the ride here. That would be a whole lot of snow-shit anyone can see anywhere.”

His fingers dancing around the rim of his coffee cup, Benj said, “Actually we came in thinking we might meet up with Sarge.”

“Well, he has not been here this morning. He usually comes around every so often after a shift for the breakfast special and a sweet roll. With the docks still closed, I wouldn’t expect him though.” Stanley nodded at the window view of the shoulder-high mounds of snow all along the street with only one lane cleared for traffic. “If Reggie Dawson hadn’t taken it into his head to clear the street that much on his own, I wouldn’t be open either.”

Patrick followed the direction of Stanley’s glance and nodded in understanding. “When was Sarge last in for a special?”

Stanley sipped his coffee. “Let’s see. Pretty sure it was the Friday of the week before the snow really became a bitch. Yep. It was. I remember now. He sat there right at the end. Came in at the end of us getting slammed. Had his usual over-easys.”

“He seem okay to you then?” Benj dipped his sweet roll into his coffee.

“Oh hell yeah. Right as rain. Had a book as usual. Gave me a little lip for fun.”

“You ain’t seen him since then?” said Patrick.

“No.” Stanley shook his head. “Last I saw of Sarge he was high-tailing it out the door in hot pursuit of Lily. Have no idea if he caught up with her, but he sure put a leg on after she left.”

Benj and Patrick looked at each other, then at Stanley. Patrick leaned over his coffee expectantly. “How long has Sarge been seeing this Lily?”

Stanley shrugged his shoulders. “Never saw them together before that Friday. All I can say is that he sat down next to her. They gave each other a little grief. She ate like a starving pig as usual. He ate. She left. He grabbed his sweet roll and left right after. What more can I tell you?”

Benj grinned. “So what do you know about this Lily? Besides she eats like a pig.”

Stanley shook his head. “Oh that Lily, she’s something else, Benj.”

“What? She like some hot to trot firecracker?”

“Hot to trot firecracker? Lily? Hell no, Patrick. Atomic bomb is more like it.”

Mistaking Stanley’s line of thinking, Benj and Patrick laughed with glee. “So she’s like, what, stacked to the max?”

“How’s her ass action? She got a cute little wiggle in her walk?” Patrick shook his sweet roll to illustrate this notion.

Stanley laughed. “I hate to disappoint you guys, but you got it all wrong.”

“Awww Stanley. You’re such a tease,” said Patrick before eating half his sweet roll.

“You’re just yanking our chains with the atomic bombshell bit?” Patrick slumped dejectedly on his stool for a few moments.

“No. I’m not. I meant it. Only not like you two are thinking.”

Patrick punched Benj in the shoulder while keeping eye contact with the barkeeper. “Okay. Okay. So how did you mean it, Stanley?”

“Wait a minute.” Stanley glanced at the door and out the window. “I don’t want to start something I can’t finish. Let me lock the door. Fifteen minutes more of being closed won’t hurt anyone.”

“What the hell, Stanley?” Benj swirled on the bar stool while watching Stanley lock the entrance door. “You got FBI secrets to share or what?”

Returning to his place behind the bar, Stanley got comfortable on a stool, topped off everyone’s coffee, then looked from Benj to Patrick. “Remember when the shit hit the fan big time at St. Luke’s Church in the Flats a couple of years back?”

“You mean all that about Father John being a pedophile?”

“That’s it, Benj. That’s what I’m thinking of.”

“Oh I remember that. That was one storm that just wouldn’t blow over. So what’s this Lily got to do with that?”

“So—Lily started that shit-storm and kept it blowing for as long as it did.”

“I don’t recall reading about any Lily in the papers.” Patrick shook his head as he wiped his hands on a napkin. “I think I’d remember if Father Joseph had said anything about a Lily during Sunday Mass when he talked about St.Luke’s and Father John.”

“That’s because Holy Mother Church didn’t want it getting out who was really calling the shots in the Flats. Church didn’t want anyone finding out about what Lily knew any more than necessary. Lily knew a hell of a lot about what Father John did, when, where, who and how many times. Last thing the Church wanted was some reporter getting in deep with Lily. And they sure as hell didn’t want their own giving anyone any ideas about chatting her up. The parents were another thing. The Holy Fathers couldn’t care less about how they were carrying on. They just came across as clowns in the papers and on television because of how they looked and talked. Church could deal with the parents. Or so it thought at the time.” Stanley drank his coffee and waited for a response from either of the two men.

“But this Lily could have just gone to the papers herself. Why didn’t she?”

Stanley grimaced. “Lily wasn’t interested in getting press. What she wanted was Father John out of the Flats and out of the priesthood. She wanted him listed as a sex offender with the police and that was just for starters. She wanted him prosecuted to the full extent of the law. On top of that she had other priest fish to fry. And they weren’t in Falls. Now the only reason I know this is because my cousin Pauline manages Father Richard’s office in M-. She’s been there for two decades. She types up all the top line letters herself to keep things quiet and contained. According to Pauline, Lily and Father Richard had a meeting in person, right there in Father Richard’s office for about an entire day.  Right after that, Father Richard got busy and put some serious hurt on a priest in Minnesota, another one in Texas, and one in Washington State. Pauline doesn’t know what happened after that because only those letters went out. Nothing came in reply. Nothing in writing anyway. Everything else Father Richard did was either on the phone or face to face behind closed doors.”

Patrick hunched his shoulders and leaned over his coffee. “You’re saying he didn’t want any records or a paper trail.”

“Exactly.”  Stanley topped off his own cup of coffee and then Benj and Patrick’s. “But that didn’t put an end to what was going on in the Flats. When Father Richard’s hands were tied by higher-ups in regard to Father John, it was Lily who organized those folks to drive Father John out of business and basically shut down St. Luke’s on their own. The Sunday donations stopped. The tithes stopped coming in. The people stopped coming to mass. There were even carpools for getting people who wanted mass over to St. Teresa’s or any other church. Till this day, if anyone wants to go to confession they go to St. Teresa’s. Baby needs a christening; it’s done at St. Teresa’s. Someone needs last rites; they get the priest from St. Teresa’s to the Flats for them.  All of that is still going on. There may be a priest in residence at St. Luke’s, but only God Almighty hears him say mass. That church is a tomb.”

“Ahh ha. And this Lily is behind all that?” Benj exchanged looks and shrugs with Patrick before they both turned doubtful eyes back on the older man.

“Obviously none of that would have happened if people hadn’t paid attention to her. But she’s the one who light their fuses. No doubt about it.” He watched the two brothers smirk while remaining good-naturedly attentive to him. Deciding to take advantage of their interest and the lack of anyone walking or driving down the one lane street, Stanley warmed further to his subject. “As if that wasn’t enough, after those people got a taste of what they could do, they started doing other things. They formed what they call the Neighborhood Watch out there. It’s got ex-gang bangers, retired cops, blue-collar guys, white-collar guys, blacks, whites, Hispanics, Indians, Asians, the whole nine yards. You name it, if it lives in the Flats; they got it in the Watch. Falls PD may ignore 911 calls from the Flats, but the Watch doesn’t.”

Benj stretched his arms and locked his hands behind his head. “How you know all this, Stanley? Is there a Flats newsletter going around or some such?”

“How do I know all this?” Stanley’s eyebrows arched high as he met Benj’s eyes. “I know all this because my sister’s daughter, Joyce, she’s a nurse at St.Syms, lives in the Flats. Joyce bought a house god awful cheap there some time back because she wanted something close to work. As Joyce tells it, Lily pulled all those people together when she went after Father John for those kids he was messing around with. She really put the hurt on St. Luke’s when she got up at some community meeting and made some speech about if people still wanted to go to church and listen to some priest tell them how to live their lives after what Father John had done to their children, then they needed to go find a good man, because that’s what makes a good priest. So some people started visiting the other churches to check out the priests.”

Patrick laughed. “That’s funny, Stanley. Sounds like she sent them shopping for a better deal.”

Pointing his cup at Patrick, Stanley nodded. “That’s about what it boiled down to, Patrick. Now, lots of folks had been dishing some priest at St. Teresa’s ever since he arrived because he stuttered so much. They didn’t like listening to him trying to talk right. You know how that goes, especially with the old timers who want everything just perfect. They figured the Church had given them a lemon priest. Some of the Flats people go to St. Teresa’s to check out this priest anyway. When they show up out of nowhere to have a little chat, he stops what he’s doing and gives them his undivided attention until they’re good and ready to say bye-bye. Those folks didn’t give a damn about his stuttering. They just wanted a priest who flew right and played by the rules. They wanted a good man.  Joyce said that when the people from the Flats showed up at St. Teresa’s for Sunday Mass for the first time it was like a people bomb had exploded. Church was packed from the first pew to the last and out the doors. Guess which priest was saying Mass that Sunday. After checking out all their options in Falls and M- and everywhere in between, they chose the lemon priest. Now every time the lemon priest says Sunday Mass, St. Teresa’s is stuffed to the gills. That priest doesn’t even have a chance to ask for help. Roof needs patching. It’s done. Window needs fixing. It’s done. His funny little scooter needs a repair. It’s done. St. Teresa’s food pantry needs filling. It’s filled. Why? Because when the people from the Flats call him, he answers without any bullshit.  And he doesn’t mess with their kids.” Stanley drank the rest of his coffee.   “Ever see a picture of an atomic bomb exploding?”

“With the mushroom cloud and all spreading out.” Benj illustrated with his hands. “Oh yeah.”

“Same thing with Lily.” The barkeeper spun his empty cup in its saucer. “When she delivers a payload there’s a big bang, mushroom cloud goes up and down. Ripples just keep on spreading out wider and wider.”

Scratching his head, Patrick sat up straight and frowned at his brother and Stanley. “This does not sound like a woman who’d be up Sarge’s alley.”

“Anything but. Way too labor intensive.”

“You fellas are probably right. You’re his brothers.” Seeing a certain sort of opportunity in the situation, Stanley decided to make the most of it. “But if you saw how they were checking each other out here at the counter, both of them being sly about it, you might be singing a different tune.”

Not at all buying Stanley’s line, Patrick said, “If Sarge was giving this Lily the once over, then she must have something to grab his eyes. What does she look like anyway, Stan?”

Benj backed up his older brother. “Come on Stan. Give us something besides a yarn about the freak show in the Flats.”

“Alright already. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you two are a couple of Peter Pan Pests today. Tell you what. Next time you see a Hudson Bay Blanket coat hoofing it in Falls, that’s Lily. “

“You got to be kidding. Oh Stan. I don’t know about Patrick, but you’re killing me with your bullshit. I’m thinking I’m going to take you up on that freebie breakfast just to make up for doing you the favor of listening to all this shit.”

“I’m serious. You want to know what Lily looks like and if she might trip Sarge’s trap, then go find the Hudson Bay Blanket coat. You do know what one of those looks like, don’t you?”

“What do you take us for? A couple of morons? We know what a Hudson Bay coat looks like. She can’t have the only one in Falls.”

“True. But she’s the only person I’ve seen in the last, what four or five years wearing one all winter long. If I see the coat on the street, I think, ‘there goes Lily.’ What do you know, every time I drive past that coat and see a face, it is Lily. Never yet have I been wrong about who is wearing that coat here in Falls. Not once. Okay. Now, let’s fire up the grill and have us all some eggs because I don’t think anyone else is coming through that new door until some more folks are dug out.”

Patrick and Benj banged their palms on the bar-counter in agreement. “Hell yeah, fill us up for the return trip with sunny-siders and some burnt pig, Stanley.”

After Patrick and Benj departed, Big Bob’s grill man, Murray, came out from behind the grill blind. Joining Stan in another cup of coffee at the empty counter he pulled apart a cinnamon roll and ate it piece by piece. “Stan, are you sure that was a good idea, telling those two about Lily and her coat? They might do that and give her grief she don’t need. ”

“Ah they’re harmless as far Lily is concerned. They won’t lay rough hands on a woman. A man, now that’s an entirely different story. They’ll fight any guy dumb enough to swing a dick in their direction. They don’t care who or how big in any sense of the word.  I think Sarge has given them the slip again and they’re trying to pick up his trail anyway they can. Telling them to look for Lily when who they really want to find is Sarge, is like sending them on a wild goose chase. If they’re looking for her coat, then they’re not looking for Sarge. And in my book, them not finding Sarge for as long as possible is a damn good thing all by itself.”

“No argument on that score from me. Why they don’t just let Sarge do his own thing is beyond me.”

“It’s all about control, Murray. All about control. I’ve known Dylan and Nora for years. They always held their boys pretty damn tight when they were just kids. Now they hold the boys and their families tight too. Seems like they all want it that way. Except for Sarge who has been fighting that tight hold ever since he was a little kid. Unlike his brothers, Sarge was born with a mind of his own. That’s why Sarge and crazy Kozy get along so well.”

“Stan was that legit what you told them about Lily and Father Richard or were you just blowin’ smoke up their asses?

“Oh it’s legit all right. I could tell by the looks on their faces they weren’t buying one word of it even though I was telling them the gospel truth according to Pauline. I figure, hey, truth is stranger than fiction. My conscience is clear. I didn’t lie to them. They think I did though. So they won’t be wasting any time sharing that story. They forgot it before they even went out our new door.” Stanley looked at Murray. “Probably best you forget it too.”

Murray popped the last of the cinnamon roll into his mouth. “What? You say something Stanley?”

~~

Breakfast Special, #28, Fair Trade Creed Reads, part 1, Les Mis:

https://47whitebuffalo.wordpress.com/2013/09/26/breakfast-special-28-fair-trade-creed-reads-pt-1-les-mis/

~~

Breakfast Special, #28, Fair Trade Creed Reads, part 2, Stealth:

https://47whitebuffalo.wordpress.com/2013/09/27/breakfast-special-28-fair-trade-creed-reads-pt-2-stealth/

~~

Breakfast Special #28,  Fair Trade Creed Reads, part 3, Two Guys On a Roof:  https://47whitebuffalo.wordpress.com/2013/09/28/breakfast-special-28-fair-trade-creed-reads-pt-3-just-two-guys-on-a-roof/

Fedora


*
*

On a whim
I gifted my daughter
a little black fedora
which she adored
~~~still does.

when she first wore it
friends quietly inquired:

“So, then, um, you’ve decided to do the ninja assassin thing, huh?”

“Oh yeah. Pays much better than soccer goalie for the same insane head skill set.”

Her dark humor, I thought
~~until she paid off my mortgage without a word.

~~
~~
Note: Thanks to bearspawprint for introducing me to Apocalyptica’s music.
http://bearspawprint.wordpress.com/

What’s simmering in your brainpan?

For Water by Leslie White

 
When you’re cooking something to compliment an entre of potluck leftover brain stew a few fundamentals are in order.  Water is essential to life–even the life of our brains which require water to function properly.  If you’ve ever been seriously dehydrated you know precisely what I’m yapping about. if you haven’t–well, it’s not a recommended state of being.   So, thanks to Leslie White we have a lovely energetic visual of water in action–or being acted upon.  I’ve tossed in a video that provides some very basic information about water in an attempt to convey who uses how much of the drinkable water on Earth.  It’s got pictures! There’s even  a woman taking a shower. Lots of people in America enjoy taking at least one shower a day. If you’re my brother, Ed, you take at least three–his routine is too long to share at the moment. He may drive fast, but he showers slow and often. Now if you’re cooking a meal some energy is often required.  There’s everything from fire to nuclear power available for energy. I rather like the clear direct way Carl Sagan discusses the power of nuclear energy.  Somewhere in the universe  of my books there is a copy of his shattering explanation of how atomic bombs operate if they explode upon impact versus exploding in the ‘air’.  I think all proponents of nuclear energy should spend time in an area capable of simulating being blown apart–or of dying from radiation poisoning.  That’s just me at this moment though. But considering that it would only be a simulation of an experience, I think I could push the start button on the program.  So, we’ve got our water and our energy –and now we need a place to cook our thoughts.  Hmm, well, how much space do we need? How much space can we have? How much space is there for the having? According to Hubble’s views–there’s as much as you can wrap your mind around and then a WHOLE LOT MORE!  It seems humans can do more than wage war. They are capable of creating ways to explore the STARS. Wow, who knew? 
What’s on the imagination menu?
Are we star-dust?

Oh please do visit Leslie White’s creative kitchen to see what her creative imagination is cooking at http://lesliepaints.wordpress.com/

Shanti Om

Just in case you haven’t discovered Pablo

Saborio’s poetry, I’ve decided to feature his blogcasa as one of my ‘award obligations’.  I have to say that awards are one form of networking and creating interconnections in a most literal fashion.  Tread carefully into Pablo’s domain because things are not so ‘literal’ in the casa of  his beautifully bilingual imagination. Without further ado, I direct your attention to Nihilistic Poetry–and more (photography)—> 

                                            http://nihilisticpoetry.com/

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Essays on nature, culture, self

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A literary compass for finding your voice..."You turn toward me, your lips move, wanting to speak."--Stephen Dobyns, "Wolves In The Street"

poet4justicedotwordpressdotcom

The poet can reach where the sun cannot. -HINDU PROVERBThe greatest WordPress.com site in all the land!

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Working together to make the world a better place to live! A fine WordPress.com site

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THE ONENESS of HUMANITY

Earth | Peace | Truth | 2019

InkPaperPen

You can't stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.