Young lad, fuck shit up.

Repeatedly. And with a smile.

Pretend it’s your play…

…or not.

And for crying out loud,
put on some music while you write.
Because I want to feel your brain dancing
while I read your words.

Otherwise,
it’s just more
of the
same old shit
that I
can find
coming from
the tin ears
of the masses
lining up
to buy
Froot-loops.

The plan?

There is no plan.

Just write…

…and dance.

End. Of. Lecture.

Bee-fucking-bop.

Sorry, but my war wound has been acting up again. The repetitive motion of a spinning (and empty) mind bothered the old scar. And then its dull pain joined the aches of day-to-day living, leaving me rather helpless in the pursuit of reason.

Besides, I had to travel — to Tulsa this time. It’s a long story. But I’ve got to pursue every possible lead. I doubt this one will pan out but seeing Tulsa in May was rather intoxicating. It’s not the kind of place I’d usually gravitate to. But, once there, Tulsa kind of grows on you in an Oklahoma kind of way.

The people of Tulsa say things like, “howdja sleep?” And, “need something?” I liked that. It was kind and unobtrusive.

I thought of Ron Padgett and Joe Brainard in my free time in Tulsa. I sat on a bench in front of a Tulsa bar wondering where Padgett wrote this:

“Every writer
transcribes his own reality.
His idea of how to write
probably sucks,
Because it is boring
and unreal. But it is
his.”

And then I wondered where in Tulsa I could find one of Brainard’s wonderful images. You know, like these:

But I still liked Tulsa in an Oklahoma kind of way – even though the jobs weren’t as plentiful as I was told.

It’s good to be home.

First, a blob of text that means little more than the way you squint in the mirror in the morning to minimize your pain. Someone told me that you smell good but I feel too self-conscious to ask about it. And I see the cards are being dealt: The health care crooks are offering “savings” for health care “reform” that would be favorable to them. Yes, it does say “sucker” on your forehead, America. Oh, and that joke about Limbaugh: Label it “distraction” and put it away. A neighbor is dying and we brought rice to the fasting-mourners. And the rest of us try to look to the future and plant potatoes and spinach. I remember being able to go wherever I wanted to go as a child. But the child’s grand prize of wandering has apparently been stolen from today’s children. A victim of 24/7 news reports of hideous acts in neighborhoods far, far from our own. Bummer. True story: At the end of last year we switched health care plans with BlueCross Blue Shield, a process that was simply excruciating in terms of the forms, complications, billing mistakes and the number of phone calls required to patch it all up. But, then, last week, I got a letter from them declaring that it is all better now and that they determined, after an investigation, that they owed me money. Enclosed was a check for $0.04. Yes, 4 cents. And, according to them, it included 12% interest. And it came in a $0.42 stamped envelope. Nah, I don’t see any problems with the private health care industry.

Now, the random photos:

Photo 1: Super Duty errands.

Photo 2: The dog is my co-pilot.

Photo 3: Horse, wife and child, after the child insisted on eating her lunch with the horse.

Video: Thanks to a tip from my brother’s blog, here’s a video that a person unknown to us did of an old Drunken Boat “classic,” Home. I don’t care much for his imagery but the song sure kicks ass. If the little drummer boy may say so himself. Enjoy.

I wonder if Snarky Boy can come out and play? Should we ask?

One ringing dinging. Two ringing dinging. Three ringing dinging.

“Hello?”

“Snarky?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna play?”

“Fuck you.”

“Does that mean ‘yes’?”

Click.

I’ll keep trying.

–

Something warm and fuzzy for the cantankerous old bastards who seem to be lingering around here (yeah, the Yankees’ fans): I spent the morning helping members of the Worcester community planting a new orchard on the town green. About twenty-five of us, including the school’s entire class of fifth and sixth graders, planted about 15 trees – mostly pears and plums. If it flourishes, it will be a fine gift of an edible orchard to the town for generations to come.

–

Speaking of the Yankees’ fans: Ha.

–

This is why I stopped watching baseball:

His name — the picker — is, not surprisingly: Danks. As in: What a fucking ‘dank” thing to do on national television. Can’t he, for example, wait until he gets in his car?

But the best named baseball player of the day goes to Cleveland’s “Asdrubal Cabrera.” Yeah, Asdrubal, pronounced just how he wouldn’t want it to be pronounced in — say — Cleveland.

Well, that and a whole bunch of other reasons.

–

Tonight might be the night yours truly makes a quick visit to the place everyone in Central Vermont is talking about: The Three Penny Taproom. I’m soooo not cool for not getting there during their first week of operation but…whatever. I’ll be putting their claims of early fame to the test for a brief period at happy hour as my daughter gets her guitar lesson. Wes: You’ve been warned. And Petey: Remember, you owe me.

–

Here’s something I wrote quite a while ago: Run, Dick, run.

Or maybe I just read it.

–

It’s raining sharp shards and edges from the verbal venom of a group singing: “Same. Same. Same.”

–

Best image: Four horses galloping to the barn at the sound of the grain bin being rattled.

–

Second best image: The dog running wildly on the banks of the river after taking a very, very cold springtime plunge.

–

For sale: This space. Your world. You. And everything you stand for.

–

“We don’t want to know.” – The Replacements.

–

I’m going to wrap myself in bubble-wrap and begin taking a lot more risks.

–

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the similarities and differences between Michelle Obama and me. I, for example, also have a garden. But I don’t, for example, have a chief-of-staff.

I’ll keep thinking about it.

–

Now, if the banks can pass a “stress test” and still get a hundred billion dollars from the government, what would happen if those of us who were really stressed were tested? Just wondering.

–

“Let there be an entrance opened for me into realities. I have worn the fool’s cap too long.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

–

I used a turtle for a pillow. He didn’t seem to mind. We both rested.

–

Hey, it could be worse. You could be a dairy farmer.

–

Speaking of dairy farming, the small farm advocates are pushing for an increase in the amount of raw milk Vermont’s dairy farms can sell directly to its consumers. Right now farms are limited to selling about 10 quarts a day and they want to expand it to 40 gallons or so. Here’s a compromise: You suck it from the cow, you drink as much as you want. And, after a while, we’ll load your sorry ass up into a trailer and call you hamburger-to-be. Just a thought.

–

What do you call a happy dairy farmer? Retired.

Oh boy, did you see how the good old boys snickered at the passion of the protesters? Yeah, the people lacking the health care, the food, the housing and the security afforded to those with the high-backed seats. And, yes, that’s Senator John Kerry — yesterday’s great liberal hope — snickering loudest at the people who are doing their best to do what this country pretends to believe in most: Speaking truth to power.

Bravo to these protesters. When there are enough of us to do what they’re willing to do — gum up the works until the works start working for all of us (or something like that) — we might actually start to get somewhere.

Here, for your reading pleasure, is the statement put out by Ralph Nader regarding the health care protesters:

Yesterday morning, eight doctors, lawyers and other activists stood up to Senator Max Baucus.

And the private health insurance industry.

And the corporate liberals in Congress.

The eight activists demanded that single payer – everybody in, nobody out, free choice of doctor and hospital – be put on the table.

And as a result they were arrested.

And charged with a so-called “disruption of Congress.”

The Associated Press, Wall Street Journal, Politico, Democracy Now and National Public Radio all carried stories about the protest.

C-Span carried it live.

And it was widely disseminated on the Internet.

Baucus crafted a hearing to kick off the health care debate in the Senate yesterday where 15 witnesses would be at the table to discuss health care reform.

The insurance industry was at the table.

The Business Roundtable was at the table.

The U.S. Chamber of Commerce was at the table.

Blue Cross Blue Shield was at the table.

The Heritage Foundation was at the table.

And corporate liberals like Andy Stern, Ron Pollack, and AARP were at the table.

But not one person who stood for what the majority of Americans, doctors, nurses, and health economists want – single payer – was at the table.

Not one.

When I heard about this corporate line-up last week, I called the office of Senator Baucus.

And politely asked that, as a matter of fairness, a single payer doctor be allowed to testify.

I was told – no way, Ralph.

The deal is done.

So, yesterday, at 10 a.m., the Baucus Eight, led by Single Payer Action and other single payer groups, took to the Senate Finance Committee.

And directly and respectfully confronted a room full of corporate lobbyists.

And corporate controlled Senators.

And again asked that a group of doctors who were in the room to support Medicare for all be allowed to testify.

The answer again – no, no, and no.

Remember what Senator Richard Durbin said last week?

Durbin said that the banks “own” the Congress.

To which we might add – the health insurance industry and the drug industry own the Senate.

Faxing, writing, and e-mailing is not getting it done.

Enough is enough.

Time for action.

This is a winnable issue.

But the American people need to focus on 535 members of Congress.

And get mobilized.