I'd promised my landlady not to spontaneously type here until all the rent is caught up, PIF, and an adroit avatar input rather than this LOCH NESS gargoylism proffered to us'in newbees.

However a torrent of sustained irony keeps me hanging on, e.g.: my capital F failure as a poet, journalist, short story writer, vignette writer, all of it, the poet, pauper, pawn and ....

Even now the apparent waste and near worthlessness of my 24 month earnstwhile endeavor,  or so: Women of the Avant-Garde which had portended to culminate (Chapter 20) with an interview with President Hillary Clinton.

Alas, to borrow an apropos adage from Joyce Kilmer:

Of all the words of tongue and state pen, the saddest are: what might have been.

Sustained irony, you know, like International Technology: IT TAKES A VILLAGE TO RAISE A CHILD

For sure, funny how the night moves. Like long ago and far away, when I'd wound up in the Haight (Geary & Jones), whilst the cognoscenti were in motion to Woodstock, NY great big fun with those mudslides, me and a VW vanload of AWOL types, unaware of the festival, you know naïve, vulnerable, vapid.  I well remember an orange trumpet blossom in my denim collar. Getting robbed whilst camping in Big Sur. That unwashed coterie of dark-haired beach bum looking scallywags who'd surrounded the Mustang as we idled over the dusty trail bound for provisions. We'd gotten back from the store and all our gear, GONE. Just a deflated igloo-type tent, an Eagle Scout tent garbage strewn with stepped on Spam cans, Kit-Kat wrappers, squashed and empty Hamms' beer sixers, a smashed jar of Tang.  And then, violated, aghast at the forever-broken 'campers creed' we'd thrashed over hill and dale sun-burnt as red neon tearing through bramble and over brook, outraged, scared, somehow fearful all at once until Stennie fell into that forest cave headfirst upon a Martin guitar. 

The bad guys (Mansonites?!) cache! All our stuff!

Meanwhile, cross the USA, to the minute, Jimmi Hendricks going on and on with All Along the Watchtower.

Fifty years and more, the boy disappears, where o' where are you, my Magic Martin Guitar?

So much depends upon where one was and what one was smoking during the ubiquity of the Beach Boys' Water Phase.  My own 'peers' (& we were legion as stardust) earned more than a yeoman's share with catch phrases like: Pollution! (laundry soap). Our cumulative IQ exceeded President Trump's Cabinet's especially on parity-comps with what came to be known as EQ.  And then one day our preferred language was usurped as TPTB labeled that feminine hygiene product FREEDOM.  At least as PM'd as a remarkable point by another long-gone blogger (c 2010) (also of Redbook acclaim) when she resolutely identified precisely how the world started its descent like some experimental dice-roll in a flame engulfed (proverbial) wicker hand basket.

Hart

(losing track in Little Switzerland, WI)

Jack Kerouac 1963 You can't jump off a mountain.

James Hart     2017 You can't jump off a shelf. 

4 FEB '17

Am I the only one typing & hearing Laura's Theme in a refurbished coal bin?  After my tart phone juices up {it's suspended from the outlet above the bulb, a scarlet ribbon twined over the copper bb-like chain....} I'll use the flashlight {thump, no?} and keep plowing through Crime and Punishment.  For sure she's comin 'round the mountain like one of those clever snap rings for the whole circlenessous. Spell checks to Colossus.  O I found Sal Paradise in the family tree although I should have been typing, going on like this, elsewhere, I believe I read near literary sainthood with those brothers from KS, you know the full tenor, alto and soprano of it.  So I gets to wondrin if E. Musk uses silver for lug nuts.  Earlier we spoke of 'little things' eg for want of a nail the shoe was lost . . .Had a similar experience caught in the fast lane on the Eden's toward O'Hare --- left front exploded to shredded wheat sparking the rim and Roxy listed bumping her temple on the radio dial --- twas takin her for that long good-bye, she snowbirds down on Marco, and yes, my lil-deuce-coupe reflexes are yet dang good as by the grace of all things holier than thou (snort, honk) so ag types were towing horse trailers sturdily out the right periphery and those good ol' gals must have NASCAR-like autopilot re-actions 'letting me through' to three wheel and rim it to the broad shoulder.

And donchaknow the dadblamed donut was deflated and I only tote along one of those inverse 7 spanner wrenches. And roadside the traffic thunders louder than Angel Falls.

23 FEB '17

Meanwhile approximately 24 hours ago 'Breaking' reported NASA's detail of 7 earth-like planets either 4 or 40 light years away; so I'm thinking: pack the ship and go; you know, some call it sleep.  How does one travel light for light years?  Will the craft have room for my piano?  Faster and farther than thought?  Then naught-ought? Whilst today AEON profiles Michael Strauss, Neil deGrasse Tyson and          J Richard Grott's: 'Our Universe is too vast for even the most imaginative sci-fi'.   Arguably Isaac Asimov's best work would be       'The Birth of the United States 1763-1816' (?) I just don't know. Maybe I'll doze for awhile listening to the best of Dionne Warwick, visualizing the Hadron Particle Collider --- potentially planning out a route to the Vatican Observatory. O& see 'ya later alligator* :)

*Hart apparently begins to struggle away from politics, ending above with an allusion to Gator Gate, dangling chads and the '00' fiasco. As there's apparently 'nuff said about the current U.S. POTUS debacle. Note the sustained irony in the acronym POT US!  Today's final word: Yikes! All this after he spent the better part of the New Year looking for an inflatable Campbell's Soup can. Yep. Label changed! If ifs and ands where pots and pans, there'd be no use for tinkers!  Good, he left 'em laughing. After while cockatiel (what? even spell ck's become symbiotic? Should read crocodile. Annoying, he thought, but powerful night swimmers! Go to sleep. Everything is alright!

26 FEB '17

~~~ In (Diminishing Light of EPA Chairman Pruitt's Breach of Office ~~~

    

"Before he enter on the execution of his office, he shall take the following oath or affirmation: "I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States."

POTUS' oath defends the Constitution of the United States; apparently omits anything to do with an                                        Environmental Protection Agency, albeit the unarguably bright nexus, our Joint Chiefs of Staff, (I saw somewhere (source?)) are on record declaring an environmental apocalypse wow is THE clear and present danger. So to appoint a wolverine as the safeguard of our roosting chickens is an egregiously insouciant example of say, nearly poetic whatchamacallit: Fire and Ice. A long gone buddy of mine, gone a good while, death by jogger's emphysema, an endorphin-charged environmentalist, was fond of saying that if the Cuyahogas Chernobyls and horrific Sandy Hook massacres didn't change their thinking --- hope is only a word.

Meanwhile, the Sudanese Famine would be the urgent focal point for a truly empathetic Commander in Chief.                              Welcome to the Age of Powerlessness.

1 MAR '17

Trumptopia Rising?

Palindrome found: EPA/APE  Why not have Jane Goodall's righteousness prevail as the Director of the  Environmental Protection Agency? 

Our beloved country remains as polarized as a knock-off pair of Foster Grants.  Day after vertical snow begins its fall; perhaps a cyber coincidence, once now all over upon a time, geometric bottle cap sized unique as the child's newspaper boat adrift adhering to winters' gone and next, warm as platitudes down upon feathering to river-colored streets as delicate as eyelashes, yesterday's blink of time.

And this: of Carl Sandburg,

Haze 

" ... Yesterday & tomorrow cross & mix on the skyline.  The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets. One waits..."

6 MAR '17

Aphorism

Think deeply, read more, write well.

16 MAR '17

Apples and Oranges

Low-hanging fruit, light, seeds, juice

Water creates earths

24 MAR '17

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=youtube+michael+row+the+boat+a...

19 NOV 2017

I can be such and ignoramus! I just blew $140 on Heart Hart T shirts!  All this whilst tweaking the venerable thermostat whilst the 'gales of November' find every uncalked egress. Maybe I should pawn that 35mm Sony I bought when W encouraged us to shop . . . .maybe barter my stamp collection and hide at the Amsterdam Hilton?

12:04 Rust Belt, U.S.A. 

 

Views: 714

Comment by koshersalaami on January 16, 2017 at 10:15am

Mine was pawned. It was Christmas season and I needed money. I eventually did a little better and replaced my departed satin finish D28 (I was original owner, mid seventies) with a used Gibson Hummingbird which, to my surprise, I prefer. 

Comment by J.P. Hart on January 16, 2017 at 11:40am

Dear Koz,

God only knows the who, what, where and why,

I'm down to a ton-weight

of Eisenhower halves,

WHEN is just beyond my pay grade.

All this (pass it) as we're

old & grey.

What's been said of bottle blondes,

those nasty strip searches,

phraseology that lurches, my hope is not to blame

command error,

what the BIGSPEAK omits

it is just the here and wow,

this sustainable irony,

sided that precarious day

like any other,

unseasonably hot

is it not,

the Electoral College

sprung against

the College Elite

those everyday housewives hath

rebelled, in my humble opinion

if this don't work for it's own sake,

despite the reprieve of daybreak,

way older now than that WOP,

War on Poverty,

of tom-toms and split atoms,

recurrent ice inevitable

as winters' thaw

we had it all.

All afternoon,

I talked and talked and said more,

invoking what I'd known of lore,

with my frowning forgotten patient,

insisting, no:

You don't become a bird,

I don't know, honestly I confided,

my hope is you're not

but a word,

like some ominous blip

green-glowing upon the screen

nor just a sound,

that only

God the Father

heard

 

Comment by tr ig on January 16, 2017 at 8:30pm

Tang. Cool. 

Comment by J.P. Hart on January 17, 2017 at 1:10pm

A blog with a view!

Tanks tr ig,

Road Island :)

Comment by J.P. Hart on January 20, 2017 at 10:57am

James Hart short list Poet Laureate?

Comment by J.P. Hart on January 30, 2017 at 11:43am

Law & Order! Bricks and Mortar!

APpreciate  the 'crumbled bits of paper-like' PMs relevant to my works in progress (and all the drums are rolling)

The Trilogy will be published 21AUG2017! 

Those of you who remember me from the day (where are they now? The Scanners, Emmerlings, Gambles, Mrs. McCleans, the Chriss?????) And no, don't look for me at Beloit College on President's Day this year. The sun has one teaser of a cameo right now in the Rust Belt, snow already in Albert Lea, as we're Ubering a dear bud to Mao Clinic for a look see of his pancreas. Other endeavors include patent preparation for my Quonset Xway Cover [over 'redzone-like' expanse of fast lanes which inevitably get whipped asunder with horizontal wind/sleet/snow/shearing white outs --- you know the routine: too dangerous to stop, too dangerous to keep going. Chalk it up to the January affect, I mean effect.  Curious if anyone else has had these really dark nights of the soul, prayerfully and PTSDishly summing up all the suicides we've known, wondering why?

Good roads those far.

Hart, just blurring on past the big white/blue highway sign:

LODI ARLINGTON

NEXT EXIT

Comment by J.P. Hart on February 5, 2017 at 8:50pm

While my guitar gently weeps

Comment by J.P. Hart on February 5, 2017 at 9:01pm

We've just got to

do better/ as poets, philosophers, politicians....

+if anyone out there has a clip of Arthur James running around the Viet Nam Memorial Wall with his wife & SO (s)

please forward beneath ___ let's rescue the bloke; damn.

Virgil  (re: the March of Empiricism....as an individual, I'm an angry young man with a runny nose.

God Save the KGB?

Comment by J.P. Hart on March 16, 2017 at 9:36am

Perhaps open the health plans of the S & P 500 to non-employees; wherein the 500 corporations are divided by 50 states on an electoral college format with of course affordable premium for plan participants.  The premise being that the resources are available. Rather a win/win as the powers-that-be would probably be able to divest the administrative cost burden as charitable deductions.  Aunty Sam would certainly do her share as our big money already intends.

Meanwhile (tangentially) today the cyber WSJ profiles the Trump budget indicating onerous cuts to the arts, EPA et al, to include Great Lakes water reclamation and so forth, Public Broadcasting and much to do with saber rattling for what it's worth while Sec of State Rex Tillerson embarks for parley  pow-wow on the Korean Peninsula.

Here at the bungalow, the coupon heap harbors a good deal on O'Donnell's Irish Cream --- bright, sunny-glinting ft&1/2 of translucent, icy snow. I've kept typing this last paragraph to sound immediate and cyberish as I'm rather new to electronic formats, but wanted to 'table' the proposition of opening corporate plans to the uninsured.

Comment by J.P. Hart on March 16, 2017 at 12:55pm

Apples and oranges

Low-hanging fruit, light, seeds, juice

Water creates earth

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