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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Feb 16, 2014 - 06:19am PT
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Too restless to sleep.
I was kicked back (he said dreamily) and began thinking in spire thoughts.
My racing mind moved past the obvious--Totem Pole, Spider Rock, the Finger of Fate, the LA, all the semi-spires like Lembert and his bitchy sister Halva Dome (her given name is Tis-a-ack but Halva's her stage name), and I thought of my finger, then my thumb that has gone missing, and then (weird is as weird thinks or does) James Ramsey Ullman and The White Tower.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
This would be for Lollie on Do a Grouch a Favor Day, which is today, Friday, February 16.
This gives me hope that during Facelift I can find someone to fit the stilleto heels and we can go play cinematographers in the talus up behind Camp 4, or better yet, below Sentinel Falls.
Loki loves Lollie. Loki lo-o-oves Lollie. Nyah-nyah, n-nyah-nyah!
"Roll over Loki! Roll over, boy."--Lollie and Loki in bed
Woo-hoo!
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujo de la Playa
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Feb 16, 2014 - 10:01am PT
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This comes to us courtesy of Basketmaker II, who may or may not reside in Chula Vista, since I'd have to call him/her more of a low-tech guru.
I normally straighten my dart shafts with fire, i.e. dry heat-but recently I've been doing a lot of experiments with axe hafting, and that necessitated the use of wet heat. Getting tired of just propping my sticks over a pot of boiling water and covering them with aluminum foil (And having sticks stickign every which way in my kitchen) I got a big electric skillet at the thrift store. I drilled a hole in each end of the lid with a hole saw, and now I have a steam box, through which a stick/dart shaft can be fed. It steams a fairly wide area, but boy howdy it works well, and fast, and keeps my kitchen a touch more orderly.
Just trying to get it straight you know?
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Feb 16, 2014 - 11:21am PT
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It was nice of you to share, Old Navy.
Why, what else do you want, WastedSon?
You read me like a penny dreadful, sir.
I merely wish to say thank you.
For what, man, I'm cleaning my pipe, hoping to hear Mrs. Fudd's footsteps treading the thirty-nine steps to this dump to let us know that...
Mouse is a technician's dream.
But only when he's in funds.
Why are we talking in Monetary?
You started to...
Oh, never mind.
Which just goes to show you....
something.
I was counting steps to the 4th floor fire escape (44, if you need to know--and I COULD do it in 39, but WTF) and I was gonna take pictures on the route, pretending to do an ascent of Sunnyside Wench accompanied (in my mind, see) by the young upstart crows, WhiteHeatMeat, (just 21 and he con't mind dying)--and Mr. Vitalis (from North Beach, and he's not Italian, and he doesn't use Brylcreem nor even own a comb--Telling Lies About the Climbers in front and in back of you).
I got to the fire escape on 4 with little or no problem, but the LCD brightness lacked brightness out in the dazzle, and I could not close the aperture, because I had lowered the brightness to nil and felt more blind than usual, if that's possible--and it is, I feel but not believe totally and am reserving judgment--and so I had to down-climb the fire escape as I ascended it, as otherwise one could slip like the young lady on the White Tower teaser ^^^ (where ARE those down-pointing arrows, anyway?) facing away from this steep stairway to heaven, come back to the studio, pour a cup of Sumatran, and work that out.
I'm not going back out there.
You do something once, why do it again?--"Wording Sign", Walkie-Talkie Heads
This will have to do for this beautiful Sunday morning here in Merced, the Gateway to Atwater or El Nido, Planada and Chowchilla, Snelling, Hopeton, Cressey, Ballico, Gustine, Banos, and other places to live.
Even North Dakota, CapScully.
BTW, how far do you go in Fargo on two sixers of cheap beer, bud?
Careful, Mouse, it's Post this Reply you need, you teckie.
Mom's cat, when I'd gone away to ST. Mary's College of California for my frosh year (near Moraga, named for the Spaniard who named the Merced River, BTQ) was named by my lowest, shortest, youngest niece (I forget her name!), daughter to Lenna Lou--it's Alyssa, of course, I was just stalling for time so I could call it to mind--in the Christmas season.
It was thought to be a female at first. Then she became a male when her testicles descended, all natural, totally.
Boomer had to explain this 'phenomenon' to Alyssa, and I'm sure he f*#ked it up like he did with my birds and bees chat. He had a reticence about discussing sex, except in the clubhouse or out on the course--short putts earned you a girl's name, and Alice, Edith, Betty, they all show up eventually golfing with Dad.
"Never up, never in."--Boomer
So thereafter the cat was named Teckie, for "technicals."
The cat eventually died, as do they all, nine times.
Heh-heh.
Nine times nine is eighty-one. Eighty-one and eighty-one are...you do the math.
See? Idiocy regarding technical matters runs in the family. I recall telling the plane story and how I was not killed in a landing on some f*#king Brit field down by the river in Birmingham.
There is a Bear Creek in Girminbam,
I'm just glad to not be there taking a dirt nap before I was ever born or Dad was ever married.
You can take off and fly all you like, but you have to remember to put the wheels down in a C-47 when you land it.
It runs in my family, this lack of technical skill. Except for Brother Mike, who can do the work, if he's a mind to do it, to get things up and running. You live out there in Merced Falls, you can't just run to Mommy.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Feb 16, 2014 - 11:34am PT
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[Click to View YouTube Video]
For the person who sent me the Phish-y email.
Trippy light show, bro (or sis--protecting the names of the "not-so-innocent" is a part of civility, chivalry, and the code of la Cosa Nostra, even).
So hard to hear and see all alone.
Over Rainbows we discussed the route we had traversed to get to this side of Jordan.
I was shot by my baby, Jealous Sea of Love.--Kneel Young, acolyte with a candle lighter thingamabob (lucky not to have set fire to the altar cloth
Otay, really, folks, try doing anything with no thumb.
F*#kin' Chongo! The Unopposable, Grade VI Hitchhiker, Chongo.
I'm sure he never had to stick out his tongue instead of a thumb which was not there, nor has he ever lifted a finger to do much for himself, but motivation lies in the subject's eyes, not the beholder's.
"Whose eye is dot?"--Yawn Salad Day, Greenish-Blue Day roadie
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Feb 16, 2014 - 03:46pm PT
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Thanks for keeping the thread alive Mouse. I've learned more about Merced than I could ever have dreamed of...
Room Full of Mirrors
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Feb 16, 2014 - 03:59pm PT
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Cool Moose. Maybe we'll see Mouse post something from the academic part of Merced?
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujo de la Playa
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Feb 16, 2014 - 05:17pm PT
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Well, they're talking about a university or college campus in CV. UCCV?
UCM? Not that one, the other one, Manteca. Who'll get there first?
They have some buildings available. Bring back Clark Kerr to run it.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Feb 17, 2014 - 07:04am PT
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I can post some pix from tonight of Fatboy Slim singing in front of the downtown UC building, called the MONDO building, bill Bill the Manager,
then walk on through to the other side, coming out on
ST. Lukes and Veritas ST.
Walkin' Merced on the Full Moon
all alone *sigh hi there* Christo
got some Crisco
meetcha in the disco.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
while making love to the angels of light verse,
the blessed st chris dances in on little mouse feet,
not-speaking silent norwegian disco-lingo,
directing the safety meeting, like a good patron should,
fogletty droplets appear out of a clear, full moon sky,
and all is light with the world.
Except for one small thing.
A guy, a real mouse, named Lenny, died sometime last night and I...I found him across from the funeral home whose souls I had just stolen, or maybe I just took too many pictures, or something, because I've had deeply depressive feelings of death approaching because of my problems with COPD, along with other medical issues about my living tissues.
Weep and moan all you want, just take it a day at a time,
Yous will maybe sleep enough, some nights, you'll be fine.
It's hard doing without sleep and my breathing is the reason I can't.
My finding little deadmouse today, we can't say, but it could be ominous.
I'm treating it so. My old friend and Scrabble playing neighbor LaMont and I met at the 17th ST. Pub and had one, then off to mass in Middle Earth.
It was sick weird. He told me as we walked in the door to the Rat's Nest that he had been out to mass with his mom at ST. Patrick's this morning. I was stunned, for I had planned a going-away party for deadmouse, a faux mass with a real theme, meant to encourage myself, commemorate a fallen comrade, and to generally enhance my thinking with "incense."
LaMont was expecting to watch Footube and play Scrabble. Uh' uh.
The Force, tonight you proved a point. What it is, we'll get to, by and by. Here is a brief thing I wrote as if it were an obituary of a kind for the mus deadmouse, or whatever name it/she/he sported when one of the quick ones.
"Hey, you in the fur coat and long tail---well, yah, I'm Walken, to you...but how...?
STFU! Seriously? Who would've EVER thought...
But I gotta say these words anyway, and take ya in, you realize. I've no choice, Master. It is required by eternal law. Hear ye:
'The eleventh hour has ended, Brews, my brother/sister.
I'm the eternal timekeeper and your time's up, sir, or madam.' What sex are you, anyhow?"--that guy with the sharp thingie in the hoodie
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Feb 17, 2014 - 07:19am PT
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujo de la Playa
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Feb 17, 2014 - 10:01am PT
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Confusing isn't it?
[Click to View YouTube Video]
Doesn't it bug you when somebody takes a perfectly good 20:00 performance and cuts it down to 19:45.
I got into the driver's seat and I drove down 32nd street
in my cadillac (good car to drive after a day at La playa)
Where to go to avoid the crowds?
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujo de la Playa
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Feb 17, 2014 - 10:32am PT
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Behind El Zarape (only the locals know)
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujo de la Playa
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Feb 17, 2014 - 10:38am PT
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Notice the eyes on the image reflected in the glass? Could be a regular poster on the ST.
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Feb 17, 2014 - 03:26pm PT
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Is there a Norwegian professor (technology management), Erik Rolland, at the university in Merced?
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Feb 17, 2014 - 06:58pm PT
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I, Mouse, will try not to stray nor to look too hard into what I’m putting down. I write freely here and now and clearly in the manner which I choose to suit the moment. Always.
I’m that type of writer. If something strikes me funny, it comes out with not too much thought, it just happens.
I have my thoughts, which are worth telling. If not, then WTF am I doing it for?
I'm now editing my 'free writing,' no outline needed, because it's part of what's going on. Learning to write well but no changing the ghoulish thought process I entertain, the maudlin, the merry being mixed. I get mixed reviews, not everyone gets me, but it's been prelude to the main body of mus-ic.
Rules. Structure.
Always lines and boundaries which should not be crossed.
It is known that an outline provides structure. I don’t like waiting in line, I want it now or soon.
Driving, you wait in lines. I got shat of that red devil-car. Little Miss Temptation. An addiction. An accident waiting to happen.
Writing, you create your own lines, or tracks, better yet, for others to follow. Mice stay off trails and on tracks. I do not have a one track mind. I do not have a mental GPS. The track I follow branches many times before it gets to wherever.
There is no grid, no topo, I just do what I have to do.
Yesterday I found the mouse dead across from I V Funeral home IV.
Ivers and Alcorn, not IV...ssorry, I got it worked out...
I'm doing Talking Heads now and I got it figured out.
I'm repeating myself, for one thing. I'm here for the party, the disco and am tired and need to rejuvenate, get stronger, more like Wayne Merry.
This video, is applicable, since many of you seem like talking heads, especially dear old Locker, who's happy to repeat himself. Breathe well, old fart, and let's hope to shake hands and share some smoke and laffs with CC and Lynnie soon.[Click to View YouTube Video]
I find myself liking my adopted naked city, Merced, despite all the rumors that abound concerning it, and find it's a good place. Damn the critics, but I am not defending the city. It's not under attack. I just want to crow about what is essentially, depending on residents' minds, a decent place to live in which to live. Dig?
Then go plant some large woody objects and make some roots there while you are in Lone Pine. Thank you, Myles Moser. Very mushly. The route is a branch of my planned track, now. I love the Eastside, and all, but that classic is still a possibility. Donini would love it! Do you think?
BTW, has anyone my brown hat with the Big Pine logo? It may have run off with the neebee knit socks! I'm serious. Those items meant so much, now I'm deprived of them. Just like when Nana passed in the sixties, owing me money for pinochle, the dear old bent woman.
I love you, Ora Belle of Idaho. You are my golden one. Did Leonard ever call you Spud, Sweet Tater, or what? Nana is a pretty name, too.
neebeeshaabookway. shaddokiddo, haiku lady, just seventeen
The last place I saw my wife’s body intact, and planted that last seed of love on her lips was actually inside Ivers and Alcorn Funeral Home. Home. HAH! It's a bus depot for cadavers! Nothing homelike there except that the structure looks cool from the outside, but is a little pearl of beauty in death, nonetheless. Comforting thought.
Ashes to ashes, little LennyBrews the deadmouse. You are resurrected now. It’s Monday and a holiday.
There are omens and there are omens. You were an omen. I recognized you as such.
It s just maybe coincidence, but my recent return to the arms of a man whom some claim to be god (I witness: among whom I number myself) along with neebee and some many others, convinces me otherwise: that this mouse’s death is a sign of change, especially considering the circumstances, and that I should listen the hell up.
There is more to tell, but the clock is running. Let’s see whether I am competent enough to get this all down in fifteen minutes. Dan Walrus and I made up a song in less than ten minutes, but I lost the lyrics because I became intoxicated, basically.
It was a real good song. And I recall a real good country song I penned alone for the beauty behind the bar at Reinero's later that night. But I can't remember the words, just the notion. I can do over, I know. I need to concentrate. It may be important.
Some things only happen once in a lifetime. That experience was one. It meant something to Dan, it meant something to me, because we're friends.
The relevance is that I am a fast writer. You see how many posts and pictures there are with my name on them.
I stated when first I made my entrance on this stage that The Flames thread might would be a good way to write a book, maybe. It proved to be true, though how much of what’s in the thread will be used, actually, in the end book and ancillary products—CDs, videos, poems—remains to be seen and used.
Having said that, what next?
I went through a mind-bending experience yet again today. This full moon may have something to do with this catharsis, but that’s superstition and I have deep feelings about that versus keeping to a path that is more Christlike, but that’s the hard part, because Christ was here as part of God’s plan. I hope I believe that for the rest of my days. It's a peaceful and an easy feeling.
This is not a bible, it is not mother’s church, either.
I'm walkin' a new way, a new trail, track, doin' a new dance.
neebbe is a great dance teacher, by the way.
Because of this catharsis, the removal of something big that blocked my progress developing a long-standing project, begun in the year Nana died and having everything to do with her, the Mouse is feeling free. And having good, or better mojo, not the mediocre quotidian brand, is what needs to happen if I am to be happy with myself.
I was not happy with myself over telling this grandmother of stories that needs telling. It rings very much like Abbey's Fool's Progress, his big novel, his pet project revolving around picaresque themes and involving that dog. Which sits well with old John Steinbeck and his poodle, intelligent dogs, really, and not avalanche fodder.
Sorry to burst Tami's bubble. She will get over it, off her high horse, and be real for once. Get yer tongue out of yer cheek, Mouse, you might choke! sez she of the line drawings! Love you, cheri. :0)
It’s important or I wouldn’t be telling this on the Taco.
Everything I do is important to me now, and my baby Qs are watching my pees.
I don’t have to dot every tee, either, just to stay on someone’s good side.
I have banished the cats to the bathroom for messing with the mice, who mean no harm. In the john, they look good. It’s all they are good for, after all, looking good. Cats. Who in hell needs them. I used to own cats, but I was married to the sweetest kitty in the world and knew it. I made good friends with the nicest and prettiest, Tootser, but I had her put to death and then Liz died the next week.
U know, certainly, that there is no real good use for felines. If all they do is amuse, one thing. Sorry, zBrown. I'll STFU before I hurt your feelings, mate. Otay?
They cats are sly bastions and deserve no love from me. No, I’m not superstitious. Yep, I’m a man who wants to be like the gentlest person who ever came down and took care of business and took off again leaving nothing jive humans in charge. Those sucker Egyptians are to be pitied. All I got.
I am a product of Catholic education and last night I celebrated a funeral mass for my fallen buddy, Lenny, and I always thought I might be a pretty good priest were it not for the celibacy rule. Yet more pity.
Bring in the clown, we're having a pity party.
I have a story to tell, before I go to heaven or hell. S sacred trust? No, not truly. A veiled deathbed request which must be honored if I am to die happy and fulfilled.
Meantime, the flames will damp down, but the campfire will not go out, there are others to sit up all night nursing the coals, waiting (I'm done waiting) for sunsight.
Mouse needs a working vacation.
I don’t waste my talent here. It’s put to good use. I simply need to try to put them to some use for myself for a while, and I think it may not be long.
I have made literally dozens of new friends on the pages of the Taco.
I have learned much. I have taught more, but there is no price on my knowledge. I find some of your thoughts useful, even spectacular, and ignore much.
The vibrations have been ringing in my head for weeks and I sensed impending change. I will embrace it and love doing so. I will not be risking anything. It’s a guaranteed way to get something from my frenetic pace, which only gets faster the closer I come to the end of my race.
Read between lines.
Empty yourself on the page.
Don’t hurt one another’s feelings.
Keep on truckin’.
I'm not here now.
Down the trail, I'll see you, pardners.
Book of the Done Crow, sequel to Book of the Dun Crow.
The Gospel of Mouse from Merced 38:47
Pix at eleven. Then, quien sabe, amigos?
Edit: my best friend here on Supertopo, thought that I had been banned.
What is ironic is that my friend rSin is the one who got himself banned. Fattrad, also a ban-Nana-head* himself, told me you have to work at being banned. rSin is a hard worker, no denying. Ora Belle could have gotten banned--she could be abrasive, to put it mildly.
HOW SORRY CAN I BE, nneebbee?
We always hurt the ones we love. I made this video last night after one hellacious day wandering around my little earthy heaven, Merced.
[Click to View YouTube Video] By way of apology, Tea Woman.
I talked shortly after this with Rev. Gary DOSS at a downtown storefront Baptist church last night and we prayed, briefly. I thought everyone should know. I am to become a pilgrim locked in a cell, which we artistic types call a studio, but it's a monk I will be, physically, more or less, and a pilgrim in my mind.
I may be back long before April's sweet showers soak the flower and bring forth the song of spring.
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujo de la Playa
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Feb 17, 2014 - 08:45pm PT
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Confusing isn't it?
Oh, I awoke in anger So alone and terrified I put my fingers against the glass And bowed my head and cried Says I "But Joe, you're ten years dead" "I never died" said he, "I never died" said he.
“Music is the only religion that delivers the goods.”
― Frank Zappa
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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zBrown
Ice climber
Brujo de la Playa
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Feb 17, 2014 - 10:08pm PT
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Return of the Nine Nights
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neebee
Social climber
calif/texas
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Feb 17, 2014 - 11:57pm PT
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hey there say, mouse... ooops, forgot to share this...
darn:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Darning
http://diyfashion.about.com/od/repairclothing/ss/How-To-Darn-A-Sock.htm
find needles in walgreens, type stores, etc...
and use a hardboiled egg, if NO darning-egg...
have fun, :)
a good sock, is worth the trouble, :)
OH AND:
we expect a report, ;))
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