Fuzzy fall photos

Blurry Sam. 11 Sept. 2019

Sam dog under dew glass. 11 Sept. 2019.

2 Oct. 2019. Ogle County soybean field.

 

Corn leaves turning silver after frost. 15 Oct. 2019.

Soybean field and corn field, Ogle County. 15 Oct. 2019

Impressionist corn stalks. 15 Oct. 2019.

Rain in the post office parking lot. 26 Oct. 2019

Halloween morning snow. Illinois Route 72, 31 Oct. 2019

Illinois Route 2, 31 Oct. 2019

31 Oct. 2019

31 Oct. 2019

31 Oct. 2019

31 Oct. 2019

20 Oct. 2019: An Image and An Idea

“He’s a dog of many enthusiasms,” said woodcut artist Audrey Christie of dog Sosa at her house near Dodgeville, Wisc. 20 Oct. 2019.

φ   I don’t need to explain everything in what I publish to blog! And I don’t need to pick a mood/tone before I start writing. It’s OK to be a little messy and inexplicable—like life is, maybe—and like poetry can be. I don’t need to seem calm and collected in my postings from my journal! Why should I try to write like some Op-Ed columnist, valued for one’s opinions or having some theoretical program to promote and sell. … I’m not sure where sure where ideas come from—I’m not a point source/P.O.V. of consistent ideas. I’m a conduit for ideas starting from/originating I know not where. No need to be self-righteous when I do have a new insight, thinking this new ideas is the best ever—even if it feels that way! Being intimate in my blog-posts, not necessarily maintaining a cool, normal exterior (mood).  [20 Oct. 2019 journal, J310]

19 Oct. 2019: An Image and an Idea

Hummus plate at Sahara Restaurant, Rockford, Ill. 19 Oct. 2019.

φ  “Verse Vice-ah”: a poem title?  [19 Oct. pocket pages]

9 Nov. 2019: An Image and an Idea

An abstraction drawn in Journal 313 on 9 Nov. 2019.

φ  Maybe the shocking thing about history, about the past, is that it really wasn’t (isn’t?) any different to be alive then as now. Perhaps they look at the world around them (technological, economic, political, social) more or less as we do today—even using “we” is problematic because there’s probably more difference between any two people’s lifestyles, worldviews, conceptions than … well, I’m trying to compare this to differences between being alive now and being alive then. But to make that comparison, I’m relying on my own memories and trying to conceptualize and characterize (describe) what it’s like to be alive now and in 2011, say, or 1995, or 1981—and if instead I’m thinking of 1940 by what my grandfathers Lorin or Ernest (or, frankly, anybody else) thought of or did in those times, then I’m trying to understand their world through their words and actions. And with anyone else, it’s even harder to understand them so that I can see how they’re interpreting the world. It’s a tricky , perhaps only marginally valuable, way to learn about the world. But maybe the first wrong step, or misleading step, is imaging that times were different. Maybe it’s like trying to imagine now my neighbors or students or colleagues or politicians imagine/conceive of this world. I don’t think I understand how my neighbors, my fellows alive at the same time I am alive, think. [9 Nov. 2019 entry in J313]

22 Sept. 2019: An Image and An Idea

22 Sept. 2019. On the front of the truck parked facing me in Oregon, Ill.

φ  You even don’t have to fret about other drivers not using their turn signals!

‘Days go by like nights’: Exquisite Corpse poems, Fall 2019, 10th hour CW class

Here are this semester’s 10th period Creative Writing class’s poems written in the Exquisite Corpse method.  What I love about these lines is how they were created almost randomly but have a kinda of weird logic. I like how some of these seem almost brilliant, in an obtuse way. See here for previous semesters’ poems.

The best ideas come in dreams that don’t come true.

Hard is always math sometimes.

Tonight I will try to be late or not.

Butter is what I put the lime in.

Under the evil mask, he washes his blue cars.

Look, a bird — oh, my brother went to college.

In the dark side of the moon, eclipses are beautiful.

Hill tops can be pointy like the edge of the things.

We lived happily ever before, but not anymore.

As the wind blew, hard work pays off.

My feet hurt so much love can be meaningful.

Emotions aren’t always heard noises in the background of a picture.

The world and only you are very loud.

Are people weird like I like to be?

Meanings are just a dictionary to find the meanings.

Together we are a Big Bang theory.

Names can be weird but nothing ever makes sense.

A willow tree flows through my hair as my eyes closed the ocean.

Very beautiful people are ugly caterpillars.

Scary novels make me vomit up your lunch.

Time can be very slowly run.

I really want to sleep together at night with it.

With it being rainy, my sister has two cats.

Days go by like nights.

Pizza is not always good deeds and forgiveness.

Running is so boring that one day the world is.

Getting sunburnt like a pig inside the deep abyss.

A good corndog is dog wrapped in the lonely forest by the luck that we will go undefeated this season.

Sweetie, you don’t need to lead us to our life.

Our only dog ran away with you, you peasant.

Please say thank you next time flies by in high school.

Sucking on toes isn’t your favorite color.

Happiness is a warm smile because you’re beautiful, yet so ugly; still, I do not know that you are unique.

People are very slow at times. They smell like turtles.

Time is relative to a dog.

Yesterday was so dry and so the clock is the sky.

When I’m lonely, I feel very awake. Somebody once told me that I was a rockstar. I am bored in green eggs and ham.

Tape your mouth shut because bad breath sucks bad when you eat your own boogers on Spongebob’s greasy spatula from Spongebob the show.

Fearful eyes look at moons’ swoon like debutantes’ fantasy.

Thinking that I’m not-normal

I thought this morning about my own social awkwardness—how it doesn’t hurt [There was a weird “Ooaah” loud, high-pitched, then declining, sound from the direction of the counter-worker {at this coffeeshop} telling an old man in teal sweater and white pants that there was a help-yourself water station—this could be dude who sneezed earlier] to think of myself as not-normal, or not quite normal, in the sense that thinking that would keep me from judging other socially awkward people. Thinking that I’m not-normal reminds me to be patient, accepting [and accepting the cold I just felt pour down on me as a person left the store—maybe from air coming up and over vestibule’s glass walls]. [Pages 124-5, Sat. 16 March 2019, Meg’s Daily Grind, Rockford, Ill. See random-selection editing process here.]