three twitter posts, an aside;

Twitter doesn’t allow me enough letters to build the cages needed to contain my thoughts, wild beasts that they are. Beware: danger lurks in    [4 May 8:51am]

Verse with no structure no limits but engineered to grind and slither into places; no hashtags no keywords no marketing, just out there…   [4 May 8:53am]

Will anyone decipher the code transmitted like shortwave signals across moist ether? Will it excite or just fester like an unattended wound?    [4 May 8:57am]

©2017 Stuart Dummit

{there was a post that I deleted before posting. i thought that i had saved it but perhaps not…. the gist was that federal law prohibited me from saying some things that were streaming through my brain, and i thought that was perhaps a good thing. i nullify my actions with the safety valve of deletion}

regarding these things

there is still love inside me and caring and humor and nurturing and a shard of the divine…yet the unctuous and infected ejaculate that covers our nation will not let me rest

no normalization – no waiting to see – no hoping that it won’t be so bad – no pretense – no forgiveness for intentional stupidity or hubris — compassion, yes: and that is why I roar

©2016 Stuart Dummit – share with pride and respect and credit

Sore

soremuscles

©2016 Stuart Dummit (Protopostartistic Artifact – electronic drawing – unsigned)

This is an electronic drawing. It was originally called “Sore Muscle” but I realized that it was speaking to something more than my physical muscles, but my emotional and spiritual ones as well. I place this image here as a reminder to myself that becoming strong is not a static goal, it is a process, just as any status, any state of being. If it becomes still, static, fixed, it is essentially dead and not goal worthy. The undulating, writhing, roiling mass of blood and flesh, sensation and desire must be marshaled and made to service something greater. What, I am not sure.

 

A Comment On Normalization.

People I never thought would do it are trying to normalize the Trump “election.” I find this just as bad as supporting him in the first place. They are insinuating that things may not be as bad as “we” thought. No, they will be worse. He is ignorant of how government works hence the actual governing will be done by the Senate, the House of Representatives, and a retro neoCon Supreme Court. Trump’s VP is a Creationist who has urged employers to not hire LGBT persons and wanted to redirect funds meant for assisting persons with HIV/AIDS to Sexual Identity Corrective Programs, Trump’s chief counsel and strategist is an anti-semite conspiracy theorist. The list goes on.

No No No.

I will remind you that, despite disliking the presidency of George W. Bush, his dad, Ronald Reagan, and other conservatives, I accepted them as my president, and I did not fear for the fate of the country, my countrymen, or the world. With Trump, I fear the worst. No. I will NEVER allow this miscreant and torrid organism to be normalized, nor will I smile, tell jokes and play nice. My chest has been rent asunder and my heart and soul and my struggle toward intelligence, enlightenment, and understanding all have been assaulted and a diseased and unctuous pus has been ejected onto my wounded corpse. The acceptance of this willful sin against humanity is even more abhorrent than the ignorant support of it before its implementation. I, with the full force of the courtesy and dignity that I can muster, respectfully request that you walk away from me. I do not want to witness your glib, smug, and embarrassing capitulation to this unfolding terror.

 

–Stuart Dummit  13 November, 2016  O’Fallon, Missouri USA

I posted the above note on Facebook earlier this evening. Immediately I began to get some positive feedback from some followers. This is just an expression of my feelings about the 2016 American Presidential election and the “business as usual” attitude that many of my acquaintances have adopted. I cannot stand by and do or say nothing. Please feel free to share this if the sentiment rings true to you. Thank you.

Pitney Purfoy’s Problem

Without too much effort the ludicrous lackey lined the tub with wax and honey, thinking all the while that what he was doing wasn’t wasteful but wished-for. Ah, the musings of a marshmallowed minion without mind or manner attuned to his business!

longing, lonNeocubist Portrait Reconfiguredging for a purpose beside the one his mother taught him

longing, longing for a purpose other than the one his father aspired to

Pitney Purfoy waddled away from the tub and picked his nose in the process. He had picked it from a chart on the wall in his hall that very same day, but had decided it did not suit him, so he picked another then another then another, only to find each one was clogged and second rate, despite the aquiline lines and sharp and noble profile. Purfoy didn’t want to hear anything about it from his mates, so he turned his head when he picked and flicked the clog into the air from behind his back. No one will see, no one will know.

I tell you what, he said, laughing at his own untold joke, next time I’ll pick one that requires less picking! Too much work, I say!

Purfoy you old such and such! Did you get that there tub lined with the tacks and money?

Tax and money? Thought you said wax and honey! Those two go together just as well if not better, Boss. And where am I supposed to get the tax and money anyways? Ain’t it something I don’t got? Like couth and grammar?


The Boss man, who was called Bob or Bellicose Bob by those who didn’t know him scratched the top of his hairless head and shook the waddle of his neck.

By gum you’re right there Purfoy! You’re right and I’m left here wondering what I was thinking. Apparently I wasn’t and that ain’t never a good thing. Never a good thing!

Poor Purfoy stood there, wanting to pick his nose again, clogged as it was, but with Bellicose Bob standing right there, scratching his own pate, confused by the pointlessness of the process, he was too self conscious. Instead he pondered his longings and those of his parents. Had he exchanged his for theirs? Mayhaps, he thought, mayhaps. Then he envisioned flicking the clog if he allowed himself to pick it, and it landing in BB’s pocket or even in his eye. He laughed and sniffed, but not well because of the clog, then lowered his head and drew a booger shaped squiggle in the dirt with the toe of his boot.

Bob was still wondering where his mind had gone wrong when Pitney Purfoy’s pantomime popped and he rolled on his side to see the clock face, with no nose to speak of, alarming him as to the hour and minute of the half day of morning.

I had better cook the coffee and pour it down fast without scorching my tongue and searing my throat and get me to my job lest my dream become meme and I lose my mindless mind.


His toes reached for the floor and found the rug and its dust and particles of decay and eased his weight onto his left foot and then his right. Padding padding padding he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He popped a stale gum drop from the counter into his mouth and rolled it from side to side, dissolving the minicubes of sugar that protected the flavored gelatin beneath. Lime. Limey. Ought to have tea instead. But that would require lemon. Faster though but not as good. Coffee it is.

While the water in the kettle made psychic contact with the flames on the other side of the aluminum and copper wall, Purfoy padded into the hallway and considered the chart there.

Which one today? Long and straight? Short and broad, sharp and pointed, dull and cavernous? Who knows what criterion to use in such an important business.

Close your eyes and grab one, affix it with care and, sniff sniff sniff! Just the smell of the cooking coffee is enough to wake a boy up. Hurrah!

©2016 Stuart Dummit