is a tiny wandering imaginary dinosaur which migrated from AOL in October of 2008.

Thinking Lizard

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Rhodingeedaddee is my node blog. See my other blogs and recent posts.


[6-16-2009 Update Insert: Most of what is in this space is now moot. I found out what I was doing wrong and have reinstated Archives and Labels searches. They do work. However, in certain cases you may prefer Labels to Archives. Example: 1976 Today begins in November of 2006 and concludes in December of 2006, but there are other related posts in other months. Note: Labels only shows 20 posts at a time. There are 21 hubs, making 21 (which is for 1976 Today) an older hub.] ********************************* to my online poems and song lyrics using Archives. Use hubs for finding archival locations but do not link through them. Originally an AOL Journal, where the archive system was nothing like the system here, this blog was migrated from there to here in October of 2008. Today (Memorial/Veteran's Day, May 25, 2009) I discovered a glitch when trying to use a Blogger archive. Now, it may be template-related, but I am unable to return to S M or to the dashboard once I am in the Archives. Therefore, I've decided on this approach: a month-by-month post guide. The sw you see in the codes here stood for Salchert's Weblog when I began it in November of 2006. It later became Sprintedon Hollow. AOL provided what were called entry numbers, but they weren't consistent, and they didn't begin at the first cardinal number. That is why the numbers after "sw" came to be part of a post's code. ************** Here then is the month-by-month post guide: *2006* November: 00001 through 00046 - December: 00047 through 00056 -- *2007* January: 00057 through 00137 - February: 00138 through 00241 - March: 00242 through 00295 - April: 00296 through 00356 - May: 00357 through 00437 - June: 00438 through 00527 - July: 00528 though 00550 - August: 00551 through 00610 - September: 00611 through 00625 - October: 00626 through 00657 - November: 00658 through 00729 - December: 00730 through 00762 -- *2008* January: 00763 through 00791 - February: 00792 through 00826 - March: 00827 through 00849 - April: 00850 through 00872 - May: 00873 through 00907 - June: 00908 through 00931 - July: 00932 through 00955 - August: 00956 through 00993 - September 00994 through 01005 - October: 01006 through 01007 - November: 01008 through 01011 - December: 01012 through 01014 -- *2009* January: 01015 through 01021 - February: 01022 through 01028 - March: 01029 through 01033 - April: 01034 through 01036 - May: 01037 through 01044 - ******************************************************* 1976 Today: 2006/11 and 2006/12 -- Rooted Sky 2007: 2007/01/00063rsc -- Postures 2007: 2007/01/sw00137pc -- Sets: 2007/02/sw00215sgc -- Venturings: 2007/03/00216vc -- The Undulant Trees: 2007/03/00266utc -- This Day's Poem: 2007/03/00267tdpc -- Autobio: 2007/04/sw00316ac -- Fond du Lac: 2007/04/00339fdl -- Justan Tamarind: 2007/05/sw00366jtc -- Prayers in December: 2007/05/sw00393pindc -- June 2007: 2007/06/sw00440junec -- Seminary: 2007/07/sw00533semc -- Scatterings: 2008/08/00958sc ** Song Lyrics: 2008/02/sw00797slc ********** 2009-06-02: Have set S M to show 200 posts per page. Unfortunately, you will need to scroll to nearly the bottom of a page to get to the next older/newer page.


Sunday, April 22, 2007


Fond du Lac Three - Main Street: old battleground of needs and wants; watery eyes; of neon bullets, fingers; sales, investments; leases: our meeting place of years. Who swimming here, though well, can hook each piece to each, reveal the puzzle's order fashioned from parts so much alike, unlike: eshausts from trucks and buses, cinder dust, sirens, hearts, children, air-conditioned stores, broken mouths smearing an alley stair, smiles, the dance of/ indecision? All I see goes down and up, out and in, round and round, until summer, it seems, is/ because things exist, persist, at all. Looking through such knots of motion, a man might spit, prefer some woods to be hunted/ and bows of rain, though he's among those who also desire human touch. Main Street: at that down hour of two/ when more than half its lights are pulsing yellow, the fever in tourists' eyes, the drought in truckers' arms, a vacuum at the heart. Buildings appear a nerveless ligature then, as if without their cellular crowds, they were an asteroid's mountain range; or each a scab. The sun has tumbled into roofs and moved the minds of shoppers toward their homes and moved the Earth another hour toward death, warming the dusty stones to ninety-six at the First Fond du Lac National Bank. A quiet mother shades her babies deep in their dark green, nudges a turtle toy; then releasing the brake, rocks them, and ripples the way I came, like a word. Two older women toddle in front of Penny's shoe department, uneasy in their pillowed skins. The sign reads "walk". I taste their bobbing breasts, their sweat, as I meet them. Kids dash saltily by. Three bodies' lengths before me/ pigtails squeal; a pink girl whirls, slaps the arm and cheek of a tan brown-eyed boy, shrinking in his Bermuda blue-jeans. "Why don't you go back to California?" she snaps. A friend of his: (ochre sleeping across his eyes and clumping down his neck) in Greekish sandals, a spotted T-shirt, yellow madras shorts: resting his right hand on the ruffled boy's left shoulder, coolly says, "This town's tighter than vacuum seal--ay Whit?" Whit turns. "Man, I wish I had the wrist." "Hey you, what you so interestedin?" Man questions me. I shake my head and, as if in a daze, edge away; then, "He's just a bubble of air. Forget him." City, city: grand, expansive, seminal, macabre: the floor of a sea ridged with coral, speckled with/ wisps of fish, and gardened with anemone, how I would swim through you, would mix my heart and head in you, hold you entire; devour your parts, late summer city, gold chrysanthemum! Elbow to shoulder, smile to frown, a pound of Whitman's squished by a tire: how many bones scrape themselves against your rusting tin, town of shifting depths? how many reach to cleanse, to spray the plastic bandage on? ". . . get drunk. That'll keep your tubes warm. Better 'an jumpin' off a ledge or hangin' yourself." "Yah? Better than humpin' a broad?" Desire, Mexican fire bush, salvia, beet: none, I have none here, but One. Buildings, machines, people. If these are what we must explore, contend with--"Damn it, I tell ya, there is no God!" / "First niggers, now fags! Who the hell wants 'em?"--Main Street, Main Street, how can I not pray, not rebel? Fond du Lac: page 4 - Brian A. J. Salchert

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