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 Four - "Excuse, me, ma'am." A blur of daisies dangling a shoe box, she sways, rubs past. I screw my neck to compass her, then loosen it. A knotted backbone gobbing tobacco onto the curb/ gags me. I shop the neat display of oxfords, boots and varia in Fondy's Big Shoe Store. Diamond, spade, heart, club: brightly placed in a white parallelogram of leather whose length dimension cuts across the ankle of a black Cuban style shoe. ["Who is set?" "Gambler?" "Yes." "Step in: I'm leaving. Your bluffs are just as good as mine." "Italian style?" "No! What do you think we're playing? This game's poker! Now place your bet or get on out." "Yah man, gotta have wild feet for this one. Gotta know each man's bare blood, light and dark. Experience that, and this land of other rooms is yours. Ain't no sour daydreams here."] That shining, off-set laced, pointed oxford makes me wince; want wrangling corpuscles, guys wise and sluffy to be my dangerous friends, horns in shoes. ["Raise four."] Fingertips press my collarbone. In the pane below my neck a silver buckle, a pin-stripped shirt--that face behind my face-- "Ray! How you been?!" Twisting to shake his hand, my lungs relax. "Well, what's the matter, Art, am I a ghost or something?" "No, you just surprised me." "What you looking at? Those things are for kids! You couldn't be wanting them!?" "Why not, I'm still teen-agey enough." "You what?!" "No, really! If I had the money--." "Well, here, take some of mine. Sure'd hate to see you/ melt through this glass." "Don't worry." "You think I am! It's your kick, Art. Don't lose your nose." Nice guy. Five - Torn bags; the sidewalk again, with its shells, weeds, memories pinched, tinted red, or rolling perhaps, or else / cracks in the stone, the--hornet of my brain. Meters. What is it with faces, licorice to buttermilk; rainbows slung around bodies of air? Places to park, to tease a fender. Lampposts. Banners. Cans to/ keep our city. Hydrants. Boxed-in phones. Meeters. What is it about blood that swirls, squeezes/ industrial legs/arms, crowds a mouth, a thousand mouths; whistles that swing, explode, to blind an eye? Today is Friday. Here doors/ will beat till nine: Buehler's, Sears, Ford's--. I think I'll get a little bag of logs to chew on. No, no, not tobacco, candy. (I would have to phrase it that way.) Let's see. "Candy is dandy" of course, but a good liquor tilting the arches would be a real sweet limbo/ to warm a Friday night. But then, vagrant sea, ripples, no. Let others think another naked son's no special thing, raise their mugs; chug their white wetnesses into their earths, rich, poor. You know, I like her smile. "A quater pound of these log cabins, please." "Anything else?" "No." "That's twenty-one cents." "I have the penny." "Thank you." Magazines. McCall's. Here's a Sports Illustrated! Na. Why should I piddle around messing up mags I won't buy anyhow. That looks--Thesz! The old man's quite a tendril. I wonder. No! "So long, Duffy." Ought to applaud myself for that one. Bet I usually spend ten full minutes here, at least, listing at pipes, paperbacks, whatnot. Wait! Orange flames? Negro. "Arson and street war--most destructive riot in U. S. history 11 pages in color" City of the angels. Life. Through weeds between two tires: a T-shirt stretched on a dark brown body--capable and young, a pair of black pants, and eyes straight ahead that see and do not see, walk. Behind him the world burns, splits and splits. The saucer men are coming. And I eat toothaches for kicks. Things couldn't be better. Fond du Lac: page 5 - Brian A. J. Salchert

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