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

Thinking Lizard

About Me

My photo
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 Six - Wallace S., among the rushes, Moses me a bit. Do not let this desert parch. Pray for manna, rain; oasis me. Strengthen the veins of Fond du Lac, Riplean ghost (preserved by a chance operation--at the first; a brilliant and eccentric K.--now), at its high, budding point. By 1960 this town was to die, believe it or not; and would have, too, had it not lost some fat before that predicted death date. Yet even then we needed our stubborn Merc man, Kiekhaefer, to force our sapling council into bud, to get it to/ spread our roots-- a task not all that easy. But the roots spread, and the tight buds. Stevens, go. I conjure you strangely, but want myself. Seven - Hotel, restaurant, furniture store, bar: the hub of my chrysanthemum, isle of--Sargasso, Sargasso. Fond du Lac, however sight would have you: here, where comfort and drink, food and shelter ridge their shades, odors, I could stand for hours watching Division and Main crossed, holding your sepals, your quarters together; keeping your quarters, your sepals distinct. Notheast: Maple, Taft, the Lighthouse, Marquette and Scott, and Winnebago Drive; the staid, persistent wealth of artesian wells; ledges, lagoons, Paul Bunyan's lake--puddle of/ stinky waters, flash storms; Roosevelt Park: whatever there men may ponder from under your burnt-out roof, Retlaw Hotel. Dim bar, Carry to me, behind your cracking door a woman, man, might sip and chat the whole Northwest: our Giddings & Lewis; rail yards, the Supple Marsh--where ice was once chunked out, and Seymour, Johnson, Hickory; the halls, motels, and lake shore homes; the pine, the deer. In your soft chairs, Kramer's: Mercury Motors and Madison and Military Road; Grove, Western, Pioneer: the whole Southwest a plush man could ease to mind. Restaurant, birth-and-death place for the vaired Southeast, from your delicious booths a man could raid: Vine, Highway Forty-One; the private course, the cemetaries; Eden. What other cross could one so dream this town from, learn through its fragile queens and pastel crimes, curse its stench, exalt its soil, feel how/ the near waves flower. Eight - So, Fond du Lac, your center spins a world in the half-light of this knifed hour: let be: your ocean's filled with aphids, paradox. A drop of salt arching from some whitecap burns to a crystal, dives, dissolves. A drop of salt: a small boy spurting from group to group. Weaving a double crossing, I approach the Retlaw, lean between two bikes heading south, and drift to the right. Inside, my steps are softer. Briskly looking around, I spot, walk over to/ a water fountain, catching the sea I bubble up. Bellboys stopped before the elevator, yellow mums, or are the asters, bud and break from their shoulders. Bloomings unfold us. But, here, much seems unwanted. Still, the doorman only glances, and the clerk lets me browse. They know their needle of unconcern will work me out in time; that silence is the better word to use, those easy coins. A Cadillac-- red!--arrives. Straining to follow it, I accidentally nick the doorman's heel, etching out. He stares slant at me, then sets a smile for the Cad guests. Fond du Lac: page 6 - Brian A. J. Salchert

No comments: