sw00849d9

 From 3:14 PM beyond 5:30 PM/ thunderstorms were coursing
through this city.  For most of that time I had my computer system
unplugged, but I had slowly been constructing a post over at my
Rho- blog, and so I was constantly checking the online weather
map I use; and when it appeared there would not be much more
rain, I went back on and completed my post.  Have been trying
to rid myself of stacks of old mail, and that is the project I was
working on during the storms.  Early on I saw the thickest bolt
of lightning I've ever witnessed zap in the distance, and for a
short while the winds were whipping the rain nearly flat.  Three
tornadoes did some damage in and near small towns.  One farmer 
was blown about forty feet through the air, but dropped into soft
grass.



Brian A. J. Salchert    2008-03-31

sw00848d8

 Good morning.  My being here is a bit of a surprise
since thunderstorms passed through Springfield during
the night and today and tomorrow are forecast to be
rain days.  This is the first Sunday after Easter.  Went
back to reading my Lawrence Grant White translation
of Dante's Comedy.  Read seven sections of the
Paradiso.  Also read some more pages of Art and the
Intellect by Harold Taylor.  Both of these books I have
read before, but years ago.



words from one of my unpublished journals

 Each human is unique.  Each human is a creature who thinks and
a creature who feels.  And some of the deepest human feelings
are fueled by beliefs: beliefs that should not despise uniqueness,
but often do; beliefs that should not cancel thought, but often do.
I know that the ability to feel is just as necessary for our species'
survival as the ability to think.  I know the reptile brain in each of
us is quicker to act than the new brain.   //   But I also know that
howevermuch the flames of feelings, and all too often negative
ones, rise from our moralities, the cores of the great moralities
of this planet favor the flames of positive feelings, feelings possible
only for those who are able and willing to honor thought: Jesus
of Nazareth's, for example, when He urges us to love not only
our neighbors but also our enemies.  Please: whenever you and
I disdain others, we first of all disdain ourselves; whenever you
and I disdain others, we are saying that it is all right for others 
likewise to disdain us; whenever you and I disdain others, we join
those forces that disdain humanity.  The less we are willing to
live with each other, the more we will have to die with each other.

                                                                                    1983




Brian A. J. Salchert    2008-03-30

sw00847d7

 Here's some information about daily water, sodium, and potassium intake
from an August 2004 post at News-Medical.
-
 Here's an alkaline/acidic foods chart
from the Wolfe clinic.



Brian A. J. Salchert    2008-03-29

sw00846d6

 Last night late while winds whoed into & under my bedroom window/
I read 12 and 13 of Dante's Paradiso.

 As usual, I spent much of the day bouncing from blog to blog,
leaving a comment at one of them.  Also did some research on
the "intentional fallacy' and the "affective fallacy" as I needed to
refresh my memory.  Slowly I am getting recharged regarding
poetics.


Nada Gordon interviews Benjamin Friedlander



Brian A. J. Salchert    2008-03-28

sw00845d5

 Matthew Barney is a sculptor who has had what I class as a
charmed life.  See Wikipedia article.
 From www.sfmoma.org
this about him:
". . . exploring the notion that form emerges
through struggle against resistance."


* thank you, l. q.



Brian A. J. Salchert    2008-03-27

sw00844d4

 The last two days a post at a blog I visit has moved me to comment twice
beneath that post/ and to spend several hours last night researching via G-
the topic "immanent critique"/ and also to add links in my Rho- list to two
.com sites.  Since around WW1 this planet has slithered into a cavern of
contradictions of such force that the gyroscopes of the teeming humans
upon it are consistently askew.



Brian A. J. Salchert    2008-03-26

sw00843d3

 Have been busy with other projects the last several days.

 This morning at money.aol.com/ this:
Most Common Tax Scams

 Placed the final page of brians brain 2000 up yesterday 
on my bajsalchert blogspot blog.

 Have been reading many things online, and posting comments.
Most of that has been done at poetry blogs, particularly the
Poetry Foundation Harriet blogs.

 If you would like to read and vote on poems, Andrew Shields has an
ongoing project for doing so.



Brian A. J. Salchert    2008-03-25

sw00842v-42.poem40

Venturings



 The Guardian


How shall he sing with dangled tongue
Our vibrant warrior roundelay;
War in rags and sleep in dung;
Scurry as though the bees had stung,
When we are other cares away?
"How can his back be glad, though wrung,"
Where he must sing with dangled tongue
Our vibrant warrior roundelay
And pommel jungles in dismay
Or cough up sand from stifled lung
Or butted, fall to naked clay?
Oh how in that foul disarray,
How shall he sing with dangled tongue
Our vibrant warrior roundelay?


                                        (????)



-
Brian A. J. Salchert

sw00841v-41.poem39

Venturings



Holy Saturday 2008-03-22


And though He had
not yet risen,
the Lord Jesus
went to that place
wherein He would
interact with
certain waiting
human spirits,
telling them that
the time was near
for them to be
taken from there
into that realm
beyond the need
for patient hope
and ardent faith

And I am not
and I am not
and I am not
and I am not
and I am not
and I am not
and I am not
and I am not
and I am not
and I am not
and I am not 
and I am not
and I am not
and I am not
until I am
alive in Love



!
Brian A. J. Salchert

sw00840d2

 Not all blog previews are trustworthy.
The preview where my other blog is does not tell the truth.
The preview where I regularly comment does not tell the truth.
Why?  Those who programmed those previews ought to know,
and they ought to know how to program them so they tell the truth.
Although I can learn how to work around such faulty previews,
previews which do not tell the truth irk me.
Given these facts, it is just as well AOL Journals
does not provide previews.



Brian A. J. Salchert    2008-03-21

sw00839d1

 Sprintedon Tracker has been discontinued.

 Diary, though it may not be daily, is replacing it.       d = diary

 In mulling over projects, there's a chance I may stop posting 
poems of mine after I sense Seminary, The Undulant Trees,
and Venturings have ended.  Have begun a new project, but
it will remain a penned poem.  Am not even sure I will be able
to complete it.

All day Tuesday it was windy and rainy with scattered storms.



Brian A. J. Salchert    2008-03-20

sw00838st100-Palm.Sunday

Read the Gospel of Matthew   26.36 - 27.60



__|__
   |
   |



                                                                        Entry2649

                     [ Note: 26 + 36 + 27 + 60 = 149 = 100 + 49 ]

                    [ Note: This weekend I remained in my apartment,
                               but I brought the missal I had been given
                               when I was in a Jesuit Noviate 46+ years
                               ago/ into my den/bedroom, and placed it
                               at the foot of the bed.  At that point in the
                               reading where Jesus expires/ an instruction
                               tells one to kneel and pause.  I, carefully,
                               knelt, and then looked up.  The time on/
                               the clock I've placed on the bedboard's
                               top shelf/ was 1:10 PM.  At 1:11 PM I
                               carefully rose.  For those of you who do
                               not know this about me: some years back
                               1:11 (both AM and PM) became for me
                               God times. ]  

sw00837ut-36.poem

The Undulant Trees




 5 AM



In the distance
herorrrrrm     herorrrrrm

a coal train passing
through Springfield MO


and then nearby
cheep     cheep     cheep

a robin
wakes the night


& I
I keep
my self in bed

white
low
brown eyes hid




-
Brian A. J. Salchert

sw00836sl12-dark.lyrics

 Dark
    (The End of a Culture)


Rats' tails
rats' tails
they're comin'
they're comin'
e-e-e-e-e
NO!
they're comin'
dark

I saw 
a bloodied baby,
his left ear
almost gone;
his throat
a punctured song.

   And whistles
   fly
   from the corner bricks,
   and dead leaves
   freak
   in the wind.

A man
in white and crimson
has turned down
7th Ave.;
he knows
just what I have.

It won't
buy me a ticket
to God or
get me home;
its clouds
blot out the sun.

   And whistles 
   fly
   from the corner bricks,
   and dead leaves
   freak
   in the wind.

Some say
the Beauty's coming,
some say the
Devil's Beast;
some fast,
some splurge and feast.

Some think
a dude like me should
be pummelled
dead as dust;
some think
that I should run.

   And whistles
   fly
   from the corner bricks,
   and dead leaves
   freak
   in the wind.

The news
is spread for garbage
and stuffed in
drafty holes;
our heads
have lost their souls.

The church
that makes the money
is still thought
number one;
but this MAN
tradition's done.

   And whistles 
   fly
   from the corner bricks,
   and dead leaves
   freak
   in the wind.

I saw
a bloodied baby,
her right ear
almost gone;
her throat 
a punctured song.

Rats' tails
rats' tails
they're comin'
they're comin'
e-e-e-e-e
NO!
they're comin'
dark



                    1974-11-30     Brian Salchert


2008-03-11

sw00835sl11-friends.lyrics

 Friends


   Morning glories
   climbing high,
   patterned pieces
   of the sky:

   oh
   why
   do I,
   dear, find
   them so
   entrancing
   when
   ev'-
   ry day
   I see
   them soft-
   ly dancing?


When we were both
in seventh grade
I barely knew
my body's ways,
so made it seem
I wanted you
and no one else.


   (Chorus)


When we were both
in junior high
my body knew
it wanted guys,
but couldn't make
my heart believe
that wasn't hell.


   (Chorus)


Now we have both
to each to each
been married for
ten altered years,
and I am out
but still with you
for we are friends.


   Morning glories
   climbing high,
   patterned pieces
   of the sky:

   I
   know
   why I,
   dear, find
   them so
   entrancing
   though
   ev'-
   ry day
   I see
   them soft-
   ly dancing.


                             1975     Brian Salchert


2008-03-11

sw00834sl10-lucy.lyrics

 Lucy


Well
he found her in the back
where the railroad track
took a little turn
and the switch engine came
and the switch engine went
at a slow burn
and you could
hear its whistle
every time
for the road ahead
and the road behind
but you'd never know
when he would be seen
with his Lucy again

   Oh oh oh
   bubbles in the water
   bubbles in the air
   I had some dreams once
   I wanted to share
   but just as I woke up
   bang bang bang
   they popped

Now
he thought that was her horse
that had eased off course
chewing flowers down
where the Sims' gulley fell
near his dad's town
and you could
hear it whistle
every while
like a fear that stares
or a fear that smiles
but you'd never know
when he would be seen
with his Lucy again

   (Chorus)

Yes
he kissed her in the field
while the tractor's wheels
toasted in the sun
and the boys happened in
and the boys happened out
with their toy guns
and you could
hear them whistle
every night
for the dream begun
for the dreaming done
but you'd never know
when he would be seen
with his Lucy again

   (Chorus)


                        1975     Brian Salchert


2008-03-11

sw00833sl9-say.hi.lyrics

 Say Hi to the World



      (Chorus)

         Say
           hi
      to the world
         Say-ay
           hi
            hi hi hi-i

         Say
           hi
      to the world
         Say-ay
           hi
            hi hi hi-i


There's a blue sky rising
there's a warm breeze playing
there's a good day rolling
there a new bird preening


      (Chorus)


There are bright eyes talking
there are sweet tongues kissing
there are wise hearts telling
what is worth our keeping


      (Chorus)


There are people moving
there are people standing
there are people marching
there are people spending


      (Chorus)


There are times to fathom
there are thoughts to open
there are dreams to father
there are wills to ocean


      (Chorus)


I will spring my being
and become full summer
then in fall walk blazing
to my mystic winter


      (Chorus)

      (Chorus)



                              1975     Brian Salchert


2008-03-11

sw00832sl8-young.ones.lyrics

Young Ones I Knew Who Died



My father
asked me
who had chopped
on the maple
I looked
at him
in surprise
We found out
& I told him
I would tell them
we were angry
& that they'd have to
chop it all down
if it died

But I only
told Bob
not Jerry
and later
that summer
he was gone
He had fallen
to leukemia
in the bed house
a baseball
trophy
by his side

  A young one 
  I knew
  who died


Some summers
later
another Jerry
out in left
The last time
I saw him
in the sky
He had jumped up
to snag
a zinging baseball
What a wonder
His catch
sparkled
in the eye

But a few
days after
he was hunting
when suddenly
he stood
in the boat
and his uncle
accidentally
let his gun fire
a bullet
in the back
of Jerry's coat

  A young one
  I knew
  who died


Now last night
my Janice
reading somewhere
in the paper
found a Dale
who had worked
at the inn
A skier
I remember
as she told me
where he'd gone to:
near Slinger
at Little
Switzerland

And I wonder
what went
through his head
as the truck
rumbled closer
to their car
though I know
what he wished
may not matter
and the living
need to live
with their scars

  A young one
  I knew
  who died

  Young ones
  I knew
  who died


          1975     Brian Salchert


2008-03-10

sw00831v-40.poem38

Venturings



 Commencement


Still must I contend with vanity, and lose.
For certain matters matter past all will,
And though a poet would desire to die
In purer worlds and there renew his life,
The paradox reverses in its time.
So days like this bring scratchings on a page
With more important scribblings of mistakes,
What then?  But questions are irrelevant,
The patron says.  And so this little frame
Sweats out its dusty task and cultivates
A desert for his race, and so this youth
Expends some thousand minutes swinging blanks
Against a vaporous crowd; and so, at last, 
He really dies (his brothers will not miss
Him though a few may hang his picture on
Their inner walls); yet there's the patron, friend,
And even if I were an angel low
There'd be a ceiling to repair, a cell
Which I could not escape but by a hard
And satisfactory epic sky and cramps
An old marine would rather not recall.
But I procrastinate, as all our pseud-
O intellectuals say.  I must begin.

Four years for most; still, nothing has an end,
And we are what we make and what makes us;
And if our senses slice through every realm
Or every realm attacks and slashes them,
Those days that rolled the snow across our eyes
Or dropped the sun a certain million miles
Are both our gain and never once our loss.
How I despise these platitudes I raise
Though they may well be truer than we feel
(A spider's web could say as much; perhaps
Much more); but there's the patron, sir, and though
A mallow or a friendly wink would soothe
In better ways anachronistic bones
As these of mine, the world must check and mate
Me if I ever hint at such a move.
A grave iconoclasm now prevails
Which, somehow, each of us must shatter out:
But there are years and trees and many births--
Yet not a billionth of a spark of time--
For us.  So where is our commencement won
If not beyond these wrinkled vines, if not
Beyond these growing stones, if not beyond?
Someone will speak of orbs to us, but we
Do not want orbs but herbs; but we do not
Want herbs but love: learning all our lives.


                                                (1965-1982)



-
Brian A. J. Salchert

sw00830v-39.poem37

Venturings



 Stages


One day when I was tricycling free through air
And summer came the "whom" of drums, the "where"
Of brass.  Wonder wheeling response to both,
I prayed they would march till distance was bare;
Prayed they would march till melodious growth--
Mysterious as the varying shade
I peddled through--could no longer be loath
To share its faraway goads, goads who played
Near railroad yards in suits of blood and blade.

And again today I remember fields
Whose star-white blooms brought o strawberry yields
We sunk ourselves into with laughing joy;
We plucked, we pressed, we smeared.  How wild the wields
Of berries crushed!  How cool and pink each boy!
Neat screams: chaste girls who ran through weeds; who fell
On clumps of razor grass: new queens of Troy
For us to save, new tears to wipe on hell.
How soon we lost our hearts beneath that spell!

So, as eleven solar orbits turned
Me toward a special pine, those hopes I spurned
On music's board began, somehow, on art's 
To climb; and I, rejoicing, deeply yearned
The miracle of canvas life.  My heart's
Impatience gathered oils.  My fingers strained
For the mixing knife; grasped released the darts
That tell. . . .  And so I brushed and stained
My tree: all that was lost; all that was gained.

But time allowed another turn, and I
Allowed my paints to crack till knowing why
The notes would not; nor would the brushes' strokes,
Long last.  For days this self, a foreign sigh,
Appeared to be, as if a webbing's spokes
Destroyed by some invader hard about
And the webber forced to hide, spinning jokes
For its survival, jokes which could not shout:
Each word must be a pebble ringing out.


                                                         (1964-197?)



-
Brian A. J. Salchert

sw00829ekua-page15

Edges of Knowledge


Thursday 2003-08-28
-
Passing through difficult hours (days).

After eating my "Meals on Wheels" gift this noon, I
made a second call to J. L. at E. S., telling him I was
about to take a rest because I was still tired from the
9:15pm Tuesday and the 9:15pm Wednesday difficulties--
all of which may be true but now seems to me not
accurate in the details/ as I "think" I am getting my days
mixed up.
  At 3:11pm I was awakened by tromping winds.  I noted
the A/C was on and a small branch with new leaves from
my "drop-drop" tree was in the lot next to the back steps.
That the thermostat temp read above 80 surprised me
some since I felt cold, but I let it be.  I went to the den,
then into the restroom; then unplugged the three lines I
routinely unplug when a heavy storm is about.  I then
got into my jacket and returned to the kitchen/ where I
opened a tube of Ritz crackers, removing eight to a bowl.
Back in the den/ I took my multivitamin with water and
those crackers.  The storm tromped on and no new one
seemed likely to take its place; so at 4:11pm I plugged/
up again.

Saturday 2003-08-30
-
Janice--several years ago--told me to throw away the 2
heart-shaped Valentine balloons on sticks/ I had stationed
at the top corners of the metal shelving here in the den
nearest the doorway to the living area/ no matter they had
not in the least deflated.  (The Sam-set for 4:14pm Topamax
watch is waking the creatures asleep on the sofa-bed.)  At
last I did: first to a waste basket near the TV, and today to 
the large kitchen basket, where--after a time--I removed
their sticks, lightly knifed their internal inflations, and
quartered their poles.

  Pride, Jesus, You know how I am beset with/ a dikydak
pride.

Monday 2003-09-01
-
Admittedly, I had been considering doing so for some
time, but yesterday--by a curious yet binding turn of
activities, I took my spirit to St. Augustine and his
Confessions.
  The web-site I decided to enter--.  If it happens you
are not aware 32 is a central number in my life, and, 16,
collaterally is--.  According to the information given
there, Augustine of Hippo was 32 when he became a true
Christ-follower--a conversion his mother St. Monica had
been praying for for many years--and also that one of the
chapters in his autobiofraphy centers on his 16th year.

Sunday 2003-09-14
-
[ Note: this entry consists of two poems, both of which
          are now in my in-progress Venturings book of
          mostly poems.  Therefore, I'm going to place links to
          each of them here instead of placing each poem here. ]

A Cardinal of Consciousness

***** *** *** *****

Sunday 2003-09-21
-
Yesterday, after not having done so in a long while,
I washed my hair; and J. C., with the aid of another,
started building a shed.  I'd planned to go out, but I
was so tired.  I fell asleep several times during lunch.
One time/ I tried to highlight/ a few front hairs with
sardine oil.
  It didn't occur to me until today that 9, 20, & 3
add to 32, and 32 adds to 5.
  I have a semi-habit of checking the heat pump
thermostat before going to bed.  Sometimes I
turn it off.  I don't have it set to blow warm.
Normally it will start between 10am and 1pm.  I
knew it was going to much sooner this morning
because the temp stayed high last night.  At 7:11
(by this den's clock) it came on.
  Sprinkles!: 10:39am.
  Three scoops of yogurt and a slice of blue pie
replaced my usual breakfast this morning.
  Another strange day: as most are.  I might
be back.

Friday 2003-09-26
-
                                 Nothing 


-
Brian A. J. Salchert

sw00828sl7-a.snow.song.lyrics

 A Snow Song


The snow is falling,
     The snow is falling,
Like white fluffy quarters
     All over the ground.

The snow is falling,
     The snow is falling,
Like white fluffy quarters
     All over the ground.

The snow is falling,
     The snow is falling,
Like white fluffy quarters
     All over the ground.

          I want to go out,
               And I want to play.
          I want to dance in
               The sno-ow today.
          Yes, I want to go out,
               And I want to play-ay-ay,
          And I want to dance in
               The sno-ow today.
                    I want to prance in
                         The sno-ow today.
                              I want to angel
                                   The sno-ow today. 



[ The above could all be repeated three times, but not necessarily 
    the same way musically.  There's a melody in my head for this
    which--as it usually does--came before the words did; however,
    that melody (even with its last line changes) may be the melody
    for a song whose words I don't remember.  I at first thought 
    it might be a song whose words were in German.  This song's
    words (lyrics) began arriving shortly after 7:30 AM, and its
    title came later.  While I was looking out my bed den window
    after 7 AM/ fluffy flakes did fall. ]

                                                          Brian A. J. Salchert
2008-03-04
 

sw00827ekua-page14

Edges of Knowledge


Sunday 2003-06-29
-
For the last several years now, I have been trying especially hard
to identify the Lord's passing (i.e., of-the-moment) signals to me,
particularly when a harmless error is involved.  Sometimes, I feel
in my heart, I do identify His signals.  Last Thursday, however, on
the van ride home from Epilepsy Services, I--as I see it now--    
failed to.  It happened there was another passenger.  Usually I am
the only one.  It also happened the driver had never taken me
home before, and so was in need of a few directions.  Then the
passenger called out/ she was bleeding and wanted to be taken
back, but the driver told me the place she had come from was
now closed.  Then the driver missed a turn, and I told her she
did/ immediately; so she zipped into a parking lot to turn around.
There: we were being shaded by some/ rather large trees, and 
there is the place where I/ missed my Lord's signal.  I should have
had the driver stop for a few seconds/ if I could not get right away
what my Lord was telepathing.  Even though the drive from there
to where I live is short, I feel I ought to have talked the van driver
into checking the woman passenger's bleeding/ at that place.

Friday 2003-07-11
-
6pm is nigh, and I am feeling hungry again.  Do not know what it is,
but every Friday lately I find myself thinking it is Saturday, or even
Sunday.  This Friday I actually did get to Publix.  After I finish eating
I will need to return to my letter to jls.  I realize God may take one
of us from this plane before any new connection between us occurs.
One paragraph in that letter may soon no longer be there, but it will
be here.  Yes, it is a paragraph about me.  
   *     *     *
   Planets, words, numerals: I was still so held
   by the urge to be a philanthropist, I flatly 
   ignored my lack of all the character traits
   required.  Then my health declined.  Thus,
   instead of being of service to other, as I
   would have preferred, others have been (and
   continue to be) of service to me.  I feel sure
   it didn't need to be this way, but it is; and
   God is, as enigmatically as always, unimaginably
   good to me.  Certainly I/ am not right, if I 
   ever was.  (Sister knows.)  Nonetheless, with
   my Early Retriement Social Security and the
   local services I am allowed to use, I am getting
   on reasonably well.
   *     *     *

Saturday 2003-07-12
-
Just as the final revision of my letter to jls finished printing/
several gusts of warm humid wind reverberated against 
this place and into & through the nearby trees.  A space
in me wanted it to mean something, but I could not tell if
it did; and if it did, if it meant good or meant ill.

Sunday  2003-07-13     4:59pm
-
All day grey upon grey with only a speck of blue now and
again given the chance to show through; and a smidgen of
rain, and later another dildy-dash; but now the threats and
the foolery are gone; a real wash takes the air, enters the
ground.  Less than 15 minutes.  Still, it was and did, and
my half-thought of a weed eater venture has shrunk dead.

Thursday  2003-07-17
-
  Several nights ago I washed dishes out of need.
I had used all 16 pieces of regular silverware; but,
having used my original washing routine, those 16
pieces were all I had left to wash.  At that moment
I decided to take a break.
  Recently I had gotten into the habit of washing the
4 tablespoons, which are made differently, last.  Also,
I usually washed 3 together.  Since they are under
soapy water, I never know which 3 will come up 
together.  Knife, fork, spoon.  Knife, fork, spoon.
Knife, fork, spoon.  And: necessarily: knife, fork,
spoon.  Finally, with the last 2 tablespoons up and
dried, I raised my head, and caught 9:11.  The next
digital was 9:12.  Too strange.

Saturday 2003-08-16 (moving past 4pm)
-
The entry below was originally--but differently presented--
in The Blue Ledger.

If I am
allowed in,
I might become
Heaven's Dunce,
or one of them.
-------------------- Today is Saturday:
--------------------    but at 2:34am.




-
Brian A. J. Salchert