entirely edited/uploaded on Samsung mobile.

OREO. THAT’S HER NAME.

Yeah, them Kellogg boys’ outta Battle Creek, MI forays into alternatives to broaden a generations-old dominant stake in the breakfast foods market includes Pop Tarts frosted cookies and creme, a naturally and artificially flavored good source of eight minerals and vitamins. I’ll tell you why in a minute but eight toaster pastries, yup 14.1 oz of luxury. Abject failure.

cookies and creme.
cuz’ OREO is a
trade brand of the
National Biscuit Company, Pal.

=======
IT’S OUR FIRST EVER freelance free association Sunday night Send o’ Blog. I’m determined to still speak about those things that matter to mistersenor. but what the Galaxy III and voice description determine what it is I said…

must be what I said

second paragraph it’s about time choices were made in our lives. it’s pretty simple yon feller with us or a’gin us. the guy in a good day say after a bad tree leaks you rely on TV tonight dudeSTOP

by a gun that didn’t make any noiseSTOP

VOICE CORRECTION AFTER ABOUT THREE WEEKS…In any 12 step program after about three weeks you either do the work and are going forward or you’re having problems. FYI nicotine cecession continues to vex; it’s a problem for me because I’m telling myself I need to do it. Of course, things will change only when I start telling myself that nicotine is the problem for me and therefore I need to do it (cessation). I have to stop (resistance to beginning) doing something (cessation). As most things in life the cart is WAY before the horse on that one.

of course my justification is that the idea is just slightly ahead of it’s time. Yeah right, Pal. smoking cigarettes does not make your hair blow back in the breeze; it’s not some macho ’80′s rock n roll Panasonic advertisement.

all pull together as a team. Roger Waters. the pod bay doors are open, Dave. Clearly Kubrick. come on in, the water’s fine. okay that last one is paraphrased but I’m leanin’ toward Benjamin Braddock in The Graduate. He’s in the deep end.

So it’s set and match to Buck Henry.

=======
Abby has been teaching me
uhhh, figures of speech
that’s what she calls ‘em

I’m gettin’ good at ‘em. here’s another one, though. when you ask someone to do something emphatically and they finally say… fine… sure… that’s not the same as saying yes. Yes is extremely important, in any language. Even the language of love, for want of a better term.

woops. figure of speech

Like in lost in translation that girl is singing suckin on my titties not only is Bill Murray understanding but as he leaves he’s appreciative of it. Not only is Scarlett Johansson not embarrassed as she enters and encounters a naked woman gyrating her pelvis directly in her face she realizes the word yes is “very important word here.”

most best quality

That’s not where Pop-Tarts went off their game though. when they failed as a breakfast food and we thankfully returned to our regular Sunday regimen of egg whites, shredded cheese and assorted fruit, those darn tarts surfaced a dozen hours later, well after wifey’s very thoughtful seafood shagged for the mistersenor…(peg of my heart – the girl not the crab). Cookie. Creme. Together, but not licensed. Daring! dear raiders well know: I’m a gamer. So, yeah. I took a nibble. Whoa, still soft to the bite. not natural. So I asked Abby fer a peck of wisdom. she broke off snappier than the tart.

dad, that’s just how it goes. yeah, I know. figure of speech.

the lesson may be, like, did you try it?
I’m not gonna try it you try it…
NO, WAIT. That’s Quaker Oats.

SERIOUSLY, IN THE UNIVERSE of yes there is but assent. we seek oneness. true, in a contrary dimension people may indeed acclimate themselves to arguing about… whether they’re arguing. at long last, will a soft reconciliation of the times of our lives be one where we roiled in strife day in and day out or did we toil and find a place to reside in peace?

there goes harm on me.

VOICE CORRECTION ergo, harmony.


tell me that you’ve heard every sound there is?

There is no imperative great enough to
relieve responsibility of the energy industry
to be weighed upon by… Ellen Page in skates.

WE THE PEOPLE

who jointly own
and strive to protect…
goddamn DO I HAVE TO SAY IT?

FRESH WATER

I am not able to understand the dichotomy i see in fathers and brothers, women and their daughters, all demanding each day to breathe fresh air created only from age-old processes carried on about us by the natural world; similarly, are we not thirsty? WE MUST DEMAND the protection of this fresh water upon which we all literally rely upon for our survival from the horrors of this new imbalance of NATURAL GAS FRACKING, its’ consequence and the legacy they dare leave for their heirs. Why would Ed Rendell, former PENNA Governor so openly flout decorum and work alongside FRACKING CONSPIRATORS to obscure and deny their literal injection of venom and poison into politics and our Earth, using fears long emasculating us all?

Well, Eddie has friends. Ed is their handmaiden.

Across the Marcellus, immutable damage is being done. Pump. Explosion. Pump. Explosion.

What Goes In.

Oh fuck NEWTON

ahhh, dear raiders. debate itself is squelched.

EDI.NOTE: Emasculating (Gender Non-Specific)

Handmaiden? not so much.

date of original post 3/28/12

(as seen here on roller derby)

put some skates on; be yer own hero

i guess you gotta care enough to put scenes together and not just in your mind. If we want all our disparate ideals and beliefs to come together, we must find our purpose and passionately pursue remedy. Do something. Anything. BELOW e.g. for this person to clip together and present to the world, well, this one interpretation of being young is, and could be, meant for those of us still hopeful for that hopeful coming of age. to be forever spent in love.

y’know. Purity of Essence.

she carries on without a doubt i wonder if

========

i know why i care

fresh water
is simply
the lifeblood
of humankind.

what foundation
is to be built?

WE WANT OUR COUNTRY BACK

Pennsylvania is fast approaching Wisconsin for sheer right-wing nuttery, especially when it comes to the energy industry. Gov. Tom Corbett, whose campaign was largely underwritten by the energy industry, has gone out of his way to see that the frackers reign supreme – especially when it comes to the health of Pennsylvania residents:

Under a new law, doctors in Pennsylvania can access information about chemicals used in natural gas extraction—but they won’t be able to share it with their patients. A provision buried in a law passed last month is drawing scrutiny from the public health and environmental community, who argue that it will “gag” doctors who want to raise concerns related to oil and gas extraction with the people they treat and the general public. There is good reason to be curious about exactly what’s in those fluids. A 2010 congressional investigation revealed that Halliburton and other fracking companies had used 32 million gallons of diesel products, which include toxic chemicals like benzene, toluene, ethylbenzene, and xylene, in the fluids they inject into the ground. Low levels of exposure to those chemicals can trigger acute effects like headaches, dizziness, and drowsiness, while higher levels of exposure can cause cancer. The EPA has tried to get these companies to voluntarily disclose which chemicals they use, but of course they refuse, insisting it’s a “proprietary formula” and thus protected.

Pennsylvania law states that companies must disclose the identity and amount of any chemicals used in fracking fluids to any health professional that requests that information in order to diagnosis or treat a patient that may have been exposed to a hazardous chemical. But the provision in the new bill requires those health professionals to sign a confidentiality agreement stating that they will not disclose that information to anyone else—not even the person they’re trying to treat.

“The whole goal of medical community is to protect public health,” said David Masur, director of PennEnvironment. He worries that the threat of a lawsuit from a big industry player like Halliburton or ExxonMobil for violating a confidentiality agreement could scare doctors away from research on potential impacts in the state. “If anything, we need more concrete information. This just stifles another way the public could have access to information from experts.”

Here’s the interesting part: The provision was never in the original version. It was stuck in the final version that was reconciled in conference, which sure seems to indicate someone didn’t want much attention:

The provision was not in the initial versions of the law debated in the state Senate or House in February; it was added in during conference between the two chambers, said State Senator Daylin Leach (D), which meant that many lawmakers did not even notice that this “broad, very troubling provision” had been added. The limits on what doctors can say about those chemicals makes it impossible to either assuage or affirm the public’s concerns about health impacts. “People are claiming that animals are dying and people are getting sick in clusters around [drilling wells], but we can’t really study it because we can’t see what’s actually in the product,” said Leach.

Uhhhhhhhh

there comes a time. TEN YEARS AGO following my wife’s lead, I abruptly quit cigarettes, breaking a behavior begun at age nine in the kitchen of Sarah Cortellessa Calandra, my paternal grandmother. I recall my first cigarette was a SALEM brand. OUT THE DOOR I went, far away from 1107 Hope St. I blazed a path, so to speak. i dunno why i resumed a nicotine ritual. After ten years without, it is inexplicable I have acquired such ill manner.

i just wanted the car coat

I gotta cease my loathsome habit immediately. the monies, time, health and respect lost along the way will be forced into service as guides, as admonition to take a next step, today.

Well, alright then.

I don’t
think
scripts
are
written
in ink

dot
dot
dot

that’s a metaphor, peeps.

yes, cryptic today. DEAL!
When I look at an arc,
of anything, systems in play,
contracts verbal or spelled out,
the look in my lover’s eye as
we make love, I’m feelin’ it.

Conversely, I’m only trying here to
mean something more to myself.

building bones a dozen ways, mister

Some people are feeling it. My house needs to be in order. Upon that we rest agreement. My personal relations need attending, but I am powered only by singular caveman flight instinct. there is literally no fight left. it’s not the mess. it’s not the bewilderment at the one or two missing pieces that make this project not yet everything my foundational benefactor envisioned in so indignantly collecting all this stuff. nor the unsettled nature of my business affairs awaiting that fat tax annuity. all that capital to be repaid to us, OK, and yes we are due the rather large implication of the kiddo en toto, dear raiders. So evidence is that the coffers may be rejuvenated, if internal revenue agrees on this perspective universally approached by farmers the world over.

No crop this year.
=======

and wouldn’t you be bored?

and so it’s
into the breach
in regards
this whole
nicotine
cessation.

easy peasy

morty says
it’s found money.

he would.

i guess it is
just something
i see brings
great joy.

i think the
artistic innocence
shows a
lighter side
of life.

coming soon: GOD:

=======

=======
MY BOOK OF DAYS
by Abby

a joint project of us devoted

someone was meant to do this

not me. I’m evil.

Doofenschmirtz Abandoned Self Storage
“WE GOT YER BACK. WAY BACK.”

maybe i’m amazed

LISTEN CAREFULLY WHEN people speak. some of us leave out unimportant stuff, not pronouns and adjectives woops ok i’m not really much on grammar, hepcats. i know it when i see it; we learn young enough in life to save our asses at a minimum by recognizing at least, uhhh, what looks wrong…

I was always just like the radio guy. looking at the fifteen second increments, waiting to back announce or push the meme. So the fascination finds its’ center. I have always produced independently, but these days my bubba and I break off a podcast exposing ourselves as

EMERALD CITY DROPOUTS

we’re not here to hear, y’hear?
somethin to say. more better when
you have no idea even as you type.

BUT AT THE MOMENT I’m driving along, looking at the fluffy softness in the waves of air fronting my toyo. the younger set has a sudden perspective daddy has missed. daddy been living in the fineness of an undefined moment, seeing the whiteness and the blushing cherry blossoms, so stark in their alarm that it is Spring.

Except 37 Degrees in The Jet City
yes, me. yes, ON AIR

AM 1590 KJET
NEVER GETS WET
june – oct 19 and 87
suck up slash intern
the six AM with thad

…but I digress

=======
AND… ACTION

FULL FRONT-FACING BROAD ANGLE
from inside of moving vehicle
slow movement of poor quality wiper blades
two seconds; floating fluffy particulate in wind

EXT CLOSEUP
interior vehicle cabin
camera facing backwards
child in car seat
one full second; child observing

DADDY THAT’S SNOW!

MED CLOSEUP
from passenger seat
profile view of driver
male, older, unkempt

DUDE!

EXT CLOSEUP
child in car seat
(exuberantly)

NO, DUDE. IT IS. LOOK.

voice off camera
older male reply
(mockingly unconvinced)

TELL ME ABOUT IT

EXT CLOSEUP
child (undeterred)

OH OK. HUH. LET’S SEE…

pause

SPRING SNOW. IT’S LIKE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL AND…

(drifting off, distracted)

WHAT’S THAT WORD DADDY?
WHEN YOU CAN’T QUITE GET SOMETHING?
YOU KNOW, THAT WORD…

(off camera reply)
one word spoken softly

ELUSIVE

EXT CLOSEUP
male driver
(smile of broad realization as…)

EXT CLOSEUP
child in seat
(elated spontaneity)

YEAH!

(turn directly into camera, beginning again)

IT’S LIKE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL AND ELUSIVE…

(suddenly soft, lamenting, plaintive)

SOOOO BEAUTIFUL AND
SOOOO RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF YOU
AND YOU’RE FLYIN’ AND ITS
SOOOO THERE…
SOOOO PRETTY…

EXT CLOSEUP
male driver, front seat
older face, ruddy, unshaven
direct frontal view as last line spoken

(child, off camera)

THEN IT MELTS AND IT TOUCHES YOU. ITS IN YOU.

EXT CLOSEUP
(child, admonishing)

IT CAN BE VERY DANGEROUS, I’M JUST SAYING

(off camera front announce)
WELL HERE IT IS
REDD KROSS
THE NEW ONE
37 DEGREES THE JET CITY

it’s DRACULA’S DAUGHTERS

(pregnant pause)

======
ain’t that the truth
a different kind of show

reel dangerous

CUT!

looks like a 29 gauge from here.

In the midst of a divorce from
young beautiful Kimberly nee Piteo
in 1987 I spent a brief time in the
standup comic circuit, appearing at
open mikes and traveling with wilburys…
so to speak

asian wilburys
that is

what the fuck
say that for?

Lebowski was adamant

I’m not talking about
Chinamen building railroads
a’gin.

Ever!

=======

but i once told a joke THIS BIG. the wave of laughter captured my heart forever. I know the feeling. but it ain’t possible to bottle that feeling and inject it. waves move. we’re stationary.

More on that in a minute

Blackburn, Lancashire in England became the first town to undertake the mass finger-printing of people following the murder of June Anne Devaney in May 1948. June Anne Devaney was a three year old patient at Queens Park Hospital when she was abducted from her cot and murdered in the hospital grounds on 15 May 1948. Fingerprints on a bottle underneath her cot led the police to fingerprint every male over the age of 16 who were present in Blackburn on 14 and 15 May 1948. After taking over 46,500 sets of fingerprints, a match was made with Peter Griffiths, a 22 year old ex-serviceman. Griffiths admitted his guilt and his trial ascertained if he was sane or not. After deliberating for 23 minutes, the jury found him sane and he was hanged at Liverpool Prison on Friday 19 November 1948. After his conviction, the police destroyed all fingerprints they had taken.

The coat of arms of the former Blackburn Borough Council has many distinctive emblems. The blazon of the arms is:

Argent a Fesse wavy Sable between three Bees volant proper on a Chief Vert a Bugle stringed Argent between two Fusils Or. On the crest, a Wreath of the Colours a Shuttle Or thereon a Dove wings elevated Argent and holding in the beak the Thread of the Shuttle reflexed over the back and an Olive Branch proper.

 
The Latin motto of the town is Arte et Labore, correctly translated as “by art and by labour” but often translated as “by skill and hardwork”.

=======
Quick shout out. like i do i know

coat of arms? Hello Kitty!

my long-ago acquaintance Rosie Tran

friend of the Yoshi Didn’t Podcast
cuz that man does as we all know

Rosie Tran has cajun in her
or so i heard… also, funny
and witty and shit, and damn it,
one fine bento nuff said

YOSHI DIDNT PODCAST
1st ever blog banner

OK let’s just finish
with the fascinating huh
Sunday history lesson.
then tunes OK doll?
listen carefully then fall back
it figures. it just figures

=======

Blackburn was recorded in the Domesday Book as Blacheborne in 1086. The origins of the name are uncertain. It has been suggested that it may be a combination of an Old English word for bleach, together with a form of the word “burn”, meaning stream, and may be associated with a bleaching process. Alternatively, the name of the town may simply mean “black burn”, or “black stream”. Blackburn is located where a Roman military road crossed the river Blakewater. The road linked Bremetennacum Veteranorum (Ribchester) and Mamucium (a major Roman fort that occupied Castlefield in Manchester). The route of the road passed east of Blackburn Cathedral and probably crossed the river in the Salford neighbourhood just east of the town centre. It is not clear whether the road predated the settlement.

Blackburn is mentioned in the Beatles’ song “A Day in the Life”. An article in the Daily Mail about a plan to fill potholes in the town caught John Lennon’s eye as he was writing the song, giving birth to the lyric “I read the news today, oh boy / 4,000 holes in Blackburn, Lancashire / And though the holes were rather small / They had to count them all / Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall.

but there’s similitude in there somewhere…

thankfully, FEB is a reeeelly short month

yes this is
the same woman.

no i agree.
it is inexplicable

maybe
beauty
means
something

maybe
uhhh, not.

Polly wants…. errrr, a cracker

Cobain can give you the long version

she asked me to untie her
she’s even bein’ nice fer a few

polly said. she’s just as bored as me.

it amazes me. the will of instinct.

got some rope. haven’t told.

OK, so I’ll talk about it.
On March 4, 1991 my co-worker
and friend Ed Taylor introduced
me to a woman. I guess she wasn’t
his type. You know… she was a girl.

Oh, nevermind.

avoid the hype. start at 12:52

our little group has always been
and always will until the end

Ronni was my acquaintance and lover but after a few years we lost touch. OK, we were never that close, actually. For years later, I was tight with her friend Pat Fontin and former lover (from age fifteen) Keith Farrell. They were cool; Pat was a long-haired biker and a sweet man who looks you in the eye, tells the truth, chips fall where they may. Sold weed to the sheriffs department and shit like that; ain’t lyin’. hey there statute of limitations where you at?

No use talking to myself; THAT is where THAT phrase developed to what it means to me today.

I was to see Pat just once more. This old dude, the toughest and gentlest man I’ve had the pleasure of true friendship, by then was heartbroken. Which is the only way any of us ever looked at it.

Like that movie where she says “I gotta bad feelin’” and he says “well, I gotta good one so that evens it out.” Maybe Josh Brolin is simply able to deliver the gut of the line in a fashion I comprehend. Then again, maybe he ain’t talkin’ to me.

I talk to my self, mostly. I dunno, maybe ONLY. It feels as if nobody cares what brought us (all of us) here and all are so frantic about diminishing timeline, their forest cannot be seen through the trees of rhetoric I have amassed. Must be the filled space, the bullshit rationale, my relentless nonsensical perspectives of intractable relations I pin my star to, that are my ultimate comfort. You among us that know the narcissist I have always been; I spend some time reading my own words. Over and over. Searching for clues. But they ain’t there. Or I’m so cryptic I’ve lost even my own cheat sheet glossary of mistersenoristic definition.

Anyway, Ronni. It was my first relationship since a puzzling breakup that had occurred months earlier. The pleasant (and exceptionally hairy..) young woman and I had been seeing each other through the acquaintanceship built from a lovely, sincere woman named Glenda Deatheridge. They worked together, Glenda and this woman whose name I simply cannot remember (…for the life of me) and her tumultuous curriculum vitae made us well suited. Working for this biotech firm out in Issaquah, this for forever nameless woman had first befriended her boss, then nannysized her way into Kundulini spastic yoga orgasms resulting in the bosses’ marriage dissolving, her taking over some sort of childcare duties and sex surrogate status, which I assume allowed her slightly longer smoke breaks at work, uhhhh, at a minimum. We were so enraptured our first weekend together, my gas tank reduced to zero, we could only laugh as we walked a half mile with a plastic gas can. It was the second night. Had it been the first I lay money she never would have slept with me. After months, when I returned to my adult industry job after a brief hiatus, she dropped me like a stone, right there in the parking lot in her little baby blue bug.

I disgusted her.

POSTSCRIPT: I literally just remembered this part. About a month later, after a couple notes from her under the door of my ezactly 185 sq ft studio two blocks from class act R & R Adult Toys, my gainful endeavor for a near-third of my life, after pleading from her recanting her staunch opine ( i dunno, maybe she hadn’t gone spastic lately) we had hella tacos, damn good ones, THAT part is crystal clear. But when we returned to her bedroom, despite great ardor, and her quiet repose directly on my dick mistersenor enjoyed the brilliant, not brutal realization that when my dick says no, well…

I’m intractable. Whomever stated ED is a brutality upon anyone at that moment in an intimate act never understood the shared joy of human lovemaking. I simply told her something to the effect: look, i like you. you were nice. we had our first fight. we talked it out. my dick disagrees. with extreme prejudice.

We hugged, I’m sure. We never spoke again.

Geez, maybe this ain’t about Ronni. You could tell when Ronni had been through town. Bars the world over would be hard-pressed not to hide the Drambuie when she started on the Rusty Nails. She eventually went to England and overstayed her 90 day visa by like two years, so upon return to the UK after hurrying home for her gramma’s funeral, Ronni was captive at Heathrow twelve hours before arbitrarily shipped back to the States.

I was sober by then, maybe a month. Hadn’t yet met my wife. Ronni surprised me at 2am at my bedroom window; she was my bane. Yes, circa 1994 mister senor was quite likely to open his bedroom window to a drunk, laughing woman. Go figure.

So she dissed me, of course. In her anger that somethin’ she had worked on so long (disappearing forever) had been stolen from her. Learning of my newfound sobriety, she told me catagorically, unequivocably, without hestitation.

It’ll never last, she said.

Ronni died five years later, as the aforementioned brokenhearted Fontin divulged, in the form of an article about Ronni going off riding her 600cc rocket down the Green Valley Road on June 5. They found her remains ten days later after furious, frantic efforts up and down the spindly, winding two lane blacktop. She had blitzed the track so hard they found her hundreds of feet into the bramble. Assume late stage of decomposition. As had been planned for months, my future wife and I were just back from Tahoe, where we had eloped that same month. Irony of ironies, don’tcha think?

That Ronni was right. At least about (at the very least) that last perspective she offered to me. She had it down, the glee that she enjoyed. She had every right to live the life she chose, every opportunity to cold turkey that shit right out of her. But that was Ronni. If she was here, I’d tell her of all the wonderful conversations, not sad eventually, me and her many friends enjoyed. Ronni made great stories happen right before your eyes. To many, dear raiders, it would be an obscenity to repeat them here; trust me, though, it is not beyond my sense of devotion that I do not need them repeated here.

Just put yer pants back on, mister.

Together, we were a whirling dervish. She embodied a passion to which my star does still somewhat cling. She owned blind drunkenness. She wasn’t sad about being so sad, either. Rather, she was darned happy to feel something. Anything. And again I’ll say, she was correct.

Yes, there are risks in life. Yes, the road is hard, and long, and dangerous, and fraught with obstacles, oak trees and guy wires aside, that empirically cannot be overcome. Yes, people will hurt you, and inevitably you them, but hey hey hey hey hey hey hey. It’s OK. You’re at long last, the very most perceptive, girlfriend.

It won’t last.

=======
I like a pop hook, too; I’ll admit.
Gimme your autograph.
Not for posterity, either.

man, what the hell happened?

here’s another, yes, another from
across the big pond to the UK

but hold the gin and tonic, please

sniffin’ in her tissue selling The Big Issue

=======
OK, so I’m an R&B guy. Life’s a movie.
or, rather… it ain’t over yet…

Steve Martin: all of life’s riddles
are answered in the movies… or not

and it’s OK. It’ll work out.

=======

Finally, home to the fab Pac NW

RIP Veronica Lee Fielding 1968-1999