2 charcoal deKooning images from night

Late in night after searching through google books for search term: "deKooning" -- locate two charcoal images, two of probably thousands, place them here, why not, then I approach futon.

as of 19th february, midstnight --

comic advisory alert

best of all comic "I am a Hero"

(if this was angloamerican scene, it would be graphic novel.  Just call it comic please)

A translation up to around volume 5 is available if you know where to look (hint for fools: *nt*rn*t)

it is best not to know anything about it before reading.  Know only that it is the best of all current comic.

And it may contain the very first ever sanitary-napkin-of-a-schoolgirl-changing scene depicted in comic or possibly any medium.  It is an unploughed field overall.

(note: if you locate the highly criminal translation you are advised to read from right to left.  That is how it is done these days.)

Images above: the latest volume, #8, and #5, pretty dress on the cover.

aren't you going to say what is so "best" about this comic?

・　balance 　・　lingering tender pace 　・　　rare poise  ・　　a tone thick with life, neither "dark" nor "light" , serious nor comic     . . . plus many etcs/

urgent query

Meet Bobby-Jones. Bobby-Jones is the collective name for the jumping spiders that were merrily roaming the little home.

My urgent query is: do such jumping spiders hibernate, or go on holiday, or drop dead with no heirs to their roam routes? Haven't seen any for a while and am getting worried, not to mention forlorn, not to mention dispirited, mentally unkempt, and slouchy.

As though my well-being was contained in their little perky bounds and cute twitching mini-mandibles.

In fact I am forgetting if it is Bobby-Jones or -Johns (incidentally a problem I had with my mother's post-divorce name . . . a co-incidence? We think not)

in the middle do this

This is a backwards continuation from "END LIKE THIS" You are getting a crash course.

In the middle of jargon jumble plus severe taste of IMPLICATIONS that seem right now INCOMPREHENSIBLE . . .

Add what the journos call "lyric beauty"

And leave alone a long while

until you (YOU = who decided to do this) know what to do

in ten more years

and then, we must decide to start something

We will deal with beginnings within one month

You have work to do in any case, between middle and end, and secreted beginnings, how many intervals to prop up?

--- image from "five star stories" a continuing - if delayed - space opera manga of "withering complexity"

months gone imagery

Have three new pains, I think they were pains, to add to the solemn LIST OF PAINS. But were they merely illnesses. And was it three pains? I think it may have been a bundle, travelling through me, tumbling as it went (the bundle) to show (me) a few qualities. Every pain is a demonstration. And a collaboration of demonstrations may serve enough to be known as one solitary illness. 


 Light, velocity, and a little meat. 


 Or we may say "supper"

wherein I have a dream during my birthday

In one dream I saw Robin Blaser and Jack Kerouac.  On the somewhat raised (pulpit?) part of a tatty lecture hall.  A mediocre table, an un-theatrical useless curtain, an absolutely faulty projector.

Blaser wanted to discuss some overuse/ repetition, of one word (I couldn't hear well in this dream) in Kerouac's poem.
said Kerouac: "A word is another word for candle flame."
Blaser, I think, nodded.  He could nod well, Blaser.  While he was alive.  Now he's dead he doesn't nod.

In my dream Blaser nodded to what Kerouac had to say.  Kerouac had more to say.  He said:

"An assassin is not always assassinating.  Sometimes an assassin is a grocery shopper."

Blaser knows this.  They are all just chums.

This one dream switched off.