KaBOOM

http://www.minyanville.com/businessmarkets/articles/america-money-printing-national-debt-petroleum/2/24/2010/id/26982?page=full

Laying hands on St Patrick !

Dreamt that I healed St Patrick by laying hands on him, after which Patty turned into a girl and glowed like a white diamond. I was glowing too. Actually, it wasn't clear who healed WHO. What was stranger still: St Patrick knocked on my office door as if he were my client, and called himself _An Iap_ (_An_ ('the') Irish American Post ? ! )

I also dreamt that there was an urban drug bust outside 'The Waltons' household. Neat thing was that I got to make fond memories with John Boy and Grandfather.

Feb Fullish-ruary Moonish

As of yesterday, February 24th, I was attacked by the raised forearm of my client repeatedly for a half hour until she apologised and complete forgiveness reigned, i.e. no documentation shall remember her behaviour.

As of yesterday, I've been side-struck by a car three times and three times without injury.

The culprit in this case was a mother driver attending to her one-year old in the rear seat. I saw her stopped at a driveway to a business as I came down a sidewalk of a very busy road (too busy to cycle upon). I always stop for such people, never assume they see me. I did this time as well. We were both stopped. I tried to make eye contact with her. I went forward cautiously and saw her start to drive as soon as the front half of my bike was in front of her hood. So she crumpled over my front tire as I leaped off, falling down since I tripped with one leg, but I was out of harm's way and did not hurt myself in the landing. It was a cheap extra bicycle and I was unhurt, her car unscathed, so we let things go. I prefer private citizens to come to terms with common-sense things w/o police involvement if possible. I think she learned her lesson in any case. She was in an utter panic afterwards, and came up with four contradictory stories, a couple of them claiming she had seen me before she hit me!

To speak is to sing

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9-G_v6-u3hg&feature=related

Dennis Gerrolt asking John Ronald Reuel Tolkien dense one-dimensional questions on BBC 4 and getting deft replies.

I've listened to this clip of a BBC interview of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien about seven times today, mostly to take in the cadence and music of his speech, which I find as compelling as Middle-earth itself. But I consider Tolkien's grasp of the cosmic refreshingly...rooted. The interviewer is so narrow and unidimensional in most of his queries, trying to peg down and reduce Middle-earth to author-sourced trivia. Tolkien easily defies, outwits, evades him. The man simply sees longeval and further, was not born in our media-box.

The Dream of Eight and Ivy

I dreamt I visited a girl and her family. They owned a pet dog, a pet cat, and a pet panther. The little dog (so wee) was the leader of the lot, even of the family. The pets padded freely from room to room, but the girl lived in a dug-out pen and smiled at me her guest.

To reach my hosts, I drove my car to a strange 'space-warp' in Minnesota - namely a roadmaze leading to a Figure-Eight Motorway without an exit. One of its loops was much bigger than the other - so it was a lopsided 8. The INSIDES of the loops sunk much lower than the ‘Eightway ’. My girl host lived smack in the middle of the smaller loop, and there was no road to her home except for muddy and dug-out paths.

On my return journey, I entered a heart-pushing rushing realm of limbs and leaves overhead. They clothed the road in green, and I lurched to reach a firey sunset lit over the edge of a meadow, as if it were an entry to paradise. I was cycling.

My wheels went along great bicycle pathways shooting high (in upside down U-Arches) over freeways. The lanes were hidden by high walls so grown with ivy and creepers that a cyclist's skyline was quite masked by leaves. So I pedaled forward ‘by faith’, occasionally peeking up over and down the leaf-line when I paused on the highest hill brows.

Benevolent Dream-Deeds

I dreamt last night I saved a small boy (who turned into a girl) from being hit by a car. It was tricky using the phones afterwards though. Their ear-pieces extended outward like deflated balloons.

Wanton Seed

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1wcNkJuhrfc&feature=related

http://www.nicjones.net/index.htm


This year's spring time walking song. I've tried it out on my voice several times, got it memorised and like the fit.

Calling for Mutton

March marches away on a Devil's Day

Cloud and mist stick. Smothery smeeth hangs thick on the world.
False Spring. Devil’s Dew.
Went out in the brew, sickle-cycling my swath to work.
Sweet and short – pulled a one-hour shift.
One shifty devil’s hour had a whole day’s
moil and mishap.
Missed my headphone set, must borrow another’s
ear-wax.
There I sat, lax, stuck to purgatory call (Big Apple Bawl)
under cataracts of blatherspitten New-Yoik-blab.
Bombastic blubbering.
Ten minutes to quit,
Call Takeover beckons; declined it, inclining to my own,
heeded my own
headwires.
Seconds to punch-out, in comes another
incoming call,
taken over by another
Call-Takeover victim.
I fled the building under pelting rain
inside a black sack, plastic tack, I’d pinched from a break-room can.
I came home to Commune,
met a Matterhorn of dishes, an undainty duty,
skyhigh and scum-sty during Commune party.
The culprits did their damndest to serve cheap liquors,
mixed in mut-bowls beyond recognition,
a sot rendition.
Not a drop of goodly ale,
wine or mead or needed cidre,
or brindled braggit!
I balk at the sweet bile hungrily swilled by boys.
L’s devilled eggs mended much – gave S. a needed snack.
The Devil’s a chef among lesser fiends.
After scullery slavery and ovarious bites,
S. and I nestled in
for Michael Collins and mutually gnawed a mutton shank.
She’s the first woman I’ve sunk teeth into one bone with!
Mouth-millers mutually munching,
unsheepishly on mutton.
Meet teeth tearing the meat.

-Nathan Paul Hillman, 2007-2009

The Mere

There lies a mere behind the house,
an oval of glass unstirring.
An Edge, an Eave enfolds one end,
a forest heaven-bounding.
Water shadows mirror back
shining stars in blackness,
Quivering.
A dimshade cloaks the Wooded Side
under tree shapes stooping,
Listening.
Fishes flit the murky depths,
their scales like mirrors,
Flashing,
Glistening.

Nph, 1988