It is love-kovie day any-day. He writes and types like he's lost in a swirl at sea. Don't give up on kovie. When he's in the "doldrums" waiting for a cool breeze -you begin to sail slowly via the red-wine deep water seas. So- stop saying kovie ain't crazy. He's the good and lovable kind of Jewish goofy.

He at the helm.

_

I do often worry after thinking out-loud. I almost jump overboard.

Many letter-post of mine is an exhibit of subdued PTSD emotions.

If I'd not speak: 'S'tack-'H'igh-'I'n-'T'urret. Or Kapok!

If s*it gets wet, it can explode or cause aphyshiciation (sp). A many a sheep Shepard's, leaning on her wood staff, has dozed off and collapsed from sheep f*rts. If a cool wind did not haul s*eep methane that tooted from the lambs a*se, the Shepard's might have entered into eternal dream.

You know about little bo-peep? 1 sheep, 2 sheep, 3 sheep, 4 sheep. Sheep jump over the moon in the meadow. Yes. Helps ya's snore.

Too much sh**p fa*t and too much potato soup- Boom. Either? Or conked-out into a wonder wonder winter freeze-who knows where?

Wonderful Land

_

SusamMc- @ 5:38. I read the wiki-Maus. You, kovie, bystanders by any other name- help me more than I'd say in public. It would sound like Potato Mush Smooth Soup. It be sounding way too mushy for the GOP party animals. Fox, wolves etc., dangerous. You are a Lady Shepard.

I recommend cooking 3 huge potatoes in a small pot so some portions of the flesh stick out of water to give a crunch texture in the bowl. You can leave the toes hang out of the boiling pot of water? If you can't stomach dirty-unclaimed toenail flavor soup? huh.

SusanMc- I relate to the Jewish struggle? I believe some form, shape, fashion- of ptsd passes into the next generation. The children will struggle severely. I am convinced. And maybe worst.

_

My son is the artist and he and I did a Soho- NYC gig, a long time ago. A Jewish Lady invited my son (Md, Inst. College/Art) to display a Mask and sack cloth attire he created as a student- It is too long a story. You know I did not no what to say when playing my impromptu role came Time! Guess what I did in NYC's Soho? I sang the child song about the black crow waiting to steal the sown seed after I publicly read a short essay. I think Arne can sing it best for you? Serenade. Yes. He's good.

SING: Someone help the garden grow. It only takes a pick and a worn down hoe. No let crow rob...

I'm not Jewish but the history is pain, struggle, persecution,

Determination. Survive. I've visited the Holocaust Museum in DC several times. I was once asked, "You into pain?" I'm into knowing pain and want to know Love's joy as an antidote to end and numb pain. The irony: Wow- It sure does hurt to be in Love's blaze of Light. Some times here- after a push Publish moment...I almost imagine my 'former' memory of diving/dropping into a red earthen bush with my heart pounding out of my breast.

SusanMc- There in the Vietnam jungle, somewhere, along the disputed Cambodian border, there is a set of lost dog-tags. The wiki-read you sent us all on had me flashback-u-too?

...Someone gave me, before departure to war, a laminated 4- leaf clover. On a GI-issued chain, I carried a p- 38 (inch long can opener) my dog tags, and the LUCKY green leaf clover the Lady gave me. Lost?

SusanMc- If your ever hunched downward looking for the little green stick, I'd be Happy if Ya's tell me you found my dog-tags? I'd be mighty obliged to share a cup of warm goat milk with some honey? You have a Life Story? I'd Listen as if your words were food for Life.

_

However: One sad thing you need to remember: If a Civil War ever (I hope not) breaks out here in neocon coo-coo land ever again, the reason the government issues dog-tags is THIS: If your gal or boy friend drop dead, they are mighty heavy to haul all the way to the potato patch. So- the government military book says: Take dog-tags off your dead human brother/sister. Place dog-tag between teeth. Kick your dead friend so hard in the jaw that the metal dog-tags stay stuck between the 2- front teeth. If someone else walks along the war trail and finds them... hush. Thanks again SusanMc for memories. Forget about the dog-tags. I bet they rusted. I'd take a cotton bunny tail if you come by one. Smack! sorry.

Yep- Love.

Thanks--I think. ;-)

I used to live right off of Columbus Ave in NY, so perhaps there's a connection? And I was not far from the Pine Ridge reservation in S Dakota, whose tragic events were the indirect if not direct result of Mr. Columbus' arrival in the "New World", on the 500th anniversary of his arrival, 15 years ago. So perhaps there's another? I have never been to Spain, though, or to Genoa. Then again, I am Sephardic, and my father's ancestors were expelled from Barcelona or thereabouts in--1492. Hmm...

Don't know about being "the good and lovable kind of Jewish goofy", though. Not saying that I'm not good, lovable or even goofy, but this verges into Biden on Obama territory a bit too much for my comfort. I know that your mode is "jokey", but still, irony has its limits.

Cheers.

Between the lines I was thanking you sincerely.

In the seventies I was anywhere. In Cadiz, a coastal city, I wandered everywhere alone, but remember conversations better than a dull-brain Attorney General. I'd not be a lawyer at this late date tho.

I'd meet someone who would accidentally guide me, good or bad.

The u-rail train-pass was a convenient bed for a homeless vet who never knew where I'd/me...end up next.

Everywhere I went: I saw suffering, refugees from Adissababa (sp) fleeing Idi Amin (sp) or some other nationality with a legitimate grievance/gripe: O, Kissinger, Nixon, or some oppressive mommy or Dada? Gads.

One day I was talked into attending a bull fight in Madrid. Never again. Even the poked bloodied bulls seemed to drop dead right in front of me. I was feeling the real dose of hates insanity.

kovie- A friend I was wounded once with, never again tho- I hope!...Baca- would pass via my farm town to sober up after drinking seizures, financial loss, loss of a girlfriend etc.,via the years. One day he drank too much (he'd hide a bottle of Gin, Vodka, or a case of beer in his underpants) and almost ripped his thumb off while taking a leek off a guest-house I built for stray dogs, cats, chipmunks, monks, nuns, Jews, kooks, dinkies, creeps, neocons, freaks, etc., You get the point?

Damn pot-floppies! Baca was so drunk he missed my wedding. But my father was my Best Man anyway and I was not one to harbor a grudge. It was foggy. South Hampton Long Island had a small white chapel. The Dutch clover bloom was lovely. Nothing is forever and life is never predictable. People who seem lovable like you, kovie, can become cranky- Believe you me, but remember, and I'm certain about one truism: I can be good and "crazy" about 100 percent of the time. So don't ask me. Ask yourself.

Answer honestly.

kovie- I once ask, "Pot- Flopper J. Baca, do you ever feel fucked up?" He's slow because his brain got jarred? He thinks in snail motion. He's had no sail up most of his life. He's been sober for years tho- And has a great heart. His stomach wall is so scared from a steel pot explosion that you'd...Ask Baca to show you his belly.

Baca will. He thinks every day is a Show & Tell Kindergarten Day. A bystander can't even figure out if he has a belly button. You can look with a magnifier glass or put Baca under a microscope as if he were a sting-red ant? It (Belly) looks like a Grand Nanny Atlas road map. Baca and I roared with laughter when he finally was fearless in his honest answer.

Baca and I must have experienced one of those belly laughs the girls have behind the boys back...?...(they talk about boys getting a thistle too itchy at times) Baca said he felt fucked-up "in a good way", about %100 of the time. Yep? I think,

I agree.

And he's about #89 ~~%~~ right!

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