DIANE ARBUS KNEW HER STUFF...

Child with Toy Hand Grenade (NYC) 1962

Almost forty years before the World Trade Center Tragedy in New York. She predicted (in her art) where America was headed. Nobody listened...

Photo Copyright 1962 by Diane Arbus

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MR. ROY!!

All my love and respect,

Dylan

PATTI SMITH WOULD BE A BETTER U.S. PRESIDENT THAN TRUMP OR HILLARY

Listen to the powerful words. Pay attention to the honest images. Certainly puts Trump and Hillary to shame big time. When will we ever learn?

VOW OF SILENCE ENDED: WHAT'S UP WITH FACEBOOK?

I don't get the popularity of Facebook or Twitter. It's all links (no original poetry or writing), and the same thing is going on with the aftermath of the 2016 election. Ten words or less, and we're supposed to believe the intelligence and sincerity of people that don't want (or care) to invest the time in composing a meaningful post?

How much easier to click on a link that makes little or no sense? This is sad. Does anybody do any actual research anymore? Oh, and the whole "Friends" issue: I seem to recall reading a Facebook post about a a fortysomething depressed woman that stated she was going to kill herself.

Guess what, people. Even though she had hundreds of  Facebook "Friends" - she was encouraged to take her own life. Which she ultimately did.

Jesus Christ on a cracker:  I think I'll stay at Blogger. At least I'll be able to stay alive. At least I hope so.

I'M TAKING A VOW OF SILENCE TODAY

BLUE DAYS

I am alone now
And the sky is without clouds:
We are very blue

Haiku Copyright 2009 by Dylan Mitchell

BLACK CATS ARE COOL (EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR)

A friend sent this to me early this morning, and I could not resist posting it on my blog: I've always been partial to black cats - and not just on Halloween. Anyway, hope your Pumpkin Day has been a happy one for you!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

TO KILL A COCKROACH (TAKE 2)

Cockroach, cockroach
dashing across my
kitchen floor:

You were shameless
and ugly, but you
are no more.

Where did you come
from? Did I carry
you home from the

store? Or how about that
messy neighbor with
his beer cans and

garbage galore? Did you stagger
to my place, after he booted
you out the door? Now I'll

never learn the truth
because I came up with the
perfect cure: A little bit of

Lysol spray - made you
gasp your last, I'm sure.
You're not as daring and

quick on your feet as
you used to be before.
Just a disgusting creature

on its back, never to nibble
on my crackers anymore:
or shamelessly sip from my

unguarded cup. Show a
little respect for the poor!
Good riddance to your

filthy habits and hunger:
You will not disturb
me anymore. With

one swift flush
I bid you farewell:
Is that not what a toilet is for?


Copyright © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell 

THE MOON AND THE YEW TREE

WHAT THE MINISTER DID NOT SAY

(for Elizabeth)

she left home at thirteen she lived with a man old
enough to be her father she was a mother at four-
teen she washed clothes in a tub she liked Elvis
she smoked she worried about her thin hair she
ate a lot of macaroni and cheese she had trouble
sleeping she set traps for the mice she played
cards she was fond of people and animals she
owned a used typewriter she had few friends she
dreamed of a better life she died young

Poem © 2013 by Dylan Mitchell

A MAD POET'S LOVE LETTER TO AMERICA

America, none of the little tricks I use to give
depression the finger would work for me today
(just do one small thing, damn it, and don't
worry about the rest). So I just stayed in bed all
day, and tried to read somebody else's famous
poems - till the hot sun was finally gone, and I
could find no bright moon or burning stars
anywhere in the dark sky, when I was able
to drag my tired body out of bed at last, pull
back the curtains, open the blinds, and stand
by the high window looking down on the
deserted Park Blocks: No people, no pigeons, no
buses, no cars - only good old Abe Lincoln
meekly staring at his feet. And another block
down, cocky Teddy Roosevelt topping some
great dark horse - bear hunting, I believe.
(Could I interest you folks in a Teddy Bear,
circa 1923?) It was midnight in The City Of
Roses, you see (aka Portland, Oregon), and I
needed a shave and a shower very badly, but
didn't have the energy for both. So I only
managed to scrape the eight day beard off
of my face, and put on some smelly clothes
and my only pair of shoes.

And everything seemed much too heavy
for me to lift, much too heavy, even the pure
cotton cap I pulled down low on my
head to cover up my immense guilt and shame.
But I managed to bend over and tie both of my
shoes twice, like a good crazy person should.
And I was so happy, so incredibly happy to find
the elevator empty at last when the doors
squeaked open, and I rode it nine floors down,
all the way down to the basement. And opened
my mailbox to find the forty dollar check I'd
earned by taking the #8 bus to the big hospital
on The Hill last month, and answering a lot of
degrading questions about what it's like to be
insane in America.  And the smug blue-eyed
doctor made me feel ugly and ashamed, so very
ugly and ashamed, but I needed the money. So
I smiled and told him all my deep dark secrets
about madness - how it hurts, and how it helps -
and now three weeks later I'm being paid for
my services, I'm finally being paid: like some
kind of cheap, half-cracked whore the good
doctor really didn't want to pay.

Copyright © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell

SATURDAY SONGSTRESS: BOBBIE GENTRY

I love the lyrics to this song. So much mystery! There are at least ten different interpretations of this haunting song. I personally think it's a very strong statement about abortion. However, the movie's take on this song is about the stigma of being gay - not abortion.

What's your thoughts on the matter? At any rate, I sure do wish Bobbie Gentry had recorded more music. She had a genuine story teller's gift that is rarely found in popular music. And that voice!

LETTING GO...

A new microwave
An old vase breaks on the floor
Treasure the present

Haiku © 2016 by Dylan Mitchell

Roy bought me a new microwave! It's twice the size of my old one, so I can now buy and cook food I was never able to cook before (microwave was way too small). This is really good news.

I thank you much, Mr. Roy!!

Dylan

PIECE OF HER HEART

 

Afraid and lonely
A wallflower from Texas
Bloomed into a rose

Haiku © 2014 by Dylan Mitchell

TAKING A BREAK...

Click on image to make it larger

A lot is going on lately in my life, and I have much catching up to do. So I've decided to take a break from the internet for a bit, so I can accomplish some of the real life stuff I have been avoiding big time. I'd like to thank everyone that was kind enough to take a long peek at my blog. It really has meant a lot to me.

I leave you with one final cat pic. My good friend (Roy) recently encountered this enchanting fellow while he was on vacation. If anyone would like to chat with me, please feel free to send me an email (address can be found in my profile). I hope everyone has an awesome spring and summer. I'll be keeping you in my thoughts.

Dylan

FRIDAY THE 13TH (PICTURE PERFECT FRIDAY)

I'm frankly quite astonished that more bloggers are not writing about this subject? But I've always been very superstitious, so I guess I'm among a minority.

I will not go out into the world on this day. I'll stay inside, listen to lots of music, and read stuff on the internet.

One story I just read was about how black cats are less likely to be adopted from animal shelters except on Halloween and Friday the 13th. Then suddenly everybody wants one. And how most shelters are reluctant to let just anyone adopt a dark kitty on those two days: The screening process suddenly becomes quite difficult and endless - as it very well should.

I'd laugh about this if I did not know just how weird and twisted most of humanity can be. A black cat is really cool to have on Halloween and Friday the 13th, but easily discarded after such unholy days are done? (By the way, I am not a Christian.) I've owned several cats and three were black. I could never just discard one in such a cruel and casual way.

But I'm just a very weird and twisted poet. Stay safe out there, people and cats both...

Essay © 2016 by Dylan Mitchell

A LITTLE SOMETHING FOR JON: MOONLIGHT SONATA

RUSSIA LOVES ME!

Not trying to sound like Sarah Palin *sarcasm* but the kind folks in Russia take a peek at my blog on a more regular basis than most Americans. I suspect it's all the song posts they are attracted to? I really don't know. But I am quite grateful.

Oh, and nothing beats Russian ballet. Baryshnikov really does know his stuff . Bravo 101 times!

THROWBACK THURSDAY: MACARTHUR PARK

I never really cared for disco music, but Donna Summer had a sublime voice that was impossible to ignore. She's no longer with us, but her music lives on.

Interesting fact: She did not live very far from the World Trade Center when that tragedy took place. She ended up with cancer, and believed all the fallout dust was the cause of her terminal illness. If  this is true, then we can add another person to the list of people that lost their lives to the single most horrible event which took place during my lifetime.

Rest in peace, sweet lady.

A LITTLE SATURDAY NIGHT WISDOM...

BIRTHDAY SONG: TAKE 2

I hope you're able to hear/see this beautiful tune. Keep me posted!

BLUE MONDAY

Janis Joplin once famously said that the worst day of the week is Sunday AND they close the bars? This is one of the very few times I disagree with the great lady of Rock/Soul/Blues. Mondays are the worst: First day of  bullshit school, a tedious job, or just doing our best to make some sense out of a life that is often brutal and coarse.

I don't know the exact stats, but more people off themselves on Monday than any other day of the week. At least as best I can remember from reading The Savage God. That includes the U.S. and UK.

Well, music has always helped me in a huge way, so I offer this sublime little tune by The Mamas and Papas.

And I pledge that we all should do our best to at least make it to Tuesday. Sorry for such a grim post, but this wretched weather is clearly doing rather odd things to my mind and emotions. It will be better tomorrow, they always say. I hope this proves to be true for once. Now wouldn't that be nice?

Dylan

SPLENDOR IN THE SNOW

I'd like to take a moment and say something about a dog. Because I did actually meet and know a really good one. So please don't think that I dislike ALL dogs. Because I don't. I just think cats are more of a challenge. And I really do like a good challenge. Anyway, we used to have this wonderful little mutt (her name was Tina) when I was growing up in Chicago. Tina was a genius. I'm being serious here. That dog was ten times more intelligent than the rest of the people I lived with in our house. I used to look at her sometimes, and I swear she could tell exactly what I was thinking. If I was about to say: Wanna go for a walk? Her long floppy ears would prick up a bit, and she would tilt her fuzzy little head all of a sudden. And then when I finally said the words she already knew I was going to say - she would dash to the front hall, grab her leash off the table, and in a flash - she was motioning for me to slip it on her collar so we could get the hell out of there, and go on one of our great adventures together outside.

She loved to spend hours in the snow, and so did I. We both liked winter better than summer. And when we went to the park on a late winter afternoon: it seemed like we were the only living souls there, and all that white wide open space belonged to us alone. Later, after we finally decided to go back home - if I was feeling especially sad or depressed about something and hiding all day in bed under the covers - Tina would suddenly appear out of nowhere, and start making these really pitiful little whining noises at me. I'm pretty sure she was letting me know that she was on my side, and I didn't have to suffer alone anymore. And then after I patted the bed a couple of times, she would let out a little yip of joy, and hop in with me. Then she'd lick my face twice (never more than that), and we'd settle down to take a little nap together. And a lot of the sadness really did seem to go away for awhile.

Another amazing thing about Tina: She was wild about Shakespeare (mostly the tragedies). I'm not making this up. She loved it when I read long passages of Hamlet or Romeo And Juliet to her out loud. She would just look at me with those big brown intelligent eyes of hers, and give me her absolute attention as Shakespeare's poetry rolled off of my tongue. So you see why I say she was a genius now? And there will never be another dog like her. At least I haven't met one yet. Because one day in late December, after she somehow escaped from our fenced in front yard and failed to come right back home - I spent close to six hours out in the freezing Chicago snow, desperately calling out her name as I searched for her in our favorite park. But she was gone forever. Just like that.

And after my hands and feet were so numb that I couldn't feel them anymore, I made my uncertain way back home, and somehow just knew that I'd never see her intelligent big brown eyes again. And her leash on the table in the hall made me so very sad, that I threw it in the trash the very next day. But her memory was not as easy to let go of. Because no other dog I have ever met has managed to replace her in my heart. And no dog ever could. So maybe that's why I decided to just be happy with cats? Because I got tired of always looking for another Tina, when there is not another dog like her in all the wide world. So it was time to let go. No more long walks in the snow.

Essay © 2016 by Dylan Mitchell

GLASS SODA POP BOTTLES: 1976 -2016

I "inherited" a pair of these glass Coke bottles (circa 1976) when my lover passed away. Since all Coke/Pepsi bottles are now plastic, it never dawned on me to start collecting them. However, that all changed a year ago when I happily discovered Safeway was actually selling glass bottles of Coke, Pepsi, Sprite and 7 Up.

So I bought two bottles of Pepsi....

and two bottles of Coke (made in Mexico?). I intend to buy the green Sprite and 7 Up bottles when I make my next trip to Safeway. I'll get a pair of each: I'd like to think they are keeping each other company :-)

P.S. What do you collect?  

YOU

     

Photograph by Robert Mapplethorpe

                                  
Why does love
hurt so
much?

Parting, parting
is such sweet
torture.

Tongue-tied and
in sterling
silver

chains
I do a wobbly
waltz

and play with
the best of
Shakespeare

for only you:
my love,
my mirror,

my special
friend
from

Romeo and Juliet's
high balcony as
photographed

by Mapplethorpe in
stark, disturbing
black and white.

Sir, will you come again?

Poem © 2016 by Dylan Mitchell

CRASH COURSE: LANGSTON HUGHES

CRASH COURSE: THE CATCHER IN THE RYE (PART 2)

CRASH COURSE: THE CATCHER IN THE RYE (PART 1)

CRASH COURSE: EMILY DICKINSON

CRASH COURSE: SYLVIA PLATH

SYLVIA PLATH READING "DADDY"

1932 - 1963

KURT COBAIN TALKS ABOUT FRANCES FARMER...

CHICAGO STORY

I remember loving all the gray snow,
fearing the homeless on Howard
Street, and liking the free hot soup
at Good News soup kitchen.
It was one of the oddest dates
I'd ever been on, and you were
one of the most beautiful men
I'd ever slept with. Was it on a
Wednesday? When you sat down
beside me at the small Art Deco
bar in Rogers Park? Everybody
watching Dynasty, and I pretended
not to notice you as I worked on a
dark poem about lust and suicide.

Then you bought me a beer, and
I soon found out you were a
collector of rare German coins
and broken hearts. Two hours later
I was in your unmade bed, and what
we did to each other was so good
and natural, we became lovers
without ever having to say the word.
And when you showed me all your
gold and silver coins before I went
home, then invited me to have
dinner with you at a soup kitchen
that night, I thought you just might
be the oddest man I'd ever known.

So I had to say yes, and there
would be many more strange and
beautiful nights of poverty and
passion - rare coins and soup
kitchens - until you got sick
and drifted away in a terrible fog.
And all I remember is
loving the gray snow,
fearing the homeless
on Howard Street,
and wanting to lose
myself forever in your
deep dark kiss
like the Baltic sea.

Poem © 2016 by Dylan Mitchell

WHEN NIGHT IS ALL I KNOW

When there is no light to see
I shut my eyes
open my ears
hear the grasses softly swaying
like dancers in a beautiful ballet

When there's nothing but blackness
I close my mouth
breathe in, breathe out
smell the rich garden
beneath my open window

When darkness is my only friend
I lift my arms
relax my hands
let my fingers touch
a sweet stranger's face

When night is all I know
I stop reaching for the sun
take off my proper hat
give my long hair to the wind
happy to be alive in the bright moonlight


Poem © 2016 by Dylan Mitchell

MY FAMOUS DOLLAR TREE MOP...

Yes, you really can buy a mop for a dollar. I know this because Roy bought me one a few months ago, and I've been using it like a madman. Apart from the handle being a foot shorter than a "normal" mop, it gets the job done just as well as its taller cousin.

Since I was at Safeway yesterday, I decided to do a hasty price comparison. The cheapest mop to be had was twelve times more expensive! Alas, there is no Dollar Tree store near my apartment building, so I guess I'll continue to spend twelve times more for everything I need to survive, and somehow learn to suffer Safeway gladly.

My new and improved idea of heaven is finding a cheap apartment across the street from a Dollar Tree. I'll start praying tonight...

Susan Boyle's Amazing First Audition (Britain's Got Talent 2009)

I NEED THESE BOOTS! YESTERDAY!

I almost broke my neck walking (more like hiking) back from Safeway at least three times so far this year. Safeway, huh. Isn't it a bit ironic? Anyway, the boots are more than $100, so that's out of the question.

Tried to find a memorable song about boots to make my tale of woe more uplifting. It just doesn't get much better than Nancy Sinatra :-)

SOME LIKE IT HOT (FAVORITE SCENE FOR ROY)

THE ROSE: CHRISTOPHER MALONEY NAILS IT!

Would love to see Christopher do a duet of this song with Bette. Music Magic :-)

BRIGHT FLOWER

Give me not fame or fortune;
those I only wanted when I was young.

Now I humbly seek the scent of  a
rose in full bloom. I remember you

leaning over the steel hospital bed to
tell me you could not see the bright 

flower I brought to you each Saturday
night. And how sad it was that you could

no longer taste food or drink. Kevin,
I think of you each time I sit down to

Saturday supper alone. And wish you were
still here, to taste the warm goodness.

And see and smell the bright red rose in all its
glory on a splendid Saturday night.

I will never forget.

Poetry © 2016 by Dylan Mitchell

JONI MITCHELL: WOODSTOCK (LIVE PERFORMANCE)

ON A MORE POSITIVE NOTE: WOODSTOCK (THE ORIGINAL)

JOHN DENVER: SUNSHINE ON MY SHOULDERS

It's way too cold in Portland. Give us some of that heat and sunshine!