Haiku IV

Warm silent laughter
Soft strains of Irish music
Starry Plough session.

What is not clean is hidden

My most kind and benevolent mother offered her services the other day. Out of the blue she offered her magnificent skills at the art of cleaning. So, this of course means that I need to remove all signs of my Metropolitan from her line of sight. She isn't to know I have it until it looks like the amount of money I have spent on it. All the spare parts and any other parts I happen to be working on were removed from my living room and transfered to the car itself. There is a ratty old tarp covering the car, but it still looks like a ratty old tarp covering a car. I fixed this by putting a new tarp on it to cover the holes in the old one whilst simultaneously hiding the few parts (wheels, bumpers) that could still be seen. Still, it looks like a small car. Any small car I happen to have on the property would very obviously be mine, and be a Met. I fixed the silouette problem by putting a crate of junk up on the hood of the car, under the tarp. Now it looks like maybe a tractor, or somesuch other piece of junk. She never suspected. Also my kitchen and living room are the cleanest they have ever been. There is no longer a layer of grime on the counters, and the odd pile of papers, boxes, automobile and bicycle parts is quite gone from sight. The rubbish has been burned or is burning. The rest is soon also to go, providing I keep at the work. Stop laughing.

Living alone

I find it more than passing strange to come home after seeing something bizarre and have no one to tell about it. The house is too big for just me. I rattle around like spring snakes in a can of beer nuts. I'm all ready to jump out, but there is no one to surprise. My wit goes unappreciated when only the cat is there to listen. I have discovered that with only me and the neighbor who is too far away to hear, I can play my whistles when I please. I have practiced my didgeridoo two nights running now at midnight. Perhaps if I keep this up, it might actually sound as it should one of these days. May God have mercy on you all if I ever think I am good enough to play in public.

If I had just one more, I could play

The stove is burning merrily and the house is quiet. Music appeals to me right now, but my good whistles are all at work. All that leaves me to play is one cornet, two bugles, a trumpet, my sousaphone, a didgeridoo, an isoka, an old rather crappy guitar, a mid-eighties keyboard, a hohner melodica, the glaviphone, one hawaiian conch, two harmonicas, and the radio. I also own a piano, but I haven't gotten that moved yet. Really, I think I would be happy in a pub someplace listening to people much better than me play. I know a good place to do that, but I really don't feel like driving sixty miles for the privelege. Also, the stove is here and I enjoy the warmth.

Unanswerable questions

Where does your spirit go when you sleep? I once thought I knew. My mind wanders too much when I sleep, and it bothers me. Sometimes I find myself staring into space wondering about an imposibility instead of dealing with the job in front of me. Time loses it's meaning and the work at hand seems petty and unimportant. The fact remains that the real world is truly the only one that matters here, and yet it seems somehow less important than some imagined fancy.

St. Valentine's Day

Beware heavily armed naked flying children. You never know where they might strike.

Full and tired

The second half of this week was a good one. There was a night in Oakland on Thursday with Terran watching a friend of mine play Irish music with south american bits as well as some jazz thrown in. It was a good night, however long. Saturday was spent with the Greater Bay Area Metropolitan Assoc. I talked to many people in the know. They ara all very generous with their knowledge and good, friendly people. They also sold me some good parts I happened to be missing. Sunday was another automobile day, spent on tour with the Arcane Automobile Assoc. Jeremy was kind enough to let me drive his very nice MGB whilst he rode with a friend of his in an Austin. From there we took a brief tour of Berkeley (where Jeremy used to live). At the end of the tour a cello-rific friend of mine called back and we (Jeremy, her cello-ness, and I) had dinner at a little Italian place down the road. All together, it was an excellent day. But for all that, my spirit still seems a bit tired. That in itself might soon be cured, as an old friend who has the healing gift has resurfaced. This was a very productive weekend, and I am glad for it.

Do you know? Can you guess?

Where was I and what was I doing when these were written? Two by Terran, two by me. You can guess which is which, if you please.

Multi-colored man
In front of abstract death-ray
Silently crouching.

Drum looks familiar
Not in Irish music though
Turkey's near Dublin.

Irish jazz bistro
Bongos beneath disco ball
Don't forget Buddha.

Watch out for that chair
Beer supercedes discretion
Dancing in the aisle.

The internet beat me up and stole my money

My heap now has seats! I just got them in the mail. There was a front bench before with no back rest. Now there is a back rest, a back seat (both bottom and back), the lock to hold it shut, and the pins to hold the front seat together. The only problem is that 1am is just too early/late to put them in.

Cleaning peanut butter

After two days of cleaning the house, I decided I needed cookies. Not one of those store bought pieces of cardboard, mind you, but the real, my goodness the house does smell good variety. Unfortunately I have no ability to think into the future. For example: Peanut butter cookie dough needs to be chilled before baking. If you mop your floor after making the dough, you can't bake it until the floor dries. I want my cookies dammit.

Silence, wonderful, creepy silence

My three room-mates (see above) just moved to Washington State this past Friday. The house is silent and just a touch eerie. I'll get used to it I suppose. Really, they haven't been gone very long, but somehow it just feels different than it would if they had just gone for the weekend. This is the first time I've ever lived completely alone. I will miss the two furry ones.

Haiku II

I have a good bit of my haiku written on things around the shop, but hardly anyone ever sees them. I change that here.

Violin sound-post
Frustration in a small space
Keeps falling over.

Swimming brown fuzz-duck
Australian platypus
Smaller than we think.

Putrid clarinet
Smell removes stomach contents
Birds fall from the sky.

There is much more, of course. I intend to drive you all nuts with it. Haiku is entirely too elegant and too easy. Be glad I don't write limericks.

Woohoo!!

I just took two (count them, two! Ah, ha, ha) tests online covering four chapters of which I have only read one and a half. I hope I did well, but I'll be shocked if I did. I dislike all this modern techno tom-foolery, and yet I take this class. Someone must have forced me. I am looking in your direction, Manny.