ㅁ Now tomatoes begin to sprout, so small: a bit of purplish fuzz along the leaves.
– a couplet in blank verse (iambic pentameter). The tomato is 1/4 inch tall.
Month: May 2020
Caveat: Tree #488
Occasionally it would be nice to have an actual, optical telephoto lens instead of just the digital zoom on my phone’s camera. I wanted to capture this small orange and gray hummingbird atop this tree. It’s blurry. But you can sorta make it out.
[daily log: walking, 2km]
Caveat: Sneaking Meeses
Arthur and I have been having problems with mice. Arthur calls them meeses – I think this is an old wordplay/joke of his.
They seem to be entering the house via the boathouse garage door – it’s not well sealed at the bottom where it fits over the boat trolley railing. Then they must come up the stairs and get into the kitchen. They ate half a bag of split peas I was storing in a drawer, and several corners of several of Arthur’s infinite stash of chocolate bars. They also got into the chocolate chips and under the stove, where they ate some cardboard in the drawer down there where the frying pans are stored.
Arthur has been putting out traps baited with peanut butter. We’ve caught at least 7 mice in the last 2 weeks.
Caveat: Art #8
This is another one of the architectural series from around 1989. The description at the bottom is in an imaginary language, I guess. I think of this building as being in my imaginary country, Mahhal.
Caveat: Poem #1373 “Obsesión en romance”
ㅁ Obsesión en romance Verde, que te quiero verde, Verdes ramas, cabello verde - Federico García Lorca. verde poeta que escribe verde poema de amor verde, dulce, sin sabor. verde que no puede ver, verde violencia boreal verde nieve me cae un copo verde. es agonía de mártir verde: niñez de montaña verde, y yace sobre tierra verde y fango verde y lodo verde. un caminante anda, verde calor de alma sola y verde, porque la mía sufre verde, porque el aire que es verde respira cabello verde de amor. soledad verde, invierno lluvioso y verde, como animales verdes. besos verdes. bailes verdes. niño verde, niña verde. el dios es ondulante y verde. un mar, que es increíble y verde... enojo... suicidio verde, me tiro en frente de un verde tren, tren rápido, verde, oscuro, poderoso y verde todavía. mátame, verde, aplástame ya que yo - verde - no quiero vivir. verde es odio del verde amor. verde es la revolución. verde, que se desangra, roja y verde. la odio. la odio tanto, verde, como rojo, pero verde, más bien es color verde que me asalta la nariz, verde como una máquina verde y poderosa: el alma verde. nos perdona la ira verde, nos antagoniza: verde faz completamente verde, cara de sangre - la verde sangre - de nuestra ira. verde en el suelo que es verde, escarcha de la estrella verde del cielo porque la verde redentora dice '¡verde muerte, verde vida, verde muera, verde viva!' verde ira, que nos enoja, verde grito en la noche verde pierde, raudamente, verde sentido - concepto verde - que conceptualiza un verde signo: Verdenada. es verde, nada, tras celeste y verde infierno, pide fiera verde, ¡oh, bestia!, come carne verde y podrida. pudor verde no perdonaría el verde espíritu claro, verde, ¿cómo conmover un verde apocalipsis? ¿qué es verde? es pérdida de amor verde que me es personal, verde, tan íntima. ¡huida verde hacia retrobución! verde me seduce tanto: verde de roja madera verde, aquel locus amoenus verde, es un espacio aterior. verde dentro verde. fuera, verde, una mera sonrisa verde... él vende el violento verde viento, va, devora, verde demonio, una momia verde, que padece el amor. verde estoy aquí esperando, verde te espero sin nada, verde, en el corazón mío. verde, blanco y azul soy, verde poeta con temor: el verde enojo me controla verdemente con verde ojo... verde ojo: te odio todo. verde es todo, resentido, verde que es resentimiento, verde que no es un dolor. verde, oh, ¡verde!, ¡no me digas! verde peso. verde sol. verde idiota, no te quiero. verde sube. verde baja. verde héroe en ascensor: verde bajando, subiendo, el verde nos sube, bajando. verde no nos puede ver, verde no ve verde nieve: es verde, o sea, que me dice esto: 'verde vida vale nada.' el verde enojo duele tanto, verde dolor, ¡la alienación verde no implica valor! es verde espacio, aterior. verde magia. verde amor. la verde pregunta no tiene verde calor, no responde verdemente, no responde. es verde salida: un razor verde... como mi dios. verde es existencialismo, verde captura la guerra. el verde suprime un vector de verde escape mayor, porque verde no me es nada más que verde. no quiero saber el verde nombre, tetraletra verde, diagrama letal: 'verde, verde, verde amor.' verde es un cuerpo sin órganos verdes, veo como película verde. verde joder, o hacer pajas, verde coño con coñac, verde verga rosada de un verde ojito singular y verde, me escupa semén verde y blanco. no tolero verde, es reinvindicación. verde es todo un universo verde, peregrino soy - verde - y me identifico con: ¡verde abismo, verde caos, verde desesperación! verde demonio locuaz, verde con conocimiento verde, y con olvido audaz. verde y rojo, desconexos. verde reina y verde rey. verde... sé que ideología es verde, y que encapsula verde vegetal y bestia verde (maniquea visión), verde miembro perdido por verde, como manicomio verde, con su corazón verde, explota en pedazos verdes, destruye el alma. verde pubis, ... mejor, ¡chocha verde!, que come como la verde diosa de la isla de verde costa y verde mar. verde nos explica que lo verde es la masturbación verde, y ¡tan intelectual! verde puta con vestido verde, con carne podrida, verde. Oh madre, madre tierra, verde tierra se cae (y cae verde) hacia abajo. un trabajo verde con verde cerebro. verde, anda adelante como verde caballo o caballo verde. yo tengo apellido verde, y dios tiene apellido verde: verde, como el mar. 'verde' describe la crisis verde ambiental del tercer verde disco, suspendido - verde - en cielo negro, solo. verde cerca, ver de lejos, verde loco, no me importa. verde onanismo de loco... verde obsesión sexual. verde demonio con pelo verde, y ahora llora un mar verde de lágrimas, ... bellas. verde es la inocencia, o sea verde la es mi amor. ¿no ves? un verde helicóptero alegre... verde choque de suicidio.
– un poema largo en métrica romance. This is another “guest post from the past.” It was written leading up to and during a hospital stay in early 1996. It’s not perfect – indeed it’s quite strange – but I feel it’s actually the most “literary” thing I ever did in Spanish. In origin, it leapt off from the famous poem by García Lorca, “Romance sonámbulo.” It might also be the longest poem I’ve written, to date, in either Spanish or English.
Caveat: Tree #487
This tree is good at sharing the limelight.
[daily log: walking, 1.5km]
Caveat: Deepfake Presidents Saying Bad Raps
“Deepfake” refers to the emergent art of digitally creating completely artificial video or audio, using AI (artificially intelligent) networks, to simulate real people. The quality of computer graphical animation is at such a level that it is possible to do this, now. You can make your own audio or video of people doing things they never really did, which is indistinguishable from real audio or video recordings.
Someone recently made a rerecording of NWA’s “Fuck Tha Police,” a classic hip hop song from 1999. But instead of the original artists’ voices, they’ve used Deepfake simulations of 6 famous presidents’ voices.
I find this entertaining and eerie.
Six U.S. Presidents (Speech Synthesis), “Fuck Tha Police” (rap by N.W.A.).
Lyrics.
“Right about now, N.W.A. court is in full effect
Judge Dre presiding
In the case of N.W.A. vs. the Police Department
Prosecuting attorneys are: MC Ren, Ice Cube
And Eazy motherfuckin’ E”
“Order, order, order
Ice Cube, take the motherfuckin’ stand
Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth
And nothin’ but the truth so help your black ass?”
“You god damn right!”
“Well, won’t you tell everybody what the fuck you gotta say?”
Fuck the police comin’ straight from the underground
A young nigga got it bad ’cause I’m brown
And not the other color so police think
They have the authority to kill a minority
Fuck that shit, ’cause I ain’t the one
For a punk motherfucker with a badge and a gun
To be beatin’ on, and thrown in jail
We can go toe to toe in the middle of a cell
Fuckin’ with me ’cause I’m a teenager
With a little bit of gold and a pager
Searchin’ my car, lookin’ for the product
Thinkin’ every nigga is sellin’ narcotics
You’d rather see, me in the pen
Than me and Lorenzo rollin’ in a Benz-o
Beat a police out of shape
And when I’m finished, bring the yellow tape
To tape off the scene of the slaughter
Still gettin’ swoll off bread and water
I don’t know if they fags or what
Search a nigga down, and grabbin’ his nuts
And on the other hand, without a gun they can’t get none
But don’t let it be a black and a white one
‘Cause they’ll slam ya down to the street top
Black police showin’ out for the white cop
Ice Cube will swarm
On any motherfucker in a blue uniform
Just ’cause I’m from the CPT
Punk police are afraid of me!
Huh, a young nigga on the warpath
And when I’m finished, it’s gonna be a bloodbath
Of cops, dyin’ in L.A.
Yo Dre, I got somethin’ to say
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the Police
“Example of scene one”
“Pull your god damn ass over right now”
“Aww shit, now what the fuck you pullin’ me over for?”
“‘Cause I feel like it!
Just sit your ass on the curb and shut the fuck up”
“Man, fuck this shit”
“Aight, smart ass, I’m takin’ your black ass to jail!”
“MC Ren, will you please give your testimony
To the jury about this fucked up incident?”
Fuck the police and Ren said it with authority
Because the niggas on the street is a majority
A gang, is with whoever I’m steppin’
And the motherfuckin’ weapon is kept in
A stash box, for the so-called law
Wishin’ Ren was a nigga that they never saw
Lights start flashin’ behind me
But they’re scared of a nigga so they mace me to blind me
But that shit don’t work, I just laugh
Because it gives ’em a hint, not to step in my path
For police, I’m sayin, “Fuck you, punk!”
Readin’ my rights and shit, it’s all junk
Pullin’ out a silly club, so you stand
With a fake-ass badge and a gun in your hand
But take off the gun so you can see what’s up
And we’ll go at it, punk, and I’ma fuck you up!
Make you think I’ma kick your ass
But drop your gat, and Ren’s gonna blast
I’m sneaky as fuck when it comes to crime
But I’m a smoke ’em now and not next time
Smoke any motherfucker that sweats me
Or any asshole that threatens me
I’m a sniper with a hell of a scope
Takin’ out a cop or two, they can’t cope with me
The motherfuckin’ villain that’s mad
With potential to get bad as fuck
So I’ma turn it around
Put in my clip, yo, and this is the sound
Yeah, somethin’ like that
But it all depends on the size of the gat
Takin’ out a police would make my day
But a nigga like Ren don’t give a fuck to say
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the Police
“Yeah man, what you need?”
“Police, open now”
“Aww shit”
“We have a warrant for Eazy-E’s arrest
Get down and put your hands up where I can see ’em”
“What the fuck did I do, man, what did I do?”
“Just shut the fuck up
And get your motherfuckin’ ass on the floor”
“But I didn’t do shit”
“Man, just shut the fuck up!”
“Eazy-E, won’t you step up to the stand
And tell the jury how you feel about this bullshit?”
I’m tired of the motherfuckin’ jackin’
Sweatin’ my gang, while I’m chillin’ in the shack, and
Shinin’ the light in my face, and for what?
Maybe it’s because I kick so much butt
I kick ass, or maybe ’cause I blast
On a stupid-assed nigga when I’m playin’ with the trigger
Of an Uzi or an AK
‘Cause the police always got somethin’ stupid to say
They put out my picture with silence
‘Cause my identity by itself causes violence
The E with the criminal behavior
Yeah, I’m a gangsta, but still I got flavor
Without a gun and a badge, what do ya got?
A sucker in a uniform waitin’ to get shot
By me or another nigga
And with a gat it don’t matter if he’s smaller or bigger
(Size ain’t shit, he’s from the old school, fool)
And as you all know, E’s here to rule
Whenever I’m rollin’, keep lookin’ in the mirror
And ears on cue, yo, so I can hear a
Dumb motherfucker with a gun
And if I’m rollin’ off the 8, he’ll be the one
That I take out, and then get away
While I’m drivin’ off laughin’, this is what I’ll say
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the Police
“The verdict
The jury has found you guilty of being a redneck
White bread, chicken shit motherfucker”
“But wait, that’s a lie!
That’s a god damn lie!”
“Get him out of here!”
“I want justice!”
“Get him the fuck out my face!”
“I want justice!”
“Out, right now!”
“Fuck you, you black motherfuckers!”
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Caveat: Art #7
I drew this around 1992. I expect it’s a still life of some props from an art class I took around that time.
Caveat: Poem #1372 “Epistemology”
ㅁ Sight constructs images engendering thoughts hopes dreams doubts plans which swirl in vast spirals on the field of perception sweeping conceptual gestures like galaxies of damp greenery.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Tree #486
A tree grows under the sky.
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: On Brokenwood and also the meta-mysteries of each day
Every evening, basically without fail, I watch TV with Arthur for 2-3 hours.
We don’t get broadcast TV or cable here. And streaming is too unreliable given our copper wire DSL connected to the rest of the world via Satellite uplink.
But Arthur has an immense library of TV shows and movies ripped from DVD and stored in his iTunes application hooked up to his Apple TV.
Mostly what we watch are mysteries and crime dramas, police procedurals, and old action movies. These are what Arthur prefers. He doesn’t like slow-moving dramas or “art films,” and doesn’t think much of comedy, either. But within his preferred genres his tastes are broad and cosmopolitan.
I enjoy these shows well enough, for the most part. But they aren’t compelling entertainment, for me. When Arthur has been gone at various times, and I’ve been here alone, I feel no inclination to watch TV on my own. I don’t miss it. But I don’t mind it when we do it, either.
One series I enjoy is a police detective series from New Zealand, called Brokenwood. The mysteries in each episode are genuinely mysterious – the show doesn’t telegraph the solution like many shows do. And there is a lot of understated humor in the scripts. I also enjoy the NZ accent. We recently started season 5.
In recent months, however, we’ve also been experiencing a kind of “meta mystery” each evening. A series we have been watching is the infamous NCIS – a US crime procedural which was ubiquitous on Korean broadcast TV, when I was living there.
Arthur has been struggling with his computer, and his efforts to rip and organize his shows. With respect to NCIS, he has repeatedly managed to mix up the titles/episode numbers vis-a-vis their actual contents. So for example we will start watching an episode labelled season 3, episode 18 only to find it is in fact season 3, episode 8, or season 2, episode 18. There is no particular pattern to the mistakes, but they are abundant. And Arthur gets quite perturbed, yet he struggles to sort out what is going on.
Each night, we have to start and stop several episodes to find the “right one” with respect to where we are in the series – given we are trying to watch them in order. Some nights, we give up and just watch one we haven’t seen. It doesn’t help that most of the time Arthur has no memory of any of the previous episodes, so he has to rely on me to tell him whether we’ve seen a given episode or not. I suspect this lack of short-term memory is also why the labels on the episodes get mixed up in the first place – he has his routines, which he won’t consider changing, where he does various cut-and-paste actions in his applications on his computer, and he holds information about which files he’s working with in his working memory. But if the working memory is unreliable, that can lead to the mislabeling we’re seeing. He won’t consider changing his procedure – I’ve suggested he write things down, or start breaking the steps down in such a way that he’s not trying to process multiple files at once. But he would rather spend an entire day re-arranging his files on his computer, cussing the whole time, only to find a mystifyingly still incorrect labelling of a collection of episodes as we sit down to watch in the evening.
It’s hard. There’s not much I can do. So lately I’ve taken to thinking of it, in my mind, as a kind of “meta mystery of the day”: to puzzle out what happened this time to the labels on the NCIS episodes. This has been going on for several weeks. I don’t expect it to change anytime soon. And given NCIS has some 400 episodes, we’re in for a long ride.
Caveat: Art #6
This is an incomplete sketch in pastels from around 1993. I was working from an old photograph. The people in the picture are my sister, our baby sitter Joe T., and myself, probably around 1970.
Caveat: Poem #1371 “Alternatives”
ㅁ I dreamed it, vivid though I had never lived there the streets, sky, people
– a pseudo-haiku
Caveat: Tree #485
The tree has captured its ancestor.
[daily log: walking, 1.5mi]
Caveat: Art #5
This is a spaceship I drew in 1980.
Caveat: un río de libros
Aunque le pregunte al aire Miro al aire y se convierte en una calle invertida, que se transforma en un río de libros, rostros, pañuelos, que se pone en pie y se vuelve esbelta torre, que sube y se troca en arcoíris, que se transmuta en escala por la que desciende una luz vertical y amarilla por la que camine - y cierro, por no cegar, los ojos - y ya no lo vuelvo a ver, aunque le pregunte al aire. - Ángel Crespo (poeta español, 1926-1995)
Caveat: Poem #1370 “Lollygagging vegetables”
ㅁ Here I have planted tomatoes to grow. Their germination - it seems to me slow. Giving them water and sunlight I guess serves to inspire them to lollygag less.
– a quatrain in a dactylic tetrameter.