Log in

No account? Create an account
spring 2012



featuring the art of Bill Rogers

Notre Dame Cathedral is on fire!
spring 2012
Sad day. April 15th, 2019, Monday of Holy Week. Notre Dame Cathedral is on fire! Roof collapsed!

Railway pondering....
spring 2012
You get this strange look into Florida history when you ride a train. You see the names of towns that used to be hub towns that now are almost unknown, aside from the train crowd. You can also get this sense taking older roads which were more dominant before the current interstate pushed them into a kind of forgetful backland. I love seeing these layers, imagining whole lifeways associated with them, remembered by perhaps a few, and now forgotten. There is a sense of sadness mixed with the flash and excitement of the new. You might begin to see the present as a future backland, but in this meditation on brokenness and layers you might also find hidden consistencies, which map onto the places between old roads, old trackways and the current landscape. Taking a train ride is certainly good for the noggin.

Did I just make a rhyme?
spring 2012
Eu gosto das cores daquelas flores.

And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendour....
spring 2012
Francis 5

"Praised be You my Lord with all Your creatures,
especially Sir Brother Sun,
Who is the day through whom You give us light.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendour,
Of You Most High, he bears the likeness."

~Saint Francis

Before It's Too Late
spring 2012
Before It's Too Late

Before It's Too Late
original artwork by: Bill Rogers

Lima Center Road
spring 2012
Lima Center Road

Be aware of your surroundings at all time. You never know who might turn up.

Henry's Dream: taken from R.A. Lafferty's Archipelago
spring 2012
Henry dreamed that night, as he knew he would, and of a boat. The name of the boat was the Navicula Petri. It looked like a Galleon, and yet it was quite other. There were many pennants and flags flying from it.
In hoc signo vinces, said one of them. And there was another in the looping handwriting of Finnegan, the left hand of Finnegan for he wrote left-handed half the time: Nisi esses sollicitus--, and then the Latin was scratched out and it was Englished boldy: If you can't be careful, be good.
Ubicumque fuerit corpus illic congregabuntur et aquilas, said another, and it was an echo of the high motto of The Dirty Five. And then there were three banners in a series that read: Tu es Petrus, and Portae inferi non prevalebunt, and tibi dabo claves regni.
There were various devices. There was a Lamb, and a Greek Cross. There was a Fish, and a Six-Pointed Star. "I always assumed it would be five-pointed," said Henry, "but I don't know why I thought so."
There was a woman , and a Serpent, and a Crescent Moon. "If I were making the little boat," said Henry,"I would consolidate the symbols for neatness."
It was hard to discern whether this was a toy boat, or a real boat afar off. Part of it was plainly more real even than the prosaic world, and part of it was drawn in with child's crayola. The seamen may have been dolls, or they may have been alive. There were the Apostles; and Stephen and Paul and the Baptist; Linus and Clement and Cletus. There were Barbara and Catherine, looking like sea-urchins, there were Gregory and Constantine. Jerome and Augustine glared at each other over a davit. Francis and Anthony were there, Thomas and Patrick, Hildebrand and Adrian the Dutchman. The Theresas, French and Spanish; and Joan and Xavier.
"It is odd that I know them," said Henry, "for I never saw them before. But that is who they are."
The boat was in trouble, and it gained in verisimilitude as the waves rose and the wind blew. It was a real ship and it was badly tossed, et descendit procella venti in stagnum, et complebantur et periclitabantur, and the account seemed to be translated for Henry into his own tongue like the sub-script of a foreign language movie, un tourbillon fondit sur le lac La Barque se replissait d'eau--
"Never mind," Henry told the dream. "I recognized the passage. I always preferred the Vulgate to the French."
There was salt in the spray. Was the Sea of Genesarat salty? Or was this bigger boat on a larger sea?
And now Henry first noticed the shattered and broken masts. There were many masts once, and the boat must have flown like a great white castle; but now they were splintered and down. There was Albion of the White Cliffs where Apostasy is foretold in the Apocalypse. There was Moscovy which was Third Rome. There was Gaul itself. And others were betopped and tottering.
A multitude was watching the boat, and almost any one of it could have reached out a hand and helped. But the people believed it was only a toy boat, as Henry at first had believed. They did not know that it was real and was about to go down: and that if it went down, the whole world would go down with it.
But Henry the Frenchman from the swamps knew that it was real and that he was involved with it. He also knew that it was the same ship as the Argo on which he already sailed, but that the quest had been sanctified during these last short millennia.
And he realized, before he awoke, that this was his Vocation; and that, whether he accepted it or not, it had come down to him.

~from Archipelago by R.A. Lafferty, Chapter 2 Part 4

Swamp Thoughts
spring 2012

If I had to create a soundtrack for Boomer Flats, this would be a good first pick.

Blue Scarf Girl
spring 2012
Dumb smile hoodie
Sits on her cheap wooden coffin
A goddess on the back of a tiger
Made of bent hangers and old magazines?
Two pairs of pants
Two shirts and two jackets
Hers is the July of winks and old coffee
Silently she breaks all the spines
Like de-veining shrimp
She curls up Exodus
Like a sea of reeds
And cuts down hairy and clawed old kings
With her grimy fingertips and bit nails
She bends back poor Saint Jude
Jesus' poor, mostly unknown cousin
Always stripped of his green kirtle and happy little picture
She promptly transfigures herself
Into her rap star avatar
With her right cheek twisted up just so
And her garland of lipstick stained hotlids
A blue bandana rhyming dictionary
One-woman variety show
Camped out forever
At big breakfast bus stops
Biting off the heads of sweaty apostles
Spitting them under the highchairs
And planting them in the Linux section
Mumbling on about influential Austrian families
She has never met and never will meet
And like many local gods these days
Summoning herself in a mirror forever

Gorilla Kid
spring 2012
Absent-primate meltdown
Red-faced and winded
Slams down winter jacket
In maniac spiralation
Between fractional sums
And rock candy dioramas
Yes we have no gorillas
Yes we have no orangutans
Yes there are no large non-human primates here
We chased off Pan trogoldytes
And banished Pan paniscus
And joyfully forced the migrations
Of weird sharks, old pro wrestlers,
Bitter essayists, faddish geomancers
And the cutest of all cute penguins