Shouldn’t pixures sumtimes “say it all”? In summary, the above were all taken “recently” — within the past month and this week is the start of ThanksTaking Week, 2019. Lazy cat … Continue reading
The sky’s on fire — many evenings the turbulent interchanges betwixt the coming night-fall and the departing day would merit a television/cable-channel soap opera ~ and the ring-necked-dove-on-a-wire tranquilly oversees the whole thing… to be replaced by the contrail of … Continue reading
and other mixcellaneousnesses ~ Below: recently we drove by the (allegedly WW2-era secret) Silos of Mysteriousness, in Glade Park (Colorawdough). Our pixure don’t do them justice — constructed of concrete, these are relatively HUGE — 50 yards or so in length. … Continue reading
This morning I signed in to register for a trail race — the MMS Desert 5-mile Water-Tower Run. Who would I be? i briefly puzzled … my real name? one of the usual aliases? and then, glancing back at the … Continue reading
or Prey, Lewd? to Oregon Beach Zombie Apocalpyse Survival Camp Vacation Weekend ! anyhow, I am bracing for the upcoming weekend “on the beach” with the family in Oregon. To cover all bases, whatever happens should fall under the narrative … Continue reading
INUKSUIT ramblings (“i used to make wombats”) Ah … a span of time without anchors. A day off from work! No chores at home either (you know, stuff like: leaky faucets, doors not plumb within frames, unsightly detritus on the … Continue reading
A nite or two ago, out peeeng in the yarrd, cigar in the other hand, the warm nite breeze stirring what’s left of my ever-diminishing hair, clothes scattered somewhere in the house, dogs snuffling about in the bushez nearby, i … Continue reading
The State of the Entropy
or … the continuing Entropy of the State. And whining about it.
Whining? the usual: i complain, no-one listens, gettin’ more and more tired (whuddelse izz gnu?). In part due to THE HEAT. i don’t know about you, but when the temps hit 80, then 90 (today) i fade. doin’ the yard chores at a pace which varies between a zombie-shuffle to the occasional medium-shuffle.
i’ll spiffify this happy post with CAT PIXURES, and when Betty flew away two daze ago to be GrandMa in Portland, she lamented she might miss her flowers bloomin’. so the cat pixures will be interspersed with flower-pictures.
and a pict. of a kitten (well, heez a BIG kitten, small kitty now) with harmonicas.
yeah, i “auditioned” tonite at a club in Fruita (check http://www.cavalcadefruita.com)
with the gist (or izzit speld “jist”?) of my plan of attack being
ROSCO BUTCHERS THE CLASSICS
and they said “you’re on” for the next monthly show.
and that’s not all …
Betty and our “old band” is also playin’ Cavalcade “talent”! and someone wants to re-start up the banned! our ‘musical life’ temporarily looks optimistic. don’t worry, it’ll pass …
the annual José Puede Ver? occurred last weekend, with Friday being one of my worst performances and Satyrday i ratcheted it up and think i performed ‘somewhat above average’. (“José Puede Ver” is what i call my annual playing of the National Anthem with blooz intro and some banter at the W. Colorado H.S. Track (& Field) Championships.)
betty’s complaints, my fault: her flight to Portland was delayed, twice. THAT was, somehow, my fault, for purchasing those particular plane tickets. and when she got there, her cell-phone wouldn’t work. That too, was my fault. ’til her daughter TURNED THE PHONE OFF, and when it turned on, the phone knew where it was and calls have been coming and going.
Ah, the Whining: sometimes i think i ‘pen’ something which WerdPress might “take notice” of. profile. push to front and center (they call it “Fresh Pressed”). deafeningly not this!, but … i figgerd “tormented souls”?? — my previous post, which was the first serious not-totally-off-the-cuff post inna while. by that i mean i axually THOUGHT about it. edited it intensely. yeah, you probably can’t tell …
and, how about FICTION CATEGORY: they didn’t pick up ERIK/DYLAN snow cave camp? or Cry Kwakiutl? ? or Uggedda Buggetta??? Seminal short stories, people!
and Japhy ryder? — an intradimensional epic!
Perhaps WerdPress ought-a have ANOTHER, ‘renegade’ category, Pressedly-Frest, with the symbol being, oh, a bl(e)ak hole — or some weird outdoor demented rock sculpture, for categories hitherto unthinkable. un-label-able. just plain outside of definition.
and T Pynchon (“Against when the sun is out”) (w)rang a chord recently:
Heading once more over the bridge, into the smoky orange sunset, he felt the sadness peculiar to the contemplation of recent time unrecapturable. Anything earlier, childhood, adolescence, they were done with, he could get by without any of that — what he wanted back was last week, the week before.
Hmmm… and i thought that was so significant when i read it a coupla daze back. Oh, well …
B ‘n me are entered into the local (low key?) Triathlon in a few weeks, as a team! She will swim, and i will split personas, one to ride, and (Rosco, i think) will run. The distance is such that i could easily have done the whole thing some 20 years ago. A mere 16-mile ride, followed by 3.5 mile CC. Heck, about 20 years ago i briefly held the (w)record for the local Duathlon (Citizen category), which was smusht the following year by REAL athletes.
The main race had departed, and all whom remained was us citizens. One fellow in particular, swaggeringly clad in lycra (there was a time when THAT was somewhat unusual) came up to me and asked what i’d do the 5k run in (the CIT du was a 5k run, 30k ride).
“Oh, i’ll try for 20-some.” That sounded good to him and he announced he’d hang with me, then take off.
I ran the 20-some, finishing in the first 5 or so of our race-within-a-race. Mr. Lycra was maybe a minute back, but overtook me at mile 5 or so during the bike. Seeing his aero helmet, disk wheels, tri-bar, I (mentally) conceded immediately. (I didn’t have those then, nor ever have, since).
Much to my surprise I saw him again at about mile 16. Unbeknownst to me, I also passed the leader in the ‘team’ category. I couldn’t tell as we were moving up through the slowest riders in the “real athlete” category. They’d have to run another 5k, whereas when i finished the ride, i was done. And won.
This year we hope to finish with enough energy to stay alive enough to go to the Cavalcade that night and be rock stars. Wottaday, for old weigh-overTheHill folks, huh?
This is a post, mostly pixures, about THE INUK-THINGY NEAR WOMBAT ARCH. And, of course, there will be other, random, unrelated observations. And ruminations.
Take a look at the Betunada site picture at the top of this ‘page.’ Rosco (me) is atop ‘Wombat’ Arch — and the photo is by Benjamin George (Eddie’s dad) from a few years back.
As you can tell, it definitely IS an “arch.” It helps to have day, or sky-light visible as the backdrop. So … these photos (below) are from ABOVE the arch, and the “arch-ness”, or archeosity, or arch-essence, qualities, character, whatever, is/are not as obvious. And there’s an INUK-THINGY nearby. Enjoy … and just wait ’til dessert …
Two dogs (RockSea and da Slevv) are on top of the arch. I was leery of doing same, as it seems to have possibly crumbled a little from the prior visit, and the integrity (not to mention ‘safety’ factor) could be in question. Probably silly of me to have thought this, but it WAS windy. Never-the-less, there are several hundred pounds of rock being held up. There will, eventually, be a return visit and opportunity for goofy portraits …
What, if anything, do I think about when rambling through the high desert? One pleasant and happy thought was that I considered walking across the arch, but being alone (the only ‘human’) it would be my luck for the thing to collapse, and the good chance I wouldn’t be killed, but would be horribly and painfully mangled. So, if there’s someone(s) with me, I’d do it (walk across, stand there), so whoever could report to whoever one reports to if the thing collapsed.
The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali tell us that connection to and realization of the unity among and behind and around all things is always close. Within. If it was a measurable distance to get to it, it would be less than an inch. But … the barriers, what keeps each of us, me, you, from that realization must be daunting. Intertwined. A thicket. A large overturned semi-truck blocking the road, hazardous waste spilled and ankle-deep in places. The Haz-Mat crew out in full PPE mopping and sopping and bagging it up. No, IT AIN’T THAT COMPLEX. It should all be so very very simple. I tell myself that, and try to clear the mind, stop the infernal dialogue, concentrate. Sometimes I manage to try to hold this thought for … oh, maybe ten seconds. I am so, very … deep.
I wuzz deriving to werk a coupla daze back, feelin’ paranoid. That old familiar feeling. Doom, more gloom, around the corner, under the bed?, through and within the forest, never far away. And then another thought put it all in perspective. A line from the movie “Men In Black” (Part II or III, I think) spoken by the Tommie Lee Jones character: THERE IS ALWAYS A KIRILLIAN DEATH-CRUISER ABOUT TO DESTROY THE EARTH.
PLEASE CLOSE the GATE. (Another boring high-desert ramble Wif Da Dorgz)
I don’t know what they’re keeping out, or in. Perhaps they just want to make all the motor-idiots slow down, even stop, while going from one side to the other. This gate nor fence wouldn’t deter the bighorns, below …
The Nine-Mile Hill bighorn sheep herd, part of which is pictured above, hadn’t been very visible these past few months. Today, they’re out grazing, in their full glory for all the nearby highway traffic to view.
Meanwhile, back at “the gate” Rocksea, Sleven, and Dually engage in a pre-hike sniffaroony.
We stop on a ridgetop just south of what I call East Pass to Cactus Park. View is to northwest — with snow-covered Pinyon Mesa on the horizon, and the red desert sandstone cliffs along Unaweep Canyon beyond the relatively flat Cactus Park. What would be impressively visible just a couple miles further west — unseen from this vantage point — are the massive pre-cambrian granite cliffs which displace and replace the reddish sandstone.
Turning 120-degrees to the east, we look to the shaley steep slopes of theBookcliffs. What you can’t see is that my house, along with a few thousand others, is on the valley floor before the Bookcliffs.
Gibbler Mountain, the primary west-edge landmark of Cactus Park. A pleasant breezy cloudily-scattered-cloudy day.
Dool pauses alongside an inuk-thingy in the trees.
Rocksea peers down …
The truck is just off the “road” towards the left.
We get home. The kitten is prostrate at the foot of the Lithograph of the Cat-Saint Bearing Fish.
… we’re in trouble.