pitchers tuck by buddy don: dance parade ny

on saturdy i ast miz bd whuther she mite be reddy to git out fer a stroll on a counta she had bin laid up with a fever fer a few daze, same as i had bin a lil earlier. i had sum errands to run over in man hattan, witch turnt out twuz jes whut she wonted to do since she had sum errands of her own to take keer of.

i brung along the camra lack i generly do n it turnt out to be a lucky thang i dun it on a counta we turnt onto 8th street down in the village sos we could find a place to eat when lo n behold thar cum the furst part of a parade rite at us.

twuz the secunt annual new york dance parade. i tuck a slew of pitchers, witch i figgerd ye mite lack to see a few of em ...

this here dancer wuz part of a troupe that i dint git the name of ... but they wuz dressed up real purty ...


folks of all ages gut into the ack, witch these folks wudnt part of no troupe but jes couldnt reesist the beat, witch look at the lady in the red hat n purpull dress ...


this cuple wuz dancin side by side rite in frunt of me ...


this purty gurl had a holt of her skirt to whar it seemed almos lack she had wings ...


twuz a verr warm day, but the troop of albanians dint keer on a counta thar costumes looked lack they wood make a bidy hot ...


thay wuz a troop of korean dancers, witch they had sum of the purtiest costumes of em all ...


ye kin see how much fun dancin kin be, witch thay wuz a more yunguns dancin than ye could shake a stick at ...


one of the best thangs bout takin pitchers at a parade is how folks will cum to mug fer the camra, witch heres a pitcher of a purty gurl who dun jes that ...


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waka of budouadana: Flame

Flame

Slowly setting sun
Paints the sky orange and red,
The reflected blaze
Scorching the very ocean
That daily drowns its bright flame.

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lame limricks of buddy don: no glitch

“The change you deserve,” is a sales pitch,
To hawk remedies meant to help switch
The depressing thick haze
Of sad days to glad days –
That one party needs it is no glitch!

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: the daily trudge to wurk

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: bargun huntin in hells kitchen

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waka of budouadana: Tenses

Tenses

Anger points backwards,
The mind blindly nursing ire –
Worry points forwards
The fearful heart lacking faith –
Flowers bloom in the present.

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pinions of buddy don: mass transit

whenever i deecided to move up here to the new york city area, i had me a few of the reason ye mite eggzpeck: wontin to live in the gratest city in the worl, wontin to have ackcess to all that cultchur, wontin to eggspand my horizons, wontin to live in a cosmopolitun place whar a bidy could meet folks frum ever part of the globe, wontin to here all kinds of langwages bein spoke everday as ye walk round town, etsetra.

but one of the biggest reasons wuz wontin to be able to live without havin a car or a car payment or a insurants payment or maintenunts costs or gas costs or oil to change or air filters to go bad or tires to rebalance or even wear out or encounters with drunk drivers.

i had dun alreddy lived in west germany (germany hadnt been re-united back then) a cuple of times, furst in frankfurt, then in münchen (witch tiz called munich fer sum reason over here). in bof places, i never needed a car even once. i could git to everwhar i needed to go fer jes a lil money by usin publick transportayshun. ifn i wonted to go to a nuther cuntry, twuz easy to git on a train. n twuz easy to walk round town, witch that aint the case in lots of places in the u.s.

so i wonted to live that kinda life fer a bit over here, witch i been a'livin in now fer nigh onto 23 years.

i know thays a passel of folk that thanks havin to take publick transportayshun is a fate wursern death, that they woodnt be safe amid all them other folk, witch tiz a fack that thays ever kind n color n relijun ye kin thank of on the subways n busses of new york n new jersey.

but after i larnt how to find my way around (n all ye have to do is ast innybidy ye see, witch folks up in here is much friendlier than they gits credit fer bein), i gut to lackin it even bettern i dun over in west germany.

i know tiz hard to bleeve a bidy is safe out amung folks without a tun or more of metal n glass round em, but taint the case. the subways carry moren 3 millyun folks everday n tiz a verr rare thang to here bout a sangle one of em havin inny problem with crime. tiz natcherul that they woodnt on a counta tiz jes folks on them trains, beesides witch thays plenty of poe-leece officers to keep thangs under cuntrol.

but the best thang bout it is how ye kin read whilst yer commutin to wurk! thats rite, ye kin git cumpletely inside of yer book without havin to wurry bout drivin.

thay aint no stress frum sittin in traffick, aint no need to wurry bout bein cut off by tuther driver, aint no need to stop to git gas ere ye run out, aint no need to find a parkin place, witch up in here it costs a fortchun to park fer jes one day, as much as it used to cost to fill yer tank ($30 or so). ye also dont have to find a place to park whenever ye git home. n ye aint eggspozed to drunk drivers that mite not notiss whuther thar about to wreck thar car or truck into ye.

i know that ye caint have this kinda life everwhar, that thays verr few places in this grate cuntry with the foresite to build em a publick transportayshun system, but ifn yer local place gits to thankin bout it, ye mite orta support it.

tiz a grate way to git frum here to thar, dont use near as much gas or uther fossil fuels, n aint near as stressful.

now that gas has riz almost to half whut folks pay over in europe, minnys the driver a'cunsidderin the same thang i do: commutin by mass transit. n ifn they caint do that, thar a'buyin smaller cars, witch that aint good fer a deetroit that dont wonta sell em.

sides witch, ye git to read, witch at the moment, i am a'readin Twilight at Monticello by a feller name of Alan Pell Crawford. plane fack is, i never red near as much back whenever i had a car n had to drive to git innywhar.

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pomes of buddy don: God's Words Matter Little

God’s Words Matter Little

Your Rushes, your Newts, your Rudys, your Freds,
And even your straight-shootin’ Saint John McCains,
Have all left their marks in and out of the beds
Of the ladies they loved as they ran their campaigns,
Proclaiming the need to sanctify marriage,
Not by being true to the ones they first married
But by making sure that they loudly disparaged
The wish to be wed by the gay folks they harried
With claims same-sex unions would somehow demean
The same marriage vows they themselves violated,
Pretending their own deeds were not so obscene
Despite the great values that they desecrated!

They know they won’t be called on their phoniness:
God’s words matter little since they own the press!

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waka of budouadana: Reprieve

Reprieve

With each new healing
Comes the faith to live again,
Comes the hope to thrive,
Although life leads straight to death:
Each fresh breath is a reprieve.

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lame limricks of buddy don: three fer a fridy

ye mite could have notissd how i luv to play with wurds n differnt forms of ritin pomes, so today i figgerd i wood give one of the gratest forms of all a shot: the limrick. heres three to git ye off to a grate weekend ...

Chicanery

What should we name such chicanery
(Like locusts on guard at the granary) –
The commons is sold
For a bag full of gold –
Why don’t we rename it “McCainery”?

Business as usual

The benefit was rather fleeting
In that old scandal named after Keating
Those caught in the scheme
Said 'twas nothing extreme
Just business as usual (cheating).

n jes to show i still luv the guy fer all he duz fer us everday ...

Shrubbery

There once was a man named for shrubbery
Whose use of plain facts was quite rubbery
We misunderestimate
Truths he might desecrate
Only to find ourselves blubbery.

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pomes of buddy don: God’s Great Exception

God’s Great Exception

We must accept that we are not the same
As all the rest of the world’s little states,
And that is why we can’t be held to blame
Or forced to obey quaint treaty dictates.

We're also God’s chosen, as history shows,
When God helped us wipe out the natives we found,
For they were to blame since they chose to oppose
Our manifest destiny: This is our ground!

When God gave us slaves to help us to build
A nation of freedom unlike all the rest,
Our glory was simply God’s great plan fulfilled:
When we set them free, we proved we were blessed!

To think we’d do wrong is to fall for deception,
For God made our country His own great exception!

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waka of budouadana: Bulb

Bulb

A bulb buried deep
In fall, frozen in winter,
Will bloom in the spring,
Breaking through barely thawed earth –
So, too, human intentions.

thays a lil bit of irony in how this waka cum to be writ. miz bd tole me she wood lack to see whuther budouadana could rite a waka on the subjeck of intenshuns, witch she even sed, 'cunsidder the request dropped on ye lack a seed.' so miz bd deesevers at lease half the credit fer thisn, witch she duz that fer most everthang i kin do.

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waka of budouadana: Fever

Fever

The burning eyeballs
Ache like red-hot glowing coals
As fever blazes
Throughout the sickened body,
A painful but cleansing purge.

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waka of budouadana: Clouds

Clouds

Rising purple clouds
Concealing blue skies, gold sun,
Swelling to a head,
Burst in rain on parched brown fields,
Repainting them in rich greens.

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waka of budouadana: Froth

Froth

Waves rush in and out,
As singular as humans,
Riding the moon’s tides
In their eternal motion,
Their froth as fleeting as fads.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: garden of dappled lite

everwhar ye look these daze, tiz beeyootifull ...



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readin of buddy don: books bout japan

fer the past year or so i bin readin a slew of books on japan, manely them that starts with the tokugawa period, tho i am innerested in the times befor that. heres a list of sum i thank ye mite wonta read yer ownself:

• The Making of Modern Japan by Marius B. Jansen: thisn is long n full of deetail but tiz hepful in gittin ye orientated to how the cultchur thar changed frum feudal to modurn in such a short time.


• The Emperor of Japan: Meiji and His World. 1852-1912 by Donald Keene: thisn cuvers the life of the man named fer the restorayshun of the emperor to power in japan. i wonted to read it on a counta the emperor meiji writ moren 100,000 waka (also called tanka these days), but thay wuz heaps more to larn. twuz a truly remarkabull period of histry that saw japan modurneyes itself in a lil over a generayshun.


• Across the Nightingale Floor, Brilliance of the Moon, n Grass for His Pillow by Lian Hearn, together called Tales of the Otori, a trillgy of books bout a place based on feudal japan, witch it gives ye the spirit of the times n teaches a lot bout how stratificayshun of folks into groups lack samurai, farmers, merchants, n eta. ye git a grate feel fer the way folks lived n the constunt battles that wuz fought befor the unificayshun of the shogunate under tokugawa ieyasu followin the battle of sekigahara that wuz follerd by 250 years of peace in japan ere the cuntry wuz 'opened' by the westurn powers.


• Rashomon and 17 Other Stories by Ryunsoku Akutagawa: a fantastick (in ever sense of the wurd) set of tales writ by a grate early 20th centry author. one of the early teckneeks he uses is to take ole historicull tales n give em a lil twist, witch that hepped all tuther readin i dun fit rite in n hepped me git a lot outta thisn.


• goodbye tsugumi by banana yoshimoto: after readin all them other books bout makin japan modurn, i wuz innerested in a book set in modurn japan, witch thisn wuz a grate lil tale. caint say it give me whut i wonted, but tiz a fine piece of ritin by inny standurd ye mite use fer pickin books.


• Narrow Road to the Interior by Matsuo Basho: verr short lil book but one ye kin read time after time n still git more frum it. corse ye caint translate poetry n keep everthang in it, speshly pomes that allude to so minny japanese classicks i aint never had no chants to read, speshly when i caint neethur speak nor read no japanese, but tiz a grate lil book to keep near ye n read when ye git the chants.


• Hiroshima by John Hersey: bein as i cum frum the hills of east tennessee whar they carved out oak ridge fer the manhattan projeck, i have all ways felt a lil twinge of doubt bout droppin them bombs, witch i wunder whuther i wood even be here otherwise on a counta daddy wuz in the pacifick n sined up fer the durayshun. but thisn is a chillin look at whut ye git after a atomick bomb has landed on a city of folks a'goin bout thar lives in a time of war. i should warn ye that this is a wurk of ackshull jurnalism, witch we aint seen a hole lot of that in the past few years. ye mite could be a lil shocked by it.


• Shogun by James Clavell: it tuck me a while to find a copy of thisn, witch ye mite could thank thayd be copies all over the place. i finely found a copy in a used bookstore over in brooklyn fer $2. i reckun thays a good chants minny folks readin this have alreddy either red shogun or at lease seen the miniseries. tiz a great read n gives ye a lot to ponder bout the japanese way of livin on the eve of the battle of sekigahara.


• ifn ye had jes red shogun, ye couldnt pick up no better book to foller it with than Musashi by Eiji Yoshikawa. thisn picks up with the mane careackter, miyamoto musashi, a'lyin amung the injured at the battle of sekigahara. i aint finished it yet, but tiz a great read so fer. the innerduckshun to the book calls it the japanese Gone with the Wind. i am still too ignernt to say whuther thats true or not, but i kin say ye caint hardly find a better read than musashi, speshly ifn ye lacked shogun.

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waka of budouadana: Spirit

Spirit

As the waning moon
Is hidden by passing clouds,
So can one’s spirit
Be covered by tiny doubts
That conceal the light within.

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waka of budouadana: Illness

Illness

A blessed illness
Stimulates one to reflect
On life’s brevity,
While the body’s self-healing
Confirms one’s will to endure.

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dreamin of buddy don: seein the ded in dreams

lack inny big fambly, ifn yer lucky a nuff to live as long as i dun, yer lackly to outlive sum of them thats near n dear to ye. afterds ye suffer frum not seein em agin, lease not in this life n nobidy knows fer sartin bout the next life, ifn thay even is one.

innywho, last nite i dreamt of a verr close departed member of our fambly, witch to splain a bit about how it cum to be that she wuz in the dream, i half to eggsplain a bit bout how she cum to be ded long ere twuz time fer her to have died by natcherul causes.

i bleeve i dun menchunned ('bragged' mite be the rite term fer it) how daddy wuz a marine corps ranger n then a speshul agent of the fbi. as a reesult, he made his livin fer a cuple decades a'carryin a gun. he wuz a sharpshooter n lacked to point out how them thats gut blue eyes is known to be better shots than folks with brown. i couldnt say whuther tiz true or not, but he wuz one damn good shooter.

but he tole us he dint wont us ever to have no guns, lease not till we wuz adults. twerent that he wuz agin the secunt amendmint to the constitushun, witch he figgerd everbidy has a rite to own a gun ifn thats thar choice. but frum all he knew n all he had larnt frum wurkin in the law enforcin bizness, ownin a gun only makes it that much more lackly that ye will git shot with a gun.

i have dug up the statisticks befor n wont bore ye with em now, but sum of the thangs he pointed out wuz how them that owns guns gits hurt by guns three times as often as those that dont own em. he also sed that them that has guns to perteck themselves has thar own guns used agin em by the evildoers as often as not (his point is that folks that cums to do harm kin pull triggers much quickern them that gits a gun jes in case). he also lacked to claim (i never tested it) that tiz much harder than ye thank to hit sumbidy n speshly to slow that persun down with a handgun in a tite space ere that persun takes the gun frum ye.

whuther them claims is all true or not, i aint a'gone try to deefend rite now. but tuther thang he pointed out has proved true at lease two times too minny, n that is how a gun aint no deefense agin suicide with a gun n that suicide with a gun is by far the mos successful method.

it dont take much maginayshun to know that i dreamt of a persun who had tuck a handgun down into the woods, smoked the last of a pack of cigarettes n then stuck the barrel of that gun into her mouth n pullt on the trigger, takin her out of this life at the age of 33. that wuz nigh on to 15 years ago.

last nite i had my furst dream bout her. oh how it made me ache to see her after all this time. how it hurt to thank whut a waste twuz fer that sangle trigger pull to have tuck such a lovely and wonderful persun frum us ferever.

in the dream, we wuz in a car. the ded wuz sittin in the frunt passenger seat with me in the back n sumbidy i couldnt see a'drivin. i spoke to the ded, a'tellin her how nice twuz to see her agin. i ast her how thangs wuz with her now. the driver (i couldnt never figger who he wuz) sed she couldnt say nuthin. that seemed to hurt moren innythang. i putt my hand on hern n looked into her huge gray eyes, seein tears thru my own tears, n she putt her hand on mine. twuz a moment to cherish, even ifn twuz only a dream.

corse thats the problem. tiz all thats left us, dreams that mite or mite not cum, memries that grow dimmer in times deepenin twilite.

twudnt three years later till we had a nuther suicide by gun in the fambly, witch them thangs dont never git no easier. thisn wuz fer my nephew.

i member cummin home fer that secunt funeral.

i knocked on the door n daddy anserd. fer the furst time in my life, i wuz biggern he wuz. he wuz defeated. i could see it. one of the last thangs we dun together wuz watch tennessee git whipped by florida, fallin behind by 35-0 with 10 minutes left in the secunt quarter. peyton fought hard to brang em back, gittin the score to sound respecktabull at 35-29.

but twuz such a sad thang to sit thru together. not on a counta tennessee losin. whut hurt so much wuz how daddy dint keer no more. two munths later he wuz ded his own self.

thay wudnt no bullet in his bidy, but after losin a daughter and his grandson to suicide (them guns wuz terrbull deefense agin that), he mite swell have been shot in the hart.

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pomes of buddy don: No Need for Pravda Here

No Need for Pravda Here

We don’t need your Pravda in the U S!
We have our ways to get the same job done –
We simply make use of our famous free press
Who question naught our retired guys have spun.

For when a general has to retire
It doesn’t mean his usefulness is through –
Since as a lobbyist he might be hired
And we can help him if he helps us too.

We call them “message force multipliers” –
They help us sell a war that might look mad –
This doesn’t mean that we’re a bunch of liars
Just that the “truth” needs its own launching pad.

Osama was the first we vowed to bring back,
Instead we had to sell our war in Iraq.

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eggsplainayshuns of buddy don: bout the bloggerull below

warnin: i am about to wine bout my life, so ifn ye dont lack readin that kinda self-centerd garbidge ye kin skip this post.

the bloggerull pome that i writ this mornin (nex post) is the reesult of my visit to the newrallgist on mundy. the good news is that they dont thank i gut inny thang seryus a'goin on, witch thats jes one out of too minny blessins to count.

but i couldnt hardly take how the feller treated me. corse, i wuz one of the last two customers he had to deal with ere he could leave on his two week vacayshun, sos ye kin kindly understand how he mite wonta git thru the innervue as quick as he could. miz bd wuz thar n timed im on how long it tuck im to look at them mri films. she sed he dint langer over inny of em moren 7 secunts n thatn only used up 10 secunts of his time. n thay wuz 30 differnt pitchers of my brane on each of them films.

he made a cuple comments to his ownself along the way, thangs lack, 'hmm, that's a vein, a little odd, but usually benign' n 'hmm, that's some black blood, also benign more often than not.' turnt out thay wus a radiallgy report in with the mri, witch i aint shore whuther he red it or not. i dint notiss it till the nex day.

at the end, i felt lack mayhap i am jes a hypocondriack n the pain is all in my hed only it aint real or sumthin, ceptin when it makes me upchuck fer fifteen hours in a row, witch tiz real then i reckun. so i tole im twuz grate that all wuz fine with my hed n ast im bout the dull pain in the left side that wuz a'langerin even then. he sed he figerrd twuz muscle tenshun, witch he had his pad out a'ritin a scrip fer sum more drugs even as he wuz a'sayin it.

i also sed i dint lack all the drugs he had me on then (depakote n topomax bof), so he sed i should taper off on the topomax till i woodnt be takin it no more. i caint seem to git im to here me tellin im that my migraines cum in seasons n we are about to the end of the season, but no matter.

we lef n i felt lack i had been deefeated. i wuz feelin bad when i wint in, head hurtin, nausea that cums with it n so on. twuz a low moment in life fer me.

miz bd wurks outside the house mundy evenins, so on top of everthang else, i wuz home alone. i tuck the films home with me n sat aroun wastin sum of the prescious time i have on earth feelin sorry fer myself n then figgerd i mayswell go git the scrip filled. i gut sumthin to eat whilst i dun that, cum home, et, n then tuck a look at whut i had bought.

turnt out to be klonopin, tho whenever the docter writ the scrip twuz hidin under a nuther name i dint know. my famblys dun got a terrbull histry with klonopin, witch ifn ye google it ye gone larn taint fer tense muscles. so i dint add a nuther mind-foggin drug to the mix.

innywho, i am a'gone fite back. nex mornin, miz bd tole me to read the radiallgy report, witch i dun n larnt thay wuz a hole lot more a'gone on than that newrallgist seemed to notiss. she had also looked im up to larn his area of expertease wuz back pain. taint lack thays sumthin terrbull in my hed, but thays sum thangs i druther not menchun by name yet. i go fer my fisicull on mundy n orta be able to git a nuther newrallgist then, mayhap one that has branes fer a speshulty.

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pomes of buddy don: You'll Never Live

You’ll Never Live

In our fair land we like to make a profit
From making things like mouse traps, food, or cars –
We’ll even take ill health and make bucks off it
And see our gains rise up into the stars.

And that’s the part that has me up in arms:
Why would the health care business freely choose
To cure those whom it all too often harms
Since real cures cause the bottom line to lose?

Would it not be far better to keep each
Of all the “customers” addicted to
The pills and procedures they like to preach,
Stamped by the FDA, are tried and true?

A pill for this, a pill for that, don’t try to think about it,
The docs got scripts to get you more, you’ll never live without it.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: blushes

Frail cherry blossoms
Reflect in still spring water,
Their blushes doubled,
Before, petal by petal,
They descend to the surface.



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pitchers tuck by buddy don: folks shores luvs thar sprang blossoms

on saturdy i had a ackupunkchur sesshun, witch tiz grate to have a hour of peace frum the pain of whut i bin a'goin thru the past few weeks. i am a'hopin that the doctors kin find out sumthin frum the tests i bin thru n will be a'goin thru this evenin.

whenever that sesshun wuz over, i found miz bd in the waiting room. she had been a'wurkin in the mornin her ownself, so twuz a nice sprize to find her thar.

while i wuz feelin grate durin the ackpunkchur, twudnt long ere thangs wuz back to whar they wuz befor, with that dull ache on the left side of my hed. she sugjested a trip to the brooklyn botanick garden n since i had dun got to the point whar i figgerd i wood be suffern jes as much in one place as a nuther, it sounded lack a good idee to me.

i carry my camra purty much everwhar i go, so i tuck a few pitchers. twuz a verr purty day, the nicest one of the year so far, witch that meant thay wuz way too minny folks thar, but ye couldnt blame nobidy fer wontin to be thar (we wuz amung em!).

miz bd wuz a'tellin me she had seen a episode of martha stewart whar one of the gardners frum the bbg wuz on with sum cuttins of a cherry tree to give her. he eggsplaind how a cherry tree kin live fer round 100 years on its own but only fer bout 50 ifn tiz round a bunch of folks, witch folks luvs em to death, ye mite could say.

this furst pitchers of a magnolia, but ye kin see how folks is more or less luvin it to death ...


them cherry blossoms in the japanese garden blooms furst, so everbidy wuz up in thar almos to whar ye couldnt move, but i wuz able to git a cuple shots to cum out purty good, lack thisn here ...


n of corse, flowers aint thonly purty thangs that ye see at a place lack the bbg ...


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waka of budouadana: kings

Torch

As a blazing torch
Held high in a darkened passage
Shows all the right way,
So is the enlightened man,
Creative, forceful, and bold.

River

As a still river
Digs deep into the landscape,
A man of wisdom learns
The heart and its secret ways,
Salving hot pain with cool balm.

Forms

The eloquent man
Understands the airy world
Of idealized forms,
Can explain to anyone
The complex with plain logic.

Abundance

The practical man
Is deeply rooted in earth’s
Fruitful abundance,
Knowing the secrets of growth
And setting paths to his goals.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: more turtles n koi

today is set to be a verr long day fer me on a counta havin to do a presentayshun to hong kong n tokyo tonite at 9 pm, witch ifn i am lucky i kin git it dun in about a hour n a half. i wuz lookin at this pitcher n thankin bout how we humans lack to thank we are the more add vanced creatchurs, but seems to me lack these turtles n koi have em a better way to spend thar daze ...



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updates of buddy don: eggsplainayshuns bout health

whenever i moved up in here to the new york city metro area, i gut into the habit of givin mama a call ever sundy mornin. i figgerd twood be a good way to keep in touch with the fambly, witch that it has.

so twuz last sundy that i tride to brang her up to date on my last visit with the newrallgist, but by the time she gut dun splainin it to my bruthers, twuz all kindly all turnt round sumhow. so let me splain it fer ye, deespite the navel gazin.

i been havin sum new simptums whar fer sum reason my sense of smell will git strongern it ever wuz befor in my hole life.

last saturdy fer instunts me n miz bd wuz sittin in a restrunt over at port authorty name of metro marché. i had dun orderd me a omlet with shrimp n avocado, witch aint hardly nuthin kin beat a avocado in my mind (this feller woodnt agree, but everbidys gut thar own taste).

innywho, way acrost the room a waitress sprayd sumthin on a table to clean it n the smell wuz so strong i nearly upchucked. i ast miz bd could she smell it n she ast me whut did i mean. ere i could anser, i gut a verr sharp pane in the left side of my hed, rite above the ear, witch it made me putt my hed down till it let up a bit, n then the hole side of my hed wuz numb fer a spell. she never smelt it tho she normally has a better sniffer than i gut.

that kinda thangs bin a'happenin here lately, witch i eggsplaind it to the newrallgist n told him i knew it sounded a lil crazed.

i also told im a nuther kindly crazed simptum whar i feel kindly lack i aint quite in my bidy or whar i am a tiny lil part of it.

turnt out them simptums is commun ifn ye are havin temporull lobe seezures.

he dint sound verr alarmd bout it, so i dint git upset. he skeduled a mri with contrast fer thursdy after gittin me to go fer a blood test to make shore my kidneys is up to flushin out the die they injeck into ye sos the contrast kin take effeck. then on mundy i go back fer a eeg sos they kin git a look at my brane waves. ifn that dont show nuthin the plan is to send me home with the eeg machine sos i kin whar it fer two daze.

he also added topomax to the mix of medicayshun i am a'takin, witch i bleeve he is reeplacin depakote but has to ween me offn the one to reeplace it with tuther.

sounds purty simple, dont it?

by the time the story made it frum mama to brew n frum him to a email that he sent me to ast whut wuz a'gone on with me, twuz a brane cancer that had dun spread to my hart!

taint nuthin lack that n aint even lackly to be nuthin lack that.

oh how mama luvs drama!

as it happens, last nite miz bd run into a lady that wurks in newrallgy her ownself, who she splaind how the most lackly thang they wood find is sum tiny blood vessles thats gittin blocked n havin spasms ... n that sounds almos eggzackly lack whut the newrallgist told me ... n almost eggzackly lack whut i told mama.

aint thar a nuff drama in life alreddy without assumin the wurst or makin thangs up?

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waka of budouadana: queens

Rivers

Such an attractive
Woman, she glides through her life,
Blessing all she sees
With her presence and kindness,
As rivers nourish valleys.

Depth

She follows her heart
Trusting quiet compassion
As her sole logic,
Never speaking a cruel word,
Her depths unfathomable.

Dewdrops

She discerns the truth
And cannot be fooled by art,
Even of high form –
Her vision penetrates all
As sunlight bejewels dewdrops.

Bounty

She never hurries
But does everything on time,
Feeding the hungry,
Healing the sick, offering
The bounty of earth to all.

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waka of budouadana: knights

Irresistible

A man so charming,
Almost irresistible,
Both brave and cocky,
Earns praise for his leadership,
Blame for lack of steadfastness.

Visions

The fine young poet
Inflames imagination
With wondrous visions,
Yet without strong roots in earth
His dreams float like stray balloons.

Scalpels

He employs logic
As surgeons wield sharp scalpels,
Dissecting all problems
Without respect to feelings,
Defending the cruelest deeds.

Mule

He never wavers,
Never lets a promise go
Without fulfillment,
Yet no stiff-necked mule could more
Stubbornly refuse to change.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: aint no need to be 'koi'

i aint been able to rite nuthin here the past cuple daze on a counta havin migraines that wont quit n wurk i had to do innyway. i am to the point whar i kin wurk (more or less) thru the pain long as i dont half to vomit or feel lack i do.

the furst three daze of this week i wuz in a class name of ITIL fundamentals, witch it aint much fun, but i bleeve twill be fer the best ifn everbidy kin agree on usin it.

innywho, heres a pitcher showin ye how fat n brave fish kin git in that thar japanese garden, witch thar koi all rite ceptin thay aint coy ...



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pitchers tuck by buddy don: sakura, in wurds n a pitcher

Blossoms

The cherry blossoms
Crowning hardwoods announce Spring
With rich pink splendor
Till humble May winds loose them,
Drop them, scatter them to green.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: sittin in the sun over at union square

tuther day me n miz bd wuz a'walkin round town. corse i had the camra with me, witch thats how i tuck these pitchers of folks sittin in the sun on a chilly day ...







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mizry of buddy don: deescribed in 3 waka by budouadana

Sickle

Head between pillows,
An arcing sickle of pain
From left eye to ear,
A nauseated sternum,
One more day of life lopped off.

Cringe

The headache’s dupe seeks
Fetal peace in barren womb
Of warm soft blankets,
With no birth to celebrate,
Only the slow dying day.

Ice Pick

If a hot ice pick
Had been thrust through the left eye
As far as the ear,
The cruel pain would make some sense,
Unlike migraine’s cold logic.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: that thar orchid show

i menchunned tuther day how me n miz bd gut to the ny botanical garden orchid show. heres a few pitchers i tuck of them amazin creachurs, witch ifn ye click on them pitchers ye kin see em git a lot bigger:

















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waka of budouadana: orbits

The changing seasons –
Pink flowers, green fronds, brown leaves,
Winter's white silence –
Parade as our tilted earth
Constantly orbits the sun.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: bare trees of bryant park

whenever me n miz bd wuz a'cummin home frum that thar orchid show up at the new york botanickull garden, i seen how the lite wuz a'shinin n tuck this here pitcher of them sycamores in bryant park ...



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pitchers tuck by buddy don: tuck durin our trip to jersey city

yesterdy me n miz bd tuck the path train to journal square over in jersey city sos we could git our drivers licents updated ere they eggspired. we had to have forty leven differnt forms of eye-dee incloodin our passports n soshul scurty cards n proof that we live whar we do. but whenever we gut over thar, twuz all over in under fifteen mints! i couldnt hardly bleeve how good they gut it all plannd out.

it wuz over so quick that it give me a chants to take a cuple pitchers, startin with a statchew miz bd shown me, witch as ye kin planely see, tiz jackie robinson ...




thay wuz a plack that eggsplaind bout the statchew n jackie robinson ...


we tuck the path train back home ...


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feelins of buddy don: ouch

i tuck a day of vacayshun today sos i could stay up way past my bed time to watch them vol mens bball team play agin loovull. i wuz really hopin we could finely beat a rick pitinos team after loozin 13 strate or even make it to the elite eight! i reckun ye dun know how it turnt out: 79-60, cardnulls.

ouch!

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: refleckshuns of hoboken

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: strollin n trollin in man hattan

i have bin meanin to anser a comment buck made a while back whenever i posted a pitcher of a wooden injun n menchunned how i wuz sprized to find such thangs on the streets of man hattan. as always, he asts a purty good questchun that leads ye to thank a bit moren ye mite otherwise:

Reminds me of that Seinfeld episode.

But you know, I have never known what it is that is offensive about wooden Indians. I have always thought they were kinda neat looking.

Why is a wooden Indian offensive but a ceramic Buddha is okay?

Just askin'

thats a grate thang to ast n i wood anser it thisaway based on knowin a passel of natives (sum of em are famus, witch ifn i ever git roun to finishin life n pinions of buddy don, hillbilly, i will menchun em by name) ...

whenever it cums to them statchews of buddha, theys made by buddhists as a means of honorin gautama buddha. they wudnt made by folks that aint buddhists lookin to make fun of em or add vertise products a'usin em, witch folks that aint buddhists duz other thangs with em. not only that, but most of them images of buddha are idealized n made to make im look purty good, idealizin sum of the aspects of his careactker.

taint the same with wooden injuns. fer lots of folks, theys the tipicull stereotype of natives, not real n not true to life (purt near ever native i know looks lack a black amurkin). this here articull eggsplains it purty good. as one native eggsplained it to me, he dont lack the way the statchews make it seem that they aint even real humans. havin sed all that, bucks point stands in that thays a minny of em thats beeyootifull.

now fer sum of my attempts to lasso the passin herds with my camras digital rope ...

grim faces on the passin herd ...


street vendor ...


hangin out on 8th avenue ...


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pomes of buddy don: So?

They called the "escalation" just a "surge,"
Since many can remember that grim word
From Viet Nam, where "escalation's" dirge
Was often all that we the people heard.

They would not let us see returning dead,
Since that might make us think the war had cost
Too much when what they needed was, instead,
A fairy tale where our wars can't be lost.

They would not budget for the cost of war
Since that might mean an honest, free debate
About whether we would spend anymore
On a war where we would not "escalate."

They didn't tell us much — how apropos! —
Since when they hear our viewpoints, they say, "So?"

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: signs of sprang

used to be fall wuz my favert season, but lately it has mint the beginnin of migraine season, so now my favert is sprang. we tuck a walk round town tuther day n seen signs of sprang most everwhar, witch heres a cuple pitchers i tuck to proov it ...





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pitchers tuck by buddy don: nite n day

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pomes of buddy don: Not Much

No Much

It’s five years on and what have we achieved?
For great and grand are our accomplishments!
The weapons that weren’t there were sure perceived
And that they weren’t was pure coincidence!

And though Osama and Saddam were foes,
With one religious, one a worldly man,
We’ve beaten one down to his own last throes —
The other? Well, we’ll catch him when we can.

What matters is we spread democracy —
A reason we discovered on the way
To help explain our own hypocrisy —
What matters are not deeds but what we say!

And how much did this grand adventure cost?
Not much compared to all that we have lost!

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pinions of buddy don: grate cause

i gut thisn frum my good frien thinking meat. i caint putt it no bettern meat fer brains dun dun:

Award-winning author Pat Cadigan has started the “Match It for Pratchett” campaign, honoring Terry Pratchett. Pratchett, the author of the popular Discworld novels, recently announced that he has been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. He has donated £500,000 (roughly $1 million) to Alzheimer’s research, and the campaign to match his donation is underway.

Please visit the campaign’s Guide to Giving and donate today.

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waka of budouadana: pages

Confidence

The child’s confidence,
Like a newly budding sprout
Planted in rich soil,
Gives courage to the timid,
And hope to the dejected.

Potion

A magic potion
In a cup borne by a youth:
Such is one’s first love,
An intoxicating brew
Of hope, fear, intimacy.

Knot

The child had no doubts
As he used his sharp dagger
To sever the knots
Of worldly difficulties,
Cutting each to useful lengths.

Risk

The trusting young child
Offers his only coin,
Risking everything
On the hope that life is fair,
Learning of good and evil.

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waka of budouadana: tens

Struggle

His heavy burden,
A harvest of ten long poles,
More than he can heft
While seeing his way forward,
Wears him down with hard struggle.

Reunion

The happy parents
View the family reunion
Amid such bounty,
Places set for each of ten
As all return home in joy.

Victim

Playing the martyr?
Or could he be the victim?
Ten blades in his back,
To prove he’s been betrayed,
With knives as dear as jewels.

Investor

With ten golden coins
The market thrives, making rich
The charmed investor,
Who permits no change at all,
Fearing he would be undone.

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waka of budouadana: nines

Crutches

Battered, bruised, unbowed,
The man leans against his crutch,
Surveying his yield:
Eight crutches from prior trials,
Hard proofs one must be wary.

Wishes

Nine cups of wishes,
Arrayed behind the winner
Like sweet dreams come true,
Accomplishments completed,
Provide passing contentment.

Trophies

The fears of the night,
Regrets for what might have been,
Shine like nine sharp swords,
Painful trophies she maintains
On her lonely bedroom wall.

Falcon

The noble lady
Strolls her garden of nine coins,
Falcon on her wrist,
Proof that though she is gracious,
She has the power to kill.

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mizry of buddy don: a short reeport

me n miz bd seen the weather changer a'cummin on us, witch it hit on sundy as skeduled. i wuz on the fone to mama whenever i gut to whar i couldnt make the wurds i wuz trine to say cum out of my mouth or even git into it, witch thats sumthin name of aphasia that is a precursor i git ever now n agin.

i bin havin migraines since, each day a'gittin a lil wurser till yesterdy i couldnt hardly stop vomitin, witch miz bd gits me up in the bed n dont let me go vomit n that heps me git past havin the urge. she duz sum reiki on me to hep me drift off to sleep. it gut bad a nuff fer me to take imitrex yesterdy, witch i try not to take them thangs on a counta they seem to cause rebound migraines the verr nex day.

miz bd gut the newrallgist on the fone n he gut a scrip fer steroids on its way long with a nuther drug n sum oxygen to use nex time i am feelin the effecks.

i will cummence to takin em this mornin, n twont be a secunt too soon on a counta i wuz up half the nite trine not to vomit agin. miz bd tuck keer of me as per usual.

pee ess: tuz a awefull way fer miz bd to have to cummence her birthdy, witch tiz our anniversry as well.

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waka of budouadana: eights

Strike

Eight arrows arcing
Across the sky, their targets
Already settled,
A coordinated strike
That allows no turning back.

Ends

Everything must end,
The happy circle of friends,
The team of workers,
Its final task completed,
Each of its eight cups drained dry.

Bound

Blindfolded and bound,
In a jail of eight sharp swords,
Feeling powerless,
The young woman first accepts
Then overcomes her troubles.

Flow

Six wheels completed,
The worker diligently
Hammers the seventh
The eighth awaiting its turn,
The flow of work exalting.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: thangs that make me feel sick

aint we past time when we gut wooden injuns in man hattan? i wood say it makes me sick ceptn everthang duz rite now on a counta i gut a migraine makin me wonta vomit, witch i know i orta try not to, but ...



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pitchers tuck by buddy don: wise man

tiz a day of pane fer me on a counta migraine weather than cum in yesterdy. leaves me wishin i could be as placid as this feller ... (my hed feels bout that big n bout to burst) ...



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waka of budouadana: sevens

Stand

One man versus six,
He makes his hilltop stand,
Bravely facing those
Who would supplant him by force,
His staff no better than theirs.

Options

Each of seven flasks
Holds a unique heady brew,
A different future
In each dreamy concoction:
Paralysis of options.

Outsider

The outsider leaves
The parade of daily life,
Briefly looking back,
Bearing seven silver swords
As if he could defeat death.

Blessings

The farmer pauses
For seven golden minutes
To smell sweet onions,
Lean upon his wooden hoe,
And count his many blessings.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: frum a toy store

this past weekend, we wuz lucky a nuff to git a visit frum my niece n her husbin, witch they wuz in town sos he could have a innervue over at f.i.t. fer a spot in thar progrum fer toy deevelopers. hes about to git his batchler of fine arts degree n wonts to wurk in that field, witch thay aint no better place to doot than f.i.t. as ye kin planely see, they gut art rite in frunt of the place:



so twuz that we had us a grate time a'goin to places lack fao schwarz n toyz r us.

one of the grate thangs bout them toy stores is how they let ye take pitchers inside of em, witch most places dont allow that.

lego our liberty!


this feller wuz a'moovin aroun lack he wonted to attack n eat ye, but i saw a lil gurl with her mama thar, who the mama sed to the lil gurl, 'watch out fer that dinosore!' n the lil gurl, mayhap she wuz five years ole, anserd, 'oh please, he aint real.'


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waka of budoudana: sixes

Winner

The winner parades,
Colorful standard raised high,
Leading his army
And six flag-bearing champions,
Knowing glory fades quickly.

Innocence

Children with their bowls,
None of them identical,
Play their made up games,
Six innocent hungry lambs
Sharing faith they will be fed.

Renewal

Two hooded figures
Their boat laden with six swords,
Cross a murky swamp
That mirrors their strained spirits,
Renewal on the far shore.

Blessings

Six coins, six figures,
Poor man, rich man, give and take –
No one is secure,
But each can give or receive
According to his blessings.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: ladies in man hattan

bad news on the phone?


almos lack a nuther amurkin gothick ...


eatin ice cream on a verr cold day ...


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waka of budouadana: tuther three fives

Regret

Three great beakers down,
Their brew spilled on thirsty earth,
Their owner suffers,
Feeling only sharp regret,
Blind to the two that remain.

Miser

Stopping at nothing
To get his way, the miser
Cuts off all his friends,
Desiring only profit,
Claiming five swords, needing one.

Beggars

With but five pennies,
Two beggars, one lame, both starved,
Wander through harsh snow,
Painfully aware of those
Feasting behind bright windows.

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waka of budouadana: truth

Ascending the mountain,
One’s trail does not always go up
But must dip downwards
To meet the next, longer rise:
So, too, paths leading to truth.

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waka of budouadana: Contention

Petty contention –
Five-man free-for-all with sticks
Jabbing and jousting –
No rules, winners, or losers,
Only blind competition.

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