Happy Birthday Baby

It's my birthday. I am now 100 years old and I don't look a day younger. We were going to do a sawdust firing today but it's been raining on & off. Guess we'll just sit on our asses and eat cake.

So... Carol, how ya gonna' blow out 100 candles hm?


Spam 'subject' of the day.

From: Maritza Anaya.
RE: "On swimming the incoherent undergone."

(I think that this would be a good title for my next poem.)


The Incoherent Undergone

With trepidation and an uncanny organized chaos,
I swam deep into the weedy incoherent undergone.
And through the murkiness of vague memories I
had a sudden yearning for pistachio pudding.
I asked myself Carol when you're swimming in
the sacred incoherent undergone why do you allow
yourself to be tempted by those sensual mini
marshmallows blended with the tongue dancing
textures of the ever so exotic nut and pineapple pulp?

Perhaps this is yet another rhetorical question I tend to ask myself too often oftentimes.

Yet, I continue to wallow in the depths of whipped
cream when I should be searching in the almighty
incoherent undergone.
A life devoid of undergones filled with nothing but
long ago bygones because I am unwilling to accept
that which is unacceptable.

Again I digress....where was I?

Oh yes. I was drifting in the weedy world of the incoherent undergone.

Actually, the 'weedy' in which I refer to is called Eurasian water milfoil. Pesky and prolific but the bass love it. Hell, early this morning I snagged an eight pound small mouth using a dead fly which I swatted yesterday but forgot to pick up.

Now. Back to my poem...

---

De Incoherent Undergone
-Dialectized in jive-

Wid trepidashun and an uncanny o'ganized chaos,
I swam deep into de weedy incoherent undergone.
And drough de murkiness uh vague memo'ies,
ah' had some sudden yearnin' fo' pistachio puddin'.
I ax'ed mah'self, Carol when youse swimmin' in
de sacred ncoherent undergone why do ya' allow
yo'self to be tempted by dose sensual mini
marshmallows blended wid de tongue boogeyin'
textures uh de eva' so 'esotic nut and pineapple pulp?

Perhaps dis be yet anoda' rheto'ical quesshun I tend t'ax' mah'self too often oftentimes.

Yet, ah' continue t'wallow in de depds uh
whipped cream when ah' should be searchin' fo'
de almighty incoherent undergone.
Mah' life devoid uh under-gones filled wid
nodin' long ago bygones cuz' I's gots'ta be
unwillin' t'accept dat which be unacceptable.

Again, ah' digress....where wuz I?

Oh yeah dude, ah' wuz driftin' in de weedy wo'ld uh incoherent undergone.

Actually, de 'weedy' in which ah' refa' to be called Eurasian wata milfoil; Pesky and prolific but da damn bass love it. Man! Hell, early dis mo'nin' ah' snagged an eight pound large moud usin' some wasted fly which ah' swatted yesterday but fo'gots'ta pick down. Now, so cut me some slack, Jack.

Back t'de poem. WORD!...


Carol