Friday, May 13, 2005

FRESH SCISSOR DANCE THE LADY IS WILLING, AND THE WATER DOES RISE 6:27:50 PM    comment []

CAT FRIDAY WITH A VENGEANCE: DR. OMED AT THE OIL CAPITAL CAT SHOW While Dr. Omed was still offline, the Gnome and his wife visited the Cat Show... ...just for grins and giggles, and because Elspeth is a fan of the movie Best of Show but likes cats better than dogs. The Judge. This man was having a great time. I suspect him of catorasty. Ribbons for winners. A shrine to a dearly departed Siamese. The ribbon says this is the fourth best cat, but this Coon cat was the best of show in my eyes. A magnificent cat. 12:46:28 PM    comment []

SCENIC TULSA: A LANDMARK RESTORED An old neighborhood movie house has been reopened and restored.  The Circle Theater shows independent films there (real independent films, not faux independent) and old classics like Singing in the Rain.  I highly recommend the film posted on the marque, What The Bleep Do We Know?  I've watched the film five times (on DVD) and I enjoy it every time. I don't necessarily agree with everything the talking heads in the film say about quantum physics and/or god, but I've always prefered a theory that was wrong but interesting to a theory that was boringly correct. Go to whatthebleep.com for a taste of what I'm talking about. The film has added a new catchphrase to Dr. Omed's palaver: "I'm trying to infect the quantum field." 2:45:46 AM    comment []

THE LADY OPENS THE DOOR   At the company where I work (Yes, Dr. Omed has a day job.) the management had recently installed electronic card key locks on all the doors. Previously I had only to swipe my card when I entered or left the building; now I have to swipe my way through two doors just to get to the restroom.  I painted my card black, pasted images of goddesses on both sides, and had a friend make me a beaded necklace that purposely resembles a rosary, from which the card now hangs pendant. Since I work back in IT/Production, I am allowed my little eccentricities. When I swipe my card over a lock, I say to myself, ”The lady opens the door.”  All this provoked the following text. I don’t know whether to call it a poem, or broken prose, as Ms. Candide recently referred to one of her posts. I considered taking out the line breaks, and posting it as prose, but I’m posting it as is. Judge for yourselves, pilgrims and seekers.       THE LADY OPENS THE DOOR   Doors. So many doors. Open doors, closed doors, doors with biometric locks, doors of perception, and doors of the heart.   I have a private door of manic perception. To this door, I have the key, and the key is in my pocket.   This door, like a faithful bloodhound, scents me out, and follows me always and everywhere.   Some doors require a card, name and number written in the alphabet of ones and zeros. with magic of electromagnetism.   An approved card will make the red light turn green and the penitent will receive the holy beep and click.   Other doors a thumb print or the retina of the eye unlocks the door to blessed sanctum or scriptorium where every brother and sister has a workstation.   Some doors you just have to know the password or know somebody who knows someone like at a speakeasy or blind pig.   There are doors that not even an old ghost like me can slip under the threshold like a bad poem, or fall through the mail slot like a misaddressed love letter.   Some doors, the threshold just doesn’t agree with my ectoplasm, if you know what I mean.   But all doors will unscrew their locks and jams when the Lady opens the door.   The Lady opens the door, I pass over the threshold whether I will or no; the Lady has the skeleton on me. You could say that the Lady has an open door policy except when she doesn’t.   But I always have my private door. I have the key. and the key is my pocket. I was born with the key in my hand. I wasn’t born with pockets, and I have lived for years at a time at the Lost and Found, until I found pockets to hold my key. The Lady gives what she takes, and takes what She gives.   The Lady opens the door and my out goes in and my in goes out.   Consider my poetry and art symptom and byproduct. Like a carnie on the midway I sell tickets not to the Hall of Mirrors but the Hall of Doors. See the freaks. The Lady opens the door. 2:04:01 AM    comment []