Subject predicate #1
I just got an email with the subject: "Is Fatigue and Depression Killing U?"
...What did you tell them!?!
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should #4
should #4
should color come to my best friend 1
and orange kisses not amend 2
a misspoken phrase of granular regret; 3
those sands run fierce and the glass is set. 4
16.3.97
working: for espresso
working: for espresso
because i can smell coffee grounds 1
in your sinning organ 2
jeans will grind you to 3
your choice spasm; 4
your quiver per diem; 5
your holy white light; 6
your percolated orgasm; 7
your feminine birthright. 8
18.20 5.5.98
raven may
raven may
one raven called 1
a thousand voices 2
devoid of color 3
against celibate calm 4
as void silhouettes 5
matted on dawn. 6
8.1.92
And then there were none
And then there were none
at first there was one 1
just in your mind 2
a single perfection 3
you believed you would find 4
* throw away the rinds 5
in the webs of your mind 6
you destroyed quite a few 7
if you say so i did too 8
it's the only way 9
committed to the day 10
when you can say… 11
and then there were some 12
but it wasn't the same 13
before each had gone 14
better ones came 15
when it was then 16
you taught yourself more 17
about starting again 18
about your sweet lord 19
* 20
† gotta clear my head 21
stop playing dead 22
get some sun 23
maybe buy a gun 24
for our anniversary 25
i am sure 26
i am fucking sure 27
and then there were none 28
to visit your grave 29
now that it's done 30
i can be safe 31
the last of the last 32
the ex- turned to un- 33
the die was cast 34
and then there were none 35
June/September 1989
Conversations with the daughter
3 year-old: Me milk. Me milk. Me milk.
Mother: Talk like a normal person. "I would like
some milk please."
3 year-old: Me too!
First bumblebee of the year
Though this photo is from last year, the first bumblebee of the year—same species, which I don’t know—just flew through.
A birdhouse in the back I built for chickadees is currently filled with the eggs of a different species of bumblebee; slumbering through the flowerless seasons. No good photos yet because they're quite a bit more aggressive than most bumblebees and have sent me running for safety several times. They are beautiful with bright red and yellow bands.
Another bumblebee photo from last year.
Ghost of typography past
Had a strange, but pleasant, experience yesterday; fighting back some nostalgia for Renate all of the sudden. Luc Devroye, a CS professor at McGill University in Montreal, wrote up a bit about my typography on his site.
The reason this is strange is I haven’t been much of a typographer in a long time. I haven’t put anything online—except as résumé points—since 1996 at the latest and I think I did most of it in 1995. He linked to one of my fonts, Element, at dafont.com. I didn’t even know it was up there. I put out about 6 of them as shareware on AOL back when they were the only game in town.
I suppose the fonts have migrated around a bit just because there weren’t 
that many fonts back then. Today there are 10s of thousands of free fonts or rip-offs of licensed fonts available.
I haven’t quit designing them—as you can see—but I haven’t done one digitally since 1998. Right about that time support for my favorite font editor, Fontographer, evaporated. The software was sold around a couple of times and new versions ceased just as Apple was switching OSes—again—and I was leaving the country—again.
My .fog files languished on a Mac 5300 for 8 years. Today I discover that there is a 4.7 Fontographer
release which is compatible with OS X. So, looks like I’m back in the font game as soon as I cough up the $99 update fee. Of course now a new Wacom tablet is in order because of Apple’s new hardware standards and nearly total lack of support for their old stuff. Che scemo.
In any case, you can get Element by clicking on its image above and I’ll post more of my typefaces soon and see about rendering some of the new designs digitally.
as it were
as it were
feminine like a trash fire, 1
welcome like a famine, 2
going like a gangbuster, 3
cherry like the salmon. 4
28.9.96
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gnashville ’95
gnashville ’95
elvis and jack kennedy 1
met me and my pal barnaby– 2
we were going to gnashville 3
with our dash filled with marys, man. 4
when you thought of the unthinkable, 5
realized the titanic was sinkable 6
and a world can be sucked gone with plastic straws, 7
did that spark your panic 8
or was it something more manic 9
that drove you out on the reservation of caw? 10
i was on the grill, you know 11
(sorry, i’m drunk, i meant to type girl), 12
and though her name was barbie 13
she was something of a haiku wannabe 14
with a published poem about a miscarried baby 15
and her ransom was a punchline everybody knew, 16
so i hit her. so? 17
the moonstone and grendel and all the king’s men 18
couldn’t put kennedy back together again 19
and barnaby has this laugh and this way and this…man, 20
he finds himself unable to hate again, so i hate (for) him. 21
1.40 6.5.95
rewrite #5
rewrite #5
the familiarity of family 1
pulled the teeth right out of me; 2
clumsy dental surgery, wet, bloody and gummy. 3
25.12.95
Snipped email #1
I think all North America used to be full of colorful town names but they're almost all gone. I believe there was even a Whisky Fuck once upon a time. Somehow Intercourse, Pennsylvania just doesn't seem funny enough. Maybe it's the Pennsylvania part.
mister sarcasm meets the seattlite of his dreams and eats her to keep the grocery bill down
mister sarcasm meets the seattlite of his dreams and eats her to keep the grocery bill down
these storm filled eyes were once much calmer 1
when i bunked with jeffrey dahmer 2
and lived an emerald life vicariously 3
of rock and roll and hors de vie. 4
but long life makes the mortal saner 5
and keeps your lawyer on retainer, 6
for maximum pleasure remember this truth 7
and justice isn’t even a decent spoof. 8
“suicide made easy now,” the billboard said 9
to the sleazy girl who thusly bumped her head 10
and it rained and it poured and was gonna rain more 11
but seattle will equal the score someday, 12
yeah, seattle will equal the score. 13
1.07 25.2.94
daughter of crazy horse
daughter of crazy horse
she gave me breathing lessons 1
she laid me on my back 2
she brought me dead birds in bed 3
and i don't think i can ever go back 4
she put up quite a struggle 5
knocked the u.s. calvary on its ass 6
she punctured custer's eardrums 7
and i don't think i can ever go back 8
she gave me drowning lessons 9
she came and scratched my back 10
she taught me pain is beautiful 11
and i don't think i can ever go back 12
she died inside your prisons 13
came for the ghost dance then went back 14
she led me to the black hills 15
and i don't think i can ever go back 16
May 1995
where i am
where i am
where i am is in a tub of jam 1
and i jam on a tuba too. 2
what i am is i am what i am 3
and i am in a tub of goo. 4
23.28 1.5.95
where i am #3
where i am #3
where i am is stuck in the door jamb 1
and i stick to the souls of your shoes. 2
what i am is an altar boy on the lam– 3
feet bleeding from your mile too. 4
8.5.95
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Romanette, a typeface
Romanette is a delicate capital typeface in the Roman/Palatino style. Not original but nicely executed and quite a nice diversion from some of the more well-worn book faces. It’s from 1996 and I’m truly sorry I don’t remember the original work I based it on because it was also an independent fontographer who was doing some nice work I’d like to credit.
Download Romanette TrueType™ font; file is a tar-zipped and should be expandable and useable on PC, *nix, and Macintosh. [update: here is an uncompressed version if the other causes trouble.]
Caveats: the kerning is not terrific right now and it is so light that it doesn’t do well at smaller point sizes. I plan to punch up the weight a bit and manually fix all the iffy kerning but it won’t be soon. There was no Euro in ’96 so there is no «€» in the face yet. It's a single face family. No bold or italic.
Here is a pangram with Romanette and some of its special characters, mostly abbreviation symbols for degrees and addresses.
On a related note—and not merely self-promotion—here is some JavaScript for doing pangrams.
Also, I’d just like to say that I showed great restraint not calling this the Free Font Friday or something.
another boring afternoon #8
another boring afternoon #8
to choose the booze over love is not news, 1
and it’s not worth reporting; 2
to choose to lose is to stay with you; 3
it’s pain you’ve been extorting. 4
30.8.98
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rewrite #6
rewrite #6
the lie of joy stealing in the shotgun reach; 1
or the timing of sand, the sanding of a beach 2
to the beat of stars and their pulses in the ether; 3
the choice i’d take: i’d take neither. 4
10.10.96
Downy woodpecker H.U.D.
There is at least one pair of resident downy woodpeckers in and around the yard. I even found their nest two years back in a dead tree across Thornton creek. They moved out shortly after I found it and I thought it was because they didn’t like anyone knowing where they were. The tree blew down a week later so I guess they just knew that tree’s number was up.
I really wanted them nesting nearby again and I wanted some more generic bird boxes to I bought some cedar bird houses on Ebay. The holes are too big for most of the birds I want but just right for downy woodpeckers if I can get them to accept the design. Woodpeckers like deep(er) nestboxes.
Out front is a really great but really dead tree. It’s got southern exposure and is quite tall.
Meanwhile, a visitor watches the progress
He took a duck in the face at 250 knots.
So, the trick is to make the birds feel more at home. A good way to do this is to stuff the bird box with wood chips. That way they feel more like they’re excavating a natural nest and other birds are less likely to snatch up the real estate.
Since trees fall down here left, right, and center it was a 10 pace trek to find some hatchet fodder. Once the house was loosely stuffed to the hole-level it went up the ladder, about 17" high.
And if you haven’t seen these woodpeckers before, here is one below; the resident female. They are the smallest woodpeckers in North America (maybe in the world, I’m not sure) and I really hope the new box entices the pair, or even a new pair, to settle down and raise a brood (3-6 eggs). (Google for downy woodpeckers.)
another war song
another war song
we could play with words 1
if willing letters 2
ate like birds. 3
the good lay myth heard 4
round the town 5
that i let her bait 6
dyke kurds into the open; 7
they got thin, 8
they got mean, 9
they majored in shop, 10
they ate killer bees, 11
you know you are what you east– 12
a brewer’s infected sun won’t shine yeast, 13
and they are to be like unto these. 14
they will lie under stones 15
in turkestan dirt 16
with words every bit as dead, 17
playing every tiny bit as hurt, 18
printed in chalk until the next rain 19
on boards over their heads. 20
23.10.94
Gae-go-gi
The puppy was a tan blond color that wasn’t quite yellow but that’s the Crayon a child would draw it with. Christi saw a girl feed it rice and scraps every day and change its water. But no one ever played with it. Christi had always loved dogs. She played with the puppy. It was intelligent and playful and took to her immediately.
One day between classes she told Diane about the puppy. “I’ve been playing with it because no one else does. And I’ve been wanting a pet so I thought maybe I could buy it or something.”
Jasper was listening. He said, “You’re setting yourself up for a fall.”
“No one’s talking to you, Jasper,” said Diane.
“When they eat that little bugger you’re gonna cry, is all I’m saying.”
“Don’t listen to him,” said Diane.
“What do you mean?” Christi asked Jasper.
“That puppy is dog food without Purina, if you follow me.”
“They’re not going to eat him.”
“When it’s big enough.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yeah, well, ain’t life grand?”
“Oh, he doesn’t know anything,” said Diane. But Christi was upset. She left the office and went to class early.
About half of girls were there and none of the boys. They were hand feeding each other squid jerky. She said hello and sat down at her desk and stared into space. Her favorite student looked up at her with curiosity. Christi’s eyes were a little glassy.
“Teacher. Crying?” asked Mee-sun miming the rubbing of eyes.
“No. I am fine. How are you?”
“I’m Mee-sun,” she answered, perplexed by mishearing the question. The other girls thought this was hysterical. Another girl grabbed her shirt and commanded, “Ki-bun.”
“Oh my God,” said Mee-sun, bringing more laughter, “I’m fine.”
Christi loved the kids. They made everything smoother. There was nothing that could happen in class that she couldn’t handle. There was no culture shock or wrangling for the emotional upper hand with children. Children were children. And Korean children were happy, bright, artistic, and disciplined. When she could match their attention span and keep them in their seats, which she usually could, it was a teacher’s dream.
When Christi went home that night she played with the puppy. She brought herself up short, though. She went up to her apartment after just a minute of it.
The next morning she went into the office and only Miss Maeng and Wally were there. Wally had been in Korea longer than anyone else so Christi decided to ask him about it.
“I heard that Koreans eat dogs,” Christi said.
“Nah,” said Wally, “It’s illegal.”
“Really?”
“Sure, since ’88. They had a national campaign against it right before the Olympics to improve national image. Come out of the past and be more like the rest of the world. Nobody does it anymore. Now if we could just teach ’em to use forks.”
“Really?”
“I have not once, in three years, seen gae-go-gi on a menu and I’ve been in and out of Seoul and every back street town between here and there.”
“Gae-go-gi?”
“Like mool-go-gi, fish, or bool-go-gi, barbecue. Go-gi means meat. Gae means dog. Besides, Koreans love dogs, they’re all Buddhists. You see the old ladies carrying the things around all the time, don’t you?”
“You’re sure? I heard they eat the big dogs.”
“Ridiculous. Those are Jin island dogs and they have a history about them. They practically worship them.”
“Really?”
“There’s a story all the kids know about a man who took his Jin island dog to market with him. He bought some ma-co-li and got stinking drunk. He passed out in a field and his dog sat and watched over him. There was a brush fire. The dog ran to the river and soaked himself. He came back and dripped all the water around his master. And he did it again and again. The fire passed around his master but the dog died from exhaustion and running through the fire. The man woke up. Figured out what had happened when he saw the wet grass and his dead dog. He buried the dog in a human burial ceremony—that’s as good as it gets—with a stone and everything. And when he died a great-grandfather he met his dog in heaven.”
“That’s a great story.”
“See? They love them.”
“Thanks Wally. You made me feel a lot better.”
“Glad I could help. If there is anything you ever need. Just ask.”
When she got home that afternoon the puppy was there but didn’t come running out of its plywood house to greet her. She crouched down to look in at it. It was sitting with its paw held in the air. The leg was broken. She acted without thinking about it much. She took the puppy off its chain and carried it back to the bus stop.
In the vet shop the vet put the puppy’s leg in a little splint that it probably couldn’t chew off. She paid the vet and took it back. She spent an hour in the dark, holding a pocket flashlight in her mouth, trying to fix up the dog house. She did a fair job. The puppy was asleep from fatigue. She sat and watched his little paws twitch in dream.
At work she told Diane about her adventure. All the teachers were giving dog advice. Wally was helping Allen put together the pieces for a children’s English game.
“What are you gonna call him?” asked Diane.
“I was thinking about Buster because he reminds me of that shoe dog. Remember?”
“How about Lun-chee,” suggested Jasper not looking up from his Time magazine.
“Leave her alone, Jasper,” said Diane.
The class bell rang and everyone got up but Jasper.
“Don’t you have class?” said Diane.
“Nope.”
“Why do you hang around? We’d all really enjoy coming to work more if you weren’t here.”
“I did not know that.”
“How many hours are you teaching?”
“Eighteen. How ’bout yourself?”
“Thirty-four. Why don’t you teach as much as the rest of us?”
“Just lucky, I guess.”
“I hate this fucking place,” said Diane to no one. “Fucking Mr. Kim.”
Mrs. Bae said, “Come on, let’s go to class.” Diane and the stragglers left the office for their rooms.
Christi passed many months taking care of Buster. He grew into a strong dog by the time autumn blew in. When the weather got cold she left him with some used blankets she got out of the closet at the school. She lined the dog house with caulk so it wasn’t so windy and the melting snow wouldn’t drip inside. She nailed a piece of carpet to swing over the doorhole.
One Monday Christi sat down to write some postcards. The other teachers went around the office making copies, cutouts, and class plans. She sipped tea and watched the first snowfall out the window. It made the town beautiful. Tremendous flakes grouped like feather down. The quiescence and silence made Suwon seem like Banff. She wrote that in her postcards. She knew no one would believe it but it was true.
“How’s Buster doing?” asked Dexter on his way to hang his coat.
“Great but he took off this morning. His collar was still there so I guess he got loose.”
“Oh, no.”
“It’s happened before so I’m not worried. He always comes right back. I didn’t have time to hang out and call him. My bus was coming over the hill.”
“I hope you get him back safe and sound.”
“No worries,” she said and meant it.
Jasper sat reading the dictionary next to her. He was shaking his head.
“What’s the matter?” she asked curtly.
“Christi, you’re not the type who handles life’s blows well.”
“I don’t hear you when you talk like that.”
“Okay.”
“They don’t eat them,” she said.
“Yes, they do.”
“Maybe before, but not anymore.”
“Uh, well, they do it less now, that’s true. But they do it.”
“Well, you’re wrong again, Jasper. Wally told me they don’t.”
“Ha! He’s an... he’s been misled. It’s everywhere, I told you. They put the things in a burlap bag and beat the poor things to death. You’d think it would spoil the meat.”
“Wally said it’s illegal.”
“It is. So’s incest, child pornography, murder, rape, fraud, insider trading, jay-walking, cheating on your income tax, double parking, and oral sex in Utah.”
“You’re just trying to scare me or hurt my feelings or something. I don’t know why you’re doing it but I won’t believe it.”
“Hey, don’t cop a ’tude with me. I wouldn’t do it, I love dogs. I have dogs. I’d just as soon eat a kid, but Eric’s tried it. Isn’t that right?”
Eric, on his way past them to the copier, said, “What?”
“Dog,” said Jasper.
“Yeah. But I’d never do it again. It’s not so great. Gave me the squirts.”
Christi said, “They don’t still do that. Wally said it’s not on the menu on any restaurant he’s ever been in.”
“Well, it is.”
“He said gae-go-gi is never on the menu.”
“That’s because it’s illegal, get it? They call it bo-shin-t’ang, usually, on the menu placards. A lot of places you just gotta ask for it ’cause they don’t wanna advertise. But I’ve seen it in Seoul plenty of times. It’s more popular in the small towns where it’s easier to get away with.”
“You must have made a mistake.”
“Not in recent memory.”
“Everybody’s right about you, you’re just an arrogant prick.”
“It’s an interesting world wide phenomenon that honest people are considered assholes. I’m just giving you straight information. And you realize that taking Wally’s word over mine is the most insulting thing anyone’s ever done to me.”
“Prove it then.”
“You don’t want me to.”
“I know you can’t.”
“All right, you asked for it.”
Jasper pulled his feet off the desk and stood to the book shelf. He rummaged around his shelf, flipping through stacks of file folders and notebooks.
“What are you doing?” Christi asked.
“Getting you your proof so you can see that though I may be an asshole I’m the only one here with any brains and I won’t lie to you even if you gotta call me names. Here you go,” he said pulling out a photo envelope, “I took these in the summer.”
He passed her the photos. They were black and white printed on 4x6 paper. They showed a yard full of dogs of various large breeds, mostly Jin island dogs but some mixed breeds where Dane or Doberman stock was visible. The conditions were not good. One photo showed six adult dogs, on the back of a big flatbed truck, crammed into a cage apparently designed to hold four chickens. The dogs were so tight, they bulged the mesh and couldn’t move as much as a paw or open their mouths. The farmer stood in the side of the frame lifting a sixty pound dog by the scruff of its neck out of another cage. The photos were all of the yard of dogs but the last. The last was of poorer quality but clear enough. It was a photo of an animal inside a portico on a plastic cutting block. The shininess was the give away in black and white that it was all blood and muscle; no skin, no head. The man was holding an immense cleaver to chop off its feet and the peeled skin in gathers around them.
“And I’ll tell you that guy was mucho pissed when he saw me taking ’em. I had to put on the telephoto and hide in some bushes to take the butcher shots. That’s the only one that came out. That ain’t the other white meat, honey.”
Christi didn’t look at anyone or anything. She just walked out of the school without her jacket. It was the first time she’d missed teaching a class for any reason.
She hadn’t learned much Korean. She got one of her neighbors in the building to come downstairs with her. They stood shaking in the cold sunshine. The sky was a superior blue. The snow had stopped earlier at three inches.
The girl who used to feed Buster was there. Christi made the neighbor ask the girl where the dog went. The girl said they sold it. The neighbor asked more. The girl didn’t know. The neighbor was pushed by Christi to ask more. The girl said the dog had been taken in a cage in a big blue truck, if that was helpful. It ended the questions. Christi knew it was the truck from Jasper’s photos.
–1998
the pumpkin tree; revisited
the pumpkin tree; revisited
the fruit of that fruitful tree is bathing me 1
in pulp, in fibers, in seeds, yellow and sticky. 2
with a postlithic device i punch out two eyes 3
in triangles, in angles for removal. 4
a grin as mad as blistering gin 5
scraggles under my hand. 6
the autumnal fruit, 7
this holiday on a beach; 8
the proxy for my governor, 9
this stand in for my head; 10
this thing cooking itself a sweet smell, 11
this constant coconspiritor to my seasons of empty bed. 12
3.21 30.5.98
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i am in the remembering.
i am in the remembering.
i am in the remembering 1
and you are in the smoke. 2
i am in the remembering 3
and i am become dangerous, 4
when sober so long 5
the buggies stop saying so long– 6
they roost, they flock, 7
they truck, they block, 8
they say, “hey! we’re here to say–” 9
they plot, they shuck 10
they clot, they stock 11
up for the long haul to next may. 12
i will truck no distraction, 13
i will suffer no degradation of resolution 14
for i am in the remembering and you are in the smoke. 15
22.2.96
the pumpkin tree; the hanging tree
the pumpkin tree; the hanging tree
the hanging tree was baiting me 1
with effing images of exes in effigy; 2
dangling by necks i held easily, 3
necks that had fit in my hands like keys. 4
why is the honor of pure murder reserved for daddy time? 5
what difference if the murder becomes mine? 6
as a matter of future record 7
you who become your father’s mothers, 8
you who are legally hung on the halloween gallows, 9
as a record of historical importance 10
a coven with gertrude stein, 11
ann sexton, sylvia plath and three brontës 12
and in your new england home 13
not a one was fired with oak and ambergris; 14
they were mostly put on the open ended rack 15
to dangle like worms on hooks 16
and when you understand at last what you likely catch– 17
necks with stretch marks, rope cuts; 18
then i’ll be willing to write your books. 19
26.11.95
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THASHRUM BLOODSETTE
THASHRUM BLOODSETTE
THASHRUM BLOODSETTE 1
PUDDING IN THE PIE 2
WE ALL ARE BORN 3
WE ALL WILL DIE 4
DEAF DUMB SUNSET 5
DRAGON IN THE RYE 6
GATHERS UP HIS FLOCKS 7
OF CHILDREN BY AND BY 8
JACQUIE AND THE GUNMAN 9
BOTH DO WHAT THEY MUST 10
IT ISN’T QUITE BLOOD 11
IT’S NOT JUST RUST 12
THE SKY ATE ITSELF 13
THERE WAS NO CLEAN FOOD 14
DON’T BELIEVE EXCUSES 15
DON’T BELIEVE I’M IN THE MOOD 16
KARI SNOW SHE DANCE SO SLOW AND I’M IN LOVE AGAIN 17
BUT THE SCARECROW HAS A KNIFE AND HE LOOKS BORED AGAIN 18
THE MOMENT IT RELEASES ME AND I’M IN HELL (FALLING) AGAIN 19
BUT THE WRITER DRESSED IN PINE WON’T LET ME SIN 20
PROMETHEUS TORN 21
GAVE TO US 22
THE FIRST OF THE KEYS 23
TO RAISE US FROM DUST 24
SOME THINGS WE LEARN AS CHILDREN 25
SOME LESSONS EVERY DAY 26
GIFTS IGNORED 27
CHOICES THROWN AWAY 28
THE EMOTION THAT HAS BROUGHT ME INTO THIS PLACE AGAIN 29
SOMETHING I LEFT YEARS BEHIND BUT ALWAYS SEEM TO FIND AGAIN 30
I GUESS I’LL HAVE TO GIVE MY FACE TO THE SCARECROW AGAIN 31
HE CAN BARTER LOVE FOR ME BETTER WITHIN 32
LEATHER CROW AND SHANIE 33
CAME DOWN FROM THE STARS 34
DEVILS PAY BILLS 35
ANGELS DRIVE CARS 36
DARKNESS IN THE SKY 37
JASMINE’S UNDER GROUND 38
WE ALL GROW UP 39
WE ALL FALL DOWN 40
JACQUIE O’ SHE HAD TO GO AND MARRY AN EVIL MAN AGAIN 41
WHAT WAS IN HER HEAD WHEN SHE SAID SHE DID AGAIN 42
I GUESS I UNDERSTAND WHAT MAKES A PERSON WANT TO TRY AGAIN 43
BUT THE KILLER IN THE TREEHOUSE STILL WON’T LET ME SING 44
YOUR SELF RESPECT IN PIECES 45
YOUR LIFE IS MISERY 46
THIS IS NOT ABOUT PLACE 47
IT’S NOT ABOUT ME 48
KARMA’S TIED WITH KISMET