We've penetrated the Witless Detection Program using our Avatar 3-D movie glasses.

Going through my pocket notebook searching an idea for a blog, I came across these two poemettes.  Do two poemettes equal one poem?

~ ~ ~

Double Talk

I wouldn't want to be with me
I wouldn't even want to be me
But I am me
My am is my me to be
So I be what I am
To be or not
But not not to be
So I be the be I be
Since I don't want to be any other
I better my being being me

~ ~ ~

Evidence Bag

That said
or this done
and WHACK
out comes the evidence bag
microscope
puzzle pieces
quantum analysis
till confusion rains
the cat's put back
in the box
and all returns to all
with no done
till
again
that said
or this done
and WHACK
out comes the evidence bag

~ ~ ~

Does this collection of recent news headlines make any sense? No. Do they offer much hope for our future? Of course not. Do they offer any proof of human intelligence or morality? No. Did I bother to arrange them into a cohesive whole? No. Then why are they here? Because they show a snapshot of our overall social, moral and financial world situation. But at least the fotos are cool. Read and weep.

Terror By Text

Are Our Minds Going The Way Of Our Waists?

Women Who Want to Want

British Woman Found Guilty Of Having Noisy Sex

FapMapper App Shares Where You've Masturbated, Had Sex

Nevada Brothel Lobbyist Calls Introduction Of Male Prostitution 'Repugnant'

Victoria's Secret? 20 Layers Of Butt Makeup

Former Miss Argentina Dies From Cosmetic Buttocks Surgery

Baby Survives Being Born In Toilet; Mom Didn't Know She Was Pregnant

Mother Smothers Baby While Breast-Feeding On Flight

GOP Senator Admits: 'I've Lived Off The Public Tit'

Man Cleavage Is Back

One In Four Teens Admit Sexting Nude Photos, Survey Finds

British Couple Make Porn To Pay For Wedding

Hookers Offer Free Sex During Copenhagen Climate Conference

Giant Penis Sparks Bizarre Media War

Eating Horse Meat in a Paris Pool

Goldman Sachs Staff Buying Guns 'To Defend Themselves Against Public Uprising'

Drug Money Saved The World's Banks Last Year, Says U.N. Adviser

How many Muslims has the US killed in the past 30 years?

Disgruntled Nuclear Worker Puts Radioactive Isotope In Water-Cooler

Millions In U.S. Drink Contaminated Water

Polar Bears Eating Young Due To Shrinking Sea Ice

A $5,000 Burger?!

Alcohol Pill: Gets You Drunk Without Drinking

Hey Religious Believers, Where's Your Evidence?

WOW! Monkeys Can Recognize Their Pals In Photos

An iPhone App To Worship Ronald Reagan

Tea Party Activists Want Mandatory Christmas Carols In Public Schools

Teabagger Punches Old Man

Atheist May Be Barred From Office

Indian Baby-Tossing Festival May Be Banned

Weightlifter Has Unexpected Baby During Training

Bank Of America Employee Fired After Helping Customers

GE CEO On The Crisis: 'The Richest People Made The Most Mistakes With The Least Accountability'

Homeland Security Embarks on Big Brother Programs to Read Our Minds and Emotions

Brazilian Boy Has 50 Sewing Needles Stuck Inside Body

Two-Legged Dog Inspires Disabled Army Vets, Others

Why Fake Optimism Is the Worst Way to Deal with Life's Problems

Pentagon's Advice to Traumatized Veterans: Think Happy Thoughts!

Does Death Exist? New Theory Says 'No'

Fandango

We’re in this waiting room
waiting for the set to change
except there’s no waiting
no waiting
just a few flowers
to feel
fuse
maybe fondle
as we tip our tongue
in tangle
and tango the won’t that awaits

Brother Grim

Scamper little bunny
run for cover fast.
Protect your carrots
forget the nest.
The fox is hungry.
The wolf he wants
bunny tummy.
Plus all the rest
of the critters
of forest
far larger than you
are looking
for cooking
material too.
So run funny bunny
my money’s on you.
George Bush is too stupid
to ever catch you.
Said the souls of the slaughtered
to the living few.

Said the souls of the slaughtered
to the living few.

 - Steven B. Smith, 2005

This was true before I wrote it, and ever more true every year since - it fits today like a glove.

They

Wing word round
in classic clown
till dry discourse
rues rule
Courts gesture
recourse
of course
Lambs lame lions
and liars lie down
in one main line
of fool

 - Steven B. Smith, 2005

8-Ball Boogie Blues

I worked my ass off and now my pants won't fit.
Kissed so much behind my lips are starting to stick.
This working class hero bit's just another bag of it.

I'd eat the rich, but their taste is so bad. I'd serve
the poor, but too many already have. I'd play with myself
but I'm not all here. So I ask God, is She still there?

Reason drips in dropped disguise red through white
through blues departing in the night, the never right
hype the Man, his chicken stripe, and his doo doo do.

We worship Amway, Scientology too. As long as it's
Brand-Named we play the fool, pay first born foreskin,
a nipple or two. So break out your dead deal dust due.

Ghosts of gone before host our yet to be. No
flowers for the finished, no hour for their song.
Ground zero works in theory only when you're wrong.

Weren't for Monk, I'd catch Coltrane. Weren't for TV
I'd have a brain. Heart and soul sold for junk. If I'm
the rat, best step back cuz I'm not the one gonna jump.

8 ball boogie gets you every time. Tried to fax the
factors in, they made me stand in line. Try to share
my truth with them, they stamp my life a lie.

 - Steven B. Smith, 2006-2009

Rebound Lounge                                               

Week’s cold ambiance
wakes autumn equinox                                      
sorrow wide as joy                                            

Seduction’s gentlewant gristle
wrestles face to face fancy                                   
pocket vein empty                                                

Coward returns from hero’s death
lone penny production                                          
Judas home in heart

 -  Steven B. Smith, 1994

I am not without sexual sin or driveway drama myself (see excerpt at end of blog), but since I am not casting stones, merely reporting them, I'll continue with this Tiger untribute.

The very first news report of Tiger Woods car crash was so full of holes I immediately told Lady it was bullcrap - the facts simply didn't gel.

I mean, here's a man driving down his own driveway at 2:30 in the morning at 27 miles per hour which is way too fast for a driveway because the only way you can reach such speed in that short a distance is by constant acceleration, which makes it sound like he was trying to escape from rather than go to. At the end of the driveway, he loses control and crashes into a tree and fire hydrant, whereupon his loving wife grabs one of his golf clubs, rushes out and smashes his rear window with it to save him.

Huh?

I don't believe who's sleeping with whom is any of my moral business, although I've learned from my own participation in the past with two married women that adultery hurts everyone's partners unless you're in an agreed upon open marriage - and even then it seems everyone suffers anyway.

I do believe hypocrisy is my moral business though, especially when the committer incorporates family-values into his income operation.

And for total disclosure, I think golf is one of the stupidest non-sports there is, right up there with pro-wrestling and synchronized swimming. Of course in my book basketball, baseball, soccer and football aren't far behind on the list of needlessness. But even so, I respect Tiger's achievements - he's played the golf game by its own rules and totally rules that world of bad fashion and green grass punctuated by manmade gopher holes.

I can't believe how fast the headlines escalated from minor news to major soap opera in just two weeks, and they're still not done. But here are some of the more fascinating, egregious and salacious selections I've come across.

Of course as I mentioned, I am not without sin here myself either sexually or driveway-wise. Not only have I been adulterous with at least two married women and attempted but failed an adultery against my own wife (who had at least 6 admitted adulteries committed against me before my try), but I rolled my car in my own driveway at over 70 miles per hour back in 1976. Here's the story in an excerpt from chapter 24 of our unpublished book previously called CRIMINAL, but tentatively retitled:

My brother and I moved in together in a house in Brahmen in '76. We didn't have any money and had to decide what was important. Alcohol won out over milk and sugar, so we started drinking our coffee black. To get more alcohol, we tromped through the snow to unoccupied lakeside summer cabins and kicked in their doors. It's not as easy to kick in a door as it looks in the movies. We took guns, drugs, alcohol and what not. Our friend Jones sold the guns. I was having fun, but I was definitely going the wrong way.

The first night we moved in together we got stoned and wrestled, goofing off. We were trying to claim the house for ourselves. Cat was on his back on the floor with his knee up. I tried to pin him down, his knee against my ribs. I slowly sank an inch down, breaking my rib. It was the gentlest breaking imaginable. The hospital gave me codeine.  I immediately took a lot.

Pappy didn’t yet know his manual laborer was broken, so at five in the morning Cat and I drove down to pick up my replacement, Jones. Heading back, me driving, my brother kept shouting, “Faster, faster!” I kept saying, “Where is it, where is it?” looking for the driveway. We weren't yet familiar with our neighborhood. I pulled around an older couple at ninety miles an hour, and just as I pulled back in front of them my brother shouted, “There it is!”

I immediately stomp my foot on the brake and turn the wheel, whereupon the car flips over onto its top and skids upside down through the driveway, across the lawn, and stops six feet from the house, upside down.

Rolling it squished the top, popped the windshield out and slightly twisted the frame. Jones drove it over to a tree, jacked the car up opposite the way the roof was bent, wrapped a chain around the roof, tied the chain to the tree and kicked the jack out. As the car fell the chain jerked the top back where it was supposed to be. We epoxied the front window back and bondoed the driver’s door shut.

Jones had an easy loose attitude toward vehicles. He had a Jeep without brakes which he'd drive through the woods, stoned. To brake, he'd downshift, and to stop, he'd run into a tree.

A short while later I was out of work and hadn't been making my car payments. I'm sitting on my mother's trailer porch when these two guys drive up to repossess the car. I tell them, “There it is.”

As one walked over toward it I said, “Oh, you have to get in the passenger side. We bondoed the driver's side shut.” He just looked at me, shook his head, got in and drove away.

 - excerpt from CRIMINAL by Smith and Lady; a memoir of armed robbery, stolen cars, alternative art, mainstream poetry, underground publishing, robbing the cradle, and leaving the country.