LEFTOVERS AND COLD DOODLES

LEFTOVERS AND COLD DOODLES

ONCE MORE DEAR FRIENDS, INTO THE BREECH! Yeah, I picked a few at random. I like the photograph I took of the two gulls; they were really high up in the sky as I recall. I don’t know why the photo is all purplee though, unless I did that Photoshop thingy again; it was a while ago.

The one large doodle is a full page display of my inner mind. So be afraid; be very afraid! (I musta been imbibing something at the time,legal of course. It’s from a number of years ago.
I used PS to reverse the colour on the next four doodles so that the light areas become dark and the dark light (sounds biblical…) Anyway, they look trippy. (The one with the giant sewing needle in space had the caption "IT’S A RICH MAN’S UNIVERSE, SON.”
The doodle of two strange cartoon folk having really, REALLY unsafe sex is part of a series I did on the seven deadly sins. 
And needles and hummingbirds? What’s up with that? (I have no idea!) Hmmm. I just noticed a lot of rather phallic missiles flying about a couple of these doodles. I hope they’re not Freud's.
Anyway, warm up these cold dishes and chow down on them or add them to the compost pile; either way they'll be put to use, eventually, if only by worms....

Large Doodle

 


 

                                                                                                 

DON’T DRINK AND DOODLE  

(A message from the Doodlers Society of Canada®)

 

POEM: A LIFETIME

 A Lifetime

I have you first to last.

From first, when the stream’s waters

anoint your naked feet.

From the smooth stones

beneath the water’s flow

that soothe their aches,

and by the water,

with but the slightest chill,

that plays about your limbs and body
like laughing children.

From that moment of one into two,

and one again.

And later, by the lines,
the strong lines that bind and hold,

and keep us from that elsewhere place

of time and space and motion—

from the turning of the world

and the spilling of salt,

from the ragged tearing of cloth,

and tears that wet the stone.

I WROTE THIS THE OTHER DAY. I had been thinking of an image of a brook or stream, soft water flowing over smooth stones, shaded by trees with a warm summer breeze blowing. Ah! An ideal setting for an idyll, indeed! I did a doodle of a stream and thought I would write a poem with that setting in mind. I don’t think I write brilliant poetry or anything, but if any of my stuff touches a chord with someone, well, it may not be the full orchestra, but it’s music to my ears at least. So here it is—raw/complete, good/bad, meaningful/meaningless, empty/full, thoughtful/cliché…  Hmmm. Lots of binaries here—what about a third way, or a fourth? Surely there’s more to life than just opposites, of just one way or the highway? Well, I’ll let it sit for a bit and if I decide to edit it or to add more of my scintillating commentary, I will use strike-outs and highlighting to show you any changes to the text. But the doodle stays, man!
Cheers, Jake. 

"QUOTES": JOHN MICHAEL GREER ON THE PLACE OF DEATH IN OUR LIVES

JOHN MICHAEL GREER WROTE:  "It's when we wake up to the fact that life is a process of ripening toward death, that death is not the opposite of life but its fulfillment, that actual maturity finally arrives."