PonY PaYRoLL Bones Outside Explorations : Poetics

Image from a larger work on paper by Francis Zander, Jenny Moon Tucker
and M Pony Payroll Bones. Late May/Early June 2014

Below are notes, poetics, aphorisms, bits of folklore, observations, fragments, lyrical lines etc taken from handwritten jottings in a notebook on Saturday July 19th, 2014. The formless formed. Something may or may not occur with these notes. Something already has these are notes. Yes, the formless formed. Raw, nonlinear, associative, honest ramblings-----

JUly 19th Notes, 2014................

--the problem of mechanisms

-----thee problems of

Mechanisms---

One forgets what the original definition of machine is.

Outdated cultural metaphors chutz it up. The stand up comedy in purgatory is NOT FUNNY.

barking dogs, motorcycles Revving---Recognition of barely freedom those dirt bike rider kids?

There's a pig in the alley trying to sell me bacon.

squallin Cat.

Autumn breeze made

a summer tooth loosE

The old clubhouse down the dirt road winding hills...where the local folks would have dances.

The pistol shot

a hole in the banjer

and tha player was not struck

yet took time to feel conviction of this.

One truly understands music if one is put in danger by music in any context.

Hen waller

Breakin tha Cow's

necK

Pissin inside

tha covered bridge

upon midnight

whipstitch

bloody them shoes

Lame donkey dances in the rain

The stranger had

lost his way and

everyone wasz a

stranger and they did not know

so (they did not KNow they were also strangers.) The stranger

KneW he wasz a strangeR.

TheY forced me

to be right handed,

I suspect

--I'm still from the devil. I am left

handed.

don't trust a woman

who hides behind a

man

don't trust a man

who hides behind

a woman

singing usta be as natural as

talking

breathing---100 yeaRs

ago--

(and where did this happen you might ask?)

some evil tooK over this countrY--don't

want people ta sing

-- --singing keeps things

honest

fiddle and banjo

come from the devil

THe name of thA

composer was long

f o R G o T T E N

An old insult "HE stood behind the door too long."

Horse apple

Quaker bottom Road

Hamlin's Wizard Oil

William S. Hays wrote "Little Log Cabin in the Lane."

THis was the first country hit played and sung by

Fiddlin John Carson ---1923--Old ATL Moonshiner, Patriarch, Roustabout and timeless man of his day. He knew obligations. Good bad. THe burning crimson evening

descendeth over tha PiedmonT.

"Things have changed their

course another way."

an old insult "He didn't know enough to throw rocks at

chickens"

"Nostalgia ain't what it used to be."

Grandmother's dream

He got drunk

and tried to stab tha

river to death.

The river drowned him.

"I had a little chicken/she had a wooden leg."

"If you need a helping hand you'll find it at

the end of your arm."

Below are five

examples of Pioneer/Appalachian Slang

Jimber Jawed

Cooter around

flustrated

hillside fish

obsquatulate--(to mosey or to abscond))

(end)

squirrel draggeR

--rabbit bomPer

saLacious winds of

ghost tongues--

Conviction or Caprice?

Interrogations proliferated

yet no resolution

---that itself is

the resolution- - -

Babble goes the babbling animal(s)

A soul in de

U N D E R WO R L D

SKELETONIZED with de BONES REARRANGED with CrueLTY

A whistling Crow

and a belching Hen

Death cups accompany

and offers offers

from a burlap sack

O SiN.

Image from a larger work on paper by Francis Zander, Jenny Moon Tucker

and M Pony Payroll Bones. Late May/Early June 2014

NOTES ON DE BIRD SHIT--BIRD BONE sHIt IsLaNd BLuEs

Fort Carroll stands guard to Baltimore, Maryland at the mouth of the Inner Harbor. Designed by that walking contradiction young Robert E. Lee long before becoming Confederate Commander of the Northern Virginia Army. This Fort in the middle of the Patapsco River has never seen any real war action. Army target practice took place here possibly up to World War Two. Find out all the correct and detailed information upon this ghost fort at www.bytenet.net/rmscaronia/Main Fort Carroll Page old.htm or http://www.lighthousefriends.com/light.asp?ID=422 or ....FIND IT.

The place is now a strange bird sanctuary. A friend, his dumbly pup and I ventured out to the forgotten derelict in his red plastic canoe. Pictures below are by Mr. Hanzi. Text are notes written two days after the adventure. Speculations that ramble in tha somewhars

Do not touch the water as the local radio warns about the inner harbor.

These notes reflect speculations that arose from the experience.

Disaster (s) real and imagined

Realism is real and imaging. Realism is imaging the imagination.

Realism is the imaginative(s)-----cartography

Realism is birds over taking history. Realism is the spirit messenger birds O the water. O the Chesapeake.

Realism is shitting on history and making it real. Realism is birds shitting on historical remnants and making thangs pure.

Saying things you did not know you did not know you needed to know.

Things are growing old in the young. What are these things?

The birds will tell me the birds will tell me various things. green eggs. dark green muted eggs with blackish spots. Birds. Sea birds ready to projectile into the world.

Bones crunch

the crash of birds

upon Robert E.

Lee's Hexagon. He designed it and made it occur, yet he never visited the fort and the fort never saw real (real) human violence.

THe fort existed because of imaginative possibility.

Patapsco River blues. Baltimore is in the haze today upon a Friday. A fog of weather. A fog of pollution. Cargo and belching ships. Cargo ships. Speed boats. Cruise ship Blues. those rich fucks--going to the inner harbor. A fog of emotions. Trailing you and me and the meat. The WHOLE MEAT.

Tha smell O gasoline from Curtis CreeK mixing. polluting. BP polluting and enabling us. Gobbling us to and fro in the froth of dullard fuss.

found a bullet (lead) green Spanish American war Rehearsals. World War One or World War Two Shooting rehearsals.

Casts of the old cannons long gone --casts of old cannons made into concrete casts and then those are mostly destroyed.

Birds shit and make things real. birds die and make things real. Walking on the fortress wall and crunch crunch. Bones Crunch.

thar was a house. for tha OLe Lighthouse Keeper. and the house is gone. and I could not find the foundation (s). Are these trees Peach trees.

The Man who bought the island in 1950ish....1952. planted many Peach trees. He was gonna bring gamblers here to gamble.

This could be an orchard that doesn't grow covered in bird shit.

Yor usual birds. Herons. White Herons. ducks neath tha bush. some kinda hawKs. seagulls yu keep squawkin and those mysterious abundance of all these strange large black sea birds.

Sometimes theY be a Blu e EGG. A bright bLUe pasteL BLUE egg --amongst tha dark green eggs with black splotches.

CHicKs everWhar. chicKs gawkin tha aiR. Lookin fo MommY's primaL food garbLE.

THousands upon thousands upon thousands upon thousands of old bird nests and new bird nests and bird nests upon bird nests and the garbage of man and woman some sum these birds maketh thar nests outta.

Ole useless empty drug prescription bottles yet not useless in their durability cuz they exist and they have no no purpose anymore.

red canoe

dog tied to tha red canoe

jumps into murky water. stullifying grotesque them waters dirtY.

I pull Mr Dog out. He shakes on both of us

as we paddle. Dumb dogs are puppies are dumb dogs.

it were graY when we paddled out then tha sun came ouT and tha sun began ta baKe the white caked bird shit especially amongst the bottom below tha fortress walls.

Sea breeze up on de walls. and you can see PoLIce HeLicopTor flyin tha Late spring bLue skies and tha fuckeR don'T see Us in his faKe metaL deomON birD. BURST.

horror rust tractor in the caverns that used tA landscape tha grounDs.... Stalactite stalagmite.

water stains look like blood. and some room fort brick caverns are completely bloody in black blood darkness.

skeleton and skin and birds hangin from fishin wire and the hooks through thar mouthbeaK (blues) or thar wings and they was struggling and now they hang in death. TERRIBLE AVIAN DEATH BLUES!

birds dead birds on the ground. they are talking the dead birds on the ground. and the seagulls are secret monkey Gods who talk in Places invisible places to tha OTHER GODS. Greasy bones. dry bones crunch.

we drink a little bottle of liquor in tha bleached out ole wooden Lighthouse. 1968 graffiti.

GHost of tha old guard dog? yu get warned when you dock. IT painted big . PRIVATE. GUARD DOG! Who feeds the guard dog? Who feeds the ghost of tha guard dog covered in bird shit.

we tha only ghosts out here. Two men and one single old puppy upon a dragging leash.

Below is the WhoLe text not broken up with all the photos.

Notes On Bird SHIT. BIrd Shit Bone Island Blues