Today’s Image #345

Title$1 Hits – Page 1”
– 5.25″ x 5.5″
Format – mix-media word collage in a handmade book

Today we embark on a 36-day trip called $1 Hits – a word collage that covers 36 pages in a handmade book from 1994 – with the title page.

I’ll be posting a page each day – along with the poem taken from the collage piece of that day – from now until October 3rd.

The material that went into this collage included the novel The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, a pulp fiction book called Fistful Of Death, a book on how to fly a Frisbee, Publisher’s Clearinghouse junk mail material and stickers, along with various other materials including cut-up pieces of my own poems.

Below is a photo of the small handmade book that holds this word collage. The “skin” of this book is my old painting shirt from 1992 until it was retired in 1994 to be used for different handmade books – this one and a very Dada-esque book called “My Left Arm”.

Enjoy the trip!

Today’s Image #265

Title“Sunday Final – Page 21
Dimensions – 9″ x 6″
Format – mixed-media collage book
Date – 1995

Today’s page from this word collage reads, as follows:

Man on the freeway,
his eyes were a crack of thunder.

We saw Elvis on the freeway,
in a yellow Chevy,
a ’68 Malibu,
and the front tire was wobbly.

Man in a bippy shirt and hot pant with a pony tail,
dancing around.
He was wailin’ for miles,
a rusty nail with a tetanus chaser.
He’s got the road for a roof over his head,
and then the street settled down.

Listen to that air hum,
oh, the music is just right.


Note: We are now at page 21, and we have ten more pages to go. The last page, #31, will be posted on June 20th (the first day of Summer) and the Cover from the handmade collage book will be posted on the 21st, along with the complete poem assembled from all the pages…

Lots of good stuff ahead in the “Sunday Final”! (And this is only one of more than a dozen word-collage poems from that time period.)

of clothes, NOW – the poem

About This Word Collage – of clothes, NOW

This collage was created in the mid-1990’s. The original materiel for this collage were done on sailcloth stretched over a silkscreen frame. The collage was measured off into 6″ x 4″ pieces, cut out and mounted in a book created for them.

From there I decipher the poem that goes with these beautiful, little pieces of Dada-eques art – maybe even more Jungian than Dada…

Either way, enjoy exploring this world called of clothes, NOW

The poem created from all the various pieces;

Part One

of clothes. Now

Warning: use your noodle
In case of Fierce Mountain Gorilla

DURING Playing Dirty
When? “Right now,” I said.
If not ordering,
see Official Rules for Entry Details.

” Because it’s such a big deal now –
everybody crying at every turn – I wanted people to know I had a sense of humor.”
” I’m not capable of shooting films

Part Two


Now he can begin to position fluidity to it
that has not been altered by past interventions.”

She got more tauntingly beautiful every year.
Became the priestess of a religion
with no name or dogma.
Dressed the part,
in black capes
and dresses
and Spanish hats.

The basic tip is with one hand abortion of flight
when a sudden down air current forces the
So What Frisbee to the ground.

My snowman won’t even Talk to yours!

Didn’t your father ever tell you about this stuff?
Absolutely the finest atlas in the world is published by the Times, cost $175.

Note: ”Scroop•. That’s the technical m
to denote the rustling sound
for having recommended that
I’m turning his head the other way
to put ( someone under

We slice every pie
so you think you’ve got the biggest slice
Remains more

So, Jerry, We We
Just Wondering…

Part Three

submissive – gave way it’s power

Blissed out Red Star
My Zolar is flimsy

Then look
My snow had to farther yours
They should be equal

” only beloved.”
Make your snowman’s arm longer.
His hand won’t reach my snowman’s hand.
Walking 6 miles on the beach before breakfast.
( As healthy as running, Switzerland had more sperm
Or for when you know perfectly well, and more to
think about than what to where. Who picks up the
kids at kindergarten, buys the mother-in-law
birthday card and does all the personal stuff.
Says a Hollywood assistant, who, of blackheads,
batted my eyes at my eyes in the mirror, scratched
at various strategic spots on my body, brushed my
hair to bring out the last reluctant wave.)

” Home,” he said.
” Home is the hotel?” I said.

whole grains can
at the Ready
fresh produce, fish and highway speeds.

Earlier signaling maybe
sons cost 25 cents.

Part Four

Lindberghs’ Baby Kidnapped

Like to go?
Peary reached th’ North Pole?

We saw Elvis on the Freeway
in a yellow Chevy
a ’68 Malibu
and the front tire was wobbly.

Fresh Mushrooms
8 oz. pkg. – each
Chill ( a master at taking them he weighed. the More Diamonds at the annual weighing. And that’s just Saturday. A weekend like this once required a station wagon)

it’s a one bag weekend

a tetanus chaser
the chive
without being alive
Little Brother.

Part Five


The entire city of San Francisco goes on strike to support the longshoremen.

” Look, there’s been a lengthy processions of Lindas before this Linda, but Freddie’s always played it smart, he’s never exposed Ethel to any of his numerous fair ladies.

So… I didn’t mention Linda.”
For there stood Clumsy

“No. I think it’s Nick Wallace, personally.”
Among other not-for-attribution tales of indignity:
When the Famous Screenwriter is visiting the Famous Actor’s house
lively-backhand, sidearm, under-

By Jack Smiles (June ”Atlantic”),

Part Six

” That dress is almost just so,” she said of last year’s jumper
“How about like this?”
fashion’s advocates or it’s censors.

The politics of the runway are unabashedly confrontational
and equal lighting.
When so viewed,
the cracked Frisbee is a serious problem.

Workplace itself,
where the work itself is
the arm swing is straight from the …
a smell of it’s own.

Try it sometime. Lie down
” You love me?”
” I love you.”
” Oh Bruce,” Sara said.
” I’ve got to be in Court,” Bruce said.”On one of those pre-Lent in combination of hand to foot of Chinese leader Mao Tse-tung; he died 43 days later.”

Part Seven

Favorite Things.

This is the shirt he was wearing.
Rent parties. Friends come over,
put in two bucks each,
have a swell time.

Boulevards each sorely this stretch needs restoration. Once part of historic Route 66, Europe doesn’t operate this way. They don’t permit boredom to drive them to tear down cathedrals and build some modern abomination. In it’s place, useful ideas like vests.

Man on the Freeway,
his eyes were a crack of thunder
Who wants what with their eggs?
a rusty nail with sour cream, without is like living life on a rug.

Part Eight

Kings and Achievers

As soon as I set up the funding, I’ll come east and we’ll talk business!

Backpack and Budget carnival.
Staring out the train window.
rance whistling by…hmm,
how would the chateau look over ”there?

I wasn’t quiet sure
what is the strangest thing about him?

Q: among politicians – Democrat and Republican – You shake the sectional shaft magically into place (tough the sulfur compounds that gives the bulb it’s in-your-face aroma. The filmy old eyes in the sun burnt young face tried to blink away tears.)

Page Nine

Light Your Fuses : Men 20 years ago

sox need mending
soon their life be ending
NE Es ulna

“Mr. Duff,” I said ” I’m a schmuck. Forgive me..”
“Will it help you?”
“I’ll do what the hell I can.”
“Thank you.”
“Forget it. You paid me, didn’t you?”
“Naw, I don’t think so.”

I poured for myself.
He poured for himself
We both drank.

Lady Day horse replay’m
Could use more of that spirit today

Above: Gallery of Selected Images from of clothes, NOW

The Zombie Birdhouse

This is a poem I wrote 26 years ago yesterday. I found it last night in one of my old notebooks and typed it up for your enjoyment.

The Zombie Birdhouse

In a very bad part of the worst of your mind,
Down a dark, foul street, to the apartment that’s rundown.
Where skeletons dance because the blind fish can’t,
And the toothless old men rap with junkies.
Tired old whores get cash for their sores,
And their Johns walk away bleeding.
The pimp just laughs as he collects the cash,
The man he sleeps with is clean.
The cops always stop at the end of the block,
They won’t go near that place.
So the Zombie Birdhouse goes through the day
As if it were already tonight.

Now the junkies and zombies talk one on one,
They relate to each others thinking.
And the toothless old men and the tired old whores,
sleep and don’t wake again.
The pimp who laughed, got stabbed in the back
By a man who had caught a disease.
“Stone-Eye” Dick smoked a bird with the fish,
And the dead cat got high off the fumes.
Sister Lucy, who used to be Bill,
Has just fooled another lucky young man.
And so the Zombie Birdhouse goes through the day
Just like it will tonight.

The man on the can says he’s with the band,
As the point of the needle hits home.
The Acid Freaks speak with the Krishna Elite,
And create their own religion.
The skeletons and fish think this place is a mess,
What happened to this place they called home?
Two dead men told tales that pirates thought safe,
And the stuffed parrot told what he saw.
The Jamaican men sung a zombie hymn,
And the junkies joined in the chorus.
So the Zombie Birdhouse went through the day,
As if it were already tonight.

The band played all night to the zombies delight,
They grooved on the funky bass lines.
Disco Sam danced with whomever he can,
and especially the younger men.
Jimi and John sang a protest song,
As Janis and Jim sat and took hits from their bong.
The Acid Freaks and the Krishna Elite
Chanted where they thought it fit in.
Sister Lucy danced with “Stone-Eye” Dick,
And the dead cat strutted his stuff.
And so the Zombie Birdhouse played that night,
And in your mind it will always exist.


About The Poem And It’s Name

For some reason I had this poem stuck in my head yesterday, and when I found it I realized it was exactly 26 years, to the day, from when I wrote this: May 11, 1986 – nice synchronicity!

Back then I played keyboards in a band called Zombie Birdhouse, which our drummer had re-named. Previously we were called Sounds In Silence – probably one of the worst band names ever…

The name Zombie Birdhouse came from the title of a 1982 Iggy Pop album (shown below):

I left the band in May or June of 1986, and concentrated on a music project I was working on called “Eccentric Activities.”

This poem was not typical of my writing at the time (or since), and it was one of those times when the words flowed out as fast as I could write them.


Bonus: Here’s a drawing I found a few pages earlier in same notebook as this poem:

The Turning – A Mythical, Non-Fiction Story

The Turning | June 2008 – June 2015

The Beginning…

the-turning-crop-bIt was just a thought that hit me last June, middle of the afternoon, and I jotted it down on a scrap of paper, and went on with my day – The Turning – 7 Years – 6/2008 – 6/2015…

I didn’t give it another thought for a few days, until I came across the scrap of paper with my note. It seemed liked an ominous, or important sounding event, and I had no idea at that point what kind of a whirlpool I was being pulled into…

To some people it might seem strange to follow a strange thought, an “out-of-the-blue” kind of thought, but I’m used to these kinds of thoughts or impressions – they have their own particular resonance, like intelligence riding in a wave length being picked up my a human receiver. I write them down, and I’ve been writing them down for years.

I think I’ve always been tuned to these frequencies or waves, and ever since I was fifteen my receiver has been tuned finer and finer, and now I hear the words being sent rather than just having to rely on guesses made from impressions and misunderstood visions that are part of the language of the unconscious.

My world is a world just like yours, and our paths may cross every day, but I see things you don’t and have heard things you can not hear because I live in this world and another.

It took me a long time to understand how different the worlds are – for a long time I thought they were one world, but now I understand that I just see more than most people, and certainly not as much as others see… I call this world “The Natural Super-Natural”…

Introducing The Wind…

My way of moving through the world can best be described as being like the wind.

Here’s a poem I wrote back in January of 1999 called “I Am The Wind” that illustrates what I mean:

I am the wind
and the Lord trains me like the wind
with pressures high and low
to guide me on the way

The wind carries the weather
that guides our every day
and though no one sees it
everyone feels it,
and sees it’s effects everywhere

The clouds and rains are carried by the wind
out of the desert and from the north,
down every street
and across every path,
through cracks in windows,
and under every door,
and like the poet says
“you don’t need a weatherman
to tell you which way the wind blows”

Blowing hot like fire or cold as ice
the same wind blows
when it is sent

The wind strengthen the plants
and gives music to our chimes
and all is the work
of the mighty Hand of God

The Lord walks on the wings of the wind
a whisper on it’s breath
We rejoice as it lifts our kites
though it brings terrors in the night

A breeze, a gust, a north wind
a hurricane, a tornado…
Gentle and awesome might
in the Hand of the Almighty
No one can stand before the wind

January 9, 1999


I wrote that over ten years ago, a long time before I learned last October that my Mayan day sign on their sacred calendar is The Wind – a Tone 5 Wind or the North Wind, known Ho Ik  – The Empowering Wind – on this ancient calendar called The Tzolkin.

tzolkinThe Tzolkin is divided into 20 day signs of 13 tones each that create a cycle of twenty different 13 day “weeks” called Trecenas. The tones and the day signs roll endlessly together like a wheel inside a wheel.

The complete cycle takes 260 days, and is about the same length as the gestation period. Simply put, the Maya believe that each of us is one of 260 pieces of the sun, and when we are born or come through the water we are marked by the sun, giving each of us basic identity that marks our path for us.

A part of our journey in life is to find harmony with the other 259 pieces of the sun.

Finding out my day sign was ‘The Wind” sent a shock-wave of reflection through me that I’m still feeling today – about nine months later – because it was a completely accurate description of myself.

If you are curious about your Mayan day sign you can go here : The Maya Tzolkin Explorer

My Details…

My birth date is June 18, 1964 and I was born shortly after two in the afternoon in Glendale, California at the second hospital my mother had to go to in order for me to be born, and here I entered this world in the Zodiac sign of Gemini, The Twins, in the Chinese Year of The Dragon.

In ancient China the dragons are considered the winds and the bringers of rain. In the Zodiac, Gemini, the Twins, are guided by Mercury and are considered the messengers of the gods, and the messengers of the gods ride on the wind…

If you were to see me in a certain way, you would see a blue, two-headed dragon (more on the two-headed part later) that rides the storms and delivers the messages of heaven – but very few can see that way… most people see the collections of cells that contain my consciousness, my physical body, and think that’s me, Jon.

It is and it isn’t, and where the line between the worlds exists is one of the mystery I explore…

In a way, I can see myself as a consciousness or a collective-consciousness that acts as care-taker over a massive super-organism of cells that are all individuals in their own right. It’s as if my body were a galaxy and my awareness was the collective-consciousness of all the billions of individual parts. Out of many, one – onehumanbeing.

Next – Chapter One – Helter Skelter

Note: The Turning is an ongoing work of fiction, growing organically, from now till 2015, and may be changed or edited further…