What Steve Jobs foisted on us:

And no Fortran, either.

 And now, the ignominy of the iPhone:

I mean, where's the steering wheel? 

This email address is being protected from spam bots, you need Javascript enabled to view it if you are interested in a limited edition print of this piece, entitled "A Thousand Colors Made From Tears." 

The Gentlemanly Art of Spanking

The saga continues.

As we last met, we were discussing San Francisco of the seventies, with a detour, jumping twenty years ahead, to Las Vegas and porn premiers. Not sure how that happened. So let us together scurried through the salient details of the next two decades so we can get back to HoneyBun, the spanking kit empire. 

Married in 1981. Reception at Presidio Officers Club, thanks to Sky King, wife's dad.

Kazoos on dance floor. Better solos than band. If looks could kill. Sky King loved it.

Sons in short order. William, November 9.1981. Nathan, June 26 1983. Every Breath You Take.

Bowie scores with Let's Dance and goes into a blackout for rest of decade. I'm in there with him a lot .

Working south of Market.

Trying to drink less.

Sent out original "Someone You Love Is Flapping" and "Bulboscity in Stasis" cards.

Brother Nate commits suicide at 31. Booze. Coke. Pills. Two notes.

I start drinking and smoking for the both of us. South of market and North Beach and the dive bars on San Pablo in Albany.

Affirming daily the 'One Bar' cosmology: that is to say, my brothers

There is only One Bar: it spans the whole globe and when we drink in one, we drink in brotherhood and fellowship with every other drinker across the world, in our different rooms.  

Wife thrilled with this revelation.

Work, after reading of $100K advance for 68-pg. book, Fup, begins on "Flapping."

From the WomenSing website: "Believing that music is transformative and enlightening for both singer and listener alike, WomenSing is devoted to the study and performance of great choral repertoire and to sharing it with a broad audience."

The evening's repertory did not disappoint, ranging from Vivaldi's Beatus Vir to Haydn's String Quartet in Eb Major to the Snow Birds—Words by Sri Ananda Acharya (born 1883 to the Brahmin caste, later renouncing the world and settling in Norway) and music by Michael Head (1900-1976). The lyrics for the song cycle came from an early edition of Sri Ananda's poetry, entitled "The Snow Birds."

The lyrics to "Only A Singing Bird" I found particularly wonderful.

I am not God nor His messenger.
I am only a singing bird.
I am not Poet nor his Muse.
I am only a singing bird.
I am not Prophet.
I am not Sage—
I am only a singing bird. 

I fly in the heav'ns across the seas.
And come to sing at thy door.
Each dawn when the morning God
smiles on the ocean,
Each eve when the twilight God
sings at earth's end,
Each night when the God of thy heart
sits in silence alone with the God of my heart.
I am only a singing bird.

And, not to be outdone, I have created a new strip, to which I will be adding frequently in the days and weeks months and years to come, I am sure, entitled "The Most Beautiful Day In The History of the World."