I have an old friend in Poland, Zeno, we were roommates back in the 1980’s, back when I owned a huge apartment on Ashbury at Haight in San Francisco.

But I lost my mortgage, partly because Zeno insisted I put a sliding door into the basement where poet, Ann Herbert, had lodgings in the basement room made from her collection of street find books, it had book walls, book desks, a book bed.

So I was persuaded to spend $90 of my mortgage payment I’d saved up, for the damn sliding door. Money was short, my roommate Mary, had insisted I had no other roommates and so I had lost my only source of income at that time.

As a result when my mortgage company, Washington Mutual’s man on the scene told me it would help my case if I stopped paying my mortgage – since it would show I had financial problems, and they would reduce my payments, I leaped at the chance – since I had spent that months mortgage on the stupid sliding door.

But then Washington went bust, taken over by Chase, who decidedly had another viewpoint and evicted me…

A Novel Way of Writing:
Flash Back On Haight Street

In the old place,
a ghostly apparition appears,
Zeno is walking up with his loping bounce
and yells down the hall,
“I know how you are doing now
from reading your posts
and seeing your pictures on Facebook.”

David, sitting in the studio answers,
“Yes, I realize I’m using Facebook too much, but I’m using it as a newspaper, a magazine, a TV-night-show, a gossip colum, a sports page, the news; it tells my thoughts and dreams.
I write Poems, they say what I’m thinking, and then we all read them….

I spend 9-hours a day on average
on Facebook sometimes. Way too much.
But if you want to know me – read me there.
It’s as good – or even better –
than being in the room with me.
You get the full experience.
Pictures, comments – the whole shebang.

I have a mind to grabbing my friends
and starting a new Facebook
Funded by Facebook, but independent,
An “Alternative to break up the monopoly”

The new company would still grab your vitals to be used for advertising it not on the site. A new site without allot Zucker’s silly
Republican minded jail criteria.
You’d have one opportunity to grab your friends en masse and continue your conversations, by moving them to your new site. Then you’re on your own and completely separate to Facebook.”

Zeno, smiling, walks into the studio, a room that smells vaguely of yesterday’s incense, sits down at the piano, and continuing a previous conversation, says,

“… and you’re a wonderful growing couple…
is your relationship really real?
Or is it my imagination….”

David replied in his nuanced English, “Nope it’s for real, we really do enjoy our relationship. It got tough at times early on, violence and imaginary relationship problems, but we got over it for the most part, we really do enjoy our partnership. ‘Tis hecka fun.”

Zeno rambles on,
“On the southeast coast of India
there is a pumice-like red lava beach
all the way along the beach
Made vaguely cylindrical as it meets the water by the constant abrasion of being hit by big ocean waves.

Between the turbulent waves
of water and the frozen, pierced stone,
In an area of tide pools
I observed often, no – many times, tiny fish swimming in the tiny lagoons in the breakwater rock pools.

Mostly what I watch are not the species, of interest only to academia, not the behaviors relevant to the study, say, of migration – I have the interest – not of a specialist-fiscatarian-botanist, but I watch as more of an ethnobotanist, who ponders life in all its similarities to mine, the lovelife of tiny fish, the mothering instinct of a crab, the joy in swimming of another tiny fish.

• But of course I am just a beginer, with the reticent behavior of a child innocently looking at dirt.”

Zeno took a moment to ponder his wisdom. Puffing on his joint, he smiles, eats a bite from an apple on a nearby plate, and continues, on a totally different topic this time, and as the clouds outside darken the room, rain starts to fall, hitting the windows in sporadic bursts and in the garden a sparrow seeks shelter from a mewing hawk.

Zeno says,
“Dreams guide their own behavior.
Same as in the here and now, dreams are like real life…”

Zeno pauses, rambling on, he goes,
“…from where I sit and
tap the keyboard,
I feel like I am in India by the tide pools of Cooch Bihar, and there is my little one –
one of the mini-fish,
A sprite of a fish that I call, Miss Elvers,
For that is what I called the little fish,
that time as I sat in front of the cylindrical lava
And it’s eddies and tide pools.

She absorbed my attention for hours,
For a long time she has had the name of ‘Elver.’ Yes, she was given that name by me when I climbed the rock pools as a younger man.
I don’t know if she’s there now
because her tiny pond, so lovely,
nope – why?
That pool is hundreds of miles away.
I do not know if the fish is even alive still.
Maybe the rocks are not there anymore.”

David, amused, chimes in, going all serious like, “Zee, y’know you’d better prepare for a trip down Memory Lane, that apple was dosed, you got a fair sized hit of Dr Hoffman’s best, some acid we had stashed in the wall left over from a deal gone wrong in ‘62. I wonder how it’s potency lasts?”

Zeno is a real trained paratrooper,
smiles, used to Wills’s humour, and is like,
“So, because on the Earth
still we have the sun as a Light Clock.
Well, I mean, the world is constantly changing
but a dream is like a filmed picture
I got is not.” Zeno’s Polish infused speech became more seemingly precise – but the nonsense value turned up to eleven…

He droned on,
“The red rock was created
by an avalanche that froze
thousands of years ago.
The tide of the Ocean of Dreams
leaves a salt lake in a rock recess
where my story began….
So sorry!
I must go.”

Zeno gets up and leaves, slightly wobbly out of the studio, into the corridor past the kitchen, past the bannisters and Alessandra Ena’s tiny room with its pictures of what she considers handsome young men, but are, for real, wildly effeminate gay boys.

Zeno wobbles into the front room where he sits on the couch and falls to sleep dreaming of little fish.

Next day, Zeno, after too many drinks,
waltzes in, and mumbles, “Yes, David…
This is me talking to you.
With Information all about me. I need help. Help in speaking better, and learning good English as an aid, as a basis, for my future writing.”

Zeno gestures at the Apple core, “Nice trip, man.”

He walks to the window, looks out on the garden and opines, “Let’s do it. Let’s take up our convo again, I got too drunk before, and took umbrage at your criticism, not wanting to bring on your vicious, scathing barrage of vile excoriation… it got so bad I could not bear to write any more, and hear you berate me again.” He sighed, “Ah, but I’m over that now.”

“I feel ‘Satisfaction’ now.” Says Zeno, “I recognize this good English word ‘Satisfaction’.
It is concise and often, well at least in this instance, devoid of emotion,
and, like the statues, the monuments of officialdom do, imperturbable and with rocky solemnity reflect to me the fact of reaching the point of no return….” zeno’s Polish English lost its polish as yesterday’s acid flashed back.

Loosing track of his train of thought, the Polish wizard, for that’s what Zeno had become, continued his post-prandial-acid monologue,
“My dream was, or will be, but now is It.
My dream exists while I exist.
My dreams before me
were written on a golden dial
in the pendulum of an oak standing clock.

When I was a boy,
my father brought me with a tall
clock on the back of his truck.
He had to take this wood and me
from another of his houses to the one
where I am now.

They with mom need to raised me.
He needed also the clock.
The pendulum in it held the
secret of all dreams on Earth.
Dreams are similar to yours
and all those close to us.

Now I’m at the “0” point again.
This point is a split second.
This point, when I got to know him,
repeatedly appeared to me
and also disappeared.

This is the number “0”
between the second-digits from the left
and to the right.
The number “0” is amongst us,
but because it is so tiny and so short,
it is the same as not there at all.
But, the number “0” is the key!,
The key to the mysteries
of existence and non-existence….”

David laughed at his friend’s excruciating nonsense, “Boy, you still be trippin’.”

Zeno is all, “Ya, aha,
I wanted to add today
that I am learning to fill a huge colorful balloon.”

Zeno opened the window leaned out, grabbed the hoist on the 3rd story garden pulley, and lowered the vitals and cutlery for the coming party. He knew how to be useful.

“Being here and now,
knowing the size of a nano-secound.
Perhaps I will have new adventures
over the gardens in the mysterious world
of point “0” ..
I will see….”

Zee, picks up his things, headed for the door, “I’m off for a swim, talk to you later on.”
….
That evening after the party, all was quiet except for the interminable sound of All You Knead’s old refrigerator hum,
“David, do tell us!” Zeno murmerred.
“David – and Avilia!?
I want to say, that,
Thanks to the magic of the written word,
I am able to talk to you, as though I was across the room from you again
and stay, .. so, invisible but next to you.
Let’s get back to our….

As a child, I was brought up symmetrically
and harmoniously.
In this way, only health dissolved in me.

As a young man, I became like an octopus, which she placed a treasure of thought throughout her body.
I was and played
so that the acquired mental combinations would insure my stupidity.
Today I am standing here
and I know the word tangibly
Now.

An old house after my parents
for whom I was a tangible treasure.
Now I won’t be new like the one
who jumps up in the park
holding up two
hands of the most important couple .
The old house has a history
and it has me.”

Zeno paused in his manic jabbering, and goes, suddenly all serious and straight,

“Avilia and David ..
well ?” He drifts off again,
“I look around through thought patterns
and furnished ground
and I am a face pendulum
who dances from left to right
at the old family clock.

David, in connection with CoV19
I have to adjust the time here and now
to what is to come soon.
Most likely what will happen
in the coming weeks
is the pleasure of enjoying
the privilege of understanding the words

HERE
and
NOW.

I have the most favorable conditions. Wonderful health.
Warm and Cold.
Water and Fire.
Food.
I am learning the universal truth about the
entire universe, ..
how? .. gate, gate !..
that is the 0 point in the pendulum
of a standing high old wooden clock.
It exists in a split second.
I grab this space.
This is the gate that I opened here,
in the old house.
…

Zeno’s seeming nonsense begins to make sense,

“Can I use your patience, again !
to proofread my English
to a level where I can be writing legibly, understandably. Where I can feel I’m doing the the reader a favor? Ok now, I want to be chatting amiably
to be again here, after, let’s say several hours, or maybe, no, really over 2-years.”

Peace & Love.
Sincerely Zeno

………………………..
Below is the original set of letters that got me going now…

*Sincerely
Zen’o
ZEGA
Damian
Dan Tilak Dass.

Show Quoted Content
On 12/10/20, J.S. ArtG36 wrote:
Yes David. It is my talk to you. Information about me. Base for my
future writing. Let’s do it. ..> I feel Satisfaction now. I recognize
this word. It is concise and devoid of emotion and, like a monuments
do. Reflects to me the fact of reaching the point. My dream was or
will be, but now is It. My dream exists while I exist. My dreams
before me were written on a golden dial in the pendulum of an oak
standing clock. When I was a boy, my father brought me with a tall
clock on the back of his truck. He had to take this wood and me from
another his house to the one where I am now. They with mom need to
raised me. He needed also the clock. The pendulum in it held the
secret of all dreams on Earth. Dreams are similar to yours and all
those close to us. Now I’m at the “0” point again. This point is a
split second. This point, when I got to know him, repeatedly appeared
to me and alsodisappeared. This is the number “0” between the
second-digits from the left and to the right. The number “0” is
amongs, but because it is so tiny and so short, it is same not there.
But, the number “0” is the key !, to the mysteries of existence and
non-existence. …. aha, I wanted to add today that I am learning to
fill a huge colorful balloon being here and now, knowing the size of
nano-secound. Perhaps I will have new adventures over the gardens in
the mysterious world of point “0” .. I will see. ..< talk to You later
on.

On 12/10/20, David Wills wrote:
Do tell us more…

Sent from my iPhone

On Dec 9, 2020, at 4:42 AM, J.S. ArtG36 wrote:


Dear David & Avilia
….

Thanks to the magic of the written words,
I am able to talk
across from You again and stay, ..
so, invisible but next to you.
Let’s get back.
As a child, I was brought up symmetrically
and harmoniously. In this way,
only health dissolved in me.

As a young man,
I became like an octopus,
which she placed a treasure
of thought throughout her body.
I was and played
so that the acquired mental combinations would insure my stupidity.

Today I am standing here
and I know the word tangibly Now.

An old house after my parents
for whom I was a tangible treasure.
Now I won’t be new
like the one who jumps up
in the park holding up two
hands of the most important couple .
The old house has havy history
and it has me.

Avilia and David .. well ?,
I look around through thought patterns
and furnished ground
and I am a face pendulum
who dances from left to right
at the old family clock.

David, in connection with CoV19
I have to adjust the time
here and now
to what is to come soon.
Most likely what will happen
in the coming weeks
is the pleasure of enjoying the privilege
of understanding the words HERE and NOW.
I have the most favorable conditions. Wonderful health.
Warm and Cold. Water and Fire. Food.
I am learning the universal truth
about the entire universe, ..
how? .. gate, gate !..
that is the 0 point in the pendulum
of a standing high old wooden clock.
It exists in a split second.
I grab this space.
This is the gate that I opened here,
in the old house.
Can I use your patience .. ,
again ! ,
to proofread my English to a level
where I can be written legibly
or understandably,
and feel the reader’s favor? ..
okay now …. to be again here ,
after .. let’s say ~ about
several hours.

Peace & Love.
Sincerely / ~~ /

—
*Sincerely / ~~ / ArtG36*
Zen’o
ZEGA
Damian
Dan Tilak Dass.

—
*Sincerely / ~~ / ArtG36*
Zen’o

Seven-thousand smoke at Hippie Hill love-in at the 420-convergence of stoners

San Francisco, 20th April. 420 day. As I was going to Hippie Hill, Hippie Hill was smoking. Big bongs, little joints, whiffs, big fat ones, fabulous …

Seven-thousand smoke at Hippie Hill love-in at the 420-convergence of stoners

David Wills and Daughter Alessandra Break the Fourth Wall

David Wills and Daughter Alessandra Break the Fourth Wall

Born with two silver spoons in my mouth

Along with the rest of my jetsom that disapeared down the memory hole over the years were two silver spoons given to me at birth in December 1941. …

Born with two silver spoons in my mouth

Barney Bubbles – Ian Dury, 4000 Weeks Holiday

Hello New Yearers, Happy New Year! To kick off this season’s delights, here’s a little-seen item from the repertoire of my old friend Barney Bubbles.…

Barney Bubbles – Ian Dury, 4000 Weeks Holiday

Oldie and Goldy

Ozzies!

Lots of folk in Oz are reading – leave me a note to say hi.

Hi ya all. I get about 18 or so visitors a day, and I’d really like to know who’s out there.
So please leave a note to say why you are here, who you are, and what you thought of the blog, what you’d like to see… etc.

Eel Pie Island

David Wills tells tales

Kursaal Flyers cover by Barney  Bubble

RandM writes in comments below…

here perhaps is a barney bubbles sleeve that Colonel (he was a Corporal) Wills would have liked. it’s for the Kursaal Flyers LP ‘Chocs Away.’

Corporal Wills

Stodgy old dudes

My dad, Cecil S Wills 1905-76, is seen here as a Corporal in the Royal Air Force. He worked on the design of, and later named, the Horsa Glider, that each delivered 36 paratroops at a time, in fleets towed by Wellingtons, during the Normandy invasion. As a Civil Servant, representing His or Her Majesty to the manufacturers, he later worked on the supersonic TSR2 that evolved into the Concorde.

When Osmund Caine, who replaced Coulston-Davis as head of the art school, and the new principal, Wolfenden, who was my dad’s teacher during his RAF Boys Service days at Martlesham Heath in the 1920’s, arrived at Twickenham College in 1958, they…

View original post 924 more words

Barney Bubbles – Ian Dury, 4000 Weeks Holiday

Barney Bubbles original design for Ian Dury’s ‘4000 Weeks Holiday’: Front (photo on cover by Bob Bromide)

Barney Bubbles original design (almost) for Ian Dury’s ‘4000 Weeks Holiday’: Back

Hello New Yearers, Happy New Year! To kick off this season’s delights, here’s a little-seen item from the repertoire of my old friend Barney Bubbles.

Late 1983 Barney designed a cover for Ian Dury’s ‘4000 Weeks Holiday’ LP, only for it to never really see the light of day. I say ‘never really’, because nearly everywhere across the world a different artwork solution was used, but Barney’s original design did make it onto the cover of the Portuguese issue (amongst a tiny handful of other seemingly random places I am reliably informed). Check out the pics above. The photo that Barney used on the front cover is by Bob Bromide.

My English friends RandM (Barney boffins of extraordinary detailedness) are quick to point out that even the Portuguese version is not totally true to Barney’s original artwork; apparently only a copy of the original UK test pressing complete with test sleeve is. Why so? By the time the LP came out to the public (after Barney’s tragic demise), the record company changed the tracklist by removing ‘Noddy Harris’ and adding ‘Inspiration’, and so the record company had dutifully tweaked the design of the tracklist accordingly. But, this Portuguese issue is pretty darn close to Barney’s original design, so here it is goddamit!

Pondering why the tracklist changed? The company execs feared the legal ramifications of upsetting Enid Blyton’s estate with the ‘Noddy Harris’ lyrics “Winnie The Pooh is having a wank. And what are you up to? Said Thomas the Tank…Fuck off Noddy you stupid prat. Fuck off Noddy in your rotten hat”.

Keep smiling and see you all again later for more tales of daring-do.