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Bad habit: I relate to the the Muzak! Mostly in Trader Joe's or the market. I hear it, I even comment on it, offer my analysis to any(no)one... not that I like it, how can you LIKE that vanilla calmifying crapola? In fact, you probably don't even hear it at all. Might not even be aware of its existence. And yet, here I am, hummin along! Oh, I admit it: sometimes I even (aarrgghh) harmonize to it! Imagine singing along to the Muzak? Quite embarrassing. How do I stop????

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Look closely, and you'll see that within the curves of the handmade hanging metal windchime, a spider has found a perfect foundation in which to anchor today's oeuvre. One permanent, one eternal.

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For the TV Intro Announcement collaboration.

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Joe's Grandma was very excited to be at "Joe's show". In fact,  she's been going to Joe's shows from when he was 4! Grandma remembers when the Orpheum used to have live "vaudeville" shows, before it was a movie theater.  Here, she was sitting next to a puppeteer, and asked to hold the puppet.

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the french speaking people have already made the exact same corrections I'd have made. I personally prefer it to remain a bit foreign sounding, with JoeRud's adorable brit accent, and I even prefer including the small mistakes, rather than making it "perfectly french." Would you have someone else sing it??? Mais Non! Just as there were a couple of mistakes in the Petit Soldat that Metaphorest wrote and Joe, Anne H and the then-named Metafictionist sang at the Fall Formal.If you listen back, just prior to the performance, Joe told any french people who object to any errors to go ***k themselves (in french mind you).

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This is my revised version of prior RECord.

Perrault published “Le Petit Chaperon Rouge” back in 1697.

OH? Chaperon? Interesting how we use that now.
Defender of the young woman, from the thing all men know all men want from her.
But Chaperon in French means hood.
OH? She wore a hoodie? Interesting how we use that now. Dangerous. Might get you killed.

It was a cautionary tale to insure a beautiful daughter’s value to marry and increase the familial property value, only IF the beautiful daughter has remained pure and chaste, so as not to muddle the property’s value. So Straying From the Path brought with it the penalty of death. There was no rescue, no happy ending in Perrault’s version.

In the 1800s, the Brothers Grimm’s version seems more to focus on the innocent little girl, the dangers of disobeying her mother, the easy victory of the treacherous and seductive wolf, and the major addition of The Huntsman, the virtuous man who rescues LRRH and Grandma from death by saving them from the wolf’s stomach after they have succumbed to him, helpless victims.

That’s the past. Looking at LRRH 2012: So today let’s call it a sexual metaphor…

She claims her right to the red hoodie: sexuality, and the (unsolvable) distinction between sexual object and sexual being. It’s all good, right? She thought she had the power to choose her own path through these distinctions, she thought the “stage two feminists” (70s) had fought and won that right for her. She was so sure, she went ahead and acted on that assumption.

OH? Wanna have sex? Slut! Wanna have it but not babies and not disease? No, the choice is not hers at all in fact, it has been stripped away by the powerful and pious Huntsmen (the Kochmen and Churchmen and Newsmen and Congressmen).

OH? Want power? There is a way: She can use sex. Hyper-sexuality, the new power. Sure, it’s a certain kind of power. Look at all she can get in exchange. Or, is it maybe sexual exploitation? So, what is it then? Exalted? Expedient? Condoned? Condemned?

And what about that other kind of power? The political and social kind we thought we had? Punishing LRRH for straying from the path was THEN, but today’s headlines shock us into a stark realization that this stuff is happening right NOW, right here. This stuff might really truly affect the outcome of the election of the President of the United States, might change the balance of power in the Legislature. Because by a huge margin, polling shows women rejecting the wagers of the 2012 “War on Women.” OH? No such thing? Just a few such things follow:

• A budget proposal cuts nearly a billion dollars to aid to low-income pregnant women, mothers, babies, and kids.
• Another bill would let women die rather than allow hospitals to perform a lifesaving abortion.
• Another bill would cut funding for employment services, meals, and housing for seniors, 2/3 of them are women.
• An amendment would cut all federal funding from Planned Parenthood health centers.
• In South Dakota, a bill if passed could make it legal to murder a doctor who provides abortion care.
• Maryland legislators ended all county money for a low-income kids' preschool program, stating women should really be home with the kids, not out working.
• In many states they are even trying to redefine “rape,” and to change the legal term for victims of rape and domestic violence to "accuser."
• A young woman law student was barred from testifying in Congress in favor of Affordable Healthcare Act’s provision of contraceptive insurance coverage (only men were permitted to testify). Media behemoth Rush Limbaugh then called her a “slut” and a “prostitute”, demanding that if she gets coverage for birth control prescriptions, she should make a sex video and upload it for him to watch.
• Current favorite: a Virginia law subjecting women to invasive “transvaginal” ultrasound probes before they are allowed to get an abortion, a legally protected medical procedure. Twenty states have laws dictating rules for ultrasounds. http://motherjones.com/mojo/2012/03/transvaginal-ultrasounds-coming-soon-state-near-you


The “War on Women” is real, ask Google, or search engine of choice. I found most of the above at MoveOn.org: http://pol.moveon.org/waronwomen

So how to get the power to conquer the wolf and be on her way? Probably it won’t be something she can do all by herself, maybe all by herself she is not much more powerful than the beautiful daughter of 1697. But here it is, 2012, and she can bring along a million more red-hooded women who sure will, together, with or without the Huntsman, conquer their own wolves. It’s worth a shot.



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Perrault wrote “Le Petit Chaperon Rouge” back in 1670ish.
OH? Chaperon? Interesting how we use that now.
Defender of the young woman, from the thing all men know all men want from her.
But Chaperon in French means hood.
OH? She wore a hoodie? Interesting how we use that now. Dangerous. Might get you killed.

Perrault wrote it down from an oral tradition, told from generation to generation: it was from a time when a beautiful daughter’s value was simply the coin by which the man of property could buy/sell/trade up/add to his wealth. She attracts the son of another man of property, et voila! Two families join forces via marriage, a win-win. IF the beautiful daughter has remained pure and chaste, so as not to muddle the property values. So Straying From the Path brought with it the penalty of death. There was no rescue, no happy ending in Perrault’s version.

The next famous version was more for the children, the Brothers Grimm’s version seems more to focus on innocence, the naiveté of the little girl, the dangers of disobeying her mother, the easy victory of the treacherous and seductive wolf, and the major addition of The Huntsman, the virtuous man who rescues LRRH and Grandma from death by saving them from the wolf’s stomach after they have succumbed to him, helpless victims.

Looking at LRRH 2012: So today let’s call it a sexual metaphor…

She claims her right to the red hoodie: sexuality, and the (unsolvable) distinction between sexual object and sexual being. It’s all good, right? She thought she had the power to choose her own path through these distinctions, she thought the “stage two feminists” (70s) had fought and won that right for her. She was so sure, she went ahead and acted on that assumption.

OH? Wanna have sex? Slut! Wanna have it but not babies and not disease? No, the choice is not hers at all in fact, it has been stripped away by the powerful and pious Huntsmen (the Kochmen and Churchmen and Newsmen and Congressmen).

OH? Want power? There is a way: She can use sex. Hyper-sexuality, the new power. Sure, it’s a certain kind of power. Look at all she can get in exchange. Or, is it maybe sexual exploitation? So, what is it then? Exalted? Expedient? Condoned? Condemned?

And what about that other kind of power, the power to conquer the wolf and be on her way? Maybe not all by herself, maybe all by herself she is not much more powerful than the beautiful daughter of 1679. But here it is, 2012, and she can bring along a million more red-hooded women who together can walk around the Huntsmen and conquer their own wolves. It’s worth a shot.



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"Mommy, who's stronger, daddies or mommies?"


(me: ulp)


"Well, I guess men's outside muscles are stronger, and women's inside muscles are stronger."


(them: satisfied nod)

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Eskapuria's Tiny Stories colored result looked so much like postage stamps, I thought we should have some of em!

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The Noondays have always known they are THE best caste of shadow… strong, assertive, basking in the mid-day glory of their sun-god’s favor. Yes, there may be contenders, and perhaps some might find a glimmer of interest in the ghostly gloams or the wavery liquidicious longrays … but how can those compare to the solidity, the no-nonsense oomph-ness of us Noondays? they crow with pleasure to one another, and anyone else who cares to heed.

So then, who is this one, this husky healthy little Noonday who, having long listened to her mid-light mother’s secretive sleepy-time stories (about some other shadow-realms our little one can only barely imagine), and what is this she is planning while all the other Noondays slumber in preparation for the next highlight of noon sun, when they will once again regain their rightful center-stage spot?

She begins by avidly questioning her mom, her dad, and all the aunts and uncles who’ve at some point in their lives spoken offhandedly of these other realms. Some are able to shed some light, some haven’t a clue, and gaze upon our questioner with clueless wonder… some even suspecting her motives. When she has learned all there is to learn, when now their answers are all either already answered or of no good use, she turns to her planning.

First, I must figure out how to arouse myself at such a strange and scary hour, ponders our Noonday ponderously, when our sun-god has long been off to the beyond. And, I must try to cleverly anticipate his return with such accuracy, that I may witness just that moment of return, if such there truly be. Aha, auntie’s story of how the farmer is “up and attem” at the crow of the rooster! And she said that happens right at dawn! I’ll make sure to watch the rooster today, try to see where he roosts. If I can try to dally nearby as our noon hour wanes into midlight time, then I’ll be close enough to hear him at the next dawning, and I too will jump up and attem!

But at the next dawning, upon hearing the rooster crow, our Noonday can’t figure out how to make herself get “up and attem” with no sun to energize her. So to overcome her disappointment, all that mid-day and the next two, she works on an inventraption that might bring her the energy she needs to jump “up and attem” at the rooster’s crow.

She first fashions a little storage jar out of some bulby-thing she's found in the farmer’s trash bin, into which she gathers some of the juiciest and brightest rays of the mid-day sun, and then she stitches together a bright-tight light-holder pack out of the greenest thickest leaves, to enclose and preserve the brightness for the next cock-crow moment. Then she hides her pack behind a nearby tree, and as the noonday shadows begin to lengthen, she snuggles down next to her pack, and awaits the next rooster-alarm.

Dear reader, you know since you are currently in the midst of reading my tale, that our Noonday awakes with the dawn the following morning, she whips out her clever inventraption of stored sunlight, and discovers the wondrous half-light and ghostly gloams who inhabit it.

( And if you don't believe, me just look at the RECord of this event, "If the Noon Shadow has Wanted to See a Dawn" http://www.hitrecord.org/records/332578 by Azur_du_Ciel!)

These gloams, for their part, are de”light”ed to discover our intrepid Noonday! Well, at first they hang back, wondering what to make of the noon brightness that she brings. But after a few fearful moments, the gloams find unexpected pleasure in the warmth and light she sheds, and before you can say cock-a-doodle-doo, they are all sharing, chatting, dancing together, learning as much as they can about one another, until little by little, our Noonday’s store of sun-drops are all used up, and she has to return to her resting place all in the pre-dawn morning.

But, oh the stories she’ll share with her Noonday siblings, when they all emerge from their slumbers! Hmmm... Dear reader, do you think they’ll believe even one little ray of her tale?


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(Ode to "owls & vines" by elayne)


Oh owl with scowl


fine fowl of mine


sits on a vine


so soft of jowl


neath feathered cowl


each line of thine


ethereal design


thirteen align


ne'er whine nor howl


but hoot and scowl


so like an owl


on vine

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A man from the army knocked on our door. He told us "Your daddy died serving his Country". I didn’t know how to feel. Proud because my father died doing something good? What if he died NOT doing something good? Did my father shoot somebody from the other Country? Did my father even make it to the battle field? Did he die of a disease? Did he ever go to war? Was he just wanting to get away from us? I don’t know if I understand what "dying for your Country" is. I don’t know if I’m proud. Maybe I’m mad at the Country my father died for. Did he really die for the Country? Did he die protecting the honor of his Country? Did he agree with what they were fighting for? What were they fighting for? Could he have done something to avoid it? Could he have lied to the Government to stay home with me instead of going to war? Why was there a war? Was he trying to make the other Country understand they were wrong? Who started it? Why did it happen? Why did my father go to war? What IS war? What does it mean “to declare war”? Is it necessary? Is it the truth? Is my father still alive? Do I believe what the man in the uniform told us? Am I supposed to thank him? Will I be this upset for the rest of my life? Will I become an army man like my father? Will I have a normal life? I wish I never saw that stranger in a uniform, who said told me my father died serving his Country.
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We the wretched ones bog down in awe of the Venus Who Skips blithely above the sucking sands.

Tiny story to embroider Venn's Monolith image
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