Thursday, March 31, 2005


from the songbook of Bundleton Underfence

Hobbesbottom Town

Hobbesbottom Town
where the ale flows free
and the girls are good for the dancing

Hobbesbottom Town
where the music is loud
and the mayor is proud
but the constables n’er ask a question

I went on a trip to Hobbesbottom Town
when the coins were last in my hand
the fair wage they paid
for a day and an age
of honestly workin’ the land

I went to the tavern
with the bull `bove the door
the tail of the rooster he’s eatin’
pushed past the man with the fry’n pan hands
and the eyes that warned of a beatin’


Made my way to the bar
through a rollicking crowd
to get myself a libation
the barkeep he smiled
with eyes rather wild,
winked as he passed me my drink,
“Have fun little man as best as you can
and welcome to our own little nation.”

I threw back a swallow
then two maybe four
and my feet beat time on the floor
then someone grabbed my hand
swung me to the dance
and I did my true best just to follow


Well the dance was the thing
and my tankard never seemed empty
I was passed hand to hand
odd each one seemed a man
where were the Town girls to tempt me?

Well we danced and we spun
until dizzy and lost
I was tossed up into this thing
then old frying pan hands said
“Relax little man,
really, it’s only a swing”

Hobbesbottom Town
where the ale flows free
and the girls are good for the dancing

Hobbesbottom Town
where the music is loud
and the mayor is proud
but the constables n’er ask a question

- traditional -

Tuesday, March 29, 2005


lacking in luster

I really have nothing witty to say today. Since I will soon be meeting a friend for a drink to discuss drama I do suppose I could prepare by going on in a tirade of bitterness lamenting the “scene”... I could carry on about how the cute ones are always hiding something; how so many of them are drama queens with no sense of what is important in the world; how the only consolation is that the freaks do eventually seem to find each other… ah… I think I’ll just wing it.

Saturday, March 26, 2005


son of drunken scrawl

the attraction
of men
to men

of the same
or the opposite
or something
the psychiatrist
has yet to

an unknown
a sporadic
the proof
of which
in who
goes home

the question
still stands
a riddle
to the ages
a sphinx
to be
for many
to come


Friday, March 25, 2005


campaign crossover

It has been a strange several days… no, I am not referring to my own previously referenced drama but of the surreal ironies implicit in other people’s more visceral experiences of pain and joy and striving and loss.

I know these two women… both party girls, both schooled in the occult, both big personalities, but in so many other ways worlds apart. Within the span of ten days both of their lives were dramatically altered.

After fifteen hours of labor Dev gave birth to her first child. She is full of pride and joy and trepidation. She is politically connected. Finances are not really and issue and she has doting parents and devoted friends, so being a single mother does not so much trouble her. The bouncing new addition is the product of a one night stand that could not have become more, had she wanted it to, for the father was killed before Dev even knew she was pregnant. It is instead the father’s legacy and the enemies it brings that worry her; those who might seek to harm the child for fear of what role he might come to play in their future. She tries to put these thoughts aside. When she gazes on the baby, who round and soft favors his father’s people more than hers, she tries to see only wonder and possibility and to feel only joy and love for this wee being that she confides has become her reason for everything.

Only days after I was notified of Dev’s good news word of a more troubling sort came from Sondrah. A friend and associate of hers had gone missing at the tail end of a business trip and she and some other associates were off to find out exactly what was going on. I must admit the details are sketchy, confidentiality and all that sort of rubbish, but it appears that whatever had happened, it wasn’t at all good. By the time they located and subsequently reached the gentleman it was “too late”. Sondrah couldn’t say what the specifics were other than it was all rather gruesome; that he was nearly gone when they arrived… and that she did what he asked and let him go. She is not taking it well. She says she is putting in for a six month leave of absence. Sondrah tends to talk a lot, talk about people a lot… not in the delicious gossipy way that I favor but in an honest and enthusiastic way. She likes people. She mentioned this guy (whose name I have been asked not to use) a little bit more frequently than most... I think maybe she liked him just a little bit more. I guess she’ll never know what that might have meant. But, as life is about moving forward, as the living must continue, I hope that she can see she did all she could. I hope that she will forgive herself for a valiant rescue that simply failed to arrive in time.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005


missing not so much in action as in agitation

Oh my darlings, life has been such an ceaseless whirl of frenzied activity these past several days. From the aggravation of employment centered chaos to the logistics and politics of socialization compounded by the economic impact of gift giving, a few failed attempts at carnal fulfillment and a brief if not entirely concluded dalliance with illness I have had no time accomplish anything of depth.

Thank the deity of your choosing (I’ll thank Annie Lennox and Jack Daniels) that it is for the most part over and I may once again turn my attentions to you, my bubbling little box-lunches. That said, I wish I had something worthy of your patience in awaiting my return. But, I am bereft of import. While it is true that I have in the scant and fleeting seconds between scenes and during my fevered tossings in the sickbed reflected upon this period of stress and frustration I am not sure that what I have arrived at would qualify to anyone as “wisdom”. So for simple lack of anything else to offer I list below the lessons I have learned. Please refrain from hurling rotted produce in my general direction as you will only succeed in mulching your monitor.

While it is frustrating to return from a carnal search and retrieve mission with only a lighter wallet and a more heavily damaged liver it is preferable to returning with both of those and a prize that upon unwrapping reveals things about which you never ever wanted to know.

When your employment situation starts to send you over the edge it is time to seriously consider your options, but health insurance and a steady paycheck should never be tossed away prior to securing their replacements… unless of course you are about to snap in some sort of Fox News friendly manner that would insure your eventual imprisonment… then maybe you should just cut your losses and either quit in a dramatic yet legal fashion or pointedly get fired for insubordination.

Parties are fun. They are of course more fun if one is not hosting. Many people will assure you that they will attend, but do not use their promises of appearance as a carrot to lure other seemingly more recalcitrant potential guests to your event for inevitably the original group of enthusiastic acquaintances will fail to arrive without so much as missive of weak excuse and you will be left looking either a fool or a fraud and neither is flattering.

Saturday, March 12, 2005


revenge of drunken scrawl

Broken signals
from beyond my ken
driving me away
from the simple solution.
Troubling vibrations
of a tumultuous night
boiling down to a
troublesome ichor.
What is this message?
What crazen scene?
What is
the implausible outcome?
Should I remain
to see?

Tuesday, March 08, 2005


*NEW* SOBER napkin scrawl

The seer was right
drunk though he may have been
to let go and follow.
Stop restraining with conformity
what I know inside,
follow my own way
don’t subvert in favor
of the expectations of others
and my illusions
of prudence and normalcy.
Today it was a battle
but I chose to take the chance
and my heart led me here
to you.
The last few days
you have haunted my thoughts
you said I’d been in yours
and although we failed again
to cement a plan
for the next time we’ll speak
and kiss
I have affirmation
that it will be soon.
So be well
my bright and busy boy
take care
while I hold your smile
shining in my dreams
until fate and folly
bring us back around
and I touch your face again.

copyright R. L. Allison 2005

Friday, March 04, 2005



Everytime it rains,
You're here in my head
Like the sun coming out -
Ooh I just know that something good is going to happen
And I don't know when
But just saying it could even make it happen.

from Cloudbusting by Kate Bush

I have long adored the lush and mysterious pop music of Kate Bush. It is not only for her soaring other worldly vocals, unique melodies and sumptuous production but also her unorthodox choice of subject matter. From cross dressing, to incest, to science fiction to the writing of Emily Bronte she has found in them all sources of beguiling compositions. Today by random chance I discovered that one of my favorite Kate Bush songs, “Cloudbusting”, is not solely the product of her fertile imagination, but based on a real series of events. The song tells part of the saga of scientist Wilhelm Reich and his battles with the U.S. government. I have yet to do enough research into this man and his story to pass any judgments on the veracity of his work, but why did the government order all of his research notes and apparatus destroyed and all of his books pulled from publication until thoroughly edited to their specifications before re-release? Whatever the case, he was certainly a “dangerous” dreamer and the world can always use more of those, both active and remembered.

“I am well aware of the fact that the human race has known about the existence of a universal energy related to life for many ages. However, the basic task of natural science consisted of making this energy usable. This is the sole difference between my work and all preceding knowledge.”
— Wilhelm Reich, Archives of the Orgone Institute

Tuesday, March 01, 2005


snow day

I am at the office. The snow storm is finally over and I am ill.

The illness part is actually not as dreadful as one would expect for if I consider that whether or not the company decided to close today and provide me with a much need snow day I would nonetheless be ill. Thus it is better to be unable to do anything good because one is work and in addition happen to be ill than it is to be home on a snowy day full of plans and enthusiasm and yet be unable to do anything solely due to illness.

Oh and I did have such plans. I was going to call up a boy I know; he revels in snow. Although he is not in the sort of industry that would hand down a snow day from on high were the fire hydrants buried under the white stuff to legal grave depth, I am mostly sure that this is his “weekend”. So, back to my plan: I would call him and arrange to meet somewhere near the Common. Perhaps I would pick up a cheap plastic toboggan along the way. We would bound out into the great drifted expanse, throw snowballs, slide and jump and tumble and rough-house and maybe tumble off a hill each held fast in the other’s grip until we roll to a stop laughing, snow in our hair, panting red face to red face, our laughter suddenly ebbs, eyes stare, noses move closer together, we kiss. Then one of us scrambles to his feet pulling the other up with an excited, “Come on,” and we run back up the hill. Later wet and cold and flushed with that healthy sort of exhaustion we head “home”. Free of boots and coats and random encrusted snow and ice we pile ourselves and the afghans and quilts on the couch, inhale the delicious steam of liquor laced cocoa and watch the kind of old movies that make you believe in love.

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