what was that? is that all there is? who is this? this is it.

#3 photo {here}  10 years later

rusty chain & flat tires

wabi sabi Wamsley triptych 

07

Cloudburst

Beautiful Bouquet

I P A

display

clearly 

hazy

what we talk about

when we talk about

Jiffy corn muffin mix

In 1911 Raymond Duchamp asked a few artist friends, including his younger brother Marcel, to make small oil paintings to hang in his kitchen. Marcel went with a “Coffee Mill” in oil paint on cardboard 5" x 13". He included an arrow to help the viewer see the motion of the handle. That little arrow in that little painting was kind of a big deal. 

Two years later Marcel Duchamp created “Bicycle Wheel” and there was no need to include an arrow in the ultimate readymade, just reach out and give it a spin and the viewer     ---    views the motion. 

A few days ago Ric brought my attention to the MoMA retrospective of Duchamp with his words on Wheel Fanatyk. Then  the next day the New Yorker fed me a story about Duchamp inspired by the MoMA show in the May 4, 2026 issue.  

When various forces in the universe come together and focus on something, I pay attention. I will not be visiting the museum in New York but I’ve already learned more about Duchamp than I knew a few days ago. 

I pulled my bicycle wheel sculpture from its sad storage spot under the stairs and dusted it off. It was really really dusty. 

In 1996 I “borrowed” this stool from Kids Co, my POE at the time. I drilled out a hole for a fork and slapped a wheel on it. Several years later I swapped out the nameless fork for this REDLIP fork that I bent one morning bombing down Denny and plowing into the back of a Cadillac that had stopped suddenly mid-hill.

The wheel changed several times. But for the past 20 years or so it has been this radially laced thing I built and rode downtown until the sidewalls were as concave as a cereal bowl. Seattle sidewall syndrome develops as your brake pads grind away at your rims over time. I once rode a wheel until the tire exploded when the sidewall peeled away as I took a right turn downtown. After that incident, I paid a bit more attention to my wheels. 

In 2011, I spray painted the stool green. I remember the year because that's when Junior was born and she was there in the backyard with me. Junior’s mom was worried about the paint fumes. I’ll tell you that whole green spray paint story some day. 

Yesterday I reached up on a high shelf for my Time-Life Art Library book about Duchamp and his influence on various artists. I have the 1974 re-reprint and I’m actually starting to read it. I was surprised to learn how many copies of this book are available out there in the world if you want to get one for yourself. 

YES - KNOW - maybe

electromagnetically

psychosomatically

continuously

continuum me

transitioning seamlessly

coffee - beer - coffee

Tom Bice said

“Don’t Fuck It Up”

Queen Frostine says

“work a little

sidewalk chalk

into your day”

somewhere between

infrared & ultraviolet

Tom Bice also said

“you’re the one

telling them

how it is”

somewhere between

here & there

now & then

yes & know

one way or another

my way or the highway

the dish ran away 

with the spoon

Anecdotal 

evidence 

accumulated

duly noted

annotated

agitated

applied aptly

appliqued     neatly

as      if

concurrent review

right on into

retrospective review

to    you

and to you two too

had    it    dialed

the poster child

Mr. Misdirected Energy

picture perfect

spot on

in my mind

something there for sure

something       to be said

something   something

some   thing

but not “THE ONE”

it’s the other one

has been

all along

d e c e p t i v e

false fronting

head faking

pancaking

makeup

slathered on 

with a trowel

thick as a brick

warmed     over

second helping

third attempt

r  e  d  u  x x x 

taking notes

writing it down

because I cannot 

make this shit up

even with a 

Marshalltown trowel

ask me about

towns in Iowa

ask me about

archaeologies

ask me about

liberal arts degrees

ask me about

misdirected energies

ask me about

contingencies

ask me about

consolidated laundries

ask me about

suckin’ on a chili dog

outside the Tastee Freez

gotta call that number one more time

This amazing p arrived yesterday all the way from Yucca Valley. A unique care package from Matt & Clair down there. 

It’s currently exploring its new home, seeing just where it’ll fit in. And I know that it knows it’ll fit in just fine.  

I’m visualizing this letter as part of an impressive sign somewhere illuminated among its partner letters making up a word, getting your attention and selling you something. 

Check out the old school throwback craftsmanship and  construction on the back. It brings me joy and appreciation for yesteryear and days gone by. 

This poem spoke to me. This poem is speaking to me. This poem will speak to me again and again after that. If I ever wrote a poem, this is the kind of poem I would want to write. 

All due credit to Dobby Gibson. It’s not reprinted here without permission. It’s a photo of a red 53T big ring that just happened to land on page 46 of the April 20, 2026 issue of the New Yorker. 

Seven years on an island looks pretty good from where I'm sitting. Ask me about chainring bolt circle diameters, old locker combos and rubber duckies.

A  Profile Design bottle kage

B  iSSi Thump pedals

C  Nature’s Bakery fig bars

D  Slim Fold wallet

E  Big Time Brewery

A. Profile Design bottle kage

As president emeritus of the Profile Design cup holders club it goes without saying that this is my bottle cage of choice. It’ll hold my coffee, my beer and even my water. No other cage covers the continuum like this one. Seamlessly smooth transitions. Simple understated elegance. I’ve influenced the entire UW electric ass fleet, leading by example. Walking the walk.  

B. iSSi Thump pedals

Favorite pedal. No longer in production. You can find some pink ones online. I like the molded pin. No need for the replaceable metal pins that will hamburger your shins. I’m not racing downhill. I’m final fifty fucking feeting on an electric ass bathtub in blown-out Sambas. Chill. 

C. Nature’s Bakery fig bars

You’ve probably seen a flavor or two of these at your local grocery. But I go to the source with their Build-A-Box option and select all my favorite flavors, a veritable rainbow. So many choices. They’re part of my coffee klatch. My kids eat them too.  

D. Slim Fold wallet

The last wallet you’ll ever buy. The best wallet you don’t own yet. Saw this on a fathers day list. Not to buy for my dad. To buy for myself. It’s the shit. Best wallet ever. I’ve already converted a couple of people. You could be next. 

E. Big Time Brewery

It’s Big Time time. Cannot say enough about this place. The owner and his brother the brewer. The staff. The beer. All of them Top Notch. In an old school way. It’s on my line almost every time Big Time. Check it out. 

As you know

those in the know     know

it’s the same on the weekends

as the rest of the days

same shit different daze

but that same old shit

is seen in new ways

as patterns emerge 

from the static

it’s magic 

a portal through

into   a   new

point of view

add non dairy creamer

to show scale

saltlick

dipstick

triptych

repeatedly

repeating

repeat 

as often

as necessary

not necessarily

in that order

crows feet

around my eyes

crows feet

counter clockwise

crows feet

no big surprise

crows feet

as the crow flies

crows feet

tell me no lies

Do you hear what I hear?

that creaking sound

like the bottom bracket 

in a Cannondale

incessantly

inevitably

entropy

increasing 

over   time

there’s the rub

the rule of thumb

the equal & opposite

r e   a  c  t  i  o  n

dwindling

attention span spun

spinning down 

around

absolute zero

−459.67 °F

approaching

an unachievable ideal

standing by at

38 picoKelvin Ave

ask me about 

superfluidity

superconductivity

PRIORITY

SPECIMEN

DO NOT 

RELEASE

retractable

ultra fine tip

Sharpie

rule of thumb

fingers sticky

ask me 

about 

how many

variables 

must fall 

into place

to get my ass 

into work

on time

Trent Reznor dropped out of college in the 80’s to pursue his music career. I’d like to think his one year of collegiate computer science occurred at UW, but it didn’t. He went to Allegheny College in Meadville, PA. 

Nonetheless, I think of Nine Inch Nails’ “Head like a Hole” as a not so subtle nod to the UW fight song. 

I'd rather see Reznor than Kenny G in a bow down BECU commercial. 

ONEWAY

or 

another

we don't know

what 

we don't know

ignorance is bliss

diving deep

for an old photo

and not finding it

but finding

fifteen others

I'd forgotten about 

The Seattle Review

A literary journal published at the University of Washington since 1978, committed to offering an exciting range of work from both new and established artists, and including poetry, fiction, essays and creative nonfiction, interviews and dialogues, theatre and visual arts. Contributors have included such writers as Rita Dove, Czeslaw Milosz, Kathleen Spivack, Al Young and David Wagoner. 

The journal continued producing issues into the late 2010s, with the final print edition appearing as a double issue (11:1-2) in spring 2018, featuring contemporary voices in poetry and prose that aligned with its commitment to extended, innovative works. This volume marked the end of regular print publications, amid broader challenges facing university-supported literary outlets following the 2008 recession, including institutional budget constraints that strained funding for non-core academic programs. By 2019, The Seattle Review announced an indefinite hiatus, suspending new submissions and ceasing active operations, with the publication transitioning to an archival status only. The hiatus continues with no new content solicited or released.  Past issues are preserved through university libraries and select archives.

This is Volume 8, Number 1

$10 per issue in 2015…

I’d buy that for a dollar

I did buy that for a dollar

I will buy that for a dollar again if I ever find any other issues at Surplus 

Why was 5 afraid of 4?

because 4 ate 26

window we went with water

were want wonder whisper

there was an old crow

who swallowed a derailleur

that wriggled and jiggled 

and tickled    inside her

she swallowed the derailleur

to shift on the fly

I don't know why

she'd shift on the fly

perhaps she'll die

As you may recall, and you two too. I suggested you read Saroyan’s book before I even got my hands on it. Less than 48 hours later I got a copy of the book from Western Washington University’s Library via interlibrary loan. I expected that whole process to take a couple weeks,  not a couple days. 

I also purchased a copy from a rare book store somewhere over there a few time zones east of here via eBay. 

As we speak, I’m finishing up the WWU copy and getting it back into their library just as my very own copy is arriving via USPS, finishing up the 2750 mile journey to its new home. 

Saroyan worked at various jobs his entire childhood. Orchards, vineyards, selling newspapers, county fairs, working, working, telegram bike messengering for a few years all around Fresno at age 12, 13, 14. He knew he wanted to be a writer early on.  He hated school so he quit at 15. But he kept working at various jobs to pay the bills. 

In this BR-BH book, Saroyan’s 8-year old son Aram wants and gets a new big big bicycle. In real real life, Aram grows up to be kind of a big deal in the writing and poetry world. From the Seattle Public Library I got my hands on two of Aram Saroyan’s books of minimal poems, published about 60 years ago. Single-word poems, just a few letters and a whole lot of white space. Great stuff, right up my alley. Here’s an example, one that stuck with me:

hghgh

Visualize that in the center of the page, nothing to distract you, until you turn the page to another one-word poem…

This morning I was fumbling around in piles on the floor that are my “reading lists” looking for the backpack-book du-jour. At the bottom of one pile Ellen Forney was looking up, asking me to have another go at “marbles” her graphic memoir. 

As I flipped through it looking for my bookmark to be found around 66.6% completion status, I stumbled upon a sketch on page 106 which was done on some Girlie Press note paper. Just the other other day I was admiring an old Girlie Press Rules ruler. Then  that sketch on page 106 let me know: today is the day. 

For one brief moment, everything was fine. 

For one brief moment, it was 1999. 

Today 4-6-26...

...open your books to page 177

and follow along

as I read aloud

“Lemons in Glass”

by Mary Mann

mary mann painter

when life gives you lemons

buy it

frame it

gift it 

I wasn’t looking for this print. But it found me yesterday on a Silver Cloud route. Now I’ll find it a thrift-store frame around 10” x 14” and gift it. 

Mary Mann has a solo show at the UW Botanical Library through April 28. 

be careful

what you

wish for

twenty five

or six

to four

eight years

out the window

onto the floor

e i g h t   years

if you’re 

keeping score