Saturday, October 8, 2016

Happy autumn; Charles Blow of NYT; Around a long time; Ms. Congeniality; Cat pictures; Cont'd Zepata








Donald Trump: Terroristic Man-Toddler




http://www.nytimes.com/2016/10/03/opinion/campaign-stops/donald-trump-terroristic-man-toddler.html?action=click&pgtype=Homepage&clickSource=story-heading&module=opinion-c-col-right-region&region=opinion-c-col-right-region&WT.nav=opinion-c-col-right-region

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Miss Congeniality

















1920's style gas protector




Been around a long time


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More KD Cat


KD flattened



With visitor





With Jack-O





Licks chops in a blur






Does her Halloween dance



  

With Wis Guthrie's dirt god



Company! at ease!

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Simon's cat




https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0ffwDYo00Q















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Stormy weather


bronze horse by Bart Walter, Maryland


ZEPATA AND EL DAYO
Instalment VI


The expected storm arrives
Just before dawn
Zepata and Irena
Pull the tarp down upon them
It was either that or have it blown away
So high were the winds

This pattern was a frik
Zepata say to Irena
He nevair see one like
Cyclonic winds seem to blow
Around and around the mountain

A stream-rinsed red union suit
Hanging on a makeshift line blew off
Only to return fifteen minutes later
From the opposite direction
It had traveled around the mountain
In the whirling wind

Daylight slowly comes
But the rain and crying wind does not let up
El Dayo appears at their active
Bundle of tarp and he sounds
His battle call
Zepata and Irena look out from inside
Their waterproof canvas
 Cocoon of love

Raising himself again and again
On his powerful hind legs
Dayo gives a primeval stallion battle cry
At the sky daring it to strike
Him with lightning
His bulging eyes blazing

Zeus himself might refrain
From hurling a bolt at such a
Dreadnaught
For fear El Dayo would catch it
In his frothing gaping maw
And hurl it back

Zepata calls out to the drenched
Beast
Issy Boy issy
Go get Mare
We liff in half an hour

Soon Dayo and Mare
stand waiting
And the terrible storm
Finally relents
Zepata checks the dynamite

Eet is try he proclaims
And with Irena breaks camp
Vowing never to forget that storm
 The jump-started Mexican saviour
Ponders its portent

Now mud is their greatest danger
It is too risky to ride
So Zepata and Irena walk
Beside their mounts
All morning they descend
In this way

In the early afternoon
They discover that the storm
Did not happen at the lower
Altitude
It had been a mountaintop
Electric cyclone only
Like nobody ever saw before

Zepata thinks it must
Have been a sight to see
From down below
And indeed the compadres
Had often looked up from their campsite
And thought of Zepata and Irena
And offered prayers for their safekeeping

The waters that had rushed
Down the mountain
Were torrential
And the air had taken on
A charged crispness
Following the high winds
That had swirled through
The compadres' tentative repose

Zepata who was a simple
Indian with cause and effect
Thought patterns at root
Divined the storm had been
Stirred by the pro-creative
Madness
Exhibited by humans and horses
In the night

After all, he mused
If a little Zepata or Irena
Was being conceived
Or a foal to match or even
Exceed Dayo and Mare's
Powerful exhuberances
Should it not storm?

These were all natural things
To the mind of Zepata
For himself he knew
That the inflammations
Stirred by Irena and her axle oil
Produced energy that not even
He could fully combust

Try as he might
He thought as he watched
Her riding ahead of him
Here was an exciting fuel
That could never be burned
Completely

Irena possessed a life force
That commenced as female
Gateway of life physiology
That which every woman has
But in Irena's instance
A bellows of only guessed-at origin
Had blown her womanly propensities

Into a conflagration whose
Raging flames licked
The highest clouds
Changing weather patterns

The Indians knew
The northern lights were caused
By a woman such as this

In the north there was such a woman
And  in other parts
Of the world
Rainmakers, storm-causers
Interacting with mighty men
Their powers are released
This is what Zepata believed

How could he not believe it
As he watched Irena's
Buttocks ahead of him
Nudging and shunting
The hand-tooled saddle
He had rubbed to smoothness himself
And presented to his Real Woman

It must be time for siesta
He mused
Irena felt his eyes upon her
And she smiled without turning



[dzd  7-23-98]