Trying to Find Helga Stromberg's Poetry

Helga Strömberg's Life (North Park University summary):

Helga Stromberg (nee Henning) was born March 14, 1886 in Gothenberg, Sweden. After graduating from secondary school in 1904, Helga attended a teachers college in Stockholm for a year. She then attended a nurses training school in Hamburg, Germany and in 1913 joined a Swedish Red Cross ambulance team serving in Serbia, where she was decorated. In 1914 she married a student of astronomy, Gustav B. Stromberg (MSS 22) in Paris, France.

In 1916 Gustav received a stipend from the Mt. Wilson observatory, and the two moved to Pasadena, California where they lived the rest of their lives. Helga started writing poetry in Pasadena under the nom de plum of Sister (or Syster) Benediction. She was published quite frequently in the Swedish-American press and the Pasadena Star. She also had six poem collection published, three in English and three in Swedish. She became an honorary member of the Eugene Field Society in 1940.

Helga's husband Gustav died in 1962, and Helga continued to live in the same house, 1383 North Marengo, until her death on July 7, 1971 at the age of 85.

Eddie Rabbitt's Cranium (I Love A Rainy Night II)

A collaboration by Larry Sawyer, Sara Farr, Lina ramona Vitkauskas, and Shawn Baker.


There isn't any kitchen in your dream
about the rusting eagle. Our mushroom Instamatic
moment browns the aperture. The mall trumpet
screeches into the plot with dialogue like:
"Por favor, my city slipped on a decent boa
of invisible psalms." Giant fantastic radio water,
unfortunate clocks, today's sloppy meat sprockets,
I say to you: NOUVEAU RICHE SUCKS.
Lightening tunnels to latex nuns and pumps.
Listen closely to the troupe playing
"Verily, Verily Asparagus." Uniform lips unclassed
by winnowing studies, lips reflecting fish inside
us all. Flagrant pooches drop like molten cereals;
and for only .99 cents, you are the happiest cactus
in the pool. Justify your jack-off petals with falling
sticks, your battery acid in rapture, your bottles pointed
toward your head with swarthy foam. All of a sudden,
I have to go to the bathroom because my hand is too cold.
Chicken.

"Lay down your head to be born"

We wrote these on Chinese New Year. I used fortune cookie slips from our meal to title each poem.

A collaboration with Gene Tanta, Mirela Ciupag, Larry Sawyer, and Lina ramona Vitkauskas.


That special someone loves to see the light in in your eyes.

Trees idealize this volatile bliss; in
the stink of farm and old peaches,
it is time to collect all the stray dogs,
these misconceptions a broth of your inner
countries. It's time to stop your damn pseudo--
and clean the sacrilege from the table...


He who has not tasted the bitter does not understand the sweet.

Lay down your head to be born, licked,
and dive in the water. Bleed the thimble,
take a gulp of jilted lovers, please speak
into destruction as clarity. Burn the women
first, then raze the local gentry, then pulverize
fuzz, howl, and whistle. The brine, my love, is an old hat.
My bulbous heart fired like pottery, wet like
a Mongolian horse, like a dripping film.



Keep your eyes open, and take advantage of the unexpected.

Here is a small horn.
When will we become ourselves?
The broccoli ground, a curse upon your rubber.
Sex is an addendum, your gesticulations
swirl to the bottom of my glass; it
is a revolt, cleaning the index finger.


Act with kindness. People return with good will to the place that has done them well.

The lettuce changes me.
I cringe in my blind cage.
What time does the dragon depart?
Limestone slams against conglomerate
like a banging door. What is wrong
about how rain comes? Stiff hands
like long watercress, mice in a tight pocket,
firecrackers. The sea is gauche,
the porch thinks you weigh too much,
yes, they were checked those pockets,
those poet pockets.

The Falling Baker

This neat blast from the past was brought to you by my impeccable memory of my 1970's/1980's childhood.

Mark It Eight

The Typewriter Guy Rocks

Refreshing Beverage OR Property-Destroying Neighborhood Hooligan?

The neighborhood business man reading the paper is visibly shaken by Kool-Aid Man.

Protect Toothopolis

The Italians Have Done It Again

KROKUS

I totally thought of the band KROKUS today and it reminded me of the resident stoner in my junior high, Chuck Stolfy. I am pretty sure he had this poster in his locker. I certainly remember the vast array of Eddie t-shirts he had. He kept the rotation fresh and his jet-black mane feathered and Pert silky.

A Failure Pile in A Sadness Bowl

This is old school Patton Oswalt--evidence he is, indeed, funny.

Which One of You Wrote With the Carazy Lipstick?

How can you not love this?

Catherine Wagner @ Danny's Tonight

I dig her work immensely, specifically Macular Hole, however, I am reading this evening at North Park University for Professor Odelius' class so I will miss her reading at Danny's.

One great line re: the female body:

"this my swan is it / eyes at one end cunt at the other / a swaying hurting wonder between.”

A Riff Off Preface

Diane Arbus

Diane Arbus has always been a fascinating figure from the annals of documentary-style photography. FUR, starring Nicole Kidman and Robert Downey Jr. examines her life through a fictional lens, utilizing factual components of Arbus’s life and spinning a fantasy tale of a freakish neighbor turned love interest—perhaps a cinematic representation of what may have been the pictures Arbus took with her soul rather than her camera. Secretary director Steven Shainberg directs Kidman's portrayal of Arbus, the well-to-do Manhattan wife who becomes one of the twentieth century's most revered photographers, as a beautiful, sad soul oppressed by only her limitless heart and curiosity of vision. Shainberg used Patricia Bosworth's book 'Diane Arbus: A Biography' as a source, and Shainberg and writer Erin Cressida Wilson, reunited after their highly successful 2003 Secretary, to take this leap into Arbus’ “inner life”. Arbus begins her journey on a bus to a nudist camp to become a sometime resident photographer. We then see her three months prior, in1958, hosting a party in New York City.

James Mottram, Channel 4:

“Her husband Allan is a photographer, who has recently been shooting ad campaigns for the latest furs at an exclusive Fifth Avenue department store owned by Diane's father. A devoted wife and mother-of-two, Diane is also her husband's assistant—but it soon becomes clear that she has long since repressed any dreams of her own artistic expression. What—or rather who—brings Diane out of her domesticated shell is the subject of Fur. It is her mysterious (fictional) new neighbour, Lionel Sweeney (Downey Jr.) who helps launch Diane into a wider world. Afflicted with a rare condition that causes hair to sprout all over his face and body—as a teenager shaving proved pointless because "it grew back so quickly, it was hardly worth the effort"—it's no surprise that Lionel used to eke out a living as a circus freak. Now making money by spinning wigs from his excess hair, Lionel hangs out with other 'outsiders'—from dwarves to a dominatrix—who accept him for who he is. But once he reveals the full extent of his condition to Diane, she does not back away; rather she finds genuine friendship with Lionel, at the expense of her life with Allan (who even grows a beard at one point in a desperate hope of winning her round) and her children.”

Diane begins to venture into Lionel’s world promising to eventually take his portrait, though we never see him in his furry glory as one of Arbus’ subjects until the bitter end.

This is a haunting, dreamlike film that Kidman drives with subtle strength and watery expression. Arbus’ resolve to capture these mystical creatures of life comes through clearly, even through an aperture rarely used.

"Solid Gold"

I watched this show religiously. Come on! Marilyn McCoo and Madam with the Solid Gold Dancers? What more could you want as a young girl (or guy for that matter)? I wanted to BE the head Solid Gold Dancer.

I Miss John Candy

I'm the wart...

The MTV Video Games

This satire on teen suicide really spawned a generation of movies that turned the John Hughes collection onto its head, paving the way for later movies such as "Election". It effectively captured the clique-infused teen attitude toward a devastating problem. My favorite scenes involve the principal, faculty, and school counselor meetings after each teen dies--keenly and hilariously played by John Ingle and Penelope Milford (could not locate on YouTube). Daniel Walters, screenwriter, captured the late 80's teen fascination with cult vernacular quite well.


This funeral scene's highlight is the priest, played by the Beetlejuiced Glenn Shadix.

Corporate Jargon

THINKING OUTSIDE THE BOX

I have been thinking outside the box lately, and I've come to the conclusion that I am still not as creative as I think I am. By thinking about this, (thinking about thinking outside the box), I am metacognating said corporate idiom.

The "why" behind thinking outside the box is key to understanding the "how". If you are in a box, you suffocate, and therefore this tired piece of corporate jargon becomes fresh and new again, exciting, in fact, when a superior instructs one to do so. Personally, I enjoy being around the box, but not necessarily in it or out of it. I think the advantage to being around it is that you get the omniscient perspective, which makes one feel god-like and ultimately, like a creator. Creators are creative.

Look at the platypus, for instance. Who else but someone around the box--similar to "around the block", which connotes sexual promiscuity--would conceive of a duck-billed "possum with fins?" You see what I mean. Back to "around the block". When someone is referred to as one who has "been around the block", you know that it is a sure sign that they most certainly have not been "around the block" and they are only saying it out desperation and fear. Anyone who has to assert sexual prowess or common knowledge on a consistent basis with a saying that refers to walking around in one's neighborhood has a skewed self-perception.

I have had bosses like this, and therefore, when they ask me to think outside the box for an upcoming project, I have told them that I can see through their pathetic ruse of self-deception. After I am fired, I think about when they forced me to be creative against my own will and created the anti-creative within me. I hate that person inside me. She is like a little devil.



RE-INVENT THE WHEEL

Yesterday, in a meeting, my boss said we shouldn't have to re-invent the wheel. The wheel was invented by cavemen, so I wondered if he was insinuating that somehow we were neanderthals or subhuman. I also wondered that, if he was so enlightened about not having to re-invent the wheel, why he didn't know that from the beginning, that is, why he waited until we actually all did re-invent the wheel to tell us that. This proves that my boss is also a caveman, just like us.




PUSH THE ENVELOPE

You can't push the envelope. First of all, it didn't do anything to you. You don't have to push it. It's not like it slept with your sister. It's paper for crying out loud. I mean, pushing paper is like pushing pencils and they didn't do anything to you either. And it's so discriminating that you would choose an envelope out of all the paper products. It's totally bigoted. Letterhead is a really bastard and really is the one who deserves a good shove. Pushing the envelope is like slapping a baby in the face. After you do something like this, whatever you do next doesn't hold much stock.



TOUCH BASE/ON THE SAME PAGE
I had this conversation once regarding whether or not you could touch base and not be on the same page simultaneously. My colleague believes this is possible because it is equivalent to "agreeing to disagree". My assertion is that one would touch base only if they were already on the same page to reinforce this fact. Why would you want to belabor the issue only to keep disagreeing? I think it is an excuse to talk to that person at that point.



TALK ABOUT IT OFFLINE
I saw Tron the other day and there is no way you could keep hurling those discs around as much as they did. You'd get really tired.

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MORE TERMINOLOGY --from various Web sites

Seagull Manager:
A manager who flies in, makes a lot of noise, craps on everything, and then leaves.

Blamestorming:
Sitting around in a group, discussing why a deadline was missed or a project failed, and who was responsible.

Assmosis:
The process by which some people seem to absorb success and advancement by kissing up to the boss.

Percussive maintenance:
The art of smashing, whacking, kicking or punching a machine to get it to work.

Revved Up Like A Deuce