Vermice poem.

Vermice's wrath is like hiccups;
it flutters in the buttercups.

Vermice's ire is like Lufrane;
it runs and then it runs again.

Vermice's mad is like Vermom's;
it scorns Verdad but never harms.

Vermice's anger is like mine;
its good or bad, but never fine.

Sandwich

Waiting for a veal parmesan sandwich.

Overcome with anticipation.

I drum my fingers while I wait.

It will probably be disappointing.

It arrives.

It’s not disappointing.

It is a delicious expression of everything good.

Bread.

Cheese.

Sauce.

Meat.

I am rejuvenated.

Invigorated.

Life is a joy.

For me.

For the baby cow?

Not so much.

John Keats, Trash Blasters

Closely-orbiting O'Keefe satellite Lee B recently recommended I read a Keats poem about fall, so I did and then I decided to write a poem. I'm hoping it will help me exorcise out of my brain some words and stuff that I have trouble not thinking about. Enjoy.

The poem:

Negative zone daemonic hellscape riven with darkly pupating fist-smasher insectoid ravening biscuit-whifflers, bustling with eleven elven men stabbing your soul drinking the lemon-squinted drubble drink pouring out of your eyes, landing on a pad of green green grasses, waving in the windy wind while your white wallephant wails for whiskered wandering witch warrens, teeming with troubled toe tasters. Sudden shock, bursting your brain, washing your spectral dream place with acidic slime molds, seeping into every nook and cracky cranny, fusing your space holes free of webbed molecule breathing hostile bandit crafters, caustic sportsmen hammering away at the dogs of war, whipping away at the horses of sin, thrashing away at the donkeys of disdain, erasing the last remnants of spectral final tornado pulsars, turbid washboard eclipse spaniard potion doctor fraught pastor last distracting trash blaster stratus flashes burning your iris, papyrus inscribed with the diets of pirates.

Observe the Hand Closed

Rescued from eternal obscurity, mixed into a page of notes from a Soviet History class from 3 years ago, while unpacking boxes.


Observe the hand closed:
Pointer like an eye shut,
Fingers like puppies in a bed,
Thumb like a hand over the eyes,
Nails like faces trying to hide,
Knuckles an arched back.
Pinky, the cold one, nuzzling in,
never gets a better spot. 

Fall: Second study.

My Watercolor

14 year old Cristy

Another Watercolor

This watercolor is the beginning of a story. Well not really the beginning, but close. More frames to come. What happened to cause this scene? What happens next? All in good time.

Random watercolors

Since watercolor is the theme here are two lil paintings of an apple that Laura and I did here at the beach. I also painted a mug.

Working on designs for a mural. Art is mega stressful sometimes. Overcommitting. Everything's public and high-stakes. Maybe it would be better to work as a Data Entry Specialist and stay amateur. 

Watercolor: Path

Watercolor: Flower

Watercolor: Path

Larry the Lure

The Latin teacher at my school asked me and another teacher to help him this summer by illustrating a Latin comic. This comic is sent out to the Latin students once a week-ish along with some questions about it, and they read it and answer the questions and email them. The comic is called Larry the Lure, and it is about a living fishing lure named Larry (or Laurentius in Latin). This may seem strange, but it definitely isn't (a Latin student during the past year brought this lure to school every day and it became a minor celebrity). I will include one chapter of LtL for your enjoyment here.

Me and Barry by Barry and Me

Barry and me decided to draw ugly portraits of each other, it took me a while but here they are for the enjoyment of all.

Certificate of Appreciation

Family, 

I would like to announce my appreciation of the following fact, which oft I dwell upon with furrowed brow, eyes wide to the darkness of my sleepless room. The truth must out!

Of all of the people I know in my generation and count among my friends from every era of my life from pre-school to graduate school to this very year and month and day there are only a few who have graduated from college, still fewer who did so without many setbacks and struggles, and still fewer who used their education to make or participate in anything outside of a paper or a test. 

Of all these many and various souls there are but a few now who have found stable committed relationships, a very few who are married, and still fewer who have marked many joyous anniversaries with perfect felicity.

Of everyone I know who I call my peer I've come across almost none who have built a nest of skills and relationships fit to contain a child, still fewer have conjured the courage to summon forth a babe, and be unto it as a Mother or Father.

Of every child of the 80s and 90s with whom I am closely acquainted I know nearly none who have found gainful employment at which they excel and improve, and still fewer who work in a field that engages their creativity, and still fewer whose work has clear purpose and social value beyond themselves. 

And of these few who have found success in these ways, I know but one - one and one only - who has found all four - all four blue corners of this blue four square of young success. 

Long have I admired, and long shall I admire a role model for any wayward youth:

My brother Tom

Take not for granted his brave example - nor let thine eye wander from the narrow road. 

Love,

Barry

DAD, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

Happy Birthday Dad!

Hope it was a good one.

-D

Happy Birthday Arthur!

Arthur,


I hope you've had a terrific birthday.

- UNCLE D

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY OF BIRTH KJ-OK/ AK-OK

Restored Recording by Dr. Cornelius "Thumbs" Pianeer

When we don't have paying work to do at the Staunton Media Lab, we mess around editing interesting bits of video and audio. If the link works, you should be able to listen to an amazing recording we restored of the legendary Dr. Cornelius Pianeer creating a symphony of sound on a Karimba thumb piano. Y'all celebrate your independence now! Here's another link, in case the one above does not work.

|||||<

My Interpretation of Herman's "Hexagon King"

HAPPY PAPPY!

I invented this joint Father's Day Card to save time. 

Herman's stencil art

Inspired by Grandma & Grandpa O'Keefe's gift of a shape stencil, Herman has been at it. The first is his fathers day card for me, a picture of himself playing with blocks. This is by far his most humanoid drawing to date. The second is his rendition of Mama standing next to a statue of the Hexagon King. The latter has his mouth open. These were done without outside suggestion or assistance.

The Ridges

Laura, Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday Barry

Thine thin equine quince

By Sarah Wolfe 

NINE EXIST,

PRATS MOXIE CHEMIST

WART WARTS

ROLE HIDE MOLE CURE

HEWED WEED DEFT

TONE TONED WEND

HELP FLED

QUININE DICE

THINE THIN EQUINE QUINCE

NOTE NOTES, SOFA

RARE.

FORE FOND FORM ROOF

TRAY GARE FUND

WHEN HARE NARE HEIR

NEST TWEEN TWEENS SENSE TENSE JEST

NAME NAMES

AMEN AMENS

DAME DAMES

SENSE MENSE SENS TOSSER ROOT

TORT TORTE

TORTS TORTES

ROSE MASH MESH

MITRE MITRES DART ROTE

BOAR BORER

SEAR SEARER

LEER FAME GUMP FARE

TAKE PEAKER

REMAKE REMAKER

MARE.

Fly

Sorry for the crappy photo yall. Click to magnify!

Fly

Baltimore Oriole by c

Jesus Put a Curse on Me

Jesus Put a Curse on Me
by Steve O'Keefe

Jesus put a curse on me
said I gotta love you
as much as I love me

     -- when -- 

as far as I can see
you ain't worth but half o'me!
Still, I gotta respect ya
'til the good Lord perfects ya

'cause Jesus put a curse on me
said I gotta love you
as much as I love me --
not just now,
but for eternity

     -- when --

as far as I can see
you ain't no good!
Still, I'm s'posed to treat ya
like Jesus would.

I'd give up Jesus if I could

but Jesus put a curse on me
yes he did
yes indeed!

If I Fell - by Kelly O'Keefe

Below, find Paw's installment for "Fly" week. Don't forget to post your response to the prompt!


If I fell - by Kelly O'Keefe

If I fell
from the roof,
from the tree,
from the sky.

Would I drop
like a stone?
Would I sail?
Would I fly?

Would I float
through the clouds
into space
up above?

Would I miss
work I do,
things I own,
those I love?

Would the story
of my leaving
be too tragic
to retell?

Would the glory
of ascension
be remembered
if I fell?

And would I at last escape the bonds
of earthly pain and sorrow?
Would I lose all sense of yesterday,
the present and tomorrow?

Or would darkness be my only view,
devoid of time or place?
Would my lifeless form be empty
as it floated out to space?

Would I rise up
into heaven?
Would I lower
into hell?

Or would I just
crumple broken
on the concrete
if I fell?

HBD, D

Happy Birthday Dear Dino!

I hope you ate cake and communed with the unbroken urban fabric, or whatever it is that makes you happy.

B

Watercolor of a shed at the park

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day Mom!

<3 D

Isolation Tank - by Steve O'Keefe

Unk sent me this story about Sensory Deprivation with instructions to post it on the Rhino.

Read UNK's story by clicking this link.

Note: No pages are missing, though by the pagination, you might think otherwise!

Comics Exercise from Lynda Barry

Dear Cardbordivenous Rhinocerae,

This week I have accepted an assignment from Comicsperson Lynda Barry designed for speedy drawing with minimal thought and planning. I thought this might motivate time-strapped bros to contribute, following the same instructions. In brief: 45 second pencil sketches of 4 different objects/ ideas are done 4 different times, creating 16 panels of equal size on 1 page. Quick sketches are then inked and colored in. In detail: see scanned instructions below. It's like a poetic form.

My chosen 4 subjects (1st drawings in lefthand column) are (top to bottom) 1-Bathtime 2-Rain on my train 3-Cooking dinner 4-Crappy umbrella. 

Melville Book Club: Some Civil War Poems

The Portent

by Herman Melville

Hanging from the beam, 

      Slowly swaying (such the law), 

Gaunt the shadow on your green, 

      Shenandoah! 

The cut is on the crown 

      (Lo, John Brown), 

And the stabs shall heal no more. 

Hidden in the cap 

      Is the anguish none can draw; 

So your future veils its face, 

      Shenandoah! 

But the streaming beard is shown 

      (Weird John Brown), 

The meteor of the war.

Ida's Opera Illustrations

Ida has been obsessing on operas lately- namely, the Nutcracker and Mozart's Magic Flute. She has been answering exclusively to "Clara". She is also drawing as zealously and quirkily as ever. So, of her own initiative, she has begun to illustrate the operas. Some images are portraits, others full figure. She is very sure of what she is depicting, and I when I showed her them on the computer, she recognized all the subjects. Enjoy!