THANK YOU

Troy's Work Table Publishing wishes to thank everyone who helped make 2019 a wonderful year of art and poetry for TWT and the Inktopodes.

Thank you to Puyallup Valley Dental Care for hosting the "Strange Gliding Things" show in their gallery for three months.

Thank you to the Washington State Fair for accepting four pieces of Inktopodes art for their 2019 Fine Arts Show.

Thank you to the Maplewood Elementary PTA for allowing Troy's Work Table Publishing to have a table at their annual Holiday Bazaar.

Thank you to Creative Colloquy for accepting my short story "Endured, Uttered" for publication on their website and allowing me to read it as part of their Summer Soirée. Thank you for accepting my poem "Warpaint Melville" for publication in the forthcoming print version of Creative Colloquy, volume 7.

Thank you to those of you who purchased Inktopodes art and cards this year.

Thank you to those of you who purchased, read, and/or listened to my poetry and writing.

THE LAST MEAL

The Last Meal is a holiday that is truly a personal holy day. It is a time to reflect upon the past year and prepare for the one that will soon arrive.

This year, each member of the family wrote down private confessions, personal sins, and things they wanted to leave behind in 2019 on pieces of paper that helped start the fire for the grill. The combination of briquets, cowboy charcoal, and damp Italian prune and black walnut branches gave the steak for The Last Meal a rich, peppery, smoked flavor.

The Last Meal for The Child: carrots and peas, pasta and cheese casserole.

The Last Meal for The Wife: Dungeness crab.

The Last Meal for TWT: wood-smoked tri-tip steak and Alamos Malbec.

Food was followed by board and card games before "nine o'clock New Year" and viewing Solo: A Star Wars Story.

LONGEST NIGHT

Coastal Redwood bonsai at Pacific Bonsai Museum, Federal Way, Washington.

—

Longest Night. Winter solstice. A personal holy day.

This year was celebrated by attending A Bonsai Solstice at Pacific Bonsai Museum, one of my favorite winter events. It was a night of looking at these artful tiny trees, some of which were illuminated by spotlights and some of which were in dark and had to be illuminated by flashlights or phones that viewers brought. I really enjoyed experiencing these trees in a shadowy, still, and somewhat silent atmosphere.

As The Wife remarked, this was a "good Advent event." It was a time of patience and quiet and slowness.

—

Now the night continues with reading short horror stories by Brian Evenson. His collection Song for the Unravelling of the World is unnerving and creepy, yet compelling.

Here I am hiding in the dark!

ADVENT BEER CALENDAR • THE FIRST 12

The first twelve beers of the 2019 Kalea Advent Beer Calendar.

—

I'm really enjoying my Advent beer calendar. It's allowed me to try beers I normally wouldn't otherwise (mostly German lagers) and even allowed me to discover a new favorite style (rauchbier). Here are the first twelve beers, ranked from my favorite to least favorite on a scale of one (no thanks) to five stars (excellent), along with brief tasting notes.

1. Hösl Märzenbier. Smoky. Nutty. Broth. Wine. Dark fruits: cherry, fig. Light caramel. Bark. Honey. Apple. Complex. Shifting. Complex. (Day ten.) *****
2. Erlkönig Hell. "Clean" and airy nose. Floral. Fruity. Grassy. Light spices. Solid and refreshing. Sweetness that dries a bit. Excellent. (Day six.) ****½
3. Perlenzauber German Pale Ale. Hay. Grains. Citrus. Hint of berries (especially as it warms and on finish). Biscuity. Familiar. Very Good. (Day seven.) ****
4. Bürgerliches Brauhaus Altbairisch Hell. Grain. Grass. Hint of banana. Light grape. Light apple/pear. Clean and refreshing. Very good. (Day nine.) ****
5. Ladenburger Weizenbock Hell. Hay. Cloves. Hint of banana. Sage. Thyme. Hint of raspberries. Yeast. Light orange. Light caramel. Very good. (Day eight.) ****
6. Schnaitl Jubiläums-Sud. Grains. Caramel. Floral. Some sweetness. Honey. A hint of figs and dates. Very good. (Day three.) ****
7. Hohenthanner Schlossbrauerei Blau Weisse. Grains. Sage. Cloves. Banana bread. Light citrus. Light grass. Saison-like. Very good. (Day two.) ****
8. Kress Bayrisch Zwickel. Caramel. Nutty. Hint of vegetal notes. Underlying sweetness. Biscuit. Very good. (Day five.) ****
9. Grandl Bavarian Lager. Wheat. Lemon. Hint of brine. Light spiciness. Brief sweetness that dries out quickly. Very good. (Day eleven.) ***½
10. Käuzle Helles Lager. Grains. Grass. Spices. Good. (Day one.) ***½
11. Graminger Kirta Dunkles Weissbier. Broth. Cocoa. Sage. Cloves. Red grapes. Hint of wine. Earthiness. Vegetal. Hint of alcohol. Okay. (Day twelve.) ***
12. Memminger Gold Bavarian-Style. Light. Not a lot here. Hints of spices and flowers. Light sweetness that dries a bit. Okay. (Day four.) ***

ADVENT QUIET MORNING

"Annunciation to Joseph of the Root of Jesse," multimedia* collage, 2019.

Response to Advent Quiet Morning.

*Sidewalk chalk on concrete board, papercut bond paper, and Sharpie on transparency.

—

This morning, I facilitated a series of related readings for Advent Quiet Morning. Each of the three sets of readings—"Emmanuel," "Annunciation," and "God with Us"—followed a pattern: a brief passage from Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a reading from scripture, a short piece of creative non-fiction, a poem, and a prayer. After each set, participants were able to stay where they were or scatter throughout the sanctuary and adjoining spaces to respond to the readings in silence, prayer, in writing, or in artwork for fifteen to twenty minutes.

The readings represented voices from different faith traditions within Christianity—Lutheran, Catholic, Orthodox, Methodist, Episcopalian, Non-denominational, and Agnostic. That wasn't planned but it was a surprise that was rather welcome, as these poets reflected upon the Annunciation and the Incarnation and their various writings overlapped and echoed one another, finally seeming as though one voice was speaking.

—

The sanctuary was filled with candlelight from the candle trees on the altar, the Advent wreath, votives, and a couple of larger candles, which meant the sanctuary was also filled with shadow. The sanctuary was filled with the scent of black cherry incense. The sanctuary was filled with silence once each reading ceased.

—

Halfway through the first silence, in the midst of shadow, as I was walking from one room to another, I stopped. I stopped because I had a holy vision, the first I've had in probably twenty years. Unlike earlier visions, this one was primarily auditory.

Behind me somewhere (through the shadow and the stone walls of the sanctuary) the darkness was peeled back and there was a brief glimpse of the light of heaven accompanied by the singing of what I assume to be choirs of angels. How does one "see" light that is behind one's self? How does one hear song in the midst of silence.

The only other noises I heard throughout the morning were traffic along the road at the side of the church, the currents of the furnaces, crowing of the neighbor's rooster, cawing of crows sitting on the telephone wires above the road, and the calling of gulls sitting atop the church. None of which even approximates the singing of angelic choirs.

—

Fortunately, the vision didn't last too long, although it's brevity didn't quite match the amount of time that passed in "reality." And I was able to continue with the following readings with a vigor and vitality that I cannot claim as my own.

—

For the rest of the day, I felt "off." I longed for additional quiet. I took a nap. I felt groggy. After dinner, however, I was able to finally respond to the reading with artwork that I couldn't do during Advent Quiet Morning since I needed to "keep things moving along."

I initially intended to only chalk a piece of artwork, but things changed during the process of creation. Working from the narrative of the annunciation to Joseph, chalked angel wings also served as fiery leaves of a tree growing from the skeletal stump/root of Jesse. Angel and tree and child and vision of Emmanuel mingle with one another.

Quiet breeds quiet. Vision fuels vision. Response begets response. Amen.

—

The set lists.

Emmanuel

• Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
• Matthew 1:18-25.
• "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" by Linda Gregerson.
• "Mosaic of the Nativity" by Jane Kenyon.
• Prayer.

Annunciation

• Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
• Luke 1:26-38.
• "A Sky Full of Children" by Madeleine L'Engle.
• "Annuciation" by Scott Cairns.
• Prayer.

God with Us

• Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
• Psalm 146:5-10.
• "I Praise, I Exalt Your Name: Psalm 146" by Daniel Berrigan.
• "Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End?" by Mary Oliver.
• Prayer.

AUTUMNAL ROUNDUP

I went and gathered a few beers for late-autumn enjoyment as I wait to crack into my beer Advent calendar.

It's a mixture of old favorites and a few new beers to try.

Silver City Old Scrooge Ale.

Ommegang Three Philosophers Quardrupel.

Boulevard The Sixth Glass Quadrupel.

Reuben's Brews Holiday Gose.

Deschutes Jubelale.

Oskar Blues Old Chub Scotch Ale.

Breckenridge Nitro Chocolate Orange Stout.

Crux In the Pocket Barrel-Aged Rustic Saison.

7 Seas Boobytraps Cascadia Dark Ale (not pictured).

Iron Horse Cand Hannon IPA (not pictured).

I've already enjoyed a few of these beers the past couple of days and it's helping to keep the darkness of the seasonal changes at bay a bit.

KILLING ME SOFTLY

Autumn at sunrise. North Hill, Puyallup, Washington.

The shift to autumn is killing me softly. And slowly.

"Gaining" an hour by "falling back" from Daylight Saving Time to Standard Time once again has thrown off my circadian rhythm. The sun doesn't quite sit in the sky where it should, according to my mind and body. Not only that, but the sun's light is weaker and the sun's course in the sky is shorter and closer to horizon.

Not to be dramatic, but I can feel the dark weighing down my bones. I literally feel heavier. More sluggish.

And my insomnia is acting up, as well as I'm awake and up at 5:00 a.m. no matter how little sleep I've gotten the night prior.

I'm walking and running to keep endorphins flooding my system. I'm taking vitamin D. I'm taking melatonin before bed. I'm practicing mindfulness.

The only saving grace of the past few weeks has been brilliant fall foliage, made even more so by the richer amber sunlight.

Hopefully, I can get myself back to some sustainable pattern of wake-and-slumber before the fog and gray and dark set in for the next few months.

CH-CH-CHANGES

Three years ago, my favorite beer store, 99 Bottles, closed after ten years of business. It was a sad day when the doors were shut for good because they were relatively close to me, they carried beers I enjoyed, they really knew their beer, and they hosted some rather fun and imaginative beer tasting events. Their demise was partly fueled by "big box" beer stores moving into the region—BevMo and Total Wine—as well as a state that has a lot of regressive and/or convoluted laws when it comes to alcohol.

And I guess I've been in a state of mourning for the past three years.

In addition to my favorite beer store closing, there have been a lot of changes in the beer industry over the past three years. Some favorite longtime breweries have closed (Bridgeport) and others have come and gone within a few short years (Puyallup River Brewing). New beer stores have opened (CRFT Beers of Auburn, Pint Defiance of Tacoma) but they are quite the drive, especially when distance and amount of traffic is factored in. Craft breweries are selling out to industry giants like AB-InBev (Budweiser) and Heineken International; Elysian, Goose Island, and others have been swallowed up by the giant multinationals. Beer shelf space once dedicated to craft beers has been increasingly stolen and compromised by AB InBev due to their practice of flooding the same space with the brands they bought. New beer styles (such as Hazy IPAs) have likewise taken up space that would have gone to barleywines and sours and other styles of beers.

In other words, a lot of what brought me joy in the exploration of craft beers disappeared and died. To cope, my world shrunk down to mostly what I could still find on the shelves of my local Fred Meyer, with the occasional trip to The Red Hot or CaskCades to try something new. I tended to stick with a few favorites—Iron Horse's Cand Hannon, Bale Breaker's Top Cutter, and favorites from Deschutes and 7 Seas.

But recently, I started to once again build up the stock in my mostly depleted beer cellar. I discovered an Advent calendar of canned German beers that I am really looking forward to enjoying. I cleaned out bottle caps and beer coasters I had collected over the years and reminisced, while also letting go of some of those memories to make room for new ones.

So here is to some new adventures, explorations, and enjoyment of craft beer: Cheers!

BLOOD MERIDIAN

I've tried reading Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy three times before, but I never made it more than a third of the way through the book. Today, on my fourth attempt to finish this novel, I made it farther than I have in the past.

The main stumbling block for me has always been the brutal violence that undergirds the narrative, especially the encounter around an evening campfire between white Jackson and black Jackson in chapter eight. But I survived it and moved on.

I'm glad I did, because I encountered the brutality and beauty of chapter ten. In it, I hear echoes of Moby-Dick, especially the Judge as an off-kilter character and/or madman in an indirect lineage from Captain Ahab and a pissing scene (to add the final ingredient needed to make powder for their rifles) that reminds me of "A Squeeze of the Hand" (Chapter 94 of Moby-Dick). It's a strange and hallucinatory chapter that makes me feel as though I'm just as famished and suffering from heatstroke as the group of American soldiers and mercenaries who are fleeing from pursuing Apaches across the Mexican desert.

It's quite the wild adventure, so on I trudge with Glanton, the Judge, the Kid, Toadvine, and company!

INKTOPODES • TABLING EVENT

The Inktopodes of Inktober and their friends will be at the 5th Annual Maplewood Bazaar on Saturday, November 16, 2019 from 9:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m.

www.facebook.com/events/895933014103462

This is the only tabling event at which the Inktopodes will appear in 2019, so come and visit them before they swim away!

GHOSTS of BEERS PAST

I'm purging a bit. Farewell to my beer bottle cap collection, which is heading off to Tinkertopia (Tacoma's zaniest art supply store) for others to use.


After cleaning out the beer cellar, my coaster collection heading off to a nearby tap room.

---

I've been in the process of getting rid of things. I realized I'm a bit of a hoarder and I need to let go of things I've collected but that just take up space in the house. It was fun looking through my collections of single bottle caps and coasters. Digging through these mementos conjured forth good memories of particular beers, of tastings, of beer events, and then I let those go too.

OKTOBERFEST

Oktoberfest arrived at Troy's Work Table a couple of weeks early.

I couldn't wait any longer for this glimpse of heaven.

Mozzarella bratwurst from Blue Max Meats + sauerkraut + spicy brown mustard + Oktoberfest Lager from Silver City Brewery = a moment of near perfection.

---

The fact that I keep thinking about the brat after the meal is over is because these Blue Max sausages are so damn good!

WILDFLOWERS WALK

Wildflowers.Van Lierop Park. Puyallup, Washington.

The dogs and I walked the trail that weaves amongst the wildflowers of the new Van Lierop Park.

Swallows flew overhead, fifty or sixty of them, chattering, chasing one another, eating insects. They would swoop down within inches of us. They would dive toward the ground and pull up with inches to spare. They would fly over nearby fields of lettuce and rhubarb and gourds and then return to fly over fields of wildflowers.

The wildflowers called for their photos to be taken. Adore our simple beauty they taunted. We marveled at lupine and California poppies and daisies and the volunteers of wild rhubarb escaped from the rigid rows of their farmed siblings.

The smell of recent rain still lingered in the air. The dampness clung to stalks of grass and Banjo's belly as it caressed them.

We took our time making our way. We let the impatience slowly bleed out of us and into the culverts and bioswales. We spoke aloud our angers and let them disappear on the whispers of wind, stolen by the beaks of songbirds flitting above us.

ENDURED, UTTERED

"Preston carves in glass as his ancestors carve in cedar. Raven rose through the smoke-hole of the longhouse. Raven rises through the smoke-hole of the hot shop."

Today, working in the yard, I find a crow's feather. Is this the same black feather that makes an appearance in my new short work "Endured, Uttered"? You'll have to show up to the Creative Colloquy Summer Soirée on Monday, August 19 to find out.

Come and celebrate the literary arts in Tacoma and Pierce County—food, drinks, silent auction, readings, musical performance by Forest Dogs.

Hosted by Creative Colloquy at Alma Mater Tacoma.

—

Update: "Endured, Uttered" by Troy Kehm-Goins is now available online HERE.

BURNING

"a spark igniting / once again the tinder of our lately / banked noetic fire."

—from "Annunciation" by Scott Cairns, as found in Idiot Psalms

---

"I have a name for you; you are / the crack of light / under the door / of the city morgue."

—from "Tell Me the Way / Psalm 32" by Daniel Berrigan, as found in Uncommon Prayer: A Book of Psalms

---

"And yet there is in this warm alert creature / the weight and care of a great sadness."

—from "Die Achte Elegie (The Eighth Elegy)" by Rainer Maria Rilke, as found in Duino Elegies (translated by Gary Miranda)

---

For the past couple years, I keep returning to Rilke's "Eighth Elegy." On the surface, it seems so simple and the language beautiful. Yet, when I peel back the veneer the slightest bit, I am confounded and cannot quite figure out what Rilke is doing in the poem. So I keep reading it. And reflecting upon it. Meditating upon it. Letting it seep into the marrow of my bones and the recesses of my mind.

Now I have two additional poems that have been haunting me, taunting me, in the same manner. "Annunciation" by Scott Cairns concerns the scene where the angel Gabriel informs Mary that she will be the vessel that carries the Son of God; that she will be the bearer of God. Yet, as in "The Eighth Elegy" this familiar tale collapses into something I find hard to parse. Language unravels. The same happens with Daniel Berrigan's rendering of Psalm 32, in both his initial poetic lines and then his later exposition, which is also poetic—collapse into lack of comprehension.

So I will read. And reflect. And return again to these texts. Rinse and repeat.

JIM CREEK

Our home this past weekend.


Sleeping in tents.


Campfire.


Creekside.


Hiking.


Disc golf. (I came in second of eight players.)

Board games. Family. Food. Lots of dog walks.

RUNNING

Running has been...

...moments spent with The Child.

...prayer.

...pain.

...progress and improvement.

...weight loss, which wasn't planned, but is taking place anyway.

...shifting my mental attitude.

...welcomed.

ALL GLOW

"All glow" at Lakewood SummerFEST.

CHARON

This is Charon, Inktopodes number 130.

Charon is named after the ferryman of the dead who helps those recently deceased cross the River Styx (River of Hate) and the River Acheron (River of Woe) from the world of the living into Hades.

The pattern of chromatophores on Charon's skin mimic the nostrils on a human skull.

Charon is watercolor ink, gouache, and India ink on 3" x 3" watercolor paper. (No colored border.) It comes with a small wooden frame that includes glass.

$17.50 + $5 shipping. (Shipping is waived if you live in the South Puget Sound area and we meet up for delivery.)

MARLEY

This is Marley, Inktopodes number 126.

He is the quintessential Inktopod for which I've been searching. The ink color is Payne's grey and I like that it captures the quality and look of Chinese and Japanese calligraphy without being too dark.

The brush strokes were quick and loose and definite. Marley drifts through the water, without surrendering his own agency.

He is named after the ghost of Scrooge's business partner in A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

I like him so much that I think he will take up residence on the physical manifestation of Troy's Work Table.

THE DOG

An additional actor has been hired to play the role of The Dog on Troy's Work Table. Along with the aforementioned Banjo,Wrigley has joined the household and is making a bold claim to his position.

Wrigley is a four-year-old, slightly emaciated, blind Chihuahua. He is a balance of reserve and adventure. Once he has "mapped" an area or space, though, and becomes more comfortable in it, he is rather bold and confident.

His blindness is less a disability than it is a minor inconvenience. He is highly reliant upon both his sense of smell and his sense of hearing to get around and explore.

Wrigley is quickly making friends with his fellow actor, Banjo, listening for the latter's tags on his collar to follow him around. He also seems to have quite an affinity for The Child.

Look for future posts reporting his shenanigans.

CAND HANNON

Cand Hannon IPA by Iron Horse Brewery.

12 ounce can in Lagunitas glass.

6.8% abv.

—

The pour is a clear yellow-orange body, with a thin white ring of head.

The nose is citrus, tropical fruit, fresh-pressed leaves of herbs, and biscuits.

The tongue is citrus bitterness, orange peel, tangerine, and biscuity malts, with hints of papaya and mango.

The mouthfeel is medium to medium-heavy. (It sits a bit heavier in the mouth than most IPAs.)

This is really good—a nice balance of hops and malts.

I could just keep drinking this.

(Iron Horse is brewing some of my new favorite beers!)

RUNNING for MY LIFE

Tonight was my first solo run. Today was a rest day in The Child's training schedule, but I needed to get out and run. (Which reads weird as a type it. And then sounds even weirder when I read it aloud to myself.)

The constraint I set for myself was distance. I knew where I was going to run to and then where I was going to return. It was slightly beyond where we've run other training runs on the Riverwalk. I wasn't worried about a time constraint. I got to set the pace. I thought I was going to die the entire time.

Time = 14:03. Distance = 1.38 miles.

It seems that it's a lot easier to bark orders and encouragement at someone else, to help them with their training, than it is to bark the same at one's self. I thought, Wait, I can walk if I feel like my chest is going to explode. I'm out here on my own. Then I thought, No, I can't. I tell The Child to keep going. No walking. I've got to keep going. No walking. Holding myself accountable was much more difficult than holding someone else accountable. But I didn't walk.

I spent the last half of the run with multiple voices in my head arguing about the run. About just giving up and walking the rest. About not passing out. About slowing down my pace. About increasing my pace. About my breathing. About how my feet don't hurt. About how my thighs don't hurt. About how maybe someone will find my corpse at the side of the trail when I have my heart attack. About how maybe I should have taken a rest day. About just shut the voices down and run. About picking up the pace for the last section.

And then it was over.

I went and got The Dog and we walked for my cool down period. Halfway through our normal walk, I finally felt somewhat human again. And then the adrenaline rush arrived and I felt spent but good.

We finished our walk and then I stretched out my legs and back.

Tomorrow is another day.

---

The question I had to ask myself is Why am I running?

First, I'm genuinely running to support The Child. I suggested cross country and said I would run alongside and train if The Child participated. It's a time to bond and share something together.

Second, decades ago, I ran with my mother. So it's a way of connecting my past and present, one generation to another.

Third, it was prompted by some health concerns and the need to shift the way that I take care of myself, as well as partnered with changes in my diet.

Fourth, and ultimately, this feels like the next step in a process that started in those health concerns mentioned above. But the primary goal isn't for physical health reasons, but for those of mind and spirit. I've been enjoying my mindfulness walks so much (as has The Dog) that this felt like the next natural step. In addition to being outside, in nature, amongst the trees and flowers and birds, I get to be in conversation with myself, in prayer (in conversation with God), and in those conversations trying to figure things out. Some of those things are about my own mortality. Some of those things concern pieces I'm writing or art I'm creating. Some of those things are about simply being out and about and observant and engaged.

So, there are many reasons to run. But, essentially, it's simply the next step. (Pun intended.)

---

And it's also about learning.

One thing I quickly learned is that I needed proper shoes. The first couple of runs were in my Converse because that's what I had. I felt every step as I ran. It was like the soles of my feet were being pounded by the trail.

I did some research and purchased a pair of Asics Gel Venture 6. They were rated well on multiple running websites and were reasonably priced.

---

Now it's time to run some more. And learn some more.

THE ORCHARDS

Our first morning training run, which was near orchards in Yakima

Time = 10:17 minutes. Distance = .87 miles.

The Child ran the whole time. No walking! (She wanted to, but I talked her into running the entire time.)

YAKIMA SUNSET

This was the view on our training run tonight.

Running at sunset provided us with a spectacular sight, which helped to keep our minds on the beauty and off of the pain.

Time = 15:30. Distance = 1.3 miles.

It was a much better run for me. Part of that was having actual running shoes. The Child had calf and sole pain. We worked on a longer cool down period of walking, followed by stretches. More stretches are probably needed. It's a work in progress!

TRAINING RUN

This training run brought to you by the Puyallup Riverwalk Trail.

More time. Longer distance. Slower pace. More pain.

Time = 15:46. Distance = 1.28 miles.

The Child was having burning in her calves. The back of my right thigh was killing me throughout most of the run. It looks like we need to be more thorough with our pre-run stretches!

RUNNING

The Child is going to run cross country in the fall for high school. I've agreed to train alongside.

I haven't actively and consistently ran in three decades. We started tonight.

Baby steps!

+

The training goal tonight was 10 minutes. The Child set the pace.

In 10:06, we ran .87 miles. I thought I was going to die for most of it, but had a great endorphin rush when it was done. Tomorrow is 15 minutes.

IDIOT PSALMS

"a spark igniting / once again the tinder of our lately / banked noetic fire"

—from "Annunciation" by Scott Cairns, as found in Idiot Psalms 

---

I was first introduced to the poetry of Scott Cairns when I purchased a copy of Philokalia: New & Selected Poems in 2002. Initially, I picked up the book due to the icon of Saint Isaac of Syria on the cover. Then, I knew these poems were going home with me because of the series of poems titled "Adventures in New Testament Greek," which explore the terms metanoia, hairesis, nous, mysterion, and apocatastasis.

In Idiot Psalms, Cairns presents us poems in four main sections—"Unawares," "Heychasterion," My Byzantium," and "Erotic Word." Fourteen "Idiot Psalms" weave throughout the four sections, along with other poems, each with some sort of theological import while simultaneously lifting up the inadequacy of creation, the body, and our ability to comprehend the Divine. "The world remains a puzzle," as the narrator of "Heavenly City (Ouranoúpoli)" states.

A blurb on the back of the book claims that "Dostoyevsky and the psalmists" are "traveling companions" of Cairns. I've never read The Idiot, but I can see the inspiration of the psalms throughout, as well as many notions familiar from Christianity, Orthodox (for Cairns) and otherwise.

I've read all of the poems twice now and I am just starting to understand many of them. Maybe. It isn't due to them being difficult to read, but being challenged to see things differently, to think differently. To admit an inability to understand.

My favorite poem is "Annunciation." It takes a familiar scene—the angel Gabriel informing Mary that she will bear the Christ-child and provide for the birth and incarnation of God—and in eleven brief lines transforms it into something that vibrates with more energy than should be possible within its frame. We move from the clay of creation to the nativity of Christ, with Mary as our representative, as the very nature of our essence and our relationship to our Creator is revealed. This is powerful, revelatory work that Cairns does on the page.

I will be turning to, and returning to, these poems again and again.

A GOOD and HAPPY CHILD

A Good and Happy Child by Justin Evans has sat on one of the shelves of my home library for the past twelve years. I intended to read it upon purchase, but other books arrived and this novel of psychological horror fell farther down the reading list eventually being stabled on a bookcase and forgotten.

Which is too bad, because this is some top-notch scary stuff.

George Davies is a new father who cannot hold his infant son. His wife is at her wit's end. George visits a therapist in an attempt to save his marriage. Most of the narrative takes place as we read through a series of notebooks that the therapist challenges George to keep.

Eleven-year-old George Davies is an intellectually precocious kid dealing with the recent death of his father. When a demon visits George "all hell breaks loose." This is the same demon that supposedly killed his father.

Ultimately, we get different explanations for the presence of this demon—an actual demon that needs to be exorcised, command auditory hallucinations of a young mind in meltdown, or a child grieving the death of his father and his mind trying to make sense of it all—and the ramifications of trying to keep this demon at bay.

We meet various experts and authority figures trying to deal with George and his Friend—family members, church officials and practitioners, and psychologists, therapists, and medical personnel.

It's a compelling read and one that I found difficult to put down. And the ending... Oh. Dear. God.

Maybe I'll sleep with the lights on tonight. Highly recommended.

REVIVAL

Revival is Stephen King at his Lovecraftian best. King has many works that refer to, or play in, the realm of the Cthulhu Mythos. The first story I ever read by King, "Crouch End" in New Tales of the Cthulhu Mythos (1980), is good Lovecraftian horror that marries King's voice with elements of the Mythos—and does so while never revealing too much of "the other realm" but enough to keep the "creepy factor" high. Revival reads in a similar vein.

Revival is aptly named, as the novel plays with the various denotations and connotations of the word. There is religious revival, restoration to life, and rising up from disease or drug addition.

All of the horror is contained within the story of two men—Jamie Morton and the Reverend Charlie Jacobs—who first meet when Jamie is six and Rev. Jacobs is the new pastor of the church Jamie attends. The book develops their characters well, revealing more of Jamie over the course of the novel, and visiting the various points throughout the years when Jamie and Rev. Jacobs meet up again.

Just as Lovecraft was good at peeling back the onion-like layers of the cosmos to reveal what lurks beneath, so does King. And King does such without worrying too much about the mechanics of some of the pieces that lie beneath. We don't need to know exactly how they function because (a) it doesn't ultimately matter to the story, and (b) it lends the novel a sense of mystery.

When the ending arrives, which I had been trying to figure out and anticipate throughout reading the novel, it was not quite what I expected, but was ultimately fulfilling. If the latter word is adequate to explain the cosmic horror that rises up and leaves the reader off-kilter!

One of my favorite King novels. Highly recommended.

BETTER DAYS

"Better Days." Found art. North Hill, Puyallup, Washington.

RED XII: MEDITATION

"Red XII: Meditation."

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A meditation in floral form.

Mindfulness in the color red.

Ways to focus and leave the world

while the world resonates right there.

RED XI

"Red." Clockwise from upper left: Butterfly flower (schizanthus); red hook sedge; mossy saxifrage; Martha Washington geranium.

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The mindfulness of late autumn blows across the cold of winter and into early spring.

Even though unnoticed and without announcement.

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In the name of the Bee —
And of the Butterfly —
And of the Breeze — Amen!

—Emily Dickinson (F1 Sh1)

MERIAN

"Merian," number 6 in The Grand Armada series of the Inktopodes. Original: watercolor ink, India ink, gouache, and iridescent calligraphy ink on 8" x 10" watercolor paper. Scanned reproduction: in digitally colored frame.

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Merian is inspired by late-seventeenth- and early-eighteenth-century illustrator and naturalist Maria Sibylla Merian, as well as her watercolor works depicting pineapples and attendant insects, especially "Ripe Pineapple with Dido Longwing Butterfly" and "Pineapple with Cockroaches," both printed in Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium. Merian appears as an inverted pineapple with the body of the pineapple making up her mantle and the fruit leaves transformed into her arms. The colors of Merian are rich and vibrant, more so when the original is viewed, since some of the color is dulled during reproduction. The natural vibrancy of the Hydrus Fine Art Watercolor inks—rich gamboge that glows against Hansa yellow medium and brilliant sap green—is a wonderful background for the India ink maps drawn upon them.

The inked "boxes" on the mantle are inspired by a map of Berlin circa 1900. The patterns on the arms are reminiscent of the contour lines of topographic maps, especially of those representing peaks of the Cascade Mountains. The orange gouache eyes simulate the caterpillars that climb up the sides of the pineapple in Merian's painting.

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"Merian" appears in the Strange Gliding Things show by Troy Kehm-Goins, which is on display at Puyallup Valley Dental Care during April, May, and June 2019.

FORTITUDE

I'm six episodes (of ten) into season one of Fortitude. I'm just starting to get my footing.

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Implications. Infidelities. Loyalties and shifted loyalties.

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Visual rhymes. Visual slant rhymes. (Emily would be proud, if she could imagine television.) Pushing toward things. Pulling us from things. But not always necessarily where we should be. Subterfuge.

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"For an instant I thought the Gulf Stream in my head was whirling me away to eternity..."
—page 98, WHITE JACKET by Herman Melville

(This is what I'm reading. Somehow it feels like it fits with what I'm viewing.)

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The scene between Sheriff Dan Anderssen (Richard Dormer) and Detective Chief Inspector Eugene Morton (Stanley Tucci) in the hotel restaurant over a bottle of whiskey is absolutely bonkers. Just watching Dormer's face in close up was worth admission to the entire season. The entire landscape of his face is tectonic.

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Blood on the ice. Blood on the snow. Blood on floorboards and clothing and potato peelers.

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Why is it that we are so fearful of the polar regions, the Arctic and the Antarctic?

I'm thinking of Lovecraft's At the Mountains of Madness. 2018's The Terror on AMC. Ivan Doig's "Winter of '19." The Endurance. John Carpenter's The Thing.

Perhaps because there is so little life in these regions, but much of it consists of apex predators—polar bears, whales, and the like.

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Long buried things now thawing and emerging once again. From the ice. From the people we once were.

Thousands of years of ice. Seven years of atoms being replaced.

Warming of a world. Warming of passions.

Is there a connection?

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Rilke just won't let go. The angels cry out to be noticed, recognized, categorized. A Monster Manual for the heavenly and infernal realms. (And The Duino Elegies have nothing to do with Fortitude, but Fortitude has brought them to the forefront of my imaginings again.)

THE FINEST MIND

"Is it possible now to have any doubt as to what Melville had in mind when he wrote Moby-Dick? These early books of his are not an account of his life from 1839, when he first shipped, to 1844 when he returned home. They are an account of the development of a mind from 1844 to 1850, the finest mind that has ever functioned in the New World and the greatest since Shakespeare's that has ever concerned itself with literature."

—page 84, chapter IV, "Fiction and Reality," Mariners, Renegades & Castaways: The Story of Herman Melville and the World We Live In by C. L. R. James

STRANGE GLIDING THINGS

The "Strange Gliding Things" show by Troy Kehm-Goins / Troy's Work Table is up at Puyallup Valley Dental Care for April, May, and June 2019. It consists of various members of the Inktopodes, from the small to the four newest members of The Grand Armada, and a recent series of Christian mystics.

All are created in watercolor ink, India ink, iridescent calligraphy ink, and gouache on watercolor paper; and all mixed media pieces created in a combination of painting and pen-and-ink techniques.

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Here is the artist statement for the show:

Troy Kehm-Goins is a poet and artist residing in Puyallup, Washington. In his work, he seeks to discover the holy within the everyday and ordinary. His pieces of art are a mixture of watercolor painting and pen-and-ink drawing, with inspiration derived from Chinese calligraphic paintings, late nineteenth century street maps, literary and speculative fiction, the Fauvists, rock posters of the 1960s and 1970s, and, of course, octopuses.

The Inktopodes (pronounced ink-TOP-uh-deez) grew out of a set of poems written to wrestle with his mother’s seventeen-year-long struggle with Parkinson’s Disease. Originally rather small in size, these paintings have grown larger over time as he explores the colors and patterns that are prevalent on the skin of octopuses and other cephalopods. Watercolor ink, India ink, iridescent calligraphy ink, and gouache (opaque watercolor) give birth to what Herman Melville called Strange Gliding Things.

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And, of course, some inspirational quotes that inform the show:

“Every strange, half-seen, gliding, beautiful thing that eludes him; every dimly-discovered, uprising fin of some undiscernible form, seems to him the embodiment of those elusive thoughts that only people the soul by continually flitting through it.”

—“The Mast-Head,” chapter 35, Moby-Dick by Herman Melville

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“Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.”

—“When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer” by Walt Whitman

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“[W]e glide adown the present, awake, yet dreaming, but the future or ours together—there the birds sing loudest, and the sun shines always there!”

—Letter to her brother Austin, A572 by Emily Dickinson

LUCILLE

Lucille India Pale Ale by Georgetown Brewing Company.

12 ounce can served in a shaker glass.

7.0% abv.

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This is very likely my favorite IPA. It is both bitter and buttery. Yes, buttery. The mouthfeel is a bit thick and oily for an IPA, but I think of it as buttery.

The floral, pine, and citrus notes of bitterness are not over-the-top but rather well balanced, juxtaposed against butterscotch-leaning malt notes. Excellent in all regards, when it comes to aroma and flavor.

This really is a wonderful beer and nothing I write about it can really capture its essence. It simply needs to be experienced.

ON THE WIND

ON THE WIND

Breathe the trees and breathe
the bushes and

breathe the flowers and herbs and spices—

Birth the mushrooms and birth the fungi—

Be a seed

a spore

on the wind.

Settle into a fold in the soil
or a crack or crevice in a weathered rock

or fallen log.

Be. Birth. Breathe.

© 2019 Troy's Work Table.

NIGHT

I'm awake.
I'm up.
In the middle of the night.
In the wee hours of the morning.
Seated on the couch.
In the quiet and still house.
Everyone else asleep.
Hibernating.
Dreaming.

I'm reading about schizophrenia.
Praying.
Reading poetry.
Thinking about the Divine.
Writing.

Waiting for sleep to come again.
To return to the dark.
The warmth of the bed.
To slumber.

TROY'S WORK TABLE

Troy's Work Table is now an actual location in space-time!

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For more than twelve years, Troy's Work Table has been a blog, a concept, a way of living, and an independent press. But it has never been a tangible, in-real-life worktable. Until now.

In the midst of my home library, I now have a place to sit and create, to paint and draw. I am no longer in exile, having to move from kitchen table to coffee table to lap desk to drawing board. I have a place to have all of my pens and inks at hand. I have a place to leave paintings while I'm working on them.

I now have a place to sit among my books, while I create art, and enjoy beer.

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Thank you to everyone who has supported my art and helped to make this next step a reality!

PRAYER with CROWS

"Prayer with Crows." North Hill, Puyallup, Washington.

PRAYER BEADS

"Prayer Beads." North Hill, Puyallup, Washington.

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"—but just as the golden infinite below us dulls down by stages / into blue waves, so what is past likewise loses life and light, / except for the yellow grass itself,"

—page 345, The Dying Grass: A Novel of the Nez Perce War by William T. Vollmann

PRAYER after the STORM

"Prayer after the Storm." North Hill, Puyallup, Washington.

HARD TO LOVE

"It was always hard to love a Government which, theoretically, was a mere machine and which could extend no sympathy to people in disaster, nor kindness to the impoverished."

—General O. O. Howard, 1907, quoted in The Dying Grass by William T. Vollmann

CASPAR DREAMS

Caspar dreams.

Caspar is the current resident North Pacific giant octopus at the Highline MaST Aquarium. Even though he was "hanging" from the top and side of his tank, and appeared to be sleeping, he was watching us. He would take one of his arms and wave just the tip of it right in front of our faces, teasing us, while the rest of his body remained immobile.