Dali Saving Time


DALI SAVING TIME — Spring Ahead — Salvador Re- Calibrates His Moustache For The New Season

(work in progress- pass 3).
Check back in a couple days, this should be in full color.

Flip Top in Slumberland

A Salute to Winsor McCay

Flip Top in Slumberland: A  Salute to Winsor McCay

Flip Top in Slumberland: A Salute to Winsor McCay


Life Under the Letters

Life Under the Letters

Life Under the Letters

Meowing Trailer #1

MEOWING Trailer #1

The Musicians

Run DMC Escher

Run DMC Escher

Perpetual Piano

Perpetual Piano

Accordion And On

Accordion And On

Pneumatic Pump Theramin

Pneumatic Pump Theramin

Tambor-Dreamsphere & The One Hand Clapping

Tambor-Dreamsphere & The One Hand Clapping

The Born Bass Player

The Born Bass Player

Ten Scenes from MEOWING

OK! This is turning into a rather large project now, here are all TEN of them. I have a few more up my sleeve still, so stay tuned.

Each of these is a scene from a story from my collection, MEOWING ON THE ANSWERING MACHINE, which is available absolutely everywhere, in paperback and ebook. Folks who have read it and still maintain the ability to communicate are giving it rave reviews! Saying things like, “This looks like a real book!” and “Stay crunchy in milk!”

All the cool kids are doing it!!! Get your copy today!!!

The Haunted Awful Lake

The sky was a still, dense gray, and it always seemed too quiet out there. Nothing lived in those waters. Well, almost nothing. It was a continuous struggle to pull the boat through the thick brack, but the closer we got to the little island in the middle, the more anxious we grew to get out of that boat, that haunted, awful lake.


The Overpass

overpassgirlAnchored to this parking lot,
Where crisp snow piles on window ledges
Like kaleidoscopes of sunlight,
Or a spectrum for your head.
You’ll look out from your bedroom,
as I stumble with the keys.
Will you walk me to the overpass
when I’m crumbling to my knees?

Staring down the frozen river,
You’ll elevate the spectacle.
And I’m not going to argue,
It’s like they’ve always said,
When it rains, you see red,
When it snows, you’ll see where you have been.

Pull through and see,
That these seas aren’t quite as black
As the mud inside your head,
And you’ll never walk again.

Snoring and ignorant,
You refuse to meet me,
Our words are whispered into lampshades,
Growing dustier and yellow.

Go home and scream.
There’s no one here you can tell it to,
And what do you do?
But hope the rocking chairs
Don’t turn to reminisce.

Rolling and rolling,
Out of controlling.

You spin,
You begin in your spin,
To begin to retrace,
The face you’re replacing,
Pasting new memories within.

And once it would have worked,
And yes, I guess our stars,
Still happen to align.

And I know, and I know, and I know
And I hate to remember how that song went,
The one they say we sung,
But I can’t recall it any longer,
And you never knew the words.

But we tried to sing along.
And I’ll try to recognize
Your handwriting,
Against all the works of history,
And masterpieces forged.

Dreaming of the frigid water,
You’ll celebrate the evacuation.
And I swear I won’t get sick again.
It’s not like they never said,
When it goes, it goes your way,
Until you blink and it goes away,
And it’s the only thing you’ve known.

Angled into this unmarked spot,
At dawn the snow begins to melt
Transmission from our yellow star
The buzz informs you who you are,
As it creeps in through the window,
and I crumble to my knees.
Will you walk me to the overpass
Where we can drown this old disease?

Horse-Faucet Remains

Horse Faucet RemainsThe sweaty fog of delusion hung over the ancient bones and fossil caves. Six erections and a batch of wristwatch clams stuck sweetly in Horse-faucet’s coat pocket., he stapled the ransom note to his forehead and strode into the bar.

He spoke liquid words that stirred the dust of a dozen sleeping drunkards. Dentist was nowhere to be seen. He was in fact on hiatus, trekking the egg yolks of dilapidated villas and the recycled law enforcement strategies which had battered many a poor man.

The sun fell swiftly like two large omelets skiing naked in a carbonated water bag. Horse-Faucet knew the meaning of the word facilitate, but often confused erotic with exotic. He spent too much time in pet shops and smelled of sleep… bad sleep.

Just as the last train was turning its oars toward the ocean, Horse-Faucet found himself face to freckle with the impeccable shot of Dentist’s long arm. Time stood still, the air was so stiff you could get rug-burn just thinking of pork. Paper-cuts flew left and right, when the steam cleared and frogs settled in for the winter. Dentist lay dampened and Horse-faucet was gone, never to be thought of again.

(recently recovered in an anarcheological dig within my closet, the notebook it was extracted from has been carbonation dated circa 1991)

The Invisible Girl

Robert Emmett ‘Invisible Girl’ demo 2009

I must admit I could not see you
At first you took me by surprise
I wasn’t look as silently as you snuck in
A shadow hiding behind a shy smile

I can’t believe I didn’t see you
Each word was pointing at a star
It didn’t matter as much as the order
After the facts all fall down
and pointing us right back where we are

And I saw you
And I’ll see you
And I see you now

It’s Funny to think, how everything is like paper and ink
Or dots on the screen when they’re close enough to be seen
it’s just red blue and green
and miles and miles of emptiness in between

You wouldn’t let anybody see you
You don’t accept add requests from bands
I pinged your packets and said
I just came back to get my jacket
the puppets fell right out of your hand.

© Robert Emmett McWhorter
published by Hermetic
Medical Records (ASCAP)


tractorAfter the world inevitably ended, things got pretty quiet. Once everyone realized it was over and there was no reason to rush about in worry, things generally settled in to a nice easy pace.

I took a few weeks off to catch up on all the sleep I had missed in the past few years.

I woke up one night during an incredible storm. It had been raining consistently since the End of the World, but this was thundering and violent. The rain fell in huge, nearly frozen drops, each one the size of a small dog. It sounded like a petting zoo crashing down on my roof. I imagined the damage would be severe, maybe beyond belief.

There came a horrible sound from behind the closet door, some indistinguishable banging and clatter.

I jumped out of bed and stumbled over a mountain of books and old clothes, I kicked a path in the broken devices and lost possessions littered along the ground. I fumbled close enough to reach and open the closet door.

Pieces of the wall started to give under pressure from the rain, crumbling apart and spilling in on the bedroom floor. Large soaked cords of wood folding out past the door, too much to all be from the inside of my closet.

Long, soggy beams, strange connecting pieces, crumbled chalky drywall. I could still hear the rain on the roof and some horrible smashing and grinding coming from a distance, far off, outside the closet and away from my house, out there inside the darkness.

I stepped in, avoiding a chaotic wood pile butting against the door jamb, making it all look like an old decrepit silver mine, or some sort of wood lined cave.

It was utterly dark. I walked slowly into the darkness. The hall descended but seemed to have no end, a pain twisted through my heart when I realized I had easily gone further than would account for the length of the closet, and I was either under some secret section of the house which I did not know about, or I had passed the length of the house entirely and if I were to go straight up from where I was, I would probably be near the edge of my yard, I might even come up in the alley.

I saw a faint light ahead. I recommitted myself and started toward it. I could soon recognize my surroundings. The mud walls had been cut at a nearly perfect and consistent angle. Under me planks of wood served as a walkway, but underneath the cave continued its beautiful symmetric curvature.

I continued toward the light, and soon bumped against glass. The glowing light shone through and faintly described my surroundings.

I stuck my face close to the window. Outside I saw a clear moonlit night and the sky lit up with stars.

I wondered when it had finally stopped raining. Through the window I saw a large yard and an old farmhouse lazily settled into the front. The high unkempt grass over growing yard resembled wheat, brown and brittle near the top where it was too far from the soil to get any water and so had withered and crisped.

In the middle of the yard, mostly hidden by the high grass, a woman sat atop a big, red riding lawnmower.

Her face was lit by pale moonlight, her eyed canceled out by shadow. I couldn’t tell if she was asleep or just alarmingly still. A stature sculpted to forever ride the old rusted mower, decrepit and useless.

I was a strange sight, a still life landscape beyond this tiny window somewhere deep within the womb of my house.

Three shadows moved quick through the high grass, across the yard. They got close enough so I could see it was three children, traipsing and playing without any acknowledgement of the woman on the mower, and she neither gave any sign she saw the kids. Echoes of laughter broke through the silent night air and rattled the glass in my window.

The children became quiet in a few minutes, their noise and activity winding down. Finally they became motionless, but all three stood rigidly in place and appeared to be staring directly at the mower and it’s driver.

One child approached her, no one else moved in the slightest. Once the child was close enough, the woman on the mower began to tell him something or sing, I couldn’t tell, I couldn’t tell from where I was, but her mouth seemed to move in a very structured and meaningful way. As she continued, the child gradually came closer, and I recognized his face as my own. I was frightened and nauseous, I wasn’t sure what I was watching or when. Was this a dream or a memory from my own past? Or was it happening now? Was the child a younger me, or was it a coincidence of appearances?

I tried but couldn’t recall anything in my memory about the queen of the riding mower, but many corners and crevices of my mind were shrouded in darkness lately. I wished I could hear what she was saying or signing, I felt urgent to know now that this boy might be a younger me.

I watched more intently now, and agonized to find some reference to this scene in my own past. Which thoughts was it buried under?

The woman was still again, and so too were the children. I watched but lost track of time. The children eventually slunk away through the high golden grass, leaving the woman atop the mower silent, and completely unmoving. I continued to gaze on as long as my eyes would let me, but nothing else happened. The children were gone, and the mower and it’s driver showed no sing of life.

The rain made a gradual return, soon enough pelting the window with heavy greasy water pellets, and the thunder struck a fist against the sky every once in a while to scare us a little and keep us alert.

I made my way back to the closet door and returned to my bedroom.

I slipped through the wound of crumbling drywall and fell onto a precarious tower of books, accented by various papers tucked into their pages, built on a foundation of trinkets and cassettes and old car keys and crushed flat aluminum cans and every species of long-lost possessions, known and unknown. I stick a foot down to test the surface below; had I found the bed or was this another mirage?

I seemed to be in the place, so I dug my shoulders into a pile, descending through in search of the blanket pile, already yawning and slipping toward slumber. I thought of the treasures still buried beneath, and the archeologists that might one day come to reclaim them.

© Robert Emmett McWhorter

Emmanuel & Zina

tractorIt was such a long time ago
We were only children playing
A game of hide and seek

We would take turns
One of us immersing into illusion and disguise
While the other waited
Then came to discover

We built a little garden
A playground for our game

I came into it and hid
Amongst the landscapes and the livestock
Amongst the elusive passage of time
And many bright and shiny things

I hid so well that I forgot about the game
I mistook my mask for flesh
And began to imagine this all as real

It is only now that I remember
Why I have been hiding for so long
And i wonder if you are close yet
To finding me
Or are you even still looking?

© Robert Emmett McWhorter (circa 2003)