Mofo from the Hood's Blog

Jun. 11, 2012 at 8:30am

QUANTUM FOAM 32: Market Test, Tacoma Players Cards

Fluffy not Bluffy

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Jun. 11, 2012 at 12:01am

QUANTUM FOAM 31: Seeker Sensitive Art, Tacoma

Give Me Revelation

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Jun. 10, 2012 at 9:30pm

QUANTUM FOAM 30: Urban Canopy, Tacoma

Industrial Growth

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May. 7, 2012 at 4:00pm

QUANTUM FOAM 28: New & Urgent Realities

The Poetry of Interpretation

  THE POETRY OF INTERPRETATION, as most of us have been trained by marketing professionals to understand it, symbolizes the hortizontal world of the here and now. The new and urgent realities that matter consist mainly of things and values advertised as capable of satisfying one's carnal appetites. Power, money, and fame inspires the poets of consumerism and the politicians of idolatry. Hardly aware of The Big Lie, modern man "the measure of all things" is too restricted by his voluntary collar and shackles to look upward to the eternal spiritual realities of the vertical world. Anyway, why should he? Neither science, nor pure reason can prove the existence of eternal forms. Yet, we all know that squares exist. A square, as was defined by the counter-culture poets of the 1950's, is someone who believes the poetry of interpretation invented by marketing professionals. The poetry of the so-called beat poets, and likewise, the followers of "The Way" (John 14:16; Acts 9:2, 24:14, 22) centuries before them, offers a practical solution to defeat the makers of propaganda and worldly bondage. But consider this: the poetry of the beats does not offer a real solution to the carnality of man. A real solution consists of a different language, a different poetry of interpretation, to redirect man away from The Big Lie of the here and now, and toward the eternal spiritual realities of ultimate Truth, freedom from error, freedom without chaos.  


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Mar. 20, 2012 at 12:01am


As We Start Our Finale

The telephone rang in the next room and for the seventh time in seven days Guy Workingham muttered to himself, "Good morning." Then he yanked the bedcovers over his head to muffle the hallway echoes of phone gossip between Quillan Lemontree and her meddling mother. It was like that every morning at seven o'clock, ever since Quillan moved into Guy's house and made a business office next to their bedroom. That was the week Guy journeyed to Hong Kong, the week he said farewell to the interesting possibilities of Ruth--a vivacious, erudite brunette with an outline that revealed the best of her Romanian pedigree. Ruth was also Guy's college sweetheart, and his globe-trotting partner, and, according to her, the future Mrs. Workingham. But Guy Workingham had made other plans. That happened while Ruth was away teaching English in Hong Kong for the year prior to Guy's journey there. Ruth's year-long absence had created maximum temptation and maximum opportunity. And her absence had created a vacuum in Guy's life which was conveniently filled by Quillan--a fragrant flower who at twenty-one was ten years younger than Guy; plus Quillan offered the intriguing potential of her skills as an edgy and highly disciplined commercial artist. Commercial art was Guy's stock and trade for the past ten years. So from the start, Quillan and Guy began a perfectly rational, perfectly athletic romance. In fact it made Guy wonder if he had the energy to attempt a double life with both Quillan and Ruth. Eventually in a swank high-rise Kowloon hotel, Guy told Ruth that his future plans might not include her; and then shortly after, he boarded a midnight flight home, solo.
"Get out of here," Quillan pleaded from outside their bedroom doorway. "Leave." It was 10am and whatever would happen between Quillan and Guy in the following minutes was up to him. Since early morning Quillan had worked almost non-stop to complete a project for her creative enterprise, Lemontree Graphic Design. Now she just wanted solitude and Guy was hours past due to leave the house to unlock his uptown studio, Workingham Print Media, a place which could have been fairly named Workingham & Lemontree. From Guy's and Quillan's earliest days together and throughout their now seven years of domestic bliss, Quillan's steadfast support and creative contribution was an open secret amongst their inner circle of influence. But like two separate vines of ivy intertwined, Guy and Quillan thrived together and apart--Both Workingham Print Media and Lemontree Graphic Design had their own extensive and mostly hidden root network. Each could grow independently. That was the bittersweet revelation that time had brought them. That morning Guy sped away to his studio muttering to himself, "Something's coming on."
Guy Workingham knew one thing for certain: The road to freedom is paved with obstacles and pitfalls. For over seven years Workingham Print Media consumed nearly every dollar and every waking moment of Guy's life. But, for him the daily risk and potential reward of his solo enterprise offered more exhilaration than the promise of any other kind of extreme sport. He chose to risk everything, including personal relationships, for the chance to chase the elusive dream of future autonomy. Few people, if any, really cared. Over and over, the full daylight of present reality awoke Guy to one other absolute certainty: A man can be determined yet despised.

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Feb. 21, 2012 at 12:01am

MNN Playhouse: "The Mainstream Sunshine Daydream"

God is not dead. He just doesn't want to get involved.

Lyman Hall carved off a hunk of steak from his dinner plate and wolfed it down with fried potatoes. Daisy Wright, his petite housemate, watched anxiously from across their small wooden table--her hands clutched to her heart.

"Is your steak all right?" she asked.

Lyman hooked a gulp of coffee and then wiped his lips with a drive-in paper napkin. "I swallowed it, didn't I?"

Daisy glanced down at her plate and then rose from her chair and walked toward the stove. As she untied her gingham apron she said in a low voice, "Would you like more coffee?"

"No thanks, but you can bring me the newspaper."

When Daisy returned from the front room and placed the newspaper next to Lyman's plate, she began clearing the table and with a faint smile she asked, "How did work go today?"

"S.O.S..Watching the world through the windshield of a garbage truck is hardly a life of adventure." Lyman unfolded the newspaper and then held it up like a shield.

Daisy settled back into her chair across from Lyman and clasped her hands on her lap. "My Aunt Martha stopped by this afternoon."

"Really?" Lyman answered from behind the paper. "Hey, listen to my horoscope. It says 'If you feel far from God, guess who moved?'"

Daisy raked back her long wavy hair. "Martha and I talked about a lot of things. You know Lyman, I'm the first one to break a family tradition by living with a man out of wedlock. Martha said that my parents still won't mention my name around their country club friends. I guess I understand. My father worked hard to establish his business. Integrity is everything to him. Think about it. He spent most of his life looking up and now having attained a position to look down from, he'd pay nearly any price to keep me on track with propriety."

Lyman set the newspaper down and locked eyes with Daisy. "Don't you get tired of hearing that highbrow society-piety rap? For your own sake Daisy, jump orbit from that cavalier clan."

Daisy's mouth tightened as she threw her shoulders back. "You know I've never liked shacking up. I'm tired of making excuses for my lifestyle. After a year of this you should know what you want."

Lyman folded his arms. "Look Daisy, if you don't like the ride you're on then get off. I'm full-time with you, but your idea of forever-love will have to wait."

Daisy stiffened and folded her arms. "Oh I see. Maybe you're working on something big that I don't know about."

Lyman winked and said, "Yep, my upcoming book on interpersonal dynamics."

"Right Lyman. Maybe what our relationship needs is a dynamic collision with reality. I think you forgot what it was like to be the hungry wolf, always on the beat, pitching sweet talk for a soft touch."

Lyman smiled slightly. "C'mon Daisy, think back on me. I was the one who pulled you from the void. You're the veteran from the walking wounded. Not me. That plastic society that you came from, with all its manufactured appearances and chic chicanery is no match for what I've got in my trick bag. I reeled you in with a whistle and a wink. Go ahead, shake it on the street again. There's a cast of thousands waiting to chew you up and spit you out."

Daisy wiped her fingertips across her brow with a smirk. "Christ, Lyman. I didn't fall off the back of a garbage truck yesterday. I've played operation identification up and down the wisecracker line long before you were logged into my book of who's who."

Lyman leaned forward and stared deadpan at Daisy.

"I just want you to get it straight Lyman. Don't treat me like a schoolgirl. I could teach you things that you never could learn."

Lyman pushed himself away from the table and strolled to the refrigerator. Daisy's domestic thrift was evident as Lyman reached inside the cooler and pawed over and between crowded Tupperware and foil-covered plates. "You keep the beer hidden better than your persuasions."

Daisy laughed. "If you want it bad enough, you'll figure out a way to get it."

"Well here it is," Lyman said, "staring right at me from the door." As Lyman slid back into his chair at the table he said, "Tell me Daisy, why are you so eager to seal your fate?"

"C'mon Lyman, I'm not in the third grade. We're the best of friends and the best of lovers. I know I come apart sometimes, but can you really pass up something this right? This tight?"

Lyman chugged half of his beer then looked at Daisy. "Hey no doubt, we're the dynamic duo; but when something works, you don't fix it."

"Right Lyman. I hear you. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk through the fence for free?"

Lyman protested, "Who's milking who? I've got something you want and you've got something I want. That's free enterprise baby."

"Lyman, we can't go on much longer living under the scene like rebels, defying all the rules. Laughing at convention is fun, but imagine the possibilities if we worked with the system."

Lyman gulped the last of his beer then slammed the can on the table. "Whose system Daisy? Yours, mine, the media's, the church's, the god-forsaken government's? When are you going to wake up and shrug off the years of hive conformity that you've been tattooed with?"

Daisy sighed and shook her head. "Cool out, Lyman. Nobody's controlling me. It's just that I'd rather face reality than live stupidly. The rules were already made when I got here. I'm not even sure anymore if it's a social or a biological pressure but marriage is what I need."

Lyman stood up and stretched. "Well its been a hard day Daisy. Nothing went too good; and I'm not sure if it's a social or a biological pressure, but do you know what I need?"

Daisy stared straight-faced at Lyman then said, "You're morally handicapped... Race you to the bedroom!"


comments [1]

Feb. 20, 2012 at 12:01pm


Whatever Is, Is


comments [4]

Feb. 13, 2012 at 12:00pm

QUANTUM FOAM 25: The Pretentious Twit Club

Whatever Is, Is

comments [8]


This is my real-time novel, "Idealism in Tacoma," which will attempt to sort out the virtual new order I discovered in local blogs and in local 'hoods. I welcome you to join me as I press on in search of answers to the ongoing question: "Is it new?"

NEW! for 2011:
"QUANTUM FOAM," the second real-time novel by Mofo from the Hood, is happening now!

"For whatever mysterious reason, I must act beyond the role of spectator. Something beyond a portable history must be explored.

Therefore in order for me to define the concepts and categories of realities beyond the realm of my real-time novel "Idealism in Tacoma," a wholly other discourse must take form.

Ladies and whatever, let us go forth into the unknown dimension of imagination. I hereby offer you my all new materialist inspired "out of nothing" real-time novel: 'QUANTUM FOAM'."

Also For Your Enjoyment:
"The Mofo News Network" aka MNN is one of the world's most trusted sources of news and entertainment--MFTH, Founder*

"Sunday Scriber" series. 36 episodes from May 2008 to July 2011. Perpetual status. A practical look at why survival and freedom depends on knowing what is good, acceptable, and perfect.
*MFTH was born and raised in Tacoma, Washington USA. As a lifelong resident, uninspired by money, power, or fame, he eventually resorted to reading internet blogs, sometimes at the public library. In May, 2008, during the Great Recession, he started "Mofo from the Hood's Blog" on, because it was free. If this blog ever helps him to attain money, power, and fame, he will probably stay in Tacoma.

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