"I went down to the CrossRoads..."TO VISIT LUMMOX

This is the LUMMOX cross-roads...all roads lead to Lummox and an understanding of what makes Raindog tick. Links to the Lummox Empire (LUMMOX/RAINDOG-related sites). See Lummox Journal pictured below or the links at the bottom of the page. .. See you 'round the web.

We recently lost a friend and fellow poet. John Thomas, aged 71, the mighty oak, Venice poet, was felled on Friday, March 29, 2002. The official report was Congestive Heart Failure, but that's still a broken heart in this poet's book.

I've posted the following poem by him in his memory, one of my favorite poems from the book of his that I was privileged to publish last year (2001). 

TO BE NOTHING, AND FEEL THE WIND 
Even back then,                                                                                                                                    when everyone hitchhiked,                                                                                                                        I had a tough time of it.                                                                                                                        Too large, too ugly.                                                                                                                               Bad eyes, also, no doubt.                                                                                                                       Oxnard was awful,                                                                                                                                    but for me                                                                                                                                               the stretch between Paso Robles 
and                                                                                               Camp Hunter Liggett was always the worst.                                                                                  Christ, all the hours, 
waiting for a ride,                                                                                           memorizing the dirt at my feet.                                                                                                               In those days I could have                                                                                                              written 
a pretty fine book:                                                                                                                         The Tragic and Marvelous                                                                                                                    Roadside Debris of Central 
and Southern California.                                                                             I never wrote it. But life is kind.                                                                                                                                                                           I may have the chance again 
in my declining years.                                                                                                                                      Camp 
Hunter Liggett is still where it was. 
To be nothing, and feel the wind 
of the big trucks passing.                                                                                                                        Debris: even the word 
is beautiful. 
John Thomas                                                                                                                                                                                                       Heaven
from John's book, Feeding the Animal, available from Lummox for $6 (includes postage).

POSEY by RD Armstrong (AKA Raindog)

LETTER TO A FRIEND IN ALBUQUERQUE 

Todd; I was listening to your poem
About Tornado Jones on that CD
Mark sent me and when you talked
About the music calling to him
Especially when the moon was rising 
And the wind was in the trees 
I knew exactly what you meant
I too have felt it, tasted it, even smelled it
Even though the moon I see rising
And the sound of the wind in the trees 
That I hear is only in my imagination
Because when I look out my window
What I see through the bars:

There's no moon
No trees
No wind
Only the dusty brown sky
Or if it's late
The shapeless steel blue of
An urban California night
Silence punctured by 
The slamming of doors
The siren's wail
And the laughter of someone else's woman.
   



RD Armstrong





FEMALE TROUBLES 
You can be a nice guy 
maybe the nicest guy in the world
But it won't matter, even if 
there are extenuating circumstances,
because you are fundamentally 
untrustworthy and suspect.
You are a predator, a criminal,
in short, you are a MAN.
You are the man behind MANipulater
the man inside MANifesto
MANdate
MANeater
MANeuver
MANgle
MANia
MANnequin
MAN-of-war
MANufacture
MANure
MANslaughter
never mind MANkind
or MANdolin
or even MANhattan

Your inherent criminal nature
and the ticking clock of instinct
marked you as trouble long ago
You are a liability from whom  
justice (a woman coincidently)
expects its due
waiting for it to arrive
express mail (overnight delivery)
sitting by the door
patting the rolling pin lightly
wondering
what your excuse will be this time
ready to drop you like the 
sack-of-shit that EVERY woman
knows you are...
she'll be waiting for you
to come tippin' in late
long after curfew's expired

waiting for you like a 
Patsy Cline random-driveby 
nightmare jukebox 

waiting for you like
a just-got-into-town deathrow
hail Mary, long shot

waiting for you like
there is no tomorrow  
no past
only today, now

and in that now
you have no history 
only herstory and 
it's the only story in town 
and that story isn't your story
because your story is nothing
but a bold-faced lie!

So go ahead
what will your opening
gambit be?
The clock is ticking,
all eyes are on you
and justice is waiting
like a forgotten anti-personnel
mine, waiting for your
first 
innocent
miss-step.



RD Armstrong




Every year, I receive hundreds if not thousands of submissions from hopeful 
poets around the country (and even around the world).  Of these submissions, I 
publish about 5%, which may not seem like much but, 5% of a thousand is 
still 50 poems.  This is a lot of poems for a magazine that publishes, on average, 
three poems in each issue (Lummox is, after all a magazine that focuses on the 
process of creativity, NOT the product of said creativity). 
So, beginning in 1998, I began publishing a special ALL POETRY issue each April 
(which also happens to be National Poetry Month). In 2002, I published the work 
of over 100 poets! Copies of these special issues are still available for $5 (includes
postage). 
For more poetry, please visit DUFUS and if you're interested, you might like to purchase a copy one of the Little Red Books. 





ABOUT RAINDOG/RD Armstrong- 
Raindog lives near the Los Angeles Harbor, in California,
USA. Doing graduate work in the School of Hard Knocks, he is considered
(by some) to be a Road Scholar. He has stumbled down the backroads and
mean streets of Los Angeles for over fifty years. 
for
more bio info including a list of interests, performances, readings,
etc. 






Newest Projects from the Lummox Press include the on-going Little Red
Book series - 42 titles and counting (LRB - $5 + $1 S/H); The Wren Notebook 
by Rick Smith (poetry, 70 pages, perfect bound, w/ illustrations - $10 + $2 S/H); 
The New Texicans - Poetry From East of the Rio Grande (perfect bound - $10 + $2 
S/H -- Pending - Fall 2002); "On The Record" Lummox Press Poets on CD 
($11 -- includes postage and a copy of their book and, finally, the 
LUMMOX Journal (over 80 issues and going strong!), available by subscription 
$20 (USA/Can.), $32 (World) from PO Box 5301, San Pedro, CA, 90733-5301 USA 


This page updated June 24, 2002 



Dufus Issue #3


 A Little Bit About John Thomas 

Lummox Journal
"Staff"