Bumps In The Road

Writer, poet, artist, joker, coyote-in-the-night, shaper, finder, on a journey across the Universe.. Just stopped in for some grub.

[notumbusbumbus]

Time to Go

Well, tumblr has caught the greed bug, like all social media companies do. This new crap with ads, with the Live option nobody really wants except for the porn, the useless feedback options that should be right out front but are deeply buried - these are the telltale signs of impending bullshit ahead. So, to all of you who were a part of ello and ended up here, farewell - I just won't do this anymore. Life is too short to waste it in places that can't be bothered to listen to their users and take them seriously. Ima giving substack a chance, and if that fails, well, more time for my art, my garden, my life. Toodles.

[notumbusbumbus]

Eventually, everything turns to jelly.

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Crap Ads on Tumblr

Tumblr thinks ads are a good thing, because if they are annoying enough, they can con you into paying to not see ads. That's extortion in my book. Not only are the ads annoying and advertise pure crap, they come up 3-4 times every screen. What the ads will do for me is quite simple:

I NEVER by products from companies that force themselves into my field of view.

I go out of my way to dis them to everyone I know.

I start looking for the next alternative to whatever socmed site shoves this crap down my throat and "offer" me one way out, clearly showing me they think there is ONLY one way out.

Fuck this shit.

[notumbusbumbus]

Home Repair

Notty Bumbo, 2023

Where the father once stood,

there are holes.

Where the mother rocked her chair,

an absence swallows the world.

What can be done,

so long after,

to fix your world?

Walk down to the river;

place your feet in the water.

Run across the ocean;

be sure to bring sturdy shoes.

Carry a small wooden mallet;

test your steps on granite pathways.

Learn to make fire;

start with the stomach, then add the heart.

Holes can be filled with tears;

absence finds rest with rage.

Stop asking for answers:

who arrives, one day goes.

All those things you needed to hear -

say them to yourself, now.

Again, again, speak them loud.

[notumbusbumbus]

You Must Enter to Proceed

by Notty Bumbo, 2014, photoimpressionism

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It Rises

by Notty Bumbo, 2013, photoimpressionism

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Keeping it Real

by Notty Bumbo, 2023, right outside the door

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A Random Thought with Precedent

by Nootty Bumbo, 2012, photoimpressionism

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In the Brilliance of Her Heart

by Notty Bumbo, 2010, photoimpressionism

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Bathing in the Radiance of Joy

by Notty Bumbo, 2013, photoimpressionism

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Stoopid Day

Wow. It is stoopid day on Tumblr today. Shitloads of swifties and very young people with opinions but zero brains. This algorithm appears weirdly tilted to instagramatrons or such shit.

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A Massey Man Through and Through

...and his father before him, and his father's father...

by Notty Bumbo, 2014

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Remembrances of Future Heartaches

by Notty Bumbo, 2015, photoimpressionism/kaleidoscopic lichen

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Selene

Notty Bumbo, 2016

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Dirge

Notty Bumbo, 2023

Those passenger pigeons keep coming back

to mind, how their ages-long ascendancy

became their downfall,

never learned to stay hidden,

tasted good in a pie. Like us.

We, too, approach our nexus:

choices narrowing,

everything beginning to point

to similarly tenuous coordinates -

history happens in times like these.

I watch a documentary on extinction,

listen – incredulous - as ignorance holds the world hostage.

How is it we are here, again?

The ingredients for life were recently detected on Europa:

there goes our monopoly.

I want there to be a second chance,

for enough to awaken that we might get it right,

this time.

But doubts outweigh such hope,

and time is leaving us in its wake.

Since the demise of the pigeon, annihilation

has visited thousands of species.

Mostly because of ours,

oblivious to the weave of the world.

Why care if it unravels now?

Every rising dawn is receding,

Dusk forgets who watches as it fades.

I stand beneath the starry sky, drunk

With grief, with disbelief.

How we thought ourselves separate and perfect.

On we spin, intoxicated

by excessive self-regard.

No birds will sing dirges,

our feet visit no other planet.

None shall remember our song.

[notumbusbumbus]

Sepulcher, 9-11

Sepulcher, 9-11, by Notty Bumbo, 2001, mixed media on canvas

[notumbusbumbus]

Momentary Pause

Momentary Pause, by Notty Bumbo, 2017, photoimpressionism