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Star-Thrower's Journal
Star-Thrower's Journal
October 2, 2021

The name

Name of the game is like me.
I'm tired of the lols
and the cutie dolls
smiley faces in
obscure places.

An endless stream
of somebody else's
clever quote, don't
boo vote.

Occupy wall street
occupy main street.
talk to the neighbor
struggling to be your

Throw it up on the wall,
used to be the wall.
a timeline now of
nothing more than
hope and endless
how are y'all?
a jolly boat
filled with scrawls.

Throw it up there
see what sticks,
see what clicks
see the flicks of
my tube your tube
hot chicks mighty girls
all in a whirl of
private desperation.

Where's the guys the
mighty guys, they
all straggle to be heard.
Love this, hate that
don't be sexist, don't be
racist. Don't be a bigot
rather be a maggot more
safe than sorry.

Llike this, like that
like this old hat
like me, a sometimes
crazy old bat. i'm not
a fakir just a maker.

I make this and I make
that. I'll make you this or
that if you'd like that.
I'll let you be on my
page if I can be on yours,
I said that. respectfully
acknowledging Mr. Ddylan.

I twist words, complicate
the simple. Where are you
Roger Dalyrymple?
Message me in your
dreams. that's where I'll be.
If you can hear me
over your screams.
October 2, 2021

Got an email from Berkeley Electric Cooperative

Dear member,

As you may have heard, the U.S. Postal Service has lengthened its "service standards" or the average length of time it takes for a piece of mail to be delivered. Effective Oct. 1, 2021, it could take up to five days for first-class mail to reach its destination.

If you receive and/or pay your bills by mail, please be aware this change could affect the timely delivery of your letters. Please expect your monthly Berkeley Electric Cooperative statements to arrive to your home or business a few days later than they used to. Also, to avoid late fees and/or service disruption, please mail your payments a few more days earlier than you used to so your bills to arrive at their destination on time.

To avoid postal delays, Berkeley Electric Cooperative recommends the following:

Sign up for paperless billing and receive your bill immediately when it is ready each month. Go to www.berkeleyelectric.coop to sign up. You can also sign up for paperless billing on the SmartHub app on your smart phone or tablet.
Pay your bill electronically at www.berkeleyelectric.coop or through the SmartHub app. Electronic-check and bank card payments can also be made over the phone (1-877-853-6731) with your account number and bank card or checking information.
You can also sign up to have your monthly payment automatically drafted on the due date from a bank account or credit/debit card.

Please contact our office at 843-761-8200 if you have any questions. Is this DeJoy.

July 5, 2021

The Island of isolation

On my absence from all social media and the loss of my passwords when my laptop tanked coupled with the Covid pandemic I was on an island in the middle of nowhere. I self isolated to stay safe.

My MO was to sit on my deck and read books, mostly crimes and detective stuff with an abundance of Yuengling lager, alternating between cigarettes, my Ecig and Vello,then falling into bed with a couple of benadryls with music of Cirque du Soleil's Alegria and Country Joe and the Fish.
Too many monkeys. All the while taking notes and trying to write poems again.

May 5, 2021

My Absence from the Artist and poetry group

March 24 my computer died. I lost everything! My links, my digital and pen an ink drawings and poetry etc. I was like frozen. How to get this back. I had a thumb drive with passwords. I went to the local library and managed to get passwords, not only to connect again to Du Underground but to also plug in other venues of my digital art. My pen and ink drawings etc. are still on Du Underground.
As for my poetry, I have hard copies at home and also on some poetry websites. As for digital art I went to DeviantArt and got most all of my posts -

https://www.deviantart.com/search?q=schmidtkoff. I learned a hard lesson. Save everything, every thought, every idea, every image in your mind. Write everything. That is like a diary, dates, time, year day, time, etc.

March 18, 2021


and the begining of the

Destruction of self.
Kindergarten. Garden of children
where the hungry minds are
awaiting direction, awaiting a
sense of I am who? A learning
place on the most basic level.
To be nourished and cared for
away from home.

Her name escapes me though
her words to mother remained
as bright and crisp as an autumn day.
"I thought she was making an
issue of it." An issue? Mother, wrathful,
was having none of it. How could you
send my daughter home with a
broken arm?

First impressions,tend to have
lasting consequences.
I learned to not complain
of hurts or pain.

Miss velotte unsmiling and dour
in second grade, who well on her way
to spinsterhood would not
ever deserve to have that womb
filled with child.

She the taskmaster
as we children sat at the lunch table
with Mis Velotte's beady eyes.
watching as we played roll the
hard-boiled egg back and forth.

She watched with displeasure
at our gleeful roll the egg game.
The egg was in my court, laughing
I went for the grab but Miss Velotte
was faster like the quick tongue
of a lizard grabing the unsuspecting
prey, she grabbed the hard boiled
egg and smashed it into my mouth.
I never told mother that.
I learnedhumiliation.

In the fith grade I sat admiring my
strong brown arms in my favorite
sleevless dress. Aat ten I began to
notice boys. Nice italian boys. I was
captivated by Danny Toriello. Watching
him out of the corner of my eye.
at ten I liked me and felt full
of myself.

As the school year closed Miss Marks
summoned mother to the classroom.
"I have held her back, she did not
pass and must repeat the grade." She,
Miss Mmarks, tried to make nice. As I
stood there she said "she has the cutest
pot belly," smirking in a way that wasn't cute.
I learned shame. I learned failure.
For many years after, blouses,
never tucked in, I covered up that
belly of a seventy pound ten year old.

With all I had learned, through those
formative years I re-entered the fifth grade
in Albion, for thankfully we had moved to
Point Breeze. No one knew me there. No
one knew of my stifled pain, my humiliation,
shame nor failure. Just me. I knew. and I
determined, would make them know too.

Passing fifth into sixth and on to high school
in the seventh grade. On a blackboard in Mr.
Bellanca's class I scrawled "fuck". I don't know
where that came from. But Mr. Bellanca knew.
Mother came to bail me out. I was kicked out
and back in. In and out with mother's help.

Creating havoc in every class. raging, flunking
everything but english, writing, and art. f's.
f's, f's. every class flunked. I was a flunker.
It was complete. I was a failure. I was

I turned my humiliation and rage into
a person to be reckoned with. The kids on the
regents track to college looked at me as one
who hung with the "hoods". sharks and the jets.
finally of age I stood for myself.

And with an absence of manners viewed
the endless notes of dry history to be
painfully copied and memorized for what?
I quit. I said, as I stood up and announced
to the class and teacher, who said "you can't.
you need your mother's permission."

And I, in my newly found courage replied:
"I'm 18 and I can do what I want." I closed
my book and dropped it off in the office
of the principle, Mr. Anderson.
my education had just finally begun.

March 18, 2021

A tribute to Federico Fellini

and the little guy on the left

March 10, 2021

Art and Poetry

March 8, 2021

This is about

Time Travel.

March 6, 2021

I am

I am old.
Made of dust
and dirt. Soil.

I have sea water
in my tears. In my ears.
If I have been

Will I be again?
Thus come
thus go, but
from where
and when?

March 5, 2021



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