Words

Highlights

Hey Teachers! Integrate Technology Without Knowing How It Works. Huffington Post. 02/20/2013.

Production Assistant’s Pocket Handbook. Written after working my first major Hollywood film as a PA in 1995. In 2009 I rewrote, made a new website and self-published on LuLu.com. Sales rose and continue to be approximately 300-400 books a year. My Google search results for the words “production” and “assistant” is consistently in the top 10.

A Wiki Way of Working: Internet Reference Services Quarterly. Volume: 13 Issue: 1. DOI: 10.1300/J136v13n01_07. Caleb John Clarkab & Emily B. Masonc. pages 113-132 2008.

Linux and the Lady. A hacker’s tale of his infatuation with a high-priced, computer-literate escort. Or is she really an empathic metamorph?. Salon.com. Feature. 08/27/2000.

Let your Online Learning Community Grow. 3 Design Principles. Journal Article.

Wired Magazine. 11 “Electric Word” and “Street Cred” shorts 1993 to 1997. Text Of Articles. Screen shots of articles: 1.06, 2.04, 2.06, 2.08, 2.10, 3.02, 3.05, 3.06, 3.09, 3.11, 5.11.

My first publshed work. A letter to the editor about women fighter pilots and PMS.

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Papers

Internet Reference Services Quarterly. A Wiki Way of Working: (ISSN: 1087-5301) Volume: 13 Issue: 1. 2008

Technos Quarterly. 11(3). 2002. Technos site: “So, You Want To Start An Academic Internship Program?” | Cover | Screenshot of entire article

TechTrends. 44(5), 41-45. 2000. Geek Learning

Educational Technology Magazine. 9(4), 24-30. 1999. Journey of a flower child into the land of educational technology consulting.

Association for Computers and the Social Sciences (CSS) Annual Meeting 2000, Chicago, IL. 5-98. 1998. Let your Online Learning Community Grow. 3 Design Principles for Growing Successful Email Listservs and Threaded Forums in Educational Settings. | Paper Cited in Futureblog 2008 (scroll down)

Masters Thesis. “Co-Discovery Usability Testing with Children.” Educational Technology, San Diego State Univerity, 1999. Co-Discovery Thesis PDF | Videos of testing: #1 | #2 | #3 | #4 | Demo of picture in picture. Tested the usability of a children’s CD-ROM using picture in picture video monitoring and data analysis.

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Books

Production Assistant’s Pocket Handbook. 69 pages. Written in 1995 after working my first major Hollywood film as a set PA on location of a Paramount feature. Re-written in 2009. Sells approximately 300 books a year. Top 10 Google search results for book’s site. ISBN 978-1435756243. Book’s site. Amazon Link.

NoShit, The History of Wiping. 102 pages. Bathroom humor book I was compelled to write. No sales to speak of. ISBN 978-1105266270. 11/28/2011. Amazon link.

Interviewed in: Design for Community. 2001. “The Art of Connecting Real People in Virtual Places” Interviewed as expert in online communities and social networking via email exchanges. Derek M. Powazek, Paperback, New Riders Publishing. Web Developers Virtual Library Interview | Page 1 | Page 2

Interviewed in: Beyond the Podium. 2001. “Delivering Training and Performance to a Digital World” (interviewed as expert in instructional design / educational technology). Dr. Allison Rossett and Kendra Sheldon. Jossey-Bass / Pfeiffer, publishing.

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Articles

8 dos and don’ts for student e-portfolios. USA TODAY COLLEGE. Christina Jedra.  11/21/2013.

Hey Teachers! Integrate Technology Without Knowing How It Works. Huffington Post Caleb Clark. 02/20/2013.

Hey, Teacher Trainers: Get a Geek! Huffington Post. 02/06/2013

Why Our Schools Need EdTech Professionals. Huffington Post. 12/17/2012.

Quoted In Article: Teacher Training Needed to Meet Technology Needs in Classrooms. US News and World Report. By Ryan Lytle. September 20, 2012. Article. Screenshot.

Xodus Magazine. 2003. Straight column, Sundance 2003 reviews | Classic technology piece.

Cats and Kittens Magazine. Featured Essay. Vol. 4. No. 2. 2001, Cover | Page #1 | Page #2.

Wired Magazine Shorts: 11 “Electric Word” and “Street Cred” shorts 1993 to 1997.
Text Of Articles. Screen shots of articles: 1.06, 2.04, 2.06, 2.08, 2.10, 3.02, 3.05, 3.06, 3.09, 3.11, 5.11.

NetBytes. 1996. Screenshot of Article.

New Media Magazine. 1995. Screen Shot of Article.

OMNI Magazine. 1994. Software by Computer: the DC-X lifts off with the help of automatically generated code Cover

Electronic Entertainment Magazine. 1994. “A Tale of Two Cites: Playing God ain’t what it used to be. See how three Sim veterans built their ultimate Sim cities with SimCity 2000.

Burlington Free Press. I admit it. I still occasionally write letters to the editor. 2008. Food Dating.

Black Rock Gazette. 2004. (Burning Man’s newspaper). Front page: Burning Myths in the Night Sky | Old Fashioned Burn.

Slashdot.com. 2002. HelmetCams in Space (Pics).

Salon. Technology Feature. 2000. At Salon.com, “Linux and the Lady.”Screen shots: Page #1, Page #2, Page #3.
The Fray.com. 2000. High Maintenance. Screen shots: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7.

Espresso. 1998. San Diego cafe newspaper. Dating: And what’s up with the old people in those metal houses…

Webreview.com. 1996, 1997 Column.
> OLiVR: Online Interactive Virtual Reality — brings us another step closer to Star Trek’s
> Holodecks.Digital Ditch Digging: on digging digital ditches and virtual toys.
> The Severed Lion Head and Cute Zebra: 3-D chat environment full of headless animals.

Bitch magazine. Shampoo: Why they don’t make shampoo for healthy hair? August 1996

24 hours of Democracy essay chain. 1996. The 90s are The 60s: an essay that encourages self censorship, man! One of four featured essays, including one from Bill Gates, on the during the CDA protest and Web black out.

Los Alamos Monitor Newspaper. 1993. Screenshot: “The DC-X ‘Seeks to Get the Public Into Space” | Text of article

Albuquerque Journal North.1993
> Space exploration column.
> Water issues column.
>Electronic Bulliten Board story.
> Indian Market (w/photos): Page #1, Page #2, Page #3, Page #4, Page #5, Page #6, Page #7.
> Winter Guide feature (w/photos): Page #1, Page #2, Page #3, Page #4.

Santa Fe Reporter, 1992-93. Letters to the Editor: Letter #1, Letter #2, Letter #3, Letter #4, Letter #5, Letter #6, Letter #7.

NoEnd Press Articles
> Graduate School Application Help. Tips, Tricks and Statements of Purpose That Got Me Accepted
> Dating Online: Getting a Good Start, Three ideas and twelve steps I wished I’d known before I started
> Documentary Film Production
> Biodiesel Conversion of a Mercedes Benz
> Hippie Marbling: An art form rooted in the 1960′s and a look at one of its eccentric pioneers

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Essays

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Unpublished

My Family Quotes

  • “Just be happy! (long pause), with yourself.” – Aunt Cathy.
  • ‘I understand’ is the universal response to most situations. – J-Gor
  • Get up in the morning and make a list about what you’re going to do that day, then do the hardest thing first. John Alexander Clark (my great grandfather)
  • “Know Thyself, and lots of other people.” – Caleb
  • “When in doubt, go to school.” – Caleb
  • “Strive to respect your feelings and wantings.” - Caleb
  • “Be happy, never smoke a cigarette.” - Grandma Rhoda

My Poems

  • Back East: (Published version) “A deer drank, it’s…”
  • Laura My Tie: “And try we are, Two years thus far…”
  • Superhero: “I love you just the way you are, up close and from afar…”
  • Latch: “The bed smells like us…”
  • Big C’s A Commune: “Wading in income she can’t report…”
  • Mac Attack: “Stood next to an alcoholic white trash weekend dad…”
  • Pore Placement: “At times her life is fictionally unstable…”
  • Purple Sweater: “I found a purple sweater, And smelled to know it better…”
  • Single Mingle: “Food contains no soulmate protein…”
  • Hesitation: “Though you might relate, to this little internal debate…”
  • Sparks: “Sparks the firefly was gawking at a passerby…”
  • Corporate Scale: “Let’s take a bum for a chase and end up in a strange place…”
  • Dot Com Dance: “Doing the dot com dance. In a protocol trance…”
  • Black Egg: “Sitting on highest ledge that faces East. The cat meditates as if the building’s beast…”
  • Distance: “And I can’t say no, that wouldn’t be hip…”
  • Distracted: “You hear the keys tapping while on the phone with him…”
  • Held Tight: “And neckin’ in the Kitchen, Was bitchen…”
  • Durable Pelt: “Slowly fantasies melt, Into reality’s more durable pelt..”.
  • Russian Furs: “So rock on chica, 19 wise flower child…”
  • Tool: “Read these words on your computer tool…”
  • Quiet Time: “Sitting calmly holding back the urge…”
  • Good Day: “That person who makes you nervous…”
  • 50s Swell: “Could get a drink, down the street at the Alibi…”
  • Maturation: “Swirling vibes, hit me from all sides”
  • First Night in 410: “Big building, a 1917 Airstream anti-Winabego…”
  • Buzz: “9100 feet in the high desert air. Green grassy peak mid-day…”
  • Cafe Habit: “Tight new pocket tee. Over trim 30s body…”
  • Flowers and Weeds: A day for breakfast cooked to order…”
  • 28.8: “Anywhere great with a 28.8…”
  • Across the Street: “Across the street a bum…”
  • Mother’s Day ’97: “It’s hard to turn wrong, when your mother loves you, all along.”
  • L: “Your lobotomized lordship…”
  • Olive: “Olive the cat bobbed along…”
  • Trees Killed: “Trees killed, boards milled…”
  • Paper Curves: “Fantasy’s when but a boy…”
  • Bird: Written at age 12
  • Untitled: Written at age 11

Back East

2-10-91
Caleb John Clark
(Published in small Santa Fe poetry journal)

It happened along the river bank of this moment.

A deer drank, its ears flicked up, it pranced away,

absorbed by its home.

The ripples from its tongue,

and the sound of its leaving

quickly follow suit.

The wind carried the news to friends and enemies.

The sun made its final landing on the cool shadowed spot.

There are marks left for anything

that cares to look close enough,

and the fact that it was there

is stored in the very remote part

of my mind that is reserved,

for abstract little occurrences,

that happen along the river bank.

Now the spot where it happened is not just a spot anymore,

it is a spot where a deer was,

special.

Of course deer spots are like dirt along a river bank,

but this one’s mine.


Laura My Tie

August 14th, 2012. Second Anniversary.

 

Laura my
Tie

Our wedding vows I just did watch,
(few words did we botch)
Well, we’re doing,
you and I,
No lawyer would an infringement spy.

We did after all qualify,
each and every vow,
with “try.”

And try we are,
Two years thus far.

Thank you I do,
For trying through.
And through.
And through.
From morning dew,
To dinner stew.

On this second anniversary,
I say,
We do.

 

 


Superhero

March 4th, 2005
Caleb John Clark

Now I love you just the way you are.

Up close,

And from afar.

There are parts of you that you do not dig,

And I as well, on these parts, am not too big.

But like a superhero seamstress mending a hem.

You are working on them.

But you may ask,

How can I say I love you just as you are?

Up close,

And from afar.

When I also say there are parts that need mending,

That are at times offending?

Because I see you fighting towards good shoals,

More then me and most of earth’s souls.

Striving in body and mind,

To be honest.

Strong.

And kind.

And for tackling that noble undertaking at three zero,

I think you are a wonderful superhero.

Right now, just as you are.

Up close,

And from afar.


Big C’s A Commune

Aug. 03, 2004.
Caleb John Clark

Every wedding has an outsider,
In this case the bride’s dope provider.
Ranting between riches and jail,
Beautiful “Big C” did flail.
Dealing herself short,
Wading in money she cannot report.

Late twenties svelte,
Dark skin and a naked tan,
Expensive Gypsy dress,
(No bra and no clues of underwear,
Which provided extra brain fare.)
Hard natural messy hair,
That the other girls would not dare.
Guys flocked to this colorful female peacock,
While their gray wives,
Waddle bye byes.

On my groomsmen’s arm I escort her into the ballroom for dinner,
And I feel thinner.
At her table I bid adieu,
To tender expressions of appreciation for the escort.
I depart, amazed again at respectful chivalry’s report.

As the drink (and ?) kicks in she issues sweeping generalities with constitutional force.
Talk of drowned black fathers, magic, love, signs, kids, birds, weddings and divorce.
Big C’s delivery is half gang homeboy.
Half surfer girl boy toy.

All this is verbally wrapped around herself,
Chainword armor on an alien elf.
This goes on throughout the night, over music via loud barks,
Or in whispers on the edge of a dark golf course amid dope and cigarette sparks.
When the bouquet is thrown it goes too far and lands under a microphone.
Big C, she dives for it and carries it all night as we roam,

To my surprise I listen and do not rant along,
I’m interested, my weakness and sometimes a crumb trail to wrong.
(There was also an interesting 86-year-old grandfather in multi-colored velvet pants who looked 66 from tennis playing that he only started when he was 36, but he went to bed not long after 6.)
She’s fighting a fight I’ve been trying to let depart.
One most of the guests haven’t seen since their screaming start.
Every so often during the night she makes 4 (of the 44 we’re informed) knighting gale birdcalls.
She’s got balls.
Even when left a true gap of silence such as, “Tell me something I don’t know my soul mate Caleb.” I have no time to build the space I’d need, to find my own fight and get it right.
I’m swamped.
I’m vamped.
Perhaps if I was born a female hottie, I’d have evolved like this?
Crazy armor for the world’s bars, beaches, slums, and mansions,
Full of guys who want you and are pissed.

I see flashes of deep intelligence and wisdom,
Of brilliant writer insights,
And of management and finance protocols,
Right out of MBA halls.
But with little skill to put it in the relaxing package,
For those who of the workaday life,
A place that avoids dirty strife,
And focuses on the snapshots,
Amid endless little communication breakdowns, spats and other pastimes of those that prefer to get on with life, quality or not, depends on your lot, god bless.

Late at night she balances down the hotel hall,
On her stiletto balls,
Deftly clutching glasses of water and wine (and only letting the water fall.)
She spies the $6 water and $4 nuts on the dresser,
And leaves behind a twenty.

After lighting up some free samples of her wear,
I start to beware.
Her pain is deep.
Dark nights with no sleep.
I’m attracted to trouble,
That threatens my bubble.
And yet I cannot deny that I want to help her (me?) find peace and the path,
Between society and its wrath.

Post-wedding band she branches off further from the pack,
Irritating friends and others,
Who are winding down with their brothers.
By talking still
Shrill.
(Or is it just with men? Is that quiet small talk I see with a woman?)

She wants a call, she feels a connection and because I was a hippie kid on the San Francisco cross street.
It is important that we soon meet.
A weekend in Mexico at a friend’s resort?
Her boyfriend won’t mind, is her quick retort.

But I saw the communes disintegrate into confusions,
Due to drug illusions.
And while I’ve partied like a pro.
Now I usually just say no.
So I can get real things done,
And have more reality-based fun.

The cab comes.
I see her to the door.
The cabbie is young and looks her up and down slow.
“Oh shit,” she says to me “here we go.”
Fixing her hard gaze she says, “Listen up dude. Let me see the fucking meter. OK, don’t even think of starting that thing until my ass hits the seat.”

Driving home I devise how she can launder her cash,
Use college to validate her stash.
Top a place where getting drunk at weddings doesn’t bring out the fight,
Because it is spent during work, where she shines bright.

The IRS would see a student eating rice and beans,
But the IRS doesn’t know your discretionary means.
She’d live well on her cash,
She’d have parties for sport
Until she graduated and feared no court.

At parties the comments like “is she on something?” and “I had to bolt, too intense and hard to understand.” Would fade,
Replaced by a magic elf in a peaceful glade,
Dispensing wisdom and humor in pithy quips,
To children and those asking for tips.

Big C’s a commune.
Somewhere between concrete,
And perfume.
Dealing herself short,
Wading in money she cannot report.


Mac Attack

April 2000
Caleb John Clark

Stood next to an alcoholic white trash weekend dad
Who was out of touch, and also mad
We waited together for a building to be blown up
Ahh, nothing like a stress of being around a little high quality permanent damage
To a kid
Early the morning!

The kid&Mac185;s was named Mac and he was scared of heights
We were at the top of a parking structure
Looking down at the building that would soon fall
A great view
For the persistent few
But Mac did not want to be up this high
Maybe he thought he&Mac185;d die?
“When did you become such a wus Mac?” His father said
And put him near the ledge Saying,
“Mac, Mac, I want you to see, why&Mac185;d we come here if you don&Mac185;t want to see?”
And then again,
“When did you become such a wus Mac?”

I watched the arms of Mac
Shake from his father’s flack
And then little Mac cried again at the hands of this lost male
Saying he just wanted to get down from the rail

So they went away
Both mad and lost in the world&Mac185;s fray
But they made it back before the building blew
And damned if that dad didn’t push on through
And get poor Mac on his shoulders high
Right before the explosives let fly
The fireworks went off, then flames up front shot high into the air
Then 14 deep, unseen, explosions went off deep in the building&Mac185;s lair
And the building fell into a pile whacked
Except for three top windows that weren&Mac185;t even cracked
But Mac had closed his eyes and covered his ears
And then he left with his mad father to find more beers


Distracted

2000
Caleb John Clark

Her gaze drifts to the monitor while you talk
He suddenly disappears while you walk
You hear the keys tapping while on the phone with him
Taps from the office echo in the bedroom
Email in, URL to see, call,
Email out, a person appears in your monitor glare refracted

We’re all so distracted

Options, vesting, rounds, valuation
Chat, forum, thread, conference call, instant message elation
Web site charts, information flow, data mines, marketing flack
Files, folders, icons, desktops, trash, timelines, Quake attack!

It’s all so abstract

Are we distracted?
Or are we ABSTRACTED?

Burning wood, Tomato Plant, Vagina, Cut Finger,
Skinned Knee, Penis, Pond Scum, Looks that linger
Cheap Red Wine, Strong Hug, Hand shake,
Salt Soaked Wind, Cat Scratch, Earth quake
Late Night Talk
Take A Walk!


Construction

1992

Caleb John Clark

Trees.

Killed.

Boards.

Milled.

Stacked unnaturally they try to twist back home.

Some almost make it, but end up used as blocking.

Or burned in laborer’s stoves.

A Crew. Even numbered.

Hierarchical by experience with work in common.

Joined by an unspoken pledge to try not to harm their brother, and a common way of measuring distance.

Equipment is gathered.

Clamping cut bars, bubbled string hammers,

and bar wedged square sets.

Oily phallic toothed Philip washers,

slippery sized tube chalk.

Pulsating reciprocating, sliding sharp electric shooters. Belt driven, bullet popping, chop rippers.

Razor toothed cordless blue plastic pistols.

Elastic waist pocketed, the techno eye shielded, thick feet go to work.

Dig, haul, subs plumb.

Metal sparks:

Concrete pulses, spitting out into a lake:

A foundation.

Pick up a two by whatever,

check it’s slopping, curled crown.

cut, haul, position, nail.

Header trips, rafter dips,

Kings and Jacks, make a window.

Studs helping Cripples:

A wall.

Raise, level, square, nail,

Repeat:

Windy rooms.

Top plates unify, lined shadows scan the pad.

Corral the water to the ground.

Sheath the wind into submission:

A shelter for the birds.

Subs snake white plastic copper,

dump black tar.

Lay gray shaped stone.

Goop clean mud.

Untangle islands of sprouting water tubes.

Windows plop into place,

doors shim tight.

A system.

Visibility becomes a consideration.

Little mistakes no longer hidden.

Owners tastes are tasted.

Fragile glass is no longer forbidden:

An almost-house.

Things start to move in rhythm, organize and fit tight in tandem

Systems activate.

Owners scurry in stressed tedium.

Samples parade in circles.

Bills are paid,

call backs delayed.

A house.


Cafe Habit

1998
Caleb John Clark

Tight new pocket teeOver trim 30s body

New baseball hat that reads “Ford”

Very white socks

New non-Levi jeans

Short clean cut hair

A croissant

Coffee

New York Times

This guy must have been drafted from the mid-west

Then stationed in Europe

Schooled in killing

And the cafe habit

He’s out of place in the gay PC cafe

But he’s fine with that

Because the coffee is strong

The croisant is fresh

Just like in Europe


Hesitation Feeling

1998
Caleb John Clark

Though you might relate
To this little internal debate:

What to do
What to do
When infected with hesitations
Wrong path thinking frustrations

Jitter bug
Mind plug
Can’t sweep it under the rug

Feet Rockin’
Brain snappin’
Aimless surf trackin’
Ceiling mappin’
Nit pickin’
Over thinkin’

Wind tunnel of a mind flail
Grasp at swatches of focused trail
Just want a life bondsman with the bail

Humming bird attention span
Don’t buzz long enough to find a clan
Next line should have “be a man”
But I’m not going there without a tan

One wonders if it comes from the body?
Rhythms of chemicals, like a hot toddy
Is it all in your head?
Just snap out of it Red!
Could be aliens under my bed…
Yeah, aliens under my bed.
Hey, it’s a song, “aliens under my bed”
I’ll be a song writer
Just like the Dead.

Oh, wait, I can’t play a string
Been meaning to figure out that guitar thing…


Held Tight

2000
Caleb John Clark

Slept light,
Held you tight,
And neckin’ in the Kitchen,
Was bitchen.

Soggy post-party
Stretched a teddie on
Like a waking fawn

Saddled my thigh
As I lie
Woke apart with the light
Having traveled in the night
I had slinked out
Devoid of doubt.


A Good Day

2000
Caleb John Clark

That person who makes you nervous when you get your coffee is only a radar blip.
A lone black fly on a long trip.

A good day makes life easier to tell the goodness of living on top of a sea swell,
In a good steady boat with a high gunwale.
And a self righting hull full of stuff that floats even if driven down,
Into the night ocean by a towering dark rouge wave from hell.

Because there is no utopian ocean of calm and easy swells,
One which never rings your ship’s bells.

So forget the TV dream,
And build a good boat with a good solid beam.
Then grab your rain slicker,
And sun screen.
‘Cause it’s going to be sunny,
And it’s going to be mean.
Until we drift in and dock,
at the last click of the clock.


Durable Pelt

May 2000
Caleb John Clark

Slowly fantasies melt,
Into reality’s more durable pelt.
Are you living under similar skies,
To the ones where your mind flies?

You may dream of walking among tall trees,
Somewhere with a fresh breeze.
A small town,
Next to a university like Brown,
2 minutes from a big city,
In yet with rolling hills a pretty.

And you may look up one day and see,
Your fantasy is close reality,
When you walk by at least one tall tree,
In the small part of a city,
That has a university.

So take a minute and look around,
You may find part of your fantasy,
Right on the ground.


Dot Com Dance

August 2000
Caleb John Clark

Doing the dot com dance
In a protocol trance
You drive too and fro
Wishing you just fly like a crow
While you think of could -haves or should-dos
In liew of paying your dues

Off to work for those who did and are insane
Like a corporate Kurt Cobain
And you’re working out loud and laughing late at night
With the hard cores who didn’t take flight
Your eye stings
And your wrist has pain tings

Your box is a digital gun
Banging out miracles one after one
It’s just too much fun
Doing things that have never been done
And yet you dream of shoveling dirt
Until your unused muscles hurt

But you don’t want to go home
Where you’re pad festers with laundry and loam
And rolling cognitive to-dos
Foil your focus on a friend’s personal boohoos
Where the TV beckons you to live a fictional life
That only leaves you invisible and full of strife

So you play with toys and good food
To keep you in a rewarded mood
And always end up jacked in and online
Until it’s midnight and your tonic is out of lime

So you wake up and pump out media and code
And check your work with a rush (or sense of forebode)
And in the back of your head you wonder now and again
Could you even handle living in the country with a wooden den?


Paper Curves

1995

Fantasies when but a boy

Are too fantastic to be anything but a toy.

That van full of Play boy tans,

won’t beat the school vans.

Flat paper curves,

Never speak and touch your nerves.

But when you get older,

And have touched it all in light,

the reality of sex, all bright,

your dreams become plans,

and flirting a right.


Bird, Age 12

1978
Caleb John Clark

This is a poem about the bird……!!
A bird was found on the ground
On the ground a bird was found

It laid there so intensely
looking up at me
I brought it home in a box
in a box I brought it home.

For 3 days and nights it suffered so
Until it suffered NO!!!

Died on a Thursday on the 6th of July, 1978.
Found on Log Cabin Road by the horse track on the 4th of July at 4:30 or 5:00 PM.
Died between 10:00 PM and 7:00AM.
Died on it’s back.
It tried.


Untitled. Age 11

1977

Caleb John Clark

Once

upon a time

I saw a

butterfly

I saw

a butterfly

fly by my

nose. Now

butterflies don’t

usually

fly

by noses

especially

my nose

but it

did and I’m mad.

So I ran after it.

And I caught it too and

I locked it and it was crying

so I said, “it’s all right.”


50s Swell

1999
Caleb John Clark

Could get a drink,
Down the street at the Alibi.
Pay for cups to fly,
Play pool,
Be a looking fool.

I see the smoke,
Breath deep of words spoke,
In a rant,
of cant.
Banter with new dudes,
Same old moods.

Or drink my frozen Vodka clear,
And keep away from the public fear.
I know both scripts.
Been down both trips.

Comes down to Dylan’s line,
“I ain’t looking for anything in anybody’s eyes.”
Am I that fine?

My Vodka’s cheaper,
I don’t own a fucking beeper.
So if stay at home,
I know I’ll be alone.
But I would be at the Alibi as well,
So either will have to be 50s swell,
On this night after researching by the late light.
And hell, I could get in a fight,
If I went out into the blight.

But out I could also meet a girl,
Soak her wings to unfurl,
Bye and bye,
In an after hours bar fly.

Tonight, I think Dylan will have to do.
Maybe he’d do for you too?


Buzz

1998
Caleb John Clark

9100 feet in the high desert airGreen grassy peak mid-day

Skin bare

Lying after eating

I hear

Cool

Buzzing

Beating

I see

Clouds pull back like a zoom lense

Curve

fold

And bends

I hear

Little buzzing fast

Loud buzzing blast

Big doppler buzzing past

I see

An aunt has found my lunch

Green grass tufts

With purple flower bunch

I feel

An ant has found my leg hair

Hot unfiltered sun

Cool pine shade

But the ant is still there

I see

Small birds bank

Dodge

Weave

and flank

I hear

A loud buzzing stop on my thigh

I feel

The thing move high

I see

A bee

Yellow tufts of hair on it’s feet

I feel

An ant

Find my pant

The bee

Moves to my knee

I am still

it finds no nectar

And heads

On another vector


Black Egg

May 2000
Caleb John Clark

Sitting on highest ledge that faces East
The cat meditates as if the building’s beast

Damp and chilled from night fun
He comes alive with the sun’s morning run

Clean. Roll. Lie.
Catch every sun shard
Until it hits the thick grass in the abandoned yard

Then he becomes a happy black egg in a warm green glade
Moving then in the afternoon to recently sunned concrete in the shade
The evening brings him in
To couches, laps and food out of a tin
Until a silent call at midnight Wakes him to take flight


Flowers and Weeds

5-98
Caleb John Clark

Mother’s day

A day for breakfast cooked to order

And flowers picked by little hands

From a field’s border

Some green weeds

And tiny flowers

With powder seeds

The day itself

Drove the little hands

A mission for this little elf

No presents had been bought

This little son

Had been caught

So in the morning light

He ran outside

To the field on the right

Then back to the house

And his mom was up

He approached like a mouse

Tied together by green grass

And handed over

With a behind the back pass

Where the flowers

And weeds

And all the powder seeds

Seeing them she did blush

And kissed her son

Who wriggled from the mush

So this is mother’s day

And what I remember

And what I wanted to say


28.8
1997
Caleb John Clark

Our time is now,
in a fog cast,
bay area blast.

In a bright alley,
or a big apple frapple.

Anywhere fun,
as long as it has a T-1.

Anywhere great,
with a 28.8.

Our time has come.
To roar like the 20s,
soar like the 50s.
To Renaissance red ink,
to hippie challenge think.

Our time is here!
Grab your e-gear,
flip that switch,
boot ‘er up,
crunch that code,
tap those keys,
buzz like bees.

Log in.

Begin!


Mother’s Day ’97

5-6-97
Caleb John Clark

Hey Mom!
Happy Mom day.
Just wanted to say,
how glad I am it’s May.
A month when I can write a ditty,
about what a Mom you are,
(and also how pretty.)

Now I live in a home,
with a family I watch roam.
I see Elyse’s friends hanging out here,
and realize it ain’t just the beer.
It’s because the parents aren’t bad,
Nor the uncles, no matter how
they’re clad.

Then I remember our abode,
and the friends that hung out,
the bikes we rode,
the food we ate,
and the nights we stayed up late.

I also see little Jake,
in a mud lake,
a loving mother,
his dinner she does make.
Then I remember my house,
my mud lake,
my mother,
and my dinner she did make.

And I think:

It’s hard to turn wrong,
when your mother loves you,
all along.

It’s hard to be bad,
when you were rarely sad.

It’s easy to be cheesy,
when your mother was breezy.

It’s wonderful to be alive,
when your mother loves it when you arrive.

And it’s hard to loose your way,
when your mother is a sunny day in May.

So on this Mom’s day.
I just wrote to say,
You’re still my sunshine ray.


Maturation

1999
Caleb John Clark

Swirling vibes
hit me from all sides

Love is everywhere humming, birding
Sucking up the heightened nectar of this time of graduation
This accelerated maturation

Tempered by one last report
Ever there with a retort
Ignoring logic
Eating frolic
Bucolic

Must break on through to the other side
Fight against the tide
Focus
Work that hocus-pocus
Damn the torpedoes
Dance on tip toes
Walk into the wind blows
Watch Star Wars late shows

And the logistics!
Group pics
Food and transport
The family sport

Love is the solution
The only retribution
Fill up at the local station
Get the high grade elation
It’s always thus
In this life fuss
Because there’s no other way
To cross the fray
And come out OK

It will all be fine
Growing these memories of a great time
With all the rest of living
Waiting there for the giving


First Night in 410
Caleb John Clark, 02-99

The first night in a little studio in San Diego
big building
a 1917 Airstream anti-Winabego
timbers high in the basement
a forest in this laundry room escapement
paint in bright colors
timbers as yellow trees reaching to a blue ceiling
there’s a lending library in the back forty even

come into the planted front gate
press for the elevator and wait
realize it’s waiting for you
been there the whole time, laughing through and through
you and your modern assumed to be true
open the first steal door
the second collapsing gate
up to four with a jolt and creek
catching a floor by floor peak

in my new room
tip toeing on the wooden floor not to wake below
into the bathroom for my first go
open the vent door (from before bathroom fans) for air
it comes in strong
making a fan long
a cough one floor down joins the air
and some noise of sex on another stair
back in the room it’s quiet and cool
the fridge captivates its new audience with a drool

I look out my big new eyes
into the West where the sun will not rise
but set over the city
in a view I am told will be pretty
but it’s my first night and I got here after the show
only to see the city glow
looking around, I like my place
old and solid
full of grace
I just wish I had some toilet paper
or soap for my face.


“L”

1996
Caleb John Clark

Likewise,

Ladies.

Lucky for me the

Large storm has

Languished,

Listing,

Loosely, one could say even

Longingly, as it

Lumps feet of snow and then

Laughs as is it departs,

Leaving

Lots of

Low tempers and temperatures,

Lamenting as they

Labor to clean up after it by

Lamps and

Lights swinging from their

Lamebrained

Lackluster

Larva white bodies. As I said,

Lucky for this

Lanky,

Lewd,

Lapdog that it’s

Left before my

Lighthearted,

Leisure,

Lodge time starts. So,

Luscious, I your

Loquacious,

Lobotomized

Lordship,

Leer and prepare to

Leap

Longitudinally East on the day of

Luna.

Later


Olive The Cat
1993
Caleb John Clark

Olive the cat bobbed on along the wet bricks.

Stilled,

she stares at a passer by.

She’s surprised that someone would dare to walk

on the sidewalk while she is in the area,

but people are so confused much of the time,

that it really isn’t that surprising.

She continues out of sight.


Trees Killed
1992
Caleb John Clark

Trees.

Killed.

Boards.

Milled.

Stacked unnaturally they try to twist back home.

Some almost make it, but end up used as blocking.

Or burned in laborer’s stoves.

A Crew. Even numbered.

Hierarchical by experience with work in common.

Joined by an unspoken pledge to try not to harm their brother, and a common way of measuring distance.

Equipment is gathered.

Clamping cut bars, bubbled string hammers,

and bar wedged square sets.

Oily phallic toothed Philip washers,

slippery sized tube chalk.

Pulsating reciprocating, sliding sharp electric shooters. Belt driven, bullet popping, chop rippers.

Razor toothed cordless blue plastic pistols.

Elastic waist pocketed, the techno eye shielded, thick feet go to work.

Dig, haul, subs plumb.

Metal sparks:

Concrete pulses, spitting out into a lake:

A foundation.

Pick up a two by whatever,

check it’s slopping, curled crown.

cut, haul, position, nail.

Header trips, rafter dips,

Kings and Jacks, make a window.

Studs helping Cripples:

A wall.

Raise, level, square, nail,

Repeat:

Windy rooms.

Top plates unify, lined shadows scan the pad.

Corral the water to the ground.

Sheath the wind into submission:

A shelter for the birds.

Subs snake white plastic copper,

dump black tar.

Lay gray shaped stone.

Goop clean mud.

Untangle islands of sprouting water tubes.

Windows plop into place,

doors shim tight.

A system.

Visibility becomes a consideration.

Little mistakes no longer hidden.

Owners tastes are tasted.

Fragile glass is no longer forbidden:

An almost-house.

Things start to move in rhythm, organize and fit tight in tandem

Systems activate.

Owners scurry in stressed tedium.

Samples parade in circles.

Bills are paid,

call backs delayed.

A house.


Distance

April 2000
Caleb John Clark

She takes my heart away
When she stops by every month or so
And then leaves me like an old cat that’s lost it’s pray

She takes a part of my heart
In the kitchen at a party
Back to the sink I reach around her for a cup
She opens up
And we come alive
Buzzing like a beehive

She takes my heart away
Leaving me empty and open
Then others appear on a trip
It’s always happened this way
And I can’t say no, that wouldn’t be hip
So we bed down in some dramatic coup
Loving without love
Because that’s what any single man would do

She takes my heart away
At the river in sun
After a downhill run
Wet and tired
Broken down
She takes a piece
And I go back to acting like a clown
But I’m getting older now
And it’s harder to feel desire
And make the heat
That’s needed for fire

So society be damned
With all its sex and rules
I just can’t do it anymore
And run with the other fools

I think back to when she’s here
And the thrills I get when she is near
Maybe she gets this all the time
And there’s other guys
Pennying up their dime
But I still want to play
Cause I’m making new hearts for her
Every single day

She let her take my heart away
Tucked in her spirally smile
Back to college with her friends to wile

She takes my heart away
When she stops by every month or so
Maybe I’ll follow it someday


Tool

2000
Caleb John Clark

Read these words on your computer tool
A tool taking us all back to school

In first grade it was just too kewl
We hammered the air and dented a stool

In second grade we found a nail and some wood
And linked them up good

In the grade of third
We built a house for a bird

And in the grade of four
We built everything with our friends ever more

In five
We came alive
A buzzing bee hive!
In a lonely tree
Surrounded by a world sparse with bee

In six grade
There was money to be made
And we added a gold seeking spade

Now we are in the seven grade
We have our hammer and our spade
We are getting paid
But money or not, most of us have it made

Tools in hand we feel the power
We can build a chaos petaled electric Web flower!
Power is a thin rail
Easy to become a hammer looking for a nail
Or a spade looking for a glade
Because digging is its trade

So as we brace for the grade of eight
Tools in hand and ready to concentrate
We must think of what to build
What will it do?
Will it be good for me and you?


Quiet Time
2000
Caleb John Clark

Sitting calmly holding back the urge to get up,
When an undone thought does disrupt.
Sit back down,
With nary a frown.
Dream of the kind faced girl,
And the curl.
But she disappears with Rob,
And you’re back to thinking about your job.

Try it again, sitting quietly, let the Web flow,
Over you slow.
Don’t get up,
Just lift your cup.
And think of thinking,
While you’re drinking.

Ask yourself if the soup made from the boil,
Is worth the toil.
Then fuck all the shit,
And just sit.
Listen to Dylan and thin out,
With a quiet inward shout.

Sit quietly and think,
Take it right to the brink,
Of checking email.
Then don’t. Just let it sail.

You’ve got under,
The technical thunder.
Dig a head trip pit,
Then climb in and just sit.
Below the radar of your connection,
And the resulting confection.

If we don’t get away,
We might go astray,
And miss the sweet smells amidst the fray.


Across The Street

Caleb John Clark
06-10-97

Across the street
a young bum switches his gaze
back and forth,
He’s commanding the flow of the street.

He’s outside tan,
and rough regal like a young sergeant in mid-war.

But he’s the anti-Picard,
refusing to engage.
Reality is shrapnel stingy to him,
success drops of enemy water.

Failure is doable.
He’s learned how to handle
commanding courseless phantom armies.
As he sits back down and eyes the street,
you can see that he has the highest confidence,
in the mission.

I could be him,
but I’m across the street.


Sparks The Firefly

1997
Caleb John Clark

Sparks the firefly
was gawking at a passerby,
when a blue number
almost sent him to a dreamy slumber,
and thus a crash,
into a drooping sassafras!

But he recovered barely,
and continued on,
flashing fairly.


Single Mingle

1999
Caleb John Clark

Food contains no soulmate protein

The lack of which can make you mean

Head for the junkfood salt

The Chocolate sweet

The fat to eat

But as anyone will tell you who’s been

No foods like the salt of skin

No sugar as sweet

As two bare touching feet

Oh you can eat

You can give yourself a big fucking treat

And then you’re not alone

Always walking with that bulge

Below your breastbone

You can watch the curves you want

Stretching cotton

You can buy media

That is downright rotten

You can eye stray

All goddamed day

You can get a pet

Make a bet

Laugh with friends

Make amends

Get drunk

Rant a funk

Get high

Or just get by

But when the stars sparkle

You’re still single

Under your shingle

When the sun floats up

You’re still drinking tea out of one cup

You’re still solo

When the skies bellow

And the storms come

A sailor with no shore leave

In a floating world of make believe

This is being single

Able to party mingle

And back up a vibe

With a naked swim at high tide

You can have sex with eyes you don’t know yet

Or even sex on a bet

Sometimes it’s sublime

This life of crime

The things you can do

The things you’ve done

But at times it sucks

To be a bronk

That bucks

Silently around a coral

A riderless

Animal


Corporate Scale

1994
Caleb John Clark

So let’s take a bum for a chase and end up at a strange place,

Or maybe catch a fish and put in a business man’s briefcase,

Can you imagine such a sight,

when he opens it in a power meeting

and finds himself in such a plight!

Would he recover and say “lunch is served”,

Or stutter like a man unnerved?

He could take out the trout and wave it about,

Or sit like a turtle and just pout.

But if he was smart he’d be cool,

and say it’s part of a new advertising tool.

So there he is,

stupidly smelling his fishy biz,

when suddenly a man across,

pulls out a fresh Albatross!

As if that’s not enough,

a suited 300 hundred pounder,

laughs and pulls out a fresh flounder!

Not to be outdone the VP of marketing shows a grin,

and dangles a catfish with many a fin.

The accountants start to sweat,

until one finds a Halibut, still wet!

A young man, let’s call him a yuppie

feeling outdone, swallows his guppy.

Well, the top executives gather around

but can only produce a Bass weighing all of a pound.

The CEO is not impressed,

Until a secretary whips out a swordfish, fully dressed!

Public relations seems totally dead,

When all they can find is an old Pollock’s head.

The CEO is about to walk,

having had enough of all this fish talk,

when in comes boy carrying the mail,

and on his cart is a 50 foot whale!

So the CEO sits back down and produces a great big frown.

The room is quite except for some gills,

and everyone is wishing they had their pills.

They know the CEO has to prove he is the best catcher,

and produce a fish worthy of his stature.

He stares at his people and starts his dealing

and a 30 foot Great White drops out of the ceiling!

It eats the whale and table and everyone runs,

and then watches through the window,

as the CEO just pets it and hums.


Russian Firs

Dec. 1999
Caleb John Clark

So rock on chica,
19 wise flower child,
Born of a kind mama freaka.
And raised in the trees,
From Canada,
To the Andes.

Be gentle as you can,
Resist the temptation,
To have fans.
Briefly insane hearts,
That appear in man.

Souls like yours,
Are few and far between,
One that purrs,
Silky and solid,
Like 1960s Russian furs,
Softening our vision,
Like rain that blurs.


End

Co-Discovery Usability Testing with ChildrenMasters Thesis. “Co-Discovery Usability Testing with Children.” Educational Technology, San Diego State Univerity, 1999
Co-Discovery Thesis PDF
| Videos of testing: #1 | #2 | #3 | #4 | Demo of picture in picture
Tested the usability of a children’s CD-ROM using picture in picture video monitoring and data analysis.

Co-Discovery Usability Testing with ChildrenMasters Thesis. “Co-Discovery Usability Testing with Children.” Educational Technology, San Diego State Univerity, 1999
Co-Discovery Thesis PDF
| Videos of testing: #1 | #2 | #3 | #4 | Demo of picture in picture
Tested the usability of a children’s CD-ROM using picture in picture video monitoring and data analysis.

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