HUFFSTUTTER'S PHOTO ESSAYS...

FOUND AT LAST: THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH, BY R.L.HUFFSTUTTER

2008-09-01T16:57:00.000-07:00

FOUND AT LAST: THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

By R.L.Huffstutter
THROUGHOUT THE PAST WINTER, SPENT IN VARIOUS AREAS OF THE USA, I SEARCHED FOR THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH...

TIME TO PAINT

2008-08-25T03:54:00.000-07:00

PICTURES FROM INSIDE MY MIND ARE SURFACING AS TIME GOES BY. WILL IT MATTER ONE-HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW IF I POSTED THIS WATERCOLOR OR SKETCH ON THIS SPACE TODAY? I DON'T KNOW. WHAT MATTERS NOW IS THAT I FEEL LIKE POSTING THESE IMAGES TODAY. HOPEFULLY, YOU WILL ENJOY THEM.

ESSAY ON AGE: THE JOY OF GETTING OLDER

2008-08-19T07:48:00.001-07:00

AN ESSAY ABOUT TIME AND AGE BY ROBERT L. HUFFSTUTTER

TIME IS THE MOST MYSTERIOUS PART OF A LIFETIME; NEITHER THE YOUNG OR OLD CAN EXPLAIN IT CLEARLY AND BY THE SAME TOKEN, IT,S SAFE TO SAY THAT NEITHER THE OLD OR THE YOUNG OWN MORE OF IT THAN THE OTHER.
THERE IS A WISDOM ABOUT TIME, HOWEVER, POSSESSED BY ONLY THE OLD; IT IS A WISDOM THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO GAIN IN YOUTH. AND THAT IS GOOD IN THAT IT GIVES EACH PERSON EQUAL WISDOM IN DUE TIME. NO YOUTH CAN COMPREHEND THE REALITY OF TIME IN THE WAY ONE WHO IS THREE SCORE AND TEN. TIME, IT IS A REALITY THAT IS SO DECEPTIVE TO ONE AND ALL. THE DECEPTION WILL ALWAYS BE REALIZED LATER THAN SOONER; AND THAT IS THE SAD PART. BUT SINCE TIME CANNOT BE SAVED IN A BOTTLE OR A VAULT, IT IS MORE OR LESS IRRELEVANT. YOUTH SPENDS TIME AS IF IT WILL NEVER END WHILE THE ELDERLY HANG ON TO EACH DAY, FAR INTO THE SUNSET AND ONLY LET GO RELUCTANTLY. YOUTH RARELY, IF EVER, SIT AND GAZE OUT WINDOWS AT BYGONE DAYS WITH REMORSE. FOR THE AGED, REMORSE QUITE OFTEN HELPS THEM WHILE AWAY THEIR TIME IS A MOROSE FASHION. TOO TIRED AND STIFF TO RUN OVER HILL AND DALE OR GO EXPLORING IN THE WOODS, THOSE SAD REGRETS WILL OCCUPY THEIR TIME; IF IT DOESN'T, KNITTING OR PAINTING PICTURES OFTEN SUFFICES QUITE WELL.
TO THOSE WHO FEEL MY DESCRIPTION OF ONE WHO IS AGED IS LESS THAN IDEAL, I WILL ADMIT THEIR FEELINGS ARE CORRECT. I CANNOT THINK OF ANYONE WHO WOULD RATHER BE SIXTY-FIVE OR SEVENTY YEARS OF AGE IF THEY HAD A CHOICE TO REMAIN IN THEIR THIRTIES OR EVEN EARLY FIFTIES.
I AM NOT NEGATIVE, I AM A REALIST. TIME WAS WHEN TIME WAS BETTER, BUT THAT'S NOT TO SAY THAT I HAVE LET AGE CAUSE ME TO SURRENDER. NO, BUT BEING A REALIST, I CANNOT HONESTLY ENTERTAIN THOSE SAME DREAMS I HAD IN MY TWENTIES OR THIRTIES. AND THAT, BOYS AND GIRLS, IS THE ESSENCE OF THIS MESSAGE. DOES ANYONE RECALL THAT OLD ADAGE OR DIDACTIC BIT OF INSPIRATION ABOUT MAKING HAY WHILE THE SUN SHINES? THAT IS, IN A NUTSHELL, WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT. THE FINANCIAL INSTITUTIONS HAVE ANOTHER CUTE BIT OF ADVICE THAT YOUTH SHOULD LEARN AND UNDERSTAND: DON'T EVER BE AFRAID OF OUTLIVING YOUR MONEY, PLAN AHEAD. "PLAN AHEAD," YES, THAT SOUNDS LIKE GOOD ADVICE.
NOW, LET ME SEE, WHAT SHALL I PLAN ON? OUTLIVING ONE'S MONEY IS A KIND OF CATCH 22. THIS IS SURELY A CASE WHERE HOPE AND FAITH MUST ENTER; OTHERWISE, IT IS JUST TOO PERPLEXING, TOO CONFUSING, AND FRANKLY, TOO DEPRESSING. WHAT WAS THAT OLD SAYING ABOUT ENJOYING THE DAY AND GOING FOR ALL THE GUSTO? THAT BIT ABOUT ONLY GOING AROUND ONCE, WELL, I AM GOING TO WITHOLD MY COMMENTS ON THAT ONE.

THE LONELY SOUL SERIES BY R.L.HUFFSTUTTER

2008-08-19T07:48:00.000-07:00

THE LONELY SOUL SERIES BY R.L.HUFFSTUTTER

STILL LIFE AS A ART THAT STANDS ALONE AND STILL By Robert L. Huffstutter

2008-07-22T09:48:00.002-07:00

Still life is an art that stands alone and still. Silly as it might seem, a still life picture moves about quite frequently because of the idea that still lifes are boring and out of fashion. Now if one has ever seen a still life with a figurine, that figurine probably has legs. Let's say it is a still life with a cowboy motif, a Roy Rogers still life. Right off, Roy and Dale were cowboy heros, for sure. And Trigger, the horse that made Roy famous, is also deceased. He has been stuffed for quite awhile. Thus, there are figurines of Trigger around. But more later. This is becoming too long. It is getting too complicated. Please return for the final thoughts about this on-line essay that is not quite finished.

AN ESSAY ABOUT PERFECT PICTURES: fame as an artist By Robert L. Huffstutter

2008-07-22T09:48:00.001-07:00

AN ESSAY ON AND ABOUT PERFECT PICTURES AND FAME AS AN ARTIST BY Robert L. Huffstutter

Raol Dufy was one of my early inspirations. Why? Because his work was not picture perfect and my work was far from picture perfect, I found it easy and pleasant to associate with his work. Of course, I was only 8 or 9 years of age at the time, so I had much to learn about the art of NOT doing "picture perfect" work. That's to say, there are those who are truly artists who can do work that is hard to differentiate from a photograph. To say that because their work is photographic it isn't art would be too judgemental and in error; for those who feel that accuracy and likeness to a point of perfection is art, it is, indeed art.

For me, impressionism and expressionism reign supreme. I am not a Kodak and my hand is not a Canon; therefore, it is what I see with my eyes that is important to me and to those who care to view my work. This paragraph is an example of how one can waste one's time when one becomes involved in art reviews and explanations of artistic concepts. Nonetheless, it is all within the realm of the art world and one can decide how much time one wants to spend on reviews, explanations and simply dipping the brush in the water and painting. For me, it is a combination of these joys that makes me feel good about art, makes me feel like an "artist" and thus satisfies this intense love I have for art.

There are many, I am certain, who share my feelings about art and the world of art. Long ago, I learned that only a few fortunate people become famous; I accepted that fact and continued painting. It is the joy of painting that keeps my mind busy with new work. If fame would come my way, I would welcome such fate, however, I am not building bridges toward fame.

Do you suppose that Van Gogh ever toyed with the idea of fame and fortune?

AN OPEN LETTER TO ALL WATERCOLOR ARTISTS By Robert L. Huffstutter

2008-06-21T10:55:00.000-07:00

AN OPEN LETTER TO ALL WATERCOLOR ARTISTS

If there's one major truth about painting with watercolors, it is the sense the artist has that the painting is either not "quite right" or "not quite" done, two sensations that can totally ruin what could have been a fairly decent watercolor. These two personal assessments are not restricted to the zany or psychotic artist, they are absolutely normal whether one is a Sunday painter or commercial artist. How do I know? Simple, I have been around long enough to know these facts through personal experience and through conversation with other artists. Moreover, observation is the evidence that supports these opinions. What can we do to minimize our cost of expensive French watercolor paper and increase our confidence and self-esteem?

The answer is as primary as a a set of Prang watercolor paints. Remove the painting and set it aside for several weeks. Look at it after the time lapse and ask yourself several questions. Should there be more black lines around the window sills? Do you really need to make the blonde's hair longer? And how about the biceps of the men showing off--should they be more pronounced and obvious? Should there be two more palm trees down by the beach? After pondering over these superficial dilemmas, one will usually decide that enough is enough.

Now, about the part that there's something about the work that is "not quite right." That, unfortunately, is the realization and admission that only a few people can paint like Don Kingman. If we are so naive or vain that we do not want to exhibit until we perfect our art to the heights that Kingman's art has reached, we might as well put the brushes and paints out in the garage and wait for a neighborhood sale.

We must believe that although we are not as professional and prolific as artists like Kingman, we must accept our style as our own and learn to appreciate it as our contribution to the very large and sometimes hollow world of art. To continue our momentum and keep our spirits positive, we need to keep painting as many subjects and scenes as possible. Sooner or later, we will accept ourselves as being the best we can be and understand our style is unique. We might even begin to really appreciate our work and feel a warm fondness and affection for our paintings in much the same manner as we appreciate the work of our favorite artists. There is nothing to prevent us from looking at Kingman's magnificent watercolors and hoping that in time, we will feel like we are getting better with the completion of each new and different watercolor. That is, I honestly believe, what Don Kingman believed each time he finished a painting. One fact is obvious, he knew when to sign his name to signify that it was done.

A VIEW OF YOKOHAMA FROM A BRIDGE LONG GONE

2008-06-09T07:30:00.000-07:00

There is an image in my mind much like the one in the slide of a bygone Yokohama.

It will remain long after I am gone. Somewhere in another frame of time this scene will survive and the bridge upon where I stood will be rebuilt with those moments in mind.

If Heaven does exist, and I see no reason why it shouldn't, or couldn't, we will all see some of our favorite places there, in a never-ending light, sunlight or moonlight, our choice to make, at some other time, but moreover, the reasons why it was so special will not be missed in such a future scene, the smiles exchanged will seal the scene as a moment of reality saved and given back, our reward for having survived the trials and temptations of a time away from eternity, a time our earthly residence will have removed all memory of the time we spent before volunteering for a tour as earthly beings on a planet we will always remember as our home, dear Earth.

Does it not make sense, then, that we should have some special spots to recall, like photographs in earthly albums shared while we were here. These scenes, like the slide of another time, another place, the Yokohama Waterfront, will be forever on display somewhere in another planet for the rest of all eternity.
And there is so much more we will not learn until that time, I believe.

There's no sense in thinking all of this was simply a big mistake. By Robert L. Huffstutter

TIME AND THE WISDOM OF KNOWLEDGE

2008-06-07T02:40:00.000-07:00

TIME IS THE MOST MYSTERIOUS PART OF A LIFETIME; NEITHER THE YOUNG OR OLD CAN EXPLAIN IT CLEARLY AND BY THE SAME TOKEN, IT,S SAFE TO SAY THAT NEITHER THE OLD OR THE YOUNG OWN MORE OF IT THAN THE OTHER. THERE IS A WISDOM ABOUT TIME, HOWEVER, POSSESSED BY ONLY THE OLD; IT IS A WISDOM THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO GAIN IN YOUTH. AND THAT IS GOOD IN THAT IT GIVES EACH PERSON EQUAL WISDOM IN DUE TIME. NO YOUTH CAN COMPREHEND THE REALITY OF TIME IN THE WAY ONE WHO IS THREE SCORE AND TEN. TIME, IT IS A REALITY THAT IS SO DECEPTIVE TO ONE AND ALL. THE DECEPTION WILL ALWAYS BE REALIZED LATER THAN SOONER; AND THAT IS THE SAD PART. BUT SINCE TIME CANNOT BE SAVED IN A BOTTLE OR A VAULT, IT IS MORE OR LESS IRRELEVANT. YOUTH SPENDS TIME AS IF IT WILL NEVER END WHILE THE ELDERLY HANG ON TO EACH DAY, FAR INTO THE SUNSET AND ONLY LET GO RELUCTANTLY. YOUTH RARELY, IF EVER, SIT AND GAZE OUT WINDOWS AT BYGONE DAYS WITH REMORSE. FOR THE AGED, REMORSE QUITE OFTEN HELPS THEM WHILE AWAY THEIR TIME IS A MOROSE FASHION. TOO TIRED AND STIFF TO RUN OVER HILL AND DALE OR GO EXPLORING IN THE WOODS, THOSE SAD REGRETS WILL OCCUPY THEIR TIME; IF IT DOESN'T, KNITTING OR PAINTING PICTURES OFTEN SUFFICES QUITE WELL.

those old neighborhood estate sales of long ago

2008-06-04T08:19:00.000-07:00

those old neighborhood estate sales of long ago are making a comeback, or so they say...I have noticed I am missing a lot of books somebody said I would never have time to read...missing too are old American Artist and American History magazines published before paper became necessary to ration out...I miss those glossy covers I promised I would read sometime, someday...to the sibings of my offspring...I wonder if they would have enjoyed them as much as I would have had if...I taken time...yes, time, to stop long enough to read them...

A BRIEF MENTION ABOUT MY LIFE AND TIMES IN YOKOHAMA by R.L.HUFFSTUTTER

2008-06-02T09:05:00.000-07:00

MY LIFE AND TIMES IN YOKOHAMA could have gone on forever. They should have, but they didn't. It was a time when almost everything was perfect, yet at the same time, totally screwed up. Their was a lot of unrest in southeast Asia; there was much going on that I knew nothing about. Had I been able to predict the events of the next few years, I could have become an Admiral. I was young. Who hasn't been at one time or another? There are good times to be young and bad times to be young. I would have preferred to have delayed my youth. That is to say, extended it for as long as it was necessary to get my mind focused on the distant future. Looking back on those times, I am glad I experienced them. Among those days and nights exists a memory that has sustained me in times of deep despondency, in times when I felt I had left all on a pier on cloudy morning in December of 1963. Images somehow return with age and seem nearer now than then. It's strange how much closer I feel to that yesterday today than I did when it was so much closer to real time. Has my heart and mind been healed by time? Perhaps. And I have no guarantee that I will not be going back to that pier someday and resume what had to be delayed. Such is the mystery of love and yesterday. Yokohama, you were there when I needed you and there you have remained, your gardens, coffee shops and little places in Motomatchi remain for return in the hours before dawn when my restless soul seeks to escape back, back to another time and another place.

THE DAY OF THE ESTATE AND REAL ESTATE SALE

2008-05-27T02:12:00.000-07:00

THEIR IS NO THOUGHT AND CAREFUL PLANNING BEHIND THIS ILLUSTRATION. IT IS SIMPLY AN IMAGE AND NOTHING MORE.
THERE'S A CHAIR OR TWO, A COUPLE OF WINDOW FRAMES THAT WOULD LOOK GOOD ON ANOTHER WINDOW IN SOME OTHER SCENE. SIGNS ABOUT A SALE, AN ESTATE SALE. THERE ARE OLD FLOWER POTS, SOME BRAND NEW WHILE OTHERS HAVE TRACES OF OLD SOIL AND DIRT FROM GARDENS OF THE PAST. AND AMONG THE ITEMS SCHEDULED TO BE SOLD, A FEW BARS OF GOLD, OLD MEMORIES OF ANOTHER TIME BUT NOT ANOTHER PLACE. THE PLACE WHERE IT ALL HAPPENED, NO LONGER NEEDED, IT HAS GROWN TOO OLD. IT WILL BE SOLD. AND SO IT WAS AND SO IT GOES, TIME AND AGAIN, DAY AFTER DAY, UNCLES AND AUNTS PERSONAL ITEMS, NO LONGER NEEDED, NOT OUTGROWN, JUST NO LONGER NEEDED. THE AUNT USUALLY GOES LAST.

THE DOOR THAT WOULD NOT BE UNLOCKED UNTIL...

2008-05-21T07:12:00.000-07:00

IT WAS THE DOOR THAT WAS
LOCKED FROM THE DAY
THE DOOR WAS CLOSED. HOW MANY MEN WOULD WALK ALONG THE ROAD TO FIND THE DOOR LOCKED, HOW MANY MEN WOULD DARE TO LINGER IN THE DAYLIGHT TO PRETEND A KEY WAS IN THEIR CHARGE? HOW MANY MEN WOULD DARE TO RETURN IN THE NIGHT TO GIVE THE DOOR A SECOND CHANCE TO OPEN EASY WITHOUT A SCENE OF UNEASY PRETENSE? WHAT TREASURES WOULD THEY FIND INSIDE THE ROOMS BEHIND THE DOOR THEY DARE NOT OPEN IN THE LIGHT? THERE IS NO NEED TO ASK THE MEN; THEY ARE NOT ALIVE NOW AND LIVED ONLY LONG ENOUGH TO ENTER IN THE NIGHT. THEY NEVER HEARD, THE STORY GOES, THE DOOR LOCK ONCE THEY WERE INSIDE. SO THE STORY GOES. I DO NOT KNOW. LIKE OTHERS WHO STILL WONDER, I WON'T EVEN PEER INSIDE THE DUSTY WINDOW PANES TO SEE WHATEVER REMAINS. BY ROBERT L. HUFFSTUTTER

IMAGES THAT ATTRACT EYE APPEAL

2008-05-16T03:58:00.000-07:00

THERE ARE IMAGES THAT REVILE, IMAGES THAT INSPIRE, IMAGES THAT ENDURE AND IMAGES THAT SEPERATE THE BODY FROM THE SOUL. IMAGES CREATED BY LINES DIVIDE THE MIND INTO BALANCED QUARTERS, FORE, HIND AND SIDES. LINES LIKE THOSE OF KLEE, CHAGALL AND BUFFY ARE SO LINEAR.

PLAGUED BY POLITICAL JUNK

2008-04-28T05:01:00.000-07:00

IT WAS MUCH MORE THAN A SIMPLE SPRING CLEANING THAT ARISES FROM ANNUAL SURGES OF ENERGY, IT WAS AN ACCUMULATION OF ALL THE VITRIOLIC TRASH THAT HAD ACCUMULATED WITHIN EACH NOOK AND CRANNY OF MY ABODE THROUGHOUT THE PAST FEW MONTHS OF POLITICAL CAMPAIGNING. OUT OF MY LIFE ONCE AND FOR ALL. I HAD THE NEWSPAPERS REMOVED BY MEN WHO WOULD NOT REMOVE SUCH RUBBISH WITHOUT ORANGE RUBBER GLOVES. I TOLD THEM IT WAS ONLY NEWSPAPERS THAT HAD NOT BEEN CONTAMINATED BY TOXIC FERTILIZER OR MARGINAL WEED AND INSECT SPRAYS. THEY CHUCKLED AND SMILED; THEY WERE MUCH WISER THAN MOST WHO DEALT WITH SUCH. "WORDS, JUST WORDS, " I SAID. THEY NODDED AND SAID "THEY ARE THE WORST, THE WORDS ARE THE HARDEST TO WASH AWAY NO MATTER HOW HARD ONE SCRUBS. WORDS, JUST WORDS, SO HARD TO WASH AWAY."

THE FREEDOM TO TAKE AN ARMY OF PHOTOGRAPHS

2008-04-22T09:20:00.000-07:00

We probably don't spend much time thinking about our freedoms because we are free. If we see a train or a plane and feel like capturing it with a snapshot, we just snap the picture.

When we go on vacation or off on a weekend getaway, we take our cameras and film--unless we have switched to digital. We go armed to shoot an army of photos of almost anything we want to shoot. Great! Yes, it is. Those planning on going to the Olympics in China in August might want to check with the Chinese embassy about what equipment one will be permitted to take. And one can assume that briefs will be held for arriving throngs of tourists about what they can photograph and what they cannot photograph. Count on it. Does a dog howl at the moon?
How sad it would be if we had to plan our vacations around the state regulations governing vacations. But that is simply the tip of the salt mine.

What if vacations were not approved by the state? Oh, some might say, "we would protest 24 hours a day 7 days a week and 365 days a year..." And of course, that was the last we saw of them," stated Feargov Negatovkoopoff, a neighbor who was held in high-esteem in the commune because of his ability to remember small details about his neighbors and their investments before democracy was outlawed by a new President.Of course we are still enjoying democracy, but think about what it would be like if we were ruled by a dictator.........Any photos of old buildings that were abandoned and boarded would most likely be off-limits for numerous reasons. If you take a moment or two you will probably figure out what some of the reasons might be.

Thankfully, freedom to photograph old depots that have been closed since 1965 is a freedom we still enjoy. (Old depot in Central City, Colorado; photo taken in 1969)

INSIDE THE MIND OF AN ARTIST IN LOVE WITH LIFE

2008-04-21T12:57:00.000-07:00

THERE IS WITHIN THE MIND OF ARTISTS A VARIETY OF THOUGHTS THAT TRAVEL UP AND DOWN THE SPINE, EACH ONE A PASSION OF SOME KIND, EITHER ONE REMEMBERED OR ONE JUST FOUND. HOW MANY TIMES HAVE ARTISTS EMBRACED ROMANCE FOR A FINAL TIME TO FIND THAT THE ROMANCE WAS NOT THE TRANSIENT TYPE BUT ONE THAT WAS MEANT TO LAST A LIFETIME.

WAXING PHILOSOPHICAL ABOUT CHECK OUT TIME AT MOTEL SIX

2008-04-19T11:51:00.000-07:00

WORDS ARE IMPULSES, URGES, MOODS, EMOTIONS, MYSTERIOUS IMAGES IN THE SHADOWS BEFORE SUNSET OR SUNRISE; WORDS ARE NOISES, SOUNDS, VOCAL UTTERINGS AND EXERCISE, MOVEMENTS OF ARMS AND LEGS, YES--ALL OF THESE ELECTRIC CODES MOVING THROUGH FLESH AND BLOOD TO GANGLIA--NERVE ENDINGS. AND NERVE BEGININGS TOO, FOR SURE. WORDS, JUST WORDS, SOUNDS OF THE MAN AROUSED BY A WOMAN ON FIRE WITH DESIRES ONLY SATISFIED BY MATERNAL TASKS AND CHORES NOT YET KNOWN. THE SOUND OF THE WOODS IN THE DEEP OF WINTER WHEN FOOTFALLS ARE CRUNCHING AND FLATTENING NEW SNOW. ONE MIGHT WONDER IF THE TWO, SO DIFFERENT AND YET SO MUCH ALIKE, FIRST MET IN THE REFLECTING WARMTH OF A FIRELIGHT. AND WHO REACHED OUT TO DRAW THE OTHER THAT FIRST TIME? WHICH ONE READ THE RULES THAT FIRST TIME? AND WHAT DID THE OTHER SAY AFTER THE MULTIPLICATION DUTY WAS OVER? PERHAPS NO WORDS WERE SAID. INSTEAD, A LONG AND DEEP PRIMAL SCREAM COULD BE HEARD ABOUT A NOON TIME CHECK OUT HOUR, CHEATED ONCE AGAIN OF AN AFTERNOON NAP.

AN ESSAY ON THE THEORY OF ENERGY: I GET A CHARGE OUT OF LIFE

2008-04-12T11:17:00.000-07:00

THROUGH THE FENCE I SEE MORE ELECTRICITY THAN I CAN UNDERSTAND. AT FIRST GLANCE, IT MIGHT BE A BIT CONFUSING. NOT MIGHT, IT IS CONFUSING. LIFE ITSELF IS CONFUSING. BUT THAT IS ONLY MY OPINION. FOR THOSE WHO ARE NOT CURIOUS ABOUT ENERGY, LIFE IS SIMPLE AND EASY. OF COURSE, IF THEY TOUCHED ONE OR TWO OF THOSE ELEMENTS BEHIND THE FENCE, LIFE WOULD CEASE TO BE SIMPLE AND EASY, NOR WOULD THEY BE TROUBLED OR CURIOUS ABOUT ENERGY. NO THEY WOULD, MOST CERTAINLY FIND OUT ABOUT ENERGY FIRST HAND.

NOBODY SHOULD SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES OF SUCH AN ELECTRICAL CHARGE UNLESS, OF COURSE, THEY DESERVED IT. AND THAT BRINGS UP YET ANOTHER SUBJECT, THAT OF CAPITAL OR CAPITOL PUNISHMENT. EXCUSE ME! WHO AM I TO JUDGE ANOTHER? BUT IS IT OKAY TO SAY THAT I BELIEVE HITLER WAS ONE WHO SHOULD HAVE BEEN LET LOOSE BEHIND THE FENCE ABOVE IN AN ELECTRICAL STORM. BUT SOMEHOW THIS ESSAY ON ENERGY IS DIGRESSING, DRIFTING SOMEWHAT AIMLESSLY AND GOING WHERE? LET ME RETURN TO THE ORIGIN OF THIS PHOTO ESSAY. I WAS LOOKING FOR A SOMEWHAT UNIQUE PHOTO TO WRITE ABOUT. HAVE YOU EVER DONE THIS? DONE WHAT, YOU ASK? PICKED OUT A PHOTOGRAPH AND TRIED WRITING SOMETHING INTERESTING ABOUT IT, THAT'S WHAT. NO, I AM NOT SUFFERING ANY ILLUSIONS THAT THIS ESSAY IS INTERESTING, I SIMPLY HOPE IT HAS SOME ELECTRICITY SURROUNDING IT, ENOUGH TO KEEP THE READER FROM SNOOZING. YOU HAVE HEARD IT SAID THAT "...IF YOU SNOOZE, YOU LOSE" RIGHT? DO YOU BELIEVE IT? REALLY, I DON'T GIVE A RODENT'S REAR END IF YOU HAVE HEARD IT OR NOT AND I AM NOT BEING RUDE, JUST HONEST AND REALISTIC. DO YOU SUPPOSE THERE ARE MANY RATS THAT RESIDE WITHIN THE PERIMETER OF THE FENCE THAT SURROUNDS THIS POWER STATION? AND IF THERE ARE SUCH RODENTS ZIPPING ABOUT, DO YOU FEEL THAT THEY HAVE ABSORBED ANY TOXIC MINERALS IN THEIR MOLECULES? BUT HERE'S A THOUGHT I DO WANT TO SHARE SINCE IT HAS BEEN MENTIONED: RATS THAT MAY HAVE ABSORBED SUCH FOREIGN ELEMENTS MIGHT HAVE DEVELOPED A TOLERANCE (THEY ALWAYS DO) AND MIGHT, I SAY MIGHT, BECOME A SUPER RAT, A REAL BAD ASS MEAN ASS RAT THAT MIGHT DESTROY SOCIETY AND CULTURE AS WE KNOW IT NOW. WHAT? YOU SAY THAT IT COULDN'T GET MUCH WORSE. NO, NO, ONE MUST HAVE HOPE, A POSITIVE ATTITUDE FOR THERE WILL ALWAYS BE RATS AMONG US. WHO WAS IT THAT SAID THAT, "YE SHALL ALWAYS HAVE THE RATS AMONGST YE"? WHATEVER, WE KNOW WE HAVE THE POOR, THE RICH, THE FREE, THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY, SO WHAT ELSE IS NEW? HEY, I AM JUST GLAD TO BE ALIVE AND FREE AND NEITHER RICH NOR POOR, BUT SUFFICIENT ENERGY TO SURVIVE AND LOOK FORWARD TO YET ANOTHER DAY.

the day everybody decided to go to the art gallery

2008-04-12T07:16:00.000-07:00

i woke up this morning and looked out my window and saw a stream of autos filled with smiling people talking and smoking and they looked like they knew where they were going so i hurried up and fixed coffee and kept waiting for it to perk so i could have my usual cup before i started doing what i knew i would be doing and after drinking almost a full cup of that good stuff i took the freight elevator down to the lobby of the old hotel or let me say it was once an old hotel before the city almost went broke and instead of demolishing the old buildings they did what i and others had hoped they would do and that is refurbish the old buildings and turn them into lofts so i looked out the windows of the lobby and was glad the rush was not over and i would still have time to join in with them and would be able to have as much fun as the people in the cars would have after they got to where they were going.

the ladies getting tanned on South Bay Beaches

2008-03-31T10:16:00.000-07:00

those days of summer fun and South Bay ladies getting tan beside the strand with flirty eyes and alluring smiles cannot be forgotten...
the way the sun peeped out from a cloud
to tan a toe or finger...

POETRY OF THE MIND VS POETRY OF THE BODY

2008-03-03T15:12:00.000-08:00

THERE IS THAT POETRY OF FIRE AND FLAME THAT WRAPS ITSELF AROUND THE ANKLES OF THOSE WHO STAND ON BURNING EMBERS OF PASSION, BURNING AND ON FIRE, HOPING FOR THE DESIRES TO SATISFY EVERY FANCY UNDERFOOT, THEN AGAIN, AS TIME HAS PAST, THERE IS ANOTHER POEM THAT MUST BE HEARD, MUST BE SHOUTED AND REPEATED FROM HEAD TO TOE, ABOUT A LOVE SO TRUE ONE LOST ALL SENSE OF SIMPLE REALITY, ALL SENSE OF SANITY, ALL NAMES AND PLACES KIND OF MENTALITY, ALL SENSE OF THAT WHICH IS WHAT LIFE WAS AND IS NO MORE, A GLOWING REMINDER OF WHAT WAS, WHAT IS AND WHAT WOULD BE NO MORE...

A VISUAL DEFINITION OF FRENCH IMPRESSIONISM

2008-02-21T16:59:00.000-08:00

THE IMAGE ON THE RIGHT MIGHT BE CALLED AN IMPRESSION OF FRANCE BECAUSE I WAS LISTENING TO SOME FRENCH MUSIC WHILE CREATING THE DOORWAY OF A SMALL PLACE IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. THE WINE IS FRENCH OR AT LEAST THE LABEL SAYS SO. I WAS IMPRESSED BY THE DRY RED TASTE THAT PERKED MY APPETITE A BIT; IT MADE ME THINK ABOUT ORDERING A MEDIUM TO RARE KC STEAK WITH A BAKED POTATO AND SOME SOUR CREAM. THE GARLIC BREAD WITH A HARD CRUST SUMMED IT UP, MADE IT GENUINE AND LEFT A BIT OF GREASE ON MY FINGERS. IT WAS SO FRENCH, FOR SURE.

THAT OLD BIG BANG THEORY...OR...PLAY IT AGAIN, SAM

2008-02-19T08:13:00.000-08:00

THAT OLD BIG BANG THEORY, IT GROWS SO OLD AS TIME GOES BY IT WILL SOME DAY, SURELY, EXPLODE INTO A BANG THAT'S BIGGER THAN THE INITIAL ONE. BUT WHO AM I TO CRITICIZE OR POINT MY FINGER TOWARD SHAME OR ANY NAME OR NAMES AFFILIATED WITH THAT OLD EXPLOSIVE SUBJECT MATTER. A BANG'S A BANG, BY ANY STANDARD, WEIGHT OR MEASURE, AND IT'S ONLY A BIT OF MISGUIDED SEMANTICS THAT HAS CAUSED THE THEORY TO BE SLAPPED SILLY FROM ONE SIDE OF THE UNIVERSE INTO ANOTHER. AND THAT'S OKAY, I SUPPOSE. WHO KNOWS FOR SURE, ONE HUNDRED PERCENT HOW FAR THAT THEORY FLEW ONCE IT WAS LET LOOSE? AN INCH? A MILE OR BILLIONS OF LIGHT YEARS?

FURTHERMORE, IT SOMETIMES SEEMS THAT NOBODY BUT A FEW FOLKS REALLY CARES. NOW DON'T GET ME WRONG, I CARE A LOT, BUT THERE'S NOT A LOT I CAN DO BUT HOPE TO GOD THAT TRUTH PROVES TO BE WHAT I THINK, THAT ALL THIS MATTER AND ALL THIS MIGHT WAS CREATED ON PURPOSE AND NOT BY MISTAKE. IF THE WAYS OF THE SEASONS, THE MEMORIES I HAVE, ARE HELD IN PLACE, HELD IN ESTEEM, THE KIND I HAVE CALLED OH, SO DIVINE, NOT THOSE THAT EXPLODED IN A SECOND OR LESS, A KIND OF MISTAKE THAT GREW OUT OF HAND. IF SUCH WERE THE CASE, WE WOULD BE THE LOST PLANET HEADED FOR WHERE? NO, THAT BIG BANG THEORY HAS GOT TO BE ONE BIG MISTAKE.

WHEN LIFE BECOMES A MAZE

2008-02-16T18:44:00.000-08:00

WHEN LIFE BECOMES A MAZE, TOO COMPLEX TO FIND ANYTHING THAT WORKS JUST RIGHT, IT MIGHT BE TIME TO SELL THE ODD REMOTES AND ALL THE WEIRD AND FOREVER BLINKING LCD THINGS THAT CHEAT US OF A NORMAL SIMPLE SWITCH AND FLIP KIND OF LIFE BUT KEEP THE BATTERIES JUST IN CASE THERE MIGHT BE A CHANGE OF MIND SOMEDAY, SOMEDAY, SOMEDAY, JUST A CHANGE OF MIND, JUST A CHANGE OF, JUST A CHANGE, JUST A CHANGE, SOMEDAY, KEEP THE, JUST A CHEAT, NORMAL KEEP THE CHANGE, SOMEDAY, SOMEDAY, BATTERIES, BATTERIES, BATTERIES, JUST, A SOMEDAY, SOMEDAY, SOMEDAY, IN CASE, SOMEDAY, JUST

2008-02-10T05:03:00.003-08:00

2008-02-10T05:03:00.001-08:00

ESSAY ON PHOTOS VS. WATERCOLOR PAINTINGS

2008-02-08T17:34:00.000-08:00

THERE IS A DIVISION DEEP DOWN IN MY SOUL AND UP INSIDE MY BRAIN; IT'S ALL ABOUT COLORS AND LINES, SHADOWS AND LIGHT, DISTANCE AND CLOSE-UP SCENES. IT'S ALL ABOUT ART, AN EMOTIONAL PART OF MY MIND AND SOUL THAT HAS KEPT ME DREAMING FOR YEARS OF THE TIME WHEN I WOULD HAVE TIME TO PAINT THIS AND THAT, TIME TO TAKE PHOTOS OF THIS AND THAT. IN DUE TIME, THE BIBLE WILL BE READ AGAIN. IT IS THERE AND I SEE IT; I FEEL IT CALLING ME TO OPEN THE PAGES. WHY? I DON'T HAVE THE ANSWER TO HOW TO MAKE THE WORLD A SAFER AND MORE PEACEFUL PLACE AND I WONDER IF I COULD HAVE? HOW MANY WONDER ABOUT WHAT THEY MIGHT HAVE DONE? PRAISE GOD FOR THIS LIFE. WHERE WOULD I HAVE BEEN IF I HAD NEVER BEEN BORN? THAT IS ANOTHER QUESTION THAT MAKES ME IRRITABLE. DO I FEEL I SHOULD KNOW ALL? NOT REALLY, BUT MORE ABOUT LIFE...THAN I DO. WOULD I HAVE CHANGED A DAY IF I KNEW THEN WHAT I KNOW NOW? WHO CAN ANSWER SUCH A QUESTION. WE KNOW THAT SUCH A CHOICE WOULD HAVE PREVENTED THE GENERATIONS TO FOLLOW GENERATIONS. DID GOD KNOW THIS ALL ALONG, LONG BEFORE THE WORLD WAS MADE? HOW FAR BACK CAN WE KNOW THAT GOD WAS? IF WE CAN THINK THAT FAR BACK, THEN HE WAS. AND WHAT WILL WE BE DOING AFTER THIS LIFE? THAT IS A QUESTION MOST PEOPLE NEVER ASK THEMSELVES WITH THEIR EYES CLOSED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT UNTIL THEY GET OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT IMMORTALITY DOES NOT EXIST FOR US UNTIL SOMETIME AND IN SOME OTHER PLACE.

SO, WHICH IS BEST, A PHOTO OR A WATER COLOR? DETAILS NEED ATTENTION IN WATER COLORS. THE WASHES ARE ALWAYS LACKING PERFECTION. NEVER IS AN ARTIST TOTALLY SATISFIED WITH A WORK CREATED BY ONE'S OWN HAND. BUT A CAMERA, THAT IS A DIFFERENT STORY. IF A PICTURE OF A MOUNTAIN RANGE IS IMPERFECT, IT IS NEITHER THE ARTIST'S FAULT OR THE CAMERA'S FAULT. THE ARTIST CREATED NEITHER THE CAMERA OR THE SCENE, THUS HE HAS NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR PERFECTION. AND ONE WHO IS AN ARTIST IS USUALLY HESITANT TO CRITICIZE THE CREATOR'S WORK.

THE SCREAMING MUNCHKIN FROM NORWAY

2008-02-08T01:51:00.000-08:00

THERE IS A MASTERPIECE, AN OIL ON CANVAS KIND OF PAINTING THAT WILL LINGER ON IN ONE'S MIND IF THEY WILL LET IT--IT'S THAT KIND OF ART. SCREAM AND SHOUT AND RUN AWAY, THE MUNCHKIN IN THE PICTURE WON'T GO AWAY, THE MUNCHKIN IS SAFE AND SOUND SOMEWHERE IN NORWAY.

THE OLD YATES STORE

2008-02-08T00:33:00.000-08:00

YATES STORE BEFORE IT WAS REMODELED BACK IN 1955

PROCESSING VISUAL SENSES TO THE ABSTRACT

2008-02-06T17:12:00.000-08:00

EXPLAINING HOW IMAGES OF COMPLEX BEAUTY CAN BE CAPTURED AND TURNED INTO A PHOTOGRAPH IS NOT A SIMPLE TASK FOR ME; ANY QUESTIONS OR EXPLANATIONS I MIGHT BE ASKED TO ANSWER OR ILLUSTRATE MIGHT STRESS MY TECHNICAL ABILITIES BEYOND REPAIR. IF I CANNOT REMEMBER ALL THE ELEMENTS AND T

YOKOHAMA WATERFRONT AND OLD BOATS IN 1963

2008-02-06T14:08:00.000-08:00

THESE OLD BOATS WERE FROM AN ERA LONG BEFORE THE WAR WAS OVER OR BEGAN. THEY WERE AN ODD SIGHT, NOT REALLY FISHING BOATS, BUT MORE LIKE HARBOR TUGS OF SORTS, THE KIND THAT LEAD, TOW AND GUIDE LARGE SHIPS JUST LAUNCHED TO THE CHANNEL DEEP SO THEY COULD GO TO FARAWAY AND DISTANT BASES, PLACES WITH DUTCH NAMES. THE FLAG FLYING THEN MUCH DIFFERENT THAN THE ONE ABOVE THEIR MEGA VESSELS OF THIS TIME AND PLACE

SOME SONGS AND TUNES YOU'LL NEVER FORGET

2008-01-31T10:29:00.000-08:00

TODAY DOESN'T LAST LONG; TODAY IS LIKE A SONG AND BEFORE YOU KNOW IT, IT IS GONE. YOU KEEP HUMMING THE MELODY FOR A LONG, LONG TIME UNTIL YOU THINK YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN THE TUNE ALTOGETHER, AND THEN YOU HEAR OR SEE SOMETHING THAT REMINDS YOU OF THE SONG AND IT SEEMS ONLY LIKE YESTERDAY.

THE ISSUE OF HESITATION ABOUT THE FINAL DESTINATION

2008-01-31T09:27:00.000-08:00

Just because the wheels are turning doesn't mean you're going anywhere different than where you've been before. The best way to find out where you're headed is to look in the rear-view mirror and see where you have been. If you don't like where you're headed, you have a choice to stop and get out; you can put it in reverse and waste more time going back to where you started from. Or you can continue on and hope you like your final destination. Figure out your own plans well in advance just in case you might want to make some preliminary changes.

REMEMBERING THE STREETCARS OF YOKOHAMA...

2008-01-29T19:33:00.000-08:00

HAVE YOU EVER HAD A MOMENT WHEN YOU KNEW YOU WERE WATCHING A TIME FRAME THAT YOU WOULD RECALL TIME AND AGAIN? THOUGH AT THE TIME, THERE MIGHT NOT HAVE BEEN ANYTHING SPECIFIC THAT WAS AKIN TO A THUNDEROUS AWAKENING OR AN ENLIGHTENMENT FROM ON HIGH? IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN YOU'LL UNDERSTAND WHY ON A CERTAIN SATURDAY NIGHT ALMOST FIFTY YEARS AGO I STOOD ALONE ON A YOKOHAMA STREET, A BRICK STREET NEAR THE BUND AND SAW THE STREETCARS OF YOKOHAMA SPEEDING THROUGH THE JAPANESE NIGHT, LEAVING THE PAST BEHIND, SPARKS FLASHING ON THE LATTICE WORK OF ELECTRIC WIRES ABOVE THE BRICKS, THE FACES OF A THOUSAND JAPANESE SEEN THROUGH THE WINDOWS, SPEEDING ON TOWARD THE FUTURE, LEAVING THE PAST BEHIND. I WATCHED AND WAITED, I LISTENED TO THE SOUND OF HISTORY IN MY MIND, THEY WERE ALL AROUND ME, IN THE OLD BUILDINGS FROM TURN OF THE CENTURY; THERE WERE THE EMBASSIES IN EMBASSY ROW, QUIET AND ASLEEP, THE SMELL OF CURRY RICE, THE ECHO OF THE CLICKING ABOVE THE BRICK, THE SPARKS FLASHING, CLATTERING, THE HOLLOW SOUNDS OF A NIGHT THAT ENDED BEFORE IT BEGAN. ALONE THEN FOR A FEW MORE MONTHS THEN ALL WOULD CHANGE FOR FIFTEEN MONTHS THEN CHANGE AGAIN FOR A LIFETIME. TIME LINES, SOME PLACES IN TIME WE REMEMBER BECAUSE OF REASONS YET TO BE EXPLAINED UNTIL YEARS LATER WHEN ALL IS VERY CLEAR, EVEN THE SOUNDS THE STREETCARS OF YOKOHAMA MAKE AFTER NEARLY FIFTY YEARS.

WHEN THE HORIZON IS OFF-CENTER AND IT'S JUST NOT RIGHT

2008-01-29T19:07:00.000-08:00

IT WAS TOO FAST, TOO QUICK AND FOR THAT, I AM SORRY. SORRY ABOUT WHAT, THE SUNSET? NO, BUT I MIGHT AS WELL BE. WHY? WHY? CAN'T YOU TELL! I MEAN IT IS MUCH TOO SLOPPY, THE COLORS RAN AND THE HORIZON IS OFF CENTER, ROUNDED LIKE THE EARTH INSTEAD OF FLAT LIKE A MAP. WELL, WHAT THE HECK, WHO IS PERFECT ANYWAY? NO, DON'T ANSWER THAT, I KNOW THE ANSWER. THAT I'M NOT IS OKAY, BUT THE NEXT WATERCOLOR WILL HAVE TO BE BETTER OR I WILL BECOME SO DEPRESSED THAT I WILL...WILL STOP PAINTING, OKAY? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED TO HEAR? THAT'S IT, RIGHT. YES, THAT'S RIGHT. NOW, NOBODY WILL HAVE TO LOOK AT EACH NEW WORK OR WORD OR ANYTHING. THAT'S RIGHT, GO AND READ OLD BOOKS, LOOK AT OLD PHOTOS AND SUFFER ALL THE PAIN OF THE UNIVERSE. THERE YOU GO AGAIN, WAXING SILLYOPHILOSOPHICAL. SO, STOP PAINTING, STOP WONDERING ABOUT THE MEANING OF MEANINGS. NOW, THAT'S A NEW ONE, WONDERING ABOUT THE MEANINGS OF MEANINGS. TO HECK WITH IT. I'M JUST THANKFUL THAT I HAD THE CHANCE TO BE HERE AWHILE. LIKE FROST SAID ABOUT LIFE, "it's much better than the alternative." YES, IT IS GOOD TO BE HERE.

THE GOLDEN AGE OF THE SOUTH BAY BEACH TOWNS

2008-01-28T10:37:00.000-08:00

WHAT WAS THEN WILL NEVER BE AGAIN. SUCH IS LIFE AS IT WAS MEANT TO BE BECAUSE TIME CANNOT BE STOPPED. THE TONS OF CONCRETE REVOLVING LIKE THE EARTH ON ITS AXIS, THE BIG TRUCK DUMPED IT ON THE SHORE, THE BEACH AND OVER OLD PIER PARTS, OLD FOUNDATIONS WHERE SPAGHETTI RESTAURANTS AND KOSHER MARKETS WERE SIDE BY SIDE, OLD WORLD CONVERSATIONS ON OLD BENCHES, ON OLD FOUNDATIONS, OLD PIERS WHERE SPAGHETTI RESTAURANTS AND KOSHER MARKETS WERE BEGUN BY OLD WORLD IMMIGRANTS. IN TIME THE OLD WORLD LANGUAGES, CAFES AND MARKETS WERE GONE, DISAPPEARED ALONG THE BEACH TOWNS FROM SANTA MONICA AND VENICE TO MANHATTAN BEACH, REDONDO BEACH AND HERMOSA BEACH, ALL THE LITTLE SOUTH BAY CITIES THAT SURRENDERED TO THE CONCRETE COMPANIES, REAL ESTATE SCHEMES AND OTHER CITY LAWS UNWRAPPED OR TOSSED INTO THE DEEP BEYOND THE SHELF. IT WAS OVER; IT HAD BEEN KIND OF LIKE THE GOLDEN AGE OF THE BEACH CITIES. THEY ARE GONE NOW AND ARE REMEMBERED BY NAMES ONLY BY A FEW ARTISTS AND BARTENDERS, A FEW GROCERS AND SHOPKEEPERS, A FEW WRINKLED AND CRINKLED SURFERS, A GENERATION OF BABES ALMOST GONE NOW. YOUR RELATIVES AND MINE LOST IN TIME. THOSE PIN-UP LADIES WHO FIRST WORE THE BIKINIS OF THE 50S, THE HOT BLONDE AUNTS. AND HARRY THE LIQUOR STORE OWNER GRINS, STILL SMOKING HIS CIGAR, SOMEWHERE. IT WAS A DIFFERENT KIND OF SUNSHINE THEN.

THE WILL BEHIND LIONBERGER'S AUTO PARTS CALENDAR

2008-01-28T05:13:00.000-08:00

The difference between love and all of the other emotions waits quite often until death calls the family members together to see

who got what and how soon it will be delivered. I recall when an uncle

died in 1984. Betty said there was no will; she has, I have heard, gone to get her due reward. She sent my daughter a blue velvet dress from Hawaii with a chuckle she didn't think I heard. It was the same jealous giggle I had heard in the family room at the funeral held in August of that year. Her snicker came shortly after the recording of "In the Garden." Some call it "He Walks With Me." She had what she thought was the last laugh, especially when her husband delivered the wheelbarrow full of rusty tools from his trunk to my driveway with a strange expression on his face. Among the rusty tools, nuts and bolts was a wooden box full of old clay pots, some cracked, some with soil so hard it had almost petrified, like a smile on a dead persons face we can't see once the lid of the casket closes for the final time. Or so some might think...for the final time. I never touched the rusty tools, not once, just buried them between the western wall and the eastern gate to wait and see what might spring up through the soil someday. The flower pots, I sensed were not meant to be my inheritance, but I accepted them with glee and shook Rick's hand. She would have to buy another dozen or two to start another season of her special perrywinkles and lilies of the valley that won her ribbons. She never called to ask for their return. I use them to get my ivy and special marigolds a good start each spring. I guess Betty never knew Uncle Jim had told me where the will was long before he died. It was, if anyone might want to know, behind the calendar from Lionberger's Auto Parts. Rest in Peace, Betty, dear. What did you tell Uncle Jim about the will, or did he even have to ask?

UNIVERSAL TRUTHS MIXED UP BY TOO MUCH CURIOSITY

2008-01-26T10:16:00.000-08:00

THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT STAIRWAYS WITH SHADOWS BENEATH THAT REMIND ME OF ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER PLACE, LONG BEFORE THIS LIFE, LONG BEFORE MY BIRTHDAY. COULD I HAVE BEEN IN STORAGE, MY MIND NURTURED BY GRAIN DUST? OR IS THIS SIMPLY INSANE TO LET MY CURIOSITY TAKE ME TO HEIGHTS OF NEW DIMENSIONS ONLY TO HIDE MY PATH WITH SHADOWS, TO KEEP THE TRUTH FROM LETTING ME KNOW WHEN AND WHERE THIS VOID MIGHT HAVE BEEN? IS THERE A REMOTE CHANCE THAT WHAT I BELIEVE TO BE THE PAST IS THE FUTURE? IF THAT IS TRUE, WHAT AM I DOING HERE? AND YOU ARE FROM THE FUTURE THEN? OR SHOULD I ASK, FROM THE PAST, SAVED FOR SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE? PERHAPS THIS IS A SIMPLE PIECE OF DREAM MACHINERY GONE WRONG, MIXED UP WITH TIME MACHINES, PERHAPS NOT.

BACK ON THE RIVER ONE MORE TIME

2008-01-25T10:25:00.000-08:00

I WOULD LIKE TO BE BACK ON THE RIVER AGAIN, IF ONLY FOR JUST ONE MORE TIME, AWAY FROM THE CONCRETE WORLD OF COMMERCE AND CIVIC AFFAIRS, AWAY FROM THE TRAFFIC LIGHTS AND BLANK STARES OF PASSERSBY MET ALONG THE SIDEWALKS, AWAY FROM THE SIRENS AND PANIC ATTACKS OF ANCHOR MEN AND WOMEN LYING TO MY CHILDREN TIME AND AGAIN, AWAY FROM THE LEAD-PAINTED TOYS SENT TO SABATOGE A GENERATION'S MIND AND BODY, AWAY, AWAY, BACK ON THE RIVER WHERE MY MIND TRAVELED AT ANOTHER TIME, BACK ON THE RIVER, DOWNSTREAM THIS TIME, BACK ON THE RIVER AND DOWN TO NEW ORLEANS BEFORE IT WAS SOMETHING IT BECAME MORE THAN WHAT IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN, MORE THAN WHAT IT WAS PLANNED TO BE...

THE SIMPLE THINGS IN LIFE ARE VERY SPECIAL

2008-01-23T21:03:00.000-08:00

THE SIMPLE THINGS IN LIFE ARE THOSE ITEMS THAT ARE ASSOCIATED WITH THE SEASONS

A clay pot resting on a porch swing, what kind of seed is sleeping deep inside the earth and is it dreaming about next spring? Does the swinging motion create a kind of rhythm, a kind of hope for a new life when the sun shines again in March? A question or two might arise, but that's okay.

ON RUGS, RINGS, LIFE, DEATH AND THE SANTA FE RAILROAD

2008-01-23T19:19:00.000-08:00

SOONER OR LATER I WILL FIND OUT WHAT MAKES A GOOD RUG GREAT OR THE REASONS WHY SOME RUGS ARE SOLD THE FIRST DAY THEY ARE DISPLAYED AT THE STATION WHERE THE AMTRACK STOPS TWICE A DAY. ONCE EAST AND ONCE WEST, IT'S BETTER HEADING WEST, THE RUGS SEEN ON THE WESTERN JOURNEY SEEM BEST, AT LEAST TO ME, BUT NONE ARE AS GOOD AS THEY WERE WHEN IT WAS THE SANTA FE INSTEAD OF AMTRACK THAT STOPPED LONG ENOUGH TO FIND THE BEST TURQUOISE RING FOR THE PRICE. BUT HOW CAN A RING, OR A RUG, OR ANYTHING, REALLY, BE JUDGED BY THE PRICE? SURE, I COULD SAY IT WAS ALL RELEVANT; THAT'S THE ANSWER I RECALL GETTING ANYTIME I HAD A QUESTION THE PROFESSOR COULDN'T ANSWER. THAT WAS SO LONG AGO, LIKE THE TRAIN CALLED THE SANTA FE. THE TIME WILL COME WHEN THE LAST PASSENGER THAT RODE THE SANTA FE WILL BE DEAD AND GONE. THE PROFESSORS TOO. GONE? GONE WHERE? LET SIMPLY SAY DEAD AND LEAVE THE WHEREABOUTS ALONE. IF I COULD ANSWER WHERE THEY WENT I WOULD KNOW PRECISELY THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN RUGS AND RINGS AND WHAT IT IS THAT MAKES IT SO. ONE WOULD THINK WE WOULD KNOW BY NOW, CONSIDERING HOW MUCH MORE WE KNOW THAN OUR GREAT AUNTS AND UNCLES KNEW. BUT WHAT ABOUT THE INDIANS WHO MADE THE RUGS AND RINGS? ARTISTS ARE THE LAST TO RECEIVE THE RECOGNITION AND ACCOLADES

A PICASSO KIND OF SUMMER AND IT'S OVER

2008-01-23T16:41:00.000-08:00

IT WAS A PICASSO KIND OF SUMMER AND NOW IT'S OVER. SOME COLORS WERE TOO BRIGHT FOR THE SUBJECT, SOME MUCH TOO DIM. IT WILL BE SUMMER AGAIN, SOMETIME, SOMEDAY, BUT WILL IT BE THE SAME, OR JUST A SHADE TOO COOL?

SOME OF THE TUBES ARE EMPTY NOW, THEIR CAPS GONE, LOST, FOREVER OUT OF SIGHT, LIKE A STARFISH PICKED UP AND TOSSED BACK...

DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE THE OREGON HOTEL MIGHT BE?

2008-01-19T18:39:00.000-08:00

IF THAT ISN'T THE MOST MORONIC QUESTION I'VE EVER ASKED IN QUEST TO BE LITERARY IN MY OWN UNIQUE WAY I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO SAY. BEST TO LEAVE OLD HOTELS ALONE, THE CHARM IS LONG GONE, THE TENANTS WHO KNEW ANYTHING WORTH SHARING LONG DEAD, SO WHAT ELSE MATTERS? SURE THE NAME MIGHT SEEM ROMANTIC FOR ANYONE WHO STOPPED IN WYOMING AND

LOOKED FOR AN APPRENTICE POSITION AS A JUNIOR COWBOY, BUT THAT'S ABOUT AS FAR WEST AS MOST THIRSTY DRIFTERS WOULD GO, DRIFTING WEST ANYWAY. HOW WOULD AND HOW COULD ANYBODY BUT A BUM END UP IN A DUMP CALLED THE OREGON HOTEL FOR SIX BUCKS A NIGHT? THERE WAS LOTS OF ROOM FOR NEGOTIATIONS, BE SURE ABOUT THAT. ONE THIN SURPLUS ARMY BLANKET WITH SEVENTEEN MOTH HOLES AND A SINK WORN SMOOTH BY YEARS OF PREVIOUS TRANSIENT'S FLESH SAVING MONEY SKIPPING A STOOL THAT FLUSHED CAMELS CIGARETTE BUTTS DOWN THE PIPES FOR A FINAL CRUISE DOWN THE SEWER RIVER. SPELL OREGON WITHOUT SKIPPING TOWN .

THE LEGEND OF THAT OLD GOLD STAR MOTHER

2008-01-18T08:43:00.000-08:00

That old home back in the woods was there for years and I took it for granted that it would be there forever so I never missed it, really, just looked at it in every season and felt good because I knew it belonged to a widow lady up in age who no longer gardened but sat beside the big west window and watched the world change the way it has, the wars won, the war lost in 1972, the others tied, the thousands who died for no reasons like a Pearl Harbor kind of war. There was the two gold stars in the west window; they finally dimmed, even in the sunsets they stop reflecting. There was the gold someone said she had since her husband died and where she kept it nobody knew and there were other things said about the woman who sat beside that west window keeping her own notes on neighborhood payments to keep lights on,and those writing letters to old friends before they died, before the internet made ballpoint pens obsolete. Somebody said her sons were killed by snipers, the eldest while reading a letter from his girlfriend beneath a palm tree somewhere in some south seas islands called the Solomons, Tulagi was its name.The other son,the second son,the younger of the two, died from a single sniper bullet that struck him right between his eyes. Killed in the Philippines where he was arming Hucks with 45s,though they far preferred their machetes for close-up and hand-to-hand and just killing, killing, killing. Yes,alive until a single bullet hit him right between his eyes. The body never came back. Purple Hearts were delivered by two tall Marines, so they say. That old home was not always in the woods I've heard. There was a street with lanes and the water mains were in with plans for a suburban project planned, then she backed out time and again,so many times the city finally left her alone considering her grief and everything. That house is gone now; it's been gone for nearly ten years. I know she must have died back then, nearly one hundred years old I'm told and I know that's right because I've done the math on things and times like life and death so many times before.

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BEATNIKS AND DEADHEADS

2008-01-18T07:10:00.000-08:00

POTTED PLANTS ON THE TABLE WE BROUGHT ACROSS THE BORDER ENJOY HEARING OUR CASUAL RECALL ABOUT HOW WE WERE PULLED ASIDE TO SEE IF WE WERE TRYING TO HIDE MATCHING CHAIRS WITHOUT A DECLARATION OF OUR LAZY KIND OF LIFESTYLE BACK THEN WHEN MUSTANGS DIVIDED THE INTELLECT BETWEEN POETS IN CONVERTIBLES AND WRITERS ASLEEP IN PSYCHEDELIC VOLKSWAGEN VANS AND BUSES PAINTED PURPLE AND GREEN WITH PEACE SIGNS THAT WERE MISTAKEN FOR LUXURY AUTO LOGOS.

A MERRY-GO-ROUND POEM

2008-01-18T06:15:00.000-08:00

ARE WE THE ONLY ONES ABOARD?

A MERRY-GO-ROUND , THE MOTION, THE MUSIC, THE MEMORIES. TO BE ON THE MERRY-GO-ROUND JUST ONE MORE TIME, ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER PLACE, WHEN YOU WERE YOUNGER THAN I AND I WAS YOUNGER THAN YOU, DAUGHTER, WIFE AND LOVERS ONE AND ALL LONG GONE, WHILE YOU REMAIN, SPINNING WITH ME FOR ONE MORE DAY AT A TIME. AROUND AND AROUND, FOREVER GOING, SPINNING, YET NEVER QUITE ARRIVING AT WHEREVER WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE FOR MORE CARNIVAL AND LIFETIME FUN. THE MUSIC PLAYS AGAIN AND AGAIN, HOLLOW SOUNDS IN HOLLOW HORSES HEADING RIGHT AND AROUND AND ROUND. WHY MUST THIS MERRY GO ROUND EVER STOP? WHO SAID IT WOULD OR IS IT ONLY RUMOR? THE MUSIC THRILLS MY SOUL, AND YOURS? DO YOU LIKE CALIOPE MUSIC OF THIS SORT? OR IS IT TOO CARNIVAL, TOO MUCH FUN FOR YOUR MIND? WHO IS THAT GHASTLY AND GHOSTLY FIGURE WITH THE CHISEL? THE NOISE FROM THE CONSTANT BANGING, CHIPS OF GRANITE AND MARBLE FLYING, A RINGING HOLLOW SOUND, A KIND OF FINAL MELODY, NO HYMN OR DIRGE, A CIRCUS MARCH OR MILITARY PARADE MUSIC. WE ARE MOVING UP AND DOWN LIKE WE DID WHEN WE WERE HERE BEFORE. WHERE ARE WE NOW IF WE AREN'T HERE? KEEP CHISLING IF HE MUST BUT BIRTHDATES ONLY, LEAVE THE OTHERS BLANK.

GRANDMOTHER WOULD BE SORRY THERE IS NO PALESTINE

2008-01-10T15:56:00.000-08:00

GRANDMOTHER'S FONDEST WISH WAS TO SEE THE HOLY LAND SOMEDAY BEFORE SHE PASSED AWAY. BORN IN THE 1880S, HER VIEW OF THE LAND EVERYONE CALLED PALESTINE WAS QUITE A CONTRAST TO WHAT HAS TAKEN PLACE SINCE THE DAY SHE DIED IN 1963. OLD SUNDAY SCHOOL PICTURES OF A HOLY AND PEACEFUL PLACE WERE IMAGES SHE CONSIDERED SACRED IN HER DAY AND LIKE THOSE OF HER GENERATION, SHE NEVER REALLY KNEW THERE WAS NO PLACE CALLED PALESTINE, EVEN AFTER BALFOUR AND A FEW OTHERS SIGNED SOME PAPERS THAT CHANGED OPINIONS AND WORLD HISTORY IN A MOST FATALISTIC AND UNREALISTIC WAY.

NO LONGER SECRET BUT STILL SPECTACULAR

2008-01-05T05:37:00.000-08:00

AMERICA'S B-2 BOMBERS , SKY
SCULPTURES , A KIND OF SORT OF SECRET ABSTRACT SKY ART EXHIBIT. MORE THAN MERE ELEMENTARY MOBILES TO SERVE AS SECRET STEALTH EXAMPLES, THESE LETHAL AND LOVELY SHAPES THAT FLY HIGH AND LOW ARE ALWAYS ARMED AND READY TO GO . WHEN AND WHERE THEY GO NOBODY BUT THE PRESIDENT AND A FEW AIR FORCE GENERALS KNOW.

2008-01-04T15:31:00.000-08:00

THIS BIG BLUE WINDOW IS NOT IN PARIS

THIS PICTURE WASN'T TAKEN ANYWHERE

NEAR FRANCE OR ON THE CONTINENT WHERE GRADUATES ONCE WENT FOR THEIR FIRST GRAND TOUR. IT'S NOT IN JAPAN, BUT THE TREE WAS A DEAD GIVEAWAY WITH SPACE ON ALMOST ANY TOKYO STREET SELLING FOR ALMOST A MILLION YEN FOR ONE SQUARE FOOT OR LESS. BUT WHERE IT IS ISN'T WHAT MAKES EVERYONE ON THE STREET BELOW STARE UP AT THE BIG BLUE WINDOW, IT'S WHAT HAPPENS ALMOST EVERY NIGHT WHEN THE WINDOW SHADES ARE RELEASED FOR ALL TO SEE WHAT'S INSIDE THAT IS SO SECRET IN THE DAYLIGHT. YOU SEE, BESIDE THE TREE THERE IS A BENCH MADE OF IRON WHERE PEOPLE REST AND TALK, LAUGH AND POINT AT THE BLUE WINDOW JUST BEFORE THE SUNSET. VENDORS WITH WAGONS LOADED DOWN WITH SODA POP AND SALTED PEANUTS, POPCORN AND CANDY WAIT ANXIOUSLY FOR THE SUN'S FINAL RAY TO DISAPPEAR BEHIND THE CITY SKYLINE. LADDERS ARE NOT ALLOWED. AND CLIMBING THE TREE HAS BEEN AGAINST ALL CITY REGULATIONS SINCE THE SUMMER OF 04; EVERYONE KNOWS WHY BUT THAT'S ANOTHER STORY WHICH REMINDS OF ANOTHER CITY WHERE BLUE WINDOWS HAVE BEEN STRICTLY AGAINST ALL CITY AND COUNTY REGULATIONS SINCE...

HOTEL ROOM OUT WEST 1960S STYLE

2008-01-04T13:30:00.000-08:00

I JUST FIGURED OUT I'M STILL A REGISTERED GUEST IN SOME OLD HOTEL ROOM OUT WEST. I FOUND THE ROOM RECEIPT AND THE KEY IN THE BOTTOM OF AN OLD SUITCASE. I FEEL PRETTY FOOLISH NOW, BECAUSE IN THE TOP RIGHT HAND CORNER OF THE ROOM RECEIPT THERE'S A SPACE MARKED NUMBER OF GUESTS. THERE'S A CHECK MARK IN THE SPACE MARKED "TWO." WHAT BOTHERS ME IS MY MEMORY; TRY AS I MIGHT, I CAN'T REMEMBER WHO THAT SECOND GUEST WAS, BUT THERE'S ANOTHER CHECK, BESIDE THE WORDS "DEPOSITED ONE DOLLAR FOR A SECOND KEY."

JADE CAT AND GOLDEN LAMP

2008-01-02T18:24:00.000-08:00

THE TWO HAVE BEEN TOGETHER FOR MANY SEASONS, THE GOLDEN LAMP AND
WIDE-EYED CAT OF
JADE.
IT IS A MOST COMPATIBLE AFFAIR, A PERFECT AND MOST CONGENIAL RELATIONSHIP.

CONTEMPLATING THE ELEMENTS OF DESIGN

2008-01-02T14:49:00.000-08:00

CONTEMPLATING A FEW ELEMENTS OF DESIGN

USE OF SOME COMMON SENSE WHEN

DISCUSSING THE CREATION OF ANY KIND OF IMAGE OR DESIGN OF VISUAL

ENTERTAINMENT THAT WILL BE KIND

TO OUR SENSES IN RESPECT TO ALL

WHO WILL BE LOOKING INSIDE OF OUR HEARTS AND MINDS TO SEE WHAT TYPE OF THINGS, SHAPES AND COLORS MOTIVATE OUR TALENTS TO ILLUSTRATE WHAT WE ARE ALL ABOUT, HEART, HANDS, EYES AND SOUL

WHILE HITCH-HIKING ACROSS CONNECTICUT

2008-01-01T19:07:00.000-08:00

AGAIN, TIME CANNOT BE DENIED, IT IS SO MUCH A PART OF ALL WE WERE THEN AND WHAT WE BECAME AND WHERE THOSE OF US STILL HERE WILL BE. ISN'T IT FUNNY THAT WE ASSUME WE CAN DELAY TIME
BY KEEPING OUT OF SIGHT IN TIMES SQUARE AT MIDNIGHT OR ANYTIME? REALLY. WHY WAS I HEADED THERE? TO SEARCH OUT RESTAURANTS IN TIMES SQUARE ? NO, IT WAS CURIOSITY, A TRAVELING KIND OF LUST, REALLY.TIMES SQUARE? IT WAS WHERE I ENDED UP AFTER A FULL DAY
OF HITCHING RIDES FROM SOME TOWN SOMEWHERE UP IN THE NORTHERN PART
OF CONNECTICUT AROUND SALMON BROOK AND SOUTH, IN AND AROUND DANBURY TO NORWALK, THEN STAMFORD. THAT'S WHEN SOME MAN NAMED MARVIN IN A STUDEBAKER TRUCK PICKED ME UP IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, IF THERE IS SUCH A PLACE BACK EAST ANYMORE. LIKE STUDEBAKER TRUCKS, NOWHERE PLACES ARE EQUALLYAS RARE. PEOPLE ARE EVERYWHERE. MARVIN TALKED ABOUT THE KOREAN WAR AND HOW YOUNG I LOOKED WITH ONLY ONE DECADE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN OUR AGES. IT WAS SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT, FOR SURE. HE SAID THAT WAR WAS HELL AND KOREA WAS WHERE HE FROZE BOTH EARS. HE WAS BORN IN 1932. ME? A MONTH AFTER PEARL HARBOR HARBOR. HOW MANY MEN HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT HOW THE YEAR YOUR WERE BORN DECIDES WHICH WAR YOU'LL BE IN. HE SAID HE WISHED HE HAD BEEN BORN IN 1922 BECAUSE THE SOUTH SEAS WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER FOR HIS EARS. HE WANTED TO STOP OFF SOMEWHERE TO BUY A BOTTLE BUT I GAVE HIM A SIP FROM MY FIFTH . "NO," I TOLD HIM, "NEVER BEEN TO NEW YORK BEFORE," I SAID. "CONNECTICUT WAS QUITE ENOUGH FOR ONE DAY. MARVIN SEEMED TO KNOW HIS WAYAROUND TIMES SQUARE LIKE THE BACK OF HIS HAND. "WAS I HEADING THERE TO SEE SOME KIND OF SHOW? DID I KNOW THE LEGAL AGE FOR DRINKING IS EIGHTEEN?," HE ASKED. "I KNOW." I SAID AND MENTIONED MY PLANS TO STOP AT THE PEPPERMINT LOUNGE. WHY HADN'T I TAKEN A BUS? IT WAS TOO COMPEX TO TELL HIM THAT I WAS ON LEAVE AND IT HAD TO DO WITH FREE PLANE RIDES ON MILITARY AIRCRAFT AND SPACE AVAILABLE, NOTHING MORE AND NOTHING LESS...I THANKED MARVIN, TOOK A LOOK IN A MAGAZINE STAND OR TWO, ATE SPAGHETTI IN A GREEK RESTAURANT AND FOUND A CHEAP HOTEL ROOM WITH NO BATH EXCEPT THE ONE AT THE END OF THE HALL. FROM MY WINDOW I COULD SEE TIMES SQUARE. SO THIS WAS NEW YORK. I HEARD PEOPLE WALKING AROUND ALL NIGHT. SOME WERE IN THE HALLWAY OUTSIDE MY DOOR; MOST WERE SEEN MILLING AROUND IN NEWS STANDS. I WONDER WHY PEOPLE WANT TO SPEND NEW YEARS EVE THERE?

HOW MANY YEARS HAVE PASSED?

2008-01-01T09:05:00.000-08:00

HOW MANY YEARS HAVE PASSED SINCE WE MET AT THAT OLD PIER BY CHANCE? IT WAS A SUMMER KIND OF ROMANCE, ONE WE KNEW WOULD NOT LAST. YOU WERE FROM SOME LITTLE LAKE TOWN DOWN IN UPSTATE NEW YORK AND YOU ASKED ME WHY I DECIDED TO SPEND TIME IN BAR HARBOR, MAINE. YOU LAUGHED WHEN I TOLD YOU I HAD NEVER HAD LOBSTER WITH A MAINE BAKED POTATO OR WRITTEN A BEST SELLER. YOUR EYES SPARKLED LIKE THE STARS WE SAW AS WE LINGERED AND STAYED ON THAT RICKETY OLD PIER. WHEN THE ATLANTIC'S NIGHT WIND BEGAN BLOWING IT MADE YOU SHIVER. WE EMBRACED AND SPENT THE REST OF THE SUMMER TOGETHER IN THE CABINS WE HAD RENTED IN ADVANCE UNTIL SEPTEMBER TO GET AWAY FROM LIFE LONG ENOUGH TO FALL IN LOVE. IT'S A WONDER WE NEVER WROTE EACH OTHER EVEN ONCE, BUT I THINK WE BOTH KNEW IT WOULD BE BETTER BECAUSE WE SENSED OUR LOVE WAS TOO PERFECT TO LAST ANYWAY. WE WERE SO ROMANTIC, YET SO FATAL AND SO SELFISH TOO. WE WERE TOO YOUNG TO UNDERSTAND THAT PASSION COULD BE DIVIDED. WE WERE UNWISE. ARE YOU STILL THE DEAN OF THAT ALL GIRLS SCHOOL? YOU DIDN'T KNOW I KNEW, OR DID YOU? MAYBE WE WILL MEET AGAIN SOME SUMMER, BUT THE OLD PIER, AS YOU MUST KNOW, FINALLY FELL IN THE WINTER OF EIGHTY-NINE. IT WAS ON THE COVER OF MY LAST BEST SELLER.

ALAS, NIRVANA FOUND, CONTENTMENT IN CLAY AND SUNSHINE

2007-12-31T17:07:00.000-08:00

AT LAST, MY NIRVANA
HAS BEEN FOUND. THE SUNSHINE HAS BEEN THERE ALL THE TIME, BUT I NEVER REALLY SAW IT MAKE FLOWERS GROW. I WAS TOO CONCERNED ABOUT HOW WARM IT FELT AND IF IT WAS TOO LIGHT OR JUST RIGHT. THE RIGHT TAN WOULD MAKE EVERYTHING ABOUT ME JUST FINE AND DANDY. I RECALL
THAT SONG EVERYONE WAS SINGING ABOUT TWO DECADES AGO, THE ONE THAT HAD LYRICS LIKE, "...HAVE FUN, BE HAPPY, DON'T WORRY," THAT WAS IT, THAT WAS THE ONE. BUT THERE WAS ANOTHER ONE TOO, ABOUT, " ...YOU ONLY GO AROUND ONCE." I AM OLDER NOW AND THINKING ABOUT HOW THEY FIGURED OUT I WILL "...ONLY BE GOING AROUND ONCE?" I MEAN, IS THERE SOME KIND OF WRITTEN GUARANTEE?

WEST COAST BEFORE CONCRETE

2007-12-31T15:41:00.000-08:00

BEFORE CONCRETE

COVERED UP THE

NARROW ALLEYS

AND WELL WORN

PATHS WITHIN

THE SOUND

OF PACIFIC WAVES

AND SURF, THREE AND

SOMETIME FOUR OR FIVE STORY BUILDINGS,

EACH UNIQUE AND

QUITE DISTINCTIVE,

MOST DESIGNED BY BEACHFRONT CARPENTERS WHO WERE RELAXED AND GLAD TO BE OFF THE LONG ROAD WEST AND OUT OF THE DUST BOWL WINDS. THE STAIRWELLS WERE OUTSIDE, DESIGNED IN A SIMPLE Z - LINE FASHION FOR REASONS NOBODY HAS MENTIONED, BUT IT HAD TO DO WITH SAND AND SHOES AND THEN, AS TIME PASSED, SANDALS AND BEACH BALLS, BESIDES, THERE WAS NO SNOW JUST SUNSHINE MOST OF THE TIME. THOSE OLD BEACHFRONT HOMES AND APARTMENTS WITH THEIR BACK DOOR PORCH AND BANNISTER PATIOS FOR POTTED PLANTS, THOSE WOODEN STAIRS ...

2007-12-29T19:06:00.000-08:00

THERE ONCE WAS A SCHOOL OF ARTISTS KNOWN AS IMPRESSIONISTS...WELL THEY ARE BACK...AND THEY ARE CALLED OUR
CHILDREN
AND
GRAND
CHILDREN

AMERICA AND THE PASSENGER TRAIN

2007-12-29T18:31:00.000-08:00

THE CHICAGO, MILWAUKEE, ST. PAUL AND PACIFIC RAILROAD was one of the many railroads that helped America become a great nation. The passenger train in this photo is the MILWAUKEE ROAD's SOUTHWEST LIMITED, NUMBER 26; it provided passenger service from Chicago, Illinois to Kansas City, Missouri. The depot, located at Chillicothe, Missouri, is no longer standing. The bricks from the platform were, according to those who know, carried off one at a time by those who had fond memories of the train. Like most of the Milwaukee trains in the midwest, it was a deep orange with red trim and had the antiquated arched windows that added to its charm. Smoking lounges were provided in the restroom areas. The Southwest Limited made its last trip in April of 1958.

THE COLORS OF SEPTEMBER, THE MONTH OF NO SHADOWS

2007-12-29T15:22:00.000-08:00

THE COLORS OF SEPTEMBER
must have been planned one by
one, in great detail with more than a trifle amount of time planning on how one would look next to the other, how long one should stay bright and the other without a wrinkle, which
ones would come back the same again and which ones would appear only by chance, the flight of a bird, the path of a predator, the way to spill the seeds, the
scattering of earth, the digging, digging of claws to hide the meal on a fall morning and forgotten. Nature's way of mixing color before man and woman were around, proof favorite colors were picked by a creator who has no shadow to diffuse the light and how long September should last or if the creatures should have shadows...

2007-12-29T14:05:00.000-08:00

GRANDSON WENT TO GRANDPA TOMS A FEW WEEKENDS AGO. THEY BUILT A FEW THINGS AND GOT THINGS READY FOR THE DEER. GRANDSON LEARNED HOW TO DIG A POST HOLE FOR A DEER RACK. THEY HAD A GREAT TIME, A GREAT TIME WAS HAD BY ALL, ESPECIALLY THE DEER. HE'S STILL OUT THERE...SOMEWHERE, ROAMING THROUGH THE WINTER WOODS. IT WAS, FROM THIS GRANPA'S POINT OF VIEW, A VERY GOOD DEER HUNT, ONE THAT WILL BE REMEMBERED BY ALL, INCLUDING THE DEER. IT WAS THE KIND OF WEEKEND BOYS REMEMBER THROUGHOUT THEIR LIFETIME.

2007-12-29T09:33:00.000-08:00

There are those who say a picture is worth a thousand words. I will
agree what better way to save memories than a simple photo snapped more than four decades ago. This photo seems odd and out of place in America but in Japan it is the kind that are a dime a dozen, maybe a little less or a little more, but this was taken when it took 360 yen to make a greenback dollar. This place was near one of many old canals, near buildings that were still standing, mere shells of what they had been before the war, but nobody was mad, never can I remember one ill word about the fires that razed the old port city made of wood. It was a place where veterans of a surrendered nation met and talked, not in whispers or hushed folds, but loud enough to hear if one could understand. It was a strange time, a healing time, a time to celebrate a peace forged in atomic ashes, cinders and smiles.

2007-12-28T19:07:00.000-08:00

HOW SILLY, DOWNRIGHT NITWITTY, A SHAME AND A PITY, TO KEEP PLANTS AND GREEN-LEAFED BLOOMING AND BUDDING THINGS INSIDE CLAY POTS, BUT WHO AM I TO JUDGE THE JOYS OF MY SISTERS AND BROTHERS? IF THEY ARE HAPPY AT THE SIGHT OF FLOWERS, FERNS, PLANTS OF ALL KINDS WITH VINES HANGING DOWN UNTIL THEY TOUCH THE CONCRETE WALK, SHOULDN'T I BE SOMEWHAT THRILLED THEY LIKE THESE THINGS ALIVE INSTEAD OF DEAD...

TEA FOR TWO ON A SUMMER AFTERNOON

2007-12-28T16:20:00.000-08:00

IT WAS A TEA FOR TWO
KIND OF AFTERNOON, NO MORE,
NO LESS, JUST TWO. ALL WAS
LOOKING GOOD, A PERFECT
DAY, A VIEW OF BLUE SKY,
A FEW COTTON KIND
OF CLOUDS,
TREES
WITH LEAVES ENOUGH TO SHADE OUR EYES FROM UV RAYS. ALL WAS READY, JUST RIGHT, NOTHING EXTRA AND NOTHING MISSING. IT WAS A PERFECT SETTING DESPITE THE MISSING CUP. TEA FOR TWO HAD BEEN SERVED FOR TWENTY
YEARS OR MORE. WHICH ONE WOULD I BE TODAY I ASKED WITHOUT A SMILE, THE GUEST OR HOST? IT WAS AN AGED KIND OF QUESTION, ONE I HAD BEEN ASKING NOBODY BUT MYSELF.

DETAILS OF A SUNFLOWER

2007-12-28T15:54:00.000-08:00

IT WAS THEIR SHELTER THROUGH THE STORM

2007-12-26T19:57:00.000-08:00

IT WAS A SHELTER FOR THE WILDLIFE THROUGHOUT THE YEARS. DESPITE THE DOORS, THERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT THE OLD SHED THAT MUST HAVE LOOKED LIKE A NEON WELCOME SIGN TO ALL THE ANIMALS THAT PASSED THAT WAY THROUGH THE YEARS. IN SUMMER, THE FARMERS SONS RETURNED WITH THEIR OWN AND TOLD THE BOYS ABOUT THE HOURS THEY SPENT PLAYING JESSIE JAMES AND DANIEL BOONE, THE ALAMO; WAR GAMES WITH NAMES ABOUT BATAAN AND NANCI, FRANCE WERE PLAYED THERE WITHOUT A COMMENT FROM THE DADS. A SUMMER CLUB FOR BOYS TO HANG AROUND AND GET READY FOR DRIVE IN DATES WITH , GIRLS AND MORE WARS. I GUESS IT'S ALWAYS BEEN THAT WAY, ANOTHER MEMORY NOW SHARED BY GENERATIONS OF MEN TIME AND AGAIN. STILL, THE ANIMALS TAKE TIME TO STAY AWHILE IN THE DEAD OF WINTER WHEN IT'S BELOW ZERO OR SO. ARE WINTERS GETTING COLDER OR ARE MEN GETTING OLDER? PHOTO ESSAY BY R.L. HUFFSTUTTER

HOW MANY IMAGES OF MT FUJI ARE STILL IN OLD SEA TRUNKS?

2007-12-26T19:41:00.000-08:00

IT WAS A BRAND NEW SET OF MT FUJI POSTCARDS, I RECALL. WHO GOT THE ONE IN SUMMER, SPRING OR FALL, I CAN'T RECALL; I HAVE THE ONE WITH THE WINTER SCENES, FOR SURE. THIS ONE, DESPITE THE CREASES, IS STILL VIVID, STILL NOT FADED, NOT TOO TORN OR TATTERED. WHAT ELSE WAS IN THAT TRUNK WAS A LARGE SAKE BOTTLE. IT HAD A FEW DROPS OF THAT RICE ALCOHOL INSIDE UNTIL SOMETIME IN THE WINTER OF TWO DECADES AGO...

PHOTO LOVE POEMS FOR LOVERS ONLY

2007-12-26T15:55:00.000-08:00

WE LOVED EACH OTHER FROM THE MOMENT WE MET, ONE DAY IN LATE FALL OF THAT YEAR IT SNOWED ALMOST EVERYDAY UNTIL THE FIRST OF APRIL, SO MUCH SNOW, SO MUCH SNOW AND NO SNOW SHOVEL, REMEMBER? REMEMBER HOW MANY TAXI DRIVERS LEFT TOWN BECAUSE THEY CLOSE THE CAMPUS DOWN AND THE ONLY LIQUOR STORE IN TOWN RAN OUT OF VODKA FIRST, THEN COLD DUCK, BUT WHO REALLY CARED? NOT US, WE HAD EACH OTHER AND A CELLAR FULL OF BOOTLEG RUM AND THUNDER ROAD MOONSHINE, TWENTY SACKS OF PORTLAND CEMENT, FIVE FIFTHS OF OLD GRANDAD, SEVEN GALLONS OF FOUR ROSES, A KEG OF BLATZ, SEVEN MOGAN DAVID TABLE WINES, RAILROAD CHINA FROM THE LANDLORD'S UNCLE NOBODY KNEW WE HAD. TWO DOZEN BUTANE LIGHTERS, ENOUGH OVERDUE CAMPUS LIBRARY BOOKS TO KEEP US READING IN DAYLIGHT AND MAKING LOVE BY THE FIREPLACE, REMEMBER? REMEMBER THAT WAS THE WINTER THE CAT HAD KITTENS UPSTAIRS UNDER THE GUEST BED NOBODY EVER USED. WHAT YEAR WAS THAT ANYWAY MY DEAR? WHAT YEAR WAS IT WHEN WE STOPPED DRINKING AND DIED OF BORDOM ANYWAY?

2007-12-15T08:53:00.000-08:00

2007-12-15T08:30:00.000-08:00

NEIGHBORHOOD BAR: YOKOHAMA 1962

2007-12-15T08:06:00.000-08:00

BALLOONS ARE PERFECT SUBJECTS

2007-12-12T18:45:00.000-08:00