Lawrence Ferlinghetti leaves

 Lawrence Ferlinghetti died last night. He had a good long run, a hundred and one years. I'm guessing he outlived almost everyone who from San Francisco's original beat scene. Uncle John turned me on to what was happening in North Beach when I was a kid. I couldn't wait to go there and to Ferlinghetti's bookstore, City Lights, and did eventually when I got old enough. The whole scene was another 'boy's club' of course but the writing and music was good, kicked some walls down. It's still there, by the way, the bookstore, and worth a visit next time you're in SF.

Paris Review obit

Farewell Chick Corea - RIP

Besides being a stellar pianist, jazz composer, keyboardist, bandleader, and occasional percussionist Chick Corea was a truly kind man. Back in the early 80's, one of the darkest, most isolated periods of my life, I wrote him a letter. I have no idea how or why I had his address. I don't even know how I got a stamp or envelope. I was living alone in a trailer in a holler in West Virginia without electricity or running water. I think a friend had played some gigs with him.

Anyway, I wrote him and some time later, a letter showed up in my battered mailbox. He encouraged me to hold on, to trust the path. It made a difference. In all, we exchanged a couple of letters. He invited me to stay in touch, but I didn't.


This is an atypical piece for him but it speaks to me.

He died a couple of days ago at the age of 79. Now, I have no idea what (if anything) happens to an individual after death but . . . thank you for your kindness and best wishes, Chick Corea, where/whatever you are now. 

 

Gary's good-bye

"Same. Smaller. Quieter."

That's how my daughter described her dad when I inquired how he was doing yesterday then, this afternoon, to the same question she wrote, "He died this morning. About an hour ago."  I wish he'd lived a happier life but his death was not as lonely as it might have been—she was sitting beside him—had been all morning—nor was it particularly sad, coming as it did after a long illness, cancer not covid.

So . . . yesterday afternoon as the nest full of baby birds under the roof tiles chirped away at the top of their shrill little voices, and I was painting an illustration for one of my poems while listening to music with headphones on, Gary dropped in from America to say good-bye. He was wispy and floating and mostly transparent (imagine something between a whitish horizontal veil-like form with flagella and a thin floating, mostly transparent sea creature) and kind of stand-offish as always, but he was there.¹ My eyes got blurry for a bit but I saw him clearly in my mind's eye . . . he in thin air, me in afternoon light, us remembering what our dreams had been back then (did he chortle?) and who we'd been for each other. We forgave each other. He lingered a few moments more then said good-bye.

Portugal . . . about an hour ago . . .

¹· No. I wasn't stoned or drunk nor do I claim this moment to be a "Fact". Just sharing my subjective experience.

Good-bye John Prine. I never knew ya.

Singer/songwriter John Prine died of the corornavirus a few days ago.

I never heard of him until now. His debut album was released a year after I "renounced the world" and for the next 12 years. Yeah. That's pompous, and it didn't end well, but it's what I did.

I missed him till he died. My loss.

RIP Takaya

Takaya
Photograph: Cheryl Alexander/Wild Awake Images

Takaya, Canada's eccentric and legendary lone wolf dug wells in summer to find water, was known to sit three feet from a person and look them directly in the eye, but though he sometimes sought out the company of humans he also cleverly evaded all attempts people made to capture him in order to protect him from what would be a sure and tragic encounter with humans at some point in his journeys,

Now that we humans have caused what biologists refer to as the Sixth Mass Extinction since our planet's beginning some 4.543 billion years ago, we will have to invent new words to describe the people who kill animals, cut down our last remaining forests, and continue polluting our dying oceans, land, sky and all life that walks, flies, swims, wiggles, burrows, and breathes in this world upon which all our lives depend. And we will need to create words for those people who kill the last remaining members of a species and other words yet for people who kill those iconic members of other species who inspire us to remember to love and save what's left of this world.

On 24 March, Takaya was shot and killed by hunters.

Cnoc a' Cairn

Last October we visited a few of Ireland's famine graveyards. The first was in the town of Dingle. Our host encouraged us to visit the town's famine graveyard, Cnoc a' Cairn (Carin Hill). It's one of several such cemeteries in the country. A million to a million and a half people died in Ireland between 1845 and 1852 during what I grew up hearing was the Great Potato Famine. I have since learned it wasn't the loss of the potato crops that killed them. It was England's colonial indifference and greed.

Even in a small town like Dingle, so many people died in a day that there was no time or room to make coffins or dig individual graves. Over 3,000 men, women, and children are buried on Cnoc a' Cairn. There are no tombstones, no names—bodies were laid one on top of another in long trenches and covered with dirt. Only an occasional unmarked stone stands watch along the way. It is an incredibly lonely place.

That evening I wrote a poem about the place. It was published, with little editing, in Dingle's hometown magazine, the West & Mid Kerry Live (pg. 24).

Summer solistice 2019

In the southern hemisphere this is the shortest day of the year, the longest night, the pause, the time of in-going and renewal, the beginning of winter. Here in the northern hemisphere this is the longest day of the year, the beginning of summer, the dance, the lingering and going about. Wherever you are, whatever species you encounter as you go along your way today, be kind.

Unfortunately, the Summer Solstice is also the beginning of the 10 day Yulin dog meat "festival" during which thousands of dogs and cats are bludgeoned, blow-torched, skinned, and boiled alive for a 10 day drunken "feast".

Please help shut down the Yulin!

Sign the HSI petition and pass the link around. Thank you.

RIP Word Jazz Guy

Ken Nordine died yesterday, Mr. Word Jazz. I found one of his albums when I was a schoolkid. Along with Kafka and Rimbaud, he made sense at a time when not much else did, the '50s. I loved the bizarre conversations he had with his inner self . . . just him . . . just them . . . echoing in the mind . . . twisting, echoing, changing . . . free in lateral space.  He/they were wonderful, true artists. Bon voyage, guys.

Rest in peace, Sudan. I am so sorry.

Sudan, the last northern white rhino has died. His death leaves only two females of his subspecies alive in the world, his daughter and granddaughter and they are too inbred to conceive.

RIP Sudan :-(

Poachers and the black market animal horn trade is responsible for this pending extinction. And why? Because there is still a market for rhino horn on the bullshit folk or traditional Asian "medicine" market. Horns are believed to give a sexually impaired man big stiffies. It's a lie. Traditional "medicine" so-called doctors and herbalists add Viagra to the mix and sell the compound to fools and now the northern white rhino has paid the ultimate price. For this same reason, elephants are in line to go extinct as well as all the other horned animals in the world.

I just can not comprehend why we have not yet internationally stopped this criminal, immoral, unethical, cruel, deceptive trade. Oh, that's right! Unscrupulous shit-heel politicians are making money on it. The situation has reached such a critical juncture I seriously entertain the idea that idea that dealers and poachers should be sentenced to death and buyers should receive massive fines and serious jail time. Oh, and maybe give shit-heel politicians some or all of the penalties too. There's an idea.

Last moments of Sudan's life

Rest in peace, Sudan. Words cannot convey how sorry I am for what my species as done to yours.

RIP Hanako

So sorry. Rest in peace, beautiful one.

Despite years of international outrage at Inokashira Park's treatment of the elephant Hanako and repeated offers to relocate her to an elephant sanctuary, Hanako passed away this week. She died the same way she spent her life ... alone in the zoo's concrete prison where she lived alone for 60 long years. She never felt grass, or dirt or had the comfort of the company of her own kind.

Hanako, forgive us.
source

One commenter wrote: "some people who were interviewed a while back said Hanako should stay in the zoo because they liked going to see her...selfish is the kindest word I can use..."

Aunt Jane

At some point, ready or not, one may be called on to send off the dead. Aunt Jane was the last of her generation so this time the task fell to us.

Ashes to ashes

She died in December. My cousins hosted a nice, low-key party celebrating her life on the Spring Equinox. My daughter and I went to Sonoma for the weekend, stayed with them at her house and helped out.

Dust to dust

The following morning, Monday, it rained lightly as cousins Cathleen and Margaret, my daughter and I took her to the cemetery. Chairs, an awning and the niche beside Uncle Phil were waiting, as was the fellow who would close their door after we left. We didn't sit. Cathleen and Margret put her ashes next to their Dad, Cathleen read a piece she wrote for the occasion and that was it. Aunt Jane would have liked that.

"We all go somewhere...into the sea, into the sky,
into another story, or into a heaven of our understanding." ~ Cathleen V.

In her own words

From the time Chrissy was a young woman she attended the Center for Adaptive Learning in Concord, CA. It changed her life. She was high functioning on the autistic spectrum and really bloomed in the company of others and the support she found there.

Included below is a unedited paper Chrissy once wrote at The WooWoo Club, one of C.A.L.'s social/study groups she very much enjoyed. Her enthusiasm and achievements are on a level I can only aspire to. She really lived it in full.

Life Achievements by Chrissy

I am more independent. My goal is to be less co-dependent. Don't worry about what other people think. I have learned that in relationships everyone needs their space. I realize you don't have to be a victim, work through it and keep going on, move forward.

I have acceptance of my highest capacity and what I can handle with my disability. I see my disability as a positive.

I feel good about the direction I'm going in my life and seeing how far I've come. I'm able to take care of my cat I'm exercising at Curves you feel fabulous after a workout. It's taught me to live a healthier lifestyle.

The woo-woo group helps me relate to my life's situations, and learn about natural elements. I keep a daily gratude journal. Live in the present.

I am an independent woman and treasure my adult separate life and living off-site. We all have to stand on our own in our life.

Allen Rickman, farewell.

WTF?! Now Allen Rickman dies? I'm not prepared for all this. David Bowie now him? Damn. Meanwhile, out in the Bird Park, the Flicker eagerly pummeled one apple to a husk and is now working on another. Her day is off to a good start anyway.

So, Allen Rickman. I loved that guy. They say his irrepressible glimmer redefined Hollywood's idea of villainy. Whatever the role, he was a great actor and, as I read, a wonderfully intelligent, kind man. This clip even brought a tear to my eye. What more can I say?

As Joshua Madoc wrote, "By Grabthar's Hammer, Sir, by the suns of Warvan... you shall be dearly missed."

CECIL THE LION - RIP

Cecil the lion
RIP

Like most people, I am outraged and heartbroken that asshole thrill killer dentist Dr. Walter Palmer lured, tortured, murdered, skinned and beheaded beautiful Cecil the lion.

Hey Palmer!

The day Cecil's death made the headlines here in London even a stranger at a little Moroccan restaurant struck up a conversation with me about it. His accent made it hard to follow word for word but our rage and grief were identical.  

Big "game" hunting is not a sport, asshole,
it's murder.

Of course it's easy to hate Palmer. Relief even. He's a member of that despicable group who pride themselves on being big "game" or trophy hunters. They are, in fact, clueless selfish rich bastards who think that wild animals, the world's living treasures, are their "trophies" for the killing, if they just throw around enough money.

Another gloating, shithead corpse rider

But killing is not a "game", is it? It's life we're talking about and it's murder. 

Rhapsodize away about the "glory" of the hunt, man's deepest roots or all the good hunters do, it's time to pull the plug on these arrogant sadists.

You can help by signing (even one of) these petitions:

United Nations: Ban International Travel for Hunting. NO imports of animal parts.

Lions Like Cecil Aren’t Trophies. USFWS: Don’t Allow Exceptions for Wealthy Hunters

DEMAND JUSTICE FOR CECIL THE LION IN ZIMBABWE

Extradite Minnesotan Walter James Palmer to face justice in Zimbabwe.

WildCRU - Oxford group who were tracking Cecil at the time of his death and currently monitoring his cubs.

Rest in peace, Cecil.

"...the time will come when men such as I will look upon the murder of animals as they now look upon the murder of men.” 
-- Leonardo Da Vinci

RIP Burt, friend of bees

"A good day is when no one shows up...
and you don't have to go anywhere. ~ Burt"

Burt
source: Boing Boing

Hippy Burt, the cool guy bee keeper vegetarian, source and inspiration for the cruelty-free company Burt's Bees, has moved on. Back in the day the company he co-founded screwed him but he wasn't fazed.

"Shavitz didn’t seem to mind missing out on 93 percent of a windfall.

“In the long run, I got the land, and land is everything,” he told a filmmaker for the 2013 documentary “Burt’s Buzz.” “Money is nothing really worth squabbling about. This is what puts people six feet under. You know, I don’t need it.”

This critique extended to corporate culture: “I had no desire to be an upward-mobile rising yuppie with a trophy wife, a trophy house, a trophy car,” he said."

~Washington Post

I loved that guy. Happy trails Burt.

Rest in peace, Sam

"I want medical experiments on animals stopped.
They don't do anything, and they don't work," ~ Sam Simon

Sad day. Sam Simon, co-creator and producer of "The Simpsons", died today at the age of 59. Of course, I love the Simpsons and thank him and cartoonist Matt Groening for that, but even more I love that Sam, who earned tens of millions annually from the show, donated his entire fortune to charity, including many foundations working to secure animal rights and welfare. Thank you, Sam. You will be missed.


"Veganism is an answer for almost every problem
facing the world in terms of hunger and climate change.
~ Sam Simon

Whatever alternate universe you travel, be well Mr. Spock

Back in the acid days, I held out hope that Mr. Spock

Photo source: Emmy TV Legends

 would beam me up so I could apprentice with him.
Who knows? Perhaps he will yet. 

Wednesday 12:10 update

Nobody's at the Bird Park at the moment. A hawk scared everybody off so it's just an empty gray day here in Nevada, this after Tuesday's lovely, though unseasonable, spring day. I was immediately out in the yard preparing a new flower bed. After my neighbor Dwayne and his wife were rousted out of their house last year by their son Tom, there have been a lot of changes next door and, in my opinion, some for the better. For one thing, Tom cut down the poorly aspens along the property line and pulled out the rangy juniper that hogged all the morning light leaving me with a new, thin strip of space to plant. I feel rich. It not only gets morning light but all day light.

Invisible Theatre conference
Yellow Swami is back after a grueling year
in Cambodia and here at Invisible Theater
we couldn't be happier.

Don't get me wrong, we all miss Dwayne. He was a great guy,  a true bon vivant. The first year we moved here he was trying out sobriety. It was his finest hour. After he went back to drinking we watched his light slowly go out. There were still a few good years when he and Clarence the cat continued to hold their garage court. When the door was up, we'd stroll over. Clarence would meow a cheery hello and Dwayne held forth. It was always fun to visit them. When he went back to drinking the bitterness set in like a final night, then came the cancer, then the horrible years of chemo and booze before his son Tom finally forced the two of them out of the house and into senior care, where they belonged. It got tricky. When Tom mentioned moving, Dwayne threatened to shoot him. They had always had a horrible relationship. That's when Tom came over and asked me to help distract his dad while he removed all the weapons from the house, which I did. When Dwayne saw his guns go out the door, he turned to me like a growling wolf and said, "Traitor. Get out of my house". Those are the last words he ever spoke to me. Within the year he was dead.

Chiang Mai at night
Andre Govia, one of my favorite photographers
"liked" this on my flickr account so I am stoked.

The birds just returned to the Bird Park so I guess the coast is clear. Maggie Magpie is out there too. She and her mate basically hang around all day. The rest of the tiding leave right after gobbling breakfast. And to our delight, the quail, finch, sparrows, a few mourning doves, some blackbirds and even a few crows (probably Minerva and friends) showed up about a day after we returned. I suspect that at least the quail stayed even after we left in October. Seems Suki, Dwayne's cat after Clarence died, disappeared sometime in the fall. I like to think some kindly person, sick of seeing her huddling all winter in the cold and snow, gave her a home. Other than Tom, those of us in Suki's little support group, miss her but the upshot is that the Bird Park has returned to sanctuary status. Other than the occasional passing hawk but, of course, they don't stay long.

RIP Mark Strand

Mark Strand (1934-2014)

Cat in a Hat by Rene Magritte

Canto XVI
-from Dark Harbor

It is true, as someone has said, that in
A world without heaven all is farewell.
Whether you wave your hand or not,

It is farewell, and if no tears come to your eyes
It is still farewell, and if you pretend not to notice,
Hating what passes, it is still farewell.

Farewell no matter what. And the palms as they lean
Over the green, bright lagoon, and the pelicans
Diving, and the glistening bodies of bathers resting,

Are stages in an ultimate stillness, and the movement
Of sand, and of wind, and the secret moves of the body
Are part of the same, a simplicity that turns being

Into an occasion for mourning, or into an occasion
Worth celebrating, for what else does one do,
Feeling the weight of the pelicans' wings,

The density of the palms' shadows, the cells that darken
The backs of bathers? These are beyond the distortions
Of change, beyond the evasions of music. The end

Is enacted again and again. And we feel it
In the temptations of sleep, in the moon's ripening,
In the wine as it waits in the glass.

So You Say

It is all in the mind, you say, and has
nothing to do with happiness. The coming of cold,
the coming of heat, the mind has all the time in the world.
You take my arm and say something will happen,
something unusual for which we were always prepared,
like the sun arriving after a day in Asia,
like the moon departing after a night with us.

More poetry by Mark Stand

R.I.P. Robin Williams

sad