Photos from Campeche

It's been six days since my knee surgery and my leg is still pre-tee sore. I worked in my office for several hours today but then was suddenly overcome by a deep fatigue and napped for about an hour. Since then I've been having a fine old time doing things I'm generally too busy for such as ... paying attention to details. Perhaps this reconstruction and recuperation thing is generalizing.

Among details I've slowed down to notice are the 10,000 photos I took in the Yucatan last fall. This afternoon I sorted through a few and will post today'’s batch between Flickr, my website (the Mexico Diary is meager) and here. I focused on Campeche, one of my all-time favorite cities and places to live. In my mind. Campeche has a lot of problems. But it also has some of my favorite qualities. Campeche is sea-swept, ancient, hip, beautiful and ambiguous. Even its mold participates in the town's implied art life.

Mr. Lee and I are going to watch a movie now so here's one photo for tonight and a promise of more tomorrow.

Meet Beat Baby

Back in the day, Mr. Lee's Dad was a "dirty beatnik". That was in San Francisco's North Beach in the '50s but he wasn't born on the west coast. He grew up in Chicago and started out playing in the Chicago Symphony but quickly discovered the jazz scene and started playing bass on the side in hardcore jazz clubs around town. This is odd for a couple of reasons...

1) He was a teenager

2) ...and a white guy.

But he was a musical prodigy so the band had him play from behind the curtain so the audience couldn't see he was a white guy.

Jim is a giant who, by the age of twelve, was over six feet tall, dressed (with money he made gigging) in pimped-out, hand-tailored silk suits, wore fine fedoras, and sported a mustache.


When he arrived in San Francisco he grew a beard and became part of the North Beach hard bop scene. Hence Mr. Lee, being one of the only babies to make the scene, is Beat Baby.

Sometimes during our off-road rambles through remote places, Mr. Lee tells me odd little stories about his childhood in San Francisco. I named him Beat Baby and decided that he should have his own comic strip but the idea never made it off the page. Today however, grounded because of the knee surgery, I started thumbing through an old notebook and found those first drafts so, rough though they be, I'm posting them here for your entertainment. I've also decided to create a page for Beat Baby on the ashabot in case I want to do more. I like him. He's a simple little fellow. I hope you will like him too.





comics humor daily life beat

Wild horses come home to roost

I was probably over-medicated at the hospital because the day after surgery I was still too nauseated to eat, and when I could choke down a cracker it tasted like dry leaves so I cut the pain meds in half to get over the nausea then the pain increased and, for whatever reason, I had a fever. On Friday, I called and got some anti-nausea medication which helped and once I could eat again the hydrocordone stopped making me sick so I could take the prescribed amount, the pain level came down and now, three days later, I'm beginning to feel better.

As it turned out, I did get an ACL but not as a replacement. Apparently I didn't have an ACL to replace. The ligament came from someone who recently died. I don't know who donated it but I'm very grateful to them. Whoever it was has become the stranger I share the road with in a very personal way. The surgeon also fixed the torn meniscus and removed scar tissue from the top of my knee cap and re-centered it as it was off kilter. He couldn't explain why the scaring was there in first place. My guess is that my knees got scarred from the many hours my friends and I played "Horse" as kids. We must have crawled for miles those summers, whinnying and rearing up and just generally being really bad ass wild mustangs.











So I'm sitting here naked, hooked up to electrodes and Mr. Lee just brought me a pop-sickle. I'd say it's time for a Saturday afternoon matinee . . .


Let's begin with a Close-up.

And now, on to the main feature....


I know the poor guy's suffering but I can't help laughing at this video. Too bad though that they didn't nab Dirty Dick Cheney instead. The world would be a much safer place with that mad fuck behind bars.


You can stop now on this funny but low note or watch a short, elevating video narrated by Thich Naht Hahn. Naturally, the choice is yours.

Longest day, shortest night

We got to the mountains before sunrise, which basically coincided with the exact moments of the solstice, and found a good place to set up. It was a great morning. We chanted, consulted the oracles, read poetry and feasted. We stayed almost 3 hours then went to a coffee shop to discuss and read more poetry and settle on an new project. Excellent morning.





















I recently learned that Tony Seldin the Vagabond Poet died so we included a remembrance of him this morning as well. I met Tony at a poetry reading in Ashland Oregon several years ago and, naturally, we became one of the friendly houses along his road. Tony was unique, a true underground legend, a poet hitchhiking with a bust of Einstein and about a ton and a half of poetry books, scrapbooks and tattered posters from Haight Ashbury's glory days. Mr. Lee found the article. We've both been wondering why he hadn't showed up here since we moved to Nevada. Now we know. Ramble in peace, Tony.






Door near the coffee shop.














What a day. The PETA chicken was in Carson City today to picket the KFC and got friendly waves from some, criticism from others. The usual. KFC must be the 13th hell in hell's underside. Even the Dali Lama has petitioned KFC to stop their gratituous cruelty with no success. If you have a heart, don't eat there.



I'm going in for knee surgery in the morning, torn minescus and possible ACL replacement. It's the knee I injured skiing this spring. Not much warning, it got scheduled on Monday, but sooner the better so it's a another early morning so g'night.











Tony Seldin Vagabond Poet summer solstice peta chicken

Summer Solstice

The summer solstice is tomorrow at 05:26 PST and a friend is coming over at 4:30 in the morning so we can get out to the mountains in time to do a little improvised solstice celebration as the sun rises. Right now, I'm making a list of things I want to bring.

So far I've got:
1) poetry
2) I Ching
3) Runes
4) 2 new red candles
5) a gift
6) kartals
7) something to sit on

I'll post more about it later but right now, gotta go. I have a hundred things to do today.









summer solstice poetry ritual

Crow's lunch - Adventures in the Bird Park

Another day, another treat, another 30 seconds and there she was. Didn't see the binocs though. She must leave them in her perch.

The change game

There's an excellent article at DailyKos today by Steve G. that digs below the surface differences between our political left and right and helps clarify why it's so impossible to penetrate conservative blockhead stupidity. As Lakoff pointed out in "Don't Think of an Elephant", we use very different criteria to select "facts" from the overwhelming, chaotic sensory overload (life) surrounding us.

In case you don't bother to read it, here's an excerpt that pretty much sums up the basic idea:

"Conservatives Look at "Who" and Liberals Look at "What"
Indeed, the terms conservatives and liberals are the wrong terms to use here. They indicate political left and right, but that's not what is at issue here. What we are really talking about here is authoritarianism vs. anti-authoritarianism.

authoritarian conservative liberal Lakoff

Crashing the Gate

Karl Rove takes this book seriously. He read and studied it because he is determined to crush the progressive net roots, grassroots rise of people powered politics. Crashing the Gate is written by Markos Moulitsas who started DailyKos and Jerome Armstrong, founder of MyDD.com. I ordered today. If they have a plan, I want to read it.

Even though they are corrupt, ridged and inept to the core, the one thing these bastards do well is manipulate public opinion. And, as back-up, they control the voting machines so no matter how very wrong they are, it's going to take a huge, collective effort to kick these losers to the curb.









crashing the gate karl rove people powered politics jerome armstrong politics election markos moulitsas

Bean Paste Party

It's still early, my favorite part of the day. It's not hot yet so, although the blinds are closed to keep the light out, the doors and windows are still open to let the morning's still cool air circulate through the house. As it gets hotter, we'll close everything up. This knocks at least 10 degrees off the temperature. We don't like air-conditioning so, although I miss the radiant desert light, the cave-like afternoon has a comfort of its own.

I'm throwing a Red Bean Paste Party in the Bird Park today. Whenever we go to Vegas we stock up on vegetarian delights in Chinatown. Among other delectables, such as soya "duck" for which Mr. Lee has a hound-like craving, we get red bean paste steam buns. The problem is that we both prefer grabbing something quick and grazing over our keyboards so even the task of steaming a pastry first is often just too much, especially for me given that I get very nervous trying to time the bun so it gets steamed just right. As a result, these frozen treasures sometimes end up freezer burned before we get around to them.

But the Bean Paste Party is a great success. The first blobs disappeared instantly. I didn't even see who got 'em so I put out a bit more but not too much, I hope. I don't want some sugar drunk crow cackling from the top of the street light all afternoon waiting around for more. I'll save the rest for the afternoon. There's a little black bird who's been dropping by at twilight looking for a bedtime snack. Red bean paste will blow his birdy mind.

Saturday Matinee - double header

Today, you're in luck.
It's a double header and
a newreel. I suppose to
make it a proper matinee
I should also have a cartoon
so, if I remember, I'll have
one for next time.


Newsreel
RENO NEVADA, June 17
There's more going on in Reno's downtown casino district that you might expect such as this event that occurred this afternoon along the banks of the Truckee River as it meanders through the middle of the biggest little city in the world.





Now on to the first of today's double feature:
Charlie Murphy's True Hollywood Stories (Dave Chapelle Show)

The second video is at Google. I know that extra click is a lot of work,
and it's a piece by Billy Collins,
but chances are you will find it was well worth your time and effort.



Forgetfulness

Dave Chapelle Show poetry billy collins charlie murphy saturday matinee

Out again

So my friend called today and gave me results of the Nevada Arts Council Artist's Fellowship Awards JUDGMENT DAY. It's a public event and she attended because she also entered work in the contest. This is Breaking News as otherwise, I have to wait for the council to get around to mailing me the judges written critique.

This year I made it to the second round. That's a step up from last year when I didn't even make it past the first cut. Different judges, different results. If you're one of the two or three regular readers around here, you may remember me ranting about last year's bimbo poser judge who hated my work. She found some of the images "captivating", but otherwise complained that my poems left her "confused and disoriented." Wah-fucking-wah. At least she got that far.

This year and last the judges referred to me a "mystic-poet", "in the French surrealist tradition", and that my poetry is "mysterious" and reminiscent at times of "William Blake, and at other times of T.S. Eliot." Unfortunately, that's not good enough to win their damn five thousand dollars. Oh well . . . and shit!





writing poetry literature