Marfa Texas - roadside art, Prada

Self portrait

Pancho Villa restrauant

Texas Cactus

Texas cactus -- taken as we pass by

Along the way

Texas gas station


Motel in Marfa TX. Besides the mysterious, unexplainable "Marfa Lights", motel Yo La Tengo is one of the more interesting places in this little-bit-famous wide-spot-in-the-road.


Cactus, up close but not personal



Across the street from Judge Roy Bean's office. (The hangin' judge)

Countdown

Snakessekans

Tomorrow I take Delicata over to Mike's house. She's staying with him while we're gone. At the moment I'm feeling pretty detached from my life here but I did put out a big spread in the bird park today.

Puj is ready to go. Swami is ready to go. He loves Mexico. I am not ready to go. I won't get to sleep until 2 and will be up at 6. No matter. We leave Monday. It's a long drive.


Hawk dining on a pigeon in Reno today.


All this reminds me of one of my favorite poems by Apollinaire

Come to the edge, he said.
"We are afraid", they said.
Come to the edge, he said.
"We are afraid", they said.
They came.
He pushed them.
They flew.

Publishing opportunity

1933

"Poetry is an act of peace. Peace goes into the making of a poet as flour goes into the making of bread." ~ Pablo Neruda from Confieso Que He Vivido: Memorias, 1974


The Making of Peace Poetry Broadside Series is a response from poets who are working towards peace and goodwill in the world and want to see an end to the war in Iraq.

This project will produce a series of finely designed broadsides to be displayed in independent bookstores, libraries, and museums across the US during National Poetry Month 2006. Each broadside will be 4.5 x 5.5 and printed on environmentally-friendly paper.

Along with the displayed broadsides, a limited edition of broadsides will be produced and distributed to the public during literary and non-literary events. The total number of broadsides printed in limited edition will represent the number of US soldiers that have been killed during the war in Iraq; each broadside will represent the life of a soldier. We are estimating there will be between 75 - 300 of each limited edition broadside printed depending on the number of poems selected and the number of US casualties at the time of printing.

Each poet chosen to be part of the broadside series will receive ten copies of his/her broadside along with a full set of the broadside series.

HOW and WHAT TO SUBMIT:

Submit 1-3 poems, unpublished or previously published poems with the theme of peace, hope, and/or humanity. Poems should be 30 lines or less. Please include cover letter, short bio, and SASE.

We are looking for well-crafted poems on any subject matter that are inspired or focused on the theme of peace, hope, humanity, and/or the idea of a world family. We are open to work that encompasses a specific response or offer a larger vision of our world. Poems do not have to be a direct response to the war, but can be.

Submissions should be postmarked by November 30, 2005.

All submissions should be original work and mailed to:
The Making of Peace: Poetry Broadside Series
c/o Kelli Russell Agodon
P.O. Box 1524
Kingston, WA 98346

Questions or comments about the project can be sent to: modpoet@excite.com

The wind and the wall

Some of the graffiti in Oaxaca is wonderful. This is a photo I took on our last trip south. I've got better versions of this collage but I just don't have the energy to hunt for them tonight.

The second line of the poem is the toast my brother made one wintery Seattle night over a candle lit spaghetti dinner we cooked. We sat down to eat with my three children and, raising his wine glass, he turned to my daughter and said, "Tell them about us". That was a long time ago. Funny how life twists and turns. These days my daughter doesn't speak to me and my oldest son and I have been estranged for years. I can't even begin to describe how painful this is.

I'm leaving for Mexico in just over a week. There's so much yet to do. And more than can never be undone. And so much more that will be left undone forever.

Mexico

I don't want to jinx the plans, but we're scheduled to leave for Mexico on October 1st for six weeks. I have to start planning and packing and that means first I come here and grumble. I dread packing for these trips. There's not a lot of room in the jeep to start with and I only get a small section for my necessities, all which must be stuffed into the tiny area behind the passenger seat. The rest of the available space is crammed with camping gear, tools and there's a small area for Don Jefe's things. He travels light and I travel heavy and never hear the end of it. Anyway, the trip is looming so I'm creaking into gear. This time we're headed for the Yucatan to poke around some newly discovered Mayan ruins. Of course it will be wonderful but I resist everything. Don Jefe considers it his personal mission to channel me in the new direction and that is when the fun begins.

French Quarter storm wraiths

I love the gusto of Apocalypse N.O.", Joshua Clark's blog chronicling life in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. At least until the beer and Pinot Grigio run out, he and a few other storm wraiths are having a rollicking good time hold-up in the French Quarter as he says, "partying at the end of the world".

I understand Clark's revulsion at the thought of being stuffed back into a tidy, air-conditioned world. I'm not thirty and I don't drink anymore, so some of the romance of their situation would be lost on me, but I still seek ways to touch the abyss. It's not only that I enjoy it, in some intangible but critical way it's indispensable to my life as a poet and a human being. For the same reason, I see that Clark and his friends are on a necessary journey. Check it out before they get evicted.

Tonopah, Queen of the Silver Camps

I just got back from a weekend conference in Tonopah (central Nevada). As usual, I spent most of my lunchbreak and late Saturday night photographing the place. In her day Tonopah was known as the Queen of the Silver Camps and it was here that the final chapter in the settlement of the American West was written. During the bonanza days, Tonopah had a population of 10,000 and sprawled over the hills. Now most of the place has fallen into the dust. Today Tonopah is a tribute to high hopes, hard times, bad winters and not so quiet desperation. Even the old, boarded up church on the hill had its time of reckoning and the moon herself lays low when she's in town as though even she dreads the undertow.




















In Tonopah, nothing and no one is taken for granted. In a place as lonely as this, the ghosts are not only tolerated, they are a welcome part of the town's citizenry.

There's a Bird Garden Buffet in Tonopahbut for some crazy reason it's not open to pigeons! Plonk would definitely not like Tonopah but it's is my kind of place, a wreck and a relic. Tonopah has good coffee, generally friendly neighbors and history. What more can one ask for?

Body bags and image politics

1896

Keeping with the fundamentals of neoconservative leadership, Perception Management, now sacked Bushman and now X FEMA Director Michael Brown's primary concern five hours after the Hurricane Katrina hit land was to "convey a positive "image" of disaster operations to government officials, community organizations and the general public." To that end he asked for permission to send one thousand federal workers to New Orleans to assist rescue operations. Reality Check. This week, Louisiana officials prepared for the next stage of the recovery operation by amassing 25,000 body bags.

BODY BAGS.
The idea of body bags is a hard one to manage. The Image Manipulators do everything in their power to keep that image out of the public eye. "Body bags" blow the soft focus and mood music Bush needs to look legitimate. But Hurricane Katrina even tore the roof off of Bush's carefully guarded secret and gave the world a peek at what a truly incompetent boob this guy actually is. Team Turd Blossom is scrambling to re-plant their patented PR Sleeper Bullet in the national psyche and save the day but I hope people manage to stay awake long enough to connect a few more dots because Bush, the poofter who golfed while Katrina shredded the gulf, is the same jackal who lied us into this unwinnable war in the middle east. And that's still just the tip of the shit iceberg.


PS:
If you've been getting your "news" from FOX TV and other propaganda organs for this administration I suggest you refresh your definition of the word "reality". Look it up. You'll find it between "rapture" and "salvation" in the dictionary.

Reality TV cartoon source.

Death of Yogi Nugget

It's a sad day around here today. This morning I discovered that Yogi Nugget died. I realize that with all the disaster and death that's going on in the world, especially now, this news is about as insignificant as insignificant can possibly get but still I care. Life is life. I will miss her.

I'm leaving for Tonopah tomorrow for the weekend, then I'll be in Oregon most of next week but I will post more photos and story as soon as I get the chance. They'll be in the Cockroach Diary.


Ps. I just got my first visitor from New Orleans since Katrina hit. Good to see people are getting back online. That part of the stats map has been dark for days. Welcome back!

Deadman's best friend

"A man died of a seizure five days ago
-- and his dog has stayed by his side ever since --
at a gas station in the Gentilly Woods area of New Orleans."
(Sept. 1st, by Andrea Bruce -- The Washington Post)

Censoring the dead

From the beginning the bodies of military personal killed in Iraq and Afghanistan have been brought back to the US under cover of darkness. The administration doesn't want Americans grasping the reality of the situation. Now the government is doing the same thing with the bodies of the dead strewn throughout New Orleans. Like the soldiers, Bush wants to keep them out of sight and has ordered a media black out on images of corpses. If he had given New Orleans the money it requested, desperately needed, to repair the levees the damage and death toll would have been much less.

Now Bush has decided to head up the investigation into his administration's criminally inadequate response. I can't believe people are going for it. Naturally he won't find himself or his bungling, bloated bureaucracy guilty of anything. It's really disheartening.

Bush clowns as the dead float in New Orleans

1892

Animals in Katrina's wake

Hurricane Katrina left countless animals abandoned and starving on the streets. They need help too. Please write congress and the senate and insist that federal rescue operations include them. Also ask that animal welfare organizations be allowed into the area to do their work.

Contact
Congressional representatives
Senators

Donate
Humane Society Disaster Relief Fund
North Shore Animal League of America

International Fund for Animal Welfare
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals

NBC interview of Aaron Broussard in Jefferson Parrish

Watch this interview with Aaron Broussard, president of Jefferson Parrish in New Orleans. Remember it when you're being inundated by the lies the Bush Administration has launched on the American people. If we let Bush &Co. continue in their charade then we continue to let them get away with murder. When is enough finally going to be enough? Interview.

Poetry fops

Poetry is a hard gig. It attracts snobs, fops, and experts. Most of it isn't and most po-ets aren't. In fact to call oneself a poet is to invite self-delusion, skepticism, ridicule and shame. And clueless critiques. Which brings me to the subject of my current rant.

I finally got the critique of the poems I submitted to the Nevada Arts Council fellowship panel last spring. You may remember I did not make it past the first cut. At the public judging, one of the judges, heaping praise on the winning contestant, exclaimed her socks were detonated by the line, "I have seen heaven and it looks like Paris". How can I compete? Ah well. Perhaps I am just bitter.

It is clear I did not please the judges. They wrote that they were confused and disoriented by my poems which, obviously to them, is a bad thing. I call it a good beginning but what do I know? Oh well. There's no going back. I'm doomed and nobody likes me. All rightie then. Enough throat clearing. On to the comments...

"There are some marvelous moments here. Taken as a whole, though, the poetry here is a bit uneven. There is something of the mystic-poet here; one is reminded at times of William Blake, at other times, of T.S. Eliot.

I sense no real unity in these poems. Their structure and arrangement shift from poem to poem and from moment to moment in some poems. Occasionally there is an interesting insight or moment of wisdom such as "For every prayer / there is an equal / and opposite prayer." The irregularity of the line lengths makes it seem like there is no design. The images in "Road's Eye View" are captivating, but the second stanza is confusing and disorienting. The poet seems to be focused on and oriented towards moments, some of them entrancing, but those moments don't add up to a coherent all-encompassing effect or anything one might call a theme."

Bushed by Katrina

1886

Bush golfing on Tuesday
as Katrina hits the coast.





It's part of the poet's job description to track the evolution of language ... so... it is my duty to note the evolution in the word: bush.

The word "bush", of course, is an established noun and adjective as we see in these excerpts from dictionary.com:

bush n. (bsh)

1. A low shrub with many branches.
2. A thick growth of shrubs; a thicket.
3.
a. Land covered with dense vegetation or undergrowth.
b. Land remote from settlement: the Australian bush.
4.
a. A shaggy mass, as of hair.
b. A growth of pubic hair.

adj. slang. Bush-league; second-rate.

and freedictionary.com:

bushed, adj. (bsht)
1. extremely tired;
2. exhausted;
3. very tired; "was all in at the end of the day"; "so beat I could flop down and go to sleep anywhere"; "bushed after all that exercise"; "I'm dead after that long trip" all in, beat, bushed, dead.
4. tired: depleted of strength or energy; "bushed mothers with crying babies"; "too tired to eat".

Now, given our experience with George W. Bush as our so-called "leader", the word "bush" has taken on meaning as a verb:

bushed, v. (bsht)
1. fucked: as in Katrina

bushed, v. (bsht)
1. FUCKED
a. as in: BUSHED by Katrina
b. as in: BUSHED by global warming
c. as in: BUSHED by Iraq
e. as in: BUSHED by ___, ___, ___ etc, etc...

Bush's "zero tolerance" policy

1882

Bush fiddles and golfs as the leavy breaks and people drown.












 
"I think there ought to be zero tolerance of people breaking the law during an emergency such as this — whether it be looting, or price gouging at the gasoline pump, or taking advantage of charitable giving or insurance fraud and I've made that clear to our attorney general. The citizens ought to be working together."-- George Bush

Essentially, Bush is saying "Let them eat cake" as people search for food and water from gutted, flooded, abandon stores. As usual, this billionaire loser is totally out of touch with reality. He's even got his henchman Attorney General Gonzalez "on the case". Maybe they'll send the big, bad looters to Guantanamo.

So, what was the President doing as Katrina tore through the South? Golfing and clowning around with more photo-ops. And where is the National Guard? Mired in Iraq fighting the war he lied us into. What an asshole.

Language Barrier birthday party #2

Life goes on, in spite of terrible disasters, in spite of friends and family writing me off ... when it seems better, when it seems worse ... no matter what, time and life dance on ... and today, for me, is a good day. It's the two year anniversary of the Language Barrier, my asylum outpost border crossing. It's lonely out here as usual but at least one old friend dropped by to celebrate with me today and that's one more than I expected. And outside my window, the crows in the bird park are enjoying a feast of big, black grapes and tasty peanuts. Plus, I submitted more poetry today, this time to Poetry Motel in Kailua-Kona. I love the name and had to send something to them. I've been mailing out submissions for a while now and am eagerly awaiting at least a damn rejection letter but so far no replies. Okay, off to the post office then a bike ride to the river.

Spirit Barrier

Spirit Barrier

I remember it all
the human flood
the empty chair
the calf crying
before a growling wind
lost histories leaking
through the spirit barrier
a delta of pain
draining into
a bayou of suffering.

I awake beneath
the magpie'’s beak
see it reach
for my eye
see the world
turn red and black
and white and fade.
This is not death
these quills
brushing against my breast.
I am smudged and washed
and swaddled
in the stiffening sheen
of my own blood
and readied for flight.

asha


I wrote this poem last spring. At the time I was disturbed by the some of its images but left them in because the poem insisted on it. The drawing is an excerpt from something I also did about the same time. The imagery in both is violent, but necessarily so, as they describe the time when light must find us because we cannot find it. In the wake of hurricanes Katrina and Rita it no longer seems exaggerated.

Bourbon Street cam

Waiting for Katrina

6:32

7:02

7:12

7:22

7:27

10:48

"May the roof above us never fall in
and may the friends gathered below it never fall out."

Thermodynamics, winners and losers

1877

As Albert put it, "Thermodynamics is the only physical theory of universal content which, within the framework of the applicability of its basic concepts, I am convinced will never be overthrown." Albert Einstein

In case you're wondering, here's the simple version of the three laws of thermodynamics:

• You can't win.
• You can't break even.
• You can't get out of the game.

I'm still thinking about karma and the laws of thermodynamics. They are both forms of applied science, just expressed by different cultures in different millennium. We may be a bit less subtle these days but we produce a lot of cool stuff. Anyway, my point is neither depends on faith. If I hold my hand in fire, I will get burned. It's a reaction to an action. Yes. There are fire walkers who, well, walk on fire, but I'm making a simple point. The three laws also apply to behavior. Even the Christian bible talks about karma. "As you sow, so shall you reap".

Then there are religious leaders, like Pat Robertson and all the warlord Ayatollahs, who tell their fanatic followers that all you have to do is "do it for god" and you're spared the reaction. They call it "salvation" and "forgiveness". Great for gamblers, thugs and desperate people.

Terrorists love the idea of salvation. Take Bush & Co. for example. So far they have gotten away with murder, mayhem and fabulous riches so... why stop now? The Muslim extremists are no different. Get them at any cost before they get us. Except Bush doesn't really care about getting them as much as getting their oil. In the meantime, the whole bunch has created the very situation they are fighting against. Together they have spun a collapsing maze and dragged the rest of us into it with them.

But the house always wins, and contrary to popular opinion, is not run by anyone's personal savior. I only hope it plays its trump sooner than later. For that to happen I believe we, the civilians in all this, must speak up. Simple. Just not easy.



"...if your theory is found to be against the Second Law of Thermodynamics I can give you no hope; there is nothing for it but to collapse in deepest humiliation." Sir Arthur Eddington

Impeachment ticket source