Calving season and Paper Floor Update

Mr. Fancy Pants dining on a less fortunate member of the Bird Park

Word is out about the Bird Park. Mr. Fancy Pants must be talking. Lately a new hawk drops by to see what's on the menu nearly everyday. It's calving season and hawks come from all around for all the tasty afterbirth. In about two months they'll be gone though I suspect Mr. Fancy Pants is a local. He was here before the season started.

Bag 'o' floor.
Raw material for our new paper floor,
this and a whole lot of polyurethane.

I took three short videos of him devouring one the quail the other day but none are worth posting. They are all irritatingly shaky which irritates me all the more. Starting at the head, he ate the whole bird. One of the three videos jerks up and away just as he's pulling what looks like an organ out of the body. By the time he was done there was nothing left but feathers. About an hour later a covey of quail grazed through the scene but didn't seem to notice the carnage. However, since then, the quail have, for the most part, stayed away. Better they do for now but I miss them. The little birds still drop but don't stay long either. Without them, the bare trees outside my window look harsh and forlorn.

Emerging studio floor, formerly known as the living room

Inside the house is a different matter. M. Lee is plowing on with Project Paper Floor. It is the indoor fabulous Event of the Season. Currently, I am land locked in my office as he's papering the hallway and front entrance. If I want to get to the kitchen I have to go out the garage and around the house through the crunchy frozen snow, being careful not to walk on the door of the tool shed. Its three-sided shell still lays frozen to the ground across the yard where it was blown during the last wind storm. Redoing every floor in the entire house, including the closets, is a huge undertaking but it's looking great! And I have started dismantling my office, it being the Final Frontier. It is so overwhelming but little by little, right?

Studio done. Now on to the hall and entrance

Ashes and Snow by Gregory Colbert

Need a break? Get your coffee, tea or whatever, pull up a chair, turn on the speakers and, for the next 11 minutes, float away to earth.


Ashes and Snow by Gregory Colbert from Gregory Colbert on Vimeo.
.

RIP, Aaron Swartz

God damn it! Aaron Swartz committed suicide yesterday. Among his many accomplishments, we especially owe him a huge debt for all that he did in his short 26 years to protect Internet Freedom. Now, more than ever, it is up to us.

Never heard of him? Full article here.



RIP, Aaron

To the extent possible under law, Cory Doctorow has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to "RIP, Aaron Swartz."

God save the people

Graffiti on New Oxford St., London 2012

Just by way of rolling the front page on, here's a photo I took last summer during our stay in London.

Bret Lockett, Hero for the New B'ak'tun

Happy New Year, b'ak'tun or however you mark time moving future to past. We're back from Christmas in Oregon (photos soon), the paper floor still looks great (updates coming) and I am finally beginning to feel like we're home for awhile.

I am currently following the dreadful, heartbreaking events in New Delhi and in America's own pathetic, prima donna football brat worshiping small town of Steubenville, Ohio. Michael Nodianos, words cannot convey how disgusting you and your buddies are. In contrast to these shit-for-brains psycho morons, NFL player Bret Lockett is a beacon of sanity, light, hope and fresh air and it doesn't hurt that he has the body of a god. Thanks Bret and PETA! We are much in need of real men to step up and do it right.  

My new year's resolution: practice listening with my heart.

Happy Winter Solstice & end of the 13th B'ak'tun

Gotta go. It's going to be snowing in the mountains today and we have to get over the pass.

Put a log on the fire.  Time to celebrate the end of the 13th b'ak'tun and...

Happy Winter Solstice!

Michigan H. Frog & paper floor update

Even as the days grow colder, Michigan H. Frog, aka Henry, is still alive outside my window croaking. I'm amazed. God, I wish I could find the poor fellow and bring him in. He'd have to live in a terrarium but I'd make it comfy and he'd be warm.

We will be spending a couple of weeks in Oregon with the family. Thea Bella, being three years-old now and quite expert on her balance bike, gets a real bike this year. Amazon already delivered it but M. Lee will put it together when we get there. Mr. Leo, being two, is still working on his balance bike so we have some other new toys and warm duds for him and we have some stylish new threads for Baby Frank. As for the floor, the bedroom is done and looks great. We won't put the room back together until we get back. Then on to another section of the house. This is M. Lee's winter project. In the end, the front room will be an art studio which we will share. It's definitely worth the mess and wait.

Paper floor update. The first room is done and looks great.

Oh, and happy last day of the 13th b'ak'tun.

Bathtub Bass, the rest of the story and paper floor update

Thea and G'pa's flute and bass jam

Remember that bass in my bathtub? It's finally gone. We sold it when we were in Portland this fall. With all that was going on with my granddaughter, I forgot to mention it  She's doing better now, btw. She's living at her mom's, has a new boyfriend and a job so we are keeping a good thought from here in the background. Growing up is hard and, I didn't realize it then but, oh man, the 20s suck!

Thea examining bass before sale

So, back to the bass. We sold it to a guy named Pete in Portland, Pete of Pete's Upright Bass Shop on S.E. Boise Street. Pete was the perfect guy to buy bass. We couldn't be happier. He's a musician in the full sense of the word. Music, and in particular the bass, is his love and way of life. So this is the end of long journey for the bass. M. Lee's dad bought it in Portland. We inherited it when he bought a smaller one and, after a couple of unsuccessful attempts to find a buyer, it lived in our bathtub for a number of years. Finally, and to our great relief, it's time in the desert has come to an end.

Testing testing testing

As for Project Paper Floor. It's going just fine, punctuated by occasional moments of, how do I say, great uncertainty. After all, he's not just slapping down tile or rolling out linoleum. Doing a paper floor is more like doing a life-size art installation. There is only so much anyone can read and trust me, M. Lee has read it all, before one has to take the inevitable leap off the cliff. Of course, he did a lot of tests first on plywood scraps to figure a few things out, proportions, which color paper to use, methods for applying the glue, whether or not to crumple the paper before dipping it in glue or just dip it. He pre-crumples.

The test case was our bathroom. It's the smallest room in the house but turned out to be the hardest due to all the angles. But it's done, including the 12 coats of polyurethane. It looks fantastic. Now he's working on the rest of the bathroom, bedroom and closet. So far so good. It's papered but not without some redoing to break up a couple of seams that developed due to laying paper on two separate days. That took some juggling but he fixed it. Today he'll polyurethane that, beginning with the closet where he'll experiment with using the roller. Applying 12 coats of urethane throughout the entire house with a paint bursh is just not something one does unless one has to. But hey. No matter what, the fucking carpet is gone! Okay. Gotta go. I'm mired in a solstice/xmas card project that I made waaaaaaaaay too complicated. I'm even making the envelopes. Madness! But they must go out today.

First room done and beautiful

12.12.12 paper floor report

Mayan calendar

Happy 12.12.12.

The inter-tubes are strangely quiet these days about the upcoming End of the Mayan Calendar a.k.a. End of the World, Friday December 21, 2012. I guess people are a bit burnt out after all the uproar last year when May 21, 2011, otherwise known as Judgement Day, came and went. It was a huge letdown for the evangelical community who assured the world that the "Bible Guarantees It" . We saw the billboards all through Texas advertising it. Anyway, today being the only day this century that gets to be triple 12s, I had to post something so here's what's happening in my neck of the desert.

We are currently in an uproar here. M. Lee is in the process of tearing up all the carpet and all the linoleum in the house and replacing it with paper. Yes. Paper. As in découpage, papier-mâché aka paper mache. Mon Dieu! Paper? How is that possible?! No problemo. It will be under 12 coats of polyurethane.

Ingredients.

Quail taxi

Henry update

I heard from a couple more scientists regarding Henry the frog but without a photo and a recording of his peculiar croaking no one is convinced he's a member of the endangered Rana sierrae and, even if he were, I don't know what they'd do besides add him to the footnotes. One guy from UCSB Life Sciences was pretty dismissive about the whole thing. Why write me at all? I don't think it's good science but that's his problem. Anyway, I heard Henry again today and sadly it seems he's growing weak. I went out again determined, again, to find him but I could not. I would give him a home indoors out of the cold but it looks like it's not to be.

Sad story of my life these days

I haven't taken up Instagram yet but I photograph everything. It's bad.

CollegeHumor's Favorite Funny Videos

Henry the frog and the gangster cats

At this point, 95% of the Rana sierrae have died off.

To their credit, a couple of the scientists I contacted the other night about Henry the frog immediately wrote back. Of course, both asked for a photo but I don't have one so, for now anyway, that's that. I did see him once last spring. He looked just like the Rana sierrae in the photo and he sure sounds like one. But if he is, he's a ways from home. The Rana sierrae generally live in mountain ponds above 6000 feet but Henry is down here in the valley at 5000 ft. in my desert dirt back yard. And thanks for asking, Roy. If Henry resurfaces, you'll be among the first to know.

The gangster cats have left the building

But I do have some really GREAT NEWS. The gangster cats, scourge of the Bird Park, those furry assholes who ate baby quail like they were popcorn...are GONE. Their family finally finally loaded their crap up and moved away. A repair crew has been over there for the last week gutting and repairing the place. If the broken blinds in the front window and the perpetual mess they had in the front yard and on the porch are any indication, they must have left the house a wreck.

Henry, the Sierra Nevada Yellow-legged Frog

Poor Henry is croaking outside my window tonight. I was stunned when I heard him earlier today. He's the little frog who took up residence somewhere just outside my window last spring. When we left on our 10 week trip last March I thought the hawk, Mr. Fancy Pants, would surely get him over the summer or a crow, or the gangster cats who live next door and hunt in the Bird Park, aka my backyard. I'm delighted he's still around even though I don't see how it can be a good life for him here.

My question is, how in the world did a frog manage to wind up in this dry corner of nowhere? The Bird Park is on dry desert dirt. Does he live in the covering for the air conditioner? Perhaps he's burrowed out a cozy home under its concrete slab. I just read some types of frogs hibernate. Maybe he's one. That could be nice. All I know is that I nearly stepped on him one day last spring as I stepped outside. One tiny little frog, or toad. I'm not sure which but, after listening to recorded sounds of both online just now, I'd say he's definitely a frog. In fact, after another quick search, I'm almost certain that Henry is a Sierra Nevada Yellow-legged Frog which is an endangered species. Yikes! After another search, I dug up some addresses and emailed several people interested in preserving these fellows. Now what? Now I wait. G'night, Henry. Sweet dreams.

Note to self, good ideas

Blue state-red state divorce? I'm all for it!

Hey Texas, Louisiana, Alabama, Tennessee, Georgia, North Carolina and the rest of the Confederacy!

Ya'll want to secede from the US? I'm all for it! 'N' ya'll lucky Abe Lincoln ain't 'round ta kick ya in yer wide white confederate ass. Jus' sayin'.

Paul VanDevelder lays out terms for the divorce in this recent article posted at the LA Times. Check it out. He's not only spot on, he's hilarious.

Paul VanDevelder is a journalist, screenwriter and the author, most recently, of "Savages and Scoundrels: The Untold Story of America's Road to Empire through Indian Territory."

Charles River and Reno Vegans

An Infinite Number Of Monkeys

After all the Shakespeare, the book

of poems they type is the saddest

in history.

But before they can finish it,

they have to wait for that Someone

who is always

looking to look away. Only then

can they strike the million

keys that spell

humiliation and grief, which are

the great subjects of Monkey

Literature

and not, as some people still

believe, the banana

and the tire.

~Ronald Koertge

Photos from the protest yesterday organized by Reno Vegans at Charles River, the world's largest supplier of animals for experiments or, as they say on their website, "essential research products". Charles River carefully conceals information about dogs and monkeys but their use and cruelty is documented and ongoing.

Charles River Lab on Longley Lane in Reno, Nevada.

Are those chimneys from a crematorium? Any animal who manages to survive an in-house experiment at a Charles River lab is killed shortly afterwards. Photographs obtained from the USDA through the Freedom of Information Act in 2008 revealed cramped and barren conditions at this facility "with the potential to cause madness".

At this point, most of the group is out doing a walkabout.

Seems Charles River sent one of their goons to intimidate us. Unknowingly, I parked right next to him as he sat across the street doing a video of the whole event from the cab of his black truck.

He immediately turned his camera on me so I took out my camera and took several photos of the bastard. No surprise he was there. Billion dollar corporations like Charles River employ countless goons, including platoons of lawyers, to guard their gates.

The turnout was small, as these things generally are. There were two main elements, a group of young people in black wearing black bandanas over their faces and about an equal number of older people dressed in regular clothes.  But, whatever our difference, we all feel strongly about animal rights and are glad to protest multinational merchants of death like Charles River, aka the "General Motors of the laboratory animal industry".

"There are dogs in there too.
You do care, don't you?" ~ Martha

DITL + Charles River Labs protest

We're back. It's been a month since we took off to Portland to lend support after our 20 year-old granddaughter attempted suicide. I'm hoping that's behind us now. She has now moved back to her mom's in Grants Pass where she will continue counseling, get a job and chill for awhile.

This morning it's party time in the Bird Park. Remember, I've been gone for a month but never fear. Good old Seven showed up at 7:22 with a friend. Not only did she find the usual peanuts and puppy kibble, but the delicious pumpkin pie I'd put the freezer when we left, thinking we'd be back in a week. I'm sure it's fine but M. Lee won't touch it. So far, Seven only gave it a peck but she'll check it out later, after she's done stashing the peanuts.

And, yay, a couple of quail just showed up. Excellent. Now the Bird Park is officially open.

 

So today I'm going to Reno to participate in the Reno Vegans protest against the Charles River Labs. In case you haven't heard, Charles River Labs is a notorious contract animal testing business and the world's largest supplier of animals for lab experiments in the world. Although animal testing has been replaced by humane, more accurate methods, Charles River Labs continues to conduct  painful, live experiments on any animal for a price. These poor innocent beings needlessly suffer torturous lives full of pain, fear, suffering and misery. And any who manage to survive an experiment at Charles River Labs are killed shortly afterwards. This needs to end.
 
So, have a good day.

"I know of no achievement through vivisection, no scientific discovery, that could not have been obtained without such barbarism and cruelty. The whole thing is evil."
—Charles Mayo, Founder of the Mayo Clinic, c. 1930.

All in all

After a second, shorter stay in the psych ward my granddaughter is doing better and in a few days she's returning to So. Oregon to stay with her mom for awhile. After nearly a month in Portland this was our cue to exit. We're headed back to Nevada.

I am not comfortable writing about personal matters. That's why I'm doing it.

Autumn leaves

I laid down to rest when the sun was still illuminating the red curtains and I could see summer's last tomatoes on the vine just outside the window. It's dark now, no glowing color, no tomatoes. I have the hacking crud that's going around and can barely talk today. I feel better after a nap but still prefer to lay here than join the family in the front room.

I've lost track of exactly how long we've been in Portland. Since LA,whenever that was. We came here to support the family after our 20 year-old granddaughter attempted suicide. She's a great kid in a very dark place. I don't know if everyone has to stand at that cross-road at some point in their life. I did. Perhaps you did too. She's seems to be reclaiming herself. God, I hope she decides to stick around, see how the story turns out. I'd sure miss her.

I just got called to dinner...roasted veggies, french bread, brie, fire in the fireplace.

Loneliest whale in the world

The 52-Hertz Whale's song
is just higher than the lowest note on a tuba.

"This song is the only one of its kind detected anywhere. Because of this, the animal has been called loneliest whale in the world."  -Wikipedia

Chalkboard

This evening M. Lee mentioned that I am like a person writing on a chalkboard with one hand while erasing with the other. How true.

Election night

FANTASTIC that Barack won!

Ps. Fuck off, Karl Rove..

Happy Election Day

So much is going on. I haven't even had time to post a photo. I am surrounded by spinning worlds. We are still in Portland and it's raining. It's election day. If you haven't voted today be sure and VOTE FOR BARACK OBAMA.

It's GLOBAL WARMING, stupid!

via Huffingtonpost

Happy Halloween

Remember kiddes, when your out and about tonight
Watch out for the Monster Bridge!

Diane Keaton at the Getty Villa

Diane Keaton got in the elevator at the Getty Villa the other day and after it began its descent to the parking garage she turned to me and said, "You have great hair".  I was on the phone but smiled and said "Thank you". "No. I mean it", she said. "You have really... great ... hair."  Trust me. She knows how to make a point. I told her I thought she looked great herself, all around, clothes, hair, hat, face... everything.

Earlier that afternoon I'd noticed her in the gallery, not because she was Diane Keaton, M. Lee's mom told me that later, but because she was someone over 40 who was simultaneously eccentric, youthful, hip, elegant and, most importantly, unpretentious.

She said something else, I don't remember exactly, but then I joked about how she had made my day because now I had a Diane Keaton story I could tell my friends. I regretted letting on that I knew who she was. It just wasn't the point.

LA outtakes for the last three days

Arrival

LA at night

We didn't leave Nevada until nearly four in the afternoon
on Sunday. We drove so we got into LA pretty late.
Minerva loved it but we were pretty rummy by the time we arrived.

Home for the next week. 

The Piccadilly is right in the middle of downtown but
was built in 1928 and embodies the charm of old Hollywood.
We have a top (7th) floor, two bedroom apartment.

His mom joined us from Oregon.

M. Lee found the place on AirBnB. It's way nicer and cheaper
than a motel would be, plus it's really interesting staying in a stranger's home.

Norton Simon Museum

The Mulberry Tree by Vincent van Gogh (1889)

Van Gogh did this painting shortly after entering the asylum near Arles.
Less than eight months after completing it, he committed suicide.

Venice Beach

The Green Doctors of Venice Beach

Whatever anyone thinks about the "morality of marijuana",
growing pot and selling pot legally in the US is not only good medicine
and a good business, it castrates the cartels by gutting their profits.

On days like these

Morning. Another day in the salt mine...dwarfs marching, picks shouldered, hoods and cloaks pulled close to fend off morning chill. But first, another cup of coffee. Hold on. I'll be right back.

Ok. While I was in the kitchen M. Lee gave me a tip. Rather than standing there for five minutes of eternity watching oatmeal cook put it in pot with water, bring it to a boil, turn off the heat, put the lid on and leave it to finish on its own. Easy peasy but is it any good? He does his overnight in a crock pot but I don't like it that way. It's kind of slimy. So where was I?

Oh right...hooded figures entering the earth. Sand continues to fall through the glass. I'm not doing much lately though I am painting. But mostly with a size 00 brush which, as you might imagine, is very tiny. It's kind of crazy but I've got two in the works. No poems though. That's been awhile. Talk about writer's block. It's awful. So I paint and have been posting photos to Panoramio.  So far, out of 62, 39 have been accepted into Google Earth so that's some small contribution anyway. And this month I submitted a couple of photos to their Geotagged Photo Contest. Woo-hoo. Kids! Win big prizes!

And, Babette is still running her operation at the Bird Park, Baby Frank is thriving, yesterday Mr. Leo did his first somersault at gymnastics and Ms. Thea Bella is really gunning it on her balance bike. So I have a lot to be grateful about.

Afternoon already? Damn. Gotta get to the gym before I turn to stone.


PS. The oatmeal turned out ok.

Mitt Romney Debates Himself

Babette and Mr. Fancy Pants

I hope their paths never cross!

Lots of action at the Bird Park these days, new arrivals and surprise returnees. Henry the Frog is the newest resident. I've only seen him once but occasionally I hear his strange raspy little voice. He doesn't sound like any frog I've ever heard. And Mr. Fancy Pants is back, unfortunately making things considerably more dangerous. The gangster cats are bad enough but this guy is lethal. I don't begrudge him dropping by for a drink now and then but the other day, at the request of a group of very irate finches, I had to ask him to leave. We all want him to eat somewhere else.

Mr. Fancy Pants

The other big news around here is that Babette, aka (bottom of the barrel) BoB, showed up again. I haven't seen her for a couple of years. Unfortunately, she seems pretty unaware that Mr. Fancy Pants might be watching. She scoots in under the fence from Dick's side and grazes on the seed dropped from the feeders. That area is somewhat protected but she also runs around the yard digging holes and burying seeds as though the Bird Park were still the safe little world it used to be. Scary.

Babette

But for the moment anyway, life is good. She even manages to squeeze into the seed tray generally accessible only to the little birds. Crows, magpies and pigeons have all done their best to plunder that pile of goodies, hanging by one claw while scrambling desperately to grab a seed or two, only to fall gracelessly to the ground. Not Babette.

Doing what squirrels do best.

Coffee with Swami, not the Mona Lisa

This morning I got up about five. After starting the coffee, I went outside for a look at the stars. Venus was in the east over the Bird Park, Jupiter at the top and in the west a nearly full moon had just dipped behind Dwayne's giant arching willow tree of life which fills that once horizon beyond our backyard fence. This behemoth entirely blocks our view of the Sierra, the one we enjoyed when the housing development was new and had no trees of note. In spite of all that, the moon was quite lovely glowing through its branches. I ran in to get my camera but by the time I got back, only moments later, it had slipped further down and it's light too obscure so I didn't bother.You'll have to use your imagination.

Instead, and still before dawn, I worked on my current new painting. This one is of Swami, the Invisible Theatre's  first and most venerable resident. He's a great model, always upbeat and encouraging. As the Mona Lisa was one of the few must-see treasures we obstinately did not see during our five weeks in Paris this summer, I created a Mona Lisa type backdrop for him. At the moment, I'm struggling with the hills over his left shoulder. I will have to paint them out and start over. For the little experience I've had working with oils I miss them. It's pretty hard pushing acrylics around. They are water colors after all and dry in a flash. And, no excuse, but this is only my third time using them. At least I am not suffering the delusion that I have to match the Master.  So on with the day. Have a good one.

The Mexican Mormon War

"As long as drugs are illegal in the US, America is the swimming pool, Mexico is the dining board." - Kelly Romney, Mitt Romney's cousin.

The Mexican Mormon War 1/7

This by way of VICE News from M. Lee this morning, thank you very much. It's well worth a watch.

 

Compassionate pig

Compassionate pig rescues baby goat whose foot is stuck underwater at petting zoo.

This short video should challenge the thoughtful still attached to the idea that animals are incapable of "human" emotions like compassion and empathy.

Art Brut & Centre Pompidou

Art brut:  Art by psychiatric patients, prisoners, and children according to Jean Dubuffet who coined the term. Low art. Outsider art. I fit somewhere in that. So said, here is my latest. It was a bday present for M. Lee last week. The image is based on a photograph I took of him wandering through Dubuffet's Jardin d'hiver (Winter Garden) at Centre Pompidou in Paris this summer. Along with this huge installation, we spent hours wandering through their MASSIVE collection of fabulous art. I believe, of all the museums we visited this summer, it was my favorite.

M. Lee in Dubuffet's Jardin d'hiver
(acrylic on poster board)

So, as you might expect from any outsider/psychiatric patient/criminal/child artist type, the perspectives in this painting are a bit askew so don't try following them out. I do think I captured the essence of M. Lee rather nicely though, and all in one day, although he was a bit concerned about being a blue alien.

Centre Pompidou, Paris

M. Dubuffet

Little birds in a random universe

Commenting on my earlier post today, Roy wrote... "I'm sorry. Sometimes the universe is too random for the little guys like that."

Wise words, cold comfort but they help. 

I went out this afternoon to bury the little bird who died in my care sometime over the night. I was not prepared for what I found. Last night I thought he had snuggled safely into the folds of the big blue towel I padded the terrarium with. I checked before I went to bed. All seemed well. He was safe from predators. I left him with a pile of tasty sunflower and thistle seeds and watermelon to stay hydrated. All tucked in for the night. Warm evening.

Upon opening the screen this afternoon, I saw that at some point he got tangled up in a long loose thread in the towel, twisting and turning so violently that the string wrapped several times around his neck and broke it. I am heartsick. I buried him in the tiny graveyard that has developed in the Bird Park by the aspen trees. So it is; life and death in a universe that is sometimes too random for us all.

Window alerts

WindowAlert

Sadly, it looks like the little finch I rescued last night died. He hasn't moved since tucking himself into the folds of the towel inside the terrarium. I'll bury him this evening. He was such a tiny fellow. When I picked him up yesterday he didn't weigh much more than his feathers.

I don't know what brought him down but suspect he may have hit my window. I feel very guilty. Yes, I know. Birds hit windows all the time, millions a year but, and here's the difference, I bought decals designed to alert birds to windows. Putting them up has been on my To Do list ever since, about a year. Crap. They reflect ultraviolet light that glows like a stoplight for birds whose vision is up to 12 times better than ours. So this morning I washed the damn window and will put them up when it's warm enough. Available at WindowAlert. Cheap.

Bird in the Hand

Baby quail. A former Bird Park rescue with a happy ending.

No photos. I don't want to scare the little guy but there's a little finch in the Bird Park Hospital tonight. I found him when I was out refilling the feeders at twilight. He was on the ground, strong enough to skitter but unable to fly. I am ready for such emergencies from past rescues so I ran and got the terrarium, screen cover and a nice big soft towel. Unfortunately, he really freaked when I picked him up but in an instant he was nestling into the folds of the towel and nearly out of sight. I added some yummy seeds and a dollop of watermelon for moisture, secured the top and left him to the night and god. I hope he's still alive in the morning and ready to return to the wild. Keep a good thought.

Letters of Note: This is my last visit

M. Lee sent me this link from Letters of Note, a site I knew nothing about until today. I think It's a wonderful read, even if you are not a fan of William Burroughs or Truman Capote. See for yourself. For your reading pleasure...

***

July 23, 1970

My Dear Mr. Truman Capote

This is not a fan letter in the usual sense — unless you refer to ceiling fans in Panama. Rather call this a letter from "the reader" — vital statistics are not in capital letters — a selection from marginal notes on material submitted as all "writing" is submitted to this department. I have followed your literary development from its inception, conducting on behalf of the department I represent a series of inquiries as exhaustive as your own recent investigations in the sun flower state. I have interviewed all your characters beginning with Miriam — in her case withholding sugar over a period of several days proved sufficient inducement to render her quite communicative — I prefer to have all the facts at my disposal before taking action. Needless to say, I have read the recent exchange of genialities between Mr Kenneth Tynan and yourself. I feel that he was much too lenient. Your recent appearance before a senatorial committee on which occasion you spoke in favor of continuing the present police practice of extracting confessions by denying the accused the right of consulting consul prior to making a statement also came to my attention. In effect you were speaking in approval of standard police procedure: obtaining statements through brutality and duress, whereas an intelligent police force would rely on evidence rather than enforced confessions. You further cheapened yourself by reiterating the banal argument that echoes through letters to the editor whenever the issue of capital punishment is raised: "Why all this sympathy for the murderer and none for his innocent victims?" I have in line of duty read all your published work. The early work was in some respects promising — I refer particularly to the short stories. You were granted an area for psychic development. It seemed for a while as if you would make good use of this grant. You choose instead to sell out a talent that is not yours to sell. You have written a dull unreadable book which could have been written by any staff writer on the New Yorker — (an undercover reactionary periodical dedicated to the interests of vested American wealth). You have placed your services at the disposal of interests who are turning America into a police state by the simple device of deliberately fostering the conditions that give rise to criminality and then demanding increased police powers and the retention of capital punishment to deal with the situation they have created. You have betrayed and sold out the talent that was granted you by this department. That talent is now officially withdrawn. Enjoy your dirty money. You will never have anything else. You will never write another sentence above the level of In Cold Blood. As a writer you are finished. Over and out. Are you tracking me? Know who I am? You know me, Truman. You have known me for a long time. This is my last visit.

William S. Burroughs

(Source: Rub Out The Words - The Letters Of William S. Burroughs 1959-1974; Image: Polaroids of William Burroughs & Truman Capote, by Andy Warhol, via RealityStudio.)

Letters of Note: This is my last visit

Sam Bacile's gift to the world

TRIPOLI, Libya, Sept. 11, 2012 -- The U.S. ambassador to Libya and three other Americans were killed in an attack on the U.S. consulate in Benghazi by protesters angry over a film that ridiculed Islam's Prophet Muhammad.

Hate monger Sam Bacile, a 56-year-old California real estate developer who identifies himself as an Israeli Jew and who said he produced, directed and wrote the two-hour film, "Innocence of Muslims," said he had not anticipated such a furious reaction. This cowardly bastard is now "in hiding" while others pay for his little exposé with their lives.
 

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Update: Just for the record, as searches on the subject direct people to this post, "Sam Bacile" is one of the many aliases for Nakoula Basseley Nakoula a convicted felon from Cerritos, California. Nakoula and Joseph Nassralla Abdelmasih, the president of the Duarte-based charity Media for Christ, emerged Thursday as forces behind "Innocence of Muslims", the low-budget film which incited violence in recent days across the Arab world.

Hustler's million dollar bounty on Romney

Two at a time

As always, the Seven O'clock Magpie, was the first to discover we are back and for a few golden days she had all the peanuts and kibble to herself. Those first two days, she didn't even eat it all. But not so this morning. This morning the tribe showed up and gobbled everything in minutes. I am impressed that now most of them are expert at grabbing two peanuts per swoop. It wasn't always so.

Optical illusion or pearl of light?

Most of Tonopah is below ground.

Outhouse behind Mizpah Hotel.
Note the TP still on the roll.

On the surface, streets and buildings

Rm. 501
Outdoor spotlights shining into our room
made sleep the first night nearly impossible.

rest precariously on twisting, overlapping,

Keeping out the light.

intersecting mazes of miner's tunnels

"Pearl" or glitch?
That white dot isn't in the other
other photos I took of the curtain.

miles and miles long.

Lady in Red's "pearl" or optical illusion?

They are the real Tonopah.

Last Dance in Tonopah

It's that time in Tonopah again.

I assume the small chairs in the lobby are for
the ghost children who are said to haunt the hotel.

But this time it's the last time. At least for now. I'm really going to miss this place. It's been a long run.

Main Street at night.

But the Mizpah is (finally) open so, for this last and final trip, we've got a room there. It's a good farewell. I've been photographing the place for years while it was closed and shuttered. I never thought I'd actually get inside, much less stay there.

Open at last.

We're on the 5th floor, right next to the room of the Lady in Red. As the story goes, she was strangled just outside our door. That was in the 1920s and ever since people have reported that she still walks the hallways and occasionally leaves a pearl from her broken necklace on a pillow. No disrespect, but I'll let you know if anything strange happens.