Crazy Charlie

I’m driving to South LA to lead a writing workshop ..helping kids learn to keep a journal about events in their lives. It’s held at the rec-room of a park that gang-bangers claimed for themselves in 1989 ..and still do. However, things change. Some gang-bangers make it to middle age and get tired. Especially if they have kids whose only role-models are their gang-banger dads. It was at a juncture like this that Charlie arrived ..or more accurately .. got dumped by county psych last year. He woke up with a sawed-off shotgun in his face .. a steel-toe boot crashing into his groin and someone screaming: “Git da’fug up ya’muthafuggn piece’shit honky ..yu got rent ta pay ..or y’ain’t nevah pissin’ the same agin ..” He got up in a field of scorched earth ..felt completely disoriented ..and wondered if the clinic had been bombed. Being short of change, he kicked into survival mode. “I got pot ..!” he bellowed ..while his brain went searching for someone who did. “Yeah muthafuggah ? .. Where.” Yeah, where is a good question, he thought ..like where the fuck am I. He got on a cell-phone, stolen from a psych-tech ..dialed the number of a successful buddy of his from back in ‘Nam ..and two kilos were dropped off at the rec-room ..with a street value of over $5,000. This took the edge off things ..and Charlie made new friends. He hung around for awhile.

Continued here  ~>[ link ]

Crazy Charlie

Continued from here ~> [ link ]

Charlie is a scavenger by nature. He found nets to hang on the rusty hoops. He started a kitchen in a storage room ..using food he scavenged from around the ‘hood. He made gumbo out of mostly bean dip, potatoes and Doritos. He served gang members, homeless people as well as former members of the middle class who’d been jobless for so long ..they were living in their cars. He listened to stories about mothers who got killed .. kids who got abandoned .. drug-addicted fathers .. cruel and unusual punishment ..schools that offered no hope ..jobs that had disappeared ..and a place with no malls, YMCA or colleges. They needed something to hang on to so they seized the park. Probably the only sense of community they ever had. They did have incredible stories to tell about overcoming some pretty major trauma in their life. So Charlie started writing them down. Then someone suggested he put them in a grant proposal. That caught the attention of City Council women Jan Perry ..and the floodgates opened. Money began to arrive, Charlie recruited gang members to re-build the playground ..restore the gym floor ..plant grass for a football field ..and even build a concert stage for local rap acts. It was like re-hab for the old gangbangers. Now they have karate classes ..aerobic classes .. and football teams. And when they saw how much money could be made by writing ..they set up a writing workshop. Charlie has since moved on ..but I can still hear the echo of his footsteps around here.

Joy

by TomiJoy

Home

Crazy Charlie

I’m lying on the roof, looking up at the stars ..when I get a get a call from Charlie who's underneath a bridge .. in a tent community by the L.A. River. It’s a place he knows well, which concerns me because it’s probably the first place they’ll look for him. “Nah” he says “..it’s terra incognita.” I try Googling it with no luck. It’s like wild kingdom down there. He spends his time sitting in squalor behind a wall of cattails .. reading and repairing his bicycle ..while freeway traffic rushes by overhead. His new lady friend ‘Musgrove’ prepares coffee while he plans his next destination. I tell him he sounds awfully comfortable for a man on the run. He says it’s OK, people down there come and go ..no one really knows who you are ..but everyone takes care of each other. He tells me there’s a string of communities like this running up and down the river. Some really reek ..but others are almost picturesque. He says he wants to go to one where, he hears ..elderberry and willow trees grow wild ..and you can watch the egrets nest. I tell him he ought to write a travel guide to the swamps and waterways that run below the city of L.A. They’re sort of a blank spot that most people either miss ..or glimpse from an overpass ..then instantly forget.

Letter to the editor

Written in response to an article about ~~>marijuana dispensaries

It sounds like District Attorney Steve Cooley has either an outdated, or conveniently narrow interpretation of the English language. It’s no wonder he has chosen to go to war with the City Council, its constituents, the Attorney General’s Office and the voters of the State of California. Although State laws governing marijuana dispensaries do not explicitly say that it’s OK to ‘sell’ marijuana ..they do allow for ‘cost-reimbursements’ by its members. Now, in business terms, when cost-reimbursements are received they are generally considered a ‘sale’. Sort of a modern-day convenience since we live in a mostly cash-based economy. If District Attorney Cooley has problems with money changing hands, perhaps we should revert back to earlier times and reimburse dispensaries with topsoil, seeds and fertilizer.

In a heartbeat

Many children with dyslexia cannot keep up with the flow of text fluently enough to translate symbols into sounds ..then sounds into meaning. To read OK, the brain has about 40 milliseconds to do this. For children with reading difficulties, this may take as many as 500 milliseconds. According to Usha Goswami (Cognitive Neurosciences Institute at University College in London), part of the problem may be caused by difficulty in perceiving the rhythm of speech. Goswami and her colleagues discovered that dyslexic children could not track the beat in speech. The ability to detect a beat matters when the brain is trying to process syllables and phonemes. Like a metronome, it helps children pick-up the properties of speech in time. The ability to keep the beat is so fundamental, they say, that the first language a child learns is it’s own mother’s heartbeat while still in the womb.

Another country

President Obama has decided on a settlement between the Navajo and Hopi Indians during his first year in office. Imagine that. I wonder when the last time a sitting president could make that claim. Marijuana production is definitely on the rise around here. The Mexican Cartels are moving their operations to the US. It’s especially apparent in California. This doesn’t surprise me much. It’s common practice for US businesses to set-up shop closer to their market. The border community between the U.S and Mexico is becoming another country. They even have a name for it: El Tercer Pais. Literally ‘the third country’. It’s a place where people go about their business without much regard for what legislatures decide on either side. Meanwhile, smugglers are using cranes to lift cars, filled with marijuana, over that scary fence we built ..reinforcing the notion of how adaptable humans can be. If you build it, they will climb it. I wonder when we’re going to end this crazy charade that has transferred so much wealth to the drug cartels that, pretty soon ..they’re going to declare sovereignty over El Tercer Pais ..and defend its borders with more than just a wall.

Crazy Charlie

Charlie taught himself how to fly an airplane by playing video games on the computer. So, when the time came, he got food and supplies from other people’s houses ..boots and camping gear from an army surplus store ..night vision goggles out of a nearby fire station ..and a Cessna from a hanger outside of Renton, Washington. He landed hard on a forest road near Bonners Ferry, Idaho ..actually cracked the fuselage. Then he called me on a stolen cell phone to ask where I thought he should go next. I’m like: WTF Charlie ..are you joy riding or something ..? Are you trying to get away from somebody ..? (I’m thinking it could be anything from pissing off a neighbor to causing a riot). He says they picked him up in Seattle on a ‘malicious mischief’ charge (which could mean anything) ..then told him he was a suspect in an armed robbery case. Suspect ..? He doesn’t carry a gun ..nor does he remember threatening anyone. But it was enough to flip a paranoia switch that told him he better get out of town ..and just keep on going.

Continued [link]

Free falling

Late afternoon, Don calls and says the swells are getting bigger. I blow-off my plans, throw my Churchills in the alfa and zip down to the shore. I do some quick deep-breathing exercises and take a running leap into oncoming waves. The first ride nearly yanks my shorts off ..I pull the waistband as tight as it’ll go. The next ride throws me over the falls ..I go limp and bounce twice off the sandy bottom. After some more pounding, I head for the shore to get a birds-eye view. The swells are definitely getting bigger. I’m about to go back out when I see someone coming in. At first, I thought it was a guy I was watching out there. Instead, it was a girl I was watching out there. I meet Sara from Westmont College. I’m surprised ..she’s small, almost waif-like ..and carries a wicked pair of Vipers. She’s no Val .. and from what I saw ..knows no fear. We chat briefly ..and head back in the water. I zip down the face a wave and decide to ride it without bailing ..and get trashed in the collapse. I emerge in churning white water ..look around and see her pop-up ..breathless but exhilarated. We swim back as fast as we can to catch the next one ..too late. She ducks under while I go up and over the top ..feeling the vacuum of the curl almost suck me backwards by my feet. Dumb thing to do because the next wave is right on it’s heels. I know I’m going over the falls but I catch it anyway .. getting a fast-pitched ride into white-water oblivion. I lose my orientation ..scrap my shoulder against a vertical wall of sand ..go wtf ..and figure it’ll be just a few seconds before my sonar detects true bottom. Back on shore, Sara says she’s gotta’ go ..I stay, repeating her email address over-and-over, and ride until sunset .. wondering if this is the beginning of a cycle or the last amp of the day.

The crapshoot

The headline says: “The pace of foreclosures is slowing down in California” ..and it makes me feel good to think that more people are able to afford homes and, by extension ..the economy is getting better. Reading on, however, it turns out I’m wrong. Just as many people are in default as ever .. but fewer of them are going the distance to foreclosure. That’s good news. I tell myself it’s because banks are learning that it’s better to let people stay in their homes ..they lose money auctioning off foreclosed property. I used to tell people, facing foreclosure, always go to the bargaining table ..bankers are reasonable people ..right ? Well, it didn’t always work out that way and now I’m finding out I was seriously mistaken. Banks don’t act reasonably ..they are not good business people ..they’re order takers. And they are not learning anything new (as I had hoped). It says here that the only reason they’re showing leniency now is because they’re afraid if they don’t ..the government will change the rules and allow homeowners to protect their property in bankruptcy court. Now I’m reading where Bank of America insists they can sell foreclosed properties profitably. Since this runs counter to my beliefs, I look back at the article ..and shake my head. My mistake .. Bank of America didn’t say they could sell foreclosed properties profitably .. they said they could sell them more efficiently. Now, I feel a sliding sensation I sometimes get while reading about the economy ..like the wheels of my car aren’t firmly on the road. I’m sitting at my computer but I have this feeling I’m in a sideways drift. Like everything I know is wrong ..or at least suspect. Now I’m wondering how often I misinterpret what I read. Now I’m wondering how often I misread what other people are telling me. Now I’m wondering how often other people misread what I say ..and think I’m deranged. I remember somebody once told me that communication is a probabilistic event. Like a crapshoot. Now I’m wondering whether or not I should read ‘The Glass Bead Game’ by Hesse. Now I’m asking myself what the hell that has got to do with anything.

Esalen journal

I’m having breakfast while listening to Tania, a work-scholar from Russia, tell me about her mediation practice. She is drop-dead gorgeous ..with a beautiful accent. I don’t remember a thing she said ..but I do remember the way she repeatedly waved her hand, in kind of a circular motion, to describe how her thoughts go ‘off-track’ while she’s meditating. I believe I told her that mine do too ..but I can’t be sure. Now I' m laughing at something another work-scholar just said. Referring to ‘seminarians’ (like me), he goes: “ ..slap your money down ..turn your life around.” Work-study people live and work here for part of the year, while we (the seminarians) drop by occasionally for therapeutic retreats. I mingle with the work-study people ..even get stoned with them ..and because of my hair and overall appearance, I sometimes get mistaken for one ..so I hear where they’re coming from. Gail, an attractive seminarian from Benedict canyon, took it as an insult ..as if he were saying that we’re stupid enough to believe a trip to Esalen is a life-changing event. I can tell she’s hurt and I try to explain how the work-scholar people often feel like second-class citizens ..cleaning rooms, gardening, that sort of thing. I mean, when you really look at it, we seminarians do tend to socialize primarily amongst ourselves. I’m saying all this stuff until I find out what’s really bothering her ..she came up here looking for a date ..and she thought she was actually having one ..a really good one .. with an attorney from LA (and conveniently close to Benedict canyon no less). But he left last night with a much younger girl he met at the baths. She’s been sitting here chain-smoking for almost two hours. I take this as a sign that it’s time for me to head to the mediation hall and just sit and breathe until it’s time to leave this afternoon.

Workshop

Soo is from Singapore. She tells us that it is not part of her culture to express feelings and opinions so open and freely. Since they’re ‘insubstantial’ and not ‘factual’ ..they’re easy to contradict ..and that makes her feel afraid of looking foolish all the time. She says this workshop was good for her .. hard, but good. Helped her feel that it’s OK to open up. The instructor says that feeling unhurried to speak makes you more receptive to what other people are saying. Artful response I’m thinking. After workshop, Kitty tells me that the instructor feels like the workshop was a failure. I go “..really, she told you that ?” (I certainly didn’t feel like it was a failure) “No” she says “.. but you heard her .. she said she may not give this workshop again.” Yeah, I heard her say that ..but I took it to mean that she was moving on ..and letting us know she’ll be doing something different in the future. I’m suddenly reminded of what Soo said ..opinions are easy to contradict. However, I don’t think that contradictions are so bad ..we often express opinions to solicit other people’s point of view and see if what we think has any validity ..I guess that way we don’t have to wait around until all the ‘facts’ are in. But, hey .. that’s just my opinion.

It’s a friggin’ cold and foggy day! I’m heading directly to the hot springs after lunch.

Esalen journal

I took the white-knuckle coastal road to Big Sur last night ..in and out of the blinding fingers of fog. It was freezing but I had the top down anyway ..as well as a hooded-sweatshirt on, plus leather jacket, goggles and gloves ..and the heater cranked way up. This morning I get up, look out the window and see sun shine and blue sky ..I have no idea how long it’ll last. Conditions change so fast. I walk down to the lodge as monarch butterflies and hummingbirds zip by. I sit at the table and eat breakfast (oatmeal, yogurt and figs) with Judy, a therapist from Santa Barbara. She compliments me on my copper jewelry ..says it’s good for cleansing my bioenergy (?) She introduces me to Jon, who is also from Santa Barbara. He fixes old Volvos and sells them to college students real cheap. “It’s high volume” he says. He ought to know ..he’s been the main supplier of wheels to students at UCSB for over 18 years. He has raised a family and already put one daughter through college this way, and I’m thinking ..how admirable this guy is.

Shade grown

My friend Joey spends a lot of time in Indonesia helping coffee growers organize co-ops. Says he's surprised whenever he sees nature taking matters into it’s own hands. Tells me if a coffee grower isn’t practicing ‘shade-grown’ farming techniques ..elephants will actually appear at the edge of his plantation and eat whatever coffee bushes are growing outside the shady area. Occasionally he hears stories about tigers killing farmers who inadvertently cross into federally protected forestland. When he mentioned this to the National Park Service in Sumatra, they told him it’s the law of the jungle ..when wild animals sense that their habitat is shrinking ..they begin defending their territory more aggressively. When he talks to the encroaching farmers however ..he gets another story. They believe that the tiger is a deity enforcing proper human behavior. They tell him the killing was more likely a punishment for breaking a tribal taboo such as adultery. “Maybe the victims did something bad, like sleeping with someone who was not their wife. Cutting the trees is OK. There's no problem with that.” They cannot conceive of the notion that the attacks are related to the destruction of the animal’s habitat.

Reading Ram Dass

“..service often comes from a selfish place ..the need to please ..to be held in high esteem. Not that these are bad places ..it’s just important to observe these desires when helping others ..and not let them interfere with their struggle.” When I look up from the page, I hear my ears ringing ..I feel currents of cold air ..I see flashes of light .. sunlight coming through the window ..I swear every eye in the room is looking at me ..feels like I’m in a fishbowl. I hide behind my book but the words jump off the page making them hard to track. I ask myself what I’m doing here (UCSB library). What’s the point ..? The author says. “Observe the thoughts surrounding each act of service ..thoughts like: what’s in it for me? ..what am I getting out of it ? ..I wonder how I look ..?” I sit back and remember what the Buddha called these .. “gainful ideas.” They are neither good nor bad, in fact ..they are important ..just not in everything you do. Just something to be mindful of ..especially when trying to help others deal with challenging circumstances.

Reading ~~>Ram Dass

Summertime

The offshore winds arrive on schedule today ..blowing the marine layer out to sea and creating the first day of summer for me. I put the top down ..throw in some Churchills ..and head for the shore where conditions are immaculate. Offshore winds have turned the beach warm and crystal clear. Since it's a south-facing beach, we don’t feel the wind so much as it’s warm and cleansing effect. I run across the sand and plunge in. After riding a few waves ..I’m reminded that I live on a planet again.

Streaming music

Investigators have uncovered a subconscious ‘stream of music’ running through my head. It contains mostly fragments of old songs I heard while I was growing up. Songs like “..doze eat oats and mares eat oats and little lambs eat ivy”. But it also plays some contemporary tunes like “..help I’m alive” or “gimmie a break, gimmie a break.” Some investigators tell me it’s purpose is to keep my brain entertained so I stay alert ..while others tell me it was set in motion to supply my ego with a steady stream of self-images ..keeping me anchored in the culture and generation where I belong. I notice that it pops into hearing range from time to time for no apparent reason. When it does, I can tell that the songs I grew up with are more prevalent ..I don’t hear too many Moroccan tunes ..although sometimes I would prefer them. There is one thing investigators agree on however: they say if it pops up to often ..or stays on the surface too long ..it could become pathological. I ask them if that’s because of all the disturbing memories it might bring up. No, they say it’s because of all the disruption it would cause my ordinary stream of consciousness. It would sound like I had Tourettes or something. Either that, they say ..or it would become stagnant and block me from learning any new tunes. I tell them I’m not sure which is worse.

Based on notes taken during a lecture by ~> Oliver Sacks
If you get a chance, listen to the audio at the bottom. It will be worth it.

Pieta Brown

Saw her show last week at the Lobero ..very hypnotic

Gone

Laura calls from Austin and tells me her truck has just been repossessed. I rack my brains trying to think of what I can do to help, but the best I can come up with is .. “let me see what I can do.” Guess she’s heard that often enough because she says “ ..that means you aren't going to do anything” ..and hangs up pissed. Well, that’s disturbing news ..I feel my heart racing and my mind spinning. I’m frantically trying to find a way to help, but keep coming up short. Perhaps I should make a few phone calls and get some advice. I figure this probably isn’t the best time to do that, so ..I grab my fins and head for the shore ..the words “aren't going to do anything” still ringing in my ears. The water is calm and classy, again ..like yesterday. Offshore conditions have definitely prevailed. I swim vigorously, then relax and float. My heart has stopped racing and my mind has stopped spinning. I still hear the words “aren't going to do anything” circling my head ..but at much longer intervals. I still haven’t figured out what to do ..but at least I’m not taking it out on myself anymore. Hopefully clarity will prevail.

Almost summer

I take my hands off the keyboard ..push away from the computer ..walk across campus and slide down a dirt trail to Leadbetter beach, where I drop my pack and plunge into the water. Conditions are clear and glassy, so I take a few strokes then roll over on my back and float. I hear sea lions barking. Out of the corner of my eye I see surfers lined up at the point. Overhead, pelicans pass in formation, circle and then dive bomb for fish. I get off my back and cheer at them for that ..prehistoric creatures that they are. I track them, hoping to see their diving act again, when they disappear into a fog bank and I’m like ..wtf. Where did that come from. I can’t hear the sea lions anymore. I guess this isn't an offshore day. Those won’t be here for another week or so. October is when summer really begins around here ..at least for me anyway.

Vipassana

Today’s episode: I feel drowsy. Now I feel tension from trying to maintain the proper posture ..noticing the tension persist until it passes. Now I feel tension mounting from resisting the pressure to move ..hearing my inner narrative asking me if it wouldn’t be better to get up and do something else ..hearing myself respond by saying that it’s OK to just sit here for a while. I notice judgments made: “wouldn’t it better” and “it’s OK”. Letting the narrative flow until it vanishes. Now I notice the sound of cars swooshing by outside ..and hear myself remark how noisy they are ..then immediately notice the judgment “..how noisy they are”. Congratulating myself for making the catch. Wondering if it’s really something worth congratulating myself for. Letting these reactions fade until they vanish. I hear the sound of swooshing cars again ..except this time they remind me of something somebody once told me ..passing cars are a good way to observe the passage of time. Now I hear voices coming from the canyon and I try to make out what they’re saying ..but it’s too tedious so I just let them pass by as indecipherable noise. Actually sounds less bothersome that way.

Namaste everyone ..

A most lucid explanation

If I understand what he’s saying correctly ..the current economic crises can be traced back to the Reagan Administration. In 1980 they deregulated the Savings and Loan industry ..which put the business of making home loans in the hands of amateurs. Then, in 1987 ..the Reagan Administration had to bail out the Savings and Loan industry when it collapsed under the weight of it’s own incompetence (and unbridled greed). The Federal government allowed the Savings and Loans to package questionable loans, and sell them as stocks ..or mortgage-backed securities. It was mortgage-backed securities that helped make the housing slump of 2006–2007 ..go global in 2008 ..and wipe out investment houses from Bear Stearns to Deutsche Industriebank

Oral transmission in post-apocalypse sects

Savannah ..! Finn ..! look.It's him. I finded him ..It's Captain Walker.
-What's his talk?
-He ain't made any wordstuff.
-It's a long track. Maybe he's burned out.
-Maybe.
-Maybe he's just listening.
-Walker? Hello?
-Maybe he's talking, but we ain't hearing.
-You see ..his lips ain't moving.
-Not with wordstuff, but maybe with sonic.
-This is Delta-Fox-X-Ray. Can you hear me? Delta-Fox-X-Ray. Come in. Is anybody out there? Can you read me, Walker? What's up, Doc? Can you hear me?

Yeah, I can hear your ..who are you?
-Quiet!
-Shut up!
-Enough!
Who are you?
-We are the waiting ones.
Waiting for what?
-Waiting for you.
And who am I?
-I think he be testing us .. this a testing, Walker? …you reckon we been slack?
I don't know ..maybe you've been slack.
-We ain't ..we kept it straight. It's all there. Everything marked ..everything 'membered. You wait, you'll see. This you knows. I be First Tracker. Times past count I done the Tell. But it weren't me that tumbled Walker. It was Savannah. So it's only right that she tell the Tell.
This ain't one body's story. It's the story of us all. We got it mouth-to-mouth. You got to listen it and 'member. 'Cause what you hears today ..you got to tell the birthed tomorrow.
I'm looking behind us now. ..across the count of time . .down the long haul, into history back. In the end what were the start. It's Pox-Eclipse, full of pain! And out of it we were birthed ..from crackling dust and fearsome time. It were full-on winter ..and Mr. Dead chasing them all. But one he couldn't catch. That were Captain Walker.
He gathers up a gang, takes to the air and flies to the sky! So they left their homes,said bidey-bye to the high-scrapers . .and what were left of the knowing, they left behind. Some say the wind just stoppered. Others reckon it were a gang called Turbulence. And after the wreck, some had been jumped by Mr. Dead . .but some had got the luck,and it leads them here. One look and they's got the hots for it. They word it "Planet Earth. " "We don't need the knowing.We can live here. "
Time counts and keeps counting.They gets missing what they had. They get so lonely for the high-scrapers and the video. And they does the pictures so they'd 'member all the knowing that they lost.
'Member this?
-Tomorrow-morrow Land!
'Member this?
-The River of Light!
'Member this?
-Skyraft!
'Member this?>
-Captain Walker!
'Member this?
-Mrs. Walker!
Then Captain Walker picked them of an age and good for a long haul. They counted twenty, and that were them. The great leaving. The rescue party departed at first light ..led by Flight Captain. Walker. "May God have mercy on our souls. " They said bidey-bye to them what they'd birthed.And from the nothing ..they looked back ..and Captain Walker hollered:
"Wait, one of us will come."
"Wait, one of us will come."
And somebody did come. .Walker! We's heartful to you, Captain Walker. We's ready now.
That ain't me ..you got the wrong guy.
-Quit joshing!
-Catch the wind.
-We got to see Tomorrow-morrow Land!
-Home! Tomorrow-morrow Land!
There were places like these.Cities. They were called cities.They had lots of knowing. They had skyscrapers ..videos and they had the sonic.Then this happened. This Pox-Eclipse happened, and it's finished. It isn't there anymore. You got to understand that this is home.And there ain’t no tomorrow Land ..and I ain't Captain Walker.
This is it!We's loaded and waiting, Captain. We got the wind up our arse, Captain. Let's go!Who's coming? We's pulling a leaving.
There ain't gonna be no leavings. All that's just jerking time.We's working it different. Ain't you seen nothing? He couldn't catch the wind. There weren't no skyrafting. There won't be no salvage-shun. This is our Tomorrow-morrow Land. He's proof of that.
Programmed! All of you programmed. If he ain't Captain Walker, who is he? He ain't no different to us. He slogged it on foot. If he can get here, we can get back.He ain't much bigger than us. Copilot did it. So why can't we? That's the trick of it. Who's coming? Across the nothing? Don't you 'member? When you finded him, he were half jumped by Mr. Dead. Nobody's saying it ain't a hard slog. If we wants the knowing, it ain't an easy ride.
Look ..! There ain't no knowing! There ain't no skyraft and no sonic. You slog out there to nothing! Worse than nothing. The first place you'll find is a sleaze pit called Bartertown. If the earth doesn't swallow you up,that place will.
Don't listen to im ..! He's got wordstuff out his ass! Whoever's got the juice, track with us.
Now listen good! I'm not Captain Walker. I'm the guy who keeps Mr. Dead in his pocket. I say we're gonna stay here. And we'll live a long time and we'll be thankful. Right?
Yeah right .. whoever's got the juice, track with us.

Smashing brain cells

I’m sitting here shivering on a beach near Refugio around sunset ..and wondering why Hurricane Jimena never delivered the 5-foot waves it promised. I’m not terribly disappointed though. I’m OK just sitting here feeling composed. Watching the water. Looking back. I believe that riding waves in my early days instilled confidence that has persisted throughout my life. And transferred to a lot of other things. It’s helped me ride out broken relationships ..negotiate tricky business deals ..and basically overcome a lot of the major fuck-ups of adult life. I’m not saying that I’m a perfect example of a self-assured human being or anything. Far from it. But I do believe that a small measure of mastery early in life goes a long way toward helping people weather storms later in life. For me, I’d say it was summers spent riding waves at sunrise in Newport ..catching the ferry at noon ..riding waves at Laguna until sunset ..then crashing campsites in San Clemente till dawn. It made me realize that waves aren’t just something I ride ..they’re cycles of energy I follow. They pick me up in the morning, heightening my senses ..and hurl me down slopes of fluid exhilaration ..refreshing my mind and deconstructing any networks of negative thought I may have built up since last time. It is most therapeutic. I have a profound reverence for the dynamics of the ocean and, by extension, a high regard for the forces of nature ..the nature of people and, in some small and inexplicably visceral way ..the dynamics of the universe at large. That’s probably saying a lot, I know, but sitting here with my feet buried in the sand and watching sunrays shoot across the water .. I’m not sure I care a whole heck of a lot.

Altered states

Notes from Cuzco, Peru ~ April 1977

On the slopes of the Andes, in a yurt overlooking a sage-green valley, I’m participating in a peyote ceremony that has taken place here for over 1,000 years. I’m collecting data for my senior thesis: ‘The neurological basis of hallucinations’. However, none of my faculty advisers know I’m here, and if they did ..they would probably deny any involvement. I’m here because I want to experience, first hand, the psychological effects of a guided peyote session the way it’s practiced by South American Indians ..and not for purposes of recreation the way I used to. I have a theory that human nature follows a cycle; it fluctuates between the need for ‘order and stability’ ..followed by the need for ‘exploration and rebellion’ against order and stability. I arrived at this theory from reading books by Aldous Huxley, as well as personal experience. I’m hardly able to sustain a committed relationship for more than a few months. Anyway, I believe that early Indian cultures had less destructive ways to deal with this cycle that didn’t involve excessive alcohol, domestic violence or broken homes. The peyote ceremony is, in a sense, a ‘guided’ exploration into altered states of consciousness ..followed by a gentle period of ‘re-entry’ that allows participants to integrate their extra-ordinary experiences with the ordinary reality of everyday life. It satisfies the need for exploration in a way that is far less disruptive, and way more conducive, to the well being of the individual and the tribe.

The session: Our Guide is waving a rope of burning incense (intended to awaken our senses). A drum beats softly (intended to strengthen our bond to the present). Tea is poured and cups passed ceremoniously between participants sitting cross-legged around a low bronze table. The simple act of sharing also helps bring us back to the present. I feel grounded and eager to see what happens next. After a wave of nausea ..images of my early childhood begin to appear, one after another, leaving me clutching at something for security (later I find my shirt lying bunched-up and wet on the floor beside me). Our Guide gently reminds us to watch these images flow until they vanish. Now I hear someone playing a flute. Sounds soothing. Now I feel alternating sensations of tea and mango juice splash down my throat. Sweet and refreshing. I pass the plate from one grinning face to another. Now I’m grinning too. Now it looks like I’m sitting between two huge grinning masks ..suspended in space. One of them starts laughing ..then another ..and another ..until the yurt is rocking with waves of laughter. I feel my grip loosening, and worries, stretching back as far as I can remember ..lift like fog. I feel euphoric.

Re-entry: I’m listening to our guide give instructions for re-entry. It goes something like this:

“As you return, imagine a river flowing softly ..its power comes from yielding. As you return, remember the watercourse way ..choose harmony as you go. As you return, remember the watercourse way ..the soft quality of harmony will overcome the hard barriers in your way. Remember, follow the watercourse way …the watercourse way …the watercourse way ..” 

and I could hardly forget. I could still hear these words echoing in my head for weeks afterward while I finished writing my thesis and submitting it for a round of grueling final arguments. I think the echoes helped. Either that or my inquisitors just caved.

The resulting academic screed can be viewed here ~>[SeñorThesis]

Slipstream

There’s a stream running through my head. I sit and watch it go by ~ one instance after another. When I try to push it ~ or tweak it ~ I disperse it. Now I’ve got several streams running through my head. I see images of my father holding me on his knee ~ a warm sensation comes over me ~ Jisho Perry stops by ~ but says he can’t stay for tea ~ my neighbor Don appears telling me it’s going to be a good day ~ and I believe it ~ I see images of Big Sur smoldering after another fire and I start to feel anxious. Now I’m trying to peek at instances that haven’t arrived yet. I hear Jisho's voice gently reminding me that I’m leaning forward too far ~ but it’s too late ~ I’m tumbling head over heels ~ hoping I’ll land someplace soft. I’m lying on my back soaked in sweat when Dr. Jones leans over and says I gotta’ get a grip ~ I'm having an out-of-sequence experience. Now I’m behind the wheel of an automobile and I see signs warning ‘curva peligrosa’ ~ I swerve to avoid them when sirens start to wail. Police cars roar by like a freight train. I creep along the shoulder until I come to an off-ramp and disappear down side streets.

Self medication

I’ve learned through experience that delusions, brought on by capricious mental activity, are best left ignored. Like passing clouds, there’s not one worth hanging on to (see post titled Head case below). There’s a practice I learned called ‘grounding’ that I find valuable. It helps me disengage from delusional thinking by anchoring to something in my immediate surroundings. The goal is to bring myself out of the grips of a delusion, or an intrusive memory, by way of the senses. Anytime symptoms come on, whatever form they may take ..it’s a good time to practice this exercise. I start by looking at five things nearby and begin naming them ..being specific and detailed. For example, I see my dog and say: “ ..shaggy brown hair and wet nose ..” or “..black computer speakers with silver lettering” and so on. Next, I name five things I hear, like the humming of a fan or the whoosh of passing cars, and so forth. Then I name five things I feel by sense of touch, like the jeans against my legs; the soles of my feet on the ground, and so on. I concentrate on sensing things the way they actually are ..careful not to replace them with the way I think they should be. I repeat the whole process a couple of times ..earning extra points if I become so wrapped up in my senses that I lose count. The idea is to make delusions disperse and fade into the background like the meaningless noise that they are.

Microsoft's grip

In response to an article in the LA Times ~~>Microsoft’s grip

I don’t think dispensing with “backward compatibility” will do Microsoft any harm; these days you don't find many vendors releasing software that runs on anything earlier than Windows 2000. They (the Times) got it right though, cloud computing will loosen Microsoft’s grip. Microsoft doesn't have a record of success developing applications for the Internet. They tried to be a player with the Vista operating system, but people are sufficiently dissatisfied with it that they’d rather reload Windows XP even if it means losing all the bogus Internet features of Vista. Then, on top of that , they generally switch from Microsoft’s Internet explorer to the more reliable Firefox browser by Mozilla (formerly Netscape ..which they thought they'd buried). I’m not sure Microsoft with ever have the Internet presence of companies like Google or Yahoo.

Payroll

Click on image to enlarge ..

Susan Tedeschi

She comes on stage ..smiles and asks how everyone’s doing ..then goes into her set, starting with a song called ‘Wait for me’. By the third song .. ‘Talking about’ ..I’m on my feet. I look behind me out of fear of being rude ..but everyone else is on their feet too ..which gives me license to rock-out ..which continues to be one of the most well-honed skills I acquired as a teenager. It continues this way throughout the show and I can’t help but think that this is what it would sound like if Bonnie Raitt fronted the Allman Brothers Band in their heyday. On the third, and final encore ..she’s slows it down and does a John Prine song called ‘Angel from Montgomery’ ..a real long and sweet version (see below). However, part way through the song, she’s still singing the melody ..but the words from another song. They sound awfully familiar when it dawns on me that she’s paying an unexpected tribute to Jerry Garcia. My eyes suddenly fill with tears. Without missing a beat she sings: “there’s one thing I ask of you .. just one thing for me ..please don't say you knew me too ..my darling Sugaree” ..then back to Prine .. “ ‘cuz believing in this living is a hard thing to do ... so make me an angel that flies from Montgomery” ..when the song is over, tears are running down my cheeks ..and I’m hoping no one turns around and asks me anything because my throat is all choked up too.

In Pluto's defense

Admittedly, Pluto is a fringe dweller. It orbits at the outer-most edge of the solar system. Lately, however ..it’s been seen passing in and out of mainstream consciousness .. like the punks and the freaks we see in high school. Now, we may diss’ Pluto, and even question it’s right to exist as a planet ..but we can’t deny its presence. It’s there ..way out there ..twisted and possibly trans-gender .. but definitely there. And it’s not alone. It travels with a swarming pack of fellow Plutinos and other planetoids we still haven’t been able to identify. We know one of its peers is Neptune ..or what the early Vedic Seers called Varuna ..the goddess of the oceans. Another companion is Tau ..or what the local tribesmen call Quaoar .. a formless, genderless force that brought into existence some of the cosmic beings we know as Father Sky, Mother Earth and Grandfather Sun. I’d say Pluto lives in a pretty respectable neighborhood. I wouldn’t dismiss it as a backwater space entity any longer.

Grand Junction

Written in response to an article in the LA Times ~~> microcosm

I wonder how the patient-doctor ratio in Grand Junction compares with Los Angeles. I suspect it’s lower, meaning there are more doctors to go around. That’s probably why they are able to collectively agree on a pricing strategy that benefits all. One of the major factors contributing to healthcare costs in this country is a shortage of doctors. Medical schools don’t admit and graduate a sufficient supply, even though there are more than enough qualified candidates. I believe they do this purposely in order to keep the profession lucrative.

Indian springs

My friend tells me
how the forest stretching,
as far as the eye can see,
resonates with primeval memories
from a time when earth’s realm
was plentiful
and it’s bounty
inexhaustible
generous and free.
He says this was the reign
of the tranquil lapis lazuli

I pay homage
to the contributions
my ancestors made
and the healing powers
of these mineral springs
and the treasures friendship brings.

High above

High above
on a switch back trail.
Drinking ice cold glacier ale.
There’s a half frozen lake
at twelve thousand feet
with smooth boulders to sit on
in a cathedral of jagged peaks.
The sky falls into shape.
Water rises up
to fill the space
and lap the shore
rising and falling
always full
always finding
a level of it’s own.
In a place so simple and pure
shards of bitter memory
form on my tongue
I spit them out and think
Those are what make things taste
so complicated and unclean.

North West Passage

The ice age is melting and the Arctic is turning into water. On some days temperatures can hover around 70 degrees fahrenheit ..turning ice shelves into tropical zones. For me, this conjures up images of smooth sailing, sunbathing on sandy beaches and swimming in emerald lagoons. But I’m a fucking idealist who needs to see things the way they are. What this really means is greater opportunity for fortune-seekers looking for trade routes to China. What is now home to Eskimos, who still hunt whales and live in igloos ..is about to become an international trade zone ..occupied by oil barons ..land developers ..and casino operators. I have the feeling we are looking at the next wild frontier. Now I picture myself sailing through the North West Passage like it was California during the gold rush ..shooting polar bears instead of buffaloes.

Breathing exercise

A simple breathing exercise for someone experiencing a flashback or a seizure due to post-traumatic-stress. It is meant to draw you away from the what’s going on inside your head and bring you back to the present moment by way of the breath. It is a good way to begin ‘grounding exercises’ most excellently described in the blog ‘PTSD and Me’ [link]

• Place your hand lightly on top of your stomach like a float.
• Breathe in slowly and deeeply ~ follow the breath ~ feel your stomach rise. Say out loud: “Breathing in ..rising.”
• Hold your breath ~ feel the pressure of the air in your stomach and chest. Repeat: “Holding my breath ..holding my breath”
• Breathe out slowly and loudly through your mouth ~ feel the breath leaving your throat and mouth ~ feel your stomach go down ~ listen to the sound of the breath leaving your mouth. Say: “Breathing out ..breathing out ..letting go ..letting go.”
• Experience a brief moment of stillness between breaths. Say: “Being still”.
• Breathe in and repeat the breathing process again for five to ten minutes.

Fiesta weekend

I’m hanging out with Jim and Diane on the sidewalk in front of Peets Coffee and Tea .. watching the historic parade (el desfile historico). A band of wild mustangs charge up the street like galloping banshees ..terrifying the kids on the curb in front of us. They're followed by a sign that says “adopt a horse program.” I go, yeah right .. and take a shot of commemorativo. Golden palominos, with silver saddles, strut by like they own the place. Another shot of commemorativo. Peruvian horses scurry by even though it looks like they’re galloping in place. I wonder if it’s the commemorativo. The kids laugh. I take another shot. The next group of horses look like midgets .. I ask Jim what commemorativo is. A cross between agave and mescal ..he says. I'm like ..no way. A herd of fire-breathing dragons, with flaring nostrils and hoofs as big as houses, comes tearing up the street ..scaring the daylights out of me. The kids laugh and Jim looks at me like “I told you so.”

Weekend anarchists

I run into a couple of girls who don’t look much older than eighteen, sitting on the wall outside of Trader Joes. They’ve got flowers in their hair and packs on their back. Nicole and Ellie. I ask them where they’re heading and they tell me they're unsure. Nicole explains how they are ‘anarchists’ ..and they’re going wherever that may lead. She certainly makes a well-articulated case. So, I ask them where they’ve been. Oh, San Francisco ..San Jose ..Monterey Bay. So I go “Heading south, are you?” (thinking ..what an obvious question) Nicole goes “Yep”. I tell them I think north is preferable (not to mention safer) than LA. They shrug. I tell them about places where they can camp in the woods around Santa Cruz and Big Sur. They were just there. When I mention the community of Esalen; Nicole says they found refuge there after she hurt her foot while hiking down a trail to the beach. In addition to being anarchists, they’re licensed massage therapists ..and were able to stay for a couple of days, giving massages in exchange for food and lodging (Esalen, among other things, is known for their massage program). How cool, I say ..bartering is certainly an anarchist thing to do. They didn’t want to stay there much longer however ..it was way too institutional for them. Ellie begins pacing ..then walks into Trader Joes. I continue talking with Nicole .. keeping my eye on Ellie as she strolls down the aisles, filling the pockets of her sweater with supplies. When I see that she’s about to leave without paying ..I go inside and convince her that putting it on a stranger’s America Express would definitely be an anarchist thing to do. Back outside, I give them directions to an ‘exchange’ where they can connect with rides. If that fails; there’s a well-lit youth hostel ..even a woman’s shelter, where they can safely spend the night ..moves that, I explain, are about as anarchist as any they’ll find. I think they agree and we part company. Now I’m wondering about them, stepping into the unknown, while I carefully fold clothes and put away groceries at home.

Traffic jam

I wake up with badly congested information-channels ~ I see shifting patterns of different colors entering an open window ~ and watch the walls dissolve into orange dots before they reach the ceiling. I sit up and swing my feet over the edge of a pillowy sensation I can comfortably rely on as my bed ~ but now the floor has dropped out of sight. I count the number of times this has happened before and figure the odds of landing with both feet on the floor are in my favor. I decide to play it safe ~ take one step at a time ~ stopping frequently to make sure I am where I’m accustomed to be, and not where I appear to be, because I know my senses are deceiving me. Downstairs, scattered waves of light travel in every direction ~ except through the channels of my visual receptors. I find something likely to be my CD player and punch it in the vicinity of the on/off switch. A punk rock CD, left in there from the night before, starts to blare. The light waves begin bouncing to the rhythm, and, like little drops of colored water ~ they enter into the proper channels and float down streams of sensory-energy ~ until they fall into pools of stored-memory ~ and form the image of what I’m supposed to see. Like adjusting the focus of a camera lens ~ it all becomes clear. I drop to my knees and pay homage to the deities of music ~ then crank up the volume and go in the kitchen to prepare myself a thermos of coffee. Looks like it’s going to be a good day.

Fear of stem cells

Written in response to an article in today's LA Times ~~>[link]

In general, I am not in favor of passing laws that block harmless activities simply because there’s a ‘possibility’ they may lead to more dangerous, and rightfully unlawful activities later on. That’s why I am definitely against banning stem-cell research, which has very real potential for doing good, out of fear of the unlikely event they lead to something you read about in science fiction magazines. I prefer that we set the boundary a little closer to the heinous outcome we fear, than to block genuine advances in medical science. Blocking progress in relieving human suffering would be the real crime here.

Medical marijuana

Written in response to an article in today's LA Times ~~>[link]

There have not been enough controlled studies of marijuana to make definitive claims about its harmful effects. The study, that you (the LATimes) report, cites evidence of tissue-loss in areas of the brain that, among other things, play a role in learning and memory. However, there is no mention of test results showing that memory-loss had, in fact, occurred. Without better information, reports chronicling the overall effects of marijuana can, at best, only suggest the possibility of harmful effects. Because marijuana is still classified as a controlled substance, it is not approved for medical research. As a result, there is still going to be a lot more smoke out there than science.

The case against Sotomayor

In hundreds of cases that Sotomayor has decided; no one has found that she was either racially or ethnically biased. So now Republicans are taking a less-informed approach and saying that what she did in the past is not a good indication of what she’ll do in the future. Republican Senator Jeff Sessions says that her past record has no bearing on how she’ll do because the cases she decided are not like the one’s that the Supreme Court decides. Instead, they think a better indication of how she’ll do is that one remark she made about ‘wise Latinas’ ..as though this instance is representative of all instances ..and proves that her decision-making has been, and always will be ..‘experienced-based and biased’. I’m sorry, but what this tells me about our Republican leaders is that their judgment making is seriously flawed. Apparently, their horizon only goes as far as people who agree with Roberts, Scalia, Thomas and Alito ..or Rush Limbaugh.

Other people's business

There’s a generator running in the canyon that sounds like a helicopter circling overhead. That’s exactly what I thought it was at first. I kept looking up with binoculars but couldn’t see anything. So, I walked around the neighborhood to see if I could find out what’s going on. Turns out a father and son are building a small house on the side of the canyon. Only problem is, they’re landlocked and haven’t got any electricity. So, in the meantime, it’s going to sound like a landing zone around here until they get connected to the grid. I ask them how they got a building permit without a utility easement in the first place. The plot thickens. They had one. It was on a pole going to, what looked like, an old miners shack that was here before. But, when the miner died; somebody took it down. Now their neighbors won’t let them run underground cables below ..and the City won’t let them hang wires above. I sympathize and tell them I think Santa Barbara is a hard place to get things done. They ask me where I live. When I point it out ..they start looking at a ‘site plan’ and discover that we share a border. Now they’re scrambling around looking for a pole they can connect to by passing below my property. A pole is hard to find because everyone else around here has underground utilities ..except for Dr Jones and his surrounding rentals. But, to hook-up there becomes a mechanical nightmare because they would have to slant drill underneath a creek ..then along my border with Dr Jones, for a distance of about 500 feet. Now they’re talking about it as though it were a done-deal. They snap off the generator and start making phone calls ..and I’m like ..hold on a minute. The plot thickens further. Turns out they already have an easement to get in and out of their property; there’s a road they share with the neighbors on the other side of the creek. In fact, they already have underground utilities they can hook-up to about 20 feet away from them on that road. The only problem is, it wasn’t spelled out legally .. so their neighbors are asking them for a king's ransom to do it. In reality, they already have the right to do it ..and they know it. But one of the neighbors is like, the head of Edison’s construction department, and he can push the work-order so far into the future; it’ll be decades before they get electricity. They know that too. So now they’re negotiating with him to see if they can get his price down somewhere below what it would cost them if they had to mount a legal battle. I learned something from this ..I found out what can happen when I stick my nose into other people’s business.

Lifestyle choice

We’re having a lively discussion at the baths tonight, talking about the marijuana dispensaries in town ..and laughing because we can all come up with reasons why we qualify for a prescription. A young athlete, who tweaked her hip while training, says she qualifies .. marijuana helps relax the muscles in her back ..the ones that she uses to compensate for it. Even her physical therapist recommends it. The couple sitting next to me have a valid concern; they say it lowers their ambition and makes it easier for them to blow-off going to the gym in the evening. Sounds like a good observation. Then a young doctor says that it should not be so readily available ..and legalization is really a bad idea “Marijuana is highly addictive” he says “ .. it’s pretty obvious from what I've seen in my practice”. Now, that's a compelling reason if I ever heard one. I tell him I did not know that ..and ask him what sort of withdrawal symptoms he sees (because I do know that the medical definition of ‘addiction’ requires withdrawal symptoms). He looks away and, in a far-off voice, says “Well, none really ..” then looks back and says “It does become part of your lifestyle though ..especially with people I’ve seen in California” Now that strikes a well-frayed nerve in me ..fortunately it’s one that I’m accustomed to people striking, so I’ve learned not to react so fast. I ask him where he’s from. “New York” he replies. I stand up, shake his hand and say “Welcome to the West Coast ..!” and sit back down while the others greet him in a similar manner. Then someone asks what he likes most about living here. “The wine country” he replies ..and holds up a thermos full of Chardonnay.

Numbskull

I wake up in a fuzzy place ..my vision is blurry ..my hands are numb ..and halfway through preparing breakfast, I forget what I’m doing. It takes longer than usual before I can re-connect the water, splashing over strawberries in my hands, with a bowl of yogurt and cup of coffee sitting on the table. The newspaper looks like someone deposited little drops of ink in water ..the words drift apart before I can decipher what they mean. Somehow, something must have penetrated because I’m left with a lingering impression. Now I’ve lost the impression. I skim back over the article to see if I can retrieve it ..because it just seems so damned important. Now it re-appears in the form of a half-ass opinion. I grab hold of pencil and paper so I can jot it down quickly. Otherwise, I’ll forget and do the same thing all over again.

Reconstructing the past

Most of the time I manage to stay pretty focused on what I’m doing, whether it’s reading or working around the house. From time to time, however, my thoughts will step in and take over. When that happens, I’ve learned to set aside what I’m doing, back away from the keyboard ..put the newspaper down, whatever, and see what they’re trying to say. Usually, it’s something about what may lie ahead ..such as who I’m going to see ..or what the conditions at the beach may be. This morning, however, they’ve taken a decidedly different tact and have knocked me somewhere back in the past ..and they’re challenging me to reconstruct events that took place there. I think I know what the problem is. Yesterday I put some of my old college textbooks in a virtual online ‘library’ (visual bookshelf) where I have most of my more interesting books. This morning I’m sitting here going “where did these old textbooks come from”. So now, for each one, I feel compelled to answer: what class was I in, what year was I in it, and what possible reason could I have for hanging on to it for so long that I can’t remember anything about it. What I discovered is interesting. It’s not the subject of the book, or the year it was published that matters ..it’s the people I was hanging out with ..or the girls I was seeing, that help me locate the information I’m looking for.

Summertime

I’m buzzing with anticipation. Even though I live with a conventional ‘roof’ over my head ..it is the first day of summer and, somewhere in my bones, summer is still an endless cycle of sleeping outdoors on the beach ..riding waves at dawn ..crashing parties at night ..and either hooking-up, or crashing on the beach until dawn. Then we’d wake up with coffee and granola bars from 7-eleven ..ride waves till noon ..and argue about whether we should stay or move on. Unless there’s a compelling offshore wind ..the surf at Balboa gets blown out by late morning. So it would be time to roll up our packs ..catch the ferry to Coast Highway ..and hitch a ride to Laguna Beach where there are sheltered coves and clean breaks all day long. There were also hidden coves with sandy beaches for us to crash on ..unless we hooked-up with some ‘hippie-chicks’ at Taco Bell ..or trust-funders staying at daddy’s beach house while he’s back home in Chicago ..or a youth group spending the week crammed into a two-room summer rental. Sometimes we’d just go to the Hare Krishna temple for a free dinner ..then head back to the coves and crash. Further down the coast is San Clemente with aqua blue surf, campsites, bonfires, tents and kegs of beer. Charlie usually carried a large stash of hash, which was often our ticket in.

Solstice festival

I roll outta’ bed way too late ..search my cabinets for breakfast supplies ..plan the day over yogurt and coffee ..and get interrupted by a phone call from the parade route where Jim is hollering “where the fuck are you ..?” I say I’ll catch up with him ..but I may have to blow off the parade and go directly to the park, where the festival is taking place. It’s like walking into a bazaar. I pass tents selling Indian tapestries, halter-tops, hand-made jewelry and black T-shirts with white skulls and iron crosses. I stop inside a tent carrying supplies for the mediation hall and listen to a guy make this cool humming sound by running a puja stick around the outside of a bronze bowl. I run into Jim sitting with a group of people from NORML ..and go “Heyyy, there’s some normal people here.” One guy is telling a story about how he and his buds used to crash on John Wayne’s boat while it sat vacant in the harbor ..another guy asks me if I’m with the band and I go “what ..?” The girl sitting next to me says she likes the Eagles ..and another guy is trying to remember the name of the singer who does “..I’m bad to the bone.” I blurt out “George Thorogood” ..then turn to the girl and ask her how she knows music from a band that broke up way before she was born (I ask stupid questions like that). “I just love the song Desperado” she beams, and I go “..guess rock ‘n roll will never die” and somebody shouts “I know that one .. Neil Young.” Then someone else goes “No ..you’re thinking of rust will never die” and I go “sleeps..” and he goes “What ..?” and I say “..rust never sleeps” and he says “that doesn’t make sense” and I tell him that I stopped making sense a long time ago ..and start drifting off in the direction of the sound coming from the drum circle, where I will dance to the beat until I stop caring whether or not I make any sense.

Going lunar

Overhead, crows are shouting ..and drowning out the music on my deck. I look up and see them clustered in the trees and scenes from the Hitchcock movie ‘The Birds’ flash by and I feel a twinge of ‘can that happen here’. Something tells me no so I howl back at them. There’s a momentary pause as they lift off .. cluster in another group of trees ..and crank up the volume. Crows are not my bird of choice to take with me if I ever had to live on a deserted island. I start reading an article in the news about future space colonies on the moon ..and mistake the term ‘reconnaissance orbiter’ for ‘renaissance orbiter’. For some reason, I think the word renaissance is more fitting. Then a movie scene from early-childhood comes to mind (from before we walked on the moon) .. where one of the astronauts goes crazy ..breaks away from the pack ..crosses over to the ‘sunny side’ and immediately disintegrates and turns into a skeleton. I cringe when I think about packing the kids and the dog and moving there. Now I'm worried that everything I know comes from either the movies or television shows.

Fiasco

I order a bucket of chicken ..but I don’t have enough cash on me and KFC doesn’t take credit cards. I’m too tired to go to the bank ATM so I use the one in-store ..and bring it down, twice. I’ve never used one before and the only time I ever used my debit card was by accident. So, the manager suggests I use the ATM at the liquor store on the corner ..it’s more like the one at the bank. I get lost on a street that I thought I knew well. I’m exhausted from hiking all day and putting off dinner until way too late. My clothes are dirty and my hair slipped it’s knot hours ago .. it hangs over my shoulders like oily dreadlocks. In other words, I look like a bum. I decide to go back and drive to the bank when I walk by the liquor store (which is not on the corner ..but down a side street several blocks away). Now I’m staring at the ATM dumbfounded. It says it takes American Express, but insists that I give it a pin number. I cannot, for the life of me, remember a pin number ..so I try to cancel the transaction ..causing the machine to freeze. The liquor storeowner looks at me in disgust ..there’s a surly line of customers waiting behind me. I try to explain but it comes out garbled. He threatens to call the cops. I ask if he’ll take a check for a bottle of glenlivet plus $20 cash back ..he comes around the counter shouting, ordering me out. Back on the street I feel hungry, exhausted and confused ..there’s a bucket of chicken waiting for me at KFC ..but they’ll be closed by the time I get there. I look up at the building beside me and discover I’m standing next to the Alta Mare restaurant .. displaying logos for Visa, MasterCard and American Express. I duck inside and order a big bucket of calamari, the fish-taco platter and a tall pitcher of beer. The waitress asks if I’m expecting anyone else and I say no ..in fact, I tell her to just bring the pitcher and forget about the glasses.

Coastal poem

I hike up to a shady grove
and sit beside a wandering stream.
Watch water splash over polished stones
of silver, red and gold
then disappear through the ferns
and whatever else that grows
under a canopy of redwood trees
somewhere above the coastal zone.

Letter to the editor

This is my letter in response to the LA Times article ~~>Two sides to Sonia Sotomayor

It sounds to me like you’re asking the question: Will judge Sotomayor’s college experience, advocating greater Latino representation, weigh more than 30 years of unbiased decision-making as a prosecutor and federal judge. It seems to me as though she has experience enough to know that the US Supreme Court is not Princeton University. However, she also has the experience and empathy required to be human as well as Supreme Court Judge. They're inseparable.

Fully alive

All around me

Lacey Mosley

NinJa

My neighbor is pointing at a group of trees and saying “..they just gotta’ go!” It feels like another part of me is about to be yanked out. I also found out Dez and Anastasia are moving back to LA. Boy, I sure hate seeing them go ..how sad. A principle of zen pops into my head .. ‘notice change’ ..followed by another ..‘notice reactions’. I decide to go for a walk and try to shake-off these feelings. The atmosphere on the street is festive ..lawn parties and beer kegs ..and the weekend isn’t quite upon us yet. It’s because Nine Inch Nails and Jane’s Addiction are playing at the Bowl. I can sense the energy ..makes me feel like a teenager again. The street is filled with kids dressed in black and white .. and splattered with orange and red. “Dazzling” says Señor Jim as he walks up from behind ..startling me ..and disappears down the street. I see one group weaving through the crowd .. hoping to get free tickets to see the show (the way I used to). Others are just looking for a free high (the way I used to). I’m getting high just standing here. A young couple tells me, in a serious manner, that they’re here mainly to see NIN. Jane’s Addiction is like, so old school, they say. Uh-huh (?) Some people don’t know who’s playing ..or what’s going on even ..but it doesn’t seem to matter much to them. They’re like “Where’s the party ..bro!”

Birdsongs

It’s like an aviary out here this morning. Guess the fire flushed the birds out of the hills. There are so many different singing groups ..it sounds like pandemonium. I can’t tell whether those are fighting words, mating calls or territorial disputes. I’m sure they can tell tho. I know birds have a highly developed system for bird songs. It helps them recognize members of their own species .. estimate the suitability of prospective mates ..and figure out when they’ve crossed territorial boundaries. They can even follow the beat of the music coming out of my speakers. I know my dog Andy can’t do that ..he doesn’t hear so well. But, he sure has a keen sense of smell. I have to break the smell barrier in order to get him to listen.

Drifters

I work for student services at a local college. Most of the kids that come in here have legitimate learning problems. However, we frequently get kids with problems that lay elsewhere. Those are the ones I see. For some of them, it may be their last contact with mainstream society. They talk about life on the road as if it were religion ..and then disappear. I understand the appeal ..I love the outdoors too ..but sleeping on solid ground for too many days can be rough ..not to mention city streets can be dangerous. However, talking to them, I get the impression that life on the road feels less threatening than an adult-life filled with obligations, sadistic bosses and debt-collectors. Periodically they try re-entry. Haley’s father wired her money so she could enroll in college courses. She tells me her problems started in high school. She felt so angry that she’d cut herself .. medicate herself ..and lash out at practically everyone in sight. She wasn’t making friends. At age 16, they diagnosed her with ‘borderline personality disorder’ ..whatever the fuck that means. However, she found a cure of her own: drop out of a school ..run away from home ..leave the pills behind ..hop a train for the west coast ..and don’t stop moving. She’s been riding trains since 2006. Now, I have a theory. We’re all born with a mixture of genes from our ancestral past (if you believe in that sort of thing). Some may get more genes from our ‘rooted’ ancestors (like farming tribes) while others get a higher proportion from our nomadic ancestors ..those whose survival depended on moving from place to place. For these kids, stability is threatening ..home feels like a cage ..and city streets make them feel claustrophobic. I’ve learned that there is no ‘talking cure’ ..no amount of reasoned-speech will overcome it and I cannot offer any recommendations for it. I think there will always be a segment of humanity that prefers a nomadic lifestyle. Some may work out an accommodation (like foreign service reps, traveling salesmen or covert polygamists) while others remain in perpetual orbit.

Noblesse Oblige Award

The recipient of this award is recognized for the following:

• The Blogger manifests exemplary attitude, respecting the nuances that pervade amongst different cultures and beliefs.
• Their Blog contents inspire; strives to encourage, and offers solutions.
• There is a clear purpose at the Blog; one that fosters a better understanding on Social, Political, Economic, the Arts, Cultures, Sciences and Beliefs.
• The Blog is refreshing and creative.
• The Blogger promotes friendship and positive thinking.

Bill Quinn presented me with the Noblesse Oblige award for journal writing. It’s an honor for me because I value Bill’s journal writing very highly. He writes from a place in his heart that resonates with the rest of us. Bill’s journal ~> Thought Sketches is like a book of poems that I keep by my bedside at night.

My own blog, Observation Deck, is a journal of ordinary events ..sometimes followed by my own half-baked ideas. What am I trying to achieve ..? A writing practice that will allow me to catch a glimpse of my own internal dialogue every once in a while. Hopefully others will hear something familiar.

In turn, I am passing this award to Amy Spain for her blog Cookiewonton. Amy can turn everyday occurrences into literature. Her style sounds natural ..like Faulkner. I especially enjoy reading stories about her children Noah and France. They are written with such clarity and humanity that I feel like I just spent a delightful afternoon with them ..makes me want to return as often as I can.

Thank you Amy ..!

Jesusita fire

In Santa Barbara we have what’s called a ‘sundowner wind’. It’s the same as a ‘Santa Ana wind’ in Orange County. However here, it’s a particularly loathsome creature. It only comes out at night, after a cool day, and howls through the canyons and passes, without warning, baking the shore in 100 degree heat until about one or two in the morning. Now, ordinarily, I like this cagey beast ..it allows me to lie on the deck in the evening, or go for a swim in the ocean at midnight. However, it also has the power to take a stray ember from a campfire and turn it into a blazing wildfire that blasts out of the mountains, and tears through town like a blowtorch without stopping until it reaches the shore. And then, just before dawn; it retreats back up into the mountains ..like the nocturnal predator that it is. Morning comes and everything is fine ..except for a few hundred acres of scorched earth and homes. No one knows when it’s coming and no one can stop it when it arrives. It’s like living next to a dragon. This afternoon is perfectly calm ..except for a high-voltage current circulating through my system. I tell my neighbor I think it’s coming back again tonight. He nods and looks up the canyon. Overhead, hawks are circling. “They’re looking for barbecued rats” he says. My nerves fray. We’ve been under evacuation orders for four days. This means that my car is packed and sitting outside the canyon. I defy the order and sit at home awake all night, listening to the drone of water-dropping helicopters rumbling overhead ..and waiting for either smoke ..sirens ..or flames ..to tell me when it’s time to leave ..or else hang around and risk being served as breakfast for hawks at sunrise.

Sunshine cleaners

My birthday came and went ..and I had a good time. First, we saw the movie ‘Sunshine Cleaners’ ..which I thought was hilarious. Afterwards, a few of us went to Aldos for pasta and wine ..and share our impressions of the movie. We're talking about the scene where a boy is pitching the ‘bionic properties’ of his grandfather’s popcorn to a girl in a candy store ..when the topic of marijuana dispensaries comes up. Oz says they carry so many different varieties now ..it’s hard to find people who can describe their ‘bionic properties’. We laugh ..but he says, seriously ..there’s a shortage of information. He tells us about a group of people promoting research on the subject. He suggests I go check it out. I tell him I think marijuana laws have kept us pretty much in the dark ages ..but medical marijuana is a step in the right direction. “..like the Renaissance” he says “..more like the Enlightenment” I say ..which brings us back to the discussion of ‘Sunshine Cleaners’.

Shiny happy faces

Karla and Laura

Quiet morning

It is so quiet this morning I’m afraid my usual wake-up music will sound too jarring. So, I listen to John Williams (the guitarist) instead. Sometimes I think that the flavor of coffee is enough to give me a buzz. A classical case of classical conditioning I suppose. I sit and read the economic news ..which somehow makes me feel smart (I think because I know what a ‘mortgage-backed security’ is). I also like reading stories about people who beat the odds. There’s one here about a woman who lost a big-time job as editor for a magazine ..at age 55. So now she’s trading what she knows for online skills at an Internet start-up. Reminds me of how adaptable people can be ..which gives me a perspective makeover when I’m feeling down, thinking my own petty-ass problems are, like ..major catastrophes or something

Saint Patrick

They close off State Street (main street) for farmers market and St. Patrick’s Day. By 2 pm the clubs are packed ..by 4 pm people are pouring into the street. I’m just passing through. There are a lot of people from out of town .. they out-number residents ..which can be interesting. I duck into Territory Ahead and buy some clothes for summer. Since it’s unseasonable warm today; I keep on one of the new shirts I bought. When I go outside ..it looks like aliens have landed. People are running around dressed in green .. totally green. I say ‘Hi’ to a group of elves ..and they point out that they’re not elves but leprechauns. One of them suggests knocking my lights out. I see a bunch of bikers, sitting outside O’Malley’s, glaring at me. A rough bunch of bikers ..and I realize, to my horror, that I’m no longer wearing green ..I changed into blue at the store. Memories of St. Patrick’s Days past leap to mind. I’ve had my hair cut ..shirt torn ..and buckets of Gatorade and green paint poured over me. They start to get up ..and I start to run. I rush passed strawberry ..artichoke ..and alfalfa sprout vendors. I dodge a moving cartload of tomatoes ..duck into a movie theater .. passed the ticket-taker ..and into ‘The Last House on the Left’. I crash and fall down the isle ..through the exit ..and into an alleyway full of consignment shops. I drop my bags behind the counter at Cominichi’s ..grab a denim vest ..and duck into a changing room. Before I leave I make sure I’m wearing something green ..and hope for the best.

Saint Teresa

Alpine sea

Laura and Jenny on the Bodensee
Lindau, Germany

Room with a view

Lindau, Germany

Hosanna

I’m watching Mickey shoot hoops with his cousin Hosanna. He shoots well for a nine year old. Mickey is benefiting from a long line of basketball players in his family. Last week he was shooting hoops with other cousin, Leslie ..who is Hosanna’s older sister. Leslie used to play varsity hoops at Santa Barbara High and now plays for the University. Hosanna is a high school freshman and was playing JV until she ran into a coach that didn’t like her older sister for some reason. Once the coach learned who she was ..Hosanna stopped seeing much play time ..which is required for advancing to varsity. If it happens again next year she plans to join a ‘traveling team’ outside of school. It saddens me when I hear coaches making decisions based on personal bias rather than merit. Even though it looks like it’s teaching Hosanna to be resourceful and explore other options ..I can tell it’s left a bitter taste in her mouth. I’m hoping she’ll have sufficient success with other coaches to overcome the setback she experienced at the hands of this one.

Thunder road

Slum guy

I walk to State Street where I meet Richelle and we go see the movie ‘Slumdog Millionaire’. For me it’s a little disturbing ..reminding me of how cruel people can be to one another. Afterwards, we sit and talk about ‘karma’ ..which I believe is closer to the law of cause and effect than it is to the notion of destiny or fate. No argument there. The next morning I send my sister an IM simply saying that I saw the movie. When I don’t get a reply before I have to leave ..I add: “don’t take it as an endorsement or anything.” She responds immediately asking: “why not ?” ..and says she’s planning to go see it this weekend with my niece. I know she doesn’t like to watch disturbing movies ..so, I tell her to brace herself. She asks me what I mean and I tell her it’s not like what you see on PBS ..it’s a different ‘slice of life’. She’s disappointed ..which makes me feel bad, so ..I tell her to go; it’s definitely worth seeing . She tells me she intends to ..and reminds me that I’ve lied to her about these things in the past. I know she pays close attention to the entertainment news, so, like a jerk, I add: “Ignore the critics who say it’s not a balanced portrait of India ..it may not be balanced ..but it sure is realistic” ..to which she replies: “Well, duh .. how else would they have time for all the romantic stuff” ..and I’m like: “That’s right” ..knowing full well that I’ve just chucked whatever credibility I had left out the window.

zen notes

I’m doing deep breathing exercises and noticing how the air meets resistance when I breathe in. So, I keep going until I feel the air flowing more freely. Now, I hear the swoosh of traffic coming through a small opening in the window ~ splashing water from a recent rain. I hear ringing in my ears ~ tinnitus from years of rock concerts. It doesn’t bother me; I still listen to music at high volume. When I pay attention, I notice how it masks the other sounds in the room. Then I think about how it interferes with voices on television ~ or conversations in a crowded room. I watch this train of thought flow until it vanishes. Next, I hear the sound of my internal editor going around in a crazy loop ..revising words on a paper I’m writing. When I pay closer attention, it gets self-conscious, picks up a notebook computer ..and goes into another room. I’m sitting here wondering what else is going to happen ..not anticipating anything specific.

Homing device

It smells good out here ..like incense. Kind of organic ..like rain-soaked earth. Although there’s an offshore flow, we are sheltered ..so the air is still and I feel warm on the beach. The ocean has a pungent aroma of it’s own ..like a living organism ..like the thousands or other living organisms it hosts. The sun illuminates ..the water evaporates ..and I take a deep breath. Makes me feel connected to everything out here. The sense of smell is the oldest and least understood ..but it has the most connections to other areas of the brain. On days like this it gives me a sense of belonging ..I hear my mother calling me ..the warmth of bread baking in the oven ..my grandmother’s gentle voice ..the one my dad inherited (thank goodness, my grandfather was a baritone) ..I feel enveloped by the elements ..like a cocoon ..like my mother’s womb ..I can see the sight of a smell ..and feel the warmth of it’s partnership with comforting memories of early childhood ..feels like home.

Observation deck

I’m sitting on the deck listening to a song by Small Faces (wicked messenger) ..I hear the distinctive sound of a Harley roaring by on the street below ..otherwise everything is quiet ..the music drowns out the swoosh of regular traffic ..and the voices in my head aren’t so loud ..the music drowns them out too. I take a sip of coffee and it scorches my tongue .. I spit it out in a spray ..followed by a couple mouthfuls of cold water ..and I laugh at myself ..which tells me I must be feeling better ..things aren’t bothering me ..I’m not shouting the usual string of obscenities. I can hear my plants talking; they’re parched and gasping for water ..I feel neglectful and tell them they’re first on my list. Makes me feel better knowing they’re taken care of. I enjoy the sound of a slide guitar. I’m reading ‘The Fountainhead’ by Ayn Rand ..I remember getting only halfway through her other book ‘Atlas Shrugged’ when I was in college ..but, the characters started speaking in sermons that went on for like five or six pages ..and the storytelling broke down ..it didn’t sound like real dialogue anymore. Fountainhead isn’t so bad ..it’s tells a good story ..except the characters don’t seem real ..it’s not the way people behave. I think it says more about the way the author wishes they’d behave ..a mixture of half-truths and schoolgirl fantasies ..where people never contradict themselves ..and follow ideals that never change. It was written in the 1940’s. I suppose life was simpler back then.

Stamp act

The first federal law in the U.S. prohibiting cannabis as an intoxicant was the Marijuana Tax Act of 1937. It was enacted primarily out of economic fears and immigration worries. During the depression, migrant workers from Mexico were no longer needed or welcome in the south and southwest states. People there were afraid that Mexican immigrants were undercutting American workers for jobs so they were trying to get them to return to Mexico. Since many of these immigrants smoked marijuana, it was thought that banning marijuana would help. So, in 1937 Congress passed The Marijuana Tax Stamp Act. The Act itself did not actually criminalize possession or use of marijuana, but required anyone doing so to pay roughly one dollar to receive the stamp. In the 1930’s, this would have been prohibitively expensive to migrant farm workers, however, it didn’t matter ..the government was only issuing them to doctors and dentists. This created a catch-22 for recreational users ..the penalty for not having the stamp was a fine of up to $2000 and five years’ imprisonment. This put recreational users at great risk, and for the Mexican immigrant, it meant certain deportation. In 1969, the case of Leary v. United States ruled that the Act was unconstitutional because it violated Fifth Amendment rights. Unless you were a doctor or dentist, applying for the tax stamp was an act of self-incrimination. In response, Congress repealed the 1937 marijuana stamp act and replaced it with the Title II of the Controlled Substances Act of 1970. This made it a felony to cultivate, possess or use marijuana for any reason ..including research. Although California law has lightened up and reduced some penalties to a misdemeanor, law enforcement agencies vigorously pursue cultivation in order to take advantage of property forfeiture and seizure laws.