Living in Brooklyn

After another stay on second avenue and 28th street at frank's for a month, i am now in brooklyn, back to the first borough i lived in when randy dana and i moved to new york in 1983 and lived in what is now affectionately referred to as carroll gardens. this time it's bensonhurst, a foreign land to me, looking for grocery store, health food, etc., and close to the bay with a promenade......

looking for a job and an apartment at the same time has been hell.... but now i have both, and with a job or without a job it can still be hell, but i am grateful to be working even if it is a temp job. it too will come to an end.

having trouble writing in a new space, at a desk with my back to the door, i can't stand it, this feeling of an open space behind me. was a shot in the back in a previous life? i know many feel uncomfortable with this sensation; it is quite palpable. any one else feel it too?

The neighbor who called

I saw the woman who reported the possible break in at Prof Gates home give a press conference. She was crying and said she just wanted to help, that she is not a racist. How is it possible to live close enough to a house and see a possible crime in action but not know it's the guy who lives there?

Are we really so isolated from each other that we think we should call the police to protect the property, anyone's property -- even property we don't know the owner? Is it more important to protect property over people?

We should know our neighbors. We should say hello or at least wave to our neighbor. Some people will not wave back, so keep waving.

Today I'm in Canada on a lake where neighbors wave to each other all the time, even if we just waved an hour before. I know exactly what the neighbors look like three and four doors down on each side. I also say hello or nod to those I pass when I'm out for a walk. Some people do not say hello back, it's rare, but it happens. You never know when you may need a helping hand. Here I never worry, friendly neighbors are always close by.

Cops acting stupidly

This is getting really boring. First Obama says something that makes sense: cops act stupidly. Then he tries to clarify it and cool his comments. The truth doesn't need clarification.

No one should be arrested in their own home for doing nothing -- even if Professor Gates yelled and screamed, the police were wrong to handcuff and arrest him. Isn't it the job of the police to know how to deal with these moments? To understand people freak out when they haven't done anything and you try to arrest them? And what about the charge and the fact that it was dropped? Why be defensive now? The police are missing out on an important opportunity here to make this right, rather than being defensive when caught with their racial pants down. Just because they carry guns after a few weeks of training, they think they are certified bullies.

How come you always hear that cops are cops because they can't be firemen. Do cops resent firemen because they have to be fit to do their job? And why don't cops have to be physically fit? Should all public service jobs require employees to be healthy? Surely all those donuts are rotting cops' hearts as well as their colon.

Ginn'd Up

I watched the Obama Press Conference on July 22 and was stopped cold when he used the words "ginned up". He said.....(we or I) not going to get ginned up about it.....
What does it mean?

Does it have southern roots? Black roots? Is it a reference to the cotton gin? Does it mean the same as don't get your finger caught in the wringer. If the origin is from the cotton gin, which separates cotton from its seeds, is "ginned up" separating your mind from your body? heart from soul? Somehow I don't think it has anything to do with drinking gin.

Whatever it means, I like it. I think I'll try it out at the next family get together and see what kind of a reaction I get. (Not that anyone in my family pays attention to anything I have to say.)

Back to Canada

After Key West I traveled to Detroit which is looking better than ever. It is a beautiful city, full of life and memories.

Now I'm back in Belle River, the town of my childhood in Canada where I am spending time helping out around the cottage and writing new songs.
While working on the suicide stories, I thought I would post one of my earlier suicide writings, which is also a monologue in my solo show, "The Drunk Monologues."
But I have yet to figure out how to make it larger.

LPJ says just click on it.
Thanks Leonard!

Mile 0

Mile 0 at Whitehead and Fleming, the cottage where I stayed for an additional week and where the conch train goes by every half hour and where tourists line up to take their picture with this sign.
No tourists at this moment because it is happy hour.

Virgin Mary at Paint Ball Field

Looking for the virgin mary at the paint ball field.
Salt Ponds. Key West

looking for the virgin mary in the sea

Paint Ball Field

Last Hours in Key West

On my last day in Key West I had a chocolate dipped key lime pie (with crust) on a stick. Frozen of course.

I began a new work: a noir story about a suicide that takes place in the creepy salt ponds with creepy inhabitants while baby boomers disco dance in the clothing optional bar.

Here I was able to meditate and write from a private pool perspective.

Bike near White House, Key West

Seen around the corner from The Little White House, where President Truman spent half the year, swimming, biking, fishing, lots of fishing.
WELL BEHAVED WOMEN SELDOM MAKE HISTORY.
what does it mean?

Mangoes go Bang

....in the middle of the night, the mango tree sways in thunderstorms dropping ripe and green mangoes on the upstairs terrace and in the morning ripe mangoes arrive at my doorstep along with Snowball, an all white cat who only wants me to pet her for a moment, then she keeps me company or not. The early mornings here are the best, when a cool air comes through the windows and the fans whirl keeping the heat at bay. I am fortunate to be working so much, long days of writing in the patio, on the couch, at the table, although the mangoes are so ripe now, I have dodged a few on the head and computer.

A note about the writing: a residency can bring an awareness of self in a very short time. I don't have a phone and have no distractions, other than hunger. This is a time for a lot of writing, more than I had hoped for. Finishing an old draft from a year ago I was able to find a reason to complete a story about a disabled girl's sexual awakening with her Maori boyfriend and her drive to be independent despite her disability. It's another suicide story in my series of "the Suicide Monologues." However, they are not monologues; they're stories about other people.

When the work is done, there is always time for a swim, a bike ride, a walk. Taking notes now on my environment, it is rich for the future.

It Will Never Go Away

Duvall Street, Key West


Filled with fans and offspring spawned by the original fans, Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville is still a big draw, with its brand name store next to the bar/restaurant -- like other bars on the Duvall Strip. But unlike other bars that offer live music played by the locals, Margaritaville has a large video screen; last night it was playing hip hop.

Dead: I told you I was sick

Key West Cemetery

Not the most beautiful plaque in the cemetery, but the funniest. You have to admire BP Roberts' (1979) family who have passed on a family joke to the living.

GM bailout on Duvall Street

It's hard to believe someone is in there, but he is, complete with goggles, this full sized car made it's way down Duvall with appreciative nods from both sides of the street.

Kew West Cemetery

Key West Cemetery


What was Arichibold Yate's relatives thinking when they erected this nude bound woman at the foot of his headstone (1966). Or was it picked by him personally, was it is last wish, like another Key West resident -- who was 40 inches tall -- who had one last wish - to be buried in a full adult sized coffin.

Tourists Gone Wild

Key West. Mallory Square. Sunset.
At the exact moment the sun sets at this SW location, tourists bolt from Mallory Square like extras running from the blob and I move against the crowd towards the sound of a woman's voice coming from a microphone. On stage: three stools: a man with a guitar, a laptop computer with top opened, and a woman behind a keyboard. She turns on the computer and a loud, familiar dance beat is heard, heads in the crowd bob, some people cheer holding up their drinks, arms extended in appreciation. The singer plays electronic keyboards with a high-tin sound; the guitarist joins in, adding a needed real musical instrument sound. People dance in front of the stage, men and women holding on to their bags, cameras and drinks, wearing very little clothing. I wouldn't call it dancing but there's no other word to call tourists gone wild in Key West. It's like they are doing a dance to the objects they are holding.

After a few verses, the guitarist begins a solo, sounds like it's going to be really good when the singer jumps back in much too soon and the guitarist backs off. In the twilight the harbour view is inviting, sailboats have left the docs for their nightly cruise and a photographer hangs photos of tourists on a fence, hoping they will like what they see when they return from their sail. Hopefully a few will go wild and tip him.

Key West

If this is May, then I am at The Studios of Key West. www.tskw.org where I am the May visiting artist living in the Mango Tree House where each morning i am greeted by falling mangoes for breakfast and where a white cat greets me. The Studio is a performing and studio space for artists, writers and musicians; it offers workshops, classes and sponsors events and artists such as myself. The Director Eric Holowacz has done an amazing job to make this place part of the community and the staff here are also wonderful. A few artists have told me that they wouldn't stay in KW in the summer (this morning at 8 a.m. it was already 80) -- if it wasn't for The Studio.

I took a life drawing class and the Painting Bootcamp Class with Rick Worth. In only two hours I have a painting of KW complete with palms trees. Rick is a local artist originally from Missouri who has been in KW for over twenty years. He teaches the class every Tuesday night.

KW is a rich environment and I am in my second week working on a collection of pieces about suicide. Pics soon to follow.

Tribes 12 is out

I have the very good fortune to be staying in a loft in soho to care for two gorgeous cats. This place also comes with high speed internet, something I have not had in a very long time.

The reading at the Tribes Gallery for the Gathering of the Tribes Issue No 12 this past weekend was great although Steve Cannon was in hospital from a falling down the stairs accident (but is doing well now.) I was happy to see my poem, "Where Do I Begin?" included. The publishing process is very long. I submitted the poem to the editors five years ago. www.tribes.org

It's not on the website yet, but it was edited by Bruce Weber, Susan Sherman and Chavisa. Many writers and artists were included in the book (Bonny Finberg, Carl Watson, Jill Rappaport, etc.) and it looks great and feels great; although I don't understand the choice of the photo on the back of a scowling woman laying in bed inviting the eye to look up her bum. There were many beautiful and challenging works of art in the book that would have made a more representative bookend to the issue instead of another boring offer of a woman in compliance of degrading herself sexually as art. Even if it is a guy dressed as a girl, it is far from cutting-edge photography and art today, some of which are inside the book.

Banks

A friend told me a story.
The banks are protected by law to criminally steal money from the credit card holder.

Visa Household owned by HSBC Bank will change the apr to 29.99% (30%) after one late payment. And, the payment was late because they changed the due date without notification. And, the due date changes every month. They keep this high apr until you call them. Then it stays there for 6 months and after this time reverts back to the original apr.

This 30% apr was changed from 9.9%. What can be done? Why are our legislatures not doing something? For many it is difficult to deal with debt and make minimum payments when you loose your job, but it is impossible to get out of debt with this practice, since the minimum payment includes more apr fees than principal on the debt owed. At this rate, there is no relief. Ever.

Only in Woodstock

View of backyard from bathroom. Budhist flags torn to shreds by two grey squirrels

I am living in a one-room cabin called a carriage house a few blocks south of the center of Woodstock. Here I am close enough to nature to see deer and birds. My view of the backyard, however, is from the bathroom. There is a floor to ceiling window in the small space and the toilet faces out. Here I can watch the deer and birds and I imagine I too must appear as if I am in a glass cage on view to others. I am watched as I watch.

My "Only in Woodstock" moment came when I saw two squirrels fighting over a long line of Buddhist prayer flags. Each grey squirrel was perched at the end of a log at the rear of the backyard. They simultaneously pulled on the flags in a tug of war. Two flags hung in the middle of the line, as each squirrel tried to get hold of their own flag. One squirrel dropped his end and the other squirrel rolled the flag in its front paws as if doing the hullabaloo.

I thought about looking for my camera; but I was afraid the event would not last and I would miss out. So this photo shows what the squirrels left. It is better to have seen it then to try to capture it. It is by far something I doubt will be repeated in nature again, at least to my eyes.

Woodstock is a very groovy place; even the animals here are surprising. As the bumper sticker says, "Woodstock: everyone here is not quite there."

Witnessing this event confirms for me that when the day is done; when the belly is full, squirrels want to have fun too.

Baby deer checking me out while I am answering a call to my own nature.

Another Birthday Has Come

Here we go again, into the age of Aquarius -- officially. Jupiter is aligned with Mars and here we go spreading peace and love everywhere.

In Woodstock on my birthday I watched two hawks flying above me near the woods where I was walking. They are heavy birds with a wide wingspan of black and silver feathers against a clear blue sky, orange beaks pointed down, legs extended behind them tucked close to their guts. They landed in a tree and again flew above me, coming closer.

In Woodstock on my birthday I listened to Levon Helm, because he lives somewhere near by. The CD was sent to me by Jay who lives in North Carolina. Levon Helm is so full of joy, even when he sings about sorrow, he does it with a joy that makes the day go well. He gives everything when he sings.

In Woodstock on my birthday I looked for work, I listened to the news and cried and went to bed happy because my daughter called me and my family sent me cards. Dad said he knows someone who has a cheap car. A car is what I need in Woodstock, if I stay. It's so groovy here, I like it better than New Zealand, but I really miss my New Zealand friends. My new Woodstock friends say if I like it here in summer I will be ecstatic in the summer!

WHY BLOG

blah blah blah blah
in these times of enjoying silence in the country, words are precious.
There is less time to blog, less time to download the photos form my country walks; less time to put up another entry.
The Internet does not save me time; with slow connections it eats my time and steals my silence.

I wonder if people feel they have less time because of the internet? Is it another addiction, another distraction?
blah blah blah
The blog network is huge. Facebook wants to own our creativity and claims they do. What I write here is okay if it is not "literary". According to one source, what I write here cannot be published elsewhere.
In 2009 I will have something published in a very good literary journal in which the "story" cannot have appeared any where else -- including my own blog!

Soundclick Update

soundclick has removed my music illegally sold on their space.
now i'm waiting to see when. they say it was removed "some time back."
And, I'm waiting to hear how many times the music was bought.

My first record

Here is the cover of my first record, (in its sleeve)
"Potentially Dangerous" about child abuse.
My daughter and her father are both in the picture.
Posting it here to help soundclick remove the illegal selling of this song on their music store page.

Dad in his Obama t-shirt

This is the first time my parents and I voted for the same person. As I talk to friends and mention this, I am struck by a few things: that I am blessed to have both parents in my life; I am blessed to have a a good relationship with them. But I am curious. How many others experienced agreement within their family on Obama?

Artists Cemetery Woodstock

who was it that said
nothing ever happens in heaven
well maybe baby,
maybe they've never been there

i'm going to send you to heaven
i'm going to send you to heaven
i'm going to send you to heaven
send you a post card
wish you were here

give peace a chance

The peace sign is everywhere in Woodstock.
It is very groovy.
as if
wearing sterling silver peace sign earrings is doing your bit against the war

Soundclick Nightmare

Why do people steal other people's art?
How do people steal other people's art and sell it on the internet?

Susan Clone has put my songs on the soundclick music store claiming she is the "artist" and selling it. Although I doubt she is getting rich, if even one person bought one song, s/he is a thief.

I am waiting for soundclick to shut this down. I am the one that has to prove my work is original. And,
This is the second time this person has posted my music to soundclick, in August, 2006 it was removed.
Although the internet provides instant access to one's art, illegal use, stolen identity and all around annoyance is hopefully burning some old karma.

Woodstock

This is a colour photo of a stream not far from where I am now living in groovy Woodstock. It is lovely to see snow again after three winters in New Zealand. I'm in a cabin in the woods with no tv and slow internet connection, trying to figure out the meaning of life with my books by Hesse, Thoreu, Emerson and PD James.

Thanksgiving Week

So much to be thankful for. Back in the USA visiting family down south and watching the tube for the latest news. Politics is the big story. No one can find any fault with President-elect Obama.

In the midst of watching Obama on TV it is clear what an intelligent and dignified President he will be.

Contrast this with the failed VP Republican Sarah Palin who as Governor of Alaska recently gave a press conference while a turkey was slaughtered behind her. She ended the interview with a smirk and a comment that the press will probably find some fault with it. -- As if torturing animals should not be questioned. Nothing is lower than people who torture those who cannot speak for themselves. And those who take pleasure in it? There is something seriously wrong with the education of the American people. The corporations are getting a bailout for greedy faulty investments. Nothing can bailout the poisoned mind that enjoys hurting others.

Looking for an Apartment in New York

I sublet my Manhattan apartment and the sub letter stole it. So now I'm starting over again.

Looking for an apartment in new york city has been a daunting experience. People who have overpriced dumps are loosing roommates and want a new one to share the love. After looking for a few weeks I know what I want and don't want: I want light, clutter free space with a window that doesn't, 1. have bars, 2. look out on a wall, 3. look out on a roof, all of which I have lived with in the past.

Checking out shares is interesting too. Some apartments have no living/shared space. Just kitchens with rooms next to the kitchen for sleeping.

After house sitting in beautiful apartments in Queens and Brooklyn and visiting friends in Manhattan who respect the space they live in, it is harder for me to compromise. I miss what I left three years ago, a beautiful apartment on the lower east side, on a high floor. I subleased my apartment to a friend of a friend, who promised to return my apartment to me when I returned to New York. So it goes.

The thief is a real estate agent --, oh ironies of irony.

Halloween 2008

My favorite costume at the Theatre for the New City Party

Reuben as President George W Bush in college



and not to be outdone, this dog was stealing hearts on Avenue A.

Tears for New Zealand

national party wins in new zealand

New Zealand just elected John Key, (self made millionaire) of the National Party, an extreme right winger who wants to bring in nuclear energy, send troops to Iraq, create more private investing, and cut back on all the layabouts (social services) including health care. Hey, this sounds like the last administration in the U.S. He said New Zealanders want a safer NZ (code for you know what)


While living in NZ I witnessed two campaigns for Prime Minister, 2005 and 2008, although more low key than the US, the drama was high in 2005 because Don Brash's campaign money came from the Exclusive Brethren, a right-wing Christian organization, and personal consultations on how to campaign from George Bush's advisers. When these things were discovered, they were denied (and later proven true) National lost in 2005.

Although I found it understandable that while I lived in New Zealand people were quite rabid haters of George Bush, (as in: "...there's enough of you bloody amerians here already!") it is perplexing now why they have virtually elected him to run their country.

And for the animals

My heart cannot take so much goodness!

Just as important as who we voted for President, California was also voting for the humane treatment of animals.

California said no to the torture of animals raised for food. Proposition 2 passed by more than 62% of the people (and we know that 62% are not vegetarians!). Could it possibly be a new compassionate age? Proposition 2 will put an end to the inhumane confinement of animals on factory farms. And so we unite in the belief that all animals deserve humane treatment, even those of us who are raised for food. Hooray!

The New President-Elect Obama

When I left NZ a few weeks ago, people on both sides of the sea wondered about my return to one of "America's worst of times..."
....but it looks like I've come back to America's best.

Perhaps the next time I travel abroad non-Americans will be more generous in their judgment of and hatred towards the American people.
It looks very optimistic indeed.

People are saying they knew Obama would win and at the same time they are saying they can't believe it.

It's going to be very interesting. We owe a huge debt to those who were killed in this country by Americans just because of the colour of their skin. It feels hopeful.

Back in the USA

Back in New York

Only a week and already, I'm in the New York groove, walking on the wrong side of the sidewalk saying 'excuse me excuse me' wherever I go. I forgot how many people can be crammed into a subway car, how many people can line up at an ATM, and the abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables from upstate New York at the Union Square Farmer's Market took my breath away -- heads of green and red lettuce $1.25 and apples $1 to $2 a pound. I bought 8 organic plums for $1.50 and an organic loaf of grain bread with no sugar or dairy for $3.75!

Although I don't have a view of the sea, the amazing diversity of the people here is a view I have missed. The first thing I noticed when I got off the plane at JFK was black people!!! I only knew one American black person in Wellington. Now I'm an Obama volunteer and will help with the campaign to be sure we have a president and vice president who will not turn back the rights of women that were fought for so hard by so many before, or turn their back on ALL the people.

It's good to be back and see everything new again.

There has been little time to blog, since I don't have a home or internet service, but the cafe I'm in at this moment, roots & Vines on Grand Street, offers the service free along with delicious coffee and only $2.00!

Your Dream Home

For a million dollars, or two, you can live here









and share your beach with SUV's (when the tide is out)

photos shot from a look out point, Wellingtons Beach, Whangarei

According to recent news items in the press, there is crises in New Zealand. Its coastal shores are in danger because of erosion from the usual suspects: over development runoffs from timber, building, sheep, cows, and the weather and god's will according to some religious groups. But one thing the NZ Government will not do is ban cars from the beach because it's a Kiwi tradition. But they are asking people to not be assholes when using the beach. Tell that to the birds who are loosing their habitat.
And
(what you can't see is what I could: I was close enough to houses on my left to see into their kitchens and bedrooms....)

Wild Green Yonder - Great Book on Woofing

"The Wild Green Yonder: Ten seasons volunteering on New Zealand's organic farms," by Philippa Jamieson. New Holland Publishers (NZ) Ltd., 2007 (www.newhollandpublishers.co.nz)

The Wild Green Yonder is a personal story and an introduction to organic farming in New Zealand from a Woofer's point of view. A woofer is someone who lives on a farm and in exchange for four to five hours of work a day, receives room and board while learning about organic farming. It's also a way some foreigners choose to travel through New Zealand.

Traveling from her home base in Dunedin in the South Island, Philippa Jamieson, a vegetarian who was already familiar with an organic lifestyle and the importance of sustainable farming for the future of New Zealand and planet earth, wrote this book while traveling all over the country.

I enjoyed the book and as a vegetarian myself I was curious how others see their lives in relation to this choice. (Most consume dairy as part of their diet, but the pros and cons of how some farmers use animals is not part of this essay.) This book is well written and lively. As a non-New Zealander though I had to look up some flora and fauna definitions to understand what I was reading about. Gorse is a universal weed and I learned that left to it's own, gorse actually protects native bush. It's the human interferences with weeds that have created the (global) mess it is today.

I also learned that organic is never pure, not anywhere. Just like buying pollution points to continue to pollute, you can get a way with some non-organic practices according to organic regulations. It's disturbing that we are already over the brink and nothing is 100% organic today. If you are looking for an adventure, woofing is a way to discover New Zealand and meet-- according to Philippa -- wonderful people who also cook delicious meals -- and also serve lots of wine. For some reason, Philippa stayed with people who seemed to drink a lot.

The book makes the reader very conscious of where our food comes from. For instance, one farmer uses seaweed for fertilizer, which he buys from Canada. It is impossible to fathom why seaweed has to be imported to a country surrounded by the sea.

Maori had to be the first farmers in New Zealand but they are not mentioned in the book. Either they don't own any organic farms or Philippa did not visit them. The majority of owners seem to be German. There is a large population of Germans in New Zealand as residents and tourists both. (I'm writing this from a tiny sea-town in the North Island called Ngunguru; the local motel down the road has a sign out front: "Die Speiche Deutsche.")

There are plenty of stories about the people the food and traveling that keep this book an enjoyable read. It's also a great guide to woofing and the farms that are listed who are registered as woofer friendly. It may, like for me, make woofing look very attractive; but be warned, it could bring on changes to your sexuality, like it did for Phillipa -- but you'll have to read the book to find out the details about that.

First We Kill The Critics

In these uncertain economic times everyone's asking:

What will happen to art?

If it means the death of critics,
then at least some good will come of it.

Palin is like a New Car - Lipstick on a Lemon is still a Lemon

A Riff on Sara Palin
Lipstick on a Lemon is still a Lemon

As told to me by an anonymous man:

Sara Palin is like a new car.
You see her in the lot and she looks really good.
Paint job is real shiney and she smells good too.
Turn the key and she revs up, blasting a nice sound.
She idles like a purring cat.
You take her for a test run, she seems okay.
Is she affordable?
Are there any hidden costs? What comes with her price and what is optional?
And, what if you need to go on a long trip, is she ready?
Could she be a lemon?
Could she be recalled?
When the warranty is up, are you stuck with her?
Will you be able to get rid of her? Or will you be stuck with her in your garage, driveway, eating away at your checkbook with every breakdown?


Maybe now is the time you need to look under the hood a little longer, check all her connections, make sure her lines going in and out are clean.
Lipstick on a lemon is still a lemon.

As told to me on the phone: sept 10 2008 8 pm est

Ngunguru, Northland, New Zealand

1 September 2008
New Moon
New beginnings

My final days in New Zealand will be spent in a home on a hill in Ngunguru with a black cat named Zakara while its owner, Lilicherie works in Wellington. Ngunguru is in the Northland, 40 minutes from the next town, Whangarei. I'm getting settled with supplies and hope and sadness. This view from my window looks out at the river and a sand spit; to the left it joins the sea. There are glorious walks here, -- when the tide is out -- along the sandy beach, cutting jagged cliffs to one side, the sea to the other. Many rocks from small to large, with jagged edges are covered with oysters. The beautiful sounds of Tui's and the shrill sounds of the oyster catchers accompany you wherever you go. In this photo the tide is in. A beautiful place to live before returning to New York.

Death Threats

When I exhibited the video art work, "Milk*" at the Detroit Institute of Arts, in 1978, I received death threats. John Neff, the Director of the DIA at the time said that although there was no way to know if those threats were real, it was his job to inform me that the DIA had received them.

I am proud of the work and it still stands up today as a funny commentary on social behavior. I'm also sort of proud that the work moved people to such extremes. It happened again with my play, WINTER. There were two reviews that didn't review the play, they reviewed me, and it's this anti-american sentiment that is driving me away from wanting to continue to work here.

Critics benefit from tearing apart the lives of others. Critics are killers of a what they have not experienced or are not open to experiencing. Those people who support them enjoy a vicarious pleasure in seeing others put down. Negativity, superiority, what's it good for? The same people who are critical of their own country (USA) of being bully's, are bullys themselves as critics. There is a big difference between the artist and the critic. I would have considered a negative review as a possible professional attempt to comment on the play, if it in fact had reviewed the play, which it seems to me should mention something about what a play involves like, the actors, the director, the set design, the lighting, the sound, .... even audience response....

Would a truthful artist spend his/her time tearing apart the work of others? Do mothers send their children to war?

* (Milk went on to receive many awards and is the first video art work from the 70's of a mother expressing her breast milk in a glass and drinking it while discussing breast feeding in public.)

Farwell Party

Saying goodbye at my party to some women who made a difference in my life in Wellington, NZ: (Me), Vlad, Rose and Kazz Funky Blue

Eclipse: a poem & a goodbye to Wellington

Eclipse

when the dark side of the moon
becomes two
they huddle together
and walk toward silence

Once again I am leaving Wellington. This will be the fourth time. Each time I left, I thought I would stay away. But in New York I heard the sea calling me, calling me back. And a man. I thought I would give it another go with the man, and again, and again. But it's not meant to be.

In a few days I go to Ngunguru, to live on the sea once more, Ngunguru is a small seaside town east of Whangarei, a few hours north of Auckland. It will be warmer there. The town has a dairy, a cafe and a real estate office. I'm taking my sketch book, pens and pencils and my new guitar. I gave my Drunk Monologues' guitar to Vlad and then Alfred showed up with a guitar for me. That night -- around 5 a.m. - Leonard called from Detroit.



I was half awake but had to laugh at the synchroncity of the call. The last time I asked the universe for a sign to return to music was in 2005. At the moment I said, okay, if I'm supposed to be making music, send me a sign. The Phone rang and it was Leonard. We had not spoken to each other in 25 years. LPJ was (is) the drummer in The Dangerous Diane Band. We put the band back together and did a kick ass reunion in Detroit.

Leonard Paul Johnson

This second coincidence of Leonard calling me on the night I was given a guitar is too Arthur Koestler to ignore, and so I will play some music in Ngunguru. -- It may be the blues this time.

Photos by Jay Yager, The Dangerous Diane Band Reunion Gig, Detroit 2005

KAZZ FUNKY BLUE

The original oil painting in WINTER is by Kazz Funky Blue. Here's a better photo of it to satisfy those of you who said they wanted to see it up close.