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       Read something interesting just yesterday. Yesterday was for me a miserable day

   which I will not revisit here. I think I dreamt it out and though not quite straight, at

   least my head is on securely. That will have to do.
      So the news was that in 1861-2(Dec-Jan), large parts of California and neighboring

   states Oregon, Nevada and New Mexico received biblical apocalyptic rain, snow and

   melting warm weather that created an inland sea and necessitated the capitol be

   moved from Sacramento to San Francisco albeit temporarily. Why did nobody tell me

   about this sooner?
      Now, the climatologists & geologists and whatever variety of lab rat that studies

   tree rings are saying that this is a cyclical event  occurring at regular intervals in

   evidence since like 1200 a.d.
      The last modeling of these events predicted another sometime in the next 40 yrs

    however this model, produced in 2011, did NOT take into account the global

    warming thing which, would essentially accelerate model predictions. Just fucking

       An event of this magnitude would(by way of projections) wipe out Calif agriculture.

    Losing Hollywood might not be too terrible but those navel oranges I do enjoy and

    the thought of all those wet Forty-Niners coming here and sucking up all our empty

    apartments. Oh no!
        Disasterland West is primarily known for earthquake and fire but now there

   appears to be something of a 'triple crown of calamity'. Always has been, apparently

   and now modeled to be coming around again sooner than later. Just fucking great.
       I'm not a Nostradamus geek nor do I seek Bible prediction or anything like that.

    What I find....compelling, is that in this our season of crisis and plague, to be made

    aware of this significant eventuality can and did,within minutes of discovery, assume

    such a forward position in the composition of all the bullshit that swarms and collides

    in my small and addled mind.
       I feel like telling my friends and relations living out there to buy rowboats or get

   out altogether but that would be premature and alarmist. Maybe I could just discuss

   insurance which they probably could not get anyway. I am curious though to know if

   they are aware of this flooding jazz as I am now, or, if in reversal of my hyper-

   awareness, they know but push it back to the rear of their consciousness composition.

        The object of meditation - in any form or method - is to NOT THINK. I know that.

    But how do you do that? Meditation. Yeah but how....meditation. On & on.
        When I was little, at around 2 or 3 in the morning, after "the late late show(old

    movies), the TV channels would play the national anthem and show footage of jet

    fighters in formation and stars & stripes flapping in the breeze and other such

    retarded imagery and then there would be what was called "a test pattern" which

   signified “no more TV until sunrise” or so. How nice, the TV went to sleep. It might

   have been similar for the radio but I didn't notice.
       Presently, here, and likely there, the unstoppable flood of bullshit never goes to

    sleep, relentless, the constant flush of a busted toilet. Sometimes I wonder(?), when

    folks say they hear voices(which I do not) could they be of a select few who's brains

    are evolving to pick up radio/TV transmission. I don't think this too far-fetched or

    impossible. Mozart & Vermeer are impossible. Generations of inbred Egyptian

    royalty believed their inbred epilepsy to be communion with their rather attractive


        Of course they were wrong about the seizures but their goddesses possessed the

    same shapely assets we put a premium on today.

          Everything comes around and around. And around and around again

            Strange. Soon it will be Christmas, then New Year. Then the big event.




    The first ring of the holidays fades in the mist, seen in a rear view mirror.

      Oh, what a lovely image. Now the long march to..., well, you know. I get                     

      santaphylactic shock just thinking about it. Clearly clearly, I am  a holiday season

     cynic, big time, and then some. Say whatever you like.

          Some years ago, I read “The Road” by Cormack McCarthy and finished it right

     before Thanksgiving The book (though not by my review a 'great novel') is certainly

    a resonant one and as copious calories and carbs, strong spirits and sweets of all 

    ages danced across the crowded table, the circumstances of that story clouded my 

    vision and altered my perception of this our feast to take account of our blessings.

    My perspective remains altered as I come from stubborn blood.

          Now though, generally, We have all reached an impasse. A tiny percentage of us

     might not concur here. Our holiday Bacchanalia of spending, eating, traveling

     shopping, drinking, socializing and other real or imagined indulgence done got

     squashed. We stand before a jury of ourselves, naked, wet, afraid and out of toilet

     paper. That is what it is, I think.

           On the other hand(if there is another hand), We all have something to look

    forward to on the far shore of what we traditionally call 'the holidays'.

    Unfortunately, many of us will not receive the pony/tree house/front teeth we hope

     for. A holiday of this gravity has not occurred in my lifetime. Did you know the 

     highly intelligent and socially organized Aztec culture(and its franchises) would

    gather in the streets like every 57 years and pray to all the gods for time to begin

    again? Maybe we should try that however it did not ultimately work out so good

    for los Aztecas, pity and a crime.   

          Ardensville is winding up. I think Juan has put up #40 as we speak. She's got a 

     1/2 doz more chapters left in her, give or take. Please please, tell us what you think.

     We have never received more than a sprinkle of comment and, we are grateful for

     that. Thankful, yeeeah, Thankful.

                                                                             Let us All

                                                                                Reflect on

                                                                                  What is real

                                                                                Folks from,

    12/05/2020                                                              Ardensville

 For Eddie Van Halen

          There was for a spell, a street on Manhattan, 48th Street specifically, that some referred to as the music street. 48th Street, of course, is still there, but like Cartago, all the music stores ceased to exist, gone now, every last one. The very buildings they occupied have been ripped down. Vacant lots where once stood holy places.

        As a teenager, I’m proud to say, I was asked to leave probably every one of those stores, if not thrown out outright. Still, we would linger on the street. Why? For the chance encounter with a rock ’n roll god, come to Earth in mortal form to shop. In a land of wonders, anything is possible.

        Jimi was already gone by that time, but ClaptonPageBeck might come through 48th Street. And B.B., and Duane and Carlos, Johnny and Rick, PeterFrampton, Jerry, Jorma, Jim Messina and Steve Miller and more. Of course, there were George Harrison and Keith and Ron Wood.

       Singers sang the words and bassists and drummers and keys brought up the rear, but those were the roles of squires, pages and grooms. The guitarists were the shining white knights we longed to see atop white steeds with their glinting lances, now guitars. Electric guitars, yeah.

       There are certainly a few ways to consider Woodstock. For the sake of this bulletin, it was a big celebration and homage to the guitar. More to the point, to the Guitar God. Gods.

    Eddie Van Halen shuffled off to Buffalo this mortal coil the other day. Now that kid could play that thang. Tore the shit up.

      My favorite story about him came from his brother: when of an age to go out for the night, he would leave his younger brother Eddie, guitar in hand on the couch with the TV on. On returning hours later, he would find the pair just where he had left them.

      It started with Chuck Berry. He was the first. Pianos, maybe tenor saxes, and guitars vied for an interval for who would be the avatar of rock ’n roll, and then Chuck decided. Guitar, a red one. Some might credit Buddy Holly with this determination, but I think not. Holly’s huge contribution to rock ’n roll was a musical one, profound, ubiquitous and still present today.

    Eddie wasn’t just a guitar god, he was a guitar cutie. Not because I think so, but because an alpha It girl in that time of their primacy thought so enough to marry him. Their child was named for Mozart.

     When I’d see bands at the Fillmore (closed June 1971), folks would come out, stand there and play just as hard as they could. I don’t think standing still would fly now. When the directors took music from the producers and engineers, rock ’n roll became primarily a visual thing. Hence,the Monkees. You had to look right and you had to move right, and then the stage show had to look like the video and your head shot was more important than an audition. Blech. I regret to say here that maybe, “A Hard Day’s Night” was the first step on that road to perdition. The Elvis movies were still merely Hollywood musical formulas.

      Eddie could really play. No kidding. He was the last Rock ’n Roll Guitar God, in my book. There’s a little number from the 19th century called Gotterdammerung – Twilight of the Gods. Eddie knew just what that meant.


Good Night Good Night

Sweet Rock and Roll

  Good night Good Knight

  Sweet Thing to You

       We dimmed the lights –

It don’t feel right

And it’s only

Only all I long to do

Tear down the Temples

Tear down the Walls

Crashing Glasses

Standing Sweaty

Crystal Skin Touch Visions

Six Strings in My Hand

Deep Blue and a

BackBeat Redemption

Good Night Good Knight
Sweet Rock and Roll


                                           Yet An Other Bulletin


                  If I could and would I could, I would bring up and back my Dad.

      We would sit at a table with the remains of a dinner between us and I'll

      pour him a beer into a tall glass.         

                  In that moment, I would ask him,

                “What is the most important thing?”

           The answer would not incubate long at all .

                “The most important thing is, that to the best of your ability,

       try to always conduct and comport yourself as a gentleman.” Were my

       sisters asking, he might say, “gentlewomen”. One would hope for a

       better equivalent term than “gentlewoman”. “Act like a lady” connotes

       something not my intention here.

                    He would say, “If all would behave in the manner of gentle

       people, we might have a platform upon which to examine, repair and

       hopefully avoid the pyre of crisis and plague we all now inhabit

       together.” Awright awright, that last bit was my voice but my Dad

       would've said, “Yeah, 'at's the stuff.”

                                              Do the right thing.....

                                                          right thoughts

                                                          right words

                                                          right decisions

                                                          right habits

                                                          right actions.....

                                  Sounds easy.

                                       Easy as pie.

                                            Didja ever make a pie?

                   Should integrity, decency, and humility find no safe haven

       on our acre, then no sustaining crop will we sow.

                    Parent teach the children

                      The worth of our gold

                       Is only in proportion

                     To the luster of our soul

                          Gentles be us all

                          Women and Men

                             All Means All


                         Sitting on the stoop,

                          The porch, a lawn

                                             the shore,

                       There are no scoundrels here.

                                                                       Folks in Ardensville,

                       8/22/2020                                         Honor as a Verb

                      In 1935 or there abouts a Mr. E. Hemingway of Oak Park Illinois, 

        a writer by trade, said of “Huckleberry Finn” that all modern American 

        literature comes from that book. At this time though, I must disagree with

        Mr. Hemingway who I hold now and ever in deepest reverence and awe.

                       Huck Finn came out in 1885 so Hemingway was writing about 

        it on the 50th anniversary of its publication. I have read that book more times

        than I can count and it remains ever fresh and wonderful. The Art of that book,

        the disrobing of the human condition, the simple truth about American culture,

        the concision of writing, the humor, humanity, empathy and plain old wonder 

        of it all, inhabits every page. It is a free standing miracle and in its own unique way, 

        a terrifying work of prophecy as the truth often is. And it is an original work, 

        a designation un-deservedly applied to many pretenders.

                 The disagreement, what is the disagreement? I'll tell ya.;Hemingway said 

       Huck Finn/Twain was the source and others say, Hemingway was the source.

        I don't know what Twain said on the matter. Could he have realized the innovation

       he authored? I don't know.

                                                      But now me, 

                                            What do I say about this? 

                                                       I'll tell ya,

                                                Gettysburg Address

              Like the best and greatest of poems, that which it expresses cannot be 

       expressed or explained any better. Its concision is breathtaking. One might 

       believe Lincoln was double parked and or had a hot date. The economy, brevity,

       humanity and punch in the face truth contained in those263 words is the

      unsurpassed acme of modern American literature.

                                   But, what is said?

                                               What is said?

                                    Read It.

                                   All of our problems

                                   In 2020, are right there

                                    Read IT

                                   Slowly, and then read IT again

                                   Juan put it as a footer

                                   On every page of the site.

                                   Juan is a genius

                                   Read IT until you can recite IT in the shower

                                   Read it til you weep

                                   Recite IT as you're watching

                                   what passes now for news. 


                Any first grade student of Buddhism learns, attachment to permanence

         creates impermanence. Let no one of us believe the ground beneath our feet

         permanent or even stable. There lies the source of destruction.

               The past is difficult and not subject to change. Symbols and gestures,

         songs and slogans, speeches and op-eds can wither like flowers in a vase.

                                Concentrate and strive for things real

                                    But ask yourself......what is real?

                                                                     what matters?

                                 Can you know the Truth if you see it?

                                                                     if you heard it? 

                                     That's tough......tough as it gets.

                Maybe our time is better spent identifying untruths. I don't think so 

         but, maybe. If you can find any in the Gettysburg Address of Nov,1863,

         please let us know.





                                                                                  Folks from Ardensville

      6/27/2020                                                           (never a soap box)   

                                  Another Corona Bulletin                 


           Dang ! I thought too many stores were closed before? Now,

   it's like an unused Hollywood set out there. So sad. So sad.

          A friend sent me a sad song this morning. He expressed a

   cathartic power in this song which caused him to weep for the

   travail of the past not few weeks. It should be noted here that the

   song was not in his language and indeed a very complex spectrum

   of cultural influences.

         Okay, didn't hit my buttons and I can see why it might another.

    What language was it? Sadness, a most common tongue.

    Loosely understood, a rainbow is the prismatic articulation of the

    constituent colors of white light when passed through water 

   molecules. Damn I hope I got that right. ROY G BIV.

         Sung in sadness using the recombined colors of diverse

    cultures and what do you get? Blues. 

                                  Everybody knows the blues.

                                                                 Don't You?

                                  Everywhere knows the blues.

                                                                  Don't We?

        Oppression.   B.T. Washington says no one can be oppressed 

   without their consent (hope I got that right) . A difficult notion.

    Of course,  Mr. Washington knows of what he speaks. I say the

   mountain is named for him. 

        Oppression is when you're getting your ass kicked for no 

   reason. Nothing you perpetrated. Punishment for no offense.

        American Blues is a body of work sown in oppression and 

   sung in sadness. Its creators saw who held the cane. 

       Now, a different though not quite novel oppression saturates

   the earth. We do not see the cane or who holds it. We see only the

   spent and vacant forms of our sisters and brothers.

       If one does not hear the blues now, if one does not sing the

   blues now, possibly that one has no soul. Such things can happen.


                                                       Reach down and scream

                                                       Even if no one hears

                                                       Peace in the Valley

                                                                        and Health

                                                                     and Community

                                                          Souls are on the March




             An'another thing !!;        If we're going to wear masks, 

                                                            and we should, 


                                                    let's all smile 

    4/22/2020                                                with our eyes.

Just recently just, upon the recommendation of someone at my job,

     I read, “The Allegory of the Cave” by Plato. Was that his first or last

     name? Don't know.

        I found it in a jiff on-line: in different translations and formats. I read a

    bunch of them. Not a hardship. 15 or 20 minutes well spent. Not at all

    time wasted and the elation of intellectual reward has yet to dim. 

    I doubt it ever shall. The piece is about public perception, mostly kinda.

         Though his focus might have been on human nature(?), with amazing

    impossible accuracy, Plato predicts the media jones we immolate

    ourselves in now. 2400 years old this ditty is. How do you do that? 

    I don't know. Really I don't.

          Now do We live in a time of prophecies realized. Or not. I think I'm

    informed about things and maybe I'm not. That's bad. I see people around

    me who are not informed – some through ambivalence and some by

    choice. Either one, that's bad too.

          Is Gaia done with us? Sick up and fed with us? Had it up to here!! 

          It might be the grossest immodesty for a generation to say, 

    “Boy o' boy, it's never been this bad. We are in some deep shit now!”

     But ya know what? Boy o' boy it's never been this bad. We are in some

     deep shit now.

          I can't look at the news and I can't not. If great justice is inevitable, 

     We in some deep shit now.

           But, then there is Celia.

                                              Celia on the good foot.

                                                     Celia on the good foot now.

         Your response(s) to both “The Air” & “Nation” have been outstanding.

    For this we are grateful. Thank You.

                                                             Let's All go for a walk.

                                                                   Forget answers

                                                                         Seek questions

       3/07/2020                                    Folksizhome 

Debt. Debt is the thing most sited to be insufficiently represented

      on the list of things that make us nuts in the “Nation” article. I confess 

      the failure to recognize debt as the pitch fork poking demon that it is for

      many Folks is a subjective oversight on my part. Okay.

                                We once indulged

                                      the Vice of debt

                                 But now We don't no mo'

              I wrote in the article “Scrapes”, a while back, that electronic 

      billboards were replacing paper billboards thus eliminating the

       possibility of organic real Art. I find lately one of the sequential 

      offering of this highly evolved medium is this kind of board approved 

      poetry and some of it might be alright however I read 3 or 4 lines and

      then the screen changes to an ad about something I must have or do to

      be a content, secure and upwardly mobile person.

               Now c'mon you poets, get with it. Learn to write poetry like 

       advertising copy or be swallowed whole by the great snake of 

       efficiency. You(s) have been warned !

               We welcome JJ Pinckney to the stoop, the porch, the crew.

       I found him and find him a charged painter and creator. Good Luck to

       Us. I hope you enjoy him as do we.

               The Folks in Ardensville are breaking the surface like Crocus in

      springtime now.  And away we go.........


                                                                                 Believe that


Absurd. Even the word is sorta absurd. Absurd. 

             I embrace absurd. Don't condescend or dismiss it. How could I?

    For I, am just that. I am absurd, an absurd person. 'Magine that, hm, m, m.

             Some of you may have noticed, the cover page – nowadadaze

   sensibly referred to as “home”, has been altered. Though Robin's image

   of Celia and Petra holding an Ardensville banner, - now something like 

   a brand name and a fine one at that- still appears, now, upon coming to 

   the site one is confronted by a hippopotamus in a tutu considering the

   Empire State Building. Hmmm, I always consider that spire when I see it.


             Make no mistake: this is a photograph. A photograph. This sight,

    the moment, this reality, now preserved in golden amber – happened.

    Bet on it.

              Shall you dismiss it and stamp “absurd”? You may do that.

                  Please, feel free. Stamp it, be my guest. 

                                               Then, turn that stamp 

                                                        upon yourself for 

                                                              We are all  absurd.

               Bulletin to myself....;

     The responses (all positive) to “Talking Goose” and “Nation of Geniuses”, 

     have been, to me, remarkable. So many interpretations. Yesterday, a very

     nice woman told me “Nation” was the truth. It just don't get better'n that.

              Ardensville is rolling now. There are such things as wondrous

     places. Places out of time and beyond reason. Places absurd. Bet on it. 


                                         And the crooked places shall be made straight,

                                                                Folks from Ardensville,

                                                                                     Get in touch,

  1/22//2020                                                                            Stay in touch.

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