“The Mysterious Arrival of an Unusual Letter” by Strand:
It had been a long day at the office and a long ride back to the small apartment where I lived. When I got there I flicked on the light and saw on the table an envelope with my name on it. Where was the clock? Where was the calendar? The handwriting was my father’s, but he had been dead for forty years. As one might, I began to think that maybe, just maybe, he was alive, living a secret life somewhere nearby. How else to explain the envelope? To steady myself, I sat down, opened it, and pulled out the letter. “Dear Son,” was the way it began. “Dear Son” and then nothing. Are Prose Poets Trolling Us?
An assortment of mineral specimens from the Department of Mineral Sciences’ collections are displayed in the storage vault known as the “Blue Room,” at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of Natural History.
That’s a barbershop, all right. You can almost smell the talc in those pictures.
I just saw my acupuncturist last week. When I lived in Oakland 30-something years ago I turned him on to the local barbershop on College Avenue where we both lived; the guy who started it up is still cutting his hair and we always exchange Marty stories.
My favorite is about Marty being determined even in the ’80s to have a real barber shop and not a Salon. To that end there were always stacks of old and older men’s magazines scattered about for the waiting customers. I commented one time that the story illustrations of the girls-in-their-underpants variety were much more erotic than the modern spread-eagle-in-whore-suits stuff that was taking over the culture, and Marty said, “Yeah. That was before they started losing the distinction between pornography and gynecology.”
Thanks for the punny skating pic. Brings back memories of roller skating days.
Have a great weekend!
ChrisSeptember 20, 2019, 7:01 PM
I’d rather have Bonnie & Clyde’s BAR.
CIII
JackSeptember 22, 2019, 4:54 PM
When I was a kid my legs, knees and elbows were always covered in scabs from roller skating in those primitive metal wheel, adjustable things that clamped onto our shoes, but seldom stayed on, with a skate key. And we skated on cracked sidewalks with irregular sections that always caught the skate and brought us down. And we used no pads, gloves or helmets to protect what little sense the Lord gave us.
I recall crouching low, striding in my skates with arms swinging side to side in a kiddish rhythm and losing a skate, sometimes both, in mid stride. Eventually, and sooner rather than later because I realized that I was incredibly shitty at skating, I hung them up and refused to join the skateboard craze later on.
I turned to horses and hunting and never looked back. I hate skating.
Real World Address for Donations, Mash Notes and Hate Mail
Gerard Van der Leun
1692 MANGROVE AVE
APT 379
Chico, Ca 95926
Green Pants Interior by Klahn
Who Am I? by Carl Sandburg
My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I reach my hands and play with pebbles of destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading “Keep Off.”
My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive in the universe.
Duty, Beauty, Liberty, Country, Honor, Family, Faith — Plus a few simple easy to follow rules for guys
Men saw the stars at the edge of the sea
They thought great thoughts about liberty
Poets wrote down words that did fit
Writers wrote books
Thinkers thought about it
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
Many’s the road I have walked upon
Many’s the hour between dusk and dawn
Many’s the time
Many’s the mile
I see it all now
Through the eyes of a child
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
[Chorus]
Lost dreams and found dreams
In America
In America
In America
Lost dreams and found dreams
In America
In America
In America
And close your eyes
Leave it all for a while
Leave the world
And your worries behind
You will build on whatever is real
And wake up each day
To a new waking dream
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
[Chorus]
Change, change come over
Change come over
Talkin’ about a change
Change, change
Change come over, now
Change, change, change come over
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I see my light
See my light
See my shining light
I see my light
See my light
See my shining light
Charles M. Russell, Painter of Old Montana
Boys will be boys |
Giant Oak Park – Peoria, Illinois 
For Sale: Bonnie and Clyde’s Sawed-Off Shotgun 
Shepard’s Barber Shop – Conroe, Texas 
Perspective Drawings Reveal Artist’s Position within Different Rooms
Flower Flashes in NYC by Lewis Miller 
Picture Hats: One Of The Favorite Fashion Styles Of Edwardian Women
Greenland Unicorns and the Magical Alicorn 
How the Hudson River School Became America’s First Art Movement
Gerard Van der Leun
Comments on this entry are closed.
Gerard, on the subject of “Boys will be boys”, you might like this:
My turn
That’s a barbershop, all right. You can almost smell the talc in those pictures.
I just saw my acupuncturist last week. When I lived in Oakland 30-something years ago I turned him on to the local barbershop on College Avenue where we both lived; the guy who started it up is still cutting his hair and we always exchange Marty stories.
My favorite is about Marty being determined even in the ’80s to have a real barber shop and not a Salon. To that end there were always stacks of old and older men’s magazines scattered about for the waiting customers. I commented one time that the story illustrations of the girls-in-their-underpants variety were much more erotic than the modern spread-eagle-in-whore-suits stuff that was taking over the culture, and Marty said, “Yeah. That was before they started losing the distinction between pornography and gynecology.”
BaDoom.
Gawdam those are some ugly wimmin in hats.
Thanks for the punny skating pic. Brings back memories of roller skating days.
Have a great weekend!
I’d rather have Bonnie & Clyde’s BAR.
CIII
When I was a kid my legs, knees and elbows were always covered in scabs from roller skating in those primitive metal wheel, adjustable things that clamped onto our shoes, but seldom stayed on, with a skate key. And we skated on cracked sidewalks with irregular sections that always caught the skate and brought us down. And we used no pads, gloves or helmets to protect what little sense the Lord gave us.
I recall crouching low, striding in my skates with arms swinging side to side in a kiddish rhythm and losing a skate, sometimes both, in mid stride. Eventually, and sooner rather than later because I realized that I was incredibly shitty at skating, I hung them up and refused to join the skateboard craze later on.
I turned to horses and hunting and never looked back. I hate skating.