Sunday, June 20, 2010

RAD DAD

A couple weeks ago we were in San Francisco with some friends and I found a pretty great little zine in the little consignment corner at City Lights Books.

Cover art by Fernando Martí

It's been several years since I've picked up a 'zine, and even longer, if ever, since I'd read one cover to cover. But this one's all stories, essays, interviews, resources, and art about "anarchism and parenting," or more generally, about being a "radical parent." Thomas Moniz has been doing these for 5 years (17 editions) and there’s also a blog.

In other fatherly news: we’ve got Tom walking now, sort of. Ash is into rub-on tattoos and the A-Team.

Monday, May 31, 2010

¡recordando los alamos / remembering the cottonwoods!

yeah. hullo. hi. it’s been a while, right? let me start w/ a short update. a couple weeks ago we drove out to Utah to stay w/ my mom and visit the cottonwood canyons of our youth.

a couple highlights: trespassing through a big hole in the chain-link into the abandoned plant nursery up the road. Ash found some big concrete platforms for showing off her skills. Tom putting on the charm at the west bank of Bell Canyon’s lower reservoir. geese at the east bank.


otherwise, I’ve been trying to tie up the last of spring semester’s loose ends and get our garden in. today I think we’re about there. the books are mostly put away. and a couple hours ago I opened the fridge and drank the last half liter of flat coke left over from finals.

this is our first crack at planter boxes; our backyard is mostly stone and clay. the wood is mainly pallets that Ash and I scrounged from behind strip malls and stuff, some old fenceboards too. I’d been holding out for some free topsoil on craigslist, since buying dirt feels a little like buying zucchini (lonely), or bottled water (sucker). I was finally able to get some great composted horse manure from a friend in town, who loaded about a yard into our truck to take home.

here’s Ash and Dirtlips working on their garden. it’s mostly a milpa deal (corn, squash, beans), with some carrots in the corner. because, as Kelly pointed out, kids love pulling those long orange spikes out of the dirt.

Sunday, April 04, 2010

Saturday, April 03, 2010

Friday, February 26, 2010

when you get home you're really going to be funny about my own mask.
i wear it.
i'm crazy 'bout this.
this mask and i wear it.
i love you.
and i go sledding with it.

-ASH

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

madrugada: to Thomas Serrano, turning one & singing

from behind your bedroom door
in the dark of this too early morning
hooting, hissing, drumming the wall
with your heels, rolling

all your words come now:
dog. daddy. cracker. ball.
sssssssssssssssssssssssss
sounds we attached to things, and that you accept

air: just stuff we made up. not like before
when you would blow your wet speech
bubbles of curdled milk, painting
sleeves, pillows, her neck, everything

foamy white, like some insane depression-era comic
about a frustrated mime:

"howzat?"
"speak up kid!"
"lettuces? why din't ya' say so?"

Monday, February 01, 2010

Monday, January 25, 2010

zeros & ones on donner pass







P.S. - check out Treeblog's festival of the trees 44, where this post is linked in the good company of 50 or so others.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

new year roundup (& 300th post)


I've painted my door with ram's blood and have been hiding out from the flood of confessional new years resolution blog postings, which I hope have by now run their course 'round the internets. so it's looking like a safe time for me to make my own confession: aside from a new 52-week regimen for a prescription toenail fungus treatment, and a 6 week sugar fast (again), I have no real resolutions, hobbies, or interests for 2010. wait, we've started planning a couple road trips for the spring. does that count?

but, Kelly helped me set up this google analytics* thing a couple months ago and I've just been checking the results. in case you're curious, here are some of the search terms that have routed people over to fish without faces (for an average visit time of 50 seconds):

when did shasta the liger die
judgment of the birds
animal magnetism fish
clothed capybara
costa rica bird list
costa rica fish list
fish birdhouse
the glad menagerie
austin nv, serbian christmas
barnacle goose eating during lent
hallelujah I'm a bum hallelujah bum again hallelujah give us a whiskey
how to hunt mountain lions without dogs
fish with people faces
taxidermy toucan pelican
virtual diorama

*if you're not familiar, google analytics is like a lobster pot/fishweir or a kind of surveillance camera you can set up to find out stuff about who in the world is visiting your blog. if you're running a boutique for home-knit apple sweaters or selling ad space for teeth whiteners this is strictly commercial. but if you're just whistling into the dark vacuum of cyberspace it's more of a simple curiosity.

Friday, January 08, 2010

the imperfect paradise

"It's true," the man said with a melancholy air, his gaze fixed on the flames dancing in the fireplace that winter night; "in Paradise there are friends, music, some books. The only bad thing about going to Heaven is that from there you can't look up."
-Augusto Monterroso




related: arcadia &c., fire in the fishtank, the salamander, January 2008

ok. this is the last stolen(lazy) fable I'll be posting here. promise.
...oh, and a belated happy new year.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

the obliging cephalopod

it was the least he could do. the woman had come all this way. flown from John Wayne to Jakarta International. a six hour layover in Auckland. all that unwieldy gear. a film crew to pay. and they had all descend to his seafloor, aping his nimble motions in their own water-softened gestures. rubber tubing. bubbles. how to appease this expectant tribe. he thought a moment.

a humble busk:

he reached for a pair of coconut shells, improvising a bony skull, and and began to moonwalk on two of his legs, retracting the other six.
“oogali boogali,” he said.
“boh bah boh bah boh bah.”
“voh voh voh voh voh.”
“oxygen, apparatus, bastard, MasterCard.”

while his utterances were lost on the visiting pilgrims, the octopus’ dance appeared well-received, as these turned their masked faces to the left and right, a reverse shower of bubbles erupting from their heads and rising out of sight. and thereafter there was much spirited talk of “tool-use,” “hydrostatic bipedalism,” and a great many other -isms. all parties then went their way for a nice seafood lunch.



related: the snout, trash vortex, synanthropy, quadrupedal and bonnetted turks

Friday, December 25, 2009

the repentant apostate

It is said that once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a Catholic (according to some, though others said a protestant) who, assailed by doubts, began to think seriously of becoming a Christian. However, fear that his neighbors would imagine that he had done it just for a joke, or to attract attention, made him give up such a foolish and extravagant plan.

-Augusto Monterroso

the recurrent savior

In the Jungle it is known (or should be known) that there have been an infinity of Christs, B.C. and A.D. Whenever one dies another is immediately born who preaches the same as his predecessor and is received according to the ideas that prevail at the time of his arrival--and never understood. They adopt different names and they may belong to any race, country or creed, since they profess no religion. In each epoch they are rejected; on occasions--the most glorious ones--by violence, be it in the form of cross, stake, gibbet, or ball. This they consider a blessing, as it shortens the term of their mission and they depart assured of the value of their sacrifice. On the other hand, they are saddened by times of "understanding" during which nothing happens to them and they go their way ignored. They prefer active repudiation to passive acceptance, gallows or gunfire to psychiatry or pulpit. What they fear most is to die too old, no longer preaching nor striving to teach those who neither want nor merit guidance; oppressed because they know that like themselves in their turn, someone, somewhere, is anxiously awaiting the moment of their death to enter the world and start all over again.

-Augusto Monterroso

the black sheep

In a far-off country many years ago there lived a Black Sheep.
They shot him.
A century later, the repentant flock erected an equestrian statue of him, which looked very good in the park.
From then on, every time a Black Sheep appeared they were promptly executed so that future generations of common, ordinary sheep could also indulge in sculpture.

-Augusto Monterroso

related: the witness, nochebuena, piñatas

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

canyon, Indians, booze, birth, Indains

Sunday, December 24. I said Mass. We set out from the foot of the willow at half past nine in the morning, and halted about two in the afternoon in the same canyon, at a dry arroyo not far from a small spring of water, having traveled some four short leagues to the west-northwest.

...

Near the spring by the road we saw a village of Indians perched in the crags, from which they watched us pass. The commander called them and showed them glass beads but only one woman had the courage to come near. The commander gave her a string of beads. Shortly before halting near the little spring of water we saw another village whose houses were some half subterranean grottoes formed among the rocks and partly covered with branches and earth, like rabbit warrens. The Indians came out of their grottoes as if they were angry, motioning to us with the hand that we must not go forward, talking in jargon with great rapidity, slapping their thighs, jumping like wild goats and with similar movements, for which reason since the other expedition they have been called the Dancers. One especially, who must have been some little chief, as soon as he saw us, began to talk with great rapidity, shouting and agitated as if angry, and as if he did not wish us to pass through his lands, and jerking himself to pieces with blows on his thighs, and with jumps, leaps, and gestures.

...

I learned at night that because it was Christmas Eve refreshments were being served to the soldiers; and in order if possible to prevent drunken carousal, after dinner I said to the commander:
"Sir, although my opinion is of no value and I do not cut any figure here, I can do no less than to tell you that I have learned that there is drinking today."
"Yes, there is," he replied.
"Well, Sir," I continued, "I wish to say that is does not seem to me right that that we should celebrate the birth of the Infant Jesus with drunkenness."
"Father," he said, "I do not give it to them in order that they may get drunk."
"Clearly this would be the case, "I said to him, because then the sin would be even greater, but if you know that they are sure to get drunk you should not give it to them."
He said to me then, "The king sends it for me and they deliver it to me in order that I may give it to the soldiers."
"This would be all right at the proper time," I replied. "But I understand that to be in case of necessity."
"Well, Father," he said, "it is better that they should get drunk than to do some other things."
"But, Sir," I replied, "drunkenness is a sin, and one who cooperates also sins, and so if you know that a person will get drunk on so much you should give him less or none at all."
He did not say any more and I went to my tent without being able to prevent this disorder, because the commander had already made up his mind to distribute the liquor. And so he immediately gave it to the people, a pint to each one, saying in a loud voice:
"Be careful that you don't get drunk, because if any one is found drunk outside his tent I'll punish him."
With this he satisfied his conscience, and the people that night were very noisy, singing and dancing from the effects of the liquor, not caring that we were in so bad a mountain in the rain, and so delayed with the saddle animals and the tired and the dead cattle. Such is the rule of those absolute lords, in evidence of which I have related this incident.
...

Monday, December 25.--Because a little before midnight on this holy night of the Nativity, the wife of a soldier, the one whom I mentioned yesterday, happily gave birth to a boy, and because the day was very raw and foggy, it was decided that we should remain here today. I therefore had an opportunity to say three Masses, and after them I solemnly baptized the boy, naming him Salvador Ygnacio. The day continued foggy until the afternoon, when the sun shone a little, and the night began somewhat fair. Because the place is very short of water and pasturage the cattle went ahead on the trail. Today I was slightly relieved of my ills.
So savage and wild are the Indians of these sierras that last night they left their huts and climbed up in the rocks, perhaps fearful at seeing that we had stopped and did not go forward as they signaled us to do. Although they have seen that nobody has done them the least harm, yet very rarely have they come down to the floor of the canyon; but some have permitted themselves to be seen on the tops of the hills among the rocks. From this I infer that although an attempt might be made to found in this neighborhood a mission for the Jecuiche tribe, in this case it were possible it would be as difficult to reduce these Indians to a settlement as to confine wild sheep to a domestic fold; for it will not be easy to get them out from among the rocks, unless God does it all, for they climb with the ease and speed of deer.

...

-Padre Pedro Font
1775

related: nochebuena, the witness, scuffle on Baffin Island

Thursday, November 26, 2009

this ghost of the school-boy pie

"Cattle are very fond of pumpkins; it is pleasant to see what a feast the honest creatures make of them in the barn-yard; they evidently consider them a great dainty, far superior to common provender. But in this part of the world, not only the cattle, but men, women, and children — we all eat pumpkins. Yesterday, the first pumpkin-pie of the season made its appearance on table. It seems rather strange, at a first glance, that in a country where apples, and plums, and peaches, and cranberries abound, the pumpkin should be held in high favor for pies. But this is a taste which may probably be traced back to the early colonists; the first housewives of New England found no apples or quinces in the wilderness; but pumpkins may have been raised the first summer after they landed at Plymouth. At any rate, we know that they were soon turned to account in this way. The old Hollander, Van der Donck, in his account of the New Netherlands, published in 1656, mentions the pumpkin as being held in high favor in New Amsterdam, and adds, that the English colonists — meaning those of New England — "use it also for pastry."
...
"What bread-and-milk, what rice-puddings, can possibly equal the bread-and-milk, the rice-puddings of the school-boy?
...
"But this ghost of the school-boy pie, this spectral plum-pudding, sitting in judgment upon the present generation of pies and puddings..."

Susan Cooper
Rural Hours
1850

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Conrad Gessner - Historiae Animalium




Conrad Gessner
Historiae Animalium (check it out)
1551


also, for a fabulous little bestiary of creatures--mostly piscine--by Gessner and his ilk, don't miss Gunther's post from earlier this year on Miszellen(~miscellany?).

more sea monsters here: cryptomundo.

and, lastly, it seems june '03 was a good month for monsters on giornale nuovo. actually, upon closer inspection it seems fair to ask, what month wasn't a good month for monsters over there?