Leaf Blowers

On windy days like today, leaf blowers are rendered useless.

Four Trees

I built my cabin under four trees. It butts up against them. One pine, one ash, one lemon, and one tree I don’t have a name for. The tree I don’t have a name for is the biggest, and this morning there were two doves hooting on it. The sound of doves reminds me of my grandmother, she saved a dove once when I was a boy. She put it in a paper sack and we rode home with it on the bus. I was three or four when she did this, but it was an event that stayed with me all these years. When the dove was healed up my grandmother let it go. I watched her do it. She took the birdcage outside and opened the hatch, and the bird flew out. Ever since I’ve had a soft spot for doves. Except for on one occasion when I was a teenager, I shot a dove dead with a pallet gun. It was sitting on a wire and I stood under it and shot it. I climbed over a fence to see where it fell. I saw it covered in blood dead on the dirt. It broke my heart. I never shot anything again after that. The gun belonged to a friend, and I made up my mind then, that guns were made to use, so I’ve stayed away from them for that reason.

The doves back as I write this. I’m not sure what it means, but it means something I guess. It just flew to the tree with no name and then flew away again.

I hope everything is okay out there in the land that doesn’t read my blog. Maybe I should tell people about it. Maybe not.

The Suits

My aunt gave me four of my uncles suits the other day. They’re real nice Christian Dior, Perry Ellis, name brand suits, one of the suits was made from one-hundred percent Lama hair. Fina Lama. That suit has a vest, which I like quite a bit.

When I put the suits on I’m reminded of my uncle and what he stood for. He was a highly successful man, who had many material possessions. He did things with class. The suits still have the scent of his cologne on them. He had nice taste in clothes and cars, but for some reason his taste in real estate feel short of my expectations. He was satisfied with tract homes. This part of his personality struck me as odd. He’d drive a brand new Ferrari, while wearing a nice suit and a Rolex watch, his shoes were shined perfectly, but he lived in a tract home. I didn’t get it. It wasn’t consistent in anyway. I always saw him owning a nice Spanish style home built in the twenties, something dignified. But no, he bought tract homes in middle class neighborhoods, not impressive at all.

I have some of his suits and I’m thankful. I’ve already worn two of them and received many compliments during the course of the night while wearing them. In today’s world, in my social circle, suits are over the top, which is a shame. Kids today just don’t know how to dress, or don’t have the self-esteem to put on a nice suit. I noticed this the other night. I had my suit on a double breasted blue suit, and was surrounded by kids in blue jeans and sneakers. Maybe I should be cavorting with the Wall Street crowd or rich rappers, or the French. I wish it wasn’t so, but it is. In my day even the men and women being hosed down with a water canon had suits on. The poor of the poor wore suits. They couldn’t eat with the white people, but they had a suit on.

Harmless Transactions

Today has been a slow mover. I spent the early part of the day running errands. I sent a copy of The Nick Poems to James’ mother in Florida. She might get a kick out of them. Her son was a great storyteller. After the post office I had to do some banking. Harmless transactions.

It’s weed-whacking season. The hills are drying out and every year come April the city mandates that the weeds are abated from properties. There are two or three guys with their gas powered weed-whackers toughing it out in the sun. They have their work cut out for them. It’s a sizable hill. Steep. It looks dusty, and I can hear the whackers jam up once in while. It’s suppose to rain again sometime this week. It would be a shame if the weeds came back after the rain.

I’ve built myself a nice writing cabin. I’ve been tending to my chili peppers and making my Japanese rice rolled in seaweed. I’ll toss an occasional cucumber in there and some Wasabi. Life is good here on earth. Life is real good.

I’m going to make a conscious effort to post more often. My friend Patrick inspired me. He writes everyday, and he’s a painter. He kind of makes me look bad. He’s been doing it for years. He has a discipline about him that makes him legitimate. He’s practiced, and that makes the artist. It makes anybody who has a commitment to anything. Practice.

Genetic Transduction

Careful Kyle and I went out for Sunday drinks. There’s a little bar that has a free pool table and two-dollar Pabst Blue Ribbon that we go to. We were having a good time when a guy named Lorcan started to mouth off to careful Kyle. It was unprovoked. Lorcan just didn’t like him for some reason. Maybe it had something to do with the turquoise sweat shirt Kyle was wearing. It made him out to be a dork. Lorcan wouldn’t shut up and he looked much like a dork himself.

I vouch for Kyle I told Lorcan. He’s a good guy. A crowd gathered around. There were four men now trying to defuse the situation. Lorcan keep at it. He was a new arrival from Ireland. I guess they have a different way of doing things in Ireland, more direct. Kyle wanted to leave, but I persuaded him to stay. This Lorcan guy was nuts. He wasn’t making any sense. He didn’t like Kyle and he didn’t even know him. He didn’t know that Kyle had hidden talents for making beer and that he was a good guy who was lost like the rest of us. I finally convinced Lorcan that Kyle was worthy of his respect and everything calmed down.

Come to find out that Lorcan means troublemaker in Irish. And Lorcan was Lorcan the sixth. He came from a proud family of Lorcan’s. It all made sense then. He was the joker from a long line of troublemakers.

We have royalty here! I said. We got back to drinking.

Press On

I’m woefully inconsistent for this blog thing. There are events happening in my life but I don’t feel like writing about them.

I woke up in the middle of the night and heard an owl hooting. I liked it. I thought of him sitting there patrolling for rats and mice. It was comforting to hear.

I’m reading O Pioneers, by Willa Cather, finally a book written by a woman I can appreciate. There was that other book about bee’s written by Kid something. She’s a good writer. I didn’t finish the book. I’ve been meaning to get back to it.

I’ve been working on the short story, re-working some stuff. That’s the process re-work until it feels right. They almost never feel right. I could spend my whole life re-working my stuff. Good ideas turn sour the longer you let them sit. But it’s the process. It’s almost as if you get more intelligent by letting it sit for a while. It’s interesting how one day you think your writing is good and the next you see it’s limitations. Time brings insight. I wonder why that happens, or how it happens. One day you’re smart, the next you’re a dull average being. I’m glad I can see the difference, sometimes intelligence is no-more then knowing your limitations, but even then you have to press on.

The Book

I sold another book. It surprises me when that happens A perfect stranger walked into a bookstore and picked up my book of poems, and bought it. What are the chances of that? I want to know who these people are, and thank them personally. They make me happy.

I’ve been trying keep busy. I’ve been working on short stories, and practicing my guitar. I’m still building my cabin, still trying to get the siding up. The cabin is built on a slope and the slope is getting in the way of productivity. I dug a trench to lay some pipe to put in a sink. The gray water will run out under the cabin to what will be a vegetable garden. I’ll have to fence the garden in they’re a lot of varmints in the area, squirrels and possums, skunks, things that like a free meal.

I’d like to take a trip somewhere, Harbin hot springs, or Milwaukee, Denver sounds nice. I need to go somewhere, anywhere. I need to meet new people. I need to drink in a new environment. Los Angeles is getting me down. It’s stagnant right now. At least for me it is, of course it’s not. There is so much to do it’s hard to keep up. I don’t keep up most times.

Time to stain my floor. Good-bye.