on my morning walk

my mind stuck on the barrels of photos on social media. people -- sans masks -- hugging in restaurants & laughing in bars. did I not get the memo that the pandemic was over? am I the last person in town still sheltering in place?

maybe the stats I read remain unknown to my fellow citizens. I understand the economy requires a reopening of businesses. but nothing requires me to act as anyone but me.

& as I walkd I felt buoyd by the strength of solitude. I began to see these 3 months of quarantine as a blessing. a chance to withdraw from the din & purpose oneself. I see myself more clearly & I see which friends are really friends.

& as I walkd Thoreau suddenly appeard to me. so when I got home I sat in Gertrude Duryea's rocker with a mug of java & read the beginning of Walden. I'd forgotten that he lived alone in the woods for 2 years & 2 months. but I cd see the value that comes with such a communion with oneself. & how life affirming are his words.

so I'm content with my decision to eschew the stampede to public outings. & I'm firm in rejecting the bullying I'm beginning to get for not responding to invitations to dine.  when Thoreau finishd his experiment & began his writing he reflectd: "At present I am a sojourner in civilized life again." at present I'm happy to be where I am.

at Walden Pond (1966)

"The Nite the Lights Went Out at the White House"

fires outside his window
so the president
cowers in a bunker
wetting his diaper

a sick nation
coughs
droplets of shame

"Pens That Don't Write"

it takes a pandemic
to get to some projects

today
I tackled a drawer
full of pens
those that work
remain in the drawer
those out of ink
ready to toss
but
the sentimentalist in me
wasn't ready

so I made art

I stuck
a baker's dozen
in a pillow
& now have
"Pen Cushion"

for the record:
the pens are from
Algonquin (NYC)
Burnham Hotel (Chicago)
Canterbury Hotel (San Francisco)
Chelsea Savoy (NYC)
Clifford House (Cleveland)
Colonial House (NYC)
Desert Paradise (Palm Springs)
Monterey Bay Inn (Monterey)
Parker House (San Francisco)
The Phoenician (Scottsdale)
Poe Museum (Richmond)
La Posada (Albuquerque)
Rio (Las Vegas)

John Ericson (1926-2020)

I'd seen John Ericson at several of those big awards events I went to at the Beverly Hilton but we didn't meet til the summer of 1994. I'd moved to Santa Fe only abt 10 weeks when I went to a party for my friend James Broughton. the poet/filmmaker was in town & a new friend who was an art patron brought together many of the city's movers & shakers to meet him & see a screening of his most famous film "The Bed."

soon I was seeing a lot of John & his wife the actress Karen Huston. they were at both the first & last party at my adobe house on Brother Abdon. 

I've known so many actors in my life. they all have/had thriving egos. but John was different. he was realistic abt a long career which included success on Broadway as well as in film & television. he was honest & kind. as much as I tried to pry gossip out of him he was always the gentleman. he had a sweet sense of humor & I loved sharing laughter with him.

I remember one time he calld me & askd what I was doing that evening. I told him I was going to an art opening. he sd he had a friend in town & wd meet me there. that friend turnd out to be Anne Francis. he was delightd to refer to himself as Sam Bolt & to her as Honey West.

I haven't returnd to Santa Fe since I moved to Palm Springs. so my last contact with John was on the phone. we always found something positive & if possible humorous to discuss. I'll miss you my friend.

everything old is new again

I just read a Facebook post from someone who was suddenly appalld that he'd spent 5 minutes watching a livestream of someone cutting his hair.

I immediately rememberd the mid to late '90s. there were some people who set up webcams in their homes which wd come on either from time to time or stayd on almost all day. a whole group of gay men -- including myself -- became addictd to watching what we calld cam boys or cam ops & historically became known as lifecasters.  there were Sean Patrick & Rex & Soren & Puppy & others. what we got in those days were glimpses of a life & not the porn by request which it apparently evolved into.

I became known as Poet Laureate of the Cam Boys because of poems I wrote abt them.  here's the first of a sequence calld "Refreshing Pages."

WATCHING SEAN PATRICK SLEEP

every 30 seconds he flashes on my monitor
like a Muybridge series
or a Warhol film stuck in the projector

guilty as Jimmy Stewart in "Rear Window"
I observe a liftd leg
a hand jerk to cover crotch

I examine folds in the blue sheet
that covers him
like an art historian studying Zurbaran

this is hypnotism by design
as I loose sleep
watching a stranger sleep

(aug 1998)

there was an AOL chat room for fans of the cam boys. we'd often alert each other when a particular fave was undressing or whatever.  I met some dandy chaps there -- guys who are still friends. I was even interviewd by filmmaker Ron Pajak in Las Vegas for a documentary which never got made.

so this pandemic has brought us back to a place we were over 20 years ago.  I'm still friends on Facebook with Rex. last I heard & that's been some time Soren was a bartender in San Francisco. I have no idea what's happend to all the other cam boys. wonder if any of them are watching folks livestreaming the ordinary in these extraordinary times.

"Pandemic Rose"

abt 5 weeks ago I wrote a poem with this name. I took a photo of myself with the title rose.

being an archivist I allowd the rose to dry so I cd save the memory. being an artist I decided to use its dried petals for a piece.

I think this is the first time an art piece has the same name as a poem. in a way they're interlockd. what I did was to put one petal each into 20 envelopes. the envelopes were from hotels I'd stayd at in days past. I chose this because most hotels are closed & travel is on hold.

here are the hotels:

Alexander Inn (Philadelphia)
Algonquin (NYC)
Avenue Plaza (New Orleans)
Chateau Marmont (Hollywood)
Clifford House (Cleveland)
Empire (NYC)
Grande Bretagne (Athens)
Harper Lodge (Denali Park)
Lexington (NYC)
McKinley (Denali Park)
The Mark (NYC)
Mark Spencer (Portland)
Othon Palace (Rio)
Paramount (NYC)
La Posada (Albuquerque)
La Posada (Santa Fe)
Quality Inn (Chicago)
Rio (Las Vegas)
Tamaya Resort (Santa Ana Pueblo)
El Tovar (Grand Canyon)

I have been in no building but my house for the past 6 weeks. I don't know when I'll return to a post office. so I don't know right now how & to whom I'll distribute these.

readings

the Cellar was a black box theater in the basement of the Music & Speech Building on the Kent State campus. as far as I can remember this was where I read my poems before an audience for the first time. I think maybe 1968.

in the more than half century since I've read from one coast (the venerable Bowery Poetry Center) to the other (Fort Mason in San Francisco) with stops in between. the audiences from been of varying sizes but in the long run probably small. I've also read individual poems on You Tube. the first was 13 years ago & has had over a thousand hits.

the last reading I did was one year ago tonite. it was captured on film. since that film has had more than a thousand views it's easily my largest audience for a full reading.

update

altho I've been quiet here my life remains vibrant. as glamorous as my life seems to some it's my inner life that has always been the most exciting. & I'm listening more carefully & feeling more deeply as this crisis continues. I'm putting together a book of poems from this period. have a dozen already. yes I miss a great deal that has been canceld but I can't control that.

so after my morning walk I did a bit of writing. then I showerd & put on sexy underwear. I'll make today fun. my best to all who are struggling. to borrow from Bette Davis "I'd kiss ya but I just washd my hair."

"Pandemic Self Portrait"

"words too are a dance"

I wrote a short poem for the program for the Palm Springs International Dance Festival Gala. & like all other such events it was cancel'd because of the pandemic. however on the day it was supposed to be I postd the poem on Facebook.

this morning after my walk & breakfast on the patio I turnd on the computer. I checkd FB & found this wonderful piece Wallace Colvard did using my little poem.

thank you Wallace. & stay safe. let's have lunch when this is all over.

normally I fall asleep & wake 7 hours later.

however this is such weird territory I've been waking a couple times during the nite.

another sunday morning in isolation

persimmon cinnamon pancakes
Italian dark roast coffee
Mahler's First

it cd be worse

tea party for one

"shelter in place" is one of the slogans of this pandemic. it takes both strength & creativity.

the only time I leave the house is to walk. & my mind uses that time for gymnastics. the other day it came up with my hummingbird poem. & as if in response to that I rememberd Mom's hummingbird teapot.  it's not my style but I do like the bird on the handle. I took it out of its hiding place & decided to throw myself a tea party.

I don't drive so the garage is a big empty space. altho not so inviting it's almost a new space since I'm rarely in it. & with door open it's not so bad. so I set up a small table & brought out a favorite wood chair. it had been left in the basement when I moved into the house on Morris Rd in Kent. I brought it to Santa Fe where I used it in my office. it was one of the few pieces of furniture I also brought to Palm Springs. however it doesn't fit here. so it stays in the garage.

I made orange tea in the pot. served in a cup brought from Greece. with a plate of orange cantuccini from Sienna. it was a bright moment on this day.

"Pandemic Rose Collage"

what's left of the rose from my last posting
with a trio of Mom's necklaces

woke feeling gloomy

but I forced myself out into the dark morning. I don't feel old but my ID reveals I'm in the high risk category. so my personal decision is to home isolate. my condo community is a whole city block so I'm able to leave the house to walk.

& this morning was quite glorious. as the sun rose I saw my beautiful mountains. from the beginning they have been a source of strength & inspiration. I listend to birds sing their Top 10. I even startled a pair of ducks at one of the pools. I breathd deeply as I walkd by blooming citrus trees.

when I returnd I ground what's close to the last of my coffee beans. the aroma of brewing coffee is heaven. I pourd the rich brown into my Trevor Wayne naked men mug & had my own little orgy. then I shaved for the first time in a week & gave myself a lavender salt facial. I look so good I may have to date myself. I showerd with nearly the last of my Temecula olive oil soap. then I put on my sexiest underwear & dressd as if the paparazzi were at my door.

with my history of depression I don't where I'll be after 2 months of home isolation. but I'm not alone. so many elders are "sheltering in place." some of us won't make it thru the pandemic. but I've got so much creating still to do. since the government offers no hope I must find it in myself. I plan on working & being fabulous -- even after the coffee runs out & there's no cake in the freezer.

my love to all . . .

when I was a child

I had this theory that mirrors captured all that happens before them. that we need to find a way to unlock their film.

to those who orderd my book

printing has taken longer than expectd. however the publisher has rec'd copies from the printer & orders are going in the mail.

thank you all.

never before

have I walkd into my voting booth
without knowing for whom I wd cast my ballot

a new book

my official bibliography was publishd 27 years ago. the A section is my books & at that time the number was 40. I haven't countd but I presume the current number at least doubles that.

some of the books are small. as a proper father I shd like each equally. but my reaction to each is individual. & I admit that some are more significant to me than others.

however a book is abt to appear which is special. Alex in Movieland (1943-1973) is the first installment of an epic work. since it is my life as a list I've been living it forever. & I've been writing it for what seems as long. the actual writing startd over a quarter century ago. but the idea came before that.

it's not an easy work to categorize. it's sort of the love child of autobiography & conceptual art. I'll let others decide where it fits -- that is if it fits. but for me it's as major as it gets. I expect that I'll be writing the last line of it as my breath departs my body.

& what a better day than Valentine's Day for this book to be announced to the world.  my love & appreciation to John Burroughs of Crisis Chronicles Press for bringing it out. & you my dear friends may purchase it here.

from Bree's new series "Your Only Regret Will Be Having Not Loved More"

a dark day

the criminal in the White House is acquittd by a Senate of cowards with the blessing of a spineless Chief Justice.

it ain't just Iowa that's broken.