the oily bird finds the worm is dead

the industrialists have finally done it--they've made the entire earth the equivalent of the Gowanus Canal! Hooray, future generations of "humans" will thank us. They won't resemble us physically of course, they will have out of necessity mutated into ozone-breathing, petroleum-sucking, ultraviolet-light-ray- and microwave-resistant creatures with no need of clothing or hair. Maybe like sentient tumors bottom feeding on GMO krill shot full of hormones. They will thank us for preparing earth for their emergence.

Aptly enough, the Gowanus Canal, has the words has "anus" and "anal" in it and it frequently smells like crap because of all the solvents, garbage, guns and bodies in it. And now the Gulf is like that, too. Great.

The thing is that greed is what leads to these horrors. This is the pornography of greed. I don't know, maybe if there were some other motivation it would be acceptable or understandable. But so it is.

The efforts to clean up the Gowanus are charming and idealistic, and sweet because there is an ugly beauty to it and visionaries see potential here. I hope the idealists win, they clean it up and someday people will promenade on its splendorous banks. I hope the same for the Gulf.

lacking inherent existence

This is one of my favorite recent sightings along one of my favorite areas in Brooklyn, the Gowanus Canal. It's still affected by postindustrial blight, at least visually and olfactorily although signs of gentrification are rampantly present.

What is funny about this sign is that it's asking us to agree that the area immediately around it is no longer a basis upon which to impute "bus stop" because a bus will no longer be stopping here. I like it because it's a reminder that everything we encounter is an imputation of our mind upon the encountered stimuli--at least according to my understanding of Buddhism. This is great, good news. I try to imagine other things surrounding me are accompanied by similar signs: "Attention This is not a cat. You are imputing cat on these furry and annoying aggregates begging for food and stinking outside the box."

Ah, everything we encounter is colored by our mindset.

why rescue

Something I've been turning around in my mind for a while is: why do people "rescue" animals. I've just returned from the veterinarian with Baxter, a cast-out fellow that found refuge in my yard. Hopefully, I will be able to place him in a loving home, he is starved for affection! My own 3 cats have had just about enough of my bringing in strays or ferals and finding them homes, forgetting that they were once in the same position.

In the 11 years I've had a backyard in Brooklyn I've learned about the massive stray and feral population in my neighborhood. I've met many people involved with TNR, volunteers and people that work at animal shelters. They've been selfless in their work, many devoting their lives and money to helping place these foundlings in homes or shelters, loving the ones deemed unlovable by the unseen people who have turned them out to meet their fate.

One unforgettable time I was walking my late dog Guinness around midnight a few days after a blizzard. The sky was the dark navy blue that comes when a waxing moon has set, the crystalline snow sparkled like diamonds in the street lights. Guinness nosed at what at first glance looked like an old crumpled sweater in a snowdrift. But it moved and I realized it was an orange tabby--he was barely alive! I swept him up and placed him under my coat, brought him indoors to food, water, and a makeshift bed. The next day I brought him to the vet and named him Jones, after the cat in Alien who met death and survived. He made it and went to a loving, loving home.

Another lasting memory is when I was waiting at the vet to pick up medication for Guinness, when some rescuers burst in with an emergency. The spokesman entered first to apprise the vet of the situation and we were all asked to please step aside to make way. I backed into a corner and the rest of the rescue crew carried in a massive pit bull whose bloody blanket fell away to reveal a leg with the meat torn clear off, the tibia bone plainly visible. Unbelievably, the dog was smiling and panting, happy to be petted and held by human beings!

There is the cliché of the crazy cat lady, or the people who love animals but hate people. I think what happens is that when you work with animals, you see the damage some people have done and it can make you angry. I wonder, why is it that some folks recognize that animals have feeling just as we do, and some folks do not see this? Do the people that lack empathy for animals also show the same disregard for people? Studies have long ago correlated that animal abusers often become abusers and even killers of people.

And what about the reverse, where does the compassion or compulsion to save animals come from? My own anecdotal evidence, not at all scientific, indicates that many rescuers have had some childhood trauma, or witnessed it. Maybe there is a need to help the helpless because in childhood one was unable to do that.

Well, I am happy to help animals whenever possible, and am thrilled that there are thousands of others doing the same. I'd like to add that many animal volunteers help people in need as well, we are all animals after all, aren't we?

lotus likeness

Buddha Shakyamuni used the idea of the lotus growing out of the swamp to flower and open above the murk into the clarity of space as a metaphor for our own mind, with its potential to free itself from the murk and confusion of our own thoughts.

Today is the birthday of the human incarnation of my spiritual guide--Happy Birthday, Geshe-La! It is (to my mind) apropos to quote his wonderful translation of one of the greatest Buddhist works: Guide to the Bodhisattva's Way of Life by Shantideva: "There is no thing not included in the mind."

A great teacher in the Buddhist tradition said, "When you change your mind, you change the world." So today is the day for me to think twice about all occurrences and decide that they are good ones--even the prickly ones I reject can be used as lessons learned. Everything is mind, because we are creatures that cognize our existence via experiences. Experiences are engagements of our mind with phenomena. So all is of the same "fabric" or nature of our mind. Anyway, thus reasoned Buddha, and I am inclined to agree.

capitalism spills

On my commute yesterday (I freelanced this week for a pop "culture" magazine/ landfill fodder) I saw this revelatory and insightful graffiti: CAPITALISM SPILLS. It was painted on an oracular building which can be viewed in between EAGLE Clothing and KENTILE Floors where the F train rises above ground in a rollercoasteresque arc above Carroll Gardens.

I noticed on webular news venues, the oil spill disaster is being referred to as the "Louisiana Oil Spill"--why not say the truth and call it the "British Petroleum Oil Spill"? It's their fault, and the fault of all oil-driven economic policy which had come years ago, thanks to the great oil junkies, such as GW Bush, Tony Blair, et al. Language shapes public opinion, so place the blame where it belongs.

In any case, although studies show that the "me generation" is apathetic towards others (http://www.livescience.com/culture/empathy-college-students-generation-me-100528.html) it would appear that some youth do care about the environment, hence the graffiti. The economic, political and environmentally irresponsible quagmire we find ourselves in took generations of selfishness and lack of empathy to create, so I would argue that the current pathology has its roots in Reaganism.

This building is like an oracle, with social concerns posted by committed artists. I'm thankful for whoever is involved.

kids, yoga and light

Sadly, today was the final class of the season for those of us volunteering practicing yoga with autistic children. With all due respect to my colleagues and friends in the Buddhist sector, I have not seen a more genuine expression of pure love and compassion in action than in these classes. It was nothing short of amazing and inspiring to see the gentleness and enthusiasm the boys and girls brought to yoga!

At my first class I did not know what to expect. But I enjoy playing and being around children and how different could these kids be? What I found was there were varying ways in which some of the kids were able to communicate. It appeared as though it was painful for some to even look at the world and they preferred sitting quietly covering their faces. There were eruptions of joyful hand clapping or vocalizations--at least they appeared joyful. Some of the kids were quite willing to communicate and make jokes, others would repeat strings of phrases, one of my favorite kids would only make a variety of birdlike sounds--very accurate ones, actually.

It must be refreshing to be out of a classroom and in a room with smiling and encouraging ladies (and the occasional gentleman). All of us volunteers were eager to help and gently interact with the kids if they wanted help. I have to honestly say I felt love for each child, and judging by all the volunteers' faces, they loved them too! In the weeks that passed since my first day, the kids also progressed, all sat on mats and participated. Credit goes to Bridget, our teacher, and all the teachers and caretakers that created the space for the kids and volunteers to feel comfortable.

I peeked at one point when we had our eyes closed and saw blissful expressions all around. Since it was the last day, the kids brought Bridget cards they drew--such sweetness! At the beginning of class, we were asked to imagine ourselves filled with light, which was easy in the light which streamed in through the stained glass windows of the auditorium, some jewel-like colors reflected on our clothes, skin and hair and the polished wood floor. I think it was more than summery light that warmed the room, though, it was love.

a dog's day in Williamsburg

Here's another picture of Guinness and a failed attempt to hypnotize her to keep her from trolling for sidewalk treats when we walked. Also I forgot to take pictures of my volunteer day last week when I walked dogs for BARC shelter in Williamsburg. I was dazzled by the "hipster silk route" and other rumors I'd heard about the rampant gentrification. Parts of it didn't resemble NY at all, it was almost like part of Berkeley, CA, crashed into a toxic waste site on the still waterside of the East River. Also there were these megalithic condos keeping sentinel watch on the shore, their fronts facing the water and sunset, much like the Easter Island heads. There were still traces of the generations come before, little hints of poverty, old churches, Boricua College. And of course the animal shelter, where saintly (yet cheerful) people work tirelessly for very little pay to alleviate the suffering of the helpless dogs and cats which come their way. The first dog I walked was Champ, and he was so cool I took him on a long jaunt--his coat was the same coloring as Guinness, he was from similar stock but his head was the shape and size of a St. Bernard. They told me he would be adopted soon, shepherd mixes are in demand. My last dog was a young hyper mini Pinscher named Rocco, we sidled along the luxury condo overlooking the water, I was hoping the small manicured ovals of grass would inspire him to poop, when I saw the doorman get up. Uh oh, we'll be chased away--but no, a tall unassuming graceful figure was advancing and too late I realized it was a famous actor (I think). The doorman was going to get the door for him; celebrity smiled at the mini Pin. Maybe he'll adopt? Rocco has a wife, they will get adopted as a pair. Anyway Rocco and I went off to another more private area for his business, the sun was setting, a breeze cooled the air, all was well.

i was my own dog's bitch

this was unearthed from a few years back:

Something has gone terribly wrong. I am no longer the alpha female in my household. I'm not sure when it happened, but a shift in power has occurred.

When I found Guinness and decided to keep her, she was a shy, undernourished, tremulous creature. That has changed. Now my schedule revolves around her feedings, walkings and demands for attention.

It used to be she loved any food that appeared in her dish. Now she's picky and prefers cat food. Maybe it tastes like cats. She shows remarkable lack of discretion when she nears anything remotely edible on the sidewalk, however. But I get her the best dog food available from the pet store, and I even cook for her!

Work and time away from home to socialize have become logistical nightmares. Who will walk her? Feed her? Hang out with her? I now have a team of experts, a wonderful dogsitter plus neighborly dog owners who understand.

Her Shepherd side emerged when she decided to herd the cats. But soon this wasn't enough and she began bullying them.

She does yard work. She hates bulbs--digs them out to toss them aside. Who knew? She digs dog-sized holes in the garden to sit in them. Location is everything to her. She has several sitting holes distributed throughout reflecting her many moods, dicentra and hostas be damned.

One day, she turned her attentions to me. Apparently I don't leap from bed early enough to feed her. She's tall enough to reach my pillows, which she snatches from underneath my head to wake me up at 5:30 am. If that doesn't work, she'll bang on the door, then as a last resort she knocks over a cat litter box.

The day I realized that she was in charge was when I described to my vet that when I wanted to adopt another dog (to keep her company), Guinness shockingly and uncharacteristically attacked the dog when I brought her home. Luckily I was able to separate the dogs before either was seriously hurt. The vet bemusedly said, "So Guinness is in charge, huh?"

Still, she is the most adorable creature! Crazy, huh? Dogs have a way of burrowing into your heart. She is the goofiest loveliest being. Yup.

Gosh, I miss her!

prospect park up close

Today I volunteered with NYCares in a park-wide project to clean up Prospect Park. This is something I was so happy to do since I use the park almost daily, either biking or running in it for years. It was time to give back. NYCares is a great group to volunteer with, there is none of the "greener than thou" smugness one might think to encounter at events like this. Everyone just digs in and does the dirty work--and there was plenty of that. Despite the bucolic beauty of the much beloved park there is neglect on the part of park users. Our job was to clean the lake's edges, we were assigned "grabbers" and other tools. It was fun, like those claw games where you hunt a stuffed animal, except the prizes were filthy old beer bottles, cans, garments, drug paraphernalia, cooking utensils and lots of plastic bags. The most unusual things I found were a small animal skull, charred (raccoon?) and the jaws of a larger animal with sizable molars (dog?).

There were some lovely things too: wild roses along the banks, teams of yellow irises, a swan on her nest, turtles of various sizes basking on branches, a thickly feathered goose nest, a heron intent on its next fish catch.

garden gone wild

well, this is a few years back, but it seems clear that my "garden" really is more of a woodland home for creatures. It's unruly, unpredictable with spots of brilliant color that almost hurt to look at if the bright afternoon sun filters behind the leaves and reflects on their shiny surfaces. Places are dark where animals lurk, feral cats, raccoons and opossums. Guinness was in her element in the garden, where she would dig den-like holes sized for her body to relax into--surely a holdover from her wolf origins, no matter how many thousands of generations ago that would have been. Other parts of the garden invite relentless sun resulting in the best tomatoes on the block, I like to share them. All animals and insects ignore the tomatoes, the wild parrots of Brooklyn feast instead on the apples and cherries, I harvest none; maybe in autumn I'll find the odd rejected cherry which falls to the ground, wizened and dried. In late summer I'll know when a neighbor's figs are ripe, because the fig tree will shake and move seemingly of its own accord--it's the parrots dining al fresco.

interview with a sock puppet

A year or so ago when I had the opportunity to work on an indie zine called SCOOP!, I lucked into an interview with an actual celebrity, a beloved figure from American pop culture. Here is an excerpt from my conversation with Mr. A. Psock (the "p" is silent):

"I've been living Brooklyn and summering in France. I hang with a pack of ex-pats to watch the Tour de France. Funny story: one of my buds wanted to run with the tour and accidentally caused a spectacular crash with a cyclist... Spot was shaken, but OK, and the rider went on to win the stage"..... [about fame] "the pets.com bubble burst and I felt lost. I got deep into Ketamine and Metacam, it was a dark time... [after recovery] I'm working with DJ MeowyMew setting my poetry to some nastastic beats, a rap/flow/fusion thing I call Dog Hop...the time is right for a new canine-influenced pop song." His parting words: "Remember to stop and smell the hydrants!"

all about kids lately

So this is Booker, the youngster I babysit, during his first birthday party and before his very first sugar rush from birthday cake, so he is mellow and being the gracious host saying hello to every guest. Little did he know that soon he would be rudely acquainted with his first jack-in-the-box (which some kids found cute, since it was a friendly furry monkey that popped out and not some horrible clown like the nightmarish ones from my all too distant, yet vivid, childhood).

Anyhow, much fun and food and cake was had that day.

It was a big birthday month, I was gleeful to have kazzoed Happy Birthday for a friend at the Sidecar Bar in BK later in the week, plus performed a kazoo accompaniment to "I put a Spell on You" with Screaming Jay Hawkins on the jukebox--to favorable reviews!

Yesterday was the Puppetry Arts Family Carnival where lots of us volunteers helped kids make puppets of all kinds, whether we knew how or not--we improvised. At our table we made many a paper bag puppet--it's amazing what kids will like! Low budget, but still fun! Especially when our puppets sang. Puppets seem real, it's weird. Kids are genuinely sweet, too; some kids made puppets to give as gifts to some of the costumed performers! Ahh, compassion is alive and well! The yoga kids this week have been loving their yoga class--one kid yelled out "I love yoga!" during a stretch. Cool, best week ever.

glacial pace

Just finished reading this from yahoo news: Warmer temperatures have reduced the number of named glaciers in the northwestern Montana park to 25, said Dan Fagre, an ecologist with the U.S. Geological Survey. He warned the rest of the glaciers may be gone by the end of the decade.

We'll now be able to use "glacier" as a metaphor for disappear. Why won't this cat glacier already?

Park Slope canyon

when the sky is a certain opaque* cloudless blue and I see it against red brick, the natural canyons of Arizona appear to my mind. It seems incongruous, but no, the 2 opposing color schemes stir the mind's eye in the way they do out west: orange, blue, orange, blue, orange, blue; the rods and cones shudder in their little retinal homes. Brooklyn is canyon country.

*[see Wittgenstein's Remarks on Colour]

my cats are trying to kill me

I don't know why it's only just now occurring to me. Maybe it's because of being home enough to notice that my cats have it in for me. Yes. At first it was just Pinky, who tried venipuncture at every opportunity, slashing at my wrists and ankles when within clawing distance. Then, a more subtle approach was used: spewing dander-charged puffs of fur within range of my nose or mouth, a tactic most successful while I'm asleep. This resulted in a protracted upper respiratory illness, but it was not enough to induce death. Now it appears a psychological tack is being taken, much like the old French movie, Les Diabolique, using their physicality to induce stress. For example, yesterday when I let them out to "romp" in the garden so I could clean up the apt a bit one of them snuck back in while I was cleaning the litterbox, which took about 2 minutes but was enough time for him to take an enormous dump in the spot the litterbox usually is. I don't get it--he was just outside in the garden--the greatest litterbox in the hood, if you take other cats' word for it..... Yup, they're trying to wear me down.

Fun at the Hall of Science

Today was a great day! Here you can see some of my fun companions at the Hall of Science, where we interacted with some interesting exhibits and even learned a little bit about science. There were a lot of smell-based exhibits, not sure why. Apparently lots of microbes create smells. It was unanimously decided that space exploration was not going to smell good, although it sure looked interesting. These young scientists of the future were all smiles and we all had a great time!

bass solo

The musicians upstairs are having a jam session. There's a bass solo going on right now.... this is what it looks like in my mind.

portraits part 4

Neither pear nor person, this hapless fellow is caught between two worlds. Where is this pearson now? Last seen striding off the table in search of a new identity.

portraits part 3

Max in repose. Max is in permanent repose now. Here he disappears into the background of chemicals that make this image. He's an evanescent memory that barely exists anymore, just as all our present acquaintances and occurrences will cease to exist. But wait, this picture proves this cat happened to me...sort of.

portraits part two

Mr Redman was extremely kind to allow me to photograph him at a friend's studio.

portraits part one

For a while I had the opportunity to shoot portraits of musicians. This was fun. Portraits usually concentrated on their face or hands. Face? I mean unless you sing, you don't make music with your face. This is a portrait of a bass player, often the acoustic bass instrument is larger than the player's body, here I wanted so show the body as the bass. The bass is the heartbeat of a band, the thrumming of the music's blood in the ears. Yup.

remembering Guinness, three

Guinness had friends, boyfriends really. She didn't much care for other girldogs. This was her first playdate, with Django. Django really liked Guinness, even though she was taller. Her height did not intimidate him, he was still charmed. She had many suitors in the neighborhood, Max the rottweiller, Chester the Irish wolfhound mix and K.O. the all white Kishu Ken. Guinness flirted with them all but got serious with none.

straight donuts

On my way to the volunteer orientation for NY Cares, I saw this amazing woman, patiently waiting for customers, placid smile on her pretty and generous face, hair swept up in a neat, elaborate coif, nails perfectly manicured, a living serene Botero selling a snack popular in this part of Brooklyn. The churro, a yummy donut that's shaped like a line instead of a circle and dusted with cinnamon sugar. I had to admit I liked her style.

remembering Guinness part two

Guinness loved snow this was clear our first winter together, 3 months after we met. She loved diving into snowdrifts, plunging her barrel chest in deep. She was eating heartily and gained weight, her fur was plush. She could stay out for hours. We liked finding untracked new snow which there was plenty of in the South Slope. One icy morning I walked her after only 4 hours sleep (I worked late) and I took her where she liked to chase squirrels. Guinness had other ideas and quickly bounded off knowing her footing would be sure and mine would not. Incredibly she fled my grasp and as I watched her gain distance from me. My stomach pitched with despair as she crossed streets and mischievously looked once at me over her shoulder and ran. I struggled after her, hindered by ice and breathless with disbelief. I screamed once, it echoed off the middle school wall. But--she ran home and some miracle had stopped traffic--there was none on that early icy weekend day. She let me catch up to her on the steps where I hugged her and vowed silently to never let her go.

remembering Guinness part one

Came across this picture recently I'd forgotten I'd shot. This was a day after this amazing and beautiful creature came into my life. She's wearing a new collar and tags, she had none when I found her waiting on the corner. The vet said she had just given birth to puppies, which is why she is so thin and has the distended black nipples. Also why she has that forlorn look: her puppies were nowhere to be found. It took maybe a solid year of consistent walking until she stopped looking for them wherever we went. That's when she conceded, yes she would become my dog. I didn't mind that it took so long, in the meantime I marveled at her form, her long delicate snout, the dainty way she would sit with front paws crossed, her slightly irregular snout. I'd never had a dog before and it dismayed me that she would bring that lovely face close to the ground to sniff pee, poop and whatever would bring her information of the dog world that was invisible to me. She loved walking in inclement weather and any time of night, one time at 3 am we stared at the perfect alignment of Moon, Mars and Venus in the inviolate sky with only the chill wind to accompany us. That year established us as a unit, we walked and strolled as one, she always leading, I thought she'd had enough difficulties in life, it was her turn to enjoy.

random manhattan pics

Some sightings around Manhattan, but these almost seem like an alternate version of the city. GW Bridge as seen from underneath at the lighthouse there. A secret house in Fort Tryon Park. The "Magic Club" did not really exist, at least not as a club of any kind. Tads Steaks, Staten Island ferry ride, bocce ball player, shopping on Canal Street, the GWB again.

random brooklyn pics

Coney Island, Sweeney Mfg, the only bridge that is perfect, the corner of 7th and 9th, Atlantic Avenue, at the facepainting booth at Fifth Avenue Street Fair, this boy was too beautiful to paint, but he wanted to look like a lion, I could barely bring myself to paint his face. Below you'll see Prospect Park West and Clover's Barbershop in Park Slope.

stand clear of the closing doors

crazy bridge

Growing up in the greater NY area necessitated many crossings over bridges and tunnels by car to visit relatives. As a result, these structures impressed themselves into my psyche, or so they say, giving way to the recurrent nightmare of being in a car on a bridge, hurtling toward some other shore, when the bridge begins churning, melting and finally snapping so one outcome is being spit out into some unknown abyss. The other outcome is waking up.

a view of brooklyn

In New York, there are lots of reasons why when riding the subway, you want to be in the car closest to the exit stairwell you eventually want to end up on.

At a formerly unfamiliar stop, I made a mistake. Night had just fallen as I ran up the stairs, late for the appointment. Hitting the street and looking up, all was still, nothing but blocks and blocks of cemetary! It was as if I traveled forward through time, as well as space, and everyone I knew was already dead.