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It's just one person's set of experiences on this planet of ours. 





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Christmas time at the Mall, JC Superstar on You-Tube

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Temps are in the thirties with a stiff wind that chills you more than the actual temp.  I went to the mall today and once again reflected on the dying nature of the creature.  I realize my life has paralleled the age of the Great Shopping Mall.  I was a child when they were first conceived of and am still alive as they slowly pass out of existence.  I remember when Merle Hay Mall was Merle Hay Plaza and the concept of a collection of stores all in once place was a consumer miracle.  I grew up on the "southside" of Des Moines, but a couple of times a month my mom and I would drive the 13 miles to go the more affluent west side and a shopping area called Merle Hay Plaza.  The long journey (to a kid) and the route we took remains a strong memory. My parents bowled in a bowling league at Plaza Lanes.  More memories.   Then they put a single roof over all those stores and changed the name from Merle Hay Plaza to Merle Hay Mall.  Merle Hay by ...
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Balmy November

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 13 Nov 2023, coming on midnight Look, I had a brief hiatus.  Locked out of my g-mail account for three weeks or so.  Also lost my phone but now have both back.  Halloween come and gone and no decorations on any of the houses.  Quite amazing how things have changed since my childhood half a century ago.  Memories of my mother's decorated windows, trick or treating on a freezing October beggars night.  It still baffles me that that night was invariably cold and often rainy making it miserable for a kid wearing a costume that you didn't want to cover with a coat.   My cousin died three days ago, November 11, Saturday early morning I'm told.  This is her brother's birthday.  I didn't know it was the last time I would see her before she passed on, but on that day as we watched a Hallmark movie on her TV set, she told me about a house on Park Avenue quite dressed up for Halloween.   My landlord drove me out to see it and it lif...
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Sunflower Sutra by Allen Ginsberg

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  Sunflower Sutra BY  ALLEN GINSBERG I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and sat down under the huge shade of a Southern Pacific locomotive to look at the sunset over the box house hills and cry. Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, surrounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of machinery. The oily water on the river mirrored the red sky, sun sank on top of final Frisco peaks, no fish in that stream, no hermit in those mounts, just ourselves rheumy-eyed and hung-over like old bums on the riverbank, tired and wily. Look at the Sunflower, he said, there was a dead gray shadow against the sky, big as a man, sitting dry on top of a pile of ancient sawdust— —I rushed up enchanted—it was my first sunflower, memories of Blake—my visions—Harlem and Hells of the Eastern rivers, bridges clanking Joes Greasy Sandwiches, dead baby carriages, black treadless tires forgotten a...
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