A THOUSAND WORDS - Alex Waterhouse-Hayward's blog on pictures, plants, politics and whatever else is on his mind.




 

Zippy Pinhead - Musician
Friday, October 03, 2014

My Mother's Red Shawl - El Rebozo Colorado
Zippy Pinhead - Musician






When Alex approached me to do this photo shoot I was celebrating my 53rd birthday with my close friends Art Bergmann and his wife Sherry, Randy Rampage and Susanne Tabata, Long John Tanner and my wife. I'd had photo shoots with Alex in the past so I knew he had a certain taste for the dramatic effect in his pics. Dressing up like turn of the century bandidos with full regalia to sensitive portraits in a heartbeat, I was honored!  When he told me the story of the red shawl and how long it had been in his family I immediately thought of how many parties this shawl has seen and how much comfort it gave it's owner when the party was over, so I went into the bathroom and sort of through it up in the air and it landed on my head kinda like the headdress worn by Peter O'Toole in Lawrence of Arabia! A cupla twists and I was there. Charging through the sand dunes on my trusty camel, shooting into the air and yelling at the top of my lungs.....Get out of the way you bastards; here I come with thousands of my close friends right behind me. That’s the way I felt when I put on the shawl.


Caitlin Legault Art Model
Holly McRea Model - Poet - Creation Conduit.
Lisa Ha Model - Volunteer - Friend
Carmen Alatorre Diseñadora de vestuario
Roberto Baschetti Sociólogo, Investigador Histórico - Amigo
Jennifer Froese Youth Worker
Rachel Cairns Actor
Jennifer Landels Espadachina
Judith Currelly Pilot- Artist
Jim Erickson Set Decorator
Alexandra Hill Soprano
Georgina Elizabeth Isles Figure Model
Emma Middleton Actor
Mark Pryor Author/Lawyer/Assistant DA Travis County TX
Brother Edwin Charles Reggio, CSC Mentor & Teacher
Veronica Vex Burlesque Dancer
George McWhirter Poet
Raúl Guerrero Montemayor Padre-Compadre
Alexandra Waterhouse-Hayward Maestra
Shirley Gnome Singer/Provocateur
Yeva & Thoenn Glover Dancers/Choreographers
JJ Lee Writer
Jacqueline Model
Cathy Marsden Psychiatrist
André De Mondo Wanderer
Colin MacDonald Saxophonist/Composer
Nina Gouveia Yoga Instructor
Stacey Hutton Excercise Physiologist
Colleen Wheeler Actor
Sarah Rodgers Actor, Director,Mother
Kiera Hill Dancer
Johnna Wright & Sascha Director/Mother - Son/Dreamer
Decker & Nick Hunt Cat & 19th century amateur
George Bowering Poet
Celia Duthie Gallerist
Linda Lorenzo Mother
Katheryn Petersen Accordionist
Stefanie Denz Artist
Ivette Hernández Actress
Byron Chief-Moon Actor/Dancer
Colin Horricks Doctor
Ian Mulgrew Vancouver Sun Columnist
Jocelyn Morlock Composer
Corinne McConchie Librarian
Rachel Ditor Dramaturg
Patrick Reid Statesman, Flag Designer
Michael Varga CBC Cameraman
Bronwen Marsden Playwright/Actress/Director
David Baines Vancouver Sun Columnist
Alex Waterhouse-Hayward Photographer
Lauren Elizabeth Stewart Student
Sandrine Cassini Dancer/Choreographer
Meredith Kalaman Dancer/Choreographer
Juliya Kate Dominatrix












The Clematis, The Clitoris, An Ostrich & The Spotted Hyena
Thursday, October 02, 2014



Clematis ternata, October 1, 2014


Just this past week I listened to poet Alastair Reid, who died this past September 21 read his beautiful poem on cats (and dogs) Curiosity. I listened to how he pronounced idyll in the line below:

where living is an idyll

It was as surprising to me as many years ago when I was listening to the BBC as young man in Mexico City and the announcer uttered Himaaleeas. It seemed that he was talking about a chain of mountains bordering Tibet, Nepal and Bhutan.

Another favourite of mine is the strange aroid, Arisaema which we might pronounce A-ree-sa-ee-maw. But then I listened to an English botanical judge say: Arí-si (as in Sicily) –maw. If you pronounce it that way while lifting your nose up into the air, the plant sounds so much more exotic. This particular aroid has family members that can raise the temperature of their spadix (aroid flowers are called inflorescences) from the surrounding atmospheric temperature, so they can disseminate its often foul odor and attract insects like flies. So much for some vertebrates being the only warm blooded specimens in nature.

I will now persist in my narrative involving sexual organs. My fave (in reference to its history and nothing else!) is the clitoris via the clematis. More on that somewhere at the bottom.

My wife Rosemary and I both garden. We each have favourite plants. Most of the time we keep civility in check when her plant or my plant becomes invasive or is a pain in the neck in some way.

Rosemary loves the clematis which is given the botanical epithet “Queen of the Vines”. When you think of the beauty of the passion flower (Passiflora) I would in less diplomatic inclinations to argue that point.

The clematis is a fragile; its stems have to be treated with extreme care. If you bend the stems, like folding a  paper, you cannot unbend them and they will die. But that is where fragile ends and in many varieties you have an invasive variety that in some cases, like that other thug, the wisteria, can bring down a house.

To keep them in check and to have them properly bloom there are three (perhaps more and I don’t want to dwell on that) types that require pruning at different times of the year. Many of these Rosemary faves do not have any scent (but some ( yes!) and do so quite sweetly). Like many camellias and hibiscus their beauty fools you. You get close to the wonderful flowers and you get nothing.




But right now, October 1, there is a wonderful, white and fragrant clematis, Clematis ternata blooming on our boulevard fence. It has managed to climb up the very large Thuya plicatta (Western Red Cedar) and if I don’t prune it, it could possibly drag down the tree (not really, I am only exaggerating).

Scanning the flowers is an almost impossible job. If you place them on the scanner glass the white flowers over-expose. If you hang them over the glass then only the closest will look as they do on the vine.

I will have to admit here that Rosemary’s clematis (no idea of the plural form) have their moments.

Now to the connection between clematis and clitoris. The connection is that both words have etymological routes in Greek and both words in Greek are accented on the first syllable. Thus:

Clém – atis and Clít- toris (clídoris)

I love going to the desks of elderly master gardeners ready to answer your questions at garden centers during the growing season. I like to ask them, “How do you pronounce c, l, e, m, a, t, i, s?” If they pronounce it the non Greek way, I then ask them, “How do you pronounce c, l, i, t, o, r, i, s?” I am usually sent packing.

I cannot resist here to quote that handy Wikipedia on a hitherto known fact about the clitoris, the ostrich and the spotted hyena. Here it is:

The clitoris is a female sex organ present in mammals, ostriches and a limited number of other animals. In humans, the visible button-like portion is near the front junction of the labia minora (inner lips), above the opening of the urethra. Unlike the penis, the male homologue (equivalent) to the clitoris, it usually does not contain the distal portion (or opening) of the urethra and is therefore not used for urination. While few animals urinate through the clitoris, the spotted hyena, which has an especially well-developed clitoris, urinates, mates and gives birth via the organ. Some other carnivorous animals, or mammals in particular, such as lemurs and spider monkeys, also have a well-developed clitoris.



In Search Of A Style With Siouxsie & Budgie
Wednesday, October 01, 2014




Siouxsie & Budgie - circa 1981

When Colt introduced its single action Colt Army Peacemaker in 1873 it revolutionized the “art” of killing. If you had the money to buy one (and many did) you could compete with anybody and more so if you knew how to use it. I see that gun having a parallel with the proliferation in the 21st century of good digital cameras. I believe that the Colt evened out the playing field in the 19th century and now in the 21st century the same has happened with cameras and how they affected photographers who use them.




When I began to work for Vancouver Magazine in the late 70s and Les Wiseman (the writer) and yours truly (the photographer) started covering rock concerts (local and from abroad) for the In One Ear column, we discussed how we could do it differently.

Our experimentation happened at the Commodore Ballroom, the Smilin’ Buddha, Gary Taylor’s and UBC’s Sub Ballroom.

We quickly figured out that even though we were given access to shoot in what we called the media pit (right next to the stage floor) my pictures looked like anybody else’s or not as good.



At the time there were two choices. You either used what we called a head-on flash (like the one in the picture here) or you shot very fast film that was pushed to higher ratings.

The problem with the above is that the methods used to place photographs in a magazine or newspaper was photo-mechanical and not digital. If there was no separation between a musician’s head and the black background the picture could not be used. In fact pictures surrounded by black were editorial no-nos. Art directors loved low contrast.

The flash up close minimized the dark background. But it was difficult to impose a personal style. The only style involved was how important your magazine was so that access became the style. I attempted to use slow shutters (1/8, ¼ and slower) when using the flash so that I would get some sharpness but some ghosting blurs at the same time.

Les Wiseman & Siouxsie Sioux


Soon even that was passé and Wiseman and I narrowed our approach to personal interviews with the band members or the lead member either in their hotel or at sound check in their dressing rooms. I would bring a very heavy studio flash (it was a QC-I000) and a couple of heads. This plus the light stands and a seamless paper were all heavy and Wiseman had to help.

At the time the record companies were all powerful and one had to kowtow to the “Record Rep”. We were nice to them and they soon liked our exclusive coverage which involved Wiseman’s exceptional writing style. Wiseman believed in doing copious research (an in an era before Google) this meant many trips to the library. Soon we were sort of able to call the shots. We would, “If we cannot get access back stage or at the hotel, forget it!”

The bands that Wiseman picked were all based on his extremely snobbish (thank God) tastes. Many times nobody knew about them and after the In One Ear Column was out we garnered lots of hip prestige in knowing before anybody else a band’s rising fame.



The pictures you see here of Siouxie Sioux I believe I took in 1981. Wiseman says the hotel shots were taken in the concrete one on the corner of Granville and Helmcken which I believe is now called the Chateau Granville. He reminded me that somehow we had to go up stairs with my heavy equipment.

The lights were expensive but the camera I used was the one you see here and or a more modern one called a Pentax Spotmatic-F. At the time I liked to use extreme wide angles and got close to my subjects. I particularly liked a 20mm. The film was Kodak Technical Pan which was slow (25 ISO).

For the concert shots I still used the slow film and a slow shutter. My lens would have been the 55mm here or an 80mm Komura.


Until a recent past I taught at Focal Point and did two years at VanArts, downtown. The former closed its doors three years ago and VanArts fired me as they said that I was not a good fit for their school.

I remember once when I told my students that it was virtually impossible to shoot band at concerts in an original way. One particular female student was extremely aggressive and told me I knew nothing and had no experience. She told me that my rock swirls (the slow shutter ones) were simply bad photography.

I tried to stress that the single most important aspect in personal photography was to develop a personal style. I called the personal style the Holy Grail of photography. But it was to no avail and I see now, more than ever pictures of performing bands (sharp, well exposed, bright colours, etc) that are boring, banal and all pretty well look the same. In fact if you are in front of a band at a concert with a very good camera I guarantee that the pictures you will take will look like somebody else’s. In 1982 having the pictures "turn out" was not a sure thing. It is now a sure thing but that does not necessarily include style.



In the group of pictures here you can see the descent from the interesting (Siouxie playing the devil with her hands) to the sofa shot with her drummer Budgie to the ordinary concert pictures I took at the Commodore. You might note that I had access to one side of the stage so I got profiles. To me the only saving grace of these pictures is Siouxie’s fishnets.

Goth Banshee







The Western Canon, The Travails Of ESL & Money Laundering In Real Estate
Tuesday, September 30, 2014

The Western Canon


Sometime around October of 2008 veteran journalist and editor, Paul Sullivan, while not coining the expression citizen journalism, wrote and spoke of its new found virtues and hired (at no or little pay) professionally unqualified (and thus qualified) people, including two “ladies of the night” to write (subjectivity not objectivity was their mantra) about city events, in particular about the women who had been terrorized and brutally murdered by Robert Pickton. The website was called Orato.

Sullivan was vaunting the virtues of everyman (person) journalism.

I have never been inclined to seek the opinion of the woman or man on the street as I grew up listening to Walter Cronkite or laughing at the acute humour of Nicholas von Hoffman.  I prefer to listen and to watch on MSNBC the likes of Rachel Maddow who is smart, articulate and has the credentials to match those rare qualities in this day and age.

Perhaps my views are to be expected, they come from someone who was born in the first half of the now terribly defunct 20th century.

The wonders of this century have brought citizen journalism and opinion to the on-line versions of paper magazines and newspapers. These unadulterated comments in articles and essays often bring the worst and most caustic side of human beings. In fact I was finally turned off from the many pleasures of  reading The Tyee, were those citizens, with time in their hands, and with agendas to chew on, ranted with no tact or diplomacy and spoiled my experience.

The alternative (I am reluctant to pluralize that word) to that excellent web news magazine The Tyee with its liberal tendencies (and I am a liberal) is slowly decaying into redundancy (a fave Brit word for what ails so many of us in this modern world).

Not too many weeks ago I read one of the best essays I had read in years in my city newspaper, the Vancouver Sun. It was written by Rick Ouston and I blogged about it here. To my dismay I ran into two former Sun Staffers and one active one recently. None had read it. If you consider that in the essay in question Ouston writes about a blundered suicide attempt a year ago you wonder what happens in the Vancouver newsroom in this age of communication.

I talked to a staffer today and told him, “I went to the Sun newsroom on Saturday and I saw a paper tacked to the newsroom door. It said, ‘Please do not declare WWIII or if you are a famous person don’t succumb until Monday. We are closed on weekends.’”

When from a facebook posting (note it must be written in lower case) I found out on late Sunday that Drew Burns had died on Saturday I was not able to confirm his death by any media mention. I do know that the Vancouver Sun will have a hard copy obituary on the Tuesday edition written by perhaps the only man working at the Sun who knew Burns and dealt with him as John Mackie was a punk band manager at one time when phone booths were a dime a dozen.

Consider that the Vancouver Sun staffer to whom I told about the newsroom-door-pinned-bulletin seemed to believe my statement. Surely he did not believe it to be more than a a prank. Perhaps it is true and our only real city newspaper is out to lunch on weekends. Obituaries have to wait for Tuesdays.

By now many reading this will think, “When is this idiot going to get to the point?” 

Remember I am one of those Paul Sullivan citizen journalists. 

I have not been trained to get to the point or to write well. I am one of those former photographers that in those days, in that other century, were collectively thought to be stupid. What follows will have to do. And what follows I hope nobody considers to be a “The-Tyee-comment-ranter” particularly those who imitated coyotes and other vermin of the hinterland of our province.

In the last couple of months well regarded columnists of the Vancouver Sun have written prominent articles on the expensive state of our real estate, the ruining (by the influx of people unwilling to speak English) of ESL (English as a Second Language) in our public school system, and how:

Asian grip on the Western Canon – Musical arts: Caucasian students playing piano at a high level are few and far between.

This last opinion article published in the Sun on Saturday September 20 and written by Pete McMartin was followed by another by him on Saturday September 27:

Too much of a good thing? Theory: Vancouver’s attractiveness could one day be its undoing.

The crux of this latter essay drew from a NY Times Sunday Magazine (two Sundays ago) that was about how people in the US want to go to live in Portland because of its beauty, weather and social milieu. McMartin finds that the so-called Amenity Paradox (people go to Portland but find few jobs and real estate is becoming more dear) has parallels with our Vancouver. In Portland we have a gravitational pull of young college graduates. Who gravitates to our Vancouver is left blurry. In this article McMartin quoted the noted urban planner Lance Berelowitz.  My beef is that I want to read in a  newspaper essays that address in a fair manner how the growth of Vancouver can be explained and how solutions to perceived problems by our city rapid expansion can be found.

When an article (the one on the Western Canon) prominently uses large type on the word Caucasian there is some sort of weird reverse racism involved. Somehow when McMartin uses Asian that term seems milder in my view than Caucasian. When the “red Indian” ruled the plains in the 19th century (and before) the term Caucasian was probably not used. Except for the Chinese (not called Asian then) were building railroads, people in our neck of the woods were either white or were not. Only now is that NFL team, the Washington Redskins trying to navigate what really is a losing battle of the insult their name represents to Aboriginal Americans. Can any future team be called the Dallas Caucasians?

Somehow Caucasian has a troublesome ring to my ears. I hear it more often from the lips of Chinese people that I know. They never say, “white”. Caucasian is the politically correct epithet but to me it grinds and almost offends.

Few know that not too long ago the inhabitants of the Indian Subcontinent were listed as Caucasians by scientific journals. Caucasian had nothing to do with skin colour but with facial features. As far as I can tell India, Pakistan and Bangladesh are South Asian countries.

Those Asians who are not tickling the ivories in our local music schools, are they Filipino, Indonesian, Indian, Bangladeshi, Borneans, or even Japanese or Korean? Could Mr. McMartin be skirting the fact that many of them are Chinese? To write that they could be Chinese, would that be offensive? Would it be racist?

Not too many weeks ago a local architect of Chinese origin told us at an Abraham Rogatnick memorial lunch that a full time project of actively trying to keep the flavour, spirit and look of Vancouver’s China Town alive was most difficult. I could not tell the noted architect (age is making me polite) that our Chinatown, and many more in other cities are former ghettos. The inhabitants of those ghettos were not allowed or could not afford to live anywhere else. Now we have different China Towns. And they are not ghettos by the old definition.

I would like to read in the Vancouver Sun balanced articles in which experts such as Vancouver urban planner Lance Berelowitz (note Vancouver Sun fact checkers that there is a second e in that surname) and others tell us about our urban problems and offer solutions. I have been told by two prominent real estate agents that many houses that change hands in Vancouver are all about money laundering. Why not bring back the unflinching David Baines to explore that topic? Rick Ouston, a professional and qualified journalist could write with objectivity about this Caucasian/Chinese thing we are so reluctant to discuss. I wonder about those small signs stapled to posts on Granville, Cambie, etc that say, "Quick cash for your home."

To be fair I do believe that Pete McMartin's efforts are laudable in that they are indeed an effort to tackle the issues of our city. I remember with warmth, affection and respect the scion of the Southam newspaper empire, Harvey Southam how in his sorely missed (at least by yours truly) his business monthly Equity Magazine in which he featured two prominent city columnists on adjacent pages (left and right!). One was called From the Left and the other From the Right. They always wrote about the same issue but from a different point of view. I want balanced objective reporting without forgetting what one of the sailors on board Thor Heyerdahl's expeditions Ra I and Ra II, Santiago Genovés once said at a lecture I attended in Mexico City in the early 70s:

 "We must remember that objectivity is a subjective invention by man."

If we persist in this reluctant direction the flames of racism will surely be fanned. I might just decide to move to Portland. Or as a friend of mine likes to remind me of something I said to him some years ago, “Let’s go to White Town. Let’s see how we maneuver around our food with one of those forks and knives.”



Drew Burns' Commodore Ballroom
Monday, September 29, 2014



Drew Burns

Not too long ago I had to photograph a couple of composers for the Georgia Straight. I decided that taking the picture on Granville by the Orpheum and the Commodore Ballroom was the right place. I was prevented from taking my photograph by some tough guys who said that the Commodore Ballroom had all rights to pictures not only taken inside but outside on the street. I sort of sweet talked them into inquiring about getting permission from those involved in running the Commodore. The permission came and I took my picture days later.

This would not have happened in times gone by; the times when Drew Burns was in charge. In the 70s and 80s when I took many pictures of bands performing there Burns always accommodated my needs which sometimes were requests to take photographs backstage. Burns always invited me into his office (a messy kind of office) and I remember he had a penchant for shirts with polka-dots.

Such was my reputation, courtesy of Vancouver Magazine, that the security staff played protective wall for me from punks (the punk band punk variety punks)  who liked to push and shove for fun but my cameras were more fragile than I was. These security guys would stand in front of me and marched to wherever I wanted to take my shots. One security man, while walking on Granville (he may have been involved with some motorcycle gang. His last name was Paisely.) was shot in the stomach. In spite of the pain he ran after the gunman and wrestled him to the ground.

Les Wiseman who wrote his crafty words for Vancouver Magazine’s In One Ear was a snob. This meant that we sometimes skipped the warm-up acts. In some rare occasions we skipped the headliners (probably Images in Vogue) and left after the warm-up bands finished.

In one special evening that I remember vividly we left for a cheap beer at the Dufferin before the headliners were to be on. We ran into one of my fave exotic dancers, Miss Mew, AKA Fleen. We told her where we were going. She warned us, “The place has changed.”

I never really imbibed but I sort of enjoyed the second-string lineups of exotic dancers of the bar. One of my fave sights was a waiter who looked like Laurence Harvey.

We sat down and Wiseman ordered his beer. I ordered my coke. I noticed two men holding hands at another table. “Les, I believe this bar has gone gay.” It had. In one of those strange, unexplainable events of our city of the time someone had decided from one day to the next for the change, as if there were a switch that went from straight to gay. The owner flicked the switch and that was it.

To me the Commodore that was will never again be that Commodore. It ceased being so when Burns, a gentleman, retired 15 years ago. Some sort of mafia has taken over.

Somehow my memory of the Commodore Ballroom had something to do with the many chandeliers and the tacky and elaborate red wall paper going up on the stairs.



Cras! Cras!
Sunday, September 28, 2014


Helianthus annuus September 28, 2014



Today Sunday after a night of insomnia I went finally asleep and woke up with deep melancholia.

My female cat, Plata is now 16 years old and she is obsessed in wanting to eat all day. She nags me constantly. She may have some version of feline dementia as many times there is still food in her dish. I pick up the dish and stir the contents around with a spoon. Plata eats. Sometimes, I have to admit I get very angry at her nagging and I say (sometimes in a raised voice) to her, “Plata, if you want more food ask your mistress. I’ve had it with your constant begging.”

This morning Rosemary said something close to this, “Our cats are two faithful remnants of our life and we should appreciate and care for them. They really don’t expect nothing and give all.”

Rosemary left for a Master Gardener clinic at Garden Works in Lougheed Highway. It is a sunny day and I must finish pruning and shaping our very long laurel hedge.

I decided to postpone that to perhaps later in the afternoon. I made my breakfast and brought the tray to bed where I finished the last of yesterday’s (the Sunday Times is delivered on Saturday night) Sunday Review. I prevaricated (that sounds better than that term dithering now associated to Obama even by his followers). I procrastinated.

With me, by my side was Plata stretched out so elegantly as only cats can, having learned in their past from the dancers in the courts of the ancient Egyptian pharaohs.

My mother and grandmother, two very Roman Catholic women prayed to the many saints connected with problems encountered. St Anthony of Padua was promised funds for charity should he help them find a lost earring or other trinket. When things became desperate they turned to St. Jude Apostle, the patron saint of impossible things (and situations).

One day my mother whose name was Filomena arrived from school desperate. “Alex, the pope has de-listed St. Philomena. She never existed. I no longer have a patron saint.” Years later, no scandal in England as far as I can tell, the Roman Catholic Church asserted that St. George, had never existed so he could never have slain that dragon.

With no internet and Google to check out useless facts my mother and grandmother never knew of an Armenian centurion Expeditus who was martyred when he converted to Christianity in 303 AD.  It seems that while pondering on his decision a crow appeared and squawked “Cras, cras,” Latin for tomorrow. Expeditus not only ignored the bird but he stomped him and promptly converted.

Not clear in my investigation of Expeditus is my confusion of exactly what he intercedes with God for us. Does he help us not to dither? Does he justify our act of prevarication? Is he the long lost saint of that 60s mantra that we were going to be showered with leisure time?  Obviously St Expeditus could have never predicted the rise of the iPhone and how that gadget keeps us from true, substantial, melancholy, a meandering of thought, inspirational and even artistic daydreaming.

I believe that St. Expeditus and St. Jude should get together and decide with precision and without delay to intercede for us and help us achieve true procrastination.

While I have been scanning my garden roses now for some ten years, this year I have become enamoured with my Lillooet daughter’s sun flowers. In early spring she brings these plants in big black pots. I help Rosemary plant them in our back lane garden and wherever else we can find a sunny spot. I have been delighted with the long span of this annual. From beginning when I can note their buds to the end of the cycle when the plants droop and the flowers become untidy I have noted a beauty that while not competing with my roses, have an elegance, an ordinary elegance that can almost, as today, almost wipe out my late summer melancholy.

Rosemary is right. I shall attend to Plata and give her more love and less shouting. I will try to ignore her nagging and just feed her. With so many of my human friends disappearing (do they dither?) it is comforting to have a friendly allegiance.



Alistair Reid - March 22, 1926 - September 21, 2014
Saturday, September 27, 2014

Gaticuchi Waterhouse-Hayward - 1976 - 1991



Curiosity - Alastair Reid

Curiosity

may have killed the cat; more likely
the cat was just unlucky, or else curious
to see what death was like, having no cause
to go on licking paws, or fathering
litter on litter of kittens, predictably.

Nevertheless, to be curious
is dangerous enough. To distrust
what is always said, what seems
to ask odd questions, interfere in dreams,
leave home, smell rats, have hunches
do not endear cats to those doggy circles
where well-smelt baskets, suitable wives, good lunches
are the order of things, and where prevails
much wagging of incurious heads and tails.
Face it. Curiosity
will not cause us to die--
only lack of it will.
Never to want to see
the other side of the hill
or that improbable country
where living is an idyll
(although a probable hell)
would kill us all.
Only the curious
have, if they live, a tale
worth telling at all.

Dogs say cats love too much, are irresponsible,
are changeable, marry too many wives,
desert their children, chill all dinner tables
with tales of their nine lives.
Well, they are lucky. Let them be
nine-lived and contradictory,
curious enough to change, prepared to pay
the cat price, which is to die
and die again and again,
each time with no less pain.
A cat minority of one
is all that can be counted on
to tell the truth. And what cats have to tell
on each return from hell
is this: that dying is what the living do,
that dying is what the loving do,
and that dead dogs are those who do not know
that dying is what, to live, each has to do.




     

Previous Posts
Zippy Pinhead - Musician

The Clematis, The Clitoris, An Ostrich & The Spott...

In Search Of A Style With Siouxsie & Budgie

The Western Canon, The Travails Of ESL & Money Lau...

Drew Burns' Commodore Ballroom

Cras! Cras!

Alistair Reid - March 22, 1926 - September 21, 201...

The 20th Century Over Lunch (Two Deluxe Pizzas)

¿Por qué nací entre espejos?

Exhalar El Fantasma



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10/15/06 - 10/22/06

10/22/06 - 10/29/06

10/29/06 - 11/5/06

11/5/06 - 11/12/06

11/12/06 - 11/19/06

11/19/06 - 11/26/06

11/26/06 - 12/3/06

12/3/06 - 12/10/06

12/10/06 - 12/17/06

12/17/06 - 12/24/06

12/24/06 - 12/31/06

12/31/06 - 1/7/07

1/7/07 - 1/14/07

1/14/07 - 1/21/07

1/21/07 - 1/28/07

1/28/07 - 2/4/07

2/4/07 - 2/11/07

2/11/07 - 2/18/07

2/18/07 - 2/25/07

2/25/07 - 3/4/07

3/4/07 - 3/11/07

3/11/07 - 3/18/07

3/18/07 - 3/25/07

3/25/07 - 4/1/07

4/1/07 - 4/8/07

4/8/07 - 4/15/07

4/15/07 - 4/22/07

4/22/07 - 4/29/07

4/29/07 - 5/6/07

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5/13/07 - 5/20/07

5/20/07 - 5/27/07

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6/24/07 - 7/1/07

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7/15/07 - 7/22/07

7/22/07 - 7/29/07

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8/12/07 - 8/19/07

8/19/07 - 8/26/07

8/26/07 - 9/2/07

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9/9/07 - 9/16/07

9/16/07 - 9/23/07

9/23/07 - 9/30/07

9/30/07 - 10/7/07

10/7/07 - 10/14/07

10/14/07 - 10/21/07

10/21/07 - 10/28/07

10/28/07 - 11/4/07

11/4/07 - 11/11/07

11/11/07 - 11/18/07

11/18/07 - 11/25/07

11/25/07 - 12/2/07

12/2/07 - 12/9/07

12/9/07 - 12/16/07

12/16/07 - 12/23/07

12/23/07 - 12/30/07

12/30/07 - 1/6/08

1/6/08 - 1/13/08

1/13/08 - 1/20/08

1/20/08 - 1/27/08

1/27/08 - 2/3/08

2/3/08 - 2/10/08

2/10/08 - 2/17/08

2/17/08 - 2/24/08

2/24/08 - 3/2/08

3/2/08 - 3/9/08

3/9/08 - 3/16/08

3/16/08 - 3/23/08

3/23/08 - 3/30/08

3/30/08 - 4/6/08

4/6/08 - 4/13/08

4/13/08 - 4/20/08

4/20/08 - 4/27/08

4/27/08 - 5/4/08

5/4/08 - 5/11/08

5/11/08 - 5/18/08

5/18/08 - 5/25/08

5/25/08 - 6/1/08

6/1/08 - 6/8/08

6/8/08 - 6/15/08

6/15/08 - 6/22/08

6/22/08 - 6/29/08

6/29/08 - 7/6/08

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7/13/08 - 7/20/08

7/20/08 - 7/27/08

7/27/08 - 8/3/08

8/3/08 - 8/10/08

8/10/08 - 8/17/08

8/17/08 - 8/24/08

8/24/08 - 8/31/08

8/31/08 - 9/7/08

9/7/08 - 9/14/08

9/14/08 - 9/21/08

9/21/08 - 9/28/08

9/28/08 - 10/5/08

10/5/08 - 10/12/08

10/12/08 - 10/19/08

10/19/08 - 10/26/08

10/26/08 - 11/2/08

11/2/08 - 11/9/08

11/9/08 - 11/16/08

11/16/08 - 11/23/08

11/23/08 - 11/30/08

11/30/08 - 12/7/08

12/7/08 - 12/14/08

12/14/08 - 12/21/08

12/21/08 - 12/28/08

12/28/08 - 1/4/09

1/4/09 - 1/11/09

1/11/09 - 1/18/09

1/18/09 - 1/25/09

1/25/09 - 2/1/09

2/1/09 - 2/8/09

2/8/09 - 2/15/09

2/15/09 - 2/22/09

2/22/09 - 3/1/09

3/1/09 - 3/8/09

3/8/09 - 3/15/09

3/15/09 - 3/22/09

3/22/09 - 3/29/09

3/29/09 - 4/5/09

4/5/09 - 4/12/09

4/12/09 - 4/19/09

4/19/09 - 4/26/09

4/26/09 - 5/3/09

5/3/09 - 5/10/09

5/10/09 - 5/17/09

5/17/09 - 5/24/09

5/24/09 - 5/31/09

5/31/09 - 6/7/09

6/7/09 - 6/14/09

6/14/09 - 6/21/09

6/21/09 - 6/28/09

6/28/09 - 7/5/09

7/5/09 - 7/12/09

7/12/09 - 7/19/09

7/19/09 - 7/26/09

7/26/09 - 8/2/09

8/2/09 - 8/9/09

8/9/09 - 8/16/09

8/16/09 - 8/23/09

8/23/09 - 8/30/09

8/30/09 - 9/6/09

9/6/09 - 9/13/09

9/13/09 - 9/20/09

9/20/09 - 9/27/09

9/27/09 - 10/4/09

10/4/09 - 10/11/09

10/11/09 - 10/18/09

10/18/09 - 10/25/09

10/25/09 - 11/1/09

11/1/09 - 11/8/09

11/8/09 - 11/15/09

11/15/09 - 11/22/09

11/22/09 - 11/29/09

11/29/09 - 12/6/09

12/6/09 - 12/13/09

12/13/09 - 12/20/09

12/20/09 - 12/27/09

12/27/09 - 1/3/10

1/3/10 - 1/10/10

1/10/10 - 1/17/10

1/17/10 - 1/24/10

1/24/10 - 1/31/10

1/31/10 - 2/7/10

2/7/10 - 2/14/10

2/14/10 - 2/21/10

2/21/10 - 2/28/10

2/28/10 - 3/7/10

3/7/10 - 3/14/10

3/14/10 - 3/21/10

3/21/10 - 3/28/10

3/28/10 - 4/4/10

4/4/10 - 4/11/10

4/11/10 - 4/18/10

4/18/10 - 4/25/10

4/25/10 - 5/2/10

5/2/10 - 5/9/10

5/9/10 - 5/16/10

5/16/10 - 5/23/10

5/23/10 - 5/30/10

5/30/10 - 6/6/10

6/6/10 - 6/13/10

6/13/10 - 6/20/10

6/20/10 - 6/27/10

6/27/10 - 7/4/10

7/4/10 - 7/11/10

7/11/10 - 7/18/10

7/18/10 - 7/25/10

7/25/10 - 8/1/10

8/1/10 - 8/8/10

8/8/10 - 8/15/10

8/15/10 - 8/22/10

8/22/10 - 8/29/10

8/29/10 - 9/5/10

9/5/10 - 9/12/10

9/12/10 - 9/19/10

9/19/10 - 9/26/10

9/26/10 - 10/3/10

10/3/10 - 10/10/10

10/10/10 - 10/17/10

10/17/10 - 10/24/10

10/24/10 - 10/31/10

10/31/10 - 11/7/10

11/7/10 - 11/14/10

11/14/10 - 11/21/10

11/21/10 - 11/28/10

11/28/10 - 12/5/10

12/5/10 - 12/12/10

12/12/10 - 12/19/10

12/19/10 - 12/26/10

12/26/10 - 1/2/11

1/2/11 - 1/9/11

1/9/11 - 1/16/11

1/16/11 - 1/23/11

1/23/11 - 1/30/11

1/30/11 - 2/6/11

2/6/11 - 2/13/11

2/13/11 - 2/20/11

2/20/11 - 2/27/11

2/27/11 - 3/6/11

3/6/11 - 3/13/11

3/13/11 - 3/20/11

3/20/11 - 3/27/11

3/27/11 - 4/3/11

4/3/11 - 4/10/11

4/10/11 - 4/17/11

4/17/11 - 4/24/11

4/24/11 - 5/1/11

5/1/11 - 5/8/11

5/8/11 - 5/15/11

5/15/11 - 5/22/11

5/22/11 - 5/29/11

5/29/11 - 6/5/11

6/5/11 - 6/12/11

6/12/11 - 6/19/11

6/19/11 - 6/26/11

6/26/11 - 7/3/11

7/3/11 - 7/10/11

7/10/11 - 7/17/11

7/17/11 - 7/24/11

7/24/11 - 7/31/11

7/31/11 - 8/7/11

8/7/11 - 8/14/11

8/14/11 - 8/21/11

8/21/11 - 8/28/11

8/28/11 - 9/4/11

9/4/11 - 9/11/11

9/11/11 - 9/18/11

9/18/11 - 9/25/11

9/25/11 - 10/2/11

10/2/11 - 10/9/11

10/9/11 - 10/16/11

10/16/11 - 10/23/11

10/23/11 - 10/30/11

10/30/11 - 11/6/11

11/6/11 - 11/13/11

11/13/11 - 11/20/11

11/20/11 - 11/27/11

11/27/11 - 12/4/11

12/4/11 - 12/11/11

12/11/11 - 12/18/11

12/18/11 - 12/25/11

12/25/11 - 1/1/12

1/1/12 - 1/8/12

1/8/12 - 1/15/12

1/15/12 - 1/22/12

1/22/12 - 1/29/12

1/29/12 - 2/5/12

2/5/12 - 2/12/12

2/12/12 - 2/19/12

2/19/12 - 2/26/12

2/26/12 - 3/4/12

3/4/12 - 3/11/12

3/11/12 - 3/18/12

3/18/12 - 3/25/12

3/25/12 - 4/1/12

4/1/12 - 4/8/12

4/8/12 - 4/15/12

4/15/12 - 4/22/12

4/22/12 - 4/29/12

4/29/12 - 5/6/12

5/6/12 - 5/13/12

5/13/12 - 5/20/12

5/20/12 - 5/27/12

5/27/12 - 6/3/12

6/3/12 - 6/10/12

6/10/12 - 6/17/12

6/17/12 - 6/24/12

6/24/12 - 7/1/12

7/1/12 - 7/8/12

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7/15/12 - 7/22/12

7/22/12 - 7/29/12

7/29/12 - 8/5/12

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8/12/12 - 8/19/12

8/19/12 - 8/26/12

8/26/12 - 9/2/12

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9/16/12 - 9/23/12

9/23/12 - 9/30/12

9/30/12 - 10/7/12

10/7/12 - 10/14/12

10/14/12 - 10/21/12

10/21/12 - 10/28/12

10/28/12 - 11/4/12

11/4/12 - 11/11/12

11/11/12 - 11/18/12

11/18/12 - 11/25/12

11/25/12 - 12/2/12

12/2/12 - 12/9/12

12/9/12 - 12/16/12

12/16/12 - 12/23/12

12/23/12 - 12/30/12

12/30/12 - 1/6/13

1/6/13 - 1/13/13

1/13/13 - 1/20/13

1/20/13 - 1/27/13

1/27/13 - 2/3/13

2/3/13 - 2/10/13

2/10/13 - 2/17/13

2/17/13 - 2/24/13

2/24/13 - 3/3/13

3/3/13 - 3/10/13

3/10/13 - 3/17/13

3/17/13 - 3/24/13

3/24/13 - 3/31/13

3/31/13 - 4/7/13

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4/14/13 - 4/21/13

4/21/13 - 4/28/13

4/28/13 - 5/5/13

5/5/13 - 5/12/13

5/12/13 - 5/19/13

5/19/13 - 5/26/13

5/26/13 - 6/2/13

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6/23/13 - 6/30/13

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7/21/13 - 7/28/13

7/28/13 - 8/4/13

8/4/13 - 8/11/13

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8/18/13 - 8/25/13

8/25/13 - 9/1/13

9/1/13 - 9/8/13

9/8/13 - 9/15/13

9/15/13 - 9/22/13

9/22/13 - 9/29/13

9/29/13 - 10/6/13

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10/20/13 - 10/27/13

10/27/13 - 11/3/13

11/3/13 - 11/10/13

11/10/13 - 11/17/13

11/17/13 - 11/24/13

11/24/13 - 12/1/13

12/1/13 - 12/8/13

12/8/13 - 12/15/13

12/15/13 - 12/22/13

12/22/13 - 12/29/13

12/29/13 - 1/5/14

1/5/14 - 1/12/14

1/12/14 - 1/19/14

1/19/14 - 1/26/14

1/26/14 - 2/2/14

2/2/14 - 2/9/14

2/9/14 - 2/16/14

2/16/14 - 2/23/14

2/23/14 - 3/2/14

3/2/14 - 3/9/14

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3/23/14 - 3/30/14

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4/20/14 - 4/27/14

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5/18/14 - 5/25/14

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9/14/14 - 9/21/14

9/21/14 - 9/28/14

9/28/14 - 10/5/14