Last of The Red Hot Muertos!

One of the blessings of living in San Diego is the close proximity to Mexico.

Despite the recent years of drug cartel strife, Mexico remains a vibrant, vital and soulful place.

Art, music, cuisine, writing...Mexico is a hotbed for all of it.

Our co-mingled histories are fraught with miscues and misunderstandings. I guess any meeting place of culture and identity will always be a combination of potential and danger. Maybe the best path is to celebrate the differences and enjoy. There is so much to gain and nothing to lose.

Deliriously Solemn

Those that have departed return every year to remind us of

their love.

And only LOVE can save us.

What is death? It is the glass of life broken into a

thousand pieces, where the spirit disperses like

perfume from a flask, into the silence of the eternal

night.

Dias de Los Muertos is good for you!

October In The Railroad Earth

It was a lovely day in San Diego
The early morning showers left everything clean and new
In the evening the sky blessed our eyes with bruised plum purple and Halloween orange

The Great Open-Mind Pacific Ocean pulled these colors to itself and made them dance

Sidewalk Mysticism

"The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls...and tenement halls"

Small and often overlooked fragments

Signs, Symbols, Signals

Messages hidden in plain view from the universe to

YOU

CALAVERAS!

I love the Mexican celebration, Dias de Los Muertos!

The colors, the marigolds, the washing of graves and picnics next to family mausoleums.

But most of all the highly decorated sugar skulls or Calaveras.

This joyful remembrance of those we love who have passed on strikes me as a healthy relationship with death. Altars strewn with things the person enjoyed during their life time (books, music, cigars, foods, booze...everything qualifies). A joyous party like atmosphere and a coming together to show unity and love. Maybe the highlight being when you get to eat a sugary skull with your name written across the forehead. It's a pretty powerful gesture, eating sweet death, don't you think?

The Saint of Broken Things

I am the Saint of Broken Things. I cherish them and hold them close to my heart.
I weep for the worn and forlorn. My tears don't make them new again but still stand in silent testimony that they existed.
Lay all cracked and fading objects at my feet. I do so love them. I am the Saint of Broken Things.

Fall Fruit and a Touch of the Strange

I wonder who she was. I wonder what became of her hopes, dreams, fears, loves...
Patina
The impish spirit of Pan/Puck/Coyote/Loki finds you in the least expected moments.
A touch of the strange. Worn out paintings in thrift stores as windows into some past aspiration or obsession.
We went apple picking up in Julian today. The amount and quality of the fruit was INCREDIBLE! Along with picking we ate a bunch right off the tree. Jonathans, Fujis, Gold and Delicious and a few others. Such an amazing day!

I Need Your SKULL!

I've always loved skulls. Ever since I was a kid any time I'd encounter one it would set my motor running. Hard to say what it was or is about them but it's most likely an accumulation of layers; biker-cool, pirates, The Grateful Dead, classic horror movies, The Misfits, Dias de Los Muertos. All of it and more really. I guess the fascination lies not only the amazing shapes, angles and planes but in what the thing actually is. The casing, seat, throne, etc. of the brain. The fact that this hard thing sits just inside the skin as well as moves through our lives and various machinations. I find a resonance with the laughing, colorful and sugary calaveras of the Mexican celebration The Day of The Dead. It's this playful interplay with death, the fact that death is represented as "sweet" and that the dead go about their business just like we do; singing songs, riding bikes, dressing up for dancing that in some weird way fills me with hope. There are similar comical images to be found in Buddhist art where skeletons dance in some never-ending cosmic rave in some Bardo or other. I don't mean to say that death isn't hard. I know first hand the intense impact it can have on one for years after the fact. But while death is intense and scary I've come around to the belief that what's even scarier is a life half lived. A life spent in fear of one thing after another. A life with no chances taken and nothing risked. That's a real death. A living death. People sometimes say that they'd like to live forever and while I get the impulses behind that wish I've come to realize that with out death life would have less meaning. It's the punctuation mark at the end of all of our sentences. So I celebrate the skull. I wear my skull ring and paint skulls on canvas. I honor the dead and even more so celebrate life.