Friday, June 30, 2017

SF 4th and Townsend Station in 1968

Catching the Del Monte to Monterey.

Thursday, June 29, 2017

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

A Hard Rain's A Gonna Fall

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
And where have you been, my darling young one?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall

Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin'
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin'
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder that roared out a warnin'
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin'
Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin'
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin'
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall

Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded with hatred
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall

And what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
And what'll you do now, my darling young one?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin'
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
And the executioner's face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin'
But I'll know my song well before I start singin'
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Monday, June 26, 2017

The Old Santa Cruz Jail


"In 1936 the Works Progress Administration provided funds for the construction of jail designed by Albert Roller at 705 Front Street, at a cost of $190,000 and built to hold 68 men and 8 women. As completion of construction neared the jail population was "dropping away so fast the sheriff and aides are fearful there will not be enough left to make a creditable showing by the time the building is accepted" causing the Sheriff to consider staging a round-up in the "jungles," private bingo parties, or drafting prominent citizens to stand in for prospective prisoners to make for a grand opening. The jail opened on December 13, 1937 with thirty-eight inmates. The Sheriff need not have worried about the population; by 1939 it was over its capacity, holding 82 prisoners.

In December 1972 a class action lawsuit was filed on behalf of inmates over problems concerning overcrowding, inmate classification, medical care, inmate discipline, adequacy of the law library, and inmate visitation policies…"

From here.

In its transition from jail to museum, it was decided to decorate the structure to deflect from its negative past, I believe.  However, the strength of the original architecture was lost as far as I'm concerned.  

I took a tour of the jail in 1989--a day before construction began on the conversion of the jail into an art museum.  At that time, a chain link fence topped with barbed wire was attached to the parapet around the entire roof, affording the prisoners access to fresh air.

I kept a piece of that wire.

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Friday, June 23, 2017

Thursday, June 22, 2017



Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Juke Joint --Johnnie Taylor

If you can't dance to this, you can't dance.

Monday, June 19, 2017

Asiatic Lilies

A friend sent me this outstanding picture of her Asiatic Lilies.

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Friday, June 16, 2017

Outfitted Cats


Does this do anything for you?

The luncheon has been changed to Thursday?

When I was young I loved to ride in convertibles.


That fly is going to ruin everything.

Do I need gloves?

Where's grandma?

Pssst. Wanna buy a Rolex?

You want I should stop clawing the furniture?

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Glass Beach in Siberia

"In the past, it was used as a dump for truckloads of unwanted glass bottles and waste from a local porcelain factory"

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Вика и Джо

Первый день рождения Викa!

Taxidermy Road

Taxidermy Road near Twin Falls, Idaho.

Saturday, June 10, 2017


The Ceanothus are blooming.

The bumblebees knock the pollen onto the lamb's ears below

Friday, June 9, 2017

Prairies of Stone

Excerpts from a talk given by Lee Brown (Baha'i- Cherokee) at the 1986 Baha'i Continental Indigenous Council, Fairbanks, Alaska

"There was the cycle of the mineral, the rock. There was the cycle of the plant. And now we are in the cycle of the animal coming to the end of that and beginning the cycle of the human being. When we get into the cycle of the human being, the highest and greatest powers that we have will be released to us. They will be released from that light or soul that we carry to the mind. But right now we're coming to the end of the animal cycle and we have investigated ourselves and learned what it is to be like an animal on this earth.

'They say at that time there will be villages in this land so great that when you stand in the villages you will not be able to see out, and in the prophecies these are called "villages of stone", or "prairies of stone". And they said the stone will grow up from the ground and you will not be able to see beyond the village. At the center of each and every one of these villages will be Native people, and they will walk as "hollow" shells upon a "prairie of stone". They said "hollow shells" which means they will have lost any of their traditional understandings; they will be empty within. They said after the Eagle lands on the moon some of these people will begin to leave these "prairies of stone" and come home and take up some of the old ways and begin to make themselves reborn, because it's a new day.


Leaving New York City.

I hired a coach to take me from confusion to the plane
And though we shared a common space I know I'll never meet again
The driver with his eyebrows furrowed in the rear-view mirror
I read his name and it was plainly written Nathan La Franeer

I asked him would he hurry
But we crawled the canyons slowly
Through the buyers and the sellers
Through the burglar bells and the wishing wells
With gangs and girly shows
The ghostly garden grows

The cars and buses bustled through the bedlam of the day
I looked through window-glass at streets and Nathan grumbled at the grey
I saw an aging cripple selling Superman balloons
The city grated through chrome-plate
The clock struck slowly half-past-noon

Through the tunnel tiled and turning
Into daylight once again I am escaping
Once again goodbye
To symphonies and dirty trees
With parks and plastic clothes
The ghostly garden grows

He asked me for a dollar more
He cursed me to my face
He hated everyone who paid to ride
And share his common space
I picked my bags up from the curb
And stumbled to the door
Another man reached out his hand
Another hand reached out for more
And I filled it full of silver
And I left the fingers counting
And the sky goes on forever
Without meter maids and peace parades
You feed it all your woes
The ghostly garden grows

You feed it all your woes
The ghostly garden grows

Native Hoop Dance by Kevin Locke (Lakota)

Thursday, June 8, 2017

Used Car Lot--Pendleton, Oregon


(Updated post)