i'm a weirdo-magnet. i literally cannot walk 10 feet from my apartment to the mail box without some old guy at the bus stop asking me random questions or complimenting the shape of my head. without fail, i have some sort of strange encounter every time i leave. And strange things just happen, too, not just people-- occurrences. probably 2 full pallets of unopened, pristine boxes of valentines candies in the dumpster below our place, appearing over night, annually. predicting earthquakes. a long list of disasters narrowly averted, but only by chance-- but that's not only a whole other story, it's a whole other long series of stories. picking up a petrogeologist hitchhiker as we're hauling a car-load of supplies to to our land to prepare for peak oil. innumerable other things.
anyone else? tell me stories.
anyone else? tell me stories.
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I will most likely be coming up two weekends from now though.
she was the first person I saw as I stepped of the Lakeshore Limited into Chicago's Union Station. the first person I couldn't take my eyes off of. everyone called her cowboy - I never knew her real name. she was martin's girl in a passing way, and then she wasn't. I was in her presence a few brief times afterwards at college get-togethers - I never said two words to her.
martin was an incidental student of philosophy at the University of Chicago - having come to Chicago to become a Blues musician and drink himself to death. a multi-instrumentalist, I remember happening upon him in the stairwell of the dormitory that we shared blowing Jazz on a trumpet - he liked the acoustics. martin was the kind of guy who could effortlessly untangle pre-socratic philosophy but didn't blush while flunking calculus.
with a blues harp (harmonica) he was a force of nature. I don't know who first cupped a microphone against a harmonica - I believe it was Junior Wells playing with Muddy Waters ... but the sounds that are produced by a good blues harpist defy description. I've heard it likened to a saxophone, some say it has the swooping lines of an electric slide guitar.
there is this thing that Jazz and Blues musicians do that is called cutting heads - it's a bloodsport. basically, if you think you are better than the musician playing on stage you get up and play and let the crowd decide. I've seen martin start playing harp at the back of a raucous Blues joint in the south end of Chicago, walk up onstage and blow everybody out of the room
Hi
I just re-discovered you and your photography by way of
orpiment
what a revelation you are - such delicate striking features ... the raw natural setting of much of your work is a wonderful complement to your beauty
thank you for brightening my day