CoCo is gettin’ ready for a gig

Wandering  through the West Bottoms of Kansas City, which means huge brick buildings of times past coupled with a small assortment of automobiles of the NOW in strange contrast–except for the graveyard of Dodge trucks I shot as they rust en mass–I discovered CoCo.  Didn’t see the man until after I parked what my offspring call the ‘tiny kgb mobile’ in a random spot, got out and started searching for how to shoot to the green windowed building with the odd curve and pigeons lounging about. Lucky for me there’s not much traffic in the Bottoms and what there is, you HEAR approaching in plenty of time to get out of its path.  Down in the Bottoms a stark silence pervades where for much of the time pigeon cooing dominates the airwaves. Bricks and birds grabbed my eye as I prowled the um, well, so called streets with the remains of cobblestones and very commendable water puddles–little ponds expanding.  It’s not always easy finding shots among these monuments to another time. Sometimes they just don’t give away any secrets no matter how you search. But this day they were practically gushing with fleeting lighting on still strong bricks, fading logos, broken windows, chains, a white couch, and even the ‘mission’–where the guys waiting for a ‘break’ just laughed and nodded from where they sprawled on the side of the building when I asked if I could take their picture. Well, one dude did ask that I not show the photo to America’s Most Wanted–I assured him I wouldn’t.  But the gem of all my treasure hunting was CoCo. It was in the view window of my old minolta x-700 that I caught him in the bottom right hand corner as I spanned for a shot of the bricks and cement. Man on his hands and knees poking at the bottom layer of bricks on a building. Shot him there, a small speck in that otherworldly landscape. Then, being the nosey bugger I am, I ventured closer and closer wanting the leaves of the vines barely visible through a space between two fallen walls. Approaching I noticed the headphones on the young man’s head that kept him form hearing my steps. But his sharp eyes caught me soon enough and we commenced introductions. He grinned devishly for a portrait I hope to hell comes out half as well as I ‘saw’ him. CoCo was gettin’ ready for a R&B singing gig that night, the middle of three in a row–each at different venues. On his hands and knees with a scraper and screwdriver he was digging out the old mortar between the bricks so that he could put in new mortar and hopefully steam the water falling into the building’s basement. But that’s not where his head was at all—oh no, the young man named CoCo in homage to the legendary Koko Taylor, was working on his passion all the while he was scrapping that old mortar out. CoCo J. Jackson’s head was in the music moving through his headphones and taking him into the club for that night’s gig.

bored? Wed=Radio Redux, LA, and ???

It’s Wednesday in my time zone and that means the Radio Redux hosted by none other then Ben Johnson streaming live on the web via

Johnson also hosts the Paragon Radio show midnight to 5 am on Mondays…and he takes on all callers. Yes, you too if you so desire.

I love Wednesday night at KKFI cause after Redux there’s L.A. Theatre Works–and it’s damn better than anything on the ‘box’ that has gotten so much dumber since it got more channels and less of everything else.

If you dig Chamber Music, well, The Doctor will prescribe some for your evening listening pleasure. Oh yeah Dr. Mike does the dj gig live.  Nothing canned here.

Vibes With Val vibrates into the dark hours and……I kid not, you can check the program guide and see for yourself–Vibes with Val—oh and what a voice she has…..!!

Ha, BORED? Blog and listen to whatever comes through  the radio of your webnet…..there’s always the delete key.

We make no promises except that this IS COMMUNITY RADIO TOTALLY FREE AND INDEPENDENT around the globe via the world wide web…

salute FREE SPEECH –even for ‘show sucks guy’.


“Just on the western edge of the storm”

you say

Wondering what you’ll think when you recall, as you will–mind being what it is–of my saying

“I desire a thunderstorm–a magnificent one at that.”

    Thunder has moved on

    We have not

    Which way to go

    Follow the rain clouds

    Venture in opposite directions

     Strike north

     Seek south

    What is required? Patience or rudeness?

You working the elk

   skin and ink

   red, black, green, yellow

   tattoo hide

   modern day old age frieze

Me working words

    Storm winds


     Deep sleeping

     Morning whispers soft

     Desires redefining secrets

     Bridging distances

      Carried by clouds

Coyote—no tricking today—curiousity compels creature’s observation.



New Territory

finding void your space

shatters glass hands

numbed core cracks


    there is something left to break

suddenly everything known about hurt is surpassed

                                                                        strip skin

                                                                        bleed bones

                                                                        dissect organs

all preferable to this deep freezing fissuring    



Pah-ho-ho-klah Whispering reply

Who passes here?

Who passed there?

Just beyond your sight

         We pass here

         We passed there

         Track us

we ripple along the wind’s tides

we walk through moonlight

we glide upon tree whispers

we sing the sun’s song in the shade

        Invisible to you perhaps

        But still we pass



Circling round

Our scat still enriches all ground



         tenderly we pass

         soft in our tracks

times die

patience tries

         still we pass

                  we pass

with each light step

with each mindful breath

         through the pass

                  we track

                  we track





Losing Your Mind Along 18th and Vine

Shades are swinging hot at 18th and Vine;

Six o seven am or any time.

Cruisin’ along, my business is mine.

The Gem is alight~~

Sax blasting through dwindling night.

Streets are alive

With the pure energy of jive.

Hey, Hey

Is beggin’ for the cords of a Lady Day.

Forget those Plaza Fountains~~

Catch that joyous shoutin’ ;

Soul is grovin’,

Feet are movin’,

Time is fluid~

Just got to do it.

Dancin’ Dames and Jumpin’ Dudes~

Music is their sole food.

Ain’t  no jukebox humpin’:

Ouch! Ain’t Parker’s horn somethin’?

Basie’s hell bent piano pumpin’.

Ghosts aint the only ones bebopin’~

Hearts full throttle rockin’~

There just ain’t no stoppin’~

Ya forget it all

When you’re havin’ a ball

Just losing yer mind along 18th and Vine.



Lakota@1890 museum pieces

Hand drum painted with two black faded birds @ 1890 Lakota

spine chills

Tiny sky blue beaded moccasins, one turned sole up to boast beaded bottom @ 1890 Lakota

flesh crawls

Rawhide rectangular box, cream colored background with red, blue, green, and yellow diamonds @ 1890 Lakota

breath quickens

Beaded long arm gloves, white with blue and red decoration @ 1890 Lakota

pulse catches

Boy’s vest, red cloth with delicate white flower print inside, outside white beaded ground for warriors, horses, feathered head-dresses, guns @ 1890 Lakota

no boy would give this up to a ‘collector’

Women’s moccassins—white beads, blue triangle shapes, flap covers tongue, left toe pointing inward @ 1890 Lakota

what woman would leave these behind?

Did all travel to Portland, Oregon in these bags @ 1890 Lakota?

far, far way from Wounded Knee Creek, South Dakota all these Lakota circa 1890

December 29th….

bone structure

no coyotes here

except the one in the photograph from a magazine

it stares every time I open/close the door

a grandmother with twin girls walking along the pond spoke to me today

odd twins–different eggs–not identical

odder yet her conversing with me who ‘fits’ nowhere

except perhaps in a complex sentence

and next to you

long day

not satisfied with it

the day that is

I could go to Shakespeare in the park

but I do not

I could go to the malls

but I never do

I could shop

I do not unless something is needed–nothing is needed

there is no wind blowing hard making my shawl fly

stars were clear at 4 am this morning

rain is supposed to come for four days

I can not find Waterlily

a bike ride would be nice– to ride around the lake

an old bike

a bike without gears or handbrakes

just a simple affair with two wheels and pedals, a seat

a horse might be  better

coyotes calling

turtles in the roads

you talking in the darkness

the little piece is finished with its cloud birds and mountains, red hand stretching reaching

am viewed askance when I drop off small watercolors and elsewhere film

is it the mauve dress?

my ‘free’ in the day  being?

or just ‘me’ as usual not looking quite like whatever it is they expect me to look like

I don”t care, never have

their stuff that

not mine

but I do notice

have to–self defence

yet I know from how the young Russians came straight to me at the bus stop outside the airport in DC

was aware of them searching the waiting line for someone who might take them in hand, somehow, confirm their counting of bus fare bills, assure them the bus was right

I saw it in his and her faces as they looked at mine

bone structure old european enough to draw them like moths

the power of dna

confirmed their hopes, counted bills

on the way we spoke of Akhamatova, Pushkin, Bulgakov and how to not flash open wallets  in public, keeping the shoulder purse closed,

enough  to attract the interest of others

older black gentleman who silently offered four fives for their twenty

young Blake who knew the metro route and later kindly escorted them on red when I went blue

forty minutes, two young Russians, one older and one young African American man, and me

all converging in the back of a bus to the metro station


my face was old world and they found it in the new



Sweet Hearted Man


      owl watcher

      snow catcher

      color washer


      cloud grabber


     grass scenter

     water blower


       this one almost invisible

       almost lost

       tread only if you dare

       how strong is the heart

       too hoof weary to venture so far

       is the path too strange

      too far from the known range

      is this mystery too deep

     its steps too steep

    gaps too wide

    willing to forsake it for the deep sleep

Salt lick



Cassandra Complex

“We will be extinct!”

“I understand”

she says

while knowing

this will not be so

it will not come to pass

listens to this innermost pain

a reflection

both ways

this Cassandra knows speaking truth is never welcome

~even good is never well received

like the first

she stands on the precipice

waiting for the forthcoming fall

no denials

in stillness she has learned

pain can be transforming

joy can birth

even from the farthest fall into the abyss

she waits

in waiting finds patience

patience uncovers substance

substance discovers infinity

he seethes

she waits

semblance of calm surfaces


at what price come such revelations

she searches

~finds truth in what she has not spoken

~with it, relief~

the universe requires certain things



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