Piedmont-Avenue

A Lot Of Lights Tonight

2011-11-28T20:34:00.001-08:00

Halloween 2, Sierra Madre

2011-11-01T20:55:00.000-07:00

Halloween, Sierra Madre, CA

2011-10-31T23:17:00.000-07:00

Housing #2

2011-10-15T19:03:00.000-07:00

Why do we live precisely were we do?

David Bowie

2011-09-27T22:27:00.000-07:00

Three odd David Bowie artifacts.

This is actually a custom shirt hanging in a window in downtown L.A. It appears as though the shirt has vanished, leaving only a silkscreen image floating in air, or perhaps it is a banner waving from a traffic signal.

Bowie, summer 1974 at the former Universal Amphitheater in L.A.
A precursor to blurry cell phone concert photos. I took this with an S.L.R. from the back row.

A graven image of Bowie as a birthday cake.
That's the iconic Aladdin Sane cover rendered in frosting.

Gold Line Los Angeles

2011-09-17T11:10:00.000-07:00

Notes from the Gold Line.

The three men seated nearest to me on the Gold Line are variations of the same person; gaunt, weather-beaten and of indeterminate age. All have baseball caps and small grubby packs.

A couple of young guys are at the front of the car, wearing the same kind of caps. One has the brim reversed for variation. They both have ear buds jammed in, and their heads bob. They stare at the devices in their cupped palms, as if holding living creatures.

At Lake Station two girls in matching orange outfits get on. They speak streams of run - on sentences, augmented with texts -- or images that they flash each other from their phones. One dramatically repeats the phrase; "I'm serious".

"Looking Out, Not Down."

My attention turns again to the young men. They're slouched in the metal seats that are not designed for anyone to sit comfortably in. Cords dangle from their ears like fibrous growths. They look down -- rather than out. They could be kids anywhere in the world with their posture and ubiquitous technology. Plugged-in -- the cliche of their generation. The phrase "self -contained" also comes to mind. Cell phone, Ipods, lap top in a travel case -- and good to go.

Of course I have all that stuff too, but gadgets don't imbue me with the sense of speed, ease and mastery of life projected by the cyber- generation. I don't feel particularly empowered. Maybe they don't either. Who knows what they think? It's probably fundamentally the same for us all. Be it a Smart Phone or shabby pack; we hold them in desperate grips, like talismans.

I've always loved looking out windows. Windows in motion are even better. Life's right there. Does anybody notice that? What details will they remember for their memoirs? Are memoirs even necessary for humans living real - time - online reality shows? Past actions looping in perpetuity. Data awaiting harvest.

"Windows In Motion."

At Del Mar Station one of the "old" guys disembarks; he morphs into a bleached out phantom in the August sun. Have I just written his memoir by the simple act of noting his existence? Or is he noting; "a man of indeterminate age wearing a fedora and holding a camera on the Gold Line." that he will later add to the monumental "History of Everything" that he's secretly writing, that only he will ever read?

I wonder if those cheerleaders carelessly taking snapshots of themselves with their phones, inadvertently caught me and later will discover a stranger's face haunting their personal photos.

I exit at Hollywood and Vine. Emerging at street level, I switch my wallet to breast pocket for security; clutch camera to my gut -- and I'm good to go.

IMPORTANT INFORMATION

2011-09-09T23:04:00.000-07:00

Santa Fe, South Pasadena, Olga

2011-08-21T21:02:00.000-07:00

Westbound toward Union Station, past "Olga" circa 1970.
View from alley that parallels Hawthorne.
Can anyone ID the train?

My childhood friend Dave lived on Monterey Road between Orange Grove and Indiana Avenue. The Santa Fe line ran right behind his house. I remember a siding, a little shanty and a sign that said "Olga". All of the times I visited, over many years; I never tired of watching trains. Never. Though I'm not a hard core rail fan like some of my friends; I'm still drawn to rail travel, depots and related history. The sounds and rhythm. Railroads are musical and poetic.

There were no fences; us kids were always fooling around on the tracks. No adult supervision. The east bounds would throttle down as they approached Indiana Avenue. That distinctive change of pitch was thrilling. Wish I had a recording of it. All those grade crossings. It must have been crazy from an engineer's perspective.

Looking west toward Indiana Ave. Circa 1970
"Olga" was on left easement between ally and tracks.

Train tracks unleashed a daredevil spirit. How many times could you hop over both sets of tracks with the train approaching? You couldn't really get run over by a train. Air horn, huge head lamp, creosote aroma mixed with lingering diesel, as the last car disappeared just past Orange Grove Avenue, where the track curved sharply. Did the toilets really flush directly onto the tracks? What happened to the penny we put on the rail? The really bad boys placed much larger objects than pennies out there, but they never stopped the train.

View of "Olga" westbound from Gold Line train.
Sound barrier parallels alley.

What exactly was Olga; a telegraph shack, or shed for rail crews? I never knew for sure -- or maybe I did and forgot. I wish I had taken a photo of it before it was torn down.

Seeing the passengers in the windows of the shiny silver Santa Fe coaches always made me wish I was on the train. The only time I ever traveled that stretch while it was still standard gauge was in the early 1970's. For a brief period there were some private rail excursions around the time Amtrak took over. I don't remember who sponsored them. I remember one of the trips was called "Spring Time In Tehachapi" I've got some photos of those trips. All this returned to my memory when I was taking the Gold Line into L.A. the other day. Anybody out there remember this stuff?

Hollywood and Vine

2011-08-20T21:35:00.000-07:00

Bat Girls On Hollywood Blvd.

Vine St. Script.

Stretch Limo, Hollywood Blvd.

Our attention reflexively turns to view entrances
and exits from these distended vehicles.

Saint Paul, Minnesota

2011-08-16T08:43:00.000-07:00

VENISON

THAI RESTAURANT

DISH

Stillwater, Minnesota

2011-08-15T22:12:00.000-07:00

Mall Of America

2011-08-14T15:22:00.001-07:00

Bloomington, Minnesota

Frozen in place #1

A Rage, Garage, Gage

Happy Hamsters

Consumers Descending

Consumers Ascending

Frozen in place #2.

Modernity

Bettie Page

Chicken Outfit

Mall Of America, Minnesota by Dorian Speechinpiedmont

MN Motel Spectral TV

2011-08-13T21:19:00.000-07:00

Sierra Madre Dedicated Pages Up

2011-08-07T17:27:00.000-07:00

Hotel Shirley, December 2010

Finally, two of my promised trio of pages dedicated to my time in Sierra Madre, California are up. A mixture of photos and recollections that will find their form and coalesce (I hope) as I continue to add to this work-in-progress
Dorian's Sierra Madre Miscellany.
Hotel Shirley -- Sierra Madre.
I welcome comments, corrections and elucidations.

Cell Phone #2

2011-08-06T12:13:00.000-07:00

Copping a smoke and an a phone call.

As the parameters for appropriate public smoking etiquette are more clearly defined;
the inverse seems to be true regarding appropriate content of publicly conducted phone conversations.

Vine Street, Hollywood

2011-07-24T22:54:00.000-07:00

Street Musician, Hollywood, California by Dorian Speechinpiedmont

Housing

2011-07-20T23:40:00.000-07:00

Why do we live precisely where we do?

What factors determine the design of our structures?

How do our buildings, their conception and placement on the earth

effect our sense of being alive in world?

Two views of apartments abutting
a supermarket parking area.

Why do we reside at exactly this location?

Cell Phone

2011-07-10T22:45:00.000-07:00

"On the phone outside, while they play the beats inside."

Disemboweled Piano

2011-07-09T22:54:00.000-07:00

Piano guts found on a Los Angeles Street.

"a craft executed with skill and care"

"sound wrought by a trained and disciplined ear"

"materials gleaned with knowledge and assembled with care"

L.A. Street; Three Views

2011-07-07T22:19:00.000-07:00

Look Out The Window

Look In The Window

Look In The Mirror

Pool, July 4th, Altadena, CA

2011-07-05T21:09:00.000-07:00

goggles

lawn

curve

Motel

2011-06-26T15:23:00.000-07:00

Blue Stairs

Up To Code

Pasadena Surplus

2011-06-12T17:03:00.000-07:00

Surplus: EXCESS, surfeit, superabundance, superfluity, glut, profusion, plethora: residue, remains.

Empty Building, Pasadena, CA

ANTONYM : DEARTH

Abandoned Car Dealership, Pasadena, CA
Colorado Blvd. formerly "Car Dealer Row"

Church Photos

2011-05-25T23:01:00.000-07:00

Abandoned House

2011-05-21T23:17:00.000-07:00

Abandoned House
Los Angeles

This photo was inspired by the images on
100 Abandoned Houses .

Signs in Los Angeles

2011-05-19T20:07:00.000-07:00

An unseasonably cool and clear May

in Southern California.

Perhaps the only example of a rodent
as a successful restaurant mascot.

Storefront Church.

A "freestanding" department store,
relic from the 1960s.

A billboard infested area east
of downtown Los Angeles

Rialto Theater, South Pasadena

2011-05-17T21:03:00.000-07:00

Without a doubt, I spent more time in the Rialto than any other theater over the years. I inevitably encountered friends and acquaintances in the lobby, which has always been part of the cinema experience. As a boy, I saw the original Love Bug on my first visit. I seem to remember Let It Be as a double bill with The Magic Christian when both were first run movies. Later when the the theater became a "revival house", I saw Let It Be again, as well as countless films of all descriptions. There were also series featuring Hitchcock, Truffaut and other directors.

The Rialto was always scruffy -- now it's a tragic wreck. Moribund for several years now; it seems unlikely to return from the dead. I photographed it this weekend with my iPod.

Standing next to the Rialto's ghostly ticket booth, it occurred to me that I could access virtually any movie on my iPod and view it on the spot. However, this capability is totally devoid of charm. In fact, it's repellent.

Even when I visited the Rialto by myself, it was a social act.

Shrine #2

2011-05-01T23:12:00.000-07:00

Shrine
Pasadena/Highland Park Border

Different view.
What is usually hidden is revealed,
known in construction lingo as;
"demo", or "partial tear down"
When rebuilt as "rehab",
or "upgrade" or "up to code"
Wood, Metal, Plaster
all of our earth.

Why not shrine?

Mobile

2011-04-27T23:41:00.000-07:00

Glass, Metal, Stucco, Light

Pryne Blo Fan

2011-04-25T21:39:00.000-07:00

A kitchenette with aqua counter. The Pryne Blo Fan mounted vertically in the wall and the Thermador two burner electric range.

The Pryne Blo Fan is stylishly offset by the lopsided
twin gyres on the Thermador mini-range.

To the poet the name Blo Fan suggests the word "Blow Fly"; but the real treat is the catchphrase, "rhymes with FINE" embossed on the front, like a vintage locomotive boiler plate.

Pryne (rhymes with FINE)

The attentive blogger spotted this classic kitchenette in the staff room of a public facility and documented it before it was consigned to oblivion.

Thermedor (rhymes with....)

Shrine

2011-04-18T22:12:00.000-07:00

Glendale, California

HAPPY SCIENCE

2011-04-17T20:17:00.000-07:00

"Happy Science"

Happy Science

Re: Prosperity

2011-04-16T09:21:00.000-07:00

As you repose in the vanishing commons,
take comfort in the fact
that you are bereft of nearly everything
that anyone would wish to take from you.

Random Woman #5 (Urban Public Park)

2011-04-14T23:01:00.000-07:00

In the park, a young woman comes up to me and asks to use my cell phone "to call a friend to pick her up." She doesn't have money for the pay phone. A person without a cell phone is almost as rare as a public phone these days. Addicts, dealers, prostitutes or homeless people are the likely users of old- fashioned pay phones. This is my reflexive judgment.

She thanks me as I dump coins into her cupped palm. Then she walks to the phone mounted next to the door of the public facility. Amazingly, it's actually functioning. Just before I enter the library, I notice the big black purse slung over her shoulder has abrasions like animal claw marks all down its side.

When I emerge from the building, the woman is standing in the parking lot. She thanks me again. I pass near her, just as she's yanking her sweatshirt off. It's getting hot. Her T-shirt rides up a bit as well, revealing a brief flash of belly and hip curve.

Driving away I think about karma; specifically how each thought and action spawns a corresponding effect. I absurdly try to imagine what specific consequences the handout I gave her -- at that particular moment will have on her fate -- or mine for that matter.

Impossible to know. A young woman carrying a shabby purse. Then I think of the Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara, gazing with compassion on the suffering of the world; as I resume the ordinary tasks of my day.

Red Drapery

2011-04-13T19:19:00.000-07:00

That which is reflected in front of the curtain.
What is concealed behind it?

The Americana Mall, Glendale, CA

2011-04-12T20:32:00.000-07:00

The Americana, Always Welcome

Photos Shot This Evening

2011-04-08T22:23:00.000-07:00

Restaurant Patio

Heat Lamp

Cocktails

Not Apparent

More Found Art

2011-03-31T22:37:00.000-07:00

Sketches and epigrams

found in a discarded book.

Cyr's Fifth Reader

She is not the only girl.

Proclamation.

Flopfooted.

Skates Like A Turkey

Piedmont Avenue Blog One Year Old!

2011-03-22T20:59:00.000-07:00

Piedmont and 41st Street
Oakland, California
November, 1978

To Whom It May Concern;

I'm still
strolling Piedmont Avenue,

alert to sights and sounds.

Bewildered by calamity -
Astonished by beauty -

Noting with care,
things gone and things
still here.

Thanks for stopping by.

Dorian

Piedmont and 41st
March, 2011
(Courtesy of Mark P.)

Be A Billionaire

2011-03-21T23:08:00.000-07:00

"Just be a billionaire".

My secret Christmas tree

2011-03-17T23:56:00.000-07:00

I walk past this everyday at lunch time.
I think it was placed here especially for me.

Sheep May Safely Graze

2011-03-16T21:12:00.000-07:00

To Whom It May Concern:

"Contented Sheep"

"Removing the rods increases..."

"Silhouetted against the clouds..."

We now can see clearly...

2011-03-14T20:24:00.000-07:00

Clown Painting

2011-03-09T21:15:00.000-08:00

"Stillborn Life With Clown"
(Thanks to Mark P. for the title)

"His hair is green, his nose is red,

and he wears crazy britches,

His toy balloons and macaroons

keep everyone in stitches."

"Squeegee The Happy Clown"

A song from my irony- free childhood.

"Kitschy The Creepy Clown"

Found Art

2011-03-08T21:46:00.000-08:00

This collage was found glued inside the book "Choice Readings", edited by Robert McLean Cumnock.

A.C. McClurg and CO. 1925

"Be An Artist".

EFFUSIVE OROTUND

"This kind of Orotund is used in the rendition of all grand, sublime, and reverential styles. It is the appropriate voice of prayer, of all the prayer services of the church, of nearly all hymns -- since they are but prayers in verse -- of the grand passages of the Prophets and Psalms, as well as the sublime utterances of the Revelation. It is also the appropriate voice for the expression of all emotions that are excited by the grandeur, vastness, or splendor of natural objects. The prevailing pitch of the voice is low, and in profound awe, despair and horror, we descend to the lowest pitch." page 291.

Trash Tree

2011-03-06T10:04:00.000-08:00

Homeless

2011-03-05T18:57:00.000-08:00

This camper has been on the periphery of my consciousness for a few years. During the course of my work day I visit the same lot where it has often been parked over the past couple of years. Many homeless people congregate in this area.
Recently it was tagged for removal; having remained in the same spot for two weeks. By chance, I arrived at the same time the police and tow crew were preparing to remove it.

An officer opened the side door and ventured inside ... "They know who this belongs to." he told me, "They believe he's passed on." However, no body was found inside, just trash.

Who was this person? What sort of life did he live? What circumstances led to him to spending his final years in a filthy R.V. ?

"Recreational vehicles" begin as status emblems and can transfigure into rolling hovels of desperation; windows clotted with filthy junk. They become shelter for those hanging by a thread; living on the streets -- if not literally in the street. The "mobile home" is also a fantasy of freedom. Americans are obsessed with the word freedom. Maybe this individual enjoyed more "freedom" than most. Maybe he still does.

If in fact this person is still alive, he nonetheless inhabits the zone of the "living dead", invisible in plain sight.

These images are ordinary. This could be any town or city in the United States.

If in fact this person is dead. Did I ever encounter him? I wonder if we exchanged glances or perhaps a few words? I don't remember. Does this person have any living relatives? Will these photos be the sole testimonial to a fellow human being's existence?

Hit Songwriter

2011-02-22T22:46:00.000-08:00

Unpaid, Uncredited

Found today in a parking lot.

Detritus, Scary Kids and Bilious Bunnies

2011-02-20T12:43:00.000-08:00

The chronically neglected Record Odyssey has been updated

with crumbling relics from a doomed civilization.

Czeslaw Milosz

2011-02-08T22:29:00.000-08:00

Foam Mushrooms
Glendale, CA

Distillation

Sorrow, grief, self-reproach, regret, shame, anxiety, desperation--

and thus every day--and the poetry spun out of all this is clear, solid, concise,

nearly classical. Who can understand it?

If only not to hide. For whoever pretends he does not have that other,

dark side exposes himself to the vengeance of the

spinners of Fate.

Czeslaw Milosz from Road-Side Dog, 1998

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

The Nels Cline Singers

2011-02-07T21:35:00.000-08:00

Getty Center, Twilight 2/5/11

Not his fretboard dexterity,

though we're entranced by his guitar.

Not all those crazy cubes

though we dig the technology,

Nels plays beyond chops,

beyond effects...

Nimble stumble -step, crouch-down

finger stabs floor level button,

careens ... not out of

control - but possessed.

Sudden shift, we hear Jim Hall,

no imitation, it's Nels

all those lessons from the masters...

Kinetic Scott,

arm and elbow angle drumstick blur,

subtle Scott, playing

the sandwich space between

his high hat.

Trevor, cheek and body

up against curvy

contrabass, slap and tickle,

buzzing thrums

and aged wood sonorities

Yuka's digits connect keys,

dreamscapes -- spice and temper

heavy male metal.

Sample Queen and Improv King,

in binary, organic, human dance.

The Singers enter the psychic zone,

drop into a glittering looped groove...

Ah - snared in an infinite sonic thrall

like shimmering night traffic pulsing through

Sepulveda pass.

The poet's response to Nels Cline Singers performance at the Getty Center 2/5/2011

2 Months Salary

2011-01-30T11:48:00.000-08:00

Golden Gate Bridge

2011-01-19T20:47:00.000-08:00

Adjunct Orange
G & J Golden Gate Bridge 1977
With Sierra Design 60/40 parkas.

Mantel Art

2011-01-18T21:14:00.000-08:00

"Hoof and Beak Unease"

A little mantel display I created back in the 1990's.

Beadles Cafeteria Pasadena, California 2003

2011-01-15T11:42:00.000-08:00

Despite what it says on the tray, this was taken at Beadle's Cafeteria. It was my grandfather's favorite eatery.
The Pasadena Cafeteria closed first. Now Beadles is defunct as well.

San Francisco Window Dressing

2011-01-12T21:17:00.000-08:00

Blues Song

2011-01-06T20:38:00.000-08:00

Detail extracted from an old photo.

"Wine all drunk, cork long popped, still screwed on baby- it's all screwed -up - and hung on our sorry wall..."

Lyrics to a yet to be completed blues.

Poem

2011-01-05T21:27:00.000-08:00

Rain on the overturned

metal pot
sounds

this evening

as a gently plucked

string,

not as a tapped drum.

January 2010

And The Rest Is History!

2011-01-04T18:56:00.000-08:00

The rest of what? My tuna sandwich?

When people use that lazy phrase they are inflating themselves, trying to hide something - or suffer poor recall.

It's all about being specific. Describe exactly what happened or offer a cogent image.

Never surrender to vague cliche.

Trust the image. I mean image as embodiment of essence, event or truth; not the degraded Internet/ entertainment version, as a cheap or fraudulent representation. Nor the cult of manipulation "Just Photoshop it." dictum.

Trust the image, as James Hillman might say, to show us what IT wishes to reveal.

I'm fond of appending captions of course, but I endeavor to choose my images with care.

These are some thoughts I have as I add new posts to Piedmont Ave.

OK, one more thing.

"Blog" and "Blogger" stick in my craw. They sound so adolescent, like a failed pun on bog or clog.

As far as I'm concerned I write (not blog) a journal, (not blog) though I'm resigned to the fact that these neologisms will outlive me.

Norwegian Folk Music

2011-01-03T19:30:00.000-08:00

A leaf on the rain-soaked sidewalk caught my eye.

Today I listened to Norwegian Folk Music as I navigated the rainy streets. It was "appropriate" for the weather and mood. Of course we degrade the spirit of any genuine music when we use it as a "soundtrack" for daily activities. Nonetheless, this music remained beautiful, moving and appropriate.

Though created for social various social functions, this music is neither frivolous nor indulgent. However neither is it austere - the word appropriate comes to mind again.

It's expressed completely - especially by the Hardanger Fiddle, the traditional Norwegian violin, with its sympathetic strings. Those drones seem to access something subconscious and universal.

Though I'm listening out of context; this music has the quality of the best blues music. It is a specific yet elusive craft. Deep astringent melodies flowing with and against strong rhythms. Bold, yet understated.

A shot of wind, ice and snow.

Seasons Greetings From Piedmont Avenue

2011-01-02T12:49:00.000-08:00

Sierra Madre Blvd, Christmastime

2010-12-20T23:42:00.000-08:00

Driving Eastbound on S.M. Blvd. with Keith.

December in Sierra Madre at the corner of Sierra Madre Blvd. and Lima. They certainly are in the holiday spirit at Kentucky Fried Chicken. Back before it morphed into KFC ; look at all those syllables!

It always seemed out of a place in Sierra Madre. But it was there for a long time - but is now, to use a Kurt Vonnegut phrase; Defunct.

This was my first winter in the Hotel Shirley so my guess is K and I were returning from Pasadena after dining some place a little bit tastier. There were few eateries in S.M. back then.

As the rain falls, I prepare my dedicated Sierra Madre Pages. History half-remembered, wholeheartedly idiosyncratic - with no skimping on the syllables as prescribed by the Piedmont School of Thought.

Hotel Shirley - Pinney House- Sierra Madre

2010-12-19T20:26:00.000-08:00

Weird confluence of two former residences. Drab pre-rehab Hotel Shirley, and flowery facsimile of post- Rose Parade Pinney House parked on Kersting Court, early 1980's.

Hotel Shirley a few weeks ago.

A recent evening in Sierra Madre, California impelled the author to riffle through his archives. A page dedicated to my time in this small L.A. suburb shall be forthcoming.

Vacaville Water Pump

2010-12-11T19:56:00.000-08:00

Toward A History Of Needs

2010-10-31T23:24:00.000-07:00

I borrowed the title from Ivan Illich.

This was my "convenient" supermarket stop on the way home from work. It was also was particularly depressing - even for a supermarket. I passed figures slumped against the outside wall - the walkway wet and rank. Then the charity tables at the entrance. "God bless you..." always an admonishment as I walked heedlessly by.

Inside was claustrophobic, sad and crowded with impatient people.

A few images; A pair of unkempt metal tureens of soup on a steam table.

A flower section with "Happy Birthday" and "Get Well" balloons" stuck on the ceiling.

An odd little movie rental machine.

The new supermarket rising from the rubble will doubtless be bigger, brighter and serve us all better.
It will probably have some self-checkout machines -to reduce staffing.

Once a shoplifter dashed out the doors activating the alarm. Staff members (who had obviously been trained to work as a team) pursued and apprehended the man. As I was returning to my car, he was down on the the parking lot pavement -surrounded. I had an image of " a fox run to ground."

My favorite cashier was possibly native American. She wore stunning silver jewelry both stylish and dignified - that was beautifully incongruous with her uniform and whatever smiley-faced slogan button she was compelled to wear.

The fallen plaster adorns the small palm, like a hair shirt, during its wretched final days of existence.

TOWARD A HISTORY OF NEEDS

The "Market Place" exists for fulfillment of needs.

And just whose needs might those be?

The huddled destitute,

The cup rattling charities,

We "consumers" in our impatient rush,

The stockholders of the corporation,

The regional manager who'll cut the ribbon for the grand reopening,

The CEO of the whole shebang.

The rats picking through the wreckage?

Julia Morgan; Piedmont and Pasadena

2010-09-19T20:38:00.000-07:00

I was living in a solipsistic haze on Piedmont Avenue in Oakland, California. Architect Julia Morgan and the buildings she designed were occluded by this fog, though I literally walked by them every day.

As a kid I had taken a tour of Hearst Castle, her most famous design work. I'm sure the tour guide mentioned her name, but it was just another "fact" to forget.

Years later, I was living a mere block from the Turner Shopping Center that she designed on Piedmont and 40th. I strolled by it many times, maybe into it as well -- though I don't remember what business resided there. At the time it was just another building to me.

I loved walking north to the end of Piedmont past the Chapel of the Chimes, yet another one of her works, and up into the Mountain View Cemetery.

In fact she is buried in this famed cemetery, which on clear days offers spectacular views of San Francisco Bay.

Ms. Morgan designed four homes on Berkeley's Piedmont Avenue and eleven in the city of Piedmont. Her YWCA Buildings are also celebrated; including the YWCA in Pasadena, which I often drive by. Recently I was perusing a book and all of these threads of connection were belatedly revealed to me.

The Pasadena YWCA. Those awful third floor louvered windows, probably added in the 1960s.

Buildings; coveted for functionality, beauty or investment.
Cared for or neglected.
Or a place of respite for the homeless.

Julia Morgan 1872-1957
I finally see her work after heedlessly passing it by all these years.

Two Views

2010-09-16T23:01:00.000-07:00

Record Odyssey Revived!

2010-09-13T21:19:00.000-07:00

Quickly moribund following its inception- it's been infused it with stunning new images...
Record Odyssey

Art For Sale

2010-09-06T21:35:00.000-07:00

Value Added Free Market Economics.

Art/ Wash.

Priced to sell on L.A. street.

Too many angles.

Cannery Row Dedicated Page

2010-09-05T22:18:00.000-07:00

I have launched another page devoted to a specific theme: Cannery Row in Monterey, California.

As with the Bunker Hill page, it features all original material seen only by a handful of people until now.

History seems to be a strong current at the moment, but there's no telling what I'll post next...

New Bunker Hill, Los Angeles Dedicated Page

2010-09-04T23:16:00.000-07:00

I've just created my first dedicated page featuring newly unearthed family photos of historic Bunker Hill in Los Angeles, California.

They include the last days of the original Angels Flight and some final shots of the last two mansions before they were destroyed.

Few have ever seen these, just click on Dorian's Bunker Hill Los Angeles Page on the right under "Pages".

Family Home, Arcadia CA

2010-08-23T21:33:00.000-07:00

"Years pass in the blink of an eye on the pink and grey linoleum floor."

The blogger reflects on the sale of his family home.

In my room shortly before I moved to Piedmont Ave.

What inspired this floor covering choice? Makes me think chipped beef.

My parents' home for more than 50 years. Sold this summer.
Who will remember all the life lived here?

Random Woman #4 (Chinatown)

2010-08-22T10:46:00.000-07:00

I almost deleted this test shot taken from the train.

I ride the light rail (Gold Line) from the suburbs into downtown Los Angeles. A young couple are seated in front of me. I instantly like them. They both have "old" film SLR cameras. Both have a sense of personal style, but not overdone. I'm struck by the calm and lack of nervous distraction they seem to possess. For the entire ride neither takes digital device to hand. Not even cellphone! Instead, they talk quietly to each other or silently look out the window. Neither use their cameras, but look intently, like artists. They both point, as the train crosses the concrete constrained Los Angeles River. That's when I take a shot with my little digital camera, and another of a large building very close to the tracks as we approach Chinatown.

We all disembark at Union Station. I head for the connecting subway (Red Line) to Hollywood and Vine, they move in the opposing direction towards the entrance. I almost catch them to complement them on their cameras. I hesitate, sparing us all the gratuitous comment. I hope they have creative fulfilling lives.

The subject found her way into the photo of an inattentive photographer

Tonight editing my photo of that Chinatown building I discover the woman's face, which I inadvertently caught as a reflection in the train window, but she appears instead as a spectral face gazing out of the window of the building. My test shot is chaotic and uninteresting and she was only revealed during editing, when I started paying attention.

Moonlight State Beach Summer 2010

2010-08-21T00:25:00.000-07:00

Natural and Man Made Materials

Encinitas, California August 2010

2010-08-17T23:23:00.000-07:00

"I wander 'round in a daze/I wonder what my skeleton weighs"
from Lying Again
by Peter Blegvad

Memento mori; Even on vacation.

NOTHING

2010-08-13T23:03:00.000-07:00

Tuli Kupferberg 1923-2010

"Marriage is nothing,
(ain't divorce something), having kids is nothing...
they all grow up and leave you anyway,
lost sons and daughters of NOTHING..."

" You mean this is it?

"This is It."

"OY VEY!"

Nothing by Tuli Kupferberg,
Performed by the Fugs October, 1997,
From the Harry Smith Connection, Smithsonian/Folkways

The Fugs

Smithsonian/Folkways

Robbie Basho

2010-08-12T15:04:00.000-07:00

Bonn is Supreme, Berkeley is Indifferent

Guitarist Robbie Basho (1940-1986) remained obscure during his lifetime. However , his enduring achievement was creating a repertoire for the steel string guitar, particularly the 12 string, via alternate tunings that is both personal and otherworldly. His music at its most realized inhabits a zone beyond specific style or technique. He sometimes sang; in an almost operatic manner; lyrics as overwrought as his music was subtle. To a greater extent than even John Fahey and Leo Kottke, with whom he's associated he created a hybrid style that is scarcely derivative of its root sources; even his "ragas" succeeded beyond mere pastiche.

Yet he remains a paradox. Opinions from peers and listeners paint him as spiritually profound, or a grandiose poser, or misunderstood innovator or hippy oddball.

Perhaps he was all those things. To my ears his music embodies both stark beauty and a forced (almost comical) loftiness; odd qualities that can't be separated or reconciled. Paradox indeed. Daniel Robinson was adopted at an early age, learned blues and folk guitar styles like many of his generation, before reinventing himself as Robbie Basho in the 1960's. He first recorded for John Fahey's Takoma Records. But unlike even eccentric Fahey, Basho was so uncompromising or so lacking a B.S. detector (or lacking a Christmas album ) that his entire career was marginal at best.

In the early 80's I was browsing at Leopold Records in Berkeley. A man entered, announced himself as Robbie Basho at the counter and inquired about buying some of his old L.P.s The sad implications of this request impelled me to withdraw from earshot. He left empty handed. Not long after, my friend Charles was part of an audience so meagre that Basho cancelled the concert on the spot. This humiliation in his adopted city of Berkeley, California illustrates how non- mainstream artists are valued in America, and their possibly inflated expectations of acceptance.

Which brings us to one of several currently available releases of the guitarist: Bonn ist Surpreme, Live at the Kulturforum, Bonn, Germany, 11/24/80. Thanks to the efforts of Glenn Jones ( a fine guitarist himself), we are treated to Basho at a happier time, playing a strong set to an appreciative audience in Germany. This concert serves as a good general survey of his work. It features compositions from his early Takoma releases through his later label associations. It compensates for so-so fidelity with verve and coherent presentation. Plus it features excellent liner notes by Jones and others who knew the man. Hearing this music; the opening of "The Grail and the Lotus" is a rush of gravitas - his rendering of harmonics- the way they ring out. This is why guitarists dig him, and why he is an inspiration to a new generation of players who have rescued his music from oblivion.

And he sings as well. I dislike the term "acquired taste". Listeners will take it or leave it. Though it is interesting to note how rock and folk fans distrust this sort of vocalizing as "inauthentic" while accepting strained, limited range singing as somehow more real.

Addendum: It occurs to me that Basho's expansive tendencies could have created a superb guitar/voice rendition of Whitman's "Song of Myself". Too bad he never got a chance.

Bo'Weavil www.boweavilrecordings.com

Encouraging Words

2010-08-11T23:01:00.000-07:00

Robert Aitken 1917-2010

A brilliant and incisive mind and words I return to.

"When I was a teacher of creative writing, I had a hard time persuading my students to treat their first drafts as something preliminary. They thought of them as something sacred that could not be touched. With this emotional investment, they were unable to finish their work.
We all have this problem. When we do something, we feel obliged to defend our action. when we say something, we will then argue from those words as though they formed an irrefutable premise.
Yet our teacher Shakyamuni is still doing zazen and really is only halfway to complete enlightenment. Keep yourself open to correction, open to change. This is the Buddha Tao."

1982

"Do you deplore waste? Live by cultivating. Cultivating begins with the agent of realization, the one drawing this breath. Use this breath.
Do you deplore violence? Live by nurturing. Nurturing begins with this spoon or with this friend.
Thus you ground yourself in awareness and compassion. Decisions about Right Livelihood and social action arise here".

1979

When your eye is upon joy and misery, you are a person of joy and misery. When your eye is upon realization and ignorance, you are a person of realization and ignorance. But when you see clearly that all these concepts are transparent, with nothing to them at all, then you are a person of torch ginger.

From Encouraging Words by Robert Aitken, Pantheon Books, 1993

Robert Aitken Website

NEON SIGN

2010-08-10T00:45:00.000-07:00

"Neon Lights, Shimmering Neon Lights"
Kraftwerk

I live just off a busy street; a highway superseded by local freeways. It possesses a generic, terminal ugliness. Fast food joints thrive like weeds next to empty storefronts, discount furniture outlets and massage parlors. Walking down the sidewalk I could be almost anywhere in America. A poison tawdriness is accented by signs. Crass, garish signs advertising nail salons, cell phones, cut-rate insurance, paycheck advances, palm readers, discount mattresses, acupuncture etc. There is even a business that specialises in banners and signs and for all I know is responsible for many that I see as I stroll. This is my favorite.

I could be almost anywhere. But I am not walking down Piedmont Avenue.

SPA

2010-08-05T22:26:00.000-07:00

A spa is a vessel for fantasy, what fantasy does this evoke?

Cannery Row Montery, California

2010-08-03T22:26:00.000-07:00

"When the war came to Monterey and to Cannery Row everybody fought it more or less, in one way or another...the canneries themselves fought the war by getting the limit taken off fish and catching them all. It was done for patriotic reasons, but that didn't bring the fish back."
John Steinbeck, Sweet Thursday, 1954, Viking Press

Cannery Row summer 1974. The last cannery closed in 1973, though the sardine population had been decimated decades before. Structures tottered on a grotty cusp, abandoned by those who wrung out their last profits and left to collapse into the sea, until the next set of business men moved in to make them "viable" again. Tourism was nascent; a few restaurants and shops.

"Rust Bloom"

2010-07-31T20:23:00.000-07:00

This photo was taken in an alley busy with foot traffic; students (including those studying photography), homeless people and those taking a short cut to Mc Donalds.

How many passersby notice this? I call it a "Bloom", because there is a sense of "becoming" about it. However, it is actually no more "Bloom" than it is "Decay". It is simply change; the interaction of myriad elements and conditions.

The Saga Continues

2010-07-30T23:10:00.000-07:00

Some years ago there was a clerk at the local Trader Joe's who always greeted me with the phrase;
"The Saga Continues."
This was the first sentence that she ever spoke to me -- and the only words of hers that I remember; as she no longer works at this market.
She was a truly charming young woman and
I always looked forward to her routine salutation -- which never seemed forced or sarcastic.

I hope she's doing well, wherever she is.

This photo has no direct relation to my recollection. However, words and images act as mnemonic triggers for one another -- and also create their own pleasing synergy -- or at least they often have that effect on me.

Piedmont Avenue, Oakland, California.

2010-07-29T22:17:00.000-07:00

"Evening fog moves up Piedmont Avenue, a gray scarf pulled over the roof tops, toward Mountain View Cemetery..."

Portrait of the Blogger as a young poet, Piedmont Avenue, Oakland California.

Neon Sign

2010-07-27T20:57:00.000-07:00

Blue Heart, Cup Of Plenty

2010-07-20T23:36:00.000-07:00

This is a watercolor from 1999. " A Blue Heart Is A Cup Of Plenty" Lyrics to a yet to be written blues song...

Roper Range Polaroids Early 1990's

2010-07-06T00:13:00.000-07:00

My grandmother purchased this Roper Range in the 1960's. It's technological gimmick was: THE BURNER WITH THE BRAIN.

Decades later when I took over her kitchen, it was brain dead and burned out.

Chino, California

2010-07-05T10:10:00.000-07:00

A collage from the early 1980's, incorporating a postcard from Chino, California. They used to graze Black Angus. Now it's urban sprawl.

Low- Rent Information

2010-07-03T11:03:00.000-07:00

This classic Jim Harrison sentence, written in a pre-internet context, could well describe most bloggers and on- line reviewers.

"He owned an imponderable urge to both create and consume low-rent information, an urge balanced by his superbly inaccurate observations. "

From the novel "Warlock" by Jim Harrison
Delacorte press/Seymour Lawrence, 1981

Just found out about forthcoming book/DVD
The etiquette of the wild, collaboration between Harrison and Gary Snyder, two writers from my personal inspirational pantheon.

Or to quote the title of a Snyder poem - High quality information.

Cotati California 1976

2010-06-29T18:53:00.000-07:00

Buttface --your portal to a never to be repeated time of musical and creative endeavor in Sonoma County California.

Aircastlemusic.com

Unused Knives, June 2010

2010-06-21T00:06:00.000-07:00

Top Kill

2010-05-30T10:27:00.000-07:00

Angel's Flight Tickets

2010-05-25T00:07:00.000-07:00

Tickets from Angels Flight. My father took me to ride the incline railroad on what was probably the last day operation. I remember the TV news was there. Until then it had run almost continuously since 1901.

Weird trip to the top of the decimated hill; weeds, shrubs and a few scruffy trees along the right of way - the only vegetation left. Most of the old buildings were gone, but construction of the Music Center was well underway.

Final rides were free . They must have handed out the tickets as souvenirs. Don't know why 1967 was printed on them. It was May 1969 when it was shut down, with the promise it would return.

Happily, these two tickets have survived all these years in a scrap book.

Angles Flight recently reopened, after many delays and a tragic accident .

Here's a link updating the Angels Flight Saga.

Angels Flight, Bunker Hill Los Angeles

2010-05-23T21:57:00.000-07:00

A blurry dreamlike snapshot from car window on Hill Ave. Waning days of the 1960's; not much left. I got hooked on Bunker Hill after reading an article in the L.A. Times titled "Mansions Doomed To Demolition" about the two remaining historic houses, "The Salt Box" and "The Castle", both on Bunker Hill Ave.

Bunker Hill history, lore and images proved irresistible for an odd, depressive kid, out- of -sync with my own time. Plus that quirky funicular, Angels Flight. I poured over the magical Bunker Hill Los Angeles by Leo Politi.

Later, I learned of the hill's connection to writers including Raymond Chandler and John Fante. It was also used as a location for many movies. Criss Cross, Kiss Me Deadly and The Exiles were all filmed there.

I rode Angels Flight on it's last day. I also visited the two "Doomed Mansions" which were saved at the eleventh hour. They were moved with great fanfare to Highland Park; charter members of Heritage Square.

Vandals promptly burned them to the ground.

Bunker Hill itself was eradicated; many of the streets were obliterated , along with literally every structure. The topography was shaved, so not even the original contours remain.

I stumbled upon this terrific Bunker Hill blog. http://www.onbunkerhill.org

Super Furry Gatefold

2010-05-12T23:12:00.000-07:00

No, not The Super Furry Animals, but Ballet Foklorico De Mexico, a lavish production from "La Voz Del Amo"

Velveteen, and I like to pet it.

I've created a new blog, Record Odyssey- as a kind of adjunct (add junk) to Piedmont Ave. It will become a gallery of sorts (and justification perhaps) for my accumulated disks, packaging and ephemera languishing on shelves and in boxes.

John Fahey/Blind Joe Death

2010-05-10T21:18:00.000-07:00

John Fahey's Days Have Gone By, on his own Takoma label, is the album I most strongly associate with my time in Oakland, and remains my favorite.

Drinking wine from my Totemic Oakland Mug, gazing out my window on to rainy Piedmont Ave.

However, I discovered this perplexing reference to Piedmont on this second edition of his legendary first album, which I acquired a few years ago.

There's quite a Fahey cult, and while his Takoma albums continue to occupy a numinous niche in my L.P. collection; a few face to face encounters with the guy lifted me from the thrall of his myth.

He's a favorite with the collectors as well; and while I seem cursed with that same sort of pathology, I resist identifying myself as such.

I also discovered this fine blog devoted to Mr. Fahey. http://johnfahey.blogspot.com

Updated 8/17/11

John Fahey Stomping Tonight On The Piedmont/Berkeley Border

2010-05-10T20:48:00.000-07:00

Add caption

This is the second edition of Fahey's coveted John Fahey/Blind Joe Death album. I believe he was living in Berkeley at this time and though the first edition of this album was recorded in Maryland; Takoma Records as an actual entity began in Berkeley with ED Denson.

Does anyone know what the "Piedmont" in "Piedmont/Takoma" label refers to?
I am aware of the "Piedmont" blues style, but is it possible that this is a reference to the city of Piedmont next to Oakland or Piedmont Ave. in Oakland? Or is it Piedmont Ave. in Berkeley, also known as "Fraternity Row"?
Or something entirely more obscure?

It was removed from subsequent editions.

This is a new pressing that must be a bootleg.

Updated 8/17/11

Are there any Fahey scholars out there who know the answer? http://johnfahey.com/

Forgotten Art Exhumed After Many Years

2010-05-06T21:06:00.000-07:00

Bukowski At The Golden Bear, Summer 1976

2010-04-18T09:08:00.000-07:00

L.A. Express backed Joni Mitchell, Alphonse Mouzon was in Weather Report, Steve Martin -- well this was just before he became really big and ceased playing dives.

The "Golden Bear" was a scuzzy little club in Huntington Beach, CA. It was right across the street from the Pacific Ocean. Everyone from Janis Joplin to Stephane Grappelli played there. It was demolished in the 1980's.

I saw Bukowski here twice. Once I sat next to his girlfriend, "Cupcakes" (her just- published a memoir is Bukowski's Scarlet). I've seen a Bukowski documentary featuring black and white video of that same reading; Cupcakes, my friends and I would be visible in the front row but for the poor image quality.

The second reading I attended, he managed to misplace his glasses, as he fumbled around in his pockets, he delivered a classic spontaneous line. "Senility has arrived."

Charles Bukowski

2010-04-03T21:56:00.000-07:00

During a period of my young life, I was held in his thrall.

I Encountered him six times. Saw him at three readings and in as many chance meetings A strange figure; international literary star, practically invisible in his own home town. To actually have contact with a hero, in my own city... How many get to experience this? As we move away from print, will there be any literary heroes?

No writer of note has traded so heavily on persona, or so vigorously recycled the same material.

Yet, his strongest work can still be moving.

Here's my homage:

Charles Bukowski was not Charles Bukowski

I was not Charles Bukowski,

21 years old attempting poetry, drinking

trying so hard to be real, I couldn't be

more fake. Charles Bukowski was

so fake, he couldn't be more real, drinking

rewriting the same riffs, over again

as poetry, prose and anecdotes --

Both of us obsessed with authenticity.

I'm standing at the corner of Rosemead Blvd.

and California,

Unincorporated L.A. County

I see a

sports car, top down -- ugly bastard seated inside

Buk and I for real.