
Mt. Lemmon Western Sneezeweed — Image by kenne
The Dominant Themes of Life
Time present
Time past
Time Future
Timelessness
Identity
Memory
Consciousness
Humility
Place
Love
— kenne
Mt. Lemmon Western Sneezeweed — Image by kenne
The Dominant Themes of Life
Time present
Time past
Time Future
Timelessness
Identity
Memory
Consciousness
Humility
Place
Love
— kenne
Little Cactus On Mt. Lemmon — Photo-Artistry by kenne
The most visible creators I know of are
those artists whose medium is life itself.
The ones who express the inexpressible —
without brush, hammer, clay, or guitar.
They neither paint nor sculpt — their
medium is being. Whatever their presence
touches has increased life. They see and
don’t have to draw. They are the artists of
being alive.
— J. Stone
Turned Around — Image by kenne
Turned around,
Here am I.
Knowing how,
Not the why.
Young in heart
Old in age.
Feeling the itch,
Pacing the cage.
Inner peace,
Knowing the thou.
Learning to write
Thesis of now.
Turned around,
Found love.
Living the moment,
Free as a dove.
Still learning,
When to talk.
Listening for,
Beat of the walk.
Reality is now,
Truth in the heart.
Singing the knowledge,
Requiem to smart.
Turned around,
Found beauty in art.
Traveling the future,
With Dylan and Descartes
— kenne
Texas Johnny Brown at Houston’s Shakespeare Pub — Photo-Artistry by kenne
(Click on Texas Johnny Brown to see archived blog posting on TJB)
— Eugene Chadbourne Source: allmusic.com
Mastro’s Ocean Club Gourmet Restaurant In The Shops at Crystals at Aria Resort and Casino — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Many are making love. Up above, the angels
in the unshaken ether and crystal of human longing
are braiding one another’s hair, which is strawberry blond
and the texture of cold rivers. They glance
down from time to time at the awkward ecstasy—
it must look to them like featherless birds
splashing in the spring puddle of a bed—
and then one woman, she is about to come,
peels back the man’s shut eyelids and says,
look at me, and he does.
— from Privilege of Being by Robert Hass
Jack “Old Jules” Purcell — Photo-Artistry by kenne
In June of 2006 Old Jules wrote on his blog So Far From Heaven “The More It Stays The Same.”
I hadn’t watched Easy Rider (Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper and Jack Nicholson, circa 1968) in three decades.
When I saw it again this past weekend I appreciated it again for the first time:
Nicholson: You know, this used to be a helluva good country. I can’t understand what’s gone wrong with it.
Hopper: Huh. Man, everybody got chicken, that’s what happened, man. Hey, we can’t even get into like, uh, second-rate hotel, I mean, a second-rate motel. You dig? They think we’re gonna cut their throat or something, man. They’re scared, man.
Nicholson: Oh, they’re not scared of you. They’re scared of what you represent to ’em.
Hopper: Hey man. All we represent to them, man, is somebody needs a haircut.
Nicholson: Oh no. What you represent to them is freedom.
Hopper: What the hell’s wrong with freedom, man? That’s what it’s all about.
Nicholson: Oh yeah, that’s right, that’s what it’s all about, all right. But talkin’ about it and bein’ it – that’s two different things.
I mean, it’s real hard to be free when you are bought and sold in the marketplace.
‘Course, don’t ever tell anybody that they’re not free ’cause then they’re gonna get real busy killin’ and maimin’ to prove to you that they are.
Oh yeah, they’re gonna talk to you, and talk to you, and talk to you about individual freedom, but they see a free individual, it’s gonna scare ’em.
Hopper: Mmmm, well, that don’t make ’em runnin’ scared.
Nicholson: No, it makes ’em dangerous.
Three young men searching for America who found it wasn’t what they bargained for.
Jack
Photo-Artistry by kenne
— D. H. Lawrence
Thomas R. Turner (May 23, 1942–November 13, 2014) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
This posting is the first of several I will be sharing from a long poem written by Tom
sometime around 1980 after his wife left him. Today is the fifth anniversary of his death.
24 to Harwood and Cropsy: No Road Back Home
(Taken from a Brooklyn Bus Route and the Title of a Blues Album.)
Standing above me in Smith's room Awkwardly looking down through a clipped hesitancy Our lives came together. TURNER With all the ambiguity that last name usage implies Was what she called me. Mannerisms of ingenuousness and a tendency toward the atypical Bespoke your ambiance (Ineffably I wanted Her) That voice - Falsetto Laced in bursts of Peter's guffaws Seemed contrived with a dreamed-of authenticity. (Your mouth, my love,the thistle in the kiss?) From within mutually cancelling Vignettes of naturalness and gender-cliche' She kissed through closed lips of Pristine openness. Innocently I loved. Through summer notes of vulnerability Together we embraced an entangled growth of uncertainty (Our fictions were tempered in a painful and inward time) Desperate needs equivocated against ordained directions and Dead-end holdings of night-bakery-work. Even then yours wasn't other-directed but A need to keep the Self-absorption of your Ann Arbor soul on a Pedastal of conforming difference. Eliptically we lived in the interstices Between an illusion of Fulfillment and letters etched with "Know what?"
Joy and Kenne — Photo-Artistry by kenne
get up
cover it
no prescription
will change
with time
think not
ask her
she knows
— kenne
Cooper’s Hawk and Prey — Image by kenne
Returning from a morning walk my eye caught a Cooper’s Hawk flying into a nearby Mesquite tree. After closer observation, I could see the hawk had captured a mourning dove. Since the tree was near my house, I quickly grabbed my camera and began shooting.
Predator and prey
Each seeking to win the chase
A daily event.
— kenne
Mountain Marigold on Mt. Lemmon — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.
— Norman Cousins
Father and Sons In Sabino Creek — Photo-Artistry by kenne
My daughter Kate and grandson Kenne Jaxon — Image by kenne
Estate Sale In Tanuri Ridge — Image by kenne
The beach along the northern edge of the Sea of Cortez (February 12, 2018) — Panorama by kenne
The sun has dissolved
behind the clouds
as the wind
stirs up the sand
and chills the spirit.
We have just arrived
yet it seems
like time to go.
There will be time
tomorrow to watch
morning come,
listening to the
song of sunrise.
— kenne