Looking Down Through Chino Canyon To The Coachella Valley Below (Greater Palm Springs) — Image by kenne
Palm Springs Aerial Tramway — Photo Essay by kenne (Click On Any Image To See In A Slideshow Format
The Palm Springs Aerial Tramway—the world’s largest rotating tram car—travels over two-and-one-half miles along the breathtaking cliffs of Chino Canyon, transporting riders to the pristine wilderness of the Mt. San Jacinto State Park. During a ten-minute journey, tram cars rotate slowly, offering picturesque and spectacular vistas of the valley floor below. Once reaching the Mountain Station—elevation 8,516 feet—enjoy two restaurants, observation decks, natural history museum, two documentary theaters, a gift shop, and over 50 miles of hiking trails.
Experiencing the Van Gogh Immersive Exhibit (Scottsdale, June 15, 2022) — Image by kenne
We have wanted to see the Immersive van Gogh exhibit for some time. So, since we had planned on attending Jeri and Ron’s 50th Anniversary, June 16-18 in Palm Springs, we drove up to Scottsdale on the 15.
The exhibition, conceived by Creative Director Mathieu St-Arnaud and his team at Montreal’s world-renowned Normal Studio, is an immersive experience that features more than 300 of Vincent Van Gogh’s iconic artworks and takes the art lover into a three-dimensional world that exhilarates the senses.
“I find comfort in contemplating the sunflowers.”
— Vincent van Gogh
Video by kenne
“I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?”
— Vincent van Gogh
Sunflowers — Photo-Artistry by kenne
“I am always doing what I cannot do yet, in order to learn how to do it.”
The Resendez and Turner Families Hosted a Pool Party for Graduates Katelyn Turner and Robert Resendez in Atascocita, Texas, May 29, 2022 — Images by kenne (Click on any image to view in slideshow format.)
Katelyn and Re Ann (On the Left) Jumping In The Pool
Kae Tempest — Photo-Artistry by kenne from a Photo by Wolfgang Tillmans
A couple of years ago, I posted: “I’m a new fan of Kae Tempest, an English spoken word performer, poet, recording artist, novelist, and playwright — a great performer by any measure. Then, in January 2022,
I did a post on Kae’s latest book, “On Connections,” in which they extolled the importance of finding meanings in the little things.
Like most people, when I first hear about an artist, I feel like I was the one who discovered the artist.
So, I was both surprised and pleased to learn about Kae’s appearance on Jimmy Fallon’s The Tonight Show this past Monday.
Amazon Rainforest Sunset (August 2019) — Image by kenne
Spending time on the river walking its banks, seeing the variety of wildlife, that lingers there, makes for beautiful paintings and photographs, for people to admire.
Tom Russell has great respect for Warren Zevon’s work, but probably none more than “Carmelita,” which he combines with Charles Bukowski’s, “Crucifix In A Deathhand,” on his Modern Art CD. By putting the two together, Russell demonstrates his appreciation and understanding of Bukowski’s words and the lyrics of Warren Zevon. It just so happens that “Crucifix In A Deathhand” is my favorite Bukowski poem.
Crucifix In a Death Hand
yes, they begin out in a willow, I think the starch mountains begin out in the willow and keep right on going without regard for pumas and nectarines somehow these mountains are like an old woman with a bad memory and a shopping basket. we are in a basin. that is the idea. down in the sand and the alleys, this land punched-in, cuffed-out, divided, held like a crucifix in a deathhand, this land bought, resold, bought again and sold again, the wars long over, the Spaniards all the way back in Spain down in the thimble again, and now real estaters, subdividers, landlords, freeway engineers arguing. this is their land and I walk on it, live on it a little while near Hollywood here I see young men in rooms listening to glazed recordings and I think too of old men sick of music sick of everything, and death like suicide I think is sometimes voluntary, and to get your hold on the land here it is best to return to the Grand Central Market, see the old Mexican women, the poor . . . I am sure you have seen these same women many years before arguing with the same young Japanese clerks witty, knowledgeable and golden among their soaring store of oranges, apples avocados, tomatoes, cucumbers – and you know how these look, they do look good as if you could eat them all light a cigar and smoke away the bad world. then it’s best to go back to the bars, the same bars wooden, stale, merciless, green with the young policeman walking through scared and looking for trouble, and the beer is still bad it has an edge that already mixes with vomit and decay, and you’ve got to be strong in the shadows to ignore it, to ignore the poor and to ignore yourself and the shopping bag between your legs down there feeling good with its avocados and oranges and fresh fish and wine bottles, who needs a Fort Lauderdale winter? 25 years ago there used to be a whore there with a film over one eye, who was too fat and made little silver bells out of cigarette tinfoil. the sun seemed warmer then although this was probably not true, and you take your shopping bag outside and walk along the street and the green beer hangs there just above your stomach like a short and shameful shawl, and you look around and no longer see any old men.
– – Charles Bukowski (Source: Oldpoetry.com)
There’s a video on YouTube of Russell in a live performance talking and singing about Charles Bukowski, Warren Zevon, and Dave Van Ronk that will give you a better feel for this morning distraction.
We spent some brief moments with brother Tom during our trip to Seattle for Lisa’s and Mike’s wedding on Lummi Island (August 29, 2009).
It’s never been easy for anyone to figure out the Turner boys, let alone one to the other. In some ways, however, if you know one of us, then you know the other. We are very much alike, but selectively taking some similarities to an extreme (by choice and personality), which appear different.
This video is about my brother; therefore, it’s about me.
“The cat’s in the well and grief is showing its face The world’s being slaughtered and it’s such a bloody disgrace.”
— kenne
For Crying Out Loud (September 2009)
(The video can be enlarged by clicking on HD at the top right and the four arrows in the the lower right corner.)
He had a blue wing tattooed on his shoulder Well, it might have been a bluebird, I don’t know but he’d get stone drunk and talk about Alaska The salmon boats and 45 below
Well, he got that blue wing up in Walla Walla and his cellmate there was a Little Willy John and Willie, he was once a great blues singer so Wing & Willie wrote him up a song
Another Glass Of Wine My Dear (April 5, 2007) — Image by kenne
Have Some Medeira, M’dear
She was young, she was pure, she was new, she was nice She was fair, she was sweet seventeen. He was old, he was vile, and no stranger to vice He was base, he was bad, he was mean. He had slyly inveigled her up to his flat To view his collection of stamps, And he said as he hastened to put out the cat, The wine, his cigar and the lamps: Have some madeira, m’dear. You really have nothing to fear. I’m not trying to tempt you, that wouldn’t be right, You shouldn’t drink spirits at this time of night. Have some madeira, m’dear. It’s really much nicer than beer. I don’t care for sherry, one cannot drink stout, And port is a wine I can well do without… It’s simply a case of chacun a son gout Have some madeira, m’dear. Unaware of the wiles of the snake-in-the-grass And the fate of the maiden who topes, She lowered her standards by raising her glass, Her courage, her eyes and his hopes. She sipped it, she drank it, she drained it, she did! He promptly refilled it again, And he said as he secretly carved one more notch On the butt of his gold-headed cane: Have some madeira, m’dear, I’ve got a small cask of it here. And once it’s been opened, you know it won’t keep. Do finish it up. It will help you to sleep. Have some madeira, m’dear. It’s really an excellent year. Now if it were gin, you’d be wrong to say yes The evil gin does would be hard to assess.. Besides it’s inclined to affect me prowess, Have some madeira, m’dear. Then there flashed through her mind what her mother had said With her antepenultimate breath, “Oh my child, should you look on the wine that is red Be prepared for a fate worse than death!” She let go her glass with a shrill little cry, Crash! Tinkle! it fell to the floor; When he asked, “What in Heaven?” She made no reply, Up her mind, and a dash for the door. Have some madeira, m’dear. Rang out down the hall loud and clear With a tremulous cry that was filled with despair, As she fought to take breath in the cool midnight air, Have some madeira, m’dear. The words seemed to ring in her ear. Until the next morning, she woke in her bed With a smile on her lips and an ache in her head… And a beard in her lug ‘ole that tickled and said: Have some madeira, m’dear!
Is there for honest Poverty That hings his head, an’ a’ that; The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that. Our toils obscure an’ a’ that, The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, The Man’s the gowd for a’ that.
What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, an’ a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A Man’s a Man for a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that; The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor, Is king o’ men for a’ that.
Ye see yon birkie ca’d a lord, Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that, Tho’ hundreds worship at his word, He’s but a coof for a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, His ribband, star, an’ a’ that, The man o’ independent mind, He looks an’ laughs at a’ that.
A Prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that! But an honest man’s aboon his might – Guid faith, he mauna fa’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that, Their dignities, an’ a’ that, The pith o’ Sense an’ pride o’ Worth Are higher rank than a’ that.
Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a’ that, That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth Shall bear the gree an’ a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, It’s comin yet for a’ that, That Man to Man the warld o’er Shall brithers be for a’ that.