Revolution

I’m reblogging this post, not because I felt it was particularly well written but because I have added a substantial number of photographs since I first published it.

Runaway American Dream

IMG_4192 The Battle of Princeton Monument.

This great State in which I now live, was the crossroads of the Revolution. More battles were fought over New Jersey soil than over any other of the thirteen colonies. Places like Trenton, Princeton, Springfield, and, Monmouth were the sites of some of the most crucial battles of the struggle. Trenton and Princeton are where the tide finally turned in favor of the patriots.

Not four miles from where I type this, is a place where Washington stayed while his army was camped at White House, just down the road (sadly the house burned down in the 1960s but a commemorative sign still marks the spot).

Six miles in a different direction and you find Solitude House, High Bridge. This was another house where Washington (and his wife Martha) is known to have visited as well as General Lafayette, Colonel Charles Stewart, and Aaron…

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Lean over on the bookcase

 

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Lost friends

 

Poetry and dystopian novels make up nearly all of my library now

Not so much a library

As a solitary shelf

Where once my collected volumes filled an entire wall

Of a small flat

Now my medium-sized house fairly rattles

With the absence of voices

The ranks of my old friends have been whittled away

Only Orwell now and Huxley

And one solitary Waugh to rest beside Williams, Whitman, and Frost

I wonder how all those lost now fare?

Whose fingers flick through their well-worn pages?

Or do they lie beneath time’s film untouched and unloved in mildewed boxes?

I try not to think of all those years we spent in each other’s company

They travelled often with me from home to home

But could not make my greatest odyssey

An issue of weight

 

Today I bought a copy of Ulysses by Joyce

Soon, I’ll need a second shelf.

 

 

 

Words and image are my own.

 

©2017

 

 

‘Til I gain control again

 

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There are times when we experience an overwhelming sense of free-fall. We go about our lives secure in our notions of who we are and of our place in the scheme of things and then, suddenly, we find ourselves staring hard into a cold, dark void. I personally have experienced such moments, perhaps you have too; moments when the world seems to submit to some weird inversion theory.

It can be the ending of a relationship or a betrayal by one once trusted implicitly, the loss of a career or an unexpected health crisis. Whatever the catalyst, in an instant, the compass is spinning wildly, the ground drops rapidly away and the sky over your head is rent asunder. In that instant, you become quite certain that nothing will ever be the same again and, of course, you are entirely correct.

From that moment on, everything changes, because you have changed; irretrievably. You have experienced the deconstruction of your world-view, the dismemberment of your self. Reduced to a ragged baseline, you have but one option beyond complete and final surrender; rebuild.

This is the essence of Jung’s metanoia, the genesis, I believe, of all shamanism. It is pure evolution, not as Darwin understood it, but as angels might.

Imagine universal consciousness reaching out with fingers of lightning, compelling you to shed the detritus of your life up to this moment and emerge, unknown, like a raw-skinned reptile, from the comfortable bondage of old familiar scales.

There is a kind of insanity to it and, for a time, you wear that insanity like a coat. Friends look upon you with pity; some stop calling. Spaces appear and through those spaces, new people find their way into your life; people who have no stake in who you were or what you have let go. Somehow, these latecomers always seem to be the right fit for the new skin you now inhabit. It is as if you have called them into being with the howl of your transformation. And who is to say you have not?

Metanoia, awakening, evolution; call it what you will but embrace it when it comes, no matter how painful.

Be the phoenix endlessly burning to be reborn.

 

 

Words and image are my own.

© 2015 – 2017

 

 

 

 

 

4th of July

 

Well say goodbye it’s Independence Day
It’s Independence Day all boys must run away
So say goodbye it’s Independence Day
All men must make their way come Independence Day

Springsteen, Independence day

 

Our town, like thousands of others around the nation, staged a July 4 Parade yesterday. I didn’t know what to expect, but what I got managed to move me deeply.

Here are just some of my visual impressions of the day.

 

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The Baby Parade

 

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These images represent only a fraction of what was on display. There were, for instance, some 30 individual fire engines at least in the parade from all the surrounding towns (even one from Arizona – the pink one). There was also an amazing sellection of classic cars and vintage John Deer tractors to feast the eye upon.  Sadly, I’m dangerously close to running out of storage space on my WordPress account (not sure what I’m going to do about that) so I was forced to leave a lot out.

The day was remarkably poignant and uplifting in equal measure. I hope to see many more like it.

 

Happy Birthday, America.

 

All images used in this post are my own.

 

©2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Black Coffee

 

Seditious brew

 

“black in colour and made by infusing the powdered berry of a plant that flourished in Arabia. Native men consumed this liquid all day long and far into the night, with no apparent desire for sleep but with mind and body continuously alert, men talked and argued, finding in the hot black liquor a curious stimulus quite unlike that produced by fermented juice of grape.”

– Aytoun Ellis. 1956. The Penny Universities; A History of the Coffee-houses

 

Alcohol-free venues like Café Wha? and The Gaslight in Greenwich Village, and The Upstage Club in Asbury Park have passed down into legend as places which provided early opportunities for some of the greatest musical talents of  20th Century America.

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Cafe Wha? Still very much a fixture in the Village.

 

I’m sitting here at my laptop sipping my morning brew and contemplating a passage I read yesterday in Dylan’s excellent autobiographic tome Chronicles (volume one). In said passage, Dylan speaks of first encountering the New York Greenwich Village live music scene in the early 60s and how many of the places he played there were ‘no booze’ joints.

“I probably played all the places at one time or another,” Dylan writes. “Most of them stayed open ‘til the break of day, kerosene lamps and sawdust on the floor, some with wooden benches, a strong-armed guy at the door—no cover charge and the owners tried to offload as much coffee as they could.”

“Talent scouts didn’t come to these dens. They were dark and dingy and the atmosphere was chaotic.”

This could be a description of an English coffeehouse from three hundred and sixty years ago. Europe only discovered coffee in the mid 17th Century and the very first Coffeehouse to open in England (in 1650) was situated in the academic capital of Oxford. This and other coffeehouses established in Oxford came to be known as penny universities because they offered an alternative form of learning to that being taught in the universities proper. Very quickly, this stimulant became the drink of choice for the fashionable, the philosophers, the intellectuals, and the revolutionaries.

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A detail from Hogarth’s ‘Four Times of the Day’ depicting Tom King’s Coffeehouse.

 

The English coffeehouse was a significant venue for one very particular reason, it quickly became an important centre for the dissemination of news. Most modern historians associate English coffeehouses with the flourishing of the printed news sheet as it was to these fashionable dens that people came to drink coffee as they read and discussed the events of the day.

In fact, so popular did these places become, that King Charles II grew nervous that they might be hotbeds of sedition and ordered them all shut down. So paranoid was he of any potential threat to his shaky throne, that he issued a proclamation to end the legality of coffeehouses. And this did not just affect the estimated three thousand coffeehouses either, he also banned people from selling coffee, chocolate, and tea(!) from any shop or house.

 

A PROCLAMATION
FOR THE
Suppression of Coffee-Houses.
Charles Rex

Whereas it is most apparent, that the Multitude of Coffee-Houses of late years set up and kept within the Kingdom, the Dominion of Wales, and the Town of Berwick on Tweed, and the great resort of Idle and disaffected persons to them, have produced very evil and dangerous effects; as well for that many Tradesmen and others, do therein mis-spend much of their time, which might and probably would otherwise by imployed in and about their Lawful Callings and Affairs; but also, for that in such houses, and by occasion of the meetings of such persons therein, diverse False, Malitious and Scandalous Reports are devised and spread abroad, to the Defamation of His Majesties Government, and to the Disturbance of the Peace and Quiet of the Realm; his Majesty hath thought it fit and necessary, That the said Coffee-houses be (for the future) put down and supressed, and doth (with the Advice of his Privy council) by this Royal Proclamation, Strictly Charge and Command all manner of persons, That they or any of them do not presume from and after the Tenth Day of January next ensuing, to keep any Publick Coffee-house, or to Utter or sell by retail, in his, her, or their house or houses (to be spent or consumed within the same) any Coffee, Chocolet, Sherbett or Tea, as they will answer the contrary at their utmost perils.

And for the better accomplishment of this his Majesties Royal Pleasure, his Majesty both hereby will and require the Justices of the Peace within their several Counties, and the Chief Magistrates in all Cities and Towns Corporate, that they do at their next respective General Sessions of the peace (to be holden within their several and respective Counties, Divisions and Precincts) recall and make void all Licences at any time heretofore Granted, for the selling or retailing of any Coffee, Chocolet, Sherbett or Tea. And that they or any of them do not (for the future) make or grant any such Licence or Licences to any persons whatsoever. And his Majesty doth further hereby declare, that if any person or persons shall take upon them, him or her, after his, her or their Licence or Licences recalled, or otherwise without Licence, to sell by retail (as aforesaid) any of the Liquors aforesaid, that then the person or persons so Offending, shall not only be proceeded against , upon the Statute made in the fifteenth year of his Majesties Reign (which gives the forfeiture of five pounds for every moneth wherein he, she or they shall offend therein) but shall (in case they persevere to Offend) receive the severest punishments that may by Law be inflicted.

Given at our Court at Whitehall, the Nine and twentieth day of December 1675, in the Seven and twentieth year of Our Reign.

God save the King

 

This draconian law was passed on December 29, 1675, to take effect on January 10, 1676, but it was unceremoniously revoked on January 8. As it transpires, several of Charles’ own ministers were themselves coffee devotees.

Thus, the coffeehouses survived Charles’ paranoia and continued to flourish well into the 18th Century. They never ceased, however, to be regarded with suspicion by those in power.

I find this connection between coffee and revolutionary thought (real or imagined) fascinating. The great protest movements of the 50s and 60s centred initially around folk music and the coffeehouses in which it was played. Beat poetry too found a ready audience in such places.

We associate pot and acid with the anti-war movements of the mid to late 60s but it could be argued that another drug of choice, caffeine, played just as great a role.

Who would have thought that something as innocuous as the morning cuppa could be so steeped in controversy?

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The sad shell that’s all that now remains of the vaunted Upstage Club.

 

As a side note, on Friday night, Jersey and I will be heading down to Asbury Park to view a new documentary about the Upstage Club, that other famously alcohol-free venue which played such a pivotal role in the formation of Springsteen and the E Street band (as well as a good many others). The main beverage on sale at this all-night venue was – you guessed it –  coffee (the second floor was a coffeehouse called the Green Mermaid).

Springsteen has famously said he was a non-drinker in those days but coffee can’t take any credit for his early hi-octane success either as he revealed in his autobiography, Born to Run that he cannot abide the taste.

The Boss’ personal preferences aside, however, it can be argued that the humble coffee bean has had a significant impact on the development of our society, culture, and the counterculture.

Words and images (except where otherwise stated) are my own.

©2017

Speed of life

 

 

 

 

Highs and Lows

You can’t tramp the streets of NYC without experiencing the contrasts.

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New York is arguably the greatest city on Earth, alive with the bustle and the hustle of millions of souls. It is a hub for financial and creative energies.

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The signs of poverty and despair are also ever present.

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She is a city constantly renewing, ever changing, audaciously hopeful.

 

All images are my own.

©2017

I see red again

 

Two thoughts on dealing with the bureaucracy.

 

 

Shuffle

 

Paper

So much paper

Piling around me

Threatening submersion

Red string entangled in

Red tape

Whatever doesn’t drown you

Strangles you instead.

 

 

Life is but a dream

 

Those dreams

Where you’re trying so hard to run

But the air is thick as water

An ocean of resistance

You get nowhere

But you keep straining

Hoping the air will take pity

Release its hold

Perversely

Your arms are free to flail unhindered

Physics acting civilly

From the waist up

This must be how Elvis felt

On the Ed Sullivan shew.

 

 

 

 

©2017