moon traveller herald

Reading NY Science Times this week and there was an interesting article about the replacement submersible for Alvin , the long-chugging oceanaut that discovered among many things Titanic. It has been 40 years since this counrty forged Alvin. We are only talking $50 M or $150 M here, but undersea diving bells sort of peaked back then. But they are trying again. Cause Alvin, like the old carnival ride Nautilus Jake and I rode in 1995 at Disneyland is long in the tooth and not futuristic. Very interesting to see how they are going about replacing Alvin, and hoping to better its maximum depth by about 20% [to about 3 miles] so as to be able to cover about 90% of the Earth’s ocean’s bottoms. To go where tremendous pressures press. And lo and behold but the work of the forging is going on at Ladish Works in Cudahay Wisc. I must say after all the great manufacturers that bit the dust since I left Wisconsin in 1972 I am surprised to see Ladish is still at it. So here is my Ladish story. When ...

Picked up on John Sinclair and his travels site where he recently posted his version of the Sunnyland Blues . It’s largely based on parts of the one Slim and I did. It appeared first in Fattening Frogs for Snakes , his blues poetry opus published in 2002 by the Surregional Press. John talked to me before he appropriated vast quantities of my piece. We discussed it, and jointly decided it was in the spirit of the blues to steal and borrow. It’s a premise of the blues to work with things that are out there, and adapt them with a new level of abstraction or different perspective. This is apparent in such scholarships as The Blues Line complied by Eric Sackheim [Schirmer Books, 1975] and in such rock albums as the Bob Dylan Time Out of Mind triptych, duly noted here and elsewhere. Sinclair dedicates his “Sunnyland Train” poem to me and Black Mike Henderson. Henderson played with Slim in the ‘70s as I recall. Sinclair does put his take on the original Sunnyland Blues. He matches my stuff ...

For Edward Albee. The doctor is the receptacle of the myth. The doctor found his week-dead wife In the jarred coffin On his lawn after the flood. The apples are getting heavy He said. And they are tearing down The limb. The doctor slit his wrist With an electric knife Cutting Thanksgiving turkey. In the old pylon pole South He’d let Bessie Smith To bleed on the highway Back when it rained Five days. The doctor is the receptacle Of the myth, And he is walking lazily Toward infinity. -Jack Vaughan

There I am in the Rocket Garden. Take a picture of a family taking a picture in front of a Saturn. Mailer was here 29 years ago to cover the launch to the Moon, Jules - blinded by the Sun, entranced by the alligators, stymied some as he tried to get the story from the Waspy Nasa of the day - another big anniversary is a year away, and here I am too. Mailer is dead in the last year. Here I am. Coming down here, knowing where I was going, reading Of a Fire on the Moon - [and smartly too, 2001 was showing on the Orlando TV] - thinking back to how the Moon quest was part and parcel of my youth - seeing how this Mailer piece, mere journalism at the time, for lucre at that, resonates like few tomes on tech - and seeing how the Space program had left its mark on the present day - no where more clearly than at the airport - with droning Midwest voice messages - with moving sidewalks and coolly alienated populace - with birds on tarpaulins. Red light glow of National Rental Car Pontiac dashboa...

Jeff DeMark saw fit to provide a view on his recent performance in old Racine. He provided a link to an excellent Journal-Times article...and there is a link you should see above to Jeff on YouTube. Thought you might like to see this article from the Journal-Times if you haven’t seen it. It was an absolutely remarkable experience on both nights. The first night John Landaal organized bunch of people to go to Wells Brothers (I went, too), including Bob Henken, John Reutz, Bob Shenkenberg, Bob Stepien, Dick Ruetz, Ed Raymond and their wives then they all went to the show. Six or seven nuns came, including Sister Carol Wester and Jean Ferstl, Devon Hudson came, Jeff Montgomery, Carla Dougard, a bunch of my cousins and their mates….both nights sold out and there was such a warm, electric atmosphere. I was simply amazed at the response. Talk about bringing it all back home. I felt truly blessed to be able to bring it the Root (River).

There was no Seventh and Deciding Game tonight. The Celtics pulverized the Lakers Tuesday, 131-92, and won the NBA championship for the first time since 1986. During that 22-year drought, the Lakers won five championships. L.A. Coach Phil Jackson now remains tied with the late Celtics Coach Red Auerbach for most championships. Both have nine. Both bad and good, Auerbach is a god around here. Like God, he had his good and bad days. The idea of tofu-munching Jackson surpassing cigar-smoking Red on the Celtics watch would have been hard for the city’s psyche. One might ask: Did the Celtics pour it on? The Boston fan’s answer: No. The Celts themselves, their fans recall, had come back from a 24-point deficit [a record] just two games ago. If they were to ease up, well that would mean easing up. And opening the door. Better to nail the door shut, especially since this door holds back not only L.A., but also some very shadowy figures, akin to curses, that followed the team. During the 22 ye...

Writes to William S. Burroughs, February, 1958 …. “…writing every night by candlelight, with windows open to moony yards & trees of Muckland Central Florida in Febiary…..” Little known but Kerouack had a home in Orlando . On hard ground under a dome of cypress trees After On the Road. Before the Deluge. About the time He’d hit some money. Of late the historically & literary minded people in the area bought the home to create a writers retreat. In homage to Jack. It’s a regular neighborhood. A simple street. I got up there this year and got by at the end of day. Back then. Seemed like the next place for him. But definitely UnKerouacian. The place is northwest of downtown Orlando & far from today’s DisneyWorld & Universal Studios. The screen door opens & the bebop negros are singing The blues & jazz & Jack half winking is thinking golden eternity. It wasn’t happy - The time in Orlando - So far from Lowell. The grinding cicadas. Looking at the Falstaff - ...