The Sunshine Is The Moonshine

Sometimes one just wants to drink and watch the rain come down over the trees- or perhaps take shelter under a tree (if you're a Rainbow Traveller)- and maybe listen to Terry Riley on an infinite loop. I'd recommend the above beer: Georg Schneider's Weisen Edel Weiss. It tastes like a meadow. It has narrowly edged out the Pinkus Mueller Pilsner in my life. I love the taste of earth and grass and trees.

I've been heavy into Mr. Riley lately. I can't get enough. Particularly "Descending Moonshine Dervishes" and "Persian Surgery Dervishes." Both worthy of unlimited devotion. Mr. Riley would like to take a moment to tell you about goats milk (and La Monte Young) if you don't mind. Listen closely.

This website, from which the TR and TMT documentaries are taken, is something else. Roll upon it.

The Moonshine is the Sunshine

Today felt like SPRING. Abby and I cleared our garden space (perhaps 75' x 75'- quite large) of rocks, sticks, and roots as best we could, and then June came and plowed with his old tractor. It smelt good; new, upturned earth. Now there are more sticks and rocks to pick out of the dirt, and then we will begin to plant. Around midday, it became very windy. I run indoors and begin to record some musik. But this seeming arrival of spring brings to mind many poets, including RYOKAN, who said:

Spring has begun!
Jewels and precious gold everywhere!
Please come visit me!

He also said:

Tonight the plum trees reflect the silver moon;
both are in full bloom.
Entranced, I did not return home until evening.

Last nite was also nice; we had a BBQ in the leaf-strewn yard, and drank sake upon sake upon sake.

Issa says::

One bath
after another-
how stupid.

((and))

Farmer,
pointing the way
with a radish.

((and))

Strong wind-
mother, suckling child
sheltered by scarecrow.

"...the greatest musician I have ever heard..." -Terry Riley

While performing some hard-won work attenuation (i.e. time-wasting) in between bouts of writing about low riders and trying to rid my work-area of the A&W root beer-scented air freshener odor that I mistakenly opened up, I stumbled upon some beautiful recent artwork that my pal Nat Russell has been working on. This one hit me in the gut. I'm 32, although most of the time I don't believe it or act like it. What would it even mean to act 32? Nat, if you're reading this, what's up? All travellers, see Nat's work in its natural habitat here.

Set the controls for the heart of Souleyman

June rolled his tractor yesterday while maintaining a massive leaf pile burn. Thankfully he wasn't hurt, but this is something you hear about, people getting injured or killed in tractor accidents. I know that Doc Watson's son, Merle, went that way.

Wild vegetables.

There is talk of planting onions in the coming weeks. There is now an empty plot of land where the leaf pile once stood. It gets a lot of sun. I'm pushing to plant sorrel there. I like the name and I've seen it growing in the medieval herb garden at The Cloisters, near the espaliered pear tree. How to keep the deer away from the sorrel?

Sickle moon on the rise.