Life in the Empire
Bo's Request (an Art Thread)
Where is home?
Moved twelve times in the last 16 years. The transient in transit. Pierce Transit runs through it. Before I came here I was in Rush Limbaugh’s home town before I was surrounded by corn fed Norwegian bred Lutherans singing praise in perfect four part harmony to that Home on the Plain before I’m taken Home – Praise Jesus. I grew up in Iowa, Little Town on the Prairie an island afloat in the ocean of corn. Lived in SoCal, in the Desert where golf and plastic surgery reigns, might have the grit to stay in rainy Tacoma, but, I always say I’m from San Francisco - though I rarely visit anymore.
Home, where is home?
Home is where you are. Correction, home is where you and the two cats are.
What is home? That safe place. That place with love. I love that old car, it always brought me home. The ’75 Westphalia could be home. Or rather, the place that used to be home. Too old, too unreliable to be trusted anymore. Baling wire and duct tape. Just like the U-Haul I drive to the next place, hoping for home.
Searching for home. Migrants with heavy furniture. U-haul. Our orange travois with wheels keeps getting bigger. Full of stuff. Heavy Stuff. Stuff that anchors us. To a home of nostalgia. Anchors to a home that never really existed. That place. This is the place! Well bully for you Brigham Young. Bring ‘em young. Not young anymore, with more stuff each move to stuff in the moving van and every move leaves behind anchors that are mourned in passing.
A house burns down and the anchors are cremated and the past has passed on.
The bubble is burst. The house is on the market. The anchor is weighed. The trees we planted are left behind. Do the new owners love that Japanese Maple we planted as our 10th anniversary gift to our dream of home? Have they maintained the landscaping? Have any of the plants, the dreams, the love we planted been cared for in our absence? Or have they been torn up by the roots to make room for the next owners’ dream of home?
Where are the anchors? Is there a home port? Adrift. Without a home. Drift wood is picked up for beach fires to warm the beach rats without a home. Their shacks have been bulldozed like West Bank ancestral olive groves to make room for more condos and home-loving dreamers blowing a bubble. Pop!
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Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by littleoldme on
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Gosh, you two are sooo talented.
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Permalink Reply by pan on
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One more and then I'm done for awhile (these have been sitting in our video archives for quite awhile)
Ms. Medusa's Anticipatory Illumination (title from Ernst Bloch's writings) that is inspired by the 5 levels of the Borobudur Temple.
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excerpts from Migrant. Unfortunately none of Waldo's brilliant poem (though some of the movement that the poem inspired) is on this.....gonna have to upload that separately
Excerpt from Home is Where You Are, from the monologue I wrote for Migrant
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smile.....
The other day I showed Medusa something I wrote and she asked who Mouse is........she was very impressed - as I am - by her poetic posts. Lovely photo.
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Just got an email from David Fewster, half of the FolksingersinHell and a performer in Migrant. He said Tacoma has degraded into the New Detroit since we left. Here is the full version of "How the Hoboes Dine under Mt. Tahoma" that he wrote and performed for Migrant.
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Permalink Reply by waldopaper on
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way cool... way way cool to see it performed! thanks pan. let's do another! where is home? nobody feels sorry for ya cos ya got a bad memory...
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Permalink Reply by Cal on
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Somehow I missed this thread following for a while.
So nice to see people like you guys able to 'create' out there in the real world. My stuff is all in my head ... never been able to get it out. I used to try to build fairies & elves out of moss & spiderwebs & stuff when I was little ... but they stayed in my mind & wouldn't translate into moss & spiderwebs & stuff. Closest I come to artistic self expression is when I am fully wrapped up in intricate coding for computers. Wonder what people like me used to do before computers came along .... made abacuses?
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