Glodon had a problem with spontaneous pixelation. Glodon didn’t tell anyone. No one knew. Not a soul.
One day, while raking the colorful autumn leaves, Glodon slipped around the corner for a smoke, pixelated, and then just disappeared.
No one knew where Glodon went. No one looked because no one cared.
Meanwhile, Glodon had slipped into a place where there was no space. Glodon’s conscience defined his existence. At any given moment in a universe without time anyplace becomes every place if there is an awareness of space.
Glodon liked it. It made his nonexistent heart go fast.
Glodon learned to control his pixelation. All he had to do was slip around the corner to have a smoke while raking colorful autumn leaves–flash-flash- he was pixelated.
Glodon would do things while he was pixelated. He was there. He was in a space within a space that used no space inside of the space it was in. In a place where everyplace is everywhere anywhere can easily lead to anyplace. Time is just a place where time is all the time all at once.
Glodon would create poetry while he was in this pixelated state. Here he could be a poet. He would write poorly contrived and awkward little rhymes;
This red thing This arrhythmic thing This beating heart Pounding and pounding, pounding Torn from the chest and held high in infrangible grasp in wild eccentricity Uncontrolled Sacrifice unbalanced This beating heart erratically pulsing wave after wave of deep, red light & silver, dull gray, ungreen under these painted skies Pounding, pounding, and pounding in wild eccentricity This Chaotic Heart This arrhythmic thing This red thing
I was out one day by wherever it is I was and shooting photos of the ‘this stuff’ and ‘that stuff’ out there and here comes this near-perfect little Volkswagen beetle. This car is just humming along, then all of a sudden it pulls over and this old guy asks where he can get some old-fashioned film developed. “Is there any place that still does that?” It took me a second (I’ve been shooting digital since the mid-90s) then I said “Walgreens” and that was kind of an ‘Aha’ moment.
So we start talking and I find out this guy was an engineer on the aqueduct and he would survey elevations along the channel because the ground moves nearly continually out there in the far western part of the Mojave. It doesn’t move much but if the water in the aqueduct breaches the side it could get nasty and catastrophic and such. This was so engineers could regulate the flow and all that.
We talk more. After a bit longer I find out this guy is Hugh Hefner’s first cousin. I think that is so cool and I mention the Baseball Hall of Famer Bob “Rapid Robert” Feller is my grandfather’s first cousin. That’s the best I got. He said he does not own a television. I ask if he reads a lot, is a writer or artist or how he stays occupied? He answered me with, “my equations.” How cool is that? So what he likes to do to relax is to try to work out cold fusion. I told him I like to take pictures and tell stupid jokes. And that is the day I met Hugh Hefner’s Cousin
Highsmith, a distinguished and richly published American photographer, has donated her work to the Library of Congress since 1992. Starting in 2002, Highsmith provided scans or photographs she shot digitally with new donations to allow rapid online access throughout the world. Her generosity in dedicating the rights to the American people for copyright-free access also make this Archive a very special visual resource.
Here is her photographer’s eye on Barstow, Ca. — 2012
There is the wind which may swirl through saplings and their parents and the tall grasses and dried flowers.
Bird wings flutter, mostly away. Scratchings and rustling beneath the lowest branches and in the thick brier. Delicate colors as in a painter’s palette, aside, muted and subdued in a landscape held back.
The memory flutters. The words choke well before reaching the tongue. So say nothing.
11-year-old Kass, a desert girl born and bred, looks into a natural stream of water (Cajon Creek) for the first time in her life. She was amazed that there was so much life going on right in front of her–everything she could see was living!
She pointed this all out to me as it was happening. She has such a wonderful sense of Nature. I’m so fortunate to have experienced this with her.
Ashford Mill – Death Valley In 1910, Harold Ashford began work in the former claims of the Keys Gold Mining Company. In the mountains to the east Ashford and his brother worked the mine for four years without striking results. They leased the mine to B.W McClausland and his son Ross which led to the …
I had a year to prepare but didn’t take advantage of it–Google changed the way the interface to their maps worked. No big deal though–there are plenty of examples for me to work from now, so it is just a matter for changing the code. Time consuming at the worst.
I’ve heard this place, at the bottom of the Ring trail at Hole-in-the-Wall in the Mojave National Preserve, is called Banshee Canyon. When the high winds of the Mojave kick up and blow, it does not just blow through here, it screams.
I’ve been going through updating sections like popular pages in the glossary. I am hoping to get things uniform and reasonable to navigate.
The important thing with this update is that I’ll be blogging future updates here instead of continually editing and uploading a static page. Over the years it has become cumbersome and I tend to just let journal updates go. For now I’ve put a notice on the “Features” page redirecting to the “Updates” category here on the Desert Gazette.
If the Mojave Desert were a candy bar, it would be chewy with lots of nuts, and sometimes sticky, and melted most of the time like it was setting on the dash too long. It probably wouldn’t be too popular, but that’s okay because there would only be one, and we’d probably be best off if we shared it with those who would savor and enjoy and appreciate it instead of giving it away to those who would greedily gobble it up, poop it out, and go somewhere else to do the same thing to another candy bar.