Saturday, February 28, 2026

NAKED TO THE COLD SEA by Peter Nolan Smith

In the early 70s
We stood on Nauset's nude beach
Hilde and me
The two of us
Hippies not yet punks.
A thick ledge of wet seaweed
Covered the high tide mark.
Off with our clothes
We lay on the cool green algae
Our bare bodies sinking beneath the sludge
Comforted by the endless ocean
The two us silent
Seagulls squatted at the high tide mark
Never within arm's reach
We stand as one
We make love
Hippie love
Young love
After we rise
Like seals from the seal
Naked to the elements
Wiping the seaweed
Off each other
Free
We both laugh
Skin blue-green as the cold Atlantic
Eyes meet
Understand
We all come from the sea
The two of us run into the ocean
Water
Embraced by Neptune
Cold as ice
Clean as ice
Forever young for now
Hippies not yet punks
1972

Naked On Nauset Beach - 1972 - HIlde Me and the Atlantic

In the early 70s
Below the ridege of dune
Hilde and me
Stood on Nauset's nude beach
The two of us
Me 20 lean and young
She eighteen blonde skin more burnt than tanned
Hippies not yet punks__
A thick ledge of wet seaweed
Covered the high tide mark.
Off with our clothes
We lay on the cool green algae
Our bare bodies sinking beneath the sludge
Comforted by the endless ocean
The two us silent
Seagulls squatted at the high tide mark
Never within arm's reach
We lay down to be one
To make love
Hippie love
Young love___
After we rise
Like seals from the seal
Naked to the elements
Wiping the seaweed
Off each other
Free
We both laugh
Skin blue-green as the cold Atlantic__
Eyes meet
Understand
We all come from the sea__
The two of us run into the ocean
Water
To be embraced by Neptune
The waves
Cold as ice
Cold as the once immortal Glacier
Rising over the continental shelf
Over a mile high
Gone today
Gone for thousands of years
Melted into the Ocean
Its green expanse
Clean as melted ice__
Hilde and me
Forever young for now
Hippies not yet punks
1972

End Of Summer - Truro

Sunrise over the Coast Guard Beach
East on Truro
The dawn bouncing off the Atlantic
To fill the morning sky
O'er Cape Cod Bay___
A couple stand on the porch.
The last hours of vacation
For AP and his loving wife and daughter___
The Audi packed
With what is theirs
Leaving behind nothing
And leaving with memories
Of the past present and dreams of future
Vacations
On Knowles Heights Road___
The salt air, the bluff, the stairs to the beach, laughter, fishing___
Bass on the grill,
Steamers on the boil,
Wine
In vino
Felix
Friends next door
AP guitar in hand
His wife
A gather of wild flowers in her arms
Paradise
The Cape___
The Nauset tribe name for here
Meeshan___
AP and his wife
To go today
Not north to P-town
East on Route 6
Bourne Bridge bound
Across the Cape Cod Canal
Back home to Brooklyn
Schadenfreude
But Happy
To know
Next August
Again
On Knowles Heights Road___
Truro___

Malcolm X Birthday

February 21, 2026 he would have been 101.

And for many of us, Malcolm X still lives.

Pressing Flesh

In the summer of 1966 I was standing with my father at the Lower Mills station outside of Boston. We were headed to work. Him for New England Tel and Tel. Me at a restaurant dishwashing. A Mattapan-bound trolley stopped to let off a crowd. My father and I were mystified by the hubbub, until the trolley pulled away from the platform and we spotted Robert F. Kennedy.

The forty year-old politician was campaigning for his brother Ted.

My father was a staunch Republican from the State of Maine, but sensed an opportunity to meet the future president of the USA and rushed me across the track to RFK, where the young NY senator was pressing flesh with his admirers. He shook my hand and I wished him good luck. Our trolley was approaching and my father and I ran to the other side. Once seated on the trolley, a passenger asked us, "Who was that.

My father said, "The next president."

We prayed for that future, but two years later after winning the California primary a gunman shot RFK dead in LA.

It's been over fifty-three years since his death and every day of this presidential election it what becomes clear is that America and the world lost a great deal more than a man's life.

I cried that day and I cried recently watching Ted Kennedy's eulogy in St. Patrick's Cathedral.

"Some men see thing as they are and ask why, my brother dreams things that never were and asked why not."

No one in politics talks like that today

In 1989 I was vacationing in LA. My friend Adriana Kaegi of Kid Creole and the Coconuts was working on a video for the LAMBADA at the then-deserted Ambassador Hotel. I was a little hung-over and didn't think much about the significance of the location until I wandered into the Embassy ballroom and said to myself, "I've been here before."

Not in person, but I climbed onto the stage where RFK announced his victory. I stood at the dusty podium. His hands might have touched the wood and I looked to the left.

The kitchen door was open.

Rosie Grier was RFK's bodyguard. The enormous black ex-LA Rams linebacker was supposed to protect the candidate from the crowds. Later he said that the candidate's security plans called for an exit through the audience, however someone yelled, "No, Bobbie this way.

And RFK entered the kitchen. 

The film portrays the exuberant chaos and then a man sticks a .22 in the face of RFK and pulls the trigger.

Standing in that empty kitchen I realized this was a killer's killing zone. There was nowhere for the victim to run.

I cried once more for the loss of RFK

We are not the same as we were in 1968, although the trolley into Ashmont from Lower Mills is still free as it was on that day in 1966 and that is a good thing.

We miss you Bobby.

  And Martin and Malcolm Biggie and Tupac and thousands more murdered by the powers that be aand they are still murdering. Resist. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJ8rxSYMi-c&feature=related

An Idiot Goes to War

Today Donald Trump ordered the US Navy and Air Force to attack Iran from the air. Bombs dropped on specific targets and as usual killed civilians as collateral damage or shoddy targeting protocols. Nazisraeliite forces joined in the sneak attack and the Orange Messiah announced operation Orange Maddog from his bunker at Mar-e-Lago, ""We are going to destroy their missiles and raze their missile industry to the ground. It will be totally – again – obliterated. We're going to annihilate their navy. When we are finished, take over your government. It will be yours to take."

The Pentagon under SS Pete Hesgeth obeyed the Commander in Chief's dictates to the letter. Tora Tora Tora. No one said no much like no one said, "Wait a minute." to Adolf Hitler before invading Poland, Norway, France, or Russia.. The unhinged madman ignores any and all opinions other than those of his AI guru and I wonder if this attack was ordered from his AI alter ego, while he jacked yee-ho.   

Iran has responded with missile attacks from their ballistic arsenal reputed to number about 3000 by the Zion intelligence agencies who are more proficient in lies than truth. Both nations are pariah to most of the world, although Arab royalty have granted the US Military air space privileges and access to airfields and military bases. Missiles have reached Bahrain and Tel Aviv. Even people in Israel have to ask, "Why?"     

To stop Bibi from going to prison and Trump indicted for pedophilia.      

A distraction.        

Paid by Americans and the lives of innocents.          

Only justice can stop these despots. Judging from the GOP response to 47's State of the Union address his faithful cult will cheer on the destruction of peace. Killing for peace is like fucking for virginity, especially for child rapers.            

ps the USA has not won a war in this century and neither has Israel whose existence under Netanyahu is predicated by a constant state of war.              

One day.                

This photo is from the Funeral for Robert Trump, 47's brother, who casually told me at a summer function in Duchess County, "I fucked Melania before my brother." I didn't know him and was surprised he would state this to a complete stranger, but then again I don't come from a Nazi family.

The Shine of Donyale Luna

America's white rule in 1964 stretched from coast to coast, however Malcolm X preached resistance up in Harlem and Martin Luther King and John Lewis led marches in Selma, Alabama. Change was blowing in the wind and Nancy White, the Harper's Bazaar editor, transported an unknown black teenage with an African and Quechuan heritage from Detroit to the starry international modeling scene of New York and Paris.

According to Wikipedia Donyale Luna was 5-11, flat-chested and X-ray skinny. Her legs were as stilt-like as a Giacometti sculpture. She had caramel-colored skin, almond-shaped eyes, full lips and an oval-shaped face, which, in certain poses, portrayed an owlish surprise, as if she'd just been pinched from behind.

The world lay beneath her heels.

London's Telegraph reported that Luna wrote a friend, "New York is a dream, a man danced me down Fifth Avenue, and all up and down Broadway men were eyeing and whistling at me, and so many other unbelievable things. I'm really getting the works from head to toe by Harper's Bazaar's best! As soon as possible I'll send you a picture of the new me. I'll be on top of the world if it takes every breath I have, every muscle of my skinny body. I feel it, I know it. I'll be some kind of star real soon. Real soon."

Avedon shot her for Harper. 

After a violent family tragedy in which her mother shot dead her drunken father in self-defense, Luna took solace with high class friends, but defected to London, as her career languished in racist America.

In the city of BLOW-UP she became a star for David Bailey, William Klein, Helmut Newton, William Claxton, and Dali.

"She had no tits, but lots of presence," quipped her model friend Pat Cleveland in the Telegram article. "We'd walk down the street and men's mouths would drop open in awe. When we walked into restaurants, people would stop eating and stand up and applaud. She was like a mirage, or some kind of fantasy."

And like a mirage she vanished into the world of drugs and died a model's death in Rome.

A black beauty forever.

ps America is no longer all white.

No matter what white people think, because goddesses come in all shapes, sizes, and colors.

A Drunk Eminence Grise

The term Eminence Grise originally referred to François Leclerc du Tremblay, Cardinal Richeleau's righthand man, who wore an austere grey robe whilst performing his duties far from the limelight. 

Famously Dick Cheney acted as GW Bush's éminence grise instructing the president on national security and foreign policy and the little known Dick Ross advised Reagan, Clinton, both Bush and Obama on the Middle East from a pro-Israeli viewpoint. Both were reviled by other diplomats and politicians for their proximity to the center of power as well as their unrelenting sense of personal infallibility, but they were Richelieu's closer to classic conservatism in contrast to Donald Trump's chief advisor Steven Bannon's slavish adherence to fascism.

The Virginia native is no intellectual slouch and excelled at university, after which he served seven years with the US Navy, then his career skeined through investment banking, environmentalism, and media, finally partially founding BreitNews to promote the alt-right's racist, sexist, xenophobic and anti-Semitic rhetoric. 

In other words Bannon is a right-winger who stated ideologically about BreitNews, " "We think of ourselves as virulently anti-establishment, particularly 'anti-' the permanent political class."

I am too, but I believe in the right of women, gays, people of color, atheists et al.

Trump does not and he has been issuing an onslaught of executive orders to keep the Press and the opposition at bay.

Brilliant, but brilliant thanks to his eminence grise.

Liberals have been calling him 'President Bannon'.

I'm sure he prefers the role of François Leclerc du Tremblay.

Any eminence gris would, especially since it's obvious from his bloated face that Bannon is a heavy drinker.

Nothing wrong with that.

I heavy-drink myself.

But he really looks the part. 

A drunkard.

Unlike Trump who only likes to fuck blondes and young girls.

Bannon probably likes the same thing, except it's hard for a drinker to get it up.

Then again power is a strong unequivocally.

But not when you love a can of beer more than sex.

ps Steven Bannon has a ping pong reelationship with Trump. The new eminence gris is the Nazisrailite Steven Miller, who was instrumental in convincing Trump's AI persona to join Zion in attacking Iran to overthros the mullas' rule over the Persians. Obstenvively for its support to Hamas with the October 7 raid from Gaza. Bannon waits in the wings to salvage diaster in this oreign intrigue. Niether Stephen understand the role on AI Trump. Neither does Trump, but AI Trump can multitask everything thanks to the DOGE elimination of legislative and judiical barriers to one-AI rule.

pps Trump declared that Ayatollah Khamenei, who has ruled the Islamic Republic. for thirty-nine years has been killed by an air strike. Iran refutes this statement. Time will tell.

Friday, February 27, 2026

HANG ON SLOOPY by David Porter 2016

In my younger years of my life I knew girls known Sandie, Samantha, Suzanne, Sara, but never a Sloopy.

Doctor Nick and I went to college with a girl whose name sounded by Sloopy, until I went to university.

A slight brunette from Roxbury majored in nursing. On the weekends she danced weekends at the Two o'Clock Lounge in the Combat Zone to pay her tuition. Sloopy was the first person in her family to attend university. Nick and I drove taxi at night. We sometimes picked up Sloopy at closing time. Neither of us received more than the fare at the end of the ride. We never said how we felt about her. To have said anything was bad luck.

At a party one Friday night I told our college friends from New York and New Jersey about the idyllic Rockport quarries. Everyone wanted to swim in the spring-fed granite pits. The next day we left Boston in a car caravan headed to Rockport. Sloopy accompanied Nick. He had a red MG convertible.

We smoked weed on the cliffs. Nick and Sloopy leaped off the cliff together.  I decided to dive to impress her. I misjudged the drop and hit the water at the wrong angle. Bones crackled along my spine. I swan to the shore and slowly hauled myself from the quarry waters.

Sloopy hadn't seen my dive. She had been kissing Nick. As I pulled myself from the water, Nick reached out a hand and asked if I was all right. He was pre-med at BC.

"I'm okay."

Barely and I recovered from the dive, but ever since then I've avoided girls with names sounding like Sloopy, I love David Porter's cover of the McCoy's hit song. Henri Flash introduced me to the HANG ON SLOOPY at BSIR's, a Hamburg nightclub, in 1982. The French disc jockey would play Porter's long version at the end of the night.

The last lingerers slow-danced for about two minutes and then lost the groove. Henri called the lengthy recording the best music for emptying a nightclub nearing dawn. David Porter's HANG ON SLOOPY was a long song. Henri would leave the DJ booth and I would join the Frenchman at the bar.

"A last drink."

"To HANG ON SLOOPY."

We never lost the groove.

And neither does this song.

"C'mon Sloopy."

From the Stax hit man.

Sam & Dave's "Soul Man" (1968 Grammy Winner)
Mariah Carey "Dreamlover" (1993 Grammy Winner)
Will Smith's "Get Jiggy Wit It" (1999 Grammy Winner)
Sam and Dave's "Hold On, I'm Comin'"
Biggie Smalls "Who Shot Ya?"

Abe And Marilyn and Blackula

Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclaimation in 1863. Slaves were freed throughout the South. Their liberation awaited the arrival on the Union Army.

"Free at last, hallelujah."

The unchained darkies' paradise last a few years, as after Appomatox the South instituted Jim Crow laws aimed at their subjugation to sharecropper lands. The police and mobs below the Mason-Dixon Line punished any loose-tongued niggers with the noose. Lynchings occurred with frightening regularity and Africans fled the South throughout the 20th Century in hopes of better days, only to have Northern factory owners conspire to break the spirit of blacks by underpaying their worth. The 1919 Tulsa Massacre taught spades that no place safe existed for a black man, woman, or child in White America.

I taught high school in South Boston during the Bussing battles of the 1970s.

A Massachusetts state judge had ordered the Boston School Committee to rectify the racial imbalances within the city without including the lily-white suburbs. Poor Irish teenagers had been transported to the poorer neighborhoods of Roxbury.

Divide and conquer amongst the old slaves, for the Irish had also been transported to the Americas as slave as well as the Africans of the West Coast.

And nowadays the battle lines are drawn by color.

Black and their supporters versus an aging White America threatened by the rising number of Latinos and Chinese flocking to the fifty states. Riches and safety await them, because White America is only interested in keeping down the blacks.

A black man has to know his place and that is why Michael Brown was killed in Ferguson.

He mouthed off to a white cop.

Treyvon was murdered, because he was a black boy in a hoodie.

Akai Gurley had it coming, because he was black.

Tamir Rice was shot dead by cops.

At least one a day in these United States.

And white people say these killings are not racist. Cops kill blacks to insure Nat Turner and his slave rebellion was a one-off.

No, they are almost right. Cops kill people, because they are poor and dead men can't tell their side of the story.

Whites prefer the nice lies by the people they have entrusted to protect them from the blacks.

Murder is just another price to pay for sleeping safe and sound at night.

ZZZZZZZZZ.

In your sleep.

Blackula will come to get you, whitey.

Me too, but I'm eating tons of garlic just in case. he's after all whites.

He looks more like Abe Lincoln than Marilyn Monroe and there is nothing I want more than Marilynula sucking my blood in bed.

I'm a sucked for a stone-cold dead blonde.

Tupac Wants To Know Why - 2011

"We (Black People) built this country and get none of the benefits! Why?" - Tupac Shakur

Tupac, because capitalists are in the business of creating wealth.

Back in the 20s and 30s the country was on a brink of a revolution and the government forced business to change their labor policies.

The struggle through the 40s,50s, and 60s was the fight for human rights. Since then our steps forward have been negated by increasing income inequality for all classes except one. and it ain't ours.

In the 21st Century everyone wants to be a millionaire, but there are only three ways to achieve that goal; birth, marriage, or theft and no one can steal like the rich.

But I don't have to tell Tupac that. He's a dead man. Dead for someone knows why. His aunt was a Black Panther. Tupac sooner or later was going to be a danger.

A dead man always knows the truth.

Live on Tupac. Life goes on.

Black At Last 2010

Frank's Bar on Fulton Street is black. It's not Black Panther 'Black' or Malcolm X 'Black' but it's blacker than any other bar in Fort Greene. Since 1972 too. I've been hanging out there for the last year. I have never pretended to be anything more than what I am. A white boy from Boston and the regulars of the bar have accepted my whiteness. I speak with Homer about the Knicks. We agree that they suck. Billy in the corner tells me tales of the 50s. He is that old and Tim, the owner's brother, drinks with me on Sunday afternoons. Ain't no one else there but me and him. He's 75. I'm 57. We've seen some of the same things, but I was a white boy cracker.

Until tonight.

Before leaving the Plaza Retail floor in the basement, I stopped at Demel's Chocolatier in the Plaza. THe Austrian franchise was closing on Friday. Business in the Plaza Hotel was horrible. THe Israeli owners were real estyate dealers and not cordial hists., plus only three things work in a basemetn; a boiler, a bar, and a brothel.

Attila, the owner's son, packed a box of cakes. He asked where I was going, thinking I might be trendy, after all my boss Richie Boy had been in the Boom-Boom club the other night.

"Going to the in spots is not my game. I'm strictly Frank's."

It was three blocks from my apartment in Fort Greene and Rosa was tending the bar. The Chino-Mexicana was funny, hot, and poured free beer.

Upon my arrival at the establishment on Fulton Street, I arrived with chocolate cakes. All the girls at the bar cooed with expectancy seeing the chocolate cakes. They were chocolate-lovers to the bone. I fed them pralines, dark chocolate mousses, super chocolate pies. All the sisters were ecstatic and the largest, Darleene, said, "Thank you, Mr. Chocolate."

"Mr. Chocolate?" I pondered the enormity of this appellation and said, "Having reasched the promised land when a white man can be recognized as chocolate. Chocolate City I love you."

Everyone laughed except for one young man. A stranger with a glower.

"You ain't no brother."

These were harsh words and I stuck out my arm. It hadn't seen the sun in six months.

"I white than you is true, but I have the power of chocolate." I offered his a Chocolate tart.

Darleene's right. You are the Chocolate Messiah.

Everyone laughed harder. Even the brother darker than the white boy # 1.

I do love this bar.

Greenland Ho No

This week after a US submariner had been rescued at sea by the Danish Navy eight miles off the coast of Nuuk, the capitol of Greenland Trump announced that the USA was sending a US hospital ship to deal with the health crisis on the massive island, which has universal health care. The emergency for the Greenlander arose after a Danish guest of Louisiana's Governor Landry had told about his mother's deaeth from sepsis.

Hearing this Trump contacted the Pentagon and ordered the USN Comfort to sea. Unfortunately both hospital ships were under repair and not sea-worthy. Unhinged as ever his AI self posted on  his Truth Social platform. “Working with the fantastic Governor of Louisiana, Jeff Landry, we are going to send a great hospital boat to Greenland to take care of the many people who are sick, and not being taken care of there. It’s on the way!!!”   

Jon Steward had a party with him.

And probably on its way for his millions of cult-followers. Personally I thought that Pete Hesgeth, the Secretary of War, had his AI self come up with a devious plan to load the Comfort with Navy Seals to overthrow the Danish government in Greenland. Their two AI convinced that this was doable and persuaded the same to 47 and his Nazi crony. His people still are crowing about this humanitarian effort, although Trump failed to mention Greenland in the two-hour rant in the demi-Reichstag as opposed to his 2025 Congressional monologue Trump stated, that he supported Greenlanders’ “right to determine [their] own future” but also said that the USA would get Greenland “one way or the other” and would make Greenlanders rich."  

This from the Man who is bankrupting America. Bankruptcy # 7. Never play with your own money.    

Watch    

https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=759186160603853

Thursday, February 26, 2026

Danish Penal Delight -2010

The nordic country of Denmark has a current population of 5,806,015 including the peoples of the remote Faroe Islands and ice giant Greenland. The penal system consists of forty-seven institutions holding approximately 3,795 prisoners of whom almost 30% are foreigners, legal and illegal.

Each cell is a model for humane treatment, although in Thailand I met more than a few members of the motorcycle gang The Banditos and they are hardened criminals.

But even they get the IKEA cells to serve out their time.

After all Denmark is the happiest country in the world according to the Happy Planet index.

Still according the dk.com Denmark's rightist government has approved funding to transform Lindholm Island, once a contagious diseases laboratory, into a detention center that would house migrant criminals who cannot be deported due to fears of execution or torture.. The move was criticized by the UN.

"They are unwanted in Denmark and they must feel that," said Integration Minister Inger Stojberg in a Facebook post, shortly after the proposal was announced in early December.

The foreign criminals will be allowed to leave the island during the day, but will have to report their whereabouts to authorities and return at night.

I've always joked that my retirement plan was to rob a bank in Denmark, get caught by the police, and then be sentenced to prison.

I think I would fit right into the system, although in recent years many prisoners are deported to their native countries to serve out the terms of punishment.

I would have to ask for asylum, because America's prison are a disgrace.

Torture, rape, violence run rampant in the fifty states.

The prison population is half the size of Denmark.

Overcrowding is a norm.

Solitary confinement punishes the vocal and the wild.

No human contact.

No natural light.

No sense of day or night.

Torture plain and simple.

Living death for millions of Americans, mostly black.

Run by corporations for profit.

Starvation.

For body and soul.

And no one at an NFL football game cares about them, except maybe the players.

No surprise.

Outrage at a quarterback taking a knee against racial injustice.

None against the slavery at Angola Prison.

At one time people have to say enough is enough.

Sadly it won't be this Christmas in the American slave colonies.

Hard times is always hard time behind the walls.

Robert E. Peary’s Sins

The Ancients suspected the existence of the North and South Poles from astronomical calculations and the Mandaean religion prayed facing the North as the World of Light. For thousands of years the North Pole existed as a myth, however in the 19th Century Europeans sought the Northwest Passage through the endless archipelago of icebergs and barren glacial islands.

Drawn by the myth of Ultima Thule every summer expeditions attempted assaults of the Land of the Ice and Snow. Many of their ships ended up trapped in the ice pack for years. While polar bears hunted seals in the white wasteland, only frozen death awaited men passing 82 degrees longitude.

The native Inuits of Greenland believing that Nunaup Kajjinga or the Big Nail crowned the world. The people never never ventured father than the range of the sea lions, only frozen death anyone beyond that.

Westerners thought otherwise.

After the Franco-Prussian War imperial peace dominated Europe and Pax Americana controlled the New World. The only route of advancement for Naval officers was a shot at the North or South Pole. While the possibility of frozen death awaited most of these polar adventurers and in 1908 two men led their teams due north.

Frederick Cook and Robert E. Peary.

One time friends now rivals.

Peary committed three grave sin on his polar expedition

Sin # 1.

Cook declared his winning the race, but was discredited by Peary, who supposedly reached the North Pole with his black companion Matthew Henson and four Inuits; Ooqueah, Ootah, Eginghah,and Seeglo. Peary was too far gone to actually reach Ultime Thule, but claimed victory without any credit to Henson or the Inuits. In fact he denigrated Henson's achievement and refused him any honors for decades. White people never gave credit to Africans for anything.

Sin # 2.

The explorers and whalers wintered in Greenland with the Inuit. Many had Inuit wives. Peary was no exception. He had a child with Aleqasina, a teenager, and when his American wife during a surprise visit demanded that her husband give up this savage, he refused and later had a son with his young love. His white daughter Marie, the Snow Bird, was friends with them and they regarded her as a half-sister, however Peary abandoned his native wife and children without regret to reap the rewards of fame in the USA.

Sin # 3.

Six Inuits accompanied his southward voyage. He left them at the Museum of Natural History in New York and returned to Maine. Five of them succumbed to typhoid leaving a young Inuit boy, Minnik, alone. Promised a proper burial of his father and friends, Minnik later discovered that the museum officials had boiled the flesh off their bodies to display the bare bones to visitors. Death also stalked the Inuuit in the warm lands.

Minnik begged for his father's bones for years. Peary never responded to his requests. Finally as a young man he escaped the museum and fled north to Canada and the eternal cold. The Royal Mounted Police arrested him and he was transported back to New York, where he was granted his wish and he traveled north to Greenland on a whaler along with the bones of his people. Peary had nothing to say about it.

My grandfather was his doctor and the Snowbird was my grandmother's best friend, but that's another story for another time of the frozen lands of the North.

Ajunngigiarlutit or good luck to them all.

I also suggest reading Give Me My Father's Body: The Life of Minik, the New York Eskimo Hardcover – January 1, 2000 by Kenn Harper> I have a copy of it somewhere.

In my youth I visited the Peabody Museum at Harvard and was shocked to see Eskimo and Native American mummies in the collection. I stopped going after discovering that the museum had harvested over 10,000 bodies since its inception. The Inuit mummies dated back to the 1600s. The Viking colonies had long since vanished. None of their corpses had been reaped by the Arctic scientists. According to the Harvard Crimson The Peabody is similarly in the process of returning Native American human remains to Indigenous American tribes. As of February, the Peabody had returned 44 percent of its 10,118 total held ancestors as part of its efforts under the 1990 Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act.

Shame.

And I expect even less humanity from the pedophile Donald Trump.

Where Went Melville

Herman Melville was born in New York to a respectable family, which fell on hard times and forced the young boy to work, but to escape impoverishment he went to sea culminating in a voyage to the South Seas, where he jumped ship in the Marquesas Islands. This escapade formed the basis of his highly popular TYPEE about two sailors who seek refuge with cannibals and how one falls in love with a woman named Faraway.

Once more with money he married and wrote more novels. Most notably MOBY DICK. A literary failure. Melville retired from writing and worked as a customs inspector in downtown Manhattan. I always thought thzt the US Customs Building was where, but it had been erect in 1907. Decades after Melville's death. Inside the Beaux Arts building is a large oval desk overlooked by maritime murals by Reginald Marsh underneath an oval rotunda, which replaced the Seaman's Museum. I imagined Melville at this desk. Not so.

Melville faded into a comfortable obscurity.

Somehow thanks to a Melville revival in the early 20th Century MOBY DICK was declared a masterpice and assigned to school reading lists. "Call me Ismael." I remember the first line well.

"And I only am escaped alone to tell thee."

I don't remember a single word in between unlike the Oxford Dictionary aardvak and zyzzyva, a tropical weevil or beetle. I have a copy of TYPEE someplace. Years ago I stumbled on a bust of Melville by by William N. Beckwith outside of 6 Pearl Street. It is no longer there. Such is fame. Fleeting and eternal in the mnds of the unreading public of the modern age. I wonder where the bust when.

to read more go to read Herman's Head by Adam Mellion

https://allvisibleobjects.substack.com/p/hermans-head

Adam Mellon further seeks Melville's bust in https://allvisibleobjects.substack.com/p/hermans-head-part-2-the-bust

The only known bust of Melville. heck out Adam Mellon's substack site All Visible Objects

Wednesday, February 25, 2026

On the Bowery 1977

In 1962 my father had a business meeting in New York. He drove us down from Boston and we stayed at the Manhattan Hotel on West 34th Street. Between meetings we went to the Empire State Building, the Rockettes, ate at Tads Steakhouse, and saw the Statue of Liberty. On the way back by Yellow Cab we rode along the Boulevard of Broken Dreams. A sunny day much like that of the photo.

Spotting a man sprawled on that narrow meridian strip, I asked, if he were dead.

“No, he’s just drunk.”

I knew what drunk was since an old man hung out at the gas station in our suburban town. Red Tate. A Korean war veteran. My father sometimes gave him a buck for a bottle of wine. There weren't many bums in my hometown. It was a dry town without any liquor stores, but Red Tate always had his bottle of Thunderbird.

In the next block were three more collapsed men. Lost to oblivion.

I later lived in the East Village and frequented CBGBs, passing countless enlistees to a state of inebriation on the Bowery. I never joined them, but not for lack of trying.

Tuesday, February 24, 2026

Fare Thee Well Christmas Wreath 2025

Thanks to the tree elves

Office Chair On The Snow

Sunday afternoon the snow fell lightly. walking down Vanderbilt Avenue I spotted a black office chair. In relatively good condition. I brushed off the snow and sat down, thinking, "This might do."

A new writing chair.

The snowfall was less than an inch. I rolled it to my building on Myrtle Avenue. I hefted it. Not light. Heavy. I sat again. Not the right height. I live on the fourth floor. I wished the chair luck.

The blizzard hit Brooklyn. Traffic was closed to all, but emergency vehicles and plows.

In the morning I ventured out to buy butter for pancakes and red raspberries at Coco. The plows had cleared the avenue. The sidewalks were treacherously slippery. The gales harvested the snow into gathering drifts. The chair was gone. To someplace other than this frozen corner. I wish the new owner and the chair good luck.

ps only pour maple syrup on pancakes. Never corn syrup. Even fruit flies won’t ear that poison I bought. Quebecois. Syrup. No maple syrup from Maine at Coco. Next trip Downeast I'll find some. There are plenty of maple trees in the Pine Tree State.

I nary a word to the old faithful about the abandoned office chair. Some things are better left unsaid.

Monday, February 23, 2026

SNOW Jesse Winchester

Jesse Winchester recorded this song in 1970. Winter was winter back in the last century. Listening to this song reminds me of New England and leaving behind the cold . If only I could leave. Anywhere south as long as it isn't New Jersey.

Ash Wednesday

On Ash Wednesday Jack and I traveled into the city to 5th Avenue. To have ashes of repentance marked as a cross on our foreheads. Jack was not a Catholic. As an atheist Catholic I baptised her from the entrance font. We lit candles afore Bridget of Clare an old pagan saint of healing and then chanted 'mea culpa mea culpa mea maxima culpa' before the anointing priest. I was an altar boy. Latin was my first second language. Amo amas amat the verb to love was first learned. Mea culpa means I'm sorry. For what? There's always something. Numquam amare obliviscor If there is no sin, there is no reason to repent. My friend Alison had attended a Swiss bordering school and wrote to me that Mea culpa doesn't quite translate to "forgive me I have sinned". Close enough I guess for a paganist. Ash Wednesday's origins date back to Babylon. Isthar's consort dies and after forty days of fasting is revived with the coming of Spring. ps Isthar is the goddess of fertility and dates further back to the Sumerians 2000BCE

Opening Line JUNKIE

Junkie was my first encounter with William Burroughs, the infamous beat writer. I can't recall my ag, when I read his first novel. Maybe 18. Maybe 20. His novel was not in the stacks of the town library to the South of Boston in the 60s. Imust have found it in a Harvard Square bookstore.

Junkie along with Last Exit to Brooklyn opened my eyes to the transgressions life. I survived my early years without imitating that life.

In the 70s I sometimes saw Burroughs shuffling across the marble floors of Grand Central Terminal, his steps whispers on stone. His eyes not saw me. I studied him for several seconds. In a suit grayer than his skin. Gaunt. Glazed by heroin or vivid with the need for heroin. I never said anything. His world was his and heroin. Not mine. Some times. Never no more.

"I suppose I'm a junkie, which is a fairly long story." First line Junkie 1953. I was one years old. I'm much older than that now, unlike so many junkies.