Saturday, November 11, 2023
11-11-1918
Tomorrow I will toast the millions of sad sacrifices of men to imperialism. I also thanked the stars that I’ve never had to fire a shot in anger.<
The truce between the Axis and Allies was signed at 5am, but ceasefire didn't take effect, until the 11th second of the 11th minute of the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month and for six hours guns along the Western Front unloosed their last cannonade.
Soldiers on both sides had ammo and they weren't taking none of the death home from 'over there'.
It is estimated that over 10,000 men were killed or wounded between 5am and 11am.
The last casualty was reputed to be a Canadian, Private George Lawrence Price.
He was struck in the chest by a German sniper at 10:58am.
One of the 60,000 dead from the Great North.
Pacem in Terrem.
Tomorrow I will ask New Yorkers about Armistice Day, which is a national holiday.
I doubt that less than 10% can say why they had a day off from work.
None of them will know Private George Lawrence Price
"As you get old, you forget. As you get older you are forgotten."
But not by me.
I'm a true old git.
End the Endless War.
11-11-11-11-18
The Great War of 1914-1918 ended on the 11th minute of the 11th hour or the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918. My grandfather and grandmother were in France, serving as doctor and nurse with the Royal Canadian Medical Expedition. They returned to Maine with German helmets, bayonets, zeppelin debris, and medals as souvenirs of that horrible conflict. My grandfather died shortly after my birth, but my grandmother never spoke of her years tending to the wounded and dying soldiers. She never mentioned how the shooting went on well beyond the ceasefire hour, only how she met my grandfather and how they fell in love.
Today I thank them that I've never had to fire a shot in anger and appreciate the sacrifice of the fallen so that I can remain a pacifist.
Bring the troops home.
Monday, November 6, 2023
Fort Greene Obsevatory
Saturday morning I took this photo from the top floor of the Fort Greene Observatory.
The sunrise was gray and the Mamas and Papas' CALIFORNIA DREAMIN' rang in my ears.
I was 2900 miles from the West Coast and rain sloshed on the sidewalk.
I went to work in wet gear. The streets of Manhattan swelled ankle-deep with the overflow of every deluge. Thankfully I was wearing a good boots and returned home at dark only a little wet. My landlord and I smoked some reefer after which I fell into bed with the windows open to the cool autumn night.
Sirens sang on Fulton.
Ambulances, not fire or police.
Brooklyn was dangerous in the rain.
I read PORIUS by John Cowper Powys.
The Celtic fairy tale was a tough walk through the weeds of words obscuring the Arthurian legend.
My eyes shut after two chapters, dreaming of my Pictish blood.
lasted two seconds as a near-sighted thane with a dull sword against the Roman shield and I wandered through the sleeplands until a whoosh of wind withered a shiver through the trees outside my window.
Golden leaves fluttered to the floor.
My breath floated on the darkness.
The temperature dropped every second.
Autumn was here.
Winter was coming.
I shut the windows and watched the wind rip away the leaves.
Mercy was out of the question for the new season's invaders.
Three layers of blankets shunned the cold, but this was only the beginning.
Winter was coming.
It bound to get colder.
Earth was in Space and the temperature in Space was Absolute Zero.
Saturday, November 4, 2023
Autumn en Ile St. Louis
Autumn en Ile St. Louis
November Paris 1984
Early morning
Cold wet rain
On Rue des Deux Ponts
On Ile St. Louis in Paris
A gray morning
Comme chaque autumn
Sur le Rue Des Deux Ponts
Kicking leaves into the gutter
Heading to the corner cafe
With my mistress' Scottie in tow
Angus
Sniff sniff sniff
For the scents of dogs.
Arrive at the Cafe Louis IX
Push the door open
Angus I enter.
Inside thick with Gitane smoke
Three workers a le bar
There
Chaque matin comme moi et Angus
On their third Calvados
A nod
A nod back.
Another nod to the barman.
Henri serves a cafe, croissant, et Calva.
Rain outside
Angus rests his head
On my boots
The floor smell of Gitane cigarette ash.
Tobacco and other men's boots.
Outside
Cold wet rain
No hurry in none of us
Except Angus
Eager to press his nostrils
To the gutter
To treasure the bouquet of dogs.
Pas encore
A nod to Henri
Un'autre Calva
Si vous plait.
The three workers nod approval.
We have never spoken a word.
Just that nod.
We all believe in Sloth.
Especially with the autumn rain
Sweeping the Rue des Deux-Ponts
Paris
Autumn
1984
Une bonne matin
Le pluie
Angus and me
Ile St. Louis.
TV Sign Off Snow
Friday, November 3, 2023
The Cage - West 4th Street 11/1/2023
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B-ball
Over the years
Two mornings ago I exited from the West 4th Street station Early for my eldercare of Professor Ollman. A forty year-old player spoke with two ballers. I had seen the bearded ace before. He had a great handle And even better shot.
I asked if I could take a few shots. It had been ten months since my transplant. He passed me the ball and challenged me to a game. For money. He didn't play for free he said. I replied that I only play for free. For the game. I've played everywhere. Boston, the Cage, East Tenth and A, Isla Mujeres, Lake Atitlan, North Hollywood, Doi Mae Salong, Sumatra, Penang, les Jardins de Luxembourg, Nottinghill Gate, Moscow, Lhasa.
He chllanged me to play to 11. I said a game to three. He nodded and started his trick dribbling. I wasn't buying the magic. I cut off his right. It didn't matter. I lost 3-0. Maybe better next time.
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