This is a fantastic clip of Anchorage-based violinist Bryson Andres


This is a fantastic clip of Anchorage-based violinist Bryson Andres playing his sampled and looped version of OneRepublic’s Secrets on the streets of Spokane, Washington. As somebody who played violin for close to nine years I’m in awe in what Andres has accomplished in just eight … I had difficulty keeping my instrument in tune, let alone, y’know, being able to produce things that sounded like music. (via the awesomer)violin

This is a fantastic clip of Anchorage-based violinist Bryson Andres



Is this the scariest road in America?

Is this the scariest road in America?

Ghost sightings, KKK meetings, Witches, and even Druidic ceremonies? Is this the scariest road in America?

Named for the now-vanished settlement of Clinton, Clinton Road in West Milford, Passaic County, New Jersey has scared the hell out of people for decades. Cut through a heavily wooded area with almost no houses, this road lets your creepy imagination run wild. You’ll have plenty of time to muster the courage to travel north on Clinton Road as the traffic light at Route 23 & Clinton Road also holds the record for being the longest light in America. Once onto Clinton Road, get ready to be freaked out.

The Ghost Boy Bridge

Is this the scariest road in America?

Near the Clinton Reservoir you’ll find a bridge and a sharp “dead man’s curve”. Legend says if you toss a coin into the water a boy will toss it back. That’s not terrifying at all. People claim they’ve also seen the boy’s reflection in the water. Other claim to have been pelted with coins.

The Iron Smelter/Druidic Temple

Is this the scariest road in America?

Ok, so it’s not really a Druidic Temple, but rather an iron smelter left over from the 18th century. The temple story stuck though, and today it’s fenced off to keep all you ghost hunters from getting hurt. Still, it’s little creepy at night and reports of oddballs having ceremonies around it are not uncommon.

Cross Castle

Is this the scariest road in America?

Although nothing but the foundation remains today, a three-story castle-like structure once stood in these eerie woods. When the stone walls still stood the place was a hotbed for the Satanic and the occult. Our guess is it still is, so maybe don’t go there after dark.

If the little boy throwing your change back at your face or the Satan worshipers dancing around the Cross Castle haven’t scared you off yet, let the Ku Klux Klan send you on your way. Clinton Road has long been known as a hangout for the Klan ever since the German American Bund held their little hate-camps in the area.

Is this the scariest road in America?

Lastly, don’t forget all the other creepy things people claim to have seen on this road. Mythical cross-bred creatures (supposedly the result of Jungle Habitat’s closing in the 1970s…), people dressed in strange outfits disappearing, and ghost vehicles chasing cars off the road… All in a lovely trip down Clinton Road.

Can you think of a creepier road?

(Black & White photos credit: Reely Bored Horror)

Seattle’s “haunted vending machine” is creeping everyone out

Seattle’s “haunted vending machine” is creeping everyone out

Seattle's "haunted vending machine" is creeping everyone out

The Pacific Northwest is home to some of the world’s most enduring mysteries. Sasquatch, D.B. Cooper, and a bottomless pit with supernatural powers all call Washington home, but one of the weirdest unsolved enigmas is that of Seattle’s “haunted vending machine”. It’s a strange case that’s been mystifying curious locals for at least 15 years, and no one has even come close to cracking it.

The antiquated machine sits alone on a sidewalk, wrapped in dents and faded graffiti, and you wouldn’t be faulted for thinking it didn’t actually work. But upon closer inspection, it’s clear to see that the machine is plugged in, its yellowing backlights still flickering. What makes this machine so mysterious doesn’t lie in its appearance, but in its stock.

Seattle's "haunted vending machine" is creeping everyone out

For seventy-five cents, the machine randomly conjures up a rainbow of bizarre flavors, many of which don’t even exist anymore, but even stranger than the mystery flavors is where they come from. In almost two decades, no one has ever seen someone stock the machine. In fact.. no one even knows who it belongs to, just that is never seems to run out.

VICE writer Hillary Pollack launched her own investigation into the mystery machine, starting at Broadway Locksmith, the closest building to the everlasting well of high fructose corn syrup.

“I’ve honestly never seen anyone open it,” offers Mickey, the locksmith business’s earnest-sounding general manager. “Do people get soda out of it frequently?” I ask him “Oh yeah, all the time. All day long,” he said. ” And yet in a decade-and-a-half, you’ve never seen anyone tampering with it or refilling it?” I asked. “Nope,” he shrugged, “He must come in the middle of the night on a weekend or something.”

Unconvinced that Mickey and his locksmith mignions had nothing to do with the machine, I pressed him for knowledge. “Are you sure that you’re not the one who collects money out of it?” “No, ma’am,” he insisted. “I think they run on the same power as our address, but that’s it.” Mickey also claims that people often gather around the machine to stare at it with frightened wonder, or put entire rolls of quarters into its bowels in hopes of decoding its mystery-button logic.

Much like Bigfoot, it appears that the secret of Seattle’s “haunted vending machine” isn’t going to be solved anytime soon, but for those of us with a few spare quarters and a thirst for mystery, that’s not exactly a bad thing.

Want to do a bit of investigating of your own? Follow this handy map, but be sure to bring some change!

The man who lives in a tree, doesn’t wear shoes, and brushes his teeth with a pinecone

The man who lives in a tree, doesn’t wear shoes, and brushes his teeth with a pinecone

The man who lives in a tree, doesn’t wear shoes, and brushes his teeth with a pinecone

Talk about living off the grid… About 25 years ago, Mick Dodge shed his shoes, grew his beard, a…


“My family has perfected the art of dodging civilizations for hundreds of years. All I have to do is follow my feet,” says the backwoods philosopher.

He’s a memorably quirky character with a unique take on life, as this interview illuminates.

MNN: What was your life like before you moved to the woods? Did you have a job? Did you get an education?

Mick Dodge: Yes, as a heavy equipment mechanic. I have also dug ditches, chopped wood, washed dishes, and taught the Earth Gym practices. I graduated Kubasaki High School in Okinawa, Japan. Never been to college, but like to read books. If the book makes sense and has value for the earth, I plant a tree and share the book. If the book does not make sense, I plant a tree for it and use it as [toilet] paper or fire starter.

My life was about the same as it is now, learning the ways to walk and explore physical exercise and how to create a physical practice that finds the middle ground between the wild and tame, between the gated wild and the walls of modern domestication. However, I must add that I have no feet pain, back pain and my heart is strong [since] I became a barefoot nomad.

What prompted you to go to the forest in the first place?

My feet hurt. I had hammertoes, plantar fasciitis, deformed feet. They hurt so bad that I could barely walk and I had always used my walk and run to handle the stress of modern living, make sense of the modern world story that I was living in, and the Hoh is home for me. So I went home to heal my feet.

In following my feet I found myself stepping out of the insulation of the modern world and landing in the earth. The results came quickly. Not only were my feet healing, but my back pain, neck pain and most of all my heart pain disappeared, and in no time at all I was back into a dead run, stepping out of the sedentary, stressed, sedated and secured living of the modern world. I was muscling my mind into the heart of the matter.

I was dancing as the fire, running as the wind, strengthening as the stone and flowing as the water within, by the simple act of touching with my bare soles and allowing the Earth to teach. It is a simple matter to follow your feet, but is does not come easy. The Earth will eat you if you are not paying attention.

Is there anything you miss about modern civilization?

I don’t miss it. There is no way to get away from it. So I developed a physical fitness practice in how to step in and out of it, stepping out of the walls, machines, electronics, social babble for awhile, ground back into the natural flow of the land, and then go back in.

Going barefoot, did you ever injure your feet?

On one of my long running quests in my bare soles into the highlands of the Olympics, I was taught a lesson by the mountain. It was early winter. The snows came and I almost lost my toes. I had no footwear with me.

It was a 30-mile walk out. So I cut up my moose hide jacket and had to make a set of mukluks to protect my feet. It was then that I realized that … I better shift my attitude and vow about bare footing. It was a powerful teaching. I learned the meaning and wisdom of the old saying of my elders. “Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water.”

How difficult are the winters for you, with diminished resources?

It is not difficult at all. It is an adventure and I have never had to deal with diminished food sources. I just follow my feet. There is not much that I do not eat. I am an omnivore, able to eat a wide variety of food, which also means that I learned how to become a scavenger and allowed the hunger in my belly to guide me into discovering all kinds of food.

For example, I would come upon an elk killed by a cougar. When a cougar kills an elk, the entire forest moves in to eat. So I do the same. I often come upon road kill. Many people are scared of such food and yet they eat jerky… and jerky is nothing more than sun-dried meat.

So what I eat during a normal week changes depending upon which one of the three terrains that I am footing my way through. But there is one highly spiritual food that I try to maintain in my stashes and storage places and that is chocolate-chip cookies. My grandmothers got me hooked on them.

Have you had any close call animal encounters?

I was footing my way along the road headed for my home camp, when some idiot talking on a cellphone, doing at least 80 miles per hour, almost hit a deer and then me. The most dangerous encounters that I have ever had in the gated wild, walls of the city and in the open fenced lands are with two footed creatures.

What do you do if you get sick? Have you ever had an emergency situation?

Fire is one of the elements of the forest that I have learned to develop a relationship to use in healing. Another key element in healing is water. After all, we are all walking sacks of water. I found during those times when I had been around people from the city, I would catch some kind of cold or flu.

I would enter back into the Hoh and drink the water and soak my entire body in the glacial water. My grandfather called it “kissing the foot of the glacier.”

There are all kinds of mushrooms, herbs, etc. to be used for healing, and I keep a close relationship with those in the Earth communities that master the healing and herbal arts, such as my friend Doc Gare, who is introduced in the series.

Does this lifestyle give you a heightened appreciation of Mother Nature?

Appreciation is such a weak word to express what I feel for the Earth and the transitions that I have gone through and am still going through. Hell, I am just getting started. One of the ways that was taught to me on one of my long gated wild quests was to break free of the polarization of the modern world.

People always trying to put you in box. By getting some distance from the comforts, habits, physical structures like shoes, machines, walls, electronics, I find myself seeking out what makes sense, what fits, and integration of the wild and tame make sense. So l learned to hunt and track the middle path, the middle way. It is not easy at times figuring out the middle way between the modern world and the Earth. But it is fun and adventure.

What’s the best and worst part of this lifestyle?

Wherever there is good there is bad. That is the game of life. My passion in life is to explore, engage, challenge and balance whatever comes in the three terrains that I run through.

I don’t imagine there are many mountain women out there. Do you get lonely?

On my journey, I have formed so many wonderful connections with women, formed strong brother-and-sister relationships with them. I may not be able to figure out what they are always talking about. But if their soles are touching the Earth, I am more able to figure it out.

A few years ago my path wandered into the Cedar Woman. We share a common vision of these Olympic Mountains and a deep musing of the lands, and in order for a vision to manifest from the Earth it takes a mission — a mission brings it to a physical reality.

Cedar, along with others, created the Olympic Mountain Earth Wisdom Circle. Our lives are guided by the musings that come from living in a deep connection with the Earth, and Cedar holds the feminine wisdom fire of our hearth, which I keep coming back to, what I call the base camp.

Why did you agree to do a TV series?

I have three passions in life: the first one is my teacher, the Hoh river in these lands of the Olympic Mountains, and I wanted show what the Hoh has taught me about training and living. My second love and passion is my community, my clan that is spread out all through the three terrains. And my third passion is a calling and vision that I have been pursuing and running as long as I can remember, and that is to train and share a physical practice in the Earth Gym.

I’m guessing you don’t have a television. But how do you feel about being famous and people possibly coming to look for you, invading your privacy and solitude?

The last time I watched television, I was very young and it bored me. I have looked at some clips of what the crew shot. I love the scenery. I love seeing my brothers. But I will not watch them, mainly because I cannot stand to see myself on television or hear my voice, and I am not a legend. The land is the legend.

Fame is a snare used by the modern to trap and confine the spirit. Fame is one of those ways of the modern world that always comes with blame and shame. I will run from it, dodge it. After all, I am a Dodge.

If any one comes looking for me, I will be out to steal their shoes, hand them a stick and rope, show them the stones and how to sack a practice in the Earth Gym.

What do you think people will make of the show? Will they think you’re crazy or be secretly envious?

I have no idea and don’t give a s**t. You will have to ask them. When I began bare-footing, I discovered a wonderful way to explore our common cultural story. I would foot my way into the city, enter into a store barefoot. I found some liked it and would begin to reflect upon times when they walked barefoot. Others hated it, mocked it and even became angry. What was interesting to me is that they were even looking at my feet. I mean, all of us are two-footed animals. It is what has made our species.

I don’t have the time or desire to figure out what people think. It was once said that this is the “land of the free and the home of the brave.” It is becoming more like the “land of the free and the home of the caged.” I don’t know what people think. But I wish they would just think about not screwing up the land that we walk in.

What else would you like audiences to know?

Just stand up, step out of your shoebox and walk around through your habitat, your local area. When you do perhaps you will begin to notice some simple things. What will happen when you begin to follow your feet? I have no idea, no one does. I only know my own story. But I also know this: all of us are storytellers, so I hope people step out long enough to feel into the remembering, develop a practice of recovery and begin restoring their footing with the earth.

By Gerri Miller, Mother Nature Network; | Pictures: National Geographic;

NC police seek man who sucked toes at Wal-Mart

NC police seek man who sucked toes at Wal-Mart


NC police seek man who sucked toes at Wal-Mart


LINCOLNTON, N.C. – Police say a man in North Carolina sucked a woman’s toes at a Wal-Mart after he convinced her he was a podiatry student and persuaded her to take off her shoes.

Detective Dennis Harris said the woman agreed to try on several pairs of shoes at the discount store in Lincolnton, and that at some point during the process, the man stuck her foot in his mouth. Harris said the man apparently tried the same thing at another Wal-Mart 15 miles away, where he told a woman he was conducting a survey on the feet of different races and nationalities.

The second woman also agreed to take off her shoes, but left when the suspect asked her to remove her socks.

Both confrontations happened Monday. Police are looking for the man.




Film director

images (150)James R. “Jim” Jarmusch is an American independent film director, screenwriter, actor, producer, editor and composer. Jarmusch has consistently been a major proponent of independent cinema since the 1980s. Wikipedia

Born: January 22, 1953 (age 61), Cuyahoga Falls, OH
Height: 6′ 2″ (1.88 m)

Partner: Sara Driver (1980–)
Awards: Cannes Grand Prix, Short Film Palme d’Or, Caméra d’Or, More

Albums: Concerning the Entrance Into Eternity
Jim Jarmusch: ‘Women are my leaders’

•Permanent Vacation (1980)
•Stranger Than Paradise (1984)
•Down By Law (1986)
•Mystery Train (1989)
•Night on Earth (1991)
•Dead Man (1995)
•Year of the Horse (1997)
•Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999)
•Int. Trailer. Night (2002)
•Coffee and Cigarettes (2003)
•Broken Flowers (2005)
•The Limits of Control (2009)
•Unmade/rumored films
•”The Garage Tapes” (1992)

His new film, Only Lovers Left Alive, is a great romance between two vampires unanswerable to time. But Jarmusch doesn’t want to live for ever – unless it’s with Tilda Swinton or Patti Smith

David Ehrlich

The Guardian, Thursday 20 February 2014 12.15 EST

Tilda Swinton and Mia Wasikowska, in Jim Jarmusch’s Only Lovers Left Alive
Tilda Swinton and Mia Wasikowska, in Jim Jarmusch’s Only Lovers Left Alive. Photograph: Soda Pictures/Sportsphoto Ltd/Allstar

‘I’ve seen my dog dreaming,” says Jim Jarmusch over lunch in New York on a snowy December day. His voice is sedate, but excitement pops in his eyes. Other animals have imaginations, too, he thinks. “Once I left a mop outside the window of my apartment, and I saw a sparrow examining it for several days. It kept coming back, and then it started biting through to take away some strands to build a nest. It was thinking, you know?” Jarmusch does a sparrow voice, which sounds identical to his usual voice: “Man, I think this might work …”

Only Lovers Left Alive
Production year: 2013
Country: USA
Runtime: 122 mins
Directors: Jim Jarmusch
Cast: Mia Wasikowska, Tilda Swinton, Tom Hiddleston
More on this film

Speaking to Jim Jarmusch, it turns out, isn’t so different from watching one of his films. His work, like his conversation, doesn’t cohere into stories so much as constellations, networks of seemingly isolated ideas which achieve a greater meaning arranged together just so. As a man, he’s immediately identifiable: the Lee Marvin face, that shock of white hair that looks like Andy Warhol touched up with a Tesla coil.

As a director, too, there are recurring elements: a minimalist aesthetic, laconic but lovable characters (often played by musicians), a cool compositional remove that invites humour without sacrificing sincerity. These are films that believe everything is connected; theirs is a cinema of culture in conversation with itself. A young Japanese couple obsessed with Elvis. William Blake reborn into the American west. Instruments that resonate with every note that’s been played on them, the world bound together by cab rides and cups of coffee. “Each one of us is a set of shifting molecules, spinning in ecstasy,” says one character in The Limits of Control. “In the future, worn-out things will be made new again by reconfiguring their molecules.”

Only Lovers Left Alive is a film about the urgency of that recycling process, a snickering genre tale that shacks up with a pair of exhausted paramours desperate to become new yet frustrated that they can’t grow old. Jarmusch has been trying to make the movie for seven years, and whenever a bump in the road had him ready to abandon the project, Tilda Swinton would insist: “That’s good news, it means that now is not the time. It will happen when it needs to happen.” Now that the vampire film has become petrified by its own popularity, Only Lovers Left Alive may be arriving just in time. Every generation is convinced that they’re living at the end of the world, and not a single one of them has yet to be proved right.

I’d happily argue Only Lovers Left Alive is Jarmusch’s best film, but it might be more helpful to say it’s his most fluent. The leads are Eve (Swinton) in Tangier, an ancient city forever on the cusp of rebirth, and Adam (Tom Hiddleston), in Detroit, contemporary America’s most famous icon of decay. Both are exotic in their own way. She Skypes him on an iPhone. He answers on a rotary relic that he’s rigged up through a tube television. They’re vampires, and they’re in love.

Tom Hiddleston and Tilda Swinton in Only Lovers Left Alive.
Tom Hiddleston and Tilda Swinton. Photograph: Soda Pictures/Sportsphoto Ltd/Allstar

They live apart because they can, because it doesn’t deprive them of time together. “If you live that long, separation for a year might feel like a weekend,” says Jarmusch, his voice a spacey drawl. “It’s not an obligation, it’s an emotional connection.” It’s one so strong that Adam, a natural romantic who sees poetry in science, intimates that his relationship with Eve is an example of Einstein’s theory of entanglement: “When you separate an entwined particle, and you move both parts away from the other, even on opposite ends of the universe if you alter or affect one, the other will be identically altered or affected.”

In Detroit, Adam grows despondent about the stale state of human culture. In Tangier, Eve packs her favourite books into a small metal suitcase and arranges a series of night flights to the Motor City in order to see her immortal beloved, reserving her tickets under the name Fibonacci. “All entities in the universe are spherical, round or spiral,” says Jarmusch. Circles are so crucial to the film that his script was originally threaded with quotes from Rumi, a dervish dancer, about waterwheels and turning. “It seemed a bit pretentious,” he says.

It’s hard not to see the theatrically suicidal Adam as Jarmusch in disguise, the director’s neuroses in almost human form. For one thing, both of them love Swinton. “It’s everything about her,” says Jarmusch, eyes lost over my shoulder. “It’s her physicality, the way that she moves … like a vestigial predator, like a wolf.”

There’s certainly a feral element to Eve’s appearance; her character comes off as a Nobel laureate raised by wild animals. For Jarmusch, though, it’s her clear eyes that are most compelling. “She has an ability to prioritise what’s really important in life. Once I was listening to her, I think we were at lunch with Patti Smith, and I thought: ‘Oh boy, if all culture breaks down, I’m following them. They’re my leaders, the women are the way to go.’ One of the great moments in my life,” he continues, “was when we were shooting The Limits of Control, and we finished a take and I said: ‘Oh Tilda, that was so beautiful, will you marry me?” And she replied: ‘Oh darling, we already are.’ I could have died.”

Adam’s problem, of course, is that he can’t. Or he doesn’t really want to. Like his creator, he’s not suicidal, simply tormented by nausea at the sense that culture has run its course. Convinced that humans – whom he refers to as zombies – are rotting the world, he’s the Platonic ideal of a hipster; how can you think anything is cool when you’ve lived for enough centuries to know that coolness is false? There’s jaded, and then there’s dismissing your old pals as “Shelley, Byron, and those French arseholes I used to hang around with … I don’t have any heroes,” he scoffs. “I’m sick of it – these zombies, what they’ve done to the world, their fear of their own imaginations.”

Adam lives like a hermit, creating ambient drone music in his decrepit house on the edge of town (Jarmusch himself wrote the songs, performed by his band SQÜRL). Having insisted the music never leaves his house, Adam is livid to learn that Eve’s younger sister, Eva (Mia Wasikowska), played one of his tracks in an LA club. He can recite the theory of entanglement verbatim, but struggles to embrace it. He thinks he can go it alone, but through Eve he’s inextricably tied up in all things.

Only Lovers Left Alive director Jim Jarmusch.
Jim Jarmusch. Photograph: Larry Busacca/Getty Images

What Adam learns, and what Jarmusch understands, is that there’s no upside to stepping out of the circle. Survival is an instinct, and for some it’s the only option. Artists need to steal, and vampires need to feed. What Adam perceives as entropy, Eve recognises as hunger. Does Jarmusch desire immortality? “I wouldn’t mind living to be maybe 300 years old … but eternally? Oh man, there’s something about the cycle of life that’s very important, and to have that removed would be a burden.”

So Adam, it seems, isn’t Jarmusch’s proxy so much as his pale shadow. Unlike Adam, Jarmusch never stops looking for new heroes. It might seem a throwaway gag when Eve drives by the childhood home of a local Detroit legend and exclaims, without a hint of sarcasm, “I love Jack White!” In fact, the praise of a 3,000-year-old vampire is the ultimate artistic validation. “I believe her,” says Jarmusch. “I despise hierarchical evaluation of culture. I go nuts when you say ‘crime fiction is not an academically valid literature, or pop music vs classical music or whatever.’”

Link to video: The Guardian Film Show: Nymphomaniac, Stranger by the Lake, Winter’s Tale and Only Lovers Left Alive

Auteur theory is, unsurprisingly, anathema. “I put ‘A film by’ as a protection of my rights, but I don’t really believe it. It’s important for me to have a final cut, and I do for every film. So I’m in the editing room every day, I’m the navigator of the ship, but I’m not the captain, I can’t do it without everyone’s equally valuable input. For me it’s phases where I’m very solitary, writing, and then I’m preparing, getting the money, and then I’m with the crew and on a ship and it’s amazing and exhausting and exhilarating, and then I’m alone with the editor again … I’ve said it before, it’s like seduction, wild sex, and then pregnancy in the editing room. That’s how it feels for me.”

I tell Jarmusch that I always likened the process to preparing a meal. I see pre-production as listing the ingredients, production as shopping for them, and the pivotal step of post-production as the actual cooking. Jarmusch thinks this over for a moment, his eyes falling back to his empty plate. He stands, abruptly, and extends a big hand beneath a bigger smile: “Cooking is good too, but I prefer sex.”

Kenneth Rexroth is perhaps one of the most accessible writers to have gained prominence during the Beat movement.

Kenneth Rexroth is perhaps one of the most accessible writers to have gained prominence during the Beat movement.

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images (148)

images (149)





He was born in South Bend, Indiana in 1905 and died on June 6, 1982 in Montecito, California.

In addition to being a writer, translator, essayist and philosopher, Rexroth also helped found the San Francisco Poetry Center. He received the California Literature Silver Medal Award in 1941 for his book, In What Hour.

Rexroth became a prolific painter and poet by the age of seventeen. He soon gained reputation as a radical by associating with various labor groups and political anarchists. When the second renaissance of the 1920′s occurred in Chicago, Rexroth was there. He later became involved in the Beat movement, attempting to elevate common consciousness. He was later given the title, “Godfather of the Beats” because of his involvement with the readings and events at the Cellar jazz club.

Rexroth’s influence and talents were actually greater than the Beat movement itself. He was perceived by critics as more than just another West Coast anarchist poet. “He is a man of wide cultivation and, when not too busy shocking the bourgeois reader…a genuine poet”, said a critic by the name of Rosenthal. A critic named Gibson observed of his book, In Defense of the Earth, that it “is no period piece… these poems of love and protest, of meditation and remembrance, stand out as some of his most deeply felt poems”.

Rexroth must also be respected not only for his ability to create beautiful diction, but for his ability to translate and convey character through his poetry. Some of his poems were written in the voice of an ancient Japanese woman. This selection of verse exemplifies Rexroth’s ability to convey the erotic with a sense of wisdom and beauty. These are perhaps the poet’s most enchanting and elusive of his writings.

Runaway ( Top of Page )

There are sparkles of rain on the bright
Hair over your forehead;
Your eyes are wet and your lips
Wet and cold, your cheek rigid with cold.
Why have you stayed
Away so long, why have you only
Come to me late at night
After walking for hours in wind and rain?
Take off your dress and stockings;
Sit in the deep chair before the fire.
I will warm your feet in my hands;
I will warm your breasts and thighs with kisses.
I wish I could build a fire
In you that would never go out.
I wish I could be sure that deep in you
Was a magnet to draw you always home.

Yin and Yang ( Top of Page )

It is spring once more in the Coast Range
Warm, perfumed, under the Easter moon.
The flowers are back in their places.
The birds are back in their usual trees.
The winter stars set in the ocean.
The summer stars rise from the mountains.
The air is filled with atoms of quicksilver.
Resurrection envelops the earth.
Goemetrical, blazing, deathless,
Animals and men march through heaven,
Pacing their secret ceremony.
The Lion gives the moon to the Virgin.
She stands at the crossroads of heaven,
Holding the full moon in her right hand,
A glittering wheat ear in her left.
The climax of the rite of rebirth
Has ascended from the underworld
Is proclaimed in light from the zenith.
In the underworld the sun swims
Between the fish called Yes and No.

Floating ( Top of Page )

Our canoe idles in the idling current
Of the tree and vine and rush enclosed
Backwater of a torpid midwestern stream;
Revolves slowly, and lodges in the glutted
Waterlilies. We are tired of paddling.
All afternoon we have climbed the weak current,
Up dim meanders, through woods and pastures,
Past muddy fords where the strong smell of cattle
Lay thick across the water; singing the songs
Of perfect, habitual motion; ski songs,

Nightherding songs, songs of the capstan walk,
The levee, and the roll of the voyageurs.
Tired of motion, of the rhythms of motion,
Tired of the sweet play of our interwoven strength,
We lie in each other’s arms and let the palps
Of waterlily leaf and petal hold back
All motion in the heat thickened, drowsing air.
Sing to me softly, Westron Wynde, Ah the Syghes,
Mon coeur se recommend à vous, Phoebi Claro;
Sing the wandering erotic melodies
Of men and women gone seven hundred years,
Softly, your mouth close to my cheek.
Let our thighs lie entangled on the cushions,
Let your breasts in their thin cover
Hang pendant against my naked arms and throat;
Let your odorous hair fall across our eyes;
Kiss me with those subtle, melodic lips.
As I undress you, your pupils are black, wet,
Immense, and your skin ivory and humid.
Move softly, move hardly at all, part your thighs,
Take me slowly while our gnawing lips
Fumble against the humming blood in our throats.
Move softly, do not move at all, but hold me,
Deep, still, deep within you, while time slides away,
As the river slides beyond this lily bed,
And the thieving moments fuse and disappear
In our mortal, timeless flesh.

Confusion ( Top of Page )

I pass your home in a slow vermilion dawn,
The blinds are drawn, and the windows are open.
The soft breeze from the lake
Is like your breath upon my cheek.
All day long I walk in the intermittent rainfall.
I pick a vermilion tulip in the deserted park,
Bright raindrops cling to its petals.
At five o’clock it is a lonely color in the city.
I pass your home in a rainy evening,
I can see you faintly, moving between lighted walls.
Late at night I sit before a white sheet of paper,
Until a fallen vermilion petal quivers before me.



images (122)

untitled (129)

Andy Greene

April 1, 2014 10:55 AM

Crazy Horse guitarist Frank “Poncho” Sampedro will never forget the group’s March 1976 tour of Japan. He’d only joined the band a few months earlier during the recording sessions for Zuma, and prior to boarding the plane to Japan his only live experience with Young came during a handful of California bar shows in December of 1975. He suddenly found himself playing to enormous, screaming crowds all over Japan. For someone who was merely a fan of Neil Young the previous year, the entire experience was beyond surreal.

Neil Young on Pono, His New Album and Using LPs as Roof Shingles

The sixth stop of the tour was at Tokyo’s Budokan Hall, and Young hired a film crew to tape the two-night stand. Nobody bothered to tell Poncho, and he dropped a bunch of acid before going onstage one of the nights. “I couldn’t even look up,” he told author Jimmy McDonough. “I was so high. I’d hit the strings of my guitar — they were like eight different colors — and they bounced off the floors and hit the ceiling.”

Here’s an incredible recording of “Cowgirl In The Sand” from one of the two Budokan shows. It’s unclear whether or not this is the LSD gig, but Poncho certainly sounds like he’s on his game. Most of this footage remains in the vault, though some of it surfaced in the 1997 Jim Jarmusch documentary Year of the Horse.

The 1976 Neil Young and Crazy Horse tour was supposed to hit America in the summer, but Young began playing with Stephen Stills when he returned home and decided the abandon The Horse in order to form the Stills-Young Band. They recorded an LP very quickly and hit the road, though after just eighteen dates Young decided he had enough. He couldn’t even face Stills to tell him the news. Instead, he wrote this now famous letter: “Dear Stephen, funny how some things that start spontaneously end that way. Eat a peach, Neil.”

He wrapped up the year by touring America with a very relieved Crazy Horse. It ended November 24th in Atlanta, Georgia. They played two marathon shows that night, and when it wrapped Young flew cross country so he could play with the Band at The Last Waltz in San Francisco. It’s no wonder he needed a little pick-me-up to get through the show, though Martin Scorsese was nice enough to remove the evidence from his nose during the editing process.

After the incredibly tumultuous year where he was virtually never home, Young took it very easy in 1977, only playing bar gigs around Santa Cruz with his short-lived band the Ducks.

Neil Young’s Low-Tech New Album ‘A Letter Home’ Due in March
Read Neil Young’s Full, Epic Speech From Grammy Honors Ceremony
Neil Young’s Incredible Carnegie Hall Shows: 10 Must-See Videos

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