Warning for those of you hitting the road in California: state grants are paying local Police for a “Click It or Ticket” campaign. Here in Ventucky that means there are 5 motorcycle cops being paid by the state from now until June to ensure that your seat belt is fastened! I am sure most greedy municipalities are onboard. This is an annual grant!
Driving to Santa Barbara’s Lightning in a Bottle may not be as bad as the drive in to Burning Man where if you blink you get pulled over. But they are out in force looking for seatbelts–and it’s always a good excuse to see what else you might have aboard!
I hear that they are already letting people in (before the 4pm gate opening) and it’s filling up fast! Friends warn it is going to be really crowded this year with wall to wall tents. They also say you’ll probably have plenty of shade.
Since I am new to LIB but an experienced Burner, I’ve been asking about the scale of nudity, 1-10 with 2 being Burning Man and 10 being the Ventucky Mall. Friendly neighborhood composter Eric Werb says it’s a 4 in camp, but an 8 by the stages…fair enough warning to keep the various and sundry bits covered. Costume up but keep it covered too!
I better get back to packing! We’ll leave as soon as we can to grab some prime real estate and relax before the non-stop entertainment and workshops Friday-Monday!
In case you need something, there’s a Trader Joe’s in Ventucky –take the Victoria exit toward the hills. If you need camping stuff, get off at Main and go left toward Target and Big 5. The TJ’s in Santa Barbara is on Milpas. Ventucky has a great collection of thrift stores, with most of them conveniently located in downtown (west end of town) on Main Street. Burner owned Wild Planet is downtown too across from the movie theater. And there’s venders there too (how unBurning Man is that??) but I will bless those ice cold Fat Tires when we drink ours all gone…
Here’s a video making the rounds that might seem familiar to those of you trying to get people together to go to Burning Man or Lightning or even just a simple pre-school campout…You will either laugh like crazy or be offended. Remember , if it’s offensive, TURN IT OFF and read some poetry or something! It’s called “Hitler Plans Burning Man…”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CV4i7dWeu0c
UPDATE: for links to other LIB posts:
https://artpredator.wordpress.com/2008/05/27/musical-notes-lightning-in-a-bottle-2008/
https://artpredator.wordpress.com/2008/05/28/art-notes-lib-2008/
https://artpredator.wordpress.com/2008/05/28/lightning-in-a-bottle-workshop-notes/
Lightning in a Bottle 2008
We’re gearing up for the Do Lab’s “Lightning in a Bottle” which is a Burning Man-esque Festival held in the oaks behind Santa Barbara. We’re checking the connections on EL wire shirt, gathering up food and drink, making the bed in the van, washing the kid’s collection of glow in the dark and tie dye clothes, figuring out what we want to do when and where we’ll camp (we’re going to try to be as far away from the 3 stages of day and night music like in the Rutabaga Patch–near the Kids area, the workshop stage and the Renegade Movie Theater).
Others. like friend Eric Werb are prepping to give workshops (his is on composting), and other friends like Jason have been making artwork–see above! If you click on the image, the whirlygig will spin for you!
Tickets are still available! Maybe we’ll see you there!
AFTER BOB HICOK’S “PRIMER”
(written on Pine Mountain May 17, 2008)
I remember California violently as the place I go
to be in California. The right hand of America
waving palm trees or the left
flipping into traffic a bird to send home
from the freeway to another. I lived in California
for forty some years. The state bird
is a peacock. The state flower
is Goldie Hawn, which sounds supercilious
though it is merely flashy and sound of breath.
A Californian can use the word “breath”
can surprisingly use the word “surprise.”
True truth California is not west but left.
When I go back to California I drive through Nevada.
There is off I 15 in Nevada a strip, so life
goes scrub scrub scrub strip. I salute at money
which we’re not getting along with
on account of the loans as I slip.
Then Nevada goes scrub scrub scrub
casino, goodbye strip. You never forget
how to be from California when you’re from California.
It’s like riding a Santa Ana and surfing.
The Mojave desert is a spare country
in case the San Andreas faults. I live now
on Pine Mountain which has flies and birds
but is named the same as its trees.
I live in the trees again which is windy
but so is my mouth on my face is doing
shockingly there’s an opening like a cave
needs fire. The statement is blank.
“Hutash, we beseech you, rise and give us waves”
is how we might sound if we were surfers in August
when June hasn’t ended. June
is 18 months long in California.
We are beach lovers who by June
want to fire the sky for being so gloomy
and damp with us. “Why do I have to grow up?”
is the state motto. There’s a day in fall
when we’re all bronzed, artists
everywhere and kelp are asked
by young artists to be partners. When artists escape
with kelp, you know where they’re from.
In this way I have given you a primer.
Let us all be from somewhere.
Let us all tell each other everything we are.
Ride the Poetry Train! Check out readwritepoem! Write your own primer and paste it as a comment below or as a link! Or join me in trying to write 50 states in 50 days! You might also check out the “mystery box” at poemeleon which is also an inspiration as well as a possible container for this poem…
UPDATE September 3, 2008: I have posted another poem in this project “The State of Optimism” here as well as a video here.
“A Primer” by Bob Hicok
A Primer
by Bob Hicok May 19, 2008
http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2008/05/19/080519po_poem_hicok
I remember Michigan fondly as the place I go
to be in Michigan. The right hand of America
waving from maps or the left
pressing into clay a mold to take home
from kindergarten to Mother. I lived in Michigan
forty-three years. The state bird
is a chained factory gate. The state flower
is Lake Superior, which sounds egotistical
though it is merely cold and deep as truth.
A Midwesterner can use the word “truth,”
can sincerely use the word “sincere.”
In truth the Midwest is not mid or west.
When I go back to Michigan I drive through Ohio.
There is off I-75 in Ohio a mosque, so life
goes corn corn corn mosque, I wave at Islam,
which we’re not getting along with
on account of the Towers as I pass.
Then Ohio goes corn corn corn
billboard, goodbye, Islam. You never forget
how to be from Michigan when you’re from Michigan.
It’s like riding a bike of ice and fly fishing.
The Upper Peninsula is a spare state
in case Michigan goes flat. I live now
in Virginia, which has no backup plan
but is named the same as my mother,
I live in my mother again, which is creepy
but so is what the skin under my chin is doing,
suddenly there’s a pouch like marsupials
are needed. The state joy is spring.
“Osiris, we beseech thee, rise and give us baseball”
is how we might sound were we Egyptian in April,
when February hasn’t ended. February
is thirteen months long in Michigan.
We are a people who by February
want to kill the sky for being so gray
and angry at us. “What did we do?”
is the state motto. There’s a day in May
when we’re all tumblers, gymnastics
is everywhere, and daffodils are asked
by young men to be their wives. When a man elopes
with a daffodil, you know where he’s from.
In this way I have given you a primer.
Let us all be from somewhere.
Let us tell each other everything we can.
UPDATE SEPT 3 2008: In addition to the poem posted next to this, there’s a new poem in this project “The State of Optimism here and a video too.
Associate Professor
243
231-4479
hicok@vt.edu
I write poems and stories. I have little faith or interest in my thoughts on writing. Those who do a thing are often too close to be perceptive commentators, particularly where love is involved. I love writing, maybe most of all because it doesn’t matter, because poems don’t lift bridges or make refrigerators shinier. The nakedness of the endeavor—just one person, sitting at a desk, trying to express something they feel in a way that will allow others into their mind—may be among the most human things we do. We are the mouths of the world, and through poetry we speak.
“but this is a pretend gun,” he says
my son plays with guns and i don’t want him to
swords too
he tells me they’re pretend and
i tell him it doesn’t matter, i don’t like them
“but why mom?” he asks
“because guns hurt and kill people”
“but this is a pretend gun,” he says, “it’s just a squirt gun”
ay yi yi straight from the awesome and illustrious Burning Mom’s list: here’s an article that may or may not help you with this dilemna…
http://www.motherin g.com/articles/ growing_child/ discipline/ bang-bang. html
Pine Mountain to Rincon Beach
They predicted a heat wave for this weekend and since the road and campgrounds at Pine Mountain summit in the Los Padres National Forest CA just opened for the season, Friday night we climbed up from the coast up and up and up highway 33 past the Ojai Valley and up and up and up past Rose Valley and up and up along Sespe creek and up and up and up to Pine Mtn Summit at 6,000 and then up the rough but periodically paved Pine Mountain road and up past snow patches and up to 6 site Pine Mtn campground and 6 site Reyes Peak Campground to nestle for the night in the big ponderosa pines, big enough to encircle your arms and hold tight, bury your nose in for a whiff of rich vanilla, yellow, blue and purple lupine, periwinkle phacelia, orange wallflower, green grasses…
bollinger champagne with cold artichokes while we heated up already baked potatoes to enjoy with beautiful filet mignons with RBJ theologicum 2001… lots of waxing moon (full Monday night) to light our way to explore the boulders on the ridge enough light to see to the sea…pancake breakfast and lazy morning in the pines exploring and bouldering, view gazing, reading and writing a poem too
then down down down to the other end of the watershed to spend the night at the boy’s preschool with his friends and then the day at the beach…
Of course, living here by the beach, it’s rarely hot–even now, when everyone else in socal is roasting, we have all the windows and doors wide open and cool breezes swim through the house and it’s heaven here with corn on the barbecue, a cold Fat Tire in hand, and the house finches celebrating the hatching of their second clutch in the nest on the heart shaped wreath on our front door…
what’s with kyanite & night terrors?
I had never heard of kyanite before Lucy in the Sky suggested I get some to help with my night terrors, so of course now that I have bought and worn a bracelet and found it to be my latest night terror miracle cure, I wanted to know more about kyanite and its spiritual and healing qualities.
Google searches in general sent me to some ugly sell sell sell sites with annoying flashing ads and weak undocumented info, but I did come across some good information about the healing powers of kyanite and aquamarine. One of the most informative sites I found is Moon Cave Crystals. This is what she has to say about kyanite: Read more…
“I do too,” the Giant Night Terror said.
Last night the giant night terror with the kyanite pendant returned to float ominously above my bed…
“I have my kyanite,” I reminded him.
“I do too,” the Giant Night Terror said.
His kyanite pendant glowed and smiled at me like Alice’s Cheschire cat as he faded away.
“I have kyanite,” I told the Giant Night Terror…
(For 1 go here; for 3 go here)
I wore my new kyanite and aquamarine bracelet home from the store that evening and kept it on when I climbed into bed.
Before I’d left, the woman at the store had admonished me to be sure to make my intentions clear so the kyanite would know what it needed to know; otherwise it would just be a pretty stone in a pretty bracelet next to another pretty stone.
I laughed to myself as she said this because I knew and the stone knew exactly what we were after: night terrors. The aquamarine was along for the ride but I knew too it would be helping out with night terrors but more with the source of the night terrors.
Lying in bed, I thought about this as I looked at the stones before I turned out the light. Was I supposed to do more? I asked myself. And again I laughed since I knew that it had already been done. The intention was set in motion weeks before.
I have been struggling with night terrors for nearly 20 years, acutely and chronically. I have found some relief with therapy and journaling with my left hand, significant relief with copious amounts of omega 3s, and most recently, by burning resins of frankinsence and myhrr.
Now I’d just invested $150 dollars into a piece of jewelry with the hopes that it would do the trick. Yes, I felt a bit silly…and some significant doubts. But I thought again about how Lucy had been right before, and that I could feel the warmth and energy in the jewelers stones in Santa Barbara a few days before. I could feel how I was drawn to one stone in particular in this bracelet.
I would trust and accept whatever help I could find. And if it was in kyanite, in this bracelet, so be it. I turned out the light.
The night terror that night was the largest ever: he was floating above the room, filling it, his feet extended toward one end, his head toward me in my bed. He was probably 20′ long and 12′ wide. He had broad shoulders, narrow hips, short legs, a triangular shaped head with horns. In some ways, he looked like a tasmanian devil–the cartoon kind–but really, he was shaped more like rock art figures I have seen that are typical to this area of California.
In my night terrors, I am typically dumbfounded, speechless, screaming, pleading. Not this time.
“I have kyanite,” I told the night terror, holding out my bracelet.
“I have kyanite,” said the night terror, gesturing to a huge pendant on his chest. “My kyanite is bigger than your kyanite.” Indeed it was–his pendant was probably 4′ wide by 6′ long.
I was briefly taken aback. “I have kyanite,” I repeated.
And he disappeared. He disappeared. No fight. No screams. No fear. I wasn’t killed. I didn’t do anything to him, and he didn’t do anything to me. He simply evaporated.
And no night terror the next night either.
It is now time for bed, past time. For years I have dreaded going to bed, knowing that most nights, 90 minutes later, I would be awakened, terrorized.
But hey, now I have kyanite.
more to come…
Back around the time of the lunar eclipse, Lucy in the Sky insisted we cleanse the house with frankinscence and myrh– which I discovered could calm and focus my mind and make me relax as deeply as following the best 90 minute massage–and banish my night terrors.
When I told her how well the rituals we did worked to move/remove one of the asshole neighbors, and how the frankinscense and myrh banished the night terrors, she insisted I get some kyanite which she spelled out for me on a sticky note.
I have learned not to question Lucy, Read more…
art predator 
