The Intergalactic Cowboy

You haven’t heard much from me lately because I have been preoccupied with working with this idea of creating sacred spaces. This has been a good reminder to engage in the mind, body, heart disciplines that I am a practicioner of. Then the problem comes up of engaging in these activities in a world that is largely indifferent to these activities; a world that would rather take a photograph of the sacred space than to take part in it. It makes me wish that I could rejoin a Guitar Craft Circle. The logistical problem with the Atlanta Circle is that it meets on Saturdays. So, after driving two hours to get there, I would have to drive two hours back on the same day in order to get to bed early enough to fulfill my early morning responsibilities on Sunday. My current plan is to create sacred spaces in church and in the guitar classes that I teach. I would hope that there would be people at these events that would be appreciative of such an endeavor.
With hope,
I.C.

Be sure to check out the Sid Smith link over at DGM Live. The particular link is the one entitled ‘ A Man an Egg.’ There is a concert review of the League of Crafty Guitarists which likens the performance to other acts by other people. The writer, Jason Stern, talks about the similarities between the league’s way of doing things and other individual’s ways of doing things. He makes the point that how we do things can create a sacred space in which miracles can occur. This review is a new take on the bubble thread that has been circulating lately.
Mr. Stern is the publisher of a newspaper called ‘Chronogram.’ The web page of this newspaper has an ad for a college called ‘ The Institute of Transpersonal Psychology.’ This school offers courses in grief counseling, enneagram studies and bodily disciplines. It is an accredited school, located in Palo Alto, California, about three miles from Stanford University. Doesn’t it sound like a fun place to go to school ? Well it does to me ! There is a link to the school in the ad on the Chromogram web page in the Sid Smith article.
On the home front, Suvy is recovering steadily from her surgery and has consented to resume the affectionate relationship that we once had.
With intrigue,
I.C.

My vacation ended with a trip to Camden Town, a visit to the British Museum and a delightful dinner with S.P. The flight home was survivable, despite the crying baby. So, who puts babies on nine hour flights ? I spent the night in Atlanta and began my trip to Thomaston at an early hour the next day. I caught myself driving fast in an effort to see my kitten as soon as possible.
When I arrived home, I embraced my mom but my kitten ran from me ! What a dissappointment ! I expected her to jump up into my arms and go ” meow, meow, Mr. Cowboy I missed you so much, meow, meow!” Not so. I started tossing her jingle ball down the hallway and she ran to catch it, but would not let me touch her, much less pick her up and hug her. This hurt my feelings. Later, when I was sitting in the den, she walked in and then backed away from me. At the sight of this I was feeling some serious emotional pain. I grabbed her toy doggie and enticed her to grab and bite it. After a couple of minutes of this, Suvy had a confused expression on her face as if she were having a deja vu experience. By the end of the day she consented to sit on the couch with me. Her lack of recognition really surprised me since I had only been gone nine days; this after giving her tender loving care for a month. I really don’t get it at all…
Yesterday was her appointment to have a hysterectomy. We delivered her to the vet at 9 am. I explained to Suvy that she was going to spend the night there and that the people who worked there were going to take care of her. At 3:30 pm we were allowed to visit her in her cage, after the surgery. As we walked in, another pet owner asked to see the doctor who owns this clinic. The assistant said, ” he’s in surgery now but you can come on back.” A couple of minutes later, the assistant told us that we could come to the back of the facility and see Suvy. Believe it or not we walked through the operating room in order to get to Suvy’s cage. The operating room was not the tile lined operating room that you might see in a hospital. This room was a back room in this facility with a wooden table about four feet tall. An unconscious cat was lying on its back on the table with the hair shaved off of its abdomen and with a iodine-like solution spread over its bare skin. I quickly walked past this scene out of respect for the cats privacy. As I rounded the corner to Suvy’s cage, another cat in the building let out a painful scream that sounded like a wildcat might sound out in the woods. This was not exactly the recuperative atmosphere that I would have wanted Suvy to be in.
Suvy was located in a cage at a height of about chest level. She was high as a kite; sitting on her haunches; staring straight ahead. I told her who I was and she turned her head a little bit in vague recognition. I asked my mom to step a little closer to the cage. When Suvy saw my mom, she slowly took a couple of steps in her direction and then backed up to the back of the cage. I told Suvy that she was in the animal hospital and that we would pick her up tomorrow. I told her that we loved her and that she would be staying with the other cats tonight. We then left, passing an unconscious dog in a cage in the next room.
Don’t get me wrong. I feel fortunate that there are veteranarians in this world to help the animals in this world. I was just expecting accomodations of a more luxurious manner than this. This diary entry is an example of just how painful the repercussions of expectation can be.
We picked up Suvy today and she is recuperating on a big blue cushy easy chair.
With astonishment,
I.C.

Today is the day that I travel back to London. If my flight is on time, I can make it back to the hotel by 5pm; throw my suitcase into the room; and get to S.P.’s party by 6pm. Well, the flight out of Rome was forty-five minutes late taking off. The immigration and baggage claim serivices at Gatwick were rather efficient and I was able to get to the hotel by 5:15 pm. The suitcase was quickly dumped; the teeth were brushed; and I was headed to the tube station for a travel day pass and as quick of a trip to S.P.’s apartment as possible. I should add that S. was having a live performance by the Ned Evet trio right there in her apartment at 6 pm. If I rang the doorbuzzer after the music started, the buzzer might not be heard. If the buzzer was heard, then the performance would be distracted. All that I could do was do my best to take the correct subway trains and hope that none of the intervening stations were closed for repair, which seems to be a common predicament on Sundays in this town. Thankfully, I had the quickest and most efficient tube journey that I have ever experienced. I would get off one train and the next train would appear as soon as I reached the next platform. I thanked God for this wonderful good fortune.
I reached the apartment at 5:50 pm. S.P. is looking trim and healthy and rosy cheeked. She introduced me to a few people, about half of whom were either American or Canadian. I met Ned and the booking agent that he is working with on this British tour. This booking agent also books British tours for Atlanta band Gringo Star, as well as an Athens band that I have heard of before. Ned’s band was tight and energetic. I hope that the neighbors were not offended by the volume coming through the walls. After two sets my body started to crash from lack of sleep and my eyes would not stay open. I left the party early as apologetically as I could.
Good times !
I.C.

Today, I got up and walked down the Via Nationale to the bank with an ATM on the front of it. I always use ATMs at actual banks in case the machine eats my card. In this event, I can walk inside the bank and ask them to take the machine off line and retrieve the card. The card worked fine and I pocketed my 100 euros without any criminals or winos seeing me.
So what do I do now. My reservation for a ticket to the Borgese is at 1 pm and as of this moment, I have no guaranteed way of getting there and back. Then I see a bus driving through town. Perhaps the strike is over… I had hoped this yesterday, only to find the buses driving to the station to block the entrances. I walk to the Termini to investigate. I find the tabaccieri and ask the young woman, ” Il metro funzioni ? ” ” Si ! ” ” Vorrei un biglietto per il metro per the whole day, per favore !” I did not know the exact name for the all day pass for the subway. It would seem that the strike is over ! I exitedly walked back to the hotel and got the things that I needed for my adventurous journey to the museum.
Step one is taking the metro to the Spagna station, which is the station close the the Spanish Steps. I then followed the exit signs and came to a crossroads inside the long exit hallway of the station. One hallway led to La Piazza de Spagna and the other led to La Villa Borgese. I had some extra time, so I walked in the direction of the Spanish Steps. Out I came into the sunlight, with tourists everywhere. I recognized the Spanish Steps from the tourbook and I saw the sculpture of the sinking boat. There were so many tourists standing everywhere that I could not get any good camera shots of the steps. After a short observation of this neighborhood, I pulled out my map and my boy scout compass and determined that the Galleria Borgese was 25 degrees east by northeast from my current location. I re-entered the subway tunnel and took a left at the crossroads into the tunnel that leads to the Villa Borgese. The tunnel was long and took ten minutes to come out of. There were no signs telling me anything so I pulled out my compass. The sidewalk led in a northeasterly direction so off I go. After walking for five minutes I came to a crossroads with an old stone wall to my right. Perhaps the Villa was on the right side of the stone wall, so, I took a right. This turn led to a street with lots of upscale restaurants with uniformed waiters. Since I was dressed in a coat and tie, I knew that I could eat at one of these restaurants later if I had time. But then I pulled out my compass and discovered that I was walking in a southeasterly direction and needed to turn around. I walked back to the stone wall and started walking on a road that led in a northeasterly direction. There were no street signs. I eventually saw a street sign that indicated that I was on the proper street which ran along the east side of the villa. Then, after walking for seven minutes, I saw a sign that pointed left down a path to the Galleria Borgese ! I found a directional sign to the ticket reservation desk and presented my reservation that had been made on the internet over a month ago. The young woman then reached into a lock box and handed me an envelope with my name on it ! Inside was my ticket. What service ! I took the ticket to what looked like an entrance to the actual viewing rooms. A woman stopped me and started speaking in Italian. I showed her my ticket and she said to return at 1 pm. I left the museum and took a walk through the villa which is basically a park with dirt and gravel paths through it. After walking for a few minutes I heard a flock of birds squauking. I followed the sound in hopes of amusing myself until 1 pm. I then came to a parking lot with a sign that read La Giardinia di Zooalogicalia. There was a big gate with lots of children and parents walking through it. Was this a zoo with a long pretentious name ? Apparently so. I didn’t have time to attend a zoo, but I wish that I did. There was also a place to rent bicycles upon which to ride the dirt and gravel paths. Maybe next time…
I stroll back to the museum and go back to the entrance at 1pm. They let me and a line of about thirty other people come in. There was Roman art from 200 a.d., the Carvaggio Masterpieces, Titian’s Sacred and Profane Love, Bernini’s Rape of Proserpine among others of his from the 1600s and many sculptures by a sculptor named Canova, from the 1700s, who seems to be as good as Bernini. When you see these sculptures in person, they really seem to jump out and touch you. I really cannot even conceive of how these artists create something like this out of what basically is a huge chunk of marble. Where do they begin ?
After viewing everything, I jouneyed back to the metro station and caught a train back to the Termini. A good meal with red wine completed a delightful adventure.
This is the life !
I.C.

When I last spoke to you, I had just left the transit workers’ demonstration. The internet point, a few blocks away, indicated that Krimson News was still down. So, I walked to the hotel and rested for a while. I was dissappointed that my plan to visit the Borgese was being thwarted for the second time in my life. This museum was to be the highlight of this vacation. On top of that, I am missing my kitten, Suvy, and I know that she is missing me as well. I wish that I had her here in my arms and I know that she would like to comfort me as well….
After moping for a few minutes, I walked to the Teatro del’Opera to buy a ticket for the opera tonight, which is entitled ” Peer Gynt.” It is supposed to be about a young, Skandanavian man who is going through an existential crisis. The music is by Grieg. The ticket seller spoke enough English to tell me that the best available tickets were thirty four euros and fifty five euros in price. I was able to tell her in Italian that I wanted the thirty four euro ticket. She explained that the seat was in a balcony on the left hand side when you walk into the opera house.
So, I walked around the neighborhood and sampled one of the many restaurants. I ate at a place that seems to specialize in pasta mixed with seafood. They even had a glass case, displaying the uncooked fish that is used in their food. A good meal.
After another lie down, I put on my black suit and strolled to the opera house. As I waited outside the teatro for the doors to open, a man in his late twenties walked over to me. He was wearing one of those furry Russian hats. He started speaking to me in Italian. I looked at him and said, ” Io non parlo Italiano, senore.” ” Parla Inglese?” He rolled his eyes and said, in English,” I come from the Kosacks and speak seven languages, yet I am sleeping in the street here in Rome. Look at my hand.” He showed me a sore on his hand. As I was dressed in a coat and tie, I couldn’t exactly tell him that I didn’t have any money, so I gave him some change. The doors to the opera house soon opened and I found my seat, with the help of an usher. My seat was in an enclosed theater box with wooden walls, which were partially covered with fabric. There were coat hooks on the wooden walls. There were five padded chairs in the box. Was I going to have to share this with four complete strangers ? At five minutes until showtime, no one had shown up and it looked like I was going to avoid an uncomfortable social situation. Then four people opened the door to the box and entered this small enclosed space with me. I greeted them in English. They offered me a seat on the front row of the box and I told them that I would be fine sitting behind them. The man in his late twenties told me that he and his female companion would ask the ushers to let them sit in two unused floor seats so that I could sit on the front row with the younger couple, who appeared to be about twenty years old. This is just one example of the kindness that was shown to me by the Italian people.
The opera went on for thirty minutes without any singing, only dancing by about twenty dancers. Then a female singer sang from the orchestra pit, rather than from the stage. Could this be a ballet that I was attending rather than an opera ? Apparently so… This Peer Gynt character seemed to have a tendency to seduce women and then abandone them. The sex act was enacted with some rather pelvic dance moves. After two hours of this, I left. The ballet had one more act before it was over. Still, this was a refreshing change from my usual lifestyle.
To bed,
I.C.

What happened ? The last thing that I knew it was Thursday and now it’s Saturday. Oh yeah; it’s starting to come back to me now. That’s right; yesterday I got up to find an ATM and an internet cafe. I noticed that there were buses running in the streets and hoped that perhaps the transit strike was over. I went to the tabbachieri at the train station and asked, ” Il metro, funzioni ?” The woman responded, ” Possible autobus; no metro.” As it had been raining, the cobblestones had been slippery on the sidewalks. I had slipped off of two of them and almost twisted my ankle each time. So the chances of me safely walking to the Borgese Museum seemed bad. I strolled out of the Termini wondering what I was going to do.
Suddenly all of the buses in the neighborhood pulled into the side entrances of the station; stopped, and began blowing their horns. I continued walking to get away from the noise. Then, I saw a mass of about 400 people holding red flags and blocking the front exits of this multimodal train station, the biggest one in Rome. They were carrying huge signs and were blocking traffic on the four lane street in front of the station. One of the demonstrators handed me a manifesto entitled, ” La rivoluzione e la festa degli oppressi e degli sfruttati” There was a speaker truck broadcasting loud, italian, rock music. There was a female speaker who must have had a wireless mic, shouting over the music in a rather angry tone of voice. Then a platoon of about thirty police officers came running up blowing their whistles ! Then the female speaker started shouting, ” Basta! Basta! Basta!” Then a couple of smoke bombs went off, for what purpose, I don’t know. I was wondering if the smoke bombs were tear gas, but I didn’t feel like sticking around to sniff. I left the area as fast as the slippery cobblestones would take me.
Incidentally, I took photos of all of this. Since my camera is of the analog variety, the photos will not be ready until this whole episode is over and forgotten. Wasn’t there a transit strike in France last week ?
Power to the transit workers; right on !
I.C.

I had a safe trip to Rome today, no hassles. Once I got here I was informed by the desk clerk that there is a transit strike ! No metro subway trains are running after 8:30 am and before 5pm. The trains were to be my mode of transportation to the Borgese Gallery by way of the Spanish Steps nearby. Two years ago, I had bought my ticket to the Borgese in advance and never found the museum ! This year, I bought the ticket in advance and dedicated a whole day before the ticket reservation to find the museum so that there could be no possible screw ups involved in seeing the Bernini Sculptures inside the museum. It’s a good thing that my hotel is walking distance from the train station ! This museum is on the other side of town however. Of course, I can walk to the train station and catch a cab there, but the taxi system is stressed out to the max with this train/bus strike… plus, it could be difficult obtaining a taxi back from the museum. I don’t know how to order a taxi in Italian. I am seriously thinking about walking there; about two miles… I have had such bad luck in finding places in Italian cities on foot that this is a possibly disasterous strategy as well. Whatever happens, it will happen in a beautiful place with lots of public fountains and friendly people.
With challenging perplexity,
I.C.

I have gotten some bad vibes from the Arabs here in London today. I walked into a Morrocoan restaurant and ordered a cup of coffee and the proprietor said, ‘ we don’t have that here.’ So I simply left. There were coffee cups, both ceramic and styrofoam there behind the bar and I do believe that I drank some Morrocoan coffee at this place last year. Why was he so curt with me ? I then walked up to a falafel stand and ordered a falafel sandwich and the man said, ‘ we don’t have that.’ I mean, here he was, cooking food for other people, with a sign that advertised falafel burgers and he curtly says that we don’t have that here. I ordered a crepe from the crepe stand next door and occasionally looked over there to see if he was cooking falafel for other people. I wonder what’s going on ? Did the U.S. commit another atrocity yesterday that I haven’t found out about yet ? I went to an internet cafe, which is in the basement of a middle eastern restaurant on my old neighborhood of Queensway. The same employees that have waited on me for years were not their usual friendly selves today. Weird…
At least I found a great t-shirt for Angie in Thomaston. It is a black shirt with gold lettering. Angie has long, straight, blonde hair and will look good in this souvenir that I promised to bring her. I walked to Buckingham Palace from my hotel and have finally found an internet cafe closeby. Tonight I will eat pub food and drink one of the English ales that we can’t get in the U.S. Oh by the way…
Yesterday afternoon I was aiming my camera at a quaint old pub that I was about to dine in. As I had the camera up to my eye, in search of a good camera angle, a man who looked and sounded like RHVL walked by me talking on a cell phone. He ended his call and then glanced back at me with an annoyed facial expression as if he thought that I was trying to take his picture. It was quite funny. I checked on the internet to confirm that RHVL is still in America with the Crafties. I also think that I saw Bono Vox and wife walking down the sidewalk outside of Victoria Station yesterday. If it was him, he had a spiky haircut.
Tomorrow Rome,
I.C.
p.s. I should add that I am fond of Arabs, Muslims and the food that they serve in their restaurants. I used to work with Arabs and Muslims and I believe that they are honest, hard working, clean living people. In fact, they are some of the finest people that I have ever met ! I am just a little frustrated that they don’t seem to like me today.

Since I am borrowing the hotel’s computer, i will have to make this fast. yesterday, monday, i drove to atlanta and distributed the nobz cd to criminal records in little five points and wuxtry records in decatur. i also left a copy with a wrek dj named jon kincaid, who has played the nobz on his radio show before.
i then hopped a plane to london, with the most crabby group of trans-atlantic passengers that i have ever experienced. they were mostly business people rather than tourists. i arrived at my hotel at 9:30 am and had to leave my bags at the hotel and roam around the neighborhood of victoria station. there are not nearly as many americans in london during november as there usually are in october, when i usually visit here. now,the underground trains are packed with people during the normally quieter hours of the day and these people are not tourists or americans. this city is a less cosmopolitan city in november.
i just had a great dinner at a pub and will soon engage with my first deep sleep in about 36 hours. i hope that i find an internet cafe…
s.p. is having a party sunday night ! i hope that i get back into town in time to take part in this celebration.
cheers,
i.c.