Tag: Travel

Listening To My Shortwave Radio

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you might think it was all tina turner, the cars, or tears for fears, but vinyl could only take me so far, same songs, over & over, flip to side 2, try to save allowance money for the new billy idol album, or listen to casey kasem, see if anyone fresh was in the top 40, but then i got my GE shortwave radio & became an auditory magellan, forget karma chameleon & all that pop sound, i now spent nights slowly turning the dial, on a quest to travel the airwaves, listening as the basketball play by play guy said, louisville has the ball, i added a marker dot to my map of cities: new orleans, pittsburgh, morgantown, buffalo, each night i tuned in to: games, preachers, news, weather, anything & everything, in search of a new locale, another mark for my map, of course it was more than this, i was a 1980’s lewis & clark kid, connecting with my country, & this is still what i’m doing today, except i’m the one broadcasting & you might be in croatia instead of cincinnati.

Worker, Vagabond, Writer-All Three Are Me

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and these things we do, over & over, wake up, turn off alarm, tuck sheets back in, look at face in mirror, shave on sundays, tuesdays, thursdays, cologne, two drops, deodorant, moisturizer, make black tea, you get the idea, routines, work week, commute, time spent just doing, not thinking, just doing, the opposite, no alarm, rise after the sun, brush teeth, or don’t, journey to fez, azrou, the atlas mountains, merzouga, listen to monkeys playing, wander into sahara, sandy sea, vast, empty, measure time in bus rides & adhan, watch others work, write about how busy everyone else is, take photos, try to understand, life is short, remember the dead, keep traveling from place to place, drink coffee, read a book, take a walk, meet a stranger, speak spanish, ride a moped, or sit in a room, write more & imagine, go nowhere except everywhere, pray to a god who listens, use your words, type, keep typing, life will end, but you were a witness, you were there.

American Woman In Italy, 1951

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you’ve seen the photo, perhaps in an italian restaurant somewhere, the story begins much earlier, ruth orkin, the photographer, at age 17, rode her bicycle from los angeles to new york, this was 1939, before europe was a rubbled graveyard, on the journey she captured images of everything, living passion in wheeled motion, fast-forward, war over, florence, italy, friendship formed with jinx allen, all 6 feet of her, striding through streets, mid-century beauty & grace, like a sandaled beatrice, dante’s imprint ever alive, allen walked by the italian men twice, the 2nd photo is shown above, portrait of harassment, but in every interview allen insisted the whole scene was playful, this image has been interpreted in a sinister way but it was quite the opposite. they were having fun and so was i, her narrative, two independent women making art together, the men? no one remembers their names.

My Modeling Career

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i have longish hair combed back, think don johnson in miami vice, 1994 and i’m living in santiago, chile, always walking the city streets, one afternoon he sees me strolling, hey guy, my name is max, please take my card, i think you can model, are you interested? i had heard about other americans who’d made thousands of dollars with their blue eyes and light skin color, sure, i say, good, good, go to this place tomorrow at 4pm, he scribbles the address on the back of his card, tell them max sent you, the next day i arrive, it’s a tv ad for a washing machine, i give max’s card to a woman, ok, she says, stand on the x, spin around and smile, i nod, i get the spinning part, but i can’t smile on demand, in my head i’m thinking, this is stupid, i do another spin, another failed smile, third time’s the charm, but no, thanks for coming, she says, i throw max’s card in the trash, adios modeling career.

The Life & Death of North Beach, San Francisco

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north beach has changed, the spontaneity is gone, we used to just go out, to shop at city lights bookstore, to eat, to have a drink, to be in the city together, listen to music, jazz, or whatever, the city used to be a community, no one really knew what might happen any given night, at vesuvio’s or caffe trieste, or on broadway, people being people, san francisco people, with their freedom and self-expression, the edifices remain, but the past is past, now they shop amazon online, order uber eats, reserve on opentable, scrutinize tripadvisor, calculate with gps, where to go and when, the city has had a partial death, and no one really cares, why go back to the old ways? we are now more and more, part of the machine, technology guides us, separates us from –lets just go out and be.

When Capri Spoke

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i have seen the goats nibbling on me, and the tan skin glistening with mediterranean sea that surrounds me, i grow perfect red and orange tomatoes, green arugula, and lemons, never to be forgotten, my sun is famous, kids even drink it with a straw, i’ve changed since the roman days when tiberius used to throw unfortunates from my steep rocky cliffs, now yachts undulate near my shores, celebrities film me with their phones, visit me in july and august, i am the mastic trees, bougainvilla, the bees, and cicadas, i am shady pathways through woods, and luxury hotels, i am the smell of grilled octopus and aperol spritz, summer in the square, i hear it all, dutch, spanish, italian, german, english, arabic, french, tamil, russian, swedish, i am the world on an island, but when winter comes i hibernate like a bear, rain, fog, and wind engulf me, daylight disappears in the afternoon, the caprese families stay on me, i hear their children, watch them walk to church on sundays, they slumber softly at night, i bless them all.