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Charters, excursions, and fun!

The scale of this makes me laugh. That cart on the right looks to be about the same size as the excursion boat.

Another thing that’s funny to me is the protective covering over the paddlewheel. But the sign says “Charters, excursions & fun!” so I feel like my amusement is somehow sanctioned….

Lake Nasworthy
San Angelo, Texas
photographed 11.24.2018

Clouds and branches fight it out

Winter-dead ivy branches seemed to be clawing at the sky. Maybe they’d already scraped the clouds into those little pieces?

San Angelo, Texas
photographed 11.24.2018

What light there was

I explored the art center early in the morning, before anyone (except for a very friendly ginger cat) was out. The chrome chair legs seemed to soak up what light there was.

Or maybe I just didn’t get the exposure quite where it needed to be…

Chicken Farm Art Center
San Angelo, Texas
photographed 11.24.2018

Dented table = memories

The instant I saw this Coca Cola table, I remembered a trip to Mexico and an afternoon snack beside a tropical river. That must have been an important day, as back when I thought I was going to be a poet (~2003, for those of you working on writing my biography), I wrote a poem about that same afternoon:

Between Cancer and the Equator

The hotel’s pink stucco façade –
faded from age and sun and inattention –
guards the narrow street.
Four Americans crawl
from a blue Ford
pushing their way through air
glutinous from just-ended rain.
Crossing the desolate lobby
to a jacaranda-shaded veranda
they sit on dented red chairs
drink tepid Coca Cola through paper straws
eat pineapple pan dulce.

Below them
a languid river creeps past
its thick water the same color as the pastry.

San Angelo, Texas
photographed 11.24.2018

Pan, at a cemetery in Central Texas

A conversation with myself, in the cemetery:

Me: That statue looks…weird.

Me: Pan? It’s a statue of Pan? What the hell?

(pause for photos)
(also pause while I thought about the character of Pan in Tom Robbins’s book Jitterbug Perfume, and how my friend Laurie and I co-wrote a poem about the book and some other stuff and how that poem had the memorable [!] lines “seemed only right for a woman who was fond of fucking around/with seriousness, sanctity, syntax.”)

Me: Why is there a statue of Pan?

Me: He’s a pagan god!

Me: Wait. Who am I to say he’s pagan? Do I get to decide that? Or is it just my own Judeo-Christian background showing up?

Me: Wait. How am I going to refer to Pan in my blog post? Can I say “pagan” or what?


I am sorry to had to see what goes in my head. I hope you can recover from it.

Fairmount Cemetery
San Angelo, Texas
photographed 11.24.2018

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