“The greatest of these is love.” – Paul
“Shedding off one more layer of skin.
Keeping one step ahead of the persecutor within.” – Bob Dylan
Hello to all, or almost all (not to those who are sleeping).
Today I begin with a brief reflection upon names, in a world where they are trying to turn us all into numbers.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – Why the Vampire an essay by Dale Barrigar”
Here we have another wonderful piece that didn’t fit the usual mold but was far too good to pass up.
Solace in a Cigarette Box by Yi Jung Chen
The smell of tobacco was always the first thing that announced his presence.
For thirty years, Zhang Jie had known her husband, Chen Cheng-po—whom friends affectionately called Mù-ki-sian—not by the heavy clatter of wooden sandals on the porch, but by the faint, earthy fragrance that lingered on his coat. He was a man who lived through light and shadow, capturing the blinding Chiayi sunlight on canvas, turning quiet avenues into vibrant, living monuments. But in the damp darkness of March 1947, the sunlight had gone out.
Continue reading ” Sunday Whatever – Solace in a Cigarette Box by Yi Jung Chen”
“My cup runneth over.” – David
Many who love Leonard Cohen and his most famous song, “Hallelujah,” are not aware that the song is a STORY SONG about the biblical character of David.
David is a religious figure for billions of people on the planet; he is, for sure, a historical figure; and he’s considered in this essay as a literary character, mostly.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever: The Faith So Great by Dale Barrigar”
About the Author
Hahn Moo-Sook (1918-1993) was a native of Seoul whose first artistic aspirations lay in painting, but she subsequently devoted her creative life to literature, publishing at least eight volumes of fiction during her lifetime and serving with distinction in the Korea branch of International P.E.N., in which capacity she brought many world-famous authors to the attention of a Korean audience. She is perhaps best known in English for Encounter: A Novel of Nineteenth-Century Korea, translated by Ok Young Kim Chang with a Foreword by Don Baker and published by the University of California Press.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – On Cloud Nine by Hahn Moo-Sook”
The legend about him, or I should say one of the many legends about him, is that he was nine feet tall.
No one now believes that the great Chinese teacher Confucius was really nine feet tall.
Nine is a magic number. That number was chosen for a reason.
Saying that Confucius was nine feet tall meant, and means, that his ideas, and his presence, were nine feet tall.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – Confucius Still Speaks an essay by Dale Williams Barrigar”
Every great writer, if they want to be a great writer, needs to be able to break it all down into the simplest thing.
For Shakespeare, it’s “To be, or…” and one, or a few, of the sonnets, as well as Juliet on her balcony.
For Cervantes, it’s Don Quixote, his horse Rocinante, and the windmill they think is a giant.
For Goethe, it’s Faust making a deal with the Devil.
For Jack Kerouac, author of On the Road (1957), it’s SKID ROW WINE.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever:- Skid Row Wine an Essay by Dale Williams Barrigar”
“The dead don’t die.” – Jeff Tweedy
Whoever believes that a 58-year-old man can’t rock out any more hasn’t heard (or has heard and hasn’t understood) Jeff Tweedy’s new song “Lou Reed Was My Babysitter” from his 2025 triple album Twilight Override.
The symbolic title of this song alone is worth volumes as it encapsulates an American way of life, for good and ill, in five words.
Anything with Lou in it has to be great, or near-great, to justify the use of his name and this song is.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever: Tweedy on Reed an essay from Dale Williams Barrigar.”
An Unfaithful Translation of Arthur Rimbaud’s Une Saison en Enfer; Prologue & Ist Chapter: by Geraint Jonathan
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – Meanwhile In Hell, It’s Spring: by Geraint Jonathan”
Or: To Know Buk Better You Need to Know Buk’s
Or: Start with This First
I’m tired and sick of people who slam Bukowski without knowing what he’s really all about.
If you don’t know, don’t say. An apothegm that should apply to all areas of life. And, think about whether you really do know it before you say it. And analyze what you said afterward, too. Not obsess over, not ruminate upon in a psychologically distressing fashion: ANALYZE. Harold Bloom said that Shakespeare invented the human by showing us how his characters listen to themselves, not to each other, which I never really understood until right now.
To Buk himself I say, these MISUNDERSTANDINGS I’m snarling at must be partly the wages of having become so well-known, sir, like you both did and did not say you wanted to. By the end of the century, you will have outgrown Hemmie (but he will still be there).
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever. A Readers Guide to Bukowski;”
(Adapted from the prose-poem, Mademoiselle Bistouri, by Charles Baudelaire)
I knew him for a doctor right away. He wasn’t tall, and he was dressed in black, from top to toe. A gentleman and a doctor. On a night visit, I shouldn’t wonder. Come with me, I said, even though he’d said he wasn’t a doctor. Not a doctor? Haha . . . Just like a doctor, that. It’s the humour. I’ll treat you, I said. I only live round the corner. You just call me Miss.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – Doctor Everywhere by Geraint Jonathan”
