Friday, September 19, 2014

Pregnant With Hope: A Love Letter To Scotland


Dear Scotland,

I know your hurt and disappointment today must run deep. I am feeling sad today too—I was hoping you’d gain the independence you deserve and was gutted when I woke up this morning to hear the news. Nonetheless, I am proud of all whom stood tall against the Westminister elites for social justice and a more equable future. You won in Glasgow and that is a magnificent achievement in its own right. You fought a great heartening campaign...be proud of that. You have my admiration for showing that it can be done. A new surge of people have defeated fear and your young just had an education better than any political degree. It may seem gloomy for many but Scotland is not finished, it is just on pause for the moment. Your volcano cannot be capped; I know this because I have Scot/Irish blood coursing through my veins. Much was achieved by the YES campaign and I know you will harness this newfound energy as this next wave will be a much bigger one. It's true, the system is crooked, built on lies, bad faith, pathetic incompetence and fear but take heart, your YES campaign unclothed that system and suddenly it became naked. You terrified the British state. People saw. People KNOW. Don't let this pause stop you and may the days ahead be brighter than they seem today. A change is gonna come.


With Love from America,

Me

“No man has the right to fix a boundary to the march of a nation. No man can say ‘thus far shalt thou go, and no further’. We have never sought to set the ne plus ultra of our nationhood, nor shall we ever” ~ Charles Stewart Parnell

...and a generation later Ireland became a republic.

Monday, July 28, 2014

FREE GAZA NOW!!

My thoughts are with those many civilians who have already lost their lives, and the even greater number of who have suffered physical or psychological injuries. There is so much injustice going on right now and I am sickened by the reality that the children of Gaza are not only having to live in fear and insecurity but that these horrific circumstances and wounds will become deep scars inside that they will have to endure for a lifetime. I am shocked to have seen banners strung up on buildings in West Jerusalem that read, "There are no innocent people in Gaza." This occupation must put an end to this insane cycle of violence - the carnage must stop!! And if anyone does not like what I am saying you should delete me on all social networks right now. - 

Sincerely, 

Wendy Rose Watson 




Wednesday, July 23, 2014

There's No Such Thing As War: A One State Solution

This post might not be popular but I'm going to say it anyhow. No one wants death and terror. Hamas emerged from the repeated, sustained, 60 year destructive disenfranchisement of a near destroyed people. Only fools believe the ordinary Palestinian (though there is no real Palestine anymore) wants Hamas to represent them -- look what it does to them. But today, Hamas are the only organization that they have due to the equal polarization from the other side. I think both Israeli government and Hamas have commited terrorist acts, are propagandists to their ends and in this way become extremists. We here in the US seem to love this because we get to sell weapons to Israel to the tune of BILLIONS of dollars a year, which by the way keeps Israel needing the US. And we wonder why a peace process has yet to work?! Doesn't it seem clear as to why we allow and quietly encourage Israel to dehumanize a marginalized people who must retreat to refugee camps, have no nuclear weapons, lack the support of one of the most powerful nations on earth, have little economic influence, poor medical facilities, wasted infrastructure, terrible medical services, and terrible conditions for human life then build a wall around them and strangle their economic prospects--and then the Israel government expects them to act obedient and happy with their oppression? This being the case is why the Hamas answer to a deeper anger in these people. The Hamas emerged from Israel's abuse of others in the area and I dare all to look deeper beyond the propaganda (the stuff so many take in thoughtlessly from the usual controlled media outlets) Palestinian and Gaza innocents are dying by the scores--none of which support Hamas and it is a complete failure that the most powerful country in the region, couldn't find ways to share power and peace with it's most destitute neighbor. It seems crystal clear now that there really is no negotiating table. This is very depressing as sadly the fighting is not going to go as easy as Israel hoped; there will be bloodshed that climbs into the thousands soon. And those thousands will mostly be the blood of innocent civilians. A one state solution? Right. I cannot and will never be able to support the death nail when innocents are involved. Shame on all of the decision makers who are promoting this WAR and for anyone who is taking sides.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

ZOMBIES

Big bucks for cover ups continue to dim the voices of the people within. Seduction. Mass Media. No God Exists. Corruption. Global. De- Construction of Elections that we never agreed with. Electrify Me. Teen aged dream. Everything Is an Illusion but we all one day or another have to come clean when we're on the big screen, or do we? By the way I don't know who 'we' are...might need to check into the overt dictionary to figure that out. Over and Out for the night with lots of light.



An Overt Tribute To Thunder Road

They: The ones who hide, the ones who alter, the ones who are always telling us how good we have it and how thankful we should be. 

Example of They used in a sentence: 
"They kept telling me to be grateful that I live in a town which is loaded with honest work opportunity at Walmart and McDonald's." 

"They pretend not to notice all the empty ghost structures that went out of business years ago as they make their way to the package store."

"They understand that an honest $1 is a $1 and keep telling us that we gotta work hard if we wanna live the American Dream"

"They wonder why many of us are still unemployed."

"They hope to keep an 'insane' amount of them on Prozac and other Big Pharma drugs to remain in sync with the viciously rapid cycles of modernity"

Us: The ones who will rise, the ones who will speak, the ones who feel the oppression in every nation in the world. (Insert Us used in a sentence)

Freedom: A bizarre idea especially in corporate cultures which insist on the worker explicitly following orders. (Insert Freedom used in your own sentence below)

The American Dream: It's a phantom that everyone makes movies about but no one ever really sees anymore. (Insert The American Dream used in your own sentence below)

The Revolution: The only thing that any sane citizen should look forward to.
(Insert The Revolution used in your own sentence below)




Yeah I know it's not The Boss but it's a good cover that seems to work because IT'S on Prozac.


Monday, July 14, 2014

Empty Beaches During The Off Season

I pledge allegiance to my dad for teaching me everything he knows/ and now it's time on the clock for me to dive/ dive into the tides/ tides that take me down into the dark depths of my mind/ where prehistoric landscapes keep me alive and keep me company/I feel so empty now/ I can hear my siren howl/ I can almost see the abyss staring back at me/ By the time I swear I'm his/ By the time I shiver and sigh/By the time he vows his passion is mine/ One of us will be lying/How the candle gives off such lovely light when you think the shadows are all busy just dying/And at least the robbers left the moon in my window/I pledge allegiance to my dad for teaching me everything he once had/Counting an endless repetition/The end of a sure beginning/Which is dead/ Which will always be dying. 



"The American Dream and American Psycho are starting to represent the same thing.
 Cinema and music and life are starting to merge. Death is art. 
We've played pop music out. That wholesome dream is dead." 
Lana Del Rey

Woody Guthrie's New Year’s resolutions
1942 

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Shooting Stars

a salute to the chronicles of all saints: glancing around the room..ariel...there are gardening boots in the corner, photos and papers on the piano bench, lace capped flowers in my mind with dark stems---a bright fireplace with circular shadows and white drapes with the moon shining through, a gallery of a forest out the looking glass we call windows in full bloom. geraniums, dusty leaf flowers from a forgotten age screaming to tell their stories....if i get it together soon the stories they talk about could be mine, all mine. I just don't care for things the way they care about them. i take my time. it's almost as if the price is too high -  america doesn't need another lullaby. there is after all a difference between art, mind, propaganda. where are all the blank verses, elegiacs, ballads, limericks and sonnets? father of the nights. red hands. lower worlds. come now, its' time for all our breath to strike some nerves and make necks stretch out on their knees, get entangled. please.  in another life i could of been you, too. i could of if i wanted to and you could have been me too... and, maybe baby, maybe baby, think about it you know what to say and what to do. yeah, we could'a just been just another  meteorite that day...remember that day we landed here? the day we came to play. if i get it together soon the stories they talk about could be mine, all mine and maybe you will understand then too. i just don't care for things the way they seem to care about them in that big parlor room, so full in that fever of blue.



Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Viva La Viva!

I am pleased and excited to share that my manuscript is being sent to the press at the end of July and that my first book of prose, poetry and shorts will be hot off the press in late August/early September 2014. I would also like to convey my sincere thanks to those of you who have believed, inspired and continue to be supportive on many different levels. Today, as I continue to try and make sense of this life through my writings and the act of creation, I have found that one thing is certain. To write the past is to hold a memory. To write the present is to stand witness. To write the future is to cast a spell. I hope all of you will find something that speaks to you in all selections of my past, present and future love offerings. 

You may find more of my "dreamings" where I use visuals, sound and writings that continue to be aides and tonics as I weave my way through the labyrinths of living at the links below.


http://churchofthevictoriancult.tumblr.com
http://www.facebook.com/churchofthevictoriancult
http://www.pinterest.com/wendyrosewatson


"There is a skeleton (or death) that flees in the face of my will to live." - Frida Kahlo



            

"Take another leap in the dark
With a humble heart
Do yourself some good
What did you become?
Patience
Be sure

These days it's all in the mind
It's ELEMENTAL"

--Earth, Water, Fire, Wind, and Void--


Thursday, July 3, 2014

Dear Darkness: An Ode To Gustav Klimt And Changing Poison Into Medicine

At first sight, Klimt's Hygieia seems to be another representation of the femme fatale. Hygieia confronts the viewer almost scornfully, her haughtiness is implied by her upraised chin and inscrutable gaze and her posture is slightly ominous, the golden snake twines sinuously along her upraised arm and it is unclear whether she offering the bowl or withholding it. The stylization of her encompassing red and gold robe serves to hide her body and her hair is covered beneath her rich headdress, the only indication of humanity and feminine sensuality lie in Hygieia's bare face and arms, and even here, her sensuality becomes a source of power, though she stares out of the painting, her eyes are hidden in shadow. It is clear that Hygieia is powerful and dangerous in her own right.

Hygieia, according to Greek myth, was the goddess of hygiene, of health, cleanliness and sanitation. In fact, the snake and the bowl remain symbols of pharmacy to this day. In this context, Hygieia was not afemme fatale but belonged rather in the traditional categorization of women as caretakers. This explanation of Hygieia contrasts with Klimt's powerful, inscrutable and even ominous depiction of her.

At the same time, it is clear that Hygieia is not the only figure in this painting, hidden amongst her elaborate headdress are the reposing faces of two women and the bare torso of a naked pregnant woman is partially hidden by Hygieia's red robe. Behind Hygieia, or perhaps within Hygieia, are very human very vulnerable women whose downward gazes, flowing hair and nudity speak much more to traditional depictions of women than Hygieia's strange defiance and power. Is Hygieia protecting these women? Is she instead threatening such women? Are these women another side of Hygieia, is she both vulnerable and powerful, innocent and mysterious? These questions are swallowed in the inscrutable gaze of Klimt's Hygieia.



In 1894, Klimt was commissioned to paint the ceilings in the University of Vienna’s great hall. The commission included three paintings, Philosophy, Medicine, and Jurisprudence. When Klimt presented them to the university upon completion, they were determined to be pornographic in nature, and filled with “perverted excess.” The university would not display them. Medicine was the second painting in the series. It featured a column of nude figures on the right hand side of the painting,a young nude female who floated in space, with a newborn infant at her feet, representing life. A skeleton represented death in the river of life. The only link between the floating woman and the river of bodies is two arms, the woman's and a man's as seen from behind. At the bottom of the painting Hygieia stood with the Aesculapian snake around her arm and the cup of Lethe in her hand, turning her back to mankind. Because of this, he was attacked by critics, who pointed out that Vienna at the time was engaging in major medical advancements,claiming that Klimt conveyed an ambiguous unity of life and death, with nothing to celebrate the role of medicine or the science of healing. An editorial in the Medizinische Wochenschrift complained that the painter had ignored doctors' two main achievements, Preventive medicine|prevention and cure.In 1945, the paintings were destroyed in Germany by advancing forces, the only remaining portions being a photograph of a portion of Medicine, and certain drawings and preliminary sketches.





Philosophy was the first of the three pictures presented to the Austrian Government at the seventh Vienna Secession exhibition in March 1900. It had been awarded a gold medal at the World Exhibition in Paris, but was attacked by those in his own country. Klimt described the painting as follows: "On the left a group of figures, the beginning of life, fruition, decay. On the right, the globe as mystery. Emerging below, a figure of light: knowledge." Critics were disturbed by its depiction of men and women drifting in an aimless trance. The original proposal for the theme of the painting was "The Victory of Light over Darkness", but what Klimt presented instead was a dreamlike mass of humanity, referring neither to optimism nor rationalism, but to a "viscous void". ​​




The process of changing poison into medicine begins when we approach difficult experiences as an opportunity to reflect on ourselves and to strengthen and develop our courage and compassion. Suffering can thus serve as a springboard for a deeper experience of happiness. From the perspective of Buddhism, inherent in all negative experiences is this profound positive potential. I do not have the words to connect this post to what you may have thought you could find here, today, tonight but what I do offer is a longer thought....a thought beyond words, a feeling and a visual, a salute to mystery and the mystic law... a salute to being. So be. So stay. So beautiful, utterly beautiful and, listen inside.





Tuesday, April 15, 2014

ON ART AND THE WAY IT NEVER ENDED

ON ART AND THE WAY IT NEVER ENDED (BUT IT DID)

This is the end of my life in art. At least I have found the man I was looking for. It is Spring. It is the Spring that I have waited for. In my head we are living in a suite on the fifth floor of the Chateau Marmont in Hollywood. He is more handsome than Clark Gable or Carey Grant. Except for the fear of losing him I have no complaint. I have not been denied the full measure of beauty. Nights and mornings we kiss each other. The feathery palms rise through the smog. The curtains stir. The traffic moves on Sunset over painted arrows words and lines. It is best not even to whisper about this perfection. This is the end of my life in art. I am drinking Eye of the Hawk, a drink I found in the local grocery here. It seems to be the full measure for me right now. I have not been denied the full measure. It happened as I approached my forty- second birthday. Beauty and love were granted to me in the form of a man. He wears silver rings of death on each finger just as I have instructed him to. I am happy with my luck. Even if he goes away I will say to myself, I have not been denied the full measure of beauty and yet when he lowers himself onto my mouth I feel such a measure of doom. There is a pyramid upon my breast. I want to change blood with him. I want to stop staring. I want to promise myself something. I want his death. Six-Seventy and five. Ruined in Los Angeles. I want to die in his arms and leave him. I was always ready to drive him to the nearest airport and say goodbye. He started his exercises today, he knew he'd need some muscle. Everyone except I knew he was in pain. All this junk about the gangsters of love and still today I become emotional whenever I put on my lace blouse and he comes again into my arms and there is no death because he is my image of beauty and in a flash all the words were rearranged and double-took just to suit us just like second hand clothes, a sacrificial child and an ordinary face like mine, mocking everything called Hollywood. And I really should start pouring hard turpintine on my liver again...but I won't.


Words © Wendy Rose Watson
Art- Family of acrobats with monkey, pablo picasso, rose period

ADDENDUM :


We cry out for what we have lost. We embrace the containing words. Two hundred tongues and sixty six white violets for all memories that were not a blur. And no one knew where the night was going and no one knew when it would end. And no one knew what would happen next not even the howling wind. And I have begun to long for you and how you kissed my body ripe because I remember that the night has no terrors for the one who lWe cry out for what we have lost. We embrace the containing words. Two hundred tongues and sixty six white violets for all memories that were not a blur. And no one knew where the night was going and no one knew when it would end. And no one knew what would happen next not even the howling wind. And I have begun to long for you and how you kissed my body ripe because I remember that the night has no terrors for the one who lays down wearing white. So I have kept nothing for myself, Mary Magdelene was not a whore. Beauty is everywhere distilled out of hard times and it thickens the faculties of my sword. And this is not a memory of what I deserve nor a story on the wages of some war. It's the perfection. It's the destruction. It's the bloom. It's the fade. It's the rose. It's the woman. It's just me ripping my heart out again. It's just me and my confident effortless allure. It's just another blurred memory. It's just a root as I praise creation joyously and Mary Magdelene was not a whore.

Words © Wendy Rose Watson




Friday, April 11, 2014

THIS BLOG IS CURRENTLY CLOSED


Long live the creative expression!

Long live individuality, emotion, love, poetry, prose, mystery, forgiveness, and retribution.

May you find yourself, and when you do, may you be happy, fulfilled, kind, and full of love.



Wendy Rose

I have a book coming out in 2014 and will be away from these pages
You may find me here: http://www.facebook.com/churchofthevictoraincult






Monday, March 31, 2014

Look At The Lilies In The Field They Neither Toil Nor Spin

i am the outsider, the one nobody asks. i feel naked. i feel like eating soft ice cream. i feel like watching industrial television. i hate industrial everything. i wanna feel the taste of honey. i wanna know just like a pretentious graduate student knows the taste of their tongue because the flame of their spirit almost never runs high. i have a fever. i am the artist. i am individuality. i wanna know just like an explicit dancer knows that her "fuck you very much hip thrust" swallows you like her warm, sympathetic knife and then i already know.... but that is never enough because there are dark days lingering like a dostoevsky or a nietzsche jab to make you (not me) realize that all of us are living below the horizon...comfortably floating without name, without honor and don't recognize exactly that because all of the why's and all of the no's and no...yes...no...it is true...no one can be happy all the time and yes... happy days are here again because after all every breath is one in the same.

words© Wendy Rose Watson

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Nothing

to stop dead in your tracks

to dismiss everything

to dismiss everything

because it dismisses you

you know that ache i speak of

for the brave it is rotting in your bones

for the weak i get you, you were knocked down

so many times that you could no longer get up

tomorrow....the next week...the months after that

you will rise

you will rise

you will rise

and then and only then will you be able to tell your story

tell it

get a good editor and tell it

i know what it is like to live through this

tell it

yes

tell it true



Saturday, January 11, 2014

A PRAYER FOR 2014



Bless the Oneness that we are, which lays within the reality many refer to as Love... there is no fear, no evil darkness in any "devil" nor any true demons other than that which we have co-created. Fear has been created by mankind as a tool to control and divide, and thus teaches people to have a (false) belief in an untrue "power" of kingdoms and religions that are greater than we are. This has taken us from our true form -- One -- into illusory forms of many divided, and thus we are led to believe that many are meant to be conquered. We are falsely told by priests and kings that we are not divine, nor can our own darkness nor our own souls be truly trusted without "their" instruction - Balance must be restored.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Transmission


I knew I shouldn't look out the window at the ocean but I really did feel like it after all Mother was calling me in saying, "This is the place where you may begin again," and I knew right then and there that I had to make a choice so I built an alter and raised it with unhewn stones because I've always been such an amusing enemy. Perfect timing for Mothers call as just after I heard a voice say "I want her. Let me have her!" I couldn't figure out who was speaking as I thought Mother and I were alone for the eve and I knew it wasn't the Chambermaid living in my mind that spoke from time to time. It was one of those nights though - you know the kind o f nights with all that extra light of Jesus Christ falling into the extra world of pain but just in a new formation. "I'm the one you are writing about," the voice said as my pet crow turned his head, "I'm the one on this frozen night who brings the fish back to your anus and the bee back to your swollen bite." Then just like a jump and a flash I saw the entity cast its shadow upon the ocean -- it was throwing itself upon it's own stiffness which caused my crow to fly to his perch so I took up my horned quill with my seaweed bandaged hand to begin and then I began...I began dancing Indian inks across the seascape of a postcard, not just any postcard but a postcard I had been waiting to send for many ages. A post card to a loved one in a far away land. I felt the black fire burning upwards against my breast so I knew it was time, there was no time to rest. Yes. Mother was right, nobody could live like this, it was time to cushion the velvets and take off the lace blouse. It was time to let the shadow learn that the sparrow of St. Francis wings would be the only ones to burn.



May you bless the union of every Mother & Father.
May you discard easily the husks of my thoughts.
May you stand on my dead body.
There is no death so therefore this is all a lie.
There is no death until we come to a heart that is free from opening.
I know what you know because you already know it.
Do not put yourself on. There is no need to weep into the handkerchief.
Open your heart and recieve from the wrist your Mothers Music, your Fathers Milk.
Frozen in the blood thick silence between the bridgeless worlds.
I dream that there are chains and because there are chains
I also dream there is release.
I dreamed, I dreamed a thousand years and when drawn from the mist I dreamt again and again and again and again.
Did I dream that you dreamed about me?
I dreamed that I was clothed in nakedness and had once suffered to exist.
So I have removed myself from these lines to know that I always know what these things I write mean.
And the world is sweet and the world is wide
And I'll always be there where the light and darkness divide.
Did I dream that you dreamed about me?
The Crown and the crow and the sparrow know the evergreen of life
But must it come so cruel, must it be so bright!

WORDS - Wendy Rose Watson

Friday, November 29, 2013

THE WANDERER

The path I have taken has gone to many places and challenged a lot of my thinking and I suppose that can be frightening for some individuals but I don't see things like that. I was born a wanderer. I have always had a deep inner desire for travel and adventure and I've always set my own pace in life without being governed by tradition, though tradition surely seems to wanna govern me. I'm not saying that I'm not founded with deep roots that grow up nor am I saying that there aren't drawbacks to being true to yourself when you're a wanderer. There can be many complications that go hand and hand with this path. Being a seeker, a wanderer is plagued with uphill climbs but it can also mean many great things; poetic sensibility, self-reflection, empathy, it can mean a hedonism and a libertarianism and also a lack of judgement in the best of ways. What I think is frightening is when you don't push through to your own limits, and then to know when to limit yourself when you reach that point. Then again there are no real limits, or are there? When you don't go the miles in your lifes work, listen inside and fine tune your calling no matter how hard it is or how much time it takes you may find yourself in the half life. Purgatory. And by the way that is part of the natural process. Its not estranged, at least for me. Your own projections of what is and is not acceptable for you might become unclear. This is the great challenge. The challenge to break on through. This is the other side. To even know this is profound, especially when you're on the road and defining things, finding your clear. I've found that when you don't know when to close or open the door you get stuck in the half world and that's just no good, then again that place is there to teach you something about yourself so you're not through learning and that is good. That place can be one of the coldest times in hell, one of those times when the life spray cools in the thrust of the strand, with flicks of the tongues, blinks of the eye and touch of hands but you will come through and you wont always be there. You will, if your spirit is strong enough get back up and go at it again and again and again and again. There is no promise of anything though, outside of truly knowing yourself. Your limits and your deep love and you will have incredible respect for yourself for setting your sails North even if you end up somewhere faintly familiar but also very unrecognizable in the deep South or just in an ocean of thought, which may be the case for me right now and by the way, and for a wanderer is a very sensual and moving place to be.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

THANK YOU FOR SEEING ME

I just need to say that it has been an incredibly moving experience to come to the place in my life where my first book is almost complete - I am also finding myself freezing in the final process due to a lot of anxiety as the process is really becoming so real and personal for me, not that it wasn't always that way when I was writing over the years, but because I'm just now digesting that I actually do have a book to birth and that all of my personal entires are going to come alive on those pages -- That my soul is going to be exposed to the public and that is somewhat terrifying, so terrifying that I tried to talk myself out of publishing today and then I came to this thought; That no matter how much I try to escape this troubled world there is no way out, there is however a way in...a way back to self and a way to a deeper purpose on this planet. It is through this love of creating that I find some comfort. The whole process helped me in some way sort out some of my struggles and make a little more sense outta this world I live in and in some way I am hoping that in turn my book of poetry/prose/shorts might be able to help someone else. I'm sure I'll move past this anxiety soon and my book will come out in Feb/March as planned. This whole process in general,current anxiety included, has been beyond heartbreaking, beautiful,challenging and freakishly humorous so I really appreciate you support wherever you are be it in the past, the present or the future. Your kindness has meant and continues to mean SO very much to me. ~ Wendy Rose Watson

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

The last 24 hours

Pulled the last 24 hours through with some Lousiana Chicory Coffee that my publisher sent me back to Georgia with so I'm not so terribly exhausted from a long day/night on the lash--A writing/REsearch lash, that is- working on several things to come including the design and look for my book. I know exactly what I want. I'm ambitious. I don't let others do my thinking, talking or naming. I know who I am and I'm never going to live through someone else to complete myself or my mission, not that I'm being asked to but felt it settled in me to say that. No there's no more nights of apprehension and hot weeping over some tangled illusion that I cannot break through and yeah, I've certainly been there - I was once swallowed whole. Engulfed. Willingly. Now, as the present is in focus there are only days and nights of explosive joy...you know the kinda joy I mean... these days we still refer to as 'now' these days of what may still be illusion when looking back to the past. These days it seems there's a ghost walking along side of me guiding every step of the way.... because 'these days' I'm certainly not 'one' for the keeping and certainly not 'one' right now.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

My words on Lou Reed / A Tribute

It's been a week and 2 days since Lou Reeds passing and because I'm back home from my trip I'm just having the opportunity to catch up and read all the thoughtful entries online that everyone has posted. I remember waking up seeing the ocean that day and within the first 5 minutes of taking in the day my publisher told me that Lou had passed on. I had so much more work to do but the thought of pausing seemed right inside so I did and we changed the flight back home.I was having trouble thinking straight. So here I am feeling a bit shaken again as it's all sinking in. I am not the kind of person who can write the lines all the time, sometimes the words get caught up inside and come later but today I do want to say that Lou Reeds work taught me a lot about writing and also taught me about staying true to myself. I posted an entry in my Church of the Victorian Cult blog just last year on his birthday as to honor him and just really can't get past his passing. I'm sentimental like that and though I never met Lou Reed his work will continue to impact my life, he left us with some real gems and for that I will be forever thankful and touched -- It's my belief that we are here to leave things behind and the things we leave, even if they speak to only one person are precious. Lou spoke to many and he will be and is deeply missed. I know most of you have probably already read Laurie Andersons heartbreaking obituary and if not you should as it shook me deep inside as I just had the opportunity to read it. I know her grieving must go so beyond right now as I cannot imagine living without your great love by your side. I'm choosing to post this poetic and touching memorial tribute from Mother of two. Widow. Student of religious imagery. Author. Poet and performer Patti Smith. Patti knew what it was like to lose her great love Fred 'Sonic' Smith and then also be able to somehow recapture that love and magnify his strengths and gifts after a long mourning period. Thank you Patti & my condolences to Laurie Anderson during her grieving process. I too am weary, we all are. Sorrow breaks the heart open. Sorrow is a precious Spring. You have to treasure it, honor it and then move on and begin again to celebrate this thing called living... `Wendy Rose Watson WORDS FROM PATTI SMITH - MOURING FOR LOU REED On Sunday morning, I rose early. I had decided the night before to go to the ocean, so I slipped a book and a bottle of water into a sack and caught a ride to Rockaway Beach. It felt like a significant date, but I failed to conjure anything specific. The beach was empty, and, with the anniversary of Hurricane Sandy looming, the quiet sea seemed to embody the contradictory truth of nature. I stood there for a while, tracing the path of a low-flying plane, when I received a text message from my daughter, Jesse. Lou Reed was dead. I flinched and took a deep breath. I had seen him with his wife, Laurie, in the city recently, and I’d sensed that he was ill. A weariness shadowed her customary brightness. When Lou said goodbye, his dark eyes seemed to contain an infinite and benevolent sadness. I met Lou at Max’s Kansas City in 1970. The Velvet Underground played two sets a night for several weeks that summer. The critic and scholar Donald Lyons was shocked that I had never seen them, and he escorted me upstairs for the second set of their first night. I loved to dance, and you could dance for hours to the music of the Velvet Underground. A dissonant surf doo-wop drone allowing you to move very fast or very slow. It was my late and revelatory introduction to “Sister Ray.” Within a few years, in that same room upstairs at Max’s, Lenny Kaye, Richard Sohl, and I presented our own land of a thousand dances. Lou would often stop by to see what we were up to. A complicated man, he encouraged our efforts, then turned and provoked me like a Machiavellian schoolboy. I would try to steer clear of him, but, catlike, he would suddenly reappear, and disarm me with some Delmore Schwartz line about love or courage. I didn’t understand his erratic behavior or the intensity of his moods, which shifted, like his speech patterns, from speedy to laconic. But I understood his devotion to poetry and the transporting quality of his performances. He had black eyes, black T-shirt, pale skin. He was curious, sometimes suspicious, a voracious reader, and a sonic explorer. An obscure guitar pedal was for him another kind of poem. He was our connection to the infamous air of the Factory. He had made Edie Sedgwick dance. Andy Warhol whispered in his ear. Lou brought the sensibilities of art and literature into his music. He was our generation’s New York poet, championing its misfits as Whitman had championed its workingman and Lorca its persecuted. As my band evolved and covered his songs, Lou bestowed his blessings. Toward the end of the seventies, I was preparing to leave the city for Detroit when I bumped into him by the elevator in the old Gramercy Park Hotel. I was carrying a book of poems by Rupert Brooke. He took the book out of my hand and we looked at the poet’s photograph together. So beautiful, he said, so sad. It was a moment of complete peace. As news of Lou’s death spread, a rippling sensation mounted, then burst, filling the atmosphere with hyperkinetic energy. Scores of messages found their way to me. A call from Sam Shepard, driving a truck through Kentucky. A modest Japanese photographer sending a text from Tokyo—“I am crying.” As I mourned by the sea, two images came to mind, watermarking the paper- colored sky. The first was the face of his wife, Laurie. She was his mirror; in her eyes you can see his kindness, sincerity, and empathy. The second was the “great big clipper ship” that he longed to board, from the lyrics of his masterpiece, “Heroin.” I envisioned it waiting for him beneath the constellation formed by the souls of the poets he so wished to join. Before I slept, I searched for the significance of the date—October 27th—and found it to be the birthday of both Dylan Thomas and Sylvia Plath. Lou had chosen the perfect day to set sail—the day of poets, on Sunday morning, the world behind him. ♦