Happy Leap Day

fogspot

A few Sundays ago Jenn and I took a walk in the fog, and after a few blocks we discovered that we'd wandered into a Caspar David Friedrich painting. The experience didn't last long -- maybe an hour or maybe five minutes, it's hard to say -- but we emerged with at least this one photograph.

More from me tomorrow. In the meantime, here's another recent photo of Jenn's and a painting by Friedrich to put you in the Valentines spirit.

pictures of horses

Just because.

Bilder

This is the star that hangs above my crumbling balcony. I'm not sure where we found it. Maybe it fell from the sky.


I think that this "see no evil/hear no evil/speak no evil" monkey totem pole, currently the pedestal for my burrito tail cactus (an ideal plant because it requires next to no water), should be expanded or renamed to include a "blog no evil" category. Though that would disrupt the magic number, you could also just rename the other two to something like "fwd no evil" or "comment no evil." Part of my decision to greatly reduce online activity in 2008 stems from a disgust with the user comments I see when I read the newspaper -- or other blogs -- online. Whether it's racist blame-games, vitriol over local sports teams or embarrassingly poor spelling and grammar, comments on the local Internets do not generally engender goodwill among neighbors.


This was the slab of ice we used to escape a frozen Flush Creek near the Troost Bridge. Not big enough to support our weight, it nonetheless kept our boots from complete submersion in the stream.


What's up with this picture? I honestly don't know. It's part of Jenn's recent photo sets on jennybros.com and flickr, along with the rest of these shots shown here today. If you're willing to write a few sentences or more about what you think the story is with this picture, I'd be happy to post it here. I know there's some creative types out there reading this, and I want to give them a chance to shine.

If you came here looking for something intelligent to read, than I'm afraid I'll have to direct you elsewhere, like this story from the NY Times for example.

In the meantime, stay tuned for Giant Squid sightings and some more music-related stuff soon. A big hello to friends overseas, especially those in Swaziland.

cheers,

LW

Natalya's best of 2007

What it's like to still be a kid. With a camera.

Trees

I got stuck in a tree over the weekend and might not be able to blog for a few days. This happens sometimes.

There is a chance that I will have a guitar airlifted for the remainder of my stay, but I'd rather not risk transporting my laptop. Besides, the battery would not last too long.

Rather than leave my Monday readers high-and-dry, I had my hiking companion/rescue coordinator take down the first few lines of a Hoelderlin poem I felt was well-suited for the occasion. Unfortunately I could only remember the first two verses...

Was dämmert um mich, Erde! Dein freundlich Grün?
Was wehst du wieder, Lüftchen, wie einst mich an?
In allen Wipfeln rauschts,

Was weckt ihr mir die Seele? Was regt ihr mir
Vergangnes auf, ihr Guten! O schonet mein
Und laßt sie ruhn, die Asche meiner
Freunden, ihr spottet nur! O wandelt,

or, auf Englisch, courtesy of Michael Hamburger:

Why, Earth, around me glimmer your friendly leaves?
Why, little wind, as once do you breathe on me?
In all the tree-tops there's a rustling,

Why do you rouse my soul and stir up the past?
In me, you kindly ones? O be kinder still
And let them be, the embers of my
Joys! You were mocking me! Travel on then,

The poem, entitled Palinodie, has another few verses that you can read here. More interesting, I learned when reading about the piece that a "palinode" is a reversal of an earlier poem or statement. For some reason I'd never learned that.

Though I'd never consciously written a palinode of any kind, a likely subject arose in my path while hiking this weekend. I read on a placard that honeysuckle -- the plant whose appearance in midsummer always seemed to me so sweet, innocent and intoxicating -- is actually regarded as an invasive species in North America. It's sweet-smelling and attractive, but can hamper other growth.

See? I still learn things.

And lest you pick up the touch-tone and dial the volunteer fire department, I'll come out and admit that I'm not really stuck in any trees. I just might not post for a few days and thought I'd give a more interesting reason than an upcoming sales meeting.

Take care.

All Hallow's Eve

A few photos of and links to Halloween fun, for those of you who found yesterday's marshmallow-headed epic verse a bit too much to swallow. Happy All Soul's Eve, kids.

The result of my first-ever trip to buy plants


Arachnophilia: Lucky the seven-legged spider lives in Seattle.
Photo by Tara.


This scare bear lives in Gillham Park


My makeshift costume on Friday. Used brother's old spacesuit. When people saw how faded the flag was, they thought I was making a political statement. I told them I'd just been lost for a long time and my patriotism had lost a bit of its luster as well. I kind of look like a past-his-prime British rocker. Photo by Liz.


Being green: Andrew makes it look easy


America, friend of the people. Taken in Hamburg cafe/curiosity shop near Brigittenstrasse.


Those old pumpkin fields back home

For some humorous content regarding Halloween, I've got a couple of suggestions. There was that really funny article about werewolves in the Onion, for one. Also, Jeremiah Tucker of the Joplin Globe takes a look today at the holiday he's come to call All Hallow's sleEveless and pants-less. You can read that here.

For those of you more inclined to celebrate the month of October than the Halloween holiday, hearken back to the October of 1900 with Helen Hunt Jackson's "October's Bright Blue Weather," a favorite poem of my grandfather's back in his day.

Also, I was going to put together a mix of Halloween-themed tracks, but it looks like I've been beat to the punch by this guy from Russia. Instead I'd like to share this spooky-sounding freak-out by Kontakt Mikrofoon Orkest, plucked from the latest Cherrystones comp, Cherrystones Word.

And what would a Halloween post be without an embedded video from Echo and the Bunnymen?

Enjoy!

Crazy Carny-age on the OK Highway

Due to the ease with which one can comment on a blog or e-mail the author, this site does not generate a large amount of snail mail. Once in a while, though, we will receive handwritten letters, usually written by war veterans or elderly women in the community. One particular letter that I received last week made me reconsider the kind of content that I make available on this site. If I may, I'd like to share this quick excerpt:

"Why must you always dwell on the positive?" the letter read. "Every week I check this site only to be inundated with light-hearted stories about some great new band or artsy digital photographs taken by some supposably hip twenty something. Why not tell both sides of the story for a change? I want a dash of disaster and disappointment to go along with all the happy stuff. This is America, in case you've forgotten."

This woman's words cut me to the quick. Have I consciouly been trying to shield my audience from the darker aspects of life by creating a blog where no pain or sorrow exist?

I've learned in my many years of blogging to shrug off criticism, but perhaps she had a point. I decided to adhere to the ancient blogging adage and give the people what they want.

I didn't find it hard to come up with a few unpleasant topics to write about, but I also didn't want to regale readers with all the standard blogospheric laments ("moving sucks," "quitting smoking is hard," "i haven't had my coffee this morning," "my first-born child was born with bat wings", et cetera). I needed something else. Something exciting. Something exclusive.

To get the story I was looking for I had to tap my brother, crack reporter/photographer Deez Wetzel. In the spring of 2006, while driving back from an all-night recording session at Bell Labs in Norman, Oklahoma, Young Deezy and his bandmates came across a roadside scene they would not soon forget.

In just 30 seconds and a few quick snaps of the shutter, David captured the surreal images and haunting impressions you will read below. Lucubrations.net would like to thank Young Deez for sharing this troubling experience, told in his own words.


April 24, 2006: While driving home on I-35 just south of Guthrie, OK, traffic slowed to a crawl. In the distance emergency lights flashed and a fire reaching great heights was plainly visible. What exactly was burning was not clear. As emergency vehicles sped past us on the shoulder, we waited for nearly an hour in standstill traffic watching white smoke billow on the horizon. When we finally started moving, we edged forward past the accident and realized that this was no ordinary car fire.


The Hampton umbrella ride appeared to be OK.


More confusion ahead.


The first visible casualty: an orange monkey. We were told that CPR failed, and that he had flown 400 feet to his final resting place.


More animals laying dead or motionless. Among them, an extremely rare rainbow monkey and several of his friends. It was becoming obvious that this must have been some sort of caravaning circus/carnival. What else could explain the three-legged man on the right? We were still clueless about what might have caused the fire, but decided not to rule out cigarettes.


Smiling dragons, obviously grateful that they weren't riding in back of the yellow truck.


You've heard of the ship of state. Well, this is the semi. These colors may not run, but they do char worse than a burnt bratwurst. At this point, we realized that this was no accident. It could only be international terrorism, striking a devastating blow in the heartland by laying waste to an innocent carnie convoy. As the true embodiment of American freedom at its most free, carnies are the ultimate enemy of terrorists.


These giant green suspiciously unharmed aliens are definitely suspect. Perhaps they are -- or are harboring -- terrorists. Best to arrest them all and ask questions later.

Even well over a year after the incident took place, DWetz still recalls the incident with a shudder.

"After waiting for so long in traffic, drifting in and out of sleep, the whole experience took on mythic proportions for us," Wetzel said. "I'm not gonna say Oliver Stone type proportions, but it was pretty strange to imagine how not only the leading truck but several other following vehicles got so messed up. I only wish I would've had more time to photographically assess the damage."

Even stranger to Deez was the complete absence of the catastrophe from local news reports. He scoured local papers and Web sites for days afterwards but found no mention of what he'd seen.

On one hand, I can understand why the media would choose not to cover such a story. A highway littered with crashed semis, dead rainbow monkeys and terrorist-smuggling aliens is pretty heavy shit. On the other hand, the urgency with which police ushered by passing cars suggests that perhaps the story was intentionally suppressed. No one can say for certain, at least not without assuming a certain amount of risk.

There may indeed be stories out there too macabre for the mainstream media and too sensitive for Uncle Sam, but rest assured that you will still find these stories at www.lucubrations.net, your chief source for doom and gloom in the AMerican Midwest.

Days of the Dead in KCK

If you're looking for great tacos and building murals, look no further than Kansas Avenue in KCK. But beware of trash-eating ghost riders.

More photos by Jenn here.

Snapshots

I usually post songs or links to music on Thursdays, but I've been doing that a lot lately so I thought I'd get back to the old-fashioned staples of pictures and writing.

The above photo was taken at the great Halloween party of 2003, back when I lived above Massachussetts Street. There was live jazz and an art station where people could draw pictures and hang them up, but probably the most entertaining moment of the night was when Sam W (he no longer lives in this country, so I'm not worried about embarrassing him) staggered toward the back patio and vomited off the two-story drop-off while wearing a family member's wedding dress.

As for the guy in the photo, I have no idea who he is. He just showed up, drank about seven beers in 15 minutes and then left without so much as a hiccup, not to mention a hello.

This photo was taken by Natalie after the Kaw Valley Kickball Championships. After the championship teams cleared the field, a handful of us took advantage of the bright lights to get in a quick pickup game. This photo was taken at the most dramatic moment of that decidedly not-pretty contest, right when Jacob tried to throw me out as I leaped toward home. I reunited safely with my shadow at home plate, but unfortunately my opponent and long-time friend Mr. Baum slipped and bit the dust. Hard. The X of the fence partially obscures the point of action, as if to shield the viewer from the impact of the fall, but I still think the moment is captured nicely.

This photo was taken yesterday at Antioch Park. I hadn't been back there since I was a little kid, so it was strange and refreshing to revisit. Unlike so many landmarks in this city that have decayed, been replaced or are now unrecognizably renovated, Antioch Park (67th and Antioch) is in great shape. There was a brass band playing "When The Saints Go Marching In" at the picnic shelter near Dodge Town (a mini-sized city/playground). And the stepping stones to the middle of the lake -- my all-time favorite part of the park -- are still intact.

This shot was taken early last month on the curb opposite Burrito King in Lawrence. When I arrived on the scene at about 2:30 a.m., Ben and Scott were locked in a decisive wrestling match, with nearly a dozen spectators gathered on Nicole's front lawn to watch. The battle went back and forth without a clear victor, though I think the whole thing would have made a great jeans advertisement. After Scott was through, Ben invited passers-by to wrestle by saying, "If you're not gay, then prove it by wrestling me." No one else took him up on it.

Finally, I will sneak in something music-related after all by presenting this photo of renowned "stick wizard" Josh Adams. Most of you in the area have probably had the chance to hear Josh play with one group or another, but if you haven't I strongly suggest doing so sometime in your life. Josh is playing tonight (and every Thursday night this month) with Snuff Jazz at the Taproom, and he'll be playing with Ghosty tomorrow at the Jackpot Saloon as they open for the Klaxons. Like the previous two photos, this photo was taken by Jenn.

More from me soon.

thursday tracks and photo retrospective

Above is a picture Jennifer took of our porch at Warwickshire. It's three stories up and covered in trees. At night I'll sit out there, sip summer brew and listen to music for hours. If you'd like to hear some of the music I've been playing lately, you can drop by the the lukebox. And if you're not familiar with this so-called perpetual mixtape, this post from a few weeks back will explain its origins and how to download these tracks in iTunes.

Now I know most of you visit this site to read my long-winded rants and to see the latest photos from miss brothers, but today I'm going to post a few photos of my own, part of a recent flickr set culled from past trips to Berlin, Barcelona, Dubuque, New York, Lawrence, Hamburg and down the street. Here goes, with a wee bit of haiku accompaniment:


Kermit and Peanut
at Hell's Kitchen Flea Market
discussing their lives


aboard the Twilight
The ancient deckhand stares down
the Mississippi


sticker removal
my sunburst telecaster
with a tiny star


swimming skeleton
Berlin's famous decadence
has caught up to him


Eppendorfer Park
Till woke up to discover
he'd aged sixty years


Laura makes a mess
covering the counter in
chocolate syrup swirls


At my uncle's ranch
I trail behind the horses
on the four wheeler


she used to live in
the Valentine neighborhood
but she moved away


trees hills ruins trees
we've got everything you need
to build dead cities

If you'd like to see more pictures, you can go to my flickr at www.flickr.com/photos/lukasfotos to see the rest of the 40 or so pics from the past 2 years that I just put up. Or check out this digital pinhole set by Tara Sloan. It's pretty cool, as you can see below. Thanks for reading and have a splendid day.

Banging gongs and hunting for ghosts

Summertime at night is the right time for spectral photography.

Usually the nocturnal photo shoots we complete are whimsical and innocent, such as the shadow dance-off that Adam and I took part in during last weekend’s Bloch Party, or the Kermit the Frog shots we took last Winter. But sometimes we stumble into a realm of photography more informed by the supernatural.

One source of ghastly images this summer has been the University of Kansas campus. Set on a hill overlooking both the Kaw and Wakarusa river valleys, the KU campus is at once a shining academy on the hill and the rugged ancestral Indian grounds the white man first referred to as Hogback Ridge.

Aesthetically, there is much to interest the nighttime visitor to the KU campus: The primordial mists and willow trees of Potter Lake. The snow-white glare of the streetlights on the newer buildings. The hum of the generators and giant air conditioners. The alluring darkness of the tunnels and steam vents behind the old limestone buildings. The sculpture of Moses kneeling reverently before the stained-glass burning bush at Smith Hall.

Another lovely aspect of the KU campus at night is the colors. A row of columns stand especially tall in the dull orange glow of an almost burned-out light. The bright yellow windows of Anschutz look like panels on a giant spacecraft that's stopped to recharge its batteries overnight. The lights, leaves and sky combine to paint the hill in a spectrum of soft yellows, greens and blues – a gentle but highly expressionistic palate that reminds one of Van Gogh.

Music Hall Mystics


Among the many picturesque landmarks and buildings on campus, the one that fascinates me the most is the music building.

Today, Murphy Hall is a modern, well-lighted place, but you should have seen it in the fall of 1999. They were demolishing, rebuilding or renovating most of the building, transforming an already confusing structure into a labyrinth of blocked-off hallways, burned-out lights and construction equipment. My friend Andrew had a class there that year, and he was convinced the place was haunted.

To test his theory, Andrew recruited two of us to go on a ghost-hunting expedition, which we excitedly agreed to. The three of us met one Thursday at midnight, drank a few beers in the bushes and proceeded to scour the premises for any trace of spirit life.

We were greeted by the sounds of warbling tubas, atonal piano scales and faint violins, lured on by flickering EXIT signs that instead led to chained-off doors you could open up just enough to see a sudden drop-off several stories deep.

Though the sound of instruments indicated there were people in the building, we didn't see a soul until we went outside, where several figures were walking around garbed entirely in white. These, however, were not specters, but a small crew of Mexican construction workers wearing haz-mat suits to protect themselves from lead-based paint and/or asbestos.

If we had sought to find an honest-to-goodness ghost, we had (perhaps predictably) failed.

Still, the adventure provided me with images that would haunt me for years, such as a partially chained-off hallway door giving way to an abyss of broken pianos.

Return to Murphy


This month I got returned to Murphy for only the second time since my student days. Dave and Mike were helping Andrew Morgan put some finishing percussive touches on his album, and Andrew had secured the key to the large rehearsal room for the week.

After playing bell trees, celestas, chimes and drums, Natalya and I decided to explore the premises while our friends got down to serious recording.

Once again, we didn't run across anyone, just took pictures, rode elevators and followed stairwells, aimlessly combing the miles of silent hallspace within the music building complex. In the courtyard, we took off our shoes and sat on the steps facing the full moon.

Almost two hours passed by the time we made it back to the rehearsal hall, and the guys had finished recording everything except for a few crashes from the giant gong. As the last blast of the gong faded, we said our goodbyes and drove back home through an empty campus.

When we uploaded our photos the next day, we were spooked to find that there were indeed spectral images lurking in the corners of the digital compositions. The midnight ghosts of Murphy were real after all.



A closer look revealed that these spirits were not unfamiliar. Like all those "Sixth Sense" style movies where the protaganists discover they're actually dead, we recognized the ghosts in the photos as ourselves.



Skeptics among you might chalk this up to a slow shutter speed and not the supernatural, but I personally felt as if the apparitions I'd searched for years ago were finally appearing to me through the medium of digital photography. In the words of an acquaintance of mine who is an expert on the occult: If you let a black cat loose on the world, that cat may one day find its way back to you.

We later learned that David had stayed around and played piano for several hours after our departure, and I felt a lot better knowing that any spirits we'd photographically conjured had likely been dispelled by D's soulful sweeps of the Steinway.

It will probably be a while before I go back to Murphy Hall, at least in the dead of night. Fortunately, we preserved a number of images from our journey in this photo set. Even if there aren't real ghosts in the music hall, the music majors among you can attest that the difference between zombie and music student can be hard to distinguish. So be wary if you visit.

Speaking of zombies, if I don't wrap up this post, I'm going to become one myself. Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more stories of brushes with the spirit world.

point of departure

Last week I climbed up this signal tower to see what kind of signal I could get, but unfortunately I forgot my computer and telephone so instead I just let my eyes adjust until I could see all the way to New Zealand. Pretty soon I'll come down and we can all catch up. In the meantime, here's a set of photos from Adam's visit to Kansas City.

ornithology

In response to last week's post about carrying an owl to Athens (and Lawrence), one reader asked if I had personally seen any owls when I went to Athens. I must say that I did not, though after looking at my picture-cards, I realized that I did see a number of other birds during my travels through Hellas.

Firstly, my new friend Jake and I located a variety of birds in a zoo-like section of a public park in the centre of the city. There were no zookeepers in sight, but the animals were clearly fed and kept in a series of bird fences and cages. The most irascible of these fowl was this baby ostrich.


Jake and I were still delirious from the overnight ferry ride, and we just stood and looked at this bird and talked back to it, saying "aassstrich" repeatedly and giggling. I must have taken 20 pictures of the thing. It was so cute, yet so dirty.

There was also a flock of ducks running in circles, crazily. This might be one of my favorite pictures I took the whole trip.



On an excursion to Delphi, I saw these mythical ostriches in the museum.



As you can see, birds in a Greece are a tough, hard-to-tame bunch that don't take shit off of anybody. They will, however, take a shit on just about anybody, as this unfortunate fellow found out near Athens' Bathhouse of the Winds.


I'd hate to end this field report on such a sordid note, so here's a sweet song by the Beach Boys called "Little Bird."

Also, if there are any birds of prey reading this right now, it would be a huge help if you could swoop in my window and take care of that pesky mouse I saw in my apartment yesterday. Thanks a bunch!

I Carry An Owl To Lawrence

One evening a year ago, I stood on the Acropolis and, with a sense of deep fulfillment, I released an owl that I had carried to Athens.

My decision to do so had taken shape one night when I couldn't sleep. In such dark hours, I make decisions that I then immediately carry out, circumstances at all permitting. This new and so far perhaps boldest decision could not be put into effect all that easily, but its realization could be prepared right away. I dressed and went off to see my bird dealer. His shop is closed at night, needless to say; regular patrons use a concealed night bell. I rang and was soon standing among cloth-draped cages in the nocturnal dimness of the bird shop. The owner asked me what I would like.

"An owl, please," I said.

"Aha," he said, winking, as if relishing the shrewd expertise of his client. "You're a connoisseur. Most customers make the mistake of selecting an owl in daylight. Should I gift-wrap it?"

"No. It's not for me. I'd like to carry it to Athens."

-- excerpt from "I Carry An Owl To Athens" by Wolfgang Hildesheimer, translated by Joachim Neugroschel.

This story, which like all of Hildescheimer's short works is quite hilarious, follows one man's quest to complete an act which was historically considered to be the epitome of superfluousness (on account of there already being so many owls in Athens, since owls are Athene's spirit animal and Athens is Athene's city).

As you can see from the above photo, I completed a similar mission by carrying an owl all the way to Lawrence, Kansas. Which is also quite superfluous, although perhaps for different reasons.

If you'd like to read more of Hildesheimer's stories, you can read the complete text of the owl story in German here. Or you can pick up a used copy of his translated story collection on Amazon for super-cheap. Or find it at Watson Library. Or borrow mine.

The picture, I must add, comes from the freshly posted series of outtakes from the Urban Photo Safari Jennifer and I undertook this weekend. Usually the event takes place in Kansas City, but they moved it to Lawrence this year to shake things up. Come Friday, you can see the selections of 20 or so weekend photographers on the Urban Photo Safari site.



For a view of what I'm looking out at from my perch in the top photo, here's a picture I took myself back in 2005.

bike wreck

foto of the weekend

by natalya

Biggest Sale Ever

At the Berbiglia booze shop on 43rd street. 10 percent off everything, all month. You guys, this is huge. (photo by Jennifer).

Deconstruction (photo) Diaries: Nov. 24

Here are a couple more views of 4832's demise, complete with a shot of Bean-dog on the turkey-day game gridiron. As for the new residence, it feels less like a temp home and more like an old aristocratic cabin, thanks to the paintings of my great-grandmother's, antique furniture and the sounds of my parents and sisters playing the piano and singing selections from Les Miserables. On Monday, the old home comes down. And just because we're sad doesn't mean we can't take the bulldozers for a joyride or two.


Bean Dog: All-time cherry-picker


Sweatlodge Studios recording artist Laura W.

All photos by Jennifer Brothers

febrile fantasies from the pumpkin patch

As promised, I am back with more Halloween-themed subject matter. To get into the spirit, I went with some family and friends yesterday to Schaake's pumpkin patch outside of Lawrence (see left). In fact, I was so overcome with Halloween spirit and the month of October in general that I dug up a particularly bizarre ballad I wrote five years ago when I was homesick and had a bad fever. It's basically about what all the Halloween folks are up to in the off-season, though some of the details (chili-dogs, Dr. Pepper) are hard to read as anything but a celebration of childhood. At least one friend I shared it with some years ago voiced his concern for my mental well-being, but I kind of have a soft spot for it. Read it here, and see what you think.

UPDATE! Even if you find the poem itself to be juvenile and absurd, you might enjoy the director's commentary I just added at the bottom of the poem itself. It reveals, in tantalizing detail, the origins of each charater and how they were filtered from real people, personality types and life events into cartoon monster archetypes.

Also, in case you're wondering why I've created a second blogger site, it's mostly to make a home for some of the more lyrical experiments that for one reason or another I feel like putting online. If you prefer more conversational, poorly punctuated musings on life and daily events, you might try my newly created MySpace page. Otherwise, most of what I write will still wind up here. Thanks for reading.