Campbell

Catastrophe., an upset in a battle of Nations… World Cup?, No, but in other news there was an upset in the Old World…. Paris, and Rome weep.  Pakistan and China grumble, we were here before all of you.  For what reason you ask? A summer reprieve… You scream, I scream, we all scream for… Agnes Marshall, ‘Queen of Ices’ please hand over your frosted tiara.  Officially, summer isn’t here but the heat is on in Bucharest, both in temperature and frozen dessert, as I just had the finest arctic treat that I’ve ever known.  Ais Kacang, Gelato, Dondurma, to Kulfi… Even Halo-halo throw down that snow cone and sharpen your Popsicle stick, them's fighting words. 

The ice cream truck music you heard in the distance and gave chase to on your 10-speed Schwinn, to no avail, possibly disappeared to the hinterlands of Romania.  More specifically, Old Bucharest.  Now, if I could only find where the sock go (but I digress)?  This ice cream truck in particular has bells (ancient cow bells) but no whistles and it has magicians at the helm.  The magic goes beyond chilled confections, as they are the Houdini’s of making your Ice Cream disappear.  They are funny bullies, waving a three foot long ice cream scooper or wand as the case may be.  One second, your double scoop is firmly in hand, the next you have an empty cone.  They have a series of tricks, taunting if you will.  Advanced notice, wear a shirt with a chest pocket, it makes the spectacle that much better, but that’s all I shall give on the inside-scoop  (wahh-wahh), a magician never reveals their tricks. 

Hold a second, Berthillon on I’lle St. Louis is ringing my mobile…. Uh oh, call waiting, another incoming call… Mamma Mia!! It’s the Vatican reminding me about Gelateria dei Gracchi.  Forgive me Father, for I have sinned, but the best way to numb your tongue is in Old Bucharest.  What are my qualifications you ask?   My belt as my witness, the ‘10,000-Hour Rule’ has been practiced, and there are few things I truly believe I can speak to with great authority but this is probably one.  On that note… “That was the best ice-cream soda I ever tasted. (Last words.)”

                                    -Lou Costello

There are many layer to Istanbul

Like a Belly Dancer

Removing veils

Peeling back each layer

Creates; cracks crevices

Hidden time there

Yonder, an element of space

Swept under rugs

Upon layers of silk and wool

Woven fabric

Weaves you and I together

That tells the true

History

Double hooks

Stitched secrets

3 Empires wide

Or is it long

Like the wall to keep invaders out

And to keep your heart in

That is the rug

Carpet

Tapestry

Of us

i eat eggs on toast.  A blind man walks by each day, selling lighters.  "baccck,, baccckkkk, bacccck, bacccck"  Bacckkkkk, bacckkkk, bacccckkkk, backkkkkk".  Or at least, that is how it sounds..... like a large truck backing up, with a built in emergency alarm...... look out, here I come.  But, really... he's just saying.  "I have lighters for sale." I buy a lighter each day.  I have a big bowl of them now, enough to light a stadium during the performance of a heavy metal ode.  

Then my dancer comes.  She is 6, adorable... beautiful in every sense of the word... She has a brightness around her, a saturation light.  Her father plays the Accordian.  And, they are a dynamic duo.   I have the best seat in the house, a young Martha Graham with exotic charm and the father that loves,,,, I wave goodbye each day, fearing it may be the last. 

Back to my eggs ant toast.  and a powerfully strong Turkish coffee. 

So, this is where it happened.  Where they divided us into an organized rack.  It happened here in the Egyptian (Spice) Bazaar.  We have to go way back, all the way back to Constantinopulous.  An entrepôts, with 7 doors, the first entrance a hallway to the Malabar Coast.  Lucky Seven, for the monopolists, the cartels, the Mega-corporations, Syndicates, Trusts and Guilds.  As these dried seeds, fruit, bark and vegetable were as good as gold.  Seriously, you could buy and pay for things in Pepper.  Pass the shaker with five holes, pretty please.  The Visigoths, to cease and desist with their siege of Rome in 408AD, demanded a bounty in gold, silver and pepper.  The Venetians, called it a Muslim Curtain, and they did what all entitled rich men do.... They lied.  For Christ's sake.  No, really, apparently the J Man was on their side, so they'd like to pretend.  Kings versus Sultans.  Trump.  Okay, let's agree to disagree and tell everyone that it's Christ versus Allah in a Battle Royal.  Oh, for the love of God, the West was so greedy squabbling amongst themselves, they even called in Pope Alexander IV to settle the score.  A treaty of Tordesillas... you get Nutmeg and you get Cinnamon.  And, so it went... Big Buisness, the Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie, or VOC for short, was the richest company in the world, long before Exxon pumped you for gas.  "Black Gold, Texas Tea" the original Black Gold, was Pepper, but I still have a crush on you Elly May.  Islam, Christianity, Judaism,,,, they were all just fronts, as that is what spice is used for, to hide taste, flavored excuses for very entitled men, to make more money. I chew you up and spit you out Jan Pieterszoon Coen, no zest can cover the loathsome smell of you. 

It's in this market you will discover the real savoriness for life.  As you are pinned together with merchants and shoppers diverse as the lands of which these spices took root.  It is here, where I found a small boy.  A lost one.  I knew and know that look, I wore it on my face once, shopping with my mother at Kings Soopers.  Although, getting lost in a florescent lit grocery store seems like easy time compared to being misplaced among the throngs and crowds exploring the stalls.  He didn't have to utter a word, not that I would have understood a syllable or two.  So, with a ummmmppph, a lift, an airplane ride to my shoulders.... young Maverick and old Goose set off to find some lost parents.  Silly parents, Trix are for kids.  Clean up on aisle 4, reveals no parents.  Maverick, pointed left, off we went to aisle 6, then moonlight special happened on aisle 8, where the billboard sign on my shoulders, reading 'lost adorable child" was picked up by a very distressed mother. I stand about 7 inches taller than most shoppers, the pair of us together was hard to miss.  Tears of joy, when Maverick landed in the aircraft carrier of his mother’s arms.  As the only true tears… is your mothers tears.  Salted eye drops, was the most valuable spice on this day.  So, go home tonight, open your pantry door, pull out all your spices, prepare a meal, invite family and friends, hopefully a mix-mash of different colors and creeds.  As we are at our best served together, undivided by the oligopoly.

1-2-3-4..... Hit it Marvin!

"Father, father
We don't need to escalate
You see, war is not the answer
For only love can conquer hate
You know we've got to find a way
To bring some lovin' here today

Picket lines and picket sign
Don't punish me with brutality
Talk to me
So you can see
Oh, what's going on
What's going
What's going on
What's going on"

Marvin Pentz Gaye, Jr. really could  sing and Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, really knew how to lead.  By example. Unchangeable and Sacrosanct.  Kemalism, is dead... for now.  But you can't kill an idea, and six arrows shot up into space, will have to land somewhere... eventually, and they shall.... they will fall from the sky in the name of Republicanism, Populism, Nationalism, Secularism, Statism and Reformism.  The ism's have it.  "Ne mutlu Türküm divene."   Yes, indeed it's good to be Turk.  Don't worry children of Atatürk, your father taught you well.  The use of Religion as a political instrument, doesn't sit well with Allah or God.  No, the world around us is as easy as A-B-C-Ç, (wait a second) and being able to read an education was the only tool Atatürk would use to champion for the Turks.  So, wave on Al Bayrak, as three celestial bodies will a-line, one more time, this very year.  Syzygy, a total eclipse of Turkish heart.

The 'Atomic Dog' is lose in Istanbul. They are everywhere, as dogs are tagged and live in the street.  Man's Best Friend, for all of the Turks, as these dogs sleep in the street, take sun in grassy parks and visit their favorite local Cafe to say hello to their friends.  Don't worry, they are well fed and in most cases fat... as they are adored and petted by the good peeps of Turkey.  And, the cats, they are on the prowl too, no mice though... New York could use this problem.  Our feline friends are skinnier, as they are independent and seem to take it upon themselves to scrounge for food.  And, yes... Cats really do get stuck in trees.  As I walked to get my morning coffee, I happened upon some bystanders, looking at a hapless black kitten, meowing... "anyone, please help me get down."  The crowd hemmed and hawed, in debate,,, I'm no longer young and spry, but fortunately still dumb.  I mean, I climbed trees as a kid, how hard could it be.  So, up the branches I went, thankfully with a  leg-up from one willing participant.  Here Kitty, Kittty, Kitty.  Well, that wasn't so bad...... as my midnight friend reluctantly came to my hands... Uhhh Oohh. Wait, how am I suppose to get down.  I wish I could opine about the grace of which I descended.  It wasn't pretty, but long limbs don't belong solely to this tree, and a hanging monkey made it back down, with a favorable drop.  It couldn't have been that bad though, as I was greeted with a smattering of applause.    But, I quite like this pets for everyone system.  You get all the benefits on animal companionship, their instincts, grace without any of the responsibilities.  No bending over with a plastic bag, no litter box to pick up after our four legged friends.  No, somehow... they have a hidden bathroom, somewhere thankfully I have not seen.  

"Yeah, this is a story of a famous dog
For the dog that chases its tail will be dizzy
These are clapping dogs, rhythmic dogs
Harmonic dogs, house dogs, street dogs
Dog of the world unite
Dancin' dogs
Yeah
Countin' dogs, funky dogs
Nasty dogs (Dog)

Atomic Dog"

Signing Out.

Ruff!!!

Russell Crowe, no, no, no....  I wouldn't do that to you, no more than I would make you listen to him sing his little ditty "I want to be like Marlon Brando." Instead, the real star of the show is the Bosphorus.  That's right, a strait of water, connecting the Black Sea with the Sea of Marmara.  A dividing line between Europe and Asia  It wasn't always there though.  For this Sound, a vicissitude had to take place. It is predated by what is now an undersea river that flows along a channel at the bottom of our leading man.  How true, Best Supporting Actor always steal the show. This river, one with no name, would be the 6th longest river in the world if it could only rise to the top.  Alas, density currents, keeps fresh water on the bottom and sea currents on top of the marquee.  Tops and Bottoms, that's Showbiz    But, the real story is along the shoreline of this buried undersea river, as there are remnants of settlements dating back to 7500 BC.  If you did your math at home, yes it pre-dates Genesis; the Tanakh, the Quran and the Christian Old Testament.  So Moses, put your pen down, and let me recount how it all really went down, as patriarchal stories, don't tell the history of ancient villages that lined are underwater highway.  Only the Bosphorus knows the true tale of an ice age coming to an end, of Glaciers in retreat.  Condensation really starts from underneath, latent heat lead to two giant ice cubes sliding off the table of Terra Firma, and with a kerplop!!! a Black lake, became the worlds largest cocktail on the rocks.  I think, we'll call this drink "Symplegades." Displacement required the fresh water to flow, and so it did, to the Sea of Marmara and on to the Aegean, and a fresh water lake became the worlds largest Margarita, salt would take it's place, much more than just the rim.  Like that, our inhabitants, along this flooded tributary were forced out.  I wonder if there was a Noah, who was like, hey... I heard from the folks up river it's time to get out.... well, somebody did, otherwise how would we ever produce a sequel.  Nephilim, are giants, these clashing rocks later to be defeated by Jason and his Argonauts.  Great name for a band, I saw them at the Apollo.  No, but they did build a shrine on Cayanean Rocks, for this god of light.   Mythical Islands, as Cyaneae Insulae "blue islands" would melt and drift away.  Cyan blue, still my favorite color for Wandering Rocks, Planctae on the run or beaches I will head too.   NASA, says are Antarctic Glaciers have passed the point of no return, I wonder what displace inhabitants of South Beach shall say, what tales they will tell, an Epic of Gigamesh, a Sha naqb imuru ("He who saw the Deep").  Our Bosphorus, would go on to star in several leading roles, and go on to be known by several names.  For now, I bid it... elveda.... or better yet.... Görüşürüz!

As the skies the limit or at least the ceiling
 

Two black and two white.   Reluctantly relayed to me by his granddaughter.  An awkward pause before she shared it, but a strong respect for one's elders an obligation to tell his words, as he motioned a second time in regards to what he asked her to share.  I too paused, upon the revelation and replied... "well, your grandfather is a very brave man"  as he is...  as any soil where a black man is forced to place his boot....well that is the most treacherous land of them all.  I thought better of sharing that notion, I felt sure it would come across Scar Jo and Bill Murray.  She replied... "I'm not proud of it."  And I.  I said, "You should be. He is a survivor of war" as neither side is ever right in war.  

It was in Piazza del Popolo, where I took photos of these noble men.  Statuesque, like Roman Soldiers.  Warriors are always great men, with the lack of knowledge that they report to the consortium of a few evil men.  Alas, Accensi's job is to follow orders.   It was June 6th, D-Day, as I snatched my candid shots.  Italians, known for creating great design and beauty, probably not the best of planners... dreamers and artist never are...  Even now, Fontana di Trevi, no waters flow... construction... all I can think is... really, now... ummmhh, why not in January?  But somehow on the calendar, a  Bi-Centurion concert was being held for these elegant men on this very day.  I wondered to myself if the awkward baited breath of a Granddaughter was fear of the unknown, as she probably guessed that maybe my Grandfathers served in the II World War.  Which they did.  My Papajaque, and Grandpa Campbell, lived to tell the tale.  I only heard one story. I dared never to ask for more, but a homework assignment and a visiting Grandpa Campbell lead to me learning of his experience in the follow up of the War to end all Wars (I count at least 14 others wars since).  He is and was a legend of a man.  He built schools an education systems, the true foundation of society.  And yet, a man I thought surely was a God, cried, as he told me the plights of war.  He flew glider planes, to drop supplies behind enemy lines and then he and his comrades would hike on out.  Only, one problem, what if your are the only member of your troop who completes the trek back.  He did, and he had to bear the agony.  As of June 9, 2014, there have been 2,187 U.S. military deaths in the war in Afghanistan (this is a war that started in 2001) and  as of March 29th, 2014 (of just this calendar year).... 1,892 US Veterans have committed suicide. That's one of the untold traumas of war.  We're on pace to lose more sons and daughters to their own hand, then this made up war in less than one year.  Grandpa Campbell, well he had to live with the atrocity, the loss of brothers in arms.  He would end up in a mental hospital briefly for these tolls.   Thankfully, he had Grandma Campbell and a young son (My father).  Grandma Campbell, besides being a great beauty, she is still tough as nails.  She reminded him, that they have each other, that he has a son... and as all great men do, with the help of a great women... well, he'd rise to the occasion, he'd find his way out.  I thank you Grand-mere and Grandma for seeing your men through the tests of time.

A Cape of Columns

Possibly the head

Or is it an outreached hand

Of Attica to

Setting Sun

An Aegean melt

Tufa's welcoming gate

Knows the gravity of such moments

A central force of which one can’t resist

"Odyssey"

Perhaps, a Rhapsode

Can only tell such a tale

Words would not be enough

As tears should not fall silent

Morality and Honor

Rests here

Under wayward Moons and Falling Stars

Depths of Poseidon

Stitched verse

This Greek Sanctuary

Sacrifices and Rituals

Doric Orders
34:15

A maritime key to

Sea and Space beyond

To start ones journey

Sounion

Sounion is here

St Tropez, a playground of the rich, famous and stylish.  A mecca for those dripping in diamond and swathed in... well, couture.  It's this same high fashion that is sometimes indicative of couth and culture.... cough, cough, cough.... or lack there of it.  I adore watching the people of St Tropez meander by.  I sat at Café des Arts, sipping on my Cappuccino, wearing the darkest of sunnies (sunglasses). I'd scout them and try to put the puzzle pieces together.

Watching people fascinates me.  A guilty pleasure, especially of those who feel entitled, as they are much like the "small cap" I siphoned away at as I watched them. As a cappuccino is really an Espresso poured into the bottom third of the cup, followed by a similar amount of hot milk. The top third of the drink consists of milk foam; this foam is often decorated with artistic drawings made with the same milk.  Latte art is what I believe they call it.  Sometimes shaved chocolate, raw sugar, cinnamon, or other other spices.  The top third of the cup may have all the pretty packaging, but is it not the bottom third that makes the beverage, that makes us, that counts in people?  What lies inside.  What rests at the bottom of our cup?  The things in the interior of our hearts, our souls, the fabric of our being that can't be seen but make up everything of who we are?

Is in St. Tropez tonight and he's coming for one thing.  He's after the resplendent, something that you can't insure, beyond value or as some would say invaluable.  Everything has a price, no? What he's after that has no price, which can't be calculated in weight. If it could be monetized bad men would have done so long ago.  Alas, it can't be bought, bartered, sold or traded. 

These must be some jewels or some untold amount of Gold.  Which Sultan or Prince is in the Riviera?  Look at the marina, it must be that mega yacht or is it that one??? 

I thought Cat's didn't like the water?  Maybe, the Cat, strikes at some extravagant affair, is he bold enough enchanter to do it right in front of everyone's eyes?  A thaumaturge on the hunt for the rare, rich and treasured.  No, he's after the incomparable. The benevolent, he's after 'Ahava' the essential ingredient to life.  Hunger and thirst that cat cast aside. But, I thought Cat Burglars stole??? and they do, and if I could, I'd have done so already. But hearts can't be taken, abducted, put in a sack and made off with in the middle of the night.  No black suited thief can appear out the shadows to flee with that of which can only be given.  So, know that the le chat is after you... but not via roof top... only through kindness, compassion, affection, passion and altruistic concern for you.  So, no need to hide your jewels fellow travelers of St Tropez,

Dionysus, was the god of the grape harvest, wine and ecstasy in Greek mythology.  Which is pretty heady stuff, but I relate to him as he cloaked himself in fox-skin, which is to symbolize new life.  I too find myself wearing a fur coat as I set off into an alternate existence.

Dionysus, was worshiped in Mykonos by a cult from 1500- 1100 B.C. as a protector of those who do not belong to conventional society and thus symbolizes everything which is chaotic, dangerous and unexpected, everything which escapes human reason and which can only be attributed to the unforeseeable... In many ways, Love transcends rationale; it is risky, venturesome and upside-down affair that defies odds.  And love, has a keen ability to find one out of the blue, even if it requires a stacked deck to line up circumstances for lovers to meet. Is it possible, that Dionysus was really just a protector of love or lovers? 

Nietzsche's theory on "will to power" was based on the mythology of Dionysus, which makes sense, as really it only seeks to determine the driving force in humans.  For a few achievement, others power, for some fame... but in reality all these are just misguided measures of the gift of love.  Recognition to reinforce those who second guess or waiver in faith on how they are beheld by the people closest to them and thus feel the need to go further in it's pursuit of gaining or taking affection.

On a wayward Island that at it's height celebrated the god of love... well... and wine, ecstatic dance and apparently orgies... ohhh dear... Well, apparently things haven't changed all that much ;)    

"Lord, judge those who wrong me, who battle me, rule over the Kings'.

This was the message engraved on the sword Manto Marogenous carried.  The sword once belonged to Constantine the Great.  You'll find her bust in the main square of Chora, Mykonos.  Actually, the square is named after her. 

Manto; was beautiful, rich and aristocratic... but she was a child of the age of enlightenment.  So, when the war for Greek Independence came to light... Manto was leading the charge.  Whether she was running arms, smuggling money or even captaining a pirate ship. Manto knew and wanted one thing... autonomy!

"The Greeks, born to be liberal, will owe their independence only to themselves."  Spoke with heart Manto!  Tis true in life, there is only one way to control your own destiny and fate... go out and do it.  There may be predestination, ordinance and even kismet that guide us along our journey, but the wheel of fortune shines on those of free will and volition. 

Manto, would die penniless... she was never repaid for all the money she lent to the Greek cause.  Which is ironic and tragic as she was on Greek drachmas up until 2001, when the Euro moved in and the very thing that Manto fought against bumped her off Greek coins.  Manto's home was burnt down, her fortune stolen and she even sold off her jewelry for the cause and her beliefs.  Somehow, I don't think she would change a thing or look back if she could.  Courage is a gift and fear a poison.  Manto is my idol, so pay her a visit when strolling through the square.  Tell her to summon her mettle, spirit and valor to you.. as only the intrepid truly live.

Psalm 139:7-10
Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.

I hope your chariot is made of golden sunlight.  That it shines as bright as you.  That over blue skies you soar.  That your stallion's wings spread wide as the skies.  The Charioteer represents intellect, reason, or the part of the soul that must guide you to the truth.... One horse represents rational, moral impulse or the positive part of passionate nature.  While the other represents the soul's irrational passions, appetites, or concupiscent nature. The Charioteer directs the entire soul. 

Guide your horses both in the same direction, as there you will find your peace, passion and happiness.  Trustyour horses too, as little known fact, horses see through the eye's of whoever commands them. They'll run in that direction, trying to stop the horses from going different ways, sometimes doesn't proceed enlightenment... 

A good cowboy always knows their horses.  I often wonder, is the black horse on the right and the white on the left?  Declarative Memories, ride to the East.  Your Cowboy... he misses you.

In Jamaica this week to celebrate Bob Marley's birthday.  So, you know what that means.

Happy Birthday Bob!

Now for the scary part.

Found this guy on the beach, something bigger than this fucker bit off the other portion of his body.

A little unnerved, I smoked more upon returning to my bungalow.

And felt like this..

Onward I went off to Golden Eye.

I picked up some baked goods from these industrious fellas on the way.

In my current state, I chose to do the safest thing possible.... Go jump off waterfalls!

And then, take in some of the arts.

After getting all cultured up, it was time for debate and philosophy with the gentleman.

Then, off the the grocery to pick up some goods to make lunch. 

To quote the immortal Toots & the Maytals.

Almost heaven, West Jamaica
True ridge mountains
Shining Minko River
All my friends there
Older than those ridge
Younger than the mountains
Blowin' like a breeze

Country roads take me home
To the place I belong
West Jamaica, my ol' momma
Take me home country roads

There are many a layer to Istanbul

Like a Belly Dancer

Removing veils

Peeling back each shroud

Creates...cracks, crevices

Hidden time there

Yonder, an element of space

Swept under rugs

Upon layers of silk and wool

Woven fabric

Weaves you and I together

That tells the true

History

Double hooks

Stitched secrets

3 Empires wide

Or is it long

Like the wall to keep invaders out

And to keep your heart in

That is the rug

Carpet

Tapestry

Of us

Yesterday, I looked at photos of my mother, even one of her as a child. She turned into a gorgeous, melancholic dreamer. I observed that in most of the pictures she wasn't looking towards the camera, she was sliding over the concrete reality, lost in her thoughts and dreams. I've always felt that she was too delicate, too fragile to deal with the mundane world, and that, eventually, crushed her.  All these years I thought I was all right, I had to learn to live with losing her, to cope with that every day. Now I realize that no, I am not all right, I will never be.... and I have to accept that.  Like I have to accept that she's not here anymore. She cannot be replaced. And she is there, anyway. I have never realized that I am much more a child than a man. I guess now is time to grow back to what I am.  While somehow keeping that child within me, as it is a gift