Author: Chris Kammerud

Hello, readers.

I remember growing up with my sister and listening to Bob Dylan and wondering together what it would have been like to grow up in times like those. To grow up in the sixties. In a decade when the wind carried away every answer and the times seemed made of change.

I suppose, perhaps, all our wishes come true in the end. This is why we are advised to be careful in the matter of our wishes.

I suppose, too, that part of growing up is an understanding that all times are strange. That every day is interesting.

But. There is so much more of everything these days. And it feels like it is all of the time. And that it is incredibly loud and extremely close.

I’ve never struggled so much as I have this year with the seemingly simple matter of paying attention.

There arrived a point in my life where I decided to live less on the internet and more in life. This was, perhaps, a ridiculous distinction to make as life more or less exists everywhere there is conversation. These past couple of years I have, in fits and starts, reacquainted myself with the internet and the spirit that invented this place—a way to stay connected when everything else in the world seemed on the verge of falling apart.

And now here I am and here we all are.

Which is to say. Happy new year, everyone.

I hope for you in this coming year many days in which you find yourself wild and rooted, lost and found, and ever so curiously alive. I hope you find yourself in good conversation. I hope you find yourself kissed with love and kindness and wonder. I hope you find yourself wherever you need to be found.

The world has before it a great many seemingly impossible things to accomplish.

So, I hope, too, that you find time this year to practice believing in all manner of impossible things. I hope somewhere in there you find those things which, for you, are worth believing in.

I hope that you believe wholeheartedly in whatever of those things you choose to believe.

Take care, friends. Good luck. And, in the words of a wise bit of fiction:

“Clear eyes. Full hearts. Can’t lose.”

ttfn.

Hello, readers.

It is Wednesday. The day of Odin. He that died so that he might know. Apparently he was also a shapeshifter. And unmanly in that he could tell the future. I do not know why prophecy was considered unmanly in the old days, but people used to have all kinds of weird ideas about the future. 

Here are some other things.

Thing one:

The Beatles are great. I am on something of a magical mystery tour with them.

Our first stop is Peter Jackson’s documentary, Get Back. Here we can revisit The Beatles during their time making the album that would become Let it Be. The narrative such as it is hinges around a desire some of The Beatles have (aka Paul) to do some kind of performance at the end of their recording. It has been some years since The Beatles performed in public. This was back in those days, I guess, when sometimes people at the top of their profession would step away from performing. That never happens now, of course.

My favorite part of this documentary is when people play music and smile at each other.

Our second and final stop for today is the film Across the Universe.

I saw it first in 2007 when I knew very little about The Beatles or the depth of my love for musicals. Now, in 2021, I know much more about The Beatles and my deep love of musicals.

I also discovered anew this number in which a young girl sings, “I want to hold your hand,” to a cheerleader. This is basically a documentary of my life and I kind of wish more of the film was dedicated to her story but also I am happy to have this film exactly as it is. There is a really nice scene in a bowling alley. How many films can you say that about?

Thing two.

I am also listening to these days a lot of I Only Listen to the Mountain Goats. It is probably the podcast that most often reminds me that I am lying to myself on a daily basis.

Thing three.

I don’t know if there is a third thing but let’s pretend there is and that it is a mysterious secret. A secret so mysterious that it reminds me of this one collection of stories by Jack Pendarvis called, The Mysterious Secret of the Valuable Treasure. Man, that is one great book. I wonder what people will think in fifty years when they discover this blog post. Probably they will just be happy to know that somewhere, someone fifty years ago liked Jack Pendarvis just like they do. That’s mostly what the internet is for, right? Discovering our mutual love for those things that make us feel alive. 

p.s. Jack has a new book out called Sweet Bananas. Here’s an interview he did with another awesome writer named Bill Boyle.

Thing four.

I am going to watch Steven Universe now. It is a very good show and somehow it often lasts something less than twelve minutes. What a world.

Happy Wednesday, readers. 

Best of luck with the end of your year. Celebrate all that you can. Let go of the rest. Remember that the best way to see the future is to open your heart.

ttfn.

Hello, readers.

ttfn.

Here is the trailer.

Thing four. Kristen Stewart is cool.

That is all.

Have an excellent week, readers.

ttfn.

Hello, readers.

One of the best things about this place called Margate is that sometimes the weather can best be described as ecstatic. That is today. Such wind. Many waves. Stained glass light. A kite surfer trying their luck out near the harbor. A seagull lazing circles around their kite string, showing them how it’s done.

In monthly news, it turns out that while some people name this month November, others have decided that it’s proper title be Noirvember. One of my favorite noir films is a film called The Night of the Hunter. It stars Robert Mitchum and a terrifically impressive amount of psychological terror. It’s also one of my favorite horror films. I think that if this film was a type of weather it would be that moment when the sky in Tennessee turns the color of a coming storm.

Lately, I started watching Long Way Up. It’s the third in what is now a trilogy of long-form documentaries which document the motorcycling about of Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman. Previously there was Long Way Round and Long Way Down. I used to watch these shows with my mom. She’s not here anymore but I feel like she’s watching this new adventure with me. I think we both had a crush on Ewan McGregor. I think we both enjoyed the mixture of chaos and camaraderie. I don’t know if we both believed in ghosts but probably people believe different things at different times and so there’s no telling where our paths crossed in faith. If Ewan McGregor was a type of weather he would have trouble I think continuing to act in films.

In other news, I drew this small comic after watching Dune.

Feel free to contact me if you need any help translating my handwriting.*

Happy Thursday, readers. Be the seagull.

ttfn.

*Well. Here’s what the first panel says, “Hooray! The desert! An emptiness in which I can find myself”

Hello, readers.

It occurred to me somewhere in these recent years that I don’t really write, and never really wrote, this blog for you. I think, perhaps, the readers to whom each of these blog posts are addressed might constitute something of my own heart’s choir. These blog posts, and all of my writing, perhaps, being the songs that this choir needs to hear. We all have to fill the well, somehow. Now, I suppose, more than ever. It is always now, though, of course. Even in the past and always in the future.

I visited Rome. Here is a picture, among other things, displaying one part of one story spiraling in and out of time. The column is called Trajan’s column. It was constructed about 2,000 years ago. It tells the story, in scenes carved in an upward spiral, of how Trajan mustered many Roman legions and defeated a people called the Dacians. The Dacians made their home in what is now Romania. One of the things that stood out to me about this column is that it was still standing. All around it are ruins of the Roman Empire whose skill at ruining other civilizations is what the column itself is all about. At a cafe I met a couple from Islington. They were named Michelle and Olly. Or possibly Ollie. I didn’t check the spelling. We talked about the magic of seeing all the old things. And it is a kind of magic. I found myself drawn, though, to how unmagical it seemed. Not in the way of being boring, but in the way of being embodied. In some ways there was nothing magic about anything I saw in Rome. But somehow that felt, in its own way, kind of magical. Embodiment being one of the more powerful forms of magic.

History, I suppose, is always within reach. You can touch a tree and be transported back hundreds, if not thousands of years. But to see a story carved in stone. To be able to smell that stone. To be able to stand in contemplation of how some stories last and some stories do not. Let me tell you. It was a thing.

Here is a picture of a foot. It is the foot from a sculpture called The Diver.

Damien Hirst is the sculptor.

Hirst was born in Bristol in 1965. He made a series of sculptures in which he made use of real dead things such as sharks, sheeps, and a cow. Oh my. The place where I saw this sculpture of a diver was the Galleria Borghese. The gallery was full of Caravaggio’s and incredible painted ceilings. Many of Hirst’s sculptures were portrayed as, themselves, being ancient. There was another sculpture of a giant foot and a curious squirrel. That one was also cool, but I will leave it to your imagination.

The thing I liked best about the sculpture of the diver is that the diver appeared to be diving into the artwork on the ceiling. That and the color. And also the coral. There were many things I liked, really.

There was also in this gallery a group of violinists. They were practicing for a later show, and so the main room of this gallery in which there was the ceiling art and the curious squirrel and the diver that appeared to be diving into the ceiling also contained the verve of Vivaldi.

Sometimes things turn out alright.

Happy Sunday, readers. Everything I write is for you. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.

ttfn.

p.s. Violins

Hello, readers.

The other day I stumbled across this movie called I Married A Witch.

It stars Veronica Lake and Frederic March. 

Here is Veronica and her father on a broom.

The plot is that Veronica and her father want revenge on the man whose ancestor murdered them both during the Salem witch trials. It happens through a bit of happenstance that Veronica ends up accidentally in love with this man on whom she is meant to enact vengeance. 

Here is Veronica using the stairs as sometimes witches are wont to do.

Francois Truffaut had this to say of Clair’s films: “Clair makes films for old ladies who go to the cinema twice a year.”

Things I discovered in the aftermath of this film:

Thing one: Veronica Lake’s hair was a whole thing. It was known as the “peek-a-boo” look. It is the look of Jessica Rabbit. 

Thing two: I Married a Witch is based on a novel somewhat by Thorne Smith who, according to the internet, “is best known today for the two Topper novels, comic fantasy fiction involving sex, much drinking and ghosts.” Smith did not actually finish the novel on which I Married a Witch is based due to his reaching a state of death that proved inconvenient. Another writer finished the book without incident. 

In summary:

p.s.