Friday, May 23, 2014

Worlds Most Eccentric Famous People

Eccentricity. We all know it when we see it. Chances are high that some of you reading this are eccentric. Everyone loves an eccentric. I relate to myself as an eccentric now that people have referred to me as one. Eccentrics tend to be cheerful souls who rarely seek psychological treatment. They tend to obsess about things, and are comfortable being a black sheep among the herds of white sheep. It is quite difficult to label an eccentric in modern day society because many people pretend to be something they are not,. If you eat sleep and breathe eccentricity that is what shall surely define you an eccentric.

“The amount of eccentricity in a society has generally been proportional to the amount of genius, mental vigor and moral courage it contained. That so few people now dare to be eccentric marks the chief danger of our time” — John Stuart Mill, 1859

The only person to have studied eccentricity much at all is David Weeks, a psychiatrist and co-author of the book Eccentrics: A Study of Sanity and Strangeness. What was discussed during a ten-year study of 1,000 fairly odd people may shock you. So many people assume that eccentricity is one short step from serious mental disorder, but David’s case studies suffered less from mental illnesses (such as depression) than the majority of the population. Fewer than 30 had ever been drug or alcohol abusers. He also found that eccentrics visit the doctor 20 times less often than most of us and, on average, live slightly longer. Those are some major benefits of non-conformity! To say it simply, the people who don't repress their inner nature in the struggle to follow the herd of sheep suffer less stress. Therefore, they are happier and their immune systems work more efficiently!

Overall, David found that eccentrics tend to be positive people with a highly developed, mischievous sense of humor, a childlike curiosity and a drive to make the world a better place.

Only about one in every 10,000 people is a "classic, full-time eccentric" and most are marked at an early age. If you can check off the five traits below, chances are you are one of them.

• A non-conforming attitude
• Creativity
• Curiosity
• Idealism
• An obsession with a hobby or hobbies



Pythagoras

575 -500 B.C.


The Greek Mathematician who came up with the Pythagorean theorem came up with his own religion. Pythagoras' religion had two primary tenets: souls are reincarnated, and beans are evil. Not symbolic beans, or supernatural beans, but just plain, edible beans…. Are evil?!?

Amongst other preposterousness, Pythagoreanism's greatest commandments include:
-Do not, under any circumstances, eat beans
-Smooth out all bodily indents on pillows and/or beds
-Do not step over a crossbar
-Do not sit on a quart
-Do not walk on highways
-Do not leave the pot's impression in the ashes after removing it from the fire
-Do not stir a fire without iron
-Do not let swallows nest under the roof

Pythagoras' clique had some more logical rules, such as vegetarianism and nonviolence, but he tended to break those. The vegetarianism rules were bent when, upon discovering his famous theorem, he celebrated by slaughtering an ox. His message of nonaggression suffered greatly from his dying in a fight.

Michelangelo

1475-1564

Michelangelo had a major issue with personal hygeine. Not only did he bathe "very rarely" (by 15th century Italian standards, no less LOL), he rarely changed clothes and slept in his shoes. His assistant once complained that, "He has sometimes gone so long without taking his shoes off that then the skin came away, like a snake's, with the boots." That sort of thing has caused some to say that maybe he suffered from autism. He showed all of the signs, including struggling with social interactions (though it probably didn't help that he smelled RANK). He would rarely speak to others, he hated doing so, and he had a tendency to end a conversation abruptly by walking away. When his brother died, Michelangelo skipped the funeral. His autism speculations may be the cause of what made him focus on his work obsessively, to the sacrifice of absolutely everything else in his life.




Simeon Ellerton

1702 – 1799

Simeon Ellerton lived in the 18th century and was a fitness fanatic. Because he loved to walk long distances, he acted as a courier for the locals. On his many journeys he would gather up stones from the roadside and carry them on his head. His goal was to gather sufficient stones to build his own house. Eventually he had enough stones and he made a little cottage for himself. Having spent so many years carrying extra weight, he felt uncomfortable without it, so for the rest of his life he walked around with a bag of stones on his head.




Jemmy Hirst

1738 – 1829


Jemmy loved animals and so he trained his bull to behave like a horse. The bull would draw his carriage about the village and Hirst even rode him in fox hunts. Instead of dogs, he used pigs that he had trained as hunt dogs. He kept a pet jackdaw and also trained a hedgehog to follow him around. Hirst's reputation grew large enough that King George III was intrigued and invited him to visit the castle in London. Hirst sent a reply that he was busy trying to train otters to fish, but that would come at a later time. The day he finally arrived in his bull drawn carriage; he attracted much attention in his outlandishly decorated costume. During this visit, at the dining table; a gentlemen began to laugh and Jemmy proceeded to throw water in his face; announcing that he must be "having hysterics". He regularly invited beggars to his home for free food – which he served out of a coffin. When he died in 1829, he left £12 to twelve old maids who were to follow his coffin. He also hired two musicians, a fiddler and a bagpiper, who were to play happy songs. He also left his accountant a piece of rope to "go hang himself with".





William Buckland

1784 – 1856


William Buckland was exceedingly eccentric when it came to food and wildlife. Buckland’s love of wildlife resulted in his house being a zoo. He filled it with animals of every kind and he then ate them all and served them to dinner guests. He claimed to have eaten every animal in the kingdom. Guests described being served panther, crocodile, and mouse. The creatures that he said tasted worst were bluebottle flies, and mole. Augustus Hare told this legendary story of Buckland: “Talk of strange relics led to mention of the heart of a French King [Louis XIV] preserved at Nuneham in a silver casket. Dr. Buckland, whilst looking at it, exclaimed, ‘I have eaten many strange things, but have never eaten the heart of a king before,’ and, before anyone could hinder him, he had gobbled it up, and the precious relic was lost for ever.”







William Archibald Spooner

1844 – 1930

William Archibald Spooner is forever sealed into history books because the linguistic phenomenon known as a “spoonerism” is named after him. A spoonerism involves the accidental (or sometimes intentional) swapping of letters, words, or vowels in a sentence Spooner was a professor at Oxford and he became so famous for his spoonerisms that people would attend his lectures just to hear him make a mistake. He was not pleased about the great publicity that surrounded him but as he neared death his attitude softened and he gave interviews to the press

• Once Dr. Spooner raised a toast to Her Royal Highness, Queen Victoria, and proclaimed: "Three cheers for our queer old dean!"
• During World War I he reassured his students, "When our boys come home from France, we will have the hags flung out." • On another occasion, he lionized Britain's farmers as "ye noble tons of soil."
• We learn of these speech errors from the notes of his students, which they generously shared by publishing them. They probably made most if not all of them up themselves. This one was probably a compilation of several others. Dr. Spooner is supposed to have chastised one of his students thus: "You have hissed all the mystery lectures, I saw you fight that liar behind the gymnasium, and, in short, you have tasted the whole worm."
• He is reported to have made a double screw-up upon once dropping his hat then asking: "Will nobody pat my hiccup?" • He reportedly ended a wedding he was performing with: "It is now kisstomary to cuss the bride."
• Paying a visit to the college dean (before he took over that position himself), he supposedly queried: "Is the bean dizzy?"
• He replaced "crushing blow" with "blushing crow" in one lecture.
• He once referred to a well-oiled bicycle as "a well-boiled icicle."
• "I have in my bosom a half-warmed fish" (for half-formed wish) is not beyond the pale of actual possibility.
• Once upon entering church, Spooner exclaimed, "Good grief! Someone is occu-pewing my pie!"



Oscar Wilde

1854 – 1900


Oscar Wilde is indisputably the most famous member of this list. During a time of moral traditionalism, Wilde was known for rocking unusually flamboyant clothing and publicly displaying his strangeness. While studying at Oxford University, he walked through the streets with a lobster on a leash. Wilde became famous for his role in the aesthetics and debaucheries. He wore his hair long, spoke strongly against "manly" sports and decorated his rooms with peacock feathers, lilies, sunflowers, blue china. He is famous for stating: "I find it harder and harder every day to live up to my blue china." He was the direct opposite of what the prim and proper Victorian England expected an Englishman to be and he bold way he openly displayed his eccentricity caused him much turmoil. Unfortunately; an affair with Lord Alfred Douglas send him to jail for sodomy and abruptly ended his career.



Sir George Sitwell

1860 – 1943

Sir George Sitwell was a very bizarre eccentric man. He was known for being an expert an extreme gardener. One day, completely annoyed by the wasps in his garden, he invented a gun to shoot them dead. He is known for attempting to pay his son’s tuition fees with produce from his garden. He moved to Italy to avoid taxes in Britain But once he got married but he refused to pay his new wife’s debts which caused her to go to prison. He was a total bookworm that had seven libraries in his home. Sir George had the cows on his estate that he stenciled in a blue and white Chinese willow pattern in order to make them look prettier” On the gate of his manor in Derbyshire, England he hung a sign that states: “I must ask anyone entering the house never to contradict me or differ from me in any way, as it interferes with the functioning of my gastric juices and prevents my sleeping at night.”




Gerald Tyrwhitt-Wilson

1883 – 1950
Gerald Tyrwhitt-Wilson was a Musician, artist and writer. But he was more notorious for his eccentricity, which includes dying pigeons in bright colors. He kept a pet giraffe that would sit with him for afternoon tea regularly. At one point he invited and entertained Penelope Betjeman's horse to tea. He had a Rolls-Royce that contained a small keyboard that was stored beneath the front seat. Near his house he had a 100-foot viewing tower constructed, Farringdon Folly, a notice at the entrance reading: "Members of the Public committing suicide from this tower do so at their own risk". His epitaph on his gravestone reads: "Here lies Lord Berners One of the learners His great love of learning May earn him a burning But, Praise the Lord! He seldom was bored".




Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech, 1st Marqués de Dalí de Pubol
Aka
THE Salvador Dali

1904 – 1989

Dalí was a highly imaginative surrealist artist. He wore a long cape, used a walking stick and rocked an upturned wax moustache. He also indulged in some extremely unusual behavior. His eccentric manner and attention-grabbing publicity stunts sometimes drew more attention than his artwork. He was known to avoid paying tabs at restaurants by drawing on the checks he wrote. His theory was the restaurant would never want to cash such a valuable piece of art, and he was usually correct. The entertainer Cher and her husband Sonny Bono came to a party at Dalí's expensive residence in New York's Plaza Hotel and were startled when Cher sat down on an oddly shaped sexual vibrator left in an easy chair. In the 1960s, he gave the actress Mia Farrow a dead mouse in a bottle, hand-painted. Salvador Dalí frequently traveled with his pet ocelot Babou. During a television appearance, on The Tonight Show, Dalí carried with him a leather rhinoceros and refused to sit upon anything else
He is famous for stating "Every morning upon awakening, I experience a supreme pleasure: that of being Salvador Dalí".



Betsey Johnson

1942 – Current


Betsey is a fashion designer best known for her eccentric and whimsical designs. Many will say that the modern eccentric lady shall be fashioned in Betsey Johnson’s traditional tutu Prom dress. She once described her style as a formula: "Take a leotard and add a skirt." She says that she spends $20,000 a year on hair extensions and apparently dyes her hair everyday. When appearing on a talk show at age 70, she entered the stage by doing a cartwheel. In fact when entering or exiting the runway at every single one of her fashion shows it done by that infamous Cartwheel.





Prince

1958 – Current
Prince is known for his music, as well as his flamboyant stage presence and costumes. He is also known for his antics. In 1993 he changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol, forcing his fans to call him The Artist Formerly Known As Prince. In the late 1980s, an album that was set for release – The Black Album – was sensationally pulled at the last minute because Prince became convinced that it was evil. He also appeared in public with the word 'slave' written on his cheek when going thru a legal battle with his record company. When Prince was asked to open a series of shows for the Rolling Stones, he showed up on stage wearing a trench coat and bikini briefs.


Dennis Rodman

1961 – Current

Dennis Keith Rodman is a retired NBA player. Born in Trenton, New Jersey, he was nicknamed "The Worm" and was known for his fierce defensive and rebounding abilities. Rodman experienced an unfortunate childhood and was an introvert in his early years. After aborting a suicide attempt in 1993, he reinvented himself as a "bad boy" and became notorious for numerous controversial antics. He repeatedly dyed his hair in artificial colors, had many piercings and tattoos, and regularly disrupted games by clashing with opposing players and officials. He is most famous for wearing a wedding dress to promote his 1996 autobiography entitled “Bad As I Wanna Be”.






Björk

1965 – Current

Björk is a famous Icelandic songstress and actress. She notoriously sent flowers to a stalker who tried to kill her. And if that wasn’t strange enough, she is also known for laying an egg on the Oscar red carpet while wearing a swan dress. She has stated: "I never really understood the word 'loneliness.' As far as I was concerned, I was in an orgy with the sky and the ocean, and with nature." Björk actually won an award for being “The Weirdest Person in the World Ever”.












Brian Hugh Warner
aka
Marilyn Manson


1969- Current
Brian is quite an unusual dark madman of a musician, also sometimes an actor and painter. He takes his role of being Marilyn Manson very seriously. And when taking oneself seriously, while doing ludicrous and preposterous things – that is the key to being a great eccentric. Manson earned himself a reputation of being a controversial figure and a negative influence on young people. Marilyn Manson obviously has an affinity for the macabre. He is known for self-harming himself on stage and music videos. He has a vast collection of vintage metal lunch boxes and medical prosthetics including artificial limbs and glass eyes. At some point, he admitted to owning a fetus contained in a jar, given to him as a gift.

Crazy moments on Marilyn Manson’s stage have included the following:

• Wiping his butt with the American flag
• Tearing pages from the Bible
• Pretending to engage in sex acts
• The use of Nazi-esque symbols




Michael Jackson

1958-2009

Michael Jackson was a singer, actor, musician, dancer, businessman, and philanthropist. The word eccentric doesn't begin to describe the complexity of Michael's lifestyle. Although he is what one would call severely mentally disturbed; he definitely blurs right into the eccentric label with his appearance and his public antics. Michael bleached his skin, and became obsessed with plastic surgery, altering his appearance so much that he was barely recognizable. He was known to have worn a prosthetic nose. Michael built his home; known formally as the Neverland; to be truly a place where no man ever has to grow up. He filled it with animals, fairground rides, all manner of expensive décor and, of course, real lives YOUNG children. In this painting featured Michael, he strikes the same pose as Michelangelo’s statue of David with rippling abs, bulging pecs and smooth, marble-white skin — surrounded by a bevy of young male cherubs.





Peter Thomas Ratajczyk
aka The Peter Steele

1962-2010
Peter was a world known rock musician known for being the Singer/Bassist in the goth metal band Type O negative. He had a very tall stature, rich baritone vocals, sported vampire teeth and had a dark self- deprecating sense of humor. Steele admitted to suffering from stage fright which he overcame by drinking alcohol before shows, and by drinking red wine when on stage. He drove a heavily modified 1985 Pontiac Grand Prix he customized himself.

He has many HILARIOUS moments in interviews which portray his eccentric side including the following:


On whether there was a "Normal Peter" and "Stage Peter":
"When I go onstage, I do have to access that part of my personality. But it's really funny, like, going food shopping and being recognized by fans. And of course, I’m taking toilet paper off the rack when they come over. I’m like, 'I’m sorry. I (defecate), too.' I love to see people’s reactions. We’re just 'humanzees.' When people see something different, they’re stunned. You know, like a stunned George Bush staring with his mouth open? And then people will laugh at things that are different. You know why you’re laughing? Because I’m a threat to you. That’s why you’re laughing. Because every time you laugh, you kick the reaper in the (scrotum). So keep laughing. Because I am the reaper. I am the prophet of doom."

On other ways of getting a response:
 "If you drink two-week-old milk and you have vomit breath…€” oh man, they love it. I just like being a social experiment sometimes. I really should not be allowed in public. But I just go out into the public just to see people’s reaction. The thing is, I can do anything I want, virtually, within reason, just to see people’s reaction. ... People laugh at me because I get in the shopping cart and push myself down the aisle, like, knocking over cereals. People are laughing at me. Then I pull over and I’m like (in lowered voice), 'The day will come when you will never laugh again.' And then I go look at pork chops. 'Whattaya mean they’re $10.99 a pound?' Sometimes, I just buy stuff just to see people’s reactions. Because everybody looks in everyone else’s carts. If you’re buying low-fat yogurt and 100 boxes of tampons, it gains a little bit of attention."

On styling himself:
 "I was thinking about bleaching my hair white to look like the Winter Warlock, and to put green streaks in it. But all these hairdressers were like, 'Oh, you’re hair’s going to fall out!' I’m like, 'I’m dead already! What do I have to lose?' The hair on my head is a wig, anyway. I just thought it would be really cool. I’m, like, 445 years old now. I don’t feel my age. To see someone 70 years old with dyed black hair, you’re like, 'Hmmm, I dunno. Is that a wrinkled teenager? What is that?' So at some point, I’m going to have to stop doing this. It’s gonna look ridiculous. I don’t wanna look like Elvis Presley at 60 years old. There’s this great thing: If you take a Now Or Later (brand) taffy, and you push it onto your gums, and you take peanuts and push them into the taffy, it looks like 'baked bean' teeth. The girls love it."

On November 21, 2011, an oak tree was planted in Prospect Park to commemorate Steele.



Lady Gaga

1986 - Current

The last eccentric character of this post is the Lady GaGa. I sometimes think she is the real deal eccentric. A grade-A, not-from-this-planet, non-conforming, Kermit dress-wearing, eccentric. Many will never EVER forget her infamous Meat dress.
Most of her antics may be just a stage presence, but I think she is eccentric enough to make this list.
• Rotating on a giant barbeque spit on stage.
• Being vomited on by Millie Brown while on stage
• Wearing lampshades in public










If you find that you identify as an eccentric, you should OWN your personality. Always remember that while there will be those who reject you and make fun of your antics, it’s truly not your problem, its THEIR problem. If you choose to march your own beat, you are doing yourself a favor and will stride full speed towards self awareness and happiness.









Thursday, May 15, 2014

The Wolf and the Raven


Very few mammals have mutual relationships with other animals. One of the few exceptions is the Raven and the Wolf. Ravens are sometimes known as "wolf-birds" because they form social attachments to wolves. Where there are wolves, there are often ravens that follow wolves; to grab their leftovers from a hunt, or to tease the wolves. They play with the wolves by diving at them and then speeding away or pecking their tails to try to get the wolves to chase them. The wolf and the raven have a complex relationship that is many thousands of years old.

Although the wolf had been missing from Yellowstone since the 1940's, the raven had not forgotten the wolf and what their relationship meant for both of them. With the reintroduction of the wolf into Yellowstone National Park, the old ways are once again practiced by both. Wolves and ravens have long been connected in folklore and fact. The Nordic God Odin is often represented sitting on his throne, flanked by his two wolves Geri and Freki and two ravens Huggin and Munin. Tales of hunting interaction involving wolves, ravens and humans figure prominently in the storytelling of Tlingit and Inuit, Native American tribes of the Pacific Northwest and Alaska, with the ravens appearing as form-changing wise guys and tricksters, taking advantage of both humans and wolves.

Ravens are possibly the most intelligent birds, based on their omnivorous compliance to almost any environment, their fascination with colorful toys and glittery objects, their use of natural tools, and their diverse range of sounds and vocalizations. Wherever wolves hunt, ravens are usually present, scavenging prey and sometimes leading wolves to potential prey or to carcasses too tough for even the ravens' heavy sharp beaks to pierce. Ravens not only scavenge wolf kills, but steal up to one third of a carcass by continually carrying away chunks of meat and hiding them both from the wolves and their fellow ravens.

A fascinating new study suggests that since an adult wolf can by itself kill any prey smaller than a large moose, the real reason wolves hunt in packs, is to minimize the portion of a carcass lost to ravens! And while it may seem that wolves have the short end of this reciprocal relationship with ravens, idle wolves and ravens have been observed playing together, with ravens pulling on wolf tails, and wolf cubs chasing after the teasing ravens.
In several studies conducted at Yellowstone National Park where carcasses were randomly left for ravens, it showed them to be initially cautious, waiting for other ravens or other scavengers to approach first. However, when following a wolf pack they usually began feeding immediately after and sometimes alongside the wolves. In "Wolves and Men", Barry Lopez wrote: "The wolf seems to have few relationships with other animals that could be termed purely social, though he apparently takes pleasure in the company of ravens. The raven, with a range almost as extensive as the wolf's, one that even includes the tundra, commonly follows hunting wolves to feed on the remains of a kill." Some zoologists speculate that the raven's relationship with wolves may be because of their psychological make-up.


Dr. L. David Mech wrote in "The Wolf: The Ecology and Behaviour of an Endangered Species": "It appears that the wolf and the raven have reached an adjustment in their relationships such that each creature is rewarded in some way by the presence of the other and that each is fully aware of the other's capabilities. Both species are extremely social, so they must possess the psychological mechanisms necessary for forming social attachments. Perhaps in some way individuals of each species have included members of the other in their social group and have formed bonds with them." In "Mind of the Raven: Investigations and Adventures with Wolf-Birds," zoologist Bernd Heinrich has suggested a basis for this association. Ravens lead wolves to their prey, alert them to dangers, and are rewarded by sharing the spoils.
                Bernd Heinrich in "Mind of the Raven: Investigations and Adventures with Wolf-Birds" wrote: "Ravens can be attracted to wolf howls. The wolves' howls before they go on a hunt, and it is a signal that the birds learn to heed. Conversely, wolves may respond to certain raven vocalizations or behavior that indicate prey. The raven-wolf association may be close to a symbiosis that benefits the wolves and ravens alike. At a kill site, the birds are more suspicious and alert than wolves. The birds serve the wolves as extra eyes and ears."

 

Thursday, March 27, 2014

The Artist Poet: Don Blanding


The Artist Poet:  Don Blanding
1894-1957
(Soul Healing Art and Poetry)

 Although Don Blanding tried very hard to have an aura of the "Lover Poet";  Don fought in 2 World Wars and used his fame for many charities, He also kept homes or rentals in the Hawaiian islands, Portland,  New Mexico,  Honolulu, and Hollywood.

It was said that he had a female friend in every exotic place, spoke many languages and was a spy for many different countries. He was an artist and drew romantic pictures of every visit he made and then wrote poems to follow the pictures. These picture poem books sold like candy.







Fabric Of Life
I try to live each day
In such a way
That when tomorrow makes today a yesterday,
I will have woven into the fabric of my life
Some gay design,
Some patch of Color,
Bright to please the eye
So that, in the graying years to come,
When all the quick responsive senses dull
I may look back across the patterns of my past
And, in my memory,
Relive all the joys and pains
Of of all my well lived yesterdays.
West of the sunset stands my house,
There.....and east of the dawn
North the arctic runs my yard
South to the pole runs my lawn

Fabulous cities are my loot,
Queens of the world mine to wed,
The Couches of kings are my bed.

All that I see is mine to keep,
Foolish......this fancy seems
But I am rich with the wealth of sight
And the coin of my realm is dreams.
A handful of memories
A small cup of sorrow.

A flagon of happiness
In faith in tomorrow.

A measure of taking
A measure of giving,

A curious jumble
This business of living
When I have a house.....as I sometimes may,
I suit my fancy with it in every way.
My grass house stands by the open sea,
On a bit of beach that belongs to me.
And I paid.... but don't remember the price
For this my small acre of paradise.
The great southern cross hangs nightly over my door,
And the moonlight throws silver across the floor
While the surf makes thunder along the beach
And the rainbows end is always
Within my reach.





DAWN IN THE ISLANDS
Black out of blackness
Mountains taking form.

The sun behind grey clouds
A hint of rain.
And now colors seeping into things again.

Shy green, pale blue and yellow thinly warm.




FLOWERS OF THE RAINBOW
The rainbow is a heaven where dead flowers go
To bloom again as fresh, fragrant and bright
As when they graced the garden
Through the golden glow
Of summer days and gloried
In the suns delight.




She's where the surf makes thunder along the beach
And the rainbows end is within my reach



Fire Fly

We saw a fire fly float through the night

Glimmering, fitfully, like a vagabond star trailing its light.



"Oh catch it! You cried",

I caught it and brought it, you took it and sighed

As you peered at its glow, faint and frail.

You said "oh it’s only a bug with a light in its tail"

We had this moment exquisitely bright,

It dazzled our hearts with its sparkling star light.

You said "let’s catch this moment and hold it".

But I sighed, remembering another night the fire fly flied,

Me, wondering how long it will be until you too wail,

"Our love is only a bug with a light in its tail!"



 The Midas Touch 
A clear October day with all the world
A blaze of gold where frost had touched the leaves,
The goldenrod's tall scepters by the fence,
The harvest's gold in heaps and stacks and sheaves.
My eyes were gladdened by the friendly sun,
My thoughts were gay as melodies of birds,
I walked along the road, while in my heart
Was golden song that sought to find the words.
Some thought... I can't recall it... broke the spell,
Some memory with hate and hurt imbued,
Rose up like fog to gray the radiant scene
While in my heart dark distillations brewed.
My swinging stride slowed to a dragging plod,
My pleasant dreams and happy musings fled.
The world itself was golden as before
Until my thoughts had turned that gold to lead.
I had reversed the Midas touch of old.
I practice now to turn dull lead to gold.


            


We are the restless ones....
Who walk alone.....

Down a long byway ....
Through the bright stared unknown....


 


Don would stay with friends who lived all over the world, and then leave in the middle of the night without a warning. As a "thank you note"  he would leave an entire bathroom wall covered with his romantic exotic island adventures in art.

He was known as an extremely kind, sarcastic man, with glowing wit,  well mannered, but quick to tell the jealous prudes of his life style to go to hell, all while being impeccably dressed.



Don said he was in "Vagabondage" to roam and wine and dine the mysterious places and woman of this world. The movie "Casablanca" and its main star "Rick" played by Humphrey Bogart was styled after Don Blanding. 

It is said Don Blanding went to bed at 3:30am and rose at 11:30am as a life style. At these quiet times, living around the world in exotic places, he drew romantic art and wrote poems like the following  below....




A Thousand Lives
I know I've lived a thousand lusty lives

I've known all passions, griefs, 
And joys that nimble man contrives

To give the rhythms of his days a richly varied range

I've walked the the road, a Vagabond,
 through endless time and change.
Two ways my restless feet have sought, 
two trails that are really one, my feet have trod.

The flowered path to beauty's shrine, 
The weary climb to God.
 





Somehow
I've tried for many an hour and minute
To think of this world without me in it.
I can't imagine a new-born day
Without me here . . . somehow . . . some way.
I cannot think of autumn's flare
Without me here . . . alive . . . aware.
I can't imagine a dawn in spring
Without my heart awakening.

These treasured days will come and go
At swifter pace . . . but his I know . . .
I have no fear . . . I have no dread
Of that marked day that lies ahead.
My flesh will turn to ash and clay
 

But I'll be here . . . . 
Somehow......Someway 





Lured by the bright mirage 
of changing skies and faces,

Forests and jungles and white frozen places.

Ready to bid love hello or farewell

With the same light gesture,

Now having conquered its spell.





DREAMER
I don't suppose I'll ever see

A wood fairy slipping down from her tree

Nor hear the pulsing pipes of pan

Although at times I swear I can.

Or see the moon nymph’s dance at night

And yet perhaps ...I might.

I watch the waves break on the rocks
And in between the thunder shocks
I think that I can almost hear
The mermaid sirens singing sweet and clear.
I don't suppose I'll ever see
These things that mean so very much to me.

But if I watch by night, by day
You cannot tell
Perhaps I may.




Song of the Seven Senses
With seven flowery chains we two are held,
With seven strands of sensuous delight,
Together through this madly wondrous night.
I love my bonds, more firmly will I weld
Each fragile link into another chain.
And if it breaks I’ll fasten it again.
The sight of you is gladness to my eyes;
The fragrance of your hair is on my hands;
Your lips…their constant touch my mouth demands;
I crave to hear the yielding of your sighs,
To taste the wine of passion thrice distilled
From ecstasy before the cup is spilled.
And that sixth sense which tells that Gods are near
Will warn us of their envy. Our defense
Will be the last delightful seventh sense,
Gay nonsense as a mask to hide our fears.
And if we tire of our flowery strands,
Dear, let us loose them then with friendly hands.




Passion


Passion has been a rider with spurs

A glaze of ice and a cloak of flame,

A rocket that soared me to the skies,


And a will o' the wisp through swamps of shame.

Passion has been a wound and a hurt,
A joy, a song of blinding light,
Burning dawn and a mystery,
Shackles and wings for godlike flight.

All of these it has been, and a teacher too,
Cause when it wanes I shall never grieve it.
I'll only sigh with a smile to say,
"Now at last, I can take or leave it".
 



The Double Life
How very simple life would be
If only there were two of me
A Restless Me to drift and roam
A Quiet Me to stay at home.
A Searching One to find his fill
Of varied skies and newfound thrill
While sane and homely things are done
By the domestic Other One.
And that's just where the trouble lies;
There is a Restless Me that cries
For chancy risks and changing scene,
For arctic blue and tropic green,
For deserts with their mystic spell,
For lusty fun and raising Hell,
But shackled to that Restless Me
My Other Self rebelliously
Resists the frantic urge to move.
It seeks the old familiar groove
That habits make. It finds content
With hearth and home -- dear imprisonment,
With candlelight and well-loved books
And treasured loot in dusty nooks,
With puttering and garden things
And dreaming while a cricket sings
And all the while the Restless One
Insists on more exciting fun,
It wants to go with every tide,
No matter where...just for the ride.
Like yowling cats the two selves brawl
Until I have no peace at all.
One eye turns to the forward track;
The other eye looks sadly back.
I'm getting wall-eyed from the strain,
(It's tough to have an idle brain)
But One says "Stay" and One says "Go"
And One says "Yes," and One says "No,"
And One Self wants a home and wife
And One Self craves the drifter's life.
The Restless Fellow always wins
I wish my folks had made me twins.



  
Song of the South Seas
What is the lure of the South Seas' song
That sings in the hearts of men so long?
What are its languorous charms
That it reaches forth like the perfumed arms
Of amorous women to draw men near?
What is the song that rings so clear
Through the leagues of time overseas and lands
To bring men back to the sun-drenched strands?
What is the song that will not be stilled,
What is the longing that can't be killed?
What is the lure of the South Seas' song

Is the song the sighing of winds in palms
As sweet as ballads, as sad as psalms?
Is the song the crooning of silken waves,
The sensuous music that makes men slaves
To remembered joys of those velvet nights
That were stained with passions and mad delights?
Is the song a lyric of rainbow hues,
The gold of suns and the sea's glad blues
Hibiscus blossoms that burn like flame
In the hair of a girl with a flower's name?
What is the lure of the siren song
That sings in the hearts of men so long?

It is more than flowers or lazy seas,
It is more than passions and ecstasies,
It is more than memories of amorous flesh,
It is more than the web of the senses' mesh,
It is more than beauty and less than peace,
It is earth-Nirvana, a sweet surcease
From the clang and clamor of cities' strife,
From the harsh demands of the Northland life,
From the drive and strain of the men who seek
For money and fame and ambition's peak.

The tropic days are like golden sands
That slip through the fingers of careless hands.
The dancing feet of the passing hours
Are muted with music and shod with flowers
While the pulse that stirs in a listless vein
Is lulled to the swoon of a waltzing strain
Time is a flagon of drugged sweet wine
With forgetfulness as an anodyne.

That is the lure of the South Sea's song
 

That clings in the hearts of men so long




WHEN FRIENDSHIP FAILS

When friendship fails and removes a mask

Revealing selfish lust that makes loyalty a task;

When passions flames are buried to smoky ash

And joys a memory and laughter’s trash;

When all that’s clean and fine and best in you
Is slimed by one you love...... when all you do
Is not enough by half
And life is a jest,
A sorry one at that, when you detest
The memory of all the tender things you gave in love
And wish by God you where dead,
Ah....then...so the poets say
Blue skies are healing
Some find the babble of a brook appealing,
Some walk the night in starry contemplation,
But for me right now
Such things are darned poor consolation.
 


 Ginger's Poem 
White Ginger is like scented wings of moths
Shell Ginger is a mermaid's dainty chain
Torch Ginger is a staff of petal flame
Burning, defiant of the quenching rain
The Yellow Ginger yields a sweet perfume
To catch and hold the heart in woven leis
Red ginger is the warm blood of Hawaii
Spilling its laughter through the tropic days.

 



West of the sunset stands my house;
There..and east of the dawn;
North to the Arctic runs my yard;
South to the Pole, my lawn;
Seven seas are to sail my ships
To the ends of the earth... beyond;
Drifter's gold is for me to spend -
For I am a vagabond.

Fabulous cities are mine to loot;
Queens of the earth to wed;
Fruits of the world are mine to eat;
The couch of a king, my bed;
All that I see is mine to keep;
Foolish the fancy seems,
But I am rich with the wealth of Sight'
The coin of the realm of dreams...
  





Joshua Trees
Sentries by day with bayonets on guard,
Prophets by night in attitudes of prayer;
But when the dusk spreads veils across the hard
Sharp outlines of the land they hear an air,
Piped on a Pan-ic flute, unseen and far,
An echo from and older, gayer land;
They catch the winking of an elfin star
And dance a quaint arthritic saraband.


 


Bird of Evil Flame
I am the ageless Bird of Evil Flame.
Eve knew my name.
With bitter tears she tried to quench the spark
Of envy in her son's bewildered heart. The dark
Fumes, stirred by my swift subtle wings,
Clouded his eyes with acrid billowing
Until the tragic flood.
Of brother's blood
Left its indelible stain . . .
The Mark of Cain.

I am the Great Incendiary;
My swift flights carry
The ember to the flame, the flame to burning brand
Until a fiery scourge consumes a stricken land.
I feed ambition's fire, On its red raging pyre
A nation's honor burns to smoldering ash,
My pinions lash
The coals of racial hatreds into cruel
Tyrannies of blood-lust, spilling the fuel
Of lies, the quick inflaming dust
Until the flames that flicker through the crust
Of Hell are flaring in each race and nation.
I am the Endless Conflagration.
I am the sullen cinder,
The inflammable tinder;
I am not quenched, but fed, by tears.
These years of war have been my greatest years.
Peace thinks she buried me . . . the grave is shallow.
The clods that weight my wings are waiting, fallow,
For seeds of flame sown by my fertile breath.
The seeds are fear and greed, the harvest Death.
I am Delirium, the Insidious Fever,
I am the ultimate Deceiver,
I am the ageless Bird of Evil Flame.
You know my name.



Now that the shadows of twilight are 
stealing into the corners of my room, 
I'll open the covers of my favorites books, 
then if I sit very still and watch 
through the weaving magic of my cigarette smoke, 
I may see these well loved characters 
stepping quietly forth from the thumbed pages, 
Huck Finn, or Samuel, Galahad, Eve and her Adam, and Moby Dick.



One by one they whisper their curious stories
 until I turn on the lights of evening, 
The arch enemy of dreams.
But If I listen I can hear the rustle of their garments,
 the echoes of their laughter
and the faint murmur of their voices in and by the shelves.
 

Moon Rainbow
 Staid people say that Pan is dead
But they are wrong. His shaggy head
I saw but yesterday at noon,
And once before when shone the moon
Across Manoa Valley where The ginger blooms.
The evening air
Was still…so still it made me fear
That if I shivered He might hear.
I waited while a silver mist
Skimmed down the sky. A moonbeam kissed
The gauzy veil. Pan looked around
And piped. A magic arch of sound
Curved out upon the misty air…
A lunar rainbow shimmered there.





When If Ever
When blood is water; when the call of spring
Falls dully on my ears; when everything
Is just one heavy monotone of gray
And dawn’s a torture, meaning "here’s a day
To live in weary waiting for the night
With sleep to blot all beauty from my sight";
When tears and love and laughter are the same;
When life’s a task and not a joyous game;
When living’s but a race without a goal;
When I am old in body, heart, and soul;
When all I know as me in me has fled;
Then, and then only, will I say, "God Pan is dead!"





The Right Touch


Love will fly if held too tightly.

Love will die if held too lightly.



Lightly........Tightly........
How do I know?
Whether I am killing or letting go?






So Clever

Clever of you to leave your glove behind

Touched with a bit of delicate perfume.

You knew I catch the fragrance in this room.

And summon your vivid image to mind.





Vagabond's House
When I have a house . . . as I sometime may . . .
I'll suit my fancy in every way.
I'll fill it with things that have caught my eye
In drifting from Iceland to Molokai.
It won't be correct or in period style,
But . . . oh, I've thought for a long, long while
Of all the corners and all the nooks,
Of all the bookshelves and all the books,
The great big table, the deep soft chairs,
And the Chinese rug at the foot of the stairs
(It's an old, old rug from far Chow Wan
That a Chinese princess once walked on).

My house will stand on the side of a hill
By a slow, broad river, deep and still,
With a tall lone pine on guard nearby
Where the birds can sing and the storm winds cry.
A flagstone walk, with lazy curves,
Will lead to the door where a Pan's head serves
As a knocker there, like a vibrant drum,
To let me know that a friend has come,
And the door will squeak as I swing it wide
To welcome you to the cheer inside.

For I’ll have good friends who can sit and chat
Or simply sit, when it comes to that,
By the fireplace where the fir logs blaze
And the smoke rolls up in a weaving haze.
I’ll want a wood box, scarred and rough
For leaves and bark and odorous stuff,
Like resinous knots and cones and gums,
To toss on the flames when winter comes.
And I hope a cricket will stay around,
For I love its creaky lonesome sound.

There’ll be driftwood powder to burn on logs
And a shaggy rug for a couple of dogs,
Boreas, winner of prize and cup,
And Mickey, a lovable gutter-pup.
Thoroughbreds, both of them, right from the start,
One by breeding, the other by heart.
There are times when only a dog will do
For a friend . . . when you’re beaten, sick and blue
And the world’s all wrong, for he won’t care
If you break and cry, or grouch and swear,
For he’ll let you know as he licks your hands
That he’s downright sorry . . . and understands.

I’ll have on a bench a box inlaid
With dragon-plaques of milk white jade
To hold my own particular brand
Of cigarettes brought from the Pharaohs land,
With a cloisonné bowl on a lizards skin
To flick my cigarette ashes in.
And a squat blue jar for a certain blend
Of pipe tobacco, I’ll have to send
To a quaint old chap I chanced to meet
In his fusty shop on a London street.

A long low shelf of teak will hold
My best-loved books in leather and gold,
While magazines lie on a bowlegged stand,
In a polyglot mixture close at hand.
I’ll have on a table; a rich brocade
That I think the pixies must have made,
For the dull gold thread on blues and grays
Weaves a pattern of Puck . . . the Magic Maze.
On the mantelpiece I’ll have a place
For a little mud god with a painted face
That was given to me . . . oh, long ago,
By a Philippine maid in Olangapo.

Then just in range of a lazy reach . . .
A bulging bowl of Indian beech
Will brim with things that are good to munch,
Hickory nuts to crack and crunch;
Big fat raisins and sun-dried dates,
And curious fruits from the Malay Straits;
Maple sugar and cookies brown
With good hard cider to wash them down;
Wine-sap apples, pick of the crop,
And ears of corn to shell and pop
With plenty of butter and lots of salt . . .
If you don’t get filled it’s not my fault.

And there where the shadows fall I’ve planned
To have a magnificent concert-grand
With polished wood and ivory keys,
For wild discordant rhapsodies,
For wailing minor Hindu songs,
For Chinese chants and clanging gongs,
For flippant jazz, and for lullabies,
And moody things that I’ll improvise
To play the long gray dusk away
And bid goodbye to another day.

Pictures . . . I think I’ll have but three:
One, in oil, of a windswept sea
With the flying scud and the waves whipped white . . .
(I know the chap who can paint it right)
In lapis blue and deep jade green . . .
A great big smashing fine marine
That’ll make you feel the spray in your face.
I’ll hang it over my fireplace.

The second picture . . . a freakish thing . . .
Is gaudy and bright as a macaw’s wing,
An impressionist smear called “Sin”,
A nude on a striped zebra skin
By a Danish girl I knew in France.
My respectable friends will look askance
At the purple eyes and the scarlet hair,
At the pallid face and the evil stare
Of the sinister, beautiful vampire face.
I shouldn’t have it about the place,
But I like . . . while I loathe . . . the beastly thing,
And that’s the way that one feels about sin.

The picture I love the best of all
Will hang alone on my study wall
Where the sunset’s glow and the moon’s cold gleam
Will fall on the face, and make it seem
That the eyes in the picture are meeting mine,
That the lips are curved in the fine sweet line
Of that wistful, tender, provocative smile
That has stirred my heart for a wondrous while.
It’s a sketch of the girl who loved too well
To tie me down to that bit of Hell
That a drifter knows when he knows he’s held
By the soft, strong chains that passions weld.
It was best for her and for me, I know,
That she measured my love and bade me go
For we both have our great illusion yet
Unsoiled, unspoiled by vain regret.
I won’t deny that it makes me sad
To know that I’ve missed what I might have had.
It’s a clean sweet memory, quite apart,
And I’ve been faithful . . . in my heart.

All these things I will have about,
Not a one could I do without;
Cedar and sandalwood chips to burn
In the tarnished bowl of a copper urn;
A paperweight of meteorite
That seared and scorched the sky one night,
A Moro Kris . . . my paper knife . . .
Once slit the throat of a Rajah’s wife.
The beams of my house will be fragrant wood
That once in a teeming jungle stood
As a proud tall tree where the leopards crouched
And the parrots screamed and the black men crouched.

The roof must have a rakish dip
To shadowy eaves where the rain can drip
In a damp persistent tuneful way;
It’s a cheerful sound on a gloomy day.
And I want a shingle loose somewhere
To wail like a banshee in despair
When the wind is high and the storm-gods race
And I am snug by my fireplace.

I hope a couple of birds will nest
Around the house. I’ll do my best
To make them happy, so every year
They’ll raise their brood of fledglings here.

When I have my house I’ll suit myself
And have what I call my “Condiment Shelf”,
Filled with all manner of herbs and spice,
Curry and chutney for meats and rice,
Pots and bottles of extracts rare . . .
Onions and garlic will both be there . . .
And soya and saffron and savory goo
And stuff that I’ll buy from an old Hindu;
Ginger with syrup in quaint stone jars;
Almonds and figs in tinseled bars;
Astrakhan caviar, highly prized,
And citron and orange peel crystallized;
Anchovy paste and poha jam;
Basil and chili and marjoram;
And flavors that come from Samarkand;
And, hung with a string from a handy hook,
Will be a dog-eared, well-thumbed book
That is pasted full of recipes
From France and Spain and the Caribbean;
Roots and leaves and herbs to use
For curious soups and odd ragouts.

I’ll have a cook that I’ll name “Oh Joy”,
A sleek, fat, yellow-faced China boy
Who can roast a pig or mix a drink,
(You can’t improve on a slant-eyed Chink).
On the gray-stone hearth there’ll be a mat
For a scrappy, swaggering yellow cat
With a war-scarred face from a hundred fights
With neighbor’s cats on moonlight nights.
A wise old Tom who can hold his own
And make my dogs let him alone.

I’ll have a window-seat broad and deep
Where I can sprawl to read or sleep,
With windows placed so I can turn
And watch the sunsets blaze and burn
Beyond high peaks that scar the sky
Like bare white wolf-fangs that defy
The very gods. I’ll have a nook
For a savage idol that I took
From a ruined temple in Peru,
A demon-chaser named Mang-Chu
To guard my house by night and day
And keep all evil things away.

Pewter and bronze and hammered brass;
Old carved wood and gleaming glass;
Candles and polychrome candlesticks,
And peasant lamps with floating wicks;
Dragons in silk on a Mandarin suit
In a chest that is filled with vagabond-loot.
All of the beautiful, useless things
That a vagabond’s aimless drifting brings.

Then, when my house is all complete
I’ll stretch me out on the window seat
With a favorite book and a cigarette,
And a long cool drink that Oh Joy will get;
And I’ll look about at my bachelor-nest
While the sun goes zooming down the west,
And the hot gold light will fall on my face
And make me think of some heathen place
That I’ve failed to see . . . that I’ve missed some way . . .
A place that I’d planned to find some day,
And I’ll feel the lure of it driving me.
Oh damn! I know what the end will be

I’ll go. And my house will fall away
While the mice by night and the moths by day
Will nibble the covers off all my books,
And the spiders weave in the shadowed nooks.
And my dogs . . . I’ll see that they have a home
While I follow the sun, while I drift and roam
To the ends of the earth like a chip on the stream,
Like a straw on the wind, like a vagrant dream;
And the thought will strike with a swift sharp pain
That I probably never will build again
This house that I’ll have in some far day
Well . . . it’s just a dream house, anyway.


 


Gold

My treasure chest is filled with gold.
Gold . . . Gold . . . Gold . . .
Vagabond's gold and drifter's gold . . .
Worthless, priceless, dreamer's gold . . .
Gold of the sunset . . . gold of the dawn . . .
Gold of the shower trees on my lawn . . .
Poet's gold and artist's gold . . .
Gold that cannot be bought or sold --
Gold.


 


Epitaph
Do not carve on stone or wood,
"He was honest" or "He was good."
Write in smoke on a passing breeze
Seven words... and the words are these,
Telling all that a volume could,
"He lived, he laughed and... he understood."