Fasting Ruminations

I am lounging on the patio in the recliner found for free down the block. Quite possibly the most comfortable chair I’ve ever owned.

A sunny and breezy afternoon in Coos Bay.

I am fasting—less than 24 hours to go.

Elmer is prowling the back yard. Feral cats lurking in the brush behind the fence continue to vex him.

We had a glorious walk at the secret beach this morning. No one there. That was after a walk to the boat ramp and onto the bay beach to watch the sunrise. Not a single encounter with the homeless because several weeks ago private property owners hired a brush cutter to limb up the willows. They also removed mountains of garbage. The city and county had no role in this effort. So the storytelling potential about homelessness at the now former encampment is gone, and I don’t mind one bit.

The book of poetry is at the printer. Book number 34. I’m currently revising book 35, a collection of my essays about homelessness written over roughly the last decade. That book will come out in the spring of next year and will end my writing about homelessness. It’s time to move on although my ad hoc assistance and advocacy will continue.

I’ve gained new energy on the 90s teaching novel project and it was the result of reading an agonizing and inadequate memoir by the Screaming Trees lead singer Mark Lanegan. Sing Backwards and Weep was published in 2020. He died in Ireland in 2024. We were exactly the same age. I always loved the band and saw them in their heyday of the early 90s when I was living in Portland, teaching, and live music was my main social activity. I really loved his solo records. It was the voice most of all.

The memoir is fatiguing in its chronicling his prodigious drug abuse, violence, and sheer debauchery. There isn’t a single lyric of any of his songs. Not one! Why omit the most important thing of your life? Your songs. Why no discography or any photos? Strange editorial decisions. He knew all the big time rock stars from Seattle and the memoir inspired me because the character of my novel is the total antithesis of Lanegan’s life. I hadn’t figured out how to construct this character but I do now.

I was never in that 90s PNW scene. I was a spectator and a fan. My take on the scenesters then and after reading Lanegan’s book is that most of them were astonishingly stupid. No education whatsoever. Most of the music from that era reflected that. Not all, but most and listened to all of it. I saw it live.

I found the memoir and random at the library and was shocked by its appearance. I didn’t know he had written a memoir. The style is raw and untutored and I dug it. Still, way too many drug encounters with the depraved and famous. They shed nothing on why he was such a terrible addict and human being, which he freely admitted.

My novel’s character will have known him and indeed most of the rock stars from Seattle. He escaped the scene and lived. Many died then, and like Lanegan, prematurely, years later from the lifestyle.

The last peas from the garden are almost ready to harvest. The garden turned out okay and I definitely know what to plant and not plant next year.

I attended two cultural events in Coos Bay in recent weeks. I forced myself to get out into my community and plan more of this in the coming months.

More strange and inexplicable happenings in the neighborhood. I’ve just about stopped writing them up.

I carved a Jack O lantern this morning. It turned out a little ragged but it brought me joy. I didn’t have a single trick or treater last year.

I still plan on seeing the Redwoods this fall.

I still wait to hear from people from my past that I reached out to.

Time to go hit the beach with Elmer.