The Native Iowan

It’s an early eventide here in Pasadena. It started raining late yesterday and precipitation has been consistent for 24 hours. In the SoCal/ LA area rain of any kind is grand, and 24 hours of precipitation is Cmas, NewYears and Easter all at once.

The concrete jungle is hapi. The grey dinge and sooty coating that lies on the city has been rinsed off. The air – the LA air- is clean.

The act of moving – no longer residing in a place of habitual residence – “moving”. The act of moving is in all ways cathartic. Nostolgia heightens as one cleans the corners, empties the closets and cupboards. Discarding the detritus of life, as one moves on, is all ways poignant.

For no known reason I find myself stumbling across too many literary memories… its hard to explain… All of the sudden I am thinking of a bit of writing from Herman Melville. Or Hermann Hesse.

“For Madmen Only” was a recent thought. Who recalls that line?

I recently reread Hesse’s Siddhartha. Time well spent. I am currently reading Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. I tend to travel back in literary time these days. Modern authors and wordsmiths hold not my attention.

I wonder if the generation to come will find the works of Jack London riveting. I love the fact that the complete, and I mean complete works of Jack London are available right here…  http://london.sonoma.edu/writings/

Aint that cool? And the works of so many of the classical-greats are available, free of charge. Way, way cool in my books… https://www.gutenberg.org/ 

Just search for an author… Joseph Conrad, Rudyard Kipling… The Man Who would be King… https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8147

The world will be a poorer place when these works are no longer read.

And the beat goes on…