Black Helicopters

He mostly comes in here for the beer.

Sometimes, people wonder about him---mostly the children, because the grown-ups, after all this time, they don’t always see him anymore. Some ask, who is the man in the raggedy cloak?

- The Palmer from The Faerie Queen?
- No, he's too tall, and his walk is much too regal.
- Cyrano de Bergerac about to claim that he's just fallen from the Moon?

- No, the nose is wrong and the white plume is missing from his hat.

There are those who claim he is Wotan himself, disguised as a wanderer.

But I am not so sure about that either. He says he comes here for the beer.

The bartender doesn't mind him.

He doesn’t bother anyone and, hey, nobody bothers him.

There is also that fellow who claims he comes from the future.

Something about being stranded in the present. The management says he has a knack with programming, and, well, as such things go, it might come handy out here, I am sure, with all the high tech stuff they have laying around and what-have-you.

And then there is this Golden Park’s nighttime resident who stumbled in here some twelve years ago, or so, as the park’s squatters were being pushed away by San Francisco Mayor Willie Brown’s military-style helicopters, equipped with infrared heat-sensors, no less, to root out the homeless who had taken residence there.

"Zero tolerance" can be a bitch. Despite Mayor Brown's insistence that there were enough emergency beds for the people who wanted them, San Francisco's shelter operators were turning people away every night for lack of space. And, so, the management here just didn’t have the heart to send him off. And then again, one never knows: the guy might just have been Wotan in disguise. As it turns out, he wore no mask. Not in the ordinary sense of the word in any case. He laughed when I brought it up, and quoted Shakespeare to me, “all the world is a stage.”

I don’t see him often, but the few times I did, I ended-up buying him a beer, or two…or three---whatever it takes: the man is a wonderful storyteller, and he also recites poetry like no-one else. He has a particular’s affection for Luigi Pirandello, especially for Uno, Nessuno e Centomila (One, No one and One Hundred Thousand).

If you run into him, try and buy him a beer --- or two…or three---whatever it takes. Perhaps, he'll quote some Pirandello to you. Some lines from Henry IV, maybe:
"As a child I saw moons in the well. And I’d have sworn it was true. Whatever others told me, I believed and was happy.
Oh one must…one must cling fiercely to what seems true today, and will tomorrow also, though it’s the opposite of what was true yesterday.
Beware…lest you sink like me while trying to grasp something that truly drives you mad… Being beside someone… Looking them in the eyes as I have done one day.
I felt like a beggar in front of a door that would never open for him.
Whoever enters, it shall not be you with your inner world as you see it and touch it, but someone unknown to you."



Shall we hit the floor?



Play it again, Sam


Don't ask . . .

It's an acquired taste.

And this enabled him to believe in the things

he did try hard, God forbid
he should give in to pointless wandering
but he would wander from time to time
Seeking guidance from the Holy
he tried to find the truth...

Cradle to Grave



May I recommend . . .

. . . the house blend.

It is made from one of Klawer Wine Cellar's well known fortified dessert wines, with Muscat tones, infused with ROOIBOS and the BUCHU herb, known for its many healing properties.

It has an unique silky smooth finish and leaves the palate with a spicy lingering aftertaste . . .

Rooibos, from Afrikaans “Rooi” (red) and “bos” (bush), is part of the richest biome in the World.

Loose Red Bush tea can be enjoyed in a traditional way, or it can also be savored by simmering the tea in a open pot.


I think the music around here has been a little too slow

We need to pick it up.


Triple Rectification

Absinthe, anyone?


Wanna Play?


Thanks for having me

I'll be over there - by the old bookcase - nursing a Smirnov Ice and a bowl of roasted peanuts.

"In that direction," the Cat said, waving its right paw round, "lives a Hatter: and in that direction," waving the other paw, "lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad."
"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."
--Lewis Carroll


High above this dreary twenty-first century din

Twenty-first century blues are getting me down
Who's escaped those dreary twenty-first century blues?

Why, -if there's a God in the sky-why shouldn't he grin?
High above this dreary twenty-first century din

In this strange illusion, chaos and confusion
People seem to lose their way
What is there to strive for, love or keep alive for?
Say, hey hey? call it a day!

Blues, nothing to win or to lose, it's getting me down
Who's escaped those dreary twenty-first century blues?

Why is it that "civilized" humanity
can make this world so wrong?
In this hurly-burly of insanity...our dreams cannot last long
We've reached a deadline, a press headline, every sorrow
Blues value is news, value...tomorrow



I have made an important discovery...

... that alcohol, taken in sufficient quantities, produces all the effect of intoxication.



you without clothes
Oh, I could not keep a straight face


Something in my drink

My hallucinations are endless... And, so, it is assuredly fitting, that I found this place, or, that somehow it found me, as the case would be.

Still, I must ask [...]

. . . Is it just me, or is there something in my drink?

Feuer und Wasser kommt nicht zusammen
Kann man nicht binden sind nicht verwandt
In Funken versunken steh ich in Flammen
und bin im Wasser verbrannt
Im Wasser verbrannt



A cautionary tale on the dangers of addiction, for those of us who may be liking the sauce a little bit too much.


Inquiring Mind wants to know

Don't we all, sir.

The truth is that I do not know who half of the people who drop by The Wulfshead are either, sir...

They were all invited in, at one point or another, just like you were, sir. And some of them just stumbled into the place--there are authorized access points to the club at locations all around the world, if you know where to look. People walk in and people walk out, all the time. And there is no offense in either way. If the gentleman or the gentlelady wishes for an invitation to be extended to their friend, I am sure the bartender can see to it that an invitation be sent to whichever e-mail address that either the gentleman or the gentlelady will care to provide.

The Wulfshead is what it says, sir. No more. No less. A virtual bar. An online pub. And a club. Just a place to kick back and relax, and maybe perchance start a conversation, or possibly, get acquainted with some of the patrons or visitors who drop by. What you find here is what is here, or what you bring in yourself, if you so choose. Back in the old days, sir, you could find all sorts at the Wulfshead, if they didn't find you first, sir. Things have gotten a bit mellower nowadays. The bartender, sir, he says it's the new generation. Though, I understand, that the new generation in the old US of A was instrumental in bringing to power a quite unusual kind of leader to the Presidential office. A very charismatic man, sir. Possibly a healer. Some say a visionary, but I am not so sure, I think it's too early to say.

In any case, sir, welcome to The Wulfshead. The bartender has sent the gentleman's friend an invitation. The gentleman's friend can do as she wishes, sir. It is an open invitation. The gentlelady can always visit without being a member, although the gentleman's friend will only be able to do so while the club remains visible, which is not always the case, sir.

The management thanks you for your kind interest, sir.



The Compleat Playboy Centerfold

A Male Nude
Hans Von Staschiripka Canon (1829-1885)

I laugh at myself, old man, with no strength left
inclined to piney peaks, in love with lonely paths
oh well, I've wandered down the years to now
free in the flow; and floated home the same, a drifting boat.


What I know of the divine sciences and of Holy Scripture I learned in woods and fields, by prayer and meditation. I have no other masters than the beeches and oaks.

---St. Bernard Of Clairvaux

Soon silence will have passed into legend. Man has turned his back on silence. Day after day he invents machines and devices that increase noise and distract humanity from the essence of life, contemplation, meditation. Tooting, howling, screeching, booming, crashing, whistling, grinding, and trilling bolster his ego.

---Jean Arp

My computer time each morning is very dignified, above suspicion and beyond reproach. I try to stay out of trouble. My wife's vigilance helps with that. Ordinarily I read my distinguished email, a few headlines, a calendar and poem of the day, some spiritual advice, look at a few photos of nature, and then go to Arts & Letters Daily, a site of online journal entries and reviews run by the Chronicle of Higher Education. A bastion of research and development, here I find such things as lofty examinations of Wittgenstein to get my mind purified, charged up. Following these meditations I am fully prepared for the daily workload.

Today however the site threw me a curve ball, a curvy ball that drew me irresistibly in. I swung at it, fanning the air, but wonderfully find I have no regrets. It's a review of a dangerous new book titled The Complete Playboy Centerfolds. It's a picture book for your---er---coffee-table. Every centerfold is in it, from the magazine's first monthly publication in 1953 (remember?) through 2007. The review is a subtle delight---and of course I'm here to refer you to that rather than the matters of more prurient interest. It's always been the writing that interests us about Playboy. Here's how it starts~~~

"My favorite Playboy centerfold is Miss September 1983, dressed for a college football game in striped socks and a tartan scarf. She has a flask, a fuzzy wool cap, and a team pennant. Her neo-Gothic surroundings are meant, I think, to evoke Yale. A single branch of ivy cascades next to her, and a textbook lies abandoned at her feet. She is naked."

There, you don't even have to see it. The writer of the review is Molly Young! I thought, What a strange name for a guy, but these days who knows? Well, it's not a guy and she writes openly about looking for a husband. Never mind Miss September: I had to see Molly Young!

The site with the review is an online version of a new magazine called n+1 and it's here . All they had to tell me about Molly is she lives in New York, and that she has 3 other articles to read. Google to the rescue.

Among the first listings was another reference I couldn't resist: Bloggers We Want To See In Bikinis: Molly Young , and there she is. Hopefully Jack Hostetter has a better chance than I do of hooking up, and from the way he writes they'd probably be a hilarious couple. Watch me get academic now to save the day: somehow I associate the kind of writing they do, fast and glib, with how we've learned to relate on the Internet. Of course we see it in magazines and newspapers now too, but it's new and it's youth and I love it. I must say I laugh out loud more at stuff on the computer than I ever did in the pages of books. OK, probably I just read the wrong books.

My friend Paul Quintanilla predicted recently we'll see blogging taught in schools soon. I'd never thought of that, but he's probably right. We'd certainly hope Molly Young has one somewhere...and she does. It's something she seems to work on everyday. You can take this confession with you for your Saturday, from her entry yesterday called "The Pan-subcultural Teen:" "Texting’s how I show my love.”


Don't drink the water

Hey, is that Dave swinging on that chandelier?

I'll have whatever he's having!

I have opinions of my own...

-- strong opinions -- but I don't always agree with them.


This is the time after the Time


This is the time...

...and this is the recording of the time:

The most widely watched address ever delivered on the planet!


Our distinguished guest speaker

Note: We wish to apologise to any perfectly nice Romanians who may be in the audience.


The management is still working on the restrooms

It can be a bit disorienting, at times.

They have to keep upgrading them. And they haven't quite yet managed to come up with a sign that everybody can agree on.


But certainly, Sir...

Thank you for bringing this to my attention. There is no reason why the gentleman's friend should be waiting outside in the cold.
The gentleman doesn't need my permission to invite his friend in---especially if she is his designated driver.



Hello song.

This is "Cruel," one of Prefab Sprout's best early songs.

Best, and most bittersweet.

(Seemed as good a way as any for me to say hello)


Why, yes!

I do come here often! Thank you for asking.

After all, it's one of the few places that will still have us, you know. I mean, knowingly, purpose, sort of. The Wulfshead doesn't discriminate, you see. And they'll even feed us after midnight! You can't beat that.

All in all, I think we've gotten a bad wrap over the years. It's not like my kind is bent on man's extermination or anything like that. Though, I understand that there are those who are---other members of the Wulfshead, who were seen recently in the Poker Lounge (if you know who I mean)---and that 's okay, too. To be honest, our kind couldn't care less, one way or another.

What we want is, I think, what everyone wants, and what you, and the other patrons, here, have: civilization.
GrandpaFred: Yes, but what sort of civilization are you speaking of?

Brain Gremlin: The niceties, Fred. The fine points: diplomacy, compassion, standards, manners, tradition... that's what we're reaching toward. Oh, we may stumble along the way, but civilization, yes. The Geneva Convention, chamber music, Susan Sontag. Everything your society has worked so hard to accomplish over the centuries, that's what we aspire to; we want to be civilized.

[a Gremlin with a beanie cap acts goofy next to Brain]

Brain Gremlin: You take a look at this fellow here.

[Brain shoots the Gremlin in the head. The Gremlins in the bar laugh.]

Brain Gremlin: Now, was that civilized? No, clearly not. Fun, but in no sense civilized. Now, bear in mind, none of us has been in New York before. There are the Broadway shows - we'll have to find out how to get tickets. There's also a lot of street crime, but I believe we can watch that for free. We want the essentials. Dinettes. Complete bedroom groups. Convenient credit, even though we've been turned down in the past.


Nice to be invited...

I brought my designated driver. She's waiting in the car...



Drinks with a smile...

The bartender makes a mean Kahlua Toreador...


An easy getaway...

...and no one will ask for your autograph!

In Italian, a Gioconda is a "light hearted woman."


Poker in the lounge

From that day on, Goldberry never played strip poker with her teammates again...