THE SIGNAL from David Katznelson
“Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret.” ― Ambrose Bierce
What ever happened to Ambrose Bierce and why hasn’t anyone taken the time to solve the mystery? We live in a time of umpteen HBO/Netflix/Amazon/Whatever documentary offerings and not a-one about the crazy disappearance of one of the greatest writers of the turn-of-the-last century. Besides a few articles that hit more brick walls than those classic smash-up derby kids toys, nothing is known about the journalist who was supposedly traveling from San Francisco to Mexico to interview Poncho Villa. Nothing.
I will never forget hearing a Bierce short story for the first time, in Mr. Arnaldo’s 7th grade history class. Mr. A told us to put our books away…that he was going to read a story that would give us a real taste of the history we were about to dig into, a history of the old west (this was before history books for that age group were rewritten to tell the more blemished story). The tale: An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, Bierce’s most famous yarn, with an ending that completely shocked me and sent me on a quest to read more. While his writing style, albeit naturalistic, is a tad antiquated for this century’s reader, it can still be haunting, brutal, horrifying, compelling. Tales of Soldiers and Civilians is a must read as is his hugely influential Devil’s Dictionary, which really amounts to the first urban dictionary. What is often forgotten is Bierce was probably most known for his journalism, with a stinging bite that got the reporter and the newspapers he wrote for in a lot of trouble, including a moment where his writing stirred up a public belief that his boss, William Randolph Hearst, called for the assassination of President William McKinley. Oh yes the pen is mightier than the sword.
Bierce’s life was a hard one, with two children preceding him in death, one in a double homicide, and his wife taking other lovers and eventually leaving him. And all the while, most of his contemporary writers did not get his fiction…he was a true outsider.
Today is Bierce’s birthday. He would have been a spry 179 if he had not disappeared in 1914 while en route south. Did he get to Villa before his demise? Some think yes, others not. What the hell happened?
***Happy Birthday also to my brother Steve!
Thank you Howie Klein for letting me know about this doc. The Cramps Napa State show is something of legend…with VHS tapes circulating all over the place while I was growing up. The story behind it was always a head scratcher…and the film-footage is just killer. Wow. This documentary is incredible. SO SO SO great.
Edgar Allan Poe’s Other Obsession
“A war on science raged across America in the early 19th century. Poe battled for both sides.”
UNESCO Report Warns Stonehenge, Venice Could Soon Be ‘Endangered’ Sites
“UNESCO, the United Nations–operated agency, released a report this week that indicated some of the world’s most iconic historic locations could soon be designated as “endangered” on the organization’s World Heritage in Danger list. Stonehenge in England, the Italian city of Venice, and the ancient capital Ashur in Iraq are among those cited in the report.”
Soap Plant + WACKO Turns 50: A Look Back at Its Underground Art Scene and Legendary Parties
In the 90s when I was in LA, you did not miss an opening at Luz De Jesus. Why would you? Incredible Lowbrow movement artists…affordable (THEN) art…incredible parties and music….all of it surrounded by a colorful cacophony of crazed objects, faces, books, and of course paintings. Soap Plant helped defined modern day east-side Los Angeles and when I moved back to SF, it was one of the few places I really missed…
Fire Poem
By James Merrill
How unforgettably the fire that night
Danced in its place, on air and timber fed,
Built brightness in the eye already bright.
Upon our knees, held by a leash of light
Each straining shadow quietly laid its head
As if such giving and such taking might
Make ripe its void for substance. The fire said,
If as I am you know me bright and warm,
It is while matter bears, which I live by,
For very heart the furnace of its form:
By likeness and from likeness in my storm
Sheltered, can all things change and changing be
The rare bird bedded at the heart of harm.
We listened, now at odds, now reconciled.
I was impatient when the laughing child
Reached for the fire and screamed. Pointless to blame
That splendor for the poor pain of an hour.
Yet fire thereafter was the burnt child’s name
For fear, and many ardent things became
Such that their fire would have, could fire take fear,
Forgot the blissful nester in its flame.
