Cowboy Poet Rudy Funk

January 28, 2013January 7, 2017 ~ LouLou ~ Leave a comment

There once was a wild one,
given for nuthin,
all alone in the saddle
he journeyed for days.

Once when he went where
he wasn’t supposed to,
up on a mountain,
his horse left to graze.

There he just sat there
his back on a boulder
his face was facing the sun
till late day.

The thoughts turned to no one
he never knew only,
only that someone
was with him that day.

The cowboy was faithful
yet wasn’t so graceful,
on the dance floor he failed
to get even one.

of those long legged beauties
that moved like the wind,
his thoughts returned
to that day in the sun.

Back to his horse
and away in his saddle,
he rode away
to the far setting sun.

That’s when he saw her,
by her garden as she watered,
writing a poem
with her roses for none.

But were these roses,
tended too softly,
were those roses,
really grown for someone?

She straightened herself
and with confidence and poise,
said, “cowboy, quiet down,
you make to much noise.”

It’s peaceful here stranger
you’re welcome to stay,
mind yourself now,
go sleep in the hay.

Well later that night,
when the moon shown above,
and the coyotes all howled
and fearful of none.

That’s when he went
where he wasn’t supposed to,
that’s when he came up,
facing her gun.

He said, “I can’t dance
I can’t talk and can’t sing,
but baby I love you,
and that’s a sure thing.”

She put down the gun,
with a few chosen words,
He smiled, then he told her,
the poem you just heard.

WHAT DO YOU GUYS KNOW ABOUT THE MOB

January 28, 2013June 20, 2014 ~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

Dead Don’s, shopkeepers, policeman, government employees, drivers, wives, and sons are slaughtered every week. You won’t know unless you study it, like I do. They are in Calgary, Montreal, Sicily, Rome, the UK, Russia, India, Asia, Macao, …. You have no idea how different organized crime is compared to the founders. Read about Arnold Rothstein, and ask people who knew Benny, what kind of man he was.

ROAMING TO THE UNKNOWN

January 18, 2013January 18, 2013 ~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

When I look beyond the quarry of my own chains and tough rowing as a writer, to that glorious painting that transforms every day, as if the sky was a Puccini scarf; of fuchsia, tangerine and turquoise, my soul is nourished.

Santa Fe is star power, and can shower your life with photographic moments on the half-hour. Like any city, village, or town you have some culture to conform to, or else you won’t be taken seriously.
In Los Angeles, I learned you have to be able to put on slapstick phoniness to get a conversation going with a stranger. Here in Santa Fe, amongst us Anglos, the advantages come if you are believably bohemian, liberal, quietly subsidized comfortably retired and artistic.

I don’t score well, and my direction is following Lawrence Durrell, Spirit of the Place, and living where you would never expect to live. I wish I could control my impractical, impulsive and annoying spirit of adventure. I think about cities of high rises and Jewish deli’s, at least five movie theaters built in the early 30’s, and neighborhoods of discovery. I just can’t give up the comfort of cocooning with humanity.

I long for the city, just as when I was thirty, all I ever talked about was SANTA FE. I lead a confusing life.

SWIMMING WITH GANGSTERS-VEGAS 1960s

January 15, 2013January 15, 2013 ~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

Lullabies of Birdland (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Photograph of Dean Martin with celebrities sta... — Photograph of Dean Martin with celebrities stage-side, Las Vegas, March 6, 1957 (Photo credit: UNLV Libraries Digital Collections)

PART THREE

THE CROWD TWITCHED IN ANTICIPATION, except for overly sensitive children, (OSC) without a prescription. My heart beat like a wild Pinto running from the rope as the doors to the Copa Room closed, and the lights dimmed. Streams of Parliament and Marlboro smoke desensitized the spring scent of Shalimar, Aramis cologne, and steaks grilling close by. The horizon of necks seen from the stage must have looked like a display at Tiffany’s.

Photograph of the Rat Pack performing together... — Photograph of the Rat Pack performing together in the Copa Room, Las Vegas, 1960 (Photo credit: UNLV Libraries Digital Collections)

We were in the front row of tables, two steps from the stage, so I had to raise my head vertically to see Ella.

I sat transfixed by this sensory tsunami at a table with a group of Uncles; Uncle Joey, (Joey Adonis, or Joey Fusco, or Joey whomever) Nick the Greek, Chuckie Del Monico (son of Charlie the Blade. I still squint when I read about him) and Uncle Charlie, (The Babe Baron) who enlisted or service in WW11 in Canada because the United State denied his application due an arrest record. Charlie was a stiff suited Four Star General under the hand of *General Curtis LeMay when he wasn’t managing the Riviera. Someone put that in “Vegas” the new television series.

The men and women composed a landscape of histories, though their costume like wardrobes were similar, except for the gangsters, who dressed according to Johnny Roselli standards. The women wore spaghetti strap cocktail dresses and strapless full length gowns, like a spring bouquet of color, transparency, and glitter. They, (I mean most of them that I met) were in a state of unconsciousness; shifting from cocktails, sun, lovemaking, gambling, and entertainment. Mad Women in the desert enjoyed their decorations of diamonds, fox fur wraps, and pointy spiked patent leather heels. Cocktail trays flew by in succession, because their husbands were not watching them. What was all the fuss about?

I could feel their panting exuberance before we even walked in the Copa Room. I felt it when we walked through the lobby, and everyone scampered before they knew where they were headed. It looked like an off stage performance; jittery anticipatory gestures that made any girl even without OSC dizzy. I was inside this swirl of liberation from the age of six to about twelve. We went to Vegas three or four times a year that I can recall. It was before I started my journal so the memories are part substance and part reflection. TO BE CONTINUED

DAYDREAMING

January 13, 2013June 20, 2014 ~ LouLou ~ 2 Comments

When I watch my wild birds, I daydream of their freedom, and how free I was when I was eighteen.

East Palace Avenue Santa Fe (Photo credit: paigeh)

When I listen to Wes Montgomery I dream of Brazil, and riding on a float at Mardi Gras, just once, with a feather hat, and dressed like Rita Hayworth.

When I sit at my desk and look at my mother’s photograph, I dream of those few luncheons in the formal Garden Room on the top floor of Bullocks Westwood, watching the fashion show with her, proud of my model mother, and imitating how she ate the tuna salad.

When I lay in bed at night, I dream of him, and his strong shoulder cupping my head, watching an old Cagney movie.

When I shovel snow I dream of Southern California, of old Del Mar and sitting on the bench under the crooked tree, in a triangular postcard of the crashing surf, prancing dogs, and the meter maid marking the curb. When I walk along Palace Avenue in Santa Fe, New Mexico I dream of walking 5^th Avenue at about 6 pm, when everyone pours on to the Avenues, a fountain of limbs and accessories crisscrossing patterns of human tolerance.

Day dreaming unlike night dreaming that takes us on the back of fairy tales and science fiction battling some inner masked trauma, illuminates where we want to be, what we need to do, and intercepts the embroidery of our life. The medicine of daydreaming surpasses self-help books, health food, vitamins, yoga, religion, or mind altering experiences. It is the essence of our rising emancipation from complacency.

dramatic dream (Photo credit: unNickrMe)

WHY NOT SANTA FE IN FEBRUARY OR MARCH

January 11, 2013January 16, 2013 ~ LouLou ~ 1 Comment

GALLERY LOULOU VACATION HOME AND ART SALON

IF YOU’RE CONSIDERING Santa Fe, the land of enchantment, for your next destination….

We’re at 7200 ft, 33 degrees daytime, and wavering between sunshine and an O’Keeffe cloudy sky. Bring sunscreen for the slopes or trendspotting Santa Fe from our porch.

NEWS:

10,000 Waves renovation completed and worth a trip for hot tub, stars, and massage, before dinner.
Farmer’s Market Weekends at the Railyard
All that Happens: www.santafe.com
ARTfeast February 24-26. Walk, eat, shop.
Restaurant Week

March 4-11, 2012

Take advantage of great deals during Restaurant Week, when the city’s eateries offer special three course meals at discounted prices for eight days. This is a wonderful time to try new restaurants that you might have neglected because of expensive prices.

Many Santa Fe restaurants participate in this week, offering up new specials as well as signature dishes. This is a relatively new event to Santa Fe, but it has proved incredibly popular with locals and visitors alike.

For more info, visit http://restaurantweeknm.com.

FLAVOR SAVERS:Geronimo: Low season, you get that table you want, Il Piatto, New Menu-New Wines Chocolate Maven, Coyote Café Bar, Taberno for Tapas and Spanish guitar.

Morning flaky croissants at Chez Mammou on Palace Avenue.

Tia Sophia’s and Pasquels for Green Chili Breakfast Burrito

La Posada, Complimentary Wine & Cheese Wednesday, and Friday night Chef’s tasting.

If you need Valet airport pick-up, reservations, snow update, requested movies..etc, just you ask. Thanks for knocking on LouLou’s door!

Adventure on,

MY FRIENDS ARE HOME

January 7, 2013 ~ LouLou ~ 2 Comments

My friends are beside me once again. It’s been five years since their faces like postcards of my life, are in my room, lifted out of the box. I can almost see their wisdom, and lessons floating above the birdcage hanging from the ceiling. I had forgotten how much I depend on them, a collapse of friendship because my room wasn’t really mine, I shared it with guests, and then New Year, rang out like a jazz quartet of answers to puzzling life questions. I am not sharing my bedroom anymore. And I am not looking for a job. And I am not going to stop wearing tightjeans, and high heeled boots.

Hello Henry Miller, Anais Nin, Carson McCuller, Nelson Algren, John Gardner, Damon…my books are home.