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March 31

Every now and then, some one sends a picture that makes me laugh...

March 30

Have I said what a junk pile my garden is? Or, another man's junk pile is my garden?


Today I might clean it up and carry on with the construction later. Obviously I have been having just way too much fun.

March 28

Well...hmmm our world is changing...




1. Snowball's kingdom is invaded. 2. The aliens. 3. Jezebel and Scarlet.

aside from that...

I am still making plans for Corsica.

An interesting string of emails: (in order of numbers)


I have work for you in late May/June/July.  Are you available?  Work with the AmeriCorps artists and a few kids.  Irene

From: Kjwolverton@aol.com [mailto:Kjwolverton@aol.com]
Sent: Tuesday, March 11, 2008 4:58 PM
To: iolewis@zianet.com
Subject: Fwd: Irene

Irene, Harry is a  friend in Las Cruces, and he does factory  production high-end silver and gold jewelry. He just recently moved to a new larger production space.

Call me when you can. Hope all is well with you. Ken


Harry is a good guy, so that question is in first order...

In response to the other, if you can guarantee 6K clear, then I'm your guy.



I will be in Corsica in May for about three weeks. Can I do anything for the mural for a few Euro's being as usual I still am the starving artist?
Would be nice to see you. I have a web site at  www.kewolve.com
All my best to you and the family.
Ken Wolverton


ros was thinking of asking you to do a mural which could help towards travel expences.she would need to have a rough idea of cost.vishnu and family will live in barn and i am recuperating a small house that was previously rented.


Kjwolverton@aol.com wrote:

Well, at the moment I am not sure if we will be able to come. The money I was expecting suddenly took a left turn and went off into the bushes, but I should know for sure within two or three weeks.
I am working on alternate plan so not all is hopeless yet, but I just wanted you to know the problem in case someone else like Vishnu need the pool house.
I am not defeated yet. You know I want to be there.
All my love to you and family.



ros was thinking of asking you to do a mural which could help towards travel expences. she would need to have a rough idea of cost. vishnu and family will live in barn and i am recuperating a small house that was previously rented.


Kjwolverton@aol.com wrote:

Well, at the moment I am not sure if we will be able to come. The money I was expecting suddenly took a left turn and went off into the bushes, but I should know for sure within two or three weeks.
I am working on alternate plan so not all is hopeless yet, but I just wanted you to know the problem in case someone else like Vishnu need the pool house.
I am not defeated yet. You know I want to be there.
All my love to you and family.


ros had the idea of a mural for her flat in agosta before being aware of possible financial hiccups so do not see it as a rescue operation,M

Kjwolverton@aol.com wrote:

If my original plan jells I will be happy to do a mural for some good Corsican cheese and wine. I think I will know for sure within a week.
Thank you and Ros for being so generous.
I love you and the family like my own.
Maybe one favor, if anyone at all can put a bug in Guy De Poix's ear...after all once a patron always a patron...I actually emailed Guy but he has not responded. It might be mentioned that I accomplished what his father, Count De Poix requested. I made the wine better than it was.


Date:    Tue, March 11, 2008 7:31 pm
To:      Kjwolverton@aol.com

>hello ken
I have to tell you that the mural is still looking great, but more than that,
we will have major events held in the domaine during all may  and I have
to keep Peraldi out of major works.
But for sure if you come back in corsica in the next two or three years do
not hesitate to contact me again
wish you all the best
guy de poix

March 25

If you have been looking in on this page you will remember the ROOF project, which was not planned so early in the overall WALK-IN CLOSET PROJECT...hmmm, but me bouncing around up on our sheet metal trailer roof seemed to cause a infinity of holes that let  rain water drip from one end of the house to the other...so the ROOF project got priority. Typical to such diversions of nature, now that the roof is covered , it has not rained once and it would not surprise if an elongated draught occurs.

Every morning SNOWBALL the cat comes in and watches  me tap away on my computer. He is convinced there is a mouse in it.



1. The ROOF project so far.  2. SNOWBALL suspects a mouse somewhere...

As other things go, I want to mention one thing. A long time ago I decided to stop being angry over the utter vanity and ugliness of politics, namely NIXON and the war in Vietnam... I managed pretty well until the other day when on the same news cast numbers were given. 4000 dead American soldiers, 1 million Iraqis, 820 BILLION  dollars.  $1,760 from each man woman and child in America paying for this madness that even a moron knows is about OIL. The lie is democracy.

The American public is not different than they were when I left the country in 1973, swearing never to return, and as it was, I did manage to stay away fourteen years.

Just before I departed I was sitting in a bar listening to SPIRO AGNEW.  He said something and I turned to the guy next to me and asked him to verify what had just been said. The guy just looked at me blankly and said, "So what?" I knew it was time to leave.


I think he was wrong for nobody has learned anything except to continue the follow the greed of dishonesty.

Once again we are all responsible for war in a distant land that is more evil than any word can define.

March 24

I have kept an active journal since I first went to Alaska at the the age of 18. There have been periods I let a year or two slip by I didn't scribble down what was going on in my head or around me, but very few. I carried the assorted notebooks and hard cover journals from one place to the other as I wondered around my life. I lost two journals and one was stolen, which combined held random information and sketches that spanned two, perhaps three years of my life. On my book case are four rows of 51 journals. I have no idea what they all mean.

I was was the last son of the 11 babies my mother ran through her body. Two babies died at birth but the rest of my brothers and sisters went on for years. Only my oldest brother did not make it to a ripe age. He was killed as a Marine Corps fighter pilot in WWI at the age of 21. I hardly know any of them as well as I know my best friends.

My father and mother were married for 30 years then divorced when I was four. I saw my father only once a week until I was 20, when I lived with him and his last wife for a year. Only once did my father ever tell me anything intimate or personal about his life. I wanted to know more but never took the opportunity to find out before he died.

If there is any reason I keep a journal, it is so my daughter and perhaps her children will one day at least have the chance to know who I was, warts and all...

Of course, all is vanity. My books may burn or rot, and the collected vaults of cyber-space info may disappear with the madness of one random glitch and I will be the same as most people on this ball of mud. A soul was born and a soul was passed on and nobody knew the difference.

March 23

In the meantime...I think Corsica has a very small chance of us visiting this May, unless some kind of MONEY MIRACLE on the scale of Christ's resurrection. Be  it is EASTER.

But if you missed the photos of Corsica on the HOME page, below are a few reasons I fell in love with the island many years ago.





1. The beach just a few miles south   Palmenti, of where I  always stay. 2. The mountains in the background are nearly 9000 feet.    3. Another favorite beach. 4. Under the umbrella on a beach with maybe 10 0r 20 0ther people...where are they?

March 22

Building the extension will eventually be worth all the effort for there will more room and several luxuries that will make the whole house better...but in the interim the construction mess is enough to make me visually unbalanced. It is normal when building, but it is one of the factors that often destroy relationships. So far Ruth and I are doing okay even if we don't agree on every point.

The one thing we will both be glad about will be to get our garden back to its previous simple beauty. To show you just what I am talking about I post the visual ugliness of the moment.



















1. Panorama of the new roof which will eventually disappear the mobile home completely...and if you ask me this is a stupid way to build a house, but too late to stop now. 2. extra cuts 3. the porch  4. entrance  5. a pile  6. another pile  7. and another 8. the extension east end  9. teak crates from Indonesia  10. my office window  11. a spare door 12. north side of extension 13. pile by the Jacuzzi 14. junk everywhere  15. more junk 16. and more junk 17. and more... 18. Hey, one bit of new stuff, is SMOKEY the rooster...

March 21

It is spring or nearly and it is also "Good Friday" which reminds me of an odd period in my life. To explain that partially I post one of my vignettes from the Zen Cowboy collection to celebrate this lovely Christian day.

For every person that will talk you into something, there is another person somewhere to talk you out of it

 After California, HOZ, a 1950 half ton ford pick-up was about the most colorful thing in my life. ..the letters HOZ was sprayed bright red onto the original grey-green which was faded so much you could see two layers of red oxide undercoat. HOZ had obviously been in a crash one time. Both front fenders were gone and the doors were replaced with bright yellow ones, on each of which a big plastic appliqué Hereford Bull had been plastered. About the same time, my ex-love hippy chick out in L.A. said she wanted to get back together. Before I went to California I had to legalize old HOZ, so I looked around and discovered another old Ford pick-up at the Telluride dump. I gave HOZ new front fenders. The trip was a waste of time and a week later I found myself back in Colorado, feeling dejected and demoralized over losing my little California gal. It was then I bumped into this nice-looking CHURCHWOMAN and she convinces me what I need is the LORD... Sure enough, in no time at all, I get in front of BROTHER AL, and he's on fire with the spirit and it all comes like a bolt of light. Next thing I know, I'm a born-again CHRISTIAN, and I go off in pursuit of evangelizing all my friends, all except Dick the lawyer and that is because he was thrown out of a Baptist seminary. He kept trying to take me off to Durango to get drunk and chase wild women. Four months went by when one day a church-elder slips up to me and says "I sure hated doing it, but I had to shoot my dog! Darned if l wuz goin' to pay for a dog license!" He was protesting a new town ordinance. I looked at him blankly as the spirit of the Lord evaporated. I found Dick the lawyer passing by in his Mercedes-Benz and said "Let's go get drunk my friend and talk about the spirit of the Lord! " He looked at me smiled a grand canyon grin and said, "Jump in my boy and we will liberate our souls."

Well, so much for me and religion.

March 20

A short memoir.

DEATH BUBBLES                  

Killing things.  Family and friends wanted me to kill and they took me to their killing rituals.  Don, my brother-in-law had given me a rifle made in 1906.  It was a 33 Winchester.  Very few people even know about them, but the slug is like a freight train when he goes through something.

I was 11 years old. It was the first time I went deer hunting with Don and my older brother Tommy. It was October and the mountains were full of maniacs. The aspen trees were golden.  We set off before sunrise and started walking up a valley.

Don yelled, "Kenny, you walk down through the middle and I’ll stay up on the south side of the hill and Tommy can walk up on the north side— so if something comes your way, you just point that thing at it and pull the trigger."

   The explosion of the rifle and the way it slammed into my shoulder with that instant acrid smell of gun powder— all of that thrilled me.  I didn’t want think about what the gun was supposed to do— what it had been like when I killed.


The first kill, was with the Johnson boys who moved in next door. Jackie, Ray and Lee. They loved killing things.  They would invite me to come along to watch them kill.  I was seven or eight years old the first time.  I didn't know what they were going to do. I didn’t know killing.

 Ray the oldest, about 13, took one of the pigeons out of the coupe his father had built. He laid the sacrificial bird out on a board.  Jackie and Lee held the bird, pulling its wings out to the side. Ray took a hammer and nailed the bird's wings down.  I was fascinated by the pigeon's black eyes and his beak as it opened and closed.  A puff of sound was all it made.

“Look at this,” Ray said. He took a knife out of his pocket.  It was a switchblade that he was very proud of slinging open.

Jackie, Lee and me watched Ray as he put the point of the blade on the breast of the bird and laughed. He looked up at us, and there was something strange in his eyes. He raised the knife up two inches and put it back down poking the blade into the bird's breast just a little.  I gasped and Ray laughed again.  He raised the knife again this time six inches and looked at it greedily.

“Come on Ray, kill the fucker,” Jackie said.

 “Yeah, kill him, kill him!” Lee chimed in.

I looked at Jackie and Lee. They were smiling, the same smile as Ray. They seemed to feel some kind of excitement that I wanted to feel, but I felt nothing.  I just stood there watching, wondering if Ray was going to do it.

Without warning his hand shot up 12 inches then slammed knife down.  I expected the bird to scream something like, “Don't kill me,” but the black eyes of the bird just got really big and its beak went wide-open. Silence came out.  Its eyes fell like skin curtains— the lids slowly dropped over the glassy black as if the bird was going to sleep.  It was almost peaceful, almost a dream.  I was fascinated. So that's what death is, like going to sleep.

I couldn't stop thinking about the bird going to sleep, how peaceful, how quiet, how beautiful it was.  I wanted to kill something. I wanted to see what it was like to send something quietly to sleep, so instantly. I thought about my lizard.  He was a pet I kept in a box. I caught flies and worms and even gave him spaghetti once in a while.  I wanted to see if I could send him to sleep.  I went into the kitchen and took a knife from the cupboard and came back into my room and caught the lizard.  I held him down on my table, but the knife was bigger than the body width.  If I stabbed the lizard it would slice him in half.  That didn't seem like the thing to do. I put the lizard back into the box and went looking for something a little bit smaller. 

On my mother’s is sewing machine there was a big pin cushion with a long needle pin that had a fake pearl on the end of it.  It was perfect.  It was like a fencing sword in comparison to the size of the lizard.

“Right lizard, this is it,” I said, “you're going to go to sleep buddy.”

I took the pin and placed it the same way Ray had done on the pigeon. I pushed down just a little bit.  The lizard nearly jumped out of my hand, and I had to hold a lot harder.  It was difficult to raise the pin up and down the way Ray had done the knife, so I decided just to put the point of the pin on the lizard’s chest and push down very slowly to see if I could see him go to sleep.  I pushed and the lizard thrashed in my fingers. He didn't want to go to sleep at all.  I pushed a little bit harder but the pin was so dull it wasn't going through the lizard’s skin.  The lizard was making funny little kissing sounds and its tongue was licking around its mouth.  I didn't know whether to stop or push harder. Suddenly the pin went down through the skin and blood spurt out onto my hand.  The lizard twisted violently for a few seconds then went completely limp. It was not the same as the pigeon.  There was nothing peaceful about what happened in my fingers.  I began to feel very bad.


I heard my brother Tommy scream in the trees on the mountainside above me. His voice echoed across the valley.

“He's coming your way Kenny.”

I didn't know what he meant. I thought maybe it was my brother-in-law coming down to see me and so I stood there not doing anything. I heard limbs and branches cracking.  I looked down through the aspen trees and saw something earth colored moving through the white bark. 

I didn't think. I raised the rifle and pulled the trigger without aiming. In a millisecond, I heard the explosion of the rifle; I smelled the cordite and felt a muscle spasm in my shoulder. I was amazed when the deer fell on its front legs only 10 feet from me.  I could see a bright red gash, like bloody lips the size of a quarter on its shoulders.  I stood just looking at the deer as it kept trying to get up on its legs while making a grotesque wheezing sound.  It kept falling down on its front legs while its rear legs spread out like it was doing the splints.

“Good going Kenny. Ya’got the son of a bitch,” Don yelled as he came running up through the aspen trees. Tommy was a little further down the hill yelling, “Did he get him, did he get him?”

Don walked around the deer and looked up at me and said “You sure fucked up this hamburger.”

I was bewildered.  It was too easy to knock down a huge deer by squeezing your finger on a little piece of metal.  The wheezing sound mixed in with something my brother-in-law was yelling as he ran up to the deer.

“Good Fuck’n shot Kenny! You blew his ass out of the woods!” Don had that smile of the Johnson brothers. So did my brother. I didn’t like the look.

I became aware of the rifle in my hands. It weighed a hundred pounds.  I saw my brother’s lips moving but the sound of rasping breath was all I could hear.  I slowly walked up to the deer. Pink frothed death bubbles were coming out its nose and mouth.  I walked to the other side of the deer and was hit in the eyes like a hand slapping my face.

The bullet hole, the size of a quarter on one side had turned into the size of a dinner plate, smashing bones through the lungs of the deer.  The exit of the bullet left a blown-out swamp of bloody dripping meat. The breathing of the deer was gurgled drowning. Death bubbles came out its nose. The creature was not going to sleep— it was dying a miserable death.  I felt bad.

I changed the story a little and have used it for the beginning of THE CRYSTAL TIGHTROPE

March 18

It is official. The extension is now completely closed in from outside elements...which means now I start removing the old walls which will combine the two spaces.

Wow, I know this blog must contain some earth shaking information  for who-ever checks in, but what can I say?

All right. Here is what to do. You build a blog page and fill it with all the fascinating details of your life, let  me know how to drop in, and I promise to read every amazing word.

Other than that, life here on the ranch (known in some circles as Dunrovin) is always full of surprises, perhaps not as much as Brittany Spears wonderful existence, but still, our life is not mundane.

Perhaps it has to do with a village that in my book THE ASSASSIN is known as Locorado. It is a village where everyone is gently mad much like the inmates of that old movie called KING OF HEARTS,  I think Alan Bates was the star. It was until recently that is...for now the people are continue to be mad, but not quite so gentle. Well, the village in question used to be dirt poor, and almost everyone was tolerated, and no grudges were held the next day if you happened to be off balance a wee smidgeon the night before.

Hmmm, it appears with the affluence that has slowly arrived, the evil dollar has also attracted another kind of nut case, or perhaps the power of that said money corrupted the gentle souls of the previous inmates, turning them into turf toads...toads that squirt a foul mixture of mucus and fart gas at the slightest nudge of their appropriated space.

Just recently Ruth got squirted all over, but all is pending so mum is the word and actually I have no idea what I am talking about.

This brings me to an earlier point in my existence when I chose to perceive that all is illusion, and some days are not worth the effort.

March 17

Today...hmmm, St Patrick's day...well, I was in my 50's before I found out from my oldest sister, that one of my grandmothers on my mother's side was an O'Sullivan...so that figures. I can blame all of my erratic behavior over the years on the Irish genes.

Yesterday I met my daughter, her boyfriend and my daughters mother...we are amiable despite my Irish genes. It was a n incredibly windy day, but the mountains that surround my property looked beautiful from the distance of seven miles.




  1. View from the San Marcos Cafe. The arrow indicates where our house sits at the base of the Cerrillos hills. 2. Rowan, my daughter and her new dog. 4. Geno and Rowan discussing breakfast and their new travel plans to Africa.

March 15

There is a very small chance we may go to Corsica in late May...small because the money it will cost is extraordinary...now that the Euro is over a $1.50, our money will hardly get us there let alone pay for fair once we are there...but still, I always believe in miracles up to the last point of rebound, and there lies the chance.

Two reasons  to go. One, I love Corsica more than anyplace I have ever known. Two, my great and dear friend Di Rhodes is having her 88th birthday party. She is as beautiful as Corsica, so the two combined is the compelling desire I have to return the land that won my heart so many years ago... the island is the center of  two books I published on this web site...WRITING

I lived in Corsica from 1983 to 1986. It broke my heart to leave the island. I have returned three times, each time going back to the Basteliccacia valley and staying on Di's  farm which is called Palmenti. Corsica is like New Mexico, with a beautiful ocean around and palm lined beaches...from the beach, 20 miles toward the center, you see snow capped mountains nearly 9000 feet high.

A Small excerpt from the beginning of ALL IS FAIR.

"...Later in the evening, his head and body calm, he went into the center of town and found a cyber café. Santiago E-mailed Neil. AUBERGE DE LA RESTONICA, SEPT. 20. DON’T FORGET MY BIRTHDAY GIFT -- IF YOU CAN’T FIND 20 YEAR LAGAUVULIN MALT, GLEN FIDDICH WILL DO. YOURS FOREVER, SANTIAGO.

Santiago booked tickets the following morning with the last of his plastic credit lifeline. As he was walking out of the travel agency he glanced up on the wall and saw two large tourist posters that were like tarot cards of his past and future. On one wall was an image of the Tattoo at Edinburgh Castle in Scotland. On the opposite wall was a palmed beach scene from the Bay of Ajaccio, viewing up the Gravone Valley into the snow-capped mountains of Corsica. By the time Santiago’s foot stepped on the outside pavement, his soul was in another world."

March 14

I have mentioned the Mine Shaft Tavern a few times, so here it is in the back ground of photo on the left...there are few beer guzzlers on the porch looking at me suspiciously being I have a telephoto aimed at them...

What I was really taking a photo of is shown again in photo on the right, and that is my Toyota truck attached to a trailer with a 300 gallon water tank on it...that appears to be a new chore I will have for awhile...hauling water for one of Ruth's tenets...



Wait...1. The Miner Shaft.  2. View from the Mine Shaft porch.

March 13

What has happened around here lately...







1. door to office  2. work site 3. Ruth moved into the closet 4. ceiling of closet 5. chickens in lounge 6. Marilyn's place

March 10

Today I am putting up the last exterior wall to the "extension" which means in the next few days the process of wiring, plumbing and tearing out the old exterior walls will begin...once in a while I think about when I used to be an artist.

The other way of looking at this exercise of house improvement is that life can be a work of art. which is the philosophy I have had most of my life...it is just that sometimes hard work interferes with the concept of fun...

Just for something a little different, below is one story from the Zen Cowboy page.

...arriving on a journey is the moment one dream ends and another dream begins...

... It took nine days to cycle from Oxford to Edinburgh, a city that charmed me for years. The Castle the pubs, the ten o'clock bell that signaled drinking up time and the King's Theatre where I  got a job as a stagehand and learned to understand the Scottish tongue thanks to a comedian called Billy Connolly .... after two weeks of his show I understood every word. Some people I met were there just for me. Ann and Gen. One took me to bed, then I took the other one. ..both seemed to think I was a roller coaster. They introduced we to Theatre Workshop here  I  found myself teaching acrobatics to little kids. My party piece was a flying forward somersault, a bounce on the toes and a three sixty degree flip through the air. That was when Neil Cameron asked me, "How would you like to go on a troubadour show with a donkey and cart, sleeping in tents, walking through the Kingdom of Fife?"


Ten years later I left Scotland.

March 7

And below: a 360 view of our country a half  mile from the house...

hmm...very small country...but bigger if you click it...

Just for fun, some one sent me the below portrait. It has nothing to do with anything other than nothing has happened yet today.

March 6

The building project has been fun in many ways but there are a few things about it that drive me nuts...for one it goes on forever, two, the whole yard and entrance to the house looks like the worst of a "tinks" village (people who live on a dump site)  and three, it seems to get bigger all the time.

But of course...all good things come to an end. One day I will either be dead or the project will be done...

In the mean time...the arrival of the huge bath tub and shower stall put a kink in the available space. If that did not complicate things, the snow storm last night made the whole mess look a little more sanitary.

In other words, life moves on. 

New Mexico is always beautiful even if the house is hillbilly heaven.











1. Harbinger sky. 2. Things coming first, like the tub. 3. Hopefully the last snow storm of the winter. 4. Chicken eating bird seed. 5. Work space covered in snow. 6. Work stops. 7. No motor biking. 8. Gate to the yard. 9. Valley in snow. 10. Truck and tank.

Oh, by the way, the REDNECK MANSION site mentioned before turned out to be a hoax...I mean it actually exists, but it is a theater set in Holland, not a rental site in America as some of my old class mates were led to believe...

March 5

I  thought Ruth and I lived in an odd type "mobile home" being I have removed most of the exterior walls, and now in the process of putting a roof over the whole thing...but check out this person's mobile home...

If nothing else, people in America win all awards in creative living.

What is even more odd, apparently the "redneck mansion" as it is called, is occasionally rented out. I don't know yet for sure, but I have been informed by my class of 63 reunion officer, this is where we all will be staying on the next reunion. If that is so, it will be an experience which we will remember.

This week is another story. I have been helping Ruth move out of one of her old shops into a new space. The old shop was called "INCAHOOTS" . It was a co-operative of seven artists, but unfortunately the noble idea  was just an idea...it didn't work out. So Ruth is taking her part and moving into a space that is about a seventh of original area, keeping the name, INCAHOOTS.

The  old saying, "if it is not one thing, it's another" still applies, for with the new shop new problems have surfaced. We will tighten our seat belts.

March 1. Getting ready to put new roof on...and still the walk-in closet...









1. the roof in process. 2. the rafters... 3. top heavy load. 4. the extension. 5. the bathroom. 6. walk-in... 7. the mess of it all...