I kind of screwed up. I distributed the PBRC Audiobook to streaming sites as well as purchase sites. A few hundred people have listened to it, thank you very much, but I only get a tuppence a listen. Really. I receive between a third of a cent to 1.3 pennies per play. Oops.
So over the coming days, I'll be upload, a story at a time, the complete Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair audiobook, for free.
I'm pushing 60 and I think about these kinds of things.
Craig Acorn, Cathy Spann and Greta Ward have the details on how to get to C.J.'s Fault. (There's a topo map in a desk drawer too, if you need it.) When you arrive at the top, you'll find a small cairn I made four years ago.
When I die, I'd like to have my ashes sprinkled inside of that small chamber of rocks, or near by.
(You can take some of my ashes to the family plot in Virginia if you like, but that's not a big deal to me. Just let Currie Funeral Home in Kilmarnock, Virginia know I'm dead, and they'll sandblast the death date on my headstone.)
Come visit C.J.'s Fault from time to time, as much for the view as for the remembrance. It's a pretty place. Maybe you'll see a Big Horn or two. They bed up there.
Again, Craig Acorn, Cathy Spann, and Greta Ward know the way.
I was just at a Starbuck's buying an Egg Nog Latte, when a homeless woman came in and asked the clerk, "Do you have anything for just a dollar?"
I'm not struggling like her obviously, but as my father used to say, "It's not what you make but what you spend." And having my own business, Fezziwig Press, costs money and my little company isn't making enough money right now.
So I'm doing an Amanda Fucking Palmer thing. If I don't ask, you don't know to give.
Fezziwig Press and I have been struggling financially for the last year or so. Namely, I'm not quite breaking even, still a few hundred dollars in the red each month, even with my part time counseling gig and all. I'm making some sales with image rights, book sales, music sales, etc, but not like I did five to ten years ago. So I'm putting out the artistic begging bowl. And I'm giving shit away.
The Transpersonal Papers (1861-2010) was released in 2011. Cost a boat load to produce but I only sold seven ebook copies. (Thank you to the seven, by the way.) So I'm offering it today, to you all, for free.
If you like The Transpersonal Papers, or the StuBlog, or my work, I ask that you give a little money to my Paypal account. My log-in is my email address, stujenks at gmail dot com, spelled like you normally would type it. Donate to my Paypal, or buy some books, or send money to P.O.Box 161, Tucson, AZ 85702. Whatever you like. No expectations, but if I don't ask, you don't know. And of course, if you don't give, that's perfectly all right too. We're all tight these days, don't I know. Or you just might not like my stuff that much. It's all good, as the kids say. Except for my ever-shrinking savings account.
I hope you enjoy the photographs and the stories in this book. Perhaps someday I'll have enough money to print it as a large coffee table book, like it was originally envisioned. Perhaps not, but you can have it right now for free. Enjoy.
"Wistman's Wood, Dartmoor, United Kingdom" (c) 2013 Stu Jenks
I used to like Halloween as a child, with its Baby Ruth candies, its neighborhood spookiness and it being my mother's birthday too, but I haven't liked the holiday for years. I'm not a big fan that in America many adults use the holiday as an opportunity to express their sexual darkness, or their romanticism of Death, or their drunken angry inner selves. That being said, I do like the reverence of the Christian All Souls' Day, All Saints' Day and the resurgence of The Day Of The Dead celebrations, with personal altars displaying photographs of loved ones gone, and orange marigolds on graves newly cleaned.
I'll be walking in the All Souls' Procession in Tucson this Sunday, but I'm planning a more personal observance this weekend, of this time of the year when the veil between worlds is thin. Next year, I hope to be near Lively, Virginia, sitting on a bench in my family plot on November 1st, small candles burning near the headstones of my mother, father and sister.
Above is a photograph I took of Wistman's Wood last Spring when I was visiting friends in Chagford, Dartmoor. One of the oldest remaining oak wood in all of the UK, beautifully dwarfed by time and wind, Wistman's Wood truly is a sacred place, being its own gateway between earth and sky.
I wish I was there right this second, holding a photo of my family in one hand and a bunch of marigolds in the other. Or if not there, sitting on a marble bench in the Northern Neck of Virginia.