Snobbin: Beautiful Trash in the Pop Culture Gutter

I feel closer to the earth when I go home. I know all the old cliches, especially the hoary old Thomas Wolfe chestnut that "you can't go home again," and I agree partially on principle. Nothing remains the same and each time you bring a different perspective to the people and places of your youth, but something tangible and touching remains. For me, it's the balsams shuddering in a slight breeze, the quiet, static repose of birches near the water's edge, the v-shaped formation of geese heading south, the faint remembrance of the bark of leafless trees -- an interminable number of old signs and slight smells, recalling my childhood and  past. I feel closer to the earth when I go north to the rivers I spent so much time near and the woods I barreled through, uncaring of spiders and ticks, through rainfall and hoarfrost, participating in that age old communion with the land that I feel my ancestors perfected and I must continue. The cold touch of the ground is a mi

I've been visiting graveyards all summer, searching for the famous and not so famous. Here are a few of the photos that I took on my journeys. I will write about Hellbender's "Graveyarded" one of these days, but I thought the song was really appropriate for this post. Too bad that YouTube only has the whole album, Con Limon . I am posting a link to that, as well as these cemetery pics: Jack Kerouac, H.P. Lovecraft, Louisa May Alcott, Henry David Thoreau, John Dillinger, and all. Con Limon