Have a very Bohemian Christmas.

        No, you haven’t had too much eggnog. That tree really is upside down. Are Satanists anticipating the coming of the antichrist by celebrating their own Anti Christmas? Or is this another attempt to confuse Santa – possibly causing him to mistakenly leave behind real presents when only coal is deserved?

Ho ho ho it’s Christmas, but I see it’s also opposite day. That means naughty is nice and nice is naughty!

      Hopefully, that shiny new game system can be safely pried off the ceiling come Christmas morning, granted the glue holds. Don’t blame Old Saint Nick he’s not used to this, hell, he already had to climb a latter to reach his cookies, what more do you want?

      This insidious travesty started out as an innocent idea for economizing space in department stores. Certain people, who shall remain nameless saw the evergreen stalactites and thought, “As a devout fundamentalist Christian, I can not, in good conscience allow a heathenized artifact into my home, but this shall enable me and my family to enjoy all the merits of a pagan tradition while still allowing us to express our disapproval of it.” Other people who shall also remain nameless had similar ideas.

    Feelings range from “Christmas is lame – I mean, can anything be more mainstream? – NOW THAT IS A TREE!” to “Uh . . . I just wanted to do something different this year .” to “Hey everybody look at me!” The trees certainly are not for everyone but recommended if you;

– are a bat.

– think your funny.

– have to stand out in the crowd.

– like doing things the hard way.

– like being slapped in the face by overhanging angels or stars.

– are trying to make some kind of “statement”.

– are a rebel.

– are a surrealist.

– are a Zen Buddhist.

 – are trying to one up the Joneses.

– are Avant-garde and Artsy Fartsy.

– like going against the grain.

– or just plain being an ass.

Once you’ve decided to turn Christmas upside down, the old question arises. Natural, or artificial?

     Seeing as what your doing is already pretty unnatural, why not go all out and use a plastic tree? Artificial, inverted tannenbaums are made with one purpose in mind. That is, laughing in the face of all that is holy.

   Their stands and support systems are often installed at the small end, so that crowning angel will have to take on the role of Atlas as she struggels to steady this top heavy anomaly, and should you favor a star, all I’m saying is it better be a red giant.

   Yet for some, there is no forsaking the fresh sent of a slain plant’s bodily fluids. Going all natural means you’ll have to actually suspend your kill from the ceiling as fur trees lack the physical ability to do hand stands. A complex apparatus is needed that may draw awkward questions the rest of year, so perhaps it’s best to go artificial and use a convenient spray to apply that holiday funk.

   Hopefully, this trend will remain a cult phenomenon, least it spread to other holiday traditions, making them even less practical then before. I hate to think what the world would be like if anti-Semitic (and leaky) menorahs graced Jewish celebrations along with awkward, difficult to spin, dreidels. This could happen but not before incontinent Easter baskets and stockings that can not hold their loot plague more secular traditions in the U.S and elsewhere, turning everything we hold dear, literally, upside down.

     But yet another thought occurs. Perhaps it is we, who are upside down. After all, this is a round planet and such things are relative to one’s location. An American stuck in China for the holidays may see fit to erect a tree that would be right side up in his homeland, and vice versa. Perhaps, this truly is an appropriate rite for the jet setting modern man.

Bohemians At Large; Menacing, Musical, Monoliths, Masters of Wind and Water.

Many of us have learned to accept the burdens of a free society. One of which is having to let people dump their rubbish on public land. Illegal you say? Well what if they called it art?

With all due respect, Robert Rauschenberg must have thrown some really great parties.

I suppose one can get used to anything, but there comes a time when a monstrosity of modernism is no longer content to let itself be seen and not heard.

The Black Pool High Tide Organ – AKA Neptune’s Kazoo



On Black Pool England’s famous promenade is what is known as “The Great Promenade Show” a series of sculptures that includes this thing.

“I don’t get it.” you mutter to yourself. “Could it be Godzilla’s back scratchier, or perhaps a memorial to the local Viking whose inspired aerial assault ended in tragedy.”

The piece was designed by Liam Curtin and John Gooding and is described as “a musical manifestation of the sea” The meaning of this statement becomes clear when tide water strikes the lower pipes, creating a sound not unlike a train engine bearing down on you.

The Black Pool High Tide Organ is a fifty foot vuvuzela meant to be played by a force of nature rather then the trained professionals we all know and love. So if your ever in Black Pool, watch what you say about these rough and ferocious tones, least an easily-offended sea-god is lurking somewhere offshore.

Wind Harp Musical Monument, South San Francisco. AKA Aeolus’ Didgeridoo



On a hill in South San Francisco overlooking the bay is what appears to be an alien oil rig. What precious resources can it be sucking out of our hapless mother earth? The good news? It doesn’t want our oil, the bad news? It seems to think it can sing.

Originally built in 1967 it was designed by Aristides Demetrios and Lucia Eames. It was to be the center piece of an industrial park, but fell into disrepair in the years since. It was purchased by the city in 1993, refurbished and rededicated, so that it may continue to entertain those determined enough to walk several blocks and climb a steep hill.

Though on a windy day the ominous hum can carry for miles, a summons most likely, for its loyal servants. At a whopping 92 feet it is the tallest musical monolith on this list, and one of the largest of it’s kind in the world. So if your wondering exactly what kind of sounds it can produce – my guess would be, anything it wants.

San Francisco Wave Organ. AKA The Bagpipes of Cthulhu.


Occurring suspiciously close to the wind harp is a rocky jetty that seems to be a remnant of Atlantis, or perhaps R’lyeh. Fallen walls and toppled pillars interspersed with tangled pluming gasp and gurgle with the voices of a thousand drowned souls, or perhaps a massive monster, snoring in the tunnels beneath.

The truth behind this mysterious ruin may disappoint you, for it is merely a noisy art piece.

A noisy art piece made in 1986 from the salvaged stones of a demolished cemetery. This feat was made possible by Frank Oppenheimer, a man who never lived to see its completion.

The wave Organ is the work of Peter Richards and George Gonzales, and was inspired by the recordings of Sound artist Bill Fontana – who one day thought to poke a microphone into a hollow pipe he found sticking out of a pier.

Where would we be without idiots?

Despite its ominous past the whispering ruin is seen as a peaceful hideaway, calling young and old to sit and read, play or fish, an insidious tourist trap lurking just off the beaten path.

Sea Organ Croatia. AKA Huracan’s Harmonica.


Zadar Croatia has seen it’s share of both war and tourism, the latter having damaged it’s seawall, the former having turned it into a keyboard.

After the second world war the wall was slowly replaced with a straight and spartan stretch of concrete, that totally clashed with it’s world renown sunsets. It was not until 2005 that an Architect named Nikola Basic completed the Organ, which has received the “European Prize For Urban Public Space.”

So now your thinking. “Ok, where is it, all I see are some steps. But what is that beautiful noise? It’s as if an angelic whale has fallen out of heaven and landed on a Peruvian flute band.” The Sea Organ of Zadar Croatia is so dedicated to it’s music that it prefers to be heard and not seen, a series of marble steps descend in a simple yet elegant pattern into the waves . . . The water slides across them like fingers, playing as if in accompaniment to the bells of the ancient city’s many churches, and the whispers of its many ghosts.

The Singing, Ringing Tree. AKA The Panpipes of Pazuzu.


At only about three meters tall, this odd pile of scrap is the smallest monument listed here, but produces what I believe to be the most fascinating sound. It also cuts a wicked silhouette against the stark countryside of East Lancashire, England. One of four “Panopticons” (Structures providing a comprehensive view)

Or (Wonderous bastions of Randomness)

The tree and it’s brethren were completed in 2006, to commemorate a local “renaissance” (The Aliens have landed methinks.) Mike Tonkin and Anna Liu designed the sculpture, many of whose metal pipes are “just for show” many functional pipes arranged among these actually produce the sound, which, seems to be the auditory incarnation of pure, unadulterated eerie.

So which one is your favorite?

I’ve included links to places where one might listen to the sounds of these sonic wonders or one can simply search their names for many amazing images and videos, as well. Happy hunting!


A Bohemians at Large Special Report!


Art Animals Invade!

This one has a freeze ray.

Large and often dangerous beasts have been pouring into our cities from lord knows what planet, flaunting their outrageous mutations and daring us to stop them.

    Some say it’s a virus created in Switzerland ( a normally neutral country ) where it was injected Into cattle and exported worldwide. For a time the affliction remained bovine, then spread to pigs and horses.

Piggy back rides, in Bath!

A local strain has caused Alligators in my home town to walk upright. Pelicans elsewhere in the state have grown to unusual size and fish in the port city of New Orleans have started to walk about on land.

Tis’ the End of Days!

A recent incursion of Moose monsters out of Canada has roused new suspicions on the origins of this creeping surge which scientists have dubbed “Fabulosis”.

There are those that claim the creatures are but visions, manifestations of our deepest desires, marching out of the dreams of school children, the ambitions merchants and the minds of psychopaths. Appeals from animal rights organizations have spared these abominations, most of which seem innocent enough, though rumor has it some less G – rated specimens have been taken into custody.


This is the David Lynch cow. It has a right to remain disturbing.

It is also clear that many of the things have sold out, opting to sport corporate symbols rather then the honest work of the common man.


It wasn’t until 2004 that the Militant Graffiti Artists of Stockholm decided to stand their ground, saying that,

“We, the members of The Militant Graffiti Artists of Stockholm feel morally obligated to protect our city against the cows that have invaded our streets.”

And protect it they did, hostages were taken, fiberglass heads rolled – and a message was sent to ad-wizards everywhere that the right to besmirch Stockholm’s streets with garish schlock was a right that belonged to its people!

In light of the recent violence in Sweden, a race of bear mutants has banded together – throwing their paws In the air as if to say “Why can’t we all just get along.” They have traveled to various nations, standing in a circle and preaching their message of peace – but one wonders if there isn’t an ulterior motive. After all, one doesn’t see any other animals among them . . .

All we are saaaaaaaaaaying . . .

Buddy bears today, Tomorrow, The World.

More Bohemians At Large!!!

It wasen’t easy, but somehow I’ve managed to scrounge up some more of my favorite people.


In the museum of on it? They made their choice!

   Amongst the baggers and taggers of our streets, a very special kind of punk does roam. He is does not concern himself with the crudely scrawled genitalia of lesser men, oh no, he is a graffiti artist.

Imitation is the surest form of vandalism.

With aerosol cans shaken and ready he sets out to conquer his urban canvas – etching out visions of little green men and claw snapping hipster lizards. Quickly his arms race across the walls – completing in mere minutes a masterpiece that is soon to fade beneath the chicken scratch of jealous philistines. Like his work he to will vanish, quickly as he appeared, in a cacophony of color.

If one was to catch him by his capacious pants, and look him in the eye, would there be a face at which to shake one’s finger? Or merely the deeper shadows of his hoodie? Perhaps, but first you must catch him.

He went this through this door, officier, I swear!


Will, be a mermaid, for money.

All it takes to be a werewolf is a lost razor and a hygiene problem, all it takes to be a wizard is a beard and a book of spells, all it takes to be a pirate is a little copyright infringement, and all it takes to be a vampire is a strong stomach and a complete lack of shame. To be a mermaid however, requires the hard work and dedication of a true professional.

They may not be the fastest fish in the sea but they are a joy to watch, dawning their unique hand crafted scale mail to brave the waves.

Few can comprehend the courage it takes to plunge oneself into open water with naught but a ridiculous outfit standing between wild nature and tender human fiddly bits.

Once there stood a submarine theater in San Marcos Texas where these elusive creatures could perform in safety, but with the days of Aquarena Springs long gone and the whereabouts of Ralph, the swimming pig, uncertain, the mermaids of the world have swam south, perhaps to greener pastures in Australia’s colorful reefs, or perhaps they have gone west – to seek a contract with Disney.

Whatever the case I shall miss you, you strange semi-aquatic entrepreneurs. I wish you luck upon your long journey to wherever that may be – follow the tuna to never land, and send me a pair of long seaweed stockings when your get there.


If you love your billbord. Set it free. If comes back to you, it’s yours. If it dosn’t, it was never meant to be.

  Just when society thought it was safe, to flaunt its various discrepancies to the disillusioned masses. These guys crawled out of those very masses.

Before they intervened, our public spaces were enslaved to the almighty dollar, forced to cower behind the obvious lies of the man.

Now a light has been shined, through all the glamour and hype – a door that can never be closed. “We too, can make signs!” scream the people – “but we’d rather fool with yours!”

Now that liquor conglomerate falters before pouring its single malt into that vaguely phallic bottle, and ruthlessly edits its ads in search of ambiguous, four-letter words. More often than not, that drilling company won’t even try to apologize for the spill, knowing how easily it all rhymes with fish kill.

Authorities warn businesses to be mindful of suggestive imagery – small, easy to reach, text, and pickles that can possibly be painted brown. They have also issued a formal Ad-visory for the following products; Smuckers jam, Schlitz and Pabst beers, S & M family outlets, and Blimpie subs. Target of course, has proven to be an obvious – well, you know.

Failing to comply with the Ad-visory can have devastating consequences. Their latest insurrection dealt a grievous blow to a beloved fast food franchise, who had refused to take the threat seriously. Now we all how easy it is to super size a clown.


I’d like to take a moment to remind everyone that these activities are a crime.

Perpetrators can face up to a week in jail and have their poetic licenses revoked.

Bohemians At Large

Warning! These colorful nonconformists or coming! They are not quite anarchists, not quite hippies. Like hipsters you probably wouldn’t have heard of them, but the threat is real. Report any you have seen.They are armed and dexterous. More are born every instant and I strive to capture each and every one!


Tea cozy? Hows about a tree cozy bi-och!

Citizens be warned, what started as a minor invasion of colorful critters has now become a blight that is sweeping the nation. Tired of rejection at the hands of ungrateful nieces and nephews, disgruntled aunties are laying siege to our public places with intent to clothe the world in their tacky creations. What’s worse – they are teaching this outrageous haberdashery to our youth, who in turn defile our sacred monuments with unflattering lumpy sweaters and blasphemous woolen caps.

“I had no idea they’d use it for evil!” Screams Miss Flutterbe as her coven of quilters are questioned for their involvement in peddling this practice to impressionable teens. Authorities advise citizens to be mindful of the ever mounting cost to homes and businesses. That now must be dry-cleaned weekly.

Note, that this is not some yarn I’m spinning – it’s all (somewhat) true. Just Google Urban Knitting and be awestruck by the devastation these crafty cultists have unleashed upon the establishment, and marvel at the audacity it takes to drag a once wholesome activity into the depths of utter caous.

I’ve recently been informed that the days of this scourge are numbered. The U.S. Government – being the party poopers that they are, have released trillions of clothes moths upon affected cities. To this offenders have replied, “Crochet!”


Is it Dr. Livingston or something more sinister?


Picture this, you’re a bored security guard in a creepy, old building no one is ever likely to use again, or lord forbid, some disillusioned soul who has sworn off the man forever in favor of a more liberal drinking schedule.

You hear footsteps echo through the empty rooms of your latest dive. An owl flies from the gutted rafters. It’s silent wings scattering the dust of fifty years. You hear the click of a gun being cocked, and wait in silence for your uninvited guest to show himself.

Surprise, it’s just some guy with a camera. “Hi I was just – taking some pictures.” He says. Yeah right.

Its been happening more and more in the darkest most forgotten corners of our communities. Persons calling themselves Urban Explorers are stirring up the sands of time and baring witness to history.

These intrepid rouges risk life and litigation to bring us the truth behind that creepy house on the hill, that once grand hotel, and that mysterious and dangerous network of tunnels beneath our feet. One may read of their exploits on many astounding websites – that shall remain nameless – for they have sworn me to secrecy.

To find them must one simply explore.



I have planted the petunias, SIR!

The efforts of environmentalists to prevent deforestation has largely failed, but these tenacious tree huggers have teamed up with the worlds vegans to start a new Re – forestation movement. Old news, you say? What If I said they intended to do it smack dab in the middle of town?

Their weapons are shovels and pitchforks, saplings and bags of manure, and bombs. Yes I said bombs, seed bombs. These quaint little pods are often poured into gumball machines, for obnoxious children to purchase and plant. The pods contain what are purported to be ‘wild grasses’ which we all know to be a fancy name for weeds.

Dude run! It’s a sequoia!

“Who will protect our golf courses from of the ravages of ailanthus and buttercups? Who will keep the riff raff away frow our roses? Who will tell little Susie that those dandelions are not ‘real’ flowers?” cries the public as vegans launch phase two of the plan.

Yes sir – ee, the veggies are coming. Soon we shall be so deep in broccoli that we’ll have to eat our way through just to reach a McDonalds. Chances of having any more room for chicken nuggets are slim. (One starts to see a method to this madness.)

Slowly it creeps across empty lots and vacant parks, up the walls and balconies and into our homes, tempting us with the sent of tomato flavored tomatoes, and the shade of its all-encompassing oaks. Resistance is futile!

(eats tomato.)


Insiders advise activists to be wary of food grown in contaminated soil.

A prehensile tail may be useful, but it will make you a lot easier to catch.