The Royal Janitor
I should be doing my podcast instead of being fixated on Ian Fleming and James Bond. The Rock is considered a Bondish movie, starring Sean Connery. Everyone in my family hates the truth that I own Biblical Knowledge. When Christine Wandel saw me before my easel, working on a large canvas – and smoking a cigarette – she had to have me – which is the title of the poem I wrote about her. She said I looked like a young Humphry Bogart. Getting no help to be who I am, and forbidden to be anybody, I now assume the identity of,,,,,,
DON JUAN ROSCOE
When Victoria Rosemond Bond saw Don John Roscoe the Third on the giant screen at the British Art Department, her lower-being – DUMPED! This was the word she used to discribe how turned on she was.
“It was like a huge of molten steel was – dumped into a mold. For thje first time I felt like a heterosexual. I was now….Molded Lust! My being was tempered in pure Sexual Conquest. I wanted Don John lile a leopard a hot panting gazelle. I wanted – to chase Don down, and taste his hot blood.. John was at the helm of the Santana that belonged to Bogart. When John spotte the attorney general on the boat heading to Alcatraz Island, he pulled aside, sent his Jolly Roger up the mast, and with a megaphone, let the Presidents Woman Gunslinger have a
BLAST OF TRUTH
This is Captain Don The Juan Roscoe, the rightful owner of Alcatraz. I deny you passage and landing on whar belonged to my ancestor John Fremont. This island””
“IS MINE!”
When POTUS saw rhe newswreal he went balsituc.
“He’s got mhy name. He stold my name. That’s me. That’s my island!”
To be continued.
John of San Francisco
Posted on June 12, 2021 by Royal Rosamond Press
John of San Francisco
by
John Presco
Copyright 2021
Mr. John Holmes John bought Bullocks & Jones Tailor Shop the second he heard it was closing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” John asked incredulously.
Preskowitz – Master Tailors | Rosamond Press
John-John – as his friends and family called him – was the great grandson of Charles Janke (John) the son of Carl Janke, the founder of Belmont, and California Pioneer. Carl married Dorothea Peterson, an English spy, that Carl met on Heligoland Island, that was known as ‘Spy Island’. Here spies from many nations came to spawn, as they called it. Who do you trust? You had to trust a fellow spy long enough to let down your shield in order to form a bond, even get married – and have children. Sherlock Holmes grandfather was no exception. He met Miss Peterson, and fell in love. Then Mr. Holmes – was gone! Going to the dock to see her lover off, she was severely distracted by the handsome figure of Charles John, who infamous ancestors were Prussians who did business with the Welsh in order to create that special Nation-People, that in all affects was the first European Union – that tried to conquer the world on two occasions with a military that was par excellante’.
The European Union Kingdom of Heligoland | Rosamond Press
“The Juan”
Posted on September 6, 2019 by Royal Rosamond Press
Here is another prophetic post. I do not recall if I used “The Don” as a model for Don Roscoe who represented Little Hollywood. Two years after this post, I found the Buck oil spill. Bob Buck owns the law firm that empowered Liars! The Republican Party, the Nation, the World is in deep doo-doo due to the Lies of The Don! No writer has delved deeper into The Art of Lying, more than me! The Don has trashed the EPA and alarmed out allies over the world environment.
The Juan owns the California Barrel Company and marries a Barrel Company Heiress. This is profound because Meg Whitman came to own the CBC and got involved in making Quicky movies.
Roscoe was also based on Robert Vesco. Rena told me one of her three sisters, who were models, was Vesco’s mistress. She lived in Washington D.C. Watergate folks are in the mix. Drugs for arms – Nixon!
I had a dream last night. I was in a gallery looking at Christine’s amazing new work that was full of Fairies!
John
Frank H. Buck’s Big Oil Spill
Posted on August 1, 2017by Royal Rosamond Press
Who paid for the clean-up? Did Robert Buck hide the history of his ancestor? How many seabirds were shot dead in Marin County? Who paid for the shotgun shells?
Jon Presco
San Francisco Bay, 1937
Not much is known about the immediate environmental effects of San Francisco Bay’s worst oil spill. That’s mainly because it took place in the late 1930s, when we just weren’t paying much attention to ecological issues.
But what we do know about the incident is that the passenger ship President Coolidge rammed the oil tanker Frank H. Buck at Lands End just outside the Golden Gate Bridge on March 6, 1937, and that the Buck then spilled about 2.73 million gallons of crude oil into the water — either immediately, or after storms thwarted halting efforts to pump remaining oil out of the ruined ship’s cargo tanks.
Don ‘The Juan’ Roscoe
Posted on December 15, 2015by Royal Rosamond Press
‘Anatomy of a Rogue Wave’
Don Roscoe and Humphrey Bogart had many things in common, the foremost being, they owned yachts that were far superior to Jack London’s wreck ‘The Snark’. On the San Francisco Bay, one could see Don’s yacht ‘Bohemian Roe’ racing Bogies Boat ‘Santana’ past Alcatraz Island. Every other boat owner looked on in awe. From the Berkeley Hills you could make out this incredible sight that American Intellectuals titled ‘The Zenith of Western Culture’. This infuriated the Swells in Los Angeles, and other Hollywood Stars who were befuddled. The Kennedy family took note, and shrugged their shoulders.
“Why aren’t we the Capitol of Western Culture?” they asked over and over again, to no avail.
In 1941, San Francisco almost lost the title due to Otto Roscoe producing the worst musical ever made. Otto’s ancestors were Forty-Eighters and founders of the Secular Turnverien, German social clubs that speckled the American landscape. Otto’s father, Wensel Roscoe, fled Bohemia Germany when the German Socialists lost to the Habsburg Monarchy, who had always defended the Pope in Rome, that many Turnverein titled ‘The Anti-Christ’. With the rise of Hitler, German Americans were getting a bad name, and were looked on suspiciously. There was talk of deporting them en mass, or confining them to a desert in Nevada, behind a high wall. Being a spokesperson for the Bohemian Diaspora, Otto Stutenmeister (the real family name) was pressured to act.
Eight months before Pear Harbor, Otto contacted a Jewish screen writer who some say was pixielated. In three days, Dameon Gallstein wrote HELLZAPOPPIN. starring Ole Olson, and Chic Johnson, These two clowns shamelessly ripped off the identity of the most hated couple in the world, Martin and Osa Johnson, whose real cannibal footage blew everyone’s mind, even Hitler’s, who sent a German destroyer to destroy these inferior people who kept him up at night in terrible dreams. This movie was pre-Psychedelic. When a young Ronald Reagan saw it, he stood up at the premiere and said it should be banned! Years later he would apply his opinions to the Hippie Movement.
The Fuehrer had a morbid fear of being put in a big pot and eaten by cannibals. As a boy, he had read Louis de Rougemont. As a coincidence, Martin Johnson sailed on ‘The Snark’, but abandoned ship, in disgust;
“This scow won’t sail into the wind!
Don ‘The Juan’ Roscoe, was the author of famous Adventure Novels, that critics said were better than anything London wrote. Don also plagiarised the Johnsons who everyone hated. They were too real. They did really interesting things, and were never bored. On top of that, their love for each other was without equal, and without end. They owned real love, while everyone else in the world were real frauds living a boring life and headed for a divorce. The Johnsons were guilty of – rubbing it everyone’s face! Every week they received a fresh death threat.
“They’re as good as dead!” said Don’s publisher. “Why let all that good adventure go to waste?”
[The Johnson Curse was exploited by Ronald and Nancy Reagan, and the Kennedys. Most folks knew Jack was a cheater, and his marriage was on the rocks. The last place Jack wanted to go, was to Texas. He knew there were real nuts living there.]
Don’s fans knew he never left California, had never seen the world, but, he was born in San Francisco, and thus he was the Acme of Male Achievement. He was given the title ‘The California Kid’ which made Errol Flynn, green with envy.
When ‘The Bohemian Roe’ beat ‘The Santana’ three times in a row, there could be no doubt, Don was ‘The King of San Francisco’ …….and Oakland! The Godfather of American Literature, who made New York his headquarters, gave Don the nod. Hollywood came calling. They knew a real phony when they saw one. When Otto heard his son was being wooed, he exerted his German authority.
Otto was ‘King Barrel’ and owned of the California Barrel Company. It was no secret he supplied Bootleggers with barrels, and thus they loved him near to death. With a hit move, he could put a Pincer move on his hated rival, Wallace Westhaven, who was getting in his face. At the same time, he could give all Germans a better image by being aggressive and competitive like America’s finest families. Wallace and his family were at the epicenter of Connecticut Bluebloods. The Mafia families refused to fuck with them, because they descend from crazy Highlanders who painted themselves blue. The ancient Irish also painted themselves blue, and having whipped the snot out of the Roman Legions on several occasions, the Italian families of the Big Apple gave these people a wide birth.
“Let them blow on their pigskins!” Said Al Capone. “As long as they don’t muscle in on our turf, what business is it of ours?’
Otto was not happy that his son had become a playboy, who got caught smoking cigarets with Bogie’s dish, Lauren Bacall. Bogie was not a smoker. He only pretended to smoke. He forbade his wife to smoke. Philip Morris had him on their payroll. Just before reporters snapped a picture, he had Lauren light him a cigarette. This is how she got addicted to nicotine. At a luncheon in Pasadena, Don and Lauren met on the veranda, and she took a couple of puffs from his cigarette.
Taking in her Bad Girl Good Looks, Don was laying on her the origin of his surname.
“It means ‘Born of the Roe of the Black Forest’. It’s a German thing, an ancient fairytale full of fawns and naked Pixies.”
Don understood most educated young women wanted to be naked Pisxies in the forest, and, ‘The Juan’ never failed to get young beauties in his bed after his magical tale was told.
“My father imports oak from the Black Forest to make the finest barrels ever made!” Lauren gave Don, the look, and let go a long puff of thoughtful smoke.
“Sounds like a lot of bullshit to me!”
The Juan understood, this woman was ‘Bogie Trained’. The rivalry, was on!
A month before the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor ‘”Pig Foot Pete” the hit tune from Hellzapoppin, was nominated for an academy award. It was put out in the cold by Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’. Overnight, Americans began to hate the Germans. This is when Don began his search for her, The All American Girl. She had to be extremely beautiful, and a Patriot. The Juan spotted Irene Westhaven when she accepted the award for Bing, who was laid up in the hospital after breaking his leg in a skiing accident while a guest of Wally Westhaven, the President of the Westhaven Barrel Company of Greater Connecticut. Wally was very tight with Bing, who had his eye on Irene. Bingo!
“She’s the one for me!”
Today, most insiders know Mel Brooks ripped off Hellzapoppin when her wrote the screenplay for ‘The Producers’.
When Hitler saw Aryan women being grilled on a spit by Jewish Hollywood Devils, he was furious. He made plans to invade Russia – before the last reel!
Jon Presco
Copyright 2015
In 1917, Martin and Osa departed on a nine-month trip through the New Hebrides (Vanuatu) and Solomon Islands. The highlight of the trip was a brief, but harrowing, encounter with a tribe called the Big Nambas of northern Malekula. Once there, the chief was not going to let them leave. The intervention of a British gunboat helped them escape. The footage they got there inspired the feature film Among the Cannibal Isles of the South Seas (1918).
PORTSMOUTH — A 55-foot schooner known affectionately as “Bogie’s Boat” after its former owner, the late movie star Humphrey Bogart, arrived recently in Melville for a complete refit and restoration.
The yacht built in 1935 arrived at Loughborough Marine Interests LLC about three weeks ago after being hauled by truck in a custom-built cradle from San Francisco.
“We will be embarking on a huge refit and restoration of the yacht starting next month,” said Joseph Loughborough, owner of the company. “We basically have to take the boat apart and rebuild it stick by stick.”
Getting the contract for the restoration of the yacht, which Bogart named Santana, is very exciting because it is so historically significant, Loughborough said.
The owners of the boat surveyed it in California to find faults but they missed a lot of things that need replacing, he said.
“We have done a couple of her sister ships so we have a pretty good idea where to look a little harder,” he said.
He estimated the refit and restoration would take 18 months with crew of eight or 10 workers or even 15 experienced workers in some instances. The work is likely to cost about $1.5 million.
“She is going to be gorgeous but there is a lot of work to do,” Loughborough said of the Santana. “I mean really a lot of work.”
Much of the significant history of the yacht is connected to the period from 1945 to 1957 when Bogart owned and sailed it. Although his love affair with Lauren Bacall is legendary, his son Stephen said Santana was really his father’s great love affair.
“Apparently Lauren Bacall wasn’t very fond of the boat,” Loughborough said. “This was the boys’ boat.”
That assessment is confirmed by a quote often attributed to Bogart: “The trouble with having dames on board is you can’t pee over the side.”
He is said to have spent 35 to 45 weekends a year aboard Santana and frequently raced the yacht.
Since Bogart’s death in 1957, the Santana has changed hands many times. It has been featured in articles in Cruising World in 2005 and Sports Illustrated in 1981.
Until last year, it was owned by Paul Kaplan, part owner of one of the largest boatyards in San Francisco Bay.
Kaplan sold it in October to a group with connections to Nantucket, Mass. The group had it hauled to Melville for restoration. Loughborough said the group wants to remain anonymous.
“These guys say they are not going to do much racing, but as soon as it’s done they will be racing,” he predicted.
They are from California and intend to bring the yacht back to the West Coast, he said.
This is not the first time the Santana has been in Rhode Island.
The Santana sailed in the 1938 Newport to Bermuda Race and won the schooner trophy. It returned 30 years later, but had less success.
Loughborough said his previous experience refitting two other yachts built by yacht designer Sparkman & Stephens helped him win the contract for the Santana.
A growing talent pool in the Newport area also helped.
“If someone was going to rebuild a wooden boat 20 or 25 years ago, everyone would say, ‘Go to Maine,’” Loughborough said. “I have been here since 1986 and the whole classic boat movement has kind of generated a talent pool on this island and it’s just getting better and better.”
He cited the graduates of the International Yacht Restoration School in Newport as a factor in the development of that pool.
Loughborough pointed out some of the work that will be needed to restore the Santana. The teak deck and mahogany furniture are worn. Teak stands up better than mahogany, he said, so he might use it to replace the mahogany. Stainless steel pieces on the yacht will be replaced with brass as was originally used. The new owners want it to be as original as possible, he said.
They may even replace the refrigerator on board with an ice box.
“We will remove every other plank so we can see the framing,” he said. “Anything that is preservable on the original boat we will preserve.”
Rosamond of The Hot Asphalt Jungle
Posted on March 19, 2021 by Royal Rosamond Press
Capturing Beauty
by
John Presco
Copyright 2021
There are a thousand Jaw-Droppers in this blog, but that longest-lasting one, is the one I just read at 2:00 P.M. March 19, 2021. I have wondered if dead members of the Black Mask are acting as my Muses. I just read that Ben Maddow authored the biography of Edward Weston who is the model for my character Frank Rosefish, who is a Francis Rosamond name. The legacy of the world famous artist, Christine Rosamond Benton, was destroyed by the law firm of Sydney Morris and Robert Buck. Morris mishandled the estate of Brett Weston the son of Edward according to a woman I talked to. In response to the movie that Morris approved of in a legal document, I began my book-movie idea……
Anatomy of a Rogue Wave
Rosemary told me her father used to camp on the Channel Islands with Dashiell Hammet. Her sister told me she saw Royal in their living room with Erle Stanly Gardener, typing away. Dashiell and Ben were investigated by McCarthy. Royal ran as a Socialist for a seat in Ventura. I was censored and oppressed by at least one member of the Belmont Historical Society, who saw my post on Stackpole, and have yet to say how wonderful this connection is. This leads me to suspect there were plots to steal my family information. These plots have been foiled by Private Investigators From Their Graves. My lawsuit against Robert Buck – is now been stamped by…..The Hard-boiled Detective Death Guild. There is now a great chance I will get my daughter and grandchildren back, they told I was out of my mind. With the Ludwig Wittgenstein connection to Norbert Davis, I need help in making a study of what can be titled
The Greatest Literary Prefiguring In Human History
I will be contacting the History Channel and other shows that are interested. I copyright the California Barrell Company in my story posted December 15, 2015.
John Presco
President: Royal Rosamond Press
Otto was ‘King Barrel’ and owned of the California Barrel Company. It was no secret he supplied Bootleggers with barrels, and thus they loved him near to death. With a hit move, he could put a Pincer move on his hated rival, Wallace Westhaven, who was getting in his face. At the same time, he could give all Germans a better image by being aggressive and competitive like America’s finest families. Wallace and his family were at the epicenter of Connecticut Bluebloods.
The act of prefiguring; antecedent representation; presage; prognostication.
Belmont Bans History & News | Rosamond Press
The Philosopher Detective | Rosamond Press
Am I Stackpole’s Historian? | Rosamond Press
Ben Maddow, 83, a novelist, biographer, poet and screenwriter whose work included the classic John Huston film “The Asphalt Jungle,” died in a Hollywood hospital Friday of congestive heart failure. He worked as a ghostwriter under assumed names in order to survive blacklisting during the anti-Communist McCarthy era in the early 1950s. The writer was targeted as “unemployable” under his own name because of past left-wing affiliations. His illustrated biography of photographer Edward Weston was nominated for a National Book Award in 1974.
A valuable contribution to this new history has now ap peared in the form of a handsoinely produced volume about one of the “major creative talents” sited by Mr. Millard: Ben MaddoW’s “Edward Weston: Fifty Years” (Aperature, $40), accurately described on its title page as an “illustrated biography.” This publication also claims to be the “definitive volume” of Weston”s photoghaphic Work. Inidar IS .atly single volume can be said to contain a “definitive” representation Of an oeuvre numbering into thousands of items, the claim. is more or less justified. No living person (as Mr. Maddow reminds us) has seen all of the negatives that Weston preserved and carefuly catalogued, so we may be reasonably certain that future publications will offer important supplements to the present volume. What Mr. Maddox has written, however, is nothing less than one of the best books about a great photographer we have ever had, and Aperture has given it an exemplary production.
Sydney Morris ‘The Sizzle Man’ | Rosamond Press
WESTON RETROSPECTIVE (CHICARGO) (moma.org)
Edward Weston: The Eye of Eternity – The New York Times (nytimes.com)
The Asphalt Jungle – Wikipedia
He earned his first feature screenplay credit with Framed (1947). Other screenplays include Clarence Brown‘s Intruder in the Dust (1949, an adaptation of the William Faulkner novel), John Huston‘s The Asphalt Jungle (1950, for which he received an Academy Award nomination), Johnny Guitar (1954, credited to Philip Yordan who wrote it on location), God’s Little Acre (1958, an adaptation of the Erskine Caldwell novel, originally credited to Philip Yordan as a HUAC-era “front” for Maddow, and with title card restored to Maddow, only, during the UCLA Film and Television Archive restoration), and, again with Huston, an Edgar Award for Best Mystery Screenplay) and The Unforgiven (1960).
Am I Stackpole’s Historian? | Rosamond Press
The Honorable Fortune Cookie | Rosamond Press
Kidnapped To Sea Wolf Island
Posted on May 24, 2022 by Royal Rosamond Press
Red Rock Island, San Francisco Bay
There is a boat ride I’d like to be on. A boat with members of the Jack London Society – that has met in Belmont – that leaves Vallejo, where Christine Rosamond Benton was born. This boat has to go by Red Rock Island where my series ‘Sea Wolf Island’ takes place. Are you kidding (kidnapping) me? I told you my stories write themselves – and I am a Futurian. Jack London claimed he was a Futurian. I’m going to have the Pacific Pearl encounter a strange summer fog lingering around Red Rock Island. Entering the fog, the sightseers encounter Captain Vic in his old Chris Craft, who boards with his motely crew made up of old Oakland Raiders and Hell’s Angels.
Disney Studios made the movie ‘Call of The Wild’. Jack lived in Belmont. Governor DeSantis and the Tea Party are trying to hijack Disney World, and destroy the leftist media. London was a socialist.
John Presco
London In Belmont | Rosamond Press
Horgan: Author Jack London didn’t last long in Belmont (mercurynews.com)
The Red Rock Sailor | Rosamond Press
‘The Rock’ Is A Bond Movie? | Rosamond Press
Davian Hurt and Belmont Mayor Censored Me | Rosamond Press
___$80 Jack London-themed guided Boat Tour of the Carquinez Strait, December 12
ALL ABOARD FOR A JACK LONDON-THEMED BOAT TOUR ON THE CARQUINEZ STRAIT, THE PACIFIC PEARL SETS SAIL(UM, MOTOR) ON SUNDAY, JUNE 5, 2022
by kbrandt2013
The Jack London-themed boat tour of the Carquinez Strait is fully booked and we are starting a wait list. If you’d like to be added to the list, please send an email to Aleta George. Don’t send money at this time.
Join author and historian Aleta George and the Jack London Society for an exclusive Jack London-themed boat tour on Sunday, June 5, 2022, from 9 a.m. to 11 a.m. The Up Bay tour aboard the Pacific Pearl, a 50-foot Delta Marine charter boat, begins in Vallejo, motors about eight-miles up the Strait to Benicia, and returns to Vallejo.
Jack London is best known for his world adventures, but his training ground, muse, and lifelong love was the San Francisco Bay. He sailed these waters at the turn of the 19th century as a teen wharf rat, pirate, freelancer with the California Fish Patrol, and bestselling author.
The trip will take you on a journey of fact and fiction to geographic locations that serve as touchstones to London’s imagination and experiences, while exploring the cultural diversity of those on the water with him. Aleta George, your guide, is writing a book about Jack London and his lifelong relationship with the San Francisco Bay.
This tour is being presented in partnership with the Jack London Society and in cooperation with the Vallejo Yacht Club, of which London was once a member.
Register here for an exclusive Jack London-themed guided tour of the Carquinez Strait aboard the Pacific Pearl. Our tour guide will be Jack London Society’s own Aleta George. We launch on Sunday, December 12, 2021, from Vallejo Yacht Club at 11 AM. The tour will last approximately 2 hours. Space is limited to 30 people.
Sea Wolf Island
Posted on February 11, 2020 by Royal Rosamond Press
Red Rock Island, San Francisco Bay
Shanghaied – Kidnapped to Sea Wolf Island
A Philosophical Business Adventure and Reality School Show
by
John Presco
Copyright 2020
Learn The Hard Way
Simulated Violence – No Children Allowed
As a historian, I am amazed what my ancestors did, and everyone’s kinfolk. Most of them had only the Bible to read, and use as a reference, to see if they are doing things the right way. Everything’s in the Bible. Jack London looked to Nietzsche and Spencer, for a newer clue. His Sea Wolf is about new adventures. Has the world run out of them?
EXTRA! Three hours after I posted this, I am sitting in Burger King watching a trailer for London’s ‘Call of the Wild’. I have seen other humans for days. Last evening I’m talking with Casey Farrell (Spooky Noodles) on Irving Street in San Francisco, about the Topical Merry-Go-Round, how there exist only so many Great American Stories – and they’re all due to come around again. Perhaps it’s because we are Old Timers, now, or, we have acquired ‘The Wisdom of Solomon’ we have the sight. And, we agreed to split the gold of one of us strikes it rich. Which is saying, we don’t have much time left to strike it rich – and spend it if we do!
We are such a young nation and culture. China, Japan, Russia, are very interested in what’s going down here. Once the reign of ‘The Stable Genius’ is over, I believe all us Americans are going to enjoy an incredible renaissance!
In the top photo is Lilian and Dick, Rosemary and Vic. My uncle flew around sixty missions over Germany in a bomber. He had a huge scar up his neck and across his chin from a piece of shrapnel. This is like a Heidelberg Dueling Scar. My father served on a Merchant ship up in the Elutians. He claims a Eskimo Chief offered him his daughter after he gave him knife. When these two Veterans got in the same room, they exchanged wars stories for hours, off by themselves, they making them all fresh, lest they forget.
THE SEA WOLF
Yesterday, I discovered Red Rock Island is for sale. How perfect, because there remains one last great adventure Out West. Have you ever wanted to be shanghaied (simulated) while enjoying a cocktail in Sam’s Anchor Café, then taken to an island and held captive by a megalomaniac, a despot, who has absolute control over you – a real man -who crams his philosophy of life down your throat? And you better swallow it, or things will go bad for you…….Very bad!
Well, apparently millions of Americans want to do just this. But, do they really know what they are getting themselves into? Is there a School of Abuse that can prepare our young for what lie ahead? According to the hired Rosamond Ghost Writer, if you were a child of Victor William Presco (who I call ‘Captain Victim’) you have a fifty-fifty chance of becoming a gifted artist if you were his child, and, you were severely abused by him! You can’t get these odds in a expensive Art School. Send them to Presco’s Pre-School of Hard-knocks, and save a ton of money!
Jack London’s ‘The Sea Wolf’ will be used as a guide. My uncle, Jim Bigalow, owned Sam’s in Tiberon, and Crucheon’s in Berkeley where he hung a painting allegedly done by Walter Keene. It was a blonde woman standing by a old white shack. Jim had the Keenes over for dinner at his home in the Marina. Female artist wannabes can feel doubly oppressed, when in Sam’s appear Larsen’s crew. They throw gunny sacks over the heads of our Victim’s, then herd them down a gangplank. Our captives have to wade ashore before the bags are removed. They will see the lights from the bridge. So close to civilization, yet, so far away. The movie ‘Big Eyes’ will be shown how willing people are t give up their free will, and allow a Abuser to control their souls.
There is a cave on Sea Wolf Island, that Larsen’s Lackey’s will stay in the first two day. On the third day, tents are set up on the beach, and the cave is turned into a jail. Rebels will be lowered from a rope to scrub the graffiti away.
Spencer will be required reading, as is Rosamond’s bio. There will be discussions around the campfire about how the hell did Captain Vic’s famous daughter end up in the sea. Vic drilled water safety into us.
There will be two Art Schools of Cruelty down in L.A. Knight Templars will kidnap students and take them to Santa Rosa Island where members of the Black Mask camped with my grandfather, Royal Rosamond. Hammett’s ‘The Maltese Falcon’ will be discussed, and the Film Noir of Raymond Chandler. One will learn how t get themselves in and out of real trouble so they will own a real palette to work from.
There will be an All Woman’s Class at the Scary Dairy located on the grounds of the Camarillo State Mental Hospital where Rosemary claimed she had a scholarship. This is a week long course that ends with the faux crucifixion of a woman named Susan. You will receive a diploma.
To you father’s out there….Is your child turning into a Sensitive Snowflake, and a habitual liar? Time to take them to Sam’s, and buy them a slow-gin fizz! Captain Larsen will straighten their sorry-ass out. Who will be the next great artist and writer to emerge from the ranks of the thoroughly abused?
“I was peeling potatoes. He picked one up from the pan. It was fair-sized, firm, and unpeeled. He closed his hand upon it, squeezed, and the potato squirted out between his fingers in mushy streams. The pulpy remnant he dropped back into the pan and turned away, and I had a sharp vision of how it might have fared with me had the monster put his real strength upon me.
“Well, in a way there has come to be a sort of connection,” I answered unsurprised by this time at such gaps in his vocabulary, which, like his knowledge, was the acquirement of a self-read, self-educated man, whom no one had directed in his studies, and who had thought much and talked little or not at all. “An altruistic act is an act performed for the welfare of others. It is unselfish, as opposed to an act performed for self, which is selfish.”
He nodded his head. “Oh, yes, I remember it now. I ran across it in Spencer.”
“Spencer!” I cried. “Have you read him?”
Red Rock Island (variously known as Moleta,[1] Molate Rock,[2] and Golden Rock[2]) is an uninhabited, 5.8-acre (2.3 ha) island in the San Francisco Bay located just south of the Richmond–San Rafael Bridge.[3] The property is the only privately owned island in San Francisco Bay.[3] The boundaries of three counties – San Francisco, Marin and Contra Costa – converge on this high rock.[4] The San Francisco County portion is an incorporated part of the city of San Francisco since it is a consolidated city-county; the Contra Costa portion (most of the island) is incorporated inside the city limits of Richmond.[5]
Abandoned Coast Guard fog bell on southern point of island
The mountain of bright red earth and rock is 500 ft (150 m) across from east to west, 750 ft (230 m) from north and south, and rises out of the bay to a height of 151 ft (46 m).[1] It is surrounded by some of the deepest water in the North Bay – 60 ft (18 m) deep.
Contents
History[edit]
Selim E. Woodworth was the first owner and resident of Red Rock Island, where he built a cabin and maintained a hunting preserve.[6][7][8] The island was once mined for manganese. It was privately purchased in the 1920s. After a series of owners, David Glickman, at the time a San Francisco attorney and part-time real estate buyer, purchased the island in 1964 for US$49,500.[3]
In the 1980s, a plan was proposed (but never implemented) to remove the top half of the island (which would be sold for highway roadbed construction). The island would then be developed with a 10-story hotel and casino, and a yacht harbor on the lee (north) side. Water and power would be provided from lines connected to the San Rafael Bridge.[9]
In June 2007, Glickman, now a gem dealer in Thailand, announced that Red Rock Island was for sale for US$10 million. He had previously attempted to sell the island in 2001, including to the California Department of Fish and Game.[10] No conservation groups or agencies have so far expressed interest in buying the island, though some have considered it.[3]
In early 2012, the island was listed with a realtor at a price of US$5 million.[11][12] As of December 2018, the island was owned by Brock Durning, who refused to say whether it was for sale.[4]
The island is mentioned and described as “Blue Island” in the novel The Circle by Dave Eggers.[13]
There are more than a dozen islands in San Francisco Bay, but only one of them is privately owned.
That would be Red Rock Island, which you can see while crossing the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge between the East Bay and Marin County. It’s about 6 acres of mostly orange-red rock with some shrubs and pine trees scattered across it, and the highest point is less than 200 feet.
Eve Kearney has wondered about the island ever since she dreamed of shooting music videos on it in college. She wants to know: Is it for sale, and what’s its history?
History
Legend has it that pirates hid treasure on the island, though it’s never been discovered. In the early 1800s, Russian fur traders used it as a campsite while killing Bay Area otters.
In the 1850s, the island got its first and only resident, Selim Woodworth, who built a cabin there.
Fast forward to 1964, when Red Rock Island was purchased by San Francisco attorney David Glickman for just under $50,000. He had dreams of turning it into a destination hotel, but those dreams never came to fruition because Glickman moved to Thailand and got a taste for the gem trade
Soon after, Glickman’s acquaintance, Mack Durning, acquired at least part of the island. Durning didn’t do much with it except visiting occasionally with his sons.
Over the years, other buyers showed interest. The most notorious potential owner was Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, a controversial guru with a commune in Oregon and now the subject of a popular Netflix series, “Wild Wild Country.” His followers are most famous for poisoning salad bars with salmonella. The island deal fell through when Rajneesh was deported.
In 2007, Glickman and Durning tried selling the island for $10 million, but nobody bought it. The island was still on the market when Glickman died in 2011.
In 2012, Durning tried selling it for $22 million. But a few months later, he slashed the price to $9 million. His real estate agent said there were interested buyers, but before the island could be sold, Durning also died.
A Private Island For Purchase?
Today the island is owned by Durning’s son, Brock Durning. Reached by phone in Alaska, he confirmed that he owns the island, but he refused to say if it’s for sale or not.
The island is not publicly listed. However, both of Brock Durning’s parents said over the years that, for the right price, it is always for sale.
Eve Kearney, our question asker, said she’d like the island to be turned into either a wildlife sanctuary or a “Goonies” theme park.
“So us folks who grew up in the ’80s could visit it and relive the Goonies cave!”
There is one potential roadblock to Kearney’s plan: The island is split among three counties — Marin, San Francisco and Contra Costa. If she were to develop a theme park on the island, she might need to get approval from all three, which would be a planning nightmare.
“The horror of it drove me out on deck. I was feeling sick and squeamish, and sat down on a bench. In a hazy way I saw and heard men rushing and shouting as they strove to lower the boats. It was just as I had read descriptions of such scenes in books. The tackles jammed. Nothing worked. One boat lowered away with the plugs out, filled with women and children and then with water, and capsized. Another boat had been lowered by one end, and still hung in the tackle by the other end, where it had been abandoned. Nothing was to be seen of the strange steamboat which had caused the disaster, though I heard men saying that she would undoubtedly send boats to our assistance.
I descended to the lower deck. The Martinez was sinking fast, for the water was very near. Numbers of the passengers were leaping overboard. Others, in the water, were clamouring to be taken aboard again. No one heeded them. A cry arose that we were sinking. I was seized by the consequent panic, and went over the side in a surge of bodies. How I went over I do not know, though I did know, and instantly, why those in the water were so desirous of getting back on the steamer. The water was cold—so cold that it was painful. The pang, as I plunged into it, was as quick and sharp as that of fire. It bit to the marrow. It was like the grip of death. I gasped with the anguish and shock of it, filling my lungs before the life-preserver popped me to the surface. The taste of the salt was strong in my mouth, and I was strangling with the acrid stuff in my throat and lungs.
But it was the cold that was most distressing. I felt that I could survive but a few minutes. People were struggling and floundering in the water about me. I could hear them crying out to one another. And I heard, also, the sound of oars. Evidently the strange steamboat had lowered its boats. As the time went by I marvelled that I was still alive. I had no sensation whatever in my lower limbs, while a chilling numbness was wrapping about my heart and creeping into it. Small waves, with spiteful foaming crests, continually broke over me and into my mouth, sending me off into more strangling paroxysms.
The noises grew indistinct, though I heard a final and despairing chorus of screams in the distance, and knew that the Martinez had gone down. Later,—how much later I have no knowledge,—I came to myself with a start of fear. I was alone. I could hear no calls or cries—only the sound of the waves, made weirdly hollow and reverberant by the fog. A panic in a crowd, which partakes of a sort of community of interest, is not so terrible as a panic when one is by oneself; and such a panic I now suffered. Whither was I drifting? The red-faced man had said that the tide was ebbing through the Golden Gate. Was I, then, being carried out to sea? And the life-preserver in which I floated? Was it not liable to go to pieces at any moment? I had heard of such things being made of paper and hollow rushes which quickly became saturated and lost all buoyancy. And I could not swim a stroke. And I was alone, floating, apparently, in the midst of a grey primordial vastness. I confess that a madness seized me, that I shrieked aloud as the women had shrieked, and beat the water with my numb hands.
How long this lasted I have no conception, for a blankness intervened, of which I remember no more than one remembers of troubled and painful sleep. When I aroused, it was as after centuries of time; and I saw, almost above me and emerging from the fog, the bow of a vessel, and three triangular sails, each shrewdly lapping the other and filled with wind. Where the bow cut the water there was a great foaming and gurgling, and I seemed directly in its path. I tried to cry out, but was too exhausted. The bow plunged down, just missing me and sending a swash of water clear over my head. Then the long, black side of the vessel began slipping past, so near that I could have touched it with my hands. I tried to reach it, in a mad resolve to claw into the wood with my nails, but my arms were heavy and lifeless. Again I strove to call out, but made no sound.
The stern of the vessel shot by, dropping, as it did so, into a hollow between the waves; and I caught a glimpse of a man standing at the wheel, and of another man who seemed to be doing little else than smoke a cigar. I saw the smoke issuing from his lips as he slowly turned his head and glanced out over the water in my direction. It was a careless, unpremeditated glance, one of those haphazard things men do when they have no immediate call to do anything in particular, but act because they are alive and must do something.
But life and death were in that glance. I could see the vessel being swallowed up in the fog; I saw the back of the man at the wheel, and the head of the other man turning, slowly turning, as his gaze struck the water and casually lifted along it toward me. His face wore an absent expression, as of deep thought, and I became afraid that if his eyes did light upon me he would nevertheless not see me. But his eyes did light upon me, and looked squarely into mine; and he did see me, for he sprang to the wheel, thrusting the other man aside, and whirled it round and round, hand over hand, at the same time shouting orders of some sort. The vessel seemed to go off at a tangent to its former course and leapt almost instantly from view into the fog.
I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, and tried with all the power of my will to fight above the suffocating blankness and darkness that was rising around me. A little later I heard the stroke of oars, growing nearer and nearer, and the calls of a man. When he was very near I heard him crying, in vexed fashion, “Why in hell don’t you sing out?” This meant me, I thought, and then the blankness and darkness rose over me.
High Noon Covfefe
Posted on May 31, 2017by Royal Rosamond Press
You do realize CEO Jeff Laszloffy needs sinners and the transgender folks to make his life work – and his Holy Foundation?
“Laszloffy is no good until he has his covfefe!”
What is COVFEFE? It is a wicked coffee bean being brought West on a train by Antonin Artaud, Gertrude Stein, Van Gough, and Hemingway. The Satanic Four have a wicked desire to convert Montana into a Pink FeFe State by having the Montanians drink The Devil’s Seed of Conversion. This BAD NEWS will perk Lazloffy up. No doubt he will pass out more yellow scarves to protect the delicate necks of his Dull Believers, who are not who they used to be. They were very dull to begin with. Then, they got bored out on that vast Bozeman plain that is turning out to be The Devil’s Stage’. Look out when White People get bored – in the name of The End Time Jesus!
The two horseman under the two clocks accent my High Noon masterpiece I have been working on for three years. Jeff and Greg gather the Chozen Ones in the Montana State Capitol of The Holy Last Chance, and await the Christian Passover. Those wearing a yellow scarf will be spared. Those without the scarf, will be turned into French Speakers – for starters! Artaud is coming!
Cathy Griffith and Tyler Shields were going to get on board, but, they forgot to run their ghoulish act past the Art Augur, who would have applied his Art Seal making it a real work of art along the lines of Hermann Nitsch.
“I caption this ‘there was blood coming out of his eyes, blood coming out of his … wherever,’” she wrote Tuesday.
Before we delve further into this Art Gone Wrong, let us work on our pronunciation of covfefe. Let us go to the source. In this video we hear Artaud under the influence. In these photographs we see Antonin before he had his first cup of covfefe. He knows he must look calm and collected, or, his waiter will not serve him. Seconds after he has ingested covfefe, Antonin is in state of puffing enjoyment. Nicotine goes well with covfefe. Now that our President has abolished the International Bad Air Act – light em up – anywhere!
In the third photo, Artaud is already in need of a second cup. His eyes are rolling to the back of his skull, a dead give-away he is about to lose control. When he is refused service, Artaud grabs his waiter by the neck – and body-slams him to the floor!
Need I repeat the WARNING? Covfefe will severely wrinkle your skin and eventually turn you into a Cowering Covfefe Coward who must have some more Precious, as this brew is called. Talking to ones self, or Jesus, is a side effect. Need I point out the rumor, that our President has overdosed on covfefe, and is up all night tweaking and tweeting, he well on his way to becoming a Covfefe Creature of the Night. While most of us are asleep………he glowers over us all. Big Brother is twittering you!
Jon Presco
At 12:06 a.m. Wednesday, President Trump tweeted a strange sentence fragment.
“Despite the constant negative press covfefe,” the tweet read. That was it. It ended abruptly, as if someone stopped him, or he stopped himself, or perhaps he never meant to send it.
No, “covfefe” isn’t a typo, at least, not on the part of The Washington Post.
Within six hours, it had been retweeted more than 127,000 times and “liked” more than 162,000 times — making it one of his most popular tweets in months. By then it had become a massive Internet joke.
But by then the “word” covfefe had been trending all night. One company even appeared to have made a shirt with that odd combination of letters written across the front in bold, block letters.
“Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my #covfefe,” wrote one user.
The word “covfefe” does not appear in the Merriam-Webster dictionary. When searching for it on the company’s website, the dictionary suggests “coffee,” “coven,” “cover,” “covet,” “covey” and “cuvee.”
Clearly, it isn’t an English word. Some tweets employing “covfefe” offer the option to translate it from Norwegian, though that appears to be a glitch of some sort. “Covfefe” does not appear to be a Norwegian word, either.
Desperate for a definition, some Twitter users came up with a few, such as coffee or a synonym to “The Lion King’s” “Hakuna Matata.” (“It means no worries, for the rest of your days.” Some would say it’s a “problem-free philosophy.”)
Melania Trump said in a statement that, “As a mother, a wife, and a human being, that photo is very disturbing. When you consider some of the atrocities happening in the world today, a photo opportunity like this is simply wrong and makes you wonder about the mental health of the person who did it.”
Griffin, a veteran stand-up comedian and actress who has won two Emmys for her reality show “My Life on the D List,” had shared the image in a now-deleted tweet.
“I caption this ‘there was blood coming out of his eyes, blood coming out of his … wherever,’” she wrote Tuesday.
In a second tweet, she added: “OBVIOUSLY, I do not condone ANY violence by my fans or others to anyone, ever! I’m merely mocking the Mocker in Chief.”
The photo was shot by Tyler Shields, whose own biography notes that he is “recognized as ‘Hollywood’s favorite photographer,’” having evolved from the “‘bad boy of photography,’ with his controversial bloodstained photographic series featuring Lindsay Lohan.”
Griffin said Tuesday night that she has asked Shields to take down the image.
[Trump targets ‘negative press covfefe’ in garbled midnight tweet that becomes worldwide joke]
Criticism came from liberals and conservatives, including former GOP presidential nominee Mitt Romney and Chelsea Clinton.
Kathy Griffin continued to drown in backlash over a gruesome photo shoot that has enraged President Trump, drawn bipartisan criticism, and could endanger her relationship with CNN, for whom she co-hosts an annual New Year’s Eve show.
The comedian and reality TV star apologized Tuesday night for a shocking picture in which she was seen holding a prop of Trump’s bloody, severed head.
In a video posted on social media, Griffin said she crossed the line and that the image was too disturbing.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: There is breaking news this morning that the United States has or is about to withdraw from the Paris climate accord. I have a full rundown of where we are on the issue — and who’s saying what about it — right after The Lightbulb.
In an era of charged partisanship, there is at least one part of the government that consistently draws at least some across-the-aisle support: The Department of Energy.
The Joan Crawford Hour 2
Posted on December 14, 2015 by Royal Rosamond Press
MOVIE IDEA
‘Anatomy of a Rogue Wave’
Chapter One
In 1948, Suzanne Plachette, the beautiful apprentice to the world famous photographer, Frank Rosefish, lifts the heavy camera of her master, and climbs to the top of the rock. Frank has gotten too old to make this climb. Suzanne understands a gauntlet has been passed. Positioning the legs of the tripod on the jagged rock was no easy task. Her heart racing, she sees her shot. She changes the lens for a close-up and presses the button with her thumb.
“Hurry up!” Frank shouts up to his understudy, he doing his best not to notice the strong wind has blown her skirt up to her thigh. Distracted, and annoyed, the young Parisian climbs down the treacherous rock, carefully. If she stumbles, her chance to be a famous photographer, would be at and end.
The next day, Suzanne brings the newspaper to her master’s Carmel bungalow. Together they read about the woman who got swept off Rocky Point by a “rouge wave”.
“This doesn’t make any sense!” declares Rosefish. “This is bullshit! Who in their right mind would go tide-pooling here?”
Having photographed every square inch of this coastline, Frank knew this was a very dangerous place. A fisherman was swept off this rock a week prior. There had been an eclipse of the moon. This woman had lived in Carmel most of her life.
“She knew better.” Rosefish uttered slowly as he let out a puff of smoke after taking a long draw from his meerschaum pipe.
Suzanne was distracted, as she took in the handsome man in the Sea Captain’s uniform. He was informing his fans he was sailing back to San Francisco on his famous yacht, the ‘Bohemian Roe’.
“That’s him! That’s the man I took a photograph of. He was standing next to this striking young woman. I got a close up just as you called to me. When I looked up, this woman was gone!
Rosefish took the pipe out of his mouth and lay it down on the oak table. Teacher and student looked at each other for what seemed an eternity. As one they made a beeline for the darkroom to develop what would turn out to be – the shot seen round the world.
Jon Presco
Copyright 2015
Rosamond Press 
Leave a comment