Who the Hell is maadjurguer?

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I like to ski, mountain bike, drink beer, cook and listen to any jam band I can get my hands on; all while making a complete ass of myself. Hopefully this catharsis is as interesting to others as it is to me.

Sunday, September 29, 2013


I found the following piece of writing a few winters back, pasted to a coffee can within a snow cave that BGR had set up....fully stocked with booze, food and a radio that received the Navajo station quite well.....Black Flag followed by Hank Williams Sr followed by Parliament Funkadelic....it was quite the happening, with a full kitchen, sleeping berths and view of the dawn that never quit.  In any event, I've utterly failed at finding out who wrote this gem...if you know, please let me know so that I may give them due credit.  So in honor of the first snow of the season on the Kachina's, I give you Avalanche. The pictures, mine; the words for now, belong to the wind:

I dated an actor once
And asked her how to trust someone who made her living
At deception
She told me she was much less suave as a real woman
But the first time we had sex
The smile never left her face
The perfectly executed orgasm.
Photo - Troy Marino, Skier - maadJurguer

And yesterday in our town, an angel committed suicide
By swallowing the barrel of a shotgun.
She dressed in white and blessed us daily,
The preschool, the local potter's wheel,
The drunks in the bar where she sipped white wine.
After she died we read she wasn't an angel after all,
Just a mother of three from a small town in Arkansas.
Now we walk the streets looking over our shoulders
In case the blessings weren't for real either.
Photo - Troy Marino, Skier - maadJurguer

"What does it mean?" you asked.
When we passed the homeless man, again
Eight blocks, ten blocks, twelve blocks down
He was our oracle
With wild black hair and a Rolling Stones t-shirt
But I knew he was not an oracle, for he was John Kirby
Who carried a limp, blue backpack and kissed the hand of grace one night
But that was not right either
for Kirby froze in the cemetery
Last winter
Remembering beauty and talking to sparrows

During these long winters
The local avalanche forecaster tells us
We will see stability where we want to see it.
Tells us if we desperately want to make first tracks,
We will find safety where there is none,
With blessings, oracles, and second chances,
We step to the crest, turn our heads from the wind
And push forward
Ignoring the breaking snow at our backs