the passing of snow…

the passing of snow…

(stream of consciousness post)

such a wonderous event when you are a kid, juxtaposed with now, the anxiety, the high drama, the sudden invasion of the “bomb cyclones” and “polar vortices“, naming every… single.. storm, the dilemma of travel, of cars, of roads, of brine and all the whirlwind things that haunt the mind on a day where flakes are falling, forecast is gnawing, on the mind, on the airwaves, when, somewhere, in the ether of things, is lost, the miraculous reality, well, the scientific reality, but still the stark beauty, the imagination, the combination, the consequence of dna, falling flakes, not a one nearly the same, if only you were to look, to examine, look each flake in the face, to see that new creation, just birthed from a cloud imagination, a flurry, a hurry, gravity – the reaper, pulling down, until enough can cover the ground to sustain a little breath longer, a benevolent army, no, an oblivious wonder, floating down on to all things great and small, regardless of stature, age, or matter, the only matter is a fact of, an equal opportunity cover, a blanket of wonder, so pure for a time, a moment, a snapshot, a thin film to sheet to a blanket to be seen on all surround.

for you are, always with me, this fantasy, based on once reality, so far away now in years, still has the hold of yesterday and the warming dawn of tomorrow, but no, a phantom memory, even if I know what you would say, would you? anymore, am I the same person as we once were, together, I can not be sure, doubt is rot, but too honest to dismiss, love seems like an anchor but also a map to where… some would say where I have been, can the road past point to a future path? I don’t know, I only know the fleeting hope, what whispers in, to my ear, in dreams, waking apparitions, delusions, perhaps, if there is a difference in such things, subtle kisses of, being awake, or asleep, or alive, how can I compare to anything on the other side until such time, as, well, but for now (and seemingly always) you are my companion, the strength of that thought, that feeling, wanes and rises, yes, like a proverbial tide, sometimes mild, sometimes an overwhelming wave that pushes me under, to the darker thoughts of why, but always the gentle recede, back into that vast dichotomy, the sheer beauty of infinity, to the eye, when locked on an ocean horizon, knowing the depths conceal my centuries of wrecks in demise, and yet, also a womb, a treasure chest, a portal, perhaps salvation, the constant presence of the power of perpetual motion, back and forth, forward and back, for we are, as hearts beat, brain waves pulse with electronic sensations carried to the power lines of our extremities, and the abstract, love and revile, just as real as a stone in hand just not tangible with the same senses, we have been programmed to trust, I could clamp all those valves of input off, and still feel, feel you there, my companion, even though, I lost you so long ago, eyes closed, my arms remember, my hands recall, my heart does call, and sometimes I think you may hear me, somehow, for that was there, that bridge, that bond, that love, my companion, I will not perish as one.

this is/was a stream post, meaning I wrote it all in one gulp, one sitting, one flowing, just an idea let out of the barn, allowed to roam free until… well, until it ended of it’s own volition, or my pen, or keyboard or such… such is the way of this blog, am I totally free? maybe not, trying to get there though… to allow my expression to be a bronco, in a field, running, or not, just being…

bursting through rain…

bursting through rain…

(stream of consciousness)

puddles as pools as footsteps, the oddity of being on the dividing line on a map, always the corridor, wintry mix so they say, so it is, snowing one minute, raining the next, the pure white of barely an inch, devolves into ice walled pools that retain some structure, captured capsized footprints, preserved perfectly, for at least a moment, until the eventual slide into full on water, a frozen tide, lines that outline where I was just a second ago, proof of life I suppose, if however temporary, even those footprints on the moon will go away someday, I suppose, would I treasure those more, if I could ? more permanent than my little frozen steps across the temporary pond hopping in my driveway, all just a matter of the scope of time, the lens of passing, time, time has all the time in the world, and then some, mine just a fleeting trail of steps, melting into the ether, succumbing to the inevitable.

sometimes the smallest things, you should notice, like your footsteps in the rain, or the semi-rain, or the snow, proof of life, like a clutched newspaper, but better, a strike in nature, even if for a moment, the mother provides for a moment in her bosom… so take them, when you can, for time even binds her kind hands…
in the mind of mutiny…

in the mind of mutiny…

(this is an imagining of a writer tasked with writing about a voyage into the unknown before the world was all mapped, when ships were the only way to go continent to continent)

nautical twilight

traveling out on these very sturdy oak boards,
pitched and yar on the earth herself,
land long past behind us now
a promise- a distance in front of us now
from outwardly run the captive mist of isles
and onward bound so I am tasked
to write of this supposed bounty, adventure
of land far past the eyes of any maps,
so in trust we sail on the captains word and keen
sitting under the lateen-rig yards
and at night surrounding ocean crowned with countless stars
in circles men unwind the day
yarns and tales round spike the ears
words and slurs round pass the ale
for most now I’ve heard these many days
monsters, mayhem and the soft serenades (of mermaids?)
but we never speak of-
never speak of that, as if the ocean
will swallow whole the mass
this quiet nervousness however is a chill past in night
doubt grows in passing hours, days
the wonder if wisdom was to turn back
but never speak of this-
never speak of this, looks lock to say
if they were but literate men may they
write the same;
I’ve travelled many places on the fair continent
by caravan, by foot, by beast,
always something to see, feel and feast-
but here, danger breeds in the sameness swells
fear seethes out in that vastness casting spells,
and every day placed for the next,
ritualistic into effect for the coming breath,
the welcome consort of a racing dolphin escort

or a whale plume’s that recalls city-park fountains
or so I imagine, reminisce of the standing ground
of trees, of birds, all of these foreigners now
fleeting memories out of grasp of hand
now, after all these months,
I learn of the certainty of land.

an act of lucid dreaming

an act of lucid dreaming

(dream of consciousness post)

am I a practitioner? or just practicing to make perfect (as I have been told by voices, in the folds of books and by grinding on-n-on the stone myself grind down for good), as nightmares can scar can not dreams… inspire?
so real I did not wish to wake, not a movie I was watching, this is happening I thought, I felt – with all sensations, a heart race, a pulse race, the pace, all of it, the sights, the slights of hand…
and there she was, and I just knew, there was less than zero doubt, so familiar for someone I have never seen before, but that feeling, that knowing, that comfort to lock eyes in a gaze that has seen interlocking bodies, internal memories, external desires, all there, all instant and yet ancient intrinsic in all my fibers, my love, my love I have never known until now but now have met with all expectations met… I immediately pull her in, impulse, comfort, closer, almost close enough to touch her nose to nose but only to stop and dive that deeper into her eyes, her green-deep-corona swirling eyes, swallowing me whole, all the while with that smile, that smile I’ve known and that only I could conjure upon her, her warmth, damn her warmth on my skin, her exact temperature when she is close, a reminder, every detail a mapped corridor walked, no secrets, no past, all skeletons exorcised and catalogued, yes, yes, she is the one, the one I never have known but now realized now, how the hope of love sweeps up my ark into a new era with instantaneous hand, I try to absorb every atom of the moment into my core, some of me knows this is fleeting, some of me knows this is dream, but the sum of me – an intense flame has been stoked into a fire…
and I awoke.

not with despair, as you and I might expect, but hope, such blossoming hope, as my now woke human doubt creeps in with the lowering sun day, but no, lucid dreaming has not fooled me, nor lied, nor tricked, nor stolen, this dream, this experience has given me… a key.

I can not tell you how real it felt, I can see her face so clearly, it is insane, but if insane saves me from the pit of despair, that the girl of my dreams is… not just in dreams, and what separates the two (reality and dreams)… how would we know? and what we experience in dreams is experience in my view…
the doom clock…

the doom clock…

(stream of consciousness, written in one sitting, kind like a diary I guess)

I worked late the past two nights, well, late for most, late for me, we have to upgrade stores after they close to interfere as little as possible with their operation (regardless of how this interferes with me, my life, such as it is), so returning from East Harlem and New Rochelle (which was ground zero for covid if you recall) at past 2am has been the norm, I live in central Jersey so the ride is straight, and easy, aside from the construction which is like the boogeyman of Jersey night driving, so you finally get home, and I am not one to flip a switch, I wish, I wish I could just lay my head down on the pillow, without a twitch, but no, some inner itch, I suppose I amp myself up to be awake and aware while I work which takes time to wear off, and it does, plus being outside the usual circadian cycle, that certainly does not help, I tune into some meditative binaural beats or isochronic tones, or both, with the dream of sleep, it the not so distant hours, but sometimes you know, you just know this is not going to happen, and once that ball starts rollin’ around your noggin naggin’, well…
the hours seem to click by, on nights like these, sleepless nights, taunted by the glowing red block numbers that seem to strobe-flash like late night traffic signals, 3:00, 3:30, 4:00, 4:04, 4:09, 4:12 each toss and turn aside the glaring numbers preside, sowing the seeds of pre-defeat for the next day… will I ever fall asleep, before day-break, for that seems the worst feeling of all… and maybe I do catch a z or two, in-between the peekaboo, but certainly not a satisfying romp into rem sleep mode… and then the bleating-heart alarm clock…

a shower and a shave, charcoal toothpaste stains the basin, I’m not racing, but I am not taking my time either, hop in the car, pop on the heated seat and some morning schlock-jocks discussing sports, not the time for serious thought, just noise as I begin down the road…
I am not sure what this is, maybe over tired, over compensating, seeing the sun for the first time in a few cycles it seems, charging forward in my lane like a charging bull, the highway pavement blanched from the leftover brine-dust of a forgotten storm that barely was, there is a mysterious smoky mountain range looming in the distance that I never noticed before, well, because this is merely clouds, I prefer to pretend the mystery mountain trend instead, and I take a moment to fill out a survey to myself, I did not fall prey to the doom of the clock, that awful count-up from staying up (choice or not), nor did the seeds of a bad day, make their way, and germinate in my mind like vines choking a wrought iron fence, no, not today.

why this tune ? because it was playing and inspired me @ the time during my drive…
the voice we hear in our heads.

the voice we hear in our heads.

why is my inner voice
not my own?
but I hear so clear

this voice, my mind, my thoughts
a direct action network crossed
the sound of my voice seems foreign to me
not from another land
but definitely from another person
so that is what people hear?
a different intonation in their ear
and that is me- ?

but I can not hear myself (truly)
this filter is biased

there is no doubt
or all doubt
how can I be sure
might I borrow yours (ears) for a moment
like headphones

or ear buds
so I might hear myself, as you do, as you might

but that is not the point
I point out
the doubt

can anyone else hear me, as I truly am
in my own head

in this theater I have led, all these years
my stage, my soapbox, my podium
will the technological trick ever exist
to link my voice to this?

notes.. my point? have you ever listened to yourself? on a recording? damn… I suppose yes, I think everyone must these days, not so much when I was growing up (or not), but now it is an inevitable thought… is that REALLY what I sound like? and how do I converse with myself with a different voice in my head? surely it is not nearly the same that projects out for others to ingest.. so strange, I hear a voice in my head so different than the sound what is released to the masses, that out of balance seems baked into my cake… but who knows? your thoughts I ask ? or should I not impose? as I can only hear your voice in word which is not the voice to which I refer, but yet… which do you prefer?

and… whimsy…

and… whimsy…


a quip, a whip
a backhanded compliment you say?
I’m not sure I swing that way
although you wear, quite a pear
fruit of the loom, I presume
dare I say?
a sharp bite, a stinging bow
so who’s to know?
as I sprinkle a pinch of dream
over your simmering dinner bowl
a barb, a frayed wire
tugging on your string to implore
you accuse me of being a liar
but honestly I only sell you half truths
what am I to do?
if you decide to greedily-swallow-them whole
…as holy true?

notes… just some weirdness that crept into my mind tonight on my not so moonlight drive on the way home from work tonight… some times, like this time, my mind drifts to the silly, to the whim, the muse needs a laugh now and again… and again, or just the absurdity of life, the supposed hierarchy, famous, celebrity, the unknown, in the end… well, the equation always equals one thing, so have a ride, grab an all day sucker, or yourself, enjoy…

PS: before I forget, all your comments, thoughts, criticisms, invectives and chile recipes are always appreciated, I mean this is my space.. but a shared space in that.. so… what do you think?

Sanity Drive…

Sanity Drive…

(stream of consciousness)

although admittedly I might succumb, I feel more numb, not depressed, in some strange way, refreshed, yes, I unzipped the lining out of my once beefy winter coat so I might feel the winter more, on my face, a brace, somehow, in these days where darkness seems the norm, upon dreary storm days, ice roads snarl, ice roads tease out the common sense or little good sense from fellow travelers, and I am at there dispense, or scowls, but feel no road rage back into their mirrored fallow, no, happy warrior ? hardly, detached ? maybe, not sure why I am so non plussed getting cut off by a commuter bus that is not even supposed to be in my lane, I guess I am ‘staying in my lane‘, as they say, regardless of the cars flying up my butt, to go where? I suppose that nano-second apparition of the space of a square two cars in front of me, the anatomy of the shuffling, no checkered flag, no trophy, just wake up, wind up, do it all again for no sake, no, not today, not for this one, not dropping my ten cents of sanity for a little ball of gum dispensed by the machine, I have no real reason to complain, my life remains all the same, even with the turn of a new year page, unless I grab the pen, and compose something utterly inspiring, maybe tomorrow, or the next, today I am ok with just cruising along, the little twenty-odd six miles long, I probably could close my eyes and count the mile markers in thought by thump, my display, my care, or lack thereof, is probably pissing the other ragers off, some, I am sure, want to bump me off, but today, I am just not engaged, I should be like so everyday, for my own mental health I guess, but the temptation, the titillation, the adrenaline mainlined to a higher octane is such a draw, I hate to admit it is even sometimes fun, but the act of burning is a dangerous one to engage in constant, fire is a hard beast to tame, if ever, I wonder if the fuel is at a higher cost than it seems for the slight thrill retained, but then again, aren’t all guilty pleasures built of the same seductive flame?

going old school with my musical pick this evening, I am sure most people only know Smoke on the Water… and yeah, from a simplicity stand point that riff is gold… but this is pretty cool and really demonstrates the sound bridge of the era (arcing between the 60’s/70’s before real metal). I don’t know why I broke into a music lesson tonight… but I did…

sometimes you come across unexpected things when cleaning, a forgotten article, a book, clothing… or a photo, dated on the back 10.99, a lifetime ago, but the impact is still a sinking-hole feeling inside, a sick feeling to reside, something, something I have never been able to shake, HER, the one, the one, there has been no cure, no elixir, no remedy, no replacement, at least so far, all these years, you begin to question, you wonder, wonder if you are a lost cause, or just flat out insane in some manner, but the feeling, the feeling is so raw, so guttural, ripping into your core that I can not ignore, am I just a broken person of the heart? the worst part, of course, is I blame myself for most of what happened, the separation, retrospect, of course is an easy road, but does that mean it is incorrect? I suppose, I feel (or am) broken, knowing that all of us are, somewhat, to lesser or more degrees, but knowing that does not soothe the driven cold spike I feel on moments like these, I don’t think I will ever truly be healed even if I pray to be, and I argue with myself, looking around at the world, do I even deserve a reprieve, when I can not even begin to forgive myself.. 10.99… October of 1999 – I wish to an inch of my death I could hold you close again, just once more, to feel your heartbeat and your warmth as we are one, just once more, as the reality of that memory is so faded now – those immediate memories, just the empty chasm of regret and pain… I wish I had a higher IQ of the heart, back then… I miss you, still, if you only knew, if you could only know, how sorry I am, how much, I am forever to dwell, in your love, and how much I will always love you, wrapped within myself now… within myself until the end of times, where I hope to see you, for that is all that keeps me alive…

notes… this was stream of consciousness, the photographic record of us is not large, I doubt she even has one of me, I can count only a handful, but the time we spent, two stars of different galaxies aligned somehow… there has never been anyone else but her, I have tried, replacements, forgetfulness, time… no, none of it was worked, but I am still alive, so there is always hope, even as my years fade into time, at least I had that time, and I would walk there gladly again, even in delusion, even in dementia, or anything, the pain of separation is the poison that dims the light of my soul.