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…

“trixter

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…

lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

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.

dawn of a new year… (s.o.c.)

dawn of a new year… (s.o.c.)

gateway into a new dawn, or just another calendar to begin, a promise mixed in with the cracked confections of fortune, to you my friends, a toast, a glass, a raised hand, enlightened spirit, with a spirit in hand perhaps, just the gesture, an upward thrust, trust enough to not break the pane on another glass, for that glorious ding, that clarion belt, a countdown to hail resolutions heart felt, the optimism of a full glass soon downed empty, to be refilled, a night to reflect on the act of a closing play, to pick up the newly minted playbill to see what may be coming attractions, all hope and no bad reviews, a stellar cast, some new, some familiar, some left behind, some gone to pasture, the stage remains vaguely the same, the entrance and exit clearly marked, those do not seem to change by any age, so what will this host year bring? comedy? tragedy? drama? or a rom-com unseen? probably all of these, and we hoist a glass for the best of these, for days to come, nights to pass, every waking moment a miracle until the last.

notes… so yeah, I am doing the hack new year’s thing… it only happens when I am actually inspired, and so I was, so the sentiment was real even if it seems obvious to make a new year’s post.. I do have hope for the new year… don’t we all? the swell is so obvious as you watch the ball… but should it take that? why not turn your life around january 15th? or august 8th ? well… it doesn’t matter really, all that matters is how you travel down the road from now, pause at a rest area, take a deep breath, a little inventory of things, and go on, weather or circumstance be damned… we need to just plow ahead… life, truly is short, in the throes of youth it is ignored, but as time goes on… it goes on… so get on with it…

(s.o.c.) is stream of consciousness for those new to my little corner of the universe…