on the tongues of trees for now I might understand bound by root and circumstance to this very particular parcel of land a love, a matrimony of the earth a cradle, a home, a monument and then the movement into dust the trust, in the slight of fate. so, reach to the sky offer your accoutrements as sacrifice I am sure you can tell twenty four hour stories in the quarter wagon wheel within a time lapse wooden memory written for long in your storage device the circles of life- the spiral within so told.
notes… sometimes being brief is fine, I was really thinking of linking “this mortal coil” to the rings of trees and DNA.. not sure if I accomplished that or not, but that is what was on my mind, among other things…
you should be the gatekeeper of your own house, your temple, as is said, but how often are the boughs of caution lowered by the siren’s seductive lure of convenience or sneak-ease in the harbor of your ears, the gauntlet to the brain even if you close your eyes to turn away, how the infiltration or indoctrination or just the “in” begins, ‘in’ocently enough, and then breeds with needs, climbs to heights with likes and little pictures as we revert back now to hieroglyphs, the need for an audience has grown into contagion, how much poison is enough to stagger the host? hard to tell… looking for the golden ticket, the powerball, fifteen minutes of fame seems a lifetime, perhaps the measure these days is fifteen seconds of video, and a blink, a swipe, a new rage, stories swept away at tornado pace, there is more truth to being viral than just the name… trusted dissonance algorhythmic waves all the AI same battering storms familiar shores becomes the norm soon calm is not appreciated ostracized as the bore ‘do tell poor boy’ the chore, the daily grind a spark, a fire a raging inferno ‘now that’s entrainment baby!’ exclaims- for a brief moment moves on a rage, lunacy on a plane looting on the streets rinse, repeat all for a cause, or none world’s end how cliche, ‘oh the doomsday’ (yawn) perhaps I will just sit here on a bench, in a breeze listen to the ancient language of nature, biding her time and mine, ‘well, to be honest, my battery died’
notes… maybe I could wag the finger, but I am no better but do wonder about the price of admission… I tend to think things will work themselves out, but at some point, there is a point which is an end of the line…
the last fall of midas; for he gathered all the gold there ever was- within reach so gather round the deathly bed now gather round, these vast mounds of gold instead of pounds of kin to comfort instead of those- a mountains trove bridled with cold but! the tall measure of such wealth beyond all compare beyond all ever told; so yet alone- and none will come to pick the bones but mine the ore first and last and there a legend will then pass into mere hearsay lore a real person for gone who valued more of gold- than the warmth of a loving hand in hand or the simple gesture of a hug a gathering round of family- a treasure, worth so much more, tragedy.
sometimes I wonder if anyone gives a rat’s ass about the music I post… but to me, music is life as is art, it is my thing, I am passionate about both so… I think I will always pair the two, but one always questions one’s decisions at some point, my point has to try and get away from all that and just post my art as pure as I can, I very rarely re-write or even make second efforts, that is what works for me (or not), but I just have to lay it out there as is, the comfort has to come from within that with the billions of people born and dead, there is just you and me out there right now, and if one person gets me, or somehow I touch that person’s life… well, that is enough, if I reach 1000 that is fine too but in 1000 years will that matter ? probably not, I am not exactly building monolithic monuments of stone here, just thoughts from this monolith in new jersey…
dining in the house of the lord at the table of proverbs might get you in the door or… ? a read of your inner tome, your heart speaks of deeds but intent is internal only you to know and that one other.
but pretend, in the end- a table of luminaries all of your choosing eye to eye chair to chair all there in the same hall as you the same room for afterall in a dream as in death all is possible as is none
notes… sometimes I am being cheeky and making you think… and mixing endeavors and themes… call me loki, or lucky or just Dave… yeah, that works.
blue disposition- after many greyer days thanks, my friend ophelia parting ways I say adieu and merci for your water’s fall for my soil now come to brew a leafy stew in brisk whisk folds as the sun sets sooner now and tapped with cold (on my shoulder, so I turn around).
I wonder, is this me, well, yes, of course it is inner voice, but more speaking outward, why can I just not forget (shake?) the past, like filing a book in a library, filed by some number, in a drawer, on some shelf, in some shadow, certainly still in my house but somewhere in a corner, instead of what feels like shackles, self imposed or otherwise, I know the logic, I know the KNOW.. you know? I know I am supposed to forget, time heals all wounds? no, time just is a measure of inches from the time, feet, miles, but does it matter if the coordinates are still there? and the feeling, so many times as I have felt before, like a pilot, in a form, all these years, I’m older now, so many years, have I really changed? what is 10 years anymore… or 20? this used car, an efficient model to be sure, but mileage is mileage regardless of care, and accidents unforeseen, or your fault, well, that is part of being on this road, isn’t it? you can buff out the dents but the memory still lies underneath in the metal, can’t get a trade in, at least not yet, even a focus on glorious drives along the coast, on a perfect day, sky – an absolute blue, sun warming but not burning, feeling the temperature gradient rising in your forearm skin, and hands, and your smile, who knows if this was even real or imagined at times, but waves, and tides, maybe the moon is my master, even though my science mind knows it is gravity, or something more, celestial, sinister, banal, scintillating, neither… or none, just me in my little ark sailing into my own unknown, but never able to truly escape the land that bore me, seeds planted, foundations raised, all a part of who I am today… I wish there might be targeted repentant fire I could engage.
I tend to vacation in the same places, although I should breakout, sometimes this is all my soul needs, I am humming internally here… scientist cliffs, maryland
Scientist Cliffs, Maryland… total geek retreat, a 100 year old hand built log cabin (no shit), views to kill for, but also this place has sling TV and Roku… and Cable WiFi… and since I am in the boondocks there is no bandwidth back log… damn, I ma here less than 12 hours and do not want to leave…
we walk around in our space, that seems to encompass so much… space, but yet, even these continents, pale in comparison to the lands, that are under the oceans, beneath our radar, truths, stories, societies, all buried or hidden there, a not so subtle graveyard, a flowing cemetery of the document of life for the history of this world, I wonder how many, how many shipwrecks there are, how many lives, how many souls, some wonder about the riches, but gold glitters in any form, gold does not have a tale to tell except the hands that from which it fell, how many of these untold fireside chat charcoals lie buried beneath, or just undiscovered, sitting alone in the current or among piles of others on top of others in layers of layers, sparks that ended with no fire but had heat, bells no longer rung, voices leapt into the mist that laps the shore with the forgotten tongues, voices buried deep from which nothing comes, the (bio) luminescence of the human form, etched on a plank with a stone, or a blade, a bauble, a vase, an urn once filled with oil or wine, or barrels of molasses, or whiskey, or just a simple metal worked totem of luck tucked in a pocket forgotten, waiting to be found again, to sing, to write a book, or a verse, to fill in a blank, to answer a question, to pose new ones, to set the record straight, or just place a piece of a puzzle that much closer… all in the sands, silts, and shifting tides, the whole of outer space lies in the matter of the ocean waters, a land, we can not see immediately, a land, much vaster than the horizon we look out upon to reach, the deep, and shallows even, have swallowed so many people, so many seasons, a vast library lies there, waiting for us to discover, all we need to do, is put our toe in the water…
Shades of My Garden 