blue womb

blue womb

the soothing blue-
sometimes, the prescription
is in plain view-
a stark blue sky-
evenly speckled, by clouds of white
even in doubt, with spots of grey
the sweeping tide-
of blue,
and those primal memories alight-
of the beach
the ocean
the tide,
feet dangle from a dock
toes tip circles
into the crystal blue
undulations under foot
magical permutations
as light bends and folds
amongst the blues
between the pose
of toes
dangling
in the night water
still lit-
by moonlight,
fading rays
racing out
to the horizon closing
peaks of blue crests rising falling
the soothing blue-
how I can reminisce
and be transported -to you.

notes… I was just thinking about the last time I was in the Keys… specifically Islamorada, at this little hotel, maybe 12 rooms, right on the water, as it turned out there was only one family staying at the same place… and they were from Jersey (what are the odds)… the place had a private dock, it did not yard far into the water, maybe 50 feet out, they had these lights that cast just enough light, because when the moon is out you can see for miles, I sat at the end of the dock, my feet dangling in the water… I can’t think of a more perfect moment, it was a dream, the water is an aqua like you can barely describe, how can water be so blue and so clear? but it was, the sheer blue vastness married with the beauty in the details… every detail… the shadows of the palms were like fingers across the dock, slowly, gently swaying in the tropical breeze… maybe I need that scene again… all these years later…

retrograde…

retrograde…

ah my sweet lion -!
let these be for when the stars align
might I be- in retrograde?
or witness of the same-
on a ship that sails-
school taught- navigation fails
might I tie myself in nautical nots-
lost out upon my own plot – plodding-
bobbing up and down
the tides of the ground, jester
plays tricks on me
my mind
moving backwards this seems
an elliptical illusion
as all things are as they begin
.

aesthetics and the battle for humanity…

aesthetics and the battle for humanity…

I wonder if there is an erosion of ourselves by the environment of our daily cocoon, I was thinking about this on my normal drive to work today, outside of the road rage from drivers with no clue, or perpetual construction that seems to never get done (or make any logical sense), I mean from a sheer aesthetic value point of view. Sure, the difference between summer and winter is stark from naked trees to glorious greens- but beyond that, the drab concrete slabs – the dividers between the highways, the utilitarian notion of all the infrastructure rather than even a modicum of utopian flair, does this drab physical demeanor wear on you? on your psyche? Does ugliness beget ugliness, does beauty beget beauty in thought? driving up these unnatural asphalt peaks and ways, a menacing cloud seems like a clawed hand grasping out over the visage of the NYC skyline, sometimes there is an orange glow like some post apocalyptic scene, just the look makes my lungs cringe, like the recent invasion of smoke from the northern canadian fires, sure, there are days when the blue sky beams and the sun makes you forget about the concrete mess you are closest too… but mostly, and on many days, the drab is the norm, an uninspired mass of tar, grey, rust, chipped edifices that crack from the roiling of the seasons and pounding of the traffic – both cars and trucks, the never ending pounding, the gravitational stress, does that permutate the whole of these inanimate objects and reflect back into our collective? I think it certainly is part of the ingredients that bake our daily cake… but what to do? I suppose now, there is not much, try to enjoy some music or something else to tacitly evade the dull drabness of the thing, maybe one day, our car windows will be a bit of virtual reality… transforming our visual into a veritable wonka land of wonder, or at the very least something more pleasing to the eye – and the mind.

the sounds.

the sounds.

obvious, I suppose, but somehow we just live with them in the background, white noise since our birth and before, maybe we even ignore them at times, the sounds, the natural sounds of nature around us, a reminder, because at the end we are as helpless to the end of sound, I was walking my trash bin out to the curb, a romance I have to engage in a few times a week, which is a luxury compared to some parts of the world, and certainly paid for through my local taxes at 13K a year or more, things are relative and all, but I heard the sound of the rain on my car hood, such a unique sound, the pound of the drops like ball bearings on a tin roof, such a sound, you can close your eyes and your imagination conjures one thousand images to match the sound, I want to run my hand across the surface to feel the sound on my hand, I want to pause, and stand there, maybe I am, frozen in time as I try and absorb the experience, like a photograph still, a capture, or something as cool slo-mo like the matrix but of course I am not dressed as chic, but I think you get the exposition, so I walk inside, the rain quite drumming harder now, and so my lobes shift to suit the environment shift, the focus is now the sound on the windows, the pelting, quite different than the pounding on metal sound, more like a gentle or not so, tapping, a gentle rapping at my window to the world, as the drops merge and shape out like ovals until they are just miniature mock-ups of streams and rivers running down the glass, gathering more followers as summer storm intensity dictates, but the sound, the quiet barrage, rising and falling with intensity, waves on wind, so I suppose this theme, this sound, is echoed in the global tides, and in some ways us all, an innate beat to the planet herself, a rise and fall, sun to set, life to death, every day… this song… these sounds, the heart beat of the universe, the true pure-pious pied piper.

Notes… I have been experimenting with various things to listen to for relaxation/sleep. Once you get going there is so much out there… I find the Schuman Resonance fascinating as it is the literal sound of the earth, the heartbeat, well, at least that is what I read on the internet… so it must be true ! Something to think about… the sounds.. the music.. that is just inherit in the natural world…

WIKI on Schuman Resonance… listen to the earth, or at least try.

ghosts of the field.

ghosts of the field.

the ghosts on the range- (wander)
mists- on the edge of our perception
remnants of a traumatic pause,
left to dwell-
half a foot in this world-
and see the jubilant sparks
the smoke explosions in the air
the wonder of blossoms of colored fire
blaring noise might awake-
the ghosts on the range,
lest we forget their mortal lock
and ours-
so removed from the grim fate (for now)
to set ablaze trinkets
in celebration of their deeds
or for which the cause they bled
do we honor the dead
with these
I ask- (wonder)
the ghosts on the range,
trapped forever in that repeating reel
a short film frame flash bang shot
wandering for all time
watching nations rise and fall
in the honor of this all-
the explosions expositions up in the air
might re-of-mind
the brutal horrors of those who fell
or their loved ones who missed them well (after)
I wonder what they might think
if they were more than apparitions?
glimpses of the ones that were (dusty mirrors)-
the spectacle of raining sparks
to mark, the time and honor for which they fought, and gone,
I wonder- (and so they wander on)
the ghosts- on the range.

I must also repeat for anyone new (waving at you, wave back, or not, be rude…) I work off the cuff, I carve the thing and throw it into the world… this is my hobby, my art, a thing I do because the world has instilled it in my DNA, or some muse has their way with me for as long as I can recall, so I decided to just share what I do, naturally, I have a very specific voice, maybe insular, because I write for me… and have been for years, but that does not exclude or preclude the thought of others, any comments, thoughts or questions are cool by me… even if you think I suck, that’s fine, really, I have been doing this long enough where I am not worried about response, if I get it…. awesome, if not, that’s cool too, we are all so many things of so many things that maybe my sparks only light fires in certain parts… and that is cool.. be it one pair of eyes or nine… I thank any and all of you for your time if your stopped by.

sky womb

sky womb

what if this is our second birth, put here in this womb, by divine providence, or the universe’s countenance, who can say, who would know, how can we know, this collective womb, a subtle shell, a fragile home, to grow to a certain age, and then move on, into another realm, as we all must do, but matter is never gone, just reconfigured, transferred, so perhaps, in our passing, we pass out from this vessel, this mother, onto the next life in some other.

Meaning? well… what if this is just a bus stop? a training station? a jumping off point for our electrical being? could that explain our isolation (aside from the incredible size of the universe)… so, if we think of our birth in a more metaphysical way… we are in a womb, we are alive, we emerge… maybe into the same… ?

been sky

been sky

been sky,
so there I looked-
and where there was once-
suddenly, as if siphoned off by a straw
or perhaps swirled down a drain
in a blink-instant
an atmosphere drained- into nothing
pairing mantle with space
a planet more like an asteroid
stripped of the veil
the cocoon-
but this is no metamorphosis
nor looking glass
unless –
unless the butterfly is?
unless the transformation is-
death.

to demonstrate how strange inspiration is (it truly is), this one popped into my head as a van drove next to me on the way to work this morning… the company was “Binsky”… and I read it in my head as “been sky”… so there you go…
thresh-holds

thresh-holds

barriers. walls. bulwarks. ramparts.
we all have them to one degree or another, we also have the means to overwhelm these defenses or allow the same, knowing and preventing are not necessarily siblings raised in the same house however, but I guess that is the experience of dodging enemy bullets over and over, feeling the weight of the yoke on your neck, over and over, dealing with a situation once and same again, over and over, perhaps this dulls the blade, lessens the bite, but a wound may still suffice from a skirmish in the realm, is so ingrained the aim to win? stitched into the fibers of our cells, the stubbornness to not bow a head and shake the hand of surrender when the goal of victory is no longer at hand (or within reason from the onset), the cost of a fight may not be worth the investment, but when to realize this and give up the prize, even if the prize is pride, or just non-self awareness, even still, this little revelation written is seemingly lost in instantaneous combustion at times, what to do? feel up and down your arms, or hands, feel the scars, where they have been, failure has helped out a fair share of cartographers, but writing a map and reading one are also two different crafts, and mastery of one may only leave the glass half full (I am an optimist, after all), so store this away, in some not so secret place, and when the time arrives, open the document case, unfurl the map of where you have been, and perhaps it will inform you of where you are going, roads, mountains, ravines, swamps, all manner of peril or perhaps golden fields swaying in the glistening summer sun – all these, let the darkness of times be the fuel to your guiding light. (hint: you will fail, but the opportunity to disavow your shortcomings will rise again and again like the sea on the shoreline, so breath, because this is the way the world has always been, for everyone greatly before you, and those long after).

I chose this song because my demon (or one of them) is traffic… literal crosstown traffic… I was working on fulton street this week in Manhattan (that is NYC to those not in the know)… $14.75 for the holland tunnel toll, $46.50 to park all day… the traffic is free though, every, and I do mean every cross street trying to get near the holland tunnel was jammed and this was not a busy week… so yeah, crosstown traffic, my head was pounding, I was feeling claustrophobic, I wanted to just hold down and honk my horn or raise my hands like moses and part the red sea… traffic is one of my triggers, I know it, I fight it, I try like hell to not let it bother me… the people just walking in front of your car, the people not moving up when there is space… even typing this now it is winding me up… and I know I can not do anything about it, I have to take a deep breath and accept it.. but damnit it… my nature, nature… I am getting better about it…based on experience and outcome… but… but..

origin of song

origin of song

shaping the unseen,
might I tell you a secret?
(something you already know)
taking the air
and pushing that air
through a thoroughfare
designed for the task
aligned for the ear-
taking breath
to transmute a sound
nurtured on notes
becomes a song,
weaving a melody
from within your mouth-
how can this be?
such discovery-
and endless
endless- harmonies.

one of my favorite songs ever… so yeah, and her voice… so yeah… this was the theme song to one of the greatest animes ever (in my not so humble opinion) “Serial Experiments Lain“, sort of a take on the Matrix, but perhaps in reverse… just amazing…
reflection, time, memory becomes like a dream

reflection, time, memory becomes like a dream

how rain flooding the margins makes
the reflections on this cobbled stone road
under my common feet falling
toe to toe
as I fade, into this known-
dream.?
perhaps a concocted reality
how would I know?
this now feels like
a place, I have only ever seen
in moving pictures and on movie screens,
how familiar this might feel-
but an ocean so far in between
there and now
tells the truth of all these tales-
I need to see her – for myself, again,
to clarify the existence,
one day, some day, perhaps- my dearest love
but fortune, the past does not seem like a memory- anymore.