and this too, will end this all goes away with time, washed, to a second rise my finite resonance among the harmony and the chaos of the humanity I hold so dear my definition my love my fears, all this too, will end I pray for more more than I am due more than I am worth the same as an inch of dirt or worse, or heaven herself but somehow deep down I know.
damn this song, this version, so affects so many of us, the raw, the real, the feel. it resonates because truth resonates and we know it when we are shown it. this is the real, we have an end, it is terrifying to me, I want to be some sort of pillar, but I am just a man, just me… and I have made mistakes, and I regret them… but does that make me a bad man? or worse? or less? no…
somedays this feels like being buried alive I can sense the nails driving through the pine see? no, I can hear them though like they are piercing dead skin sinking below the trees into the calming realm of roots sinking beneath the sprouted fields of youth a faded diamond of sand above rust dragging half a fence falling down hanging heavy with weathered ivy half brown but still fair cover (for my slumber and eventual… release)
notes… so sometimes I think about the end, will I have awareness, or consciousness, or… anything ? was I only born when I was which would explain my actual naivety? or am I unaware of my past cosmic past? surely the universe has used these molecules before, just not in this particular configuration.. or yours, if you are asking… the whole entire existence of everything has come down to this, me talking to you, in this moment, or maybe whatever moment you read this, think about that, it is an amazing thing… the entire universe decided we had to be… I want to hold on to that, I want to embrace that, and I try…
“might I walk you to the moon tonight?” and whom am I talking to? myself, that inner voice, speaking right now actually but to what audience? just the inner auditorium made for one? perhaps often right, there is ecstasy in the ordinary driving home, typical highway night has been looming sooner, as she does in fall how soon we forget, and then just accept so distraction can be a slide into the dreaming world “may I describe the moon tonight?” or more simply the sky, more a scene like flying over a silent desert, after a day of scorching infernos downward, blinds eye now resting, under the gracious umbrella of night as the lamp lens intense set the landscape can sigh as majestic purples multiply and mate, with curtains of magenta forming layers, like tourist sand in bottles the colors inhabit the boundary impregnating the horizon with splendor until full surrender, inhabits my focus is trained only on that above the horizon not the wheel in my hand, the artificial lighting, the concrete cells and paved grounds the reality that surrounds, softens as I fly above into the night I imagine laying prone, only to peer upwards now the moon, but a quicksilver-sliver, a wink, not a quarter full, just a peeking-boo a november moon as cold as thewaning light there to bear witness, through the night and I feel I can hang a hammock there from star to star under that silent tide on this ride and so I might.
notes… I found this on my desktop temp folder, forgot to post it when I wrote it back in November… so strange, these things are almost like children to me and I would have sworn I posted it… but I looked back and had not (but soooo recall the creation)… one of those I wrote driving home at night, the muse sweeps in, sweeps away the banal, plants a seed, I try to be the good farmer and raise the idea as my own… that’s all I know… does it work? I suppose you are the last word on that. Do you dream of flying off into the moon when stuck in traffic? (and should I tell people to play the song before reading the post? hmmm… I am willing to take suggestions on that one, I always thought it was obvious.. which it isn’t I guess, the rule is not always a rule, savy ?) … and your time, thoughts and likes are greatly appreciated, have something you want me to check out ? say it… I’m not a mind reader…
such a wonderous event when you are a kid, juxtaposed with now, the anxiety, the high drama, thesudden 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.
‘companion’ 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…
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…
(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 theywrite 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.
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…
(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…
Shades of My Garden 