“if I do I do
if I don’t I don’t” -me
what else is there? this struck my mind like lightning and rumbled like thunder… so I posted it… so be it.. sometimes the simplest thought is the best thought, live life.
a perfect winter morning…
the silk spun of a winter morn
a slight of grey
weighs –
up on over the land
a sheer coat of form
from that of man across earth herself
a pause-
the luster
of slumber frost
notes… woke up this morning (seems obvious), grabbed my cup of joe from the kcup kiosk installed in my kitchen (starbucks columbia in my uber fancy yeti travel mug – sheesh I’m a coffee dork), throwing my stuff in the car, the phone, the clipboard with all my nonesuch, and I notice it, that perfect coating, that sprayed on amazing coating of frost across the lawn and all the eyes (barely open) can take in, such perfection, sure, it’s damn cold, twenty degrees ain’t no joke, but even in the grip of all this, the little shimmering reflections all around, so I reflected on it for a moment, and this is what I found…
window musings (part 2)…
“for if this is all I have
’tis more than some will ever know”
a window into the world
defined by frames
defined by shape
much like our own
words try to clarify a picture
quantify a fraction
symbols drawn together
and agreed upon among others
language –
like an ancient tree
the high branches so far removed from root
reaching up
as if to escape
or grasp the stars – themselves
for we know to well
not bound to this earth
for we know not long – enough
as the spirit thrives to live on
a reflection on the perfection of eleven… (stream of)
outside the norm, or the deca-box, a beginning step over such, just higher than the range of given usual merit, a singular number, a backwards forwards road, twins, towers bold by bold, the power of one number can equal two, so unassuming in elegance, not the first or last of the calendar, nor a remarkable time of any days to remember, outside of america, that is, the essence of being outside, the one, or twin ones, in the major arcana ruled by the sun, a lion’s pride, an ego’s ride, the enchantress begs the gifts, and quells the lion’s maw with her own paw, allowing for the spring of heaven to emerge and flow forth, an elven spring, even a broken clock chimes the gateway twice a day – so what call’s us to notice, and delve into eleven and the eleven realms… who knows?
file this under things you write as they hit you, sitting in my office (photo) peering through the blinds, the soft parade of bright red underbellies like child drawn crayon whales, of clouds passing just over the house across the street, providing a stark contrast to the black-barren limbs of a tree, to the left of me, from here I can not see the asphalt, or debris strewn about on the street, not even the empty bus stop or garbage drop, no my mind is free for a moment to flee to meander within the clouds slowly so slowly sliding south, darker now, darker still, the red has faded to a purple gray, in this space, I could dream to be as free from the every day, one day, floating in the resonance of silence, or so I imagine this to be.
Notes… I am playing with numbers here, look up 11, I am not going to link to everything this time out that I was riffing on, just go to your fave search engine and search “meaning of 11” you might be surprised, or not, or maybe learn a thing or 12….
pause, to take a look…
the sky unfolded above me
out toward the horizon
‘I have had dreams like this’
-thought crossed;
unfurled cotton waves
extended into the burnt orange
just an ordinary man
in an ordinary lot
the world transformed
into living art
notes… even on a rough day, I felt ground down to a stump, back was barking a bit, I was no where special, no where besides this miracle marble, more locally New Jersey south, in an asphalt parking lot, outside a supermarket in a semi-beach town in winter, something inside me said “pause”, the cosmos? god? an ancient ancestor giving a nod? maybe all those… for like our ancient past, I looked to the sky… and was amazed (that photo is what I saw above the usual fray I was mired in)… so, like I always say, take a pause, take it in, you might be dazzled every now and again when the norm is hanging over your head…
the trojan horse, for therefore I am…
we are the masters of our own domain, we raise the walls, we setup the defenses, and yet we may be betrayed by our own voices and impulses, maybe this tale is true, men lying in wait inside a glorious now notorious gift, or perhaps it is one of the greatest metaphors of all, troy did not welcome the horse with open arms, so I’m told, or so is written, there were voices of dissent, and those who chose not to listen, so we are troy, perhaps easily repelling an overt invasion, but persuasion, the soft penetration of sophistry, seduction, the art of deception so you hang on your own noose, sounds preposterous, and so it is, on the face, but how many of our proclivities may overrun, maybe they do not open the gates all at once and let the enemy pounce on sudden corpse, but more like insipid poison, gladly taken in with wine filled glass-fulls, glad gulps of our own demise, all in the name of feast and compromise, for are we not beasts that reside in the cultivated fields of temptation, so far removed from plains and migrations, somewhere that lurks, we are not a patchwork of circuits, flesh and blood, no matter what we may think or elevate above the other species, flesh and blood begets the same, as virgil says (or so quoted) “Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes” translated to: ‘I fear greeks, even those bearing gifts’, for greeks are merely the name of that day for the malady lying at their own feet, for many years I have always thought of the story as a great tale of war and beware, but more these days I fear I may have written this chapter on my own lair many a time, eager to hold up a trophy minor victory or none, hold my name up to the sun, or worse boast to fly closer like an icarus run, this all seems so clear, so obvious now, how fallible and foolable this form can be, me, how can I be my brother’s keeper with my own loose gate, so maybe that is the avatar, the symbol, the meme to remind me of fate, a hollow horse or not so hollow horse, to keep me on course and remember that I control the comings and goings of my castle, there is the one enemy out there that will surely flatten my walls, pierce my defenses, steal, no silence my last breath, witness as death plows this whole effort under the ground, but until then, I shall think of the trojan horse and question what I let happen within my own domain as to maximize the health of my inner hearth, heart, sanctum and mind.
notes… and you thought there wasn’t a thrash version of the Beatles classic “Eleanor Rigby”, silly rabbit, thrash is for kids…
the reclamation… ;;;
into the dying sun
for there will go I
even the sun must, all sons will die
I turn to hope, to retain
the well is running dry
for mother is recalling her precious resource
reclamation to imbue the cosmic womb
with the life of another
death and incubation are stages, gemini
the well runs deep now
the well is running dry
so I will dig deeper
the work is harder, but familiar
hands harden like wood, with age
nails rotten with dirt – under, itches
as long as there is the energy
the breath to drift in
a beating heart within this chest
a raven stands over a puddle
and for a moment
catches a reflection
a quick quip…
inspiration is
a wish
an itch
gone
in an instant
(the question is… what do you do with it?)
a love affair (with coffee)… (__)>
I sure love me a cup of joe, or three, but I mostly begrudgingly hold the urge down to two daily, my preferred coffee of convenience is Bustelo, in the K cup (because you know, making a cup of coffee is such a chore), columbian roast is good, espresso roast – a little better, if I am out and about I do like Starbucks, whatever dark roast they have on tap for the day, one stevia, skim, just a dash, for color I think, or maybe I like the cool bloom the milk makes as it mushrooms up from the bottom of the cup, I have little stops by some of my accounts around the NYC/NJ area, gorilla in brooklyn (ok, a bit pretentious but great brew – the maple latte slays), joe coffee in manhattan, haylee’s in wayne nj (RIP), red pipe in forest hills, cafe grumpy in greenpoint (their turmeric lemonade in the summer… oy…), and all sorts of other spots in between, sometimes I get kona from this little stand in hawaii, got turned on to it years ago, kona is the best smelling coffee (just not as strong as some caffeine wise, and heck, sometimes, OK, most of the time I want that kick as well as the robust waves of flavor to savor), reminds me of which, my cup, sitting there on my desk, quite empty, screaming for a fill, or is that my internal coffee fiend prowling the dark sidewalk corners looking for a score, no matter, quarter after 4, time for one last more, of that liquid happiness in a tin cup, my coffee. Things I recommend (not sponsors or pay links, you get my advice for free…)
- The Keep Cup (maybe I like the cork/glass look, either way, pretty sweet)
- Yeti travel mug (cool magnetic locking top, almost… almost spill proof)
- Black Rifle Coffee (support our vets… and get great coffee)
- Trader Joe’s Electric Buzz (reg coffee 95 mg caffeine, the buzz? 170mg … and cheap!)
- for the adventurous and with a few bucks to throw around… Kopi Luwak
notes… hey ! I like your thoughts, your comments, your mind, your eyes… heck, all of it… so thanks for the look the read, the moment, I am like that chocolate box Forest Gump was obsessed with… you never know…. and that is what you should expect…. internet gurus be damned, this is me, deal.
stillness.
the allure of still
of silence
of a moment
spent
in one count
in one breath.
notes… in the middle of a maelstrom, or a just life, pause, such simplicity, such elicit power to be had over situations, there is calm in this world if you just let it speak to you… so listen…
Shades of My Garden 