something I do from time to time, I post works I have abandoned or not finished (to be honest I just am not good at going back, I like to create in the moment)… maybe they will spark upon the mind of someone else, or maybe they were actually finished unto themselves… so, here are a few, snippets, if you will… thoughts? always appreciated.
Photo by José Luis Photographer on Pexels.com
(1) “jumbled” for-give for-get to-give to-get the words have lost all meaning
(2) pure and incorruptible true love and children the fuel that ignites the soul the hope the future all within
(3) do I reach the bottom wave and feel the beach upon my brow succumb until I drown
(4) sapling in a frisbee just being this form does not mean you were meant to fly
yeah, I have posted it before… but man I love this album to pieces, it is a mental exercise, no, a relief, it checks all the boxes and guides me to interesting dreams…
…and the river rages, at times calm as a picture perfect glass pond, but always moving, erosion, time, the invisible taskmaster, ever pulling, ever moving, ever forward, the river carves, the wind bares down, edges begin to dull regardless of their noble origin, time bends all wills all walls, the longer you survive the more experience you accumulate, to navigate within this flow, the change happens cosmically in a blink, but for you this is a slow tide rising, a lifetime, you do not notice, or maybe do, rough edges invariably fade, hair runs grey or runs completely, slowly you are rounded out, becoming grains of sand, for you will, but in the midst of all, erosion of the body and the mind, until… until you are just a soul outside of time…
I wait, I pause, close my eyes, I can’t feel it, I think I can picture it… my consciousness glowing pulsing inside the shell.
‘rogue’ lies with the eyes if only I was so talented she levels me without speech destroys all my reasons shatters my walls crumbling knees buckling not literally but underneath, she knows consciousness wrecked suave turned sweat
notes… you’ve been there, helpless and stopped cold in your usual bullshit, the bullshit that works with everyone else but not her but she likes you anyway, it is more a perception, a feeling, a tingling, that “ah ha” moment, she gets it, you, THE YOU, you can stop pretending…. but you don’t… to a point, you should…
dearest, I can not wash, forget, forgive or absolve my mistakes, sins and regrets. They wear on me like a poison, an eventual death, certain. But even with that – you must know, I must tell you, with desperation, as life fades with every moment passed, that I will love you – always, time and distance has not healed nor forgotten nor dulled, and now may you know this, you will be the last name on these lips, the last gasp of my air shall be yours, the last sound I hear, my last thought on this earth, will all, all be of you, as I pass, my love, you will be all.
notes: in some strange or even perverse manner I am speaking to her, in my mind, like she can hear me, if she is even the same person anymore, or am I even, or does it matter, maybe I am speaking to a memory only, I just need to speak to something, maybe somehow in the mysterious ways of the universe, maybe she can hear me or feel my sentiment if in even just in the evening breeze for a brief moment upon her skin…
change. the constant. the irony is, we are literally hurtling through space, spinning around but we manage to normalize this insane fact by twisting about in our lives, making familiar in this fishbowl, and believe you me I am as guilty as most or more, the comfort of routine even as we careen into that end, our own sunset, sometimes it feels like a cruel trick, all the people I will never have met, all the stories never said, all the lives, I was driving to pick up thai for lunch today, saw a woman walking with her child (ok, that is an assumption, I hope it was hers), pregnant with another, just two more souls on this merry go round, who will remember, even with that single strand, that common bond, to be created and torn down all in time, this time, as these words write, we share this fate, this space, this air, this dirt under our feet, unseen rays and forces pulling us in unseen ways, hurtling through space on a routine, our planet lulls us to sleep with cradle consistency, sure, the weather changes, we even have disasters and tragedy, but mostly we can gauge these things, and the longer we inhabit this terra firma we are reading them better, not very long ago a trip to Europe would have been quite the endeavor, these days the equivalent might be the moon or better, we have made a tourist attraction of one of the highest peaks around, and even travel deep underground in crystal caverns, the deepest of depths are being measured, and life, life finds the crevices, the will, the stubbornness in all these places, the will to be, and to turn the miracle into routine, round and round we go, summer, spring and fall, winter now but only up here, tilt-a-wheel, hard to wrap my head around the whole ball, I try to imagine watching it from the outside, an eye in the sky, casual observer, space is numb, quiet, cold, silent, I am missing everything, even if within the sphere I miss a ton, at least I am hearing some, some of those stories, tales, wonders, trails, smiles, laughs, lives…
whether I be a volume, a chapter, a paragraph, a word, a single letter, or a footnote to a citation, at least, in the very least I have been part of the story, of humanity.
for this meditation, mediation, consternation I choose one of my favorite ambient masters… just listen, and ponder the universe, look up at the sky and enjoy….
days like today are a welcome respite, the thermometer taking a break from the grasp of winter (albeit a mild one so far, I must admit), the temperature reaching up spring heights, the sun blazing down more like June, the sky that lovely shade of absolute pure blue, ah yes, today should be different, will it ? I doubt it… Monday… glorious Monday… we dance… our dance… I take my lunch break at the apportioned time, and begin to muse, or doze off, or both… head fades back into the pillow, or head rest, which is not as poetic… so I bend to inner thought, are stitches just stitches or paths for where the fabric should go, all the arrows, the lines, the signs, all around us guiding the chaos, in this, this petri dish of our existence, from the smallest germ, up through the grass, into the trees, to humans walking these streets, to the birds that rule the air, sharing space with massive water vapor arrangements, up to the brink, the clink of glass, the sky ceiling, space and the companion nothingness, suffocation beyond the gate, now onward, up there, the lack of anything, the possibility of everything, a juxta-pose, all out there that lies beyond, and days like this, the breed of hope, the seed of new thought, just overlooking, you, day-moon, so out of reach, a silent observer, a constant distant friend, a constant reminder, for night is your usual domain, or so we perceive that haunt to be, but to you, locked in circles, lock stepped in orbit in orbits, a procession dance, at a glance, caress the tides as you have watched as very continents divide, the rise and fall, from molecules to dinosaurs, and to these eyes, upon close examination, your face, shaped by the memories of universal sojourners across the wake and landed, impacted, and even we, this tiny race have spent time on your domicile, our, you, our closest neighbor just that far beyond our life cocoon cradle, left dead staring as a reminder, or to inspire, as your one face faces us un-tired, stranger in the blue, day-moon, I feel as if I can hold you in my hand, up to my ear, and listen carefully to unveil your memory, and know of all things that happened here, watching life spin, just, out of reach…
“I believe in the afterlife, my socks have to be going somewhere all these years, some stranded laundry dimension”
notes… sometimes quotes just pop in my head, this is one of those, folding my laundry after the superbowl, most weeks I only have one day off (ahem, today) so regardless of what is going on in the world I have to do what I have to do when I have the time, this may be a silly thought but yet also an interesting musing… where the hell do all those socks go… ?
Lovely soft acoustic and technical, it tickles all my niches… Yvette is an immense talent.
Am I going to pretend that big football game is not tomorrow ? nah… I am a fan of the NFL so I will be watching, I don’t love the SB though, bloated half time with musicians I could care less about, not snobby, it is fine for the masses to like what they like, there is clearly more of them than me, but I like the game and it can be exciting, I was raised a NY Giants fan (ahem, they play in Jersey) so I have seen my share of winning which other franchises have not (even though the G-Men have completely sucked as of late), I do not refer to the team as “we”, I am a fan, I go to games sometimes, I would not pay for a license to buy tickets, that’s insane to me, but what other people do with their money is not my domain, make your own choices, do your own thing.
“for not a page turns without your words nor does not one breath pass without your air and is this caravan a burden born wanders wanders ever to find that good oasis but once more”
notes… to her. I can not say I am beholden, it is my own doing, my own undoing, knowing a thing does not solve a thing. sometimes my only respite is simple lines, as these, a temporary reprieve at that…
So, bear with me, I took the pause this morning (a brief respite to try and take things in before diving into my ‘meaningful’ daily life), and admittedly this morning was a much better view than last, an exceptional one perhaps, the frost was rightly appointed on the lawn begging for attention in the twenty seven degree nation, I just do not have some snappy metaphor on my tongue for the description this morning, the sun was as bright as can be in the winter, just barely peaking out over the crest of the house roof, right in my eyes but not blinding, the dog decides to do a barrel roll in the grass, something she does, always has, I never understood it, but she enjoys it, at least that is my perception, perception is reality, no, reality is reality, I call her inside and get in the car, the ice has formed some perfect snowflake structures on my windshield, not enough to obstruct my view and require scraping, just that nice frosting on the bottom half, the sky is real blue, that nearly singular screaming blue you tell yourself is a ‘perfect sky’, the type of blue you would book online if you could, but somehow, something is missing, at least today, I feel I am in that zone where all cliches seem to be failure, or at least pale platitudes, ignorance is bliss, no, it is just being unaware so you slip into bliss as the other options are not options available at the time, better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, so they say, file this in the bliss/ignorance category,I can feel it pulling, my emotional compass strongly points to her, just one of those things, regardless of the beauty of the day, am I forcing my mood or is this just a natural state, I choose to indulge my staircase downward, tune the tunes to tunes that make me reminisce, you can’t hug a photograph, you can’t caress a dream, but in my mind I wind up doing all these things, I just keep reliving that moment, a kiss to the forehead as I said that goodbye, frozen in time still, a singular moment I can not seem to escape but for forgetting for bits of times, I know I should not dwell there, but I do, I try to think of a see saw, the one side seems heavier down with regret, but to that end would have never led without the love and experience with her itself, every path has an end, we have to traverse the path, this is no linear equation though, there is always a slope downward, time is not a staircase upwards, always onward downward, just the way it works, I suppose my mood is not lifted by the industrial ugliness lining the jersey turnpike as I drive, all crowned by that ultra blue sky, cement dominant boundaries, oil containers, factories, foul smoke rising, that burning flame, drowning in the sameness, lost in thought, locked in a jail of my own thought in this tin box plodding the road along, the rational whispering to remember to savor being alive at all, true, but truth does not always tuck you in to calm, even if you know it should…
Shades of My Garden 