yet the laughter of a playground chatter of simple times for summer’s early friend has disappeared and even the yolk of death ousted for a child’s smile of walking pets in this backwoods jungle gym of civilization chalk scratchings underfoot graffiti lines and tags color
notes… yeah, I am old school, metal head, rap, OG hip hop, classical, electronica, ambient, alt…. do I surprise you yet? nah… pay attention, I got all my kids in detention but pay attention they are all in attendance just they can’t all be present for this romance, so… I have walked the streets of suburbia, and I also know all the worst parts of most towns… not many people have my shared experience, I go from Bed-Stuy to the Upper West Side, from Toms River to Franklin Lakes, from Hazleton to Center City – hey PA, south bronx, got ya, people forget and lament, laurelton and the rock beach away, out of the reach of bay ridge… I travel all of it… (ahem, I really do…)
*and this one is staccato pace… the poem that is… just so you know, I do things in purpose, I am not some enigma, or a puzzle, is there layers ? sure… but for me I want at least some visceral before you start peeling the onion, so….. have at it. and thanks for any and all those who read me, I do appreciate your thoughts.
so there I was… riding off into the sunset, um, ok, driving into the sunset, coming back from my first covid test, been lucky to avoid the arrows until now but a couple of coworkers tested positive so these are the times we are living in, enough about that really, more about the sunset, sure, we are not talking shoreline paradise here, route 1 south in edison nj, but somehow, someway all that dropped south of my view, a really nice near perfect orange half a globe sitting there on the horizon, I must have been travelling near due west, well, maybe slightly to the left, this time of year the light is not blinding, well, mostly, so I was literally driving into the sunset, a smile came upon my face, I mean, if this was my last moment, why not go out with a grin, I can’t complain about my time, sure, I would like more, and probably have plenty more, but some day, sooner than I can contemplate, the world will be tired of me, and fate will dial up my number one last time, so why not do it with a grin?
I merge onto the garden state, just to jump a couple of exits rather than deal with all the local lights, I need only stay in the right lane, not even a mile once I am on, why in the world is their traffic at this hour, ah, I can just wait it out, it is not bumper to bumper but is certainly not the open flow I was expecting to go, I could jump a lane over, ah, c’mon man, relax, not that far to go, apparently not for some of those in front of me, jumping ships, or lanes and then I see it, my exit and also the slow culprit, what are the odds they are getting off at my exit? ahhh, you’ve seen this movie before, me too, 990% chance they are going my way, thankfully I am still wearing my sunrise smile and am just amused at the situation, other days maybe, other days I might have lit up like a firecracker enraged, but today? nah, lucky him, well, I can’t say him, in fact, the car in front of me looks quite empty, whomever is driving is tiny, or invisible, probably just short, I know it can’t be an automated car, to my recollection late 90’s corrollas did not come with that feature, now, off my exit there is two ways you can go, of course slowrolla is going my way (turn signal? not so much), I am laughing now, I am not sure if the people behind me are as amused but, hey, this is my blog story man, get your own! of course the first right is my turn… and the auto car turns, of course, I finally lose the person (assumption, you never know) near the home stretch, only a couple of more turns to go… I suppose I missed the baton hand off, because slowrolla has a relative, or a cohort, a partner in this crime, with a mercedes SUV, at least this looks occupied, and it also occupies the whole road, I never understood compensating for parked cars by driving on the wrong side of the road, must be me, on some other day I might be loosing my mind, but today? I’m in on the joke it seems, the slowcedes turns off literally the street before mine, “here ya go, a little scrap a tidbit” the world says to me as at least the way to my driveway was clear, I park, shake my head for a second at the absurdity, and retire inside to write this piece, still with that dumb grin shellacked on my face, from that sun that has gone under by the time this is done.
notes… not just because this post is Epic, well. it probably isn’t, but I am just on a FNM kick lately, Angel Dust is my jam, one of the best weird albums ever made that kind of made in mainstream.. of course I am partial to Mr. Bungle but what do I know…
is it possible? I feel different today (and yes my coffee has settled in), I mean, I always feel different after a few days off, but something, something has shifted, I feel it, I swear it from the bottom up, toes up spine down, is it days of optimism (ahem, and rest) welled up? perhaps, has not the usual office grime whiped off on me enough, yet? the dreary drive through driving rain (check), am I different from just a few days ago? what has changed? not much, really, something about perception versus reality I suppose, but … I just don’t know, I feel different, hopeful, even downhill among these moguls thrown out in front of me like field mines in all our lives these days, all is well, hell, not anything has changed really but a sunrise in my mind, I spent a few days dreaming, now, you might think I am joshing, no, I literally spent a few days involved in lucid dreaming, an experiment, to the best I could manage, or drive, I visited Hawaii I tell you, certainly not but my mind touched that spot, surely, I can not describe how I did thrive in that environ, especially since it was the whole cloth creation of my imagination, never been to the real place, regardless of the weather outside, the actual weather, there I resided, for a time, snuggly warm inside the real, closed my eyes with a purpose, guidebook in hand mind, as to where I might go, my own ship to steer, and so I did, some of this was mundane, arguments over meals, details about rooms, the usual insane things in our normal day to day even on vacay, but other times, I was indulged, to see friends and former, others and lovers, the never hads and the used to be familiars, it was all there at the fingertips of instant writing memory, as I went and experienced, and so real, what makes it less real? I woke from excitement, anger, passion, and rolled over for more, as the hours went, a day spent, in another world, somewhere I had not been before but could populate so easily with my mind, a charm, the shore, the breeze, the personal interactions, conversations happened, all of the recall, I could quote chapter and verse although, I wrote this journey as I went and came in REM worlds, as real as spent, and today, back in that chair, that desk, that office, I look out my window, birds traveling from rooftop to rooftop… (as have I)
“…in pieces slide, pieces slide out, we are a puzzle with nothing to solve but ourselves.” – some guy aka me
I stand at the gate and the song my heart sings is of the moonlight I stand and I wait for the grace of your hand to cover the moon the roses are blushing, a moonlight seranade
the stars, how they glow, and tonight how their light guides my dreaming, to you, my love, do you know? of course you know, my whispers in your ear streaming, like the meteor shower above this earth, and these heavens combined, has brought this; a moonlight serenade
let us stay here, as long as time in this place of mind, a valley of shared dreams you and I, our hands the circle of space and mind all else remains frozen but our waltzing eyes
so let me not wait to drift to sleep, come to me in that tender dream meet me at the gate, so to sing a sweet lullaby, a moonlight serenade the song of my love, as dreams are only life as made my darling, my love; a moonlight serenade.
(now you tell me, how and where I went, and I might flash you a postcard, if only you can see it)
against the setting, purple rippling sky reminds, in countenance shadow doth reflect I dream of your form with empty hands out-stretched; my body swells with starvation in the famine of the death of sensation (your touch), illusion bores and marks the eyes falling on to moon lit-skin, an ache born upon the conscience of time.
in distant mind voice reflects to listen with my eyes the song of your words upon my ear (as I admire how they escape from the supple valley of your lips). the many places of daily travel warm (and light) with the presence of your candle’s glow and yet cold as the lands that separate live souls; with hands entwine and walk the path upon fantasy rides the thoughts of man, Upon that gallant-fanciful steed might glide the miles in memory; -but yet what warmth does this night-shadow bring? The song to sing in faintest past and yet all is owed, on to the future.
palm upon palm, (might I flourish for a moment in your scent) falling hapless rather than to this lament I drift to sleep amongst the fear of dreaming- and do I deny what my mind decrees? The ancient charm of dreams pulls so heartily at my ropes and binds, dancing and prancing logic and delirium In all the cotillion-; embraced, and all the body waits for the texture of her naked skin baring against the dew that forms; contours are the guide of hands instinct as the guide of minds, And sweet sufferance is this bliss un-achieved in the day-light hours, finds the night to write a script of wish, a castle from which to survey and capture lands beyond and afar from worldly reach, and yet lucid as the life a picture framed in the eye of mind a committed memory, in a curved line.
Notes… generally speaking my works I post are 96.2% off the cuff (a totally arbitrary number made up for this post, but you get my drift), this post is certainly not, this is something old, pre-me being the blog hound dog that I am these days, if I had to guess this is in the neighborhood of 15 years old, something I wrote and stowed in a box, with other poems, which I might reveal, given the feel, if I feel like it, and I might, I had this typed out and folded up stuck in an old book, it was always one of those I ‘liked’ straight away, the title, the whole darn thing, I am sure my fellow fellowship of writers/artists out there get that, there is always those that you just ‘love’ right off the bat, and this is such a dove, I did alter it a bit, given my modern taste and flair, or whatever I am doing these days. So, hope you enjoy it… As always your thoughts, likes, and adulating praise is always appreciated… any good non obvious habanero chili recipes are also warranted… (damn I love the hot chilis)
driving up from the beach that final time, at least this year, I feel the need to stop, say thanks and goodbye to this little stretch of sand that has been my companion, why? I just do, maybe I am preparing my mind for the drive home and all that comes with coming back to the world of real, I pass some deer in one of the longer driveways, staring at me curiously, surely they have seen cars before, I mean, I am on a road and they are on a driveway, but deer logic might be different than mine, or maybe they know I am a stranger and can recognize out of state plates as mine surely are, my headlights play games, and look like little flames playing off mailbox reflective markers, the hour is late, not quite dark yet, I should have worn my glasses, but I know this road well, no way this road would be 35 in new jersey, no way man, sweeping sliding turns up through the cliffs with no street lights save for one past where I am going anyway, how I might take such things for granted, you usually don’t see the actual top line of your lights, the exact height, here, always, and your mind screams ‘turn on your brights stupid!’ and of course look out for deer, I do both as the curves and blindspots require, my finger on the hair trigger to turn them off should another car come this way head on, no one does, this night at least, I turn into the last turn at my gate, pitch black aside from a few lights inside one or two houses, the occasional big screen seen, but everything else is dead quiet and sleeping, I treat my car like I am sneaking home on toes after a night out in my teens as to not awaken my folks, I pull in the drive way to park, tomorrow I depart, for home.
vacation… as a creature of habit I do tend to frequent the same places year to year, I like the familiarity, it allows me to truly unplug and drain the old overactive brain from the strain of work and the everyday, this is what I am doing this week, vacate, quite literally, I could feel all the negative stress flow out of me as soon as I arrived and got settled in, my mind is clear, empty, sure, I keep tugs on the tethers of the other life I put on a shelf for a week, almost impossible to totally disconnect, but now this is like a second home, a refuge, I know the town as well as my own @ home, I know the roads, the lands, the turns, the tides, there is comfort in that, and how just super nice people are here, almost surreal, they all wave hello regardless of what is going on, it takes some getting used to but becomes second thumb after not too long, a day or so, I spend the days walking the beach for hours upon hours, there are more birds than people, my crocs in hand I just walk for as long as the encroaching tide allows, kind of like Red @ the end of Shawshank, except I am not looking to find anyone, and I am not a felon, so, besides that it feels the same, I think of the quote Red (Morgan Freeman) says about prison, about the walls being ‘funny’, and I wonder if that applies to my back there life, the walls are there to keep you in but after a while you depend on them, have I constructed my own prison? for comfort, regardless of it is the best I can do for myself or not? and does this show that sometimes you need a place, fictional or otherwise, to step outside yourself and take a look at your life from some other perspective… in a way I think we all know what we are doing wrong or could improve, but sometimes being able to stop the ride and get off provides a clarity like no other, and I am in that space now… wed night, already? I can feel the creeping twinge of anxiety approaching knowing I am halfway through my time here, like all my good porch time I will try to bottle this up somewhere in the corner of my mind , remember the lapping waves of the bay on my feet, all day the subtle roar, walking along the shore, the sweet soreness in my legs from walking in sinking wet sand all day, the occasional encounter with people and their dogs, the little DYI beach houses with kayaks stacked from summers gone, other ones crook and bent from years of storms, neglect and surf, the majestic grey heron that won’t let me get within twenty yards – every year, I wonder what sort of talisman I can create and capture all this charm, to summon when needed later on.
Notes… I am currently in Scientist Cliffs, MD… I come here every year, it is an unique place if you read up on it. I can not say I am roughing it, there is cable internet (upload speed is iffy so I can’t post as much as I really want to photo/video wise)… and a mere fifteen minute drive into town has tons of dining options, and of course the seafood is to die for… crabs crabs crabs… and oysters, if it was possible to OD on oysters I would be quite dead. This is a Covid desert pretty much (compared to New Jersey) but still not totally open, and honestly I am not ready for that either (doing all take out, thankfully all my fave places have been scraping by and are still here… so I tip them well as I have done fine in this covid time money wise). This is a great place for kids also, if you want any info just shoot me a line, I am glad to share.
“this is who I am!”, how we have screamed into the face of the great abyss that is society at large, with great thrusting daggers in eyes I have raised the same tsunami sentiment in my mind, all in a rage against the factories of same-a-tude that dominate the landscape of this life, a perception at least, I wonder how much of the flock feels less than a part of said flock but does not speak up, but then again there is plenty that have no qualms with the calms that obedience and coherence provides, they are wired that way, maybe not you or I, and some more yet perhaps, that the modus operandi is terra firma, boy, is that arcane? maybe to say, there are plenty that are happy cruising forever in the middle lane, I suppose that is a simpler analogy, but there I am, modifying my own thought, among my own words, my own damn post, for whom? clearly I am not a super digested blog of the norm, I am not a franchise on every corner, a juicy burger or tasty spicy chicken sandwich to order (I am a fan of Chick-Fil-A, I must say, waffle fries… ya feel me?), anywho, even the guy labeled “he’ll say anything” at work guy (me) is not really that guy, at least not all the time, is it fear? or reality? that rejection in social morality will occur, or consequence will fall like a wrecking ball right to my balls, am I half-assing my own existence? I always say and actually think that my “filter”, as it were, is on the shrink, but to what extent (gone)? just enough to hold the waters of the dam back… just enough, just enough an arms length from vanquish, if I had all the money in the world (I would settle for 10% mind you, donations accepted) would I be the same jovial strange soul searching? or would the social context of being free of the complex allow my eccentricities to fully bloom into the garden of babylon I was meant to be? or at least thought myself to be? and would I need such resource to be one hundred percent anyway? is there not a niche, or a cavern, or a crevice I could wedge myself in, sheltered from the storm of the norm, to scratch out my own weird unicorn existence while still in the standard wilderness of the all… I suppose that is the line, the struggle, the game, mental and otherwise, am I really being myself? all the time? …are you?
I ponder such things, musing perhaps, what is the nature of harmony, how to achieve it, how to recognize it, how to capture it for even a time, how to recognize when you are off key – in life that is, I surely would not want to torture you with my singing voice, just trust me on that score, our lives have so very many congruent threads being pulled in all directions, fed by emotion and a flood of other stimuli, so what is this elusive elixir I seek? and the words just popped in there…
harmony is the reduction of variables
maybe that is the crux of my rain walks or stands as it were, just unplugging my self from the usual-verse and reconnecting with the most basic primal instinct mind, letting the wind whisk my worry, the rain wash my burdens, the night sky the blank slate to write dreams upon, to close my eyes and see nothing and listen to the subtle song of the earth moving through time, enjoying the ride, at least for a time, this time I have been allowed to be, in this harmony.
listen to the rain I wonder, what do my neighbors think, do they see me there, standing out in the rain at night, I can not equate the feeling, it is not a symphony but soothing, I hear something in the drops, a feeling, a calming, a washing, tonight the world aligned and I knew a storm was coming, and on the appointed hour, give or take, the rain came to town, and I was drawn outside, away from the tv, slipped on my crocs which are not that comfortable at times as my second toe is quite longer than the supposed big toe, I am sure there is some name for the phenomena, but I don’t care to search for it at present, I turn off my exterior lights, and just listen, listen to what this particular rain is trying to say, or convey, let my mind wander or empty of the daily costs, let thoughts drift in and out at whim, is this meditation? I suppose, a label does not matter, why analyze assassinate and lose sight of the actual prize, turn the damn brain off you fool, just be, the puddles on the driveway have bubbles, like reverse boiling, there is a mixture of bamboo leaves that look like little green canoes, and then next to them the iconic forms of maple leaves in various states of brown, for the fall has begun, for some at least, what a strange mix I think, bamboo and maple, pandas and pancakes, the rain begins to intensify, but this is not a raging storm, in fact there is not a trace of wind, the rain drops are literally in lines driving down straight, rain seems to make everything go away or at least hibernate temporary, just outside my house by a mere foot or two and it is like I have stepped into another universe of sound, the randomness of everything so perfectly embodied in the rain, the drops, try to identify out and listen to each one on it’s own, each drop a possible story, from the hills of great mountains, or some hidden lake, a tropical pond or more cosmic, maybe the sweat of a comet that landed here eons ago, all these experiences pass through my mind effortlessly, each imparting a sweet kiss of possibility, and me, one of those, those random rain drops of what could be, no, random drops of what is, as this is happening, in real time, my time, a performance of storm just for me, as my eyes are literally at this moment the only pair seeing exactly this, in all the universe, that is truly miraculous, rain is not mundane, this is the reflection of millions of miracles in the very day.
does looking at this image cause you some disorientation ? In fact, this most famous of photographs is shown here the way it was meant to be seen, or more accurately the way it was actually shot, Bill Anders (Apollo 8) was not thinking about the horizon (which pretty much orients our visual field), he was just a space explorer taking a photo as one celestial body comes into view from right to left (from the capsule orbiting another body). Amazing how that screws us up but yet is a great reminder on how much we take for granted in our daily experience (how limited we are to this sphere and maybe we should think outside of things sometimes, being stuck to the ground with gravity). More remarkable, to me, is also the Apollo missions themselves. Imagine, during the course of just a few years, continued space launches to reach the moon (and walk on it) with the technology of 50 years ago. There were no cell phones, no flat screens, no home PCs, no GPS, no finger spinners… OK, that last one seems inconsequential, I admit, but just chew on that whole for a minute… in the space of three years 12 people walked on another world, hard to even get my head around let alone yours. Just something to think about in the coming year, shoot for the moon they say…
(a nice outline of the entire Apollo project) and since I am being nerdy, here is a loaded poem, I will unpack it at some later date, lots of footnotes to date and take… can you catch them all? (hint: the one link I supplied in the name)
dear Miranda, but just a glimpse a fading pass for you hide and dance forever show the same face within a tempest born the scars of stars upon your form all about craters worn from drunken horde, magicians wand father Prospero’s hand, Stephano’s yard Trinculo’s joke read out on your garb your scarps take breath Verona Rupes in all the moons of this solar system our bed your light touch would save twelve minute fall and might I discover the patterns the sulci in which your lines are read, may we see you again not just a glimpse but a visit then.