a hesitation, if there is before the moment ‘too soon, too soon’ but the blue tone comforts in surely at the end when faced with the reality and all horror falls away when faced with the certainty and all doubt fades away; if only, we could recall the singular moment of our birth that first light on first eyes from the emergence a transition from womb-night to this waking dawn and here with this- the mystic the last stop for us to visit in this instance not too soon, in fact as meant not pre-ordained but locked in the hand there is no struggle or even if there were to lay eyes on the mystic for one grand last time and give thanks for time passed.
notes.. I post as I write, rarely do I edit my work, so it is not as perfect as I would like…. so neither am I… so enjoy, or not, either outcome is fine, all thoughts are welcome, I post the art for eyes, let them pry let them gauge.
The setup… so I was driving over the Verrazano bridge the day after Hurricane Ida came rumbling through, it was a glorious day weather wise (some wind), personally, eh, not so much, not bad but tiring, so this was all stuff that floated through my head as I drove over the bridge, it is an awesome sight, especially on a clear day like this, you tend to forget the fact that the water is not exactly, um… clean, especially from that vantage point, so it was more like being a bird flying over the span from Brooklyn to Staten Island (the narrows as it is called), the phrase “breakers on the narrows” is the trigger and what popped into my head, after I wrote the 1st draft I thought I missed the point by trying to make a point rather than make a picture (or share the sensation/feeling/moment)… so I included both drafts here, I don’t fret over my work, I don’t strive for perfection, I just wish to be me, as much as I can be (no one is pure imo… we all filter @ some level so I am not going to preach about how honest I am, I’m not 100% without filter… is that the goal? you bet… but I ain’t there yet…)
(1st draft) breakers on the narrows as I am passing over might I look over and from here, this is almost mystical this structure, seemingly bifrost made real this gleaming span, many thousands roam, daily and I, one of those turned into spectator by spectacle as ida has departed, the sky opens wide blue a boat’s wake, turns rows of wind swept, rakes breakers on the narrows peak frozen in motion like marching saints as I speed by this scene hundreds of feet up above in the comfort of my driving machine wanting to dive right in I imagine I can hear the sounds above the din seagulls, waves breaking onto themselves and the shore- a horn breaks the trance I am transported back to this land the common asphalt, ezpass flash transported back
(2nd draft) breakers on the narrows, tailwinds whip up clone-peaks angled on-towards the beach I can not hear the roar but do imagine as I pass above them such a scene from afar a sky wide open blue and the cleansing sensation as this flying by calms- breakers on the narrows.
the song has no link to the post other than allison was a tropical storm that ravaged texas a decade or so ago… sometimes rain is the worst part… as was the case with Ida, except super south jersey which got tornadoes (mullica river area, I love tooling around down there when I get the chance, it is like a different state)
from minute to minute, I suppose, I can not track my mind to the finish line, I do enjoy the comfort of snuggling burying into bed, fetal form, to gather warmth, or throw on that old cape may sweatshirt, the elastics at the sleeves have seen better days flapping loose like old flagpole lines @ the shore, but of course this sweatshirt comes equipped with a joey pouch for my hands, I walk out to take out the trash to the assigned bins, ‘hello, mr. winter‘ for I feel his breath on any and all exposed flesh, after last night’s raging gale, there is really little doubt, perhaps a spring like day might mount here or there, but not for long, the trees are close to bare, the town has come and picked up all the leaves left out, the wind meets little resistance now, across this land, I pause, the late afternoon sun now matches what colors there are left around, a snapshot, it will seem like hours and all will be gone, barren, the steady march into soft sleep, hunker down, the days grow short as the sun is just that more out of reach, other sources of warmth become the key, hunker down, soon, the white age of morning captures the dew, clothing and rituals will change, a trade for hot soup from lemonade, the shore becomes still, silent, empty, how things seem so much more empty when the crowds are gone, I wonder what the gulls think, they vote with their feet and beaks, they have moved into the suburbs and the towns, I wonder if those strip mall birds think lowly of their beachbound herds, trading a parking lot for the roar of the sea, I suppose survival is the more preferred aesthetic, but what do I know of birds, only what I observe, tonight in tongues comes a frost, a blanket, an incantation, a charm of making, that white beard that conceals the color green until what is left of the sun warms just enough, you can never plug all the holes of inevitable, surely, all comes falling down if you try to stem the tide by self as a boy, better to gradually be seduced than to outright drown, I dream of the beach in winter, so here my dream walks.
the road to purity (that is the term that popped into my head and inspired this post), or the better version (or best) of one’s self, is this just a path to destruction or salvation, or is it a matter of perspective, I spent the whole of the week walking along a beach, cradled in a spider web hammock of self introspection, I mean what else do you do on the beach, oh yeah, normal people, swimming, tanning, a touch of volleyball perhaps (I was a bit more into kadima ball and kites I must confess, back in the day), not me, well, not anymore, somehow the shore has become my temple, my church, my place to unpack the world and move in with just me for a time, an extended sunday morning as sunday is the traditional day of rest so I’m told, the sound of the surf becomes a lullaby for an overactive mind, a drug administered by mother nature in kind, just as intoxicating as any chemical otherwise known by mankind, I am truly moved to a different plane of existence, everything just sheds, or is washed away, glaciers sheer off so easily, alone with my thoughts, conversations I should have had long ago, or did and forgot them, or they have been obscured in the so called real world, no shiny distractions here, no plethora of channels of niche information to browse, the reality of life, the cycle, birds, fish, insects and plants – your breath, all engaged in being what they are or what they were born to be, so odd, us humans, we have the right to decide what version of ourselves in which we reside, and I guess I know, at moments like this, I am not living up to my end of the bargain, the bargain of life that I have been gifted in this limited, there is only so many things you can do with this realization, be better, get better or just accept that perhaps you are not quite the lion on the golden hill you might have thought or were told, but am I shorting the world…? and myself, for not going all out, and where down the road does that mate with actuality indeed, as I walk here among all the broken shells, some seem familiar, a pattern of at once perfect forms of life laid now in tatters, all these thoughts flood my matter, no one will ever know, except this inner-verse that I am conversing with now, I suppose it is this way with everyone, even those we think have the perfect life, from the outside, who knows who they really are unless you walk in their skin for awhile, along a beach, see what washes up, hearing their thoughts, wearing their feet.
I wonder how many others have wandered here, how many other feet, how many years, generations, for I surely have I was here I have taken things from this beach, and perhaps this beach has taken things from me, time at least, such little impact yet I feel I feel some sense of ownership, pride I guess, ego the wind churns, and the tide turns the waves crash, the gulls hang there, standing in mid air and I all I want is to belong.
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.
there is a deep rooted romantic notion, a call, an ancient instinct, at least felt in the ancestral bones of the northeast here, the coast, the ghosts of mariners and those lost to the great open maw of the ocean lapping, tapping, rapping at our doors for eons, the idea of a singular light, stranded purposefully on an outcrop, a rock, a place of no softness, like an iron anvil itself placed in the corner common of waves, forever to spend days piercing out, a beam of light, into deep dreary days and summoned blackest nights, crashing, thrashing, lashing winds, salty air to breathe, leather skin to dry, the ultimate test of man against nature even if nature always wins, we plant our flag there anyway, as a monument to defiance incarnate, can I summon the same strength and fortitude, and brave out toward that known view, to battle even the stars themselves, to scream my name into the heavens and be known for a time, to stand up to what can not be stopped, to grin in the face of grasping eternal teeth wrought, for our ends are the same, but can I be that beacon upon the land, calling others from the sea, with sacrifice and scars stand above the spray, guide to divinity, hope, and safety, rather than to call a flock for worship but light the way, to inspire the lowest thread of humanity to find the path, might I muster up from the earth, the strength to grasp onto that mantle, and spend my soul as a beam of light, a way, a path, a vigil, one thousand candles focused onto one, that may catch the eye of the troubled, and bring them home to those they love, throw comfort over a tempest, guided to a cove, hear my horn and heed my light, I will bring you home, for may I be a lighthouse, let that be my call.
the random photo in the bathroom the frame is a bit crooked or is the line of white tile beneath something is off someone is wrong
running into the sunrise a neighbor directly black suit neon shoes
the sun looks more like a gestating star with all the gases orbiting round converging into the core
a pure black cat sitting on a lawn like a silhouette prone, ears up back to me my luck I suppose
an accident on the southbound side tarp over the car, meaning mile marker 96 I notice no, more distance has passed since I am supposed to feel something aren’t I? should I meet such an end at any time not the fairy tale sleep I promise myself traffic is backed up for miles south
over the snake mountain bridge the sun has burned through now a jewel nestled in swirls of mist the empire state building stands the middle piece the land between quite unremarkable but the skyline – as you might imagine on a day like this
notes… this was an experiment of sorts, kind of stream of my consciousness in shorts, literally the bombardment of rampart in my mind as I woke and drove to work this am… I don’t record myself I write these in my mind as I drive and repeat them like a mantra, I lose some lines here and there, sure, but I really hate my voice on recordings, it does not match the voice in my mind, the voice I speak to myself always in is not what I hear in there, if you know what I mean…
today was one of those near prefect days, I always tell people (that from my experience living in Florida) that when a hurricane (or remnants) pass through they generally, like some strange weather magnet, clear the table of all ill, the day after a hurricane is usually spectacular, today, was one of those days, I could feel it coming, did I take full advantage? I would love to lie to you and tell you so, I set my alarm, prepped my pack, but when the morning moment came, my get up and go left me flat, I routinely get up around 7am for work most days, six days a week with nary an exception outside of vacation, but damn my blood is cement in the confines of my bed, softest pillows man can buy, curled up in a blanket like a seaweed encircled rock in tide, the lullaby of a 15 hour ocean channel on my laptop, and knowing these are days I can control my dreams, to some extent, lucid dreaming, a form of meditation for my buck, sometimes I can embark on great adventures, sometimes the past is relived with a different twist, and yet sometimes the feel is so real it becomes like a memory, making me blur what was dreamed and what was past, today, not so much luck, just redundant thoughts of having my pocket picked and my wallet gone, I must admit I am a bit paranoid of such things, the panic in my dream quite gripped me and stole away my breath, not that much unlike that feeling of falling when dreaming, you would swear the real and the experience’s merit, so, when I finally did rouse my lazy bones from their perch, time to go to the store and gather up some essentials to make dinner perhaps but definitely my lunches to have at work, my wallet was not in the usual position, I make a point to put things in the same place, as to avoid such situations, my mind immediately went to where it might be, where was I last? when did I last have it out? who could have taken it? clearly I was being influenced by my dreams, or did I influence them subconsciously it seems, it is ALWAYS there next to my keys, and try to conjure the rare situations it might dwell elsewhere, like by my computer if I ordered something, nope, not there, I check the car, perhaps it fell out of pocket, I find a receipt from november 2019 and nothing else, where the hell could it be? I start to think the restaurant I picked up from last night surely would have called… wouldn’t they? shouldn’t they? I imagine someone rifling through the bills, excited to find a good score, and also taking my ID and more, just like my damn dream, that was on repeat and I could not shake, I check all the places I just checked once more, still not there, I suppose I was hoping for magic, a quick look in my hamper, I don’t see any pants, what the hell did I wear yesterday? I dig further, and the delightful weight hits as I pull out a pair of trousers, there it is, I run through the contents anyway to make sure all is there, panic fades, my own mind is it’s own carnival some days… bring in the clowns…
take my hand and listen for the song for that which once was
take my hand and let us sing in the dream that which was before
so we may travel, hand in hand over bridge, on a tune from past to a familiar, but aged land an island, an atoll a paradise built for two and rebuild our house there plank by plank a skylight to the stars at night let the sands pass all our earthly sins let time swallow us whole together for always and at last for I may gently pass with my only reason you my love, you, my love.
notes… I do not know why I so identify with life on an island, maybe it is my time in Florida and the Keys, such a magical place, why am I living here? I suppose if I had the means and the moxie I would move my ass down there for good, and I would, and I will, an island seems like an offering to the ocean gods and they rule most of the known world, those are my thoughts, but as soul calming as that would be, as amazing a life to live among that life would be, it would be nothing without her, but at least I still have the memory…
on a personal note I was at this show… with her… how these three guys sing and rock at the same time is one of the great mysteries of the universe, when the cam shifts to the front row the guy shooting was right next to me, HOB puts on great shows… totally top notch and hell the restaurant ain’t too shabby either….
Shades of My Garden 