‘parachutes’ …/

‘parachutes’ …/

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I can not explain the why of the exact thought, but when I think of sky diving, I think of a blindingly shiny aluminum plane with perfect rows of rivets, much like a vintage airstream trailer with wings, WW2 era propellers rumbling madly, making conversation mere bursts of short screams, one of those cool logos emblazoned on the side, an old cracked but comfy leather cap keeping my skull nice and warm before the plunge, no one else on board, at least in the jumping area, I suppose I am alone, aren’t we all when we enter into this doorway, a lighted path that delivers us here, into life…

waiting for your perfect time, instinct, guesswork, a push, who knows, seems like months incubating the decision, knowing that at some point you will have to jump, we all do, maybe we are already falling, I suppose they did not coin the phrase ‘terminal velocity‘ for nothing, quite tongue in cheek really when applied to this side of life, well, the only side we know and can discuss until, well the coin flips, or lands as it were, as all things must and all things do, standing there, waiting your turn, the door opens, the wind rushing in, you can not quite see the ground, just the clouds, funny I thought heaven was up, not down…
and then…
the release. . .
nothing is touching your feet… air is all around, a free fall for all in the throes of gravity, or the inevitability of gravity, you might catch a glimpse, of the ground that is, a free fall like a free will, indeed…

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I wonder how many parachutes I have left, cats seem lucky in that regard with their defined nine, magic in their spines, ‘three he plays, for three he strays, and for the last three he stays‘, I wonder if the same could be true for me, finding out for sure would be the daunting part, how many parachutes do I have? and why do others have none? a strange conundrum, for there are times that could have been my time up, but not prescribed, so not done, the randomness of the universe at large, all this molecule soup roiling in the cosmic cauldron of all? or a written plan, the invisible road, a string theory that leads to a thread distinct destiny for all the world, and in my years spent, in and out, thwarting death, once more I might reach for that cord, and find nothing left, might I make it to nine, like a fine feline, or perhaps be greedy and aim for double digits…

A touch of whimsy…

A touch of whimsy…

person holding red and yellow fruit
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“a peach in the park”

how thoughts ignite in flames, bullet trains and maelstroms, so where should I start, so where should I begin? oh yes, a peach in the park, how might I endeavor to discover the clever fellow who placed this fleshy fruity fellow on this spot, might I infer into the meaning, the intention of this pit full globe placed perfectly perpendicular on the corner of this wall of laid stone… Should I become the king’s protector, a sampler, for a taste of hemlock, and reap the rich rewards of a job well done, unless I am done in by dining on this course, of course… Or is this the lost remnant of unrequited love, a date never met, literally a fruit not tasted, a memento of a moment not materialized, left behind in hest with heft on heart on broken, on further review, I do not think I like this interpretation…  perhaps this is an offering to the goddess of the central, in tribute to this grand oasis laid in the land of no sleep, surrounded on all sides by city streets, taxi keeps and buildings that dare scrape the very rooftop of air itself, a thankful ode, a nod to the one who keeps this trove, a grove, in the middle of all the manic metropolitan bustle and hustle, to the power of that natural spirit that sings in trees, howls across the winds, showers clean with the rain, blankets pure with the snow, I think I like the romantic interpretation of this intention… Or perhaps this is just some cruel trick, waiting for some fool (such as this, me) to pick up said peach grenade to receive a face-full of blasted peach parts, quite humiliated as the secret camera is revealed and all the phones that know no yield, up on the net I go, famous for something I’d rather not, for at least a cycle, face covered in shame and peach cob, no, this makes my hand recoil, I look around quickly to foil this latest plot, but nothing seems amiss, but should I take the chance?

and with all this scheming, mind running, scenario scrubbing, a subtle stranger (as we have not been introduced), has quite gotten on the loose, for behind this perfect peachy day, a squirrel has stopped to eat some fruit… well, I hope the spirit of the park is not amused… but for sure I am off the hook…

Notes: I have to say, sometimes I have no idea where this stuff comes from, well, technically it is me (obvious) but these things just pop in my head, to me, this is whimsy at best, letting my mind stretch and wander into some unknown field and describe the grass there.. if that makes sense, and if you read this it probably makes sense, and for that I say…. thanks…

the sun will come out (or so I am told, I’m not convinced)

the sun will come out (or so I am told, I’m not convinced)

taxi on the road
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as much as I love rain, and thunderstorms (specifically), sometimes the wonder is shadowed over by angst or perhaps the persistence of the rain, driving in urban new jersey is perilous enough, throw in what looks like the contents of a washer on psycho spin cycle up against your windshield and even the staunchest optimist-acrat can become trodden down, last night was such one of these nights, no end to traffic in site, no accident on my side, not that I can see anyway, the whirring of flashing lights, ambulance, tow truck, fire truck, police, all speak to the seriousness of the wreck I can not even see, but in front is a winding river of endless angry red taillights, behind me a cauldron of various states of humanity, ranging from frustration, to anger, to the begrudging acceptance of fate, this night, a one hour drive stretches miles into two although the toll feels more like years shaved in-artfully off my soul, like a blunt object piercing my skull (think head butting a bowling ball, rinse, repeat), I should know better than succumb, but the seductive sirens sitting there on the concrete medians sing their song seducing, and lure me nearly into the rocks amidst this throng of mass humanity, somehow, by providence, sheer will, experience, and perhaps some blind luck I make it home without a scratch, aside from the aforementioned carved up and beaten about soul, I should know better, and have a firewall in place to brace for such equations, but sometimes 2+2 adds up to more than four, or my math skills have deteriorated past the point or no return, at least for now, I arrive in my driveway, did I mention I hate traffic?

clouds
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so this brings me to this morning, nothing unusual there, the humidity is making my car sweat, or perhaps the rain when I slept, no matter, I pop my trunk and water runs out on my arm good enough to soak a sleeve, “ah, continuation” I think, and so it goes, on down the road, same lefts and rights and lights and cars, of course there is an accident by the on ramp, why wouldn’t there be? getting to work on time becomes more of a fantasy than concrete reality, just more salt in the old wound I suspect, and the trek, why would the turnpike be clear this morning, thursdays are for traffic they say, or they don’t, but I think it anyway, anything to keep my mind drifting into road rage, which is a misnomer, I clearly am not mad at the road, the road can not help the lack of planning that has it crowded so, besides the poor thing is out here all hours of night, in all weather, so who am I to gripe? against my fellow man, woman or whatever, perhaps then, I watch people in my mirrors jockey in the lanes like slow motion indy 500 drivers, somehow I think myself better than them as I stay put in my lane, a little pocket of joy pops when I pass them, and a sliver of grrrr when they pass me, just the same, what the hell am I doing contemplating such things? feeling the swirling, like flushing down a drain, the rain is still in the zip code but relenting, and then, as if I texted the sky gods, the sun decided to have a go, a little late, but better now than never, you know one of those times like it seems the sky has opened and the very light of heaven is streaming down ? yeah, something like that… literally as if I had reached up in my basement and pulled that old string attached to the too short chain attached to the rickety light bulb that is probably older than dirt itself (judging by the dust cloud puff), the blazing sunlight bathes my car from hood to rear like a curtain pulling back, and then quite suddenly I felt a sense of, I don’t know how best to describe it, joy ? uplifting… joy? joy-spiration? (sure, that works) I did not literally turn 180 degrees as that would be foolish (and illegal, not to mention dangerous) but my spirit certainly did, in an instant of just abundant joy, from a mere smattering of sunlight revealed, and people wait on street corners for drugs… I should corner the market I tell you (if I could bottle the stuff)… but anyway, the moral of the story, well, OK there is no moral per se, just a reminder, a little spark of joy might just be around the corner (or the next one), so when you get dressed in the morning, remember your underwear (important), lace up your shoes with some hope, attune your ears to receive positive radar pings, warm up your eyes to the idea of possibility, be open to the world… and you may, just may, find a little slice of heaven out there just waiting for your to discover… or even just some crumbs of happiness, I’ll take either or the latter…

close up of black bird
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notes… so I will leave you with that, I have a rare weekend off and I am going to venture into the wilds of New Jersey… yes! there are wilds here, mostly coastal salt marshes and such, and sadly I have never been to every corner of my own damn state!  shame on me, so I aim to fix that record, I will be traveling near Smithville…. in between some more famous places but after driving by a few times over the years it is time I stopped by and stayed awhile, at least a couple of nights, a king suite with a jacuzzi doesn’t hurt, just sayin’…

if you like the free form and rambling rambling rambling style please visit my Collections & Series page, scroll down to the Essay section… and to all who read this far or this at all, I bow, and say thanks. I do this for me but share it for others to see…

truth, an essay about the nature of it

truth, an essay about the nature of it

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truth is like a box of chocolates, ummm… nah, that one sounds a bit too familiar for some reason so I will forgo it, thinking about it, truth is more like a perfectly formed square clear plexiglass box, a novel little thing that you can hold in your hands (just big enough to trigger a two hand response but you could hold it in one hand if you endeavored to do so), you can not inherently change it (no matter what you do), however, you can choose to do many things to suit it to you…  to hide it behind your back, or take pictures of it for disbursement, make copies and call it the “real thing“, the truth remains however, you may even hold it at a certain angle so only part is visible, or at a different vector to show off one aspect of this cute little plastic box, but the truth – has not changed, you may lash  it to a pole and smash someone in the head with it, maybe you hide it somewhere knowing someone will find it later, perhaps it is up on a ledge just out of reach, or just around the next corner, maybe you do not even know what it looks like, on a map X marks the spot, or left alone in the yard, half grown over with ivy, bury it for one thousand years in sand, paste glue popsicle sticks all over, hand print paint turkeys on the side…

but it remains, a simple box, square sides of even dimension, clear plexiglass from all sides when revealed, the truth.

“truth is what holds our feet to the very ground (whether we like it or not).” – me

“truth will ultimately prevail where there is pains to bring it to light” – GWash (some guy who founded America)

“Truth will always be truth, regardless of lack of understanding, disbelief or ignorance.” W. Clemrock

“Truth is ever to be found in simplicity, and not in the multiplicity and confusion of things.” I (the original apple) Newton

So.. what do you think about the truth … ?