(1) climb will I see paris before I die? to savor love upon the bridge of locks hide’n dance n’the shadows of triumph rise in the tower on champs de mars n’dip my bones in the river siene
to see the frozen steps of everest be fed from the kindred spirit hands of tibet brail-read the walls of the khyber pass and flow into the ganges herself as everlast
to witness pink waves of flamingos island hops the flock n’galapagos count time with a tortoise there with an iguana squad scout the surf shooting salt skyward with a puff
may I lay down along the nazca lines and so align along orion’s belt all, before I die, will I see paris, one more time?
(2) stuck on an island divorced from pangea long ago “will I see paris before I die?” I asked the also flightless kakapo “surely you did not expect me to answer, for that would be absurd” I thought the bird might mutter but what is more absurd than a flightless bird? “have you bothered to look in the mirror?, SIR” rocco concurred fair point, for a stranger in a strange land a spectrum island if there has ever been even in this waking dream I keep thinking I might run into a hobbit or two surely up for a brew or some song and more ale or two but the maori tell me of more a place to jump into the hereafter if only I could muster the muster to disappear into the tasman sea
notes… again, I stipulate, that sometimes things just come to me, or occur to me @ random, this is one of those works, just random universe influenced onto my thoughts, I can not explain it fully nor do I care to, at this point in my life I prefer to let it flow, so here it goes…
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.
I must admit, I find a touch of solace (or wonder?) watching the milk bloom in my morning coffee, almost like experiencing the genesis of clouds in my own privately owned weather globe, until of course it becomes amorphous, which is only merely a few moments, but then stage two, caffeine kicks in… the phone is ringing, there goes the moment, back to ‘important‘ matters… (sigh)
.shallow shampoo the simple things, right? in the shower this morning, fingers luxuriating in my now short hair, I suppose my mostly comfy suburb life never viewed a haircut as a luxury item, but I suppose it can be, at least a professional one, I was definitely a passenger on the bus toward mullet-ville during this quarantine as I could only trim my front and sides – somewhat adequately, what a difference now, I am reminded of how I used to make it a point to scrub my scalp to magically activate the nodes, to perhaps get the blood flowing or something, an anecdotal ritual to ward off baldness or summon youth or both, foolish, I know, funny how certain things ring true though and just pop into your mind instantly years later, as if you are walking through an old library and pick a random book off the shelf that happens to apply to the right now sudden situation unfold, I would not look good bald, I always have told myself that, maybe, maybe I will never know, but I am pretty confident that the whole bald thing is not for me, well, at least for now…
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.speeding and relative consequences driving to work the traffic is slowly gathering and coming back to normal, not quite there but there are definitely more travelers week by week, I notice a train crossing over the turnpike, I know, that does not sound exciting, and, well, it isn’t, but for all the times I have made this drive I can not recall ever seeing it, strange… the weather prognosticators have been wrong the past couple of days, I am aware a real storm is coming, but the little ones before the big one never arrived as prescribed by the all knowing weather gods, the sky is bright, there are clouds that look like inverted sand dunes, the type that look like they were imprinted from a chain link fence being pressed on the surface, I know it is a natural phenomena but amazing just the same, the NYC skyline looks like a cheap fake today, literally like a 2D paper cut out of what a ‘city’ should look like, of course there are recognizable forms, the empire state building, the freedom tower etc., but, maybe it is just the fact that I have driven by so many times, that I am not in awe, this sprawling metropolis at a distance, I know the streets, the smells, the sounds, the avenues, the parks, all of it, just from here it looks like a flimsy supermarket end-cap cardboard representation, flat without any juice… I suppose I am speeding, technically speaking, but sometimes doing 80 feels normal, earlier I was doing 70 but with no one around, no reference, no company, that felt like speeding, and now cruising near 85 mph I am almost day dreaming locked in a smooth straight ride, I hardly notice the Audi A8 barreling up behind me, I’m not hogging the left lane, I’m not one of ‘those’ drivers, I leave a good three cars of space in front most of the time, but the Audi just flashes on by as if I am walking, “now that is speeding” I think to myself, with a little disgust as I do recoil at those who pass through all the lanes weaving back and forth (“stay right pass left” ingrained like a tattoo in my skull), I suppose it should not matter much, but damn, I have to admit, it bothers me and I can’t bring myself to do the same even if, honestly, in the long run, it is not a big deal, funny the curbs we place on our own roads…
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.arrival the excitement, the actual palatable rise in contentment, from spotting a sparkling parking spot out in front of the office, waiting for the light left arrow green, the mantra begins in my head “c’mon man, c’mon man”, squeezing the wheel tighter just like pushing the elevator button a few more times as if it will do something to speed up the time, I turn and signal right to the curb, I look around, head on a swivel like I am stealing something, hello hand meet cookie jar, or maybe…maybe I am missing something? I double check the parking sign three times, a sign I have seen one thousand million times before, and I check it once more, I question in my mind what day this is for, maybe I should check my expectations at the door if this is what gets a rise out of me in the morning, I guess expectations are relative, and they are, first to the office this morning, no prize, no ribbon, turn off the alarms and go through that minor panic that I might forget the codes, as if the world would end or the building will explode, and the phone is ringing, it is not 8:30 am yet, don’t these fools know the rules? I feel like I am getting over on them by not answering the phone until the prescribed time, how we wrap ourselves in this world with the garb, the costumes, the hat and gloves, of momentary importance, which is surely not, just a wait station between things that actually mean something. …definitely time for coffee, splash of skim, packet of stevia, and dive right in…
tonight, out walking the dogs, I looked up, and discovered – the sky was a dream, maybe a combination even, all the right mix to sweep me off to paradise duty free, the heat of the day has sighed and gone off to sleep, the oppressive mass of humidity has retreated to some other port, I thought to myself “I wish I had all the money in the world to see this all the time”, the irony, here I was, viewing for free, noticing the same thing, not a perfectly clear sky, no, not a glowing soft moon, no, just enough stars for constellation fishing, a large swath of perfectly white clouds thrown across like cotton candy as a wind sock, with caves and nooks, all little pockets and playgrounds for the gods, a blue sky, yes, a blue sky at night, not the stunning azure of day mind you, more towards dark but still blue indeed, what I imagine the middle of the ocean looks like when no one is looking (but I suppose I will never know), the dogs seem oblivious, but they have access to a whole olfactory world I do not, my nose is free enough of allergies tonight to enjoy the subtle pine notes of the evergreens, a hint of treated water smell as my neighbor’s sprinklers go off and some wayward spray is blown my way, how can even a perfect picture encompass all this? the sights, the sounds, the smells, the experience, at least perhaps the photo can be a reminder, of these little slices, the devices left for us to discover, all laid out before us, to simply look… skyward and be thankful we are here.
Sometimes I flip through some old stuff, and find lines or short works, or incomplete thoughts, and I post them in the quiet moments of weekends, perhaps you like them, or they help inspire, to me they are snapshots, ideas lost, or just something the moment has passed on, and with that, so here they are…
(1) she ruffles my brow as only she knows how (2) do I trust the path of crows for they are mischievous sprites do I stay the path I go and risk the safety of never light (3) I looked up, and I thought: “could I die under this sky?” and yes, I could, I would, maybe not the radiant blue you are thinking of, but layered textures like purposefully settled sand, layers of slightly not the same shade but related, surely I do not want to go, but if this was the end I might not mind. (4) all of the circles of sand when will they end (5) I see rolling hills of sand from which wind blows shifting landscape yet remains the same a one note chameleon
taking a moment to soak in the sundown, not really a sunset most nights (like the kind when you hear the word “sunset“), my view is not of some majestic mountains or other similar bucolic loveliness, no, just the sun dipping below sight, tucked behind my neighbor’s house, but it will suffice, until something nicer comes along, I suppose that is what vacations are for, I close my eyes intently & intensely to concentrate on what is left of the day’s rays, to absorb every single last joule of radiant solar energy, hopefully put smartly into my internal battery, if there is such a thing, well, at least there is in my imagination that is, so go with it, I suppose this is meditation of sorts, on outside observation I probably look half asleep, and in fact I think I may have teetered back and forth a bit, perhaps eyes open is a better option after a long day of remote client support, one of those days the phone rang before I could even comprehend the morning, and non stop flow until the clock was up, one of those days that after I tell myself to not allow myself to get wound, but by 10am and 2 coffees in I’m down that hole spinning ’round and ’round, so this is like my decompression chamber, well, more like my green open space, not a private matter as all passersby can cast their judgments and questionable looks upon me, I try to spin close the leaky spigot of my thoughts, let my mind expand out into a relaxed pause, I concentrate on a blade of grass gently bobbing up and down, just slightly taller than the rest, that is why it stands out, I scan around & wonder @ all the manner of green hues in the leaves occupying the personal canopy of my yard, the birds sound even, singing even, not chatter or arguments or chirping fits or territorial spits, the chaos of the world seems lulled by mild order and the meandering pitch perfect wind, as the breeze works toward and over like just warm pulsing bath water across my bare ankles, I have at least this little escape, this space of mine for this time, sitting somewhat selfish with a beaming inner satisfaction, as the breeze leaves me in the past like a clever thief, I notice the savage has been sapped from within my keep… rejuvenation, a moment in the sun. (thanks earth, I owe you one)
notes… as always, thanks for the looks, the views, the thoughts, the news, any and all comments are appreciated, negative or positive, it’s cool, thanks for taking the time to check out my little blog. I would say I do it for you… but nah, this is my art, I do it for me, I hope people like it, I want people to dig it? sure. But one is enough, 10,000 would rule, but hey, I ain’t that out of my head …
PS: maybe I am stupid, but I tag my posts accurately, that probably explains the highs and lows, the spikes and the tumbleweed, but that is what I do, that is who I am…
life as a string, or a yard of rope, rarely a straight unedited line, in fact I might not trust a straight piece, or a new piece might not catch my ear from advice, I would like to think I am of a different stretch – the have knots, bumps in the road, reminders, regrets, mistakes, triumphs, a complicated mess of string, a series of memories tied up with life in between, in some way, they hold this all together, the frayed ends, a matter of design of the human mind and experience, the tangled chance holds the tougher circumstance, without those this would be just a single rope, speeding straight along, and maybe since I have never seen this, or experienced just that, twisted in and under and back around, the journey makes the between linear so profound, and perhaps eventually I will not be able to escape a knot and that will be my undoing, but until then I will prefer, to dwell among you, the have knots…
under a strong full day moon, not sure what that is meant to mean, but surely something has been affixed to said phenomena, somewhere in the past, but it just does not grasp at me, just a curiosity, tonight, this time in between, a dark regal blue presides over the transition before utter night, faint outlines and ridges of clouds, still in sight, oddly there is no barking or chirping or any animal sounds for that matter, maybe the full moon has their collective tongue as well, my neighbor’s front door cracks open audibly, a neighbor I do not speak to, really, just a close stranger, five years or more, he used to have a little girl, and a smile, all that is a mystery now, history now, I see just deliveries from local grub stations at all manners of times, or at least as I have observed when sitting out here, different cars in and out of the driveway, but always just he remains, how strange, just across the street, some few hundred feet, a completely different realm of daily existence I know nothing about, a different world with different views and different rules, I can not say I have ever seen him smile in many long a time, I am sure he must have, so hard to gauge a story from what reads like miles away, his face reminds me of a thought, a thought that crossed my mind earlier as I drove home from the grocer, I am making that same left turn I have made a thousand times, and my lights struck pure in the eyes, the face of the driver in the other lane, just the sheer look of down, a complete crown of misery befallen, a hallow expression, depression a miserable face but why, there are plenty of reasons I suppose, I suspect, but how many are valid in true retrospect, and so I pay mind, and encounter more, dour and puss, the miserable faces are like a parade of intermittent misery, like gloomy potholes dotting the road back to my sanctuary, the why, I ponder the whys forever, is it easier to raise that foul flag and plant it smartly, like a shield, an outlier, a boundary marker, a warning against trespass, a way to wall off the world to exist in your own little version, at least for a while, so I must then ask, upon this observation… do I myself don this mask? and not even realize that I compromise a part in this charade of misery infecting the world, am I one of those miserable faces at times, I wish it not to be so, but I can not guaranty same, I wish not to be so, so I just remain vigilant as to what my face says to the world, as it also reflects the inner workings of my own, I hope I can bear hope out with my countenance, love with my eyes, joy with my words, understanding with my ears, knowing sometimes, we allow ourselves to slip into that night, that comforting solace, a familiar grimace, spines thrust out to all approach, but to recognize the time, the purple time, to see the line between, to fight our very nature, to hold back and remember, rebel against, the miserable faces, for dawn is always on the other side.
notes… part of a series, or my life, or both, something like that, I appreciate the read, yout thoughts, your life, and all that, I really do, why else am I stranded here on this marble .. but you ?
might all my steps, all since I have first roamed this earth, all my footprints, in hind new sight, become like glowing beacons under black-light, neon green pathways of where I have been, to see it all mapped out like that, a cartographer’s delight, a story, lines, paths crossing, intersecting, leading, tracing, back and forthing, the mundane, the unusual, the one timers, the two timers, the everyday worn down trails, what patterns they might reveal, the common or the familiar, pointing to family, friends and perhaps strangers, cousins or a dog park, the beach or just a long walk, meandering, spinning in the rain, peeking around a corner to spot a local deer, or standing quite still as the baby jack rabbit passes slowly, how many miles all these years, and I have never changed the oil, surely I am overdue, but I guess when I am due the engine is over, how many roads have I traveled, how many vistas toward have these feet drawn my form, all these neon zig-zags all over the floor, I wonder if some wonderful pattern might appear, a talisman, a mandala, some secret ancient symbol I have been drawing all these years without knowing, and then I might pull back, and rise up to the sky, looking down and seeing my creation from way up high, and the humbleness that will imply, as I see only over a few states my pattern’s eye, how much larger the world, or just this land is than I, I whisk the globe with my hand spin, seeing witness to all the lands, I have not been, and might never not be, the seas, I imagine walking the equator once round, just for the story, and back down, gently back to my grounded self consciousness, and look around, and up, no trace of me in the sky, one day I think, maybe, one day… I might become a constellation…
notes… one of those things that just came to me, and you don’t believe in inspiration ? you silly thing, what causes it, what moves it, what moves us… strangely, we have no idea, why does art exist ? what is the point? it does not feed babies, it does not raise cattle.. but yet… it persists… and always has, so the canvas, is the universe…
Shades of My Garden 