Tag: learning

reminders of my own lack of evolution… or?

reminders of my own lack of evolution… or?

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

IMG_5182 (2)

a long winding day of work, not the worst day, not the best day, lying in that somewhere in between, not exhausted but might remark so if asked, and it was if the world were to tap me on the shoulder and say “hey stupid, look over here”, and so I did, among the quite unremarkable semi-industrial human-scape of hackensack nj, my own little Manhattanhenge of sorts, well, the effect of the sun at least it seems, and in popped the words “crested dawn”, not sure what it means but that is certainly the words that painted the scene for me, even if it was a sunset, in between two semi run down industrial buildings to the left of my office, and I must admit, I felt a sense of peace, a sly little smile crept in, the tank did not fill completely but there was some ponce de leon in there, that little slice of a moment to pause, I smiled and moved on carrying a bit with me…

photo of moon during night
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had to stop by the local market for a few essentials before they close, and yes, sorbet (raspberry) is an essential if you must ask, back to my car, parked socially distant in the far part of the lot, I look up, there is a hazy fat crescent moon, hazy for one because of the humidity, fat crescent? well, when I think of a crescent moon, I think of a thin sliver, a cat’s eye glimmer, this was more on it’s way to a half moon, but not quite there, I guess this is 38.5% moon, doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue romantically now does it? but either way, not the moon we catch most often, or at least that I see or look up at with dreaming eyes most nights, sort of this hazy aberration, the aftermath of a very unsatisfying thunderstorm, summer thunderstorms can be wonders of relief, breaking open the humid grip and letting the night slide into comfort, not this one, all that was accomplished was making the street and ways wet, still the night is hot with summer sweat, the kind you can feel just enough like you are wading through as you walk, relishing the instant you can enter your car shell and flick the AC on, so I traverse back the usual way, slowing down where the cop always sits in that school lot, setting up for the one left I have to make before home, a green arrow lane also, bonus, or so I thought, there are cars in front of me, the light turns green, nothing motion, and then after what seemed like an eternal less than ten seconds, the guy in front goes straight, no signal, why bother when you are upsetting the apple cart of the world, and immediately my mind melted and screamed in a thousand tongues “A-hole” as I felt the rage build volcano strong, and then a pause, clarity, that same sly smile from before, slid back in, I remembered the little light show afforded me and grin from just an hour ago, and silly me, silly me, why fly into such a dumb rage, the whole ‘incident’ cost me not an age but a relative instant, I drove the rest of the way home quite amused at myself, the seriousness and the doubt, how easily I was led down a path of twist and shout, over the littlest of things, when I am surrounded daily by the most miraculous of things…

 

.the inevitability of sand.

.the inevitability of sand.

by David Koblentz ♥ 2 Comments
blog blogger blogging cup
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often, ok, probably nightly I like to put on ocean sounds, not as good as the real thing but I not quite gotten to the point where I can afford an on the beach locale of my own for escape, so I take the next best thing, youtube that is, why the sea is a lullaby for me is a mystery, but it is, and I am not alone apparently if I look at clicks and hits, sorry, “views” in the youtube vernacular, so my mind was drifting, listening to a true recording translated into a faux ocean tide…

 

 

calm cliffs clouds coast
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…and I began to think of my hands, inside, trying to see the actual cells connected, to realize everything to scale, how I am truly a sum of parts, miniscule bits, all working as one, might I rival an ant farm, but hopefully not sitting on someone’s dresser for amusement or curiosity, to contemplate that there is actually space in between everything even our skin, although we do not perceive it, at some level it would be like looking at the solar system and-or our galaxy, so much space in between bodies and stars depending on from where you are observing, things are passing through me right now, yet I don’t feel violated, I wonder if I could ever perceive the situation or did we not develop this unneeded sensation for survival, I imagine the intersections, the traffic controls of flow, the plethora of little car wrecks that must go on in the millions, all the while I might be doing something utterly useless like playing a game on my phone, as the mini universe inside my hands explodes with activity, a boiling cauldron of possibility oddly – out of reach but certainly there, and then I think of the future, or the past, really the same in this case, one day the great tide of god will break me down to just molecules, and I will just become part of the shore once more, sand scattered on a line or in a form, until such time as I am gathered up again by the will of the same, my unique consciousness summoned again, the trillions of combinations that came before, all tallied up into this particular form, and soon, way sooner than I may like, broken back down to transform into other life as life will go on – without me.

thoughts from the porch…

thoughts from the porch…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment
wayfarer sunglasses on sand tilt shift lens photography
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damn the heat, sitting here, stewing like potted meat, my legs are pincushions, feeding stations, they look like shot up road signs in rural locations (for those unfamiliar there is a tradition of shooting at signs out in the sticks, hey it can be boring out there), but I want to soak in the last lines of light tonight anyway, knowing (well always hoping) that the next day will come, but I certainly do not want to let this one go, not yet, sticking to shade today did not dissuade the helter swelter, but the recent tropical storm left a mess, nothing major thanks, but still lots of limbs and branches to gather once I cleared the obvious big ones post event, and yet other ones to cull and cut, I’m not a professional landscaper but perhaps I could play one on TV, probably not a good idea for a TV show, not even on DYI network now that I think about it, so there I was melting, as the summer sun can do to you, even by convection baking, taking my time, stopping for breaks, wondering why my water did not get cold enough so I put a bottle in the freezer, sure to forget and find an ice block later, but then, in moments gathered, like a sponge realizing it’s purpose,  akin to soaking in, I would stand there in the middle of my driveway, lookup skyward high, and admire the immediate warmth I could focus, staring at the sun directly with my eyes quite closed, but I can still see that heat seeking globe, more orange and red penetrating through my downed garage door eyelids, how good the warmth feels, like getting near a fire just close enough, just far enough, to not be burnt, that satisfying glow, as all your outer layer is exposed and rises, at first from outer and then from the inside, reflection of radiation radiating, pulsing, like a breath exchange, in and out – in and out, like symmetrical twin-couplet waves never crashing just as if a buoy on the eternal ocean rising and falling in perfect calm increments, breathing up and down, the warming sensation on my face until I sense the intensity nearing a red line, or a burn, so I turn and go back about my business, or nonsense, somewhat satisfied, charged, with light, and the warmth that has fueled life itself, I sweat more in the toil in the shade than in that moment, and the energy is drained, quickly, little twinges in my back, here and there, remind me of my age, my limits, I’m not confined to ancient stock, not yet, but perhaps closer to that than the indomitable spirit of childhood or even early manhood, the middle ages were not the best times for man, perhaps this is true for now, for me, who knows, I can only be me, anything else would be delusion, although many might have tried that particular path myself included, but today I am just me, sitting here, worldly duties fulfilled, the silent and not so contract with my neighbors filled (property values are an underlying strong current in this urban sport), my prize, sitting for a moment to glare off at the fire bitten clouds, watch the sun slowly sink down, the week’s end, back to the grind of work in the morning, but I must remain armed, armed with these soft moments, energy spent, sweat, sweat around my neck and down my back, all sorts of the insect world half bent at taking turns at my epidermal spigot, so I let them have at it, maybe I will itch to a bleed later, but for now, I just want to sip in this sun, the fading rays of waning summer days, for they are life, best to charge up now when things are bright, like the land, to be ripe in fall and be prepared to sleep and dream of days, days like this when the sun draws into the night and the cold, the cold is just a tale on days like this.

notes: part of my porch series ya’ silly goose, it varies by times of year of course….

the white deer.

the white deer.

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

now writing this after the event, I am unclear, was this a dream, a hallucination? something other? of that I am now unsure, but in the moment everything seemed as real as a pinch in a dream might, as best I recall, but this is the next morning after all so I can not be nailed down to the details, however they might seem…
the scene:
nearly 2am on a summer night, hazy, street lights suspended in the humid air, hanging there like diffused cones, not exactly romantic, I know, I had to venture out to my car to put a couple of things in so I would not forget in the whirlwind of morning when I am surely not at my sharpest, especially before the coffee kicks in, the whole street seems blurred, mired in the dampness and lingering heat, almost like the reception of my eyes was off a bit, I scanned around like I always would, sometimes I spot a fox, or other things that go hump in the night, but tonight, about three houses down, something, surely a four legged thing, as best I could discern a deer, perhaps with antlers, I’m not sure, the form is also hazy like the whole lot of the world right now, I raise my phone up, pop on the flashlight app so cleverly in there, held up like a torch but not as bright, at least not on this night, the damn light is trapped in the infernal mist that is shrouding my sure identification, I swear the thing is looking at me, is it a deer? by itself, this late? I see them all the time, the local pack I mean, I know their work hours… and this ain’t one, my mind races to identify for certain, some fear has snuck back stage, coyotes have been spotted in the area and who knows, at this distance roughly could be the size I suppose, probably I am over thinking, but what throws my mind, the color seems off, for any creature of this earth, aside from a polar bear, which this certainly is not, I approach slowly, with caution, my flashlight phone is really doing nothing to help, and still the ‘deer’ stares right at me locked, surely my stealth is anything but, I hear no sounds, not even my own breathing but the white deer is aware of me anyway, as I am aware of it, just staring, the only two beings of the hour in a standoff, except I am approaching, these are my broken-in shoes, worn down like thrift store blue jeans for sale, walking in velvet, no sound, and I inch forward, I swear the thing has a glow to it, I can not describe it, except it exists in a mist, in it’s own atmosphere, the haze that is an occupying force, this night, I sense it might take flight, so I slowly, surely, lower the phone, activate the camera, get ready for the shot, somehow it knows, it looks forward once, and then back at me as to signal, I press the button, FLASH, hah, I must have captured it, for it is gone from view in the next instant, I hurriedly check my photos, nothing… nothing? this was a long few minutes of pulse to come up without a fish, there was something there! I swear! I check again, and there is a faint outline perhaps, a phantom’s trace maybe, and the more I recollect the white deer, bounced like a light-beam pinball behind the neighbor’s house, so fast, grease lightning, a trick of the mind? a trap of the haze? there were rumors that these parts were a farm long ago, I remember seeing a ghost chicken run under the car as a small child, but that was so long ago as to seem like a made up memory, I begin to wonder, and I look at my phone again, there was something there, an aftermath, a remnant, so what were you? the white deer.

spaghetti eastern…

spaghetti eastern…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment
black shower head switched on
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.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…

auto automobile automotive blur
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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…

van parked in front of brown brick building
Photo by Viktor Mogilat on Pexels.com

.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…

a basin of hands

a basin of hands

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment
Outstretched cupped hands of woman on white background
Outstretched cupped hands of woman on white background

why this popped into my head? I have no idea, the whim of the universe I suppose…
but go with me and maybe you will reveal something to yourself as I did, so… take your hands, turn them inwards, so your palms and wrists are facing towards your face, connect your pinky tips together and then bring your hands together in the middle seam (top to bottom) like they are sewn together, all the while keeping your palms up in your line of sight… and look, examine, the lines, all those inexplicable lines come together in some sort of crazy jigsaw map of YOU, not a perfect mirror but certainly remnants of that one cell that divided to become two…
is the natural state of our hands? a basin, a cup, a vessel, to remind us of the vessel from which we were brought from, I suppose I have noticed this before but for some reason missed the wonder, putting my hands side by side so the lines collide and become one – running outward to the coasts of the palms, a pause of earnest humble,
…supplication…
when two become one for the greater outcome or goal, this is not prayer with palms together, no, this is asking to receive, a willing flag of good surrender of one’s self to believe, to place faith in a higher fate, and for some reason, this pose, this slight of hands, makes me think of a fetus in the womb, our purest existence untainted and not stained by the outer world as yet, the womb may be the palms themselves cradling life, sheltering in a shell this ultimate gift, the most sacred Matryoska doll inside, do we actually realize we spent nearly a year inside someone else? such a strange and foreign thought that we were very much alive but not breathing as we have done every day since, a semi-aquatic being in world of such all encompassing warmth and yet all darkness but not the darkness of fear, but not absence of light – the light of life inside, an egg in a shell floating within an amazing protective harness, an incubation of our coming self forward, from a couple of cells to this moment, all those years ago and I have no memory – as if, as if I was meant to forget the start of the journey, perhaps like a lotus flower, I was meant to bloom, but archaeological human remnants remain, in this… a basin of hands… so I say thanks in my inner way and stare at my hands once again… with great wonder, I could never have built this alone.

Thoughts from the porch…

Thoughts from the porch…

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment
desert under yellow sunset
Photo by Fabio Partenheimer on Pexels.com

(that thing I do) …and the strange summer continues, the singular perfume of coppertone replaced with the stark drying reality of hand sanitizer, as of late the humidity and heat bear more of a resemblance to late summer, and these hazy hot days have strung together like an oppressive archipelago stretched across an ocean ring of fire’s back, all in the cast net of my immediate sight and sense seem worn down, the world knows that only needed effort be spent, anything above that red line will be savaged drowned in sweat and drained out with haste, like a sudden plug at the bottom of a lake pulled, like in a bathtub, downward down, spirals and gone, to the last drop, even sound can not bear the weight, there are a few, creatures here and there, wise asses, singing from within shadows fronting proud, but no brazen chasing from branch to branch, no courting, romance or anything other than rest and wait, the first ambassadors of summer, the fireflies have come,  admire and rejoice in their strange shows, there is no Broadway you know, I wonder what I would do if I could flash a bio-luminescent part of my body, I would hope to have control when off it went, even the pages of my journal are moist after a few minutes out this evening, paper sweat, unfortunately this does not make my words more salient or have more depth, I wish I could hear the purrs of the clouds, for surely they are doing so, sun on their backs, casually rolling through the darkening azure path, rubbing the corners of their mouths on the horizon bent, nothing on their agenda tonight, except to simply be, stretched out for miles like mountains, motion barely perceptible like dreams sleeping in the deep oceans unseen, I see leaves moving, bobbing side to side, and yet I feel no breeze, just this stifling brick cocoon of moist heat, barely evaporating off me even as an hour or more passes, not so long now I will retire back to my man made shelter, with the control of the weather at my fingertips, and then might straighten right up like a parched flower placed in a vase of purest water, and bloom again – for at least some hours.

the timing of your life.

the timing of your life.

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment
man walking on the empty street
Photo by Alex Fu on Pexels.com

ever wonder about the time of your life, I mean, when you happened to be born or not, sure, not much choice involved, I’ll grant you that, but there is always the wonder about living in other times in history future and past, we have approximations or even good (solid) ideas about what that means, at least in theory, in words in books, but not the day to day, moment to moment, breath to breath experience of those actual lives, what we take for granted would be miraculous to those in the past, and conversely those looking back at blogs and us might scoff, ‘written words… on a screen, tell me more grandpa!’, for whatever reason my mind drifted just now, tonight, as I was packing up my car for work tomorrow, I walked outside (as my car is not parked inside silly), the night is quiet, humid, hanging low, kind of ominous and pressing down like extra gravity, the street light, the actual light seems suspended in the air before finally exhausted reaching my eyes, and that leads me to wonder how the streets must have looked in time of just flame lamps, the time before electricity transformed this land (and the irony is not lost on me that I live in Edison, mind you, we have a big light bulb monument just around the bend), so, those flaming lamps, imagine all the time having to deal with fire and fuel instead of outlets, fire seems like such a dangerous thing at times, and is, but during that then it was the daily tool for all things, especially to fight off the night, how much darker things were then, most of us do not live that daily reality, fire is more a cute thing now when it is not a menace burning something down, a fireplace is a nice seasonal convenience my entire life during the winter holidays, or a fire on the beach leaving embers rising into the sky for late night memories and revelry, or out on a mountain trail cooking up breakfast on the peak of one of the Catskills, but just the replacement for a flip of a switch in everyday convenience? of course I could opine all that about ‘simpler times’ and the like, but every technology has it’s own idiosyncrasies in their moment of shine, every society looks back and raises a snobby nose at the more ‘primitive’ times, even if we are surely ever becoming someone else’s primitives by design, back to my musing vision…

download
the time of gas powered (or kerosene) street lamps, in a way romantic, yes, in my mind I hear the sounds of horse drawn carriages, that perfect rhythm of hoofs up and down wooden wheels turning and churning, I think of moist cobblestone with a night sheen at certain angles, uneven roads that translate even the most comfortable ride into some level of bobble head motion, we live in a world of static shadows, as our electric street lights are now pinnacles of consistent stability, save for those broken ones or the ones that flicker like twitching fireflies, those old gas lights, dancing flames, shadows twirling with demons, owls asking questions openly, light cast on doubting watching eyes, all things to the imagination, perhaps I am romanticizing, or have seen too many horror movies set at the turn of the previous century, when I think of those old flame lit streets I think of London, and Jack the Ripper, strange how a kid from New Jersey has such a singular view and vision, but it is what I think about in singular fashion, and the night, this night triggered the notion, so I go back inside, to my regular life, to resume all that consumes, so I might retreat back into my own time.

the slow pressure of time (a claw not ignored)

the slow pressure of time (a claw not ignored)

by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment
brown camel
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sidewalks, walking the dog, literally, no cute metaphor there, I was caught to think of the pyramids and other ancient stone structures around the globe that have survived thousands of years, we kind of take such things for granted in some ways, that they are standing there -still- for almost all of our recorded history (and before if you think of Stonehenge or Carnac), but look around at our modern creations, at the ravages, the destruction, the never ending erosion of time and the tentacles  thereof by design, our ‘advanced’ minds thwarted, walking my dog along the sidewalk in my neighborhood, at one time this was a perfect path, now a twisted path or upended like a funhouse, just some odd 50 years ago (give or take), this was a perfectly laid plan in a perfectly made place, a new suburb measured to the letter to absorb the masses flooding out into the plains (ok, New Jersey) from the city centers, lines, dimes, all perfectly aligned, everything planned out and planted about, until time got a slight hold and caused a quiet riot, under root, slowly challenging the ordered mind that set this all about, really- no contest, time has all the time in the world and more, how many repairs has this little road of 50 houses seen, agents of season quietly (and sometimes not so) banging on the surface with the relent of never ending bending weather, and the tread of the back and forth lives, cars, carving paths along the curves just like old footpaths, subtle cracks in the curbs, become valleys once more disturbed, floods, drought, glaring sun, the bitter grip of cold, how does anything ever get really old and not just broken in this environment?  Well, we have not surely learned… the pyramids remain, but all in this hemisphere is fading…

notes…. got my thrash roots, my metal roots, no apologies, anthrax are local good dudes who made good, and damn they were and are fun… and the piece ? damn, seriously walking the new dog it dawned  on me how flawed the perfect planning of this neighborhood was, so smart we are and nature breaks it in less than a generation…

observation and chance, just for me… or?

observation and chance, just for me… or?

by David Koblentz ♥ 1 Comment
lens flare sunrise sunset
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past when I usually spy the sun, still well before she dips below the actual horizon, not just mine, like a star guiding a wayward journey on a moonless night, there I was in the perfect position, by luck, by providence, by circumstance, a pinch of salt and a dash of pepper maybe coriander, all of these, there I stand, staring into the spiral center of a leaf field collage, nearly as dense as the night sky on the round, simply replace black with dark green shadows, but a crack, no a cranny, a nook, a little big hole of just enough, for the sun to shine through, somewhat lens flare diffused, this was not the swelling noon globe I am used to, sometimes I will catch glimpses of this theme in a window, a peek, a wink, but maybe the trees were swaying then, never quite this still, this perfect a portal, a north star buried in a mass of green leaves arranged so perfectly like a tight bouquet with a brilliant diamond in the center, little moments like these provide blocks to build inner strength, reinforce the walls of the good of the world, that  hope, the individuality, I had been starring there standing for a while now, completely lost out of my body swept out into the ocean of the anomaly, and as fast as such times are, the circumstance for my chance was gone, but I was there, I was there for the experience of the moment, I was there.