a work I am working on… a poem in this case... this is my blog, so no rules, this is an active thing I wrote just now and want to hone bit, what that means? who knows? who cares… I am posting where I am, so deal, my blog is me and me is the blog, lol.. so f it… I might repost this poem 10 times, in the scheme of things it means nothing, so like it or not… but his was the first raw form of this particular work… why the hell do I write anyway…
driving in the driving rain
the car in front of me
is going impossibly slow, grating
glowing red tail lights bending and distorting, bends
The presence of breath, the actual physical nature, air is molecules like any other thing is, a stone, a flowing stream, a mountain, the moon… air is one of these but we tend to forget in between beats, so I say sip the air, savor the sensation on your lips as it passes, think of the astounding mechanisms we have running on auto pilot, relish the actual feel of breath (the weight), of life as this physical substance flows in as an inner tide bringing the actual force of life to your shores, for without this, there is nothing more, there is space, a vacuum, emptiness, with breath, you are always full of the miracle, each and every pull on your bellows, from rising sun to head on pillow, and even in sleep the tide rolls on and in, exhale, inhale, this reminder is with us every second, every day – something we all, no matter who, no matter how far, something we all share in the community of humanity at large…
Notes… still trying to find my personal talisman, my way of reminding myself to really both live life and appreciate it in every moment… is that possible ? I’m trying. I have mostly failed all these years… we are programmed to think (and perhaps it is true) that if we were stupid rich we could find happiness, now, I am not saying money buys happiness, clearly not, but does it buy escape from the system at large? is it ok to be enlightened and want financial freedom? I guess that is something I can expound on that in another post…
puddles as pools as footsteps, the oddity of being on the dividing line on a map, always the corridor, wintry mix so they say, so it is, snowing one minute, raining the next, the pure white of barely an inch, devolves into ice walled pools that retain some structure, captured capsized footprints, preserved perfectly, for at least a moment, until the eventual slide into full on water, a frozen tide, lines that outline where I was just a second ago, proof of life I suppose, if however temporary, even those footprints on the moon will go away someday, I suppose, would I treasure those more, if I could ? more permanent than my little frozen steps across the temporary pond hopping in my driveway, all just a matter of the scope of time, the lens of passing, time, time has all the time in the world, and then some, mine just a fleeting trail of steps, melting into the ether, succumbing to the inevitable.
sometimes the smallest things, you should notice, like your footsteps in the rain, or the semi-rain, or the snow, proof of life, like a clutched newspaper, but better, a strike in nature, even if for a moment, the mother provides for a moment in her bosom… so take them, when you can, for time even binds her kind hands…
of course there is always the cliché, the interview question, the ponder, whether a serious psychological expedition or some tactic to make you sweat, or a silly distraction…
if you could be an animal, what would it be and why?
I don’t know if it was the mood, or the food, or the passing breeze that deposited the idea in my mind this time, for some reason the thought gave me a modicum of comfort, for I, want to be a flounder, starting life looking like any other, but changing over time, eye migrating across the line, near perfect camouflage to allow for rest, I love the ocean as well, so that fits… but most importantly as this thought struck down in my head, I would always be looking up, and perhaps I should…this is no fluke !
I think I could make a series of children’s books on this theme “wouldn’t you like to be”… I never really considered writing a children’s book, I always liked the idea of penning a novel, but that has not exactly ever come to pass as yet, this seems natural in this case, I can picture this to be laced with positive psychological undertones now that I really think about it…
There is something romantic about an approaching summer-esque storm, ok, maybe romantic is not the right word, maybe a marriage, a marriage of awe, anticipation and relief, relief in breaking the yoke of humidity descended down upon my neck, a little yard work after work has me dripping condensation down the sides like a cold bottle of water sitting in a hot car, even at this late hour – near sunset, I think, but I can not know from the cloud cover pulled over my sight eyes, a photo flash of distant lightning, a gentle rumble-roll dash of far off thunder, and I wait, will this be a furious tempest pitching a fit or a methodic super-soaker waterfall event, or maybe the red-headed unpredictable step child of both, who knows, as many of these as I have seen this world has seen far more, but she is not taking questions from the press pool at the moment, the battle seems on between good and evil, darkness and light, day and night, cats and dogs, all this painted with portions of perfection upon the sky, or is this just simply symbiosis in plain disguise, the give and take of the land, for I can almost hear the mutters of exhaustion from the plants holding steady tall (but suppressing inner rumors of the will to wilt under the weight of a soaked heavy-hot blanket of a ninety degree day), or maybe that is me projecting, cells vibrating, pacing in circles inside my skin, just as anxious to feel nature’s faucet turned on to unleash a sweet-cool torrent pour, how utterly amazing the whole process really is, sometimes travelling on this bullet train we don’t stop at the familiar stops anymore to admire the old sights, take the time to take a natural inventory of what we know and the startling nature of well, everything, everything we are granted is often taken for granted, all the dressing: electricity, carpeting, TV, internet, down to our very breath, a ladder rungs so high we climb until the ground becomes a tale we were once told, the sky lurks darker, moves closer, a slight cool breeze walks over, introduces itself and has a seat next to me, I guess to also enjoy the festivities and fireworks just as me, and I might thought to have this moment alone, not so, there is so much around, we just do not speak the same tongue (but perhaps share the same thoughts and experience in moments like this), from mole to mammal to avian residents, we will all feel the initial droplets bombarding fall, and huddle in our homes, wherever they are until all is done, some masters of the planet we are, the breeze is a bit restless now as his friends from out of town are arriving, a constant shuffle now of leaves tremble-shaking, and like a slow-motion scripted movie scene thhttps://youtu.be/liwZrALrwBMat first drop smacks me dead center in my brow (could be because I was looking straight up), the ground flexes and sighs as the pores of the landscape gape open to accept the gilded prize, and as the pace quickens, the wind thickens, too many drops to get an accurate count now, this is refreshing though… so I linger, for a few seconds, and now I am fetching to duck inside, after all, I don’t want to get soaked…
notes… for those in the know (thanks), for those not, this is total stream of consciousness from my, um, porch silly ! real life, real prose, no pose… just me, and if you get me… awesome, if not, well.. somehow I will get over it and wish you well anyway…
(this would be a stream of consciousness thought piece)
fear and sameness
I have admitted to, in the past, being very much a creature of habit, gladly trading in the tunic of uncertain discovery for the comforting blanket of normality, is this laziness? or just my contention in content that I like the similar, the familiar, I like to go on vacation to a known quantity, almost like a second home where I know the ins and outs, no surprises, I think perhaps some, I think perhaps not, sure, I should now how I am wired by this bend of my life, but have I just built adequate defenses fueled by the prescient architectural knowledge of my subconscious, am I the tide turtle that can only return to that one beach, in the cover of night, to procreate, and if said beach is gone so is my whole existence, where I would rather drown than find some other dawn? but it would be nice to compare evolutionary impulse to the fabled foibles of mankind I guess, a noble gesture that I am somehow not in charge of this whole neat mess, so, yes I tend to vacation in the same spots over and over if you have followed my little life story, even those places were new once but I researched them to the point of being paralyzed, these are my machinations, my demons, the little silent suckers that seem to drive me into directions from behind the scenes, but if the end result makes me happy… why proceed? microcosm, flash tonight, I had placed my keys somewhere other than I might, if ever would, I am a particular beast in that regard, things go places, the same places, so in a bind or a moment’s itch I don’t have to think as to where to grab and go, but no, not tonight, something is amiss, I missed where I placed my keys, and was ready to bolt out the door to grab whatever sushi bowl might be left @ the local store, my mind raced, my heart paced – upwards, I was home all day, where can they be, I searched the should be places multiple times, as if the key elves, in their divine wisdom, would magically deliver my keys, no, but I re-checked anyway, what the heck did I do different today? I visited all the places I had been in the house, not exactly too many locales, besides today my central AC was out, and the temp hit 90 – and I was working so I had to be @ my laptop checking out the call board, first world problems, I know… then I finally recalled, after almost getting my dizzy self into a tizzy, I shot some video about what I pack for fossil digging, being a nut for detail I even included my keys and wallet, damn authenticity… so, wound up with a salad instead of sushi, the full moon was out before the sun crossed the down, all so perfect looking, sitting out on my deck, low sweat from walking through the hot house, nipping at my sorbet, the neighbor’s new fence half made, playing badminton I think, life is not so bad, but perhaps I lean on my shelter, not just physical ones, fear of losing a precious day off or vacation time to a lousy cause or draw, I think my inclinations have hampered my destinations, emotionally and physically, because I am afraid of bad outcomes, even if the fall is not such a bad one, falling back into the arms of what I know, a quantifiable conclusion that I know satisfies my urges and concreted infusions, I have forgotten a simple thing, perhaps one of the most simple things… so I forced to ask myself ‘what have you really got to lose?’
(stream of consciousness type post, I generally call it free form, call it what you will.. just call it!)
the injection of love (no, not some bad romcom or adult movie) reminders, life flicking your ear lobe so you pay attention, a moment, as the feeling wells up you are reminded of other times, those eyes, I forgot her eyes, of course that is all you see these days with mask mandates and the like, the old saying, gateway to the soul and all that, overacted, but like many things scooped from some basin of truth, with some people you just have a gaze, there is something more there, an instant lock, indeed, almost a ghost-physical embrace, at some level, you feel it, you know the other person does as well, you can just tell, by the feeling in your bones, or wherever this emanated from, but there is no denying the fact, the attraction, the familiarity, the instant comfort yet butterfly fragility, we see so many eyes over so many days, a glaze, a haze, a zombie trance as we walk through, enough that the fog becomes the norm, partial blindness to the remarkable form, and then, every now and again, we encounter someone who orbits our star, becomes our moon, even if for a moment lost too soon, that instant bond, love at first sight at some level I suppose, or just a knowing, a simpatico, a fellow traveler in this world with some strange unspoken bond, yes, I forgot her eyes, not the color – but the light, all the time spent floods back in an instant, her laugh, her smile, how she destroys all my ramparts instantly, I used to be so oblivious to all this, and maybe now, as I grow longer in years, I appreciate these awakenings of time, and there is a boost in my step, a pep in my smile, an inner warmth that I can recall like a memory translated into injected elation, an elevation of the spirit just because of her presence, of course this reminds me to be both jealous and happy for those who have found their true love, and have nurtured the same into an enduring relationship, I can only imagine, or dream, or reach but I know this fate exists for me in these moments, even if I trip over the realization or miss the signs, perhaps my mind is best set looking, or perhaps my heart should lead the line.
notes… couldn’t help myself here, Hall and Oates were a staple in my household growing up, so I hated them naturally, but in retrospect they really were better than the average pop band of the day, catchy tunes and Daryl Hall is a good dude who hosts all sorts of musicians these days at his website/venue… check it out.
‘cubicle’ an interrogation of flies- I sit at my desk cigarette, half cocked, not lit ashtrays, ashtrays are long gone my friend papers, semi-arranged, by year, by slot, desktop or what the cat lady dragged in- priorities rise and fall like a tide always coming in, always high tide I would like to think I made something of a life wife, kids, but no, here I am, here I am in this- this prison to pension, this desk.
notes… in my mind this is double edged, I pictured an old tortured soul sitting behind a desk somewhere in the 70s with stacks of things on all corners, almost a hoarder situation, kind of a noir comic vibe, I don’t smoke, never did, but that vibe, the angry, gritty, smoker stuck in a corner with no smokes, ashtray an anachronism laughing, ending a life where you fought so hard for truth and found naught… just what was in my head when I wrote this. oh, and yeah, in a way reflective of me, in my newish shiny office, I have a window, and that makes me the happiest performing animal in the zoo I call my office home…
in that the coil of my bed, so I recoiled, like an infant, but not one of course, curled up like a ball they say, but more like a fetus to be sure, that comfort, that curl, so natural, so alone in a sense as an adult, but still, the warmth, the comfort, must be inherent, not a fake, that is sure, in these days I curl up more and more, wishing for a campfire, and company, and none come, and I expect that to be, that way, but still, the form comforts me in this cold time of our humanity, spent, indoors, during this storm.
(stream of consciousness posted prompted by a spike to 70 degrees today)
a taste of spring, a little bird on a twig, a series of chirps evolves into song, the sun, not quit strong enough to completely thaw, nor to make my face have the brooding fear of a tan, but a blue sky and a bright sun can lighten the disposition of gravity, still snow survives, around the edges, under the hedges, melting tides reveal masks strewn about in the gutters, a grim reminder of the times we are emerging from, less a tunnel and more a moratorium, a pause, a break in the norm, all holidays vanished along with those lost, a year seems gone, lost, like this never happened, but I do sense this, a taste of spring, seventy degrees seems like the last mile marker on the road to a vacation destination, a little finch, just inches above me, I swear he is dancing a jig, or at least bouncing around, and the snow’s retreat, even the dull green of the lawn is a treat, a feast for the eyes, lonely stark dirtied snow has a toll, like walls, the glow of the setting sun, behind the everyday house across the street, somehow looks more regal, so I will soak this in for now, into my skin, trigger memories of better days, of hope, of waves gently rolling over my toes as a I stroll down my favorite sandy venue soon enough, I have not come out of this time as whole as I once was, but I still am, so hope is resolve, in this – a taste of spring.
Shades of My Garden 