the equation of love
1 + 1 = 1+
music to ponder a few moments by:
Tag: Life
Travel Log: Millville, NJ (in dark winter rain, and what’s in a name)
I had the, ahem, pleasure of driving down to a corner of my state I certainly do not visit often, but Monday night I was tasked with a software upgrade in these forsaken lands, normally you would not think (I did not) of parts of New Jersey being south of parts of Delaware, well, now I am aware as this locality is due south of Wilmington, funny how perception is, we (new jersey types) always think of Delaware as due south of here (well, it mostly is), but that does go to show how off the main heartbeat and arteries this joint is, it is not barren by any means, they have their share of Targets and Walmarts, just a whole hell of a lot of land in between them, you hear a name like “Millville” and do not associate it with much, but it is funny how things have origins, this was literally a Mill Town (seems obvious, I know), founded somewhere around 1720, and next door to this town is Glassboro, you know, where they blow glass, seems simple enough, if you look around your own state such simple names pop out all over the place, and they tell you about the history (or lost history) of the area, there is Marlboro, no not a cigarette thing, the history goes back to the 1600s and the area became famous for… wait for it… “marl“, never heard of it ? me neither, but apparently it was the goods back in the day before commercial fertilizers came about, in fact there are other towns with the moniker, like Marlton, then you get into more obscure named things like “Furnace”, this was a designation of a foundry or iron works, mostly in the pine barrens (you know, where the Jersey Devil is rumored to live), there is Weymouth Furnace, Hanover Furnace, Gloucester Furnace (eh, you get the idea),
…and then there is the colorful or animal themed ones like Red Lion and Hog Wallow, to the strange and mysterious like Ong’s Hat, even on to the ominous Double Trouble (seriously)
…anyway, my trip down south was quite uneventful, full of traffic, enraging traffic, did I mention traffic (where rte 42 meets 55 is mind-numbing), bleak black rain, cold rain but not cold enough for snow or ice, just the type that drips on your neck from some building corner or tree and chills your spine with a flinch, or smacks your ear on the dime, the town is quite barren but I was not in the town center to be fair… but the name of the town got me thinking, and writing, so many simple things in a name, all around us, especially in this area of the states, the original colonies, there is a lot of history here, and probably wherever you are, whether it be 100 years ago or 50, there is something hiding in the corners and cubbyholes of your state I bet, check them out when you get a chance… you might find something unexpected.
thanks for the look, the like, the time, if you like what I do or have any suggestions comments are always respected….
a first snow…
there is always the ordinary, and mixed in there somewhere the not so, I was just walking outside to move my car, outside of work, to park where I am now allowed, as to not offend the local signs, vengeful as they are, the clouds are a gaggle of grey, no, more of a singular mob, one great mass of bland nothingness for as far as I can tell, I notice people walking down the side street that I do not recognize, the warehouse across the street, closed so many months ago that the near presence of life startles me a bit, why would anyone be walking down this street when there is nothing here? I suppose it does not matter, just the matter of moving my car literally fifteen feet to a more preferred spot, under a tree, which is nice in the summer, not so much now, walking back to the office, cutting through the lot where I was not supposed to park, I notice a couple, and then a couple more, slowly floating down, snow, actual flakes, the kind you dream of when thinking of it romantically, individual flakes, each with their own personality, you can read each one down as it goes by, flows and floats here and there, flakes the size of fifty cent pieces and seen just as rarely, so very few, to stand there and admire, and the background world fades for just a bit, I forget about the drab urban sprawl, the faded yellow lines in the asphalt of the local street, various plastic wrappers tumbling by my feet, a retreat, into the recess of my mind, the little spark of a child, that first time you saw snow and after, waiting for the snow to pile up, the fun, the sledding, the snowballs, falling down and not getting a hurt or a scrape, snow angels, running around until your outfit is soaked to the bone, peeling off layers, hot cocoa with those little marshmallows, all in this moment, just the trigger, these little flakes in slow motion all around, no sound to them, a little kid still bound to those early experiences, and then, a honking madman at the local left turn signal, apparently the cretin in front of them has not turned in sufficient speed for them, there are honks of courtesy and then those of unbridled rage, these were the later, my trance broken, I soak in one more moment of this perfect snow globe, and then, back to my desk, my daily home.
a quick prayer for a sunday night…
“my only hope is in the stars
to upload my soul upon release
so I may travel the walkway to god”
notes… my mind likes puzzles, and is constantly working on such things, I have trouble blocking out the ‘big one’ sometimes, that being our mortality, half way through life (I hope) there is no way to not consider it, that is, for an agnostic like myself, I would love the relief of belief but to date nothing has satisfied me, I used to be smug about it in my younger days, looking down upon those who are religious, I realized later that I do not have the answers so those who find theirs I am grateful for, it just has not happened for me, maybe never will, maybe it doesn’t matter, that is my struggle, really the one we all share regardless of how we got here, into this time, now, the idea of basically never existing, death, is daunting, to say the least.
sex, I mean how else did we get here?
let my eyes speak sex
with lurid intent
a sultry stare
the thrust of wet
bodies bare
dripping sweat
tight embrace
coital lock
in that moment
pure escape
notes… I think about things like “can I communicate with my eyes”, can I say “I want you” with these baby blues, why do we pretend, the games, the end, there is times when desire and lust are just forefront, we all have impulses and I am no exception, life- lust- visceral… and I think this is just one of the sexiest songs ever…
imagining a scene… (poeming by numbers)
“interrogation of flies“
I sit at my desk
cigarette in hand
half cocked, not lit
ashtray, ashtrays no longer exist
papers arranged by ear by year
slop across the 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 this life
wife, kids
but no, here I am, here am I,
mired in this, my domain, my cage.
notes… in my head I saw this beaten down disheveled lifer newspaper guy, who can’t smoke at his desk furiously anymore, and like any of us he misses the “good old days” regardless if they were actually good, they were the routine, and most of us fall in love with routine, but then we wind up, here and there, with a waking moment like “what the hell am I doing here?” and then it passes as furious and visceral as it felt, falls back to the routine, so this poem is not technically about me but definitely has some pieces of me in the bones…
and…. if you do me the honor of sharing my content, cool, please do, just a hint of credit would do nicely though on the karma meter, and thanks for the look, the read, your time, I appreciate it.
and the difference in a day…mere hours separate…
how things shift, magically, well, OK, quite naturally, but damn it seems like magic sometimes, my yesterday mindset seems just like a forgotten relic of the past, a lost wagon train on the plains on trails before highways, the snow, what was of it, has melted away into the witness protection program, transferred somewhere upstate, even though, I have to say, the temperature is much colder today, thirties, all day, but somehow… someway, this is a better day, the sun is bright, if not warm, just bright, and brilliant through the trees now as there is no leaves left to absorb the inferior solar tilted version in winter, stark naked lines outlines of trees against the blue, some clouds here and there but mostly strands of gossamer across an azure canvas, nothing more, the air is crisp, a strange thought, but something about cold winter, still winter air, just has a certain feel when you inhale, almost like you are drinking it through a straw, at least that is my perception, how things align, today is my ‘late’ day to work, so along with the weather cooperating the traffic is a usually a toothless tiger, and it was, what a difference one hour makes in the commuting rat race, at least in this state, even the road seems nicer, sure, concrete and asphalt are not going to win any pageants but they sure look better bathed in the bright sunlight, I can spot the the batches of rust on the bridges and make out images in them like cloud formations, this is truly a conspired concert of events all coming together in the polar opposite way, than yesterday, I can hear little orphan annie in the back of my head, where the hell was she yesterday ?… well, at least I found a cozy parking spot, in the back lot, I’m actually a few minutes early, how novel, for this week, so that is the lesson, a simple one I suppose, one we all ‘know’ but perhaps need to throw our selves a reminder now and again… the sun will come out tomorrow, or perhaps ‘could’ is more accurate, but find a field and bury your doubts, you never know when things will turn, for the better, the chance is always there when you open your eyes on to the next day’s dawn.
Metaphors metamorph on the way to work…
“mountains“
I wonder about peaks and valleys, and which I am in, the grind, three days of mind wrenching winding traffic, each day a new excuse for this vile serpentine of red braking lights, stops and starts, twenty some odd miles that stretches into hours, three days of unrelenting mess, monday, rain, somehow rain is anathema to brains, I truly can not explain the phenomena, I don’t enjoy being late, but I don’t rather leave even earlier and wait, and wait some more, tuesday, more of the same, not sure of the problem that day, an accident rumored in the truck lanes, perhaps, makes no sense that traffic on a separate road is slowed due to an unseen wreck, that wrecks the entire morning, that feeling, when you finally make some progress but then look at the sign ahead and realize you barely have made headway or halfway, and then maddening local ordinances make street parking an asinine adventure, a loop d loop traverse around the neighborhood until a proper, semi-legal spot is found, for now, only to run out and move the car in an hour, to avoid the local ticket brigade, more than happy to enforce the one inch you crossed toward the end of the block, then there is today, wednessday, snow in the forecast, snow on the car when I left the house, none on the road mind you, barely any on my hood mind you, but like rain snow apparently blinds cognitive ability, and certainly motor vehicle functionality, I begin to wonder if I am a mountain, being sucked under into a subduction zone, for at least then I will melt and be remade into vibrant new magma, but these days I feel more like an old mountain, bordered on the sea with waves pounding upon me relentlessly, eroding me, piece by piece, grain by grain, into the ocean, dissipated among the shores barely aware of my once mighty mountain cohesion, death by a thousand laps but death just the same, like slowly sinking, one day realizing your height has left on permanent vacation, maybe it is all this gray, the concrete median, the asphalt, the lack of sun for three days, the shorter days, the monotony of urban construction projects in bland display, I always thought to myself why don’t they decorate some of these bridges with art, these damn drab bridges crossing over, all the same, one by one without a name, not deserving of one either, overpass number such and such, just past mile marker such and such, and spiraling down thus, I look up, there is snake rock, NYC skyline off in the distance, the snow is just enough, just enough to coat things evenly, like a beautifully breaded perfect recipe, just enough so you can see the original lines under of everything, the tree branches, the rock outcrops, not so bad I thought, finally my exit reveals around, still a little late this morning but nothing out of total bounds, I pull up to the office, make that left I always make, and behold a spot right in front to take, or even three, hard to believe, I feel like a kid stealing a candy bar from a grocery store, I twice look around, I know to heart all the local laws, today is not a restricted day, here is not a restricted spot, for once I have to give in, and believe in my luck, so perhaps this is hump day after all, and I am at the top of said mountain, not realizing I was climbing, all this time.
notes… does this need any ? curious of your thoughts after reading this…. are there any other commuters out there? hello? is this thing on ? tap … tap … tap ….
a simple thought on winter…
“summer the lover has left my bed
phases pass as the world groans colder
sheets witness to warmth now transform
a shelter for the winter come
once spring fling now just an austere dream
so here I lay, sleep, now dormant beast”
notes: just something that appeared in my noggin, then I lost it, forgot where the heck I jotted it down, man that is annoying, then I had to read (translate) my awful handwriting…. yay !
what the flock ?
a flock of seagulls, no not the band (and was that hair a viable option… ever?), a flock of seagulls, hmm, ‘flock’ seems a bit fancy for seagulls, maybe a ‘collection’ ? no… that sounds a bit too much like a bunch of stuffed taxiderm-ical feathered statues staring at you with those creepy dead hollow eyes, a ‘gang’ of seagulls ? hmm, they can be rather aggressive in these parts but that does not seem to fit the ticket either, a ‘gaggle’ of seagulls ? that seems to fit, even if the name is owned by their cousins the geese (I am allowed creative license with species just so you know), so a gaggle of seagulls it is, not on the sea, quite more inland, choosing to be, in the parking lot of my local strip mall, a pizza place (very good local joint), of course a chinese spot as well, a laundromat, a supermarket, a nail place and then a hair place with predictably in the middle of them cuddled a spa that seems sketchy (aka massage parlor), a bangin’ bagel place, a liquor store, jeez, this really is New Jersey to the core, I think that covers all the major food groups of Jersey: Taylor Ham, Egg and Cheese; Bagels; Pizza; Eggrolls and Wonton Soup; and the adult beverage of your choice to wash it all down, and somehow this is the domain of said gaggle of gulls formerly of beachfront property realm ? I suppose the scavenging is superb to attract such a far off crowd, especially lured away from the beach and shore which I consider so much more (fresh seafood buffet galore), than this, some so random new jersey parking lot bore, but they did not leave their hierarchy behind, there is constant shuffling for the best of the parking lot lamp perches, to scoop up the scraps of those passing through their new inland shore as tides of people come and go, then there is the bench, the on deck circle, those waiting in line on top of the buildings, all in line, waiting to be called up to the scavenging front line when one of the larger more established gulls is caught not looking or is sleeping it off some where quite satisfied, it all seems so darwinian and yet wholly unnatural all in the same breath of thought and observation, most travelers through do not pay them (the gaggle) any mind, I like to take at least a little time to observe their idiosyncrasies and evolving society, I wonder, would I leave the beach… for this ? this concrete wash with no roaring ocean, a beach all to yourselves, for the most part, only that pesky invasion of summer bodies which bring sacrificial food anyway, the waves, the surf, the sun, the ocean smell, swapped, for this? belching cars and urban smells, I wonder again, could I do that? leave that behind ? how high and mighty I must be, at least they started on the beach, I have never gotten there to begin, except to visit for a spell, I surely have never set up shop for more than a week on said beach, touche gaggle of gulls, at least you have at once or past called the ocean shore your home where I have found most of my life on pavement and concrete stone…
music… had to be obvious, except I remember when it came out before GTA made it popular again, I was more of a Duran Duran kid I have to say… yeah, me the uber metal head into all sorts of craziness musically, my first musical love was Simon Le Bon, don’t tell anyone, don’t want to lose my cred…
Shades of My Garden 