“if I do I do
if I don’t I don’t” -me
what else is there? this struck my mind like lightning and rumbled like thunder… so I posted it… so be it.. sometimes the simplest thought is the best thought, live life.
“if I do I do
if I don’t I don’t” -me
what else is there? this struck my mind like lightning and rumbled like thunder… so I posted it… so be it.. sometimes the simplest thought is the best thought, live life.
“and what I know of
the silence of love
notes… haiku? not sure, not meant to be, strictly, that is, this is something I woke up this morning and this was scribbled (OK, typed) in notepad on my little laptop friend here, I don’t even recall writing it, but since I am a music wonk it has beats… 5 / 5/ 3, funny how the universe works such things out (hat tip, universe, in waves)
there is humid, and then there is HUMID, some wise man said sometime or something… yesterday was one of those days, the kind of weighty yoke that slows the world down to near motionless, every effort seems an affront to good sense, sweat is not an option just a nod to how much and how swept, you can see the air frying and understand how mirages work, adding to this physical dissonance is that strange sound, some might describe this as a buzzing sound but yet to me the truth lies somewhere on the spectrum elsewhere, maybe the union of a common snake’s hiss and a raged rattlesnake’s rattle, and like the waves of heat that seem to break upon your face that sound is much the same, rising and falling in some strangely robotic chorus of the natural world, is this displeasure? a warning? of course the mystery is gone, we know cicadas are the cause, but as I regularly do (and I do) I wonder about the time before these things were plain and easy to find out (in the palm of your hand if you will), if you close your eyes and listen to the sound, what mysterious creatures or demons abound? I imagine trees dripping with perfectly camouflaged pit vipers, curled around the branches like leaves among leaves, ready to strike at any passer by who’s senses are worn down by the withering heat, or maybe these are the sirens of lore, just land born, lulling you with their waves of song into a desperate shore, to what end? only they know, so they sing some more bars…
you know, maybe I am overthinking this, the actuality, the reality, the actual cause of the noise is something one might not believe, little bugs, critters, supposed dwellers in the cellar of the hierarchy of life, cicadas, vibrating a membrane to the point of insane, a coital chorus of love, I suppose we all dance to a different song, but that sound, my mind is instantly tied and kidnapped to the end of summer, the lazy hazy days of late summer, is this August yet? no… not quite, but this sure feels like it, the end of summer, the closing of the funhouse is around the corner, but yet I want more, but as many years pass, so do the chances, so heed the song, and remember this is all, passing.
what if, the beams, the light, the starlight we have all known since we could look skyward at night, what if the light was actually a stream of information, a story, a history, an encapsulation of time, maybe it is but we have not the tools to access the data or comprehend the language, as we know – light from the stars we see now could be thousands or if not millions of years old by the time it pierces our eyes, so what if that is somehow a series of photographs captured in a light stream, an album, snapshots, a step by step catalog of a star’s life above from the past until the moment that instant penetrates our eyes and enters into the ripe groves of our minds, think of how generations of imaginations have looked up and wondered, since human kind began, is this all coincidence? the constellations drawn upon with lines, connect the dots, why? the draw, the fascination, perhaps our subconscious is reacting to an underground radio station broadcasting beyond AM or FM, there are parts of the universe far older than our young civilization, what fantastic tales might these reaches bring, stars are truly brilliant torches of inspiration swimming in the vast darkness… but are they more? so the more I look, so the more I yearn, to know, and in there lies hope, for all that, beyond our own.
notes… one of those things that bounces around my ole noggin being a space wonk that I am, the sky is easier to see these days here in suburban Jersey, although the views in rural Maryland where I disappear, er, I mean vacation at least once a year, are just spectacular with the naked eye (although I ponied up this year for a telescope, hopefully photos to come when I get good at it), but think about it, digest it, mull about it a bit, when you see a star you are not seeing a light bulb you just turned on, you are literally looking at the past, something from thousands of years ago or older, you are not looking at ‘now’… pretty mind blowing that just the night sky itself is not real, or at least not current for the most part, imagine if you walked around every day with eyes seeing ten years ago, 100 years ago, or so… well, we kind of forget that is what we are doing with the stars above… so chew on that for awhile my friends… oh and listen to some space rock care of my favorite Canadians (RIP Piggy, but the new guy is pretty damn good, this was the crux of Piggy’s guitar work imo, not that anyone cares but damn I will sing his praises until I’m gone, I like unicorns, so be it)…
the ship has left port, many years now, on the open ocean, never can tell how long the voyage will last, never can tell how vast the ocean really is (although theories have been floated for all of our years), just that at some point, it ends, there are tales and maps of some mystical magical land, but no man has returned hence, only rumors, hope and despairs, should I as well follow this folly? what choice might I have, to sail in circles, to try and double back to my original destination, no, I point to the horizon, for what good is traversing already traveled routes, yes, I know them well, and any dangers in them I have navigated before, there is calm in the comfort there, but I seek more, I only have what I have brought, in my hold there is so much stored up these years, boxes of inventory I probably could no longer identify, things from far and wide, foreign lands, foreign hands, but all have gotten me here, so should I lighten the load, and forget these forgotten things? maybe in the mess is really pandora’s guess, I could be hatching all the mistakes yet once over again, or do I risk rising over the same ones by not reminiscing in the failures once passed, the balance in the ballast is a constant task, so many have come and gone, but yet you are left all alone to make the decisions, all the wisdom that lies beneath this sea, brilliance and wickedness all washed underneath, bathed in the same waves that rock back and forth for me, and toward the north star at night, so bright as to catch all imagination of eyes, a call to attention, to the world, to humanity itself, for these eyes are not seeing anew, they are seeing the same as all the travelers will, future and past, parent to child, for there has been no columbus as yet unfold, but yet we must be bold and push further, out to the setting sun, past the rising light, break the curve of that said horizon, to find the light, the land, the promise, the hand, that might reach out and touch the domain of the everlasting.
notes… hey, I am child of the 80s, ok maybe an odd one, my first musical love was Duran Duran, then I got into Def Leppard (I would play air guitar on my newfangled Prince racket that was all the rage), Metallica (being into metallica back in that day was not cool/normal by the way), Voivod (touted as the fastest band around), King’s X (the most underrated rock band of all time), Testament, Exodus (that song is a lost anthem), Anthrax (fun band)… and always classical, I was the preppy nerd who was friends with all the burn outs (the kids in black metal shirts who smoked)… it was a simple time back in high school in my town…
“why do I seek objectivity
from perfect strangers
I know nothing of them
or their dangers”
notes… why do we seek comfort in the bed of strangers, minds I mean, get your head out of the gutter, ok, blame me on that one, my words lead you on, but we pin the tail on the donkey of expectations all the time, why? we yearn for approval, as do I, just try, try and fail and then try and succeed, just believe in yourself, why ? simple… the universe has selected you, yes you, to be alive right now, and we share this space so I would appreciate some help in the matter, you won the universal lottery, think about it, all of the history of the universe… ALL of it, created you, reading this, if that is not amazing or a miracle, then show me one, OK, outside of pandas, koalas, and platypus… no fair on that count, I concede…
the whimsy and agony of traffic, I got off at a relatively early time (for me), had to fill up the tank, no problem, on my way back toward the GSP, NJ Transit bus in front, pulls over for a stop, I can not pass (double yellow) so I chill out for a moment, then a minute, I am barely past the intersection, the light turns, I feel it pulsing in my rear view mirror, the pressure is mounting up lining up behind me, three minutes now, weighing breaking traffic laws and scooting around, “eh, how much longer could it be?” I think, foolishly, indeed, three now stretches past five, I can hear the people’s thoughts behind me screaming WTF inside my mind, a couple of cars in back tuck turn tail around as they have routes of escape, not me, right behind the big silver sardine barge wondering what the hell is going on, so, just as I am ready to make an illegal K turn (or maybe more like an F), the bus lurches forward, and then I see the cause of my torture, a man, in a strange colored rain parka (it was not raining), the hood tightly on framing his gaunt face, the same weird gray beige as his rain gear and boots made for flooding, or wading, either way, not boots made for asphalt pavement, at least not tonight, he was surrounded, quite literally by a circular fortress of bags, plastic grocery bags, all double bagged, had to be about thirty, I can not imagine how tedious that would be to board and un-board a bus with that cargo, how nicely cramped his bus neighbors must have been, the man, and his force-field of bags was also quite in the road, so I had to tiptoe (ahem, break) across the double yellow lines as to not smash his carefully placed bag telemetry, ah, the irony, anyway, that was not the first stop, next was only one hundred feet up the block, but this was no bus stop, I know where all those are, being this is the town where I work, the next one is quite far, farther down past the overpass at least, I can barely make out the lights trying to bend around the bus, something is amiss, an accident? ya’ gotta’ be kiddin’ me now what (in my not so strong more north jersey accent)?? (another few minutes now pass as I stew in my own juices), I notice the bus looks confused, I mean, by the driver’s actions I can sense that the driver does not know what to do or what is up, either do I, but after Mr. Bags back there I was not getting stuck, this time, while I did not cross a double yellow, I did the worse and ducked to the right, a bit of daylight to a street I knew I could escape to, for a moment I thought the bus was going to turn right as well, right into me, he hinted a turn, but I slipped by, unscathed, took a look down the street back, yep, emergency construction or something, the road was closed totally the way I was going, what luck! so, down the escape path I sped, happy to wind through back to route 46 and the GSP…
…of course there was traffic on the GSP, why wouldn’t there be? was the world conspiring against me ? certainly feels that way, I put on the classical station to soothe the savage beast looking to burst forth, tchaikovsky, and a number I am familiar with, one that brings me back to a day when I had the previn driven nutcracker suite on tape, the one thing about tape is it made you mostly listen to the whole thing, fast forward and reverse were not exactly convenient, or exact, until they came up with that thing where they stopped at gaps in sound, which was a revelation at the time, oh how the little things satisfied, not the one button at our fingertips convenience of the now, or even voice commands, so anyway, this put me in a better place to deal, with the bumper to bumper ordeal laid out before me this night, I almost wish the parkway was not so exact, when you are speeding along you hardly notice, when you are limping along it is hard not to notice the mile markers…
they seem stuck on numbers for miles, the thump thump thump of the road on the tires, it is like a cruel parody of those wheels at the boardwalk where you never win anything cool anyway, why do the hosts on classical radio all sound like they are americans trying to sound like british royalty? sometimes it is annoying, sometimes soothing, but it just is, finally, I near my exit, I can see it, that guy is going to cut me off, that jeep, two lanes over, here it comes, yep, darts in front of me as if there is some emergency, or the four car lengths behind me were inadequate compared to the space between the forward lexus just ahead of me, since I am expecting all manner of bad luck or dumb luck or no luck this does not phase me, or irk me, or even bring me to a rousing boil like it might on some days, no, I am accepting my beating by the gods today, might as well take it on the chin than scream into a hurricane, Mr. Cutmeoff is going to also realize he is in the wrong lane and jerk back into this turning lane, yep, I’m a traffic psychic in a sea of psychos this evening, I should buy a lotto ticket but there would probably be a long line at the local krauszer’s, finally I am on the road home, good old route 27, I figure I deserve a treat, so I decide to travel a little further up the street, maybe whet my beak at the local irish pub, or better yet pick up some tasty latin grub, I opt for option two, so I head towards Metuchen, which is really the belly button, well, donut hole of Edison, a little main street nugget of idyllic Americana if there was such a representation in New Jersey, this can’t be… I see those ominous flashing lights ahead, I was in the clear for so long now, I should have just packed it in on the final stretch, apparently I do not learn my lessons well, as I approach the lights, I realize (exhale with glee)… not on my side, of the road, and a cop is literally standing there with his hand out stopping traffic without warning, I feel for you my poor fellow souls over there, I really do, but for now I slip by, I just chuckle to myself, there is no way traffic, this ambiguous thing, this idea, there is no way Traffic has a sense of humor… or vengeance… is there?
just driving, picked up korean for lunch, warm soup on a cold day, spicy hot soup really fits the bill, even if the bulgogi is quite tempting (and damn they know how to make fries), but anyway, on my way back to the office, the sun is kind of obscured, just a diffused globe hanging there lost against the wash of gray, I see some birds off in the distance, as I am sitting at a light, wondering why the guy in the tesla a) does not pull up all the way b) is way too close to my lane for my liking, but back to the sky, birds, we just accept they are as they are, I wish to imagine a time when I didn’t know them, or perhaps if I was blind and this is the first time I laid eyes on them, these little darting black triangles dashing all over the sky just far enough out where they are more like outlines, some gliding majestically as if by magic or string, forgetting my knowledge of thermodynamics, I have a hard time trying to imagine, or grasp, what I might think these little devils were without the context of the knowledge that traps me, we watch dragons and zombies on screens but here, in the sky are creatures just as unlikely, just familiar, just known, so we forget the experience, the first time, I try to think back, when did I first see or recognize birds, I would have to say my earliest memories, which do not even seem like mine anymore as they age and fade like old photographs in a box tucked in the corner of my closet somewhere, my earliest time had to be the shore, the beach, the memories seem like a legend now or a bedtime story I am telling myself, I feel out of my body, looking at myself in the past, molding wet sand with art deco neon color plastic buckets, the blazing sun turning my blonde locks near white and making my neck resemble a lobster cooked with freckles, looking up, watching the seagulls hover, standing still in the wind almost like my kite, the pipers playing tag with the surf, back and forth, scampering toward them with my child legs, they do not know I mean no harm but they stay just out of length, probably for the best, but I love to watch them pace back and forth, to this day, the constant tide, the ride, back at my office I arrive, trying to retain a child’s eye, trying to remember what it was like… those first times, for every piece of worldly fabric we may take for granted…
written in traffic this morning, this week has been, ahem, arduous in terms of that, just simple things I saw in front of me, it brought me hope in a sense, I hope to share that with you…
on the fore –
the only tree
alight with green
is not a pine
might I forgive
atop a highway light post
but not as impressive
as a falcon
or a hawk
notes… the second one is very ME specific, for some reason I am fixated on birds on lamp posts, I have noticed some birds of prey on them in recent years (and not previously), most birds of prey are super impressive animals really, they are much larger than common birds, at least in these parts, so the contrast is what I was going for here, pigeons are quite common, and not as regal as the top predator, sort of like comparing mullet to a great white, sure, at some level both have aesthetic beauty, but the whites are more impressive as they have barely any fear (besides killer whales, not to go all off tangent on you), anyway, pay attention to the world around, things are there to confound…
Started as a “side band” that wanted to experiment with “Tool” like music (treating Tool’s sound as a genre, interesting). This is off the new album… and man it rules, well, at least to me. Melodic and heavy… I would like to think I hit those notes as a person, probably not… but heck, why not dream while I’m still alive… let me know what you think, I can’t read minds you know (although I pretend)
Music needed for this post (listen and repeat):
this brings me back to days of my youth, my father had a “provisions” route back in the day, and when I was off from school I went to work with him, in essence a provision route worked thusly, my dad (with me in tow) would travel to the meat processing plants and supply warehouses in Elizabeth and Newark NJ, pick up the raw product (whole briskets, fresh chop meat, huge wheels of cheese, snack products, fries, deli salads, condiments, you name it), and then deliver them to local bars, taverns, restaurants, and yes, the occasional strip club (we’ll get to that detail), remember there was no Costco or Restaurant Depot, it was a good business from the turn of the century forward but of course it was phased out by progress like many things, my dad had this big yellow truck, it was like driving around with the mayor of every town, I swear he knew everybody, smiling and waving like we were in a parade as he drove, he knew all the cops, all the weird locals in all the bars, “Hey Freddie K!” was just this accepted mantra, what did I know, I was a kid, I wish I was more astute or paid more attention, the amount of inspiration for character study was astounding then, some of the experiences seem so strange now that I recall them to write in these words, the smell of bars as the sunlight first hits the witness wood floors, a sort of mix of barf, beer, mold and pine cleaner evaporating, you could see dust particles floating upwards in the light, questioning drunk eyes watching, walking into a strip club before they open as an eleven year old and my only want was a quarter to play the latest video game, I am not sure why but strip clubs and bars always had the latest/newest video game cabinets back in the day, we are talking early 80’s so video games were new, hell I remember Street Fighter coming out and freaking out over it (although I am admittedly a Mr. Do man), seeing the help (ahem, strippers) getting ready (into their outfits), pinching my cheeks as I was so darn cute, but I paid it no mind, it just was, I remember Cheeques in Linden had the best damn hamburgers ever, well, they should as my dad was delivering fresh chop meat direct from Magnolia Beef, where I would see things made, you know, meat parts literally being ground down in front of me, half dead whole animals on hooks being pushed around to the various processing stations, I still remember the cold smell of dead meat, the places were cold, really cold, my dad and the workers had these white coats, and then there was the sound of the hamburger patty machine, ka thunk ka thunk ka thunk ka thunk, and then paper slapped between the patties, then a case is made, rolled to the bottom and this crazy wire tie machine thing would seal the box with two ties, and then we would pack them in the truck for delivery that day, learning to use a hand truck was second nature, a wonder all these memories, someone might look at me now and see none of this, a poet, a writer, a philosopher, a nerd, who cut his teeth in the bowels of urban central new jersey’s blue collar belly, I wonder how it shaped me, or was I already there…. hum?!?
Lyrics to the song, poetry if you ask me…
“I stand at your gate and the song that I sing is of moonlight
I stand and I wait for the touch of your hand in the June night
The roses are sighing a Moonlight Serenade
The stars are aglow and tonight how their light sets me dreaming
My love, do you know that your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?
I bring you and I sing you a moonlight serenade
Let us stray till break of day in love’s valley of dreams
Just you. Just you.