notes… technically I wrote this on my porch but it was different from those musings… this is my blog so, I do what I want, If you dig it, I am grateful, if not there is plenty of other grapefruit to ponder.
music... COM TRUISE… that’s all, retro electronica, sounds 80s but yet somehow modern-ish… NJ guy as well so I am partial to that…
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…
(1)
driving, on the fore – the only tree alight with green is not a pine spring has arrived
(2)
“expectation” might I forgive the architect for placing a pigeon atop a highway light post distinct profile hitchcock 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)
I sit out upon my porch, my usual place, do I wish to write about the birds, the coming spring, the buds on trees? I’m simply not in the mood, while all of those things are certainly true, instead, I close my eyes and imagine everything is slowly fading into nothing – revealing, phasing back to the way the world was, before this land was torn about and put upon, all to meet our needs as a species, assigning and asserting our assumptions upon the landscape, but now, in this dream, I am sitting on a rock, viewing out upon a chain-o-never ending hills, golden grasses swaying in unison in the breeze, local fauna in all manners of splendor, maples and oaks left to roost in their own glory, a world certainly alive with the madness of squirrels and chipmunks, tides of birds flowing in and out of frame, deer in packs like herds roaming in thousands, lynx on the prowl in the shadows, and bears the kings of all they may see emerging from their winter burrows.
Photo by Creative Vix on Pexels.com
I was digging once as a child, in the backyard, as children do, well, at least before smart phones, and came across what now I realize was clearly a river bed, perhaps river is a bit strong, but surely this was the work of water, perfectly smoothed rocks aligned in a basin, a sorted bed, harsh rock edges worn away by the constant water flowing over time, I even found a fossilized fish inside one of these rocks, so perhaps my (this) projection will not be historically accurate but no matter, this is a mental exercise not science or archaeology, I can put them away for today and dream, such as this, so I imagine this brook running through what was once (or now) my fence line, how the water must be clean and clear like the finest crystal in liquid form gleaming in the warming sun, yet ever cool fed by a natural spring, and this dream, there are no sounds here, for whatever reason I can only hear the visuals, the calming water, hypnotizing me, in this dream… and with that, shatters, in comes actual sound to break this meditation, the gravely churn of a big wheel approaching, a car screaming down the street at speed for no reason, and the quibbling of the robin who was patrolling my lawn but had to run off across the way to avoid human interaction, sigh, at least for a moment, at least for a time, I lived in a dream of what once was, not that I mind the now but I certainly didn’t mind the escape. so I withdraw back inside and bid you a good night, my world, thank you.
the lull of white suburban noise. I contemplate the sameness of my street, for me all this has always been here, but surely this hallmark will be gone, strange to think of dinosaurs, beasts, and all manner of creatures traipsing about this space where I sit now, concrete foundation in this tamed landscape, or so for now, soft sounds amplify in space like this, a neighbor walking mistaken for some demon lurking just out of my sight’s reach, until a bright yellow breaker rolls into view, and I concentrate on their steps, how uneven they are against the lose layer of debris that resides on top of the asphalt, the non perfection of form, scrapes of humanity, I could call this a soft cool breeze tonight, but somehow it is lighter than that, almost just the subtle presence of air settling down, not enough to provoke thoughts of cold, or flight back into my hole, still waiting for the spring, patience, I know, but still it wears thin on me, the dull low roar of commercial flight reminds me I am not far from the airport, I could go anywhere right now, but where would I go? where would I be? I have trouble accurately describing the sound of passing cars driving by, I know the technical side, tires on pavement in rotation against the ground, some seem calm, others rushed, as I try to make out the muffled music during the brief encounter, or to build a story about a neighbor filling a jar full of momentary assumptions flavored by flash judgements, based on a car, driving by, in only this matter of time of my arbitrary observation, a neighbor, I only know because their house is on the same block, a stranger, in any other contextual lock, the same person walking comes back from the other direction, on the sidewalk this time, not sure why, variety I suppose or no thought to it whatsoever, my direct neighbor across the street gets delivery, no signs on the car so I can only speculate, they had a little girl, she used to play outside, I have not seen her in a few years, how little we know about those in just the next house living whole lives next to ours, I wonder what lurks in the shadows and dark spots and corners, but in all honesty, there is nothing here that can harm me for real, this tame banal suburbia, the lull of white noise, the sleepy outdoor gaze of a jersey night
Photo by Kellie Jane on Pexels.com
notes… part of my Porch series, tonight spring crept in, I even heard some children plotting games from the yard in back of mine, just waiting until the spring shakes back and forth like my dog after a bath except spring is looking to shake off the cold yoke of winter, which certainly is stubborn this year. all thoughts, comments, questions, and quiche recipes are appreciated.
(this is related to my previous post, quite by accident, or circumstance, or the whimsy of the muse) Oddly enough, as I woke this morning (better than the alternative), when I walked outside to observe my ‘get in the car go to work ritual’, there was a mad amount of noise afoot… crows, in trees on both sides of my street, so this wrote itself (I suppose I can take credit, the pen was in my hand, but sometimes it feels I am just a cosmic means to an end…)
a gathering of crows in twin mirror treetops bookend my block angular shadows pasted up against naked limbs screaming, toasting, celebrating I think of an irish wake and then on a wink, on a wing unison, sync, they fly away on to the next barker’s perch
(an ongoing series, kind of like a picture a week but of my thoughts when I step outside and take the world in, stream of my consciousness I suppose, so I invite you to check it out)
Taking out the garbage, a sunday ritual with no holiday pending extending the weekend, a ritual, a comfort just as much as ordering out from the local, quite average, chinese restaurant, well, it is local, this day (well early night to be exact) does not seem to know what to make of itself, a cool breeze but not a cold one, no ice in sight to pronounce the season, i’m in no rush to rush back indoors, I stop to pause, to observe the world in it’s natural orderly.
I can almost taste the faint of hope in the air, or maybe it is just the slight relent of the choke-hold of cold that has settled into common trend these past months, the tides of spring are surely rising, somewhere out there, past the horizon, but yet, I am quite sure winter has not shed all of her teeth.
there is a great deal more sound out on the town tonight, to my left the semi-distant whizzing din of a busy road, up and to the left the low rumble roar of a jumbo-liner on to a destination, more immediately left (two houses down across the street) children squabbling getting into the car after a night at their grandparent’s house, “stop it L-a-c-e-y!!” pierces the block, me, dumping my recyclables into the recycle bin with a clangy avalanche of metal and glass, my neighbor’s dog Cookie barking at every little thing (I wonder how old she is now?), such a contemplative difference a little slice of time makes, we might just get of this thing alive, I think…
and I would be remiss if I did not say thanks to anyone who reads this, I appreciate all comments and thoughts, I can only process my own after all, how it affects others is a different animal, that I would like to wrestle some understanding from. (oh, and that last line is a doors thing, I am not going to link to it, to easy)
sometimes nature does the work for me (she’s good like that)
like a swarm of pine there is the science of ice look at my windshield
Sometimes I like Haiku, this would be one of those times, the Japanese have a knack for, well, some straight up weirdness, but also for being a crucible when it comes to poetic form.
MAME game of the moment : Strider, yeah I am a retro gamer geek full on, with a tankstick, hey, I work hard, I need to decompress sometimes without the nature bug, the snug feel of an old game, a time machine, that brings me back to my youth, which I still feel young but surely am not, in relation to those times, we can only relate to what we have done, experience is a very personal thing.
music ? sticking to the retro game thing… here is some Bit Brigade, they rock out to old nintendo game music (which I grew up with), they play the background music that would be on as someone plays the actual game… I know, super nerdy, but that’s me (vid games AND guitars ? hello?) !
tales in trails of movement frozen
upon this still locked land
tracks of rorschach
intersect and interpret the intent of ways
I have not seen them lately, this season
the jacks
the rabbits that usually inhabit
under bush and peaking tree
curiously absent,
but clearly laid out the path
and social gatherings
if I might read tracks
I might know where they are going
I imagine them bounding
stopping for thumping
should they draw into fear
I imagine their locked sudden eyes
constant scanning,
but as now the snow is melting into rain
the crackling of mixed precipitation
and the rabbits once more, like magic, disappear
hiding
in my plain sight
but at least I know they are here
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
notes…. written monday during some lovely weather here in the garden state, one of those storms with a weird mix of snow/sleet.. and fun… so, remember to find beauty wherever you can, take a moment, stop and look for it (it’s there, go ahead), over the past couple of years I have noticed less and less jack-rabbits in my yard/property (it’s not an estate but I do have a small patch of woods behind the house), I also started seeing foxes in the neighborhood (which I have never seen here), I am not in a city but Edison is not exactly a wildlife preserve (for suburbia we do OK nature wise though), I have wondered if the rabbit population was being decimated by the foxes (who are super skittish by the way), I think the foxes are feasting more on domestic cats looking at the tracks on these snowy days (no cat tracks but I have seen cats around other times of year), just a side note, the first time you spot a fox it is a strange affair, at first glance you think “cat” but your mind says otherwise, on second guess you think “dog” but the size and gate is not quite right, and then you spy the tail, and the gig is up, or they look at you briefly before sneaking off and you catch those perfect bermuda ears…
I wonder. I am not in the artic, nor do I pretend to compare myself to people who live in such climates (hello my canadian friends!), but I found myself creatively lethargic during this recent POLAR VORTEX!!!! (sorry had to give it the due such a rad name implies), when did all this happen ? When did every storm need… a name? When did “wind chill” become the official temperature (for dire effect over the actual temperature) ? Well, much like news weather is now a monetized football and there is an arms race to the top of the mountain (with a social media kicker). We have tons more information than we have ever had but yet… we still get it horribly wrong sometimes (but things just move on and no one notices), like the last snowstorm we had here in New Jersey, it was a complete breakdown, I have never seen anything like that in my life here (and we have had plenty of blizzards), and also notice that there is no more official predictions about the amount/intensity of hurricanes (dr gray made this famous) because they were so wrong, so often, good life lesson here, as advanced as we think we are we still don’t have all the answers, apply that locally (I mean to yourself, you know, the local – you, and I will do the same)
the only sound the hollow scrape the husk of a dried-out leaf working across the way and the walk the cold has clamped and tightened wound life relents to hunker down days of hibernation pass just a lone streak of sunlight some singular hope of warmth suspended animation wakes the fore a rustle, a chirp life still is bound
notes… happy weekend folks! be well, be true, be you !
Another time to take a step back and marvel at this world, something so simple as being out on my deck, walking the dog (or letting her loose on the neighborhood at large), the spotlight on, not quite snow falling in the light blazing from behind my right ear, something between rain and snow but definitely visible coming down straight, I wish I could snapshot my mind sometimes (like this one), pure joy in simple weather, these simple things after a day of fixing all sorts of complications with computers and their machinations (and users…), so here I am just standing in awe, and I let out a breath, and see it set in full form, and try to blow those cool smoke “O” rings, I can not of course, but then I think about the formation of my exhale itself, the very life exiting my body at that very moment, one of the breaths less in the count, for surely there is a count, sadly down, or rejoiced for how long compared to some, but there it is, my breath, a life, something of me breathed back out into the world, maybe recycled one hundred fold, maybe this was once snow on everest, or just dew upon the newest born leaf (or the exhaust of a 72 veedub), all I know is this frozen time, my breath billows out into this surreal, and I am fascinated in all this living dream, as the precipitation still falls in unison as if commissioned (I am mesmerized)… … … and then the jangle of samantha’s tags (the dog, after all), brings me back from this dreamy plane, but those sweetest eyes that look up fuel other dreams, so I slide the door and let her in, taking one look back at the falling precipitation … and breathe out one deep last breath…
notes.. I was going to post a poem about breath that tonight reminded me of, and then this came rambling out of me first as I was thinking about how I felt out on the deck, consider this part of my porch series I suppose… definitely in that vibe
Ambient masterpiece imo, very calming, a song a month composed for sleep/relaxation… I listened to this all day at work often. And I would be remiss if I did miss, the opportunity to say thanks to… you.
Shades of My Garden 