the waning late summer sun resting on the face of a golden still pond this- is- calm… (pause; inhale… hold… hold… exhale…) “pinch me my darling, for surely I travel in the realm of dream” but no, a sweet captive of the great blue marble cast out upon the blackest sea.
I am hers lurid in disguise; a coiled skin flows around’a shadow, set upon gasping breaths- she whispers in- the knowledge, the sweet sweat, gathers nibbles on the lobe of ears, pulls and what the bondage bears and what the free-melody bends- release. and return. I am hers.
this self afflicted veil of darkness; when the light hits these eyes, this skin. emerging from my cave I know the feeling, always have the warming, the inner joy of temporary reprieve, how soon my dna seems to forget however, so, waiver, to slink back to that dying comfort to the slow killing- all paths lead to death yes, but would I rather know the land a bit more before, does such meandering matter, perhaps not, does that make me dig my own plot however that much sooner.
I might rather then, burn my feet in the light on that unforgiving exposed plot of sand than reduce down into a heap of still dust a huddled cold mass, all that lies between, is will.
notes… maybe my thoughts are a diary, of my inner self, or not so inner, just my self… sometimes there is rain. “but it can’t rain all the time”…
for the night never does truly escape the sun there is only that veiled curtain drawn the pause of night- the time to sleep, between the exhale then, the awakening of the dawn that always comes always, until, well, not. but the sun is never vanquished only turned from our eyes for a time forgotten for a time in the spin gravity’s fond trick holds our feet strong humanity, tethered to the earth the agreed bond of our birth until that release- when our sight may cease as dawn becomes all days and then all nights become all, all light.
notes… this post is based on my last post, sort of… just musing on the same topic and really enjoying the music this time out, sometimes I get it right, even if only for myself, welcome to my world folks, your thoughts and comments are appreciated but not vital, this is my thing, just throwing my art onto the shores of the world, so let it be and let each other be well… trust me on that…
the four days- the cold barren the stark bare the slumber huddle survival; closed eyes; the gentle warming on western horizon land unlocked under toe slow awakening dawning eyes adjusting to the light stretching out up towards the sky blooming; hands palms wide to warming glory migration towards the water, the ocean holding on until the cooling and leaves fallen, loops on turn we then return to our station.
a scrap I wrote a while ago, I find them on various thumb drives, and I am surprised but what In find but then remember the vibe so… this is mine, all thoughts are welcome, I am a curious to find out the minds of others, it does not consume me, but it does have a sense of interest to see how I swim among my peers stuck in my same years of time…
the prison of routine, some might say the harshest confinement is the one constructed by yourself for yourself, well, this has some truth to it but the main difference in the mortar and brick is choice, when someone other locks the door and walks away with the key you are left at their mercy, for at least with your own device there is hope and light, a fight, a chance, a choice, so you should make steps forward this, however… lurking… fear is out there, out there beyond the walls, defanged, defamed, barely noticeable sliding around the edges of inevitable periphery, never fully vanquished but certainly downgraded from the moment to moment memory residing in these temples, but as most coins there is certainly two sides, a sly-silent partner, an ally, a comfort. for they work in concert you see, to relieve you of the daring of the new, with the quiet contentment of the known sold-old, so you tell yourself with conviction “What’s so bad about this, really?”, pushing down, suppressing or ignoring, that truth, the truth, what you know as the truth, what you have walled up yourself against all (or most) vulnerability, out of sight, out of mind, contentment blinds, that familiar, blanket of the finest kind, a warm snuggly atmosphere wrapped around surround, a cocoon- not of enchantment or rebirth or transformation even, but that to preserve a line of time, trying to stop the march that only goes on, a set, a play where the stage remains the same with some of the props changing, floating in and out of creation, but the base floor remains the same, so to close your eyes there is no serpent there to strike, only clean-dreams, safe dreams, the only rain- not the biting kind, the kind of quench of a summer drench to leech-instant the heat off your skin and in an instant spark steam on the heated grounds, summer scenes with not a rumor of winter, which must, of course, always come, but in this place, this palace of reinforced concrete is the con, your own prison of routine, worse than the singing of the sirens on the open seas, for at least you have heard their tale or read it so, from others lost, upon those sharpened rocks, but when upon – you crash out on to your very own, where stones and sticks to not break, but are lock and key, a willing iron mask for you to keep (in your own keep). so that is the prison, of my routine, and even scribing, scribbling, the realization of this, the seduction of self is deadly-slow bliss.
notes… this is one of those pieces bouncing around my head for days, well… the title was and the rest was like a train that followed on the tracks as I laid them, all in one flow, all of ten minutes maybe, takes longer to post and look pretty than it does to write… but I like adding the videos and such, that’s more for me than anyone else, if other people (you) dig it, thanks, that’s cool, this is more of a gallery though to hang up my art and let people walk through… except the cool thing is this is a better suggestion box than most museums have…
within the salt’on sea the sky is slates of ice cracks ‘cross of bended light the sun’s but a dream far night for the warmth is the warp of gravity deep inside the core of that, the salt’on sea
in a frozen landscape, or a floating sea of ice, is there land, is there hope, is there life, the physics still exists in the gymnasts in such realms so let it be… imagination…
(as always your thoughts and comments are welcome and appreciated, even if you think I suck, that’s cool too, I do this as a posting of art, nothing more, I do not expect everyone to get it, love it, or even care… just putting a little piece of the me out there into the ether, and hey, maybe you dig the tunes.. I have a lot of thoughts about that… and I also write media reviews, so check them out, I am funnier than you think… well, at least I tell myself that.)
drowning in thinking perhaps tired of inking these inklings epithets to dreams from threats of a new whirlwind a cascade due an avalanche down doubts weighted by fear the desperate climb out claws from down under pulling downward’sunder but I mustn’t- I mustn’t succumb I must fight for each breath for that reach for life regardless or… or… what?
notes: unlike other animal life we question our existence, but when push comes to shove we do fight to survive, mostly… mostly… are we free from the same death panic ? I doubt it, I am not, mostly in daily life I am but I know I look to the stars and see light that is thousands or billions of years old, does someone see mine ?
prayer from a distance does not carry on the air nor land or on the back of a feather the ocean may rise to engulf the poles but not even a voice of thunder can span the globe in one full jump
but the voice of many may be the boat of hope to sail so, I pray, still.
there is hope, and hopelessness… and yes, none of this may matter in this matter, but you have a choice, I choose to live in the sun, as best I can (and I fail more than not, but my choice is not the reason for my failure, my humanity is, such as it is).
your thoughts and comments are always appreciated, my friends.
out-water on the er’ly the first slip o’r the dawn no time to downtown, Boys no time to downtown, Boys until thy work ‘st done
so man the eye, spy the cape let rigs be jigs and let the soul ‘s be damn’d for might the blessed sea- provide the bounty such we seek for skill and pride, for on luck ‘n shuck with silent words and surl’y looks pray! fill these hooks might we crown ‘t-day no time for downtown, Boys no time for downtown, Boys until soaked ‘nd milked to the full on day
toil into that twilight- under bark and bare and shipward slight a reward of’ta whiskey might ‘et prepare life in a shot (or two or three to spare) if mig’t please the mistress of the sea with her bounty bless’d one day next no time to downtown, Boys no time to downtown, Boys ’till paid is the toll the toll in full t’ rest.
notes… sometimes things just pop in my head, I love the ocean, and fishing, and the almost romantic version of the history of such just offshore from here, people don’t think of New Jersey that way but we are, as usual this was scribbled into a pizza box of all things as I was driving home tonight, maybe it was the music, I am not sure, but I stopped really worrying about all that long ago, I just post the flow of what is going down this river powered by the universe, for I am just a channel, brought to life for a reason… at least that is the hope, and why not.