no, quite literally just moments ago or an hour, who can be sure the skies were black with rage and blazing flash rain highway sideways, pelting the windows
so temporal, all this so trapped in moments, we become
for oh sun, now shines how light is cast against darkness in contrast I feel the despair leeching out of very my skin as if being pulled out string by string by an invisible, palpable, force of hand – yes and quite suddenly I am transformed long forgotten, the storm
‘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…
I do not know if I believe in a kingdom without a king or a monarchy without a queen or a fiefdom without a thief. a puppet’s head propped on a spike, proper from towers to tillers lest the hands forget; the rise of a river from up on the mountain slides fed deep from the mother underground wells ripen fruit spent before, spent on high to grace life on down the line, by line, the line but drains out into a bog a stinking cess of rot quicksand kills, I’m told but the bog is a python squeeze and swallow charm coils wrap, breath is shallow and all the while glaring down from gilded hill the sound of glassware ringing singing songs borne on broken backs from where all bones wash white so this, I tell, is civilized life
on occasion little things like this pop in my head, today, @ work for example, which is strange, usually work is not the place I am musing, must be a friday thing…. anyway, without further pause…
A prayer to absorb from those who came before might I turn to the wind and hear your voices bathe in your wisdom if only for a moment if only a small slice of the vast share with me your vision so I might not repeat the past
the random photo in the bathroom the frame is a bit crooked or is the line of white tile beneath something is off someone is wrong
running into the sunrise a neighbor directly black suit neon shoes
the sun looks more like a gestating star with all the gases orbiting round converging into the core
a pure black cat sitting on a lawn like a silhouette prone, ears up back to me my luck I suppose
an accident on the southbound side tarp over the car, meaning mile marker 96 I notice no, more distance has passed since I am supposed to feel something aren’t I? should I meet such an end at any time not the fairy tale sleep I promise myself traffic is backed up for miles south
over the snake mountain bridge the sun has burned through now a jewel nestled in swirls of mist the empire state building stands the middle piece the land between quite unremarkable but the skyline – as you might imagine on a day like this
notes… this was an experiment of sorts, kind of stream of my consciousness in shorts, literally the bombardment of rampart in my mind as I woke and drove to work this am… I don’t record myself I write these in my mind as I drive and repeat them like a mantra, I lose some lines here and there, sure, but I really hate my voice on recordings, it does not match the voice in my mind, the voice I speak to myself always in is not what I hear in there, if you know what I mean…
Sometimes I flip through some old stuff, and find lines or short works, or incomplete thoughts, and I post them in the quiet moments of weekends, perhaps you like them, or they help inspire, to me they are snapshots, ideas lost, or just something the moment has passed on, and with that, so here they are…
(1) she ruffles my brow as only she knows how (2) do I trust the path of crows for they are mischievous sprites do I stay the path I go and risk the safety of never light (3) I looked up, and I thought: “could I die under this sky?” and yes, I could, I would, maybe not the radiant blue you are thinking of, but layered textures like purposefully settled sand, layers of slightly not the same shade but related, surely I do not want to go, but if this was the end I might not mind. (4) all of the circles of sand when will they end (5) I see rolling hills of sand from which wind blows shifting landscape yet remains the same a one note chameleon
morality religion not twins nor siblings often confused as lovers but they are quite something other
notes… just a thought, there are those that post on high moral standards using the crucible of religion. you do not need religion to have morality, I am not discounting religion, that is a personal choice, and I am good with that, but those of us who do not believe in said religions can still have solid morals, I used to be that snobby northeast agnostic who looked down on religious folks as dummies who believed in a voice in the sky (an easy position in retrospect, just a way to dismiss), I don’t claim to have the answers so who am I to think myself superior in some way to those who have found their answer, I don’t, I am not them, I am not you, I am me, and I respect our differences, I would love to have an answer, the big answer, that would really quiet the storm (and fear) in my mind, I do think I will die without the answers I seek until they confront me in that ultimate time, and maybe that will be to late, but I have to admit my fear, my panic, my scrambling, do I have faith? yes. because I try to live morally as best I can, if that is not good enough for my soul because I didn’t follow a book or a man? I have to be accountable for that, so I am….
the song of spring awaits the gates of winter passing slumbers under forests waking snow is melting eyes now rise bulbs bear bursting
the song of spring awaits the grass the birth of seed for those once lost a sweet reprieve
notes… I could delve into the layers I was weaving, but nah, I am still working six days a week through all this covid madness, and back at work physically every other day, my job intersects the poorest and richest communities in the tri state area, I will literally be in Bed Sty one day and Franklin Lakes NJ the next (many NY Giants/athletes there – Go Giants, sorry, couldn’t resist, glad my parents were not Jets fans) … talk about interesting… and my specialty, self check outs (NCR), orders are out the door these days as you can imagine
I woke up drowning caught in the undertow so normal now the flow and I am lost to the surface to the sun I wonder under without struggle further, further down from the sun surrounded by depths a siren of fathoms the light stretched hand spires in flight can not even guide these hands, lost hands no grip, no will, slides down a hole why was I asleep at all I would rather never have known
notes… I have said it before, but it bears repeating, I had some serious asthma attack when I was in my teens, I am talking turning blue and barely making it, being pumped full of adrenaline so hard that I walked around my house for 96 hours straight without sleep, no complaint, that is barely hardship compared to some but damn it made an impression, breath, we take it for granted, even me, but I have been on the other side of it, and I expect it to kill me honestly, I think we all romanticize our own death, slipping away in our sleep while whispering to our loved ones, it is rarely like that, I waver now and again, sometimes I want to be the wolf in the face of it, knowing what is happening and fighting to the end, I used to want to die in my sleep and not know… but reality is… I will have no choice how it goes.
titles and lands befall faith to leave a legacy for crown and cape belong shroud a tapestry cover-all chapters written by the sinners winters won, castles stone high, blue bloodlines pulse in reign across those european plains and yet mighty disease may pass black the night black the mass for even this creeping death kneels! before the many thrones a monarch, and his court of butterflies with iron horses of noble might upon the back of serf shall the break for the glory of titles, lands, imperial weight all glory to the king all hail to her the queen caste out upon the scene records top down history ground into down under plow for the common folk unmarked burials fields of nameless flowers even now, even now
notes… I did go through a mild medieval obsession at one point (college), I actually collect swords as well (medieval and japanese mostly), kind of like art to me, if you want really good stuff check out Kult of Athena, great site, not a plug, no money for me, just a recommendation, and in terms of medieval literature you have to read the letters of Heloise and Abelard… maybe one of the most romantic things ever… for us dreamers anyway, And would be remiss if I did not throw out some darts of thanks for the love, likes, eyes, and all else. I write for me and just put it out there, no agenda, just take it or leave it, I am glad there is anyone (you) who takes their valuable time to read it. We are all stuck here on this planet right now for some reason… or no reason, but we are here together at this exact point in time, all of the universe made this happen, pretty neat my friends… thanks.