a thing I do from time to time… just snippets or things I never finished, I always intended to finish, but I am a creature of the moment usually so I do not go back, maybe I will… nah, probably not, so here is some snippets, do with them what you will.. my orphans, take care of them in your head…
(1) erotic patterns curves sultry lines drawn in sand a back, a palm by the hands of wind sliding across the mounds silently caressing grain by grain
(2) the psalms of wind and the homilies of wings
I really like (2)… now, I have to admit it has nothing to do with (1) except me posting them together, and in a weird way it makes sense together… but they were just scraps, but who knows? maybe this is what the universe wanted to impose, and so it is.. because it has happened, am I getting to vague ?
may I stay and sway forever, in the lands beyond like a frond of a perfect palm hand drawn stark outline in the setting sun, shadow on sand dancing, to the gentle song of the waves sliding, into the shore.
notes… if, no when, I go to sleep, for in this life, I wish to be on the shore, water is the force of life, and I want to be at that shore for all time, if I can be, or least that is my dream… I hope this work conveys that sentiment, for it is my sentiment before I become sediment for I will… all my love, all my consciousness will be transferred to that, that golden shore, of my dreams, and so will I be, for the immediate eternity, a dream along the beach, so I hope, so I dream….
in the miles of the blue pointed eyes navigate the blur imagine skimming skipping along like a trance or a song spinning through the air darting among with thrush and a rush, bobbing for air when the need arise coursing, like a vein these are the days of pure freedom swimming in unison with my brethren in these miles of the blue stretched out in all directions
so let me sit here for awhile- longer- to figure out to ponder- how to redo the past to undo the done and so frozen watching the footage over and over always the same ending but expecting a new one
notes… I know I am my own worst enemy… how do I battle myself, when I know myself so well.. perhaps that is true of us all… I try, I fail… but I know, I know I can try harder… so why don’t I? I know the clock is ticking, I fear it…. I know it… our lives are so finite and short… and we never know what is around the next corner, I am near the fifty year mark but still don’t live like tomorrow is the end.. I should, I know I should, “I should”… maybe that will be on my gravestone if I opt for one.. to mark a spot,.. but why bother… who will come.
are we fibers or just strings or links in a chain I wonder as I hold you closer I imagine we begin to combine at the molecular level can we now pass through each other? or simply merge for a moment two spun as one no wonder the separation feels as this does
notes… lost love letters staccato style (as I call it), I am very aware of rhythm in my words and flow… maybe it is all in my head, sure, but those who get it are wired into my frequency, I do not expect that to be everyone, just you, so thanks for the time, any and all comments are appreciated
a colony prescribed by the hand of time ordered into the womb of god delivered and so you are
notes… sometimes things pop in my head, I could tell you I am not religious because I am not, but does that mean I do not believe in something higher… how can we just be dropped here right now on this little marble in the middle of supreme vastness ? sure, it could all be random, but I would rather think a hand is moving things behind the scenes, I’m probably wrong, so what… in the end it does not matter, so I choose to believe my life has meaning…
so then, I am of so many leaves when my winter makes the call even me, a summer’s child, after all I am so, just a grain of sand lost in great swaths moved by airs and seas; I am just a lost fingerprint- in the generations of humanity a molecule of a mind once mine destined to rise again but never to this form myself, this again so then, will I travel the universe as a particle burst out when our sun’s end sets to coalesce, perhaps to exist, perhaps once again so then, I wish to become I wish to become then – a dream.
notes… I think often, and I admit I have a semi panic attack, about, you know… the end… I try to rationalize it as we all do, and all those before have, and all after will… it is a hard one to fathom, I can convince you that in some physical way we all are perpetual, but as an individual is my life some 100 year span in the countless billions a lost ship in the vastness of an ocean we can not even comprehend… ? I have hope, that this vastness provides a vessel for my existence. I can argue that I did exist.. I am… but what happens when this existence ends for me, am I gone … forever ? I did / do exist but the prospect of not having consciousness is frightening at times… the pure lack of control over, well, anything… all I can do is hope and pray there is something out there that created me and you for a purpose… what that is? I can not say for sure, I don’t know, I don’t have the answers… and I struggle with it…. but also the idea that no matter what I do the inevitable is the inevitable.. that is impossible to square at times…. but I try, I try.
I wish the whimsical I pray, I dance on the drum skins of the old gods lying forgotten in the thunderlands I shout out, in trance to transform this grassy prairie into the bounty of lush forestlands may brooks break the backs of the deep plates and carve-cut out the roadways for life to venture out upon quench the sponge until overflow from bird to bee, proliferation all manner of life, let this be
notes… one of those that snuck into my skull, I found myself in ancient america at the foot of the grasslands, and wondered what it would have looked like if forest had extended outward coast to coast.. so this is that work…
on calming waters the ripples freeze-frame slide and hypnotize a gull, on a rock, outcrop two swans act as ostriches of the loch the simplicity; the serenity; moves me, sways me, fades me on calming waters distorted reflections like impressionist paintings another world lies, there a-waiting, to dive in and cleanse my soul, shed my common clothes- for a-while, the hands of the mother, curved earth basin cupped vessel filled with the universal for water is life revealed in a mirror from which we walked, from which we waked from which we came; yes on calming waters a goose and child forage grass-ed edge unaware of politics or the foibles of men for this sense ties not to clocks but perhaps to ancient sun dials, sweeping ripples, eyes to follow one by one, out to the horizons gone, like my words- fallen to the shore how many have whispered, the worship here before and let their depths be drowned for spirit rise, to be cleansed for the return, to the dominion of men.
only to fall back, into the mud brick laying the paving, straw and mud, and the modern spoke turning the drudgery of construct- a yoke until again those calming waters call until then, until that baptismal pause shall bring renewal, from mother’s hand
notes… so I wrote this in the parking lot of a church, it was raining so I didn’t get out of the car, but this is my spot, right on the franklin lakes reservoir, it is my spring, my fountain, a spot I can go to and escape the every day right under the thumb of the every day, so I recommend you find one… or better two… or nine, sanctuary to let nature drain the stain of normal life off your pelt… it helps…