Thoughts… from the porch.

Thoughts… from the porch.

there is something to be said to succumbing to the moment before a storm, or perhaps sitting out and sharing the moment with your surround, almost like the dimming of the theater lights in lead up to a performance, there is a gentle wave there, I am able to see each and every single leaf in detail twitching in the rising tide of wind, even leaves bathed in shadows seem illuminated with the backlight of anticipation, there is something in the lore of nature’s core when it comes to summer thunder storms, sure, this is not summer yet, on a technicality, I surely believe the mother is not beholden to the julian shackles of man and our need to define everything within and without, so no, this has the feel of summer thunder, that sudden swift whirl that comes in blazing, as if to ravage the land to the ground with a show of light and furious bellows, no, not yet, for this is the space in the calm, let yourself feel this settling all around you, no late animals stirring about, an occasional straggler of a bird’s call trailing off, the sun well past slumber, dipping below the horizon to wake another ‘sphere, I spy my first lightning bug, a miracle of bio lamination and yet another sure sign a solstice is not the only measure of a season, but thankfully the lightning bug’s cousins, the biting kind are not yet out in legion, so I may enjoy this moment quite unmolested, for a second I think that summer will be here and gone in a blink, but I need to curb such thoughts, and not even mention them, so I won’t, back to the silky bliss that is this, calm before the storm, sometimes a cliché is a proper cloak as this may be the case, this space, so wide and calm, drifting circles in pond fading out in to smaller crests until gone, each breath I draw feels like this, I can see my exhale rippling outward and as it fades and I breath in to fall into a cycle, so here I sit, on the same common porch I’ve known, a moment I have known, but since long have not felt, the newness mating with old familiar, not happiness, but contentment, a contentment of life where I wait for the first drop to drop and then I will retreat inside, to hear that song, of a million tone tons playing upon the walls – and windows – and wind.

notes… for the non readers this is me just sitting on the porch riffing, all off the top of my head, a stream of dave-ish-ness… so it is… your thoughts, impressions, invectives are all welcome, so comment away.

The lost moments… (stop and watch)

The lost moments… (stop and watch)

the lost moments
the bullet train that blazes ahead the day at work, all aboard, the pace is something to behold, or to dread, or to embrace, or to blink, and it ends, I try to take the lost moments and make them mend or at least carry, carry through like a photo or a token of a memory, or of something pleasant, the moment before I get in my car in the morning, before I hit that commute, throw my arm over the window and gaze, before that usually awful drive like bumper cars that never meet, except some do and that just causes delays for the rest, the sick game of in and out and the rush and brush, the lanes, the change, the tolls and the toll, so no, before I get into my torture capsule, before that trap, I take a moment, whether the weather permits or not, to soak in the sounds and sights around my humble suburban life, there is always something around, a least a squirrel, or a robin or two, something that moves, the tops of the trees in the backyard swaying perhaps, the smell of fresh leaves or grass, something, something is there to be grasped, a refuge from the iron clad and concrete monsters that await my fate, so take those lost moments, give them a home in your mind and heart, for even an instant can be the start, a mental locket and so store them there, and when the human jungle begins to encroach, fight off the inevitable with those lost moments
.

a fathers day

a fathers day

this was a father’s day, no not that one, a real one, a day my father would have loved, the sun out in full force, humidity half hung as not to oppress, yes, this would have been a day for him, to sit out on the deck behind the house, like being a king of your own kingdom earned from 40 years of taxes and work, soaking it all in, smoking one of those awful cheap white owl cigars, his only vice (besides snacks), only on occasion in the summer, except for the magnet of the sun, basking like some ancient reptile laid out on the banks, for sure I thought that would have been the thing to do him in, some sort of skin cancer or something related, but no, of all things covid was the thing, of course he was not so perfectly healthy at 84, heart issues for years, heart attacks spanning back 20 years, but those things seem to live with you or you live with them, unfortunate companions of a sort, they keep to their side of the room mostly and you tend to yours, no, the sun, if ever there was a sun worshipper it was he, on the beach in those ridiculous beach chairs that are much more like hammocks outlined with cheap aluminum bars, your bum supported more by the sand under than the strength of the fabric stretched, the low rider of outdoor furniture, on a day like this, he would have been truly happy, a monolith, a solar panel, his old black ray-bans reminding of his youth in the 50’s, all the things you see in cliches, the white t-shirt, the sleeve rolled up with a pack of smokes even though he didn’t smoke, the convertibles he had, the caddies, the thunderbirds, I might imagine that is what he was thinking about on day’s like this, as he sat there in the sun, reliving those memories of cruising down the neighborhood, in those big old long cars, the wind in his hair when he still had most, piling in the seats with his two younger brothers, the king and his chariot, blazing across the summer sky, yes, a day like today makes me think of him more, he has been gone a year plus now, a toll of a war we did not win, just simply survived, I hope wherever he may be now, he has days like this to enjoy, as a perpetual memory, this is your day, father, father’s day, a day like this.

notes: I am not one to lionize my father, for he was human, he had his flaws, but some days, in his glory, I got it, I got him, I could see what he lost by settling down and having us kids, not that he would have changed anything, but you always leave something behind, and the things you do in youth can be so pure that they resonate through the rest of your life, I love my father, flawed as he was, the only one I had, he never abused us and always provided enough and more, so what else can you say, as the time goes by the warts and the humanity wash away, and there is only the love, the light, and I wonder if I could live in this moment with those in this life right now, that is the challenge I suppose.

the presence of breath…

the presence of breath…

The presence of breath, the actual physical nature, air is molecules like any other thing is, a stone, a flowing stream, a mountain, the moon… air is one of these but we tend to forget in between beats, so I say sip the air, savor the sensation on your lips as it passes, think of the astounding mechanisms we have running on auto pilot, relish the actual feel of breath (the weight), of life as this physical substance flows in as an inner tide bringing the actual force of life to your shores, for without this, there is nothing more, there is space, a vacuum, emptiness, with breath, you are always full of the miracle, each and every pull on your bellows, from rising sun to head on pillow, and even in sleep the tide rolls on and in, exhale, inhale, this reminder is with us every second, every day – something we all, no matter who, no matter how far, something we all share in the community of humanity at large…

Notes… still trying to find my personal talisman, my way of reminding myself to really both live life and appreciate it in every moment… is that possible ? I’m trying. I have mostly failed all these years… we are programmed to think (and perhaps it is true) that if we were stupid rich we could find happiness, now, I am not saying money buys happiness, clearly not, but does it buy escape from the system at large? is it ok to be enlightened and want financial freedom? I guess that is something I can expound on that in another post…

lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

‘companion’
for you are, always with me, this fantasy, based on once reality, so far away now in years, still has the hold of yesterday and the warming dawn of tomorrow, but no, a phantom memory, even if I know what you would say, would you? anymore, am I the same person as we once were, together, I can not be sure, doubt is rot, but too honest to dismiss, love seems like an anchor but also a map to where… some would say where I have been, can the road past point to a future path? I don’t know, I only know the fleeting hope, what whispers in, to my ear, in dreams, waking apparitions, delusions, perhaps, if there is a difference in such things, subtle kisses of, being awake, or asleep, or alive, how can I compare to anything on the other side until such time, as, well, but for now (and seemingly always) you are my companion, the strength of that thought, that feeling, wanes and rises, yes, like a proverbial tide, sometimes mild, sometimes an overwhelming wave that pushes me under, to the darker thoughts of why, but always the gentle recede, back into that vast dichotomy, the sheer beauty of infinity, to the eye, when locked on an ocean horizon, knowing the depths conceal my centuries of wrecks in demise, and yet, also a womb, a treasure chest, a portal, perhaps salvation, the constant presence of the power of perpetual motion, back and forth, forward and back, for we are, as hearts beat, brain waves pulse with electronic sensations carried to the power lines of our extremities, and the abstract, love and revile, just as real as a stone in hand just not tangible with the same senses, we have been programmed to trust, I could clamp all those valves of input off, and still feel, feel you there, my companion, even though, I lost you so long ago, eyes closed, my arms remember, my hands recall, my heart does call, and sometimes I think you may hear me, somehow, for that was there, that bridge, that bond, that love, my companion, I will not perish as one.

this is/was a stream post, meaning I wrote it all in one gulp, one sitting, one flowing, just an idea let out of the barn, allowed to roam free until… well, until it ended of it’s own volition, or my pen, or keyboard or such… such is the way of this blog, am I totally free? maybe not, trying to get there though… to allow my expression to be a bronco, in a field, running, or not, just being…

Sanity Drive…

Sanity Drive…

(stream of consciousness)

although admittedly I might succumb, I feel more numb, not depressed, in some strange way, refreshed, yes, I unzipped the lining out of my once beefy winter coat so I might feel the winter more, on my face, a brace, somehow, in these days where darkness seems the norm, upon dreary storm days, ice roads snarl, ice roads tease out the common sense or little good sense from fellow travelers, and I am at there dispense, or scowls, but feel no road rage back into their mirrored fallow, no, happy warrior ? hardly, detached ? maybe, not sure why I am so non plussed getting cut off by a commuter bus that is not even supposed to be in my lane, I guess I am ‘staying in my lane‘, as they say, regardless of the cars flying up my butt, to go where? I suppose that nano-second apparition of the space of a square two cars in front of me, the anatomy of the shuffling, no checkered flag, no trophy, just wake up, wind up, do it all again for no sake, no, not today, not for this one, not dropping my ten cents of sanity for a little ball of gum dispensed by the machine, I have no real reason to complain, my life remains all the same, even with the turn of a new year page, unless I grab the pen, and compose something utterly inspiring, maybe tomorrow, or the next, today I am ok with just cruising along, the little twenty-odd six miles long, I probably could close my eyes and count the mile markers in thought by thump, my display, my care, or lack thereof, is probably pissing the other ragers off, some, I am sure, want to bump me off, but today, I am just not engaged, I should be like so everyday, for my own mental health I guess, but the temptation, the titillation, the adrenaline mainlined to a higher octane is such a draw, I hate to admit it is even sometimes fun, but the act of burning is a dangerous one to engage in constant, fire is a hard beast to tame, if ever, I wonder if the fuel is at a higher cost than it seems for the slight thrill retained, but then again, aren’t all guilty pleasures built of the same seductive flame?

going old school with my musical pick this evening, I am sure most people only know Smoke on the Water… and yeah, from a simplicity stand point that riff is gold… but this is pretty cool and really demonstrates the sound bridge of the era (arcing between the 60’s/70’s before real metal). I don’t know why I broke into a music lesson tonight… but I did…

dawn of a new year… (s.o.c.)

dawn of a new year… (s.o.c.)

gateway into a new dawn, or just another calendar to begin, a promise mixed in with the cracked confections of fortune, to you my friends, a toast, a glass, a raised hand, enlightened spirit, with a spirit in hand perhaps, just the gesture, an upward thrust, trust enough to not break the pane on another glass, for that glorious ding, that clarion belt, a countdown to hail resolutions heart felt, the optimism of a full glass soon downed empty, to be refilled, a night to reflect on the act of a closing play, to pick up the newly minted playbill to see what may be coming attractions, all hope and no bad reviews, a stellar cast, some new, some familiar, some left behind, some gone to pasture, the stage remains vaguely the same, the entrance and exit clearly marked, those do not seem to change by any age, so what will this host year bring? comedy? tragedy? drama? or a rom-com unseen? probably all of these, and we hoist a glass for the best of these, for days to come, nights to pass, every waking moment a miracle until the last.

notes… so yeah, I am doing the hack new year’s thing… it only happens when I am actually inspired, and so I was, so the sentiment was real even if it seems obvious to make a new year’s post.. I do have hope for the new year… don’t we all? the swell is so obvious as you watch the ball… but should it take that? why not turn your life around january 15th? or august 8th ? well… it doesn’t matter really, all that matters is how you travel down the road from now, pause at a rest area, take a deep breath, a little inventory of things, and go on, weather or circumstance be damned… we need to just plow ahead… life, truly is short, in the throes of youth it is ignored, but as time goes on… it goes on… so get on with it…

(s.o.c.) is stream of consciousness for those new to my little corner of the universe…

the consequence of bile… (s.o.c.)

the consequence of bile… (s.o.c.)

the consequence of bile, the hoarding of poison, the purpose of same, in actuality I am not painting myself as some viper or venomous snake, or perhaps I am, for the sake of this context, certain things annoy me, let’s say, push my buttons so to speak, but who is in real control of such things, do I lie in wait like an ambush predator ready to strike when given the predicted stimuli, yes, I must admit I do, but why? should I just let the rain swipe off my back like rain on a duck’s ass, instead of being an actual ass? yes, probably, would be better to avoid toxin to store and use, why bother with the poison at all, I guess that is my point, as I caught myself this morning, recoiling at a co-worker’s obvious intent to ruin my mood, but if I respond with kind (not “in kind”) the button of my tolerance gets rather stepped on merely than pushed, as if the throttle wants to go full open tilt, “kill them with kindness” when I just want to kill them, figuratively of course, I am no beast, well, at least not until Friday’s most weeks… the “ignore” does not seem to work either I’m afraid, the lack of action just creeps up my back not so subtlety, like a rolling volcano boulder up into my neck, causing the hairs to stand up and stir and cry “what the heck!” (or more likely more ‘colorful’ language… if I am to be fair), so easy in moments that pass to judge and say what would do, much less of an impress to put on those shiny goggles of hindsight (as I am now), I wish there was a trick, a magic one would suffice, where as I could slow down time and think things out, but that is not going to happen (no matter how much I study the arcane), the answer (I propose) is preparation, scenario recognition, they say life is too short, for a great many things, probably for toxin as well, but the gulch of what we know and what we do varies in the seasons…

epilogue: I caught myself this morning, being mean for no sheer reason, although I know I was being prodded, I need to work on myself, does it matter in the long run? probably not, but it matters to me, there is no reason to be terse just to be a jerk, or to live up to my reputation of same, even if I have to bite my lip, I should, there is no use spreading disdain in this world, our lives are too short, it is hard to remember that in the moment though as we play our roles, but I guess my acknowledgement shows some growth, not a trophy though, not a finish line, I must remember… to be kind. because, why not?

Stream of beach consciousness… (aka thoughts from the beach…)

Stream of beach consciousness… (aka thoughts from the beach…)

at the border, the line, where civilization and the beach both meet and divide, so, here I am again, under an artificial light, wondering about life, as it happens, just over there, a Friday celebratory night, lights, all colors, conversations, all comers and I, invariably, wind up here, on the night beach, the surf ahead of me with a lullaby roar, this will outlast us all and yet as well itself, just a mantle of timing really, and behind me, laughter, arguments, love, consequence, all the buildings standing tall, and I wonder for what, or why, or is that the point, and then mix in the smells, the crisp bright ocean air mixed with the offerings of the thoroughfare, is this what I have been conditioned to know, to be happy with, is this my path, for I seem to gravitste to the same places, and ask myself and the universe the very same questions, and tommorow, is yet another day forward, another chance, and yet – here I am.

there is lightning on the horizon, I do not mean that metaphorically, out -over the dark ocean water, surely miles from here but still real, the sugar feel sand is cool not cold, the weather is seasonably warm, which enables the bold or just lack of decent restrain, I seem to wait, as I do, for something to break, or is this all there is, and my place in it is just a bellwether documenting same, a snapshot, a painter, an observer, how am I to criticize from where I come and what I may yet desperately want to be a part of, at some level? I feel at home and in a strange place, but yet- I must admit my choices have brought me to this gate, my joys, my sadness, my triumphs, my worst and my best – have all led to this reservation, to this fleeting week of floating, I kept ties on my ‘real world’, I surely did, but so quickly those threads dissipated, I wonder how important they really are, like a mighty spider’s web, a wonder, hours of construction, and smashed in a a day or so, left to rebuild a masterpiece just to eat, or so it was, and so I am ready, once again, to be thrown back into the blender of life, even armed with this sojourn in calm, all these nights to contemplate my fate, my life, my dreams, the gone, the now, the in-between, can I don this armor of self realization and beat the blitz, to climb out onto that field and make my own way, past cavalry, infantry, and me, I have all the tools I need, have I now the experience to utilize them fully, once more and again…

I watch the slow river of clouds, mix like solutions, like milk swirling my morning coffee, the composition is random but ruled by laws, I would rather think of them as free dreams inspiring the earth, and the river has slid down, engulfing the moon, but some light still escapes in highlights, somewhere submerged, the moon is still there, waiting, waxing. waning, a light not to be denied, and to never succumb fully regardless of the folly, we preach beneath…

reading the leaves (not tea, stream of conch…)

reading the leaves (not tea, stream of conch…)

Photo by Andrew Beatson on Pexels.com

the heavy summer air is full-ripe-pregnant-hanging-low with humidity, I can see the reading of the leaves nodding that a heavy rain is coming, my hand strum-slide-strokes up over on one of my newer shoots of bamboo and the protruding nodes, not unlike a lover, perhaps as intimate – as hairs on a limb, I whisper things in my mind to my plants, and when they do well I think they comprehend, like children do, I have conversations with my garden residents, for there are far crazier and more dangerous things to do with your time, when they start answering me though, that might be the time to question this or me, for now though I will still whisper and listen to the feel, the interloper wind is sneaky and subtle, a slight coolness slips in the door, cracks, gifting a micro oasis to the opposite palm of my hands as I walk, I want to stand here forever in the right now, however, I imagine even more of a release when the weight of the rain breaks the dam, so I wait…
(a few hours later)
I drifted off to sleep, expecting to be woken by a rollicking torrent-tempest worthy of noah, well, forty minutes at least, not forty nights at best, heck, I would even take a nice ten minutes and forty seconds less to break this humidity, I would like to tell you that I peeked outside and saw evidence of such a flood impress, but no, maybe just the equivalent of spit, or a light misting, as the idea of spit conjures a visceral reaction, ‘misting’ sounds calming, like a day spa commercial and flute music, so I suppose I need to work on my communication skills with my local nature guides, and perhaps… a better weather app.

(but wait, just now… I do hear some distant thunder… like hope off rubber bounce…)

notes… as I have said before this blog is me, not just works, works I do on the spot, this is not some contrived thing, this is more a diary than anything, a diary in works as I go, and maybe you learn a thing or four, I often wonder if anyone reads any of this babble outside of ‘likes’ thrown, I wonder, but honestly it does not matter, I am going to plow forward like a… and um, plow ? (but aren’t plows towed… damn semantics)… so anyone who reads this, thanks, your time and thoughts are appreciated, I can only imagine somewhere there are those I resonate with, one, two, a thousand? not important, just anyone alive in the right now, and if you read me you understand how I value the right now…. the universe conspired to have me posting at this moment in a billion years of time… because I am, and so are you, existing right now that is…